FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Sectlo. /%l^f Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/threewaOOIond THE THREE WAKINGS. Ijmiins raft .Songs. BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE VOICE OF CHRISTIAN LIFE IN SONG/' 'TALES AND SKETCHES OF CHRISTIAN LIFE." &e. &c LONDON: JAMES XISBET AXD CO., 21 BERXERS STREET. M.DCCC.LIX. EDINBURGH : PRINTPfD BY BAELANTYNE AND COMPANY. PAUL'S WORK. CONTENTS. PART I. %\t € |nt Mailings, fa. fo. PAGE The Three Wakings, .... 1 The Golden Age in the Present, 21 The Poet's Food, .... 26 A True Dream, .... 29 The Alpine Gentian, 32 The Forget-me-not, .... 35 To a Redbreast, .... 39 Canticum Solis, .... 42 Nature no Self-acting Instrument, 46 On the Grave of a Faithful Dog, 47 A Journey on the South-Devon Railway. . 50 The Three Trances. .... 53 IV CONTENTS. PART II. %\t Warn at % (&mpls. PAGE Ministry, ...... 67 Mary the Mother of our Lord — 1. Age after age has calFd thee bless'd, . . 69 2. Not for thyself thy motherhood, . . 71 3. The strongest light casts deepest shade, . 73 4. Thou shalt be crown'd, mother blest, . 75 Mary Magdalene — 1. Her home lay by that inland sea, . . 77 2. No phantoms thus her soul assail'd, . . 79 3. He suffer'd her with Him to stay, . . 82 4. The Sabbath that could bring no rest, . 85 5. "My Lord," though dead, yet still "my Lord," 87 6. A moment since, a sepulchre, . . . 89 7. Tell all the world the Lord is risen, . . 91 Salome — She knew not what for them she sought, . 93 The Widow of Nain — Thy miracles are no state splendours, . . 95 The Syrophenician — Content, she takes the lowest place, . . ( .»7 The Sisters of Bethany — 1. What hope lit up those sisters' gloom, . . 98 2. Mary, the only glory sweet, . . . 101 3. What joy to live beneath the eyes, . . 102 CONTEXTS. The Unnamed Women — 1. The hand that might have drawn aside, 2. She bathed His feet with many a tear, 3. " He turned to her." All eyes beside, 4. He prized her love, He held it dear, 5. Forgiveness may then yet be mine, 6. He clothes thy soul in spotless dress, The Two Alabaster Boxes — 1. When Thou, in patient ministry, 2. Love is the true economist, PAGE 105 107 109 111 113 115 117 119 PART III. fjpjts. The Way, the Truth, and the Liee, The Pathways of the Holy Land, Veiled Angels, The Word of Life, Not Grudgingly, or of Necessity, Durable Riches, The Cruse that Faileth Not, Only that the Sun is Coming, The Fold and the Palace, The Two Reproaches, Suggested by the Prometheus Bound Eureka, . 123 125 128 130 133 135 137 139 141 144 145 147 VI CONTENTS. PA OK The Gospel in the Lord's Supper, 149 On a Baptism, ..... 152 New Year's Hymn, .... 154 Sunday Evening Hymn, 156 Early Rising Hymn, 158 Sowing in Tears, .... 161 The Well at Sychar, .... 163 Song for an Infant School, . 165 All Live unto Him, .... 167 Waiting, ..... 169 A Sick Child's Dream of Heaven, 171 To One at Rest, .... 174 " He Saved Others,'* .... 177 Mar ah and Elim, .... 179 " Come and See," .... 182 " My Strength and my Heart Faileth," 184 Rest for the Heavy Laden, . 186 " It is I ; be not Afraid," 190 God is Love, ..... 192 PAET I. THE THEEE WAKINGS. •?u Among the ancient Laplanders magic was an hereditary art. There were, however, some magicians of a higher character, to whom, in three supernatural sicknesses or trances — one in child- hood, one in youth, and one in manhood — the spirits themselves taught the secrets of the invisible world. These were honoured by the whole nation as seers. — Mone. Geschichte des Heidenthums. ARGUMENT. The poet-child plays on the margin of the River of Life. There the First Trance overpowers him. He awakens from it to the wonderful beauty of the universe. The magic boat bears him away from the broad stream of life to the regions of fancy. There the Second Trance overshadows him. In it he is aroused to the sense of duty and the necessity of work. He girds himself for the strife. In the flush of the triumph which succeeds it, he is overcome by the Third Trance. In it are revealed to him the grace of God, redemption, and the free service of love. THE THREE WAKINGS. Beside the ancient river The infant poet play'd, The grave old rocks above him Laugh'd at the mirth he made. The boat that bore him thither Lay idle on the shore, His pearly boat that fast could float Without or sail or oar. The fresh young leaves on the hoar old trees Quiver'd and flutter'd in glee, And the merry rills from the mighty hills Shouted as loud as he. THE THREE WAKINGS. The birds pour'd joyous welcomes, For they deem'd him one of them ; And the snowdrop laugh'd in her quiet joy, Till she shook on her delicate stem. Broad is that ancient river, And its depths no sailor knows; It comes from a place no foot can trace, 'Mid the clouds and the ancient snows; And on its breast is bounding Many a gallant bark; — (Do they know that at last o'er a chasm vast It leaps into the dark V) But to the child its waters Were his playmates glad and sweet, Chasing each other merrily To bathe his snowy feet; The starry hosts above him "Were the flowers of the sky, Too high, perhaps, to gather, But too beautiful to die : THE THREE WAKINGS. The world with all its wonders, Its heavens and its sea, Was his play-room, full of playmates, Each one as glad as he. But as he laugh' d and gamboll'd Strange languor o'er him stole; His eyes grew dim, and faint each limb, And dark the sunny soul, Till the green earth in pity Folded him to her breast, And birds and waves and breezes Lull'd him to quiet rest. II. Sweet Spring the earth was treading When he broke that magic trance, Rose from the ground, and gazed around With a new and rapturous glance. Had the bright earth and heavens Expanded as he slept, That such a tide of light and joy Around his senses swept ? THE THREE WAKINGS. Not a leaf nor a wing could quiver — Not a breeze the waters moved, But it thrill'd through sense and spirit, Like the voice of one beloved. The sun in his robes of glory From his depths of light on high, — Each lowly flower from its dewy bower ,- Beam'd like a loving eye. He sate at the feet of ZSTature In love and wonder meek; Had he then learn'd to listen, Or had she learn'd to speak ] The world was a royal palace, And no stranger guest was he; As the silvery fish in the silvery brook Leaps in its wanton glee, — As the lark in the air and sunshine When the early mists are cuiTd, — His spirit bathed and revell'd In the beauty of the world. THE THREE WAKINGS. He sought not his joy to utter, He was content to see; It was enough to listen — It was enough to be I He had rejoiced for ever In this Eden to abide, But the pearly boat began to float Languidly down the tide. He left the ancient river "Where the great navies lay, And glided up a quiet stream From the din and strife away. The waves its prow disparted Made music as it went, Like lyres and lutes and silvery flutes, In sv\-eet confusion blent ; Till they came through a rocky portal Roof d with many a gem, (But one of the countless number Had graced a diadem) ; THE THREE WAKINGS. Into a world of wonders, Where reign'd nor sun nor moon, But a magic light as still as night, And warm as the softest noon. Onward and onward gliding By those shores of wondrous things, 'Mid the murmur of dreamy voices, And the waving of unseen wings ; Beneath Aladdin's palace, "Where the gems lay thick as flowers, And the languid day trickled away Like the fountain 'midst leafy bowers ; Amidst the tangled woodland, Where, in the chequer'd glade, With wild and tuneful laughter, The fairy people play'd ; Beneath the cliffs he glided, And the unclouded sky, Where the stately Attic temple Rear'd its white shafts on high ; THE THREE WAKINGS. And kingly men and women, The brave and wise and strong, Earth's loftiest and sweetest souls, Lived and made life a song ; Beneath the Xorthern forest, Where the thunderbolts were made, And spirits and gods and mighty men Met in the mystic shade. And the hero and the poet Smiled brotherly on him ; But again that languid slumber Crept over soul and limb. The weight of a first sorrow Lay heavy on his breath, And the fair world was shadow'd o'er With a darkness as of death. And he long'd for familiar voices And the light of the common day, And the common air on his fever'd brow, And the fields of his childish play. 10 THE THREE WAKINGS. Till by a lonely islet The vessel moor'd at last, And he stept on the bank, and languidly sank 'Mid the graves of the great that were past. III. He woke. The world of faery, With its soft and gorgeous light, "Was dissolved and gone, and he lay alone, Beneath the solemn night ; Beneath the hosts of heaven In their grand reality ; 'Mid the shadowy glooms of many tombs, On the shores of a heaving sea. A suit of polish'd armour Lay glittering by his side ; Breastplate and casque and girdle, And a sword of temper tried. THE THREE WAKINGS. 11 Furrows of inward conflict On his brow were dented deep ; And he woke to a steadfast purpose From the night of that awful sleep ; For a strange and solemn Visitant Beside his couch had been, Clad in the old prophetic garb, And stern with the prophet's mien. " What dost thou here ?" she murmur' d, " "What is outshines what seems ; Earth has no room for idlers ; Life has no time for dreams. " Seest thou nought of suffering ? Knowest thou nought of sin ? Hast thou not heard the groans without, Or felt the sting within ] Thy brethren die in prisons, — Thy brethren toil in chains ; The body is rack'd by hunger, And the heart has sharper pains. 12 THE THREE WAKINGS. " Gray heads 'neath the weight of labour Are sinking into the grave, And tender hearts are growing hard For the want of a hand to save. " Thousands of men, thy brethren, Are perishing around ; And thou pourest out thy cup of life Upon the barren ground. " Rise, gird thee for true labour ; Rise, arm thee for the fight. Go forth to earth's old battle-field ; Strike boldly for the right ! " Rise, cast thy dreamings from thee ; Rise, clothed with vigour new ; This fallen earth is no place for mirth ; Arise, go forth and do ! " A thrill of fervent purpose Through all his nature ran, And from that sleep of visions deep The Boy awoke a Man. THE THREE WAKINGS. 13 He trod with a steadfast aspect Through beauty and weal and ill, And his eyes were lit and his frame was knit By the strength of a fixed will. And the sun to his strong purpose "Was but the lamp of life, — The abounding earth, in her beauty and mirth, But the field of the mortal strife. Where the nations lay cold and torpid, 'Neath ages of wrong and shame ; Yv T ith the patience of love the poet toil'd Till life to the stiff limbs came. In the thick of the ancient battle, Where the strong bear down the weak, W T ith the flaming swords of living words, He fought for the poor and meek. Where'er were wrongs to be righted, Or sick to be soothed and upheld; Or a generous deed lay hidden; Or a generous purpose quell'd; 14 TIIE THREE WAKINGS. Or a noble heart lay sinking, For the want of a cheering word; — The music of his earnest voice Above the din was heard. Till the sneer of scorn was silenced, And the tongue of envy hush'd, And a tumult of wild, exulting praise Throughout the nations rush'd. And they hail'd him King and Hero, And hasted his steps to greet; And they crown'd him with a golden crown, And bow'd beneath his feet. But yet once more the shadow Over his soul was thrown, And he on the height of his human might Lay desolate and lone; Till, in his helpless anguish, His spirit turn'd on high, And he call'd on the God of Ins childhood With a loud and bitter cry. THE THREE WAKINGS. 15 u O God, they call me Hero, And bow the reverent knee, But I am not God, nor a godlike man, That thus they kneel to me. " They call me Lord and blaster; They call me just and good; And I cannot stay my failing breath, Nor do the things I would. " They cry on me for succour, But in me is no might to save; They hail me as one immortal, And I sink into the grave. " Thou— only Thou— art Holy; With Thee, with Thee, is might; O stay me with Thy love and strength, clothe me with Thy light ! " IY. It was no spell of slumber "Which came upon him then, iSo fitful gleams of a land of dreams, Which burst on his dazzled ken: 16 THE THREE WAKINGS. But lie stood upon the borders Of the land which we see afar, When earth's firmest ground dissolves away, And men see things as they are. He saw a young child standing In a famine-stricken land, Entrusted with a bounteous store, The gifts of a gracious hand. He saw it scatter its treasures In idle and thankless waste ; And when from its idlesse startled, It gave away the rest. And the grateful people hasten'd To garland its guilty head, — It took the homage as its due, Then cried like the rest for bread. And stung with shame and anguish, He cried, " It is I ; it is I ; Father, forgive, forgive my sin !" And he cried with a bitter crv. THE THREE WAKINGS. 17 That cry reacli'd the heart of the Father : Once more he look'd on high, And in the depths of heaven, — In the calm of the upper sky, — He saw 'midst the sea of glory, — A glory surpassing bright, One crown'd with a Crown of Inheritance, Clad in unborrow'd light. He saw Him leave the glory, And lay aside the crown, And to that land of famine Came, touch' d with pity, down ; And gird Himself for service, And minister to all ; No service was for Him too mean, No care of love too small. But men paid Him no homage, They crown'd Him with no crown; And the dying bed they made for Him Was not a bed of down. B 18 THE THREE WAKINGS. What more then met his vision Falls dimly on mortal ears ; The angels were mute with wonder, And the poet with grateful tears. The rebel will was broken, The captive heart was free, — " O Lord of all, who servedst all, Let me Thy servant be !" He woke ; once more he found him In the home where he play'd a child ; His mother held his feverish hand, His sisters wept and smiled. He loved them more than ever, With a pure and fervent love ; He loved God's sun and earth and skies, Though his home lay far above. His poet's crown lay near him Fused to a golden cup ; It would carry water for parched lips, So he thankfully took it up. THE THREE WAKINGS. 