isH \\\\\W 1 !ffl (I lijllllj *$l||f Hi 1 liilf 1 y$ii iiii liiviu 1] iHiin If I I imifii'JI n fHiMliil 1 I '•! i 1 will liiili i ml \*wn i FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Division "SCC Section ^£^3 / ECHOES OF THE ORIGINAL POEMS. BY REV. EDWARD C. JONES, A.M. " The sounding Lyre — how Hope and Joy Attend its gushing strain. A rapture blest, which may not yield To want, or wo, or pain." PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED BY KING & BAIRD, Xo. 9 Sajtsom Street. 1850. FRANCIS WEST, M. D., THESE UNPRETENDING LYRICS, OF ONE WHOSE HARP HAS EVER PROVED THE SOLACE OP HIS GRIEF, ARE MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, A3 A TOKEN OF ESTEEM FOR HIS PRIVATE VIRTUES AND OFFICIAL WORTH. •WORDS SOMETIMES WEAKEN WHAT THE HEART WOULD SAT : THE THOUGHT ACCEPT, AND CAST THE PHRASE AWAY." Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://archive.org/details/echoesheartOOjone CONTENTS Winfred ; or, the Student of Scripture - - - - 9 The Future Church ------ 13 My Father is Immortal - - - - - - 15 A Hymn to Christ, as God ----- 17 Monica, the Mother of Augustine - - - - 20 Polyearp at Prayer ------ 22 A Bishop's Dying Hymn - - - - -25 The Two Dwellings ------ 27 The Vigil - 29 Faith in God ------- 32 The Watcher's Hymn ------ 34 "Be Pitiful" 37 Pro Ecclesia ------- 39 The Death of Moses ------ 41 But Yesterday we Sprang to Birth - - - - 44 The Church not Xew _____ 46 The Bell of the Floating Chapel 49 Saint Martin, Bishop of Tours - 51 The Christian Hero ------ 55 Christian Peace __-_-_ 58 Oh, Speak to thy Brother - - ... 60 The Weeping Church : a Lenten Measure - 62 " In te, Domine, Speravi " - - - - - 64 The Little Cloud ------ 67 The Sweet Call 69 Fall of Jerusalem ------ 71 Oh, Lord, the Waters Saw Thee ----- 73 The Council of the Church ----- 75 Calvary Church — Monument to Bishop "White - - - 78 The Greeks at the Feast - 81 Faint, yet Pursuing ------ 84 Contrition ------- 87 VI CONTENTS. The Floating Chapel - ' - - - - - 89 David's Lament ------ 91 The Hour of Prayer ...... 93 The Song of the Autumn Wind .... 95 Prayer for the Blind - - - - - - 98 Christian Sympathy ------ 100 "The Lord will comfort Zion" - - - - - 102 Jacob's Wish ------- 104 Messiah's Progress ------ 109 Childhood's Lay ------ 111 Claims of Heathendom ------ 113 Moral Night ------- 115 Early Piety ------- 117 Bethlehem's Star ------ 119 Words of Favor ------- 121 Send out Thy Light ------ 123 Hour of Parting, - - - - - - - 125 The Budding Flower - - - - - 127 The Sun of Righteousness - 129 The Sabbath Hour ------ 131 Devotion -------- 133 A Grateful Tribute - - - - - - 135 The Accepted Hour - - - - - - - 137 A Day of Prayer ------ 139 The Saviour's Care ------ 141 Precious Moments ------ 143 How Brief is Life ___.-- 145 Spring-Time ------- 147 The Bright Commission ------ 148 Wisdom's Voice ------ 150 The Swelling Chorus - - - - - - 152 The Funeral ------- 154 The Birthday of Washington - - - - - 156 The Sister's Gift ------ 158 The Poor - 160 Belief for Ireland ------ 161 The Fireside ------- 162 The Nativity - - - - - - - 164 The People's Press ------ 165 The Fall of Hungary ----- 167 POETRY, FOUNDED ON SCRIPTURE, AND INCIDENTS IN CHURCH HISTORY. WINFRED; THE STUDENT OF SCRIPTURE. A CHURCH BALLAD. "I pray you to send me the Booh of the Prophets, which the Abbot Winbert, formerly my Master, left me when dying, in which six Prophets are comprised in the same volume, written in very distinct letters. You cannot send me a greater consolation in my old age." Epistle of Winfred, or Boniface, to Daniel, Bp. of Winchester, A. D. 726. — Palmer's Church History, p. 89. He sits beneath some spreading tree, An aged, reverend man, "With book of God upon his knee, Its open page to scan. Thuringia's forest-leaves are stirred, As the pure gale goes by, But sweeter incense fans his heart, "The Spirit from on high." 2 10 WIN FRED. The Prophets ! ah, they speak of Him, To whom he long has clung, Whose praises, now his eye is dim, Still linger on his tongue. The Prophets ! ah, with glowing strain, They picture latter days, When green-clad earth, and distant main, Shall bask in Gospel rays. Isaiah rolls the tide of song, Unveils the distant years, Till Jacob's Star — that beacon blest, In blazing pomp appears. And Jeremy forgets to weep, While musing of the hour, — When Christ, the righteous Branch, shall reign, And kingdoms own his power. And he who sat by Chebar's flood, In