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 HYMNS OF THE AGES. 
 
 FIRST SERIES. 
 
 Being SelecStions from Lyra Catholica, Germanica, Apof- 
 
 ’ tolica, and other Sources. With an Introdu6fion by Rev. 
 
 F. D. Huntington, D. D. Fifth Edition. One volume. 
 
 \ 
 
 Price fi.oo. 
 
 P'ine editions of this work, the Firft and Second Series, 
 printed upon large paper, and bound in bevelled boards. 
 Price $3.00 each. 
 
 TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 
 
HYMNS OF THE AGES. 
 

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♦ 
 
 HYMNS OF THE AGES. 
 
 SECOND SERIES. 
 
 BEING 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM WITHER, CRASHAW, SOUTHWELL, 
 HABINGTON, AND OTHER SOURCES. 
 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 TICKNOR AND FIELDS. 
 
 M DCCC LXII. 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year i860, 
 
 By Ticknor and Fields, 
 
 In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 Stereotyped and Printed by 
 
 H. O. HOUGHTON. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 HE favor with which the first series of 
 
 -1- Hymns of the Ages was received, has led 
 us to prepare a second, including, with hymns 
 of a like character, many others which the plan 
 of that forced us unwillingly’ to reject. 
 
 For the previous volume we sought such utter¬ 
 ances as in their gentle mysticism embodied a 
 religious sentiment^ fitted to console and soothe, 
 to bind up broken reeds: in the present, our pur¬ 
 pose being rather to strengthen the reeds that they 
 may not break, and haply bend them into use, — 
 we have given with less sentiment, more religious 
 thought. 
 
 Because both of their obscurity and striking 
 merit, large selections are presented from verse- 
 
 6844:19 
 
writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, 
 “ from the tender and earnest numbers of South- 
 well and Crashaw and Habington,” the gentle 
 symphonies of Vaughan, the rugged verse of 
 Donne and Jeremy Taylor, from the quaint 
 “ Church Emblems ” of Quarles, and the volumi¬ 
 nous “ Hallelujah ” of Wither, which touched 
 with a poetic glow each object of every-day life. 
 
 For the rest, we have, like the householder, 
 brought together things “ new and old: ” some 
 of the latter we must thank the German writers 
 for pafling on to us, and Miss Winkworth and 
 others for translating. We are also indebted to 
 the compilers of a little Scottish Hymn Book, 
 which, when we discovered the two worn vol¬ 
 umes, had been through a score of editions at 
 Edinburgh. 
 
 Choosing irrespective of creed, we have been 
 often guided by rare and deep associations of the 
 past; hymns there are here which have been 
 breathed by dying lips, traced on the walls of 
 prisons, sung with hushed voices in catacombs, 
 or joyfully chanted on the battle-march, or fear¬ 
 lessly at the stake. 
 
Preface. 
 
 Vll 
 
 The poet Robert Southwell, when in prison 
 awaiting martyrdom nearly three hundred years 
 ago, wrote thus to his friend : “ We have sung 
 the canticles of the Lord in a strange land, and 
 in this desert we have sucked honey from the 
 
 rock, and oil from the hard stone; but ”- 
 
 “We now sow the seed with tears, that others 
 hereafter may with joy carry in the sheaves to 
 the heavenly granaries.” 
 
 The martyr’s prophecy has seemed to us near¬ 
 ing accomplishment, as in the course of our 
 pleasant labor, we have gone back gleaning these 
 precious handfuls which the years let fall. 
 
 C. s. w. 
 
 A. E. G. 
 
 Roxbury^ July, i860. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ASPIRATION. I 
 
 VIRTUE. 8 
 
 TRUE GAIN. 15 
 
 LOVE. 25 
 
 ACTIVE DUTY. 42 
 
 SAINTS. 64 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 74 
 
 TRUST. 93 
 
 AFFLICTION. II3 
 
 PATIENCE. 133 
 
 PRAYER. 152 
 
 CHRIST. 179 
 
 GOD. 209 
 
 DEATH. 235 
 
 HEAVEN. 279 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 297 
 

HYMNS OF THE AGES. 
 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 
 THE OFFERING. 
 
 T hey gave to Thee 
 
 Myrrh, frankincense and gold ; 
 
 But, Lord, with what fhall we 
 Present ourselves before thy majefty, 
 
 Whom Thou redeemedft: when we were sold ? 
 We’ve nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither; 
 Vile dirt and clay ; 
 
 Yet it is soft and may 
 Impreffion take. 
 
 Accept it. Lord, and say, this Thou hadft rather; 
 Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make 
 Thy holy image, and it fhall outfhine 
 The beauty of the golden mine. Amen. 
 
 'Jeremy Taylor. 1650. 
 
2 
 
 Aspiration. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 M y soul, there is a countrie 
 Afar beyond the ftars, 
 
 Where ftands a winged sentrie 
 All Ikilfull in the wars. 
 
 There, above noise and danger. 
 
 Sweet Peace sits crown’d with smiles. 
 
 And One born in a manger 
 Commands the beauteous files. 
 
 He is thy gracious friend 
 And (O my soul, awake !) 
 
 Did in pure love descend. 
 
 To die here for thy sake. 
 
 If thou canft get but thither. 
 
 There growes the flowre of peace. 
 
 The rose that cannot wither. 
 
 Thy fortrelTe, and thy ease. 
 
 Leave, then, thy foolifh ranges ; 
 
 For none can thee secure 
 But One, who never changes. 
 
 Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 1621—1695. 
 
Aspiration. 
 
 3 
 
 O LOVE divine, how sweet thou art! 
 When fhall I find my willing heart 
 All taken up by thee ? 
 
 I thirfi:, and faint, and die to prove. 
 
 The greatnefs of redeeming love, — 
 
 The love of Chrifi: to me. 
 
 He only knows the love of God ; 
 
 O that it now were fhed abroad 
 In this poor ftony heart! 
 
 For love I figh, for love I pine ; 
 
 This only portion. Lord, be mine ; 
 
 Be mine this better part. 
 
 O that I could forever fit. 
 
 With Mary, at the Mailer’s feet ! 
 
 Be this my happy choice ; 
 
 My only care, delight, and blifs. 
 
 My joy, my heaven on earth, be this, — 
 To hear the Bridegroom’s voice. 
 
 O that, with humbled Peter, I 
 Could weep, believe, and thrice reply. 
 
 My faithfulnefs to prove. 
 
 Thou know’ll, (for all to Thee is known. 
 Thou know’ll, O Lord, and Thou alone. 
 Thou know’ll that Thee I love. 
 
4 Aspiration. 
 
 O that I could, with favor’d John, 
 
 Recline my weary head upon 
 The dear Redeemer’s breaft ! 
 
 From care, and fin, and sorrow free. 
 
 Give me, O Lord, to find in Thee 
 My everlafting reft. 
 
 Thy only love do I require. 
 
 Nothing in earth beneath defire, 
 
 Nothing in heaven above ; 
 
 Let earth, and heaven, and all things go. 
 
 Give me Thy only love to know. 
 
 Give me Thy only love. 
 
 Charles Wesley, 
 
 •***^ 9 %%-***- 
 
 THE ANSWER. 
 
 A LLAH, Allah ! ” cried the fick man, racked with 
 jLjL pain the long night through; 
 
 Till with prayer his heart grew tender, till his lips like 
 honey grew. 
 
 But at morning came the Tempter; said, “ Call louder, 
 child of Pain ! 
 
 See if Allah ever hear, or answers, ‘ Here am I,’ again.” 
 
Aspiration. 5 
 
 Like a ftab, the cruel cavil through his brain and pulses 
 went; 
 
 To his heart an icy coldnefs, to his brain a darknefs, 
 sent. 
 
 Then, before him, ftands Elias; says, “ My child, why 
 thus dismayed ? 
 
 Doft repent thy former fervor ? Is thy soul of prayer 
 afraid ? ” 
 
 “ Ah! ” he cried, I’ve called so often ; never heard 
 the ‘ Here am I ’; 
 
 And I thought, God will not pity; will not turn on 
 me his eye.” 
 
 Then the grave Elias answered, “God said, ‘ Rise, 
 Elias ; go 
 
 Speak to him, the sorely tempted j lift him from his gulf 
 of woe. 
 
 “‘Tell him that his very longing is itself an answering 
 cry; 
 
 That HIS prayer, “ Come, gracious Allah ! ” is My 
 answer, “ Here am I.” ’ 
 
 Every inmoft aspiration is God’s angel undefiled; 
 
 And in every ‘ O my Father!’ llumbers deep a ‘Here, 
 my child.’ 
 
 Dscheladeddi n. 
 
 TholucPs verfion, Tranjlated hy Rev. James F. Clarke. 
 
6 
 
 Aspiration. 
 
 
 CHEAP MEDICINE. 
 
 T hat which makes us have no need 
 Of phyfic, that’s phyfic indeed. 
 
 Hark hither, reader ! wilt thou see 
 Nature her own phyfician be 
 Wilt see a man, all his own wealth, 
 
 His own mufic, his own health; 
 
 A man whose sober soul can tell 
 How to wear her garments well ; 
 
 Her garments that upon her fit. 
 
 As garments fhould do, close and fit ; 
 
 A well-cloth’d soul that’s not opprefiT’d 
 
 Nor chok’d with what fhe fliould be drelT’d ; — 
 
 A soul fheath’d in a cryftal Ihrine, 
 
 Through which all her bright features ftiine j 
 As when a piece of wanton lawn, 
 
 A thin, aerial veil, is drawn 
 O’er beauty’s face, seeming to hide. 
 
 More sweetly fliows the blufhing bride; 
 
 A soul, whose intelledfual beams 
 No mifts do mafk, no lazy ftreams ; 
 
 A happy soul, that all the way 
 To heaven rides in a summer’s day 
 Would’fi: see a man, whose well-warmed blood 
 Bathes him in a genuine flood ? 
 
 A man whose tundd humors be 
 
 
Aspiration. 
 
 1 
 
 A seat of rareft harmony ? 
 
 Would’ft see blithe looks, frefh cheeks beguile 
 Age? Would’ft see December smile? 
 Would’ft see nefts of new roses grow 
 In a bed of reverend snow ? — 
 
 Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering 
 Winter’s self into a spring ? 
 
 In sum, would’ft see a man that can 
 Live to be old — and ftill a man? 
 
 Whose lateft and moft leaden hours 
 
 Fall with soft wings, ftuck with soft flowers ; 
 
 And when life’s sweet fable ends. 
 
 Soul and body part like friends ; 
 
 No quarrels, murmurs, no delay; 
 
 A kiss, a flgh, and so away ? 
 
 This rare one, reader, would’ft thou see ? 
 
 Hark hither ! and thyself be he. 
 
 Richard Crajhaw. 1637-1650. 
 
8 Virtue. 
 
 j 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 ✓ 
 
 I F Virtue be thy guide, 
 
 True comfort is thy path, 
 
 And thou secure from erring fteps. 
 
 That lead to vengeance wrath. 
 
 Not wideft open door. 
 
 Nor spacious ways fhe goes ; 
 
 To ftraight and narrow gate and way. 
 
 She calls, ftie leads, flie fhows. 
 
 She calls, the feweft come ; 
 
 She leads the humble spirited ; 
 
 She fhows them reft at race’s end. 
 
 Soul’s reft to heaven invited. 
 
 ’T is fhe that offers moft; 
 
 ’T is fhe that moft refuse; 
 
 ’T is fhe prevents the broad way plagues. 
 Which moft do wilful choose. 
 
Virtue. 
 
 9 
 
 Do choose the wide, the broad, 
 
 The left-hand way and gate : 
 
 These Vice applauds, these Virtue loathes. 
 And teacheth hers to hate. 
 
 Her ways are pleasant ways. 
 
 Upon the right-hand fide; 
 
 And heavenly happy is that soul 
 Takes Virtue for her guide. 
 
 Robert Southwell. 1562-1569. 
 
 WALKING IN LIGHT. 
 
 W ALK in the light!—So {halt thou know 
 That fellowfhip of love. 
 
 His Spirit only can beftow. 
 
 Who reigns in light above ! 
 
 Walk in the light! — And fin, abhorred. 
 
 Shall ne’er defile again ; 
 
 The blood of Jesus Chrift our Lord 
 Shall cleanse from every ftain ! 
 
 Walk in the light! — And thou (halt find 
 Thy heart made truly His, 
 
 Who dwells in cloudlefs light enfhrined. 
 
 In whom no darknefs is ! 
 
10 
 
 Virtue, 
 
 Walk in the light ! —And thou fhalt own 
 Thy darknefs palled away, 
 
 Because that light hath on thee fhone, 
 
 In which is perfect day! 
 
 Walk in the light! — And even the tomb 
 No fearful fhade lhall wear ; 
 
 Glory lhall chase away its gloom, 
 
 For Chrift hath conquered there! 
 
 Walk in the light I — And thou fhalt see 
 A path, though thorny, bright; 
 
 For God, by grace, lhall dwell in thee. 
 
 And God Himself is light I 
 
 Barton. 
 
 V EIL, Lord, mine eyes till Ihe be pall. 
 When Folly tempts my fight; 
 
 Keep Thou my palate and my talle 
 From gluttonous delight. 
 
 Stop Thou mine ear from syrens’ songs, 
 
 My tongue from lies rellrain ; 
 
 Withhold my hands from doing wrongs, 
 
 My feet from courses vain : 
 
 Teach, likewise, ev’ry other sense 
 To a£t an honell part, 
 
virtue. 
 
 11 
 
 But chiefly settle innocence 
 And purenefs in my heart : 
 
 So nought without me or within. 
 Shall work an ill efFedl:, 
 
 By tempting me to a£l: a fm, 
 
 Or virtues to negledl:. 
 
 George Wither, 1588—1667. 
 
 FAME. 
 
 HAT fhall I do left life in filence pafs ? 
 
 And if it do, 
 
 And never prompt the bray of noisy brafs. 
 
 What need’ft thou rue ? 
 
 Remember, aye the Ocean deeps are mute ; 
 
 The ftiallows roar j 
 
 Worth is the Ocean — Fame is but the bruit 
 Along the fhore. - 
 
 What fhall I do to be forever known ? 
 
 Thy duty ever. 
 
 This did full many who yet flept unknown, — 
 
 Oh ! never, never ! 
 
 Think’ft thou perchance, that they remain unknown 
 Whom thou know’ft not ? 
 
 By angel-trumps in heaven their praise is blown, — 
 Divine their lot. 
 
12 
 
 Virtue. 
 
 What fhall I do to gain eternal life ? 
 
 Discharge aright 
 
 The fimple dues with which each day is rife ? 
 
 Yea, with thy might. 
 
 Ere perfedl scheme of adlion thou devise 
 Will life be fled, 
 
 While he, who ever adfs as conscience cries. 
 Shall live, though dead. 
 
 From Schiller, 
 
 HIDDEN GROWTH. 
 
 D ear, secret greennefs ! nurfl: below 
 
 Tempefls and windes and winter-nights! 
 Vex not, that but One sees thee grow; 
 
 That One made all these lefTer lights. 
 
 What needs a conscience calm and bright 
 Within itself, an outward teft ? 
 
 Who breaks his glafs to take more light. 
 
 Makes way for ftorms into his reft. 
 
 Then blefs thy secret growth, nor catch 
 At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; 
 
 Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch 
 Till the white-winged reapers come! 
 
 Vaughan. 
 
Virtue. 13 
 
 THE RIVER OF LIFE. 
 
 T here is a pure and peaceful wave. 
 That rolls around the throne of love, 
 Whose waters gladden as they lave 
 
 The peaceful ftiores above. 
 
 While ftreams which on that tide depend. 
 Steal from those heavenly ftiores away. 
 
 And on this desert world descend. 
 
 O’er weary lands to ftiray ; 
 
 The pilgrim, faint, and nigh to fink 
 Beneath his load of earthly woe, 
 
 Refreftied befide their verdant brink. 
 
 Rejoices in their flow. 
 
 There, O my soul, do thou repair. 
 
 And hover o’er the hallowed spring. 
 
 To drink the cryflal wave, and there 
 
 To lave thy wearied wing. 
 
 There droop that wing, when far it flies 
 From human care, and toil, and ftrife. 
 
 And feed by those flill ftreams that rise 
 
 Beneath the tree of life. 
 
14 
 
 Virtue 
 
 It may be that the waft of love 
 
 Some leaves on that pure tide has driven, 
 
 Which, palling from the Ihores above. 
 
 Have floated down from heaven. 
 
 So lhall thy wounds and woes be healed 
 By the blefl: virtue that they bring ; 
 
 So thy parched lips lhall be unsealed. 
 
 Thy Saviour’s praise to fing. 
 
 ■ t 
 
r 
 
 True Gain. 
 
 15 
 
 TRUE GAIN. 
 
 SOUL AND BODY. 
 
 P OOR soul, the centre of my finful earth, 
 
 Foiled by those rebel powers that thee array, 
 Why doft thou pine within, and suffer dearth. 
 Painting thy outward walls so coftly gay ? 
 
 Why so large coft, having so fhort a lease, 
 
 Doft thou upon thy fading manfion spend ? 
 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excefs. 
 
 Eat up thy charge ? Is this thy body’s end ? 
 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant’s lofs. 
 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy ftore ! 
 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of drofs ! 
 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more ! 
 
 So fhalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
 And, death once dead, there’s no more dying then. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
i6 
 
 T^rue Gain, 
 
 S OMETIME, O Lord ! at leaf! in fliow, 
 
 A thankful heart we do profefs, 
 
 When Thou such bleffings doft beftow, 
 
 As outward riches, health, or peace ; 
 
 But for that means which may conduce 
 Our souls to their true blifs to raise. 
 
 We make not very frequent use 
 Of thankful words, or hymns of praise. 
 
 O God ! forgive this crying fin. 
 
 More wise, more thankful, let us grow. 
 
 To mend this fault let us begin. 
 
 And grace obtain more grace to fhow: 
 
 For corn, and wine, and oil’s increase, 
 
 A body sound, a witty brain, 
 
 A free eftate, an outward peace. 
 
 Without this blelling were in vain. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
\ . 
 
 ’True Gain. 
 
 17 
 
 TRAVELS AT HOME. 
 
 O FT have I wifhed a traveller to be : 
 
 Mine eyes did even itch the fights to see 
 That I had heard and read of. Oft I have 
 Been greedy of occafion, as the grave, . 
 
 That never says enough ; yet ftill was crolfed 
 When opportunities had promised moft. 
 
 At laft I said, What mean’ll thou, wandering elf 
 To llraggle thus ? go, travel firft thyself. 
 
 Thy little world can Ihew thee wonders great: 
 
 The greater may have more, but not more neat 
 And curious pieces. Search, and thou lhalt find 
 Enough to talk of. If thou wilt, thy mind 
 Europe supplies, and Afia thy will. 
 
 And Afric thine affedlions. And if ftill 
 Thou lift to travel further, put thy senses 
 For both the Indies. Make no more pretences 
 Of new discoveries, whilft yet thine own 
 And neareft little world is ftill unknown. 
 
 Away, then, with thy quadrants, compalfes. 
 
 Globes, tables, cards, and maps, and minute glalfes ! 
 Lay by thy journals and thy diaries ! 
 
 Close up thy annals and thy hiftories ! 
 
 Study thyself, and read what thou haft writ 
 In thine own book, — thy conscience! Is it fit 
 
18 True Gain, 
 
 To labor after other knowledge so. 
 
 And thine own neareft, deareft self not know ? 
 Travels abroad both dear and dangerous are, 
 
 Whilft oft the soul pays for the body’s fare. 
 
 Travels at home are cheap and safe. Salvation 
 Comes mounted on the wings of meditation. 
 
 He that doth live at home, and learns to know 
 God and himself, needeth no further go. 
 
 Chrijiopher Harvey. 
 
 '***•%%%***' 
 
 W HY doth ambition so the mind diftrelTe 
 To make us scorne what we pofleffe, 
 
 And look so farre before us, fince all we 
 Can hope, is varied misery ? 
 
 Goe find some whispering fhade neare Arne or Po, 
 And gently ’mong their violets throw 
 Your weary’d limbs, and see if all those faire 
 Enchantments can charme griefe or care. 
 
 Our sorrowes ftill pursue us; and when you 
 The ruin’d capitol fhall view. 
 
 And ftatues, a disorder’d heape ; you can 
 Not cure yet the disease of man. 
 
 And banilh your owne thoughts. Go travaile where 
 Another Sun and ftarres appeare. 
 
True Gain, 19 
 
 And land not toucht by any covetous fleet, 
 
 And yet even there yourself you’ll meete. 
 
 Stay here then, and while curious exiles find 
 New toyes for a fantaflrique mind. 
 
 Enjoy at home what’s reall: here the Spring 
 By her aeriall quires doth fing 
 As sweetly to you, as if you were laid 
 Vnder the learn’d ThelTalian fhade. 
 
 Diredf. your eyefight inward, and you’ll find 
 A thousand regions in your mind 
 Yet undiscover’d. Travell them, and be 
 Expert in home cosmographie. 
 
 This you may doe safe both from rocice and fhelfe : 
 Man’s a whole world within himselfe. 
 
 Habington, 1605-1654. 
 

 
 20 
 
 True Gain. 
 
 THOUGHT. 
 
 C OMPANION none is like 
 Unto the mind alone, 
 
 For many have been harmed by speech,— 
 Through thinking, few, or none. 
 
 Fear oftentimes reftraineth words. 
 
 But makes not thoughts to cease ; 
 
 And he speaks heft, that hath the fkill 
 When for to hold his peace. 
 
 I 
 
 Our wealth leaves us at death, 
 
 Our kinsmen at the grave. 
 
 But virtues of the mind unto 
 The heavens with us we have ; 
 
 Wherefore, for virtue’s sake, 
 
 I can be well content 
 The sweeteft time of all my life 
 To deem in thinking spent. 
 
 f 
 
 Lord Vciux. Died in 1555 * 
 
True Gain. 21 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 G ive me my scallop-fhell of quiet, 
 
 My ftafF of faith to walk upon ; 
 
 My scrip of joy, immortal diet; 
 
 My bottle of salvation ; 
 
 My gown of glory (hope’s true gage). 
 
 And thus I’ll take my pilgrimage. 
 
 Blood muft be my body’s only balmer 
 Whilft my soul, like a quiet Palmer, 
 Travelleth towards the land of Heaven ; 
 
 No other balm will there be given. 
 
 Sir Walter Raleigh. 1522—1618. 
 
 B ut what, or who are we [alas] 
 
 That we in giving are so free ! 
 
 Thine own before our offering was. 
 
 And all we have we have from thee. 
 
 For we are guefls and Grangers here. 
 
 As were our fathers in thy fight; 
 
 Our days but fhadow-like appear. 
 
 And suddenly they take their flight. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
22 
 
 True Gain, 
 
 
 TRUE RICHES. 
 
 In vain do men 
 
 The heavens of their fortunes’ fault accuse, 
 
 Sith they know heft what is the heft for them; 
 
 For they to each such fortune do diffuse 
 As they do know each can moft aptly use. 
 
 For not that which men covet moft is beft, 
 
 Nor that thing worft which men do moft refuse ; 
 But fitteft is, that all contented reft 
 
 With that they hold ; each hath his fortune in his breaft. 
 
 It is the mind that maketh good or ill. 
 
 That maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor j 
 For some that hath abundance at his will. 
 
 Hath not enough ; but wants in greater ftore ; 
 
 And other, that hath little, afks no more. 
 
 But in that little is both rich and wise ; 
 
 For wisdom is moft riches: fools therefore 
 They are which fortune do by vows devise, 
 
 Sith each unto himself his life may fortunize. 
 
 Spenser, 1553—1599* 
 
True Gain. 
 
 n 
 
 WHEN WE PUT OFF OUR APPAREL. 
 
 A S ere I down am couched there, 
 Where now I hope to reft, 
 
 I firft from what I daily wear. 
 
 Begin to be undreft ; 
 
 So in my grave ere I ftiall be 
 In bleft reposure laid. 
 
 Of many rags yet worn by me 
 I muft be disarray’d. 
 
 My fruitlefs hopes, my foolifti fears. 
 
 My luft, my lofty pride. 
 
 My fleftily joys, my needlefs cares, 
 
 Muft quite be laid afide. 
 
 Yea, that self-love which yet I wear 
 More near me than my fkin, 
 
 Muft off* be pluck’d ere I ftiall dare 
 My laft long fleep begin. 
 
 Of these and all such rags as these. 
 When I am disarray’d. 
 
 My soul and body ftiall have ease. 
 Wherever I am laid : 
 
 Nor fears of death, nor cares of life. 
 Shall then disquiet me ; 
 
24 True Gain. 
 
 Nor dreaming joys, nor waking grief, 
 My fleep’s difturbance be. 
 
 Therefore inftrudt Thou me, O God ! 
 
 And give me grace to heed 
 With what vain things ourselves we load, 
 And what we rather need. 
 
 Oh, help me tear those clouts away. 
 
 And let them so be loathed ; 
 
 That I on my laft rifing day 
 With glory may be clothed. 
 
 And now when I am naked laid. 
 Vouchsafe me so to arm. 
 
 That nothing make my heart afraid. 
 Or do my body harm. 
 
 And guard me so when down I lie. 
 And when I rise again ; 
 
 That fleep or wake, or live or die, 
 
 I ftill may safe remain. 
 
 George Wither. 1588—1667. 
 
Love. 25 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 **»»®©®^** 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 T ill love appear, we live in anxious doubt; 
 
 But smoke will vanifh when that flame breaks out; 
 This is the fire that would consume our drofs, 
 
 Refine and make us richer by the lofs. 
 
 Could we forbear dispute and pra 61 :ise love, 
 
 We ftiould agree as angels do above. 
 
 Where love prefides, not vice alone does find 
 No entrance there, but virtues ftay behind. 
 
 Both Faith and Hope, and all the meaner train 
 Of moral virtues, at the door remain ; 
 
 Love only enters as a native there. 
 
 For, born in heaven, it does but sojourn here. 
 
 Weak though we are, to love is no hard talk. 
 
 And love for love is all that Heaven does afk. 
 
 Love, that would all men juft: and temperate make. 
 
 Kind to themselves and others, for his sake. 
 
 ’T is with our minds as with a fertile ground. 
 
 Wanting this love, they muft: with weeds abound : 
 
 Unruly paflions, whose efFedls are worse 
 
 Than thorns and thiftles springing from the curse. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 1605—1687. 
 
26 
 
 Love, 
 
 LITTLE CHILDREN. 
 
 L ove divine its word hath spoken ; 
 
 Hath its life exprelTed ; — 
 
 To the earneft, seeking spirit, 
 
 It hath given a teft, 
 
 Marking the inheritors 
 Of its heavenly reft. 
 
 Oh, the blefting, the rich blefting ! 
 
 Is it thine and mine ? 
 
 Who are they, the true recipients 
 Of the Love Divine ? 
 
 Little children, little children! 
 
 Not in years alone—^ 
 
 Little children in the spirit. 
 
 These He calls his own. 
 
 Have ye love, like little children ? 
 
 Have ye faith as they ? 
 
 Do your angels, near the Father, 
 
 See his face alway ? 
 
 Then are ye within the kingdom! 
 
 Hold the bleffing up! 
 
 This the “ myftic hydrome ’’ 
 
 In life’s golden cup. 
 
 ’T was o’erturned when Eden’s exiles 
 Closed the garden door, 
 
Love, 
 
 27 
 
 But refilled again, forever 
 Running o’er and o’er, 
 
 With a new, divine elixir, 
 Emanating power. 
 
 Circling life with noble meaning 
 And angelic lore. 
 
 When the Holy Dove descended 
 Upon Jordan’s fhore. 
 
 Little children, young and aged. 
 Bear the blefling up ! 
 
 Pour around the life elixir. 
 
 From your golden cup! 
 
 Love is the divine reftorer 
 Of the souls of men ; 
 
 This the new, perpetual Eden 
 We muft seek again. 
 
 Love is the eternal childhood ; 
 Hither all muft come, 
 
 . Who the kingdom would inherit 
 Of the Heavenly Home. 
 
 \ 
 
28 
 
 Love. 
 
 WHEN KINDRED MEET TOGETHER. 
 
 H OW happy is it and how sweet. 
 When kindred kind appear! 
 
 And when in unity we meet 
 As we obliged are! 
 
 Each bleffing which on one doth fall, 
 Will multiplied be ; 
 
 And prove a bleffing to us all. 
 
 As long as we agree. 
 
 I 
 
 As from high hills a fhower of rain 
 Along the valleys trills. 
 
 And as they vapour up again 
 A moift’ning for those hills : 
 
 So kindred, whether poor or rich. 
 
 If truly kind they prove. 
 
 Each other may advantage much. 
 
 By interchange of love. 
 
 The flendereft threads together wound. 
 Will make the ftrongeft band ; 
 
 And smalleft rods, if closely bound. 
 
 The bender’s force withftand. 
 
Love. 
 
 But if we those asunder take. 
 
 Their ftrength departs away; 
 
 And what a giant could not break, 
 
 A little infant may. 
 
 So if in concord we abide, 
 
 If true in heart we prove, 
 
 We may the more be fortified 
 By interchange of love. 
 
 Let us therefore, who now have met. 
 Observe this lefiTon so. 
 
 That we do not the same forget. 
 When we apart fliall go. 
 
 Let none of us delight to tell. 
 
 Or pleasure take to hear. 
 
 Wherein his kinsman doth not well. 
 Or faulty may appear. 
 
 But let each of us our own crimes. 
 With others’ errors weigh ; 
 
 And seek the fittefl: means and times, 
 To mend them what we may. 
 
 If malice injure any one 
 To whom allied we are. 
 
 Let us repute the wrong as done 
 To every person here. 
 
 Yea, if a grief, a lofs, a fhame. 
 
 To one of us befall; 
 
 Let us be tender of the same. 
 
 As grievous to us all. 
 
30 Love, 
 
 So we that are but linked yet 
 In bands of common kind, 
 
 Shall at the laft be nearer knit 
 By virtues of the mind. 
 
 And when the ties of carnal kin 
 By death fhall be undone j 
 We that have so allied been, 
 
 Shall be forever one. 
 
 George Wither, 
 
 T here is a plant that in its cell 
 All trembling seems to ftand, 
 
 And bends its ftalk, and folds its leaves 
 From each approaching hand : 
 
 And thus there is a conscious nerve 
 Within the human breaft, 
 
 That from the rafh and carelefs hand 
 Sinks and retires diftreft. 
 
 The prelTure rude, the touch severe, 
 Will raise within the mind 
 A namelefs thrill, a secret tear, 
 
 A torture undefined. 
 
 Oh, you who are by nature form’d 
 Each thought refined to know ! 
 
Love. 
 
 Reprefs the word, the glance, that wakes 
 That trembling nerve to woe. 
 
 And be it ftill your joy to raise 
 The trembler from the fhade. 
 
 To bind the broken, and to heal 
 The wound you never made. 
 
 Whene’er you see the feeling mind. 
 
 Oh, let this care begin ; 
 
 And though the cell be ne’er so low. 
 Respect the gueft within. 
 
 Lydia Huntley, 
 
32 
 
 Love. 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 B reathe thoughts of pity o’er a brother’s fall. 
 
 But dwell not with ftern anger on his fault : 
 
 The grace of God alone holds thee, holds all; 
 
 Were that withdrawn, thou too would’ft swerve and halt. 
 
 Send back the wanderer to the Saviour’s fold,— 
 
 That were an adtion worthy of a saint; 
 
 But not in malice let the crime be told. 
 
 Nor publifh to the world the evil taint. 
 
 The Saviour suffers when his children Aide ; 
 
 Then is his holy name by men blasphemed ! 
 
 And he afrefh is mocked and crucified. 
 
 Even by those his bitter death redeemed. 
 
 Rebuke the fin, and yet in love rebuke ; 
 
 Feel as one member in another’s pain ; 
 
 Win back the soul that his fair path forsook, 
 
 And mighty and eternal is thy gain. 
 
 Edmefton. 
 
Love. 
 
 33 
 
 ANGELIC MINISTRY. 
 
 A nd is there care in Heaven ? And is there love 
 In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, 
 
 That may compaffion of their evils move ? 
 
 There is, — else much more wretched were the case 
 Of men than beafts : but O ! the exceeding grace 
 Of higheft God, that loves His creatures so. 
 
 And all His works with mercy doth embrace. 
 
 That blelTed angels He sends to and fro. 
 
 To serve to wicked man, to serve His wicked foe ! 
 
 How oft do they their filver bowers leave. 
 
 To come to succor us that succor want! 
 
 How oft do they with golden pinions cleave 
 The flitting fkies, like flying pursuivant, 
 
 Againft: foul fiends to aid us militant! 
 
 They for us fight, they watch and duly ward. 
 
 And their bright squadrons round about us plant; 
 
 And all for love and nothing for reward j 
 
 Oh, why ftiould heavenly God to men have such regard 
 
 Edmund Spenser. 
 
 3 
 
34 Love. 
 
 I.AKVJE. 
 
 M y little maiden of four years old 
 
 (No myth, but a genuine child is fhe, 
 
 With her bronze-brown eyes, and her curls of gold) 
 Came, quite in disguft, one day, to me. 
 
 Rubbing her fhoulder with rosy palm,— 
 
 As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her. 
 
 She cried, — “Oh, mother, I found on my arm 
 A horrible, crawling caterpillar ! ’’ 
 
 And with mischievous smile ftie could scarcely smother, 
 Yet a glance, in its daring, half-awed and fhy. 
 
 She added, — “While they were about it, mother, 
 
 I wifh they’d juft finiflied the butterfly ! ” 
 
 They were words to the thought of the soul that turns 
 From the coarser form of a partial growth. 
 Reproaching the Infinite Patience that yearns 
 With an unknown glory to crown them both. 
 
 Ah, look thou largely, with lenient eyes. 
 
 On whatso befide thee may creep and cling, 
 
 For the poflible beauty that underlies 
 
 The pafling phase of the meaneft thing ! 
 
Love. 
 
 What if God’s great angels, whose waiting love 
 Beholdeth our pitiful life below, 
 
 From the holy height of their heaven above. 
 
 Couldn’t bear with the worm till the wings fhould grow ? 
 
 Atlantic Monthly. 
 
 — , 
 
 THE GATE OF HEAVEN. 
 
 S HE flood outfide the gate of heaven, and saw them 
 entering in, 
 
 A world-long train of fhining ones, all wafhed in blood 
 from fin. 
 
 The hero-martyr in that blaze uplifted his flrong eye. 
 
 And trod firm the reconquered soil of his nativity ! 
 
 And he who had despised his life, and laid it down in 
 pain. 
 
 Now triumphed in its worthinefs, and took it up again. 
 
 The holy one, who had met God in desert cave alone. 
 Feared not to fland with brethren around the Father’s 
 throne. 
 
 They who had done, in darkefl night, the deeds of 
 ^ light and flame. 
 
 Circled with them about as with a glowing halo came. 
 
Love. 
 
 And humble souls, who held themselves too dear for 
 earth to buy, 
 
 Now pafled through the golden gate, to live eternally. 
 
 And when into the glory the laft of all did go, 
 
 “ Thank God ! there is a heaven,’’ fhe cried, ‘‘ though 
 mine is endlefs woe.” 
 
 The angel of the golden gate said : ‘‘ Where, then, 
 
 doft thou dwell ? 
 
 And who art thou that entered: not ? ” — “A soul es¬ 
 caped from hell.” 
 
 ‘‘ Who knows to blefs with prayer like thine, in hell 
 can never be; 
 
 God’s angel could not, if he would, bar up this door 
 from thee.” 
 
 She left her fin outfide the gate, fhe meekly entered 
 there. 
 
 Breathed free the blefTed air of heaven, and knew her 
 native air. 
 
 Disciple*s Hymn Book, 
 
Love, 
 
 37 
 
 GOD KNOWN BY LOVING HIM. 
 
 b 
 
 T IS not the fkill of human art 
 
 Which gives me power my God to know. 
 The sacred leflbns of the heart 
 Come not from inftruments below. 
 
 Love is my teacher. He can tell 
 The wonders that he learnt above ; 
 
 No other mafter knows so well; — 
 
 ’T is Love alone can tell of Love. 
 
 O, then of God if thou wouldft learn, 
 
 His wisdom, goodnefs, glory, see ; 
 
 All human arts and knowledge spurn, 
 
 Let love alone thy teacher be. 
 
 Love is my mafter. When it breaks, 
 
 The morning light, with rifing ray. 
 
 To thee, O God ! my spirit wakes. 
 
 And love inftrudfs it all the day. 
 
 And when the gleams of day retire, 
 
 And midnight spreads its dark control, 
 
 Love’s secret whispers ftill inspire 
 Their holy leflbns in the soul. 
 
 Madame Guy on. 
 
Love, 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 N O outward mark we have to know 
 Who thine, O Chrift, may be, 
 Until a Chriftian love doth fhow 
 Who appertains to thee: 
 
 For knowledge may be reach’d unto, 
 And formal juftice gain’d. 
 
 But till each other love we do. 
 
 Both faith and works are feign’d. 
 
 Love is the sum of those commands. 
 
 Which Thou with thine doft leave j 
 And for a mark on them it ftands. 
 
 Which never can deceive: 
 
 For when our knowledge folly turns. 
 
 When fhows no fhew retain. 
 