19 He went in the strength of dependence To tread where his Master trod, To gather and knit together The family of God : Awhile as a heaven-born stranger To pass through this world of sin, With a heart diffusing the balm of peace From the place of peace within : With a conscience freed from burdens, And a heart set free from care, To minister to every one Always and everywhere. No more on the heights of glory A lonely man he stood ; Around him gather' d tenderly A lowly brotherhood. They spent their lives for others, Yet the world knew them not, — It had not known their Master, — And they sought no higher lot. 20 THE THREE WAKINGS. But the angels of heaven knew them, And He knew them who died and rose ; And the poet knew that the lowest place Was that which the Highest chose. THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. Why sigh we for the times of yore, The "good old times" that come no more ? The oldest day was once to-day ; Each hour wore in its settled place As every day a garb and face As those which glide from us away. Nature grows never old : On every dawning soul she dawns anew, And grows and ripens with their growth ; Only to spirits which have lost their youth, The heart of love and sense sincere and true, Her living forms seem cold. Sigh not for ancient days with poetry rife, To poets is the poetic age not fled ; Go let the dead inter their dead, Eor to the living there is always life, 22 THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. Nature lias still fresh founts of art To pour into the artist's heart ; To eyes fresh bathed in morning dew, The Golden Age shines ever new. Do ocean billows foam less gladly now Than when the sea-nymphs danced upon the wave 1 Curl they less proudly 'neath the swift ship's prow, Upheaving from the coral cave ? Sing they a song less syren sweet, At noontide bathing weary feet, Languidly smiling, Softly beguiling, Like lips that faintly move, Murmuring words of love ? Do forest streams less freshly well, Dewing with green the grassy dell, Giving the thirsty flowers to drink, Filling their starry eyes with joy, Shedding cool fragrance on the air, Than when the wood-nymphs sported there ? Or does the waterfall's robe, silver-pale, Wave in the breeze less lightly Than when the Naiad's moonlit veil Gleam'd through the dark trees brightly 1 THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PRESENT. 23 Has evening a less golden sheen ? Has morning a less rosy glow ? Are noon-day's arrowy rays less keen Than when Apollo strung the bow ? And when at morn in spring The sun with kisses wakes the earth, And sun-born showers of golden rain With floods of melody pour forth — Say, are not light and music one again ? Sigh not the old heroic ages back. The heroes were but brave and earnest men, Do thou but hero-like pursue thy track, Striving, not sighing, brings them back again ! The hero's path is straight, to do and say God's words and works in spite of toil and shame : Labours enough will meet thee in thy way, So thou forsak'st not it to seek for them. Canst thou no wrong with courage patient bear, Strength to none weaker than thyself impart ? seek from Him who died the hero's heart, And the heroic age for thee is there. 24 THE GOLDEN AGE IN THE PEESENT. Sigh not for simple clays of old, The childlike days of love and trust ; There never was an age of gold, And faith makes gold of all earth's dust. The Church's youthful strength grows never gray, Herself a fadeless youth amid the world's decay. Canst thou not love 1 has earth no room For all thy heart would give, With all the blessed depths of home And myriad hearts that weep and strive ? Are there no desolate and poor To nourish from thy store ? No songs of joy and glowing praise Thy voice might help to raise ? No heart long left alone Till it grew stiff and chill ; Thy voice might waken with a thrill Of love, long, long unknown 1 Is earth too small to hold The yearnings of thy love ? Is there not heaven above As near thee as of old ? Does He who came at Pentecost His presence now withhold J THE GOLDEN AGE IX THE PRESEXT. 20 That the first works should e'er be lost, Or the first love grow cold. Oh, fill thy heart with God, and thou shalt prove That there is left enough to trust and love ! For what is time past but to-day, Mirror'd in still jdooIs peacefully ; The future but the same to-day, Reflected in a heaving sea ? Only the present hour has life, The home of work, the field of strife. Choose not thy bride among the dead, But press the present to thy breast ; In her, thy soul shall find its bread, Thy mind its sphere, thy heart its rest. Till God shall speak another " Let there be," And time, like darkness before light, shall flee Before the Now of His eternitv. THE POET'S FOOD. The Poet does not dwell apart, enshrined in golden beams , He is not mail'd from time's rude blows in a panoply of dreams. No Pegasus bears him aloft in pathways 'mid the " clouds ; But he must tread the common earth mingling in common crowds. He dwells not in fair solitudes a still and lone recluse ; But he must handle common tools to his diviner use. He doth not list in magic caves the music of life's ocean, Borne freely on its winds and waves, he feels their every motion. The glory which around him shines is no fictitious ray; It is the sun which shines on all, the light of common day. the poet's food. 27 But lie has won an open eye to see things as they are. A glory in God's meanest works which passeth fiction far. His ear is open to discern stirrings of angel wings, And angel whispers come to him from mute and com- mon things. And nature ever meeting him with the same radiant face, And filling still her daily round with the old quiet grace, Is fresh and glorious as at first, and mightier far to bless, His youth's strong passion growing ripe in deep home- tenderness. And truths to which his childhood clung, like songs repeated often By the sweet voice of one we love, do but the surer soften, One thing he scorns with bitter scorn, the lived or spoken lie, Yet knowing what a labyrinth life, how dim the inward eye. 28 the poet's food. Is slow to brand his fellow-man as false, or base, or mean, Or aught which hath fed human hearts as common or unclean. Nature prepares no royal food for this her royal guest ; No special banquet is for him at life's full table dress'd. But all life's honest impulses, home joys, and cares, and tears, The shower of cordial laughter which the clouded bosom cheers, All earnest voices of his kind, calm thoughts of soli- tude, All of the world that is not husks, this is the poet's food. God's living poem speaks to him God-like in every line ; Not all man's hackney'd renderings can make it less divine. A TRUE DREAM. I dreamt we danced in careless glee, With hearts and footsteps light and free, That one so dearly loved and I, As in the childish days gone by For ever. I felt her arms around me fold, I heard her soft laugh as of old ; Her eyes with smiles were brimming o'er, Eyes we may meet on earth no more For ever. Then there came mingling with my dreams A sense perplex' d of loss and change — An echo dim of time and tears \ Until I said, " How long it seems Since thus we danced ! Is it not strange ' Do you not feel the weight of years 1 30 A TRUE DREAM. Or dread life's evening shadows cold 1 Or mourn to think we must grow old ?" Wondering, she paused a little while, Then answer'd, with a radiant smile, "No, never!" Wondering as if to her I told The customs of some foreign land ; Or spoke a tongue she knew of old, But could no longer understand. Till o'er her face that sunshine broke, And with that radiant smile she spoke That " Never." But not until the dream had fled I knew the sense of what she said ; Young with immortal truth and love, Child in the Father's house above For ever. We echo back thy words again, They smite us with no grief or pain ; We journey not towards the night, But to the breaking f the light Together. A TRUE DREAM. 31 Our life is no poor cistern'd store The lavish years are draining low ; But living streams that, welling o'er, Fresh from the Living Fountain flow For ever. THE ALPINE GENTIAN. She 'mid ice mountains vast Long had lain sleeping, When she look'd forth at last Timidly peeping. Trembling she gazed around, All round her slept ; O'er the dead icy ground Cold shadows crept. Wide fields of silent snow, Still, frozen seas — What could her young life do 'Mid such as these 1 Not a voice came to her, Not a warm breath ; What hope lay there for her Living 'midst death ? THE ALPINE GENTIAN. 33 Mournfully pondering Gazed she on high ; White clouds were wandering- Through the blue sky. There smiled the kindly sun, Gentle beams kiss'd her ; On her the mild moon shone Like a saint sister. There twinkled many a star, Danced in sweet mirth ; The warm heavens seem'd nearer far Than the cold earth. So she gazed steadfastly Loving on high : Till she grew heavenly, Blue as the sky. And the cold icicles Near which she grew, Thaw'd in her skyey bells Fed her with dew. c Ar. ' :L : ::: : '. :: ; ~\L. - Fixing Lis ey - I:.iT.ke:L : : G-: I ILiiiks Low, 'mid life's sold - Hf:.::- : : G; .". given Breathe out where'er they _ THE FOBGET-ME-XOT. She dwelt in the greenwood, A spring gushing near, ZSTo fairy queen could Queenlier fare. Bees knew her caskets ; Bold friars grey Filling their baskets, — " For the convent/' said they. Butterfly vagrants Gossipp'd there long : Winds brought her fragrance, Birds brought her song. Leaves rustling o'er her Let the light through ; The blithe stream would pour her Draughts of sweet dew. 36 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. O'er her so clearly The warm heavens smiled ; They all loved her dearly, The forest's fair child. Thus pass'd her childhood Dreamily by, By the fount in the wild wood, 'Neath the blue sky. The kind sun above her, Stream, bird, and wind, She knew not they loved her, Knew they were kind. Till one day gazing In the fount pure and cold, A vision amazing She saw there unfold. A blue eye soft beaming Met her blue eye, A golden star gleaming, A miniature sky. THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 37 Calm the waves under The fair vision lay ; Lost in sweet wonder, She gazed there all day. Saw not the heaven, Heard not the breeze, Till the soft even Shadow'd the trees. o> The stars still were shining. But they seeni'd far While she lay pining For her lost star. The gentle leaves rustling, The night- winds' soft stir, Seeni'd harsh and bustling, Strange voices to her. Not heaven's smile moved her, Nor the stream's old kind tone 'Mid so many that loved her, She wept there alone. 38 THE FORGET-ME-NOT. Till, the shadows dispersing, The Sun rose anew, The high forest piercing, Pierced her heart through. Her dewy eyes raising He met them and smiled, The eye of heaven gazing On her heaven's child. For the lost dream was given The Truth brighter far, The blue loving heaven, The Sun for the star. Then all voices moved her, The trees grave and tall, The deep sky above her, The blithe insects small, She loved them each one, For they all loved the Sun, And the Sun loved them all. TO A REDBREAST. Robin to the bare bough clinging, What can thy blithe music mean ? Like a hidden fount, thy singing Seems to clothe the woods with green. What warm nest for thee hath Nature Where thy soft red breast to lay 1 Sing'st thou, little homeless creature, For the crumbs we strew'd to-day 1 Other birds have fled this dun light, Soaring on to regions bright, Singing in the richest sunlight, Singing 'neath the starry night ; Hiding in the broad-leaf'd shadows Of the southern woods at noon, Filling all the flower-starr'd meadows As with melodies of June. 40 TO A REDBREAST. Knowest thou the woods have voices Which like light the heart unfold, Till it trembles and rejoices, Growing deep that joy to hold ? Pouring music like a river, Many-toned and deep and strong, — Tones by which, like childhood's, quiver Thy few notes of simple song. Then the " crimson-tipped " thing, Like a daisy among birds, "With a quiet glee did sing Songs condensed thus in words : — " Well I know the joyous mazes Of the songs so full and fine ; Very faint would be God's praises Sounded by no voice but mine. " Yet the little child's sweet laughter Wakes it no responsive smile, — Though the poet singeth after, And the angels all the while? TO A REDBREAST. 41 ""What I sing I cannot measure, Why I sing I cannot say ; But I know a well of pleasure Springeth in my heart all clay." So I learned that crumbs are able Lowly hearts to fill with song, — Crumbs from off a festal table Lowly hearts will join ere long. He who winter clays hath given, With the snows gives snow-drops birth ; And while angels sing in heaven, God hears robins sing on earth. Only keep thee on the wing, Music dieth in the dust ; Nothing that but creeps can sing, All hearts that soar heavenward must. ST FKANCIS D' ASSISTS CANTICUM SOLIS. Altissimo omnipotente buon Signore, tue son le laudi, la gloria, lo honor, e ogni benediction. A te solo se confanno e nullo homo e degno di nominarti. Laudato sia mio Signore per tutte le creature, specialmente Messer lo Fratre Sole, il quale giorna illumina noi per ltd. E alto e bello e radiante con grande splendore. Da Te Signore porta signiflcazione. Laudato sia mio Signore per Suora Luna e per le stelle le quali in cielo le hai formate chiare e belle. Laudato sia mio Signore per fratre Vento e per la luce e nuvole e sereno e ogni tempo, per lo quale dai a tutte creature sustenta- mento. Laudato sia mio Signore per Suora acqua la quale e molto utile e humile e pretiosa e casta. Laudato sia mio Signora per Fratre Fuoco per lo quale tu allumini la notte, e bello e jocundo e robustissimo e forte. Laudato sia mio Signore per nostra Madre Terra la quale ne sostenta, governa, e produce diversi frutte, e coloriti fiori e herbi- Laudato sia mio Signore per quelli che perdonano per lo tuo amore e sosteneno infirmitade e tribulatione. Beati quelli che sostegneranno in pace che da Te Altissimo saranno incoronati. CANTICUM SOLIS. 