A CHARP OF JUDAH ULD THE HARP OF JUDAH. HYMN OF PRAISE. Sing to the Lord! let harp, and lute, and voice, Up to the expanding gates of heaven rejoice, While the bright martyrs to their rest are borne. Page 75. « សួស្ដី អំពី សំ ណា HARP OF JUDAH OR, GEMS OF SACRED POETRY. ORIGINAL AND SELECTED. Awake, sweet harp of Judah, wake, Retune thy strings for Jesus' sake. HENRY K. WHITE LONDON: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK, MDCCCLXVIII. ув 4778 дв Univ.- Bibl. Giessen The Star of Bethlehem,.. Duties of the Morning, The Hour of Peace, The Christian Warrior, A Mother's Grave, Hymn of the Universe, A Poet's Prayer, Worth of the Soul, The Mother and Child, The Missionary, Retirement, Eden and Gethsemane, A Hebrew Melody, Translation of" Dies Ira," .. CONTENTS. Devout Aspirations, The Adventurer on the Sea of Life, Immortality, Hagar and Ishmael, Tyre, Blessings of Instruction, Earthly Fame, Hymn, The Aspen, Despair, A Preparative to Prayer, Charity, Interposition of God, Consolations of Religion to the Poor, .. .. .. .. .. .. :::: .. .. :: .. .. .. . .. " Kirke White, Parnell, Gisborne, Ken, Knox, Goethe, Page 1 3 4 6 7 9 Barton, Sir J. Davies, Doane, W. Howitt, Cowper, Giles Fletcher, Hogg, Thoughts Past Years, S John Quarles, Carrington, 24 26 Dand, 27 Anon., 28 Lyra Apostolica, 28 Bowring, 29 Pollok, 31 Kirke White, 33 Moral of Flowers, 35 Anon., 36 Southwell, Bowles, Joanna Baillie, Percival, 11 13 15 16 17 18 in 21 37 39 40 40 vi Who is my Neighbour? Hymn of the Waldenses, Excellency of Christ, Mortality of Man, The Pilgrim's Song, Hymn of Nature, Faith,.. Paul and Silas at Philippi, The Witch Hazel, CONTENTS. The Rising Moon, God, The Christian Martyr, On a Picture of Jerusalem, Benares, Missions, Confidence in God, Stanzas addressed to a Lady going abroad, Distant Church Bells, Winter's Sound, Samuel Praying, Song of the Magi, Sailor's Evening Hymn, Hymn of Praise, Sabbath Thoughts, The Resolution of Ruth, The Opening Year, Where He? The Falling Leaf, Gideon's War Song, A Cottage Scene, Jacob's Dream, Oh! is there no Sunny Isle? The Wild Wallflower, Vain Curiosity, To a Family Bible, Prayer for the Divine Guidance, The Myrtle, Martyrdom of Cranmer, ** :::: .. : .. .. .. .. .. Anon., Bryant, Giles Fletcher, Wastsel, Keble, Peabody, The Synagogue, Pierpont, Anon., L. E. L. Sigourney, Gisborne, Dr. Huie, The Cathedral, Songs for all Seasons, Dr. Huie, Vedder, Anon., Anon., Mitford, Milman, Mant, all} 62 64 66 66 Derzhavin, 68 Rev. H. Buchanan, 72 74 75 78 81 83 84 86 86 88 89 91 Moral of Flowers, 92 94 94 95 96 97 Christian Ex-) aminer, Moir, Neele, Hemans, Vedder, Sigourney, Croly, Waring, Page 42 43 44 45 46 48 51 51 53 53 54 56 57 59 Cowper, Hemans, Wordsworth, J. Montgomery, A. R. Bonar, 61 7 The Good Missionary, Rest in the Grave, Consolation, The Cloud, Early Piety, Hymn for Children, To a Nightingale, Thoughts on Sickness, Limits of Human Knowledge, Adoration, Love to Christ and to Mankind, Sabbath Morning, To the Memory of a Lady, Jerusalem, Nature, Elegiac Stanzas, Resignation, The Olive- Tree, The Daughter of Jairus, The Ruined Village Church, The Bible, The Cowslip, .. CONTENTS. Mutability of Earthly Things, Savage and Christian Courage, Virtue, A Character, Forget Thee! The Proud Rich Man, The Missionary's Farewell to England Sanctified Affliction, Departed Years, A Sabbath Reflection on the Atlantic, Morning in Judea, Lines to the Sun, Character of a Christian, Too Late, Pilate's Question, .. .. .. Remembrance of Christ, Address to Poets, .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. Pringle, Dr. Huie, Crabbe, Wilson, Heber, Jane Taylor, Drummond, Herrick, Heywood, Hogg, Spenser, ( Allan ningham, Milton, 111 Drummond, 112 Rev. W. Gillespie, 113 115 Hemans, Willis, Moir, Rev. H. Caunter, 116 118 119 122 124 125 125 126 127 Gilfillan, Pollok, Clare, Cun-) Cowper, Campbell, Beattie, Rogers, Moultrie, Heber, vii Page 99 100 101 102 103 104 106 106 107 108 109 110 127 128 129 The Parting Gift, 130 Mrs. Southey, 132 Anon., Bishop Spencer, Knox, G. M. J. Crabbe, Mrs. Abdy, Dr. Hute, Noel, Keble, 133 135 137 129 1-10 141 143 145 148 viii CONTENTS. Lines on visiting an Old Family Residence, The Gathering of the People, Virtue, Lines.. Labourers' Noon- day Hymn, The Meteor, This World and the Next, Saturday Night, The Memory of the Just, The Huguenot's Battle Hymn, A Sabbath Evening Hymn, Stanzas, Lament of the Hebrew Minstrel, The Young Communicant, Education, Conscience, Litany to the Holy Spirit, Christian Assurance, Character of a Happy Life, Hymn for the Opening of a Church, Death's Final Conquest, Happiness, .. Saul Journeying to Damascus, Palestine, Christ in the Garden, The Penitent Thief, Farewell, :: .. .. .. .. .. .. .. ::::::::: .. Page 148 149 151 151 152 153 154 156 Bowring, Bryant, 157 T. B. Macaulay, 158 J. Montgomery, 162 Edmeston, 164 Rev. R. Turnbull, 165 Sigourn y, 167 Bishop Mant, 168 168 169 } 171 171 173 174 175 178 The Athenaeum, 177 179 180 183 Jane Taylor, James Murray, Herbert, Quarles, Wordsworth, Burton, Mary Howitt, Rogers, Herrick, ( Blackwood's Magazine, Wotton, Pierpont, Shirley, Milnes, Ro- coe, Dale, Dr. Huie, Heber, socie THE HARP OF JUDAH. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. WHEN, marshall'd on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky, One star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks, From every host, from every gem But one alone the Saviour speaks, It is the star of Bethlehein. Once on the raging seas I rode, The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawn'd- and rudely blow'd The wind that toss'd my foundering bark Deep horror then my vitals froze; Death- struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose, It was the star of Bethlehem. 2 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. It was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and danger's thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Now safely moor'd- my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The star! the star of Bethlehem! KIRKE WHITE. DUTIES OF THE MORNING. SEE, the time for sleep has run; Rise before or with the sun, Lift thy hands and humbly pray The Author of eternal day, That as the light, serenely fair, Illumines all the tracts of air, His sacred spirit so may rest, With quick'ning beams upon thy breast, And kindly cleanse it all within From darker blemishes of sin: And shine with grace until we view The realm it gilds with glory too. See, the day it dawns in air, Brings along its toil and care; THE HOUR OF PEACE. From the lap of night it springs, With heaps of business on its wings; Prepare to meet them in a mind That bows submissively resign'd; That would to works appointed fall; That knows that God has order'd all. And whether with a small repast, We sober break the morning fast; Or in our thoughts and houses lay The future methods of the day; Or early walk abroad to meet Our business with industrious feet. Whate'er we think, whate'er we do, His glory still be kept in view. O Giver of eternal bliss, Heavenly Father, grant me this! Grant it all, as well as me, All whose hearts are fix'd on TheoWho revere Thy Son aboveWho Thy sacred Spirit love. PARNELL THE HOUR OF PEACE. WHEN groves, by moonlight, silence keep, And winds the vexed waves release, THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. And fields are hush'd, and cities sleep; Lord! is not this the hour of peace? When infancy at evening tries By turns to climb each parent's knees, And gazing meets their raptur'd eyes: Lord! is not this the hour of peace? In golden pomp when autumn smiles, And hill and dale its rich increase By man's full barns exulting piles; Lord! is not this the hour of peace? When Mercy points where Jesus bleeds, And Faith beholds thy anger cease, And hope to blank despair succeeds: This, Father! this alone is peace!' GISBORNE. THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. STAND but your ground, your ghostly foes will flyHell tremblès at a Heaven- erected eye; Choose rather to defend than to assailSelf- confidence will in the conflict fail: When you are challeng'd you may danger meetTrue courage is a fix'd, not sudden heat, ✓ THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. Is always humble, lives in self- distrust, And will itself into no dangers thrust; As difficulty swells, it higher grows, Ennobled by the greatness of its foes; Has lively prospect of its heavenly crown, And makes God's glory only its renown; Contemns the world, has more exalted aim. With a well- guided zeal is all on flame; With patience can a lasting conflict bear, Derives true magnanimity from prayer; Fights with a spirit present and sedate, No dangers can its constancy abate;- So meekly bold, with sweet behaviour brave, Scorns to vile lust its spirit to enslave; The martyr'd host with veneration eyes, And to their palms ambitious is to rise: Keeps Jesus in its intellectual sightHe best can teach us conduct in our fight. Devote yourself to God, and you will find God fights the battles of a will resign'd. An earthly coward is an odious nameA ghostly coward an eternal shame. Love Jesus! love will no base fear endureLove Jesus! and of conquest rest secure. 5 KEN. A MOTHER'S GRAVE. THE pastoral vale that gave us birth, Where all our infant joys were given, Appears the loveliest spot on earth, The holiest place of all but heaven. But all in vain its streamlets flow, And all in vain its wild flowers wave, When anguished hearts are doom'd to know That it contains a mother's grave. Ah! mother is a word endeared To all that bear the human name; And blest are those that can be heard, When they in gladness breathe the same; But woe to us no more that hear The answer that we fondly crave, When lone and lorn we shed the tear Of sorrow o'er a mother's grave. A mother's grave, amid the earth Array'd in flowers of summer dye, Is like the moon- cloud that comes forth To darken all the radiant sky; For all the joys that life possest, Our drooping hearts to soothe and save, Seem buried with the tender breast That moulders in a mother's grave. HYMN OF THE UNIVERSE. In vain we ply our wonted toil, While turtles breathe above our head, While woods rejoice, and mountains smile, Our thoughts are ever with the dead; And when we to our dwelling comé, We miss the lips that welcome gave, Alas! how dreary is the home Whose inmates mourn a mother's grave. In vain we leave the blasted scene, And wander on a foreign shore; No change of place the heart can wean From days of joy that shine no more We long to quit the mental strife, The struggle that subdues the brave, And, dreaming of an after life, To lay us by a mother's grave. KNOX, HYMN OF THE UNIVERSE. Paraphrased from Goethe. ROLL or, thou Sun, for ever roll, Thou giant, rushing through the heaven. Creation's wonder, nature's soul! Thy golden wheels by angels driven; The planets die without thy blaze, And cherubim with star- dropt wing 7 8 HYMN OF THE UNIVERSE. Flat in thy diamond sparkling rays, Thou brightest emblem of their King Roll, lovely Earth! and still roll on, With ocean's azure beauty bound; While one sweet star, the pearly moon, Pursues thee through the blue profound; And angels with delighted eyes Behold thy tints of mount and stream, From the high walls of paradise, Swift- wheeling like a glorious dream. Rell, Planets! on your dazzling road. For ever sweeping round the sun, What eye beheld when first ye glow'd! What eye shall see your courses done Roll in your solemn majesty, Ye deathless splendours of the skies High altars, from which angels see The incense of creation rise. Roll, Comets! and ye million stars! Ye that through boundless nature roam; Ye monarchs on your flame- winged cars; Tell us in what more glorious domeWhat orb to which your pomps are dim, What kingdom but by angels trodTell us, where swells the eternal hymn Around His throne- where dwells your God? The Britannia. 9 A POET'S PRAYER. O GOD! It is an awful thing indeed For one who estimates our nature well, Be what it may his outward sect. or creed, To name thee, thou Incomprehensible! Had'st thou not chosen of thyself to tell, As in thy Gospel thou hast done; nor less, By condescending in our hearts to dwell; Could man have ever found to thee access, Or worshipped thee aright in spiritual holiness. No! for the utmost that we could have done, Were to have rais'd, as Paul at Athens saw, Altars unto the dread and unknown One, Bending before we knew not what with awe; And even now, instructed by a law Holier than that of Moses, what know we Of thee, the Highest? Yet you bid'st us draw Near thee in spirit; O then pardon me, If in this closing strain, I crave a boon of thee. It shall be this: Permit me not to place My soul's affections on the things of earth But, conscious of the treasures of thy grace, To let them, in my inmost heart, give birth To gratitude proportion'd to their worth, Teach me to feel that all that thou hast made Upon this mighty globe's gigantic girth, 2 10 POET'S PRAYER. Though meant with filial love to be survey'd, Is nothing to thyself;-the shadow of a shade. If thou hast given me, more than unto some, A feeling sense of nature's beauties fair, Which sometimes renders admiration dumb, From consciousness that words cannot declare The beauty thou hast scatter'd everywhere; O grant that this may lead me still, through all Thy works, to Thee! nor prove a treach'rous snare Adapted those affections to enthral Which should be thine alone, and waken at thy call, I would not merely dream my life away In fancied rapture, or imagin'd joy; Nor that a perfum'd flower, a dew- gemm'd spray, A murmuring brook, or any prouder toy, Should, for its own sake, thought or song employ; So far alone as nature's charms can lead To Thee who fram'd them all, and can destroy, Or innocent enjoyment serve to feed, Grant me to gaze and love, and thus Thy works to read. But while from one extreme thy power may keep My erring frailty, O preserve me still From dulness! nor let cold indifference steep My senses in oblivion: if the thrill WORTH OF THE SOUL. Of early bliss must sober, as it will, And should, when earthly things to heavenly yield, I would have feelings left time cannot chill; That, while I yet can walk through grove or field, I may be conscious there of charms by Thee reveal'd. 11 And when I shall, as soon or late I must, Become infirm; in age, if I grow old; Or, sooner, if my strength should fail its trust When I relinquish haunts where I have stroll'd At morn or eve, and can no more behold Thy glorious works: forbid me to repine; Let memory still their loveliness unfold Before my mortal eye, and let them shine With borrow'd light from Thee, for they are Thine! BERNARD BARTON. WORTH OF THE SOUL. O IGNCRANT poor man! what dost thou bear, Lock'd up within the casket of thy breast? What jewels, and what riches hast thou there? What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest 12 WORTH OF THE SOUL. Look in thy soul, and thou shalt beauties find, Like those which drowned Narcissus in the flood: Honour and pleasure both are in my mind, And all that in the world is counted good. Think of her worth; and think, that God did mean This worthy mind should worthy things embrace; Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts unclean, Nor her dishonour with thy passion base. Kill not her quick'ning power with surfeitings; Mar not her sense with sensuality: Cast not her serious wit on idle things Make not her free will slave to vanity. And, when thou think'st of her eternity, Think not that death against our nature is; Think it a birth: and when thou go'st to die, Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to bliss. 2. And thou, my soul, which turn'st with curious eye To view the beams of thine own form divine, Know, that thou canst know nothing perfectly, While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine. THE MOTHER AND CHILD. 13 Take heed of over- weening, and compare Thy peacock's feet with thy gay peacock's train. Study the best and highest things that are, But of thyself an humble thought retain. Cast down thyself, and only strive to raise The glory of thy Maker's sacred name: Use all thy pow'rs that blessed pow'r to praise, Which gives thee pow'r to be, and use the same. SIR JOHN DAVIES. THE MOTHER AND CHILD. WHAT is that, mother? The Lark, my child.The morn has but just looked out and smiled, When he starts from his humble, grassy nest, And is up and away with the dew on his breast, And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere, To warble it out in his Maker's ear. Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise. What is that mother? The Dove, my sonAnd that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan, 14 THE MOTHER AND CHILD. Is flowing out from her gentle breast, Constant and pure by that lonely nest, As the wave is poured from some crystal urn, For the distant dear one's quick return. Ever, my son, be thou like the dove ,In friendship as faithful, as constant in love. What is that, mother? The Eagle, boy, Proudly careering his course of joy, Firm in his own mountain vigour relying, Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying; His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun, He swerves not a hair but bears onward, right on. Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine, Onward and upward, true to the line. What is that, mother? The Swan, my love. He is floating down from his native grove, No loved one now, no nestling nigh; He is floating down by himself to die; Death darkens his eye, it unplumes his wings, Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings. Live so, my son, that when death shall come, Swan- like and sweet, it may waft thee home. DONNE. 