 And zeal itself to nothing burns. 
 
 Then love fhall ftill remain. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
Love, 
 
 39 
 
 THE SPILT PEARLS. 
 
 H IS courtiers of the Caliph crave — 
 “ Oh, say how this may be, 
 
 That of thy Haves, this Ethiop Have 
 Is heft beloved by thee ? 
 
 t 
 
 “ For he is hideous as the night: 
 
 Yet when has ever chose 
 A nightingale for its delight 
 A huelefs, scentlefs rose ? ’’ 
 
 The Caliph then—“No features fair 
 No comely mien are his : 
 
 Love is the beauty he doth wear. 
 
 And love his glory is. 
 
 “ Once when a camel of my train 
 There fell in narrow ftreet. 
 
 From broken cafket rolled amain 
 Rich pearls before my feet. 
 
 “ I nodding to my Haves, that I 
 Would freely give them these. 
 
 At once upon the spoil they fly, 
 
 . The coftly boon to seize. 
 
I 
 
 40 Love. 
 
 “ One only at my fide remained — 
 
 Befide this Ethiop, none : 
 
 He, movelefs as the fteed he reined, 
 
 Behind me fat alone. 
 
 “ ‘ What will thy gain, good fellow, be. 
 
 Thus lingering at my fide ? ’ — 
 
 ‘ My king, that I fhall faithfully 
 Have guarded thee,’ he cried. 
 
 “ ‘ True servant’s title he may wear. 
 
 He only, who has not. 
 
 For his lord’s gifts, how rich soe’er. 
 
 His lord himself forgot ! ’ ” 
 
 So thou alone doft walk before 
 Thy God with perfedf aim, 
 
 From Him defirino- nothing more 
 Befide himself to claim. 
 
 For if thou not to Him aspire. 
 
 But to his gifts alone. 
 
 Not love, but covetous defire. 
 
 Has brought thee to his throne. 
 
 While such thy prayer, it climbs above 
 In vain — the golden key 
 Of God’s rich treasure-house of love. 
 
 Thine own will never be. 
 
 Trench. 
 
 Tranjlated from Saadi. 
 
Love. 
 
 4^ 
 
 FAITH THAT WORKETH BY LOVE. 
 
 W HO keepeth not God’s word, yet saith, 
 
 I know the Lord, is wrong; 
 
 In him is not that blefled faith 
 
 Through which the truth is ftrong; 
 
 But he who hears and keeps the word. 
 
 Is not of this world, but of God. 
 
 The faith His word hath caused to fliine 
 Will kindle love in thee; 
 
 More wouldft thou know of things divine. 
 Deeper thy love muft be ; 
 
 True faith not only gives thee light. 
 
 But ftrength to love and do the right. 
 
 He is in God, and God in him. 
 
 Who {fill abides in love ; 
 
 ’T is love that makes the Cherubim 
 Obey and praise above ; 
 
 For God is love, the lovelefs heart 
 Hath in His life and joy no part. 
 
 C. F. Gellert. 1757. 
 
42 
 
 A^ive Duty, 
 
 ACTIVE DUTY. 
 
 ARISE! 
 
 A rise ! ye lingering saints, arise ! 
 
 Remember that the might of grace, 
 When guilty ilumbers sealed your eyes. 
 Awakened you to run the race ; 
 
 And let not darknefs round vou fall. 
 
 But hearken to the Saviour’s call. 
 
 Arise ! 
 
 Arise ! because the night of fin 
 Muft flee before the light of day ; 
 God’s glorious Gospel, fhining in, 
 
 Mufl: chase the midnight gloom away : 
 You cannot true disciples be 
 If you ftill walk in vanity. 
 
 Arise! 
 
 Arise ! although the flefh be weak. 
 The spirit willing is and true. 
 And servants of the Mafter seek 
 To follow where it guided to. 
 Beloved ! oh, be wise indeed. 
 
 And let the spirit ever lead. 
 
 Arise ! 
 
A^ive Duty, 
 
 43 
 
 Arise ! because our Serpent-foe, 
 
 Unwearied, ftrives by day and night ; 
 Remember, time is fhort below. 
 
 And wreftles on with hellifli might. 
 
 Then boldly grasp both sword and fhield — 
 Who numbers on the battle-field ? 
 
 . Arise ! 
 
 / 
 
 Arise ! before that hour unknown — 
 
 The hour of death that comes ere long. 
 
 And comes not to the weak alone. 
 
 But to the mighty and tlie ftrong. 
 
 Beloved oft in spirit dwell 
 Upon the hour that none can tell. 
 
 Arise ! 
 
 Arise ! it is the Mailer’s will: 
 
 No more His heavenly voice despise. 
 
 Why linger with the dying Hill ? 
 
 He calls — Arouse you, and arise ! 
 
 No longer flight the Saviour’s call. 
 
 It sounds to you, to me, to all. 
 
 Arise ! 
 
 Ludwig Goiter. 
 
44 Active Duty, 
 
 WORK WHILE IT IS DAY. 
 
 U P, Chriftian, up ! — and fleep’ft thou ftill ? 
 
 Daylight is glorious on the hill! 
 
 And far advanced, the sunny glow 
 Laughs in the sunny vale below : 
 
 The morning’s fhadow, long and late. 
 
 Is ftretching o’er the dial’s plate. 
 
 And are thine eyes, sad walcer, say. 
 
 Filled with the tears of yefterday ? 
 
 Or lowers thy dark and anxious brow 
 Beneath to-morrow’s burthen now ? 
 
 New ftrength for every hour is given — 
 
 Daily the manna fell from heaven ! 
 
 See, link by link, the chain is made. 
 
 And pearl by pearl the coftly braid ; 
 
 The daily thread of hopes and fears 
 Weaves up the woof of many years! 
 
 And well thy labour fhall have sped 
 If well thou weav’d; the daily thread. 
 
 Up, Chriftian, up, thy cares refign ! 
 
 The paft:, the future, are not thine ! 
 
A^live Duty, 45 
 
 Show forth to-day the Saviour’s praise; 
 
 Redeem the course of evil days; 
 
 Life’s fliadow, in its lengthening gloom. 
 
 Falls daily nearer to the tomb ! 
 
 Private Hours. 
 
 —“ 
 
 SERVING GOD. 
 
 O NOT to fill the mouth of fame 
 My longing soul is ftirred ; 
 
 O, give me a diviner name! 
 
 Call me thy servant, Lord ! 
 
 Sweet title that delighteth me — 
 
 Rank earneftly implored ; 
 
 O, what can reach my dignity ? 
 
 I am thy servant. Lord ! 
 
 No longer would my soul be known 
 As self-suftained and free; 
 
 O, not mine own I O, not mine own ! 
 
 Lord, I belong to thee ! 
 
 In each aspiring burfl: of praver, 
 
 Sweet leave my soul would afk 
 Thine every burden, Lord, to bear, 
 
 To do thine every talk. 
 
46 
 
 Active Duty. 
 
 Forever, Lord, thy servant choose,— 
 
 Nought of thy claim abate! 
 
 The glorious name I would not lose, 
 
 Nor change the sweet eftate, 
 
 In life, in death, on earth, in heaven, 
 
 No other name for me! 
 
 The same sweet ftyle and title given 
 Through all eternity. 
 
 r. H. Gill. 
 
 ACTION. 
 
 I T is not they who idly dwell 
 In clolfter gray, or hermit cell. 
 
 In prayer and vigil, night and day, 
 Wearing all their prime away. 
 
 Lord of Heaven ! that serve thee well. 
 
 A61:ion ftill muft wait on thought; 
 
 Life’s a voyage rough though fliort; 
 We muft dare the sorrow-wave. 
 Many a fm-ftorm we muft brave, 
 Ere we reach our deftined port. 
 
 Sitting liftening on the ftiore 
 To the ocean’s reftlefs roar. 
 
A^ive Duty 
 
 47 
 
 Never launching on the main. 
 
 Can the merchant hope to gain 
 Wealth to swell his treasure-ftore ? 
 
 Vain it were to watch befide 
 The pits where we our talents hide; 
 We muft face the noise and ftrife 
 Of the market-place of life. 
 
 That our truftinefs be tried. 
 
 Where our Captain bids us go, 
 
 ’T is not ours to murmur, “No.’’ 
 
 He that gives the sword and fhield. 
 Chooses too the battle-field 
 On which we are to fight the foe. 
 
 Though, where’er we look around. 
 
 All we see is hoftile ground. 
 
 Where our upturn’d eyes above 
 Recognize His banner. Love, 
 
 There it is we fhould be found. 
 
48 
 
 ASfive Duty, 
 
 REPENTANCE. 
 
 L ord, I have lain 
 
 Barren Too long, and fain 
 I would redeem the time, that I may be 
 Fruitful to th ee ; 
 
 Fruitful in knowledge, faith, obedience. 
 
 Ere I go hence : 
 
 That when I come 
 
 At harveft to be reaped, and brought home. 
 Thine angels may 
 My soul in thy celeftial garner lay. 
 
 Where perfedt iov and blifs 
 Eternal is. 
 
 If to entreat 
 A crop of pureft wheat, 
 
 A blelling too transcendent fhould appear 
 For me to hear. 
 
 Lord, make me what thou wilt, so thou wilt take 
 What thou doft make. 
 
 And not disdain 
 
 To house me, though among thy coarseft grain j 
 So I may be 
 
 Laid with the gleanings gathered by thee. 
 
 When the full fheaves are spent, 
 
 I am content. 
 
 Francis Quarles, 1592—1644. 
 
A^ive Duty. 
 
 49 
 
 NOTHING BUT LEAVES. 
 
 N othing but leaves ; the spirit grieves 
 Over a wafted life ; 
 
 Sin committed while conscience flept. 
 Promises made but never kept, 
 
 Hatred, battle, and ftrife ; 
 
 Nothing but leaves ! 
 
 Nothing but leaves ; no garnered ftieaves 
 Of life’s fair, ripened grain; 
 
 Words, idle words, for earned: deeds; 
 
 We sow our seeds — lo ! tares and weeds; 
 We reap with toil and pain 
 Nothing but leaves ! 
 
 Nothing but leaves ; memory weaves 
 No veil to screen the paft: 
 
 As we retrace our weary way. 
 
 Counting each loft and miftpent day — 
 
 We find, sadly, at laft. 
 
 Nothing but leaves ! 
 
 And ftiall we meet the Mafter so. 
 
 Bearing our withered leaves ? 
 
 4 
 
50 ASitve Duty. 
 
 The Saviour looks for perfe 61 : fruit,— 
 
 We ftand before him, humbled, mute ; 
 
 Waiting the words he breathes,— 
 “ Nothing but leaves ? 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 W HY doft thou talk of death, laddie ? 
 
 Why doft thou long to go ? 
 
 The Mafter that hath placed thee here 
 Hath work for thee to do. 
 
 Why doft thou talk of heaven, laddie ? 
 
 What would’ft thou say in heaven. 
 
 When the Mafter afks, “What haft thou done 
 With the talents I have given ? 
 
 “ I gave thee wealth and power. 
 
 And the poor around thee spread : 
 Where are the ftieep and lambs of mine 
 That thou haft reared and fed ? 
 
 “ I gave thee wit and eloquence 
 Thy brethren to persuade : 
 
Active Duty, 51 
 
 Where are the thousands by thy word 
 More wise and holy made ? 
 
 “ I placed thee in a land of light 
 
 Where the Gospel round thee fhone: 
 
 Where is the heavenly-mindednefs 
 I find in all mine own ? 
 
 “ And lafi: I sent thee chaftisement, 
 
 That thou might’ft be my son : 
 
 Where is the trufting faith which says, 
 
 ‘Father! Thy will be done’?” 
 
 —©QfO— 
 
 NO HEART ALONE. 
 
 “ I have learned,” says the melancholy Peftalozzi, “ that in this wide world 
 no one heart is able or willing to help another.” 
 
 O SAY not we through life muft ftruggle, 
 
 Muft toil and mourn alone j 
 That no one human heart can answer 
 The beatings of our own. 
 
 The ftars look down from the filent heaven 
 Into the quiet ftream, 
 
52 A^iive Duty. 
 
 And see themselves from its dewy depths 
 In freflier beauty gleam. 
 
 The fky with its pale or glowing hues, 
 
 Ever painteth the wave below 5 
 
 And the sea sends up its mift to form 
 Bright clouds and the heavenly bow. 
 
 Thus each does of the other borrow 
 A beauty not its own ; 
 
 And tells us that no thing in Nature 
 Is for itself alone. 
 
 Alone, amid life’s griefs and perils. 
 
 The ftouteft soul may quail: 
 
 Left to its own unaided efforts. 
 
 The ftrongeft arm may fail; 
 
 And though all flrength ftill comes from Heaven, 
 All light from God above. 
 
 Yet we may sometimes be his angels. 
 
 The Apoftles of his love. 
 
 Then let us learn to help each other. 
 
 Hoping unto the end : 
 
 Who sees in every man a brother. 
 
 Shall find in each a friend. 
 
Adive Duty, 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 T he pilgrim and ftranger, who, through the day, 
 Holds over the desert his tracklefs way. 
 
 Where the terrible sands no fhade have known. 
 
 No sound of life save his camel’s moan. 
 
 Hears, at laft, through the mercy of Allah to all. 
 From his tent-door, at evening, the Bedouin’s call: 
 
 “ Whoever thou art, whose need is great. 
 
 In the name of God, the Compaflionate 
 And Merciful One, for thee I wait! ” 
 
 For gifts, in His name, of food and reft. 
 
 The tents of Illam of God are bleft. 
 
 Thou, who haft faith in the Chrift above. 
 
 Shall the Koran teach thee the Law of Love ? 
 
 O Chriftian! — open thy heart and door, — 
 
 Cry, eaft and weft, to the wandering poor, — 
 
 ‘‘ Whoever thou art, whose need is great. 
 
 In the name of Chrift, the Compaflionate 
 And Merciful One, for thee I wait! ” 
 
 Mifs E, J, Whittier. 
 
54 
 
 Active Duty, 
 
 MATTHEW 30: 34. 
 
 C OME, blefled of my heavenly Father, come ! 
 
 In the high heavens your kingdom is prepared ; 
 Yours is the sceptre and the rich reward ; 
 
 Hafte, for your Saviour calls you to your home ; 
 
 For I was hungry, and ye brought me bread ; 
 
 I thirfted, and your cooling draughts were mine j 
 O’er my cold limbs the needed veil ye spread ; 
 
 A ftranger was I, and ye took me in ; 
 
 I pined in ficknefs, and ye brought relief j 
 In the deep dungeon, and ye soothed my grief : 
 
 For these, my brethren, these, the lowly poor, 
 
 Ye sent not cold and empty from your door ; 
 
 But ye relieved their wants, and heard their plea ; 
 
 ’T was done for my sake, and ’t was done to me ! 
 
 
 LENT. 
 
 I 
 
 S this a Fall, to keep 
 The larder lean 
 And clean 
 
ASfive Duty. 
 
 55 
 
 From fat of neats and fheep ? 
 
 Is it to quit the difti 
 Of flefh, y^t ftill 
 To fill 
 
 The platter high with fifh ? 
 
 Is it to faft an hour, 
 
 Or ragg’d to go, 
 
 Or fhow 
 
 A downcaft look and sour ? 
 
 No: ’T is a faft, to dole 
 Thy fheaf of wheat 
 And meat 
 
 Unto the hungry soul. 
 
 It is to faft from ftrife. 
 
 From old debate 
 And hate; 
 
 To circumcise thy life; 
 
 To ftarve thy fin. 
 
 Not bin : 
 
 And that’s to keep thy Lent! 
 
 Robert Herrick. 1648. 
 
 
56 ASfive Duty, 
 
 THE TWINS 
 
 Give ” and “ It-fhall-be-given-unto-you.” 
 
 G rand rough old Martin Luther 
 
 Bloomed fables — flowers on furze, 
 The better the uncouther: 
 
 Do roses flick like burrs ? 
 
 “ A beggar afked an alms 
 
 One day at an abbey-door,” 
 
 Said Luther ; “ but, seized with qualms. 
 The Abbot replied, ‘We’re poor!* 
 
 “ ‘ Poor, who had plenty once, 
 
 ‘ When gifts fell thick as rain : 
 
 ‘ But they give us nought, for the nonce, 
 ‘ And how fhould we give again ? ’ 
 
 “ Then the beggar, ‘ See your fins ! 
 
 ‘ Of old, unlefs I err, 
 
 ‘Ye had brothers for inmates, twins, 
 
 ‘ Date and Dabitur. 
 
 “ ‘ While Date was in good case 
 ‘ Dabitur flourifhed too : 
 
A^ive Duty. 
 
 57 
 
 ‘ For Dabitur’s lenten face, 
 
 ‘ No wonder if Date rue. 
 
 ‘‘ ‘ Would ye retrieve the one ? 
 
 ‘Try and make plump the other! 
 ‘ When Date’s penance is done, 
 
 ‘ Dabitur helps his brother. 
 
 “ ‘ Only, beware relapse ! ’ 
 
 The Abbot hung his head. 
 
 This beggar might be, perhaps. 
 
 An angel,” Luther said. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 EPIPHANY. 
 
 HAT so thy blefled birth, O Chrift, 
 
 I Might through the world be spread about. 
 Thy ftar appeared in the Eaft, 
 
 Whereby the Gentiles found thee out; 
 
 And offering thee myrrh, incense, gold. 
 
 Thy three-fold office did unfold. 
 
 Sweet Jesus, let that flar of thine. 
 
 Thy grace, which guides to find out thee. 
 Within our hearts forever fliine. 
 
 That thou of us found out may’ft be ; 
 
 And thou fhalt be our King, therefore. 
 
 Our Prieft and Prophet evermore. 
 
r 
 
 58 
 
 ASiive Duty, 
 
 Tears, that from true repentance drop, 
 
 Inftead of myrrh, present will we : 
 
 For incense we will offer up 
 Our prayers and praises unto thee; 
 
 And bring for gold each pious deed. 
 
 Which doth from saving grace proceed. 
 
 And as those wise men never went 
 To visit Herod any more ; 
 
 So, finding thee, we will repent 
 Our courses follow’d heretofore: 
 
 And that we homeward may retire. 
 
 The way by thee we will inquire. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. 
 
 T his is the fhip of pearl, which, poets feign. 
 Sails the unfhadowed main — 
 
 The venturous barque that flings 
 On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings 
 In gulfs enchanted, where the syren fings. 
 
 And coral reefs lie bare. 
 
 Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their ftream- 
 ing hair. 
 
 Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; 
 
 Wrecked is the fhip of pearl! 
 
 And every chambered cell. 
 
ASltve Duty, 
 
 59 
 
 
 Where its dim-dreaming life was wont to dwell, 
 
 As the frail tenant fhaped his growing fhell, 
 
 Before thee lies revealed — 
 
 Its irised ceiling rent, its sunlefs crypt unsealed. 
 
 Year after year beheld the filent toil 
 That spread his luftrous coil; 
 
 Still, as the spiral grew. 
 
 He left the paft yearns dwelling for the new. 
 
 Stole with soft ftep its fhining archway through. 
 Built up its idle door. 
 
 Stretched in his laft-found home, and knew the old 
 no more. 
 
 Thanks for the heavenly mefTage brought by thee. 
 Child of the wandering sea, 
 
 Caft from her lap, forlorn! 
 
 From thy dead lips a clearer note is born 
 Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! 
 
 While on mine ear it rings. 
 
 Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice 
 that fings: 
 
 Build thee more ftately manfions, O my soul. 
 
 As the swift seasons roll! 
 
 Leave thy low-vaulted paft I 
 Let each new temple, nobler than the laft. 
 
 Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vaft. 
 
 Till thou at length art free. 
 
 Leaving thine out-grown fhell by life’s unrefting sea! 
 
 Dr. O. JV, Holmes. 
 
6 o A^iive Duty. 
 
 FROM “THE SEXTON’S DAUGHTER.” 
 
 S TILL hope ! ftill a6I ! Be sure that life, 
 The source and ftrength of every good, 
 Waftes down in feeling’s empty ftrife. 
 
 And dies in dreaming’s fickly mood. 
 
 To toil, in talks however mean. 
 
 For all we know of right and true,— 
 
 In this alone our worth is seen ; 
 
 ’T is this we were ordained to do. 
 
 So fhalt thou find in work and thought 
 The peace that sorrow cannot give ; 
 Though griefs word: pangs to thee be taught. 
 By thee let others noblier live. 
 
 Oh wail not in the darksome foreft. 
 
 Where thou muft needs be left alone ! 
 
 But, e’en when memory is soreft. 
 
 Seek out a path, and journey on. 
 
 Thou wilt have angels near above. 
 
 By whom invifible aid is given ; 
 
 They journey ftill on talks of love. 
 
 And never reft, except in heaven. 
 
 Sterling. 
 
A£ltve Duty, 6i 
 
 THE CLOUD VOICE. 
 
 M ORTAL! on our azure pathway 
 Speed we where our errand lies ; 
 Each our urn of treasures bearing, 
 Freftiening earth with glad supplies. 
 
 By no will of ours we rose here, 
 
 By no choice of ours we live ; 
 
 Powers, far, far above our scanning. 
 
 Laws inevitable give. 
 
 Our snowy forms, in mid-day air. 
 
 Our sunset tints of fire. 
 
 Our lightning-flafh, our thunder-roar. 
 
 Obey a mandate higher. ^ 
 
 Our fky-course run, our million wrought, 
 Wafted forms we fink to earth. 
 
 Till that same Great Power recall us 
 To another new air-birth. 
 
 Thus far onward we together; — 
 
 For the forms of good and ill. 
 
62 
 
 Active Duty, 
 
 The events which clufter round thee, 
 These exift not through thy will. 
 
 Yet within thy human bosom 
 Dwells a force creative too j 
 
 Outward circumftance it fafliions, 
 
 All invefts with its life-hue. 
 
 And thy glory lies in ufing, 
 
 Right and true, this wondrous ftrength ; 
 
 Soaring where thy chains permit thee. 
 
 Not murmuring for more length. 
 
 In the pride of human reason 
 
 Thou haft spurned a finite power. 
 
 And sought the Eternal Cause of all 
 To grasp in life’s ftiort hour. 
 
 Not to scan thy Father’s counsels. 
 
 But perform them, is thy talk ; 
 
 Duty finiftied — then the why 
 Of thy being thou ’It not alk. 
 
 Puzzle thee the paths of duty. 
 
 As their varied course they run ? 
 
 Oh linger not in wilds of doubt ! 
 
 Strike unto the neareft one. 
 
 ’T will lead thee to some fairer height. 
 Radiant with celeftial glow. 
 
ASlive Duty. 
 
 ^3 
 
 Where the prospe6l all before thee 
 Brighter, clearer, ftill fhall grow. 
 
 Then whilft thou art upward haftening, 
 New vifions from new heights to gain. 
 No more fhall how onward vex thee ; — 
 Duty done, life’s path is plain. 
 
 Perennial Flowers. 
 

 
 64 Saints. 
 
 SAINTS. 
 
 — 
 
 INFLUENCE. 
 
 J OY of my life, while left me here ! 
 
 And ftill my love ! 
 
 How in thy absence thou doft fteere 
 Me from above ! 
 
 A life well lead 
 This truth commends, 
 
 With quick or dead 
 It never ends. 
 
 Stars are of mighty use ; the night 
 Is dark and long; 
 
 The rode foul; and where one goes right. 
 Six may go wrong. 
 
 One twinkling ray. 
 
 Shot o’re some cloud. 
 
 May clear much way. 
 
 And guide a crowd. 
 
 God’s saints are fliining lights : who ftays 
 Here long, muft pafle 
 
Saints. 
 
 O’re dark hills, swift ftreams, and fteep ways 
 As smooth as glafle ; 
 
 But these all night, 
 
 Like candles, fhed 
 Their beams, and light 
 Us into bed. 
 
 They are indeed our pillar-fires. 
 
 Seen as we go ; 
 
 They are that citie’s fhining spires 
 We travell to. 
 
 A sword-like gleame 
 Kept man from fin 
 Firfl: out; this beame 
 Will guide him in. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 1621--1695. 
 
 MY LOVE. 
 
 N ot as all other women are 
 
 Is fhe that to my soul is dear; 
 
 Her glorious fancies come from far, 
 
 Beneath the filver evening ftar. 
 
 And yet her heart is ever near. 
 
 Great feelings hath fhe of her own. 
 
 Which lefTer souls may never know; 
 
 5 
 
66 Saints. 
 
 God giveth them to her alone, 
 
 And sweet they are as any tone 
 Wherewith the wind may choose to blow. 
 
 Yet in herself fhe dwelleth not, 
 
 Although no home were half so fair; 
 
 No fimpleft duty is forgot. 
 
 Life hath no dim and lowly spot 
 That doth not in her sunfhine fhare. 
 
 She doeth little kindnelTes 
 
 Which moft leave undone or despise; 
 
 For naught that sets one heart at ease. 
 And giveth happiness or peace. 
 
 Is low-efteem^d in her eyes. 
 
 She hath no scorn of common things. 
 And, though fhe seem of other birth. 
 Round us her heart entwines and clings. 
 And patiently fhe folds her wings 
 To tread the humble paths of earth. 
 
 Bleffing fhe is : God made her so. 
 
 And deeds of week-day holinefs 
 Fall from her noiselefs as the snow, 
 
 Nor hath fhe ever chanced to know 
 That aught were eafier than to blefs. 
 
 She is moft fair, and thereunto 
 Her life doth rightly harmonize ; 
 
Saints. 
 
 67 
 
 Feeling or thought that was not true 
 Ne’er made lefs beautiful the blue 
 Unclouded heaven of her eyes. 
 
 She is a woman : one in whom 
 The spring-time of her childifh years 
 Hath never loft its frefli perfume, 
 
 Though knowing well that life hath room 
 For many blights and many tears. 
 
 I love her with a love as ftill 
 As a broad river’s peaceful might, 
 
 Which, by high tower and lowly mill. 
 
 Goes wandering at its own will. 
 
 And yet doth ever flow aright. 
 
 And, on its full, deep breaft serene. 
 
 Like quiet ifles my duties lie ; 
 
 It flows around them and between. 
 
 And makes them frefh, and fair, and green, 
 Sweet homes wherein to live and die. 
 
 y. R. Lowell. 
 
68 Saints. 
 
 THE UPRIGHT SOUL. 
 
 L ate to our town there came a maid, 
 A noble woman, true and pure. 
 
 Who in the little while fhe ftayed. 
 Wrought works that fhall endure. 
 
 It was not anything ftie said — 
 
 It was not anything flie did : 
 
 It was the movement of her head — 
 
 The lifting of her lid. 
 
 Her little motions when fhe spoke, 
 
 The presence of an upright soul. 
 
 The living light that from her broke. 
 
 It was the perfeil whole : 
 
 We saw it in her floating hair. 
 
 We saw it in her laughing eye; 
 
 For every look and feature there. 
 
 Wrought works that cannot die. 
 
 For fhe to many spirits gave 
 
 A reverence for the true, the pure. 
 
 The perfedf, —‘ that has power to save. 
 And make the doubting sure. 
 
Saints. 
 
 She paffed — fhe went to other lands, 
 
 She knew not of the work fhe did; 
 
 The wondrous produdt of her hands, 
 
 From her is ever hid. 
 
 Forever, did I say ? O, no ! 
 
 The time mult come when fhe will look 
 
 Upon her pilgrimage below. 
 
 And find it in God’s book. 
 
 That, as fhe trod her path aright. 
 
 Power from her very garments flole ; 
 
 For such is the myfterious might 
 God grants the upright soul, 
 
 A deed, a word, our carelefs reft, 
 
 A fimple thought, a common feeling. 
 
 If He be present in the breaft. 
 
 Has from Him powers of healing. 
 
 Go, maiden, with thy golden trefTes, 
 
 Thine azure eye and changing cheek. 
 
 Go, and forget the one who blefles 
 Thy presence through the week. 
 
 Forget him: he will not forget. 
 
 But ftrive to live and teftify 
 
 Thy goodnefs, when Earth’s sun has set. 
 
 And Time itself rolled by. 
 
 ' y. H. Perkins. 
 
70 
 
 Saints. 
 
 THE AGED PATRIARCH. 
 
 O F life’s paft woes the fading trace. 
 
 Hath given that aged patriarch’s face 
 Expreffion holy, deep, refigned — 
 
 The calm sublimity of mind. 
 
 Years o’er his snowy head have paft. 
 
 And left him of his race the laft. 
 
 Alone on earth, but yet his mien 
 Is bright with majefty serene ; 
 
 And those high hopes, whose guiding ftar 
 Shines from eternal worlds afar, 
 
 Have with that light illumined his eye 
 Whose fount is immortality; 
 
 And o’er his features poured a ray 
 Of glory, not to pafs away. 
 
 He seems a being who hath known 
 Communion with his God alone ; 
 
 On earth by nought but pity’s tie. 
 
 Detained a moment from on high. 
 
 One to sublimer worlds allied, 
 
 One from all paffions purified. 
 
 Even now half mingled with the fky. 
 
 And all prepared, oh, not to die. 
 
 But, like the prophet, to aspire 
 To heaven’s triumphal car of fire! 
 
 Airs, Hemans. 
 
Saints. 
 
 
 7 » 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 
 T he modeft front of this small floor 
 Believe me, reader, can say more 
 Than many a braver marble can,— 
 
 “ Here lies a truly honefl: man ! ” 
 
 One whose conscience was a thing 
 That troubled neither church nor king ; 
 One of those few that in this town 
 Honour all preachers, hear their own. 
 Sermons he heard, yet not so many 
 As left no time to pradfice any ; 
 
 He heard them reverently, and then 
 His pradfice preach’d them o’er again ; 
 His parlour-sermons rather were 
 Those to the eye, than to the ear ; 
 
 His prayers took their price and flrength 
 Not from the loudnefs nor the length ; 
 He was a proteftant at home, 
 
 Not only in despite of Rome ; 
 
 He loved his father, yet his zeal 
 Tore not off his mother’s veil ; 
 
 To th’ church he did allow her drefs. 
 True beauty to true holinefs ; 
 
 Peace, which he loved in life, did lend 
 Her hand to bring him to his end ; 
 
72 Saints. 
 
 When age and death call’d for the score, 
 
 No surfeits were to reckon for ; 
 
 Death tore not, therefore, but, sans ftrife. 
 Gently untwined his thread of life. 
 
 What remains, then, but that thou 
 Write these lines, reader, on thy brow. 
 
 And, by his fair example’s light. 
 
 Burn in thy imitation bright ? 
 
 So, while these lines can but bequeath 
 A life, perhaps, unto his death. 
 
 His better epitaph fhall be — 
 
 His life ftill kept alive in thee. 
 
 Richard Crajhaw. 1637—1650. 
 
 THE TOUCHSTONE. 
 
 A MAN there came, whence none could tell. 
 Bearing a touchftone in his hand ; 
 
 And tefted all things in the land 
 By its unerring spell. 
 
 Quick birth of transmutation smote 
 
 The fair to foul, the foul to fair ; 
 
 Purple nor ermine did he spare. 
 
 Nor scorn the dufty coat. 
 
Saints, 
 
 73 
 
 Of heirloom jewels, prized so much, 
 
 Were many changed to chips and clods. 
 And even ftatues of the gods 
 Crumbled beneath its touch. 
 
 Then angrily the people cried,— 
 
 “The lofs outweighs the profit far; 
 
 Our goods suffice us as they are ; 
 
 We will not have them tried.” 
 
 And fince they could not so avail 
 To check this unrelenting gueft. 
 
 They seized him, saying — “Let him tefi: 
 How real is our jail! ” 
 
 But, though they flew him with the sword, 
 And in a fire his Touchftone burned. 
 
 Its doings could not be overturn’d. 
 
 Its undoings reftored. 
 
 And when, to flop all future harm. 
 
 They ftrew’d its afhes on the breeze ; 
 They little guelT’d each grain of these 
 Convey’d the perfedl charm. 
 
 JVilliam AUingham. 
 
74 Contentment, 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 GRATITUDE AND GRACE. 
 
 A las these vifits rare and rude 
 Unto Thy holy place ! 
 
 Our weak, wild burfts of gratitude, 
 
 Thy calm, clear deeps of grace. 
 
 Oh, never ftiall Thy mercy make 
 Our souls to reft in Thine ? 
 
 Nor mortal gratitude partake 
 The flow of grace divine ? 
 
 When ftiall our grateful raptures rise 
 Faft as Thy grace descends, 
 
 And link to endlefs harmonies 
 The love that never ends ? 
 
 T, H. Gill. 
 
VL. ■ 
 
 Contentment. 
 
 75 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 P EACE, muttering thoughts ! and do not grudge 
 to keep 
 
 Within the walls of your own breaft. 
 
 Who cannot on his own bed sweetly deep 
 Can on another’s hardly reft. 
 
 Gad not abroad at every queft and call 
 Of an untrained hope or paffion. 
 
 To court each place or fortune that doth fall, 
 
 Is wantonnefs in contemplation. 
 
 Mark, how the fire in flints doth quiet lie 
 Content and warm t’ itself alone ; 
 
 But when it would appear to others’ eye. 
 
 Without a knock it never fhone. 
 
 Give me the pliant mind, whose gentle measure 
 Complies and suits with all eftates ; 
 
 Which can let loose to a crown, and yet with 
 pleasure 
 
 Take up within a cloifter’s gates. 
 
 This soul doth span the world, and hang content 
 From either pole unto the centre: 
 
Contentment. 
 
 Where, in each room of the well-furnifhed tent, 
 
 He lies warm and without adventure. 
 
 Then cease discourfing, soul ; till thine own ground. 
 
 Do not thyself or friends importune. 
 
 He that, by seeking, hath himself once found, 
 
 Hath ever found a happy fortune. 
 
 George Herbert, 1593—1635. 
 
 POVERTY. 
 
 S OME think there is no earthly ftate 
 To be abhorred more. 
 
 Or more deserving fear or hate, 
 
 Than to be mean and poor : 
 
 Yet such a portion I have got, 
 
 That I am needy made 5 
 Yea, this is fallen to my lot, 
 
 And yet I am not sad. 
 
 For earth and all that therein is, 
 
 The Lord’s pofleilions be ; 
 
 Both He is mine and I am His, 
 
 Who hath enough for me : 
 
 The rich their own providers are. 
 
 Yet sometimes they have need j 
 But God hath of the poor a care. 
 
 And them doth always feed. 
 
Contentment, 77 
 
 Though poverty seem grievous may, 
 
 And much affli6^eth some, 
 
 It is the heft and safeft way 
 
 Unto the world to come ; 
 
 ^ » 
 
 For poverty in her extreme. 
 
 Nor tempts nor so perverts. 
 
 As great abundance tempteth them 
 Who thereon set their hearts. 
 
 Therefore, that every man might grow 
 With his eftate content; 
 
 Thy Son, O God ! this way did go. 
 
 When through this world He went; 
 
 He wealth and honor prized not. 
 
 Though we now prize it high. 
 
 And Satan, therefore, nothing got 
 By tempting Him thereby. 
 
 Lord ! though I do sometimes complain 
 That outward means are scant. 
 
 And would aflume that luggage fain. 
 
 Which I but think I want; 
 
 Yet when I mind how poor a life 
 My Saviour lived on earth. 
 
 Wealth I condemn, and all my grief 
 Is changed into mirth. 
 
 Let ftill my heart be pleased so. 
 
 Whatever betide me fhall; 
 
 Yea, make me, though I poorer grow. 
 Contented therewithal : 
 
Contentment. 
 
 And let me not be one of them 
 Who, in profeffion poor, 
 
 Seem wealth and pleasure to contemn. 
 That they may cheat the more. 
 
 The works my calling doth propose. 
 Let me not idly {hun ; 
 
 For he whom idlenefs undoes. 
 
 Is more than twice undone : 
 
 If my eftate enlarge I may. 
 
 Enlarge my love to Thee ; 
 
 And though I more and more decay. 
 Yet let me thankful be. 
 
 For be we poor or be we rich. 
 
 If well employ’d we are. 
 
 It neither helps nor hinders much. 
 Things needful to prepare j 
 Since God disposeth riches now, 
 
 As manna heretofore. 
 
 The feebleft gath’rer got enow. 
 
 The ftrongeft got no more. 
 
 Nor poverty nor wealth is that 
 Whereby we may acquire 
 That blelTed and moft happy ftate. 
 Whereto we fhould aspire ; 
 
 But if Thy Spirit make me wise. 
 
 And ftrive to do my beft. 
 
 There may be in the word of these 
 A means of being blefT’d. 
 
Contentment, 79 
 
 _ _ \ 
 
 The rich in love obtain from Thee 
 
 Thy special gifts of grace ; 
 
 The poor in spirit those men be 
 Who fhall behold Thy face : 
 
 Lord ! grant I may be one of these, 
 
 Thus poor, or else thus rich ; 
 
 E’en whether of the two Thou please, 
 
 I care not greatly which. 
 
 George Wither, 
 
 GIVE US OUR DAILY BREAD. 
 
 D ay by day the manna fell; 
 
 O, to learn this lelTon well ! 
 
 Still by conftant mercy fed, 
 
 Give us. Lord, our daily bread. 
 
 “ Day by day ” the promise reads ; 
 
 Daily ftrength for daily needs : 
 
 Caft foreboding fears away ; 
 
 Take the manna of to-day ! 
 