43 I bless Thee, Father, that where'er I go A brotherhood of blessed creatures goes "With me, and biddeth me God speed. For all Thy mute and innocent creatures take my thanks ; To me they are child-brethren without speech Or sin. And first for him, the noblest of them all, He who brings day and summer, disenchants The ice-bound streams, and wakes the happy birds, Pure choristers, to matins ; at whose call The young flowers, startled from their hiding-places, Peep and laugh ; who clothes the earth, and fills The heavens with joy ; and he is beautiful And radiant with great splendour. Praise to Thee, O Highest ! for our royal brother Sun ; For bears he not an impress, Lord, of Thee ? And praise for her our holy white-veiled sister, Dwelling on high in heavenly purity ; And for the radiant hosts that bear her company, 44 CANTICUM SOLIS. For they are bright and beautiful. Praise for the moon aDd stars. Praise for our brother Wind, for though his voice Is rough at times, and in his savage mood He rends the earth, rousing the sea to fury, Yet at Thy calm rebuke he layeth by His lion nature, frisketk like a lamb Beside the streams, and gently crisps with snow The sapphire waves, and stirs the corn, and wakes The languid flowers to life, and lays dead blossoms Softly in their graves ; for the strong winds, The rough but kindly winds, we bless Thee, Lord. And for our sister, "Water, mountain child Whose happy feet make music on the hills, For her who bounds so light from rock to rock, Yet brings a blessing wheresoe'er she comes. She spurns all fetters, laughs at all restraint, Yet scorns no lowliest ministry of love, Abiding peacefully in roadside wells, And sparkling welcomes in the peasant's cup. Nature's sweet almoner ! all praise for her ! For she is useful, precious, meek, and chaste. We bless Thee, Lord, for her. CAJITICUM SOLIS. 45 And for our brother. Fire ! — fearful is he "When he goes forth exulting in his strength, And all things quail and fly before his face ! Yet he will sit a patient minister Of blessings on our hearth, and through the night He cheers us. He is joy I. robust, And strong. Prai.se, Lord, for him ! And for our mother Earth, who feedeth us 'With such unwearied love, and strews our paths "With rainbow-tinted flowers and healing herbs, Our gentle, generous, most beautiful, And ever youthful mother. Thus, blessed Christ, all praise to Thee for these Thy creatures. They are all Thy ministers, And to Thy reconciled speak nought but peace. Children and servants are we in one household, Dwelling before Thee in sweet hannony. bless us all ! Father ! we all bless Thee ! NATURE NO SELF-ACTING INSTRUMENT. So soberly and softly The seasons tread their round, So surely seeds of autumn In spring-time clothe the ground, Amid their measured music Y/hat watchful ear can hear God's voice amidst the Garden 1 Yet, hush ! for He is here ! No mere machine is nature, Wound up and left to play, No wind-harp swept at random By airs that idly stray ; A Spirit sways the music, A Hand is on the chords, Oh, bow thy head and listen, — That hand it is the Lord's ! ON THE GKAVE OF A FAITHFUL DOG. Three trees which stand apart upon A sunny slope of meadow ground, A shadow from the heat at noon, — And underneath a grassy mound. A little silent grassy mound : — And is this all is left of thee, "Whose feet would o'er the meadow bound, So full of eager life and glee 1 Of " thee ?" and may I say e'en this Of what so wholly pass'd away 1 Or can such trust and tenderness Be crush'd entirely into clay 1 The voice whose welcomes were so glad, Feet pattering like summer showers, The dark eyes which would look so sad If gathering tears were dimming ours ; 48 ON THE GRAVE OF A FAITHFUL DOG. Those wistful, dark, inquiring eyes, So fond and watchful, deep and true, That made the thought so often rise — What looks those crystal windows through ? Didst thou not watch for hours our track, And for the absent seem to pine ? And when the well-known voice came back, What ecstasy could equal thine 1 Is it all lost in nothingness, Such gladness, love, and hope, and trust, Such busy thought our thoughts to guess, All trampled into common dust ? Save memories which our hearts entwine, Has all for ever pass'd away, Like the dear home once thine and mine, The home now silent as thy clay ? Or is there something yet to come, From all our science still conceal'd, About the patient creatures dumb A secret yet to be reveal' cl ? OX THE GRAVE OF A FAITHFUL DOG. 49 A happy secret still behind, Yet for the mute creation stored, Which suffers, though it never sinn'd, And loves and toils without reward. A JOURNEY ON THE SOUTH-DEVON RAILWAY. The young oak casts its delicate shadow- Over the still and emerald meadow ; The sheep are cropping the fresh spring grass, And never raise their heads as we pass ; The cattle are taking their noon-day rest, And chewing the cud with a lazy zest, Or bathing their feet in the reedy pool Switch their tails in the shadows cool ; But away, away, we may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there 's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. Two white clouds are poised on high, Sunning their wings in the azure sky; Two white swans float to and fro Languidly in the stream below, As it sleeps beneath a beechwood tall, Clouds, and swans, and trees, and all, A JOURNEY G>~ THE SOUTH-DEVON RAILWAY. 51 Image themselves in the quiet stream, Passing their lives in a sunny dream \ But away, away, we may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there 's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. Under the tall cliffs, green and deep The ocean rests in its mid-day sleep ; The waves are heaving lazily Where the purple sea-weeds float ) Sunbeams cross on the distant sea, Speck' d by the sail of the fisher's boat ; But away, away, we may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there 's a race to be run and a goal to be w^on ere the set of the sun, Into the deep dell's still retreat, Where the river rushes beneath our feet, Skirting the base of moorland hills, By the side of rocky rills, 52 A JOURNEY ON THE SOUTH-DEVON RAILWAY. Where the wild-bird bathes and plumes its wing, Where the fields are fresh with the breath of spring, Where the earth is hush'd in her noon-day prayer, No place so secret but we come there. On nature's mid-day sleep we break, And are miles away ere her echoes wake ; We startle the wood-nymphs in their play, And ere they can hide are away, away ! Away, away, we may not stay, Panting and puffing, and snorting and starting, And shrieking and crying, and madly flying, On and on, there 's a race to be run and a goal to be won ere the set of the sun. THE THREE TRANCES. LEGEND OF A NORTHERN SEER. I WAS a glad and sunny child, And in the fount of life Which, gushing from its hidden cave In many a clear and sparkling wave, Each with sweet music rife, Wells in the morning sunlight up E'en to its stony brim, Dropping into each flowery cup That trembles on the rim, Thence trickling through the long soft grass That springs up green where'er it pass, (E'en from the stones it lives among Ringing a clear and hearty song, Each joyous chime and merry burst As fresh and glad as 'twere the first), I bathed, and quench'd my healthy thirst, Until my heart grew wild. I bounded o'er the bounding turf, I shouted to the shouting surf, 5i THE THREE TRANOES. I laugh'd with the merry streams ; My playmates were the birds and bees, The noisy wind, the whispering breeze, And changeful summer' gleams. And in the still and sultry hours, When Nature droop'd and was sad, Weary with thirst and heat, The tread of my light feet Was cool and musical, As when, at evening, fall Drop by drop in lonely pools the summer showers, And the desert look'd up and was glad. I strove with the madden' d storm, I leapt the crag with the waterfall, For the blood in my veins was warm, And storms, and streams, and gleams, and all The mighty creatures of the wild, In their fierce exulting play, They welcomed me To their company, And they laugh'd to see a little child As strong and as glad as they. THE THREE TRANCES. 55 Then a shadow came before my eyes, And a weight npon my heart, And my breath came slow, Laden with heavy sighs, And one I did not know Ever to me Clung wearily, And whisper'd that we never more should part. And on the crags where I was wont to stand He dragg'd me downward with a heavy hand, And on the mountains, where I used to be As moiintain breezes free, He came, and then my steps fell heavily, And in the forest glad and lone, Where winds and ancient trees, And the torrent and the breeze, Had talk'd to me as to a fellow of their own, His heavy breath my voice would choke, His wings would cloud my spirit o'er, I could not answer when they spoke, And I was of their fellowship no more. 56 THE THREE TRANCES. The waters laugh' d — I could not laugh — In their ancient dwelling Nature's founts were welling, Life-giving as of old, but not for me to quaff. For ever he would b;de By my side, And 'neath his heavy tread the springs were dried. From crag to crag the torrent sprung, Ever young. My step had lost its spring, The young winds sang their wonted song The flowers among, A song I might not sing. The ocean and the stormy winter weather Play'd their wild play together As of old. I could not play, and grew to dread the storm, — The blood in nature's veins was warm, Mine ran cold. And when in noontide hours of weariness Nature had laid her down to sleep In the solitude, THE THREE TRANCES. 57 My step no more awoke the wilderness, My voice no more her parched heart could steep With life and good, Like fountains gushing in a thirsty place; Nature no more was glad to see my face, For I was faint and sad as she, And wheresoe'er my steps I bent, Ever with me that Dark One went With heavy footsteps wearily. He drank my cup of life till it was dry, He weigh'd upon my heart till it grew cold, He touch' d my eyelids hot and heavily, And nothing smiled as it had smiled of old. I laid me down upon a woodland bank, Where the breath of spring came slow in languid sighs, And smiles on me Beam'd tearfully From out the holy depths of violet eyes ; My heart within me sank. I laid me down upon the bank and wept; A sleep, which was not sleep, came o'er my soul, Men mourn'd to see my light of life thus fade ; 58 THE THREE TRANCES. They knew not that the Ancient One * That shadow o'er my soul had thrown, That He might commune with me in the shade. That cloud of sleep around my sense did roll, That He might come to me in visions as I slept. They knew not that my sleep had dreams — Dreams to which all that seem most real beside Are but as lights in restless waves that glide, The changeful image of most changeful gleams. For life is one long sleep, O'er which in gusts do sweep Visions of heaven ; The body but a closed lid, By which the real world is hid From the spirit slumbering dark below, And all our earthly strife and woe, Tossings in slumber to and fro, And all we know of heaven and light In visions of the day or night To us is given. * The old Lapland appellation for God. THE THREE TRANCES. 59 I talked with the Ancient One In that mysterious seeming slumber, Nor yet with Him alone, But blessed spirits without number, Who crowd around His throne. And loud and clear the tide of praises swell j — Nor only in that lofty sphere they dwell. But round His children throng, Invisibly ever, And pour their glorious song, Though audible never, Save when at evening, in the solitude, When not a breeze has stirred, A quiver thrills through all the silent wood ; Can it have heard ? O what a drunkenness of joy my soul doth steep With thought of the unutter'd visions of that sleep ! And I have been since then A prophet amongst men; They honour me as one whose eyes Have looked upon the mysteries GO THE THREE TRANCES. Of the true world where spirits dwell, To whom the great book is unrolled. O ! if thus reverently they deem Of the poor fragments of that dream Which can in human words, be told, What would they think of that I cannot tell ? And when that awful slumber broke, He who so long of late Was my associate No longer closely in my pathway stood, But in the sky, Heavily, Like a thunder cloud with dusky wings did brood, And to something of my former life I woke. The sunny laugh, the spring-tide sigh, The blood-full vein, The bounding step, the beaming eye, Came not again ; Joys that too quickly came and fled, To find a name. The tears that started in my eye, I knew not whence, And ere I could have question'd why THE THREE TRANCES. CI Were from hence, — The heart that danced amongst the forms of spring, Like them a joyous growing tiling, — These came not, yet to me were brought ; A thousand joys too deep for thought, For unto the suffering one God sent a joy of His own ; And the storm and the solitude Again unto my soul were good. For ever in the silence and the din The unseen spirits talk'd to mine within, Yet on my pathway evermore That heavy cloud doth darkly lower, Like thunder-laden air, Damping each transient thought of mirth, Weighing my energies to earth, A burden hard to bear. And sometimes when I 've seen My brothers dancing round With strength's exulting bound, Impatiently my heart would pray That I might be even as they, Even as I had been j G2 THE THREE TRANCES. But then some gentle sprite would hover by, And breathe a high and cheering word Such as the heart's deep waters stirr'd, And all my grief would melt in ecstasy. Nor only 'neath the cloud, , By suffering, is my spirit bow'd, But with too great a weight of glory, As with long years my head is hoary, This feeble frame dissolves away, Before the blaze of that full day ; Life, breathing with too strong a breath, Will crush this body into death. And twice again that wondrous guest Hath come close to my side as of old, Hath laid his heavy hand upon my breast, Until my blood ran cold. Hath hid with stifling breath again The light of life from me, Hath bound me with a threefold chain That draggeth heavily, All my raptured soul to steep In the sleep which is not sleep. To me he is no more unknown, THE THREE TRANCES. G3 His face lias all familiar grown, And dearer than the blessed sun, For with him comes the Ancient One. O, come to me once more ! Shadow my spirit o'er ; Three times thy hand hath been on me Heavily, Come with yet heavier grasp, and crush This frame to dust ; Three times thy breath hath dimni'd my light Into night ; Come and breathe on it mightily, Till it die. Three times the cloud of sleep o'er my soul Thou didst roll ; Come now, and fix the shadow there, Let me sleep e'er, That I may dream those visions o'er Evermore. Nay; with loud voice this slumber break, That I may wake, And be with the Ancient One By His throne, Come now, and with no feeble hand, 64 THE THREE TRANCES. Strain thy band, Until this heavy veil be riven, Which shuts my spirit from the light ; Come, Strong One, bear my soul to heaven, And crush this lid which shrouds my sight ; I care not what the anguish be, So I be free ; Come, choke this slow and labouring breath, And I will bless thee, Death. PAET II. THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. HIKTSTBT. 