:^^' ":K l!lM : ^^^' ^^ ^ '%^'^yiWl s ^^% - .0^ « ^/. ^ ^ X '^, ^^'^ ~^~>(f^^: "Ca . ■^ ,i \.^?:.^^;s^' .^^^ '% * H \ ^' «^te\^ <^ iJ^ - ,0o -oc^ ? ^v .^ -^ ^. ''fe.,,^. > .^^"^^ ^^/ \. - : ■^:^' *• ■* ^aO y- .\ '*> ' . V*' o"< oo" '- : _ _/ ^ - S^a , ^^>' •%/■; ^. .^^'' o '~/ <> 'v-* f ^ ■'o 0^ ^^.- c^^ ,•; -r.. vOo^. MATINS AND VESPERS^ HYMNS 1^ OCCASIONAL DEVOTIONAL PIECES. 5rV JOHN BOWRING. FIRST AMERICAN FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION. BOSTON : HIL.LIARD, GRAY, LITTLE, AND WILKINS. 1827. M CAMBRIDGE. University Press. — Hilliard, IVktcilf, & Co. TO Mrs. BARBAULD. rnou hast heard many voices hymning thee, Who didst awake their purest, earUest strains ; Flowing hke minghng rivulets o'er the plains, They water— till they reach the mighty sea Where time is blended with eternity. The current of thy years— which age has crown'd With hoary honours, and ripe harvests round, Say, may it drink some gentle dews from me Of grateful song ?— I was in childhood young And artless, when to my dim vision thou Wert as a saint, — and from thy gentle tongue I oft have heard such truths, such thoughts, as wrung Tears of delight from infancy — and now Round thee affection hath with reverence clung. J. B. PREFACE. Those Who are acquainted with a little volume writ- ten by Dr. Witschel, entitled Morgen und Abend Opfer, which has passed through several editions in Germany, will see how largely I have been indebted to it. It first suggested the idea, that a similar collection might serve the cause of religion and virtue at home. So much of serene and so much of joyful feeling, so much of calm and grateful recollection, so much of pre- sent peace and comfort, and so much of holy and trans- porting hope, are connected with the cultivation of the devotional spirit, — that to assist its exercises, to admin- ister to its wants, and to accompany its heavenly aspira- tions, are objects worthy of the noblest, the best ambi- tion. In attempting to give some of the ornaments of song to such contemplations, and such expressions as become those who have formed a true estimate of life, and of the ends of living, I trust I have never forgotten that the substance of piety is of higher interest than any of its decorations, — that the presence of truth is of more importance than the garment it weare. A* Vl PREFACE. I have often witnessed, with complacency and delight, the consoling influence produced by the recollection of some passage of devotional poetry, under circumstances the most disheartening and sufferings the most oppres- sive. tShould any fragment of this little book, remem- bered and dwelt upon in moments of gloom and anxiety, tend to restore peace, to awaken fortitude, to renew or to create confidence in Heaven, I shall have obtained the boon for which I pray, — the end to which I aspire. These Hymns were not written in the pursuit of fame or literary triumph. They are full of borrowed images, of thoughts and feeling excited less by my own contem- plations than by the writings of others. I have not sought to be original. To be useful is my first ambition —that obtained, I am indifferent to the rest. PREFACE THE SECOND EDITION. It has been suggested that the usefulness of this volume may be much increased by its publication in a form which will make it more accessible, and perhaps in consequence acceptable, to a very large class of soci- ety. All good is important in proportion to the sphere in which it acts — in proportion to its extent and to its intensity. The man who labours for the fev/ where he might benefit the many, mistakes his vocation. He who confers the greatest sum of good on the greatest number of human beings, is the greatest benefactor of his species. Mine is a humble effort — I rejoice that it has been crowned with some success. May the blessing of Heaven go with it on its forward way ! J. B. January^ 1824. CONTENTS. MATINS AND VESPERS. Fjrst Week Spring pp .11 — 54 Second Week Sdmjier 55 — 98 Third Week Autumn 99 — 142 Fourth Week Winter 143—182 HYMNS AND OTHER DEVOTIONAL PIECES. Night— from the German of Herder p* 185 Morning Thoughts 189 Evening Thoughts on Death 193 Written at Sea 197 " The World is given to the Wicked " 200 Psalm xc 202 Habakkuk, chap, iii 205 1 Corinthians, chap, xiii 208 Anxieties and Comforts 210 Siste, Viator ! 214 X CONTENTS. Blessings of Instruction p. 218 Sonnet 221 Hymns 222—224 Death 225 Hymns . 227—234 Hymn to the Deity 235 An Aspiration 237 Sonnet of Pellegrino Gaudenzi's 238 Sonnet of Salvini's— God 239 Hymns : . . 240, 241 To a Violet 242 Hymns 243, 244 Persecution 245 Retirement 247 Sonnets 248—250 Saturday Ni^ht 251 FIRST WEEK. SPRING. 14 SUNDAY MORNING. A peace which none but Thou couldst give inspires My bosom ; heavenly aspiration fires My towering thoughts. O God ! what breath but Thine Could kindle aspirations so divine ! Benignant condescension ! that Thy ray Should send its brightness through a clod of clay, And raise to Thy abode — to Heaven — to Thee — The poor, weak children of mortality ! Thus privileged, let my spirit-rousing thought, Which vainly seeks to praise Thee as it ought. Pour forth its humble strains. Eternal Lord ! Thy majesty might crush the embryo-w^ord With its gigantic presence ; but Thy love Gives it a voice, and wafts its tones above. Grant me. Eternal One ! Thy light to cheer. Thy hand to guide me, while I journey here ; Thy grace to help, Thy peace my soul to fill. And sorrow's storm may thunder if it will. I am supported by Thy holy arm — The cloud may burst — but O, it cannot harm. I say not, " Shield me, Father, from distress," But, " Wake my heart to truth and holiness." I ask not that my earthly course may run Cloudless — but, humbly, " Let Thy will be done." The peace the world can give not nor destroy, The love which is the greatest, and the joy SUNDAY EVENING. 15 That 's given to angels — to perceive and own That all Thy will is light and truth alone And bliss-producing ; — these, and such as these, Be mine ; — the vain world's fleeting vanities — Pomps, pleasures, riches, honours, glory, pride, (Idols by man's perverseness deified,) I envy not. — Do Thou my steps control — Erect devotion's temple in my soul ; And there, my God ! my King ! mirivall'd sway : So let existence, like a sabbath day, Glide softly by, and let that temple be A shrine devoted all to truth and Thee. SUNDAY EVENING. How shall I praise Thee, Lord of light t How all Thy generous love declare ? Though earth is veil'd in shades of night, Thy heaven is open to my prayer ; That heaven, so bright with stars and suns — That glorious heaven, which knows no bound ; Where die full tide of being runs. And life and beauty glow around ; 16 SUNDAY EVENING. From thence — Thy seat of light divine, Circled by thousand streams of bliss Which calmly flow and brightly shine — Say, to a world so mean as this, Canst Thou direct Thy pitying eye ? How shall my thoughts expression find, All lost in thine immensity ? How shall 1 seek, Eternal mind, Thy holy presence ? God sublime. Whose power and wisdom, love and grace. Are greater than the round of time, And wider than the bounds of space ! Gently the shades of night descend ; Thy temple, Lord ! is calm and still ; A thousand lamps of ether blend, A thousand fires that temple fill. To honour Thee ; — 'tis bright and fair, As if the very heavens, imprest Widi Thy pure image smiling there, In all their loveliest robes were drest. Yet Thou canst turn Thy friendly eye From that immeasurable throne ; — Thou, smiling on humanity, Dost claim earth's children for Thine own, And gently, kindly lead them through Life's varied scenes of joy and gloom : SUNDAY EVENING, 17 Till evening's pale and pearly dew Tips the green sod that decks their tomb. Thou, Father ! hast a gentle breath That bears our soaring souls on high ; Thy angels watch the bed of death, Thy torch directs us to the sky. Thou bidst the cares of earth depart — Heaven's peace is wafted from above ; A sabbath-stillness fills my heart — Devotion's calm, and virtue's love. Thy laws with rays divine illume ; Sweet is Thy call, Thy burthen light, Thy words like heavenly music come, Thy promise like a seraph bright. And Thou, from Thy sublimest height Of glory — in Thy mercy deignest Earth-wandering pilgrims to invite Tow'rds the blest palace where Thou reignest. And man — a speck of dust — may rise. Borne on the pinions of Thy grace, Up to angelic mysteries : Heaven is his home — his resting-place. Even as the seed that autumn's breath On to its destined dwelling bears. Springs from its earthly tomb beneath. And its fair crown of beauty rears : 18 SUNDAY EVENING, Mortality itself contains The germ of immortality, And bursts life's cold and fettering chain?, Rising from mortal bondage free. Not ours alone a varying doom, Checker'd with fleeting joys and cares ; For us the portals of the tomb Lead onward to eternal years. When trembling on the awful bourn Which bounds life's transitory stage. Tranquil my dying thoughts shall turn Back on the well-spent pilgrimage : While visions, robed in glory bright, Beam through life's evening-shades serene, From heaven's eternal isles of light ; What though the waters roll between ^ The arm that oft hath saved, shall save ; ' Death has no terrors now for me — Where is thy sting, O where, thou grave ? O death ! where is thy victory ? Methinks I see the flow'rets bloom Even now on Eden's vernal shore ; Methinks 1 feel the breezes come To waft th' enfranchised prisoner o'er — Methinks a light, as soft, as sweet. Smiles on me as the pale moon's ray 5 MONDAY MORNING. 19 INIethinks I hear the angels greet, " Come hither, Spirit, come ! " — they say, I hasten : as my eye grows dim And darkens on this fading sphere, 1 see the smiling seraphim Wax more and more resplendent there ; And as ray ear grows deaf and dull To the vain sounds of earthly art, The music, soft and beautiful. Of heaven absorbs my raptured heart. MONDAY MORNING. Thou, Lord ! art all in all — and man is nought : For though in privileged hours his soaring thought Would seem to catch a glance of Thee — Thy light Soon becomes dazzling, and he sinks in night. Yes ! we are blind — and w^hen we most aspire, Most feel our weakness and our vain desire. W^e trace the comets in their orbits — fly From star to star, across the crowded sky, And, far beyond what natural powers discern, Guided by art, we nature's mysteries learn : But when we think of Thee — confounded, lost, From one proud billow to another tost, 20 MONDAY MORNING. Our reason wreck'd — the horizon shaded o'er, We dash upon a dark and dangerous shore. What art Thou, Lord ? By what high name — what word Of majesty, shall we address Thee, Lord f God ! awful sound — recess of mystery ! God ! what strange notions of infinity, Infinity of wisdom, power, and love, Through the still'd heart in shadowy visions move — Link'd with all space, all being, deep and vast : 'Tis a vague sense of future and of past — Of things beyond the stars — of death — of birth — Of a wing'd Spirit wandering o'er the earth — Travelling from sun to sun — of whispering wind — Of thunder — of a more than mortal mind, That sometimes visits man : — a rolling flood Invisible — an infinite tide of good, O'erflowing all — a presence in the air. Upon the land, the waters, every where ! God ! God ! word written on the waves — imprest Upon fair Nature's universal breast, — Wafted by every breeze, and borne along By every motion that has sense or song — Splendent above, and beautiful below, The soul of all the universe art Thou ! We find Thee there — we revel in the thought — Forgive the daring, Lord ! we know thee not. MONDAY EVENING. 21 When man has scaled the heavens, and weigh'd the sun, And visited the stars — then. Infinite One ! Then may he, then, though still unworthily, Lift up his thoughts and turn his eyes to Thee ; To Thee, whose glorious brightness human eye Ne'er gazed on yet in its intensity. God ! I tremble when on Thee I think ; 1 feel, as if I shudder'd on the brink Of profanation — yet I love Thee : — read My doubting, fearing heart — it loves indeed ! Loves, and would fain obey — O touch the chord That vibrates at Thy name, — and tune it. Lord ! To reverence and to virtue : — all beside — The vain desires of folly or of pride — All, ail I throw, an offering at Thy feet — Accept that homage, Being Infinite I MONDAY EVENING. My eye look'd round upon the vast expanse Of glorious Nature — and my raptured vision, Revelling in the early day-beams' waken'd glance, Saw rocks, and streams, and woods — hke scenes elysian, 22 MONDAY EVENING. Uncurtain'd slowly from the realms of sleep : There the sun drove his golden chariot proudly, And the sonorous ocean thunder'd loudly, What time the waters rushing down the steep Lifted their voice harmonious — every where The spirit of love was brooding — and the smile Of vernal freshness and of beauty rare : There was a gentle music in the air, That hung around the mist-robed mountains, while A calm and quiet influence seem'd to breathe In fragrance o'er the vales and on the hills : The dews had hung up many a diamond wreath On herbs and budding flowers — and the meek rills Trembled at morning's first salute, and thrill'd And murmur'd joy. — Slowly and silently The vapours which the bosom of earth had fiU'd Melted away in light ! — the all-present eye Of heaven beam'd brightly : and methought the day Look'd beautiful as when an infant wakes From its soft slumbers — and in every ray I traced the visible presence — dark and dim — But still the presence visible of Him, At whose first call the early morning breaks Through twilight's curtain. — Higher yet, and higher, Rose the great central orb above our globe, Till heaven was girded with one azure robe, And none could look upon that throne of fire, MONDAY EVENING. 23 On wblch perchance some spirit sits, and keeps An awful reckoning with our earthly sphere : For the Great Eye that sees us never sleeps ; It has its ministering angels wheresoe'er Existence is — beneath us, and above. Around us and within us, He has there His delegates. They watch us when we rove, And to the oft-abandon'd, narrow track Of truth and virtue, gently call us back : They read our thoughts — our actions they record, And bear the transcript of each idle word Up to the great tribunal. — Now the Noon, Wearied with sultry toil, declines and falls Into the mellow Eve : — the West puts on Her gorgeous beauties — palaces and halls And towers, all carved of the unstable cloud, Welcome the calmly waning monarch — he Sinks gently 'midst that glorious canopy Down on his couch of rest — even like a proud Monarch of earth and ocean. — He being gone. All his attendant ministers take their flight. And leave the dark and desolate Earth alone — To all the gloom and horror of the Night. But no ! for He who made that glowing Sun, Still watches o'er His children — and He spreads A roll of starry brightness o'er our heads, Waking the stars and planets one by one. 24 TUESDAY MORNING. So rolls the varying day — and morn and noon And even-tide and night — alike proclaim The ne'er-decaying splendour of His name ; His love, that 's never wearied, shed on man ; The never-bounded influence of His might ; The never-erring wisdom of His plan. In Him, all, all is glory — knowledge — light — Truth — beauty — joy : and both in what we see And what we see not — both in what we know And what we know not — kindness, mercy glow In the refulgence of Infinity. TUESDAY MORNING. When the arousing call of Morn Breaks o'er the hills, and day new born Comes smiling from the purple east. And the pure streams of liquid light Bathe all the earth — renew'd and bright, Uprising from its dream of rest — O how delightful then, how sweet Again to feel life's pulses beat ; TUESDAY MORNING. 25 Again life's kindly warmth to prove ; To drink anew of pleasure's spring ; Again our matin song to sing To the great Cause of light and love ! To Him, whom comet, planet, star, Sun, moon in their sweet courses far, Praise in eternal homage meet ; While thousand choirs of seraphs bring Their sounding harps of gold — and fling Their crowns of glory at His feet. Thou ! who didst wake me first from nought. And lead my heaven-aspiring thought To some faint, feeble glimpse of thee : Thou ! who didst touch my slumb'ring heart With Thy own hand — and didst impart A portion of thy deity : O teach me. Father ! while I feel The impress of Thy glorious seal — And whence I came and whither tend : Teach me to live — to act — to be Worthy my origin, and thee, And worthy my immortal end. 3 26 TUESDAV EVENING. O not in vain to me be given The joys of earth — the hopes of heaven ! O not in vain may I receive My master's talents — but, subdued And tutor'd by the soul of good, To God — to bliss — to virtue live ! Heaven's right-lined path may I discern, Nor, led by pride or folly, turn A handbreadth from the onward road ; Fight the good fight — the foe subdue. And wear the heavenly garland too — A garland from the hand of God ! TUESDAY EVENING. 'Tis now the solemn hour, when spirits come To alarm credulity — 'tis now the hour, When disembodied ghosts have awful power To burst th' impris'ning portals of the tomb. Such vain creations from the midnight's womb Has superstition summon 'd and array'd In all the hideous forms that fear has made. TUESDAY EVENING. 27 Spirits there art indeed that walk the night, — Not such as these — but heavenly tongues, that call, In nature's hallow'd eloquence, on all, To wins: themselves for a diviner fli2;ht. The wise man hears their voices : darkness, light, To him are equally momentous things. And each a monitory warning brings From th' other side of death. The sun goes down ; But truth, that never sleeps, still rides sublime Through all the strange vicissitudes of time — Speaks in the noon-tide's smile, the midnight's frown. Now in the stillness of the eve serene, The calm of meek devotion's influence, Upsoaring from this dark impris'ning scene, Appealing from what is, and what has been. To that which shall be — from a world of sense, To spiritual worlds ; inviting down from thence Rays of the light that gilds heaven's holy place — I turn my thoughts, appalling Power ! to Thee. Appalling Power ! Thy awful majesty Might scatter us in dust — but, lo ! Thy grace, Milder and softer than the early dew, Invites us to Thy presence. Lord ! forgive Thy trembling children — Father ! Friend ! receive Their tribute, humble and unworthy too. 28 TUESDAY EVENING. 'Tis sweet, in journeying thro' this vale of tears. To gather its fair flowers ; to pay, and prove Blessings and sympathies, and acts of love. And so to sink into the lap of years : But sweeter, when life's evening star appears, To see religion's holy visions bright. Hover on wings of righteousness and light, Smiling kind invitations from above. What though a thousand or ten thousand graves Arrest our stumbling footsteps — they are nought But seats of rest where the life-wearied thought Reposes — while divinest glory waves Her palms of triumph o'er the grassy heaps. — Life's journey is oft wearisome and wild ; And there affliction's tired and troubled child On nature's all-composing bosom sleeps. There is a land, where everlasting suns Shed everlasting brightness — where the soul Drinks from the living streams of love, that roll By God's high throne ! myriads of glorious ones Bring there th' accepted offering. O how blest To look from diis dark prison to that shrine, T' inhale one breath of paradise divine — And enter into that eternal rest Which waits the sons of God ! Remote from care. Remote from disappointment, to employ WEDNESDAY MORNING, 2^ Hours never-ending in the courts of joy, And wear a crown of heavenly splendour there ! With such a destiny, what earthly fear, What earthly woe shall cloud my spirit ? None. Forward, then, forward to the golden throne ! Why should our restless wishes linger here ? See from the clouds a smiling angel calls, " Come hither, Christian ! — Open is the door — The path is strait — delay not — doubt no more — Lo ! thou art welcome to the heavenly halls." Father — I go — I hear th' inviting sound — No more shall earthly objects dim my eyes — Away, away the world's dull vanities ! I hasten on — to heaven — to Eden bound. WEDNESDAY MORNING. When Morn peeps o'er the mountain's height And the last star has left the sky. And dews disperse at waking light. And Earth puts on her robes of joy. And flowers look out, and woods are gay With birds and breezes — O, 'tis meet To join the universal lay, And nature's chorus to repeat ; - 3^ 30 ' WEDNESDAY MORNING. To lead the aspiring soul to Him, Whose is the darkness, whose the day — Who kindled first the sunny beam ; Pour'd forth the wand'ring milky way ; Fill'd all heaven's lamps with ether ; spread The canopy above — whose hand The valleys scoop'd — the mountains weigh'd- Fadiom'd the ocean — rear'd the land, And crowded all with life and b'iss. See life and bliss around us glowing ! Wherever space or being is, The cup of joy is full and flowing. Yes ! Nature is a splendid show, Where an attentive mind may hear Music in all the winds that blow — And see a silent worshipper In every flower, on every tree, In every vale, on every hill — Perceive a voice of melody In waving grass or whispering rill ; And catch a soft but solemn sound Of worship from the smallest fly, The cricket chirping on the ground. The trembling leaf that hangs on high. Proud scornful man ! thy soaring wing Would hurry tow'rds Infinity ; WEDNESDAY MORNING. 21 And yet the vilest, meanest thing Is too sublime, too deep for thee ; And all thy vain imagining Lost in the smallest speck we see. It must be so — for He, even He Who worlds created, form'd the worm — He pours the dew, who fill'd the sea — Breathes from the flower, who rules the storm : — Him we may worship — not conceive ; See not and hear not — but adore : Bow in the dust — obey — believe — Utter His name — and know no more. His throne is o'er the highest star That wanders heaven's blue vault along ; He drives unseen His glorious car A million viewless worlds among. A thousand — ay ! ten thousand suns Are darkness in His piercing eye ! Thy life runs on — and while it runs, Vainly to know him dost thou try : That is a bliss for realms on high, When thou shalt breathe diviner air, And drink of heaven's felicity ; For knowledge knows no boundary there, O, if joy be here thy doom. Give it anchorage above ; 32 WEDNESDAY EVENING. If thy path be dark with gloom, Steal a ray from heavenly love. Source of joy ! — my friend ! my Father ! In thy presence let me be, Here the flowers of Virtue gather, Blooming for eternity. WEDNESDAY EVENING. Almighty Being ! wise and holy Who hast to each his portion given ; To the poor worm his station lowly. And to the choirs of angels — heaven ; My fate is in thy righteous keeping, Ruler of worlds ! — unbounded One ; While to weak man, in error sleeping, Thy awful course is all unknown ; Far from Thy light immortal streaming, From heaven, — resplendently afar, Man's ray is but the feeble gleaming Of evening's palest, farthest star. With hope upon his path descending, Life's darkness soon gives way to light j Some holy sunbeams hither tending. Chase the dark clouds of doubt, of night. WEDNESDAY EVENING, 33 O had our journey, wasting, weary, No ray like these to gild the gloom, Life were a desert dark and dreary, A midnight prison-house — a tomb ! Merciful Being ! Friend ! Creator ! To Thee 1 look, to Thee I call ; On Thee I rest my fragile nature ; Not on this transient world, nor all The world's foundations. Thou, who kindly Smil'st on ray path, conduct me still ; Conduct me, while fatigued and blindly I climb up life*s deceitful hill ; Smile in Thy hght of mercy o'er me. And form me to Thy holy will ; Thy hope shall sweetly beam before me^ Thy rays my little lamp shall fill. Could 1 control my future being, No thought of pride should e'er rebel ; Thou, all-designing — guiding — seeing, Wilt direct all things wisely, well. Disturb not, dreams of care ! to-morrow ; Enough the evil of to-day : My destined sum of joy and sorrow The scales of perfect wisdom weigh. He for ten thousand worlds providing, Yet condescends to tliink of me ! 