famed Chaldea's clime, And saw the visions of his God, In retinue sublime; — WIN FRED. 11 Ezekiel — the priestly bard, Describes the streams of grace, Which issue in a healing tide, From out the holy place. Thus, as the Prophets all unfold The visions bright they see, And robe in garniture of gold, A kingdom yet to be: — That aged man — that Priest of God, As gushing tear-drops start, Shuts up the Book his Master gave, And folds it to his heart. Long has he toiled and plead with men, The sacred Three to own, And oft Bavaria's wilds have thrilled, To that impassioned tone. And even yet, in frosty age, The standard still he rears, And spreads abroad the seed of truth, And waters it with tears. 12 -WIN FRED. Another scene — a river's bank, A crowd with passions high, And gleaming swords, and halberds keen, Flash 'neath the ruddy sky. He falls — with prayer upon his lips, That Priest with locks so white, And all that Prophets wrote of bliss, Conies bursting on his sight. He falls — that Martyr of his Lord, Faithful in youth and age, Who oft amid Thuringia's wilds, Had scanned the sacred page. And now, amid the worthies high, Who passed to Heaven in blood, We trace, in living lines, the name, Of Boniface the Good. THE FUTURE CHURCH. "And there shall be one Fold under one Shepherd," "that they all may be One." Saviour ! ere death had bid thy heart-strings sever, Thine intercession for the Church began, And that calm, earnest strain, subsideth never, Till one in Faith, the brotherhood of man Bow at a Shrine, where Peace, that gentle Spirit, Sways her mild sceptre o'er each yielding breast, And truths, which carnal minds would disinherit, Are hailed, and clung to, as the Ark of Rest. Master ! speed on the day, for faint with watching, Thy children weep, as Discord loads the gale ; If mid the gloom, their eye one beam is catching, How would they all, that sure precursor hail. That double Day-Spring, in its faintest gushing, Would bid the Hydra, Sect, abashed recoil, And to the ensign of Emmanuel rushing, A World would shout, " as they who take the spoil." 2* 14 THE FUTURE CHURCH. Oh, era most sublime, when at the Cross, (True central point of Love, and Joy divine,) Mankind unite to quite consume the dross, And the pure gold, no longer dim, refine. Then, Jesus, come, the waving harvest gather, Then garner in Thy trophies far and wide, And mid angelic plaudits, to thy Father Present the Church, Thy blood-bought spotless Bride. MY FATHER IS DDIORTAL. "A certain disciple was informed of the death of his Father; but he said to the messenger, " Cease to blaspheme ; for my Father is immor- tal." — Palmer's Church History. Ah, tell me not in rueful strain, That Death has sundered dearest ties; The lost to Earth shall live again, The withered flower resume its dyes ; But that sweet band which links my soul To Him who is of Life the giver, Renews its strength as ages roll, And, blest be God, dissolveth never. Parent and child may vanish hence, Acquaintance into darkness go; And o'er life's fair inheritance, Its gloomiest pall may sorrow throw ; — But that sweet bond which links my soul To Him who is of Grace the giver, More closely knits as ages roll, And, thanks to God, dissolveth never. 16 MY FATHER IS IMMORTAL. My Father lives — my guide — my stay, Pillar and Cloud, in Him I see; When all I cherish pass away, Immortal Friend, He clings to me ; And that sweet bond which links to Him — Of Life — and G-race — and Heaven the giver- But firmer grows as ages roll, And wraps me up "in Christ" forever. A HYMN TO CHKIST, AS GOD. A CHURCH BALLAD. "They affirmed that the whole of their fault lay in this, that they were wont to meet together, on a stated day, before it was light, and sing among themselves alternately a Hymn to Christ as God." Letters of Pliny, A. D. 107.— Palmer's Church History, p. 12. Behold the gathering ! youth and age Are blending sweetly there ; One is their destin'd heritage, One their absorbing care. Disciples of the Crucified ! When Earth abjures His name, They breast, of scorn, the lava tide, — Like Christ "despising shame."* They meet ere yet the streak of dawn Has pioneer'd the day; Their night of unbelief has gone, Truth's sunbeams round them play. • He endured the cross, despising the shame." 18 A HYMN TO CHRIST, AS GOD. And He who lights the Gentile world With life-inspiring beam, Has poured upon their joyous souls, Of bliss, a radiant stream.