67 MINISTRY. ' The Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.' Since service is the highest lot, And all are in one Body bound, In all the world the place is not "Which may not with this bliss be crown'd. The sufferer on the bed of pain lSeed not be laid aside from this, But for each kindness gives again " The joy of doing kindnesses." The poorest may enrich this feast ; Not one lives only to receive, But renders through the hands of Christ Pdcher returns than man can give. The little child in trustful glee, With love and gladness brimming o'er, Many a cup of ministry May for the weary veteran pour. 68 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. The lonely glory of a throne May yet this lowly joy preserve, Love may make that a stepping-stone, And raise " I reign" into " I serve." This, by the ministries of prayer, The loneliest life with blessings crowds, Can consecrate each petty care, Make angels' ladders out of clouds. Nor serve we only when we gird Our hearts for special ministry ; That creature best has minister'd Which is what it was meant to be. l>irds by being glad their Maker bless, By simply shining sun and star ; And we, whose law is love, serve less By what we do than what we are. Since service is the highest lot, And angels know no higher bliss, Then with what good her cup is fraught Who was created but for this ! MART. G9 I. MARY THE MOTHER OF JESUS. " All generations shall call me blessed." Age after age has call'd thee bless'd, Yet none have fathom' d all thy bliss ; Mothers, who read the secret best, Or angels, — yet its depths must miss. To dwell at home with Him for years, And prove His filial love thine own ; In all a mother's tender cares To serve thy Saviour in thy Son. To see before thee day by day That perfect life expand and shine, And learn by sight, as angels may, All that is holy and Divine ! 70 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Well may we heap thy blessing up From age to age, from land to land, Since Christ Himself that brimming cup Gives to the lowliest Christian's hand, The measure of a blessedness Yet by that measure unexpress'd ; Sealing the Mother's joy with " Yes," The Christian's, with His " rathe?' bless' d." MARY. 71 II. THE MARRIAGE AT CAXA. 4 Yea, rather blessed are they who hear the word of God and keep it.' Not for thyself thy motherhood, Not for thy home that life-stream springs ; For thee then, too, the higher good Must come through death of lower things. The village home so sweet to thee With joys so hallo w'd and complete, For Him no Fathers House could be, No limit for thy Saviour s feet. The will long meekly bow'd to thine Now calmly claims its sovereign place, And takes a range of love Divine Thy mortal vision cannot trace. 72 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. On us that mild reproof falls cold, The words, and not the tone, we hear ; On thee, who knewest Him of old, It casts no shade of doubt or fear. For thy meek heart has read Him true, And, bowing, wins His " rather bless d" " Whatever He saith unto you, do" Embracing as its rule and rest. Then through earth's ruins heav'n shines bright ; The widest sphere, the dearest home, Save that where Christ is Lord and Light, Were but at last the spirit's tomb. Thus, laying down thy special bliss, Thou winnest joy, all joy above, The endless joy of being His, And sharing in His works of love. MART. 73 III. THE CROSS. "Now there stood by the Cross of Jesus His mother." The strongest light casts deepest shade, The dearest love makes dreariest loss, And she His birth so bless'd had made Stood by Him dying on the cross. Yet, since not grief but joy shall last, The day and not the night abide, And all time's shadows, earthward cast, Are lights upon the " other side;" Through what long bliss that shall not fail, That darkest hour shall brighten on ! Better than any angel's "Hail!" The memory of "Behold thy Son /" 74 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Bless'd in thy lowly heart to store^ The homage paid at Bethlehem, But far more blessed evermore Thus to have shared the taunts and shame. Thus with thy pierced heart to have stood 'Mid mocking crowds and own'd Him thine, True through a world's ingratitude, And own'd in death by lips Divine. MARY. IV. THE CROWN. Thou shalt be crown'd, motlier blest, Our hearts behold thee crown'd e'en now; The crown of motherhood, earth's best, O'ershadowing thy maiden brow. Thou shalt be crown'd. More fragrant bays Than ever poet's brows entwine, For thine immortal hymn of praise, First Singer of the Church, are thine. Thou shalt be crown'd. Ail earth and heaven Thy coronation pomp shall see; The Hand by which thy crown is given Shall be no stranger's hand to thee. 76 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Thou shalt be crown' d, but not a queen ; A better triumph ends thy strife : Heaven's bridal raiment, white and clean, The victor's crown of fadeless life. Thou shalt be crown' d, but not alone, No lonely pomp shall weigh thee down, Crown'd with the myriads round His throne, And casting at His feet thy crown. MARY MAGDALEXE. 7 7 MARY MAGDALENE. I. Her home lay by that inland sea "Which sacred memories so embalm; That Magdala and Galilee Ring like the music of a psalm. Deep in the lake the far hills glow, Clear shine each peak and golden spire, And Hermon lifts his brow of snow Unsullied to that sky of fire. From point to point gleam'd cities white, Full of the joyous stir of life, And o'er the waves boats bounded light ; All was with eager movement rife. 78 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Fresh streams across Gennesaret danced Laughing with corn and countless fruits, And met the quiet waves which glanced Bathing the oleander roots. Yet many a calm recess for prayer Those hills enshrined which circling stood, Wild steeps which to men's homes brought near The sanctity of solitude. But vainly, round her and beneath Earth pour'd her wealth, as evermore Flows Jordan to the Sea of Death, And leaves it bitter as before. MARY MAGDALENE. " Out of whom He cast seven devils." II. No phantoms thus her soul assail'd, It was no vision of the night, No dim unreal mist, that veil'd The glad reality of light ; No discord of sweet strings unstrung A skilful touch might tune again, No jar of nerves too tightly wrung, No shadows of an o'er wrought brain ; But din of mocking voices rude, Spirits whose touches left a stain, Owning no shrine of solitude Their blasphemies might not profane. 80 THE Wq^IEN OF THE GOSPELS. Real as the earth she, hopeless, trod, Real as the heaven they had lost, Real as the soul they kept from God, From torture still to torture toss'd. Thus sleep to her could bring no calm, No stillness dwelt for her in night, And human love could yield no balm, And home no deep and pure delight. Till light upon that chaos broke, — Not from unconscious azure skies, — The morning that her spirit woke Beam'd from the depths of human eyes. No thunder, with God's vengeance dread, Scatter d that company of hell ; It was a Voice from which they fled, A Yoice they knew before they fell. Once more she was alone and free, And silence all her soul possess'd; As the " great calm " the storm-toss'd sea When the same voice commanded rest. MARY MAGDALENE. 81 Such solitude a heaven might make, Such silence had for bliss sufficed; What was it, then, from hell to wake, And wake beneath the smile of Christ ! 82 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. III. "And certain women which had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities, Mary called Magdalene, .... which ministered unto Him of their substance." He suffer d her with Him to stay — This crowning joy was not denied — To hear His voice from day to day, And tread this earth still by His side. Where, with a diadem of snow, The white- wall'd cities crown'd the rocks, Or peasants' dwellings far below, Couch' d round the fountains like their flocks. She saw the expressive glance of sight The dulness of blind eyes replace ; When learning first the joy of light, For the first sight they saw His face. MARY MAGDALENE, 83 She heard the first clear accents pour From dumb lips, uttering His name; She saw men's homes from shore to shore Break into sunshine where He came. She saw the long possess" d set free. She knew the anguish and the bliss ; She saw the baffled Pharisee, And felt " ^lan never spake like this." She heard reluctant fiends confess The Godhead they had fain denied; She saw the little children press 'With fearless fondness to His side. She saw the speechless joy that day Light up the widow's face at Nainj She never saw one sent away, She never heard one plead in vain. She saw Him faint and wearied sore, And toil those gracious eyes bedim, Thirsting and hunger* d, homeless, poor, She saw and minister d to Him. 84 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. She saw His brow its light regain, And strength reknit each wearied limb, All to be spent for man again : — A woman's service succour'd Him ! And are those days for ever o'er *? Must earth be of that joy bereft ? — The sights and sounds are here no more, And yet the very best is left. Still may we follow in His way, And tread this earth as by His side, May see Him work from day to day, As in His presence we abide. See Him shed light on darken'd eyes, The bow'd and fetter'd heart set free; May succour, serve, and sacrifice, And hear from heaven His " unto Me." MARY MAGDALENE. 85 IV. " The first day of the week cometh Mary Magdalene early while it was yet dark unto the sepulchre. " The Sabbath that could bring no rest, The weary day, at length had fled : "What Sabbath could again be blest Since He who promised rest was xlead ] The guilty world was hush'd in gloom, Night on its sleeping millions lay Like the " great stone " upon His tomb — "What if it never roll'd away ! But o'er her path there fell a shade No darkness from her heart could hide : — The tomb in which the Lord was laid Was near the cross on which He died 86 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Beneath that cross she stood again : The tortur'd form no more she saw; His murderers were religious men, Nor dropp'd one letter of the law ; His cry of agony might smite Strange discord through their measured prayer; And who, when death those lips made white, Could silence the reproaches there ? Thus earth among the spheres moved on, And calmly kept her order d course, Bearing the cross of God the Son, And in her heart His lifeless corpse. Nor yet was blotted out of space, Nor yet the brand of Cain doth bear, Because, through His surpassing grace, That cross pleads not "Avenge," but "Spare." MAR? MAGDALENE. 87 V. " They have taken away my Lord.** "My Lord/' though dead, yet still "my Lord : Prophet through love's tenacity, Powerless to hope, she yet adored, And felt the truth she could not see. If He who in Himself had shone All that God is, all man may be, Living the truth, else guess'd by none, Through years of patient ministry ; He from whom life and peace she drew, "Whom she had folio w'd day by day, And worshipp'd more, the more she knew, Could fade to cold unconscious clay; 88 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. If that pure life of perfect love, Extinguish'd, never more should beam, What joy could endless days above Bring ever more, not bringing Him ] What were those angel-forms to her, Their radiant forms and raiment white, If dead within a sepulchre, He lay, Himself the Life and Light ? Thus when the bridge of faith was rent, Which could have firmly spann'd the gulf, Love prostrate o'er the chasm leant,. And bridged the dark abyss herself. MARY 1IAGDALENE, VI. ;< Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself and saith unto Hiiq, Rabboni, which is to say, Master." A moment since, a sepulchre "Was all the world she cared to own, An empty tomb, vain balms and myrrh, Tears with no heart to shed them on. And now the living Lord was there, Immortal, glorious, yet the same; The voice the fiends once fled in fear Now spoke the old familiar name. iso language could that bliss have told, She had no words the joy to greet; She said but "Master !" as of old, And rested silent at His feet. 90 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Yet all heaven's choirs could scarcely twine A music more profound and sweet Than when, as from His heart to thine, Thus "Mary!" and "Kabbom!" meet. MARY MAGDALENE. 