34 THURSDAY MORNING. My little skifF securely guiding O'er Time's now still, now troubled sea ; Calm as the night, and soft and vernal As the spring's breath, my bark shall move, Till, launch'd into the gulf eternal, It anchors in a port above. THURSDAY MORNING * The heavens, O Lord ! Thy power proclaim, And the earth echoes back Thy name ; Ten thousand voices speak Thy might, And day to day, and night to night, Utter Thy praise, — Thou Lord above ! Thy praise — thy glory — and Thy love. All things I see, or hear, or feel, Thy wisdom, goodness, power reveal. The silent crescent hung on high, So calmly sailing through the sky , The lowliest flower that lights the dells ; The lightest wave the stream that swells ; * ZoUikofer's Sermons, Vol. VI. p. 253. THURSDAY MORNING. 35 The breeze that o'er the garden plays ; The farthest planet's glimmering rays ; The dew upon the distant hill ; The vapours that the valley fill ; The grove's untutor'd harmony — All speak, — and loudly speak of thee. Thy name, thy glories, they rehearse, Great Spirit of the universe ! Sense of all sense, and Soul of soul, Nought is too vast for thy control ; The meanest and the mightiest share Alike Thy kindness and Thy care. Beneath Thy all-directing nod. Both worlds and w'orms are equal, God ! Thy hand the comets' orbits di-ew, And lighted yonder glow-worm too ; Thou didst the dome of heaven build up, And form'dst yon snow-drop's silver cup. And nature with its countless throng, And sun and moon and planets' song L) THURSDAY MORNING. And every flower that light receives, And every dew tliat tips its leaves. And every murmur of the sea — Tunes its sweet voice to worship Thee. Yes ! all below and all above, Drink of Thy flowing stream of love ; Yes ! whereso'er existence is, There, there is greatness, hope, and bliss ; There never was a mortal eye Which has not shone with smiles of joy. And all are bending to the spot Where disappointment enters not ; The seed of man's mortality Shall on earth's bosom scatter'd be, And from its germs at last arise Fair blossoms, fit for paradise. And we, creation's princes, we The favourites of the Deity, The wise — the strong — whose thoughts can soar Heaven's brightest, highest concave o'er ; And hold, above created things. Communion with the King of kings — THURSDAY MORNING. 37 Shall we not praise and worship Thee, Thou infinite Divinity ? Thank Thee for what we know — and own Tliou hidest what is best unknown ; And kindly, wisely, hast conceal'd The future, from our vision veil'd f Shall we disturb the harmony Which all creation tunes to Thee ; Those sweet concordant notes, that sound The arched hall of nature round ; That fill the earth, the sea, the air. And reach Thy throne — accepted there ? No : rather our according voice Shall in the general praise rejoice. And join the ever-during hymn With cherubim and seraphim — With all to whom a tongue is given. To worship Thee, the Lord of heaven. 38 THURSDAY EVENING. Peace 'neath the stars may fix her seat, And bliss look smiling from on high, When spirits hold communion sweet With brighter spirits of the sky. The earth is resting calmly now Beneath the curtain'd shade of night, The sun behind the mountain's brow Has veil'd his last and lingering light. Reviving sleep ! thy sheltering wing Is o'er the couch of labour spread ; Sweet minister — unearthly thing — That hovers round the tired one's head. As calm and cold, as mortal clay When life is fled — earth soundly sleeps ; When evening veils the eye of day, And darkness rules the ocean deeps. But, lighted 'neath heaven's temple arch, Ten thousand stars are shining round. And all on their imposing march Thy everlasting praise resound. THURSDAY EVENING. 39 A thousand, thousand joyful tongues Are heard in heaven when earth is still ; And echoes of unnumber'd songs The vast extent of nature till. O then Thy spirit, Lord ! anew Enkindles strength in sleeping men ; It falls as falls the evening dew — And life's sad waste repairs again. While mildly o'er the deep repose Peace smiles from her exalted throne, In sleep a million eyelids close — Heaven watches — and heaven wakes alone. Preserving, blessing, guarding all. The night and day His smile inspires; He sits beneath His star-rooPd hall, And never slumbers — never tires : No rest requites his ceaseless toil — He never faints, He needs not rest : Man sinks to deep repose awhile 5 God reigns untired — immortal — blest. Then let me, led by Him, pursue My path, from folly's slavery free ; Throw off my chain — and then renew v My journey tow'rds eternity. 40 FRIDAY MORNING. Be nature's gentle slumbers mine — And lead me gently to the last, Until I hear Thy voice divine — " Awake ! for death's long night is past." FRIDAY MORNING. Ps. civ. Sing thy Creator's praise, and own Him greatest — wisest — God alone. He wraps himself in robes of light, And, clothed in garments pure and bright Of honour and of majesty, He makes the skies His canopy. The pillars of His temple are Built on the ocean ; and His car, The clouds of heaven. Th' Eternal Mind Rides on the pinions of the wind : A thousand spirits wait His will. And, touch'd witii fire. His word fulfil. Thou rear'dst the universe sublime On arches of unshaken time — FRIDAY MORNING. 41 And wrapp'dst this vast terraqueous globe With the deep waters as a robe — And badst the eternal huls sustain The o'erhanging pregnant clouds of rain. At Thy decree the waters fall — They hasten at Thy thunder's call ; Down from the rocky heights they gush, And through the thirsty valleys rush On to the vast receptacle, Where Thou hast bid the waters dwell. There hast Thou girt ihem with a shore, That they may flood the earth no more : While thousand and ten thousand rills, Wand'ring among the mazy hills, Fresh from their sparkling fountain burst. Where the wild asses quench then* thirst. 'Tis there, along the streamlet's side. The winged fowls of heaven abide ; Among the waving boughs they sing, That overhang the crystal spring ; The hills are water'd from above, And earth reflects a heaven of love. 4* 42 FRIDAY MORNINGf. He bids the emerald verdure grow, He makes the smiling flow'rets blow ; He plants the roots, he sows the grain, A common feast for beasts and men ; To each He gives his portion'd food — He, ever active, wise, and good ! He bids the loaded vine produce For man its generous, joyous juice ; And oil that makes his face to shine, And bread to nourish — all is Thine, Thou great, life-giving Deity ! Yes ! all we have we owe to Thee^ The life-sap at Thy bidding flows Through the young trees — the cedar grows Tovv'ring above the mountain's crest, Where the wood songster builds her nest ; While 'mid the solitary pines, The careful stork her home enshrines. To the rude rocks the conies fly ; The wild goats seek the mountains high ; While o'er them the benignant moon Siiines mildly — and the night, the noon, FRIDAY MORNING. 43 In their appointed courses fall : Govern'd by Him who governs all. 'Tis night— Thou spreadst the darkness deep ; The wild beasts from their hidings creep, And the young lions seek their prey From their Creator — till the ray Of morning calmly dawns, and then They slumber in their lairs again. Man to his daily labour goes. Until the evening brings repose. O Lord ! how great, how manifold Thy works, how glorious and untold I Their ever-during songs proclaim The vast perfections of Thy name. The mighty, the unbounded sea, (Image of Thine immensity !) Fill'd with ten thousand creatures — all Sharing Thy care, the great, the small ; The whale's gigantic mass — ^the swarms Of unseen myriads' insect-forms. 44 FRIDAY MORNING. The ships the busy billows crowd } And 'midst the waters rushing loud, (He owns not the control of man) The huge, the dread leviathan, Sils on his ever-shifung throne, And claims that kingdom for his own. On Thee they wait, on Thee depend — While Thou, their ever-present friend, Provid'st their food ;— Tiiy plenteous hand, Outstretch'd, fills all the sea, the land. With good — which they, delighted, gather From Thy great store. Thou gracious Father ! Thy face is hidden — darkness clouds The trembling earth ; — Thy frowning shrouds Existence with its gloom ;— - Thy ray Is hidden from them — they decay : Thou dost withdraw Thy breath — they die, And in the clayey valley lie. Thy spirit is sent forth again, • And life resumes its joyous reign ; . Again is nature's face renew'd, And love, and bliss, and gratitude, FRIDAY MORNING. 45 Clad all the face of earth with light, And hope, and bliss, and promise bright. His glory shall endure for ever — His praise shall perish never, never ! Rejoicing in His work, and pleas'd With the proud fabric he hath rais'd. Blest 'midst the blessings He hath given — In heaven directing all to heaven ! A thousand worlds His presence greet ; The mountains smoke beneath His feet ; The earth his presence fears ; — but I Will sing his praises joyfully. While I have life or breath to sing. In His existence triumphing. How sweet to meditate, O Lord ! On Thy great name. Thy glorious word. In Thy blest presence to rejoice. To Thy blest praise attune my voice, And from Thy cup to drink the stream Of gladness and of joy supreme ! If daring worldly ones contemn That Power, whose glance might scatter them, — 46 FRIDAY EVENING. I, in my honest purpose, still Will own Thy hand and do Thy will : Blest, blest unutterably, to be Devoted, Lord ! to truth and Thee. FRIDAY EVENING. A HOLY Stillness fills the sky. While evening tunes its vesper song, And, like a sacred lamp, on high The solitary moon is hung. Repose upon her downy pinion, Lights on the pilgrim's couch serene, And holds her undisturb'd dominion, O'er the dark silence of the scene. O then the spirit loves to turn Upon its inward self; and then Those hallow'd fires of virtue burn. Which, born of heaven, ascend again To their high source ; — all worldly care. All earth's pursuits and pleasures seem Unworthy trifles, as they are, Too grov'lling lor the soul's esteem. FRIDAY EVENING. 47 Then the Divinity within Lights the freed soul, and heaven appears Like some fair star, the clouds between Soft smiling through the night of years. Then with new life the spirit flies Up to its primal, proud abode; Reads all the secrets of the skies. And holds high converse with its God. O let me turn to heaven my eye — Heaven is my portion, is my home — And, steering onward joyfully. Be welcomed by the harb'ring tomb. Thus in serenest holiness Let days and nights roll sweetly past ; And if a tear — a tear of peace — Shall tremble in my eye at last ; Enough to think that I am Thine — Enough for sorrow's darkest hour — If I may call Thee, claim Thee mine — God of my life ; I ask no more. Father ! O let Thy light, Thy love, Guard to his tomb thy wanderer ; And when his spirit soars above, Be all his errors buried here. 48 SATURDAY MORNING. As from the vapours of the east The sun o'er morning's twilight steals, So truth illumes the pious breast, When man his inmost soul unveils : When the still monitor within Holds meet communion with his heart, And self-approval gilds the scene, As hours and days and weeks depart. How wise, departing weeks to call To stern inquiry's solemn bar, And take a strict account of all ! For all in heaven recorded are : The talents lost — the moments run To waste — the sins of act, of thought, Ten thousand deeds of folly done. And countless virtues cherish'd not. A towering spirit, born of heaven, And tending up to heaven again, By earthly cares and errors driven. And chain'd to all those errors vain 5 SATURDAY MORNING. 49 A temple worthy of a God, Degraded to an earth-worm's cell ; A soul sublime — become a clod, Dark, heavy, and insensible. Can such a reckoning then appal. To the heart's secret inquest given ? How dreadful — if unveil'd to all Th' assembled hosts of earth and heaven ; Deceive thee not, vain man ! for so Shall time thy inmost self declare, And the great day of days shall show Each vice thou wrapp'st so fondly here. Delusion ! rend the shading veil ; Hypocrisy ! come forth — and pride ! Thy naked form no more conceal ; Come, fierce intolerance ! nor hide Thy serpent-sting in folds of zeal, In pious words thy tiger-tooth ; Come forth, ye long-mask'd fiends ! and feel The all-discovering touch of truth. How many fancied saints, that wear Self-gratulation's starry dress, 30 SATURDAY EVENING. Shall stand unrobed — astonish'd theref In trembling, tottering nakedness ! How many a humble one, whose eye Scarce dares look up to heaven's bright throne, Shall bear the robes of majesty, And put the golden garland on ! SATURDAY EVENING. Hours, days, weeks — so our life-term flows — Gently, as melt the vernal snows Beneath the sun ; they pass away, Like dew-drops in the eye of day, One by one — till all are gone : The mists disperse — the twilight 's o'er, And the monarch bursts from th' orient door. And the clouds impede his march no more. Such is the fate of man ! and so His night of life rolls by, — the wave Of darkness sweeps across his grave — Then o'er the gloomy hills of snow, That seem life's boundary — brighter suns Emerge in glory — suns immortal — Bursting through the deep tomb's portal — And the tide of being runs SATURDAY EVENING. 51 In living light — eternal — bright, While everlasting ages flow. Why should the grave be terrible ? Why should it be a word of fear, Jarring upon the mortal ear ? There repose and silence dwell : — The living hear the funeral knell, But the dead no funeral knell can hear. Does the gay flower scorn the grave ? the dew Forget to kiss its turf? the stream Refuse to bathe it ? or the beam Of moonlight shun the narrow bed. Where the tired pilgrim rests his head ? No ! the moon is there, and smiling too ! And the sweetest song of the morning bird Is oft in that ancient yew-tree heard ; And there may you see the harebell blue Bending his light form — gently — proudly, And listen to the fresh winds, loudly Playing around yon sod, as gay As if it were a holiday, And children freed from durance they : But 'tis the kingdom of decay ! So is the world — and all we see, The sport of mutability. Think ye the mountains never change, Nor the vast ocean ? 52 SATURDAY EVENING. There 's not an hour — but swift, and strange, And secret workings — the commotion Of all the elements goes on ; — There 's not a spark of yonder Sun, Which does not perish at its birth : For life itself is but the child Of death — and this life-giving Earth Is dissolution's parent mild. Death is the gate through which we come Into the world — and every day We die — and when dissolved away, 'Tis death conducts us to our home. Death hath no terrors — while we are, Death is not — when w^e cease to be, Then death begins. Eternity Is life, not death. What cause for fear Of death — when this same death we dread. Is life continuous, — and to die Is but to live immortally ? Here, every, every step we tread. Is on a grave — and every breath Heaved, is a messenger of death. 'Tis well. If life have a joy worth giving, 'Tis not the fragile joy of living, Except as it leads us to the door Where life's delusions cheat no more : SATURDAY EVENING. 5o They will soon be over — and then, O then, Rapture 'twill be to live again, Where man in his glory shall inherit What 's brightest and best of his earthly spirit; And blend — and not in a perishing hour — Beauty and wisdom, and light and power. 5* SECOND WEEK, SUMMER. 57 SUNDAY MORNING. Thou art my glory — Thou my song — whose throne Is built upon the highest heavens — and thence Rollest the spheres by Thine omnipotence — Thou art my song, O Lord ! and Thou alone ! Thy kingdom is of subject-worlds. The arch Above us, deck'd with stars as dust, Thou treadest Beneath Thy feet in Thy resplendent march ; And, in the twinkling of an eye. Thou readest The eternity that 's past — and that to come. All time concentred in one ray to Thee ; All being is Thy will — all space Thy home ; And all Thy attributes — infinity. Thou art my song ! which from such thoughts as these Where our poor reason wanders in the abyss Of undiscoverable mysteries, Turns from sublimer, higher worlds, to this ; And in its lowly flowers — and silent meads And gentle waters — and sweet solitude — Its valleys and its plains and mountains — reads That Thou art good — immeasurably good. Thou art my song ! and when Thy name I breath© Light seems descending from Thy seat — to bear 58 SUNDAY MORNING. On wings of hope the trembling worshiper, To realms beyond the frozen clime of death. Then do the doubts and fears that overcast Man's perilous way depart, and rays divine, Though faint and feeble, o'er his path-way shine, Which point him to a resting-place at last. Whose very dreams are blessedness — for he Who has been tost upon a turbulent sea, Can by the distant shores encouraged be. Thou art my song ! — though in life's dreary maze, Sorrow and darkness seem to be my lot. And 'midst their heavy clouds I trace Thee not, Yet Thou art there — and gratitude shall raise Its early voice in reverence. Shifting days And opening weeks shall, as they flow along. Leave some bright record of harmonious praise To Thee, who art my glory and my song ! Thy sun awakes and sets — The world grows old And is renewed again. The seasons flow Unchanging in their changes — -joy and woe Preside in turns — and then we are enroll'd Among the slumberers of the grave — but Thou To whom past, present, future are as now, Art still the same — still watching — still intent On Thy high purpose — from the labyrinth vast, Where good and evil, joy and grief are blent SUNDAY EVENING. 59 In common fate, to perfect — and present A future, — gather'd from the chequer'd past, Where bliss shall be predominant — and spread Wider and wider — till it shall embrace, All the great family of the human race. And give a crown of light to every head. — O may I join that never-number'd throng. And sing thy praise eternal — Thou my song ! SUNDAY EVENING. " Let not your hearts be troubled, but confide " In me as ye confide in God ; I go " A mansion for my followers to provide ; " My Father's heavenly dwelling is supplied " With many mansions ; — I had told ye so, " Were there not room ; — I hasten to prepare " Your seats, — and soon will come again, and say, " Be welcome : — where your Lord inhabits, there, " There should his followers be : ye know the way — <' I am the way, the truth, the life." — 'Twas thus The Saviour spoke — and in that blessed road^ 60 SUNDAY EVENING, What flow'rets grow, what sun-beams shine on us, All glowing with the brightness of our God ! Heaven seems to open round, the earth is still, As if to sanctify us for the skies ; All tending to the realms where blessing lies, And joy and gladness, up the eternal hill. As the heaven-guided prophet, when his eyes Stretch'd wearied o'er the peaceful promised land. Even as he stood on Canaan's shores, we stand. O night ! how beautiful thy golden dress, On which so many stars like gems are strew'd ; So mild and modest in thy loveliness. So bright, so glorious in thy solitude ! The soul soars upwards on it holy wings, Through the vast ocean-paths of light sublime, Visits a thousand yet unravell'd things ; And, if its memories look to earthly time And earthly interests, 'tis as in a dream — For earth and earthly things but shadows seem ; While heaven is substance, and eternity. This is Thy temple. Lord ! 'tis worthy Thee, And in it Thou hast many a lamp suspended, That dazzles not, but lights resplendently ; And there Thy court is — there Thy court, attended SUNDAY EVENING. 61 By myriad, myriad messengers — the song Of countless and melodious harps is heard, Sweeter than rill, or stream, or vernal bird, The dark and melancholy woods among. And golden worlds in that wide temple glow, And roll in brightness, in their orbits vast ; And there the future mingles with the past. An unbeginning, an unending now. Death ! they may call thee what they will, but thou Art lovely in my eyes — thy thoughts to me No terror bring ; but silence and repose. And pleasing dreams, and soft serenity. Thou wear'st a wreath where many a wild flower blows ; And breezes of the south play round thy throne ; And thou art visited by the calm bright moon ; And the gay spring her emerald mantle throws Over thy bosom ; every year renews Thy grassy turf, while man beneath it sleeps ; Evening still bathes it with its gentle dews. Which every morn day's glorious monarch sweeps With his gay smile away : — and so we lie, Gather'd in the storehouse of mortality. That storehouse overflows with heavenly seed ^ And, planted by th' Eternal Husbandman, 6 63 MONDAY MORNINCT. Water'd and watch'd, it shall hereafter breed A progeny of strength, no numbers can Or reach and reckon. It shall people heaven 5 Fill up the thrones of angels : — it shall found A kingdom, knowing nor decay nor bound, Built on the base by Gospel promise given. MONDAY MORNING, O SWEET it is to know, to feel, In all our gloom, our wand'rings here — No night of sorrow can conceal Man from Thy notice, from Thy care. When disciplined by long distress, And led through paths of fear and woe j. Say dost Thou love Thy children less ? No, ever-gracious Father ! No. No distance can outreach Thy eye, No night obscure Thy endless day : Be this my comfort when I sigh, Be tliis my safeguard when 1 stray. MONDAY MORNING, 63 Unseen, yet every where Thou art, Felt every where, yet all unknown ! In the frail temple of my heart, As on Thine everlasting throne. Where'er I turn, where'er I go, Spirit sublime ! Thy light, Thy love, Are there ; in ocean-caves below, On yonder farthest orb above. * Thy presence in the shade is seen. As in the sunshine ; in a worm, As in a world ; in eve serene, As in the thunder of the storm. Weak are our thoughts : our sight is dim. Or our uncurtain'd eye might see A sweeter, purer, holier beam In sorrow, than in revelry. The fairest flow'rets of the mead, The sparkling gem, the insect gay, From the dark womb of earth proceed,, And borrow from the dust their ray. 64 MONDAY MORNINfi. The glow-worm sparkling through the night, The star that twinkles in the sky ; Take from surrounding gloom their light — Their splendour from obscurity. And not the vilest, not the worst, His discipline of mercy proves : His chastening hand descends the first On thbse who love Him — those He loves. Pride, power, would seem to pass their hours Basking in an unclouded day ; On them the dew of comfort showers. And crown'd with flowery wreaths are they ! 'Tis false, 'tis vain ! those dews are cold — They fall — but they refresh not them ; And those fair-seeming flow'rets hold A canker in their budding stem. In His just scales, the meanest thing That bears the name of man — when weigh'd, Is dear as is the proudest king In all his glittering robes array'd. MONDAY EVENINtt. 