 Lord, our times are in thy hand ; 
 
 All our sanguine hopes have planned. 
 
 To thy wisdom we refign. 
 
 And would mould our wills to thine. 
 
 Thou our daily talk {halt give ; 
 
 Day by day to thee we live ; 
 
8o Contentment. 
 
 So fhall added years fulfil 
 
 Not our own, our Father’s will. 
 
 O, to live exempt from care, 
 
 By the energy of prayer; 
 
 Strong in faith, with mind subdued. 
 Glowing yet with gratitude ! 
 
 Conder. 
 
 RECONCILED. 
 
 O YEARS gone down into the paft ; 
 
 What pleasant memories come to me. 
 Of your untroubled days of peace. 
 
 And hours of almoft ecftacy ! 
 
 Yet would I have no moon ftand ftill. 
 Where life’s moft pleasant valleys lie ; 
 Nor wheel the planet of the day 
 
 Back on his pathway through the fky. 
 
 For though, when youthful pleasures died. 
 My youth itself went with them, too j 
 To-day, aye ! even this very hour. 
 
 Is the beft hour I ever knew. 
 
 Not that my Father gives to me 
 
 More bleflings than in days gone by. 
 
Contentment. 
 
 8i 
 
 
 Dropping in my uplifted hands 
 
 All things for which I blindly cry ; 
 
 But that His plans and purposes 
 
 Have grown to me lefs ftrange and dimj 
 
 And where I cannot underftand, 
 
 I truft the iflues unto Him. 
 
 And spite of many broken dreams, 
 
 This have I truly learned to say — 
 
 Prayers which I thought unanswered once 
 Were answered in God’s own heft way. 
 
 And though some hopes I cherifhed once, 
 Perifhed untimely in their birth. 
 
 Yet have I been beloved and bleft 
 Beyond the measure of my worth. 
 
 And sometimes in my hours of grief 
 For moments, I have come to ftand 
 
 Where, in the sorrows on me laid, 
 
 I felt the chaftening of God’s hand ; — 
 
 Then learned I that the weakeft ones 
 Are kept secureft from life’s harms ; 
 
 And that the tender lambs alone 
 Are carried in the fhepherd’s arms. 
 
 And, fitting by the wayfide blind. 
 
 He is the neareft to the light. 
 
 6 
 
82 Contentment, 
 
 Who crieth out moft earneftly, 
 
 “ Lord, that I might receive my fight 
 
 O feet, grown weary as ye walk. 
 
 When down life’s hill my pathway lies. 
 
 What care I, while my soul can mount 
 As the young eagle mounts the Ikies ? 
 
 O eyes, with weeping faded out, 
 
 What matters it how dim ye be ? 
 
 My inner vifion sweeps untired 
 The reaches of eternity ! 
 
 O death, moft dreaded power of all. 
 
 When the laft moment comes, and thou 
 
 Darkeneft the windows of my soul. 
 
 Through which I look on Nature now ; 
 
 Yea, when mortality dilTolves, 
 
 Shall I not meet thine hour unawed ? 
 
 My house eternal in the heavens. 
 
 Is lighted by the smile of God ! 
 
 Phcebe Carey, 
 
Contentment, 
 
 CONTENT AND RICH. 
 
 I DWELL in grace’s courts, 
 
 Enriched with virtue’s rights ; 
 
 Faith guides my wit, love leads my will, 
 Hope all my mind delights. • 
 
 In lowly vales I mount 
 
 To pleasure’s higheft pitch. 
 
 My fimple drefs sure honor brings. 
 
 My poor eftate is rich. 
 
 My conscience is my crown. 
 
 Contented thoughts my reft. 
 
 My heart is happy in itself. 
 
 My blifs is in my breaft. 
 
 Enough, I reckon wealth ; 
 
 A mean, the sureft lot. 
 
 That lies too high for base contempt. 
 Too low for envy’s fliot. 
 
 My wifties are but few, 
 
 All easy to fulfil; 
 
 I make the limits of my power 
 The bounds unto my will. 
 
84 
 
 Contentment, 
 
 I have no hopes but one, 
 
 ' Which is of heavenly reign : 
 
 Effe6fs attained, or not defired. 
 
 All lower hopes refrain. 
 
 I feel no care of coin. 
 
 Well-doing is my wealth: 
 
 My mind to me an empire is. 
 
 While grace afFordeth health. 
 
 I clip high-climbing thoughts, 
 
 1 The wings of swelling pride: 
 
 Their fate is worft, that from the height 
 Of greater honor Aide. 
 
 Silk sails of largeft fize 
 The ftorm doth sooneft tear : 
 
 I bear so low and small a sail 
 ; As freeth me from fear. 
 
 I wreftle not with rage 
 
 While fury’s flame doth burn ; 
 
 It is in vain to flop the ftream 
 ■ Until the tide doth turn. 
 
 But when the flame is out. 
 
 And ebbing wrath doth end, 
 
 I turn a late-enraged foe 
 Into a quiet friend ; 
 
 L 
 
Contentment. 
 
 85 
 
 And, taught with often proof, 
 
 A tempered calm I find 
 
 To be mofi: solace to itself, 
 
 Befl: cure for angry mind. 
 
 Spare diet is my fare. 
 
 My clothes more fit than fine; 
 
 I know I feed and clothe a foe 
 That, pampered, would repine. 
 
 I envy not their hap 
 
 Whom favor doth advance : 
 
 I take no pleasure in their pain 
 That have lefs happy chance. 
 
 To rise by others’ fall 
 I deem a lofing gain : 
 
 All ftates with others’ ruins built 
 To ruins run amain. 
 
 , No change of fortune’s calms 
 Can caft my comforts down : 
 
 When fortune smiles, I smile to think 
 How quickly fhe will frown ; 
 
 f 
 
 And when, in froward mood. 
 
 She proved an angry foe. 
 
 Small gain I found to let her come, 
 
 Lefs lofs to let her go. 
 
 Robert Southwell. 1562—1594. 
 
86 
 
 Contentment. 
 
 FOR A SERVANT. 
 
 D iscourage not thyself, my soul, 
 
 Nor murmur, though compeH’d we be 
 To live subjedled to control. 
 
 When many others may be free ; 
 
 For though the pride of some disdains 
 Our means and much despised lot. 
 
 We fhall not lose our honeft pains. 
 
 Nor fhall our sulFrance be forgot. 
 
 To be a servant is not base. 
 
 If basenefs be not in the mind, 
 
 P'or servants make but good the place. 
 Whereto their Maker them affign’d : 
 
 The greateft princes do no more. 
 
 And if fincerely I obey. 
 
 Though I am now despised and poor, 
 
 I fhall become as great as they. 
 
 The Lord of heav’n and earth was pleased 
 A servant’s form to undertake ; 
 
 By His endurance I am eased. 
 
 And serve with gladnefs for His sake : 
 Though check’d unjuftly I fhould be. 
 
 With filence I reproofs will bear. 
 
Contentment. 
 
 87 
 
 For much more injured was He 
 Whose deeds moft worthy praises were. 
 
 He was reviled, yet naught replied, 
 
 And I will imitate the same ; 
 
 For though some faults may be denied. 
 
 In part I always faulty am : 
 
 Content with meek and humble heart, 
 
 I will abide in my degree. 
 
 And a61: an humble servant’s part. 
 
 Till God fhall call me to be free. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 SCORN NOT THE LEAST. 
 
 W HEN words are weak and foes encount’ring 
 ftrong. 
 
 Where mightier do alTault than do defend. 
 
 The feebler part puts up enforced wrong. 
 
 And filent sees that speech could not amend. 
 
 Yet higher powers moft think though they repine,— 
 When sun is set, the little ftars will fhine. 
 
 While pike doth range, the filly tench doth fly. 
 
 And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fifh ; 
 
 Yet pikes are caught when little fifh go by; 
 
 These fleet afloat while those do fill the difti. 
 
88 
 
 Contentment. 
 
 There is a time even for the worms to creep, 
 And suck the dew while all their foes do fleep. 
 
 The merlin cannot ever soar on high, 
 
 Nor greedy greyhound ftill pursue the chase ; 
 The tender lark will find a time to fly, 
 
 And fearful hare to run a quiet race. 
 
 He that high-growth on cedars did beftow, 
 
 Gave also lowly mufhrooms leave to grow. 
 
 In Haman’s pomp poor Mardocheus wept, 
 
 Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe; 
 
 The Lazar pined while Dives’ feaft was kept, 
 Yet he to heaven, to hell did Dives go. 
 
 We trample grafs, and prize the flowers of May, 
 Yet grafs is green when flowers do fade away. 
 
 Robert Southwell. 
 
Contentment. 
 
 89 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 S AY, Reader ! canfl: thou bear and not complain, 
 Griefs filent languor, or the hour of pain ; 
 
 One small fick-room, with noiselefs footftep tread. 
 And raise in peaceful hope the aching head ; 
 
 Smile at the joy it is not thine to fhare. 
 
 And make another’s pleasure soothe thy care ? 
 
 Canft thou, while they beguile the weary hours 
 With Nature’s charm of sunfhine, air, and flowers, 
 Refigned, {fill quaff thy daily draught, nor mourn 
 O’er days long pafl:, that never can return ? 
 
 Say, canfl: thou look, with calm and tearlefs eyes. 
 On thy imprisoned days, and nights of flghs ? 
 
 Nor of each friend who calls, implore the fkill. 
 
 And watch the glance that dooms thee well or ill ? 
 Hold out the feverifh hand, nor ffart to see 
 A face that changes on beholding thee ? 
 
 Firm in thy God, and in thy heavenly trufl:, 
 
 Canfl thou remember fearlefs thou art dull ? 
 
 Look to the future, glad and undismayed. 
 
 And, smiling, see thy life recede in fhade ? 
 
 Then, Reader, go—the world to thee can bring 
 In trials, woes, temptations, not one fling. 
 
go Contentment, 
 
 ALL’S WELL. 
 
 S WEET-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse 
 Foretold not half life’s good to me: 
 Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force 
 To fhow how sweet it is to Be! 
 
 Thy witching dream 
 And pidfured scheme 
 To match the fadf ftlll want the power j 
 Thy promise brave 
 From birth to grave 
 Life’s boon may beggar in an hour. 
 
 Afk and receive, — ’tis sweetly said; 
 
 Yet what to plead for know I not; 
 For Wifh is worfled, Hope o’ersped. 
 
 And aye to thanks returns my thought. 
 If I would pray, 
 
 I’ve nought to say 
 
 But this, that God may be God flill; 
 
 For Him to live 
 Is ftill to give. 
 
 And sweeter than my wifh His will. 
 
 Oh wealth of life, beyond all bound I 
 Eternity each moment given I 
 
 V 
 
Contentment, 
 
 91 
 
 What plummet may the Present sound ? 
 
 Who promises a future heaven ? 
 
 Or glad, or grieved, 
 
 Opprefled, relieved. 
 
 In blackeft night, or brighteft day, 
 
 Still pours the flood 
 Of golden good. 
 
 And more than heart-full fills me aye. 
 
 My wealth is common ; I polTefs 
 
 No petty province, but the whole; 
 
 What’s mine alone is mine far lefs 
 
 Than treasure fhared by every soul. 
 
 Talk not of ftore. 
 
 Millions or more, — 
 
 Of values which the purse may hold, — 
 
 But this divine ! 
 
 I own the mine 
 
 Whose grains outweigh a planet’s gold. 
 
 I have a flake in every ftar. 
 
 In every beam that fills the day ; 
 
 All hearts of men my coffers are. 
 
 My ores arterial tides convey; 
 
 The fields, the fkies, ^ 
 
 And sweet replies 
 
 Of thought to thought are my gold duff,— 
 
 The oaks, the brooks. 
 
 And speaking looks 
 Of lovers’ faith and friendfhip’s truff. 
 
92 
 
 Contentment. 
 
 Life’s youngefl tides joy-brimming flow 
 For him who lives above all years, 
 
 Who all-immortal makes the Now, 
 
 And is not ta’en in Time’s arrears : 
 
 His life’s a hymn 
 The seraphim 
 
 Might hark to hear or help to fing. 
 
 And to his soul 
 The boundlefs whole 
 Its bounty all doth daily bring. 
 
 “ All mine is thine,” the fky-soul saith : 
 
 ‘‘ The wealth I am, mufl: thou become : 
 Richer and richer, breath by breath, — 
 
 Immortal gain, immortal room!” 
 
 And fince all his 
 Mine also is. 
 
 Life’s gift outruns my fancies far. 
 
 And drowns the dream 
 In larger ftream. 
 
 As morning drinks the morning ftar. 
 
 D. A. IVaJfon. 
 
Trujf. 
 
 TRUST. 
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 T he night was made for cooling (hade 
 For filence, and for deep ; 
 
 And when I was a child, I laid 
 My hands upon my bread:, and prayed. 
 
 And sank to flumbers deep. 
 
 Childlike, as then, I lie to-night. 
 
 And watch my lonely cabin-light. 
 
 Each movement of the swaying lamp 
 Shows how the veflel reels. 
 
 And o’er her deck the billows tramp. 
 
 And all her timbers drain and cramp 
 With every diock die feels ; 
 
 It diarts and diudders, while it burns. 
 
 And in its hinged socket turns. 
 
 Now swinging dow, and danting low. 
 
 It almod: level lies : 
 
And yet I know, while to and fro 
 I watch the seeming pendule go 
 With reftlefs fall and rise, 
 
 The fteady fhaft is ftill upright, 
 
 Poifing its little globe of light. 
 
 O hand of God ! O lamp of peace ! 
 
 O promise of my soul ! 
 
 Though weak and tolTed, and ill at ease 
 Amid the roar of smiting seas — 
 
 The fhip’s convulfive roll — 
 
 I own, with love and tender awe. 
 
 Yon perfect type of faith and law. 
 
 A heavenly truft my spirit calms — 
 
 My soul is filled with light; 
 
 The ocean fings his solemn psalms; 
 
 The wild winds chant; I crofs my palms ; 
 
 Happy, as if to-night. 
 
 Under the cottage roof again, 
 
 I heard the soothing summer rain. 
 
 y. T. Trowbridge. 
 
95 
 
 
 Truji. 
 
 THE PEACE OF GOD. 
 
 W E afk for Peace, O Lord! 
 
 Thy children afk Thy peace; 
 
 Not what the world calls reft, 
 
 That toil and care ftiould cease. 
 
 That through bright sunny hours 
 Calm Life ftiould fleet away. 
 
 And tranquil night ftiould fade 
 In smiling day,— 
 
 It is not for such Peace that we would pray. 
 
 We afk for Peace, O Lord! 
 
 Yet not to ftand secure. 
 
 Girt round with iron Pride, 
 
 Contented to endure : 
 
 Crufhing the gentle ftrings. 
 
 That human hearts ftiould know. 
 Untouched by others’ joys 
 Or others’ woe j — 
 
 Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never teach us so. 
 
 We afk Thy Peace, O Lord! 
 
 Through ftorm, and fear, and ftrife. 
 To light and guide us on. 
 
 Through a long ftruggling life: 
 
96 Truji. 
 
 While no succefs or gain 
 
 Shall cheer the desperate fight, 
 
 Or nerve, what the world calls. 
 
 Our wafted might: 
 
 Yet prefting through the darknefs to the light. 
 
 It is Thine own, O Lord! 
 
 Who toil while others fleep. 
 
 Who sow with loving care 
 What other hands fhall reap : 
 
 They lean on Thee, entranced 
 In calm and perfedl reft : 
 
 Give us that Peace, O Lord ! 
 
 Divine and bleft. 
 
 Thou keepeft for those hearts who love Thee beft. 
 
 A. A, ProSfor. 
 
 -- 
 
 CHILDLIKE SUBMISSION. 
 
 W HAT pleases God, O pious soul. 
 
 Accept with joy; though thunders roll 
 And tempefts lower on every fide, 
 
 Thou knoweft nought can thee betide 
 But pleases God. 
 
 The beft will is our Father’s will. 
 
 And we may reft there calm and ftill. 
 
97 
 
 "1 
 
 Trujf. 
 
 Oh make it hour by hour thine own, 
 
 And wifh for nought but that alone, 
 Which pleases God. 
 
 His thought is aye the wiseft thought ; 
 How oft man’s wisdom comes to nought j 
 Miftake or weaknefs in it lurks, 
 
 It brings forth ill, and seldom works 
 What pleases God. 
 
 His mind is aye the gentled: mind. 
 
 His will and deeds are ever kind, 
 
 He bleffes when againft us speaks 
 The evil world, that rarely seeks 
 What pleases God. 
 
 His heart is aye the trueft heart. 
 
 He bids all woe and harm depart, 
 Descending, fhielding day and night 
 The man who knows and loves aright 
 What pleases God. 
 
 He governs all things here below. 
 
 In him lie all our weal and woe, 
 
 He bears the world within His hand, 
 
 And so to us bear sea and land 
 What pleases God. 
 
 And o’er His little flock He yearns, 
 
 And when to evil ways it turns, 
 
 7 
 
98 TruJ}. 
 
 The Father’s rod oft smiteth sore, 
 
 Until it learns to do once more 
 What pleases God. 
 
 What moft would profit us He knows, 
 And ne’er denies aught good to those 
 Who with their utmoft ftrength pursue 
 The right, and only care to do 
 What pleases God. 
 
 If this be so, then. World, from me 
 Keep, if thou wilt, what pleases thee ; 
 But thou, my soul, be well content 
 With God and all things He hath sent; 
 As pleases God. 
 
 And mufl thou suffer here and there. 
 Cling but the firmer to His care, 
 
 For all things are beneath His sway. 
 And muft in very truth obey 
 What pleases God. 
 
 True faith will grasp His mercy faft. 
 And hope bring patience at the laft. 
 Then both within thy heart enfhrine. 
 
 So (hall the heritage be thine 
 That pleases God. 
 
 To thee for ever fhall be given 
 A kingdom and a crown in heaven. 
 
Truji. 
 
 99 
 
 And there (hall be fulfill’d in thee 
 And thou ftialt tafte and hear and see 
 What pleases God. 
 
 Paul Gerhardt^ ^^53* 
 
 ISAIAH, 3: 10. 
 
 W HAT cheering words are these; 
 
 Their sweetnefs who can tell ! 
 
 In time and to eternal days, 
 
 “ ’T is with the righteous well.” 
 
 In every flate secure, 
 
 Kept as Jehovah’s eye, 
 
 ’T is well with them while life endures. 
 And well when called to die. 
 
 Well when they see His face. 
 
 Or fink amidfl: the flood ; 
 
 Well in afflidtion’s thorny maze, 
 
 Or on the mount with God. 
 
 ’T is well when joys arise, 
 
 ’T is well when sorrows flow, 
 
 ’T is well when darknefs veils the Ikies, 
 And ftrong temptations grow. 
 
100 T’ruji. 
 
 ’T is well when Jesus calls, 
 
 “ From earth and fin arise, 
 
 To join the hofts of ransomed souls. 
 Made to salvation wise.” 
 
 EXODUS, 14; 15. 
 
 I 
 
 W HEN we cannot see our way. 
 Let us truft, and ftill obey; 
 He who bids us forward go. 
 
 Cannot fail the way to fhow. 
 
 Though the sea be deep and wide. 
 Though a palTage seem denied; 
 Fearlefs let us ftill proceed. 
 
 Since the Lord vouchsafes to lead. 
 
 Though it seems the gloom of night. 
 Though we see no ray of light; 
 
 Since the Lord Himself is there, 
 
 ’T is not meet that we ftiould fear. 
 
 Night with Him is never night. 
 
 Where He is, there all is light; 
 
 When He calls us, why delay? 
 
 They are happy who obey. 
 
Truji. 101 
 
 Be it ours, then, while we’re here, ' 
 
 Him to follow without fear ! 
 
 Where He calls us, there to go, 
 
 What He bids us, that to do. 
 
 I 
 
 * 
 
 MATTHEW 14; 28, 29. 
 
 H e bids us come j His voice we know. 
 And boldly on the waters go. 
 
 To Him our Chrift and Lord j 
 We walk on life’s tempeftuous sea. 
 
 For He who died to set us free, 
 
 Hath called us by His word. 
 
 Secure from troubled waves we tread. 
 
 Nor all the (forms around us heed, 
 
 While to our Lord we look ; 
 
 O’er every fierce temptation bound, 
 
 The billows yield a solid ground. 
 
 The wave is firm as rock. 
 
 But if from Him we turn our eye, 
 
 And see the raging floods run high, 
 
 And feel our fears within ; 
 
 Our foes so ftrong, our flefh so frail. 
 
 Reason and unbelief prevail. 
 
 And fink us into fin. 
 
102 Truji. 
 
 Lord, we our belief confefs, 
 
 Our little spark of faith increase, 
 That we may doubt no more ; 
 
 But fix on Thee our fteady eye. 
 
 And on Thine outftretched arm rely. 
 Till all the ftorm is o’er. 
 
 THE QUIET, HOPING HEART. 
 
 W HATE’ER my God ordains is right. 
 His will is ever juft; 
 
 Howe’er He order now my cause 
 I will be ftill and truft. 
 
 He is my God, 
 
 Though dark my road. 
 
 He holds me that I ftiall not fall. 
 Wherefore to Him I leave it all. 
 
 Whate’er my God ordains is right. 
 He never will deceive ; 
 
 He leads me by the proper path. 
 And so to him I cleave. 
 
 And take content 
 What He hath sent; 
 
 His hand can turn my griefs away. 
 And patiently I wait His day. 
 
Truji. 103 
 
 Whatever my God ordains is right. 
 
 He taketh thought for me, 
 
 The cup that my phyfician gives 
 No poison’d draught can be. 
 
 But medicine due j 
 For God is true. 
 
 And on that changelefs truth I build. 
 
 And all my heart with hope is filled. 
 
 Whate’er my God ordains is right. 
 
 Though I the cup muft drink 
 That bitter seems to my faint heart, 
 
 I will not fear nor fhrink \ 
 
 Tears pafs away 
 With dawn of day. 
 
 Sweet comfort yet fhall fill my heart, 
 
 And pain and sorrow fhall depart. 
 
 Whate’er my God ordains is right. 
 
 Here will I take my ftand ; 
 
 Though sorrow, need, or death make earth 
 For me a desert land. 
 
 My Father’s care 
 Is around me there. 
 
 He holds me that I fhall not fall. 
 
 And so to Him I leave it all. 
 
 S. Rod’igaJ}^ *675. 
 
104 Truji. 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF GOD. 
 
 I SAY to thee, do thou repeat 
 
 To the firft man thou mayeft meet, 
 In lane, highway, or open llreet — 
 
 That he, and we, and all men move 
 Under a canopy of Love, 
 
 As broad as the blue fky above: 
 
 That doubt and trouble^ fear and pain^ 
 And angu'ijh^ all are sorrows vain; 
 
 That death itself Jhall not remain: 
 
 That weary deserts we may tread, 
 
 A dreary labyrinth may thread. 
 
 Through dark ways underground be led ; 
 
 Yet, if we will our Guide obey. 
 
 The drearieft path, the darkeft way. 
 
 Shall ilTue out in heavenly day. 
 
 And we^ on divers Jhores now caf^ 
 
 Shall meet^ our perilous voyage paf^ 
 
 All in our Father*s home at laji. 
 
Truji. 105 
 
 And ere thou leave them, say thou this, 
 
 Yet one word more: — They only mifs 
 The winning of that final blifs 
 
 Who will not count it true that Love, 
 
 Blefiing, not curfing, rules above. 
 
 And that in it we live and move. 
 
 And one thing further make him know. 
 
 That to believe these things are so. 
 
 This firm faith never to forego — 
 
 Despite of all which seems at ftrife 
 With blefiing, and with curses rife — 
 
 That this Is blefiing, this is life. 
 
 Trench. 
 
 *^0 
 
 MY FATHER’S AT THE HELM. 
 
 ^rriWAS when the sea^s tremendous roar 
 A A little bark affailed ; 
 
 And pallid fear, with awful power. 
 
 O’er each on board prevailed : 
 
 Save one, the captain’s darling son. 
 
 Who fearlefs viewed the ftorm. 
 
 And playful, with composure smiled 
 At danger’s threatening form. 
 
 _ 
 
io6 'Truft. 
 
 “ Why sporting thus,” a seaman cried, 
 
 ‘‘ Whilft sorrows overwhelm ? ” 
 
 ‘‘Why yield to grief!” the boy replied, 
 
 “ My Father’s at the helm^ 
 
 Despairing soul! from thence be taught. 
 How groundlefs is thy fear; 
 
 Think on what wonders Chrift has wrought, 
 And He is always near. 
 
 Safe in His hands, whom seas obey, 
 
 When swelling billows rise ; 
 
 Who turns the darkeft night to day, 
 
 And brightens lowering fkies : 
 
 Though thy corruptions rise abhorred, 
 
 And outward foes increase ; 
 
 ’T is but for Him to speak the word. 
 
 And all is hufhed to peace. 
 
 Then upward look, howe’er diftrefled, 
 
 Jesus will guide thee home. 
 
 To that bleft port of endlefs reft, 
 
 Where ftorms fhall never come. 
 
’Truft. 107 
 
 GRACE OF GOD. 
 
 G race does not fteel the faithful heart, 
 That it fhould know no ill: 
 
 We learn to kifs the chaftening rod, 
 
 And feel its fharpnefs ftill. 
 
 But, ever as the wound is given. 
 
 There is a hand unseen. 
 
 Halting to wipe away the scar. 
 
 And hide where it hath been. 
 
 The Chriftian would not have his lot 
 Be other than it is ; 
 
 For, while his Father rules the world. 
 
 He knows that world is his. 
 
 He knows that He who gave the beft. 
 
 Will give him all befidej 
 AfTured that every good he afks 
 Is evil, if denied. 
 
 When clouds of sorrow gather round. 
 
 His bosom owns no fear : 
 
 He knows, whatever his portion be, 
 
 His God will Hill be there. 
 
lo8 Truji. 
 
 And when the threatened ftorm has burft, 
 Whatever the trial be, 
 
 Something yet whispers him within, 
 
 “Be ftill, for it is He!” 
 
 Poor nature, ever weak, will fhrink 
 From the afHidfive ftroke. 
 
 But faith disclaims the hafty plaint 
 Impatient nature spoke. 
 
 He knows it is a Father’s will. 
 
 And therefore it is good : 
 
 Nor would he venture, by a wifh. 
 
 To change it if he could. 
 
 His grateful bosom quickly learns 
 I Its sorrows to disown ; 
 
 Yields to His pleasure, and forgets 
 The choice was not his own. 
 
 Caroline Fry, 
 
lOq 
 
 Truji. 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 I Peter 5:7. 
 
 L ord, it belongs not to my care, 
 Whether I die or live : 
 
 To love and serve thee is my fhare. 
 
 And this thy grace muft give. 
 
 If life be long, I will be glad. 
 
 That I may long obey ; 
 
 If fhort, yet why fhould I be sad 
 To soar to endlefs day ? 
 
 Chrift leads me through no darker rooms 
 Than he went through before ; 
 
 He that into God’s kingdom comes, 
 
 Muft enter by his door. 
 
 Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet 
 Thy blefled face to see ; 
 
 For if thy work on earth be sweet. 
 
 What will thy glory be ? 
 
 Then fliall I end my sad complaints. 
 
 And weary, finful days ; 
 
 And join with the triumphant saints, 
 
 That fing Jehovah’s praise. 
 
110 Truft. 
 
 My knowledge of that life is small, 
 
 The eye of faith is dim ; 
 
 But ’t is enough that Chrift knows all, 
 
 And I fhall be with him. 
 
 R., Baxter. 
 
 P EACE has unveiled her smiling face. 
 And WOOS thy soul to her embrace : 
 Enjoyed with ease, if thou refrain 
 From earthly love ; else sought in vain. 
 She dwells with all who truth prefer. 
 
 But seeks not them who seek not her. 
 
 Yield to the Lord, with fimple heart, 
 
 All that thou haft, and all thou art; 
 
 Renounce all ftrength, but ftrength divine. 
 
 And peace ftiall be forever thine ; 
 
 Behold the paths the saints have trod. 
 
 The paths which led them home to God. 
 
 Madame Guyon^ 1648—1717. 
 
'Trufl. 
 
 111 
 
 THE PEACE OF GOD. 
 
 O PEACE of God, sweet peace of God ! 
 
 Where broods on earth this gentle dove ? 
 Where spread those pure and downy wings 
 To fhelter him whom God doth love ? 
 
 Whence comes this bleffing of the soul, 
 
 This filent joy which cannot fade ? 
 
 This glory, tranquil, holy, bright. 
 
 Pervading sorrow’s deepeft fhade ? 
 
 The peace of God, the peace of God ! 
 
 It fhines as clear ’mid cloud and ftorm 
 As in the calmefl: summer day, 
 
 ’Mid chill as in the sunlight warm. 
 
 O peace of God ! earth hath no power 
 To fhed thine undlion o’er the heart; 
 
 Its smile can never bring it here,— 
 
 Its frown ne’er bid its light depart. 
 
 Calm peace of God, in holy trufl, 
 
 In love and faith, thy presence dwells,— 
 
 In patient suffering and toil 
 
 Where Mercy’s gentle tear-drop swells. 
 
Truji. 
 
 II2 
 
 Sweet peace, I see thy heavenly ray, 
 
 And long to light my taper there ; 
 
 Then fhould I meet the cares of life. 
 
 Like angels, answering to prayer. 
 
 Jldonthly Kellglous Adagazine. 
 
Affli£iion, 113 
 
 AFFLICTION. 
 
 WORK. 
 
 W HAT are we set on earth for? Say, to toil — 
 Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines, 
 For all the heat o’ the day, till it declines, 
 
 And Death’s wild curfew fhall from work aflbil. 
 
 God did anoint thee with his odorous oil. 
 
 To wreftle, not to reign; and He affigns 
 All thy tears over, like pure cryftallines, 
 
 For younger fellow-workers of the soil 
 To wear for amulets. So others fhall 
 Take patience, labor, to their heart and hand, 
 
 From thy heart, and thy hand, and thy brave cheer. 
 And God’s grace frudlify through thee to all. 
 
 The leaf! flower, with a brimming cup may Hand, 
 
 And fhare its dew-drop with another near. 
 
 JlArs. E. B. Browning, 
 
 8 
 
114 Affli£iion, 
 
 L ord, fhall we grumble when thy flames do 
 scourge us ? 
 
 Our fins breathe fire ; that fire returns to purge us. 
 Lord, what an alchymift art thou, whose fkill 
 Transmutes to perfedl good from perfedf ill! 
 
 Francis Quarles, 
 
 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 T remble not, though darkly gather 
 Clouds* and tempefls o’er thy Iky, 
 
 Still believe thy Heavenly Father 
 
 Loves thee beft when ftorms are nigh. 
 
 When the sun of fortune Ihineth 
 Long and brightly on the heart. 
 
 Soon its fruitfulnefs declineth. 
 
 Parched and dry in every part. 
 
 Then the plants of grace have faded 
 In the dry and burning soil ; 
 
 Thorns and briers their growth have Ihaded — 
 Earthly cares and earthly toil. 
 
JffiSfion. 115 
 
 But the clouds are seen ascending ; 
 
 Soon the heavens are overcaftj 
 
 And the weary heart is bending 
 ’Neath affliction’s ftormy blaft. 
 
 Yet the Lord, on high prefiding, 
 
 Rules the ftorm with powerful hand ; 
 
 He the fhower of grace is guiding, 
 
 To the dry and barren land. 
 
 See, at length the clouds are breaking — 
 Tempefts have not palT’d in vain j 
 
 For the soul, revived, awaking. 
 
 Bears its fruit and flowers again. 
 
 Love divine has seen and counted 
 Every tear it caus’d to fall. 
 
 And the ftorm which love appointed. 
 
 Was its choiceft gift of all. 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 I N trouble and in grief, O God, 
 Thy smile hath cheered my way; 
 And joy hath budded from each thorn 
 That round my footfteps lay. 
 
A^idion, 
 
 ii6 
 
 The hours of pain have yielded good, 
 
 Which prosperous days refused ; 
 
 As herbs, though scentlefs when entire. 
 
 Spread fragrance when theyVe bruised. 
 
 The oak ftrikes deeper, as its boughs 
 By furious blafts are driven ; 
 
 So life’s viciffitudes the more 
 Have fixed my heart in heaven. 
 
 All-gracious Lord ! whatever my lot 
 In other times may be, 
 
 Pll welcome ftill the heavieft grief 
 That brings me near to thee. 
 
 THY WILL BE DONE. 
 
 “ It is the Lord ; let him do what seemeth to him good.” i Sam. 3 ; 18. 
 
 M y Jesus, as Thou wilt! 
 
 Oh! may Thy will be mine ! 
 
 Into Thy hand of love 
 I would my all refign. 
 
 Through sorrow, or through joy, 
 
 Condudf me as Thine own. 
 
 And help me {till to say. 
 
 My Lord, Thy will be done ! 
 
Afii£iion. 
 
 117 
 
 My Jesus, as Thou wilt! 
 
 If needy here and poor, 
 
 Give me Thy people’s bread. 
 
 Their portion rich and sure. 
 
 The manna of Thy word 
 Let my soul feed upon ; 
 
 And if all else fliould fail — 
 
 My Lord, Thy will be done I 
 
 My Jesus, as Thou wilt ! 
 
 If among thorns I go. 
 
 Still sometimes here and there 
 Let a few roses blow. 
 
 But Thou on earth, along . 
 
 The thorny path haft gone. 
 
 Then lead me after Thee ; 
 
 My Lord, Thy will be done I 
 
 My Jesus, as Thou wilt! 
 
 Though seen through many a tear. 
 Let not my ftar of hope 
 Grow dim or disappear. 
 
 Since Thou on earth haft wept 
 And sorrowed oft alone. 
 
 If I muft weep with Thee, 
 
 My Lord, Thy will be done ! 
 
 My Jesus, as Thou wilt! 
 
 If'loved ones muft depart. 
 
JffliSlion. 
 
 ii8 
 
 Suffer not sorrow’s flood 
 To overwhelm my heart; 
 
 For they are bleft with Thee, 
 Their race and conflict won : 
 Let me but follow them ; 
 
 My Lord, Thy will be done ! 
 
 My Jesus, as Thou wilt! 
 
 When death itself draws nigh. 
 To thy dear wounded fide 
 I would for refuge fly. 
 
 Leaning on Thee, to go 
 
 Where Thou before haft gone; 
 , The reft as Thou ftialt please. 
 My Lord, Thy will be done ! 
 
 My Jesus, as Thou wilt! 
 
 All ftiall be well for me : 
 
 Each changing future scene, 
 
 I gladly truft with Thee. 
 Straight to my home above 
 I travel calmly on. 
 
 And fing, in life or death. 
 
 My Lord, Thy will be done ! 
 
 B. Schmolk. 
 
Aff,i£iiQn. 119 
 
 SUFFERING WITH CHRIST. 
 
 L ong plunged in sorrow, I refign 
 
 My soul to that dear hand of Thine, 
 Without reserve or fear; 
 
 That hand fhall wipe my ftreaming eyes. 
 Or into smiles of glad surprise. 
 
 Transform the falling tear ! 
 
 My sole polTellion is Thy love: 
 
 In earth beneath, or heaven above, 
 
 I have no other ftore : 
 
 .And though with fervent suit I pray, 
 
 And importune thee night and day, 
 
 I afk thee nothing more. 
 
 My hours with undiminifhed force 
 And speed pursue their deftined course. 
 Obedient to Thy will: 
 
 Nor would I murmur at my doom. 
 Though ftill a sufferer from the womb. 
 And doomed to suffer ftill. 
 
 By Thy command, where’er I ftray. 
 Sorrow attends me all my way, 
 
 A never failing friend ; 
 
120 Ajffii^ion. 
 
 And if my sufferings may augment 
 Thy praise, behold me well content — 
 
 Let sorrow ftill attend ! 
 
 It cofts me no regret, that fhe 
 Who followed Chrift fhould follow me; 
 
 And though, where’er she goes. 
 
 Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet, 
 
 I love her, and extradf a sweet 
 From all my bitter woes. 
 
 Mad, Guy on. 
 
 THE SAFE REFUGE. 
 
 C OURAGE, my sorely-tempted heart! 
 
 Break through thy woes, forget their smart; 
 Come forth and on thy Bridegroom gaze ; 
 
 The Lamb of God, the Fount of grace : 
 
 Here is thy place! 
 
 His arms are open, thither flee ! 
 
 There reft and peace are waiting thee, 
 
 The deathlefs crown of righteousnefs. 
 
 The entrance to eternal blifs: 
 
 He gives thee this ! 
 
 Then combat well, of nought afraid, 
 
 For thus His follower thou art made. 
 
AjffiiSllon. 121 
 
 Each battle teaches thee to fight, 
 
 Each foe to be a braver knight, 
 
 Armed with His might. 
 
 If ftorms of fierce temptation rise. 
 
 Unmoved we’ll face the frowning fkies ; 
 
 If but the heart is true indeed, 
 
 Chrift will be with us in our need,— 
 
 His own could bleed. 
 
 The word hath ftill its glorious powers. 
 
 The nobleft chivalry is ours ; 
 
 O Thou, for whom to die is gain, 
 
 I bring Thee here my all, oh deign 
 
 To accept and reign! 
 