91 VII. 11 Go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen.' Tell all the world the Lord is risen — The Easter message, ever new; The grave is but a ruin'd prison, — Invincible, the Life breaks through. Earth cannot long ensepulchre In her dark depths the tiniest seed ; When life begins to throb and stir, The bands of death are weak indeed. No clods its upward course deter, Calmly it makes its path to day; One germ of life is mightier Than a whole universe of clay. 92 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Yet not one leaf-blade ever stirr'd, Bursting earth's wintry dungeons dim, But lived at His creative word, Responsive to the life in Him. Since, then, the life that He bestows Thus triumphs over death and earth; What power of earth or death can close The Fountain whence all life has birth 1 And, as the least up-springing grain Breathes still the resurrection song, That light the victory shall gain, That death is weak, and life is strong ; So with immortal vigour rife, The lowliest life that faith has freed, Bears witness still that Christ is life, And that the Life is risen indeed. SALOME. ■ She saith unto Him, Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one at Thy right hand and the other on the left, in Thy kingdom. But Jesus answered, Ye know not what ye ask." She knew not what for them she sought, At His right hand and left to sit; How great the glory, passing thought, How rough the path that led to it. They knew not what of Him they ask'd, But He their deeper sense distill' d ; Gently the selfish wish unmask'd, But all the prayer of love fulfill'd. Pride sought to lift herself on high, And heard but of the bitter cup ; Love would but to her Lord be nigh, And won her measure full, heap'd up. 94 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. With, vision of His glory bless' d, Stood on the mountain by His side, Lean'd at the supper on His breast, Stood close beneath Him when He died. One brother shared His cup of woe, The second of His martyr-band ; One, by His glory smitten low, Rose at the touch of His right hand. Thus, when by earth's cross lights perplex'd, We crave the thing that should not be, God, reading right our erring text, Gives what we would ask, could we see. THE WIDOW OF NAIN. Thy miracles are no state splendours, "Whose pomps Thy daily works excel ; The rock which breaks the stream, but renders Its constant current audible ; The power which startles us in thunders Works ever silently in light; And mightier than these special wonders, The wonders daily in our sight ; Rents in the veils Thy works that fold, They let the inner light shine through; The rent is new, the light is old, Eternal, never ever new. And therefore, when Thy touch arrests The bearers of that bier at Nain, Warm on unnumber'd hearts it rests, Though yet their dead live not again. 96 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. And Thy compassionate "Weep not !" On this our tearful earth once heard, For every age with comfort fraught, Tells how Thy heart is ever stirr'd. Nature repeats the tale each year, She feels Thy touch through countless springs, And, rising from her wintry bier, Throws off her grave-clothes, lives and sings. And when Thy touch through earth shall thrill, This bier whereon our race is laid, And, for the first time standing still, The long procession of the dead At Thy "Arise !" shall wake from clay, Young, deathless, freed from every stain ; When Thy "Weep not !" shall wipe away Tears that shall never come again ; When the strong chains of death are burst, And lips long dumb begin to speak, What name will each then utter first 1 — What music shall that silence break '/ THE SYROPHEXICIAX. " Great is tliy faith." Context, she takes the lowest place. He knows what strain her faith will bear ; Low in the valleys flows His grace, He does but gently lead her there. Then in the depths to her He comes, And meets her nothing with His all. Creation lives upon the crumbs Which from that Master s table fall ; But thou, O faith, not thus art fed ! For thee the heavenly homes are built ; Thy portion is the children's bread. And " Be it to thee as thou wilt." 98 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. ' When He heard, therefore, that he was sick, He abode two days still in the same place where He was." I. What hope lit up those sisters' gloom, When first they sent His help to crave, So sure that, hearing, He would come, And, coming, could not fail to save. Counting the distance o'er again, Deeming Him near and yet more near, Till hope, on heights she climb'd in vain, Lay frozen to a deathlike fear. Watching with twofold strain intent The expected steps, the failing breath, Till hope and fear, together spent, Sank in the common blank of death. THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 99 " Beyond this burning waste of hills, Beyond that awful glittering sea, 'Mid those blue mountains lingering still. Have our faint prayers not reach'd to Thee \ " Or are the joys and griefs of earth To Thee, whose eyes survey the whole, But passing things of little worth, That should not deeply stir the soul ?" His tears ere long shall hush that fear For every mourning heart for ever; And we, who now His words can hear Beyond the hills, beyond the river, Know that as true a watch He kept On those far heights, as at their side, Feeling the tears the sisters wept, Marking the hour the brother died. No faintest sigh His heart can miss ; E'en now His feet are on the way, With richest counter- weight of bliss Heap'd up for every hour's delay ; 100 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. That nevermore should hope deferr'd Make sick the heart which trusts in Him, But, nourish' d by His faithful Word, Grow brighter still as sight grows dim. THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 101 4 She hath done what she could. Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached throughout the whole world, this also that she hath done shall be spoken of for a memorial of her." II. Mary, the only glory sweet To any Christian's heart is thine 1 Hidden beside the Master's feet, Lost in that dearer light to shine ; Whilst evermore the heart obeys The sermon of thy listening looks, Learning religion from thy gaze Better than from a thousand books. Thy silence is His sweetest psalm, Vrhile from His lips thy name distils, And, dropping like thy precious balm, Ever His house with fragrance fills. 102 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. ' Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her. " III. What joy to live beneath the eyes, Which look'd the spirit "through and through," Which penetrated each disguise, And would not let us be untrue ; Yet through the thickest veil descried The little spring of good below, And pierced the icy crust of pride, That happy, humble tears might flow ; Rending each soft disguise, which spares The evil tiling by gentle name, — For sinners founts of pitying tears, But for the sin unquenchcd flame ; THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. 103 That saw the very spot within On which to lay the healing touch; That had no pity for the sin, Because for those who sinn'd so much ; That mark'd through Peter's boast his dread, Yet, by his curses unperplex'd, Look'd through them to the light, and read The traces of the earlier text ; Beneath the black "I know Him not" " Thou hnowest I love Thee" still could trace, In graven characters inwrought, ZSTo darkest stains could quite efface ; That knew, through all vibrations fix'd, The true direction of the will, Saw self with Martha's seiwice mix'd, And love in Mary's sitting still. Those eyes still watch us, not from far, Still pitying "look us through and through," And through the broken sketch we are, Foresee the heavenly likeness true ; 104 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Through all its soft and silken dress The creature of the dust descry, Yet 'neath the shapeless chrysalis The Psyche moulding for the sky. THE UNNAMED WOMEN. The hand that might have drawn aside The veil, which from unloving sight Those shrinking forms avails to hide, With tender care has wrapp'd it tight. He would not have the sullied name Once fondly spoken in a home, A mark for strangers' righteous blame, Branded through every age to come. And thus we only speak of them As those on whom His mercies meet, " She whom the Lord would not condemn," And " she who bathed with tears His feet." 10G THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Trusted to no evangelist, First heard where sins no more defile, Read from the Book of Life by Christ, And consecrated by His smile. THE CXXAMED WOMEX. 107 II. 'And stood at His feet behind Him weeping, and began to wash His feet with tears." She bathed His feet with many a tear, Feet wearied then for us so oft ; She wiped them with her flowing hair, Embalm'd with reverent touches soft, She knew not of the bitter way Those sacred feet had yet to tread, Nor how the nails would pierce one day Where now her costly balms were shed, She read the pity in His eves ; To peace transmuting her despair ; She could not read what agonies Must cloud the heaven she gazed on there. 108 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. He praised her love, her sacrifice, But breathed not what His own must be, Nor hinted what must be the price Which made her pardon flow so free. Then if her love and gifts were such, Who little knew the depths of His ; If then indeed she " loved" Him " much," How, since she knows Him as He is 1 THE UNNAMED WOKEN. 109 III. " He turned to the woman. '' " He turned to her." All eyes beside, — All other eyes of righteous men, — Avoided hers with virtuous pride, Nor could she meet their gaze again. Nor could she deem their coldness wrong ; That virtue of the Pharisee, Only in its negations strong, Ceasing to freeze might cease to be. And human virtues can but be As tender flowers a touch may kill, Scorch'd if winds breathe too fervently, Nipp'd if they chance to blow too chill. 110 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. But His were of another sphere That never stain nor change could know, No earth-born flowers, however fair, But the pure light which made them grow ; No ice pure only till it melt, But streams most fresh in freest flow ; The living love, whose pureness dwelt Not in its coldness but its glow. THE UNNAMED WOMEN. Ill TV. ' She hath washed roy feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. This woman, since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet Hath anointed my feet with ointment She loved much." He prized her love, He held it dear, He felt each rainistering touch, He raark'd each gift she offer' d there, He cared that she should love Him u much''' His pit j was no careless alms The happy to the wretched fling • He prized her love, her tears, her balms, Then life was yet a precious thing ; Precious the love He held of price, Precious each moment which might brino- Some privilege of sacrifice, Some vase to break in offering. 112 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. And God gives evermore like this, Gives by His measure, not by ours ; By life means not mere being, but bliss, Free exercise of joyful powers. The freedom with which He makes free Is freedom of His home above, Not merely liberty to be, But liberty to serve and love. THE USXA1IED WOMEN. 113 V. " Thy sins are forgiven thee." "Forgiveness may then yet be mine, The sinless lips have said 'forgiven;' Pardon is then a right Divine, And love indeed the law of heaven. " But can the sullied snow grow white ? What spell can seal the memory fast ? What has been ever must have been, The Almighty cannot change the past. " His eyes, though piercing as the light, In pity may refuse to see ; But what can make my memory white ? What veil can hide myself from me?" H 114 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. Oh ! raise tliy downcast eyes to His, And read the blessed secret there ; The pardoning love from guilt that frees, By loving thee shall make thee fair. Love's deepest depth of saving woe Has yet to be to thee reveal' d ; Blood from that tender heart must flow, And thus thy bitter streams be heal'd. Thy guilt and shame on Him must lie ; Then search the past thy guilt to see, Instead, this sight shall meet thine eye, — Thy Saviour on the cross for thee ! THE UNNAMED WOMEN. 115 RESTORATION. "Go in peace." He clothes thy soul in spotless dress, In bridal raiment white and clean, The spirit's bridal robe of peace, Sign of the inward grace unseen. The love that sweeps thy spirit o'er, Effacing every stain of sin, Flows through thy spirit evermore, A well of heavenly life within. Thus, hallow'd names, forgotten long, Familiar names which once were thine, "With all the old attraction strong, Embrace thy soul from lips Divine. 116 THE W03IEN OF THE GOSPELS. Soft from a Father's house above Floats down on thee the name of child, From love beyond the mother's love Which on thy guiltless childhood smiled. And when the age its circuit ends, And the great marriage day is there, And from the heavens a bride descends, Thou, clothed in white, the bliss shalt share. THE TWO ALABASTER BOXES. 1 A woman in the city, which was a sinner, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and anointed His feet." 