65 The wretch who in the common sti-eet The victim of oppression falls, Is noble as the titled great Who dies in luxury's painted halls. Men are deceived by idle names — ^Tis easier to be rich than wise : And wisdom less distinctions claims Than fortune's idle vanities. But God the naked soul surveys — Its dress deserves not His regard : 'Tis worth alone obtains His praise, And holiness His bright reward. MONDAY EVENING. The evening twilight gently dies ; The air is cool ; the silent night Serenely reigns ; the curtain'd skies To contemplation's shrine invite ; 6* 66 MONDAY EVENING. The labours of the day are done : That man how exquisitely blest, Who, with the calm declining sun, Is shrouded in untroubled rest ! Thrice blest, who steals 'neath twilight's smile, Tranquil as yon fair arch above. To sleep, securely sleep awhile, In the kind arms of heavenly love : With no reproaching voice within. To break upon the calm of bliss ; As evening's earliest dew serene, And gentle as the twilight is. The sun of virtue, while it glows Resplendent in its mid-day power. An ever-during radiance throws On every distant future hour : 'Tis like the rose, whose beauties fade. But who?e sweet odours, saved by art, A sphere of wider round pervade, A fragrance more condensed impart. O wretched he whose vanish'd past No sunshine for the future leaves ; MONDAY EVENING. 67 Whose present is a joyless waste, Where gloomy disappointment grieves O'er pleasures pall'd — o'er hopes destroyed — Time wasted — talents buried — life Trifled — neglected — unenjoyed — 'Midst folly's whims, and passion's strife. And life is such a flitting thing, And joy is such a glancing star, And such vain sprites, on shadowing wing, The train of earth's delusions are. That he who builds his towering schemes On surge-like bases — such as these — Rears but a pyramid of dreams Upon the ever-shifting seas. Alas ! the brightest and the best Of earthly pleasures soon decay ; The sweetest and the loveliest Glide, hke a passing breeze, away. Yes ! e'en like nature's fairest birth. The flow'rets blushing through the dew, The rude wind sweeps them from the earth-— But not like flowers, to smile anew. 68 TUESDAY MORNING. E'en like the fell'd, the falling tree. That, east or west, in ruin lies— Crush'd by the stroke of destiny, Man, with the dull dust blended, dies. But he shall from that bed arise, Renew'd by heaven's eternal spring ; And in the garden of the skies Bloom in eternal blossoming. TUESDAY MORNING. How wisely is the stream of life controlPd In Its mild course — exhausted, and renew'd I When toiling day its hurried tide has roll'd, Comes night's sweet season ; — a vicissitude Of labour and of rest ; — the day-rays shine Upon the mountains, — and I live again : Yet blest it is our spirits to resign To the calm influence of midnight's reign. Land of pure freedom — kingdom of repose ! I lay and slept — the day had hid his beam, And my tired spirit at the evening's close Slept with the sun — while many a lovely dream TUESDAY MORNING. 69 Play'd with my wandering intellect, and spread Its soften'd colouring round me, — and I breathed In new existence, by bright fancy led To realms, in which eternal garlands wreathed The enfranchised spirit. What a blessedness, Though for a moment only, to take wing To tlie fair regions of eternal peace. The paradise of everlasting spring. Whose life-source is immortal ! E'en this world Were a most privileged, most bright abode, If hence — imagination's wings unfurl'd Could sometimes waft th' aspiring soul to God. Man's hopes and fears may seem confined, to him Whose vision stretches not o'er mortal things : But the most distant star's invisible beam, Or comet in his farthest journeyings. Or all the extent which philosophic ken Has given to infinite space — th' elastic soul Springs over : these, and more th»n these, in vain Her free and untired wand'rings would control. At will, she travels on from sun to sun — S}^stem to system — peoples as she flies Unnumber'd stars — an all-creating one ! Dives mto nature's deepest mysteries ; Unlocks the gates of death, and holds communion Whh spirits of the tomb ; and yet this spark, 70 TUESDAY MOHNING. So bright and beautiful, is held in union With mortal clay, — unintellectual, dark, And seems to perish. It can perish never. Born of the heavens, again to heaven it speeds To dwell in its own home — to shine for ever. Divested of its dull and mortal weeds. Great Being ! who hast placed Thy pilgrim here, In the dull twilight of this shadow-land, O lead me to that brighter, better sphere, 'Neath the mild influence of Thy guiding hand. Let me partake Thy gifts. Thy gifts improve, Enjoy thy sunshine here, and pluck the flowers Strew'd on my path by Thy benignant love ; Inhale the freshness of the morning hours, The fragrance of the evening breeze ; and see In all things Thy directing spirit, Lord ! Thou, in all nature visible — all in Thee : And hear Thy voice. Thy all-impressive word, In every sound of air, or earth, or sea ; For all — O God ! are pregnant with Thy praise — And I thus join the general harmony. And my low song of grateful worship raise. 71 TUESDAY EVENING. To Thee, my God ! to Thee I bring The evening's grateful offering ; From Thee, the source of joy above, Flow everlasting streams of love ; And all the rays of light that shine, And bless creation, Lord ! are Thine. From the green valley, glad and gay. Among whose flowers the zephyrs play, Up to the azure hill, whose height And distance bound the far-stretch'd sight, Hearing its proud head silently 5 •All, all is eloquent with Thee. And from the little worm, whose light Shines palely through the shades of night.. Up to the sparkling stars that run Their evening rounds— or glorious sun. Rolling his car to twilight's rest — All, all in Thee is bright and blest. TUESDAY EVENING. The morn, when stepping down the hills — The noon, which all creation fills With glory — evening's placid fall — The twilight — and the raven pall Of midnight — all alike proclaim Thy great. Thine all-impressive Name. When in the darkness deep and dull The shining stars look beautiful ; When the blue heavens that we behold, Are sprinkled o'er with living gold, And the calm breeze speaks whisperingly- We hold communion. Lord 1 with Thee. A thousand suns around us rise, As bright as lamps of paradise ; While countless stars, commingling, play In yonder devious milky way ; And the tall hills and valleys deep, Are wrapt in calm and solemn sleep. And softly sink night's shades again Upon the shifting tents of men ; TUESDAY EVENING. 73 And welcome is the evening hour, And sweet the midnight's magic power, Which through the silence of the air Visits die heart, and triunjphs there. 'Tis still ! and darkness' mild control Revives, renev/s the wearied soul — Its mild, benignant influence Strengthens again th' exhausted sense ; And when the morning twilight breaks, A re-created man awakes. On tlie green branch the slumb'ring bird Broods calmly — in the woods is heard Nor voice, nor echo — silent all. Except the untired waterfall. That seems to ghde more sweetly on, Because its song is heard alone. But over all, — above, below. We see Thee — ever present Thou ! In every wand'ring rill that flows. In every gentle breeze that blows ; In every rising, setting sun, We trace Thee — own Thee — holy One ! 7 74 WEDNESDAY MORNING. Yes ! in the mid-day's fervid beams, And in the midnight's shadowy dreams, In action and repose, we see, We recognise and worship Thee : To Thee our worthiest songs would give. And in Thee die, and to Thee Hve. WEDNESDAY MORNING. Father ! at whose awakening nod The early day-break gilds the hills ; 'Tis Thy almighty mandate, God ! Which mountain, valley, sea, and sod, With light and joy and glory fills. To Thee my spirit fain would soar, To Thee my trusting eye would look, In holiest confidence adore. And read with sweetest pleasure o'er Nature's impressive, varied book. WEDNESDAY MORNING. 75 *Tis Thy benignant hand, that sheds Its light, its wisdom through our breast ; And, like a gentle shepherd, leads Thy wandering flocks through fruitful meads, To the calm fold of peace and rest. The peace w^hich earth hath never given, The pure, self-sacrificing love, The joy which flows alone from heaven. The silent bliss, like summer's even, ' The hope which has its shrine above : — All these, and more than these, are Thine ! The truth, which has its source in Thee, Who art all truth ! the strength divine Of virtue, and the golden mine Of dignified humanity. These are Thy gifts ; and these shall be My pure, habitual offering : Accept, great God of purity ! Accept, forgive benignantly. The imperfect tribute that I bring. 76 WEDNESDAY MORNING. Lord ! when I seek Thy face, I feel I am but dust — the sprinkled dew Of morning : — but the tow'ring will That soars to heaven, is heavenly still — And man, though clay, is sjnrit too. Yes ! I can feel that, though a clod Of the dark vale, there is a sense Of better things— the fit abode Of something tending up to God — A germ of pure intelligence. I know not how th' Eternal hand Has moulded man — but this 1 know, That while 'midst earth's strange scenes I stand, Bright visions of a better land Go with me still, where'er I go. And surely dreams so pure, so sweet, Friendly to hope and joy and worth, Are not the phantoms of deceit, Delusions sent to blind, to cheat The weary, wand'ring sons of earth. WEDNESDAY EVENING. 77 No ! no such dazzling errors these, As when, in Zara's deserts vast, The exhausted, panting traveller sees Bright lakes, that mock his miseries, And prove but burning sands at last. If in the breast of man there be (And sure as he exists there is) The seed of immortality. Who bids it grow there ? Who, but He Who destined him to endless bliss ? My God ! we are Thy offspring — time Is but our infancy — the earth Our cradle — but our home 's a clime Eternal, sorrowless, sublime — Heaven is the country of our birth ! WEDNESDAY EVENING. The day is past, — night's gentle power renews Its holy influence o'er created things ; The earth is bathed in evening's gentle dews, And over man sleep waves its plumy wings. 7^ 78 WEDNESDAY EVENING. So rolls life's day of brightness — and its eve Comes softly stealing, when the pilgrim tires ; We rest upon earth's silent lap, and leave Its busy cares, to sleep where slept our sires. Lo ! that sweet infant on its mother's breast, The proud world smiles around him, glad and gay ; But soon that bosom will be soothed to rest — And death shall sweep that laughing child away. No place is crowded like the peopled tomb ; Death from his victories reposes never ; Each moment 's pregnant with sorie moital's doom. And hearts are breaking — myriads mourning ever. Thou God of life ! thou Arbiter of death ! Thou wip'st the death-sweat from the cold pale brow, Thou listenest to the last departing breath, And linkest our hereafter to our now. O let that now roll tranquilly along. Gilded by that hereafter, — Spirit of love ! Let Thy kind angels round my footsteps throng, And point my hopes, my thoughts, my prayers above : And in the bed of sickness — or the tomb Of desolation, where my ashes rest — There may these holy visitations come, Ministering spirits from their regions blest. WEDNESDAY EVENING. 79 And while I linger in this forest dark Of mortal life, let my aspiring eye Catch from the heavenly world one smiling spark To light my onward pilgrimage on high. Dull is the lightning to the meanest heam, Which e'en from heaven's exti*emest bound is driven ; The sun is darkness, to one ray from Him Who kindled all the fires of earth and heaven. All-kind, all-holy Father ! Thou whose grace Illumined every star that 's hung in air ; Guardian of nature ! Thou, whose glorious face Is shadow'd forth in all that 's bright or fair. There are ten thousand blessed spirits that roam O'er this dark world — and voices numberless — We hear them, but we know not whence they come : Ten thousand golden harps are strung, and bless With their soft music the delighted ear — It is from heaven, and heavenly is its tone — *' Holy ! " they cry — those choirs of angels hear ! " Thrice holy One ! " they sing, " Thrice holy One!" 80 THURSDAY MORNING. Come forth in thy purple robes again, Thou brightest star of heaven ! AnotJier day the Guardian of men Has to His children given. Receive the gift with gratitude ; My soul ! to thy Maker ascend, And bear thy songs to the Source of good. To thy Father and thy Friend. Bring him thy morning tribute meet, Devotion's offering ; How privileged to hold communion sweet With thine and creation's King ! 1 look around, — a thousand things Enjoy the sunny beam : And nature her million voices brings To form an anthem to Him. O join the songs of the air, the grove, And the chorus of the sea ; For, hark ! the spirits of light above Re-echo the harmony. THURSDAY MORNING. 81 And see ! ten thousand angels smile Through the firmament's golden doors ; And from silver clouds, heaven's hand the while Scatters our path with flowers. The senses indeed must be dark and dull, That in nature no charms can see ; For beauty's self is more beautiful To the eye of piety. And deaf indeed is the clay-cold ear That no sounds of music greet ; Though nought as the music of praise and prayer Is half so exquisite. And w^hy should man a distant bliss So eagerly, fondly chase, While the holy joys of a world like this Invite his present embrace ? Are the unknown beings of yonder zone More privileged dian we ? Does a shorter year, or a brighter sun, Imply felicity ? They may wander perchance in groves of palm. And dwell in palaces bright ; 82 THURSDAY MORNING. They may breathe an air as sweet as balm, And be clad in robes of light : Yet there, as here, the fatal grave. Will o'er their possessions close ; And the more they hope, and the more they have, The more they are destined to lose. O let our portion content us then, The portion which God has given ; For man is the fair earth's denizen, And the heritor of heaven. Above him are gorgeous, golden clouds. That roll in glory afar ; And the night, which its bosom in darkness shrouds* Is spnnkled with many a star. And brighter and fairer than star or sun Is the light that beams from on high, A light which conducts its pilgrims on To the shrine of eternal joy : And thither our towering thoughts shall soar. And there the tired spirit shall rest ; While hope bursts open the heavenly door Of the mansions of the blest. 85 THURSDAY EVENING. Calm is the eve, and nature's wasting strength Is by the gentle influence of repose, Repair'd, rekindled ; — with the morning's dawn, As if new-born, the world awakes ; and throws The w^earying burden of existence down, When night invites to rest. And such new birth In soul and spirit well beseemeth man : His grosser part decays and dies away ; Then let him fan that bright immortal spark, Glimmering in the recesses of his heart, That lights up virtue's flame, and wisdom's torch — ■ The torch of heavenly wisdom ; — that pure star, Which shines as sweetly as Aldebaran Through the dark grating of a prison-house : Guided by this, man shall be free indeed In the transcendent glorious liberty Which our Deliverer wrought and perfected. He v/ho is born of the corporeal sense, Is but a heavy, useless mass obscure, Till lighted by the Spirit, that gives life And beauty and perfection. Then indeed 84 THURSDAY EVENING. A glorious birth succeeds — the power of death Is broken, and the enfranchised prisoner walks In the expanse of heaven and blessedness I So privileged is regenerated man ! His influence is as gentle and as sweet As that of evening's breath, which silently Steals over nature — musical its voice. Unseen its workings, — but upon its wings Sit cheerfulness and health. The pilgrim feels Its fresh and honest greeting, and moves on, Cheer'd and supported. He has raised a pile To wisdom, and there worships, and there keeps Habitual court, and every morn and night Lights up pure inscense at the holy shrine. And takes another step tow'rds heaven and God* O Thou ! whose light-encircled throne is built Upon eternity — listen ! May his lot Be Thy now-worshiping servant's ; let my path Thus lead me to Thy presence. Even here I see Thy glory beaming thence — I hear, Amidst the harmony of thousand stars, Some angel-voice inviting ; — and I feel As if the garlands of celestial growth Had touch'd my forehead. O transporting dreams, Beautiful visions of that land of joy, Unveil'd by God, and clad in starry light ! FRIDAY MORNING. 85 O privileged moment !' when the gates of heaven Glitter resplendently upon my view. In that soft light so sweetly shining now, Amidst those visions through the shades of time, Beneath those stars which so serenely smile — My heart shall be devoted all to Thee. FRIDAY MORNING. TO THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE GOD. (From the Spanish of Melendez.) First, Mightiest Deity ! Eternal Mind I Revealed — but hidden One ! Thou in a veil of fadeless glory shrined, Yet to all seen and known ! Holy Jehovah ! whose immortal essence I weigh not,— but confess — And feel Thy influence. Thy celestial presence, In all my happiness. All lives, all breathes, all vegetates in Thee ; Thy power all being gives ; The bird upsoars, the fish divides the sea — Man understands, and lives. 8 86 FRIDAY MORNING. The farther my inqiuring thoughts advance, The farther dost Thou fly — And nought I see, hut my own ignorance And Thy immensity. Thee, whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, How should those thoughts embrace ? My feeble reason strives and soars in vain Thy cloud-wTapt path to trace. That reason in the infinite recess Of dazzling light is drown'd, And, blinded in its night of nothingness, Bows, humbled to the ground. For if to man to know Thee it were given. He would be like to thee ; Would wrest Thy sceptre, and usurp in heaven Thy throne of majesty. But Thou art far beyond my knowledge, Lord ! Filling all space — all time. The first — the last — ungovern'd and adored, Thou mak'st Thy path sublime — Thou givest motion to the heavens — Thy hand Pours out the deep, proud sea : And the adamantine pillars of the land Are rear'd and propp'd by Thee. Thy way is in th' empyreum — and Thy feet Tread the eternal hills ; FRIDAY MORNING. S7 Yet Thy eye visits death's profoundest pit, And night with brigiitness fills ; And from that car of light where Thou dost ride. Thine eye, serene and holy. Mourns over man's intolerable pride, Laughs at his towering folly. But Thou art vaster than the unbounded sky, And the unfathora'd ocean ; Thou art — and wert before eternity — Before or rest or motion. How shall I praise Thee ? — Seraphs, when they bring The homage of their lyre, Veil their bright face beneath their flaming wing, And tremble and retire. Eternal Majesty — immense abyss — Light and Infinity I Canst Thou unveil Thee to a worm like this ? No ! 'Tis all dark to me. Who art Thou ? Where ? O condescend to speak, And let Thy servant hear : — lend me wings — and I my God will seek Through every rolling sphere. 1 '11 ask the rapid wind, I '11 ask the storm, 1 '11 ask Orion bright — ' Say, hast thou seen His venerable form. The shadow^ of His light ?* 88 FRIDAY MORNING. I'll meet the comet in his fiery way, Stay Sirius on his road — I '11 stop the hurrying night, the hastening day, To tell me — Where is God ? I '11 ask — forgive my daring, gracious One ! And lead the wanderer home ; may I catch one light-beam from Thy throne, Through ages yet to come ! For how should earthly dust presume to rise So daringly, so high ? And how should dim and dying mortal eyes Bear splendours of the sky ? 1 cannot bear them ; — but I feel, and know, That Thou art every where ; And worms and worlds — the lofty and the low, All, all thy power declare ; All, all Thy love proclaim — Thy power, and lovcj Obvious to every sense ; And heard in all, around, beneath, above, In varied eloquence. I see Thee in the flower — I feel Thee still In every breath of air, I hear Thee in the music of the rill : God ! Thou art every where. This is enough all sadness to control, All doubts and fears to chase } FRIDAY EVENING. 89 And to shed over my enraptured soul The rivers of Thy grace. To contemplate — enjoy — admire — adore — And send sweet thoughts tow'rds heaven ; What can an earthly spirit ask for more ? What more to man be given ? Lost in Thy works, — yet full of humble trust, I close the worthless lay ; Bow down my reverent forehead in the dust, And in meek silence pray. * FRIDAY EVENING. Hour after hour steals rapidly away, Bearing past pleasures on its airy wings. E'en like die sunny clouds which evening's ray Gilds with ten thousand bright and beauteous things. Where are the million million actors now That once this busy scene of being trod ? All garner'd underneath the grassy sod. Sleeping yon heaps of turf, or stone, below ! 8* 90 FRIDAY EVENING. 'Tis fleeting all, — all false : — in life's rude sea. Religion is the only towering rock ; A thousand ages roll on hurriedly — It stands unshaken by the billow's shock : It stands unshaken. Mountains tottering fall, Hills bow, — and forests, cities, shrines decay : There 's no security, no staff, nor stay — Time's mighty curtain must envelope all. But thou, heaven's daughter, hast in heaven thy throne. Thy chariot moves v-^ith the unclouded sun : Thy light, thy strength, immortal and alone, Roll in their full career of glory on. What though the door of evening's twilight close ? What though the voice of death may call aloud? In midnight's gloom a star of Eden glows — A beam of heavenly hope illumes the shroud. Fulfil thy journey, pilgrim ! all may fade. Fail, perish round thee — death shall dim thy eye. Shall freeze thy beating heart — and thou shalt lie A silent slumberer in the realms of shade ; Yet faint not, — fear not ! let thy nobler sense Look upward — it shall see delightful gleams Smiling from heaven — catch pure intelligence From realms of truth — and from the idle dreams FRIDAY EVENING. 91 Of earth escaping, build a holy fane To those high principles, unshaken, real, Towering above these passing scenes ideal. Chase all the flitting clouds of time and pain. Ours is a faith nurtured and nourished In the inmost heart — but not imprison'd there — With holy thoughts and aspirations fed, The object of its worship always near : That object — the all-present Spirit of God — A spirit more diffused than is the light, (For it no twilight knows, nor clouds, nor night,) Beaming through all — yet fixing its abode In the recesses of the pious breast. Ye soft and beautiful dreams ! whose origin Is, when life's day is purest, holiest. Ere tinged by suffering, or stain'd by sin ; Growing with our growth and strengthening with our strength. And glowing in our full maturity, Till, mingled with our being, they shall be The links that bind us to our heaven at length. This world has nought to soothe or satisfy The spirit, save the lustre it receives (Like sun-beams glimmering through the dewy leaves) From the bright influence of eternity. 