 7. H. Bohmer. 1704. 
 
 FOR A WAKEFUL NIGHT. 
 
 N OW darknefs over all is spread, 
 
 No sounds the ftillnefs break; 
 
 Ah when fhall these sad hours be fled : 
 
 Am I alone awake? 
 
 Ah no, I do not wake alone. 
 
 Alone I do not fleep. 
 
 Around me ever watcheth One 
 
 Who wakes with those who weep. 
 
122 JjffiiSlion, 
 
 On earth it is so dark and drear, 
 
 With Him so calm and bright; 
 
 The ftars, in solemn radiance clear, 
 
 Shine there through all our night. 
 
 ’T is when the lights of earth are gone 
 The heavenly glories fhine ; 
 
 When other comfort I have none. 
 
 Thy comfort. Lord, is mine. 
 
 Be ftill, my throbbing heart, be flill ; 
 
 Caft off thy weary load. 
 
 And make His holy will thy will. 
 
 And reft upon thy God. 
 
 How many a time the night hath come. 
 
 Yet ftill return’d the day; 
 
 How many a time thy crofs, thy gloom. 
 
 Ere now hath pafT’d away. 
 
 And these dark hours of anxious pain 
 That now opprefs me sore, 
 
 I know will vanifh soon again. 
 
 Then I fliall fear no more: 
 
 For when the night hath lafted long. 
 
 We know the morn is near ; 
 
 And when the trial’s fharp and ftrong. 
 
 Our Help fliall soon appear. 
 
 Pajior Joseph sen. 
 

 123 
 
 LIGHT ARISING OUT OF DARKNESS. 
 
 C HILDREN of God, who pacing flow, 
 Your pilgrim path pursue. 
 
 In flrength and weaknefs, joy and woe. 
 
 To God’s high calling true — 
 
 Why move you thus, with lingering tread, 
 A doubtful, mournful band ? 
 
 Why faintly hangs the drooping head ? 
 
 Why fails the feeble hand ? 
 
 Oh, weak to know a Saviour’s power. 
 
 To feel a Father’s care ; 
 
 A moment’s toil, a palling Ihower, 
 
 Is all the grief ye fliare. 
 
 The Lord of Light, though, veiled awhile. 
 He hides his noontide ray. 
 
 Shall soon in lovelier beauty smile, 
 
 To gild the clofing day; 
 
 And, burfting through the dulky fliroud. 
 That dared his power inveft. 
 
 Rise throned in light o’er every cloud. 
 
 And guide you to his reft. 
 
 Bowdler, 
 
124 AffiSiion. 
 
 AFFLICTION. 
 
 P EACE, peace : it is not so. Thou doft miscall 
 Thy phyfick; pills that change 
 Thy Tick acceflions into settled health; 
 
 This is the great elixir that turns gall 
 To wine and sweetnefs, poverty to wealth, 
 
 And brings man home when he doth range. 
 
 Did not He who ordain’d the day. 
 
 Ordain night too ? 
 
 And in the greater world display 
 What in the lefTer he would do ? 
 
 All flefli is clay, thou know’ft ; and but that God 
 Doth use his rod, 
 
 And by a fruitfull change of froft and fhowres, 
 Cherifh and bind thy pow’rs. 
 
 Thou would’ft to weeds and thirties quite disperse. 
 And be more wild than is thy verse. 
 
 Sicknefs is wholesome, crofles are but curbs 
 To check the mule, unruly man ; 
 
 They are heaven’s hufbandry, the famous fan. 
 Purging the floor which chaff* dirturbs. 
 
 Were all the year one conrtant sunfhine, wee 
 Should have no flowres; 
 
 All would be drought and leannefs ; not a tree 
 Would make us bowres. 
 
AfiiSimi, 125 
 
 Beauty confifts in colours; and that’s beft 
 Which is not fixt, but flies and flowes. 
 
 The settled red is dull, and whites that reft 
 Something of ficknefs would disclose. 
 
 Viciflitude plaies all the game; 
 
 Nothing that ftirrs, 
 
 Or hath a name, 
 
 But waits upon this wheel; 
 
 Kingdomes too have their phyfick, and for fteel 
 Exchange their peace and furrs. 
 
 Thus doth God key disorder’d man, 
 
 Which none else can. 
 
 Tuning his breft to rise or fall; 
 
 And by a sacred, needfull art 
 Like firings, ftretch ev’ry part. 
 
 Making the whole most musicall. 
 
 Henry Vaughan, 1621—1695. 
 
 / 
 
 DIVERS .PROVIDENCES. 
 
 W HEN all the year our fields are frefh and green. 
 And while sweet fhowers and sunftiine, every day. 
 As oft as need requireth, come between 
 
 The heavens and earth, they heedlefs pafs away. 
 
 The fullnefs and continuance of a blefling 
 Doth make us to be senselefs of the good ; 
 
126 A^lSlion, 
 
 And if sometimes it fly not our pofTefling, 
 
 The sweetnefs of it is not underftood ; 
 
 Had we no winter, summer would be thought 
 Not half so pleafing; and if tempefts were not, 
 Such comforts by a calm could not be brought; 
 
 For things, save by their oppofites, appear not. 
 
 Both health and wealth are tafteless unto some. 
 
 And so is ease and every other pleasure. 
 
 Till poor, or Tick, or grieved, they become. 
 
 And then they relifli these in ampler measure. 
 
 God, therefore, full of kind, as He is wise. 
 
 So tempereth all the favours He will do us. 
 
 That we his bounties may the better prize. 
 
 And make his chaftisements lefs bitter to us. 
 
 One while a scorching indignation burns 
 
 The flowers and bloflToms of our hopes away. 
 Which into scarcity our plenty turns. 
 
 And changeth new-mown grafs to parched hay ; 
 Anon his fruitful fhowers and pleafing dews. 
 
 Commixed with cheerful rays. He sendeth down, 
 And then the barren earth her crops renews. 
 
 Which, with rich harvefts, hills and valleys crown j 
 For, as to relifh joys. He sorrow sends ; 
 
 So comfort on temptation ftill attends. 
 
 George Wither, 
 
JjffiiSiion. 127 
 
 INCOMPLETENESS. 
 
 N othing refllng in its own completenefs, 
 Can have worth or beauty: but alone 
 Because it leads and tends to farther sweetnefs, 
 Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. 
 
 Spring’s real glory dwells not in the meaning. 
 Gracious though it be, of her blue hours : 
 
 But is hidden in her tender leaning 
 
 Towards the summer’s richer wealth of flowers. 
 
 Dawn is fair, because her rnifts fade flowly 
 Into day, which floods the world with light; 
 Twilight’s myftery is so sweet and holy. 
 
 Juft because it ends in ftarry night. 
 
 Life is only bright when it proceedeth 
 Towards a truer, deeper Life above; 
 
 Human love is sweeteft when it leadeth 
 To a more divine and perfect love. 
 
 Childhood’s smiles unconscious graces borrow 
 From ftrife that in a far-off* future lies ; 
 
 And angel glances veiled now by life’s sorrow. 
 Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. 
 
128 JffiSfion, 
 
 Learn the myftery of progreffion duly; 
 
 Do not call each glorious change decay; 
 
 But know we only hold our treasures truly, 
 
 When it seems as if they pafled away. 
 
 Nor dare to blame God’s gifts for incompletenefs ; 
 
 In that want their beauty lies ; they roll 
 Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetnefs, 
 Bearing onward man’s reludfant soul. 
 
 Mifs A. A» ProSfor, 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN AFTER HEARING SOME BEAUTIFUL SINGING IN A CONVENT- 
 
 CHURCH AT ROME. 
 
 S WEET voices ! seldom mortal ear 
 Strains of such potency might hear; 
 
 My soul that liftened, seemed quite gone, 
 Dissolved in sweetnefs, and anon 
 I was borne upward, till I trod 
 Among the hierarchy of God. 
 
 And when they ceased, as time mufl: bring 
 An end to every sweetefl: thing. 
 
 With what reludlancy came back 
 My spirits to their wonted track. 
 
 And how I loathed the common life — 
 
 The daily and recurring ftrife 
 
Aj^i^ion, 
 
 129 
 
 With petty fins, the lowly road, 
 
 And being’s ordinary load ! 
 
 — Why, after such a solemn mood. 
 Should any meaner thought intrude ? 
 
 Why will not heaven hereafter give. 
 
 That we for evermore may live 
 Thus at our spirit’s topmoft bent ? 
 
 So alked I in my discontent. 
 
 But give me. Lord, a wiser heart; 
 
 These seasons come, and they depart — 
 These seasons, and those higher ftill. 
 When we are given to have our fill 
 Of ftrength, and life, and joy with thee. 
 And brightnefs of thy face to see ! 
 
 They come, or we could never guefs 
 Of heaven’s sublimer bleffednefs ; 
 
 They come, to be our ftrength and cheer 
 In other times, in doubt or fear. 
 
 Or fliould our solitary way 
 
 Lie through the desert many a day. 
 
 They go — they leave us blank and dead. 
 That we may learn, when they are fled. 
 We are but vapors which have won 
 A moment’s brightnefs from the sun. 
 
 And which it may at pleasure fill 
 With splendor, or unclothe at will. 
 
 Well for us they do not abide. 
 
 Or we ftiould lose ourselves in pride. 
 
 And be as angels — but as they 
 
 9 
 
130 - 
 
 
 Who on the battlements of day 
 Walked, gazing on their power and might, 
 Till they grew giddy in their height. 
 
 Then welcome every nobler time. 
 
 When out of reach of earth’s dull chime 
 ’T is ours to drink with purged ears 
 The mufic of the solemn spheres. 
 
 Or in the desert to have fight 
 Of those enchanted cities bright, 
 
 Which sensual eye can never see : 
 
 Thrice welcome may such seasons be ; 
 
 But welcome too the common way. 
 
 The lowly duties of the day. 
 
 And all which makes and keeps us low. 
 Which teaches us ourselves to know. 
 
 That we who do our lineage high 
 Draw from beyond the ftarry fky. 
 
 Are yet upon the other fide — 
 
 To earth and to its duft allied. 
 
 Trench, 
 
N 
 
 J* 
 
 131 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF A CHILD. 
 
 W HEN I can truft my all with God, 
 In triars fearful hour, 
 
 Bow all refigned beneath his rod. 
 
 And blefs his sparing power j 
 A joy springs up amid diftrefs, 
 
 A fountain in the wildernefs. 
 
 Oh ! to be brought to Jesus’ feet, 
 
 Though sorrows fix me there. 
 
 Is ftill a privilege j and sweet 
 The energies of prayer. 
 
 Though fighs and tears its language be, 
 
 If Chrifi: be nigh, and smile on me. 
 
 An earthly mind, a faithlefs heart. 
 
 He sees with pitying eye ; 
 
 He will not let his grace depart 
 But, kind severity ! 
 
 He takes a hoftage of our love 
 To draw the parent’s heart above. 
 
 There Hands our child before the Lord, 
 
 In royal vefture dreft ; 
 
 A viftor ere he drew the sword. 
 
 Ere he had toiled at reft. 
 
No doubts this blefTed faith bedim : 
 
 We know that Jesus died for him. 
 
 Oh blefled be the hand that gave ; 
 
 Still blefled when it takes. 
 
 BlelTed be He who smites to save, 
 
 Who heals the heart he breaks. 
 
 Perfedt and true are all his ways, 
 
 Whom Heaven adores, and Death obeys. 
 
 Conder, 
 
 \ 
 
Patience. 
 
 133 
 
 PATIENCE. 
 
 D ear Jesus, give me patience here. 
 
 And faith to see my crown as near, 
 And almoft reachM ; because ’t is sure 
 If I hold fall, and flight the lure. 
 
 Give me humility and peace. 
 
 Contented thoughts, innoxious ease, 
 
 A sweet, revengelefs, quiet minde. 
 
 And to my greatefl: haters kinde. 
 
 Give me, my God ! a heart as milde 
 And plain, as when I was a childe. 
 
 That when my throne is set, and all 
 These conquerors before it fall, 
 
 I may be found preserv’d by thee 
 Amongfl: the chosen company. 
 
 Who by no blood here overcame 
 But the blood of the blelTed Lamb. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
134 
 
 Patience, 
 
 WAITING FOR CHRIST. 
 
 U NCHANGEABLE, Almighty Lord, 
 The true, and merciful, and juft. 
 
 Be mindful of thy gracious word. 
 
 Wherein thou causeft me to truft. 
 
 My weary eyes look out in vain. 
 
 And long thy saving health to see; 
 
 But known to thee is all my pain. 
 
 When wilt thou come and comfort me ? 
 
 Prisoner of hope, to thee I turn ; 
 
 Thee my ftrong hold, and only ftay; 
 Harden’d in grief, I ever mourn: 
 
 Why do thy chariot-wheels delay ? 
 
 But fliall thy creature alk thee why? 
 
 No ; I retradf the eager prayer ; 
 
 Lord, as thou wilt, and not as I; 
 
 I cannot choose: thou canft not err. 
 
 To thee, the only wise and true. 
 
 See then at laft I all refign ; 
 
 Make me in Chrift a creature new. 
 
 The manner and the time be thine. 
 
Patience. 
 
 135 
 
 Only preserve my soul from sin, 
 
 Nor let me faint for want of thee; 
 
 I ’ll wait ’till thou appear within^ 
 
 And plant thy heaven of love in me. 
 
 TV^-Jley. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. 
 
 “ Ye have need of patience.” — Heb. 10 : 36. 
 
 GENTLE Angel walketh throughout a world of 
 woe, 
 
 With meflages of mercy to mourning hearts below ; 
 
 His peaceful smile invites them to love and to confide. 
 Oh ! follow in His footfteps, keep closely by His fide ! 
 
 A 
 
 So gently will He lead thee through all the cloudy day. 
 
 And whisper of glad-tidings to cheer the pilgrim-way; 
 
 His courage never failing, when thine is almofi: gone. 
 
 He takes thy heavy burden, and helps to bear it on. 
 
 To soft and tearful sadnefs He changes dumb despair. 
 
 And soothes to deep submifiion the ftorm of grief and 
 care ; 
 
 Where midnight fihades are brooding. He pours the 
 light of noon. 
 
 And every grievous wound He heals, moft surely, if 
 not soon. 
 
136 Patience, 
 
 He will not blame thy sorrows, while He brings the 
 healing balm ; 
 
 He does not chide thy longings, while He soothes them 
 into calm ; 
 
 And when thy heart is murmuring, and wildly afking 
 why ? 
 
 He smiling beckons forward, points upward to the fky. 
 
 He will not always answer , thy queftions and thy fear, 
 
 His watchword is, “ Be patient, thy journey’s end is 
 near ! ” 
 
 And ever through the toilsome way. He tells of joys 
 to come. 
 
 And points the pilgrim to his reft, the wanderer to his 
 home. 
 
 Spitta. 
 
 GOD’S ANVIL. 
 
 P AIN’S furnace-heat within me quivers, 
 God’s breath upon the flame doth blow. 
 And all my heart in anguifh fhivers. 
 
 And trembles at the fiery glow- ; 
 
 And yet I whisper — as God will! 
 
 And in his hotteft fire, hold ftill. 
 
 He comes and lays my heart, all heated. 
 
 On the hard anvil, minded so 
 
Patience, 137 
 
 - ^ -— ... , 
 
 Into his own fair fliape to beat it 
 
 With his great hammer, blow on blow \ 
 
 And yet I whisper — as God will ! 
 
 And at his heavieft blows, hold ftill. 
 
 He takes my softened heart and beats it; 
 
 The sparks fly olF at every blow ; 
 
 He turns it o’er and o’er, and heats it. 
 
 And lets it cool, and makes it glow ; 
 
 And yet I whisper — as God will ! 
 
 And, in his mighty hand, hold flill. 
 
 Why fhould I murmur? for the sorrow 
 Thus only longer lived would be ; 
 
 Its end may come, and will, to-morrow. 
 
 When God has done his work in me ; 
 
 So I say, trufting — as God will! 
 
 And, trufting to the end, hold flill. ^ 
 
 He kindles for my profit purely 
 Affliifions glowing, fiery brand. 
 
 And all his heavieft blows are surely 
 Inflicted by a Mafter hand ; 
 
 So I say, praying—as God will! 
 
 And hope in him, and suffer ftill. 
 
 Julius Sturm, 
 
Patience, 
 
 138 - 
 
 hope. 
 
 A ngels fhall free the feet from ftain, to their 
 own hue of snow, 
 
 If, undismayed, we reach the hills where the true 
 olives grow ; 
 
 The olive-groves which we muft seek in cold and 
 damp. 
 
 Alone can yield us oil for a perpetual lamp ; 
 
 Then sound again the golden horn, with promise ever 
 new, 
 
 The princely doe will ne’er be caught by those that 
 flack pursue. 
 
 Yet the “White Doe” of angel hopes be always kept 
 in view. 
 
 Yes ! sound again the horn of Hope, the golden horn ! 
 Answer it, flutes and pipes, from valleys {fill and lone; 
 Warders from your high towers, with trumps of silver 
 scorn. 
 
 And harps in maiden’s bowers, with Airings from deep 
 hearts torn. 
 
 All answer to the horn of Hope, the golden horn ! 
 
Patience. 
 
 139 
 
 WAIT. 
 
 
 TTTAIT! for the day is breaking, 
 
 V V Though the dull night be long : 
 Wait! God is not forsaking 
 
 Thy heart. Be ftrong — be ftrong! 
 
 
 Wait! and the clouds of sorrow 
 
 Shall melt in gentle fhowers, 
 
 And hues from .heaven fhall borrow, 
 
 As they fall amidft the flowers. 
 
 
 Wait ! ’t is the key to pleasure 
 
 And to the plan of God ; , 
 
 O, tarry thou His leisure. 
 
 Thy soul fhall bear no load. 
 
 
 Wait ! for the time is hafting 
 
 When life fhall be made clear. 
 
 And all who know heart-wafting 
 
 Shall feel that God is dear. 
 
 Chauncy Hare Townsend. 
 
140 
 
 Patience. 
 
 cc 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 J ESUS’ hour is not yet come ; ” 
 Let this word thine answer be, 
 Pilgrim afking for thy home, 
 Longing to be bleft and free. 
 Yet a season tarry on — 
 
 Nobly borne is nobly done. 
 
 While oppreffing cares and fears. 
 Night and day no respite leave, 
 Still prolonged through many years. 
 None to help thee or relieve, 
 Hold the word of promise faft. 
 
 Till deliverance comes at laft. 
 
 Every creature-hope and truft. 
 Every earthly prop or ftay. 
 
 May lie proftrate in the dull:. 
 
 May have failed or pafled away ; 
 Then when darkest falls the night, 
 Jesus comes, and all is light. 
 
 Yes, the Comforter draws nigh 
 To the breaking, burfting heart. 
 For, with tender sympathy. 
 
 He has seen and felt its smart: 
 
Patience. 
 
 141 
 
 Through its darkeft hours of ill, 
 
 He is waiting, watching ftill. 
 
 
 Doft thou afk, When comes His hour ? 
 
 Then, when it fhall aid thee heft. 
 Truft His faithfulnefs and power, 
 
 Truft in Him and quietly reft. 
 
 Suffer on, and hope and wait — 
 
 Jesus never comes too late. 
 
 
 Blefled day, which haftens faft, 
 
 End of conflidf and of fin ! 
 
 Death itself fhall die at laft. 
 
 Heaven’s eternal joys begin. 
 
 Then eternity fhall prove, 
 
 God is Light, and God is Love. 
 
 Spitta. 
 
 
 
 A LITTLE WHILE. 
 
 
 A LITTLE while, and every fear, 
 JLX. That o’er the perfedl day 
 
 Flings fhadows dark and drear. 
 Shall pafs like mift away ; 
 
 The secret tear, the anxious figh. 
 
 Shall pafs into a smile ; 
 
 Time changes to eternity, — 
 
 We only wait a little while. 
 
 
142 Patience. 
 
 A little while, and every charm 
 That fteals away the heart, 
 
 And earthly joys that warm. 
 
 And lure us from our part. 
 
 Shall cease our heavenly views to dim j 
 The world fhall not beguile 
 Our ever faithful thoughts from Him, 
 
 Who bade us wait a little while. 
 
 A little while, and all around, — 
 
 The earth, and sea, and Iky, — 
 
 The sunny light and sound ’ 
 
 Of Nature’s minftrelsy. 
 
 Shall be as they had never been ; 
 
 And we, so weak and vile. 
 
 Be creatures of a brighter scene, — 
 
 We only wait a little while. 
 
 Grevllle. 
 
 TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 
 
 H igh hopes that burned like ftars sublime. 
 
 Go down the heavens of Freedom; 
 
 And true hearts perifli in the time 
 We bitterlieft need them ! 
 
 But never fit we down, and say 
 There’s nothing left but sorrow ; 
 
 We walk the wildernefs to-day. 
 
 The promised land to-morrow. 
 
Patience. 
 
 143 
 
 Our birds of song are fiient now, 
 
 There are no flowers blooming ; 
 
 Yet life beats in the frozen bough, 
 
 And Freedom’s spring is coming ! 
 
 And Freedom’s tide comes up alway 
 Though we may ftand in sorrow ; 
 
 And our good barque aground to-day, 
 
 Shall float again to-morrow. 
 
 Through all the long, dark nights of years. 
 The people^s cry ascendeth. 
 
 And earth is wet with blood and tears ; 
 
 But our meek sufferance endeth ! 
 
 The few fhall not forever sway. 
 
 The many toil in sorrow ; 
 
 The powers of earth are ffrong to-day. 
 
 But heaven fhall rule to-morrow. 
 
 Though hearts brood o’er the paft, our eyes 
 With smiling features gliften ! 
 
 For lo ! our day burfts up the fkies : 
 
 Lean out your souls and liften ! 
 
 The world rolls Freedom’s radiant way 
 And ripens with her sorrow ; 
 
 Keep heart ! who bear the crofs to-day. 
 
 Shall wear the crown to-morrow. 
 
 O Youth ! flame earneft, ftill aspire. 
 
 With energies immortal ; 
 
 To many a heaven of defire. 
 
 Our yearning opes a portal : 
 
144 Patience. 
 
 And though age wearies by the way, 
 
 And hearts break in the furrow, 
 
 We ’ll sow the golden grain to-day. 
 
 And harveft comes to-morrow. 
 
 Build up heroic lives, and all 
 Be like a fheathen sabre. 
 
 Ready to flafli out at God’s call, 
 
 O chivalry of labor ! 
 
 Triumph and toil are twins ; and aye, 
 
 Joy suns the cloud of sorrow ; 
 
 And ’t is the martyrdom to-day. 
 
 Brings vidlory to-morrow. 
 
 Gerald Majfey. 
 
 MY PSALM. 
 
 I MOURN no more my vaniftied years : 
 
 Beneath a tender rain. 
 
 An April rain of smiles and tears, 
 
 My heart is young again. 
 
 The weft winds blow, and, finging low, 
 
 I hear the glad ftreams run ; 
 
 The windows of my soul I throw 
 Wide open to the sun. 
 
 V 
 
 No longer forward nor behind 
 I look in hope and fear ; 
 
Patience. 
 
 H 5 
 
 But, grateful, take the good I find. 
 
 The befi: of now and here. 
 
 I plough no more a desert land. 
 
 To harveft weed and tare; 
 
 The manna dropping from God’s hand. 
 Rebukes my painful care. 
 
 I break my pilgrim ftafF, I lay 
 Afide the toiling oar ; 
 
 The angel sought so far away ' 
 
 I welcome at my door. 
 
 The airs of Spring may never play 
 Among the ripening corn. 
 
 Nor frefhnefs of the flowers of May, 
 
 Blow through the Autumn morn; 
 
 Yet fhall the blue-eyed gentian look 
 Through fringed lids to heaven. 
 
 And the pale after in the brook. 
 
 Shall see its image given ; 
 
 The woods fhall wear their robes of praise. 
 The south wind softly figh. 
 
 And sweet, calm days in golden haze 
 Melt down the amber Iky. 
 
 Not lefs fhall manly deed and word 
 Rebuke an age of wrong ; 
 
146 Patience, 
 
 The graven flowers that wreath the sword 
 Make not the blade lefs ftrong. 
 
 But smiting hands fhall learn to heal, 
 
 To build as to deftroy; 
 
 Nor lefs my heart for others feel 
 That I the more enjoy. 
 
 All as God wills, who wisely heeds 
 To give or to withhold, 
 
 And knoweth more of all my needs 
 Than all my prayers have told ! 
 
 Enough that bleflings undeserved 
 Have marked my erring track — 
 
 That whereso’er my feet have swerved. 
 His chaftening turned me back — 
 
 That more and more a Providence 
 Of love is underflood, 
 
 Making the springs of time and sense 
 Sweet with eternal good — 
 
 That death seems but a covered way 
 Which opens into light. 
 
 Wherein no blinded child can ftray 
 Beyond the Father’s fight — 
 
 That care and trial seem at laft. 
 
 Through Memory’s sunset air. 
 
 
i 
 
 Patience. 
 
 147 
 
 t 
 
 Like mountain ranges overpaft, 
 
 In purple diftance fair — 
 
 That all the jarring notes of life 
 Seem blending in a psalm, 
 
 And all the angles of its ftrife 
 Slow rounding into calm. 
 
 And so the ftiadows fall apart, 
 
 And so the weft winds play ; 
 
 And all the windows of my heart 
 I open to the day. 
 
 J. G. Whittier. 
 
 ENDURANCE. 
 
 A STRONG and mailed angel, 
 With eyes serene and deep 
 Unwearied and unwearying. 
 
 His patient watch doth keep. 
 
 A ftrong and mailed angel 
 
 In the midnight and the day ; 
 Walking with me at my labor. 
 Kneeling by me when I pray. 
 
 What he says no other heareth ; 
 None liften save the ftars. 
 
 
148 
 
 Patience. 
 
 That move in armed battalions, 
 
 Clad with the ftrength of Mars. 
 
 Low are the words he speaketh — 
 
 “ Young dreamer, God is great ! 
 ’T is glorious to suffer ! 
 
 ’T is majefty to wait! ” 
 
 O, Angel of Endurance ! 
 
 O, saintly and sublime ! 
 
 White are the armed legions 
 That tread the halls of Time! 
 
 Bleffed, and brave, and holy! 
 
 The olive on my heart. 
 
 Baptized with thy baptizing. 
 
 Shall never more depart. 
 
 O, ftrong and mailed angel! 
 
 Thy trailing robes I see I 
 Read other souls the leffon 
 So meekly read to me ! 
 
 Still chant the same grand anthem — 
 The beautiful and great — 
 
 ‘‘ ’T is glorious to suffer, 
 
 ’T is majefty to wait! ’’ 
 
Patience, 149 
 
 TIMES GO BY TURNS. 
 
 T he lopped tree in time may grow again ; 
 
 Mofl naked plants renew both fruit and flowers ; 
 The sorrieft wight may find release from pain ; 
 
 The driefl: soil suck in some moiftening fhowers ; 
 Times go by turns, and chances change by course 
 From foul to fair — from better hap to worse. 
 
 The sea of fortune doth not ever flow, 
 
 She draws her favors to the lowefl: ebb. 
 
 Her tides have equal times to come and go. 
 
 Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsefl: web ; 
 
 No joy so great, but runneth to an end ; 
 
 No hap so hard but may in fine amend. 
 
 Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring ; 
 
 No endlefs night, nor yet eternal day; 
 
 The saddefl: bird a season finds to fing. 
 
 The rougheft ftorm a calm may soon allay : 
 
 Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all. 
 
 That man may hope to rise, yet Tear to fall. 
 
 A chance may win what by mischance was lofl:; 
 That net that holds no great, takes little fifti; 
 
150 Patience, 
 
 In some things all, in all things none are crolT’d j 
 Few all they need, but none have all they wifli j 
 Unmingled joys here to no man befall ; 
 
 Who leaft, hath some; who moft, hath never all. 
 
 Robert Southwell. 1562—1594. 
 
 PRESUMPTION AND DESPAIR. 
 
 O NE time I was allowed to fleer. 
 Through realms of azure light; 
 Henceforth, I said, I need not fear 
 A lower, meaner flight ; 
 
 But here fhall evermore abide, 
 
 In light and splendor glorified. 
 
 My heart one time the rivers fed, 
 
 Large dews upon it lay ; 
 
 A ffefhnefs it has won, I said, 
 
 Which fhall not pafs away; 
 
 But what it is, it fhall remain. 
 
 Its frefhnefs to the end retain. 
 
 But when I lay upon the fhore. 
 
 Like some poor, wounded thing, 
 
 I deemed I fhould not evermore 
 Refit my fhattered wing; 
 
Patience. 151 
 
 Nailed to the ground, and faftened there, 
 
 This was the thought of my despair. 
 
 And when my very heart seemed dried. 
 
 And parched as summer duft. 
 
 Such ftill I deemed it muft abide. 
 
 No hope had I, no truft 
 That any power again could blefs 
 With fountains that waste wildernefs. 
 
 « 
 
 But if both hope and fear were vain. 
 
 And came alike to naught. 
 
 Two leflbns we from this may gain. 
 
 If ought can teach us aught j — 
 
 One leflbn rather, to divide 
 
 Between our fearfulnefs and pride. 
 
 Trench. 
 
 L et them that would build caftles in the air. 
 
 Vault thither, without ftep or ftair, 
 
 Inftead of feet to climb, take wings to fly. 
 
 And think their turrets top the Iky. 
 
 But let me lay all my foundations deep. 
 
 And learn before I run, to creep. 
 
 Who digs through rocks to lay his ground-works low. 
 May in good time build high, and sure, though flow. 
 
 Chriflopher Harvey. 
 
I 
 
 152 Prayer. 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 '4p 
 
 PRAYER. 
 
 P RAYER — the church’s banquet; angel’s age; 
 
 God’s breath in man returning to his birth ; 
 
 The soul in paraphrase ; heart in pilgrimage ; 
 
 The Chriftian plummet, sounding heaven and earth ; 
 
 Engine againft th’ Almighty ; finner’s tower ; 
 
 Reversed thunder ; ChrifPs-fide-piercing spear ; 
 
 The fix-days world, transpofmg in an hour; 
 
 A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear; 
 
 Softnefs, and peace, and joy, and love, and blifs ; 
 Exalted manna ; gladnefs of the beft; 
 
 Heaven in ordinary ; man well dreft ; 
 
 The milky-way ; the bird of paradise ; 
 
 Church bells beyond the ftars heard ; the soul’s blood ; 
 The land of spices; something underftood. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
Prayer. 153 
 
 O JOYES ! infinite sweetnefs! with what flowres 
 And fhoots of glory my soul breakes and buds ! 
 All the long houres 
 Of night and reft, 
 
 Through the ftill fhrouds 
 Of fleep and clouds, 
 
 This dew fell on my breaft ; 
 
 O how it blouds. 
 
 And spirits all my earth ! heark! in what rings 
 And hymming circulations the quick world 
 Awakes and fings ! 
 
 The rifing winds 
 And falling springs. 
 
 Birds, beafts, all things 
 Adore Him in their kinds. 
 
 Thus all is hurl’d 
 
 In sacred hymnes and order, the great chime 
 And symphony of nature. Prayer is 
 The world in tune, 
 
 A spirit-voyce. 
 
 And vocall joyes. 
 
 Whose eccho is heaven’s blifTe. 
 
 O let me climbe 
 
 When I lye down! The pious soul by night 
 Is like a clouded ftarre, whose beames, though said 
 • To ftied their light 
 
 Under some cloud. 
 
154 
 
 Prayer. 
 
 Yet are above. 
 
 And fhine and move 
 Beyond that miftie fhrowd. 
 
 So in my bed, 
 
 That curtain’d grave, though deep, like afhes, hide 
 My lamp and life, both (hall in Thee abide. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 '— 
 
 A GARDEN so well watered before morn 
 
 Is hotly up, that not the swart sun’s blaze. 
 Down-beating with unmitigated rays. 
 
 Nor arid winds from scorching places borne. 
 
 Shall quite prevail to make it bare and ftiorn 
 Of its green beauty — fhall not quite prevail 
 That all its morning frefhnefs (hall exhale. 
 
 Till evening and the evening dews return — 
 
 A bleffing such as this our hearts might reap. 
 
 The frefhnefs of the garden they might fhare. 
 Through the long day a heavenly frefhnefs keep. 
 
 If, knowing how the day and the day’s glare 
 Muft beat upon them, we would largely fleep. 
 
 And water them betimes with dews of prayer. 
 
 ’Trench. 
 
Prayer, 155 
 
 ENSAMPLES OF OUR SAVIOUR. 
 
 O UR Saviour, (pattern of true holinefs,) 
 
 Continual pray’d, us by ensample teaching. 
 When he was baptized in the wildernefs. 
 
 In working miracles and in his preaching. 
 
 Upon the mount, in garden groves of death. 
 
 At his laft supper, at his parting breath. 
 
 Nothing more grateful in the higheft eyes, 
 
 Nothing more firm in danger to protect us. 
 Nothing more forcible to pierce the fkies. 
 
 And not depart till mercy do respedl us : 
 
 And, as the soul life to the body gives. 
 
 So prayer revives the soul, by prayer it lives. 
 
 Robert Southwell, 
 
 CALL TO PRAYER, 
 
 C OME to the morning prayer. 
 
 Come, let us kneel and pray ; — 
 Prayer is the Chriflian pilgrim’s ftaff. 
 
 To walk with God all day. 
 
156 
 
 Prayer. 
 
 At noon, beneath the Rock 
 Of Ages, reft and pray ; 
 
 Sweet is that fhelter from the heat. 
 When the sun smites by day. 
 
 At evening, fhut thy door. 
 
 Round the home altar pray ; 
 
 And, finding there the house of God, 
 At Heaven’s gate close the day. 
 
 When midnight veils our eyes. 
 
 Oh, it is sweet to say, 
 
 I deep, but my heart waketh. Lord, 
 With thee to watch and pray ! 
 
 HERE is an eye that never deeps. 
 
 JL Beneath the wing of night; 
 There is an ear that never shuts. 
 When dnk the beams of light. 
 
 There is an. arm that never tires. 
 When -human ftrength gives way ; 
 There is a love that never fails. 
 When earthly loves decay. 
 
 That eye is fixed on seraph throngs ; 
 That ear is filled with angels’ songs ; 
 
Prayer. i 3 7 
 
 That arm upholds the world on high ; 
 
 That love is thrown beyond the fky. 
 
 But there’s a power which man can wield 
 When mortal aid is vain ; — 
 
 That eye, that arm, that love to reach. 
 
 That liftening ear to gain. 
 
 That power is prayer, which soars on high. 
 
 And feeds on blifs beyond the sky ! 
 
 - ■ 
 
 ALONE WITH GOD. 
 
 A lone with God! day’s craven cares 
 Have crowded onward unawares j 
 The soul is left to breathe her prayers. 
 
 Alone with God ! I bare my breaft. 
 
 Come in, come in, O holy gueft. 
 
 Give reft — thy reft, of reft the beft. 
 
 Alone with God! how ftill a calm 
 Steals o’er me, sweet as music’s balm, 
 
 When seraphs sing a seraph’s psalm. 
 
 Alone with God ! no human eye 
 Is here with eager look to pry 
 Into the meaning of each figh. 
 
158 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 Alone with God ! no jealous glare 
 Now flings me with its torturing stare ; 
 
 No human malice says — beware ! 
 
 Alone with God ! from earth’s rude crowd, 
 With joflling fleps and laughter loud, 
 
 My better soul I need not fhroud. 
 
 Alone with God ! He only knows 
 
 If sorrow’s ocean overflows 
 
 The filent spring from whence it rose. 
 
 Alone with God ! He mercy lends. 
 
 Life’s fainting hope, life’s meagre ends. 
 Life’s dwarfing pain he comprehends. 
 
 Alone with God ! He feeleth well 
 The soul’s pent life that will o’erwell ; 
 
 The life-long want no words may tell! 
 
 Alone with God ! flill nearer bend ; 
 
 O tender Father condescend 
 In this my need to be my friend. 
 
 Alone with God ! with suppliant mien 
 Upon thy pitying breafl I lean. 
 
 Nor lefs because thou art unseen ! 
 
 Alone with God ! safe in thine arms, 
 
 O fhield me from life’s wild alarms, 
 
 O save me from life’s fearful harms. 
 
Prayer. 159 
 
 Alone with God ! my Father, blefs, 
 
 With thy celeftial promises, 
 
 The soul that needs thy tendernefs. 
 
 Alone with God ! O sweet to me 
 This covert to whose fhade I flee. 
 
 To breathe repose in thee — in thee! 
 
 PRAYER FOR A NEW HEART. 
 
 O FOR a heart to praise my God, 
 
 A heart from guilt set free ; 
 
 A heart that’s sprinkled with the blood. 
 
 So freely fhed for me! 
 
 A heart refigned, submiflive, meek. 
 
 My blefTed Saviour’s throne, — 
 
 Where only Chrifl: is heard to speak. 
 
 Where Jesus reigns alone : 
 
 A humble, lowly, contrite heart. 
 
 Believing, true, and clean ; 
 
 Which neither life nor death can part 
 From Him that dwells within : 
 
 A heart in every thought renewed. 
 
 And full of love divine: 
 
i6o Prayer. 
 
 Perfect and right, and pure and good; — 
 
 A copy, Lord, of thine! 
 