* Hark to the strain, whose every note, Comes welling from the heart ; And each, as on the chorus floats, With rapture bears a part. And what the burden of the Song, And what the Master-key, And what the Name that rolls along, In swelling symphony ? Go, ask historic page, and learn How weak a despot's rod, When they who own'd a higher power, Sang Hymns to Christ, as Q-od. Those Hymns to Christ, they floated high, When rack, and sword and flame, Against the little, feeble flock, Like sweeping demons came. * "A light to lighten the Gentiles." A HYMN TO CHRIST, AS GOD. 19 Those Hymns to Christ, — they made the child E'en manhood's strength to feel ; And woman at the torture smiled, And Age defied the steel. And rise they not in chorus yet, Those Hymns to Christ, as God ? Yes, yes, in whelming strains they float, From main, and mount, and sod. And may they float, those holy lays, Wherever man has trod, Until one song all space shall fill, A Hymn to Christ, as God. MONICA, THE MOTHER OF AUGUSTINE. A CHURCH BALLAD. St. Augustine was born in Africa, and in his early life fell into vices, and adopted the Manichaen heresy. He became an attendant on the min- istry of Ambrose, while his pious mother, Monica, prayed continually for his conversion. His mind was now completely changed : he was made Presbyter, and afterwards Bishop of Hippo. — Palmer's Church History pp. 62 and 63. He woke from fitful slumber — woke to muse, Of sinful joys in prospect — and the hues Of magic colored all the hours to come, While thoughts of mother, God, and heavenly home, All succumbed to the one intense desire, Of feeding to the full, base passion's fiercest fire ! ! A mother wrestled for that erring Son, With heart all bursting, and with yearning soul, As Ocean-bed so deep did feeling run, Strong as the surges as they onward roll, Dead to all thought but this — that Folly's child, Might break the maze of vice, and be no more be- guiled. MONICA. 21 A pen was wielded by a master hand, And Heresy recoiled — for Truth was power ; And who, for God, the Altar-fire hath fanned, But he, who turned from that Circean bower, Turned in his manhood's might, now strong in grace, And sought within the Church, a stable resting-place. A Bishop ruled in Hippo — and his heart, Large as the circle of his constant care, Was all his Master's, earth could claim no part ; His life was labor, and his breath was prayer, That Bishop all a mother's hopes had crowned, A brand from burning plucked — a lost one more than found. Monica ! thy soft graces all were hid, In the effulgence of thy loved one's fame, But can we muse on what Augustine did, And not revere his Parent's honored name ? In memory's tide, both shall commingling run, Both thrill the breast with joy, that Mother aad her Son! ! POLYCARP AT PRAYER. A CHURCH BALLAD. Polycarp was Bishop of Smyrna, and had been a disciple of St. John. Sought by his persecutors, he was at last discovered in the evening. He simply requested at their hands permission to pray one hour ; which being granted, he prayed most fervently, so that those who were pre- sent were amazed. Brought soon after before the tribunal, he nobly refused to reproach his Saviour, and suffered martyrdom with unflinch- ing fortitude. A. D. 167. — Palmer's Church History. The eve of martyrdom — he knows it well, For those gaunt messengers their errand tell : The fiery baptism is his birthright now : And shall he crouch in fear, or tamely bow In servile awe, because a despot's rod Becomes the rugged mean to speed his flight to God ? Grant him one hour for prayer — one little hour, And heaven's sweet influence shall his soul empower ; And visions of his rest, his destined home, Shall to his withered heart like sun-beams come ; Then will he rise to quit him like a man, And follow, strong in Faith, where Stephen leads the van. POLYCARP AT PRAYER. 23 That hour of prayer — that calm, that hallowed pause, Around his soul Devotion's curtain draws, And John's disciple, like his Teacher blest, Pillows his griefs upon a Saviour's breast : In high communings loses sight of time, And owns no power but God's, and feels that power sublime. Then the Tribunal comes — how cunning Art Would wrench the breast-plate from the hero's heart ; " Reproach the Christ !" — no, sophistry of Hell ! Thou hast for Polycarp no wizard spell ; For six and eighty years he keeps the vow, And could he — dare he thus blaspheme that Maker now? Bring out the victim — prayer has made him strong, Your fagots kindle — he will wake the Song ; The Cup of Christ ! — to him the draught is sweet, Who hears the echoes of seraphic feet ; What though by man a fiery chariot's given, If those sweet angel bands convoy him safe to Hea- ven? 24 POLYCARP AT PRAYER. 