92 SATURDAY MORNING. The sand of another week has run, All but its last and closing day ; And its few remnant moments soon The common ruin will sweep away. Time hurries, as the sparkling ray That dances on the fleeting stream. Is life a dream ? — Ah ! if a dream, A dream of sad reality. Whether we trace the days gone by, Or to the cheating future look — 'Tis all a dark and gloomy book, Which vice and folly, stubborn will, And silent blanks, and sorrow, fill. And so we are driven — driven ever, Down time's impetuous, wintry river. One is unchanged — and He alone ; Th' Immutable — the glorious One ! His plans are never thwarted — He For each his destined portion pours ; Drives these along the troubled sea, Those lands upon the peaceful shores. Who reads His mysteries ? — Who can tell The deep recesses of His plan ? — SATURDAY MORNING* 93 Who sees the great Invisible ? Who can unveil a God to man ? None ! — but His love to each hath given A holy visitant from heaven ; A guardian spirit from that sphere. For an attending angel here ; — 'Tis virtue ! and her kingdom stands Firmly erected in the breast : O see her lift her welcoming hands, And call her children to her rest. What fear they •*— Ever onwards prest From good to better, still improving^ — Now their bright thoughts o'er Eden roving. Now, in the midst of earthly night, Stretching an anxious, eager eye To realms of immortality ; And drinking in pure streams of light, From the eternal fountains flowing ; Gifts of joy on all bestowing — Wiping off the dewy tear That drops upon the sufferer's cheek 5 Smiling on the pure, the meek, Like a heavenly comforter ; Through life's discords sweetly breathing Music soft as twilight hours 5 94 SATURDAY MORNING. With llie thorny garland wreathing Lillies, roses, fairest flowers ; Looking beautifully through All the clouds of grief or scorn, As the primrose through the dew, Scatter'd by the hand of morn : Now on pinions of the air — Now on ocean — now on land, Tracing the Almighty hand All-directing, every where. In the blue expanse above — On earth's robe of green below Strewing beauty, shedding love : Stars that shine, and flowers that blow. Rills that musically flow. Mountains that majestic rise, Torches, altars, melodies — All Thou lovest, leadest, lightest: Thou, of all things holiest, brightest. Greatest, best ! Thy glorious praise Thus I utter lowly, lonely : Thou, my God, my Fadier only — Thus to Thee I tune my lays. 95 SATURDAY EVENING. Thro' the thick trees the evening breezes speak. And ripple the cahii surface of the lake ; And heaven is clad in its star-spangled robe ; While stillness lulls to rest the weary globe : Thus days and weeks roll on — thus all things tend, Through various issues to one common end. Now Night resumes her rest-compelling rod. And all is hush'd to soft repose, but God ! Now let my soul direct its flight to Him, And soaring o'er this shadowy darkness dim, Reach the loved threshold of His throne divine. And bring accepted tribute to His shrine. The week is past — the Sabbath dawn comes on : Rest — rest in peace — diy daily toil is done ; And standing, as thou standest, on the brink Of a new scene of being, calmly think Of what is gone, is now, and soon shall be — As one that trembles on eternity. For sure as this now-closing week is past, So sure advancing Time will close thy last ; Sure as to-morrow, shall the awful light Of the eternal morning hail thy sight. 96 SATURDAY EVENING. Spirit of Good ! on this week's verge I stand, Tracing the guiding influence of Thy hand ; That hand which leads me gently, kindly still Up life's dark, stony, tiresome, thorny hill : Thou, Thou in every storm hast shelter'd me Beneath the wing of Thy benignity ; — A thousand graves my footstep circumvent, And I exist — Thy mercy's monument I A thousand writhe upon the bed of pain — I live — and pleasure flows through every vein. Want o'er a thousand wretches waves her wand — I, circled by ten thousand mercies, stand. How can I praise Thee, Father ! how express My debt of reverence and of thankfulness ? A debt that no intelligence can count, While every moment swells its vast amount. For the week's duties Thou hast given me strength, And brought me to its tranquil close at length, And here my grateful bosom fain would raise A fresh memorial to Thy glorious praise : And if inspired by reverent trust, — and free From vain presumption, it may reach e'en Thee ; But ah ! the least of all Thy gifts exceeds The best, the holiest of my thoughts or deeds. SATURDAY EVENING. 97 Were 1 but worthy of Thy love ! — I will — If Thy pure spirit help me to fulfil This solemn pledge : I will — Thy blessing, Lord, Shall give a sacred influence to the word, And hallow and confirm the humble vow — My Friend, my Father ! O confirm it now ! THIRD WEEK. AUTUMN. 101 SUNDAY MORNING. Of all the gifts conferr'd by Heaven, Time is the brightest — is the best : Through time, eternity is given ; By earthly labours — heavenly rest. While days and weeks pass gently by, How little do we deem that these Are germs of immortality — The buds of mightiest destinies ! Yet not too fondly let us trust The flitting, fading morning's ray : All earthly promises are dust ; All earthly pyramids are clay. Time's visions are but treachery, Soon wreck'd on dark oblivion's wave 5 Its paths, however bright they be, Lead to one common spot — the grave. 9* 102 SUNDAY MORNING. The grave may bound the views of some- To me it is no boundary ; For the dull prison of the tomb Is but the gate of life to me. I will not seek my birthright here ; A few vile pageants — grasp them — they, Though bright and shining they appear, Melt into air, and pass away. My hopes are higher, nobler far — They are immortal, splendid, bright ; Pure, lofty as yon morning star. That shines with clear and holy light. My thoughts ascend above the earth. And seek their primal, proud abode ; The country of their heavenly birth. The land of peace, of joy, of God. My mortal robes I'll cast aside, And there be clad as angels are — And with the Sun in glory ride. On his fire-girded, dazzling car — SUNDAY MORNING. 103 Wherever joy or virtue is — Farther than eye could e'er discern : — Strange ! that a world so mean as this Should e'er engage my chief concern. Strange ! that these fleeting, fading forms, Which Heaven has named immortal men, Rising from dust like reptile worms, So turn to vilest dust again. Strange ! that this nobly fashion'd mould, In which a very god might dw^ell, Should only live to dig for gold — And perish in its narrow cell. Strange ! when that shining, shifting ore Is but delusive, dazzling clay — A shell men grasp — and grasp no more, E'en while they throw the pearl away. A higher destiny is mine, And brighter hopes, and holier cares ; Thoughts stretching on to joys divine ; Hours pregnant with eternal years ! 104 SUNDAY EVENING. Welcome the hour of sweet repose, The evening of the Sabbath day ! In peace my wearied eyes shall close When I have tuned my vesper lay In humble gratitude to Him Who waked the morning's earliest beam. In such an hour as this, how sweet, In the calm solitude of even, To hold with heaven communion meet, Meet for a spirit bound to heaven ; And, in this wilderness beneath, Pure zephyrs from above to breathe ! It may be that the Eternal Mind Bends sometimes from His throne of bliss ', Where should we then His presence find, But in an hour so blest as this — An hour of calm tranquillity, Silent, as if to welcome Thee ? SUNDAY EVENING. 105 Yes ! if the Great Invisible, Descending from His seat divine, May deign upon this earth to dwell — Where shall He find a welcoming shrine, But in the breast of man, who bears His image, and His Spirit shares ? Now let the solemn thought pervade My soul, — and let my heart prepare A throne : — Come, veil'd in awful shade, Spirit of God ! that I may dare Hail Thee ! — nor, like Thy prophet, be Blinded by Thy bright majesty. Then turn my wandering thoughts within. To hold communion. Lord ! with Thee ; And, purified from taint of sin And earth's pollutions, let me see Thine image, — for a moment prove, If not Thy majesty. Thy love — That love which over all is shed — Shed on the worthless as the just ; Lighting the stars above our head. And waking beauty out of dust ; 106 SUNDAY EVENING. And rolling in its glorious way Beyond the farthest comet's ray. To Him alike the living stream And the dull region of the grave : All watch'd, protected all, by Him, Whose eye can see, whose arm can save. In the cold midnight's dangerous gloom, Or the dark prison of the tomb. Thither we hasten — as the sand Drops in the hour-glass, never still, So, gather'd in by Death's rude hand, The storehouse of the grave we fill ; And sleep in peace, as safely kept As when on earth we smiled or wept. What is our duty here ? — To tend From good to better — thence to best : Grateful to drink life's cup, — then bend Unmurmuring to our bed of rest ; To pluck the flowers that round us blow. Scattering their fragrance as we go. MONDAY MORNING. 107 And so to live, that when the sun Of our existence sinks in night, Memorials sweet of mercies done May 'shrine our names in Memory's light ; And the blest seeds we scatter'd, bloom A hundred fold in days to come. MONDAY MORNING. Waked by Thy sun, again my thoughts ascend To Thee, my heavenly Father ! and they blend In one devotional hymn of praise and prayer. All-present Being ! now the morning air Is calm, is fragrant with Thy Spirit — bright With the reflected influence of Thy light. The trees are bending with Thy rich supplies ; It is Thy beauty-giving hand that dies The purple grape, — that thro' the vales, the meads, The many-colour'd flowers wide-blooming spreads ; Crimsons the downy peach, — and skirts the wood With many a golden ridge, — and tips the flood 108 MONDAY MORNING. With radiance stolen from heaven : the praise be Thine, Father, Creator, Leader, King Divine ! Eternal Source of joy ! 'tis Thou dost bless With all we hope for, all that we possess : When the world sleeps in darkness, Thy pure eye Looks sweetly out on its obscurity ; Until the awaken'd Sun his standard rears. And in his glorious crown of light appears Rising o'er the orient mountains ; life, renew'd, Re-animates the busy multitude That swarms upon Earth's bosom. — Joy again Waves her bright wing over the countless train Of beings, whom Heaven's never-sleeping eye Watch'd through the night, and now to the energy Of day recalls. — I bow myself in dust, And feel Thy awful hand sublime and just, And own Thy hallo w'd presence — for I see O'er all, and in all, Thy benignity. And I would kiss Thy rod — and to Thee fly, As my best refuge : Thou art ever nigh. E'en in the shades of earth — and brighter still. Beyond the summit of that clouded hill Which veils futurity. — Now hear my prayer, And be Thy staff my guide, my steps Thy care ; Thy call I follow, summon where it may ; Thy hand shall guide, where'er it points the way : MONDAY EVENING. 109 Thy light illumine, and Thy Spirit cheer; Thy influence, ever active, ever near, Shall gild the smiling hour with brighter ray, And give to darkness some sweet gleams of day ; Shall lead us gently through our pilgrimage, And drop us safely in the lap of age ; And watch our bed of slumber, — and awake From the grave's dreams, when that great morn shall break , Upon the realms of death — and waft us on, Borne on Faith's pinions to the Eternal's throne. MONDAY EVENING. O God ! Thy kingdom is a mansion bright, Where peace and joy and truth and love and light Mingle harmoniously ; while like a sun Thine eye of holiness looks sweetly down. There the heart rests 'midst sacred visions, beaming From yon side death, — whence tides of splendour streaming. Bear from heaven's throne — heaven's glowing golden seat. An effluence of glory infinite ; 10 no MONDAY EVENING. Covering the earth with hope and blessedness, And wiping the wet eyelids of distress ; Guiding the blind, encouraging the weak, And teaching even lisping tongues to speak In accents of devotion ; — those who fall Upraising, hghting, leading, blessing all. In the soft stillness of obscurity. The hour of calm, the hour of ecstacy. In hope, in memory, in the thoughts that rise Beyond the clouded mansions of the skies. In all on earth that 's heavenly — all above — Tempering with earthly memories, earthly love — Where'er there 's joy. Thy shadow'd Presence is, And the whole universe is full of bliss ; For earth is link'd to heaven — and all we see And suffer, ripens to felicity. There is a Spirit o'er creation spread, Though darkness draw its curtains round our head. And sorrow's streams flow at our mortal feet, — There is a Spirit, sanctified and sweet, That breathes of other scenes and holier things, Broods o'er the earth with healing on its wings, And is an angel-messenger from heaven : There is a Spirit to our spirits given. Which holds communion with our nobler part, That sheds a hallow'd influence on our heart ; MONDAY EVENING. Ill Gives pinions to our thoughts, and to our prayers, And harmonizes all our doubts and cares To meek submission — an intelligence That gladdens with its living influence All space, all time, — and trains our earthly eye To bear the blaze of immortality. As in the silence of ,a cloudless night The gentle moon disperses her soft light Through the low murmuring trees which evening's gale Plays on in sportiveness 'midst shadows pale, And the earth sleeps beneath the sway serene Of midnight's chaste and glory-circled queen ; So in the calm of holiness, the soul Reposes 'neath Religion's blest control. Lighted with radiance from a higher sphere : Nor shall that radiance e'er desert us here, Till all our earthly labours shall be done, And we be gather 'd homeward one by one. 112 TUESDAY MORNING. The stars have sunk in yon concave blue, And the sun is peeping through the dew ; Thy Spirit, Lord ! doth Nature fill — Before Thee angels' tongues are still, And seraphs hush their golden strings In Thy high presence. King of kings ! How then shall I, a clod of clay, Or lift my voice, or tune my lay ? Thou ! who the realms of space and time Dost people with Thy might sublime ; Whose power is felt below, above, Felt in Thy wisdom, in Thy love ; Whose awful voice is heard around, Heard in its silence as its sound ; Whose lovely Spirit doth pervade Alike the sunshine and the shade. And shines and smiles in sorrow's night As clearly as in pleasure's light. Thou in the evening's silence deep Cradlest the weary world in sleep ; TUESDAY MORNING. 113 And when the sun mounts o'er the hill, Call'st us our duties to fulfil. 'Tis Thou who o'er the billowy sea Dost ride in awful majesty, Walkest sublime on the winds, and greetest The Spirit of the day, when fairest and sweetest It fills the bosom of nature with bliss — In moments as calm and holy as this. We see Thee then in light arrayed, Dispersing all the twilight's shade. Tuning the music of the bee, Painting the flowers' variety, Waking the thousand smiles that are playing On morning's cheeks, — and viewless straying With the mild breeze, over hill and plain. Turning to gold the autumnal grain ; Giving the rose its blushing hue. Changing to diamonds drops of dew. Gathering the vapours from the main, Scattering them o'er the earth again : Then it is that Nature's throng Join in the joyous, general song ; Then Thy Spirit shines brighter, clearer ; Then Thy voice speaks softer, nearer 5 Then Thy sun would seem to wear His festal robes of beauty rare, 10* 114 TUESDAY EVENING. And all creation, glad and gay, Revels as in a holiday. Lord ! Thou hast thunders — ^but they sleep ; Storms — but they now their prisons keep : Nothing is breathing below, above, But the spirit of harmony, joy, and love ; Nothing is seen or heard around, But beauty's smiles and music's sound : Music re-echoed in earth and air, Beauty that 's visible every where. Join the concert — share the joy ; Why should the cares of earth alloy Pleasures which heaven itself has given. Heavenly pleasures, which lead to heaven ? TUESDAY EVENING. Stillness reigns — the vapours steal Sbwly down the mountain's brow, And the evening shadows veil Nature's face of brightness now ; TUESDAY EVENING. 115 Flowers put off their glorious dress, All the morning smiles are fled, Earth is wrapt in loneliness And the silence of the dead. Thus beneath the hand of God Nature wakes and sleeps ; but still AU-obedient to His nod, All-submissive to His will. So we flourish — so we fade : Drinking now life's cup of joy, Now on nature's bosom laid, Treasured for eternity. All is mortal but the soul, Whose undying energy Spurns the fettering world's control, And upsoars, my God, to Thee. When life's evening twilight shrouds All our thoughts with care and gloom. Then Thy sunshine breaks the clouds Gather'd o'er the wintry tomb. 11(3 TUESDAY EVENING. Desolate the path appears To the dim and distant eye ; Yet that path of darkness bears Flowers of immortality. O'er it shine eternal lamps ; And the mists so dark that seem, Are like morning's chilly damps Heralding the sunny beam. Father ! Thy paternal care Has my guardian been, my guide ; Every hallow'd wish and prayer Has Thy hand of love supplied ; Thine is every thought of bliss, Left by hours and days gone by ; Every hope Thy offspring is, Beaming from futurity. Every sun of splendid ray ; Every moon that shines serene ; Every morn that welcomes day ; Every evening's twilight scene ; TUESDAY EVENING. 11 Every hour which wisdom brings ; Every incense at Thy shrine ; These — and all life's holiest things, And its fairest, — all are Thine. And for all, my hymns shall rise Daily to Thy gracious throne : Thither let my asking eyes Turn unwearied — righteous One ! Through life's strange vicissitude There reposing all my care, Trusting still through ill and good, Fix'd and cheer'd and counsell'd there. All besides is weak indeed, Dreams of folly — baseless hope. Earth is but a broken reed : Heaven the best, the only prop. Who would live, to raise on earth Some frail pile of dust — and die ? Man is of immortal birth. Living for eternity. lis WEDNESDAY MORNING. Extinguish'd is the last lone star, The shadows of night are gone, And lo ! in the east, day's golden car Is fill'd by the glorious sun. And list ! for a thousand voices call — The spirits of life and love — Attune your hymns to the Father of all. The Sovereign who reigns above. 'Tis He who opens the eastern gates, Who kindles the morning's ray ; 'Tis He whose Spirit all animates, And the darkness and the day. All the glories of the field are His All the music of the sky ; The light of hope and the smile of bliss, And nature's song of joy. His temple is yon arch sublime. Its pillars the eternal hills ; His chorus the solemn voice of time. Which all creation fills. WEDNESDAY MORNING. 119 His worshippers are the countless train Which the lap of nature bears, And the boisterous wind, and the raging main, And the silence of the spheres. He rides unseen on the hurrying storm, He sits on the whirlwind's car ; He wraps in clouds His awful form. And travels from star to star. A thousand messengers wait His will, A million heralds fly, His glorious mandates to fulfil, On the wing eternally. He smiles — and worlds spring forth to birth. And suns in new glory rise ; He frowns — and darkness clothes the earth, And mantles the frighted skies. Dost thou think He speaks in the thunder's roar, Or shines in the Hghtning's beam ? Vain man ! no thought of thine can soar To anv^ concention of Him. 120 WEDNESDAY EVENING. His strength no perishing tongue can tell, Nor immortal hymns rehearse ; 'Tis high as heaven, 'tis deep as hell, And wide as the universe : The ocean to Him is a dewdrop small, The mountains an atom of sand 5 And the sun and the stars, and this earthly ball, Are dust in His mighty hand. And O ! can a Being so great as He Bend down to the earth His ear ? Can children of clay, so frail as we. In His awful presence appear ? O yes ! to His throne even we may rise ; To us is His promise given ; For a broken heart is a sacrifice Which will find its way to heaven. WEDNESDAY EVENING. The evening star is aloft in heaven, Palely it shines alone ; And nought is awake in the eye of even? But the never-sleeping One. WEDNESDAY EVENING. 121 He mildly looks from His throne sublime, Higher than mortal ken, On the strange vicissitudes of time, And stranger follies of men. From thence our insolent race he scans ; They flutter and pass away, And all their pursuits and all their plans Are e'en more fragile than they. They build vain visions of hope, and all, All for their own undoing : They raise the pile to folly — and fall Buried beneath its ruin. Is all then folly ? — O heaven forbid ! Is all delusive beneath ? No ! virtue may build her pyramid. Peace twine her myrtle wreath. Is all then darkness, all despair, — Is all then discord ? — No ! Earth has joys as bright as sunbeams are ; There 's music of heaven below. 11 122 AVEDNESDAY EVENING. Follow yon holy pilgrim there, His path is as clear as day ; A thousand angels hovering near To guide him on his way : Though mountains tremble and rocks should break. He is firmer far than they ; If he slumber, his spirit shall soon awake To a glorious morning's ray. Our bark is driven by joy and woe O'er the ever-changing wave. And the moon, which lights our footsteps now, Will shine upon our grave. x\nd then for ever the glorious one Shall sink in the tomb-like main : O blest, if a brighter, purer sun Shall beam on our rising then ! Great day ! when a million lamps shall shine, With heavenly ether blaze ; When a thousand rainbows of light divine Shall arch the eternal space. WEDNESDAY EVENING 123 Above the highest worshipper, On His star-encircled throne He sits — whose hand shall then confer On merit its amaranth crown. The meekest servant, the humblest son Of virtue, His smile shall bless ; And shall put a wreath of glory on The spirit of lowhness. The children of pomp and wealth and pride, Shall be met with a cold disdain, There 's many a slave shall be deified, And many a scorn'd one reign. There are eyes that have never shed a tear Of sympathy or distress. That shall weep and wail for ages there In trembling hopelessness. There are cheeks that misery's dewdrops now Have furrow'd with agony. That then shall be bright with the holy glow Of eternal felicity. 124 THURSDAY MORNING. Then let the sands of existence fall, The current of life flow fast ; Our times are in God's own hand, and all, AH will be well at last. If bitterness dre^ our earthly cup. If sorrow disturb our career } Eternity's joys can well fill up The chasms of suffering here. THURSDAY MORNING. " The orient is lighted with crimson glow, The night and its dreams are fled, And the glorious roll of nature now Is in all its brightness spread. The autumn has ting'd the trees with gold, And crimson'd the shrubs of the hills ; And the full seed sleeps in earth's bosom cold ; And hope all the universe fills. Hope gladdens the world with its living ray, And smiles serenely on all ; It scatters a thousand charms in its way Over this earthly ball : THURSDAY MORNING. 12i It has streams of peace, and joy, and love, To water this valley of death ; And brings the flowers of heaven from above For virtue's undying wreath. O say hast thou watch'd the maternal care, Smiling on infancy? O say, hast thou seen the joy-born tear, Bright in a mother's eye ? Hast thou mark'd the babe on her bosom mild, Slumbering in innocence yet? — O she may forget that lovely child ; But God can never forget. That God in his equal scales hath weigh'd Our share of evil and good ; He hath blended our portion of light and shade In a wise vicissitude. He has temper'd our sunshine with sober gloom, Lest its light should dazzle our sense ; And has given a warning voice to the tomb, To summon our thoughts from hence. 126 THURSDAY MORNING. To Thee will I look, in Thee confide, For my times are in Thy right hand ; And O ! to my spirit be sanctified Whatever Thy wisdom has plann'd. My heart shall never 'gainst Thee rebel, My soul no murmurer be ; For all is conducted wisely, well. Since all is conducted by Thee. O ne'er be that Father forgotten by me. Who never His children forgot : The fountain of wisdom and virtue is He, To each He apportions his lot. He is light, and knowledge, and purity ; We darkness and doubt alone : The fragile children of dust are we. And He— The Eternal One. His years decay not — He sits sublime On eternity's glowing car ; His ages are measured not by time. And the days that departed are THURSDAY EVENING. 