 Thy nature, gracious Lord, impart. 
 
 Come quickly from above ; 
 
 Write thy new name upon my heart. 
 
 Thy new, heft name of Love! 
 
 JVeJley. 
 
 THE PRAYER OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 
 
 O H I that mine eye might closed be 
 To what concerns me not to see : 
 
 That deafnefs might pofTefs my ear 
 To what concerns me not to hear : 
 
 That Truth my tongue might ever tie 
 From speaking words of vanity; 
 
 That no vain thought might ever reft 
 Or be conceived within my breaft ; 
 
 So that in deed and word and thought. 
 
 Glory may unto God be wrought. 
 
 But what are wifties ? Lord mine eye 
 Is fixed on Thee, to Thee I cry ! 
 
 Cleanse Lord, and purify my heart 
 And make it clean in every part ; 
 
 And when ft is pure. Lord keep it so. 
 
 For that is more than I can do. 
 
 i639-i7'3- 
 
Prayer. 
 
 i6i 
 
 SONG OF A FAMILY. 
 
 O MAKE our house Thy san6I:uary ! 
 
 Come in to us, a friendly gueft, 
 
 And in our circle ever tarry ; 
 
 Then fhall we be forever bleft, 
 
 And Thou,^ a house-mate, fhall these walls 
 Transfigure into royal halls. 
 
 Joy dwells, O Lord, where’er thou ftayeft ; 
 
 There blooms a heavenly blefTednefs; 
 
 In fillc thy pooreft thou array eft. 
 
 Though men see but a ragged drefs. 
 
 The pureft high delight is there. 
 
 And even in want is wealth, to spare. 
 
 Thou every morning us awakeft, 
 
 And graciously to prayer doft call ; 
 
 The household cares Thou undertakeft j 
 Thou knoweft what is beft in all. 
 
 And care, though ’t were a leaden load. 
 
 Is but a feather’s weight with God. 
 
 One tender bond all hearts embraces, 
 
 A heavenly bond. Thy hand hath wove : 
 The rooms are turned to temple-spaces, 
 
 11 
 
162 Prayer, 
 
 Illumined with God’s peace and love. 
 
 Grace is the sunfhine of our home, 
 
 And there God’s angels go and come. 
 
 Tranjlated from the German hy Rev. C. T, Brooks, 
 
 ACTS 2 : 2 . 
 
 S PIRIT Divine ! attend our prayer, 
 
 And make this house thy home; 
 
 Descend with all thy gracious power. 
 
 Oh! come. Great Spirit, come ! 
 
 Come as the light; to us reveal 
 Our emptinefs and woe; 
 
 And lead us in those paths of life 
 Where all the righteous go. 
 
 Come as the fire, and purge our hearts 
 Like sacrificial flame ; 
 
 Let our whole souls an offering be 
 To our Redeemer’s name. 
 
 Come as the dew, and sweetly blefs 
 This consecrated hour; 
 
 May barren minds be taught to own 
 Thy fertilizing power. 
 
Prayer. 163 
 
 Come as the dove, and spread thy wings, 
 
 The wings of peaceful love ; 
 
 And let the Church on earth become 
 Bleft as the Church above. 
 
 ABIDE WITH ME. 
 
 “They conftrained him, saying, Abide with us; for it is toward even¬ 
 ing and the day is far spent.” Luke 24; 29. 
 
 A bide with me. Faft falls the eventide; 
 
 The darlcnefs thickens : Lord ! with me abide ; 
 When other helpers fail, and comforts flee. 
 
 Help of the helpless, O abide with me! 
 
 Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day ; 
 
 Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pafs away; 
 
 Change and decay in all around I see ; 
 
 O Thou who changefl: not, abide with me. 
 
 Not a brief glance I beg, a pafling word. 
 
 But as thou dwell’st with thy disciples. Lord — 
 Familiar, condescending, patient, free, ^ 
 
 Come not to sojourn, but abide with me. 
 
 Come not in terrors, as the King of kings. 
 
 But kind and good, with healing in thy wings ; 
 
164 Prayer. 
 
 Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea; 
 
 Come, Friend of Tinners, thus abide with me! 
 
 Thou on my head in early youth didft smile. 
 
 And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile. 
 
 Thou haft not left me, oft as I left thee ; 
 
 On to the close, O Lord! abide with me. 
 
 I need thy presence every paffing hour, — 
 
 What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power ? 
 Who like Thyself my guide and ftay can be ? 
 Through cloud and sunftiine, O abide with me ! 
 
 I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to blefs : 
 
 Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. 
 
 Where is death^s fting ? where, grave, thy vidfory ? 
 
 I triumph ftill, if Thou abide with me ! 
 
 Hold thou Thy crofs before my cloTing eyes. 
 
 Shine through the gloom, and point me to the fkies : 
 Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows 
 flee; 
 
 In life, in death, O Lord ! abide with me. 
 
 Lyte. 
 
Prayer. 165 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 s 
 
 M y ftock lies dead ; and no increase 
 Doth my dull hufbandry improve : 
 
 O let Thy graces, without cease, 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 If ftill the sun fhould hide his face. 
 
 Thy house would but a dungeon prove ; 
 Thy works. Night’s captives. O let grace 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 The dew doth every morning fall: 
 
 And fhall the dew outftrip thy Dove ? 
 The dew for which grass cannot call 
 
 Drop from above ! 
 
 Death is ftill working like a mole. 
 
 And digs my grave at each remove. 
 
 Let grace work too and on my soul 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
 Sin is ftill hammering my heart 
 Unto a hardnefs void of love. 
 
 Let suppling grace, to crofs his art. 
 
 Drop from above. 
 
i66 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 O come; for Thou doft know the way ! 
 
 Or, if to me thou wilt not move, 
 
 Remove me, where I need not say, 
 
 “ Drop from above ! ” 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 THE LORD’S PRAYER ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 Father — 
 
 By right of creation, 
 By bountiful provifion. 
 By gracious adoption ; 
 
 Who art in Heaven — 
 
 The throne of thy glory. 
 The portion of thy children. 
 The temple of thy angels ; 
 
 Hallowed be thy name — 
 
 By the thoughts of our hearts. 
 By the words of our lips, 
 
 By the works of our hands j 
 
 Thy kingdom come — 
 
 Of Providence to defend us. 
 Of grace to refine us, 
 
 Of glory to crown us j 
 
Prayer. 167 
 
 Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven — 
 Toward us without refiftance, 
 
 By us without compulfion, 
 
 Universally without exception, 
 
 Eternally without declenfion ; 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread — 
 
 Of neceffity for our bodies, 
 
 Of eternal life for our souls ; 
 
 And forgive us our trespafles — 
 
 Againft the commands of thy law, 
 
 Againft the grace of thy gospel; 
 
 As we forgive them that trespafs againft us — 
 
 By defaming our charadters. 
 
 By embezzling our property. 
 
 By abufing our persons; 
 
 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from 
 evil — 
 
 Of overwhelming aftlidfions. 
 
 Of worldly enticements. 
 
 Of Satan’s devices, 
 
 Of errors’ sedudfions. 
 
 Of finful afFedfions; 
 
 For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory 
 forever — 
 
 Thy kingdom governs all. 
 
i68 
 
 Prayer. 
 
 Thy power subdues all, 
 
 Thy glory is above all. 
 
 Amen. 
 
 As it is in thy purposes. 
 
 So it is in thy promises, 
 
 So be it in our prayers. 
 
 So it fhall be to thy praise. 
 
 Pierre Bernard. 
 
 
 THE SHEPHERD’S SABBATH SONG. 
 
 T his is the Sabbath day ! 
 
 In the wide field I am alone. 
 
 Hark ! now one morning-bell’s sweet tone : 
 Now it has died away. 
 
 Kneeling I worfhip Thee; 
 
 Sweet dread doth o’er my spirit fteal 
 From whispering sounds of those who kneel 
 Unseen to pray with me. 
 
 Around and far away 
 So clear and solemn is the Iky, 
 
 It seems all opening to my eye ; 
 
 This is the Sabbath day ! 
 
 From the German of Uhland^ by Mrs, Fallen, 
 
Prayer. 
 
 169 
 
 
 JAM LUCIS ORTO SIDERE. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 N OW that the sun is gleaming bright 
 Implore we, bending low, 
 
 That Thou, the Uncreated Light 
 Wouldft guide us as we go. 
 
 II. 
 
 Nor finful word, nor deed of wrong. 
 Nor thoughts that idly rove. 
 
 But fimple truth be on our tongue 
 And in our hearts be love. 
 
 III. 
 
 And as the hours in order flow — 
 O Chrift ! securely fence 
 Our gates, beleaguered by the foe. 
 The gate of every sense. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And grant, that to thine honor. Lord ! 
 Our daily toil may tend. 
 
 That we begin it at thy word, 
 
 And in thy favor end. 
 
lyo 
 
 Prayer, 
 
 MORNING PRAYER. 
 
 O SILENCE deep and ftrange ! 
 
 The earth doth yet in quiet flumber lie, 
 No ftir of life, save on yon woodland range. 
 The tall trees bow as if their Lord pafTed by. 
 
 Like to one new-create, 
 
 I have no memory of grief and care ; 
 
 Of all the things which vexed my soul of late 
 I am afhamed in this calm morning air. 
 
 This world, with all its band 
 Of clamorous joys and griefs, fhall be to me 
 A bridge whereon, my pilgrim-ftafF in hand, 
 
 I crofs the ftream of Time, O Lord, to thee. 
 
 From the German of J. F. Eichendorf. 
 
Prayer. 
 
 171 
 
 HYMN OF TRUST. 
 
 O LOVE Divine, that ftooped to (hare 
 Our fharpeft pang, our bittereft tear. 
 
 On Thee we caft each earthborn care. 
 
 We smile at pain while Thou art near ! 
 
 Though long the weary way we tread. 
 
 And sorrow crown each lingering year. 
 
 No path we ihun, no darknefs dread. 
 
 Our hearts ftill whispering. Thou art near ! 
 
 When drooping pleasure turns to grief. 
 
 And trembling faith is changed to fear. 
 
 The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf. 
 
 Shall softly tell us. Thou art near ! 
 
 On Thee we fling our burdening woe, 
 
 O Love Divine, forever dear. 
 
 Content to suffer, while we know. 
 
 Living and dying. Thou art near ! 
 
 Dr. O. W. Holmes. 
 
172 Prayer, 
 
 MORNING HYMN. 
 
 A wake, my soul! awake, mine eyes! 
 
 Awake, my drowsy faculties ! 
 
 Awake, and see the new-born light 
 Spring from the darksome womb of night ! 
 
 Look up and see the unwearied sun, 
 
 Already has his race begun. 
 
 The pretty lark is mounted high. 
 
 And fings her matins in the fky. 
 
 Arise, my soul! and thou, my voice. 
 
 In songs of praise early rejoice! 
 
 O great Creator! heavenly King ! 
 
 Thy praises ever let me fing! 
 
 Thy power has made, thy goodnefs kept. 
 
 This fencelefs body while I flept; 
 
 Yet one day more has given me 
 From all the powers of darknefs free. 
 
 Oh ! keep my heart from fin secure, 
 
 • My life unblameable and pure ; 
 
 That when the laft of all my days is come. 
 Cheerful and fearlefs I may wait my doom. 
 
 Thomas Flatman. 1633—1688. 
 
Prayer. 173 
 
 EVENING HYMN. 
 
 S LEEP! drowsy Sleep! come close mine eyes, 
 Tired with beholding vanities : 
 
 Sweet numbers, come, and chase away 
 The toils and follies of the day. 
 
 On your soft bosom will I lie. 
 
 Forget the world, and learn to die. 
 
 O Israel’s watchful Shepherd! spread 
 Tents of angels round my bed; 
 
 Let not the spirits of the air 
 While 1 {lumber me ensnare ; 
 
 But save thy suppliant free from harms. 
 
 Clasped in thine everlafting arms. 
 
 Clouds and thick darknefs are thy throne, ^ 
 
 Thy wonderful pavilion ; > 
 
 Oh! dart from thence a fhining ray. 
 
 And then my midnight fhall be day! 
 
 Thus when the morn in crimson dreffed. 
 
 Breaks through the windows of the East, 
 
 My hymns of thankful praise fhall rise 
 Like incense at the morning sacrifice ! 
 
 Thomas Flatman. 
 
^ 74 - 
 
 evening HYMN . 
 
 Q uietly reft the woods and dales, 
 Silence round the hearth prevails, 
 The world is all afleep : 
 
 Thou, my soul, in thought arise. 
 
 Seek thy Father in the Ikies, 
 
 And holy vigils with Him keep. 
 
 Sun, where hideft thou thy light ? 
 
 Art thou driven, hence by Night, 
 
 Thy dark and ancient foe ? 
 
 Go! another Sun is mine — 
 
 Jesus comes with light divine. 
 
 To cheer my pilgrimage below. 
 
 Now that day has pafled away. 
 
 Golden ftars in bright array 
 Bespangle the blue Iky : 
 
 Bright and clear, so would I ftand. 
 
 When I hear my Lord’s command 
 To leave this earth, and upward fly. 
 
 Now this body seeks for reft. 
 
 From its veftments all undreft. 
 
 Types of mortality : 
 
 Chrift {ball give me soon to wear. 
 
Garments beautiful and fair — 
 
 White robes of glorious majefty. 
 
 Head, and feet, and hands, once more 
 Joy to think of labor o’er. 
 
 And night with gladnefs see. 
 
 O my heart! thou too (halt know 
 Reft from all thy toil below. 
 
 And from earth’s turmoil soon be free. 
 
 Weary limbs, now reft ye here; 
 
 Safe from danger and from fear, 
 
 Seek Humber on this bed ; 
 
 Deeper reft ere long to fhare. 
 
 Other hands ftiall soon prepare 
 My narrow couch among the dead. 
 
 While my eyes I gently close. 
 
 Stealing o’er me soft repose. 
 
 Who fhall my guardian be ? 
 
 Soul and body now I leave, 
 
 (And Thou wilt the truft receive,) 
 
 O Israel’s Watchman! unto Thee. 
 
 O my friends ! from you this day 
 May all ill have fled away. 
 
 No danger near have come. 
 
 Now, O my God, these dear ones keep ; 
 
 Give to my beloved fleep. 
 
 And angels send to guard their home ! 
 
 Paul Gerhardt, 
 
176 Prayer* 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 A nother day is numbered with the paft, 
 Another night is given us for reft, 
 
 Father, my spirit at thy feet I caft, 
 
 O ! gather it unto thy loving breaft. 
 
 Look on its failures, efforts, and miftakes. 
 
 Look on its inward ftubborn roots of fin. 
 
 See how the law that it accepts, it breaks. 
 
 Lord! to thy secret presence take it in 1 
 
 Nightly, Thou sendeft reft to all the earth, 
 
 Sendeft a time for filence and returning, 
 
 O, Father! teach me all the holy worth 
 
 Of the ftill hours when thy clear ftars are burning. 
 
 Thou giveft me reft that with the day’s beginning 
 I may rise ftrong and fresh for the new day. 
 
 So, purged and refted from its frequent sinning. 
 
 May my soul rise prepared for its ftrait way. 
 
 Blefs those that love me, those that love me not. 
 Strengthen the feeble and uplift the grieving. 
 
 Send to thy children, in whatever lot. 
 
 Riches, and peace, and ftrength in true believing. 
 
Prayer. 177 
 
 So to thy arms my body I commit. 
 
 My weary body to thine arms outspread : 
 
 Prepare me to accomplish what is fit, 
 
 And peace and purenefs watch befide my bed. 
 
 U NTO the glory of thy Holy Name, 
 
 Eternal God ! whom I both love and fear. 
 
 Here bear I witness that I never came 
 Before thy throne and found thee loth to hear. 
 But, ever ready with an open ear. 
 
 And though sometimes thou seems’t thy face to hide 
 As one that hath his love withdrawn from me, 
 ’T is that my faith may to the full be tried. 
 
 And I thereby may only better see 
 
 How weak I am when not upheld by Thee. 
 
 ‘Thomas Ellwood. 1669. 
 
 IMMANUEL. 
 
 H OW good a God have we ! who for our sake. 
 To save us from the burning lake. 
 
 Did change the order of creation : 
 
 At firfl: He made 
 
 12 
 
Chriji, 
 
 179 
 
 CHRIST. 
 
 CHRISTMAS HYMN. 
 
 C ALM on the liftening ear of night 
 Come Heaven’s melodious drains, 
 Where wild Judea ftretches far 
 Her silver-mantled plains ! 
 
 Celeftial choirs, from courts above. 
 
 Shed sacred glories there ; 
 
 And angels, with their sparkling lyres. 
 Make mufic on the air. 
 
 The answering hills of Paleftine 
 Send back the glad reply ; 
 
 And greet, from all their holy heights. 
 The dayspring from on high. 
 
 On the blue depths of Galilee 
 There comes a holier calm. 
 
 And Sharon waves, in solemn praise. 
 Her filent groves of palm. 
 
Glory to God ! ” the sounding fkies 
 Loud with their anthems ring ; — 
 
 Peace to the earth, — good-will to men, 
 
 From heaven’s Eternal King ! 
 
 Light on thy hills, Jerusalem ! 
 
 The Saviour now is born ! 
 
 And bright on Bethlehem^s joyous plains 
 Breaks the firft Chriftmas morn. 
 
 Rev. E. H, Sears. 
 
 A HYMN OF THE NATIVITY, SUNG BY THE 
 
 SHEPHERDS. 
 
 G loomy night embraced the place 
 Where the noble infant lay : 
 
 The babe look’d up, and show’d His face ; 
 
 In spite of darknefs it was day. 
 
 It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise. 
 
 Not from the Eaft, but from thy eyes. 
 
 We saw thee in thy balmy neft. 
 
 Young dawn of our eternal day ; 
 
 We saw thine eyes break from the Eaft, 
 
 And chase the trembling ftiades away : 
 
 We saw thee, and we bleft the night. 
 
 We saw thee by thine own sweet light. 
 
Chrijl, 
 
 i8i 
 
 Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do 
 To entertain this ftarry ftranger? 
 
 Is this the beft thou canfl: beftow — 
 
 A cold and not too cleanly manger ? 
 
 Contend, the powers of heaven and earth. 
 
 To fit a bed for this huge birth. 
 
 Proud world, said I, cease your control. 
 
 And let the mighty babe alone. 
 
 The phoenix builds the phoenix’s neft. 
 
 Love’s architedfure is his own. 
 
 The babe, whose birth embraves this morn. 
 Made his own bed ere he was born. 
 
 Welcome all wonders in one fight! 
 
 Eternity fhut in a span ! 
 
 Summer in winter, day in night! 
 
 Heaven in earth, and God in man ! 
 
 Great little one, whose all-embracing birth 
 Lifts earth to Heaven, ftoops Heaven to earth ! 
 
 Welcome — tho’ not to those gay flies. 
 
 Gilded i’ th’ beams of earthly kings. 
 
 Slippery-souls in smiling eyes — 
 
 But to poor shepherds, homespun things. 
 Whose wealth’s their flocks, whose wit’s to be 
 Well read in their fimplicity. 
 
 To Thee, meek Majefty, soft King, 
 
 Of Ample graces and sweet loves ! 
 
182 Chriji, 
 
 Each of us his lamb will bring, 
 
 Each his pair of filver doves ! 
 
 At laft, in fire of Thy fair eyes, 
 
 Ourselves become our own beft sacrifice! 
 
 Crajhaw. 1637—1650. 
 
 THE ASCENSION DAY. 
 
 O UR Lord and brother who put on 
 Such flefh as this we wear. 
 Before us up to heaven is gone. 
 
 Our places to prepare : 
 
 Captivity was captive then. 
 
 And He doth from above 
 Send ghoftly presents down to men. 
 For tokens of His love. 
 
 Each door and everlafting gate 
 To Him hath lifted been. 
 
 And in a glorious wise thereat 
 Our King is enter’d in : 
 
 Whom if to follow we regard. 
 
 With love and leave we may. 
 
 For He hath all the means prepared. 
 And made an open way. 
 
 Then follow ; follow on apace 
 Our Captain to attend. 
 
ChrtJ}. 
 
 In that supreme and blefled place 
 Whereto He did ascend ; 
 
 And for His honor let our voice 
 A fliout so hearty make, 
 
 That ^heaven may at our joy rejoice, 
 
 And hell’s foundation fhake. 
 
 George TVither, 
 
 WHO FOLLOWS IN HIS TRAIN? 
 
 T he Son of God goes forth to war 
 A kingly crown to gain ; 
 
 His blood-red banner ftreams afar. 
 
 Who follows in His train ? 
 
 Who beft can drink his cup of woe. 
 Triumphant over pain. 
 
 Who patient bears his crofs below. 
 
 He follows in His train ! 
 
 That martyr firft, whose eagle eye 
 Could look beyond the grave. 
 
 Who saw his Mafter in the fky. 
 
 And called on him to save ; 
 
 Like Him, with pardon on his tongue. 
 In midft of mortal pain. 
 
184 ChrijL 
 
 \ 
 
 He prayed for those that did the wrong: 
 Who follows in his train ? 
 
 A noble band, the chosen few, 
 
 On whom the Spirit came. 
 
 Twelve valiant souls, their hope they knew. 
 And mocked the torch of flame ; 
 
 They met the tyrant’s brandiflied ffeel. 
 
 The lion’s gory mane. 
 
 They bowed their necks the fl:roke to feel, 
 Who follows in their train ? 
 
 A noble army, men and boys, 
 
 The matron and the maid. 
 
 Around the throne of God rejoice. 
 
 In robes of light arrayed. 
 
 They climbed the fleep ascents of heaven. 
 Thro’ peril, toil, and pain ; 
 
 O God! to us may grace be given. 
 
 To follow in their train ! 
 
 Heber, 
 
i85 
 
 FOR ST. ANDREW’S DAY. 
 
 W HILST Andrew, as a flfher, sought 
 From pinching want his life to free, 
 Chrift call’d him, that he might be taught 
 A lifherman of men to be. 
 
 And no delay therein he made. 
 
 Nor queftioned his Lord’s intent; 
 
 But quite forsaking all he had. 
 
 With Him that called gladly went. 
 
 Would God we were prepared so 
 To follow Chrift when He doth call. 
 
 And could as readily forego 
 
 Those nets which we are snared withal ! 
 
 Yea, would this fifherman of men. 
 
 Might us by his example move 
 To leave the world, as he did then. 
 
 And by our works our faith approve. 
 
 But precepts and examples fail. 
 
 Till thou, O Lord, thy grace inspireft; 
 Vouchsafe it, and we fhall prevail 
 In whatsoever thou requireft : 
 
186 Chriji. 
 
 Yea, we fhall then that good perceive 
 Which in thy service we may find, 
 
 And for thy sake be glad to leave 
 Our nets, and all our trafti behind. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 
 
 Y es ! our Shepherd leads with 'gentle hand. 
 Through the dark pilgrim-land, 
 
 His flock, so dearly bought, 
 
 So long and fondly sought. 
 
 Hallelujah ! 
 
 When in clouds and mifl: the weak ones stray. 
 
 He {hows again the way. 
 
 And points to them afar 
 A bright and guiding ftar. 
 
 Hallelujah ! 
 
 Tenderly He watches from on high 
 With an unwearied eye ; 
 
 He comforts and suftains. 
 
 In all their fears and pains. 
 
 Hallelujah ! 
 
 Through the parch’d, dreary desert He will guide 
 To the green fountain-fide : 
 
ChrlJ}. 187 
 
 Through the dark, ftormy night, 
 
 To a calm land of light. 
 
 Hallelujah ! 
 
 Yes! His “little flock” are ne’er forgot; 
 
 His mercy changes not: 
 
 Our home is safe above. 
 
 Within His arms of love. 
 
 Hallelujah ! • 
 
 Krummacher, 
 
 THE HEART’S SONG. 
 
 I N the filent midnight watches. 
 
 Lift —thy bosom-door ! 
 
 How it knocketh, knocketh, knocketh, 
 
 » 
 
 Knocketh evermore ! 
 
 Say not ’t is thy pulse’s beating ; 
 
 ’T is thy heart of fin : 
 
 ’T is thy Saviour knocks, and crieth 
 Rise, and let me in ! 
 
 Death comes down with recklefs footftep 
 To the hall and hut: 
 
 Think you Death will ftand a-knocking 
 Where the door is ftiut ? 
 
 Jesus waiteth — waiteth — waiteth ; 
 
 But thy door is faft ! 
 
i88 
 
 Chrift. 
 
 Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth : 
 
 Death breaks in at laft. 
 
 Then ’t is thine to ftand — entreating 
 Chrift to let thee in : 
 
 At the gate of heaven beating, 
 
 Wailing for thy fin. 
 
 Nay, alas ! thou foolifti virgin. 
 
 Haft thou then forgot, 
 
 Jesus waited long to know thee. 
 
 But he knows thee not ! 
 
 A. C. Coxe. 
 
 TO WHOM SHALL WE GO? 
 
 “ Lord, to whom fhall we go ? Thou haft the words of eternal life.” 
 
 • yohn 6 : 68 . 
 
 t 
 
 W HEN our pureft delights are nipt in the blos¬ 
 som. 
 
 When those we love beft are laid low ; 
 
 When grief plants in secret her thorn in the bosom. 
 Deserted,—“to whom fhall we go?’* 
 
 When, with error bewildered, our path becomes dreary. 
 And tears of despondency flow ; 
 
 When the whole head is Tick, and the whole heart is 
 weary. 
 
 Despairing, — “ to whom fhall we go ? ’’ 
 
Chriji, 189 
 
 When the sad thirfly soul turns away from the springs 
 Of pleasure this world can bellow, 
 
 And fighs for another, and flutters its wings. 
 
 Impatient, — “ to whom fhall we go ? ” 
 
 O blefl; be that light which has parted the clouds. 
 
 And a path to the pilgrim can fhow. 
 
 That pierces the veil which the future enflirouds. 
 
 And tells us to whom we fhall go! 
 
 
 THE REFUGE. 
 
 W HITHER, O whither fhould I fly. 
 But to my loving Saviour’s breafl ! 
 Secure within thine arms to lie. 
 
 And safe beneath thy wings to reft. 
 
 I have no fkill the snare to ftiun. 
 
 But thou, O Chrift, my wisdom art: 
 
 I ever unto ruin run ; 
 
 But thou art greater than my heart 
 
 Foolifh, and impotent, and blind. 
 
 Lead me a way I have not known ; 
 
 Bring me where I my heaven may find. 
 The heaven of loving thee alone. 
 
igo Chrift, 
 
 Enlarge my heart to make thee room ; 
 
 Enter, and in me ever ftay : 
 
 The crooked then fhall straight become ; * 
 
 The darknefs fhall be loft in day. 
 
 W’’-Jley. 
 
 THE VINE. 
 
 John 15; 1-5. 
 
 J ESUS, immutably the same. 
 
 Thou true and living vine. 
 
 Around thy all-supporting stem 
 My feeble arms I twine. 
 
 Quicken’d by thee and kept alive, 
 
 I flourifti and bear fruit; 
 
 My life I from thy sap derive. 
 
 My vigor from thy root. 
 
 Grafted in thee by grace alone. 
 
 In growth I daily rise ; 
 
 And springing up from thee, the vine. 
 My top fhall reach the fkies. 
 
 I can do nothing without thee ; 
 
 My ftrength is wholly thine j 
 
Chriji. 
 
 191 
 
 Wither’d and barren fhould I be 
 If sever’d from the vine. 
 
 Upon my leaf, \vhen parch’d with heat, 
 Refrefliing dew fliall drop ; 
 
 The plant which thy right hand hath set. 
 Shall ne’er be rooted up. 
 
 Each moment watered by thy care. 
 
 And fenced with power divine, 
 
 Fruit to eternal life fliall bear 
 The feebleft branch of thine. 
 
 Toplady, 1740-1778. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 J ESUS! the ladder of my faith 
 
 Refts on the jasper walls of heaven ; 
 
 And through the veiling clouds I catch 
 Faint vifions of the myftic Seven! 
 
 The glory of the rainbowed throne 
 
 Illumes those clouds like lambent flame ; 
 
 As once, on earth, thy love divine 
 
 Burned thro’ the robes of human fhame. 
 
 Thou art the same, O gracious Lord ! 
 
 The same dear Chrifl: that thou wert then ; 
 
ig 2 
 
 Chriji, 
 
 And all the praises angels fing 
 
 Delight thee lefs than prayers of men ! 
 
 We have no tears thou wilt not dry ; 
 
 We have no wounds thou wilt not heal ; 
 No sorrows pierce our human hearts 
 That thoUj dear Saviour! doft not feel. 
 
 Thy pity, like the dew, diftils ; 
 
 And thy compaffion, like the light. 
 
 Our every morning overfills. 
 
 And crowns with ftars our every night. 
 
 Let not the world’s rude conflidf drown 
 The charmed mufic of thy voice. 
 
 That calls all weary ones to reft. 
 
 And bids all mourning souls rejoice! 
 
 H. M. Kimball. 
 
 IN SORROW. 
 
 M y soul, why doft thou in my breaft 
 With griefs aftlidfed grow; 
 
 Why are my thoughts to my unreft. 
 
 In me increased so ? 
 
 And in thyself by mufings vain. 
 
 Why doft thou seek for ease. 
 
Chriji, 
 
 193 
 
 Since thou ftill more augment’ft thy pain, 
 By such like means as these ? 
 
 When paffion hath enflaved thy heart, 
 
 Why seeks’t thou comfort there ; 
 
 When thou deprived of reason art. 
 
 What reas’ning cureth care ? 
 
 The more thy mind by mufing thinks 
 From sorrow’s depths to rise ; 
 
 The further downward ftill it finks. 
 
 The nearer hell it lies. 
 
 Let, therefore, hence with speed be thrown 
 Those thoughts which thee attend. 
 
 Before they thither prefs thee down 
 Whence no man may ascend : 
 
 And let on Him thy mufings dwell 
 Who, in mere love to thee, 
 
 Hath dived the depths of death and hell. 
 That thou might’st eased be. 
 
 Sweet Jesu ! for thy paffion sake. 
 
 This favour fhow to me ; 
 
 Out of my heart the sorrows take 
 Which therein raging be : 
 
 My paffion calm, mv soul diredf. 
 
 Her thoughts on Thee to place ; 
 
 On my much troubled mind refledl 
 The brightnefs of thy face. 
 
 13 
 
194 Chriji. 
 
 Yea, let contrition for my fin 
 So purge out carnal grief, 
 
 That joy celeftial may bring in 
 The fullnefs of relief: 
 
 So this my sorrow fhall but add 
 A relifh to my joy. 
 
 And cause contentments to be had. 
 
 Which nothing can deftroy. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 CHRIST THE PURIFIER. 
 
 H e that from drofs would win the precious ore. 
 Bends o’er the crucible an earneft eye. 
 
 The subtle searching procefs to explore. 
 
 Left the one brilliant moment ftiould pafs by. 
 
 When in the molten silver’s virgin mafs 
 He meets his pidfured face, as in a glafs. 
 
 Thus in God’s furnace are his people tried ; 
 
 Thrice happy they who to the end endure! 
 
 But who the fiery trial may abide ? 
 
 Who from the crucible come forth so pure. 
 
 That He, whose eye of flame looks through the whole. 
 May see His image perfedt in his soul ? 
 
 Not with an evanescent glimpse alone. 
 
 As in that mirror the refiner’s face. 
 
Chr'ijh 
 
 195 
 
 But ftampt with Heaven’s broad fignet, there be fhown 
 Immanuel’s features, full of truth and grace, 
 
 And round that seal of love this motto be, 
 
 “ Not for a moment^ hut — Eternity^ 
 
 Montgomery. 
 
 THAT ROCK IS CHRIST. 
 
 M y hope is built on nothing lefs 
 
 Than Jesus’ blood and righteousnefs ; 
 
 I dare not truft the sweeteft frame. 
 
 But wholly lean on Jesus’ name. 
 
 On Chrift the solid rock I ftand, 
 All other ground is finking sand. 
 
 When darknefs veils his lovely face, 
 
 I reft on his unchanging grace ; 
 
 In every high and ftormy gale. 
 
 My anchor holds within the veil. 
 
 On Chrift the solid rock I ftand. 
 All other ground is finking sand. 
 
 His oath, his covenant, and blood. 
 
 Support me in the finking flood ; 
 
 When every earthly prop gives way. 
 
 He then is all my hope and ftay. 
 
 On Chrift the solid rock I ftand, 
 All other ground is finking sand. 
 
196 Chriji. 
 
 When I fhall launch to worlds unseen, 
 
 O may I then be found in him, 
 
 Dreft in his righteousnefs alone, 
 
 Faultlefs to Hand before the throne. 
 
 On Chrift the solid rock I ftand. 
 All other ground is finking sand. 
 
 Rees» 
 
 JESUS OF NAZARETH PASSETH BY. 
 
 W ATCHER, who wakefi: by the bed of pain. 
 
 While ftars sweep on with their midnight train. 
 Stifling the tear for thy loved one’s sake. 
 
 Holding thy breath left his fleep fliould break. 
 
 In thy lonelieft hour there’s a helper nigh, 
 
 “ Jesus of Nazareth palTeth by.” 
 
 Stranger, afar from thy native land. 
 
 Whom no man takes with a brother’s hand. 
 
 Table and hearthftones are glowing free. 
 
 Casements are sparkling, but not for thee. 
 
 There is one can tell of a home on high, 
 
 ‘‘ Jesus of Nazareth palTeth by.” 
 
 Sad one, in secret bending low, 
 
 A dart in thy heart, that the world may not know, 
 Wreftling the favor of God to win, 
 
 The seal of pardon for days of fin. 
 
Chriji. 197 
 
 Prefs on, prefs on, with thy prayerful cry, 
 
 Jesus of Nazareth pafleth by.’* 
 
 Mourner, who fitteth in church-yard lone. 
 
 Scanning the lines on that marble ftone. 
 
 Plucking the weeds from thy childrens’ bed, 
 Planting the myrtle and rose inftead. 
 
 Look up from the tomb with thy tearful eye, 
 
 “ Jesus of Nazareth pafleth by.” 
 
 Fading one, with the hectic ftreak. 
 
 In thy vein of fire and thy wafted cheek, 
 
 Fear’st thou the fliade of the darkened vale. 
 
 Look to the guide who can never fail. 
 
 He hath trod it Himself, He will hear thy cry, 
 ‘‘Jesus of Nazareth palfeth by.” 
 
 
 CHRIST. 
 
 J ESUS, my Saviour, look on me. 
 For I am weary and oppreft, 
 
 I come to caft my soul on thee. 
 
 Thou art my reji. 
 
 Look down on me, for I am weak ; 
 I feel the toilsome journey’s length ; 
 
198 Chrift, 
 
 Thine aid omnipotent I seek ; 
 
 Thou art my Jirength, 
 
 I am bewilder’d on my way; 
 
 Dark and tempeftuous is the night; 
 
 O fhed thou forth some cheering ray ; 
 
 Thou art my light. 
 
 % 
 
 Why feel I desolate and lone ? 
 
 Thy praises fhould my thoughts employ ; 
 
 Thy presence can pour gladnefs down ; 
 
 Thou art my joy. 
 
 Thou haft on me so much beftow’d, 
 
 Surely I may relinquifti health ; 
 
 Thou ’ft made me rich, yea, rich towards God ; 
 
 Thou art my wealth. 
 
 I hear the ftorms around me rise. 
 
 But, when I dread the impending ftiock. 
 
 My spirit to her refuge flies ; 
 
 Thou art my rock. 
 
 When the accuser flings his darts, 
 
 I look to thee — my terrors cease ; 
 
 Thy crofs a hiding-place imparts ; 
 
 Thou art my peace. 
 
 Vain is all human help for me, 
 
 I dare not truft an earthly prop ; 
 
/ ChriJ}, ] 99 
 
 My sole reliance is on thee; 
 
 Thou art my hope. 
 
 Full many a conflidl muft be fought! 
 
 But {hall I perifh ? {hall I yield ? 
 
 Is that bright motto given for nought, 
 
 Thou art my Jhield? 
 
 Standing alone on Jordan’s brink, 
 
 In that tremendous, lateft ftrife. 
 
 Thou wilt not suffer me to fink ; 
 
 Thou art my life. 
 
 Thou wilt my every want supply 
 E’en to the end, whate’er befall ; 
 
 Through life, in death, eternally. 
 
 Thou art my all. 
 
 Macduff. 
 
 - 
 
 CHRIST’S INVITATION. 
 
 W ITH tearful eyes I look around ; 
 
 Life seems a dark and ftormy sea ; 
 
 Yet midft the gloom I hear a sound, 
 
 A heavenly whisper — “Come to me.” 
 
 It tells me of a place of reft ; 
 
 It tells me where my soul may flee ; 
 
200 Chrlji, 
 
 Oh ! to the weary, faint, oppreft. 
 
 How sweet the bidding — “ Come to me ! ” 
 
 When the poor heart with anguifh learns 
 That earthly props refigned muft be. 
 
 And from each broken ciftern turns. 
 
 It hears the accents,—“Come to me.” 
 
 When againft fin I ftrive in vain. 
 
 And cannot from its yoke get free. 
 
 Sinking beneath the heavy chain. 
 
 The words arreft me — “ Come to me.’’ 
 