15 THE MISSIONARY. My heart goes with thee, dauntless man, Freely as thou dost hie To sojourn with some barbarous clar; For them to toil or die. Fondly our spirits to our own Cling, nor to part allow; Thine to some land forlorn has flown ,We turn, and where art thou? Thou climb'st the vessel's lofty side, Numbers are gathering there; The youthful warrior in his pride, The merchant in his care: Hearts which for knowledge track the seas. Spirits which lightly move Glad as the billows and the breezeAnd thou- the child of love. A savage shore receives thy tread, Companion thou hast none; The wild boughs wave above thy head, Yet still thou journeyest on; Threading the tangled wild- wood drear, Piercing the mountain glen, Till, wearily, thou drawest near The haunts of lonely men. 16 RETIREMENT. Strange is thy aspect to their eyes, Strange is thy foreign speech; And wild and strong is their surprise At marvels thou dost teach. Thy strength alone is in thy word, Yet armies could not bow The spirit of those barbarous hordes So readily as thou. But oh! thy heart, thou home- sick man, With saddest thoughts runs o'er, Sitting as fades the evening wan, Silently at thy door. Yet that poor hut upon the wild, A stone beneath the tree, And souls to heaven's love reconciledThese are enough for thee. WILLIAM HOWITT RETIREMENT. FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee, From strife and tumult far; From scenes where Satan wages still His most successful war. The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree: EDEN AND GETHSEMANE. And seem, by thy sweet bounty made, For those who follow thee. There if thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God! There, like the nightingale, she pours Her solitary lays; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise. Author and guardian of my life, Sweet source of light divine, And( all harmonious names in one) My Saviour, thou art mine! What thanks I owe thee, and what love, A boundless, endless, store, Shall echo through the realms above When time shall be no more. COWPER. EDEN AND GETHSEMANE. SWEET Eden was the arbour of delight, Yet in its honey flowers our poison blew. 17 18 A HEBREW MELODY. Sad Gethsemane the bower of baleful night. Where Christ a health of poison for us drew, Yet all our honey in that poison grew: So we from sweetest flower could suck our bane, And Christ from bitter venom could again Extract life out of death, and pleasure out of pain, GILES FLETCHER. A HEBREW MELODY. ON Carmel's brow the wreathy vine, Had all its honours shed; And o'er the vales of Palestine, A sickly paleness spread When the old seer, by vision led, And energy sublime, ● Into that shadowy region sped, To muse on distant time. He saw the valleys far and wide, But sight of joy was none; He looked o'er many a mountain's side, But silence reigned alone; Save that a boding voice sung on By wave and waterfall, As still, in harsh and heavy tone, Deep unto deep did call. A HEBREW MELODY. On Kison's strand, and Ephratah, The hamlets thick did lie; No wayfarer between he saw, No Asherite passed by! No maiden at her task did ply, Nor sportive child was seen; The lonely dog barked wearily, Where dwellers once had been. Oh! beauteous were the palaces On Jordan wont to be; And still they glimmered to the breeze, Like stars beneath the sea:But vultures held their jubilee Where harp and cymbal rung; And there, as if in mockery, The baleful satyr sung. But, oh! that prophet's visioned eye. On Carmel that reclined! It looked not on the times gone by, But those that were behind; His grey hair streamed upon the wind,- His hands were raised on high ,As mirror'd on his mystic mind Arose futurity. He saw the feast in Bozrah spread, Prepared in ancient day 19 20 A HEBREW MELODY. Eastward away the eagle sped, And all the birds of prey. " Who's this," he cried," comes by the way Of Edom, all divine ,Travelling in splendour, whose array Is red, but not with wine? " Blest be the herald of our King, That comes to set us free! The dwellers of the rock shall sing, And utter praise to thee! Tabor and Hermon yet shall see Their glories glow again, And blossoms spring on field and tree, That ever shall remain. " The happy child, in dragon's way, Shall frolic with delight! The lamb shall round the leopard play, And all in love unite! The dove on Zion's hill shall light, That all the world may see; Hail to the Journeyer in his might, That comes to set us free!" HOGO. 21 TRANSLATION OF THE HYMN " DIES IRE." DAY of wrath! that awful day Shall the banner'd cross display, Earth in ashes melt away: The trembling, the agony, When His coming shall be nigh, Who shall all things judge and try! When the trumpet's thrilling tone, Through the tombs of ages gone, Summons all before the throne, Death and time shall stand aghast; And creation, at the blast, Rise to answer for the past. Then the volume shall be spread, And the writing shall be read, Which shall judge the quick and dead. Then the Judge shall sit; O, then, All that's hid shall be made plain, Unrequited nought remain. 66 22 TRANSLATION OF THE HYMN DIES IRE." What shall wretched I then plead? Who for me shall intercede, When the righteous scarce is freed? King of dreadful majesty, Saving souls in mercy free, Fount of pity, save Thou me! Bear me, Lord, in heart, I pray, Object of thy saving way, Lest thou lose me on that day. Weary seeking me wast thou, And for me in death didst bowBe thy toils availing now! Judge of justice thee I pray, Grant me pardon while I may, Ere that awful reckoning day. O'er my crimes I guilty groan, Blush to think what I have done; Spare thy suppliant, Holy One. Thou didst set th' adult'rous freeHeard'st the thief upon the treeHope vouchsafing e'en to me. TRANSLATION OF THE HYMN" DIES IRÆ.' 23 Nought of thee my prayers can claim, Save in thy free mercy's name; Save me from the deathless flame. With thy sheep my place assign, Separate from th' accursed line; Set me on thy right with thine. When the lost, to silence driven, To devouring flames are given, Call me, with the blest, to heaven. Suppliant, fallen, low I bend, My bruised heart to ashes rend; Care thou, Lord, for my last end. Full of tears the day shall prove, When, from ashes rising, move To the judgment guilty men; Spare, thou God of mercy, then! Lord all- pitying, Jesu blest, Grant them thine eternal rest. Thoughts in Past Years. 24 DEVOUT ASPIRATIONS. GREAT God, whose sceptre rules the earth, Distil thy fear into my heart; That, being rapt with holy mirth, I may proclaim how good thou art: Open my lips, that I may sing Full praises to my God, my King. Great God, thy garden is defac'd, The weeds thrive there, thy flowers decay: O call to mind thy promise past, Restore thou these, cut those away: Till then, let not the weeds have power To starve or stunt the poorest flower. In all extremes, Lord, thou art still The mount whereto my hopes do flee; O make my soul detest all ill, Because so much abhorr'd by thee: Lord, let thy gracious trials shew That I am just, or make me so. Fountain of life and living breath, Whose mercies never fail or fade, Fill me with life that hath no death; Fill me with light that hath no shade; Appoint the remnant of my days To see thy power and sing thy praise. DEVOUT ASPIRATIONS. Lord God of gods, before whose throne Stand storms and fire, O what shall we Return to heaven, that is our own, When all the world belongs to thee? We have no offering to impart, But praises of a wounded heart. O thou that sitt'st in heaven, and seest My deeds without, my thoughts within, Be thou my prince, be thou my priestCommand my soul, and cure my sin: How bitter my afflictions be I care not, so I rise to thee. What I possess, or what I crave, Brings no content, great God, to me, If what I would, or what I have Be not possest, and blest in thee: What I enjoy, O make it mine, In making me that have it- thine. 25 When winter- fortunes cloud the brows Of summer- friends, when eyes grow strange ,When plighted faith forgets its vows, When earth and all things in it change ,O Lord, thy mercies fail me never ,Where thou lov'st, thou lov'st for ever. 3 26 THE ADVENTURER ON THE SEA OF LIFE. Great God, whose kingdom hath no end, Into whose secrets none can dive, Whose mercy none can apprehend, Whose justice none can feel- and live, What my dull heart cannot aspire To know, Lord, teach me to admire. JOHN QUARLES. THE ADVENTURER ON THE SEA OF LIFE. THE gales Of pleasure haply waft him, and he bounds Exultingly upon the flatt'ring main; Nor heeds the inexperienc'd boy the hints Of prudence, and the counsels of the wise; He steers impetuously through dancing waves, And oceans of illusive bliss, till nowCrashing upon her keel, his vessel lies A total wreck upon th' undreaded reef! ' Avoid the shoal!' the sacred preacher cries, The volumes of the dead and living ope The monitory page, alas! in vain, If Passion hold the helm, and Pleasure fill The swelling sail, though Reason, Conscience, say ' Avoid the shoal!' the voyager is lost! CARRINGTON. Univ.- Bibl, Giessen 27 IMMORTALITY. A VOICE within us speaks that startling word, ' Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls; according harps, By angel fingers touched when the mild stars Of morning sang together, sound forth still The song of our great immortality! Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, The tall dark mountains, and the deep- toned seas, Join in this solemn, universal song. O, listen ye, our spirits; drink it in From all the air!' tis, in the gentle moonlight; ' Tis floating' midst day's setting glories; night, Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears; Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, As one vast mystic instrument, are touched By an unseen living Hand, and conscious chords Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. The dying hear it; and as sounds of earth Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls To mingle in this heavenly harmony. DANA. 28 HAGAR AND ISHMAEL. THE promised seed is born,-no Ishmael now Will share a father's smiles with Sarah's child' And Hagar with her son must wander far Across the dreary solitary wild. Ere she departs one proud disdainful glance She throws on all around; yet in her eye The tear- drop gathers, as she sees her child Up to his father's face gaze wistfully. No angry, galling word to him she speaks, But bends her o'er the silent wond'ring boy, While the big tears that trickle down her cheeks, Tell of a mother's inward agony. TYRE. HIGH on the stately wall The spear of Anrad hung, Through corridor and hall Gemadin's war- note rung. Where are they now? the note is o'er; Yes for a thousand years and more BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. Five fathoms deep beneath the sea Those halls have lain all silently; Nought listing save the mermaid's song, While rude sea- monsters roam the corridors along. Far from the wondering East Tubal and Javan came, And Araby the blest, And Kedar, mighty nameNow on that shore, a lonely guest, Some dripping fisherman may rest, Watching on rock or naked stone His dark net spread before the sun, Unconscious of the dooming lay, That broods o'er that dull spot, and there shall brood for aye. Lyra Apostolica, BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. THE heart has tendrils like the vine, Which round another's bosom twine, Outspringing from the living tree Of deeply planted sympathy; 29 Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss, Beneficence its harvest is. There are some bosoms dark and drear, Which an unwatered desert are; 80 BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. Yet there a curious eye may trace Some smiling spot, some verdant place, Where little flowers, the weeds between, Spend their soft fragrance all unseen. Despise them not- for Wisdom's toil Has ne'er disturbed that stubborn soil; Yet care and culture might have brought The ore of truth from mines of thought; And fancy's fairest flowers had bloom'd Where truth and fancy lie entomb'd. There is in every human heart Some not completely barren part, Where seeds of truth and love might grow, And flowers of generous virtue flow; To plant, to watch, to water there, This be our duty, be our care! And sweet it is the growth to trace, Of worth, of intellect, of grace, In bosoms where our labours first Bid the young seed of spring- time burst, And lead it on from hour to hour, To ripen into perfect flower. Hast thou e'er seen a garden clad In all the robes that Eden hadOr vale o'erspread with streams and trees, A paradise of mysteries EARTHLY FAME. Plains with green hills adorning them, Like jewels in a diadem? These gardens, vales, and plains, and hills, Which beauty gilds and music fills, Were once but deserts. Culture's hand Has scattered verdure o'er the land, And smiles and fragrance rule serene, Where barren wilds usurped the scene: And such is Man. A soil which breeds Or sweetest flowers or vilest weeds; Flowers lovely as the morning's light, Weeds deadly as the aconite; Just as his heart is trained to bear The poisonous weed, or flow'ret fair. EARTHLY FAME. 31 BOWRING. ANOTHER leaf of finished time we turn, And read of Faine, terrestrial Fame, which died And rose not at the Resurrection morn. Not that by virtue earned, the true renown, Begun on earth, and lasting in the skies, Worthy the lofty wish of Seraphim.-The approbation of the Eye that sees 32 EARTHLY FAME. The end from the beginning, sees from cause To most remote effect: of it we read In book of God's remembrance, in the book Of life, from which the quick and dead were judged; The book that lies upon the throne, and tells Of glorious acts by saints and angels done; The record of the holy, just, and good. Of all the phantoms fleeting in the mist Of time, though meagre all and ghostly thin, Most unsubstantial, unessential shade, Was earthly Fame. She was a voice alone, And dwelt upon the noisy tongues of men. She never thought; but gabbled ever on; Applauding most what least deserved applause: The motive, the result was nought to her; The deed alone, though dyed in human gore, And steeped in widow's tears, if it stood out The prominent display, she talked of much, And roared around it with a thousand tongues. As changed the wind her organ, so she changed Perpetually; and whom she praised to- day, Vexing his ear with acclamations loud, To- morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight. Such was her nature, and her practice such: But, Oh! her voice was sweet to mortal ears; And touched so pleasantly the strings of pride And vanity, which in the heart of man Were ever strung harmonious to her note, HYMN. That many thought to live without her song, Was rather death than life: to live unknown, Unnoticed, unrenowned! to die unpraised, Unepitaphed! to go down to the pit, And moulder into dust among vile worms! And leave no whispering of a name on earth! Such thought was cold about the heart, and chilled The blood. Who could endure it? who could choose, Without a struggle, to be swept away From all remembrance, and have part no more With living men? Philosophy failed here, And self- approving pride. Hence it became The aim of most, and main pursuit to win A name to leave some vestige as they passed. That following ages might discern they once Had been on earth, and acted something there. POLLOK. HYMN. 33 AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah, wake! Retune thy strings for Jesu's sake; We sing the Saviour of our race, The Lamb, our shield, and hiding- place. When God's right arm is bared for war, And thunders clothe his cloudy car, 34 HYMN. Where, where, O where, shall man retire To' scape the horrors of his ire? ' Tis He, the Lamb, to him we fly, While the dread tempest passes by; God sees his well- beloved's face, And spares us in his hiding- place. Thus, while we dwell in this low scene, The Lamb is our unfailing screen; To him, though guilty, still we run, And God still spares us for his Son. While yet we sojourn here below, Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow; Fallen, abject, mean, a sentenced race, We deeply need a hiding- place. Yet courage- days and years will glide, And we shall lay these clods aside: Shall be baptized in Jordan's flood, And washed in Jesu's cleansing blood. Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed, We through the Lamb shall be decreed; Shall meet the Father face to face, And need no more a hiding- place. KIRKE WHITE. 35 THE ASPEN. DAYLIGHT is closing, but the west Still with the pomp of sunset glows, And crimson cloud on mountain's breast, And tower, and spire, its radiance throws, While one by one in eastern skies The stars which usher evening rise! How deep, how holy is the calm! Each sound seems hushed by magic spell, As if sweet peace her honied balm Blent with each dewdrop as it fell. Would that the cares which men pursue A pause like this of nature knew! Yet in this deep tranquillity, When e'en the thistle's down is still, Trembles yon towering aspen tree, Like one whose bygone deeds of ill, At hush of night, before him sweep, To scare his dreams and murder sleep. Far off in Highland wilds,' tis said, ( But truth now laughs at fancy's lore), That of this tree the cross was made Which erst the Lord of Glory bore, And of that deed its leaves confess E'er since a troubled consciousness. 36 DESPAIR. We boast of clearer light, but sayHath science, in her lofty pride, For every legend swept away, Some better, hofier, truth supplied? What hath she to the wanderer.given To help him on his road to heaven? Say who hath gazed upon this tree With that strange legend in his mind, But inward turned his eye to see If answering feeling he could find, A trembling for that guilt which gave His Saviour to the cross and grave? And who such glance did inward bend, But scorned the apathy and pride Which makes him slight that more than friend For him who bled, for him who died; Nor prayed his callous heart might prove What' tis to tremble, weep, and love! Moral of Flowers. DESPAIR. I CANNOT weep! I dare not pray! The very source of tears is dry! And what- when hope is lost for ayeAvails the prayer of agony? A PREPARATIVE TO PRAYER. A dark cloud lowers before mine eyeA chain is twined around my heartI cannot pierce that cloudy skyI cannot tear those bonds apart. While with resistless pangs I strive, As never guilty wretch hath striven: A voice, whene'er I shriek" Forgive!" Replies," Thou canst not be forgiven." I know not if from hell or heaven That voice of vengeance comes and came, But on my heart its words are graven In characters of living flame. Ye guilty joys! whose transient glow I pledged my forfeit soul to share;Where are your false illusions now? Your evanescent transports, where? Alas! the only fruits ye bear, For which I dared my heaven resign, Are death, and darkness, and despair:These shall my doom for ever sign. Anonymous. 37 A PREPARATIVE TO PRAYER. WHEN thou dost talk to God- by prayer I meanLift up pure hands, lay down all lust's desires; Univ.- Bibl. Giessen 38 A PREPARATIVE TO PRAYER. Fix thoughts on heaven, present a conscience clean: Such holy blame to mercy's throne aspires. Confess faults, guilt, crave pardon for thy sin, Tread holy paths, call grace to guide therein. It is the spirit with reverence must obey Our Maker's will, to practise what he taught; Make not the flesh thy counsel when thou pray; ' Tis enemy to every virtuous thought; It is the foe we daily feed and clothe; It is the prison that the soul doth loathe. Even as Elias, mounting to the sky, Did cast his mantle to the earth behind; So when the heart presents the prayer on high, Exclude the world from traffic with the mind; Lips near to God, and ranging heart within, Is but vain babbling, and converts to sin. Like Abraham ascending up the hill To sacrifice, his servants left below, That he might act the Great Commander's will, Without impeach to his obedient blow; Even so the soul, remote from earthly things, Should mount salvation's shelter- mercy's wings. SOUTHWELL. 39 CHARITY. O CHARITY! our helpless nature's pride! Thou friend to him who knows no friend beside! Is there in morning's breath, or the sweet gale That steals o'er the tired pilgrim of the vale, Cheering with fragrance fresh his weary frame, Aught like the incense of thy holy flame? Is aught in all the beauties that adorn The azure heaven, or purple lights of morn? Is aught so fair in evening's lingering gleam, As from thine eye the meek and pensive beam That falls; like saddest moonlight on the hill And distant grove, when the wide world is still? Thine are the ample views that, unconfined, Stretch to the utmost walks of human kind; Thine is the spirit, that, with widest plan, Brother to brother binds, and man to man. When the fleet vanities of life's brief day Oblivion's hurrying wing shall sweep away, Each act by Charity and Mercy done, High o'er the wrecks of time shall live alone, Immortal as the heavens, and beauteous bloom In other worlds, and realms beyond the tomb. BOWLES. 40 INTERPOSITION OF GOD. WHEN, urged by strong temptation to the brink Of guilt and ruin, stands the virtuous mind, With scarce a step between; all pitying Heaven, Severe in mercy, chastening in its love, Ofttimes, in dark and awful visitation, Doth interpose, and lead the wanderer back To the straight path, to be for ever after A firm, undaunted, onward- bearing traveller, Strong in humility, who swerves no more. JOANNA BAILLIE. CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION TO THE POOR. THERE is a mourner, and her heart is broken She is a widow; she is old and poor; Her only hope is in that sacred token Of peaceful happiness when life is o'er; She asks nor wealth nor pleasure, begs no more Than heaven's delightful volume, and the sight Of her Redeemer. Sceptics, would you pour Your blasting vials on her head, and blight Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms and charms her being's night? CONSOLATIONS OF RELIGION TO THE POOR. 41 She lives in her affections; for the grave Has closed upon her husband, children; all Her hopes are with the arm she trusts will save Her treasured jewels; though her views are small, Though she has never mounted high to fall And writhe in her debasement, yet the spring Of her meek, tender feelings, cannot pall Her unperverted palate, but will bring A joy without regret, a bliss that has no sting. Even as a fountain, whose unsullied wave Wells in the pathless valley, flowing o'er With silent waters, kissing, as they lave, The pebbles with light rippling, and the shore Of matted grass and flowers, so softly pour The breathings of her bosom, when she prays Low- bowed, before her Maker; then no more She muses on the griefs of former days; Her full heart melts, and flows in heaven's dissolving rays. And faith can see a new world, and the eyes Of saints look pity on her: Death will comeA few short moments over, and the prize Of peace eternal waits her, and the tomb Becomes her fondest pillow; all its gloom Is scattered. What a meeting there will be To her and all she loved here and the bloom 42 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? Of new life from those cheeks shall never flee; Theirs is the health which lasts through all eternity. PERCIVAL. WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR? THY neighbour? It is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless, Whose aching heart or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbour? Tis the fainting poor, Whose eye with want is dim, Whom hunger sends from door to door;Go thou and succour him. Thy neighbour? Tis that weary man, Whose years are at their brim, Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain;Go thou and comfort him. Thy neighbour?' Tis the heart bereft Of every earthly gem, Widow and orphan, helpless left;Go thou and shelter them. HYMN OF THE WALDENSES. Thy neighbour? Yonder toiling slave, Fettered in thought and limb, Whose hopes are all beyond the grave;Go thou and ransom him. Where'er thou meet'st a human form Less favour'd than thine own, Remember' tis thy neighbour worm, Thy brother, or thy son. Oh pass not, pass not heedless by; Perhaps thou canst redeem The breaking heart from miseryGo, share thy lot with him. Anonymous. HYMN OF THE WALDENSES. 