127 Add nothing to His existence ; — nought Shall be added by coming years : But here man's utmost stretch of thought Helpless and vain appears. Our days like the leaves of autumn fall ; And yet a few mornings more, And the bell shall toll for our funeral, Aud the dream of life be o'er. The sun may in clouds and storm descend, And the shades of night appear ; My Father is there, my heavenly Friend, O what should my spirit fear ? THURSDAY EVENING. THE PRESENCE OF GOD. (From the Spanish of Melendez.) Where'er I turn my restless eye, Wandering from earth to heaven, from sphere to sphere, Great God ! 1 feel Thy present Deity, Every where feel Thee — Thou art every where. 128 THURSDAY EVENING. Yes ! Thou art there — above th' empyreum high, Veiled all in light : Filling creation with Thy presence bright, With the proud splendour of Thy majesty. The little flower that grows Beneath me, the gigantic mountain steep, Whose brow is cover'd with eternal snows, ^ hose roots are planted in the deep ; The breeze that murmuring blows Among the green leaves, rustling in the sun, And yonder glorious star, advancing on, Gladdening earth, heaven, and all things as he goes ' These tell me that 'tis Thou Who giv'st that sun his brightness — Thou whose wing. Upon the rapid whirlwind journeying. From the Aurora to the West doth go ; And that the mountain's towering height Is Thy majestic throne ; And that the flower which breathes and blooms alone. Breathes, blooms in Thy pure sight. 'Tis Thy immensity Which compasses all this, and more ; confest, As in the greatest, — in the least ; — Atom — or comet blazing through the sky : Thine is the circling robo THURSDAY EVENING. 129 Of darkness — Thine the subtle veil Of the opening morning pale, When first she throws her glories o'er the globe. And when the spring descends On the wide world, and decks her joyous bowers, Thou smilest gently in her loveliest flowers ; Thy spirit with her sweetest odours blends. When the red Sirius bears His burning ardours through the summer hour, Thy breezes play among the swelling ears, And calm and temper his too-furious power. I seek the leafy shade, And Thou art there ; — among the welcoming trees, I feel Thy visitings in the freshen'd breeze ; My spirit rests — my cares, my sorrows fade. Then a religious fear Troubles my bosom — and I hear a sound : ' Humbly adore Him here, In this mysterious solitude profound.' Thou art upon the mighty waves Of the deep sea ; and Thou dost bind The bursting fury of the wind — Or let it loose, when the wild tempest raves. Where'er I go, where'er I turn, I see Thee, feel Thee ! — in the flowery mead, As in the starry field above our head, 130 THURSDAY EVENING. Where such unnumber'd torches burn. Thou art the God of atoms — as of suns ! Of the poor, perishing worm That in the dust the eye of mortals shuns ; Or angels pure, who veil their dazzled form Before Thee ! — Thou dost hear the hymn Of this Thy lowly worshipper : — of the poor And innocent lamb the bleatings — as the roar Of the fierce lion, — or of seraphim The anthem ; and to all beneficent Thou bendest down Thine ear and givest Their destined portion. Thou, who reignest, livest Eternally, the offering I present Accept in mercy, — mercifully view This transitory being, — let me stand As ever in Thy presence — see Thy hand In all things and in all Thy wisdom too. Fill up my mounting soul Whh holy ardour, — that where'er I tread, Like Thee I may a blessed influence shed. And own Thee, trace Thee through the extended whole Of the wide universe. The race of man Are all Thy sons — the Tartar, Laplander, Rude Indian, and the sun-burnt African — Thine image all — and all my brethren are. 131 FRIDAY MORNING. This is the day, when prejudice and guilt The blood of innocence and virtue spilt ! ' Twas in those orient Syrian lands afar, O'er whose high mountains towers the morning star : Lands now to tyranny and treachery given, But then the special care and charge of Heaven : Lands now by ignorance and darkness trod. Then shining brightest in the light of God ! Holiest and best of men I 'twas there thou walkedst. There with thy faithful, privileged followers talk- edst ; Privileged indeed, listening to truth divine Breathed from a heart, and taught by lips, like thine ! He that from all life's strange vicissitude Drew forth the living, hidden soul of good ; And in the strength of wisdom, and the might Of peaceful virtue fought, and won the fight : His armour righteousness — his conquering sword A spiritual weapon — his prophetic word, 132 FRIDAY MORNING. The arms of truth, — his banners from above — His conquests meekness, and his warfare love. He stands a pillar 'midst his children ; grace And majesty and truth illume his face ; He bows his head, and dies ! The very rock Is rent, and Zion trembles at the shock ! But, though he dies, he triumphs — and in vain Would unbelief oppose his conquering reign ; A reign o'erspreading nature — gathering in Kindreds and nations frOm the tents of sin To virtue's temple. O how calm, how great, A death like this ! — Come, then, and venerate Your Saviour and your King. All hail ! All hail ! The songs of gratitude shall fill the vale. And echo from the mountains, and shall rise In one consenting tribute to the skies. Sow then thy seed — that seed will spring, and give Rich fruits and fairest flowers, that will survive All chance, all change : and though the night may come. And though the deeper darkness of the tomb, A sun more bright than ours shall bid them grow And on the very grave hope's buds will blow, FRIDAY EVENING. 133 And blow like those sweet flowers that, pluck'd, ne'er lose Their freshness, nor their fragrance, nor their hues. Now the day calls us with its eloquent ray ; O let us toil unwearied while 'tis day. For the night cometh, all enveloping — But virtue, that on spiritual soaring wing Flies to its rest I 'Tis but a pilgrim here, Shaping its course towards a better sphere, Where its own mansion is ; yet, in its flight. Dropping from its pinions healing and delight ; And from the darkest shades, like some fair star Of midnight, scattering beams of light afar. FRIDAY EVENING. Father ! Source of light and love ! Thou, whose throne of majesty, Fix'd yon thousand suns above, Gladdens all the earth with joy : Mercy-streaming, promise-beaming, Let Thy praise my soul employ. What is man, that he should share bri: 12 Goodness bright and blest as Thine 134 FRIDAY EVENING. What is man, that heavenly care, Heavenly kindness, power divine, Ever guiding, joy-betiding, Should be his, and should be mine ? From this narrow vale of clay Let me waft my thoughts to Thee ; Soar from night to heavenly day, And in Thy benignity Seek my pleasures — hoard my treasures ; Earth can be no home to me. On Thy holy name I call ; On Thy sacred footstool stand ; All sprung forth from good — and all Tends to good beneath Thy hand : Streams the purest, joys the surest, Flow and smile at Thy command. When the earth is clad in gloom. And the dark clouds coldly frown, Nature — like a wintry tomb Wrapt in mists — its brightness gone, — Lustre shedding, pleasure spreading, Then Thy sun shines out alone. FRIDAY EVENING. 135 Grey mists gather o'er the waves, Dry leaves rustle in the rain, Visions haunt the hilly graves. And death's hour-glass turns again : Solemn warning — night and mornings To the careless crowds of men. Know ye how, ye idle ones ! Sporting by the torrent's side. Know ye how existence runs To the eternal ocean's tide ; Bliss alloying, hope distroying, Scattering joy in ruins wide ? Careless wanderer ! ne'er forget All the dangers threatening o'er ; — Do hope's dreams delude thee yet t Soon they shall delude no more : Hope is faithless, tired, and breathless ; Oft 'tis wreck'd on sorrow's shore Hope, that builds its airy schemes On time's transitory star, Revels in delusive dreams. Which an ignis fatuus are : 1 36 SATURDAY MORNING. Ever smiling, and beguiling, Still misleading pilgrims far. But the hope, the faith, whose tower Stands upon heaven's arches high, Well supported by the power Of eternal prophecy. Firm-erected, heaven-protected Never can in ruins lie. SATURDAY MORNING. The sun comes forward in his purple robe From the dark chambers of the tranquil night ; The smiles of morning gild the gladden'd globe, And all the world is bathed in liquid light. Now love and pleasure sing their choral song ; And springing to a renovated birth, A thousand spirits of joy and music throng The wide, magnificent expanse of earth. As fresh, as if the intelligent Former's hand Had waked its earliest smile of bliss to-day ; Bright as if even now the enamell'd land First sprung to being 'neath his living ray ; SATURDAY MORNING. 137 So rises nature from her nightly sleep Joyous, — till evening's darkening shades descend, And then she sinks again in silence deep : — Emblem of man ! whose hurried footsteps tend With daily impulse towards the welcoming tomb. Father ! to Thee my eager spirit turns, While joy and gratitude my path illume. And with rekindled praise my bosom burns. My eye looks far beyond the stars : I breathe The breath of heaven : angels of peace, of light, Wave their wings o'er me — and the vale of death Is with Thy radiance beautiful and bright. Yes Father ! all that 's lovely is from Thee ; All that is pure and excellent is Thine. Praise Him, thou morning sun of majesty ! Thou moon of midnight, in His glory shine ! Him worship, thou fair stream of hfe ; — adore His name, thou sad machinery of decay ! Sing His high praise, ye planets shining o'er ; Ye worms of dust ! come, join the general lay. My soul shall speak Thy glory — hymn more sweet Never inspired the lyre ; — and never seer Nor prophet "sought a theme more pure, more meet. And never pilgrim, saint, nor worshipper, 12* 138 SATUEDAY EVENING* Found a sublimer thought to dwell upon : Thy glory ! — 'tis a thought absorbing all — E'en like the splendid, ever-radiant sun, Scattering the mists that with the morning fall. And thus let week on week roll swiftly by, Each in its hurrying career must bring Our spirits nearer to eternity : And every moment in its course shall fling Some mortal vestments down — until at last, Hope smiling sweetly through the future hours, And joyous memory gilding all the past. The mind shall reach those amaranthine bowers Which dawn upon the dreaming poet's eye : And, resting there on immortality, Drink in the stream of never-dying joy SATURDAY EVENING. The cold wind strips the yellow leaf. The stars are twinkling faintly o'er us ; All nature wears her garb of grief : While day's fair book is closed before us. SATURDAY EVENING. 139 The songs have ceased, — and busy men Are to their beds of silence creeping ; The pale, cold moon looks out again On the tired world so softly sleeping. O ! in an hour so still as this, From care, and toil, and tumult stealing, I'll consecrate an hour to bliss — To meek devotion's holy feeling : And rise to Thee — to Thee, whose hand Unroll'd the golden map of heaven ; Mantled with beauty all the land ; Gave light to morn, and shade to even. Being, whose all-pervading might The laws of countless worlds disposes ; Yet gives the sparkling dews their light — Their beauty to the blushing roses : Thou, Ruler of our destiny ! With million gifts hast Thou supplied us, Hidden from our view futurity, Unveiling all the past to guide us. 140 SATURDAY EVENING. Though dark may be earth's vale, and damp, A thousand stars shine sweetly o'er us, And immortahty's pure lamp Gladdens and gilds our path before us. And in the silence of the scene Sweet tones from heaven are softly speaking, Celestial music breathes between. The slumbering soul of bliss awaking. Short is the darkest night, whose shade Wraps nature's breast in clouds of sadness ! And joy's sweet flowers, that seem to fade, Shall bloom anew in kindling gladness. Death's darkness is more bright to him Who looks beyond in visions holy, Than passion's fires, or splendour's dream, Or all the glare of sin and folly. The silent tear, the deep-fetch'd sigh, Which virtue heaves in hours of quiet, Are dearer than pomp's revelry. Or the mad laugh of frenzied riot ; SATURDAY EVENING. 141 Smiles from a conscience pmified, Far lovelier than the fleeting glory Conferr'd in all a monarch's pride, Embalm'd in all the hght of story. This joy be ours — our weeks shall roll— And let them roll — our bark is driven Safe to its harbour — and our soul Awaking, shall awake in heaven. FOURTH WEEK WINTER. 145 SUNDAY MORNING. God of the morning ! Thou, the sabbath's God I Round whose bright footsteps thousand planets roll; A million beings at Thy mighty nod Are born ; — and perish as they reach their goal. How great art Thou ! — an unimagined deep Of wisdom and of power ! — Thy laws how sure — Thy way how full of mystery ! — Thou dost keep Thy court among the heavens, sublime and pure And unapproachable ; the tired eye breaks Ere it can reach Thee. — Who can fathom Thee ? Who read Thy counsels? Thought exhausted seeks Thy path in vain. 'Tis o'er the mighty sea. On the tall mountain, in the rushing wind, And the mad tempest. — In a cloudy car. Wrapt in thick darkness, rides th' Eternal Mind, O'er land and ocean, and from star to star. Hast thou not seen Him in His proud career, Or heard His awful voice ? O look around. For He is always visible, always near. Listen to His eloquent words in every sound 13 146 SUNDAY MORNING. Of zephyr, waterfall, or birds, or bees. Or thousand songs, these sweet and those sublime : All nature's intellectual harmonies. And the soft music of the stream of time. See Him in the vernal beauty of the flower, In the ripe glory of the autumnal glow ; In summer's rich and radiant festal hour, In winter's purest, fairest robes of snow : There art Thou ! — not in temples built by the hand Of vanity — by the unproductive toil Of the hot brow, or by the fierce command Of tyrants, or with shame-collected spoil. Thy temple is the universe ! Thy throne Raised on the stars : Thy light is every where : And ceaseless music hymns th' Eternal One All-eloquent — nor can the listening ear Mistake that homage, which all time, all space. Pours forth to Thee ; none but the dead, the dull. Who sees not Thy bright smile in nature's face ? Who Thy high spirit, pure and beautiful, Marks not throughout existence ? All we have And all we hope for is Thy gift : and man Without Thee is a faint and fettered slave, Driven by the winds of passion, without plan Or purpose, or pursuit becoming : — Thou Art great, and great are all Thy works, and great SUNDAY EVENING. 147 Shall be Thy praise. Before Thy throne we bow ; To Thee our prayers, our vows we consecrate. O Thou eternal Being ! clad in light, I in the dust before Thy presence fall, And ask for wisdom in thy hallow'd sight, To lead my steps to Thee. How calmly all Sleeps in the stillness of the sabbath morn. As if to sanctify the sacred day ! The spirit of peace, on the mild zephyrs borne. Glides gently on the tranquil morning's ray ; And in a solemn pause all nature seems To feel the present Deity : He speaks In the twilight melodies — smiles in the fair beams Which from His locks the star of morning shakes. Heaven is His canopy, His footstool earth, A thousand worlds His throne : O Lord to Thee, Holiest and mightiest source of light — of worth — Be praise and glory through eternity ! SUNDAY EVENING. Sweetly is the Sabbath fled, Day of peace and rest to me ; " Let Thy name be hallowed." Now my spirit soars to Thee, 148 SUNDAY EVENING. Darkness deep, or distance wide Cannot man from God divide. O'er heaven's thousand burning lamps Towers thy glorious palace high ; Through the evening's twilight damps, O'er the morning's 'splendent sky : From the orient to the west, Thou art present, Mightiest ! Wisdom sees Thee shining brightly In the starry worlds above ; Virtue hears Thee speaking nightly From those orbs of light and love : Smiling youth and hoary age Praise Thee in their pilgrimage. Wheresoe'er Thy name is known— Every where — an altar stands Raised to Thee, the Eternal One, By devotion's holy hands : Thou art an undying flame. Shining through all time the same. SUNDAY EVENING. 149 Piety, Thy favourite child, Gently leads our hearts to Thee ; Virtue, like an angel mild. Heralded by Piety, Guides us, with her torches bright, Through time's solitary night. Hallow'd be Thy holy name. Lord of spirits and of men ; Ne'er may virtue's sacred flame Die within our souls again ; But conduct Thy pilgrims on To Thy high and heavenly throne. Be our journey short or long, Yet we know not ; — but we know, Days and weeks and ages throng Time's unintermitting flow ; And to-morrow or to-day Shall our bark be swept away. Roll thou ever-flowing tide ; We, upon the billows driven, O'er the mighty stream shall ride To the peaceful port of heaven : 13* 150 MONDAY MORNING. There no shipwrecks strew the shore, There nor waves nor tempests roar. Trim we then our little sail ; Calmly let us onward steer : Blow, thou heaven-directing gale ! Ocean, waft the mariner ! See thy haven, see thy home ; Come thou weary traveller, come ! MONDAY MORNING. And so the active week again Its course begins — and so renew'd Our moments' busy multitude. Falling like rapid drops of rain, Sink in the grave ; — and so we die : The woods will have lost their harmony, life's sun sink down in the gloomy west — The beauty that gladden'd the eye is faded, The spirit of joy is hush'd to rest. The smiles which delighted the soul are shaded The stars of heaven are clouded. And the glorious brightness of day ; MONDAY MORNING. 151 And he who on rapture's bosom lay, In the funeral bier is shrouded. Peace smiled from her sanctuary, She smiled — but smiles no more ; For the grave has closed its prison-door On the pilgrim weak and weary. In frowns and storms the morning calls ; And man, who was yesterday glad and gay As the evening ephemera, Like the ephemera falls. Long and sweet is the tired one's sleep ; But calmer his sleep and softer his bed Whose pillow is made of the grave-clod deep, With the green grass over his head. Curtain'd is he by the vapour's damp, Lull'd by the song of the even ; Lighted is he by the pale moon's lamp, Watch'd by the eye of heaven. Others may hear the heavy bell toll. Others the funeral train may see : He hears no dirge for his slumbering soul, He is sleeping tranquilly. There let him rest, — he toiled awhile, And now he throws off his burden of toil. There is a world whose cares, like this, Can never disturb the calm of bliss. 152 MONDAY MORNING. Where He, who is the great light of all, In His own peculiar glory shineth ; Who turn'd in His hand this worldly ball, And its hopes and its memories sweetly entwineth. He raised heaven's azure arch sublime On pillars of strength that totter never ; Man is the victim of death, of time. Thou remainest the same for ever. These shall perish, while Thou endurest, These as a vestment shalt Thou change j Thou remainest strongest, surest, Through eternity's endless range. Thou Thyself art Eternity — 'Tis but another name for Thee ! Suns may be darken'd, and planets shake, Earthquakes may stony mountains break. Comets may swallow up the sea : But Thou, unmoved as the splendid sun, This sandy desert shining on, Lookest on creation and decay, And still pursuest Thy glorious way, Wrapt in Thine own immensity. What should we fear ? waking or sleeping, Man is alike in Thy holy keeping. Let him not shrink though his bark be driven By the mad storm — let nought alarm him ; MONDAY EVENING. 15J The teiripest may burst, but cannot harm him : Safely he steers to his port in heaven. God is around us, o'er us, near us, What have His children then to fear ? Is he not always present to hear us. Willing to grant, as willing to hear ? MONDAY EVENING. The night has thrown its shadows o'er the land, And rest revisits nature. — Evening's train. With day's extinguish'd torches in their hand Have pass'd the twilight's western gates again. On the damp hills the stars are glittering. The mists are hanging round the forests deep, While from their silver thrones the cold frosts fling Their fetters o'er the vanquish'd earth, and keep The streams in icy bondage. Happy he Who to his bed of slumber can retire, To rest in sweet and sound tranquillity ; While untormented by a vain desire, 154 MONDAY EVENING. Or a reproaching spirit, he may dwell Securely and serenely. — To the goo3 The conscience is a fearless citadel, Where nought of doubt or danger can intrude. • The darkness mantles him, — and till the hour When sleep upon his eyelids sinks, he takes Sweet counsel with that ever-present Power, Who out of night His robes of brightness makes ; And from beyond this narrow-bounded vale, Water'd by tears — by vapours curtain'd round, — And canopied in clouds — his thoughts can hail That awful Majesty whose light is found Descending and pervading the pure heart That seeks His presence, while its cheering glow A lustre and a smile of light inipart To all the shades of solitude and woe. Tliough the earth tremble at Thy coming. Lord ! Thy children may approach Thee — may adore : There is salvation. Father ! in Thy word, And Thy diffusive Spirit shining o'er Earth's valley, makes earth cheerful. In its rays We move rejoicing onwards — ^bent beneath The burthen of our nothingness, we praise And magnify Thy name. In life, in death. Alike we see Thy glory. From Thy throne Rivers of strength and life roll forth, that lave MONDAY EVENING 155 All the created world. — On Thee alone The world and all its tribes depend. The grave Has for Thy love a tongue. — E'en as the night Its starry garlands and its hymns — I hear, I hear the voices of the sons of light, Blending and circling round from sphere to sphere. Each star a chord of music — a wave's flow In the majestic sea of song that rolls In ceaseless tides of harmony, which know No rest — no discord. There departed souls Join the eternal chorus. Thence they speak To us poor pilgrims wandering still on earth — They bid us soar above earth's vale — and seek The country where our holier parts had birth, And whither they are tending. Father ! thither My eager heart aspires — and when this scene Fades round me — and its passing flowerets with-. er — There let me rest rewarded and serene. 156 TUESDAY MORNING. Almighty One ! I bend in dust before Thee, Even so veil'd cherubs bend ; — In calm and still devotion I adore Thee, All-wise, all-present Friend 1 Thou to the earth its emerald robes hast given, Or curtain'd it in snow ; And the bright sun, and the soft moon in heaven, Before Thy presence bow. Thou in Thy wisdom spread'st the map of nature. That map so fair and bright : Reared'st the arch of heaven — on every creature Pouring its streams of light. Thou feed'st with dew the early spring-rose glow- ing, Quickenest the teeming sea ; Thine is the storm through the dark forest blowing, Thine, heaven's soft harmony. Thine is the beam on ocean's bosom glancing. Thine is the thunder-cloud, Thine are the lamps that light our steps, advancing To the tomb's solitude. TUESDAY MORNING. 157 Thou speakest — and all nature's pregnant bosom Heaves with Thy mighty breath ; Thou frownest — man, even like a frost-nipp'd blossom, Drops in the lap of death. A thousand worlds which roll around us brightly, Thee in their orbits bless ; Ten thousand suns which shine above us nightly, Proclaim Thy righteousness. Thou didst create the world — 'twas Thy proud mandate. That woke it unto day ; And the same power that measured, weigh'd, and spann'd it. Shall bid that world decay. Thou Power sublime ! whose throne is firmly seated On stars and glowing suns ; O could I praise Thee — could my soul elated Waft Thee seraphic tones, Had I the lyres of angels — could I bring Thee An offering worthy Thee, In what bright notes of glory would I sing Thee, ^ Blest notes of ecstacy ! 