 When nature fhudders, loath to part 
 From all I love, enjoy, and see ; 
 
 When a faint chill fteals o’er my heart, 
 
 A sweet voice utters—“Come to me.” 
 
 “ Come, for all else muft fail and die ; 
 Earth is no refting-place for thee : 
 Heavenward dire61: the weeping eye ; 
 
 I am thy portion — “ Come to me.” 
 
 O voice of mercy! voice of love ! 
 
 In death’s laft fearful agony; 
 
 Support me — cheer me — from above. 
 
 And gently whisper — “ Come to me.” 
 
Chriji. 
 
 201 
 
 “MY BELOVED IS MINE, AND I AM HIS.” 
 
 L ong did I toil, and knew no earthly reft ; 
 
 Far did I rove, and knew no certain home ; 
 At laft I sought them in His ftieltering breaft, 
 Who opes his arms, and bids the weary come. 
 With him I found a home, a reft divine ; 
 
 And I fince then am His, and he is mine. 
 
 Yes, He is mine! and nought of earthly things. 
 Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power. 
 The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings. 
 
 Could tempt me to forego his love an hour. 
 
 Go, worthlefs world, I cry, with all that’s thine ! 
 Go ! I my Saviour’s am, and he is mine. 
 
 The good I have is from His ftores supplied ; 
 
 The ill is only what he deems the beft. 
 
 He for my friend, I’m rich with nought befide ; 
 And poor without him, though of ail poflefT’d. 
 Changes may come — I take, or I refign — 
 Content while I am His, while he is mine. 
 
 Whate’er may change, in Him no change is seen, 
 A glorious Sun, that wanes not, nor declines ; 
 Above the clouds and ftorms he walks serene. 
 
 And sweetly on his people’s darknefs fhines. 
 
202 Chrlji. 
 
 All may depart — I fret not nor repine, 
 
 While I my Saviour’s am, while he is mine. 
 
 He ftays me falling; lifts me up when down ; 
 Reclaims me wandering ; guards from every foe ; 
 Plants on my worthlefs brow the vidfor’s crown ; 
 Which, in return, before his feet I throw, 
 
 Grieved that I cannot better grace his fhrine 
 Who deigns to own me His, as he is mine. 
 
 While here, alas ! I know but half his love. 
 
 But half discern him, and but half adore ; 
 
 But when Hmeet him in the realms above, 
 
 I hope to love him better, praise him more. 
 
 And feel, and tell, amid the choir divine, 
 
 How fully I am His, and he is mine! 
 
 Lyte\ 
 
 I JOURNEY through a desert drear and wild. 
 
 Yet is my heart by such sweet thoughts beguiled 
 Of Him on whom I lean, my llrength, my ftay, 
 
 I can forget the sorrows of the way. 
 
 Thoughts of His love — the root of every grace. 
 Which finds in this poor heart a dwelling-place ; 
 
 The sunfhine of my soul, than day more bright. 
 
 And my calm pillow of repose by night. 
 
Chriji. 203 
 
 Thoughts of His sojourn in this vale of tears — 
 
 The tale of love unfolded in those years 
 Of finlefs suffering, and patient grace, 
 
 I love again, and yet again to trace. 
 
 Thoughts of His glory — on the crofs I gaze. 
 
 And there behold its sad, yet healing rays ; 
 
 Beacon of hope, which lifted up on high. 
 
 Illumes with heav’nly light the tear-dimm’d eye. 
 
 Thoughts of His coming—for that joyful day 
 In patient hope I watch, and wait, and pray ; 
 
 The dawn draws nigh, the midnight fhadows flee, 
 
 Oh what a sunrise will that advent be! 
 
 Thus while I journey on, my Lord to meet, 
 
 My thoughts and meditations are so sweet. 
 
 Of Him on whom I lean, my ftrength, my flay, 
 
 I can forget the sorrows of the way. 
 
 COURAGE. 
 
 S TAND but your ground, your ghoflly foes will fly — 
 Hell trembles at a heaven-diredled eye ; 
 
 Choose rather to defend than to affail — 
 
 Self-confidence will in the conflidl fail : 
 
204 Chrift. 
 
 When you are challenged, you may dangers meet — 
 True courage is a fixed, not sudden heat; 
 
 Is always humble, lives in self-diftruft, 
 
 And will itself into no danger thruft. 
 
 Devote yourself to God, and you will find 
 God fights the battles of a will refigned. 
 
 Love Jesus! Love will no base fear endure — 
 
 Love Jesus ! and of conqueft reft secure. 
 
 Bijhop Ken. 
 
 MORNING HYMN. 
 
 S EE the Day-Spring from afar, 
 Ufher’d by the morning ftar! ” 
 Hafte; to Him who sends the light. 
 Hallow the remains of night. 
 
 Souls, put on your glorious drefs. 
 Waking into righteousnefs ; 
 
 Clothed with Chrift aspire to fhine, 
 Radiance he of light divine; 
 
 Beam of the eternal beam, 
 
 He in God, and God in him ! 
 
 Strive we him in us to see. 
 Transcript of the Deity. 
 
Chriji, 
 
 205 
 
 Burft we then the bands of death, 
 
 Rais’d by his all-quick’ning breath ; 
 
 Long we to be loos’d from earth, 
 
 Struggle into second birth. 
 
 Spent at length in nature’s night; 
 
 Chrift attends to give us light, 
 
 Chrift attends himself to give 5 
 God we now may see, and live. 
 
 Tho’ the outward man decay. 
 
 Form’d within us day by day. 
 
 Still the inner man we view, 
 
 Chrift creating all things new. 
 
 Thou the life, the truth, the way. 
 
 Suffer us no more to ftray : 
 
 Give us Lord, and ever give. 
 
 Thee to know, in thee to live. 
 
 Wejley. 
 
2o6 
 
 Chr'iji, 
 
 / 
 
 A SUPPLICATION. 
 
 O WAY for all that live! heal us by pain and lofs ; 
 Fill all our years with toil, and blefs us with tHy 
 rod. 
 
 Thy bonds bring wider freedom; climbing, by the crofs. 
 Wins that brave height where looms the city of our 
 God I 
 
 Hallow our wit with prayer: our maftery fteep in meek- 
 nefs ; 
 
 Pour on our ftudy inspiration’s holy light; 
 
 Hew out, for Chrift’s dear Church, a Future without 
 weaknefs. 
 
 Quarried from thine Eternal Beauty, Order, Might! 
 
 Met, there, mankind’s great Brotherhood of Souls and 
 Powers, 
 
 Raise thou full praises from its fartheft corners dim ; 
 Pour down, O fteadfaft Sun, thy beams on all its tow¬ 
 ers ; 
 
 Roll through its world-wide spaces Faith’s majeftic 
 hymn. 
 
 Come, age of God’s own Truth, after man’s age of 
 fables ! 
 
 Seed sown in Eden, yield the nations’ healing tree! 
 
ChriJ}, 
 
 207 
 
 Ebal and Sinai, Mamre’s tents, the Hebrew tables. 
 
 All look towards Olivet, and bend to Calvary. 
 
 Fold of the tender Shepherd ! rise, and spread ! 
 
 Arch o’er our frailty roofs of everlafting ftrength! 
 
 Be all the Body gathered to its living Head ! 
 
 Wanderers we faint: O, let us find our Lord at length I 
 
 Kev, F. D. Huntington. 
 
 L IFE’S myftery — deep, reftlefs as the Ocean — 
 Hath surged and wailed for ages to and fro ; 
 Earth’s generations watch its ceaselefs motion 
 As in and out its hollow moanings flow ; 
 
 Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea. 
 
 Let my soul calm itself, O Chrift, in thee ! 
 
 Life’s sorrows, with inexorable power. 
 
 Sweep desolation o’er this mortal plain ; 
 
 And human loves and hopes fly as the chaff" 
 
 Borne by the whirlwind from the ripened grain : — 
 Ah, when before that blafl: my hopes all flee, 
 
 Let my soul calm itself, O Chrift, in thee ! 
 
 Between the myfteries of death and life 
 
 Thou ftandeft, loving, guiding — not explaining j 
 We afk, and thou art filent — yet we gaze. 
 
2o8 Chriji. 
 
 And our charmed hearts forget their drear complain- 
 ing ! 
 
 No crufhing fate — no ftony deftiny ? 
 
 Thou Lamb that hast been flain, we reft in thee ! 
 
 The many waves of thought, the mighty tides, 
 
 The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands. 
 From far-off worlds, from dim eternal fhores 
 
 Whose echo dafties on life’s wave-worn ftrands, — 
 This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea 
 Grows calm, grows bright, O, risen Lord, in thee ! 
 
 Thy pierced hand guides the myfterious wheels ; 
 
 Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of 
 power; 
 
 And when the dark enigma preffeth sore 
 
 Thy patient voice saith, “ Watch with me one 
 hour! ” 
 
 As finks the moaning river in the sea 
 In filver peace — so finks my soul in Thee! 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe. 
 
God . 209 
 
 GOD. 
 
 “ Whom have I in heaven but thee ? and there is none upon earth that 
 I defire befide thee.” Psalm 25. 
 
 I LOVE (and have some cause to love) the earth; 
 
 She is my Maker’s creature, therefore good: 
 
 She is my mother, for fhe gave me birth ; 
 
 She is my tender nurse; flie gives me food : 
 
 But what’s a creature. Lord, compar’d with thee ? 
 Or what’s my mother, or my nurse, to me ? 
 
 I love the air; her dainty sweets refrefh 
 My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ; 
 
 Her fhrill-mouth’d choir suflain me with their flefh; 
 And with their Polyphonian notes delight me : 
 
 But what’s the air, or all the sweets, that fhe 
 Can blefs my soul withal, compar’d to thee ? 
 
 I love the sea ; fhe is my fellow-creature. 
 
 My careful purveyor; fhe provides me ftore : 
 
 She walls me round ; fhe makes my diet greater; 
 
 She wafts my treasure from a foreign fhore : 
 
 14 
 
210 God . 
 
 But, Lord of oceans, when compar’d with thee. 
 What is the ocean, or her wealth, to me ? 
 
 To Heaven’s high city I diredl my journey. 
 
 Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye; 
 
 Mine eye, by contemplation’s great attorney. 
 Transcends the cryftal pavement of the fky : 
 
 But what is Heav’n, great God, compar’d to thee ? 
 Without thy presence, Heav’n’s no Heav’n to me. 
 
 Without thy presence, earth gives no refedfion ; 
 Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure ; 
 Without thy presence, air’s a rank infedfion; 
 
 Without thy presence, Heav’n itself’s no pleasure; 
 
 If not pofTeff’d, if not enjoy’d in thee. 
 
 What’s earth, or sea, or air, or Heaven, to me ? 
 
 ^ Francis Quarles. 
 
 I N all extremes. Lord, thou art ftill 
 
 The mount whereto my hopes do flee; 
 
 O make my soul detefl: all ill. 
 
 Because so much abhorred by thee : 
 
 Lord, let thy gracious trials fhow 
 That I am juft, or make me so. 
 
 Shall mountain, desert, beaft, and tree. 
 
 Yield to that heavenly voice of thine; 
 
-1 
 
 God. 211 
 
 And fliall that voice not ftartle me, 
 
 Nor ftir this ftone — this heart of mine? 
 No, Lord, till thou new-bore mine ear, 
 Thy voice is loft, I cannot hear. 
 
 Fountain of light, and living breath. 
 
 Whose mercies never fail nor fade. 
 
 Fill me with life that hath no death. 
 
 Fill me with light that hath no ftiade ; 
 Appoint the remnant of my days 
 To see thy power, and fing thy praise. 
 
 Lord, God of gods, before whose throne 
 Stand ftorms and fire, O what ftiall we 
 Return to heaven, that is our own. 
 
 When all the world belongs to thee ? 
 We have no offering to impart. 
 
 But praises, and a wounded heart. 
 
 O Thou who fitteft in heaven, and seeft 
 My deeds without, my thoughts within. 
 Be thou my prince, be thou my prieft,— 
 Command my soul, and cure my fin ; 
 How bitter my afflidlions be 
 I care not, so I rise to Thee. 
 
 What I polTefs, or what I crave. 
 
 Brings no content, great God, to me. 
 
 If what I would or what I have 
 
 Be not poffelTed and blelTed in Thee : 
 
212 God . 
 
 What I enjoy, oh, make it mine. 
 
 In making me — that have it—Thine. 
 
 When winter-fortunes cloud the brows 
 
 Of summer-friends, — when eyes grow ftrange. 
 When plighted faith forgets its vows,— 
 
 When earth and all things in it change, — 
 
 O Lord, thy mercies fail me never, — 
 
 When once Thou loveft. Thou loveft forever. 
 
 yohn ^uarles^ son of Francis.^ died in 1665. 
 
 
 PSALM CXXI. 
 
 U P to those bright and gladsome hills. 
 Whence flowes my weal and mirth, 
 
 I look, and figh for Him who fills 
 Unseen both heaven and earth. 
 
 He is alone my help and hope. 
 That I fhall not be moved j 
 His watchful eye is ever ope. 
 
 And guardeth his beloved. 
 
 The glorious God is my sole ftay. 
 He is my sun and fhade : 
 
God , 213 
 
 The cold by night, the heat by day, 
 
 Neither fhall me invade. 
 
 He keeps me from the spite of foes : 
 
 Doth all their plots controul; 
 
 And is a fliield, not reckoning those. 
 
 Unto my very soul. 
 
 Whether abroad amidft the crowd. 
 
 Or else within my door. 
 
 He* is my pillar and my cloud. 
 
 Now and forevermore. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 PSALM CXLVIII. 
 
 C OME, oh! come, with sacred lays. 
 Let us sound the Almighty’s praise j 
 Hither bring in true consent. 
 
 Heart, and voice, and inftrument. 
 
 Let the orpharion sweet. 
 
 With the harp and viol meet: 
 
 To your voices tune the lute : 
 
 Let not tongue nor ftring be mute : 
 
 Not a creature dumb be found. 
 
 That hath either voice or sound. 
 
214 God. 
 
 Let such things as do not live, 
 
 In ftill mufic praises give ; 
 
 Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep 
 On the earth or in the deep ; 
 
 Loud aloft your voices ftrain. 
 
 Beads and monfters of the main \ 
 
 Birds, your warbling treble fing ; 
 
 Clouds, your peals of thunder ring; 
 
 Sun and moon exalted higher. 
 
 And you ftars, augment the quire. 
 
 Come, ye sons of human race. 
 
 In this chorus take your place. 
 
 And amid this mortal throng. 
 
 Be you mailers of the song. 
 
 Angels and celellial powers. 
 
 Be the nobleft tenor yours ; 
 
 Let in praise of God the sound. 
 
 Run a never-ending round. 
 
 That our holy hymn may be 
 Everlalling as is He. 
 
 From the earth’s vail hollow womb, 
 Mufic’s deeped bafs lhall come. 
 
 Sea and floods, from Ihore to Ihore, 
 
 Shall the counter-tenor roar. 
 
 To this concert, when we fing, 
 
 Whidling winds, your descant bring: 
 Which may bear the sound above 
 Where the orb of fire doth move. 
 
God, 215 
 
 And so climb from sphere to sphere, 
 
 Till our song the Almighty hear. 
 
 So ftiall He from heaven’s high tower 
 On the earth his bleffing fliower ; 
 
 All this huge wide orb we see, 
 
 Shall one quire, one temple be; 
 
 There our voices we will rear. 
 
 Till we fill it everywhere : 
 
 And enforce the fiends that dwell 
 In the air, to fink to hell. 
 
 Then, oh I come, with sacred lays. 
 
 Let us sound the Almighty’s praise. 
 
 George Wither, 1588—1677. 
 
 — -- 
 
 PSALM XXIII. 
 
 H appy me! O happy fheep 
 
 Whom my God vouchsafes to keep; 
 
 Even my God, even he it is 
 
 That points me to these ways of blifs; 
 
 On whose paftures cheerful Spring 
 All the year doth fit and fing. 
 
 And, rejoicing, smiles to see 
 Their green backs wear his livery. 
 
 When my wayward breath is flying 
 He calls home my soul from dying. 
 
216 God . 
 
 Strokes and tames my rabid grief, 
 
 And does woo me into life : 
 
 When my fimple weaknefs ftrays, 
 Tangled in forbidden ways, 
 
 He, my Shepherd, is my guide. 
 
 He’s before me, on my fide. 
 
 And behind me. He beguiles 
 Craft in all her knotty wiles ; 
 
 He expounds the giddy wonder 
 Of my weary fteps, and under 
 Spreads a path clear as the day. 
 Where no churlifli rub says nay. 
 
 To my joy-condudled feet, 
 
 Whilft they gladly go to meet 
 Grace and Peace, to meet new lays 
 Tuned to my great Shepherd’s praise. 
 Come now all ye terrors, sally, 
 Mufter forth into the valley. 
 
 Where triumphant darknefs hovers 
 With a sable wing, that covers 
 Brooding horror. Come then. Death, 
 Let the damps of thy dull breath 
 Overfhadow even the fhade. 
 
 And make Darknefs’ self afraid ; 
 There my feet, even there, fhall find 
 Way for a resolved mind. 
 
 Still my Shepherd, flill my God, 
 Thou art with me ; flill thy rod. 
 
 And thy ftafF, whose influence 
 Gives diredlion, gives defence. 
 
God. 217 
 
 At the whisper of thy word 
 Crown’d abundance spreads my board : 
 
 How my head in ointment swims ! 
 
 How my cup o’erlooks her brims ! 
 
 So, even so ftill may I move 
 By the line of thy dear love ; 
 
 Still may thy sweet mercy spread 
 A fhady arm above my head, 
 
 About my paths ; so fhall I find 
 The fair centre of my mind. 
 
 Thy temple, and those lovely walls 
 Bright ever with a beam that falls 
 Frefh from the pure glance of Thine eye. 
 Lighting to Eternity. 
 
 There I ’ll dwell forever, there 
 
 Will I find a purer air 
 
 To feed my life with, there I ’ll sup. 
 
 Balm and nedfar in my cup. 
 
 And thence my ripe soul will I breathe 
 Warm into the arms of Death. 
 
 Richard Crajhaw. 
 
2i8 
 
 God . 
 
 THE GOODNESS OF GOD. 
 
 A ll praise and thanks to God moft High, 
 The Father of all Love ! 
 
 The God who doeth wondroufly, 
 
 The God who from above 
 My soul with richeft solace fills, 
 
 The God who every sorrow ftills ; 
 
 Give to our God the glory ! 
 
 The hoft of heaven thy praises tell. 
 
 All thrones bow down to thee. 
 
 And all who in thy fhadow dwell. 
 
 In earth and air and sea. 
 
 Declare and laud their Maker’s might. 
 Whose wisdom orders all things right; 
 
 Give to our God the glory ! 
 
 And for the creatures he hath made. 
 
 Our God fhall well provide ; 
 
 His grace fhall be their conftant aid. 
 
 Their guard on every fide ; 
 
 His kingdom ye may surely trufl. 
 
 There all is equal, all is juft ; 
 
 Give to our God the glory! 
 
God. 219 
 
 I sought him in my hour of need ; 
 
 Lord God, now hear my prayer ! 
 
 For death he gave me life indeed, 
 
 And comfort for despair ; 
 
 For this my thanks fhall endlefs be. 
 
 Oh thank him, thank him too with me ; 
 
 Give to our God the glory ! 
 
 The Lord is never far away. 
 
 Nor sundered from his flock; 
 
 He is their refuge and their ftay. 
 
 Their peace, their truft, their rock. 
 
 And with a mother’s watchful love 
 He guides them wheresoe’er they rove. 
 
 Give to our God the glory ! 
 
 And when earth cannot comfort more. 
 
 Nor earthly help avail. 
 
 The Maker comes himself, whose flore 
 Of blefling cannot fail. 
 
 And bends on them a Father’s eyes 
 Whom earth all reft and hope denies : 
 
 Give to our God the glory! 
 
 ft 
 
 Ah then till life hath reached its bound. 
 
 My God, I’ 11 worfhip thee. 
 
 The chorus of thy praise fhall sound 
 Far over land and sea; 
 
 Oh soul and body now rejoice. 
 
 My heart send forth a gladsome voice : 
 
 Give to our God the glory! 
 
220 God . 
 
 All ye who name Chrift’s holy name. 
 
 Give to our God the glory! 
 
 Ye who the Father’s power proclaim, 
 
 Give to our God the glory ! 
 
 All idols under foot be trod. 
 
 The Lord is God! The Lord is God ! 
 
 Give to our God the glory! 
 
 J, J, Schutz, 1673. 
 
 “WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE?” 
 
 T hou art my all — to Thee I flee; 
 
 Take me, oh, take me to thy keeping! 
 Make me thy vine, thy hufbandry ; 
 
 Be thine the seed-time, thine the reaping. 
 
 For what on earth but tells thy power ? 
 
 And what but makes thy love its theme ? 
 
 I read it in the vernal fhower. 
 
 It cheers me in the summer beam : 
 
 It glows while memory lingers yet 
 O’er hours a mother’s love beguiled ; 
 
 For, ah ! a mother may forget. 
 
 But Thou wilt not forget thy child. 
 
 I had a friend — nor false his love ; 
 
 But him on earth no more I see ; 
 
God, 
 
 221 
 
 O thou unchanging friend above, 
 
 What is an earthly friend to Thee ? 
 
 Give me no bright behefl: of care, 
 
 No grovelling boon of envied sod. 
 
 No hopes that lead but to despair ; 
 
 Ease, honors, w^ealth, are not my God. 
 
 Nor aught in heaven ; for, angels, say. 
 
 And saints escaped earth’s guilt and sadnefs. 
 What makes your everlafting day ? 
 
 What tunes your harps to joy and gladnefs ? 
 
 O ! there is nought in yon bright fky 
 Worthy this worthlefs heart to own ; 
 
 On earth there’s nought; friends, creatures, fly ; 
 I pant, my God, for thee alone. 
 
222 God. 
 
 IN A DARK NIGHT. 
 
 W HAT though the comforts of the light 
 This gloomy night denies ; 
 
 Though me to trouble and affright, 
 Unwelcome darknefs tries. 
 
 What fhould I doubt ? whom fhould I fear ? 
 
 Or why difhearten’d be ; 
 
 Since thou, O God ! art everywhere. 
 
 And present ftill with me. 
 
 What mischiefs hath a midnight hour 
 My terror to procure ? 
 
 What warrant hath a noontide power 
 My safety to affure ? 
 
 I find no comforts in the day, 
 
 If thou thy presence hideft ; 
 
 Nor can the darknefs me dismay. 
 
 If near me thou abid’ft. 
 
 Indeed the fiend that hates the light. 
 
 Doth oft occafion take. 
 
 Amid the darknefs of the night. 
 
 These bugbear Ihows to make : 
 
 Yet sure the darknefs of our minds. 
 
 Is that whereby this foe 
 
God. 
 
 223 
 
 Moft frequently occafion finds 
 The greateft harms to do. 
 
 Me from that darknefs to defend. 
 
 Thy grace, O Lord ! afford j 
 To me th’ enlightening Spirit lend. 
 
 And lantern of thy word. 
 
 For then though Egypt’s darknefs had 
 Inclosed me round about; 
 
 Yea, though I sat in death’s black fhade. 
 That light (hould guide me out. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 I COR. 3 : 22. 
 
 I F God is mine, then present things 
 And things to come are mine ; 
 Yea, Chriff, his word, and spirit too. 
 And glory all divine. 
 
 If He is mine, then from his love 
 He every trouble sends ; 
 
 All things are working for my good. 
 And blifs his rod attends. 
 
 If He is mine, I need not fear 
 The rage of earth and hell; 
 
 He will support my feeble power. 
 Their utmoff force repel. 
 
2 24 God. 
 
 If He is mine, let friends forsake, 
 
 Let wealth and honor flee ; 
 
 Sure he who giveth me himself 
 Is more than these to me. 
 
 If He is mine, I ’ll boldly pafs 
 Through death’s myfterious vale ; 
 
 He is a solid comfort when 
 All other comforts fail. 
 
 Oh ! tell me. Lord, that thou art mine ; 
 
 What can I wifh befide ? 
 
 My soul fhall at the fountain live. 
 
 When all the flreams are dried. 
 
 W HEN, before, my God commanded 
 Anything he would have done, 
 
 I was close and gripple-handed. 
 
 Made an end ere I begun. 
 
 If he thought it fit to lay 
 Judgments on me, I could say. 
 They are good ; but fhrink away. 
 
 I 
 
 But the case is alter’d now : 
 
 He no sooner turns his eye. 
 
 But I quickly bend, and bow, 
 
 Ready at his feet to lie : 
 
God. 225 
 
 Love hath taught me to obey 
 All his precepts, and to say, 
 
 Not to-morrow, but to-day. 
 
 What he wills, I say I muft : 
 
 What I muft, I say I will : 
 
 He commanding, it is juft 
 
 What he would, I fhould fulfil. 
 
 Whilft he biddeth, I believe 
 What he calls for he will give : 
 
 To obey him, is to live. 
 
 His commandments grievous are not. 
 Longer than men think them so : 
 Though he send me forth, I care not, 
 Whilft he gives me ftrength to go ; 
 When or whither, all is one ; 
 On his bus’nefs, not mine own, 
 I lhall never go alone. 
 
 If I be complete in him. 
 
 And in him all fullnefs dwelleth, 
 
 I am sure aloft to swim, 
 
 Whilft that Ocean overswelleth. 
 
 Having Him that’s all in all, 
 
 I am confident I fhall 
 Nothing want, for which I call. 
 
 Francis Quarles. 
 
 15 
 
226 God, 
 
 OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD. 
 
 O THOU by Ions experience tried, 
 
 Near whom no grief can long abide ; 
 
 My Lord, how full of sweet content, 
 
 I pafs my years of baniftiment. 
 
 All scenes alike engaging prove. 
 
 To souls imprefled with sacred love ! 
 
 Where’er they dwell, they dwell in Thee, — 
 
 In heaven, in earth, or on the sea. 
 
 To me remainsi nor place nor time. 
 
 My country is in every clime : 
 
 I can be calm and free from care 
 On any fhore, fince God is there. 
 
 While place we seek, or place we (hun. 
 
 The soul finds happinefs in none j 
 But with my God to guide my way, 
 
 *T is equal joy to go or ftay. 
 
 Could I be caft where Thou art not. 
 
 That were indeed a dreadful thought : 
 
 But regions none remote I call. 
 
 Secure of finding God in all. 
 
 Madame Guy on. 
 
God, 227 
 
 GOD WITH ME. 
 
 “ When thou pafleft through the waters, I will be with thee ; and through 
 the rivers, they lhall not overflow thee : when thou walkeft through 
 the fire, thou (halt not be burned ; neither fliall the flame kindle 
 upon thee.” — Isa. 43: 2. 
 
 M y God with me in every place ! 
 
 Firmly does the promise ftand, 
 
 On land or sea, with present grace 
 Still to aid us near at hand. 
 
 If you afk, “ Who is with thee ? ” 
 
 God is here — my God with me ! 
 
 No depth, nor prison, nor the grave. 
 
 Can exclude him from his own ; 
 
 His cheering presence ftill I have. 
 
 If in crowds or all alone. 
 
 In whatever ftate I be. 
 
 Everywhere is God with me ! 
 
 My God for me! I dare to say — 
 
 God the portion of my soul! 
 
 Nor need I tremble in dismay 
 When around me troubles roll. 
 
 If you afk, “ What comforts thee ? ” 
 
 It is this — God is for me ! 
 
228 God. 
 
 In life, in death, with God so near, 
 
 Every battle I fhall win. 
 
 Shall boldly prefs through dangers here. 
 
 Triumph over every fin! 
 
 “ What ! ” you say, “ a vidlor be ? ” 
 
 No, not I, but God in me ! 
 
 C. F. Zeller. 
 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 W ITHOUT the smile of God upon the soul. 
 We see not, and the world has loft its light ; 
 For us there is no quiet in the night. 
 
 No beauty in the ftars. The saffron ftole 
 Of morning, or the pomp of evening’s goal. 
 
 That celebrates Day’s marriage with the Sea,-—■ 
 
 Blue diftance, filver lake, hill, glen, and tree,— 
 
 Are sealed unto the spirit like a scroll 
 Writ in a perifhed language. But a ray 
 Upon this darknefs suddenly may dart. 
 
 And Chrift’s dear love be poured into the heart. 
 
 To clothe Creation in a robe of day. 
 
 Then doth the morning cheer, the night hath calm. 
 And fkies a glory, and the dews a balm. 
 
 Townsend. 
 
God. 229 
 
 HYMN OF A HERMIT. 
 
 T hou, Lord, who rear’ft the mountains’ height. 
 And mak’ft the cliff with sunfhine bright. 
 
 Oh grant that I may own thy hand, 
 
 No lefs in every grain of sand! 
 
 With forefts huge of datelefs time. 
 
 Thy will hath hung each peak sublime; 
 
 But withered leaves beneath a tree 
 Have tongues that tell as loud of Thee. 
 
 While clouds to clouds through ages call. 
 
 Thou pour’ll the thundering waterfall ; 
 
 But every filent drop of dew 
 Refledls thy ordered world to view. 
 
 In all the immense, the ftrange, the old. 
 
 Thy presence carelefs men behold ; 
 
 In all the little, weak, and mean. 
 
 By faith be thou as clearly seen. 
 
 Teach, Thou ! that not a leaf can grow 
 Till life from thee within it flow; 
 
 That not a speck of duft can be, 
 
 O Fount of Being ! save by thee. 
 
230 God. 
 
 Inftruit my soul, by fhows diftraught, 
 
 Too vaft and loud for peaceful thought, 
 
 That every quiet mote and gleam 
 With Thee, to mufing spirits, beam. 
 
 Inspire me. Thou, in every glance 
 Of all our dreams confuse as chance. 
 
 In every change of mortal things. 
 
 To see a power from thee that springs. 
 
 In everv human word and deed. 
 
 Each flafli of feeling, will, or creed. 
 
 To know a plan ordained above, 
 
 Begun and ending all in love. 
 
 So smalleft bubbles here on earth 
 With me ftiall claim a heavenly birth, 
 
 And each faint atom paffing by 
 Seem bright with thine eternal eye. 
 
 So beft we learn what light sublime 
 Is hid within the clouds of time. 
 
 Whose darknefs, dreadful though it be. 
 
 From those who seek conceals not Thee. 
 
 Sterling. 
 
God. 231 
 
 MY FATHER IS THE MIGHTY LORD. 
 
 M y Father is the mighty Lord, whose arm 
 
 Spans earth and fky, and fhields his child from 
 harm, 
 
 Whose ftill, small voice of love is yet the same 
 As once from Horeb’s fiery mount it came ; 
 
 Whose glorious works the angel-choirs declare ; 
 
 He hears their praise, and hearkens to my prayer. 
 
 My King is God’s eternal, holy Son, 
 
 And he anoints me as a chosen one ; 
 
 He has redeemed me with his precious blood. 
 
 And for unnumber’d debts has surety flood ; 
 
 He fought the foe, and drew me by his hand, 
 
 Out from his camp, into his Father’s land. 
 
 My brotherhood’s a circle, flretching wide 
 Around one fount, although a sea divide; 
 
 With fathers, who behold the Lord in light. 
 
 With saints unborn, who fhall adore his might 
 With brothers, who the race of faith now run. 
 
 In union and communion, I am one ! 
 
 My journey’s end lies upward and afar ; 
 
 It glimmers bright, but vaguely as a flar ; 
 
232 God. 
 
 And oft as faith has caught some glimpse serene, 
 
 So often clouds and miffs obscure the scene ; 
 
 Yet, in this longing ends each vifion dim — 
 
 To see my Lord, and to be made like him ! 
 
 My grave, so long a dark and drear abyfs. 
 
 Is now scarce noticed on the way to blifs ; 
 
 Once at the gates of Hell it yawning lay, ® 
 
 Now ftands as portal to the land of day ; 
 
 It takes me to the Father’s home so bleft; 
 
 It brings me to the feaft, a welcome gueft. 
 
 Lange. 
 
 THE FATHER, REDEEMER, GUIDE. 
 
 O FATHER-EYE, that hath so truly watch’d, 
 
 O Father-hand, that hath so gently led, 
 
 O Father-heart, that by my prayer is touch’d. 
 
 That loved me firft when I was cold and dead: 
 Still do thou lead me on with faithful care 
 
 The narrow path to heaven where I would go. 
 And train me for the life that waits me there. 
 
 Alike through love and lofs, through weal and wo. 
 
 O my Redeemer, who for me waft flain. 
 
 Who bringeft me forgivenefs and release. 
 
 Whose death has ransom’d me to God again, 
 
 That now my heart can reft in perfedf peace; 
 
God. 
 
 233 
 
 Still more and more do thou my soul redeem, 
 
 From every bondage set me wholly free, 
 
 Though Evil oft the mightieft power may seem. 
 
 Still make me more than conqueror. Lord, in thee. 
 
 O Holy Spirit, who with gentleft breath 
 
 Doff teach to pray, doft comfort or reprove. 
 
 Who giveft us all joy and hope and faith. 
 
 Through whom we live at peace with God in love 3 
 Still do thou fhed thine influences abroad. 
 
 Let me the Father’s image ever wear. 
 
 Make me a holy temple of my God, 
 
 Where dwells forever calm adoring prayer ! 
 
 FOR THE SABBATH MORNING. 
 
 L ight of light enlighten me 
 
 Now anew the day is dawning ; 
 Sun of grace, the fhadows flee. 
 
 Brighten thou my Sabbath morning. 
 With Thy joyous sunftiine blefl: 
 
 Happy is my day of reft! 
 
 Fount of all our joy and peace. 
 
 To Thy living waters lead me. 
 
 Thou from earth my soul release 
 
 And with grace and mercy feed me ; 
 
234 God. 
 
 Blefs thy word that it may prove 
 Rich in fruits that thou doft love. 
 
 Kindle Thou the sacrifice 
 That upon my lips is lying ; 
 
 Clear the fhadows from mine eyes 
 That, from every error flying, 
 
 No flrange fire within me glow 
 That Thine altar doth not know. 
 
 Let me with my heart to-day, 
 
 Holy, Holy, Holy, finging. 
 
 Rapt awhile from earth away 
 
 All my soul to thee upspringing. 
 
 Have a foretafte inly given 
 How they worfhip thee in Heaven. 
 
 Refl: in me and I in thee. 
 
 Build a Paradise within me ; 
 
 Oh reveal thyself to me, 
 
 BlefTed Love, who diedfl: to win me ; 
 
 Fed from thine exhauftlefs urn. 
 
 Pure and bright my lamp ftiall burn. 
 
 Hence all care, all vanity. 
 
 For the day to God is holy; 
 
 Come thou glorious majefly 
 
 Deign to fill this temple lowly ; 
 
 Nought to-day my soul fhall move. 
 
 Simply refting in thy love. 
 
 B. Schmolck. 1731- 
 
Death. 
 
 235 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 A LITTLE WHILE. 
 
 B eyond the smiling and the weeping, 
 I fhall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the waking and the fleeping, 
 Beyond the sowing and the reaping, 
 
 I ftiall be soon. 
 
 Love, reft, and home ! 
 
 Sweet home ! 
 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the blooming and the fading, 
 
 I ftiall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the fhining and the fhading. 
 
 Beyond the hoping and the dreading, 
 
 I fhall be soon. 
 
 Love, reft, and home! 
 
 Sweet home! 
 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
Death. 
 
 Beyond the rifing and the setting, 
 
 I fhall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the calming and the fretting, 
 
 Beyond remembering and forgetting, 
 
 I fhall be soon. 
 
 Love, reft, and home ! 
 
 Sweet home! 
 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the parting and the meeting, 
 
 I fhall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the farewell and the greeting, 
 
 Beyond the pulse’s fever beating, 
 
 I fhall be soon. 
 
 Love, reft, and home ! 
 
 Sweet home ! 
 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Beyond the froft-chain and the fever, 
 
 I fhall be soon ; 
 
 Beyond the rock-wafte and the river, 
 
 Beyond the ever and the never 
 I fhall be soon. 
 
 Love, reft, and home ! 
 
 Sweet home ! 
 
 Lord, tarry not, but come. 
 
 Rev. Dr. Bonar. 
 
Death. 
 
 237 
 
 A LITTLE LONGER. 
 
 A LITTLE longer yet, a little longer, 
 
 Shall violets bloom for thee and sweet birds fing. 
 And the lime branches, where soft winds are blowing. 
 Shall murmur the sweet promise of the spring. 
 
 A little longer yet, a little longer. 
 
 Thou fhalt behold the quiet of the morn. 
 
 While tender grades and awakening flowers. 
 
 Send up a golden tint to greet the dawn. 
 
 A little longer yet, a little longer. 
 
 The tendernefs of twilight fhall be thine. 
 
 The rosy clouds that float o’er dying daylight. 
 
 Nor fade till trembling ftars begin to fhine. 
 
 A little longer yet, a little longer. 
 
 Shall ftarry night be beautiful for thee. 
 
 And the cold moon fhall look through the blue fllence. 
 Flooding her filver path upon the sea. 
 
 A little longer yet, a little longer. 
 
 Life fhall be thine — life with its power to will. 
 
 Life with its ftrength to bear, to love, to conquer. 
 Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill. 
 