'Tis o'er — a life of service and of care, And Smyrna's Bishop, with the snow-white hair, Is on the list of Martyrs — heaven is won, And John's disciple is as blest as John ; A Saviour's smile o'erpays a despot's frown : Eorgot the scathing flame, when gain'd the radiant crown. A BISHOPS DYING HYMN. "The Sacrament was soon administered by the writer. At the pro- per place he requested to hear read the 93d Hymn, and as soon as the reading was ended, he sung clearly the second and third verses. Dur- ing the night he said very little, and for about two hours before he expired, was nearly, if not quite insensible to what was passing around. He sunk into the arms of death without a struggle." — Account of the last illness and death of the Right Rev. John Henry Hobart, Bishop of New York, from the pen of the Rev. Dr. Rudd. That last exulting strain — how soft and clear, Its cadence fell upon the ravish'd ear, Speaking oT Faith, and Love, and rapture high, Tuning the soul to heavenly symphony : Though racked with pain, behold the victor still, And list the blessed lay he sings with sweetest thrill. Around the couch of anguish and unrest, Dissolved in grief his priestly children prest, " Sons in the Faith," they wailed their mighty loss, The loss of thee, tried champion of the Cross, Of thee, who ever foremost in the van, Had battled for the Church since first thy course be- gan. 26 A BISHOP'S DYING HYMN. Before the mystic elements were given, Which nerved thy soul so soon to pass to Heaven, Arose thy Hymn, as Nature loosed her strings, And o'er thy brow stole Death's dread shadowings, As if to antedate the richer song, Which swell, in realms afar, the beauteous ransomed throng. Blest triumph this of Faith in darkest hour ; No fears to shake — no doubts to overpower, A stream of radiance from the fount of love, Baptized thy Spirit as it rose above. The lustrous crown had caught that kindling eye, And Hobart passed in song, immortal to the sky. THE TWO DWELLINGS. " I will tell you, Scholar, I hare heard a grave divine say, that God hath two dwellings, one in Heaven, and the other in a meek and thankful heart." — Izaak Walton's Complete Angler. Where does he dwell ? Look up to yonder arch, Where thick as dust the starry gems are strown, To yon expanse, where, in their noiseless march, The Planets move, like outguarcls of the throne. Pass on in thought — shoot o'er this pale of light, This simple confine of a brighter sphere, And then, advanced to more than Pisgah height, Survey the realm, undimmed by Sorrow's tear. In that recess — unscann'd by impious eye, Rich in the store of uncreated bliss, "Wrapt in a garb of pure Infinity, Himself uncaused — but power creative his — 28 THE TWO DWELLINGS. In that recess — the Infinite Unknown, His glorious court for boundless ages keeps ; His arm can wield Omnipotence alone, His eye Omniscient, slumbers not, nor sleeps. But, humble Christian, in thy bosom dwells, Not one sole ray from that Almighty mind, But that which in its glory far excels, And leaves created splendor all behind. Thou art Ohristophorus — thine inmost heart Enshrines the Word — he reigns in thee supreme ; A Temple of the Holy Ghost thou art, An honored vessel in thy God's esteem. Oh, lowly bosom, what a wondrous guest, Unseen by human eye, but all thine own, Thy heart — on it, the true Shecinah rests, — Its Ark — its Altar — and its mystic Throne. Then let such union blest be sundered not ; And when thy race of victory be run, Quick as the levin-flash, and swift as thought, Soar up and blend with God, as fire that seeks the Sun. THE VIGIL. " Bishop Wilson, of Soclor and Man, was a man of prayer. Even in the night he might be heard. Somefimes the words of the Psalmist were indistinctly heard by his attendants. Sometimes parts of the Te Deum were recognized. Such were the nightly orisons of this holy man." — Church History. When Night her ebon curtain spread Above a world of sorrow, And many a sad and fever'd head Was resting for the morrow, Upon the quiet air arose The tones of supplication, For ardent friends, for envious foes, For England's Church and nation. And now the Psalms of Jesse's son, Imbued with love so fervent, Blent with the nightly orison Of Christ's devoted servant. 