14 158 TUESDAY EVENING?. Here is my song, a voice of mortal weakness" Just breathing from my breast ; A mingled song, of worthlessness and meekness And feeble hope, at best. In heaven that voice, up to Thy throne ascending, Should speak as angels speak, And joy and confidence and glory blending, Thy seat of light should seek. Eternity ! Eternity ! — how solemn. How terrible the sound ! Here, leaning on Thy promises — a column Of strength — may I be found. O let my heart be ever Thine, while beating, As when 'twill cease to beat ; Be Thou my portion — till that awful meeting, When I my God shall greet. TUESDAY EVENING. The earth again puts on its evening dress ; And v/akening yon innumerable stars, A twilight, milder than the eye of day And fairer than the calm of night, is spread TUESDAY EVENING. 159 O'er universal nature ; from above Shadows descend, solicitous to veil The sins of the reposing world ; — to soothe Hearts beating with anxiety,- — to lull The tumults of ambition, — quell the thirst Of greedy avarice, — and to cheat the care Of wantonness, that crowns its head with thorns. The perjured tongue, the rapine-scheming head. The murderous hand, the vile and counterfeit heart j The eye that sheds false tears — thou, darksome night ! Veil in Thy charity — be the overarching tomb, Though for a moment, to the mass of sin Which morn, alas ! shall wake again, — and day Let loose like bandits on the unshelter'd world. And O ! if in the visions of the night A ministering angel might descend, — a voice Be heard in the still silence, to recall Those wanderers to the fold of blessedness ! For ah ! thy shade, though dark and deep it be. Will hide them not from Him, to whom the gloom Is bright as noon-tide. Let the solemn thought Come o'er my soul, that even as now in sleep. So shall we lay us down in death, ere long. And for a gloomier season. Kings and slaves Shall then repose upon the self-same bed, 160 TUESDAY EVENING. That bed the cold clods of the valley. There, There must all sleep, seed in the bosom of earth, To shoot as weeds or flowers, when the fair spring Of immortality shall dawn ; and then Be gather'd with the general harvest in, And garner'd in the stores of heaven, — or swept With the vile chaff away. Eternal God ! Thou who art wrapt in robes of majesty And dazzling light — the Lord, the Judge of all I To Thee we would commend us — Hear our prayers, Do all Thy will on earth as done in heaven. And be Thy law, our law, — Thy will, our will ! Thou will'st Thy children's happiness ; — ^Thy hand. Thy guardian hand, has given us that pure joy Which angels share — that silent source of bliss. That sweet anticipation of Thyself, Flowing from a pure heart : — Thy will be done. 161 WEDNESDAY MORNING. All-seeing God ! before whose throne sublime Lies open the thick-crowded book of time, Whose eye, when glancing o'er the varied page, Reads the departed, or the coming age ; Thou, whose resistless energies control The aberrations of my wandering soul, Whom, in the midst of darkness and distress, I see, and feel, confide in, and confess : Lord ! if one thought devout, one prayer divine. Break from my breast, accept it — for 'tis Thine ! God ! in Thy presence, glory's glittering gleam And pomp's parade are desolate and dim. What is ambition's gay and garish ray ? Less than the glow-worm in the eye of day. Before Thee folly drops its darling dress, And stands unveil'd in its own nakedness. Proud as he is — and, towering, though he can Erect himself — man is at best but man : Though high his destiny, and deck'd in state, Great in possession, and in purpose great ; Though honour gild his bright escutcheon o'er, And heralds oft have told its fame before, 14* 162 WEDNESDAY MORNING. What iFoots it ? Time, whose devastating sway Sweeps crowns and coronets, sceptres, swords, away; Time will not spare him, — wherefore should it spare ? Look at yon grave-stone — he shall slumber there, Privileged, if when he rests in peace below. One flower obscure should o'er his ashes grow. Is he lamented ? If a tear should wet One faithful eye, to-morrow 'twill forget Its object ; — yet another day, that eye Shall in eternal night be dark and dry. Gloomy are evening's shadows when they fall And wrap the face of nature with their pall : But these are brightness to sin's moral night ; — Dark is the grave ; but e'en the grave is light To crime's domain of terror. Tempests sweep The swelling billows of the threatening deep ; The storm may burst, the madden'd billows roll. No ocean rages like a tortured soul. O holy Virtue — pure and fair thou art ! Thy robes are light ; thy unpolluted heart Is spotless as the falling snow ; thy face Beams with supernal youth, and joy and grace. E'en like a summer's night our life rolls by, And time still calls us to eternity ; WEDNESDAY EVENING. 163 Soon life's last sand shall drop — another scene Shall in its awful dawning then begin. Say, art thou ready ? Has the grave's dark room For thee no terrors ? — Lo ! its darkest gloom A light from heaven illumines — and a voice Speaks from the clouds : " Awake ! come forth, rejoice ! " All-seeing God ! in lowliness I bow My proud heart in the dust before Thee now. Thou giv'st to each his portion ; and to each His forward way to heaven and Thee dost teach : My lot is in Thy hand — the night, the day, The moon's pale glimmering, as the sunny ray, Are Thine — and Thine the midnight of the grave : — O be Thou there to strengthen and to save ; To light death's valley with Thy beam of love, And smile a welcome to Thy throne above. WEDNESDAY EVENING. The hour of peace resumes again Its tranquil, silent, solemn reign ; Sorrow a short cessation knows On the soft couch of calm repose. 164 WEDNESDAY EVENING. And all is still — The Eternal One Hath risen from His glorious throne, And on the midnight's raven pinions Surveys His infinite dominions. And who but Thou the world could keep, When buried thus in evening's sleep ? Who bid that sleeping world awake, When o'er the hills the day-beams break ? Who call those day-beams from their bed, When nature is by darkness led ? Thou, Lord, alone ! Thy mighty hand Doth all create, and all command. In every thing that hand we see. And more than every thing in Thee. But who can count the countless throng That wakes to hear the morning's song ; Or tell the infinite train that rest, O'erwatch'd by Thee, on evening's breast : All from Thy presence joy receiving. All on Thy generous bounty living ? And we, the lowliest and the least. With heaven's peculiar favour blest ! Did earth upon our care depend. Decay would soon with misery blend ; Were we the counsellors of heaven, AlK all would be to ruin driven : WEDNESDAY EVENING. 165 We, helpless as the ephemeral fly, And sightless as the adder's eye. But Thou, in wisdom's chains hast bound The mighty universe around ; And mountain's height, and vale's recess. Speak thy unwearied watchfulness ; And every sun that splendour gives, And every orb that hght receives, And solemn night, and joyous day, And mountain stream and forest lay, And waves and waterfalls and showers, And trees and shrubs and fruits and flowers. And all that nature's face reveals, And all that nature's womb conceals. Space, earth, heaven, time, eternity. Are all upheld, great God ! by Thee. Ours is a hurried pilgrimage. Youth beckons to the steps of age. And youth and age too swiftly meet, The angel of the tomb to greet ; And soon the rays of life are gone. And soon the time-enduring sun. Which shines so brightly o'er our head, Shall shine upon our funeral bed. Enough — if while we journey here. Some visions from that holier sphere, 166 THURSDAY MORNING. Where the great Spirit sits, array'd In splendour, light this vale of shade. Enough — if in this vale of tears. Some heavenly strains should reach our ears, Remotely echoed from the hymn Of cherubim and seraphim. Enough — if in these earthly bowers Some leaves of those immortal flowers Which bloom in living fragrance sweet, Should grow spontaneous at our feet. Yes ! such Thy servants, Lord ! have known, Such effluence from Thy burning throne : And such be mine — and when at last Life's summer evening shall be past, The shades of night shall curtain me, And I shall slumber, watch'd by Thee ! THURSDAY MORNING. Thou best of beings ! — now the night is fled. And day awakes in all its bliss again ; Man, rising from his heaven-protected bed. Is launch'd on duty's ever-flowing main. THURSDAY MORNING. 167 Thou art the Lord ! alike the day, the night, Thy love proclaim — for each Thy love pervades : Thou smilest in the Aurora's purple light. And wrapp'st Thyself in evening's solemn shades. God ! Thou art Love ! repeats the youthful spring, God ! Thou art Love ! the summer days proclaim ; God ! Thou art Love ! the autumnal valleys sing, And hoary winter echoes back the name. Thou rock'st the cradle of sweet infancy, Lead'st active youth through its fair path of flowers, And manhood owes its golden fruit to Thee ; To Thee old age its calm and lovely hours. Thou deck'st all nature with its swan-like robe, Cover est the snow with million diamonds' gleam, Bid'st icy pyramids tower above the globe. And build 'st Thy crystal bridges o'er the stream. How infinite Thy works ! — the great, the small. Rich with Thy bounty, teeming with Thy love, All fraught with pure intelligence, and all Tending to perfect bliss, — where Thou above Shalt justify Thy purpose. We below, The moral subjects of vicissitude. Would to Thy holy dispensations bow, Secure that all must end in boundless good. How mild, how wise, how beautiful Thy reign ! Thy sun — an image of Thyself— O Lord ! 168 THURSDAY MORNING. Shines e'en upon the unthankful ; and Thy rain Is on the unrighteous, as the holy, pour'd. Existence hangs upon Thy fostering cares, And even the worst partake those cares divine ; Ingratitude itself Thy favour shares : — Ingratitude ! — 'midst favours such as Thine ! Ingratitude to Him, whose bounty gave Life, and the joys of life ; who leads us on With gentle guidance even to the grave ! But who, alas ! is not ungrateful ? None. His love protects us, leads us, lights us, cheers ; Gives to our morning, brightness, beauty, bliss : Conducts us gently to the eve of years. Crowns us with hope, and peace, and happiness. My God ! my Father ! — on Thee will I rest — Rest with unbounded confidence on Thee ; No slavish fears shall now enthrall my breast, I stand erect in holiest liberty. Thou dwell'st in light unsearchable — and here Thy children in a night of darkness roam ; But earth shall not detain the wanderer : Heaven is his destiny, and heaven his home. There peace and love, in holiest union bound, Shall gild with everlasting smiles the scene. And God's pure presence scattering light around, Fill every heart with joy and bliss serene. 1G9 THURSDAY EVENING. The day is done ; — ^the night comes calmly forth, Bringing sweet rest upon the wings of even : The golden wain rolls round the silent north, And earth is slumbering 'neath the smiles of heaven. Like yon celestial torches, let me press Forward — and heavenward — on my destined way : Clad, like the stars, in robes of holiness. Bright, like the stars, with joy's enrapturing ray. Calm evening ! whose mild presence can restore The peace ne'er found amidst the world's rude cares, Can bid the weeping eyelids weep no more, ^\nd chase all misery — all, except despair's ! When round the world we look, how many a grief Invites the soul to sober thought, and checks The gush of daring pride ; — pangs that relief Approaches not, — and melancholy wrecks Of once fair-flattering happiness, now scatter'd On life's tempestuous shores ! What prospects blighted ! What piles of fond anticipation shattered, And gaudy dreams in which the soul delighted ! 15 170 THURSDAY EVENING. These all may serve to loosen the dull fetter Which binds us to this world — and bid us look Beyond it to a brighter and a better ; And read the page of that imposing book, Where are the records of all ages past And present, and all ages yet to come : Existence' infant moments, and its last, From the earth's first awakening, to its tomb. Life's scenes are rich in eloquence, and truth. And wisdom ; — and their flow'rets sweetly grow In the dark valley of affliction's ruth, As in joy's gay and summer-sunshine glow. Be it our lot to pluck them, and to twine Their separate beauties in one moral wreath, To decorate life's ever-crumbling shrine ; To hang upon the canopy of death. The steady stream of virtue flows serenely, Till in eternity's vast ocean lost ; Though the rude winds of chilling time blow keenly, And bind its surface in the fettering frost ; Still it flows calmly on — and still shall flow, And fertilize the earth : — And can it ever Sleep in its energetic progress ? No ! Its course shall never be impeded — never ! Day after day, the light of heaven appears ; Night after night, dark curtains wrap the skies } FRIDAY MORNING. 171 And man sinks downward in the vale of years, Buds, blossoms, bears his fruit, decays and dies : He fills the spot his fathers fill'd of old ; Their ashes now mix with the cheerless clay — And he soon, slumbering on earth's bosom cold, Shall lie as low, and sleep as sound as they. And other generations rise and fall. Till the all-embracing plan shall be complete, Christ own'd the Saviour and the Judge of all. The power of evil vanquish'd at his feet, And death extinct for ever ! — O to share His triumphs, — and from his benignant voice The approving ' Welcome to thy home ! ' to hear — Were all of earthly hopes and all of heavenly joys. FRIDAY MORNING. Like a priestess from her temple's shade, In her holiest robes of light array'd. The Morn walks forth ; — Day's glorious star Towers o'er the misty mountains far, The heavens are bright with celestial blue, The earth is sprinkled o'er with dew. And all is bright and gay and fair : The spirit of joy and love is there — 172 FRIDAY MORNING. Fit temple for that Glorious One, Who form'd the earth and woke the sun. If any soul of harmony- Is waken'd in humanity, Thine is the music. Father ! Thine The morning minstrels' songs divine. Thou first didst string devotion's lyre ', Thine is the daylight's holy fire, Thine is the evening's twilight ray, And Thine the veil that shades the day. Above yon arch sublime of heaven, Is Thy eternal chariot driven ; Above the visible stars Thou reignest, Yet sometimes in thy mercy deignest To bless the world w^ith beams of light, Reflected from Thy presence bright. Bow Thee down to this lowliest sphere, Thou, whose wisdom never can err ; Thou, whose powder no hmit boundeth ; Thou, whose love all space surroundeth ! If Thou wult speak, there are thunders near Thee , Millions of ministering spirits hear Thee, Ever on the wing to obey : — Eternal splendour hghts Thy way. Thy footsteps imprint the morning hills. Thy voice is heard in the music of rills. FRIDAY Morning. 173 111 the song of birds, and the heavenly chorus That nature utters, around us, o'er us. Dead is the sense, and dull the ear, That cannot perceive Thee every where : Every where — and in every thing ; The motion in the insect's wing, As the unmeasured comet's march. Rolling sublime in yon boundless arch ', Beautiful in a drop of dew As in the rainbow's glorious hue ; In the light zephyrs audible As in the storm-wave's loudest swell ; In every thing Thy glory beameth — From every thing Thy witness streameth : Silence itself has a voice for Thee ; In the thick darkness Thy light we see ; Even the cold grave, dreary and damp, Is illumed by Thy eternal lamp. Calmly on ! the grave's dormitory Has its sweet visions of hope and glory; Heaven shall cheer its stillness deep. Heaven shall watch its holy sleep ; O'er it a brighter sun shall rise Than ever lighted the visible skies. 15* 174 FRIDAY EVENING. True ! Spring renews the faded year ; And renovated fruits and flowers In re-awaken'd charms appear : — They deck the plain — they crown the bowers- Their blush was past — ^their odour fled — They only slept — ^they were not dead. They were not dead — for though the breath Of winter o'er their beauties swept. They were not visited by death ; They only bow'd their heads and slept. For let them die — their charms again Shall decorate nor bower nor plain. True ! visions haunt the general breast Of man — of worlds beyond the skies : But that may be a dream at best, Like other dreams and vanities ; For man is but a breath, betray'd By every sense, by every shade. , FRIDAY EVENING. 175 Around him, o'er him, he creates A thousand fancies to delude. Which time, truth-trier, dissipates. Bright though they be, and fair and good : They are but dreams at last — that leave Our disappointed hopes to grieve. True ! power and pride and insolent thought Our trust in Heaven severely try ; The wicked rule the world — and nought Is left to virtue but — to die : And sure, if God is strong and just, It shall not perish in the dust. Vain hope I In virtue's path who treads. Treads surely : — all we feel and see Is a triumphant march that leads Truth, knowledge to its victory : 'Tis sorrow's sternest discipline That makes our mortal man divine. There is no pain but is the seed Of pleasure : — wretchedness and woe Are steps to virtue. Oft the weed Shelters the tender flowers that grow 176 FRIDAY EVENING. Beneath its shield. Each day — each hour- Give power to truth — to virtue power. Such are the thoughts and such the fears Of pilgrims, in that gloomy way Where heaven no glorious pillar rears Of fire by night — of clouds by day ; Such as the sons of Israel led, When wandering through the desert dread. Yet happier — O how happier ! — he, Who from the waste of grief and care Retreats to immortality, And builds his tabernacle there, — And smiles, as from a splendid star. On dews and mists beneath him far ! Yes ! happier who from earthly woe Turns his fix'd vision to the skies. And knows and feels that Jesus rose, And is assured that he shall rise ; With faith as steadfast and subhme As ever vanquish'd doubt or time. SATURDAY MORNING. 177 All else is vain — the days to come Are shrouded in obscurity : But Jesus burst his mortal tomb — And I shall not death's prisoner be. There 's bliss enough in this to cheer All the dim woes that vex us here. Yes ! Jesus rose — and while the wreck Of nature leaves that thought to bless ; The sigh of bursting grief I'll check. And still the tumuh of distress : — For Jesus rose — and I shall rise, Though this poor crumbling body dies. SATURDAY MORNING. Another portion of life rolls on, The week glides calmly by ; And down the swift stream of time we run, To the sea of eternity. Who knows how soon the hour will come When the sun shall put out his light, And the Master shall call his labourers home^ To sleep in the valleys of night ? 178 SATURDAY MORNING. And then shall He take a strict account Of duties neglected and done, And millions shall read their vast amount Recorded one by one. And every bosom shall be unveil'd And every secret known ; And none another's sin shall shield, And none shall hide his own ! We live in this narrow world below, The victims of self-deceit ; But in the bright world to which we go, No artifice can cheat. Folly can there no more assume Wisdom's imposing dress ; Nor hypocrisy wear the towering plume Of conscious righteousness. O nothing will then avail us there But deeds of mercy and love 5 For each his burden of sin must bear, At the high tribunal above. SATURDAY MORNING. ~ 179 To have train'd our spirits to forgive, As we hope to be forgiven, And have lived on earth as they should live. Whose hopes and home are heaven. We are weak and vain, but God is strong ; We are blind, but His piercing eye, To whose orbit all space and time belong, Embraces infinity. We wander — His spirit leads us back To the heavenward path of peace, And His glory hghts the holy track That ends in eternal bliss. He smiles on all — and though drear and dark Our journey may seem to be — A joyous, a bright, though lonely spark, Shines from eternity. As beneath the curtains of silver snow The flowers of the valley are hid, So the flowers of hope and beauty grow 'Neath the grave's pyramid. 180 SATURDAY EVENING. Even ill the shadiest, darkest night The stars shine on unseen ; And the sun is clad in his robes of light, Though mists intrude between. And the grave, tho' dreary and dull and deep, Is bright with a heaven-born ray, x'Vnd its long and seemingly listless sleep Shall be crown'd with eternal day. SATURDAY EVENING. (Translation.) Lord ! to whose being ages are but moments, Fugitive moments ! Thou, eternal Father Listen in mercy — for life's passing shadows Soon will be scatter'd. 'Tis thy bright presence makes all nature pregnant, Pregnant with beauty — 'tis Thy sacred presence Fills all creation. — I am but an atom — Deign, Lord ! to hear me. SATURDAY EVENING. 181 Glorious and mighty ! Thy right hand of greatness Upholds existence. — What is man before Thee ? Vanity, ashes — indigence and folly : Smile, then, benignly ! Fountain of wisdom ! Spirit of creation ! Life-source of blessing ! — hear the humble praises Of Tby poor pilgrim, whose short day of sadness Soon will be over ! Thy searcliing spirit sees departed ages. Ages in embryo — ages veil'd in darkness. Present and future — all ahke unravell'd : — I am but blindness. Highly exalted on Thy throne of glory. Being unchanging ! do Thou help my weakness From th' o'erflovvings of Thy strength : O Father ! Help Thou my weakness. 'Tis Thy proud arm that yon abyss divideth, Blots out the planets, gives the stars their splendour, Rules o'er infinity, uncontroll'd and mighty : — I am as nothing. 16 182 SATURDAY EVENING. E'en the plumed songster, wandering thro' creation : E'en the poor insect, living in the sunbeam ; E'en the scorn'd earth-worm, at our feet extended ; All share Thy mercy. Deign, then, to hear me. Father ! deign to bless me ! Nothing too lowly for Thy smiles benignant ; Nothing too trifling for Thy care, Thy kindness — I, too, may share them. Infinite Being — Living One ! Eternal ! Wise and unchanging — Father, Holy Father ! Look from Thy Throne of brightness and of glory On this Thy suppliant ! HYMNS AND OTHER DEVOTIONAL PIECES- 185 NIGHT. (From the German of Herder.) Dost thou come again, calm, holy mother Of bright stars and heavenly aspirations ; Dost thou visit us again ? Awaiting Thy mild presence, Earth, and all her flow'rets Bending down their feeble heads, and thirstijig For a dewdrop, pant. My sinking spirit, Overflowing with a thousand visions. Waits the still and sacred visitation Of thy gentle influence : — Come, inspire me With the thoughts of happier worlds, and brighter ; And with peace my weary bosom quicken. Star-surrounded, gold-encircled goddess ! Thou, upon whose dark and ample mantle Thousand worlds are shining, — thou who bearest. Gently bearest all — their restless being — Fiery courses — ever-busy orbits — In the strength of everlasting quiet. What a song of triumph is repeated 186 NIGHT. Through all worlds to thee, the living leader Of the starry choirs ; — a song of glory Even to Him who stills the storm — whom lan- guage— Whom the spirit's utterance — whom all voices Praise, — and sink in silence at His presence. Holy Silence ! — o'er the world now brooding,-^ Gentle stream, that to the eternal borders Of unmeasured being rolls sublimely ; And thou, noble song of stars and planets, Light of light — the peaceful speech of heaven ! Night environs and pervades my spirit — Seas of vast infinity surround me — Fill my soul — heaven of all heavens — an ocean Calm and silent, full of glowing beauties, As heaven's arch is full of fiery sparkles. Mighty Night I I bow before thy altar ! Every spark of this all-filling ether Is a frontlet round thy holy temple. Bright with heavenly writing. Who can read it ? Flames of fire written by the Uncreated, On the night's tall brow. It says : Jehovah He is One — His name is Everlasting — And His child is night : — His higher, title Mystery ; — whose dark and shadowy mantle None may dare uplift ! — it hath created NIGHT. 