'Being in Bethany, there came a woman having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard, very precious, and she brake the box, and poured it on His head." "When Thou, in patient ministry, Didst pass a stranger through Thy land, Two costly gifts were offer' d Thee, And both were from a woman's hand, To Thee, who madest all things fair, Twice fair and precious things they bring, Pure sculptured alabaster clear, Perfumes for earth's anointed King. Man's hasty lips would both reprove, One for the stain of too much sin, One for the waste of too much love ; Yet both avail'd Thy smile to win. 118 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. The saint who listen'd at Thy feet, The sinner sinners scorn' d to touch, Adoring in Thy presence meet, Both pardon' d and Both loving much. Thus evermore to all they teach, Man's highest style is " much forgiven," And that earth's lowest yet may reach The highest ministries of heaven. They teach that gifts of costliest price From hearts sin beggar'd yet may pour ; And that love's costliest sacrifice Is worth the love, and nothing more. THE TWO ALABASTER BOXES. 119 II. Love is the true economist, Her weights and measures pass in heaven ; What others lavish on the feast, She to the Lord Himself hath given. Love is the true economist, She through all else to Him hath sped, And unreproved His feet hath kiss'd, And spent her ointments on His head. Love is the true economist, She breaks the box, and gives her all ; Yet not one precious drop is miss'd, Since on His head and feet they fall. 120 THE WOMEN OF THE GOSPELS. In all her fervent zeal no haste, She at His feet sits glad and calm ; In all her lavish gifts no waste, The broken vase but frees the balm. Love is the truest providence, Since beyond time her gold is good, Stamp'd for man's mean " three hundred pence" With Christ's " She hath done what she could''' Love is the best economist In what she sows and what she reaps ; She lavishes her all on Christ, And in His all her being steeps. PAET III. HYMNS. THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. Thou art the Way ! All ways are thorny mazes without Thee ; Where hearts are pierced, and thoughts all aimless stray, In Thee the heart stands firm, the life moves free : Thou art our Way ! Thou art the Truth ! Questions the ages break against in vain Confront the spirit in its untried youth; It starves while learning poison from the grain : Thou art the Truth ! Thou art the Truth ! Truth for the mind grand, glorious, infinite, A heaven still boundless o'er its highest growth ; Bread for the heart its daily need to meet. Thou art the Truth ! 124 THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. Thou art the Light ! Earth beyond earth no faintest ray can give; Heaven's shadeless noontide blinds our mortal sight ; In Thee we look on God, and love, and live : Thou art our Light ! Thou art the Rock ! Doubts none can solve heave wild on every side, "Wave meeting wave of thought in ceaseless shock ; On Thee the soul rests calm amidst the tide : Thou art our Rock ! Thou art the Life ! All ways without Thee paths that end in death ; All life without Thee with death's harvest rife ; All truths dry bones, disjoined, and void of breath. Thou art our Life ! For Thou art Love ! Our Way and End ! the way is rest with Thee ! O living Truth, the truth is life in Thee ! O Life essential, life is bliss with Thee ! For Thou art Love ! THE PATHWAYS OF THE HOLY LAND, The pathways of Thy land are little changed Since Thou wert there ; The busy world through other ways has ranged, And left these bare. The rocky path still climbs the glowing steep Of Olivet, Though rains of two millenniums wear it deep, Men tread it yet. Still to the gardens o'er the brook it leads, Quiet and low ; Before his sheep the shepherd on it treads, His voice they know. 126 THE PATHWAYS OF THE HOLY LAND. The wild fig throws broad shadows o'er it still, As once o'er Thee ; Peasants go home at evening up that hill To Bethany. And as when gazing Thou didst weep o'er them, From height to height The white roofs of discrown'd Jerusalem Burst on our sight. These ways were strew'd with garments once and palm, "Which we tread thus ; Here through Thy triumph on Thou passedst, calm, On to Thy cross. The waves have wash'd fresh sands upon the shore Of Galilee ; But chisell'd in the hill-sides evermore Thy paths we see. Man has not changed them in that slumb'ring land, Nor time effaced : Where Thy feet trod to bless we still may stand ; All can be traced. THE PATHWAYS OF THE HOLY LAND. 127 Yet we have traces of Thy footsteps far Truer than these ; "Where'er the poor, and tried, and suffering are, Thy steps faith sees. Nor with fond sad regrets Thy steps we trace ; Thou art not dead ! Our path is onward, till we see Thy face, And hear Thy tread. And now, wherever meets Thy lowliest band In praise and prayer, There is Thy presence, there Thy Holy Land, Thou, Thou, art there ! VEILED ANGELS. OR AFFLICTIONS. Unnumber'd blessings, rich and free, Have come to us, our God, from Thee. Sweet tokens written with Thy name, Bright angels from Thy face they came. Some came with open faces bright, Aglow with heaven's own living light. And some were veil'd, trod soft and slow, And spoke in voices grave and low. Veil'd angels, pardon ! if with fears We met you first, and many tears. VEILED ANGELS. 129 We take you to our hearts no less ; We know ye come to teach and bless. We know the love from which ye come ; We trace you to our Father's home. We know how radiant and how kind Your faces are, those veils behind. We know those veils, one happy day, In earth or heaven, shall drop away ; And we shall see you as ye are, And learn why thus ye sped from far. But what the joy that day shall be, We know not yet ; we wait to see. For this, O angels, well we know, The way ye came our souls shall go : Up to the love from which ye come, Back to our Father's blessed home. And bright each face, unveil' d, shall shine, Lord, when the Veil is rent from Thine ! I THE WORD OF LIFE. 'We are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works. 1 We know there once was One on earth Who penetrated all He saw, To whom the lily had its worth, And Nature bared her inmost law. And when the mountain-side He trod, The universe before Him shone, Translucent in the smile of God, Like young leaves in the morning sun. Glory which Greece had never won, To consecrate her Parthenon. Nature her fine transmuting powers Laid open to His piercing ken : The life of insects and of flowers; The lives, and hearts, and minds of men; Depths of the geologic past, The mission of the youngest star; — No mind had ever grasp so vast, No science ever dived so far. THE WORD OF LIFE. 131 All that our boldest guess sees dim Lay clearly visible to Hirn. Had He but utter'd forth in song The visions of His waking sight, The thoughts that o'er His soul would throng, Alone upon the hills at night; What poet's loftiest ecstasies Had stirr'd men with such rapturous awe As would those living words of His, Calm utterance of what He saw ! All earth had on those accents hung, All ages with their echoes rung. But He came not alone to speak, He came to live, He came to die : Living, a long lost race to seek; Dying, to raise the fallen high. He came, Himself the living Word, The Godhead in His jDerson shone; But few and poor were those who heard, And wrote His words when He was gone,— Words children to their hearts can clasp, Yet angels cannot wholly grasp. 132 THE WORD OF LIFE. But where those simple words were flung, Like raindrops on the parched green, A living race of poets sprung, Who dwelt among the things unseen ; Who loved the fallen, sought the lost, Yet saw beneath time's masks and shrouds; Whose life was one pure holocaust, Death but a breaking in the clouds : His Volume as the world was broad, His Poem was the Church of God. NOT GRUDGINGLY, OR OF NECESSITY. THE MIRACLE AT THE MARRIAGE FEAST. The Hand that strews the earth with flowers Enrich'd the marriage feast with wine; The Hand once pierced for sins of ours This morning made the dew-drops shine; Makes rain-clouds palaces of art, Makes ice-drops beauteous as they freeze; The heart that bled to save, — that heart Sends countless gifts each day to please; Spares no minute refining touch To paint the flower, to crown the feast, Deeming no sacrifice too much; Has care and leisure for the least; 134 NOT GRUDGINGLY, OR OF NECESSITY. Gives freely of its very best, Not barely what the need may be, But for the joy of making bless'd. — Teach us to love and give like Thee ! Not narrowly men's claims to measure, But question daily all our powers : To whose cup can we add a pleasure ? Whose path can we make bright with flowers ? DURABLE RICHES. The meanest creature of His care Finds some soft nest to greet it made, The hunted beast has yet its lair ; — He had not where to lay His head. And scarce a little child that dies But has its treasured things to share ; Its little store of legacies Love hoards thenceforth with sacred care. He left no treasure to divide; E'en the poor garments which He wore Were shared by strangers ere He died, For their own worth, and nothing more. Yet when the first disciples trod Vineyards and fields of other men, Pilgrims beside the Son of God, Had royal grants enrich'd them then ? 136 DURABLE RICHES. Or when, on His ascension-day, They stood once more on Olivet, And town and village 'neath them lay, Gems in their vines and olives set, — Nor vines or olives, house or lands, They own'd those hills and valleys o'er, Yet, when Christ lifted up His hands And bless' d them, were those Christians poor ? If of that world which is His own, Where every knee to Him shall bow, Some special acres each had won, Had they been richer then, or noiu ? THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. " It is more blessed to give than to receive." Is thy cruse of comfort wasting ? rise and share it with another, And through all the years of famine it shall serve thee and thy brother ; Love Divine will fill thy storehouse, or thy handful still renew; Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast for two. For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth is living grain ; Seeds, which mildew in the garner, scatter' d, fill with gold the plain. 138 THE CRUSE THAT FAILETH NOT. Is thy burden hard and heavy ? do thy steps drag wearily ? Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear both it and thee. Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow 1 Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together both shall glow. Art thou stricken in life's battle ? Many wounded round thee moan ; Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that balm shall heal thine own. Is the heart a well left empty ? None but God its void can fill • Nothing but a ceaseless Fountain can its ceaseless longings still. Is the heart a living power ? self-entwin'd, its strength sinks low ; It can only live in loving, and by serving love will grow. ONLY THAT THE SUN" IS COMING. Shall the summer have no singing 1 Shall so much of good be given, And no sweet return of praises Rise to meet the songs of heaven ? All my life, from morn till even, So with happy cares be fraught, That a slumbrous spell of silence Chains the deeper founts of thought ? So I mused one summer morning, When sweet song the silence stirr'd, Filling all the air with gladness, From a little caged bird. No especial pomp of sunrise Woke that early joyous hymn; ~No peculiar fount of blessing Gush'd that morning fresh for him. 140 ONLY THAT THE SUN IS COMING. Only that the sun is coming, Bising slowly o'er the hill, This familiar joy sufficing All his happy heart to fill. Only that the sun is coming, — All the world's clear light and his, — Therefore, o'er the still gray morning Flows his song in ecstasies. Yet his sun, this night departing, Leaves him caged and desolate ; Whilst our Sun, in glory rising, Bursts the cage, and shall not set; Breaks the bars, unveils the eyesight, Sets us free to gaze and soar, Free for tireless song and service In the day that dies no more. Only that the Sun is coming ! Had we not a joy but this, Should not speech o'erflow in singing, And the heart be still in bliss ? THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. THE FOLD. Theee is a fold, once dearly bought, But open'd now to all, Reaching from regions high as thought, Low as our race can fall. Far up among the sunny hills, Where breaks the earliest day ; Down where the deepest shadow chills The wanderer's downward way. There some have seen a Shepherd stand, Who guards it day and night; Mightier than all, His gentle hand, His eyes the source of light. 142 THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. I know, the feeblest that have e'er Enter'd those precincts bless'd Find everlasting safety there, Freedom and life and rest. But I have wander'd far astray, Blinded and wearied sore; How can I find the plainest way, Or reach the nearest door ? The silence with a voice is fraught — When did I hear that tone 1 — Awful as thunder, soft as thought, Familiar as mine own. " I am the Door," those words begin ; I press towards that voice, And, ere I know it, am within, And all within rejoice. THE PALACE. There is a Palace vast and bright; Athwart the night's cold gloom Stream its soft music and warm light, - A Palace, yet a Home. THE FOLD AND THE PALACE. 