30 THE VIGIL. Anon Te Deum's glowing strain, That olden hymn inspiring, Which still ascends from Christian fane, His heart and tongue was firing. The couch invited calm repose, And Nature called for slumber, But still that gray-haired prelate rose, The hours in prayer to number, — Like him who once prevailed with God, His sinfulness confessing, The patriarchal path he trod, And wrestled for a blessing. And think you not that Angels sped. Their way through ether winging, And rapture through his bosom shed. As he his chant was singing ! Oh, think you not that aiding grace Within his heart was planted, That glimpses of the Saviour's face By God's own love were granted. THE VIGIL. 31 Church of my love ! with sons like him, To serve before thine Altar, Thy light may ne'er its radiance dim, Thy course can never falter : Inscribing conquest on thy brow, Thou still shalt bless the nations, Of earth the excellency now, The praise of generations. FAITH IN GOD. "Oh, Lord, in Thee have I trusted, let me never he confounded.' Te Deum Laudamus. In Thee have I trusted, and trust in Thee still, Though stern be Thy mandate, and bitter Thy will ; For firm is my faith in Thy covenant care, It yields not an instant to doubt or despair. In Thee have I trusted, and trust in Thee still, The word Thou hast pledged, Thou can'st surely fulfill : The hills may remove, and the mountains depart, But the names of Thy chosen are sealed on Thy heart. In Thee have I trusted, and trust in Thee still, Through nights of affliction, and mornings of ill ; When friend and companion have left me alone, No solace but Jesus — no stay but the Throne. FAITH IN GOD. 33 In Thee have I trusted, and trust in Thee still, When the breath of detraction is plotting me ill ; My justice in season Thou bringest to sight, And makest my dealings as clear as the light. In Thee have I trusted, through sunshine and pain, Dear Lord, I have trusted Thee never in vain ; Thou wilt not deceive me, Thou canst not remove, Thy nature is Mercy — Thine attribute Love. Oh, sickness may come with its grief-dealing train, And Death my enjoyments may sever in twain; The mercy vouchsafed me I cannot forget, I cling to the Saviour with confidence yet. Then come to this bosom, affliction and woe, My hope in Jehovah I cannot forego; His service before me — His crown in my view, Who, who could be faithless, when He is so true ? His face may be dark, and His frown may appear, His tones of compassion may die on the ear ; The joys that I cherish may crumble to dust, Yet still though He slav me, I cannot but trust. THE WATCHER'S HYMN. "It was very common to sing Psalms and Hymns, during the night ■while watching the dead. Thus Augustine speaks of his Mother's death, and says that Euodius took the Psalter and began to sing a Psalm, and the whole family answered alternately, " I will sing of mercy and of judgment, unto Thee, oh Lord will I sing."— Christian Antiquities. The chamber wore a sombre hue, Death was the Sovereign there, And deeper yet the sadness grew, In hearts oppressed with care. The household chain was broken now, The hearth's delight was gone, For icy was a Mother's brow, And hushed her loving tone. She who had clasped her hands in prayer, And bent the suppliant knee, And sought the grace of Heaven to bear Life's latest agony, — THE WATCHER'S HYMN. 35 Was resting in that Saviour's love, Whose Cross she meekly bore, A pillar in the courts above, Thence to go out no more. And as around her breathless form, The Watchers calmly drew, And felt, that sheltered from the storm Was she, the good — the true. The hallow 'd page they opened there In the still midnight hour, The comfort of the Word to share, The Spirit's soothing power. And thus their blended accents poured, And thus they praised their King, " Of Judgment and of Mercy, Lord, Our trembling voices sing." Of Judgment — for thy chastening rod, A fearful stroke has given, Of Mercy — for the Christian's God Transfers his gems to Heaven. 36 The dawn apace was creeping on, The ruddy streak of day, But in that solemn chamber, none Would yield to slumber's sway. They placed sweet flowrets on her breast, Of bright and gorgeous dyes, And spoke of her unending rest, Who bloomed beyond the skies. And still those ancient Saints adored, And still they praised their King : "Of judgment and of Mercy, Lord, Our trembling voices sing." •