187 Worlds, and space, and time. Its privileged children, Ever in the path of law and order, Love and mighty destiny — hasten onward, Ever hasten tow'rds the hving Father. Drop the curtain, then, thou holy mother ! Shut the book that 's full of heavenly writing ; I can read no more — can soar no higher : — Thought is all exhausted. Rather grant me Thy sweet peace, and gently pour upon me, Mother of soft sleep and nightly visions ! Pour upon me dewdrops of oblivion And forgetfulness of earthly sorrow. Feel I not, how, thy kind slumber-fetters Wrap me all around ? — thy hand maternal Shuts with tenderest care my falling eyelids? Spirits of the night now glide before me — ? Stately forms — tall and majestic shadows From far worlds — A milden'd light surrounds me : Light ne'er seen by my awaken'd vision. What a moon ! what stars of dazzling brightness ! Do I soar — swim — dream ? — or am I sinking Down from th' Uncreated's throne ? — for angels, Angels are around me — lost companions Of my childhood — friends long since departed, Guardian spirits — some unknown — they offer NIGHT. The warm hand of fellowship — all glowing — And I join their everlasting music. Slumber still, thou dull and drowsy burden Of my earthly way ; Night spreads her mantle, Night — and all her lamps that burn so brightly, Brightly burn in yonder hallowed circle. Visitants of heaven sink — rise before me ; Dwellers of the stars — and heaven's bright portals, In my nightly dreams, to me are open. Every angel, every blessed spirit. All heaven's concert — all are smiling on me ! Moons and suns — up to what sun ascending ? What 's the centre of these endless circles. All-creating — all-inspiring Spirit ? Veil'd from this my wandering star — but haply Seen by yon far sun's more privileged dwellers. See ! with what a sympathising spirit All these stars are smiling ! — Do ye see me, Me the dust of dust — ^who dare to hail ye, Hail ye as my friends — the loved companions Of my sweetest, dearest, highest pleasures ; Gentlest witnesses of peace and virtue ? Heaven's young offspring — joy-inspiring children Of enkindled night — and thou, fair sister Of my hope, my joy, and my devotion. Long ye smiled, and long ye shone rejoicing, MORNING THOUGHTS. 189 Clad in all your bright and festal garments, Ere I was — and ere the earth had being ! And when I shall be not — when oblivion Sweeps away that earth-r-and in the music Of your hynnis her voice shall speak no longer : When her dull and distant tones shall perish, And the sighs which from her poles are breaking, In the song of hght shall be extinguished — Shall I then, fair spirits, dwell among ye ? Is there in your amaranthine foliage Even for me a wreath of love and glory ? That my voice in your soft choir may mingle ; While I look upon this lowly dwelling. To some son of earth a ray of brightness. Or a hope-star to some child of sorrow ? MORNING THOUGHTS. Come, let us leave the vain, the proud, The ambitious, and the worldly-wise ; Pomp's revels, turbulent and loud. And pleasure's tempting vanities : 190 MORNING THOUGHTS. And let us mount the mantled hill, Or wander in the waving wood y Or trace the melancholy rill Through its own haunts of solitude ; Or seek the little tufts of flowers, Hid 'neatli the turf from sultry beams : Nor waste life's swift and smiling hours In senseless joys or idle dreams. Or let us tread the ocean shore ; And, while its surges rise and roll, Their voice sublime, their blended roar, Shall fall like music on the soul. Or watch the busy clouds, that sail Along the heavens like living things — Soar on the spirit-rousing gale — Or take the gentler zephyr's wings. And then our hallow'd talk shall be Of Him who rear'd the mountains high, Pour'd out the waters of the sea. Painted the flowers, and arch'd the sky. MORNING THOUGHTS. 191 'Tis in the silence, in the shade, That light from heaven illumes our road ; And man, e'en mortal man, is made, If not a god — almost a god. 'Tis then he feels and hears and sees Thoughts, hopes, and joys to angels given ; Those chains of towering sympathies Which link the earthly soul to heaven. Beyond or moon, or sun, or star, The enfranchised spirit soars — the ray Of morning is its glorious car. And comets light it on its w^ay. It travels o'er the vast abyss Of space and time, and joys to see The pregnant future bright with bliss. And love, and joy, and liberty. Then bending down to earth again, Full of glad hope, — 'tis train'd to bear The Hghten'd weight of mortal pain : The passing storm of earthly care. 192 MORNING THOUGHTS. And every stream more gently flows, And every flower more freshly smells, And every breeze more gaily blows, And every note more sweetly swells. The light that shines within, is shed O'er all above, around, below ; The stars are brighter o'er our head, And brighter is the sunny glow. E'en darkness has a cheering smile. And twilight kindles into day; And the heart rests untroubled — ^while Visions of Eden round it play. And, journeying onwards, peace and hope And holy memory gild the gloom. While man descends the gentle slope Which brings him to the quiet tomb. There shall he rest : — till, ages gone, — When, summon'd to a higher sphere, He shall enjoy that blissful sun Whose distant rays consoled him here. 193 EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATIJ, The good man dies — it grieves us : Why should the good man die ? He dies — but dying, leaves us A lasting legacy. And this becomes our comforter ; And sweeter is the thought Of him who is departed, •Than all that death has left: — No longer, broken-hearted, Deem that thou art bereft ; For, O ! the good man's memory Is sweeter far than aught. No sorrows now disturb him, No disappointment there ; No worldly pride to curb him In his sublime career : Heaven's azure arch is over him, Earth's tranquil breast beneath. The stars are brightly glowing. The breezes play around, 17 194 EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH. The flowers are sweetly blowing, The dew is on the ground, Ajjd emerald mosses cover him — How beautiful is death ! His life — a summer's even, Whose sun of light, though set Amidst the clouds of heaven, Leaves streams of brightness yet ; And thus he sinks victoriously Into his ocean throne : Then darkness gathers round him — 'Tis but a night : — again He bursts the chains that bound him ; He rises from the main, And marches heavenward gloriously In splendours of his own. Yon gems so sweetly sparkling On heaven's cerulean deep. What time the twilight darkling Brings nature's hours of sleep, Are perhaps the bright receptacles Of disembodied souls : EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH. 195 Of souls that, long desiring Some more than mortal joy, Burst in their proud aspiring, And fix themselves on high ; And on this earth look tenderly, That low beneath them rolls. Yes ! in those orbs of glory Methinks I see the ray, Which wisdom's sages hoary Have scatter'd o'er my way, With brighter wisdom perfected, All strength — all purity. In yonder gentle star-light I see the holy tear. Glistening in fair though far light, Which once consoled me here — Till I was left in wretchedness^ And none to weep with me. Roll on, fair worlds ! and over Earth's vale your torches blend :- In each my thoughts discover Smiles of some cherish'd friend. 196 EVENING THOUGHTS ON DEATH. Whose melancholy pilgrimage Wearies the heart no more. O yes ! I hear their voices, O yes ! their forms 1 see ; And then my soul rejoices, And, raptured, seems to be Their momentary visitant ; But soon the dream is o'er. I '11 build a fane elysian Among those towers divine. And there in hallow'd vision, When gloomy thoughts are mine, Will soar in glowing ecstacy — There shall my joys be stored j And there my soul reposing On contemplation's breast. When earthly scenes are closing, Shall find a place of rest. And leave this lowly solitude Forgotten — undeplored. 197 WRITTEN AT SEA. When the bark by a gentle breath is driven, And the bright sun dances in the heaven Up and down, as the rocking boat Upon the ridgy waves doth float — And the fresh sea sprinkles the sloping deck, And nought is seen but some snowy speck On the distant verge — and the sky above. And the waters around — 'tis sweet to move Gladly from one to another strand, Guided by some invisible hand. Gladly, ay ! for him who leaves No friend behind, who dreams, and grieves, And dreads that every breezy breath Is the wing'd charioteer of death. Ah ! that love is a fearful thing ; It hovers round on a vampire's wing ; Darkness is its abode — it dwells In caverns and spectre-peopled cells ; 'Tis wont to play with phantoms dread. And wreathes thd aconite round its head ; The desert and the grove it seeks. And clouds are on its splendent cheeks ; 17* 198 WRITTEN AT SEA. And it sits in storms, — and builds its throne In terror's dark pavilion ; And its bright and spirit-piercing eyes Are shrouded in thick anxieties. Onwards ! onwards ! — lo, we sweep The heaving bosom of the deep ; — Freshens the wind ! — how gay to ride On the pinions of the eternal tide, And to live, as it were, in life's excess, 'Midst the wild waters' frowardness ! It is as if life's currents too, Driven by an impulse strange and new, Roll'd with a swifter course, — partaking Of the eager spirit round us waking. But soon, too soon, the busy sea Is still'd to us — reality Waves over us her leaden wand : We tread the dull and changeless land ! Our bavk conducts us to the shore. And the fresh breeze impels no more ; For us repose the joyous waves — And we all slumber in our graves. Thou Steerer of the storm ! who guiJest Our little vessel, — who dividest The waves around us, — who hast spread Heaven's canopy above our head, WRITTEN AT SEA. 199 And scatter'd through it gales of love, To waft us to our port above : Thou ! whose omnipotent voice can still The mighty ocean as the rill ; Thou ! subject vast of praise and wonder, Who in the breeze and in the thunder Art heard alike — to Thee, O Friend ! O Father ! I my lot commend. And be it thine, All-wise ! as now, A favouring passage to bestow Through life's dark ocean — till the tomb Receives us in its mighty womb, Where we shall slumber till the day, Of days the greatest, sends its ray Into the gloom sepulchral — then Shall the raised spirit live again. And enter on a course which never Can be disturb'd by vain endeavour. Nor check'd by storms or billows dreary, — Nor hearts despond — nor hopes be weary. 200 "THE WORLD IS GIVEN TO THE WICKED." 'Tis sometimes hard tx) turn our eye Upon that wreck of hopes and dreams. Which lighted hours of ecstacy With virtue's smiles and freedom's beams, — To look upon that wreck — and see A very blank of misery. For who of mortal mould could e'er Bend coldly o'er the aspiring mind, That rear'd its visionary temples fair, And open'd wide on human kind The portals whence the day-streams flow Of love and liberty below ? Too long, too long the tyrant's might Had chill'd the senses — cramp'd the soul — Then, waking in their natural light, They burst the twilight's dim control, And gathering blessings in their train. Shed splendour o'er the earth again. *' THE WORLD 13 GIVEN TO THE WICKED." 201 'Tis past ! — 'tis past !*— The spreading shade Of ignorance involves the world : Our toils were vain — our hopes betray'd — And freedom from her shrines is hurl'd : She has no heroes — has no heirs — The grave is ours — the world is theirs. The noblest, holiest of our race Die unrevenged — they spill their blood — The gay earth is their slaughter-place — The vast globe is a solitude, Where their all-withering glance destroys All virtuous deeds — all righteous joys. Great God of vengeance ! rouse Thee — shower Thy fiery torrents on their path ! They hate Thy name — they scorn Thy power — They laugh — proud rebels ! at Thy wrath. And dost Thou tarry ? — Canst Thou yet Their insults and Thy might forget ? Forgive ! forgive ! — Our wishes rove Bewilder'd — darken'd by distress — As if our passions, Lord ! could move Thy all-directing righteousness. 202 PSALM xc. Thou knowest all — Thou rulest all — To Thee we look — on Thee we call. Wield then Thy thunders at Thy will, Thou canst not err — our hearts subdued Shall wait thy mandate — calm and still — Thy purposes are wise and good. Gloom, mists, and clouds surround our way, Thou art all light — Thy path is day. JVovember, 1823. PSALM XC. Lord ! through ages-gathering time, On Thee, sacred and sublime, We have built our joy, our faith ; While the mantling robe of death Veil'd the unborn mountains, — ere This majestic rolling sphere Sprung to birth. Thy footsteps trod Over time's untravell'd road, Ever and eternal God ! PSALM xc. 203 If thou speak, Destruction calls Nations to her midnight halls, And the dust-born sons of men Mingle with the dust again. Thousand ages roll away In thy sight as yesterday When 't is past : — a dream forgot With the morning's earliest thought. E'en as a mighty torrent sweeps The strawy fragment to the deeps ; A vision that but comes and goes ; Or flowers that with the morning rose. And with tlie morning flourished, Ere the cold evening faded, dead — Beneath thy frown we die : — we die, And in the valley's bosom lie. O God ! Thy spirit-searching eye Reads all thy children's history : And sins that seem in distance veil'd, And errors in deep shades conceal'd. Before Thy penetrating sight Blaze in a horrid glare of light. Careless of Thy heart-searching frown, Our lamp goes out — our life sinks down : That lamp is feeble, cheerless, cold ; That life a litde history told : 204 PSALM xc. When most enduring it appears, And trembling into seventy years, Or ten years more — its utmost length Is waxing pain and wasting strength, Labour and sorrow — then the thread Is broken, and the spirit fled. But who Thy anger. Lord ! can bear ? 'Tis greater than a mortal's fear ! Its might more terrible than aught Of future dread or present ihought. O teach us so to count our days, So to improve them to thy praise. That wisdom may our hearts control. And virtue guide our wandering soul. Return and smile again — and bend Thine ear benignant, Father — Friend ! No longer let us dread Thy wrath — Send down Thy sunshine on our path. And let futurity be blest, If not with joy, with peace and rest. 205 HABAKKUK. CHAP. III. I HEARD Thee, and I trembled : — Awful One ! Now speak — ^but speak in mercy's mildest tone ; Wave o'er the years Thy shadowing wing ; look down, And let Thy smile burst shining thro' Thy frown. From Teman God descends. The Holy One from Paran bends — Shout ! the song of gladness raise : His glories cover Heaven's temple over, And earth is pregnant with His glorious praise ! His brightness is an everlasting light. And streams of fire burst from His hand of might ; The plague, the pestilence, are driven before Him : He stands on burning coals, with clouds and va- pours o'er Him. The earth He measures in His hand ; The nations flee at His command ; The everlasting mountains bow ; The hills are scatter'd wide — and lo ! 18 206 HABAKKUK III. His path is in eternal darkness deep. The tents of Cushan weep ; Midian is now in grief array'd, And curtain'd round in melancholy shade. Lord ! have the rivers disobey 'd Thee, That Thou hast thus in frowns array'd Thee ? Has the ocean rolled too far, That Thou hast mounted Thy glorious car — Harness'd Thy mighty steeds ? Lord ! Thou hast bent Thy naked bow, And we remember Thy promise now : Thy judgment now proceeds. Lord ! the rivers that seek the sea, Roll on their course as led by Thee. The mountains trembled as Thou passedst by ; And from its bounds broke forth th' o'erflowing ocean ; The deep sent forth a loud and troubled cry, And Hfted up his suppliant hands on high ; The sun and moon stood still in deep emotion — They saw the light of Thy glittering spear ; Thy arrows were flying thickly there — Dreadful was Thy march, O Lord ! And the heathen fell beneath Thy sword. HABAKKUK III. 207 'Twas for Thy chosen people — the salvation Of Thine anointed nation — Thou hast upset the wicked in his pride : He came forth like a whirlwind to destroy — His palace is in dust — and his unholy joy, Oppression, is subdued. Thou, Lord ! didst ride O'er the great waters : when I heard, I shook — How could I in Thy presence stand ? How on Thy dazzling brightness look ? Voiceless my tongue became, and impotent my hand. Though the fig-tree should not shoot Her wonted blossoms — though the vine. Scathed by Thee, should yield no fruit — Though the olive fail — the kine In the stalls should droop and die ; In the folds the fleecy flock : Yet the Lord shall be my joy ! Yet the Lord shall be my rock ! He shall be my hope, my strength, My rejoicing shall He be ! He will lead my soul at length To His own felicity. 208 CORINTHIANS, FIRST BOOK CHAP. XIII. Though every tongue that man e'er utter'd, broke From my all-eloquent lips — and though I spoke The languages of angels — if my soul Were not attuned to love's sweet music, all, All were a hollow sound — an idle voice, A bell's dull tinkling, or a cymbal's noise. Though I could read the books of prophecy ; Withdraw the veil of heavenly mystery ; Though Science led me through her various way, And I had power, power from above, to say, * Remove, thou mountain ! ' this were nought, and I An useless nothing, without Charity. Though thousand wretches crowded round my door, Relieved, protected by my generous store, — Though neither flame nor sword could shake my faith, A martyr towering o'er the fear of death, — I were no offering w^orthy of above, Unless supported and impell'd by love. 1 CORINTHIANS XIII. 209 Love is long-suffering, generous, candid ; free From envy, pride, and self-complacency. Benignant and beneficent and mild, Pure-hearted and confiding as a child ; She mourns the ravages df vice — but sees With holy joy Truth's glorious victories. All things she bears, with hero-courage bears, And trusts to Heaven her pleasures and her cares. And hopes that all things hasten on to bliss. And all endures, with such sweet hopes as this. She never fails — ^the prophet's sacred tongue Shall by the hand of ages be unstrung ; The wonder-working gifts of heaven shall cease, And knowledge perish in forgetfulness 5 But soon shall better prospects dawn — the ray Of twilight brightens into perfect day, And weakness, weariness, and gloom, and night, Give way to beauty, strength, and joy, and light. E'en as a child, in early opening hours. Totters and trips, and plies his little powers. From his young lips imperfect accents break, His thoughts are wandering, and his judgment weak ; Yet, as his years flow on, intelligence Glows in his mind, and winning eloquence 18* 210 ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. Flows from his tongue ; he stands erect, and can Glory in all the pride and power of man : — So do we journey heavenwards — children here. But we shall grow to man's perfection there* Our earthly vision is out dark and dim : There shall we see in the pure light of Him Who is all brightness ; — every mist disperse That mantles now the gloomy universe ; All perils past, all tears, all terrors o'er, And doubt distress, and hope delude, no more. There are these angels sent by heaven to guide Our earthly barks through time's deceitful tide : Faith, Hope, and Charity — benignant three ! Charity fairest — follow Charity ! ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. The dreams which early moments deck'd — Hope's sunny summer hours, are o'er, And my frail bark at last is wreck'd On sullen Reason's rocky shore. ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 211 I was a joyous streamlet, tost From hill to vale in eager play ; And now among the mountains lost, Now sweeping o'er the plains my way. I kiss'd the flowers, — the woods I taught To echo back my song : — 'tis past ! Lost in the mighty sea of thought, The little streamlet rests at last. I trembled to the gentle breeze — Sent back the gorgeous sunbeams far ; Heard all the moonlight's mysteries. And smiled with every smiling star. A mingling light of joy and love, Of peace and hope a blended sound : Heaven's azure arches spread above, And laughing Nature all around. Ah ! these were blissful moments : yet I revel in their memory, And present cares and fears forget In that departed ecstacy. 212 ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. Yes ! they are fled — those hours are fled- Yet then* sweet memories smiling come, Like spirits of the hallow'd dead, And linger round their earlier home. Rapt in the thought, my passions seem To drink the exhausted cup of bliss : And do I dream ? Was ever dream So bright, so beautiful as this ? Alas ! I hear the thunders roll. And wake, and meditate, and weep; Night's gloomy mantle wraps my soul, And cheerless silence rules the deep. I tread my melancholy road. No more by vain illusions driven ; Hold solemn converse with my God, And track my onward way to heaven. Then from the world's proud glare I turn To yonder bright and golden sky : And there I study — thence 1 learn The worth of worldly pageantry. ANXIETIES AND COMFORTS. 213 No more with dazzled eyes I look Upon yon vain and letter'd sage : For Nature is a gentle book, And deeper wisdom fills her page. Her groves to me are painted halls ; Perfumes, her early morning air ; Her mountains, castellated walls — And all is honest welcome there. Her concerts are of birds and bees, And rivers, and the glorious sea : And holy are her revelries, And pure her joys as thought can be. Why should I murmur ? — O'er this scene Though night descend and thunders roll, Man may create a heaven within ; In the still temple of the soul. 214 SISTE, VIATOR ! Look around thee — see Decay, On her wing of darkness, sweeping Earth's proud monuments away — See the Muse of history weeping O'er the ruins Time hath made — Strength in dust and ashes laid, Virtue in oblivion sleeping. Look around thee — Wisdom there Careless Death confounds with Folly In a common sepulchre : See the unrighteous and the holy Blended in the general wreck : Well those tears may wet thy cheek, Tears of doubt and melancholy. Look around thee — Beauty's light Is extinguish'd, — Death assembles Youth's gay morn and age's night, — And the steadfast mountain trembles At his glance, like autumn's leaf — All, he cries, is vain, is brief: And the tyrant ne'er dissembles. siSTE, viator! 