43 HEAR, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock Cry to thee, from the desert and the rock: While those, who seek to slay thy children, hold Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold; And the broad goodly lands, with pleasant airs, That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs. Yet better were this mountain wilderness, And this wild life of danger and distress EXCELLENCY OF CHRIST. Watchings by night and perilous flight by day, And meetings in the depths of earth to pray: Better, far better, than to kneel with them, And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn. Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder; the firm land Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand; Thou dashest nation against nation, then Stillest the angry world to peace again. Oh! touch their stony hearts who hurt thy sonsThe murderers of our wives and little ones. Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth. Then the foul power of priestly sin, and all Its long upheld idolatries, shall fall: Thou shalt raise up the trampled and opprest, And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest. BRYANT. EXCELLENCY OF CHRIST. HE is a path, if any be misled He is a robe, if any naked be; If any chance to hunger, he is bread; If any be a bondman, he is free; If any be but weak, how strong is be; MORTALITY OF MAN. To dead men life he is, to sick men health; To blind men sight, and to the needy wealthA pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth. GILES FLETCHER. MORTALITY OF MAN. 45 LIKE as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower of May, Or like the morning to the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had, E'en such is man;-whose thread is spun, Drawn out and cut, and so is done.The rose withers, the blossom blasteth, The flower fades, the morning hasteth, The sun sets, the shadow flies, The gourd consumes and man he dies! Like to the grass that's newly sprung, Or like a tale that's new begun, Or like the bird that's here to- day, Or like the pearled dew of May, Or like an hour, or like a span, Or like the singing of a swan, E'en such is man;-who lives by breath, Is here, now there, in life and death. 46 THE PILGRIM'S SONG. The grass withers, the tale is ended, The bird is flown, the dew' s ascended, The hour is short, the span not long, The swan's near death,-man's life is done! WASTELL. THE PILGRIM'S SONG. AND wilt Thou hear the fever'd heart To Thee in silence cry? And as th' inconstant wildfires dart Out of the restless eye, Wilt Thou forgive the wayward thought, By kindly woes yet half untaught A Saviour's right, so dearly bought, That Hope should never die? Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer Has reach'd Thee from the wild, Since the lorn mother, wandering there, Cast down her fainting child, Then stole apart to weep and die, Nor knew an angel form was nigh To shew soft waters gushing by And dewy shadows mild. Thou wilt- for Thou art Israel's God, And Thine unwearied arm THE PILGRIM'S SONG. Is ready yet with Moses' rod, The hidden rill to charm Out of the dry unfathom'd deep Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap Their waves in rude alarm. These moments of wild wrath are ThineThine too the drearier hour When o'er th' horizon's silent line Fond hopeless fancies cower, And on the traveller's listless way Rises and sets th' unchanging day, No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, On earth no sheltering bower. Thou wilt be there, and not forsake, To turn the bitter pool Into a bright and breezy lake, The throbbing brow to cool: Till left awhile with Thee alone The wilful heart be fain to own That He, by whom our bright hours shone, Our darkness best may ruie. The scent of water far away Upon the breeze is flung: The desert pelican to- day Securely leaves her young. 47 18 HYMN OF NATURE. Reproving thankless man, who fears To journey on a few lone years, Where on the sand Thy step appears, Thy crown in sight is hung. Thou, who did'st sit on Jacob's well The weary hour of noon, The languid pulses Thou canst tell, The nerveless spirit tune. Thou from whose cross in anguish burst The cry that own'd thy dying thirst, To Thee we turn, our last and first, Our Sun and soothing Moon. From darkness here, and weariness, We ask not full repose, Only be Thou at hand to bless Our trial hour of woes; Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid By the clear rill and palmy shade? And see we not, up earth's dark glade, The gate of heaven unclose? HYMN OF NATURE. KEBLE. Gon of the earth's extended plains! The dark green fields contented lie; HYMN OF NATURE. The mountains rise like holy towers, Where man might commune with the sky The tall cliff challenges the storm That lowers upon the vale below, Where shaded fountains send their streams With joyous music in their flow. God of the dark and heavy deep! The waves lie sleeping on the sands, Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering bands Then the white sails are dashed in foam, Or hurry, trembling, J'er the seas, Till, calmed by Thee, the sinking gale, Serenely breathes, Depart in peace. . 19 God of the forest's solemn shade! The grandeur of the lonely tree, That wrestles singly with the gale, Lifts up admiring eyes to Thee. But more majestic far they stand, When, side by side, their ranks they form. To wave on high their plumes of grace, And fight their battles with the storm. God of the light and viewless air! When summer breezes sweetly flow, Or, gathering in their angry might, The fierce and angry tempests blow. 50 HYMN OF NATURE. All- from the evening's plaintive sigh, That hardly lifts the drooping flower, To the wild whirlwind's midnight cryBreathe forth the language of thy power. God of the fair and open sky! How gloriously above us springs, The tented dome of heavenly blue, Suspended on the rainbow's wings. Each brilliant star, that sparkles through, Each gilded cloud, that wanders free, In evening's purple radiance gives The beauty of its praise to Thee. God of the rolling orbs above! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, Were kindled at thy burning throne. God of the world! the hour must come, And Nature's self to dust return; Her crumbling altars must decay, Her incense fires shall cease to burn; But still her grand and lovely scenes Have made man's warmest praises flow; FAITH. For hearts grow holier as they trace The beauty of the world below. FAITH. 51 PEABODY. FAITH looks into the secret cabinet Of God's eternal counsels, and doth see, Such mysteries of glory there, as set Believing hearts on longing, till they be Transformed to the same image, and appear So altered, as if themselves were there. Faith can raise earth to heaven, or draw down Heaven to earth, make both extremes to meet Felicity and misery, can crown Reproach with honour, season sour with sweet. Nothing's impossible to faith: a man May do all things that he believes he can. THE SYNAGOGUE. PAUL AND SILAS AT PHILIPPI. HEAREST thou that solemn symphony, that swells And echoes through Philippi's gloomy cells? 52 PAUL AND SILAS AT PHILIPPI. From vault to vault the heavy notes rebound, And granite rocks reverberate the sound. The wretch, who long in dungeons cold and dank Had shook his fetters, that their iron clank Might break the grave- like silence of that prison, On which the star of hope had never risen; Then sunk in slumbers, by despair oppress'd, And dream'd of freedom in his broken rest: Wakes at the music of those mellow strains, Thinks it some spirit, and forgets his chains. ' Tis Paul and Silas; who, at midnight, pay To Him of Nazareth a grateful lay. Soon is that anthem wafted to the skies: An angel bears it, and a God replies. At that reply, a pale portentous light Plays through the air,-then leaves a gloomier night. The darkly tottering towers,-the trembling arch ,The rocking walls confess an earthquake's march ,The stars look dimly through the roof:-behold, From saffron dews and melting clouds of gold, Brightly uncurling on the dungeon's air, Freedom walks forth serene: from her loose hair, And every glistening feather of her wings, Perfumes that breath of more than earth she flings, TO THE WITCH HAZEL. And with a touch dissolves the prisoner's chains, Whose song had charmed her from celestial plains. 53 PIERPONT BENARES. TO THE WITCH HAZEL. MYSTERIOUS plant! whose golden tresses wave With a sad beauty in the dying year, Blooming amid November's frost severe, Like the pale corpse- light o'er the recent grave If shepherds tell us true, thy word hath power, With gracious influence, to avert the harm Of ominous planets, and the fatal charm Of spirits wandering at the midnight hour; And thou canst point where buried treasures lie. But yet to me thou art an emblem high Of patient virtue. to the Christian given, Unchang'd and bright, when all is dark beside; Our shield from wild temptations, and our guide To treasures for the just laid up in heaven. ANONYMOUS. CITY of idol- temples and of shrines Where folly kneels to falsehood- how the pride 51 BENARES. Of our humanity is here rebuked! Man that aspires to rule the very wind, And make the sea confess his majesty; Whose intellect can fill a little scroll With words that are immortal; who can build Cities, the mighty and the beautiful: Yet man, this glorious creature- can debase His spirit down, to worship wood and stone, And hold the very beasts which bear his yoke, And tremble at his eye, for sacred things. With what unutterable humility We should bow down, thou blessed Cross, to thee Seeing our vanity and foolishness, When to our own devices left, we frame A shameful creed of craft and cruelty. MISSIONS. LIGHT for the dreary vales Of ice- bound Labrador! L. E. L. Where the frost- king breathes on the slippery sails, And the mariner wakes no more; Lift high the lamp that never fails, To that dark and steril shore. Light for the forest child! An outcast though he be, MISSIONS. From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled, And the country of the free; Pour the hope of Heaven o'er his desert wild, For what home on earth has he Light for the hills of Greece! Light for that trampled clime, Where the rage of the spoiler refused to cease Ere it wrecked the boast of time; If the Moslem hath dealt the gift of peace, Can you grudge your boon sublime? Light on the Hindoo shed! On the maddening idol- train. The flame of the suttee is dire and red, And the Fakir faints with pain; And the dying moan on their cheerless bed, By the Ganges laved in vain. 55 Light for the Persian sky The Sophi's wisdom fades, And the pearls of Ormus are poor to buy Armour when Death invades; Hark! Hark-' tis the sainted Martyn's sigh From Ararat's mournful shades. Light for the Burman vales! For the islands of the sea 66 CONFIDENCE IN GOD. For the coast where the slave- ship fills its sails With sighs of agony; And her kidnapped babes the mother wails ' Neath the lone banana- tree! Light for the ancient race Exiled from Zion's rest! Homeless they roam from place to place Benighted and oppressed; They shudder at Sinai's fearful base; Guide them to Calvary's breast. Light for the darkened earth! Ye blessed, its beams who shed, Shrink not, till the day- spring hath its birth, Till, wherever the footstep of man doth tread, Salvation's banner, spread broadly forth, Shall gild the dream of the cradle- bed, And clear the tomb From its lingering gloom, For the aged to rest his weary head. SIGOURNEY. CONFIDENCE IN GOD. O YE whom, struggling on life's craggy road With obstacles and dangers, secret foes STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY GOING ABROAD. 57 Supplant, false friends betray, disastrous rage Of elements, of war, of civil broil, Brings down to Poverty's cold floor, while grief Preys on the heart, and dims the sinking eye; Faint not. There is, who rules the storm, whose hand Feeds the young ravens, nor permits blind shame To close one sparrow's flagging wing in death. Trust in the Rock of Ages. Now, even now He speaks, and all is calm. Or if, to prove Your inmost soul, the hurricane still spreads Its licensed ravages, He whispers hope, Earnest of comfort; and through blackest night Bias keen- eyed Faith on heaven's pure sunshine gaze, And learn the glories of her future home. GISBORNE. STANZAS. Addressed to a Lady going Abroad. AND wilt thou leave the sea- girt isle, The home of former times; And wander many a weary mile, In search of softer climes? ' Tis true its breezes oft are bleak, And mist bedims its strand; 5 58 STANZAS ADDRESSED TO A LADY GOING ABROAD. Yet, after all, the sooth to speak, It is thy native land! And other climes may fairer seem, While distance bids them rise; And hope may paint a pleasing dream Of clear and cloudless skies. But ah! though green their ev'ry tree! And bright their golden sand, They are not, and they ne'er can be Thine own, thy native land! And here are hearts, which fondly beat, And long shall beat for thee; And here are ties, which once were sweet, While thou wert fancy- free. And when the stranger's looks are cold, And clos'd his niggard hand, Thou'lt sigh,' tis not like days of old, ' Tis not my native land. And here thou mark'st the Sabbath- beli, Its solemn music send O'er hill and dale, the news to tell Of Christ the sinner's friend. No doubt thy Lord is ev'rywhere, And can his grace command; But if there be a land of pray'r, It is thy native land. DISTANT CHURCH BELLS. S Yet go, my Friend, if go thou wilt; And if the deed be wrong, Our cov'nant God forgive the guilt, And make the feeble strong. Farewell! If grief thy cup should fill, Or droop thy pilgrim band, A kindly home awaits thee still In this thy native land! DR HUIE. DISTANT CHURCH BELLS. UP steeps reclining in the autumnal calm, The woodland nook retired, and quiet field, Upon the tranquil noon The Sunday chime borne; Rising and sinking on the silent air, With many a dying fall most musical, And fitful bird hard by, Blending harmoniously. The sky is looking on the sunny earth, The fleecy clouds stand still in heav'n, Making the blue expanse More still and beautiful. 59 60 DISTANT CHURCH BELLS. If aught there be upon this rude, bad earth, Which angels, from their happy spheres above, Could lean and listen to, It were those peaceful sounds. There is unearthly balm upon the air, And holier lights which are with Sunday born, That man may lay aside Himself, and be at rest. The week- day cares like shackles from us fall, As from our Lord the clothings of the grave, And we, too, seem with Him To walk in endless morn. Not that these musical wings would bear us up On buoyant thoughts too high for sinful man, But that they speak the best Which earth hath left to give. Of better hopes, and prayer, and penitence, Rising in incense on the sacred air, From many a woodland spire, Or hill- embosom'd tower. The Cathedrai. 61 WINTER'S SOUND. HARK! o'er the forest bare comes Winter's sound! Howling, he casts around cold gloomy night, Staying the broad lake's course and flowing bound, While nature sleeps beneath his mantle white! And hark how loud each hollow gust of wind Salutes the dreary plains; and fast the snow Drifts through the bleak air, leaving not behind One soothing smile of summer's warmer glow. ' Tis Winter's sound! he binds his icy chain Around the herbs, and trees, and tender blade; Bounding he comes from the far frigid main, Where glacial mountains float' midst night's dark shade. Peaceful the leaf lies, once so young and bright, Or rustlings borne upon the breeze at morn; Yet the green ivy seeks the heaven's pure light, And twines its constant tendrils round the thorn. $ And here, though freezing dewdrops cling around, Here, in the field, we pass some flow'ret near, Peeping its small chaste head from snow- clad ground, Proclaiming spring's dawn will again appear. 62 And then we forward look to that return, When shrub, and tree, drest in their beauteous green, Shall call forth summer, and the hoar- garb spurn, That wraps from mortal eye earth's verdant sheen. SAMUEL PRAYING. O hark! vain man, to death's keen wintry sound, Waiting to waft thy trembling soul away; Fly, ere the billows rise, where mercy's found; Seek God in fervent prayer- no longer stay! Yet, hail life's winter! if that hour shall come And find thee watching, trusting in the Lord; Meet glorious summer, thine eternal home, With joy unbounded strike the silver chord. Songs for all Seasons. SAMUEL PRAYING. UPON his knees, with rev'rent air, The youthful prophet bends; While, from his parting lips, the pray'r To Israel's God ascends; His father's God, he loves to claim An int'rest in that hallow'd name. SAMUEL PRAYING. He prays that all his people's guilt May be, through grace, forgiv'n; And that the blood on altar spilt May make their peace with heav'n, Through One, who, from all else conceal'd, Is to his mental eye reveal'd. Yes, in the vista dark and dim Of slow revolving years, In human guise, a child like him, The Son of God appears; And dies on earth a death of pain, A sinless Lamb for sinners slain. ' Tis this which bids that youthful cheek With joy celestial glow; ' Tis this which makes each feature speak Of more than mortals know; And to the pictured semblance gives The air of one that breathes and lives. Pray on, fair boy; and at the sight Of that sweet form of thine, May our devotion wax more bright, Our fervour more divine! And each, in spirit pure and mild, Become, like thee, a little child! Univ.- Bibl. Giessen 63 ' DR HUI3. 