143 The guests who are invited there Are call'cl therein to dwell; — " Laden with sin, oppress'd with care/' The calling suits rue well. They say none ever knock'd in vain, Yet I have often tried, And scarce have strength to try again, — Will one, then, be denied 1 Again that voice my spirit thrills, So strange, yet so well known, Divine, as when it rent the hills, Yet human as my own. The golden portals softly melt Like clouds around the sun, And where they stood, and where I knelt, Behold that matchless One ! He pleads for me, He pleads with me, He hears ere I can call ; Jesus ! my first step is to Thee, And Thy first gift is all ! THE TWO REPKOACHES. Thy voice made rocks Thy fountains; ocean waves A wall around Thy chosen; desert caves Their temples ; flames their car of victory. Thy touch made lepers pure as infancy. Thy word lulls storms to sleep, like babes at play; Or, as they rage, bids them white chrisoms lay For flowers. Thy smile makes tears of sinful men The joy of angels. Shall we wonder, then, That blinded hate, and envy mask'd in scorn, Twining for Thee the crown of sharpest thorn, But wove a wreath of glory for Thy brow ; And broken hearts, which sins and sorrows bow, Scanning through all the heaven of Thy Word Some special guiding-star of hope to see ; And angels, searching tributes for their Lord, Finding these words of those that hated Thee, " This Man receiveth sinners" and again (Written in blood earth's darkest record o'er), " He saved others" pause and search no more ; — Both finding all they sought, gaze and adore. SUGGESTED BY THE PROMETHEUS BOUND. Thy torturers made no lament, No pity with their task was blent ; Thy cup of anguish was unmix' d, And human hands Thy hands transfix' d, O Thou who lovedst man ! No ocean beam'd Thine eyes before, With " countless laughter " dimpled o'er, But heavings of an angry sea Of human faces mocking Thee, O Thou who lovedst man ! No " fragrant stir of heavenly wings," But mockeries and murmurings; No depths divine of azure sky, But darkness dread received Thy cry, O Thou who lovedst man ! K 146 SUGGESTED BY THE PROMETHEUS BOUND. Yet was Thy cry of agony Earth's first true peal of victory, Hushing the world-old blasphemy, That God gives good reluctantly, O God who lovedst man ! Since Thou thus sufferedst to fulfil Willing the Father's loving will, And lifting off the load of sin Let the free tide of love flow in, O Thou who lovedst man ! The Fount of Fire for us is won, Since Life and Light in Thee are one, Thy bonds have made the fetter'd free, And man unbound Love binds to Thee, O Christ who lovest us ! EUKEKA. Co^ie and rejoice with me ! For once my heart was poor, And I have found a treasury Of love, a boundless store. Come and rejoice with me ! I was so sick at heart, Have met with One who knows my case, And knows the healing art. Come and rejoice with me ! For I was wearied sore, And I have found a mighty arm Which holds me evermore. Come and rejoice with me ! My feet so wide did roam, And One has sought me from afar, And beareth me safe home. 148 EUREKA. Come and rejoice with me ! For I have found a Friend Who knows my heart's most secret depths, Yet loves me without end. I knew not of His love, And He had loved so long, With love so faithful and so deep, So tender and so strong. And now I know it all, Have heard and know His voice, And hear it still from day to day ; — Can I enough rejoice ? THE GOSPEL IN THE LORD'S SUPPER No Gospel like this Feast Spread for Thy Church by Thee; Nor prophet nor evangelist Preach the glad news so free. Picture and Parable ! All Truth and Love Divine, In one bright point made visible, Hence on the heart they shine. All our Redemption cost, All our Redemption won; All it has won for us, the lost, All it cost Thee, the Son. Thine was the bitter price,— Ours is the free gift given; Thine was the blood of sacrifice, Ours is the wine of heaven. 150 THE GOSPEL IN THE LORD'S SUPPER. For Thee the burning thirst, The shame, the mortal strife, The broken heart, the side transpierced ;- To us the Bread of Life. To Thee our curse and doom "Wrapp'd round Thee with our sin, The horror of that midday gloom, The deeper night within. To us Thy Home in light, Thy " Come, ye blessed, come !" Thy bridal raiment, pure and white, Thy Father's welcome home. Here we would rest midway As on a sacred height, That darkest and that brightest Day Meeting before our sight; From that dark depth of woes Thy love for us hath trod, Up to the heights of bless' d repose Thy love prepares with God; THE GOSPEL IX THE LORD'S SUPPER. 151 Till, from self's chains released, One sight alone we see, Still at the Cross as at the Feast, Behold Thee, only Thee ! ON A BAPTISM. "The waves of this troublesome world." Near the shore the bark lay floating, by the sunny waves caress'd, With the darling we were watching cradled in a dreamy rest. But, borne o'er that heaving ocean, wilder sounds our gladness check, Stormy winds and human wailings ; Ah ! that sea bears many a wreck. Fear not ! hopes no strength could warrant to the feeblest faith are given : Looking forward strains the eyesight, — looking upward opens heaven. ON A BAPTISM. 153 Deeper than that ocean's tempests, softer than its murmurs be, Breathes a Voice, a Voice thou knowest, (k Trust thy little one to Me." Thou hast brought thy babe to Jesus; He hath seen her, He hath bless'd; In His arms thy faith hath laid her, and He bears her on His breast. Gently on thy sleeping darling, eyes, the light of heaven, shine; Mother, by the love thou knowest, measure His; it passeth thine. NEW YEAfe'S HYMN. What marks the dawning of the year From any other morn 1 No festal garb doth Nature wear Because a Year is born. The sky is not more full of light, The air more full of song, And silent from the caves of night Glide the gray hours along. And I, to whose awaken' d eyes So fair this morn appeal's, — How know I where to-morrow lies ? God grants not life by years. Father ! to-day upon my head Thy hand in blessing lay; Give us this day our daily bread, Renew our hearts to-day. new year's hymn. 155 Our Lord and Saviour ! all we ask Is that, through Thee, forgiven, To ns each day our daily task, Our daily strength be given. That when at last the Trump of Doom Sends its long peal abroad, "We, glad within Thy heavenly home, May keep the Day of God. SUNDAY EVENING HYMN. Another day of heavenly rest, And angels' toil is ended, And to the chorus of the bless'd The last hymn has ascended. Tranquil as an infant's sleep Eve shadows cot and meadow; Let Thy peace with calm as deep The wearied spirit shadow. As of old the apostle band All their labours bore Thee, Lowly at Thy feet we stand, Lay our work before Thee. Pardon Thou the imperfect deed, Crown the weak endeavour, Prosper Thou the heavenly seed, Work Thou with us ever. SUNDAY EVENING HYMN. 157 Thou know'st how sin and error e'er In all our efforts mingle, How seldom mortal eye is clear, Or human purpose single. Let Thy blood, dying Lord, Blot out all our evil; Let Thy touch, O living Word, All our errors shrivel, Let Thy lambs we sought to feed By Thy hand be nourish'd; Let them be Thy lambs indeed, In Thy bosom cherish'd. To the griefs we cannot reach Breathe Thou consolation; To the hearts we cannot teach Bring Thou Thy salvation. May the tone of this day's prayers Vibrate through the seven; Sabbaths, work-days, pleasures, tears, Mould us all for heaven. That taking thus each joy and woe As Thy gifts parental, To us life's daily bread may grow Yiands sacramental. EARLY RISING HYMN. Wake ! the costly hours are fleeting ; Wake, arise ! Wake, and let light's joyous greeting Hail thine eyes ! God to thee an angel sendeth, From the azure heavens descendeth Fresh as May The new-born Day. On her head a crown she weareth, With blessings rife; In her hands a cup she beareth, A cup of life. Every drop of its full measure Is a pearl of heavenly treasure : Haste ; arise ! Claim the prize ! EARLY RISING HYMN. 159 Let some drops in free libation First be pour'd, Pour'd in lowly adoration To thy Lord ! To Him who bore such anguish for thee, Him who, risen, watcheth o'er thee, Wake and raise Songs of praise ! Where the watch thou should'st be keeping] Child of day ! Saints are weeping, sinners sleeping, Rise and pray ! Think what Night is deepening o'er thee, Think what Morning lies before thee, Child of Day, Rise and pray ! Saviour, rouse me, nerve me, bless me "With strength divine ; Wholly let Thy love possess me, — 3Ie and mine. Let each moment soar above Laden with some work of love, Till we rise To Thy skies. 160 EARLY RISING HYMN. That, thus knit in blessed union, Lord, to Thee ! Every act may be communion, Lord, with Thee ! And Thy presence ever near us May o'er each temptation cheer us Thus to rise — Thus to rise ! SOWING IjST TEAES. TO A MISSIONARY WHO HAD LABOURED MANY YEARS WITHOUT SEEING ANY RESULT. Ye have not sow'd in vain ! Though the heavens seem as brass, And, piercing the crust of the burning plain. Ye scan not a blade of grass. Yet there is life within, And waters of life on high : One morn ye shall wake, and the spring's soft green O'er the moisten'd fields shall lie ; Tears in the dull, cold eye, Light on the darken'd brow, The smile of peace, or the prayerful sigh, "Where the mocking smile sits now, L 1G2 SOWING IN TEARS. Went ye not forth with prayer ? Then ye went not forth in vain ; " The Sower, the Son of man/' was there, And His was that precious grain. Ye may not see the bud, The first sweet signs of spring, The first slow drops of the quickening shower On the dry, hard ground that ring; But the harvest-home ye '11 keep, The summer of life ye '11 share, When they that sow and they that reap Rejoice together there ! THE WELL AT SYCHAR (ON FINDING IT FILLED UP BY THE ARABS.) They have stopp'd the sacred well which the patriarchs dug of old, Where they waterd the patient flocks at noon, from the depths so pure and cold ; Where the Saviour ask'd to drink, and found at noon repose : But the living spring He open'd then no human hands can close. They have scatter'd the ancient stones, where at noon He sat to rest : None ever shall rest by that well again, and think how His accents bless'd ; 164 THE WELL AT SYCHAR. But the Rest for the burden' d heart, the Shade in the weary land, The riven Rock with its living streams, for ever un- moved shall stand. Earth has no Temple now, no beautiful House of God ; Or earth is all one temple-floor which those sacred feet have trod. But in heaven there is a Throne, a Home and a House of prayer : Thyself the Temple, Thyself the Sun ; our pilgrimage endeth there ! Nablous, June 1856. SONG FOE AN INFANT SCHOOL. Thus we sing as we march, and we march as we sing, And the joy of our hearts in our voices shall ring. The little birds fill all the air with their glee, Yet they Ve not half so much to be glad of as we : So with thrushes and blackbirds we'll joyfully sing All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. The grashopper chirps in the long summer grass, The frisking lambs bleat in the fields as we pass : So with wee things and young things we'll joyfully sing All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. The river shouts glad, as it dances along, The little stream murmurs a sweet, quiet song : So with rivers and streamlets we '11 joyfully sing All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. 166 SOXG FOR AX INFANT SCHOOL. The breezes sing soft 'mid the thick leaves of June, E'en the hoarse wintry wind tries to whistle a tune : So with soft winds and strong winds we'll joyfully sing All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. Pleasant songs at his work hums the blithe, busy bee, And we '11 not be less blithe or less busy than he : So with all busy creatures we'll joyfully sing All thanks to our Father, all praise to our King. Thus God gives a measure of gladness to all, And a share of His praises to great and to small : So we who owe most will most thankfully sing, And our voices, though weak, to His footstool shall ring. ALL LIVE UNTO HIM. [For a Friend, on the Death of her Little Bog.) Thy voice is not hush'd, darling, though to me its * tones are still, And have left a silence in my home no music e'er can fill; There is a place within God's world where Thou art heard, my boy, And thy words are words of praise, and thy tones are tones of joy. Thine eyes are not closed, darling, though they are closed to me, And half the light is gone with them from all the sights I see ; They have but open'd on the day, the day that needs no rest, And they shine like happy stars in the heaven of the bless' d. 168 ALL LIVE UNTO HIM. Thy spirit has not pass'd away, no sleep its vision shrouds ; It has but pass'd into the light, the light beyond the clouds. Thou art not lonely, darling, though so lone thou hast left me, Thousands of happy spirits love and rejoice with thee ; And He who loved the little ones, and tenderly caress' d, Has laid thee in His arms, darling, and clasp'd thee to His breast. WAITING. [Suggested by Trees bending over a Dry Watercourse near Como.) It will come, it will not tarry ! we shall not wait in vain, With a burst of sudden thunder, or the trickling of quiet rain, A tranquil stream of blessing will well around our roots, And the thrill of life will vibrate to our utmost bud- ding shoots. Or when all the land is silent, lifeless, and sad, and dumb, From the snowy mountain- ranges the sound of joy will come; 170 WAITING. The shock of the ancient battle (for the storm, not the calm, comes first), And from the unchain'd glaciers the river of life will burst, Ringing new peals of triumph through all the sultry- plain, For the light and the life must conquer, and the dead must live again. Therefore with loving patience we bend o'er these channels dumb, Awaiting the vanish' d Presence, and the Life which is to come. A SICK CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. Oh, mother, come to my bed-side, For God in love lias given The brightest, happiest dream to me ; It must have come from heaven. So, mother, lay your hand in mine, And sit beside me there; I am too weak to talk aloud ; I love to feel you near. I and some little Mends of mine Seem'd walking out together Along the green and flowery fields, In glad, warm, summer weather ; Till to a garden bright we came, With silver gates so fair, Which made sweet music as they turn'd To let us enter there. 