215 Look behind thee, — cities hid In the night of treacherous story : Many a crumbling pyramid, Many a pile of senseless glory, Temples, into ruin hurl'd, " Fragments of an earlier world," Broken fanes, and altars hoary. Look behind thee — men whose frown Made whole nations quake before them — What is left of their renown ? Wrecks around, oblivion o'er them : Kings and conquerors, where are they ? Ask yon worthless heaps of clay — O despise not, but deplore them ! Look behind thee — bards sublime, Smiling nymphs, and solemn sages — - Go ! inquire their names of time : Bid it read its earliest pages. Foolish questioner ! — If fame Guard through years a cherish'd name — Fame itself decays in ages. Look before thee — all the glare, All the pomp, around thee glowing ; 216 SISTE, VIATOR ! All that charms the eye or ear, Strains of softest music flowing, Grace and beauty — all are sped Tow'rds the ruins of the dead : Thither thou and thine are going. Look before thee — at yon vault, Where time's ravage is recorded, Thou wilt be compell'd to halt : Thou wilt be no more regarded Than the meekest, meanest slave, Sleeping in a common grave, Unrespected — unrewarded. Look before thee — at thy feet Monarchs sleep like meaner creatures Where the voices, now so sweet ? Where the fair ones' smiling features ? Hopest thou to escape the tomb ? That which was thy father's doom. Will be thine, thy son's, and nature's. Look above thee — there indeed May thy thoughts repose delighted ; SISTE. VIATOR I 217 If thy wounded bosom bleed, If thy fondest hopes are blighted ; There a stream of comfort flows, There a sun of splendour glows ; Wander, then, no more benighted ! Look above thee — ages roll, Present, past, and future blending ; Earth hath nought to soothe a soul 'Neath affliction's burden bending. Nothing 'gainst the tempest's shock ; Heaven must be the pilgrim's rock. And to heaven his steps are tending. Look above thee — never eye Saw such pleasures as await thee ; Thought ne'er reach'd such scenes of joy As are there prepared to meet thee : Light undying. — seraphs' lyres, — Angel-welcomes, — cherub-choirs Smiling through heaven's doors to greet thee. 19 218 BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. The heart has tendrils like the vine. Which round another's bosom twine, Outspringing from the living tree Of deeply-planted sympathy; Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss, Beneficence its harvest is. There are some bosoms dark and drear, Which an unwaterM desert are ; Yet there a curious eye may trace Some smiling spot, some verdant place, Where little flowers, the weeds between^ Spend their soft fragrance all unseen. Despise them not — for wisdom's toil Has ne'er disturb'd that stubborn soil : Yet care and culture might have brought The ore of truth from mines of thought : And fancy's fairest flowers had bloom'd Where truth and fancy lie entomb'd. BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. 219 Insult him not — his blackest crime May, in his Maker's eye sublime, In spite of all thy pride, be less Than e'en thy daily waywardness ; Than many a sin and many a stain Forgotten — and impress'd again. There is in every human heart Some not completely barren part, Where seeds of truth and love might grow, And flowers of generous virtue blow : To plant, to watch, to water there — This be our duty, be our care ! And sweet it is the growth to trace. Of worth, of intellect, of grace. In bosoms were our labours first Bid the young seed of spring-time burst, And lead it on from hour to hour, To ripen into perfect flower. Hast thou e'er seen a garden clad In all the robes that Eden had— 220 BLESSINGS OF INSTRUCTION. Or vale o'erspread with streams and trees, A paradise of mysteries — Plains with green hills adorning them, Like jewels in a diadem ? These gardens, vales, and plains, and hills. Which beauty gilds and music fills, Were once but deserts. Culture's hand • Has scatter'd verdure o'er the land. And smiles and fragrance rule serene, Where barren wilds usurp'd the scene. And such is Man. A soil which breeds^ Or sweetest flowers or vilest weeds ; Flowers lovely as the morning's light, Weeds deadly as the aconite ; Just as his heart is train'd to bear The poisonous weed, or floweret fair. 221 SONNET. 'Tis not Thy terrors, Lord ! Thy dreadful fro^vn, Which keep my step in duty's narrow path ; 'Tis not the awful threatenings of Thy wrath, — But that, in Virtue's sacred smile alone I find or peace or happiness. Thy light, In all its prodigality, is shed Upon the worthy and th' unworthy head : And Thou dost wrap in misery's stormy night The holy as the thankless. All is well : Thy wisdom has to each his portion given : Why should our hearts by selfishness be riven ? 'Tis vain to murmur — daring to rebel — Lord ! I would fear Thee, though I fear'd not hell 5 And love Thee, though I had no hopes of heaven.* "Aunque no hubiera cielo yo te amara, Y aunque no hubiera infiemo te teraiera. Santa Teresa. 19* 222 HYMN. From the recesses of a lowly spirit My humble prayer ascends — O Father ! hear it ! Upsoaring on the wings of fear and meekness, Forgive its weakness. I know, I feel, how mean and how unworthy The trembling sacrifice 1 pour before Thee ; What can I offer in Thy presence holy, But sin and folly ? For in thy sight — who every bosom viewest, Cold are our warmest vows, and vain our truest-: Thoughts of a hurrying hour ; our lips repeat them, Our hearts forget them. We see Thy hand — it leads us, it supports us ; We hear Thy voice — it counsels and it courts us ; And then we turn away — and still Thy kindness Pardons our blindness. HYMN . 223 And still Thy rain descends, Thy sun is s^lowing, Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blowing, And, as if man were some deserving creature, Joys cover nature. O how long-suffering, Lord ! but Thou delightest To win with love the wandering — Thou invitest, By smiles of mercy, — not by frowns or terrors, Man from his errors. Who can resist Thy gentle call — appealing To every generous thought, and grateful feeling ? That voice paternal — whispering, watching ever. My bosom ? — Never. Father and Saviour ! plant within that bosom These seeds of hohness — and bid them blossom n fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal ; And spring eternal. Then place them in those everlasting gardens, Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens ; Where every flower that creeps through death's dark portal. Becomes immortal. 224 HYMN. If all our hopes and all our fears Were prison 'd in life's narrow bound ; If, travellers through this vale of tears, We saw no better world beyond ; O what could check the rising sigh. What earthly thing could pleasure give ? O who would venture then to die — O who could then endure to live ? Were life a dark and desert moor, Where mists and clouds eternal spread Their gloomy veil behind, before. And tempests thunder overhead : Where not a sunbeam breaks the gloom, And not a floweret smiles beneath : Who could exist in such a tomb — Who dwell in darkness and in death ? And such were life, without the ray From our divine religion given : •Tis this that makes our darkness day ; ^is tids that makes our earth a heaven. DEATH. 225 Bright is the golden sun above, And beautiful the flowers that bloom, And all is joy, and all is love, Reflected from a world to come. DEATH. What is it to die ? — -To drink Of a yet untasted river 5 To leap from a yet untrodden brink, Which we shall revisit never. 'Tis to take a journey afar, In a cold and murky night, Through paths unknown, where moon nor star E'er shed a smile of light. 'Tis to sleep in a clayey cell, With corruption for our bride ; Deaf, dumb, insensible. Waked by no morning's tide. 226 HYMN. "Tis to mingle with ashes and dust, Like the meanest thing we see, And be blown about by the windy gust, Or dissolve in the mighty sea. What is it to die ? — 'Tis nought But to close the book of care. Inter in the grave all troubling thought, And rest with oblivion there. This is the worst ; for if truth Shine in the Scripture page. The spirit shall wear the wings of youth, And live through an endless age. It shall bathe in the living streams Round the gardens of heaven that flow ; And revel in light, whose dazzling beams Disperse all the mists of woe. Like a star in a cloudless night. Pure and sublime shall it be — Fairer than noontide's presence bright-^ Fixed as eternity. 227 HYMN. How dark — how desolate Would many a moment be, Could we not spring On hope's bright wing, O God ! to heaven and Thee I Life is a prison cell We are doom'd to occupy, In which confin'd, The restless mind Pines, pants for liberty. And sometimes streaks of light And sunny beams we see. They shine so bright Through sorrow's night. They needs must come from Thee. Say, shall a morning dawn- When prison-days are o'er, Whose smiling ray Shall wake a day. That night shall cloud no more ? 228 HYMN. Blest hope ! and sure as blest ; Life's shades of misery Shall soon be past, And joy at last Waft us to heaven and Thee. HYMN. Why should dreams so dark and dreary Fill my thought ? Is there nought, Nought to soothe and bless the weary ? Night may wrap the arch of heaven — Soon a ray, Bright with day. Cheers the morn and gilds the even. I have seen tlie mountain hidden In a shroud — Mist and cloud ; Say, was hope or joy forbidden ? HYMN. 229 No ! — ^I knew its summit hoary Soon would rise, 'Midst the skies, Girt with green and crown'd with glory. Many a stream with song of gladness, Many a rill, Silent, still. Winter binds in chains of sadness ; Many a waterfall and river ; — Summer's wand Breaks their band, And their music ceases never. Is the sun in heaven no longer, When the rain Sweeps the plain ? Soon he blazes brighter — stronger. Is the floweret's sleep eternal. When its cup, Folded up. Waits the smiles and breezes vernal ? 20 230 HVMN. Why should man, then — child of sorrow ! Mourn his doom ? Present gloom Will be light and bliss to-morrow. Why should man, then, bound his vision To the cell Where we dwell ? Worlds are his — and worlds elysian. Even here all pain is fleeting ; Even here, Joy and care Join in constant, earnest greeting ; But where all our hopes are tending, Peace and love Reign above — ' Bliss unbroken — joy unending. 231 HYMN. LET my trembling soul be still, While darkness veils this mortal eye, And wait Thy wise, Thy holy will : Wrapt yet in fears and mystery, 1 cannot. Lord ! Thy purpose see ; Yet all is well — since ruled by Thee. When, mounted on Thy clouded car. Thou send'st Thy darker spirits down, I can discern Thy light afar. Thy Hght sweet beaming through Thy frown ) And, should I faint a moment — then I think of Thee, — and smile again. So trusting in Thy love, I tread The narrow path of duty on : What though some cherish'd joys are fled ? What though some flattering dreams are gone Yet purer, brighter joys remain : Why should my spirit, then, complain ? 23^ HYMN. In the dust I 'm doom'd to sleep, But shall not sleep for ever; Fear may for a moment weep, Christian courage — never. Years in rapid course shall roll. By lime's chariot driven, And my re-awaken'd soul Wing its flight to heaven. What though o'er my mortal tomb Clouds and mists be blending ? Sweetest hopes shall chase the gloom-j Hopes to heaven ascending. These shall be my stay, my trust, Ever bright and vernal ;- — Life shall blossom out of dust, Life and joy eternal. 233 HYMN. 1 HAVE seen the morning vapour Scatter'd by the eye of day ; I have seen the evening taper Shine, and glimmer, and decay ; And bethought me, as I stood. These are man's similitude. Man is like a vapour flying With the twilight o'er the dell ; Man is hke a pale lamp dying In its solitary cell — Light and shade — and ill and good- Such is man's vicissitude. Man is like a vapour, blending With the dew of morning's breath ; Man is like a pale lamp tending To its melancholy death : Neither spared by whirlwinds rude- Such is man's similitude. 20* 234 HYMN. Jesus Teaching the People. How sweetly flow'd the gospel's sound From lips of gentleness and grace, When listening thousands gather'd round, And joy and reverence filPd the place ! From heaven he came — of heaven he spoke, To heaven he led his followers' way } Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke, Unveiling an immortal day. " Come, wanderers, to my Father's h'ome, " Come, all ye weary ones and rest ! " Yes ! sacred Teacher, — we will come — Obey thee, — love thee and be blest ! Decay then, tenements of dust ! Pillars of earthly pride, decay ! A nobler mansion waits the just. And Jesus has prepared the way. 235 HYMN TO THE DEITY. *• There is no sound or language where their voice is not heard." The heavenly spheres to Thee, O God I attune their evening hymn, All-wise, All-holy, Thou art praised in song of seraphim ; Unnumber'd systems, suns, and Vvorids, unite to worship Thee. While Thy majestic greatness fills space — time — ■ eternity. Nature, — a temple worthy Thee, that beams with light and love, Whose flowers so sweetly bloom below, whose stars rejoice above ; Whose altars are the mountain cliffs that rise along the shore. Whose anthems, the sublime accord of storm and ocean roar : 236 HYMN TO THE DEITY. Her song of gratitude is sung by spring's awaken- ing hours, Her summer offers at Thy shrine its earliest, love- liest flowers ; Her autumn brings its ripen'd fruits, in glorious luxury given, While winter's silver heights reflect Thy brightness back to heaven ! On all Thou smil'st — and what is man, before Thy presence, God? A breath but yesterday inspired, — to-morrow but a clod : That clod shall moulder in the vale, — till kindled, Lord, by Thee, Its spirit to Thy arms shall spring — to life, — to liberty. 237 AN ASPIRATION. If 'twere but to retire from woe, To undisturb'd, eternal rest — How passing sweet to sleep below, On nature's fair and flowery breast ! But when faith's finger points on high, From death's decaying, dismal cell ; O, 'tis a privilege to die — To dream of bliss ineffable ! In balmy sleep our eyes to close. When life's last sunshine gilds our even ; And then to wake from long repose, When dawns the glorious day of heaven ' 238 TRANSLATION. Brightest of spirits ! proudly throned on high, 'Midst the gold flames that flash from star and sun, In the wide deserts of th' ethereal sky — ■ Th' Incomprehensible, Almighty One ! Dart the pure radiance of Thy presence down On this benighted vale ; — to mortal eye Display the splendours of Thy majesty. And open all the glories of Thy throne. Ages of old Thee recognised, — though seen Dimly amidst Thy works : — and man upraised Temples and altars to Thy shadowed name. A God, a Father all Thy works proclaim, Who4s, and shall be, and hath ever been. Though veil'd in darkness, and in silence praised ! Pellegrino Gaudenzi. 239 TRANSLATION. GOD. Creating — uncreated energy ! Who rul'st and govern'st all that Thou hast made ; Whose firm and everlasting feet are staid On changeless fate — time and eternity ! — Thou givest light to morn — to evening shade ! Directest earth and heaven's high majesty ! Unseen, unsway'd, — all seen, all sway'd by Thee ! Unmoved, yet moving all, — by all obey'd ! Present in every place, — confined to none ! Vice trembles, Virtue smiles beneath Thy power ; Thou mad'st the blazing beam, the white frost hoar. Thou only in Thyself art seen and known. Being that I know not — yet, unknown, adore — Thou only God ! — Thou art thyself alone ! Salvini. ^40 HYMN. He who walks in Virtue's way, Firm and fearless, walketh surely ; Diligent while yet 'tis day. On he speeds, and speeds securely. Flowers of peace beneath him grow, Suns of pleasure brighten o'er him ; Memory's joys behind him go, Hope's sweet angels fly before him. Thus he moves from stage to stage, Smiles of earth and heaven attending ; Softly sinking down in age, And at last to death descending. Cradled in its quiet deep, Calm as Summer's loveliest even, He shall sleep the hallow'd sleep ; Sleep, that is o'erwatch'd by Heaven. Till that day of days shall come. When th' archangel's trumpet breaking Through the silence of the tomb, All its prisoners awaking ; He shall hear the thundering blast. Burst the chilling bands that bound him ; To the throne of glory haste, All Heaven's splendours opening round him. 241 HYMN. When before Thy throne we kneel, Fill'd with awe and holy fear, Teach us, O our God, to feel All Thy sacred presence near. Check each proud and wandermg thought When on Thy great name we call ; Man is nought — is less than nought : Thou, our God, art all in all. Weak, imperfect creatures, we In this vale of darkness dwell ; Yet presume to look to Thee, 'Midst Thy light ineffable. O forgive the praise that dares Seek Thy heaven-exalted throne ; Bless our offerings, hear our prayers. Infinite and Holy One ! 21 242 TO A VIOLET. Sweet flower ! Spring's earliest, loveliest gem ! While other flowers are idly sleeping Thou rear'st thy purple diadem ; Meekly from thy seclusion peeping. Thou, from thy little secret mound, Where diamond dew-drops shine above thee, Scatterest thy modest fragrance round ; And well may Nature's Poet love thee ! Yes 1 I have envied thee, sweet flower ! And long'd like thee to live obscurely : Shelter'd in some benignant bower, And breathing forth my soul so purely. Thine is a short, swift reign I know — But here, — thy spirit still pervading — New violet tufts again shall blow. Then fade away — as thou art fading, And be renew'd ; the hope how blest, (O may that hope desert me never !) Like thee to sleep on nature's breast, And wake again, and bloom for ever ! 243 HYMN. Father and Friend ! Thy light, Thy love Beaming through all Thy works we see ; Thy glory gilds the heavens above, And all the earth is full of Thee. Thy voice we hear — Thy presence feel, Whilst thou, too pure for mortal sight, Involved in clouds — invisible, Reignest the Lord of life and light. We know not in what hallow'd part Of the wide heavens Thy throne may be ; But this we know, that where Thou art, Strength, wisdom, goodness dwell with Thee. And through the various maze of time, And through th' infinity of space, We follow Thy career sublime, And all thy wondrous footsteps trace. Thy children shall not faint nor fear, Sustain'd by this delightful thought. Since Thou, their God, art every where. They cannot be where Thou art not. 244 HYMN. The offerings to Thy throne which rise, Of mingled praise and prayer ; Are but a worthless sacrifice Unless the heart is there. Upon Thy all-discerning ear Let no vain words intrude : No tribute — but the vow sincere, — The tribute of the good. My offerings will indeed be blest, If sanctified by Thee ; If Thy pure spirit touch my breast With its own purity. O may that spirit warm my heart To piety and love ; And to life's lowly vale impart Some rays from heaven above. 245 PERSECUTION. Let those who doubt the heavenly source Of revelation's page divine, Use as their weapons fraud and force — No such unhallow'd arms are mine. I only wield its holy word — Reason its shield, and truth its sword. I doubt not : — My religion stands A beacon on the eternal rock, — Let malice throw her fiery brands ; Its sacred fane has stood the shock Of ages — and shall tower sublime Above the waves and winds of time. Infinite wisdom form'd the plan ; Infinite power supports the pile ; Infinite goodness pour'd on man Its radiant light — its cheering smile. Need they thy aid ? — poor worm ! — thy aid ! O mad presumption — vain parade ! 21* i246 PERSECUTION. Thou wilt not trust th' Almighty One With his own thunders — thou wouldst throw The bolts of heaven I — O senseless son Of dust and darkness ! — Spider ! go, And with thy cobweb bind the tide, And the swift, dazzling comet guide. Yes ! force has conquering reasons given. And chains and tortures ar£:ue well, — And thou hast proved thy faith from heaven, By weapons thou hast brought from hell. Yes ! thou hast made thy title good. For thou hast sign'd the deed with blood. Daring impostor ! sure that God Whose advocate thou feign'st to be, Will smite thee with that awful rod Which thou wouldst seize — and pour on thee The vial of that wrath, which thou Wouldst empty on thy brother's brow. 247 RETIREMENT. Happy is he who knows not solitude I The hour when to the world he seen:is alone Is spent with God ! — All cares, all passions lost In most sublime abstraction. Then his soul, Too joyous to be bound to earth, upsoars And wings its glorious passage to an orb Beyond philosophy's proud ken, — the throne Where the Divinity sits clad in light. And gives his spirit welcome ! he forgets That he is wrapt in mortal clay — becomes A presence all ethereal, lifts his eye Undazzled tow'rds the smiles of heavenly love, And takes his seat with angels. O the ineffable beatitude. Could it but last ! — But no ! too soon opprest With the vast blessedness, and dragg'd, alas ! By mortal weakness from its height of joy, The soul sinks down to this substantial world. And is a clod again ! 248 SONNET. '' Peace ! " shall the world out-wearied ever see Its universal reign ? Will states, will kings, Put down those murderous and unholy things Which fill the earth with blood and misery ? Will nations learn that love — not enmity — Is Heaven's first lesson — which, beneath the wings Of mercy, brooding over land and sea, Fills earth with joy, by its soft ministerings ? 'Twere a sad prospect— 'twere a vista dark As midnight — could this wearied mortal eye. Through the dim mists that veil futurity. Discern not that heaven-bright though distant spark, Li2;hted by prophecy — whose ray sublime Sheds a soft gleam of hope o'er the dull path of time. 249 SONNET. I HATE that noisy drum ! — It is a sound That 's full of war and bondage, — and 1 blush That liberty had ever cause to rush Into a warrior's arms — that right e'er found Asylum in the furious field. Not so The holy crowns of genuine glory grow — Not there should they who bear the badge serene Of him who was the Prince of Peace be seen. Can such his faithful followers be ? — O no ! His laurels are not drench'd in blood, — but green And beautiful as spring : — His arms are love And mercy and forgiveness ; — and with these He rules the nations' mighty destinies — And gently leads us to our homes above. 250 SONNET. From time to time there is a warning voice Which, in the various shapes of grief and pain And disappointment, gives us hopes, not vain, That, shelter'd from this mean world's turbulent noise. We shall repose in silence — or rejoice In living blessedness — where all the train Of mortal sorrows enter not — and reign Where pleasure never wanes and never cloys. And these are lovely hopes — and these alone Help us the burden of our woes to bear, — While we press forward to yon yet-veil'd throne, Whose twilight brightness we just see — and hear The music that surrounds it. Here we groan — But not a sigh or tear was ever there. 251 SATURDAY NIGHT. The week is past ! — its latest ray- Is vanish'd with the closing day ; And 'tis as far beyond our grasp, Its now departed hours to clasp, As to recall that moment bright, When first creation sprung to light. The week is past ! And has it brought Some beams of sweet and soothing thought ? And has it left some memory dear Of heavenly raptures tasted here ? It has not wing'd its flight in vain, Although it ne'er return again. And who would sigh for its return ? We are but pilgrims, born to mourn ; And moments, as they onward flow, Cut short the thread of human woe. And bring us nearer to the scenes Where sorrows end and heaven begins. THE END. > 7 d f) .r°. rQ' -i -^ t; ^OO ^Bi^^j. •%. v^' .-^ ss* ^ .V^$S:c>,v -f . o. ,0o. r,.^^^vx-^ .^^ ^^- o^' .♦^' y c^ V , ■<^'- f " -^^ % s" .V^' ^' ■J ^0 ^ 5" ■^.. S^o. ^-.^ A\" Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnoIogies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111 axV -^^ 'fK ON c^^^.^^ : %/ - ,^■V>£.<^'^^ J' ^"° '"'<'■ s,\' ' ' - <;>C* (^ v^ '. -^'^-^ ^v -^^ % '^ ^^ ,^' ^^>. '^c^ c«^ ' * \" ?-_ ' « 1 A - ^'^^ ^ , ^_ 't^. * .0 s ^ ■^. 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