64 SONG OF THE MAGI. Son of the Highest! we worship thee, Though clothed in the robe of humanity; Though mean thine attire, and low thine abode, We own thy presence incarnate God! We have left the land of our sires afar, ' Neath the blessed beams of thine own birthstar ,Our spicy groves, and our balmy bowers, Perfumed by the sweets of Amra flowers; Our seas of pearl, and palmy isles, Our crystal lakes, in which beauty smiles, Our silver streams, and our cloudless skies, And the radiant forms, and the starry eyes That lit up our earthly paradise! We have turned us away from the fragrant east, For the desert- sand and the arid waste.We have forded the torrent, and passed the flood, And the chilly mountain solitude, And the tiger's lair, and the lion's den, And the wilder haunts of more savage men;-- ' Till Thine advent- star its glories shed On the humble roof, and the lowly bed, That shelter, O Lord, thy blessed head! D THE SAILOR'S EVENING HYMN. Son of the Highest! we worship thee, Though thy glories are veiled in humanity! Though mean thine attire, and low thine abode, We hail thine advent, eternal God! VEDDER. THE SAILOR'S EVENING HYMN. LONG the sun hath gone to rest, Dimm'd is now the deepening west; And the sky hath lost the hue That the rich clouds o'er it threw; Lonely on the pale- blue sky Gleam faint streaks of crimson dye, Gloriously the evening star Looks upon us from afar; Aid us o'er the changeful deep, God of power; Bless the sailor's ocean- sleep At midnight's hour. 65 On the stilly twilight air We would breathe our solemn prayer ,Bless the dear ones of our home, Guide us through the wild wave's foain, To the light of those dear eyes, Where our heart's best treasure lies, 66 THE RISING MOON. To the love in one fond breast, That unchanging home of rest! Hear her when, at even- tide, She kneels to pray That God would bless, defend, and guide, Those far away! Now the moon hath touch'd the sea, And the waves, all tremblingly, Throw towards heaven their silvery spray, Happy in the gladdening ray; Thus, Redeemer, let thy love Shine upon us from above; Touch'd by Thee, our hearts will rise, Grateful towards the glowing skies; Guard us, shield us, mighty Lord, Thou dost not sleep; Still the tempest with thy word, Rule the deep! ANONYMOUS. THE RISING MOON. THE moon is up! How calm and slow She wheels above the hill! The weary winds forget to blow, And all the world lies still. THE RISING MOON. The way- worn travellers, with delight, The rising brightness see, Revealing all the paths and plains, And gilding every tree. It glistens where the hurrying stream Its little ripple heaves; It falls upon the forest shade, And sparkles on the leaves. So once, on Judah's evening hills, The heavenly lustre spread; The Gospel sounded from the blaze, And shepherds gazed with dread. And still that light upon the world Its guiding splendour throws; Bright in the opening hours of life, But brighter at the close. 67 The waning moon, in time, shall fail To walk the midnight skies; But God hath warmed this brighter light With fire that never dies. ANONYMOUS. 68 GOD. 0 ТHOU eternal One! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide; Unchang'd through time's all devastating flight; Thou only God! there is no God beside! Being above all Beings! Mighty One! Whom none can comprehend and none explore; Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone: Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er ,Being whom we call GoD- and know no more! In its sublime research, philosophy May measure out the ocean deep- may count The sands or the sun's rays- but, God! for Thee There is no weight nor measure:-none can mount Up to Thy mysteries; reason's brightest spark, Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark; And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity. Thou from primeval ncthingness didst call First chaos, then existence;-Lord, on Thee Eternity had its foundation:-all Sprung forth from Thee:-of light, joy, harmony, GOD. 69 Sole origin- all life,-all beauty thine. Thy word created all, and doth create: Thy splendour fills all space with rays divine. Thou art, and wert, and shalt be, glorious! great! Light- giving, life- sustaining Potentate. Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround: Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath! Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, And beautifully mingled life and death! As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee; And as the spangles in the sunny rays Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. A million torches lighted by Thy hand Wander unwearied through the blue abyss: They own Thy power, accomplish Thy conmand, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal lightA glorious company of golden streamsLamps of celestial ether, burning brightSuns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But Thou to these art as the moon to night. 70 GOD. Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in Thee is lost;What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee? And what am I, then? Heaven's unnumber'd host, Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance weighed Against Thy greatnesss is a cypher brought Against infinity! What am I then?-Nought! Nought! But the effluence of Thy light divine Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bosom too; Yes! in my spirit doth Thy Spirit shine, As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Nought! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly Eager towards Thy presence: for in Thee I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high, Even to the throne of Thy divinity. I am, O God! and surely Thou must be! Thou art! directing, guiding all.- Thou art! Direct my understanding then to Thee; Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart: Though but an atom' midst immensity, Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand! I hold a middle rank' twixt heaven and earth, GOD. 71 On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit- land! The chain of being is complete in me; In me is matter's last gradation lost, And the next step is spirit- deity! I can command the lightning, and am dust!, A monarch, and a slave! a worm, a god! Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously Constructed and conceiv'd! unknown? this clod Lives surely through some higher energy? For from itself alone it could not be! Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word Created me, Thou source of life and good! Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord! Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plentitude Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, Even to its source- to Thee- its Author there. O thoughts ineffable! O visions blest! Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breasts, And waft its homage to Thy Deity. 72 THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar; Thus seek Thy presence- Being wise and good ' Midst thy vast works, admire, obey, adore! And when the tongue is eloquent no more, The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. DERZHAVINA Russian gentleman born 1763. CHRISTIAN MARTYR. THE eyes of thousands glanced on him, as' mid the cirque he stood, Unheeding of the shout which broke from that vast multitude. The prison damps had paled his cheek; and on his lofty brow Corroding care had deeply traced the furrows of his plough. THE Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and raised to heaven his eye, For well that feeble old man knew they brought him forth to die! Yet joy was beaming in that eye,-while from his lips a prayer Passed up to heaven, and faith secured his peaceful dwelling there. THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. S 73 Then calmly on his foes he looked; and, as he gazed, a tear Stole o'er his cheeks- but' twas the birth of pity, not of fear. He knelt down on the gory land-- once more he look'd t'wards heaven, And to the Christian's God he prayed that they might be forgiven. But hark! another shout, o'er which the hungry lion's roar Is heard, like thunder,' mid the swell on wild tempestucus shore! And forth the Libyan savage bursts- rolls his red eyes around; Then on his helpless victim springs, and beats him to the ground. Short pause was left for hope or fear- the instinctive love of life One struggle made, but vainly made, in such unequal strife, Then with the scanty stream of life his jaws the savage dyed; While one by one the quivering limbs his bloody feast supplied. Rome's prince and senators partook the shouting crowd's delight; And beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that unhallowed sight. 6 74 ON A PICTURE OF JERUSALEM. But say what evil had he done? what sin of deepest hue? A blameless faith was all the crime that Christian martyr knew: And where his precious blood was spilt, even from that barren sand There sprung a stem, whose vigorous bough soon overspread the land: O'er distant isles its shadow fell; nor knew its roots decay, Even when the Roman Cæsar's throne and empire passed away. REV. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. ON A PICTURE OF JERUSALEM. JERUSALEM, and at that fatal hour ,No need of dull and frivolous question here, No need of human agents to make clearThe most tremendous act of human power, The distant cross, the rent and fallen tower, The op'ning graves, from which the dead appear, Their buried forms, the elemental fear, When horrid light, and horrid darkness lowr, All tell the holy tale,-the mystery And solace of our souls. Awe- struck we gaze HYMN OF PRAISE. 75 On this so mute, yet eloquent history; Awe- struck and sad at length our eyes we raise To go; yet oft return that scene to see, Too full of that great theme to think of praise. MISS MITFORD. HYMN OF PRAISE. SING to the Lord! let harp, and lute, and voice Up to the expanding gates of heaven rejoice, While the bright martyrs to their rest are borne; Sing to the Lord! their blood- stained course is run, And every head its diadem hath won, Rich as the purple of the coming morn: Sing the triumphant champions of their God, While burn their mounting feet along their skyward road. Sing to the Lord! for her in beauty's prime Snatched from the wintry earth's ungenial clime, In the eternal spring of Paradise to bloom; For her the world displayed its brightest treasure, And the air panted with the songs of pleasure; Before earth's throne she chose the lowly tomb 76 The vale of tears with willing footsteps trod, Bearing her cross with Thee, incarnate Son of God! HYMN OF PRAISE. Sing to he Lord! it is not shed in vain, The blood of martyrs! from its freshening rain High springs the church like some fount- shadowing palm; The nations crowd beneath its branching shade, Of its green leaves are kingly diadems made, And wrapt within its deep embosoming calm. Earth sinks to slumber like the breezeless deep, And war's tempestuous vultures fold their wings and sleep. Sing to the Lord! No more the angels fly Far in the bosom of the stainless sky The sound of fierce licentious sacrifice. From shrined alcove, and stately pedestal, The marble gods in cumbrous ruin fall, Headless in dust the awe of nations lies; Jove's thunder crumbles in his mouldering hand, And mute as sepulchres the hymnless temples stand. Sing to the Lord! From damp prophetic cave No more the loose- haired sibyls burst and rave, Nor the pale augurs watch the wandering bird! HYMN OF PRAISE. 77 No more on hill or in the murky wood, ' Mid frantic shout and dissonant music rude, In human tones are wailing victims heard; Nor fathers by the reeking altar- stone Cowl their dark heads t' escape their children's dying groan. Sing to the Lord! No more the dead are laid In cold despair beneath the cypress shade, To sleep the eternal sleep that knows no morn: There, eager still to burst death's brazen bands, The angel of the resurrection stands While, on its own immortal pinions borne, Following the breaker of the imprisoning tomb, Forth springs the exulting soul, and shakes away its gloom. Sing to the Lord! The desert rocks break out, And the thronged cities, in one gladdening shout, The farthest shores by pilgrim step explored; Spread all your wings, ye winds, and waft around, Even to the starry cope's pale waning bound, Earth's universal homage to the Lord; Lift up thine head, imperial Capitol, Proud on thy height to see the bannered cross unroll. Sing to the Lord! when time itself shall cease, And final ruin's desolating peace 78 SABBATH THOUGHTS. Enwrap this wide and restless world of man; When the Judge rides upon the enthroning wind, And o'er all generations of mankind Eternal justice waves its winnowing fan; To vast infinity's remotest space, While ages run their everlasting race, Shall all the beatific hosts prolong, Wide as the glory of the Lamb, the Lamb's triumphant song! MILMAN. SABBATH THOUGHTS. WELCOME thou peaceful dawn! O'er field and wooded lawn The wonted sound of busy toil is laid. And hark! the village bell! Whose simple tinklings swell, Sweet as soft music on the straw- roof'd shed, And bid the pious cottager prepare To keep the appointed rest, and seek the house of prayer. How goodly' tis to see The rustic family Duly along the church- way path repair: The mother trim and plain, Leading her ruddy train, SABBATH THOUGHTS. 79 The father pacing slow with modest air. With honest heart and humble guise they come, To serve Almighty God, and bear his blessing home. At home they gaily share Their sweet and simple fare, And thank the Giver of the festal board: Around the blazing hearth They sit in harmless mirth, Or turn with awe the volume of the Lord: Then full of heav'nly joy, retiring pay Their sacrifice of prayer to Him who bless'd the day. O sabbath- bell, thy voice Makes hearts like these rejoice; Not so the child of vanity and power. He the blessed pavement treads Perchance as custom bids, Perchance to gaze away a listless hour; Then crowns the bowl, or roams along the road, Nor hides his shame from men, nor heeds the eye of God. When the seventh morning's gleam Purpled the lonely stream, On its green bank of old the Christian bow'd. The hand adoring spread, And broke the mystic bread; 80 SABBATH THOUGHTS. 1 And, leagu'd in bonds of holy concord, vow'd From the cleans'd heart to wash each foul offence, nd give his days to peace and saintly innocence. In vain the Roman lord Way'd the relentless sword, And spread the terrors of the circling flame; In vain the heathen sought, If chance some lurking spot Might mar the lustre of the Christian name, Th' Eternal Spirit by his fruits confess'd, In life secur'd from stains, and steel'd in death the breast. O would his influence bless With faith and holiness, The laggart people of our favour'd isle! But if too deep and wide Heaven spread corruption's tide, O might he deign on me and mine to smile; So shall we ne'er with due devotion fail The consecrated day of solemn, rest to hail; So shall we still resort To Sion's hallow'd court, And lift the heart to Him that dwells above; Thence, home returning, muse On sweet and solemn views, Or fill the mind with acts of holy love; THE RESOLUTION OF RUTH. Then lay us down in peace to think we've given Another precious day to fit our souls for heaven. MANT. THE RESOLUTION OF RUTH. FAREWELL! O no! it may not be; My firm resolve is heard on high; I will not breathe farewell to thee, Save only in my dying sigh. I know not that I now could bear For ever from thy side to part, And live without a friend to share The treasured sadness of my heart. 81 I did not love in former years To leave thee solitary: now, When sorrow dims thine eyes with tears, And shades the beauty of thy brow, I'll share the trial and the pain, And strong the furnace fires must be To melt away the willing chain That binds a daughter's heart to thee. I will not boast a martyr's might To leave my home without a sighThe dwelling of my past delight, The shelter where I hoped to die. 82 THE RESOLUTION OF RUTH. In such a duty, such an hour, The weak are strong, the timid brave, For love puts on an angel's power, And faith grows mightier than the grave It was not so, ere he we loved, And vainly strove with Heaven to save, Heard the low call of death, and moved With holy calmness to the grave, Just at that brightest hour of youth, When life spread out before us lay And charmed us with its tones of truth, And colours radiant as the day, When morning's tears of joy were shed, Or nature's evening incense rose, We thought upon the grave with dread, And shuddered at its dark repose. But all is altered now: of death The morning echoes sweetly speak, And, like my loved one's dying breath, The evening breezes fan my cheek. For rays of heaven, serenely bright, I Have gilt the caverns of the tomb; And I can ponder, with delight, On all its gathering thoughts of gloom. Then, mother, let us haste away To that blessed land to Israel given, THE OPENING YEAR. Where faith, unsaddened by decay, Dwells nearest to its native heaven. We'll stand within the temple's bound, In courts by kings and prophets trod; We'll bless with tears the sacred ground, And there be earnest with our God. Where peace and praise for ever reign, And glorious anthems duly flow, Till seraphs learn to catch the strain Of heaven's devotions here below. But where thou goest I will go; With thine my earthly lot is cast; In pain and pleasure, joy and woe, Will I attend thee to the last. That hour shall find me by thy side; And where thy grave is, mine shall be; Death, and death only, can divide My firm and faithful heart from thee. Christian Examiner. THE OPENING YEAR. 83 How pleasant is the opening year! The clouds of winter melt away; The flowers in beauty re- appear; The songster carols from the spray. WHERE IS HE? Lengthens the more refulgent day; And bluer grows the arching sky; All things around us seem to say, Christian! direct thy thoughts on high! 84 In darkness, through the dreary length Of winter, slept both bud and bloom; But Nature now puts forth her strength, And starts renewed, as from the tomb; Behold an emblem of thy doom, O man! a star hath shone to saveAnd morning yet shall re- illume The midnight darkness of the grave? Yet ponder well how then shall break The dawn of second life on theeShalt thou to hope, to bliss awake? Or vainly strive God's wrath to flee? Then shall pass forth the dread decree, That makes or weal or woe thine own; Up and to work! Eternity Must reap the harvest Time has sown! D. M. MOIR. WHERE IS HE? AND where is he? Not by the side Of her whose wants he loved to tend; WHERE IS HE? Not o'er those valleys wandering wide, Where sweetly lost, he oft would wend! That form beloved he marks no more; Those scenes admired no more shall see;Those scenes are lovely as before, And she as fair,-but where is he? No, no, the radiance is not dim That used to gild his favourite hill; The pleasures that were dear to him, Are dear to life and nature still: But ah! his home is not so fair, Neglected must his garden be, The lilies droop and wither there, And seem to whisper, where is he? 85 His was the pomp, the crowded hall! But where is now the proud display? His riches, honours, pleasures, all Desire could frame; but where are they? And he, as some tall rock that stands Protected by the circling sea, Surrounded by admiring bands, Seemed proudly strong, and where is he? The church- yard bears an added stone, The fire- side shews a vacant chair; There sadness dwells and weeps alone, And death displays his banner there: 86 THE FALLING LEAF. The life has gone, the breath has fled, And what has been no more shall be; The well- known form, the welcome tread, Oh! where are they, and where is he? NEELE. THE FALLING LEAF. As the light leaf, whose fall to ruin bears Some trembling insect's little world of cares, Descends in silence, while around waves on The mighty forest, reckless what is gone! Such is man's doom- and ere an hour be flown, Reflect, thou trifler, such may be thine own! MRS HEMANS. GIDEON'S WAR SONG. OH! Israel, thy hills are resounding, The cheeks of thy warriors are pale; For the trumpets of Midian are sounding, His legions are closing their mail, His battle- steeds prancing and bounding, His veterans whetting their steel! His standard, in haughtiness streaming, Above his encampment appears; GIDEON'S WAR SONG. An ominous radiance is gleaming Around from his forest of spears: The eyes of our maidens are beaming ,But, ah! they are beaming through tears. 87 Our matron survivors are weeping, Their sucklings a prey to the sword; The blood of our martyr's is steeping The fanes where their fathers adored; The foe and the alien are reaping Fields,-vineyards,-the gift of the Lord! Our country! shall Midian enslave her, With the blood of the brave in our veins? Shall we crouch to the tyrant for ever, Whilst manhood,-existence remains? Shall we fawn on the despot? O never! Like freemen unrivet your chains! Like locusts our foes are before us, Encamp'd in the valley below;-- The sabre must freedom restore us, The spear, and the shaft, and the bow;The banners of Heaven wave o'er us ,Rush rush like a flood on the foe! VEDDER. 