 # 
 
238 Death. 
 
 A little longer yet, a little longer, 
 
 The voices thou haft loved ftiall charm thine ear ; 
 
 And thy true heart that now beats quick to hear them 
 A little longer yet, ftiall hold them dear. 
 
 A little longer yet, joy while thou mayft ; 
 
 Love and rejoice, for time has nought in ftore ; 
 
 And soon the darknefs of the grave fhall bid thee 
 Love and rejoice, and feel and know no more. 
 
 A little longer ftill — patience, beloved: 
 
 A little longer ftill, ere heaven unroll 
 
 The glory, and the brightnefs, and the wonder. 
 
 Eternal and divine that waits thy soul. 
 
 A little longer ere life, true, immortal, 
 
 (Not this our fhadowy life) will be thine own. 
 
 And thou fhalt ftand where winged archangels worfhip. 
 And trembling bow before the Great White Throne. 
 
 A little longer ftill, and heaven awaits thee. 
 
 And fills thy spirit with a great delight ; 
 
 Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten, 
 
 Our sun a darknefs, and our day a night. 
 
 A little longer, and thy heart, beloved. 
 
 Shall beat forever with a love divine ; 
 
 And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal. 
 
 No mortal knows, and lives, fhall then be thine. 
 
Death, 239 
 
 A little longer yet, and angel voices 
 
 Shall fing in heavenly chant upon thine ear ; 
 
 Angels and saints await thee, and God needs thee ; 
 Beloved, can we bid thee linger here ? 
 
 Chrijilan Regijier. 
 
 -♦- 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 W HEN T'hou fhalt please this soul to enthrone 
 Above impure corruption. 
 
 What (hould I grieve or feare. 
 
 To think this breathlelTe body muft 
 Become a loathsome heape of duft. 
 
 And ne’er again appeare ? 
 
 For in the fire where ore is tryed. 
 
 And by that torment purified,' 
 
 Doe we deplore the lolTe ? 
 
 And, when Thou fhalt my soul refine. 
 
 That it thereby may purer fhine. 
 
 Shall I grieve for the drofle ? 
 
 Habington. 
 
240 Death. 
 
 t 
 
 MORTALITY. 
 
 “ And we shall be changed.” 
 
 Y e dainty moffes, lichens gray, 
 
 PrelT’d each to each in tender fold, 
 And peacefully thus, day by day. 
 
 Returning to their mould ; 
 
 Brown leaves, that with aerial grace 
 
 Slip from your branch like birds a-wing. 
 Each leaving in the appointed place 
 Its bud of future Spring; 
 
 If we, God’s conscious creatures, knew 
 But half your faith in our decay. 
 
 We fhould not tremble as we do 
 When summon’d clay to clay. 
 
 But with an equal patience sweet 
 We fhould put off this mortal gear. 
 
 In whatsoe’er new form is meet 
 Content to reappear. 
 
 Knowing each germ of life He gives 
 Muft have in Him its source and rise. 
 
Death. 
 
 241 
 
 Beino; that of His beino- lives 
 
 t) o 
 
 May change, but never dies. 
 
 Ye dead leaves, dropping soft and flow, 
 
 Ye mofTes green and lichens fair. 
 
 Go to your graves, as I will go. 
 
 For God is also there. 
 
 Mtfs Muloch. 
 
 — 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 T here are who fear thy summons. Death ! 
 
 And all thy pale and cold array; 
 
 The young, who with rejoicing breath. 
 
 Are opening on life’s sunny day. 
 
 Yes! all to them seems frefli and sweet; 
 
 And as they gaze, with raptured eye, 
 
 On all the beautiful they meet. 
 
 They feel it would be pain to die. 
 
 There are to whom thy call would come. 
 
 As to the exile’s weary heart 
 Would be the summons to his home; 
 
 That home from which he wept to part. 
 
 There are, who, worn with cares and tears. 
 
 Look on thee as the blelTed one, 
 
 16 
 
Death. 
 
 242 
 
 Whose hand fhall close their mortal years. 
 Before their faith and truft be gone. 
 
 And, Death ! there are who look to thee. 
 
 But as the minifter of grace. 
 
 And who thy dark approach can see 
 
 With smiles, for they have won the race. 
 
 The good, the blefl:! to thee they truft 
 
 To crown them with the immortal wreath ; 
 And fearlefs of the dreams of duft. 
 
 As conquerors welcome thee, O Death ! 
 
 RISING TO GOD. 
 
 N OW let our souls on wings sublime 
 Rise from the vanities of time ; 
 Draw back the parting veil, and see 
 The glories of eternity. 
 
 Born by a new celeftial birth. 
 
 Why fhould we grovel here on earth ? 
 Why grasp at tranfitory toys. 
 
 So near to heaven’s eternal joys ? 
 
 Shall aught beguile us on the road. 
 
 When we are walking back to God; 
 
Death. 243 
 
 For ftrangers unto life we come, ’ 
 
 And dying is but going home. 
 
 Welcome sweet hour of full discharge, 
 
 That sets our longing souls at large. 
 
 Unbinds our chains, breaks up our cell. 
 
 And gives us with our God to dwell. 
 
 To dwell with God, to feel his love. 
 
 Is the full heaven enjoyed above ; 
 
 And the sweet expecSIation now. 
 
 Is the young dawn of heaven below. 
 
 Gibbons, 
 
 ~oC\*)X(Loo- 
 
 MY GOD! I KNOW THAT I MUST DIE. 
 
 Job 14: II, 12. 
 
 M y God ! I know that I muft die. 
 
 My mortal life is palling hence; 
 
 On earth I neither hope nor try 
 To find a lafling refidence ; 
 
 Then teach me by thy heavenly grace. 
 
 With joy and peace my death to face. 
 
 My God ! I know not when I die. 
 
 What is the moment or the hour,— 
 
Death, 
 
 244 
 
 How soon the clay may broken lie, 
 
 How quickly pafs away the flower j 
 Then may thy child prepared be 
 Through time to meet Eternity. 
 
 My God! I know not how I die, 
 
 For death has many ways to come,— 
 
 In dark myflierious agony. 
 
 Or gently as a fleep to some. 
 
 Jufl: as thou wilt! if but it be 
 Forever bleflTed, Lord, with thee. 
 
 My God! I know not where I die, 
 
 Where is my grave, beneath what flrand. 
 
 Yet from its gloom I do rely 
 To be delivered by thy hand. 
 
 Content, I take what spot is mine. 
 
 Since all the earth, my Lord, is thine. 
 
 My gracious God! when I muft die. 
 
 Oh ! bear my happy soul above. 
 
 With Chrifl, my Lord, eternally 
 To fhare thy glory and thy love ! 
 
 Then comes it right and well to me. 
 
 When, where, and how my death fhall be. 
 
 B, Schmolk, 
 
Death, 
 
 245 
 
 TO DIE IS GAIN. 
 
 W HY longed Paul to be diflblv’d, 
 And enter into reft ? 
 
 The queftion here he hath resolv’d,— 
 To be with Chrift is beft. 
 
 And I, like Paul, defire to die, 
 
 I long for death’s arreft j 
 If any afk the reason why, — 
 
 To be with Chrift is beft. 
 
 My unbelief, that bosom foe. 
 
 Which lurks within my breaft. 
 
 So often seeks my overthrow, — 
 
 To be with Chrift is beft. 
 
 Should friends and kindred on me frown, 
 And leave my soul oppreft j 
 
 Should evils crufti my comforts down, — 
 To be with Chrift is beft. 
 
 Had I a voice so loud and ftrong. 
 
 To sound from eaft to weft; 
 
 I’d tell the honor’d seeking throng. 
 
 To be with Chrift is beft. 
 
246 Death. 
 
 O come, sweet Jesus, quickly come, 
 
 And cheer my fainting bread:; 
 
 I long to reach my heavenly home,— 
 
 To be with Chriil: is bed. 
 
 Pinion’d with love, IM take the wing. 
 
 And fly to thee, my red : 
 
 There with the Church triumphant ling. 
 
 To be with Chrid is bed. 
 
 DobelPs ColleSiion. 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 W HAT mean ye by this wailing. 
 
 To break my bleeding heart? 
 
 As if the love that binds us 
 Could alter or depart ! 
 
 Our sweet and holy union 
 
 Knows neither time nor place ; 
 
 The love that God has planted 
 Is lading as His grace. 
 
 Ye clasp these hands at parting. 
 
 As if no hope could be ; 
 
 While dill we dand forever 
 In blelTed unity ! 
 
 Ye gaze, as on a vifion. 
 
 Ye never could recall. 
 
Death. 247 
 
 While ftill each thought is with you, 
 
 And Jesus with us all! 
 
 Ye say, “We here, thou yonder. 
 
 Thou goeft, and we ftay ! ” 
 
 And yet Chrift’s myftic body 
 Is one eternally. 
 
 Ye speak of different journeys, 
 
 A long and sad adieu ! 
 
 While ftill one way I travel. 
 
 And have one end with you ! 
 
 Why fhould ye now be weeping 
 These agonizing tears ? 
 
 Behold our gracious Leader, 
 
 And caft away your fears. 
 
 We tread one path to glory. 
 
 Are guided by one hand. 
 
 And led in faith and patience 
 Unto one Fatherland ! 
 
 Then let this hour of parting 
 No bitter grief record. 
 
 But be an hour of union 
 
 More bleffed with our Lord ! 
 
 With Him to guide and save us. 
 
 No changes that await. 
 
 No earthly separations 
 Can leave us desolate ! 
 
 Spitta. 
 
248 
 
 Death. 
 
 S OUL’S joy, now I am gone, 
 
 And you alone, 
 
 (Which cannot be. 
 
 Since I muft leave myself with thee, 
 And carry thee with me,) 
 
 Yet when unto our eyes 
 Absence denies 
 Each other’s fight. 
 
 And makes to us a conftant night 
 When others change to light; 
 
 O give no way to grief. 
 
 But let belief 
 Of mutual love. 
 
 This wonder to the vulgar prove. 
 Our bodies, not we, move. 
 
 Let not thy wit beweep 
 
 Words, but sense deep ; 
 
 For when we mifs 
 By diftance, our hopes-joining blifs, 
 
 Ev’n then our souls fhall kifs : 
 Fools have no means to meet. 
 But by their feet; 
 
 Why fhould our clay 
 Over our spirits so much sway. 
 
 To tie us to that way? 
 
Death. 
 
 249 
 
 O give no way to grief, 
 
 But let belief 
 Of mutual love, 
 
 This wonder to the vulgar prove. 
 
 Our bodies, not we, move. 
 
 Dr, Donne, 
 
 A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING. 
 
 A S virtuous men pafs mildly away. 
 
 And whisper to their souls to go, 
 
 Whilft some of their sad friends, do say, 
 
 The breath goes now, and some say no ; 
 
 So let us melt, and make no noise. 
 
 No tear-floods, nor figh-tempefts move, 
 
 ’T were profanation of our joys. 
 
 To tell the laity our love. 
 
 Moving of the earth brings harms and fears. 
 
 Men reckon what it did and meant; 
 
 But trepidation of the spheres. 
 
 Though greater far, is innocent. 
 
 Dull sublunary Lovers’ love 
 
 (Whose soul is sense) cannot admit 
 Absence, because it doth remove 
 Those things which elemented it. 
 
250 Death. 
 
 But we by a love so much refined, 
 
 That ourselves know not what it is, 
 
 Inter-alTured of the mind, 
 
 Carelefs eyes, lips, and hands to mifs. 
 
 Our two souls, therefore, which are one. 
 Though I mufi; go, endure not yet 
 
 A breach, but an expanfion. 
 
 Like gold to airy thinnefs beat. 
 
 If they be two, they are two so • 
 
 As ftiflF twin compafiTes are two ; 
 
 Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show 
 To move, but doth if the other do. 
 
 And though it in the centre fit. 
 
 Yet when the other far doth roam. 
 
 It leans and hearkens after it. 
 
 And grows ere6i:, as that comes home 
 
 Such wilt thou be to me, who muft, 
 
 Like the other foot, obliquely run : 
 
 Thy firmnefs makes my circle juft. 
 
 And makes me end where I begun. 
 
 Dr. Donne. 
 
Death, 
 
 251 
 
 THE FAMILY IN HEAVEN AND EARTH. 
 
 V I AIS but one family,—the sound is'balm, 
 
 A A seraph-whisper to the wounded heart. 
 
 It lulls the ftorm of sorrow to a calm. 
 
 And draws the venom from the avenger’s dart. 
 
 ’T is but one family, — the accents come 
 
 Like light from heaven to break the night of woe. 
 
 The banner-cry, to call the spirit home. 
 
 The fliout of victory o’er a fallen foe. 
 
 Death cannot separate — is memory dead? 
 
 Has thought, too, vanifhed, and has love grown chill ? 
 Has every relic and memento fled. 
 
 And are the living only with us ftill ? 
 
 No! in our hearts the loft we mourn remain, 
 
 Objedls of love and ever-frefti delight; 
 
 And fancy leads them in her fairy train. 
 
 In half-seen transports paft the mourner’s fight. 
 
 Yes! in ten thousand ways, or far or near. 
 
 The called by love, by meditation brought. 
 
 In heavenly vifions yet they haunt us here. 
 
 The sad companions of our sweeteft thought. 
 
252 Death, 
 
 Death never separates ; the golden wires 
 That ever trembled to their names before, 
 
 Will vibrate ftill, though every form expires, 
 
 And those we love, we look upon no more. 
 
 No more indeed in sorrow and in pain. 
 
 But even memory’s need ere long will cease. 
 
 For we fhall join the loft of love again. 
 
 In endlefs bands, and in eternal peace. 
 
 Edmejion, 
 
 A GERMAN FUNERAL HYMN. 
 
 “ Here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come.” 
 
 Heh. 13 : 14. 
 
 Wohlauf! wohlan! zum letzten Sang, 
 
 Kurz ift der Weg, die Ruhe ift lang. 
 
 C OME forth ! come on, with solemn song ! 
 
 The road is ftiort, the reft is long ; 
 
 The Lord brought here, he calls away ! 
 
 Make no delay. 
 
 This home was for a palling day. 
 
 Here in an inn a 'ftranger dwelt; 
 
 Here joy and grief by turns he felt; 
 
Death. 253 
 
 Poor dwelling, now we close thy door! 
 
 The talk is o’er, 
 
 The sojourner returns no more. 
 
 Now of a lading home polTefled, 
 
 He goes to seek a deeper reft ; 
 
 Good night ! the day was sultry here. 
 
 In toil and fear. 
 
 Good night! the night is cool and clear. 
 
 Chime on, ye bells ! again begin. 
 
 And ring the Sabbath morning in ; 
 
 The laborer’s week-day work is done. 
 
 The reft begun. 
 
 Which Chrift has for his people won ! 
 
 Now open to us, gates of peace ! 
 
 Here let the pilgrim’s journey cease, 
 
 Ye quiet flumberers make room 
 In your ftill home, 
 
 For the new ftranger who has come ! 
 
 How many graves around us lie ! 
 
 How many homes are in the fky! 
 
 Yes, for each saint doth Chrift prepare 
 A place with care : 
 
 Thy home is waiting, brother, there! 
 
 Jesus, thou reigneft Lord alone j 
 Thou wilt return and claim thine own ; 
 
254 
 
 Death, 
 
 Come quickly, Lord ! return again ! 
 Amen! Amen * 
 
 Thine seal us ever, now and then ! 
 
 F, Sachse, 
 
 —- 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN’S DEATH. 
 
 IFT not thou the wailing voice. 
 
 - J Weep not, ’t is a Chriftian dieth,— 
 Up, where blefled saints rejoice. 
 
 Ransomed now, the spirit flieth ; 
 
 High, in heaven’s own light, ftie dwelleth, 
 Full the song of triumph swelleth ; 
 
 Freed from earth, and earthly failing. 
 
 Lift for her no voice of wailing! 
 
 Pour not thou the bitter tear ; 
 
 Heaven its book of comfort opeth : 
 
 Bids thee sorrow not, nor fear. 
 
 But, as one who always hopeth, 
 
 Humbly here in faith relying. 
 
 Peacefully in Jesus dying. 
 
 Heavenly joy her eye is flufliing,— 
 
 Why fhoiild thine with tears be gufhing ? 
 
 They who die in Chrift are blefTed,— 
 Ours be, then, no thought of grieving ! 
 
Death, 
 
 » 
 
 255 
 
 Sweetly with their God they reft, 
 
 All their toils and troubles leaving : 
 
 So be ours the faith that saveth, 
 
 Hope that every trial leaveth, 
 
 Love that to the end endureth, 
 
 And, through Chrift, the crown secureth ! 
 
 G, TV, Doane, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. 
 
 S WEET babe, fhe glanced into our world to see 
 A sample of our misery, 
 
 Then turned away her languid eye 
 To drop a tear or two and die. 
 
 Sweet babe, fhe tafted of life’s bitter cup, 
 
 Refused to drink the potion up ! 
 
 But turned her little head afide, 
 
 Disgufted with the tafte, and died. 
 
 Sweet babe, fhe liftened for awhile to hear 
 Our mortal griefs, then turned her ear 
 To angels’ harps and songs, and cried 
 To join their notes celeftial, fighed, and died. 
 
 Sweet babe, no more, but seraph now. 
 
 Before the throne behold her bow. 
 
 To heavenly joys her spirit flies, 
 
 Bleft in the triumph of the fkies. 
 
256 
 
 Death, 
 
 Adores the grace that brought her there 
 Without a wi£h, — without a care, — 
 
 That waflied her soul in Calvary’s ftream, 
 
 That fhortened life’s diftreffing dream. 
 
 Short pain,—fhort grief, — dear babe, was thine. 
 Now joys eternal and divine. 
 
 Yes, thou art fled, and saints a welcome flng. 
 Thine infant spirit soars on angels’ wing : 
 
 Our dark afFedfion fhould have hoped thy flay, 
 The voice of God has called His child away. 
 
 Like Sam.uel, early in the temple found. 
 
 Sweet rose of Sharon, plant of holy ground. 
 
 Oh! more than Samuel blefl:, to thee ’t is given. 
 The God he served on earth, to serve in heaven. 
 
 Cunningham, 
 
 —- 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 O THINK that, while you ’re weeping here, 
 His hand a golden harp is ftringing; 
 
 And with a voice serene and clear, 
 
 His ransomed soul, without a tear. 
 
 His Saviour’s praise is finging ! 
 
 And think that all his pains are fled, 
 
 His toils and sorrows closed forever; 
 
 While He, whose blood for man was fhed, 
 
Death. 
 
 257 
 
 Has placed upon his servant’s head 
 A crown that fadeth never! 
 
 For thus, while round your lowly bier 
 Surviving friends are sadly bending, 
 
 Your souls, like his, to Jesus dear. 
 
 Shall wing their flight to yonder sphere, 
 
 Faith lighteft pinions lending. 
 
 And thus, when to the filent tomb. 
 
 Your lifelefs dull: like his is given. 
 
 Like faith fhall whisper, ’midft the gloom. 
 That yet again in faithful bloom. 
 
 That duft fliall smile in heaven ! 
 
 Dr. Huie. 
 
 WHEN A SOUL IS NEWLY DEPARTED. 
 
 I F joy be made when men are born 
 To live on earth below. 
 
 Why fhould we vainly weep and mourn. 
 When up to heav’n they go ? 
 
 To pains and griefs they hither come 
 And when they hence are gone. 
 
 Those troubles they are eased from 
 Which here they did bemoan. 
 
 17 
 
Death. 
 
 Imprison’d in a living grave, 
 
 The soul departed lay ; 
 
 And ease or quiet could not have, 
 
 Till call’d it was away. 
 
 But we now hope it is at reft 
 In Him from whom it came, 
 
 And of eternal joys poffelT’d, 
 
 For which we praise His name. 
 
 We praise thee for that being. Lord ! 
 
 And for that means of grace, 
 
 Which to that soul thou dids’t afford 
 In this inferior place. 
 
 And we, moreover, praise thee now. 
 
 That thou haft set it free 
 From those afflidfions which below 
 Avoided cannot be. 
 
 George Wither* 
 
 THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 
 
 D eathless principle, arise! 
 
 Soar, thou native of the fkies! 
 Pearl of price by Jesus bought. 
 
 To his glorious lilcenefs wrought. 
 Go, to fhine before his throne. 
 
 Deck his mediatorial crown ; 
 
Death. 259 
 
 Go, his triumph to adorn j 
 Made for God, to God return. 
 
 Lo, he beckons from on high ! 
 
 Fearlefs to his presence fly; 
 
 Thine the merit of his blood, 
 
 Thine the righteousnefs of God ! 
 
 Angels, joyful to attend. 
 
 Hovering round thy pillow bend; 
 
 Wait, to catch the fignal given. 
 
 And escort thee quick to heaven. 
 
 Is thy earthly house diftrefl:. 
 
 Willing to retain its gueft ? 
 
 ’T is not thou, but it, muft: die — 
 
 Fly, celeftial tenant, fly! 
 
 Burft thy fhackles, drop thy clay. 
 
 Sweetly breathe thyself away. 
 
 Singing, to thy crown remove. 
 
 Swift of wing, and fired with love. 
 
 Shudder not to pafs the flream. 
 
 Venture all thy care on Him, 
 
 Him, whose dying love and power 
 Stilled its tofling, hufhed its war : 
 
 Safe as the expanded wave. 
 
 Gentle as the summer’s eve. 
 
 Not one objedf of his care 
 Ever suffered fhipwreck there ! 
 
26 o 
 
 Death, 
 
 See the haven full in view. 
 
 Love divine fhall bear thee through : 
 
 Truft to that propitious gale, 
 
 Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail! 
 
 Saints in glory perfedl made. 
 
 Wait thy paflage through the fhade ! 
 
 Ardent for thy coming o’er. 
 
 See they throng the blifsful fhore ! 
 
 Mount, their transports to improve. 
 
 Join the longing choir above. 
 
 Swiftly to their wifb be given. 
 
 Kindle higher joy in heaven ! 
 
 Such the prospedfs that arise. 
 
 To the dying Chriftian’s eyes ! 
 
 Such the glorious vifta Faith 
 Opens through the (hades of death ! 
 
 Toplady, 
 
 HEAVENLY MINSTREL. 
 
 E nthroned upon a hiii of light, 
 
 A heavenly minftrel fings ; 
 
 And sounds unutterably bright 
 Spring from the golden firings. 
 
 Who would have thought so fair a form 
 Once bent beneath an earthly ftorm ! 
 
Death, 
 
 261 
 
 Yet was he sad and lonely here ; 
 
 Of low and humble birth ; 
 
 And mingled while in this dark sphere, 
 With meaneft sons of earth, 
 
 In spirit poor, in look forlorn. 
 
 The jeft of mortals and the scorn. 
 
 A crown of heavenly radiance now, 
 
 A harp of golden firings. 
 
 Glitters upon his deathlefs brow. 
 
 And to his hymn-note fings. 
 
 The bower of interwoven light 
 
 Seems at the sound to grow more bright. 
 
 Then, while with visage blank and sear. 
 The poor in soul we see ; 
 
 Let us not think what he is here. 
 
 But what he soon will be ; 
 
 And look beyond this earthly night, 
 
 To crowns of gold, and bowers of light. 
 
 Edmejion. 
 
Death. 
 
 GONE. 
 
 A nother hand is beckoning us, 
 Another call is given ; 
 
 And glows once more with angel fteps 
 The path which reaches heaven. 
 
 Our young and gentle friend, whose smile 
 Made brighter summer hours, 
 
 Amid the froft of Autumn time 
 Has left us, with the flowers. 
 
 No paling of the cheek of bloom 
 Forewarned us of decay ; 
 
 No fliadow from the Silent Land 
 Fell round our filler’s way. 
 
 The light of her young life went down. 
 As finks behind the hill 
 The glory of a setting flar. 
 
 Clear, suddenly, and ftill. 
 
 As pure and sweet her fair brow seemed, 
 Eternal as the Iky; 
 
 And like the brook’s low song, her voice 
 A sound which could not die. 
 
Death. 263 
 
 And half we deemed fhe needed not 
 The changing of her sphere, 
 
 To give to heaven a fhining one, 
 
 Who walked an angel here. 
 
 The bleffing of her quiet life 
 Fell on us like the dew j 
 
 And good thoughts, where her footfteps prelTed, 
 Like fairy blolToms grew. 
 
 Sweet promptings unto kindeft deeds 
 Were in her very look ; 
 
 We read her face as one who reads 
 A true and holy book. 
 
 The measure of a blell'ed hymn. 
 
 To which our hearts could move ; 
 
 The breathing of an inward psalm, 
 
 A canticle of love. 
 
 We mifs her in the place of prayer. 
 
 And by the hearth-fire’s light; 
 
 We pause befide her door to hear 
 Once more her sweet “ Good nio-ht ! 
 
 O 
 
 There seems a fhadow on the day. 
 
 Her smile no longer cheers ; 
 
 A dimnefs on the fiiars of night. 
 
 Like eyes that look through tears. 
 
264 Death. 
 
 Alone unto our Father’s will 
 One thought hath reconciled — 
 
 That he whose love exceedeth ours 
 Has taken home his child. 
 
 Fold her, O Father, in thine arms; 
 
 And let her henceforth be 
 A meflenger of love between 
 Our human hearts and thee. 
 
 Still let her mild rebuking ftand 
 Between us and the wrong. 
 
 And her dear memory serve to make 
 Our faith in goodnefs ftrong. 
 
 And grant that fhe, who, trembling here, 
 Diftrufted all her powers. 
 
 May welcome to her holier home 
 The well-beloved of ours. 
 
 J, G, Whittier. 
 
 —— 
 
 GRIEF FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 O HEARTS that never cease to yearn 
 O brimming tears that ne’er are dried ! 
 The dead, though they depart, return 
 As if they had not died ! 
 
Death. 
 
 265 
 
 The living are the only dead ; 
 
 The dead live — nevermore to die ; 
 
 And often when we mourn them fled 
 They never were so nigh. 
 
 And though they lie beneath the waves, 
 
 Or fleep within the churchyard dim — 
 
 (Ah! through how many different graves 
 God’s children go to him !) 
 
 Yet every grave gives up its dead 
 Ere it is overgrown with grafs ! 
 
 Then why fhould hopelefs tears Te fhed, 
 
 Or need we cry, Alas ! 
 
 Or why fhould memory veil’d with gloom, 
 
 And like a sorrowing mourner craped, 
 
 Sit weeping o’er an empty tomb 
 Whose captives have escaped ! 
 
 ’T is but a mound — and will be molfed 
 Whene’er the summer grafs appears; — 
 
 The loved, though wept, are never loft; 
 
 We only lose our tears. 
 
 Nay, Hope may whisper with the dead, 
 
 By bending forward where they are; 
 
 But, Memory, with a backward tread. 
 
 Communes with them afar! 
 
266 
 
 Death. 
 
 The joys we lose are but forecaft, 
 
 And we fhall find them all once more; — 
 We look behind us for the paft, 
 
 But lo ! ’t is all before! 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 « 
 
 G ood night l a word so often said, 
 
 The heedlefs mind forgets its meaning ; 
 ’T is only when some heart lies dead 
 On which our own was leaning, 
 
 We hear in maddening mufic roll 
 That laft ‘‘ good night ’’ along the soul. 
 
 “Good night” — in tones that never die 
 It peals along the quickening ear ; 
 
 And tender gales of memory 
 Forever waft it near, 
 
 When ftilled the voice — O crufh of pain! — 
 That ne’er fhall breathe “good night” again. 
 
 Good night ! it mocks us from the grave — 
 
 It overleaps that ftrange world’s bound 
 From whence there flows no backward wave — 
 It calls from out the ground. 
 
 On every fide, around, above, 
 
 “ Good night,” “ good night,” to life and love 1 
 
Death. 
 
 Good night! O, wherefore fades away 
 The light that lived in that dear word ? 
 Why follows that good night no day ? 
 
 ‘Why are our souls so ftirred ? 
 
 O, rather say, dull brain, once more, 
 “Good night! thy time of toil is o’er!” 
 
 Good night! — now cometh gentle deep. 
 And tears that fall like gentle rain ; 
 Good night ! O, holy, bleft and deep. 
 The reft that follows pain ! 
 
 How fhould we reach God’s upper light 
 If life’s long day had no “ good night.” 
 
 Chambers^ 'Journal. 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 I FASHIONED in my soul a fantasy 
 Of moft surpafting richnefs ; as my heart 
 In memory turns to it, figh follows figh. 
 
 And my sad tear-drops in disquiet ftart. 
 
 I walked upon heaven’s calm and azure fhore, 
 And o’er my ear, like murmurings of the sea. 
 By diftance softened, came the gathering roar 
 Of the far regions of mortality. 
 
Death. 
 
 268 
 
 And thou wert with me there — thou beft and bright 
 one, 
 
 Whom upon earth I loved and loft, and thou 
 With that sweet voice that could so well delight one, 
 Wert softly breathing thy heart’s tremulous vow. 
 
 And thou wert mine forever — yes, forever. 
 
 In thine unfading beauty’s earthlefs bloom; 
 
 There were no mortal hands our vows to sever. 
 
 There for our loves there yawned no mortal tomb. 
 
 And thou bent on me thine eye’s meek affedbion 
 With an unchanging gaze ; there was no fear. 
 
 No trouble in that sweet look, no dejedlion. 
 
 No earthly ftiade, save rapture’s holy tear. 
 
 / 
 
 Then a bright angel, with a lovely voice. 
 
 Cried, This for all your mortal sufferings ; 
 
 This for your crofs in patience borne — rejoice ! ” 
 
 The light air trembled to his paffing wings. 
 
 And rapturous was our lot ; undying youth. 
 
 Hearts purified by trial, fadelefs love. 
 
 Rejoicing in the fulnefs of its truth ; 
 
 All that on earth we vainly hoped to prove. 
 
 And yet, though angels now, we were meek-hearted : 
 
 The vifion pafled ; in anguifh I awoke. 
 
 Shed some sad tears o’er heavenly hopes departed. 
 Then patiently put on my mortal yoke. 
 
Death. 
 
 269 
 
 THE REVERIE. 
 
 O ! THAT in unfettered union, 
 
 Spirit could with spirit blend ; 
 
 O ! that in unseen communion, 
 
 Thought could hold the diflant friend! 
 Who the secret can unravel. 
 
 Of the body’s myftic gueft ? 
 
 Who knows how the soul may travel. 
 Which unconsciously we reft ? 
 
 While in pleafing thraldom lying. 
 
 Sealed in flumbers deep it seems. 
 
 Far abroad it may be flying — 
 
 What is fleep ? and what are dreams ? 
 Earth, how narrow thy dominions. 
 
 And how flow the body’s pace ! 
 
 O! to range on eagle pinions 
 Through illimitable space. 
 
 What is thought ? can it be bounded ? 
 
 Will it own a tyrant’s chain ? 
 
 By material things surrounded 
 Will it in their grasp remain ? 
 
 No ! it walks at large through nature. 
 Leaving lingering winds behind. 
 
270 
 
 Death. 
 
 Tracing every well-known feature 
 Of the friend’s congenial mind. 
 
 Has a ftrange, myfterious feeling, 
 
 Something fhapelefs, undefined, 
 
 O’er thy lonely mufings ftealing. 
 
 Ne’er imprefTed thy penfive mind ; 
 
 As if he, whose ftrong resemblance 
 Fancy in that moment drew. 
 
 By coincident remembrance. 
 
 Knew your thoughts — and thought of you ? 
 
 When at Mercy’s footftool bending. 
 
 Thou haft felt a secret glow ; 
 
 Faith and hope to heaven ascending. 
 
 Love ftill lingering below ; 
 
 Say, has ne’er the thought imprefTed thee. 
 
 That thy friend might feel thy prayer ! 
 
 Or the wifh at leaft poftefled thee. 
 
 He could then thy feeling ftiare ? 
 
 Who can tell ? that fervent blefling, 
 
 Angels, did you hear it rise ? 
 
 Do you thus your love exprefting. 
 
 Watch o’er human sympathies? 
 
 Do ye some myfterious token 
 To the kindred bosom bear? 
 
 And to what the heart has spoken. 
 
 Wake a chord responfive there ? 
 
Death. 
 
 271 
 
 Laws, perhaps unknown, but certain, 
 Kindred spirits may control; 
 
 But what hand can lift the curtain. 
 
 And reveal the awful soul ? 
 
 Dimly through life’s vapor seeing. 
 
 Who but longs for light to break ! 
 
 O this feverifh dream of being! 
 
 When, my friend, (hall we awake ? 
 
 Yes, the hour, the hour is hailing. 
 
 Spirit Jhall with spirit blend ; 
 
 Fall mortality is wafting. 
 
 Then the secret all fhall end. 
 
 Let, then, thought hold sweet communion. 
 Let us breathe the mutual prayer. 
 
 Till in heaven’s eternal union, 
 
 O my friend, to meet thee there ! 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Oh ! the hour when this material 
 Shall have vanifhed like a cloud : 
 When amid the wide ethereal. 
 
 All the invifible fhall crowd ; 
 
 And the naked soul, surrounded 
 With innumerous hofts of light, 
 Triumph in the view unbounded. 
 And adore the Infinite. 
 
Death, 
 
 In that sudden, ftrange tranfition, 
 
 By what new and finer sense 
 
 Shall fhe grasp the mighty vifion, 
 
 And receive its influence ? 
 
 Angels guard the new immortal 
 
 Through the wonder-teeming space, 
 
 To the everlafling portal. 
 
 To the spirit’s relling place. 
 
 Will fhe there no fond emotion. 
 Nought of early love retain ? 
 
 Or, absorbed in pure devotion. 
 
 Will no mortal trace remain ? 
 
 Can the grave those ties difTever, 
 With the very heart-firings twined ? 
 
 Mufl fhe part, and part forever. 
 
 With the friend fhe leaves behind ? 
 
 No ; the paft fhe ftill remembers ; 
 Faith and hope surviving too. 
 
 Ever watch those fleeping embers 
 Which muft rise and live anew ; 
 
 For the widowed, lonely spirit. 
 
 Mourns till fhe be clothed afrefh! 
 
 Longs perfection to inherit. 
 
 And to triumph in the flefh. 
 
 Angels, let the ransom’d flranger 
 In your tender care be blefl, 
 
Death. 
 
 273 
 
 Hoping, trufting, free from danger, 
 
 Till the trumpet end her reft ; 
 
 Till the trump which fhakes creation. 
 
 Through the circling heaven fhall roll. 
 
 Till the day of consummation. 
 
 Till the bridal of the soul. 
 
 Can I truft a fellow-being ? 
 
 Can I truft an angel*s care ? 
 
 O, thou merciful All-seeing, 
 
 Beam around my spirit there! 
 
 Jesus, blefled Mediator, 
 
 Thou the airy path haft trod ! 
 
 Thou, the Judge, the Consummator, 
 
 Shepherd of the fold of God ! 
 
 BlelFed fold ! no foe can enter. 
 
 And no friend departeth thence : 
 
 Jesus is their sun, their centre. 
 
 And their Ihield Omnipotence : 
 
 Blefled ! for the Lamb fhall feed them. 
 
 All their tears fhall wipe away ; 
 
 To the living fountains lead them, 
 
 Till fruition’s perfedf day. 
 
 Lo ! it comes, that day of wonder. 
 
 Louder chorals fhake the fkies ; 
 
 Hades’ gates are burft asunder. 
 
 See the new-clothed myriads rise ! 
 
 18 
 
Death. 
 
 274 
 
 Thought, reprefs thy weak endeavor, 
 
 Here muft reason proftrate fall : 
 
 O the inelFable For-Ever! 
 
 And the Eternal > All in All! 
 
 Conder. 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 T he golden palace of my God 
 
 Towering above the clouds I see; 
 
 Beyond the cherub’s bright abode. 
 
 Higher than angels’ thoughts can be. 
 
 How can I in those courts appear 
 Without a wedding-garment on ? 
 
 Condudf me, thou Life-giver, there, 
 
 Condudf me to thy glorious throne ! 
 
 And clothe me with thy robes of light. 
 
 And lead me through fin’s darksome night. 
 
 My Saviour and my God, 
 
 Rujftan Poetry. 
 
Death. 
 
 275 
 
 THE VALEDICTION. 
 
 W HEN the death-dews dim my eyes. 
 And my bosom panting lies, 
 
 Ebbing life’s receding bghs, 
 
 Shorter, fainter, growing; 
 
 Ere my spirit breaks her way. 
 
 Through her prison-walls of clay. 
 
 Into realms of endlefs day — 
 
 The land to which I’m going — 
 
 May the dear familiar band 
 
 Of weeping friends that round me ftand. 
 
 Watching the decreafing sand, 
 
 FafI: and fafter flowing, 
 
 Chant some low flrain, blending well 
 With the solemn pafling bell, 
 
 Of the holy home to tell — 
 
 The land to which I’m going. 
 
 Let them fing, “ Dear suffering one. 
 
 Soon thy journey will be done, 
 
 Thy fight be fought, thy race be run : 
 
 Thy soul, with rapture glowing. 
 
 The everlafling hills fhall see. 
 
 Where pain no more can come to thee. 
 
Death, 
 
 And neither fin nor sorrow be — 
 
 The land to “which thou’rt going. 
 
 “ He thy Saviour and thy guide, i 
 
 For thy guilty sake that died, 
 
 Even now is by thy fide. 
 