172 A sick child's dream of heaven. And flowers of every form and hue Grew all that garden o'er; But flowers so fair, so bright, so sweet I never saw before. And our poor Marianne was there, Who died some weeks ago, And many more I 've heard you say Pass'd through great pain and woe. But now no tears are in their eyes, No pain is on their brow ; You would not think they could have wept, Were you to see them now. With golden crowns upon their heads, And robes of dazzling white, They smiled and bid us welcome there Into that garden bright, And shew'd us golden crowns and robes Which we one day should wear ; But not quite yet, till we, like them, Had pass'd our trial here. A SICK CHILD'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 173 But, mother, all those lovely flowers, And skies which knew no gloom, Did not make half the blessedness Of that sweet garden home ; Nor yet the robe of snowy white, The golden diadem; Nor yet the band of blessed Mends Who welcomed us to them. But the Lord who loved the little ones Walk'd through that happy place ; I heard His voice, He spoke to me,— Mother, I saw His face ! And I am, oh, so happy now, Dear mother, weep not thus; I know He has a crown for you, And you will come to us. Oh, do not cry ; I cannot grieve : For what are death and pain, If we may only hear that voice, And see that Face again ! TO OKE AT REST. And rteedest thou our prayers no more, safe folded 'mid the bless'd % How changed art thou since last we met to keep the day of rest ! Young with the youth of angels, wise with the growth of years ; For we have pass'd since thou hast gone a week of many tears, And thou hast pass'd a week in heaven, a week with- out a sin, Thy robes made white in Jesus' blood, all glorious within. We shall miss thee at a thousand turns along life's weary track, Not a sorrow or a joy, but we shall long to call thee back, Yearn for thy true and gentle heart, long thy bright smile to see, For many dear and true are left, but none are quite like thee ! TO ONE AT REST. 175 And evermore to all our life a deeper tone is given, For a playmate of our childhood has enter' d into heaven. How wise, and great, and glorious, thy gentle soul has grown, Loving as thou art loved by God, knowing as thou art known ! Yet in that world thou carest yet for those thou lov'dst in this \ The rich man did in torments, and wilt not thou in bliss ? For sitting at the Saviours feet, and gazing in His face, Surely thou 'It not unlearn one gentle human grace. Human, and not angelic, the form He deigns to wear, Of Jesus, not of angels, the likeness thou shalt bear. At rest from all the storms of life, from its night- watches drear, From the tumultuous hopes of earth, and from its aching fear ; Sacred and sainted now to us is thy familiar name : High is thy sphere above us now, and yet in this the same ; 176 TO ONE AT REST. Together do we watch and wait for that long-promised day, "When the Yoice that rends the tombs shall call, "Arise and come away, My Bride and my Redeemed, winter and night are past, And the time of singing and of light has come to thee at last ;" When the Family is gathered, and the Father's House complete,, And we and thou, beloved, in our Father's smile shall meet. "HE SAVED OTHERS." When scorn, and hate, and bitter envious pride Hurl'd all their darts against the Crucified, Found they no fault but this in Him so tried 1 "He saved others !" Those hands, thousands their healing touches knew; On wither' d limbs they fell like heavenly dew; The dead have felt them, and have lived anew : " He saved others !" The blood is dropping slowly from them now; Thou canst not raise them to Thy thorn-crown'd brow, Nor on them Thy parch' d lips and forehead bow : " He saved others !" That Voice from out their graves the dead hath stirr'd ; Crush' d, outcast hearts grew joyful as they heard; For every woe it had a healing word : " He saved others ! " 178 " HE SAVED OTHERS." For all Thou hadst deep tones of sympathy — Hast Thou no word for this Thine agony 1 Thou pitiedst all ; doth no man pity Thee ? " He saved others ! " So many fetter d hearts Thy touch hath freed, Physician ! and Thy wounds unstaunch'd must bleed ; Hast Thou no balm for this Thy sorest need ? "He saved others !" Lord ! and one sign from Thee could rend the sky, One word from Thee, and low those mockers lie; Thou mak'st no movement, utterest no cry, And savest us. MARAH AND EMM. Three long days of desert sunshine, toiling 'neath those scorching beams, Three long nights of heavy silence, gladden'd by no sound of streams. Hear the waters now around us, see them sparkling in the sun ! Surely now our trial ceaseth ! — surely now our goal is won ! Lips long parch'd and seal'd in silence press the joyous waves to kiss; Eyes whose tears were dried by anguish overflow with tears of bliss ; Toilworn men, themselves untasting, left to dearer lips the prize, Drinking draughts of deeper pleasure from the smile of grateful eyes. 180 MARAH AND ELIM. But a moment ! but a moment may the rapturous dream remain ; But a moment ! from the nation bursts a sob of wildest pain. Children dash the bitter waters from them with a moaning cry ; Mothers, by the mocking fountains, lay their little ones to die. Hearts that bore the trial bravely, with this shatter' d hope have burst ; Streams for which we pray'd and waited, bitter streams, but mock our thirst. Was it but for this the ocean, parting, bent our feet to kiss, Fiercely then our foes o'erwhelming ? Were our first- born spared for this ? Better to be slaves in Egypt ! better to have perish'd there ! Better ne'er a hope have tasted, than to sink in this despair. MARAH AND ELIM. 181 Israel ! Israel ! hush thy murmurs, hide thy guilty head in dust ! He who is the Joy of heaven feeleth grief in thy dis- trust. Gently to thy wails He answers, " I am He that heal- eth thee;" E'en to-day the streams thou loathest shall thy best refreshment be. And to-morrow, but to-morrow, He thy sins so often grieve, Trains thee for, and storeth for thee, joys thy heart can scarce conceive. Coolest waters leaping, gushing 'neath the shade of many a palm ! Let no memory of murmurs mar for thee that blessed calm. So thy Marah shall be Elim, and thy Elim know no fears, For the fount of deepest gladness springeth near the place of tears. "COME AND SEE." ' Rabbi, where dwellest Thou?— -Come and see."— John i. 35 to end. Master, where abidest Thou ? Lamb of God, 'tis Thee we seek ; For the wants which press us now Other aid is all too weak. Canst thou take our sins away 1 May we find repose in Thee ? From the gracious lips to-day, As of old, breathes, " Come and see." Master, where abidest Thou 1 "YVe would leave the past behind ; We would scale the mountain's brow, Learning more Thy heavenly mind. Still a look is all our lore, The transforming look to Thee : From the Living Truth once more Breathes the answer, " Come and see."" "come and see." 183 Master, where abidest Thou ? How shall we thine image best Bear in light upon our brow, Stamp in love upon our breast ? Still a look is all our might ; Looking draws the heart to Thee, Sends us from the absorbing sight With the message, " Come and see." Master, where abide.vfc Thou ? All the springs of life are low ; Sin and grief our spirits bow, And we wait Thy call to go. From the depths of happy rest, "Where the just abide with Thee; From the Voice which makes them bless' d Comes the summons, "Come and see." Christian, tell it to thy brother, From life's dawning to its end ; Every hand may clasp another, And the loneliest bring a friend ; Till the veil is drawn aside, And from where her home shall be Bursts upon the enfranchised Bride The triumphant " Come and see !" " MY STRENGTH AND MY HEART FAILETH." In weakness at Thy feet I lie, Thine eye each pang hath seen, Scarce can I lift my heart on high, Yet, Lord, on Thee I lean : Lean on Thy sure, unfailing word, Thy gentle "It is I;" For Thou, my ever-living Lord, Know'st what it is to die. Thou wilt be with me when I go, — Thy life my life in death \ For, in the lowest depths, I know Thine arms are underneath. "MY STRENGTH AXD MY HEART FAILETH." 185 Tis not the infant's feeble grasp Which holds the mother fast; It is the mother's gentle clasp Around her darling cast. Just so Thy child would cling to Thee, Knowing Thy pity long; For feeble as my faith may be, The hand I clasp is strong. REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. ' Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will giv you rest." — Matt. xi. 28. Silence in heaven and earth ! The hush of love or fear ! His voice the Highest sendeth forth ; The still small voice is here, The world's hoarse murmurs under, Its loudest din above, It speaketh not in thunder, But in words, and the tone is love. It calls, and a gift it offers ; To whom are those words address'd ? " Come, ye that are heavy laden, And I will give you rest" Ye that have toil'd in vain, Till strength and hope have fled, And lavish'd the years that come not again, For that which is not bread; REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. 187 Ye who are toiling now, "Weary in heart and limb, With a strength each day more low, And a hope each day more dim ; Weary in soul and spirit, Toiling with hearts oppress'd, " Come to Me, all that labour, And I will give you rest." Is guilt unpardon'd there With heavy hand and strong, The weight in the air of measureless fear, Or of hope deferred long ? The sorrow which freezeth tears With the force of a sudden blow, The long, dull pressure of weary years, Bowing you silently low ? Many the burdens and hard Wherewith the heart is press' d : " Come, all that are heavy laden, And I will give you rest." The world has many a promise To beguile the blithe and young; But to you the world is honest, — It has ceased to promise long. 188 REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. Wealth, pleasures, fame, successes, The world has store of these ; — For you it no cure professes, It offers you no ease. But Christ has an arm almighty, And a balm for the faintest breast; " Come, ye that are heavy laden, And I will give you rest." Would ye fain, among the sleepers, In dust your tired hearts bow ? The rest He gives is deeper, And He will give it now. No dull, oblivious sleep In the lull of pain repress' d, But all your hearts to steep In perfect and conscious rest, — Best that shall make you strong To serve among the bless'd. " Come, all that are heavy laden, And I will give you rest." The rest of a happy child, Led by the Father on, Feeling His smile, and reconciled To all that He has done; REST FOR THE HEAVY LADEN. 189 Of one who can meekly bend 'Neath the yoke of the Lord who died ; Of a soldier who knows how the fight will end With a Leader true and tried : The rest of a subject heart, Of its best desires possess' d. " Come, ye that are heavy laden, And I will give you rest." Rest from sin's crushing debt, In the blood which Christ has shed; From the pang of vain regret, In the thought that He has lei Rest in His perfect love; Rest in His tender care; Rest in His presence for you above, In His presence with you here. Rest in Him slain and risen, The Lamb, and the Royal Priest. " Come, all that are heavy laden, And I will give you rest." "IT IS I; BE NOT AFRAID." Matt. xiv. 27. Toss'd with rough winds, and faint with fear, Above the tempest, soft and clear, What still small accents greet mine ear ? — "'Tis I; be not afraid. " 'Tis I, who washed thy spirit white ; 'Tis I, who gave thy blind eyes sight; 'Tis I, thy Lord, thy Life, thy Light: 'Tis I; be not afraid. " These raging winds, this surging sea, Bear not a breath of wrath to thee ; That storm has all been spent on Me : 'Tis I; be not afraid. " This bitter cup, I drank it first; To thee, it is no draught accurst ; The hand that gives it thee is pierced : 'Tis I : be not afraid. "IT IS I j BE NOT AFRAID." 191 " Mine eyes are watching by thy bed, Mine arms are underneath thy head, My blessing is around thee shed : 'Tis I; be not afraid. " When on the other side, thy feet Shall rest 'mid thousand welcomes sweet, One well-known voice thy heart shall greet : 'Tis I; be not afraid." From out the dazzling majesty Gently He '11 lay His hand on thee, Saying, " Beloved, lov'st thou Me ? 'Twas not in vain I died for thee ; 'Tis Ij be not afraid." GOD IS LOYE. PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXXVI. (Ver. 5-11.) Thy mercies link heaven with earth, Like the clouds, fall and gather again ; They fill all the heavens like light, They freshen all earth like the rain. Like the mountains Thy righteousness stands, From whose stern sides the living stream flows, Their calm brows look down on the storms, And the plains in their strong arms repose. Thy judgments are fathomless depths, Yet the deepest in blessings abound ; No chaos or darkness is there, — Love fills what no creature can sound. GOD IS LOVE. 193 But what can compare with Thy love, So boundless, so costly, so free ? Thy truth and Thy j ustice are Thine ; Who speak of Thy love speak of Thee ! It broods like the mother-bird's wing ; It yearns to fold all to its breast ; And all who will listen and trust, And gather beneath it, are bless'd. For with Thee is the Fountain of Life, Thou wilt give us to drink of it soon, The cold waters fresh from the Hock, Ever fresh in the glow of Thy noon. And with Thee is the Eden of bliss, Its sunshine no Fall shall eclipse, Its rivers flow pure from Thy throne, And Thy hand lifts the draught to our lips. Thou wilt lead us within Thine abode, The feast which Thou spreadest to share ; We shall dwell in Thy house as a home, — The heart will be satisfied there. 194 GOD IS LOVE. Oh, make our hearts pure to behold, And light in Thy light we shall see ; For to gaze and still gaze on Thy love, O our God, is to gaze upon Thee ! THE END. BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH ^ BOUND BY * lg LONDON ^J