83 A COTTAGE SCENE. I SAW a cradle at a cottage- door, Where the fair mother, with her cheerful weel, Caroll'd so sweet a song, that the young bird Which, timid, near the threshold sought for seed, Paus'd on his lifted foot, and rais'd his head As if to listen. The rejoicing bees Nestled in throngs amid the woodbine cups That o'er the lattice cluster'd. A clear stream Came leaping from its silvan height, and pour'd Music upon the pebbles; and the winds, Which gently' mid the vernal branches play'd Their idle freaks, brought show'ring blossoms down, Surfeiting earth with sweetness. Sad I came From weary commerce with the heartless world; But, when I felt upon my wither'd cheek My mother Nature's breath, and heard the tramp Of those gay insects at their honied toil, Shining like winged jewellery, and drank The healthful odour of the flow'ring trees And bright- eyed violets,-but, most of all, When I beheld mild slumb'ring innocence, And on that young maternal brow the smile Of those affections which do purify And renovate the soul- I turn'd me back JACOB'S DREAM. 89 In gladness, and with added strength, to run My weary race, lifting a thankful prayer To Him who shew'd me some bright tint of heaven Here on the earth, that I might safer walk, And firmer combat sin, and surer rise From earth to heaven. SIGOURNEY. JACOB'S DREAM. THE sun was sinking on the mountain zone That guards thy vale of beauty, Palestine! And lovely from the desert rose the moon, Yet lingering on the horizon's purple line, Like a pure spirit o'er its earthly shrine. Up Padan- aram's height abrupt and bare A pilgrim toil'd, and oft on day's decline Look'd pale, then paus'd for eve's delicious air: The summit gain'd, he knelt, and breath'd his evening prayer. He spread his cloak and slumber'd- darkness fell Upon the twilight hills; a sudden sound Of silver trumpets o'er him seem'd to swell Clouds heavy with the tempest gather'd round; Yet was the whirlwind in its caverns bound; 7 JACOB'S DREAM. Still deeper roll'd the darkness from on high, Gigantic volume upon volume wound; Above, a pillar shooting to the sky; Below, a mighty sea that spread incessantly. 90 Voices are heard- a choir of golden strings, Low winds, whose breath is loaded with the rose: Then chariot- wheels- the nearer rush of wings; Pale light'ning round the dark pavilion glows. It thunders- the resplendent gates unclose Far as the eye can glance; on height o'er height Rise fiery waving wings, and star- crown'd brows, Millions on millions, brighter and more bright, Till all is lost in one supreme unmingled light. But two beside the sleeping pilgrim stand, Like cherub- kings, with lifted mighty plume, Fix'd sun- bright eyes, and looks of high command; They tell the patriarch of his glorious doom; Father of countless myriads that shall come, Sweeping the land like billows of the sea, Bright as the stars of heaven from twilight's gloom, Till he is given, whose angels long to see, And Israel's splendid line is crown'd with Deity CROLY. 91 OH! IS THERE NO SUNNY ISLE? On! is there no sunny isle, In seas so bright and fair, Where the storms come not, and the green- shores smile Undashed by waves of care? No summit so near the skies, Where weary feet may flee, Where sorrow's dark deluge can ne'er rise? Oh, no! it cannot be! Yet an Ark is on the tide, For anxious bosoms given; And the flood that whelms each refuge beside But lifts it nearer heaven. It waits, of an Eden rare The eternal hills to see; But may it be wrecked ere it enter there? Ah, no, it cannot be! The hues of the faithful bow Shall fade unmourned away; For the tints in that pure sky shall glow More bright and warm than they. From that shore no tear shall fall Into the crystal sea, Not even the holiest tear of allAh, no! it cannot be! WARING. 92 THE WILD WALL- FLOWER. WHAT various turns of chance and fate This mouldering pile has known; What rude magnificence and state Within its halls were shewn, When" crowds of knights" and ladies gay, " In weeds of peace" kept holiday. These walls where now, with softening grace, The ivy- wreath is flung, With trophies once of war and chase Were thick and proudly hung; But helmet, spear, and horn, are gone T'augment the dust we tread upon. Full oft this cell in weary thrall Hath lonely captive held, And these proud towers the whizzing ball Like granite rock repelled; But ah! they fall and crumble now Beneath a stronger, mightier foe. Time, time his withering hand hath laid On battlement and tower, And where rich banners were displayed, Now only waves a flower; List, and' twill fitting comment read On revel gay and martial deed. THE WILD WALL- FLOWER. Mute is the warden's challenge, mute The warrior's hasty tread, And tuneless is the lady's lute, For she is with the dead; And but a flower now mourns the doom Of prostrate strength and faded bloom. Read, stranger, in this ruin's fate An emblem true of life; Conflicting passions, love, and hate, Joy, sorrow, fear, and strife, Combine, alas! in one dark plan To storm the citadel of man! And should they fail, a foe is near, Who ne'er defeat hath known; Time ever follows in the rear, He wills, the work is done; For where's the beauty, strength, or pride, Have e'er his withering touch defied? Wear'st thou to- day the wreath of fame? O heed it, heed it not; A few brief years, thy place and name May be alike forgot, And but a lowly flow'ret wave Upon thy unremembered grave. Here ends the semblance,-never more This ruined pile shall rise: 93 94 VAIN CURIOSITY. But man a seraph blest shall soar When what is mortal dies, If, while earth's changing paths he trod, His heart and hopes were fixed on God! / Moral of Flowers. VAIN CURIOSITY. Ir is an evil incident to man, And of the worst that, unexplored, he leaves Truths useful and attainable with ease, To search forbidden deeps, where mystery lies Not to be solved, and useless if it might. Mysteries are food for angels; they digest With ease, and find them nutriment; but man, While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean His manna from the ground, or starve and die. CowPER. TO A FAMILY BIBLE. WHAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine, Cling reverently!-Of anxious looks beguiled, My mother's eyes upon thy page divine Were daily bent; her accents gravely mild, PRAYER FOR THE DIVINE GUIDANCE. 95 Breath'd out thy love;-whilst I, a dreamy child, On breeze- like fancies wander'd oft away, To some lone tuft of gleaming spring- flowers wild, Some fresh- discover'd nook for woodland play, Some secret nest; yet would the solemn word, At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard, Fall on my waken'd spirit, there to be A seed not lost; for which, in darker years, O Book of Heaven! pour, with grateful tears, Heart- blessings on the holy dead, and thee! MRS HEMANS. PRAYER FOR THE DIVINE GUIDANCE THE prayers I make will then be sweet indeed, If Thou the Spirit give by which I pray; My unassisted heart is barren clay, That of its native self can nothing feed: Of good and pious works thou art the seed That quickens only where thou say'st it may: Unless thou shew to us thine own true way No man can find it: Father! thou must lead. Do thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in thy holy footsteps I may tread; The fetters of my tongue do thou unbind, 96 THE MYRTLE. That I may have the power to sing of thee, And sound thy praises everlastingly. WORDSWORTH. THE MYRTLE. DARK- GREEN, and gemm'd with flowers of snow, With close uncrowded branches spread, Not proudly high nor meanly low, A graceful myrtle rais'd its head. Its mantle of unwithering leaf Seem'd, in my contemplative mood, Like silent joy or patient grief ,The symbol of pure quietude. Still life, methought, is thine, fair tree! Then plucked a sprig; and, while I mused, With dle hands, unconsciously, The delicate small foliage bruised. Odours, by my rude touch set free, Escaped from all their secret cells; Quick life, I cried, is thine, fair tree! In thee a soul of fragrance dwells ,Which outrage, wrongs, nor death destroy! These wake its sweetness from repose THE MARTYRDOM OF CRANMER. Ah! could I thus heaven's gifts employ, Worth seen, worth hidden, thus disclose! In health with unpretending grace, In wealth with meekness and with fear, Through every season wear one face, And be in truth what I appear! Then should affliction's chastening rod Bruise my frail frame, or break my heart, Life, a sweet sacrifice to God, Outbreathed like incense, would depart. The Captain of salvation thus, When as a lamb to slaughter led, Was, by the Father's will, for us Himself through suffering perfected. 97 J. MONTGOMERY. THE MARTYRDOM OF CRANMER. Lo gathering round a dungeon door, Appear the soldier's plume and lance; And restless crowds around it pour, With eager step and wrathful glanceUpon their cheeks the bigot's smile--The bondslaves dark of priestly guile. 98 THE MARTYRDOM OF CRANMER. And now the dungeon's portals ope, Now from its archway deep and dim, Gleam silver cross and broidered cope, And solemn swells the priestly hymn; Beneath the torch's ruddy glare, Are mitred brows and tonsures bare. But who comes forth? His step is slow, His eye is bent upon the ground, And when are heard the sighs of woe, He looks as if he heard the sound ,As if no other soul were there ,With wan lips moving still in prayer ,No longer stoops that captive's brow, His form erect in majesty, His pale cheek lighted with the glow Of one who sees deliverance nigh ,The entrance to the promised rest, The welcome' mong the Saviour's blest. The pile is lit- the flames ascend;Yet peace is in the martyr's face; And unseen visitants attend That chief of England's priestly race:Mightier in peril's darkest hour, Than when enthroned in rank and power. Stedfast he stood in that fierce flame, As standing in his own high hall; THE GOOD MISSIONARY. He said, as sadness o'er him came, Remembrance of his mournful fallStretching it to the burning brand, " First perish this unworthy hand!" 99 Thy foul and cruel deed, O Rome! Is vain; that blazing funeral pyre Where Cranmer died, shall soon become To England as a beacon- fire;--And he hath left a glorious name, Victorious over gore and flame. ANDREW R. BONAR. THE GOOD MISSIONARY. HE left his Christian friends and native strand, By pity for benighted men constrain'd; His heart was fraught with charity unfeign'd; His life was strict, his manners meek and bland: Long dwelt he lonely in a heathen land, In want and weariness- yet ne'er complain'd! But labour'd that the lost sheep might be gain'd, Not seeking recompense from human hand The credit of the arduous works he wrought Was reap'd by other men who came behind: The world gave him no honour- none he sought But cherish'd Christ's example in his mind: 100 REST IN THE GRAVE. To one great aim his heart and hopes were givenTo serve his God, and gather souls to heaven.. PRINGLE. REST IN THE GRAVE. REST in the grave! The body there Shall sleep from all its woes; But will th' immortal spirit share Its long, its last repose? Ah! no. Though silent and alone The mortal part may lie, The deathless principle lives on, The soul shall never die. Oh! then, how vain our fond concern To deck this earthy frame, While careless that great work to learn For which the Saviour came! How weak to spend our wealth and time On what the worms consume, Regardless of that spark sublime Which soars beyond the tomb! Frail man, fool man, bethink thee well While yet thy moments flow, CONSOLATION. That thy ne'er dying soul shall dwell In changeless weal or woe! Bethink thee well, how brief the space For sin or folly here, If ceaseless torments must efface The pleasures once so dear A thousand roads, in world like this, To hopeless ruin run; Yet there's a way to endless bliss, Though, mark! there is but one. ' Tis strait;' tis rough; with Jesus' blood ' Tis thickly sprinkled o'er; But there the flow'rs begin to bud, Which bloom for evermore. CONSOLATION. 101 DR HULE. PILGRIM burthen'd with thy sin Come the way to Zion's gate, There, till mercy lets thee in, Knock and weep, and watch and wait. Knock!-He knows the sinner's cry; Weep- He loves the mourner's tears: Watch- for saving grace is nigh: Wait- till heavenly light appears. 102 THE CLOUD. Hark! it is the bridegroom's voice: Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest; Now within the gate rejoice, Safe, and seal'd, and bought, and blest. Safe from all the lures of vice, Seal'd- by signs the chosen know, Bought by love, and life the price, Blest the mighty debt to owe. Holy pilgrim! what for thee, In a world like this remain? From thy guarded breast shall flee, Fear, and shame, and doubt, and pain. Fear the hope of heaven shall fly, Shame- from glory's view retire, Doubt- in certain rapture die, Pain- in endless bliss expire. THE CLOUD. CRABBE. A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had I watched the glory moving on, O'er the still radiance of the lake below: Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow, E'en in its very motion there was rest, EARLY PIETY. While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, While to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. EARLY PIETY. 103 WILSON, BY cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose! By cool Siloam's shady rill, The lily must decay, Lo! such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God! The rose that blooms beneath the hill Must shortly fade away. 104 HYMN FOR CHILDREN. And soon, too soon, the wintry hour Of man's maturer age, Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, And stormy passions rage! O Thou, whose infant feet were found Within thy Father's shrine! Whose years with changeless virtue crown'd Were all alike divine. Dependent on Thy bounteous breath, We seek Thy grace alone, In childhood, manhood, age, and death, To keep us stili thine own. HEBER. HYMN FOR CHILDREN. JESUS, our gentle Shepherd, see These tender lambs of Zion's fold; Lo! we are come to follow thee; Gather and guard us as of old: While through the desert world we stray, Preserve us in the narrow way. Where Thy refreshing pastures grow, Where all Thy chosen flock is fed, HYMN FOR CHILDREN. Where living waters gently flow, There may our wandering feet be led: Direct us towards the heavenly hill, And bear us in Thy bosom still. Much do we need Thy watchful care, Through every day and every hour; For life is set with many a snare, And Satan wanders to devour: But we are safe from all alarms, Within our heavenly Shepherd's arms. 105 Here in the Gospel we are told What great compassion was in Thee, When mothers brought their babes of old ,Poor helpless children, such as we;E'en to thy tender bosom broughtAnd Thou didst say-" Forbid them not And thus encouraged by Thy grace, To those still open arms we fly! And though we cannot see Thy face, Yet Thou canst bless us from on high: For still Thy gracious word, we see. Says Suffer them to come to me." JANE TAYLOR 106 TO A NIGHTINGALE. SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hours Of winters past, or coming, void of care, Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling flow'rs; To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bow'rs, Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare; And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, A stain to human sense in sin that low'rs. What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs ( Attir'd in sweetness), sweetly is not driven Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind dost raise To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. DRUMMOND. THOUGHTS ON SICKNESS. WHAT though my harp and viol be Both hung upon the willow- tree? What though my bed be now my grave, And for my house I darkness have? LIMITS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 107 What though my healthful days are fled, And I lie number'd with the dead? Yet I have hope, by God's great power, To spring- though now a wither'd flower. HERRICK, LIMITS OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. To rip up God's great counsels who shall strive, Or search how far his hidden works extend? Into the treasures of nis wonders dive, Or think his majesty to comprehend? These things are granted unto none alive, For how can such as know not their own end, Nor can of their beginning reason shew, Presume his power and might unspeakable to know? If of thyself thou canst no reason shew, By all the understanding thou canst claim How in the womb thou first began'st to grow, Or how thy life into thy body cameYet all these things to be we see and know, They lie before us-- and we give them name: But, if we cannot shew the reason why, How can we search the mysteries of the Most High? 108 ADORATION. Number we may as well the things to come, Gather the scatter'd drops of the last rain, The sands that are upon the shores to sum, Or make the wither'd flowers grow fresh again; Give the mole eyes, or speech unto the dumb, Or with small vessels th' ocean strive to drain, Tell all the glorious stars that shine by night, Or make a sound or voice apparent to the sight. HAYWOOD. ADORATION. DWELLER in heaven high, Ruler below! Fain would I know thee, yet tremble to know! How can a mortal deem, how may it be, That being can ne'er be but present with thee? Is it true that thou saw'st me ere I saw the morn? Is it true that thou knew'st me before I was born? That nature must live in the light of thine eye? This knowledge for me is too great and too high. That, fly I to noon- day, or fly I to night, To shroud me in darkness, or bathe me in light, The light and the darkness to thee are the same, And still in thy presence of wonder I am! LOVE TO CHRIST AND TO MANKIND. 109 Should I with the dove to the desert repair, Or dwell with the eagle in clough of the air In the desert afar- on the mountain's wild brink From the eye of Omnipotence still must I shrink? Or mount I, on wings of the morning, away To caves of the ocean, unseen by the day, And hide in those uttermost parts of the sea, Even there to be living and moving in Thee! Nay, scale I the cloud in the heavens to dwell; Or make I my bed in the shadows of hell, Can science expound, or humanity frame, That still Thou art present, and all are the same? Yes, present for ever! Almighty! Alone! Great Spirit of nature: unbounded! unknown! What mind can embody Thy presence divine? I know not my own being! how can I Thine? Then humbly and low in the dust let me bend, And adore what on earth I can ne'er comprehend: The mountains may melt, and the elements flee, Yet a universe still be rejoicing in Thee! HOGG₁ LOVE TO CHRIST AND TO MANKIND. HIM first to love great right and reason is, Who first to us our life and being gave, 110 SABBATH MORNING. And often when we fared had amiss, Us wretches from the second death did save; And last, the food of life, which now we have, Even he himself, in his dear sacrament, To feed our hungry souls, unto us lent. Then next, to love our brethren, that were made Of that self mould, and that self Maker's hand That we, and to the same again shall fade, Where they shall have like heritage of land, However here on higher steps we stand, Which also were with self- same price redeemed That we, however of us light esteemed. And were they not, yet sith that loving Lord Commanded us to love them for his sake, Even for his sake, and for his sacred word, Which in his last bequest he to us spake, We should them love, and with their needs partake, Knowing that whatsoe'er to them we give, We give to him by whom we all do live. SPENSER. SABBATH MORNING. THE Sabbath morn Is sweet all sound, save nature's voice, is still: Mute shepherd's song- pipe, mute the harvest horn: TO THE MEMORY OF A LADY. 111 A holier tongue is given to brook and rill: Old men climb silently their cottage- hill, There ruminate and look sublime abroad Shake from their feet, as thought on thought comes still, The dust of life's long dark and dreary road, And rise from this gross earth, and give the day to God. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. TO THE MEMORY OF A LADY. WHEN faith and love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this early load Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endea- vour, Stay'd not behind, nor in the grave were trod; But as faith pointed with her golden rod, Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever! Love led them on, and faith, who knew them best, Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams, 112 JERUSALEM. And azure wings, that up they flew so dressed, And spake the truth of thee in glorious themes Before the Judge, who thenceforth bid thee rest And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. MILTON. JERUSALEM. JERUSALEM, that place divine, The vision of sweet peace is nam'd, In heaven her glorious turrets shine, Her walls of living stones are fram'd, While angels guard her on each side, Fit company for such a bride. She, deck'd in new attire, from heaven Her wedding chamber now descends, Prepar'd in marriage to be given To Christ, on whom her joy depends: Her walls, wherewith she is inclos'd. And streets, are of pure gold compos'd. The gates adorn'd with pearls most bright. The way to hidden glory shew, And thither, by the blessed might Of faith in Jesus' merits, go All these who are on earth distress'd, Because they have Christ's name profess'd. NATURE. These stones the workmen dress and beat Before they throughly polish'd are, Then each is in his proper seat Establish'd by the Builder's care; In this fair fane to stand for ever, So join'd that them no force can sever. To God who sits in highest seat Glory and power given be, To Father, Son, and Paraclete, Who reign in equal dignity; 113 Whose boundless power we still adore. And sing their praise for evermore. DRUMMOND. NATURE. How sweet at summer's noon, to sit and muse Beneath the shadow of some ancient elm! While at my feet the mazy streamlet flows In tuneful lapse, laving the flowers that bend To kiss its tide; while sport the finny throng On the smooth surface of the crystal depth In silvery circles, or in shallows leap, That sparkle to the sunbeam's trembling glare, Around the tiny jets, where humid bells Break as they form, the water- spiders weave 114 NATURE. Brisk on the eddying pools, their ceaseless dance. The wild bee winds her horn, lost in the cups Of honied flowers, or sweeps with ample curve; While o'er the summer's lap is heard the hum Of countless insects sporting on the wing, Inviting sleep. And from the leafy woods One various song of bursting joy ascends, While Echo wafts the notes from grove to hill; From hill to grove the grateful concert spreads, As borne on fluttering plumes, encircling make The happy birds flit through the balmy air, Where plays the gossamer; and, as they felt The general joy, bright exhalations dance; And shepherd's pipe, and song of blooming maid, Quick as she turns the odour- breathing swathes Of new- mown hay, and children playing round The ivy- cluster'd cot, and low of herds, And bleat of lambs, that crop the verdant sward With daisies spread, while smiles the heaven serene, All wake to ecstasy, or melt to love, And to the source of goodness raise the soul ,Raise it to him, exhaustless Source of bliss! That like the sun, best emblem of Himself, For ever flowing, yet for ever full, Diffuses life and happiness to all. REV. W. GILLESPIE. 115 ELEGIAC STANZAS. FAREWELL! if there can be farewell To what is graved on Memory's page; Thine image there undimmed shall dwell, And highest, holiest thoughts engage; When in the calm of solitude, I think how pure mere man might be, How meekly great, how truly good, My spirit turns to thee! Thine was the tongue that spake no ill; Thine was the judgment ever kind, That for the erring, lingered still Benevolent excuse to find; Pure in thyself,' twas thine to think That others- all mankind were such, Alive to feel, and quick to shrink From sin's polluting touch. Yes!' twas no idle, vain pretence, No frothwork of a feeble mind, For thine was learning's excellence, With strong and manly sense combined: The glories of the ancient day Illumed thy steps with classic light, The patriot's deed and poet's lay Bequeath'd thee sweet delight. 116 RESIGNATION. And thine was Duty's loftiest sense, And thine that calm, high, Christian faith, Which warm'd thee to benevolence, And soothed the thorny bed of death; So God hath call'd thee back again, Back to thy birthright in the sky, Who ne'er gave cause of grief to men, Save when' twas thine to die! D. M. MOIR. RESIGNATION. BUT who shall scan the future? as we pace Along life's chequered route, we feel, we see, On this world's surface, grief's abiding place, All that there is of bliss or misery, In our brief passage, jocund though we be, Time soon may drug with pain our draught of joy: Dark is the prospect of futurity, And who shall tell what crosses may annoy; What cares in comfort's spring may mix their foul alloy! No one can know to what his days may tend, Whether or smooth or rough his course shall run, Or how this mortal pilgrimage may end, So darkly is the web of being spun. RESIGNATION. 117 But God's decrees are wise; and if our sun of happiness grow dim, still wherefore fear? That light which only in this world begun, Will brighter shine in an eternal sphere, Where bliss shall glad the more, the less our pleasure here. Here oft, while joy's fresh flower is full in bloom, Misfortune's sickle sweeps it to the dust; Woesprings to vigorous growth on pleasure's tomb And gives her awful lesson of distrust. Though peace may reign a while, th' insidious rust Of latent sorrow oft will mar its ray; But wisdom knows, in all her knowledge just, This world's the transient temple of decay, Here wretchedness and mirth must wear alike away. Where now are Troy and mightier Babylon? On their proud site the earth is wild and bare, O'er them stern time has a full victory won, And they are mingled with the things that were. Thus works Destruction; from his secret lair He skulks abroad, to mar what man has made, Decay, slow mining, meets us everywhere; Earth's pageantries are fugitive-- here fade All things alike-- the debts of nature must be paid Shall we then pine and fret, because our lot Is not a blest one here, when sin, hell born, 118 THE OLIVE- TREE. O'er our fair destiny has cast her blot, And to the rose of bliss attached a thorn? Nay, sinner, never tax thy God with scorn Of his own works; if ills on earth assail, ' Tis thy guilt's penalty; when thou art torn By that fierce vulture, Conscience- pause, and hail The chastening, and let virtue over vice prevail. It was a wise decree, that man should bear Affliction's burthen in this vale of tears: Were all enjoyment, without grief or care, How would he pass the current of his years? Seduced by pleasure, palled by vice's cheers, Prurient desires would taint his easy heart. Alas! what were our hopes without our fears! There is a mercy in affliction's smartIt heals those wounds of sin which mock all human art. REV. H. CAUNTER. THE OLIVE- TREE. THE Palm- the Vine- the Cedar- each hath power To bid fair Oriental shapes glance by, And each quick glistening of the Laurel bower Wafts Grecian images o'er Fancy's eye THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 119 But thou, pale Olive! in thy branches lie Far deeper spells than prophet grave of old Might e'er enshrine;-I could not hear thee sigh To the wind's faintest whisper, nor behold One shiver of thy leaves' dim silvery green, Without high thoughts and solemn of that scene, When in the garden the Redeemer prayed: When pale stars looked upon his fainting head, And angels, ministering in silent dread, Trembled, perchance, within thy trembling shade. MRS HEMANS. THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. FRESHLY the cool breath of the coming eve Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain Since the hot noon- tide in a breathless trance Her thin pale fingers clasped within the hand Of the heart- broken ruler, and her breast, Like the dead marble, white and motionless. The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips, And as it stirred with the awakening wind The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes, And her slight fingers moved, and heavily She turned upon her pillow. He was thereThe same loved, tireless watcher, and she looked 120 THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. Into his face until her sight grew dim With the fast filling tears, and, with a sigh Of tremulous weakness murmuring in his name, She gently drew his hand upon her lips, And kissed it as she wept. The old man sank Upon his knees, and in the drapery Of the rich curtains buried up his face ,And when the twilight fell, the silken folds Stirred with his prayer, but the slight hand he held Had ceased its pressure, and he could not hear In the dead utter silence, that a breath Came through her nostrils, and her temples gave To his nice touch no pulse, and at her mouth He held the lightest curl that on her neck Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze Ached with its deadly stillness. *** The same silvery light That shone upon the lone rock by the sea, Slept on the Ruler's lofty capitals, As at that door he stood, and welcomed in Jesus and his disciples. All was still. The echoing vestibule gave back the slide Of their loose sandals, and the arrowy beam Of moonlight slanting to the marble floor Lay like a spell of silence in the rooms As Jairus led them on. With hushing steps He trod the winding stair; but ere he touched The latch, there came a whisper from within, THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. 121 " Trouble the Master not- for she is dead."And his faint hand fell nerveless at his side, And his steps faltered, and his broken voice Choked in its utterance- but a gentle hand Was laid upon his own, and in his ear The Saviour's voice sank thrillingly and low, " She is not dead, but sleepeth." They passed in.***** * * * Like a form Of matchless sculpture in her sleep she layThe linen vesture folded on her breast, And over it her white transparent hands, The blood still rosy in her tapering nails. A line of pearl ran through her parted lips, And in her nostrils, spiritually thin, The breathing curve was mockingly like life And round beneath the faintly tinted skin, , Ran the light branches of the azure veinsAnd on her cheek the jet lash overlay, Matching the arches penciled on her brow. Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose Upon her pillow, hid her small round ears In curls of glossy blackness, and about Her polish'd neck, scarce touching it, they hung Like airy shadows floating as they slept. ' Twas heavenly beautiful. The Saviour raised Her hand from off her bosom, and spread out The snowy fingers in his palm, and said, 66 Maiden! arise!"- and suddenly a flush 9 122 THE RUINED VILLAGE CHURCH. Shot o'er her forehead, and along her lips And through her cheek the rallied colour ran, And the still outline of her graceful form Stirred in the linen vesture, and she clasped The Saviour's hand, and fixing her dark eyes Full on his beaming countenance- arose. WILLIS. THE RUINED VILLAGE CHURCH. BEHOLD! the roofless Village Church With tower and turrets riven; This is the house of God no more, No more the gate of Heaven! Its altars fallen, in ruins lie, Its walls grow to decay; Its very burial mounds are gone, Its monuments away! Dread Time! how mighty is thy strength, Thy power what can outbrave! When thus we mark thy ravages On the enduring grave! What time the Sabbath morn comes round, The week's sad toilings o'er, We see the train of villagers Assemble here no more! THE RUINED VILLAGE CHURCH. The voice of psalms and joyfulness, Of prayer- when hearts did bowThe worship, and the worshippers, Alas! where are they now? Lo! in the dark and silent tomb, The voiceless throng is there; None weeps for them, none weeps for thee, Thou lonely house of prayer! But could those prison doors of death Be opened unto day, Where sleep the countless multitudes Of ages passed away: Then would a numerous band come forth And claim a kindred here, And mourn to see thy mouldering walls, That naked thus appear. 123 The hollow winds sweep through the court, Where wild the nettle grows; And there the owl has found a home Where heavenly songs arose. Even now, methinks, I hear a strain Come from those aisles so dim; And thus the viewless choristers Chant forth their solemn hymn: 124 THE BIBLE. " Time's things they change! Time's sons they die, And time is on the wing, That shortly to a final close All earthly pomp shall bring!" The changes of a changing world, Behold them everywhere; Then, mortal, lift thy soul to heaven, Nor death nor change is there. THE BIBLE. GILFILLAN. THIS book, this holy book, on every line Marked with the seal of high divinity, On every leaf bedewed with drops of love Divine, and with the eternal heraldry, And signature of God Almighty stamped From first to last; this ray of sacred light, This lamp, from off the everlasting throne, Mercy brought down, and in the night of Time, Stands, casting on the dark her gracious bow, And evermore beseeching men with tears And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live. POLLOK. 125 THE COWSLIP. BOWING adorers of the gale, Ye cowslips delicately pale, Upraise your loaded stems: Unfold your cups of splendour, speak! Who deck'd you with that ruddy streak, And gilt your golden gems? Ye lovely flowers of lowly birth, Embroiderers of the carpet earth, That stud the velvet sod; Open to Spring's refreshing air, In sweetest smiling bloom declare Your Maker and your God. CLARE. MUTABILITY OF EARTHLY THINGS. WHAT exhibitions various hath the world Witness'd of mutability in all That we account most durable below! Change is the diet on which all subsist, Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. Skies uncertain, now the heat Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam 126 SAVAGE AND CHRISTIAN COURAGE. Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds ,Calm and alternate storm, moisture, and drought, Invigorate by turns the springs of life, In all that live, plant, animal, and man, And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, e'en in their coarsest works, Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force that agitates not unimpaired; But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause Of their best tone their dissolution owe. COWPER. SAVAGE AND CHRISTIAN COURAGE. ROUSED by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer, Old Outalissi woke his battle song, And, beating with his war- club cadence strong, Tells how his deep- strung indignation smarts, Of them that wrapt his house in flames, ere long To whet a dagger on their stony hearts, And smile avenged ere yet his eagle spirit parts. Calm, opposite the Christian father rose, Pale on its venerable brow its ray Of martyr- light the conflagration throws, One hand upon his lovely child he lays, And one the uncover'd crowd to silence sways; VIRTUE. While, though the battle- flash is faster driven ,Unawed, with eye unstartled by the blaze, He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven, Prays that the men of blood themselves may be forgiven. VIRTUE. 127 A CHARACTER. CAMPBELL. By thee inspired, 0 Virtue! age is young, And music warbles from the faltering tongue: Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow, And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow, Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes: But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams, Resistless on the view the glory streams, Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm, And beauty dazzles with angelic charm. BEATTIE. As thro' the hedge- row shade the violet steals, And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals; Her softer charms, but by their influence known, Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own. ROGERS. 128 FORGET THEE? " FORGET thee?"- If to dream by night, and muse on thee by day; If all the worship deep and wild a poet's heart can pay; If prayers in absence breathed for thee to heaven's protecting power; If winged thoughts that flit to thee- a thousand in an hour; If busy fancy blending thee with all my future lot ,If this thou call'st" forgetting," thou indeed shalt be forgot! 66 " Forget thee?"- Bid the forest birds forget their sweetest tune! Forget thee?"- Bid the sea forget to swell beneath the moon! Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve's refreshing dew! Thyself forget thine" own dear land," and its " mountains wild and blue;" Forget each old familiar face, each long remembered spot; When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot! THE PROUD RICH MAN. Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm and fancy free; For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me; Yet while that heart is still unwon, oh, bid not mine to rove, But let it muse in humble faith, and uncomplaining love; If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail me not, Forget me then;-but ne'er believe that thou canst be forgot! 129 MOULTINE. THE PROUD RICH MAN. Room for the proud! ye sons of clay, From far his sweeping pomp survey, Nor, rashly curious, clog the way His chariot wheels before. Lo! with what scorn his lofty eye Glances o'er age and poverty, And bids intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door. Room for the proud! but slow the feet That bear his coffin down the street, 130 THE MISSIONARY'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. And dismal seems his winding- sheet Who purple lately wore. Ah! where shall now his spirit fly, In naked trembling agony? Or how shall he for mercy cry, Who shew'd it not before? Room for the proud! in ghastly state The lords of hell his coming wait; And flinging wide the dreadful gate That shuts to ope no more. " Lo! here with us the seat," they cry, " For him who mock'd at poverty, And bade intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door." HEBER. THE MISSIONARY'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. QUEEN of the isles! where hope entwined Her silken chains my heart to bind, And youth delighted flew, No more my Lord permits my stay, But points to heathen worlds the way; I would his loved commands obey, And bid thy shores adieu! THE MISSIONARY'S FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 131 Sweet impress of the hand divine! A fairer, lovelier, land than thine Man seeks in vain below; There dawns that everlasting day, Whose rising beams' celestial ray The mists of sin shall chase away, And light on all bestow! But ah! thy glorious deeds of yore Must raise the patriot's glow no more, Or wake the poet's fire; The message of the Prince of grace, His love to man's apostate race, His saints' immortal dwelling- place, A nobler song inspire! Yet, prostrate at the mercy- seat, Oft shall my lips thy name repeat, Cherished with filial love; And even in death, the thought so dear, Shall lend my cheek a natural tear, Ere seeks my soul a happier sphere, A lasting rest above! Jesus! obedient to thy call, Behold me here resign my all, Thy messenger to be; Of earthly joy no more possessed, But with thy gracious presence blest, 132 SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION. Lord! I shall find my peace, my rest, My home, my heaven, in Thee. The Parting Gift. SANCTIFIED AFFLICTION. I WEEP, but not rebellious tearsI mourn, but not in hopeless woeI droop, but not with doubtful fearsFor whom I've trusted, Him I know. Lord, I believe, assuage my grief, And help, O help, my unbelief! My days of youth and health are o'er; My early friends are dead and gone; And there are times it tries me sore To think I'm left on earth alone. But yet, Faith whispers,' tis not soHe will not leave, nor let thee go! Blind eyes! fond heart! poor soul! that sought For lasting bliss in things of earth;Rememb'ring but with transient thought Thy heav'nly home, thy second birth ,Till God in mercy broke at last The bonds that held thee down so fast. DEPARTED YEARS. As link by link was rent away, My heart wept blood, so sharp the pain': But I have learnt to count this day That temporal loss, eternal gain; For all that once detained me here Now draws me to a holier sphere. A holier sphere! a happier place! Where I shall know as I am known ,And see my Saviour face to face ,And meet rejoicing round his throne, The faithful souls made perfect there From earthly stains and mortal care! MRS SOUTHEY, DEPARTED YEARS. 133 KNELL of departed years! Thy voice is sweet to me: It wakes no sad foreboding fears, Calls forth no sympathetic tears, Time's restless course to see; From hallowed ground I hear the sound Diffusing through the air a holy calm around Thou art the voice of love, To chide each doubt away; 134 DEPARTED YEARS. And as thy murmur faintly dies, Visions of past enjoyment rise In long and bright array, I hail the sign That love divine Will o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine. Thou art the voice of hope! The music of the spheres! A song of blessings yet to come, A herald from my future home, My soul delighted hears: By sin deceived, By nature grieved, Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed. Thou art the voice of life: A sound which seems to say, O prisoner in this gloomy vale, Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart shall fail: But fairer scenes thy spirit hail That cannot pass away: Here grief and pain Thy steps detain, There in the image of the Lord shalt thou with Jesus reign. ANONYMOUS. 135 A SABBATH REFLECTION ON THE ATLANTIC. WHILE o'er the waters, day by day, " The Wanderer" ploughs her weary way, Do thou, great God, her path attend, And be her guardian, guide, and friend. The sails are spread, the masts are strong, And swift they speed the bark along; But, oh! how vain their aid would be Without the breeze that comes from thee! Strong in thy might comes forth the sun, His regulated course to run; And glad the laughing billows seem To gratulate his joyous beam. And when that glorious orb retires, ' Midst clouds of gold and floods of fires, His splendours are but gone to shine On some fair other world of thinc. Still to retain thine empire here, What messengers of grace appear! Whilst mildly o'er the slumb'ring deep, Myriads of stars their vigils keep. 136 A SABBATH REFLECTION ON THE ATLANTIC Now calmly o'er the ocean way The modest moon asserts her sway; The winds and tides obedient lower, And own her delegated power. Widely her silvery light she casts, And clears the sky, and stills the blasts; And turns our hearts, from passion free, To Sabbath thoughts of love and thee. These are thy gifts,-the tranquil seas, The moon- lit deep, the favouring breeze; But not the less, when these are gone, Thy tutelary care we own. When, from its high and sullen cloud, The ruthless thunder roars aloud, And from its murky canopy Flashes the lightning's vengeful eye. That bolt, that voice, from heaven to heaven, Their course, their charge by thee are given And thou, as merciful as dread, Wilt keep them from thy suppliant's head. To sun and shade, to calm and show'r, Thou, only thou, assign'st the hourSerene upon the tempest's wing, As in the softest gale of spring. MORNING IN JUDEA. When ocean wears its halcyon hue, Its matchless depth of native blue; When wave on wave subsides to rest, Thy Spirit broods upon its breast. 137 Or when those waves, convuls'd and high, Urge stern revolt against the sky; When winds and rain, in mingled might, More deeply cloud the powers of night; When masts are bow'd, and sails are rent; When skill and strength alike are spent; When danger rears its giant form ,Thy gracious eye controls the storm. Our hope, our comfort, staff, and rod, Are but thy presence, glorious God! In that confiding, safe we go, Nor dread the storm, nor fear the foe. BISHOP SPENCER. MORNING IN JUDEA. THE sun is up from Carmel's woody brow His orient radiance rushes like a floodA generous stream by whose fresh influence grow The flowers that blossom, and the trees that bud: The moon that rose at eve as if the blood 10 138 Of life was in her veins, turns pale as clay From which the life has fled; the stars that stud The midnight sky by thousands, glide awayLike foam- blown bells that burst within the ocean's bay. MORNING IN JUDEA. The night- even like a fierce despotic king That wraps the nation in a fearful shade, Dark as the darkness which the death- glooms fling Around the sepulchre where bones are laid; The night departs- as when with power arrayed, Some generous monarch from his throne has hurled The gloomy tyrant, humbled and dismayed; For now the gates of morning are unfurled, And light and loveliness and joy possess the world. The dew- bent lilies, by the breezes kissed, Awake in beauty on their grassy beds, Like lovely infants from the mother's breast, That joys to pillow their protected heads; On Zion's holy hill the green- grape sheds Its sweet perfume; the fig- tree is in blow; On fertile Lebanon the corn- field spreads Its store, and to the winds that o'er it go, Heaves as the billows heave with undulating flow. LINES TO THE SUN. 139 On Gilead's pastures green the bleating flocks Disport, in Jordan's stream the fishes play; The snow- white goats are gambolling on the rocks, The insects dancing in the sunny ray; The humming bees upon their early way Are wandering happily from flower to flower; And all unseen, where twilight- shadows grey Are lingering still, the wild birds in the bower Pour out their choral song unto the matin hour. And man comes from his dwelling forth,-afar He casts his eye o'er all the happy sight, And lifts his heart to him whose mercies are Each morning new, whose faithfulness each night; To Him who sends the sun in all his might To bid the forests bud, the flowerets bloom; Who fills the lower creatures with delight, Who sweeps the shadows from the hearts of gloom, And feeds the aspiring soul with hopes beyond the tomb. LINES TO THE SUN. KNOX. MONARCH of day, who from thy burning throne Bidd'st the close valleys meet, the mountains blaze 140 CHARACTER OF A CHRISTIAN. Beneath thy tyranny, as o'er each zone Thy dazzling sceptre flashes far its rays Of quenchless fire! thou whom in ancient days Our sires adored with vain idolatry, And gorgeous pomp, and solemn hymns of praise, And altars deck'd with impious blazonry. Oh! still beloved! with morn's sweet hour of prime I greet thy beams, but thine the knee no more. A brighter sun, a worship more sublime, Claims now the heart, and bids the tongue adore Thy day no more, the Sabbath's hours we bless, And hymn the Christian's God, the Sun of Righteousness. G. M. J. CHARACTER OF A CHRISTIAN. CAN I of worth like thine, Eusebius, speak? The man is willing, but the muse is weak;' Tis thine to wait on woe! to soothe! to heal; With learning social, and polite with zeal: In thy pure breast, although the passions dwell; They're trained by virtue, and no more rebel; But have so long been active on her side, That passion now might be itself the guide TOO LATE. 141 Law, conscience, honour, all obey'd; all give The approving voice, and make it bliss to live; While faith, when life can nothing more supply, Shall strengthen hope and make it bliss to die. He preaches, speaks, and writes with manly sense, No weak neglect, no labour'd eloquence; Goodness and wisdom are in all his ways, The rude revere him, and the wicked praise. Upon humility his virtues grow, And tower so high because so fix'd below; As wider spreads the oak his boughs around, When deeper with his roots he digs the solid ground. By him, from ward to ward, is every aid The sufferer needs, with ev'ry care convey'd: Like the good tree he brings his treasure forth, And, like the tree, unconscious of his worth; Meek as the poorest publican is he, And strict as lives the straitest Pharisee; Of both, in him unite the better part, The blameless conduct and the humble heart. CRABBE. TOO LATE. Too late- too late! how heavily that phrase Comes, like a knell, upon the shuddering ear 142 TOO LATE. Telling of slighted duties, wasted days; Of privileges lost, of hopes once dear Now quench'd in gloom and darkness. Words like these The worldling's callous heart must penetrateAll that he might have been in thought he sees, And sorrows o'er his present wreck too late. Too late too late! the prodigal, who strays Through the dim groves and winding bowers of sin; The cold and false deceiver, who betrays The trusting heart he fondly toiled to win; The spendthrift, scattering his golden store, And left in age despis'd and desolate, All may their faults confess, forsake, deplore, Yet struggle to retrieve the past too late. Too late too late! O dark and fatal ban, Is there a spell thy terrors to assuage? There is, there is! but seek it not from man: Seek for the healing balm in God's own page Read of thy Saviour's love, to him repair; He looks with pity on thy guilty state; Kneel at his throne in deep and fervent prayerKneel and repent, ere yet it is too late. Too late- too late! that direful sound portends Sorrow on earth, but not immortal pain; PILATE'S QUESTION. Thou mayst have lost the confidence of friends, The love of kindred thou mayst ne'er regain; But there is One above who marks thy tears, And opes for thee salvation's golden gate; Come then, poor mourner, cast away thy fears. Believe, and enter- it is not too late! MRS ABDY. PILATE'S QUESTION. WHAT is truth? The fickle Roman Ask'd, nor waited for reply. Question of momentous omen! Shall I also pass it by? No, my Lord! I'll turn me to it, Anxious all its depth to sound; Let me humbly, closely, view it, Till I have the answer found. 143 What is truth? The only token Lent to guide our blinded race, Is the Word which God hath spoken By the heralds of his grace. Thence we learn how helpless strangers, Guilty rebels, such as we, May escape ten thousand dangers, Burst our fetters, and be free. PILATE'S QUESTION. What is truth? That man is mortal. Wretched, feeble, and deprav'd; Dying still at mercy's portal, Yet unwilling to be sav'd: Oft to safety's path invited, Prone from it to wander far; In the blaze of noon benighted, With himself and God at war. 144 What is truth? That He, who made us, He, who all our weakness knows, Stoop'd himself from heaven to aid us, Bear our guilt, and feel our woes. Like the lamb the peasant slaughters, See him unresisting led; ' Midst the tears of Judah's daughters, Mock'd, and number'd with the dead! Yes, my soul! thy lost condition Brought the gentle Saviour low; Hast thou felt one hour's contrition For those sins which pierc'd him so? Dost thou bear the love thou owest For such proof of grace divine?Meek I answer, Lord, thou knowest, That this heart is wholly thine! Long, indeed, too long I wander'd From the path thy children tread; REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST. Long my time and substance squander'd, Seeking that which was not bread. Now- though flesh may disallow it, Now- though sense no glory see, In thy strength, my God! I vow it, Ne'er again to turn from thee! DR HUIE. REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST. 1F human kindness meets return, And owns the grateful tie; If tender thoughts within us burn, To feel a friend is nigh: 145 Oh! shall not warmer accents tell The gratitude we owe To him who died, our fears to quell, Our more than orphan's woe! While yet his anguished soul surveyed Those pangs he would not flee; What love his latest words displayed, " Meet and remember me!" Remember Thee! thy death, thy shame, Our sinful hearts to share! 146 ADDRESS TO POETS. O memory, leave no other name, But His, recorded there! ADDRESS TO POETS. YE whose hearts are beating high With the pulse of Poesy, Heirs of more than royal race, Fram'dby Heaven's peculiar grace, God's own work to do on earth, NOEL. ( If the word be not too bold), Giving virtue a new birth, And a life that ne'er grows oldSovereign masters of all hearts! Know ye who hath set your parts? He, who gave you breath to sing, By whose strength ye sweep the string, He hath chosen you to lead His hosannas here below;Mount, and claim your glorious meed; Linger not with sin and woe. But if ye should hold your peace, Deem not that the song would cease ADDRESS TO POETS. 147 Angels round His glory- throne, Stars, His guiding hand that own, Flowers, that grow beneath our feet, Stones, in earth's dark womb that rest, High and low in choir shall meet, Ere His name shall be unblest. Lord, by every minstrel tongue Be thy praise so duly sung, That thine angels' harps may ne'er Fail to find fit echoing here! We the while, of meaner birth, Who in that divinest spell Dare not hope to join on earth, Give us grace to listen well. But should thankless silence seal Lips that might half heaven reveal, Should bards in idol- hymns profane The sacred soul- enthralling strain, ( As in this bad world below Noblest things find vilest using), Then, thy power and mercy shew, In vile things noble breath infusing. Then waken into sound divine The very pavement of thy shrine, Till we, like heaven's star- sprinkled floor Faintly give back what we adore, 148 LINES ON VISITING AN OLD FAMILY RESIDENCE. Childlike though the voices be, And untunable the parts, Thou wilt own the minstrelsy, If it flow from childlike hearts. KEBLE. LINES ON VISITING AN OLD FAMILY RESIDENCE. LET pensive memory trace her wonted round In these familiar walks;-' tis fairy ground: Still to her view upheld in bright array, Birds in the bowers, and roses ever gay. Let grateful thought with deeper musings roam Through each loved haunt of this deserted home. Long from the social altar, year by year, The patriarch's prayer went up accepted here, And lo! in answer to the faithful call, On children's children showers of blessings fall. Embowered retreat! how fair to Christian's eyes: Sure' twas heaven's gate! a nursery for the skies JANE TAYLOR. 149 THE GATHERING OF THE PEOPLE. WHEN Judah's sceptred power had fled, And legal night had passed away, The star of promised Shiloh shed O'er distant lands its peaceful ray. And eastern sages saw the sign, And knew the appointed time had come, When God should raise, of David's line, A Prince to call the Gentiles home. And Bethlehem's shepherds heard the strains Which herald angels joyed to sing, Whilst floods of glory lit the plains, In honour of the infant King. O many a stormy night hath fled Since that bright concourse thronged the sky And far and wide their strains have spread, And rolled the stream of ages by. For though afflicted, poor, and lone, The heavenward warriors droop in soul, Yet swift, though noiseless, on and on The tribes of bloodless conquest roll. 150 THE GATHERING OF THE PEOPLE. Where Jordan pours his ample stream, The sacred ensign was unfurl'd, Which yet o'er every land shall gleam The rallying standard of the world. Then they who live by Ganges' flood, And dismal Niger's swampy shore, Shall wash their robes in Jesus' blood, And bow to stocks and stones no more. And Gospel light and Gospel love Shall wake to smiles the desert lone, And Lapland cold, and Elam bright, The reign of Salem's Prince shall own. Peace shall be sung from east to west, The north and south shall join the strain, And Christ shall be the King confestFor all shall bless his sacred reign. Soon may that blissful period be, When tribes and tongues shall thus be one, The work is thine, we bow to thee, Lord, let thy holy will be done. JAMES MURKAY. 151 VIRTUE. SWEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to night, For thou must die. Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in the grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shews ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber never gives; But though the whole world turn to a coal, Then chiefly lives. SINS. HERBERT. SINS, in respect of man, all mortal be; All venial, Jesu, in respect of thee. QUARLES. 152 LABOURERS' NOON- DAY HYMN. Up to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And he accepts the punctual hymn Sung as the light of day grows dim. Nor will he turn his ear aside From holy off'rings at noon- tide; Then, here reposing, let us raise A song of gratitude and praise. What though our burden be not light We need not toil from morn to night; The respite of the mid- day hour Is in the thankful creature's power. Blest are the moments, doubly blest, That, drawn from this one hour of rest, Are with a ready heart bestow'd Upon the service of our God. Why should we crave a hallow'd spot? An altar is in each man's cot, A church in every grove that spreads Its living roof above our heads. THE METEOR. Look up to heaven-the industrious sun Already half his race hath run; He cannot halt or go astray; But our immortal spirits may. Lord, since his rising in the east, If we have falter'd or transgressed, Guide, from thy love's abundant source, What yet remains of this day's course. 153 Help with thy grace, through life's short day, Our upward and our downward way; And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest. WORDSWORTH. THE METEOR. A SHEPHERD on the silent moor Pursued his lone employ, And by him watch'd, at midnight hour, His lov'd and gentle boy. The night was still, the sky was clear, The moon and stars were bright; And well the youngster lov'd to hear Of those fair orbs light. 11 154 THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. When, lo! an earth- born meteor's glare Made stars and planets dim; In transient splendour through the air Its glory seem'd to swim. No more could stars' or planets' spell The stripling's eye enchant, He only urged his sire to tell, Of this new visitant. But ere the shepherd found a tongue, The meteor's gleam was gone; And in their glory o'er them hung The orbs of night alone. Canst thou the simple lesson read, My artless muse hath given! The only lights that safely lead, Are those that shine from heaven BARTON, THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. How goodly is the earth! Look round about and see The green and fertile field; The mighty branched tree; THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT. The little flowers outspread In such variety! Behold the lovely things That dance on airy wings; The birds, whose summer pleasure Is not of stinted measure; The grassy vales, the hills; The flower- emborder'd rills; The clouds that lie at rest Upon the noonday's breast, Behold all these, and know How goodly is the earth! How goodly is the earth! Its mountain tops behold; Its rivers broad and strong; Its solemn forests old; Its wealth of flocks and herds; Its precious stones and gold; Behold the radiant isles, With which old ocean smiles; Behold the seasons run Obedient to the sun; The gracious showers descend Life springing without end; By day the glorious light, The starry pomp by night; Behold all these, and know How goodly is the earth! 156 156 SATURDAY NIGHT. How goodly is the earth! Yet if this earth be made So goodly wherein all That is shall droop and fade; Wherein the glorious light Hath still its fellow- shadeSo goodly, where is strife, Even' twixt death and life; Where trouble dims the eye; Where sin hath mastery;How much more bright and fair Will be that region, where The saints of God shall rest, Rejoicing with the bless'd; Where pain is not, nor death ,The paradise of God! MARY HOWITT. SATURDAY NIGHT. THE week is past- its latest ray Is vanished with the closing day; And' tis as far beyond our grasp, Its now departed hours to clasp, As to recal that moment bright, Wher first creation sprung to light. THE MEMORY OF THE JUST. 157 The week is past! And has it brought Some beams of sweet and soothing thought? And has it left some memory dear Of heavenly raptures tasted here! It has not winged its flight in vain, Although it ne'er return again. And who would sigh for its return? We are but pilgrims born to mourn; And moments, as they onward flow, Cut short the thread of human woe, And bring us nearer to the scenes Where sorrows end and heaven begins. BOWRING. THE MEMORY OF THE JUST. PEACE to the just man's memory, let it grow Greener with years, and blossom through the flight Of ages; let the mimic canvass shew His calm benevolent features; let the light Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight Of all but Heaven, and, in the book of fame, The glorious record of his virtues write, 158 THE HUGUENOT'S BATTLE HYMN. And hold it up to man, and bid them claim A palm like his, and catch from him the hallowed flame. BRYANT. THE HUGUENOT'S BATTLE HYMN. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn- fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war, Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. THE HUGUENOT'S BATTLE HYMN. 0! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, 159 We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest- led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land; And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand: And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood, And good Coligni's hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The King is come to marshal us, in all his armour dress'd, And he has bound a snow- white plume upon his gallant crest. He look'd upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He look'd upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. THE HUGUENOT'S BATTLE HYMN. Right graciously he smiled on us, as roll'd from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout," God save our Lord the King!" " And if my standard- bearer fall, as fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war, And be your oriflamme to- day the helmet of Navarre." 160 Hurrah! the foes are moving, hark to the mingled din Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin. The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those we love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies,-upon them with the lance. A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow- white crest; THE HUGUENOT'S BATTLE HYMN. 161 And in they burst, and on they rush'd, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours. Mayenne hath turn'd his rein. D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale; The field is heap'd with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and, all along our van, " Remember Saint Bartholomew!" was pass'd from man to man. But out spake gentle Henry," No Frenchman is my foe: ✔ Down, down, with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our Sovereign Lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre! Ho! maidens of Vienna; ho! matrons of Lucerne; Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. 162 A SABBATH EVENING HYMN. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls. Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright; Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to- night, For our God hath crush'd the tyrant, our God hath rais'd the slave, And mock'd the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre! T. B. MACAULAY. A SABBATH EVENING HYMN. MILLIONS within thy courts have met, Millions this day before thee bow'd; Their faces Zion- ward were set, Vows with their lips to thee they vow'd:But thou, soul- searching God! hast known The hearts of all that bent the knee, A SABBATH EVENING HYMN. And hast accepted those alone, In spirit and truth that worshipp'd thee. People of many a tribe and tongue, Men of strange colours, climates, lands, Have heard thy truth, thy glory sung, And offer'd pray'r with holy hands. Still, as the light of morning broke O'er island, continent, and deep, Thy far- spread family awoke, Sabbath all round the world to keep. From east to west, the sun survey'd, From north to south, adoring throngs; And still where evening stretch'd her shade, The stars come forth to hear their songs. Harmonious as the winds and seas, In halcyon hours when storms are flown, Rose all earth's Babel languages, In pure accordance, to thy throne. Not angel- trumpets sound more clear; Not elders' harps, nor seraphs' lays, Yield music sweeter to thine ear Than humble pray'r and thankful praise. 163 And not a pray'r, a tear, a sigh, Hath fail'd to- day some suit to gain: 164 STANZAS. To those in trouble thou wert nigh, Not one hath sought thy face in vain. Thy poor were bountifully fed, Thy chasten'd sons have kiss'd the rod; Thy mourners have been comforted, The pure in heart have seen their God. Yet one pray'r more;-and, be it one In which both heav'n and earth accord!Fulfil thy promise to thy Son, Let all that breathe call Jesus Lord. His throne and sovereignty advance; For his soul's travail let him see The heathen his inheritance, And earth's last bound his portion be. J. MONTGOMERY. STANZAS. SAILING upon life's dangerous sea, Amidst surrounding rocks and shoals, Lord, I would lift my heart to thee, To guide me as the tempest rolls. LAMENT OF THE HEBREW MINSTREL. 165 How oft I fear that I shall fail, How oft my spirit sinks and faints, How oft doth dark mistrust prevail, And faithless tremors and complaints! Yet hast thou kept me safe thus far, And surely still wilt safely keep; Vail not thy Spirit's guiding- star, But lead my pathway through the deep. From every peril of the wave, From every devious track restore; Till the calm harbour of the grave I reach, and gain the promis'd shore. EDMESTON, LAMENT OF THE HEBREW MINSTREL WHERE are thy pleasures, once so bright, My country, where thy name? How is thy glory sunk in night, Thy beauty and thy fame! No more thy muse's heavenly strain, Heard far from Zion hill, With rapture wakes the wand'ring swain, When sober night creeps o'er the plain, And all the air is still. 166 LAMENT OF THE HEBREW MINSTREL. Where is thy temple and thy God? Where are thy triumphs flown? All vanish'd like a fiery cloud That flashes and is gone! Alas! thou sitt'st a wasted thing, All wretched and forlorn; To thee no joy the sunbeams bring, But deeper shadows o'er thee fling, And make thy woes their scorn. The time was, when I wander'd free Across thy hills and plains; And drank thy glorious liberty, And sang thy melting strains: And prais'd the Lord, our mighty King, In high triumphant song; While far away the mountains rung, And back the joyous echoes flung The little hills along! But these lov'd joys, on rapid wing, Far, far away are borne; While care and sorrow deeply sting, With slav'ry's sharpest thorn; To Judah, we must say, farewell! Farewell, to Zion's steep! In foreign climes condemn'd to dweli, Full oft our mournful tale we'll tell, Lift up the voice and weep! THE YOUNG COMMUNICANT. But Judah's land I'll ne'er forget, Though far from it I roam; And, though with ills on ills beset, I'll sweetly think of home, And wand'ring near some lonely stream, All weary and forlorn, I'll ruminate, in pensive dream, On many a long forgotten theme, And sadly, sadly, mourn! 167 REV. R. TURNBULL. THE YOUNG COMMUNICANT. HAIL! young disciple- thou whose early feet From the broad pathway of the world have fled, Who, listening to the Lord with reverence meet, Hast to his ritual bow'd thy lowly head. How beautiful-to heed the heavenly call Ere the full freshness of thy morning prime, Before the dark clouds threat, the mildews fall, Or o'er thy temples creep the frosts of time. So from each wile that lureth from the fold, Still may thy chosen Shepherd hold thee free, And from all ill, till life's brief hour be told, O sweet disciple! may he succour thee ,Till to that radiant clime thy spirit soar Where storms shall shred the rose and toss the bark no more. SIGOURNEY. 168 EDUCATION. THAT call not education, which decries God and his truth, content the seed to strew Of moral maxims, and the mind imbue With elements which form the worldly wise. So call the training, which can duly prize Such lighter lore, but chiefly holds to view What God requires us to believe and do, And notes man's end, and shapes him for the skies BISHOP MANT. CONSCIENCE. THE heart, they say, is wiser than the schools; And well they may. All that is great in thought, That strikes at once as with electric fire, And lifts us, as it were, from earth to heaven, Comes from the heart; and who confesses not Its voice as sacred, nay almost divine, When inly it declares on what we do, Blaming, approving? Let an erring world Judge us as it will, we care not while we stand Acquitted there; and oft when clouds on clouds Compass us round, and not a tract appears, Oft is an upright heart the surest guide, LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. Surer and better than the subtlest head, Still with its silent counsels through the dark Onward and onward leading. IN the hour of my distress, When temptations me oppress, And when I my sins confess, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. When I lie within my bed, Sick in heart and sick in head, And with doubts disquieted, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. 169 ROGERS. When the house doth sigh and weep, And the world is drown'd in sleep, Yet mine eye the watch do keep, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the passing- bell doth toll, And the furies, in a shoal, Come to fright my parting soul, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. 12 170 LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. When the priest his last hath pray'd, And I nod to what is said, ' Cause my speech is now decay'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When, God knows, I'm toss'd about, Either with despair or doubt, Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the Tempter me pursu'th With the sins of all my youth, And half- damns me with untruth, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the flames of hellish cries Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes, And all terrors me surprise, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. When the judgment is reveal'd, And that open'd which was seal'd, When to Thee I have appeal'd, Sweet Spirit, comfort me. HERRICK. 171 CHRISTIAN ASSURANCE. Ir is a glorious thing to feel secure; In solitude, or' mid the world's rude din; Against all fears to be sustain'd within; To make sweet music of thoughts just and pure, While we regard those ills we must endure As roots from which immortal joys begin, Recover'd from the soil of mortal sin By Him whose banner is our coverture: Glorious to see things as they are, and stand On truth's serenest hill- top, far above The mists of error, where, o'er shifting sand, The uneasy travellers in mazes move, While from our Pisgah we behold the land Of Promise, bright with God's eternal love. Blackwood's Magazine. CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! 172 CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame, or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good; Who hath his life from rumours freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend: And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend;This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, and fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all. WOTTON. 173 HYMN FOR THE OPENING OF A CHURCH. O THOU, to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung, Whom kings adored in song sublime, And prophets praised with glowing tongue Not now, on Zion's height alone, Thy favoured worshipper may dwell, Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son Sat, weary, by the Patriarch's well. From every place below the skies, The grateful song, the fervent prayer ,The incense of the heart- may rise To heaven, and find acceptance there. 1 In this Thy house, whose doors we now For social worship first unfold, To Thee the suppliant throng shall bow, While circling years on years are rolled. To Thee shall Age, with snowy hair, And Strength and Beauty, bend the knee, And Childhood lisp, with reverent air Its praises and its prayers to Thee. DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. O Thou, to whom, in ancient time, The lyre of prophet bards was strung, To Thee, at last, in every clime, 174 Shall temples rise and praise be sung. PIERPONT. DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate: Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield, They tame but one another still. Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds, HAPPINESS. Upon death's purple altar now, See where the victor victim bleeds: All heads must come To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 175 SHIRLEY. HAPPINESS. BECAUSE the few with signal virtue crown'd The heights and pinnacles of human mind, Sadder and wearier than the rest are found, Wish not thy soul less wise or less refined. True, that the small delights which every day Cheer and distract the pilgrim are not theirs; True that, though free from Passion's lawless sway, A loftier being brings severer cares. Yet have they special pleasures, even mirth, By those undreamt of who have only trod Life's valley smooth; and if the rolling earth To their nice ear have many a painful tone, They know Man does not live by Joy alone, But by the presence of the power of God. A splendour amid glooms, a sunny thread Woven into a tapestry of cloud , 176 SAUL JOURNEYING TO DAMASCUS. A merry child a- playing with the shroud That lies upon a breathless mother's bed ,A garland on the front of one new wed, Trembling and weeping while her troth is vowed ,A school- boy's laugh, that rises light and loud In licensed freedom from ungentle dread; These are ensamples of the Happiness For which our nature fits us: more and less Are parts of all things to the mortal given, Of Love, Joy, Truth, and Beauty. Perfect light Would dazzle, not illuminate our sight ,From earth it is enough to glimpse at Heaven R. M. MILNES. SAUL JOURNEYING TO DAMASCUS. I WHOSE is that sword- that voice and eye of flameThat heart of unextinguishable ire? Who bears the dungeon keys, and bonds of fire? Along his dark and withering path he cameDeath in his looks, and terror in his name, Tempting the might of heaven's Eternal Sire. Lo! the light shone!-the sun's veiled beams expireA Saviour's self, a Saviour's lips proclaim! 177 Who is yon form, stretched on the earth's cold bed, With smitten soul and tears of agony Mourning the past? Bowed is the lofty headRayless the orbs that flashed with victory. Over the raging waves of human will The Saviour's spirit walked- and all was still! ROSCOE. PALESTINE. PALESTINE. FAR stretching thoughts are thine, Egyptian land Of desert and oasis, and old Nile, Fountain of myriad dreams, and monster pile, Casting each giant shadow o'er the strand Of long- gone ages, peopled by a band Of thine embalmed shapes, that erst the while Did human hearts and human cares beguile With emblematic feast and pageant grand! Thy spectral sepulchres, whose pictured life Mocks the dark curtain of the fearful tomb, With mimic shows of living coil and strife. Say! can their priestly wisdom pierce the gloom Of thick oblivion, from the floods that lave The fiery spirit in the cold deep grave? No, thou world's wonder! though thy spells begin With beauty's morning, though their murmurs call 178 PALESTINE. E'en at its noon thy spirits from the thrall Of countless years, and for their still voice win Attention from the tumult and the din Of trumpet tones- now droops thy pall O vast Osirian! with sweeping fall Still thou art Egypt, type of Earth and Sin. Darkness is on thee- to thy slaves we turnThy captive menials in their toil and shame, And track th' enfranchised feet whose watchfires burn God- lit through pathless deserts, to the plain Of burning Sinai, and its thunderings loud, Heralds of light, pavilioned by the cloud. All hail to Palestine, the wanderer's rest, And Solyma the Holy in her pride! She who among the nations, by the side Of Thebes and Tyre hath reared her golden crest; Devoutly bearing on her gem- starred breast The veil of heaven's high mystery denied To Nature's throned Isis, fain to hide Her mythic form beneath a shrouding vest. Hail- hail to Palestine! all hail the sod Drunk with the blood of martyrs, and hot tears Wrung from the burning hearts of those that trod Through cruel ways their meed of darkest years! Thy shrouded splendour, and thy victim's doom, Witness alike of light beyond the tomb. CHRIST IN THE GARDEN. 179 All hail Judea, unhallowed of the Nine! The hills and rocks, instinct with living fire, Ring with the echoes of thy prophet- lyre: Each mournful wail, each wild lament the sign And evidence of Love's concealed design; Love, matchless and alone- its flaming pyre Hath burned into the skies, and in its line Traced out in glory- Hail to Palestine- Beauty for Salem! Ethiopian bride Of all- pervading Light! mysterious queen Of Hope's glad city, with her gates spread wide, And jasper towers, from whose resplendent sheen Eternity proclaimeth, deep and far, Glory to Zion's crown, the bright, the morning star The Athenceum. CHRIST IN THE GARDEN. A WREATH of glory circles still His headAnd yet He kneels- and yet he seems to be Convulsed with more than human agony; On His pale brow the drops are large and red As victim's blood at votive altar shedHis hands are clasped, His eyes are raised in prayer; Alas! and is there strife He cannot bear, Who calmed the tempest, and who raised the dead 180 THE PENITENT THIEF. There is there is! for now the powers of Hell Are struggling for the mastery-' tis the hour When Death exerts his last permitted power, When the dread weight of sin since Adam fell, Is visited on Him, who deigned to dwell A man with men- that he might bear the stroke Of wrath divine, and burst the captive's yoke,--But O! of that dread strife what words can tell? Those- only those which broke with many a groan From His full heart-" O Father take away The cup of vengeance I must drink to- dayYet, Father, not my will, but thine be done!" It could not pass away- for He alone Was mighty to endure, and strong to save; Nor would Jehovah leave him in the grave; Nor could corruption taint His Holy One. DALE. THE PENITENT THIEF. BUT who is he in anguish nigh, Who on the Saviour turns his eye; And who, while all the world beside The suff'rings of his Lord deride, Is taught in this sad solemn hour, To trust in his redeeming pow'r? THE PENITENT THIEF. A bandit fierce, who long has been A foe to grace, a slave to sin; A wretch who dies before his time The victim of detected crime And, nail'd to that inglorious tree, Writhes out his soul in agony! But( 0! the wonders of that love, Which brought the Saviour from above!) Almighty grace has reach'd his heart, And while his guilt his spirit grieves, He learns to choose the better part, He turns- he looks- and he believes! Yes in that pale, deserted One, He sees, with faith's enlighten'd eye, Th' Eternal God's Eternal Son, 181 Who stoops to earth to bleed and die! Adown his rough and toil- worn cheek Th' unwonted tear begins to roll; While broken, struggling accents speak The new- born feelings of his soul: " Lord!-When thy saints thy kingdom see, In mercy- Oh, remember me!" And does the mild Redeemer spurn The hapless felon by his side? No! when was Jesus known to turn From those who in his grace confide? 182 THE PENITENT THIEF. No!' midst the more than mortal throes His spotless soul is doom'd to feel, He yet can sooth another's woes, And love, and hope, and peace reveal. " This day," the dying Saviour said, ( While from his eyes a glance there fell, Which to the mourner's heart convey'd More- ah! far more than words could tell)" This day thy soul from guilt set free, Shall enter Paradise with me!" O! none but he that inly knows The value of those gifts of heav'n, Can e'er conceive the bliss that flows From grace receiv'd, from sin forgiv'n! And none, who has not felt the same Unspeakable release, Can estimate the happy frame Of mingled joy and peace, In which that long and painful day With this poor outcast pass'd away! His breast with holy ardour burns; To God the pardon'd sinner prays; And ever and anon he turns Upon his suff'ring Lord to gaze. The shame, the anguish of his lot, His bleeding wounds are all forgot; He loves the cross, that seem'd at morn A woe too heavy to be borne. THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 183 ' Twas there salvation came to view ,' Twas there that first his Lord he knew:' Twas there contrition's tear was shed.' Twas there his earliest pray'r was said;' Twas there his stubborn soul was shaken ,' Twas there his hope began to waken! Nor would he now exchange that tree, With all its pain and infamy, To rest on Pilate's couch of down, Or wear the guilty Herod's crown! He hears no more the rabble's shout, No more their scoffs attention win Rage, scorn, and tumult reign without, But all is peace within! FAREWELL. DR HUIB. WHEN eyes are beaming What never tongue might tell, When tears are streaming From their crystal cell; When hands are linked that dread to part, And heart is met by throbbing heart, Oh! bitter, bitter is the smart them that bid farewell! 184 FAREWELL. When hope is chidden That fain of bliss would tell. And love forbidden In the breast to dwell; When fettered by a viewless chain, We turn, and gaze, and turn again, Oh! death were mercy to the pain Of them that bid farewell. HEBER Inches 1 Centimetres Blue 2 3 4 Cyan 2 15 744 6 Farbkarte# 13 3 Green 8 Yellow 19 4 10 Red F 5 12 13 Magenta 14 6 15 White 16 17 7 3/ Color 18 19 B.I.G. Black