 Comfort thoughts bellowing. 
 
 Angelic forms their arms extend, ' 
 
 And smileth many a long-loft friend 
 Glad welcome to thy journey’s end — 
 
 The land to which thou ’rt going.” 
 
 Then, as the burden of their song 
 In faint sweet cadence dies along. 
 
 One happy, radiant look among 
 
 That group of mourners throwing; 
 
 Juft as they faded from my view, 
 
 I fain would breathe one fond adieu. 
 
 Till in that land we meet anew — 
 
 The land to which I’m going. 
 
Death, 277 
 
 OVER THE RIVER. 
 
 ? 
 
 O VER the river they beckon to me — 
 
 Loved ones who’ve crofTed to the further fide ; 
 The gleam of their snowy robes I see, 
 
 But their voices are drowned in the rufhing tide. 
 There’s one with ringlets of sunny gold, 
 
 And eyes, the refledfion of heaven’s own blue j 
 He crofled in the twilight, gray and cold. 
 
 And the pale mift hid him from mortal view. 
 
 We saw not the angels who met him there ; 
 
 The gates of the city we could not see ; 
 
 Over the river, over the river. 
 
 My brother ftands waiting to welcome me ! 
 
 Over the river, the boatman pale 
 
 Carried another — the household pet: 
 
 Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — 
 
 Darling Minnie! I see her yet. 
 
 She eroded on her bosom her dimpled hands. 
 
 And fearleffly entered the phantom bark ; 
 
 We watched it glide from the filver sands. 
 
 And all our sunfhine grew ftrangely dark. 
 
 We know die is safe on the further fide. 
 
 Where all the ransomed and angels be ; 
 
 Over the river, the myftic river. 
 
 My childhood’s idol is waiting for me. 
 
278 , Death. 
 
 For none return from those quiet fliores, 
 
 Who crofs with the boatman cold and pale ; 
 
 We hear the dip of the golden oars. 
 
 And catch a gleam of the snowy sail, — 
 
 And lo ! they have palled from our yearning heart; 
 
 They crofs the ftream, and are gone for aye 5 
 We may not sunder the veil apart. 
 
 That hides from our vifion the gates of day. 
 
 We only know that their barks no more 
 May sail with us o’er life’s ftormy sea j 
 Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen fhore. 
 They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. 
 
 And I fit and think, when the sunset’s gold. 
 
 Is flufhing river, and hill, and fhore, 
 
 I fhall one day ftand by the water cold. 
 
 And lift for the sound of the boatman’s oar j 
 I fhall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail j 
 I fhall hear the boat as it gains the ftrand ; 
 
 I fhall pafs from fight, with the boatman pale. 
 
 To the better fhore of the spirit land; 
 
 I fhall know the loved who have gone before, — 
 And joyfully sweet will the meeting be. 
 
 When over the river, the peaceful river. 
 
 The Angel of Death fhall carry me. 
 
 Mifs N. A. W. Prieji. 
 
Heaven. 279 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 AN ANCIENT HYMN. 
 
 B rief life is here our portion, 
 Brief sorrow, fhort-lived care j 
 The life that knows no ending. 
 The tearlefs life is there. 
 
 Reward of grace how wondrous ! 
 
 Short toil, — eternal reft! 
 
 Oh! miracle of mercy. 
 
 That rebels fliould be bleft ! 
 
 That we, with fin polluted. 
 
 Should have our home so high ! 
 That we ftiould dwell in manfions 
 Beyond the ftarry fky ! 
 
 And now we fight the battle. 
 
 And then we wear the crown 
 Of full and everlafting 
 And ever bright renown. 
 
280 Heaven. 
 
 I know not, oh! I know not 
 What social joys are there j 
 What pure, unfading glory ; 
 
 What light beyond compare ; 
 And when I fain would fing them. 
 My spirit fails and faints. 
 
 And vainly ftrives to image 
 The aflembly of the saints. 
 
 There is the throne of David ; 
 
 And there, from toil released. 
 The fhout of them that triumph. 
 The song of them that feaft! 
 
 O Garden free from sorrow ! 
 
 O Plains that fear no ftrife ! 
 
 O princely Bowers, all blooming ! 
 O Realm and Home of life ! 
 
 -***®®® 
 
 HEREAFTER. 
 
 I 
 
 O THOU, on earth beloved, adored. 
 
 My friend, my father, and my Lord, 
 I see thee now without a veil, — 
 
 Help ; or my dazzled fight will fail. 
 
 O bear me to that burning throne 
 I scarce can brook to gaze upon. 
 
Heaven, 281 
 
 And give my kindling soul to prove 
 The raptures of ecftatic love ; 
 
 And learn unutterable lays, 
 
 And hymn thee in eternal praise ! 
 
 Shrink like a scroll, thou frighted fky ! 
 
 Earth — tremble into vacancy ! 
 
 Lift to the pealing trumpet’s swell, 
 
 Ye hideous depths of death and hell,— 
 
 Burft your ftrong chain, your gates unclose. 
 And break the long — the laft repose. 
 
 Bleft train of martyred saints, arise ! 
 
 Look upward to your native Ikies ! 
 
 Arise! and claim your rich reward. 
 
 And ftiare the triumph of your Lord. 
 
 Behold the promised heavenly home,— 
 
 The conquering palm, — the golden throne,— 
 And more than all, — that beaming eye. 
 Whose glance is love and ecftacy ! 
 
 But lo ! what sudden splendors beaming. 
 
 O’er heaven’s illumined arch are ftreaming; 
 What hues of varied beauty blending. 
 
 What fair celeftial towers descending! 
 
 O Salem, city of our God ! 
 
 The saints’ — the martyrs’ bleft abode, — 
 
 I see thy gates of pearl unfold, 
 
 I see thy ftreets of burniflied gold ; 
 
 I see thy towers of cryftal fliine! 
 
 Meet temples for a King divine. 
 
 Hail perfedf, pure in virgin pride ! 
 
 The mighty Lamb’s resplendent bride! 
 
1 
 
 282 Heaven, 
 
 Within thy hallowed courts are found, 
 
 No lurking cares to vex or wound : 
 
 No dim eye fheds the hopelefs tear, 
 
 No bosom throbs with doubt or fear ; 
 
 And hulhed is Shame’s tumultuous thrill. 
 
 And Pallion’s warring ftorm is ftill. 
 
 No bright sun beams by day, — by night 
 No pale moon fheds her feebler light,— 
 
 But from that throne of living fire. 
 
 Where fits revealed the Eternal Sire, 
 
 Where seraphs raise their loudefl; ftrain. 
 
 To hail the Lamb that once was llain,— 
 Though Faith and Hope have palTed away. 
 
 Love (beds a pure unchanging ray ; 
 
 What faintly fhone on earth before. 
 
 Now beams and burns forevermore. 
 
 Dale. 
 
 —- 
 
 PRAISE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 H ARK! hark! the voice of ceaselefs praise. 
 Around Jehovah’s throne; 
 
 Songs of celeftial joy they raise. 
 
 To mortal lips unknown. 
 
 Upon the sea of glafs they ftand. 
 
 In fhining robes of light; 
 
Heaven. 283 
 
 The harps of God are in their hand, 
 
 They reft not day or night. 
 
 Oh! for an angel’s perfe6l love, 
 
 A seraph’s soaring wing. 
 
 To fing with thousand saints above, 
 
 * The triumphs of our King. 
 
 On earth our feeble voice we try, 
 
 In weaknefs and in ftiame, 
 
 We blefs, we laud, we magnify. 
 
 We conquer in his name. 
 
 # 
 
 » 
 
 But oh ! with pure and finlefs heart, 
 
 His mercies to adore. 
 
 My God, to know thee as thou art. 
 
 Nor grieve thy spirit more. 
 
 Oh! blefled hope! a “ little while,” 
 
 And we, amidft that throng. 
 
 Shall live in our Redeemer’s smile. 
 
 And swell the angels’ song. 
 
 I 
 
284 Heaven. 
 
 THERE SHALL BE NO MORE SEA. 
 
 Rev. 21 : I. 
 
 
 "TT^HJEN tempefts tofs, and billows 
 V V And lightnings rend from pole to 
 Sweet is the thought to me, 
 
 That one day it fhall not be so : 
 
 In the bright world to which I go, 
 
 The tempeft fhall forget to blow ; 
 
 There fhall be no more sea. 
 
 roll, 
 pole ; 
 
 My little bark has suffered much 
 
 From adverse florms; nor is fhe such 
 
 As once fhe seemed to be : 
 
 But I fhall fhortly be at home. 
 
 No more a mariner to roam ; 
 
 When once I to the port am come. 
 There will be no more sea. 
 
 
 Then let the waves run mountains high. 
 Confound the deep, perplex the fky. 
 
 This fhall not always be : 
 
 One day the sun will brightly fhine 
 
 With life, and light, and heat divine ; 
 And when that glorious land is mine. 
 There will be no more sea. 
 
 
Heaven, 285 
 
 My Pilot tells me not to fear, 
 
 But truft entirely to his care, 
 
 And he will guarantee, 
 
 If only I depend on him. 
 
 To land me safe in his good time. 
 
 In yonder purer, happier clime. 
 
 Where fhall be no more sea. 
 
 Fyjh. 
 
 THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Rev. 8 : i. 
 
 C AN angel spirits need repose 
 
 In the full sun-light of the fky ? 
 
 And can the veil of Humber close 
 A cherub’s bright and blazing eye ? 
 
 Have seraphim a weary brow ; 
 
 A fainting heart, an aching breaft! 
 
 No, far too high their pulses flow. 
 
 To languifli with inglorious reft. 
 
 Oh! not the death-like calm of fleep 
 Could hufli the everlafting song ; 
 
 No fairy dream or flumber deep 
 
 Entrance the wrapt and holy throng. 
 
286 ' Heaven. 
 
 Yet not the lighteft tone was heard 
 From angel voice, or angel hand ; 
 
 And not one plumed pinion ftirr’d 
 Among the pure and blifsful band. 
 
 For there was filence in the Iky, 
 
 A joy not angel tongues could tell, — 
 
 As from its myftic fount on high. 
 
 The peace of God in ftillnefs fell. 
 
 O what is filence here below ? 
 
 The fruit of a conceal’d despair; 
 
 The pause of pain, the dream of woe; — 
 It is the reft of rapture there. 
 
 And to the way-worn pilgrim here. 
 
 More kindred seems that perfect peace, 
 
 Than the full chaunts of joy to hear, 
 
 Roll on, and never, never cease. 
 
 From earthly agonies set free. 
 
 Tired with the path too flowly trod, 
 
 May such a filence welcome me 
 Into the palace of my God. 
 
Heaven, 
 
 HEAVEN. 
 
 H ere may the band that now in triumph fhines, 
 And that (before they were invefted thus) 
 
 In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds. 
 
 Pitch round about, in order glorious. 
 
 Their sunny tents and houses luminous ; 
 
 All their eternal day in songs employing. 
 
 Joying their end without end of their joying. 
 
 While their Almighty Prince deftru 61 :ion is deftroying. 
 
 Their fight drinks lovely fires In at their eyes. 
 
 Their breath sweet incense with fine breath ac- 
 cloys. 
 
 That on God’s sweating altar burning lies ; 
 
 Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise 
 That angels fing to tell their untold joys ; 
 
 Their underftanding, naked truth, their wills. 
 
 The all and self-sufficient goodnefs fills. 
 
 That nothing here is wanting but the want of ills. 
 
 No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow ; 
 
 No bloodlefs malady empales their face : 
 
 No age drops on their hairs his filver snow; 
 
 No nakednefs their bodies doth embase ; 
 
 No poverty themselves and theirs disgrace ; 
 
288 Heaven, 
 
 No fear of death the joy of life devours ; 
 
 No unchafte deep their precious time deflowers ; 
 
 No lofs, no grief, no change wait on their winged 
 hours. 
 
 But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, 
 
 And from their eyes joy looks and laughs at 
 pain ; 
 
 The infant wonders how he came so old. 
 
 The old man how he came so young again ; 
 
 Still refting, though from fleep they ftill refrain ; 
 Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe ; 
 
 And all are kings, and yet no subjects know. 
 
 All full, and yet no time they do on food bellow. 
 
 About the holy city rolls a flood 
 
 Of molten cryllal, like a sea of glafs. 
 
 On which weak llream a Urong foundation Hood : 
 
 Of living diamonds the building was. 
 
 That all things else, befides itself, did pafs. 
 
 Her Hreets, inllead of Hones, the Hars did pave. 
 
 And little pearls for dull it seemed to have. 
 
 On which soft llreaming manna like pure snow did 
 wave. 
 
 It is no flaming lullre, made of light; 
 
 No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony ; 
 Ambrofia, for to feall the appetite ; 
 
 Or flowery odor mixed with spicery ; 
 
 No soft embrace or pleasure bodily : 
 
Heaven. 
 
 289 
 
 And yet it is a kind of inward feaft, 
 
 A harmony that sounds within the breaft, 
 
 An odor, light, embrace, in which the soul doth reft. 
 
 A heavenly feaft no hunger can consume ; 
 
 A light unseen, yet fliines in every place; 
 
 A sound no time can fteal ; a sweet perfume 
 
 No winds can scatter ; an entire embrace 
 That no satiety can e’er unlace ; 
 
 Ingraced into so high a favor there. 
 
 The saints with their beaupeers whole worlds outwear. 
 And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. 
 
 Ye blefled souls, grown richer by your spoil. 
 
 Whose lofs, though great, is cause of greater 
 gains ; 
 
 Here may your weary spirits reft from toil. 
 
 Spending your endlefs evening that remains 
 Among those white flocks and celeftial trains 
 That feed upon their Shepherd’s eyes, and frame 
 That heavenly muflc of so wondrous frame, 
 
 Psalming aloud the holy honors of his name ! 
 
 Giles Fletcher. 1586—1623. 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 Hea ven. 
 
 NEARER HOME. 
 
 O NE sweetly welcome thought, 
 Comes to me o’er and o’er 5 
 I’m nearer home to-day 
 
 Than I’ve ever been before ; 
 
 Nearer my Father’s house 
 
 Where the many -manfions be ; 
 Nearer the Great White Throne, 
 Nearer the Jasper Sea; 
 
 Nearer that bound of life. 
 
 Where we lay our burdens down — 
 Nearer leaving the crofs. 
 
 Nearer gaining the crown. 
 
 But lying dimly between. 
 
 Winding down through the night, 
 Lies the dark and uncertain ftream 
 That leads us at length to the light. 
 
 Closer and closer my fteps 
 Come to the dark abysm. 
 
 Closer Death to my lips 
 Prefles the awful chrism ; 
 
Heaven. 
 
 291 
 
 Father, perfect my truft ! 
 
 Strengthen my feeble faith ! 
 
 Let me feel as I would when I ftand 
 On the fhores of the river of Death — 
 
 Feel as I would, were my feet 
 
 Even now flipping over the brink ; 
 
 P'or it may be I ’m nearer home. 
 
 Nearer now, than I think! 
 
 Mr. Carey. 
 
 THE TWO WORLDS. 
 
 T WO worlds there are. To one our eyes we 
 ftrain, 
 
 Whose magic joys we fhall not see again : 
 
 Bright haze of morning veils its glimmering fhore. 
 Ah, truly breathed we there 
 Intoxicating air — 
 
 Glad were our hearts in that sweet realm of 
 Nevermore. 
 
 The lover there drank her delicious breath 
 Whose love has yielded fince to change or death ; 
 
 The mother kifled her child whose days are o’er. 
 Alas ! too soon have fled 
 The irreclaimable dead : 
 
 We see them — vifions flrange—amid the 
 Nevermore. 
 
292 
 
 Heaven, 
 
 The merry song some maiden used to fing — 
 
 The brown, brown hair that once was wont to cling 
 To temples long clay-cold : to the very core 
 They ftrike our weary hearts, 
 
 As some vexed memory ftarts 
 From that long faded land — the realm of 
 Nevermore. 
 
 I 
 
 It is perpetual summer there. But here 
 Sadly we may remember rivers clear, 
 
 And harebells quivering on the meadow-floor. 
 
 For brighter bells and bluer. 
 
 For tenderer hearts and truer. 
 
 People that happy land — the realm of 
 Nevermore, 
 
 Upon the frontier of this fhadowy land 
 We, pilgrims of eternal sorrow, ftand : 
 
 What realm lies forward, with its happier flore 
 Of forefts green and deep. 
 
 Of valleys hufhed in fleep, 
 
 And lakes mofl: peaceful ? ’T is the land of 
 Evermore. 
 
 Very far off its marble cities seem — 
 
 Very far off—beyond our sensual dream — 
 
 Its woods, unruffled by the wild winds’ roar : 
 
 Yet does the turbulent surge 
 Howl on its very verge. 
 
 One moment — and we breathe within the 
 
 t 
 
 Evermore. 
 
Heaven. 293 
 
 They whom we loved and loft so long ago. 
 
 Dwell in those cities, far from mortal woe — 
 
 Haunt those frefti woodlands, whence sweet carol- 
 lings soar. 
 
 Eternal peace have they : 
 
 God wipes their tears away : 
 
 They drink that river of life which flows for 
 Evermore. 
 
 Thither we haften through these regions dim. 
 
 But lo ! the wide wings of the Seraphim 
 Shine in the sunset! On that joyous fliore 
 Our lightened hearts ftiall know 
 The life of long ago : 
 
 The sorrow-burdened paft fhall fade for 
 Evermore. 
 
 Dublin Univerftty Magaxine. 
 
I 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 

Miscellaneous. 
 
 297 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE SOUL. 
 
 A gain, How can Ihe but immortal be, 
 
 When with the motions of both will and wit 
 She ftill aspireth to eternity. 
 
 And never refts till fhe attain to it ? 
 
 Water in conduit-pipes can rise no higher 
 
 Than the well-head from whence it firft doth spring : 
 Then, fince to eternal God flie doth aspire. 
 
 She cannot be but an eternal thing. 
 
 ‘‘ All moving things to other things do move 
 
 Of the same kind, which fhows their nature such \ ” 
 So earth falls down, and fire doth mount above. 
 
 Till both their proper elements do touch. 
 
 And as the moifture which the thirfty earth 
 Sucks from the sea to fill her empty veins. 
 
 From out her womb at lafl: doth take a birth. 
 
 And runs a lymph along the gralTy plains : 
 
Miscellaneous, 
 
 298 
 
 Long doth fhe ftay, as loth to leave the land 
 P'rom whose soft fide the firft did ilTue make ; 
 
 She taftes all places, turns to every hand, 
 
 Her flowery banks unwilling to forsake. 
 
 Yet Nature so her ftreams doth lead and carry. 
 
 As that her course doth make no final flay. 
 
 Till fhe herself unto the Ocean marry. 
 
 Within whose watery bosom firft fhe lay. 
 
 E’en so the soul, which in this earthly mould 
 The spirit of God doth secretly infuse. 
 
 Because at firfl fhe doth the earth behold. 
 
 And only this material world fhe views. 
 
 At firfl her mother Earth fhe holdeth dear. 
 
 And doth embrace the world, and worldly things 
 
 She flies close by the ground and hovers here, 
 
 And mounts not up with her celeftial wings : 
 
 Yet under heaven fhe cannot light on aught 
 That with her heavenly nature doth agree ; 
 
 She cannot reft, fhe cannot fix her thought. 
 
 She cannot in this world contented be. 
 
 For who did ever yet, in honor, wealth. 
 
 Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find ? 
 
 Who ever ceased to wifh when he had wealth ? 
 
 Or having wisdom was not vexed in mind ? 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 299 
 
 Then as a bee, which among weeds doth fall, 
 
 Which seem sweet flowers with luflre frefh and gay. 
 
 She lights on that and this, and tafleth all; 
 
 But pleased with none, doth rise and soar away. 
 
 So when the soul finds here no true content. 
 
 And like Noah’s dove can no sure footing take. 
 
 She doth return from whence fhe firfl: was sent. 
 
 And flies to Him that firfl: her wings did make. 
 
 So while the virgin soul on earth doth fl:ay. 
 
 She, wooed and tempted in ten thousand ways. 
 
 By these great powers which on the earth bear sway. 
 The wisdom of the world, wealth, pleasure, praise ; 
 
 • With these sometimes fhe doth her time beguile, 
 
 These do by fibs her fantasy polTefs ; 
 
 But fhe diftaftes them all within a while. 
 
 And in the sweetefl: finds a tediousnefs ; 
 
 But if upon the world’s Almighty King 
 
 She once doth fix her humble, loving thoughts; 
 
 Who by his pidfure drawn in every thing. 
 
 And sacred meflTages, her love hath sought ; 
 
 Of Him fhe thinks fhe cannot think too much ; 
 
 This honey tafted Hill, is ever sweet; 
 
 The pleasure of her ravifhed thought is such, 
 
 As almofl: here fhe with her blifs doth meet. 
 
300 Miscellaneous. 
 
 But when in heaven fhe fliall His eflence see, 
 
 This is her sovereign good, and perfedl blifs, 
 
 Her longings, wiftiings, hopes, all finifhed be. 
 
 Her joys are full, her motions reft in this. 
 
 There is fhe crowned with garlands of content; 
 
 There doth fhe manna eat, and nedlar drink: 
 
 That presence doth such high delights present. 
 
 As never tongue could speak, nor heart could think. 
 
 Sir yohn Davies. Born in 1570. 
 
 - ri ) 11 
 
 YOUTH AND AGE. 
 
 f I ^HE seas are quiet when the winds are o’er, 
 
 JL So calm are we when paflions are no more ! 
 
 For then we know how vain it was to boaft 
 Of fleeting things so certain to be loft. 
 
 Clouds of alFeftion from our younger eyes 
 Conceal that emptinefs which age descries ; 
 
 The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed. 
 
 Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. 
 
 Stronger by weaknefs, wiser men become 
 As they draw near to their eternal home ; 
 
Miscellaneous, 
 
 301 
 
 Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, 
 
 That ftand upon the threfhold of the new. 
 
 Waller, Died in 1687. 
 
 HUMILITY. 
 
 O ! LEARN that it is only by the lowly 
 The paths of peace are trod ; 
 
 If thou wouldft keep thy garments white and holy. 
 Walk humbly with thy God. 
 
 The man with earthly wisdorn high uplifted 
 Is in God’s fight a fool; 
 
 But he in heavenly truth mofl: deeply gifted. 
 
 Sits lowefi: in Chrift’s school. 
 
 The lowly spirit God hath consecrated 
 As his abiding reft; 
 
 An angel by some patriarch’s tent hath waited. 
 When kings had no such gueft. 
 
 The dew that never wets the flinty mountain. 
 
 Falls in the valleys free; 
 
 Bright verdure fringes the small desert fountain. 
 
 But barren sand the sea. 
 
 Not in the ftately oak the fragrance dwelleth. 
 Which charms the p-eneral wood. 
 
302 Adhcellaneous^ 
 
 But in the violet low, whose sweetnefs telleth 
 Its unseen neighborhood. 
 
 The censer swung by the proud hand of merit, 
 
 Fumes with a fire abhorred ; 
 
 But faith’s two mites, dropped covertly, inherit 
 A blelling from the Lord. \ 
 
 Round lowlinefs a gentle radiance hovers, 
 
 A sweet, unconscious grace. 
 
 Which, even in fhrinking, evermore discovers 
 The brightnefs on its face. 
 
 Where God abides, contentment is an honor. 
 
 Such guerdon Meeknefs knows ; 
 
 His peace within her, and His smile upon her. 
 
 Her saintly way ftie goes. 
 
 0 
 
 Through the ftrait gate of life fhe palTes, ftooping. 
 With sandals on her feet; 
 
 And pure-eyed Graces, with linked palms, come trooping 
 Their filler fair to greet. 
 
 The angels bend their eyes upon her goings. 
 
 And guard her from annoy; 
 
 Heaven fills her quiet heart with overflowings 
 Of calm, celellial joy. 
 
 The Saviour loves her, for Ihe wears the vefture 
 With which he walked on earth. 
 
Miscellaneous. 303 
 
 And though her childlike glance, and ftep and gefture, 
 He knows her heavenly birth. 
 
 He now beholds this seal of glory graven 
 On all whom he redeems, 
 
 And in his own bright city, cryftal-paven. 
 
 On every brow it gleams. 
 
 The white-robed saints, the throne-ftars Tinging under. 
 Their ftate all meekly wear; 
 
 Their pauselefs praise wells up from hearts which 
 wonder 
 
 That ever they came there. 
 
 Chrijiian Regijier. 
 
 ANSWER TO “THERE’S NOTHING BRIGHT BUT 
 
 HEAVEN.” 
 
 A h ! say no more, there’s nought but heaven. 
 That’s calm, and bright, and true ; 
 
 Say not, our only portion’s care. 
 
 That man is ever doomed to wear 
 The cyprefs wreath of woe ; 
 
 Are there not pleasures of the soul 
 To feeble mortals given. 
 
 Feelings so pregnant with delight,— 
 
 A joy so warm, so calm, so bright. 
 
 To man allied to heaven, 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 304 
 
 That the rapt spirit has forgot 
 Its tenement of clay, 
 
 Nor fondly wifh’d its woes were o’er, 
 
 The confli61: pafs’d, and gained the fhore 
 Of never-ending day ? 
 
 Oh, say no more, there’s nothing true 
 But the bright scenes of heaven. 
 
 Oh, there is truth in Mercy’s page, 
 
 Dire61:ing youth, consoling age. 
 
 Declaring fin forgiven. 
 
 Oh, say no more, there’s nought but heaven. 
 That’s calm, or true, or bright ; 
 
 Bright are the beams the Saviour fheds, 
 
 The radiance that the Gospel spreads 
 Amid this realm of night; 
 
 Though loud the blaft, though dark the day. 
 
 We oft have peace at even : 
 
 If earth can yield such pure delight. 
 
 Or blifs so sacred and so bright. 
 
 How calm, how true, how bright is heaven! 
 
Miscellaneous, 
 
 T 
 
 305 
 
 A THANKSGIVING FOR SETTLED HEALTH. 
 
 I N times of want we feel what blifs 
 Our years of plenty be ; 
 
 When war doth rage, the sweets of peace 
 The meaneft wit can see. 
 
 And when with ficknefs we are pain’d, 
 
 We know it juft, O Lord! 
 
 To render praise and thanks unfeign’d. 
 
 When health fhall be reftored. 
 
 Sure, then, the many healthful days 
 And years which I have had. 
 
 Deserve that hearty songs of praise 
 Should for the same be made ; 
 
 And that whilft health and ftrength do laft, 
 
 I fhould the same employ 
 To memorize the mercies paft. 
 
 And those which I enjoy. 
 
 Whilft others groan with aching bones. 
 
 With wounds or inward pains. 
 
 With gouts, or those tormenting ftones 
 Which fret and rend the reins ; 
 
 Yea, while ten thousands feel the smart 
 Which on the Tick doth seize. 
 
 20 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 In head, in body, and in heart, 
 
 I am at perfedl ease. 
 
 Lord ! ever bleffed be thy name. 
 
 For this external grace ; 
 
 Preserve me thankful for the same, 
 
 Whilft thou prolongft my race. 
 
 And if to my immortal bllfs 
 It (hall not hindrance be. 
 
 Nor thou thereby due glory mifs. 
 
 Thus healthful keep thou me. 
 
 But if my patience muft be tried 
 By ficknefs and by pain. 
 
 Let fin therebv be mortified. 
 
 And virtue ftrength obtain. 
 
 Be pleased likewise, that whatsoe’er 
 Thy wisdom fhall impose. 
 
 It be no more than I can bear. 
 
 Though ftrong and {harp it grows. 
 
 George Wither. 1588-1667. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 307 
 
 BEFORE ENTERING ON DOMESTIC DUTIES, 
 
 O THOU that in thy lowly sojourn here, 
 
 Wouldft oft retire from the throng’d thoroughfare 
 Wouldft ftay awhile Thy healing touch, and leave 
 The liftening crowds that hung upon thy lips, 
 
 To fliare the meal domeftic, and to join 
 In social converse, ’neath the quiet roof 
 Of thy loved Lazarus ; O! be with me 
 Amidfl: mv household duties, as thou wert 
 
 j * 
 
 With his two fifters. — May thy gentle voice 
 Speak to my heart in sweet encouragement 
 Or mild reproof, and let me feel the gaze 
 Of those meek eyes fix’d on my every act, 
 
 And watching all I do. Grant me the grace, 
 
 Whilft Martha’s busy offices demand 
 My lelTer care, to caft my better thoughts 
 Down at thy feet, to fit with Mary there. 
 
 And liften to thy words of truth and love. 
 
 Teach me, with mind unruffled and serene. 
 
 To meet the hourly accidents of life ; 
 
 And let the tones of gentle patience lend 
 Their soft sweet mufic to my lightefl; word. 
 
 O ! may I bear in mind, that from the roots 
 Of wither’d and negledled duties spring 
 The rankeft fin-weeds which infeft the heart; 
 
3 o 8 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 That wisdom infinite has placed me here 
 To work thy will, watch’d o’er by angels’ eyes, 
 Cherifli’d and cared for, not alone by those 
 Whom thou haft given to tread life’s path with me. 
 But with a love beyond all human ken. 
 
 By thee on whom my hopes of heaven depend. 
 
 My Lord, my God, my Saviour, and my Friend. 
 
 The Wife's Manual. 
 
 SOCIAL INTERCOURSE. 
 
 O GOD ! who on the tablets of the heart 
 
 Gazeft with thine all-searching eye, and there 
 Doft read the record of each secret wifh. 
 
 Guard with thy grace the inlets to my soul. 
 
 And chase away the traitor-thoughts within. 
 
 That with temptation parleying ftand, and fain 
 Would let in fin and folly. Make me feel 
 That in the gay and care-forgetting crowd 
 Thou art as near me as in solitude ; 
 
 Keep thou the portals of my lips, left words 
 Of levity, or censure undeserved. 
 
 Abuse the freedom of my mirthful hours. 
 
 Tinge my each word and adfion with a hue 
 Of heart-born courtesy and holy love. 
 
 That in the use of every social gift 
 The happinefs of others may be mine ; 
 
(C 
 
 Miscellaneous. _ 309 
 
 And every effort which I make to please 
 May be unmarr’d by envy or by pride. 
 
 And as the glow-worm, that, itself unseen. 
 
 Glads with the lustre of its tiny lamp 
 Its little neighborhood of blade and flower. 
 
 So grant, O Lord, my love of thee may fhine. 
 
 Not in the loud profeflion of my faith. 
 
 But in the peace-light fhed around my path. 
 
 Still growing brightefl in the darkeft hour. 
 
 Rev. IV. Calvert, 
 
 ♦ 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 T hy will be done ! ’’ God of the desolate. 
 
 Teach me, with heart refign’d, and calm, to say, 
 “ Thy will be done ! ” I know it was thy hand 
 That gave ; Oh ! may I see thy hand alone 
 Reclaiming that it graciously beftowed. 
 
 Quiet my murmuring thoughts, fliill my regrets. 
 
 How little I deserv’d my happy lot 
 Should laft so long ! But life is now a void. 
 
 Void did I say .? forgive me, Lord ; for life 
 Is full of duties ftill, nor without joys. 
 
 Have I not round about me those to love. 
 
 And lead in holy paths ? Are there no tears 
 On other cheeks that* I may wipe away 
 I bear his name, and I may hear it blefTed 
 
310 
 
 Miscellaneous, 
 
 By grateful lips. The memory of his kind 
 Approving smile, will it not glad each hour 
 Of cheerful ftruggle againft grief and fin ? 
 
 Guard me, and help me on my journey home, 
 
 God of the widow, and the fatherlefs ! 
 
 May I forget my own, my bitter woes. 
 
 In pouring comfort into others’ breafts. 
 
 Far from these lips be censure or complaint; 
 
 And let me ftrive by every lawful means 
 To hide the faults of others, and my grief. 
 
 So by my gladsome looks and happy tones. 
 
 By sympathy in all the gentle joys 
 Of young and merry hearts, may it appear 
 How bright and sunny is the lot of those 
 Who have Thy love, a solace in their woes. 
 
 Who, clinging to Thy crofs, their souls to save. 
 Can look without one fhudder towards the grave. 
 
 Kev, W, Calvert, 
 
 A WORKING-HYMN. 
 
 S ON of the Carpenter, receive 
 This humble work of mine ; 
 Worth to my meaneft labor give 
 By joining it to thine. 
 
 Servant of all, to toil for man 
 Thou wouldft not. Lord, refuse : 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 311 
 
 Thy majefty did not disdain 
 To be employ’d for us. 
 
 Thy bright example I pursue. 
 
 To thee in all things rise, 
 
 And all I think, or speak, or do. 
 
 Is one great sacrifice. 
 
 Carelefs thro’ outward cares I go. 
 
 From all diftradlion free : 
 
 My hands are but engag’d below. 
 
 My heart is ftill with thee. 
 
 O when wilt thou, my life, appear! 
 
 Then gladly will I cry, 
 
 ’T is done, the work thou gav’ft me here, 
 
 ’T is finifh’d. Lord — and die! 
 
 Wejley. 
 
 GRACE AFTER MEAT. 
 
 B lest be the God, whose tender care 
 Prevents his children’s cry. 
 
 Whose pity providently near 
 Doth all our wants supply. 
 
 Bleft be the God, whose bounteous ftore. 
 These cheering gifts imparts. 
 
312 Miscellaneous, 
 
 Who veils in bread the secret power 
 That feeds and glads our hearts. 
 
 Fountain of bleflings, source of good, 
 
 To thee this ftrength we owe. 
 
 Thou art the virtue of our food. 
 
 Life of our life below. 
 
 When fliall our souls regain the fkies. 
 
 Thy heavenly sweetnefs prove : 
 
 Where joys in all their fullnefs rise. 
 
 And all our food is love. 
 
 JVeJley, 
 
 AT TABLE. 
 
 F ountain of all the good we see 
 Streaming from heaven above. 
 
 Saviour, our faith we adf on thee. 
 
 And exercise our love. 
 
 ’T is not the outward food we eat 
 Doth this new ftrength afford, 
 
 ’T is thou, whose presence makes it meat. 
 
 Thou the life-giving word. 
 
 Man doth not live by bread alone ; 
 
 Whatever thou wilt can feed ; 
 
Miscellaneous, 313 
 
 Thy power converts the bread to ftone. 
 
 And turns the ftone to bread. 
 
 Thou art our food ; we tafte thee now. 
 
 In thee we move and breathe, 
 
 Our bodies’ only life art thou. 
 
 And all befides is death. 
 
 JVeJley. 
 
 WORSHIP. 
 
 I WENT into the house of prayer, 
 ’T was many a mile away ; 
 
 I knew no individual there — 
 
 I went to hear them pray ; 
 
 And by their supplications found 
 The place indeed was holy ground. 
 
 I did not afk their creed or name, 
 
 ’T was scarcely worth a care ; 
 
 It was enough, a holy flame 
 Impelled their souls to prayer ; 
 
 And in my own, methought I found 
 A brother’s love go circling round. 
 
 As pilgrims they themselves confeft. 
 And ftrangers here below 
 
314 Miscellaneous, 
 
 / 
 
 To perfe6l joy, and solid reft, 
 
 Or— misanthropic woe ! 
 
 And made a humble, happy claim 
 To heaven itself, in Jesus’ name. 
 
 They were indeed a happy band, — 
 
 And they appeared to me 
 The salt that purifies the land 
 Amidft depravity ; 
 
 For to the potency of prayer. 
 
 We owe the bleftings that we fhare. 
 
 Then let us raise hosannas high 
 To God the Father’s name. 
 
 Who bids our supplications fly 
 On love’s triumphant flame ; 
 
 And from his throne above the fkies. 
 
 Sends down to earth such rich supplies. 
 
 E, Dermer 
 
 SON-DAYES. 
 
 B right fhadows of true reft! some ftioots of 
 bli ITe ; 
 
 Heaven once a week ; 
 
 The next world’s gladnelFe prepoflfeft in this; 
 
 A day to seek: 
 
Miscellaneous. 3^5 
 
 Eternity in time; the fteps by which 
 We climb above all ages 3 lamps that light 
 Man through his heap of dark days ; and the rich 
 And full redemption of the whole week’s flight ! 
 
 The pulleys unto headlong man ; time’s bower 3 
 The narrow way 3 
 
 Transplanted paradise 3 God’s walking houre 3 
 The cool o’ th’ day! 
 
 The creature’s jubile 3 God’s parle with dufl: 3 
 Heaven here 3 man on those hills of myrrh and flowres 3 
 Angels descending 3 the returns of trufl; 3 
 A gleam of glory after six-days-showres! 
 
 The Churche’s love-feafls 3 time’s prerogative, 
 
 And interefl: 
 
 Dedudfed from the whole 3 the combs and hive, 
 
 And home of reft. 
 
 The milky-way chalkt out with suns 3 a clue. 
 
 That guides through erring hours 3 and in full fliory 
 A taffe of heav’n on earth 3 the pledge and cue 
 Of a full feafl: 3 and the out-courts of glory. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 1621—1695. 
 
3 i 6 
 
 Miscellaneous, 
 
 H. SCRIPTURES. 
 
 ELCOMEj dear book, soul’s joy and food I the 
 
 feaft 
 
 Of spirits ; heav’n extradfed lyes in thee. 
 Thou art life’s charter, the dove’s spotlefs neft 
 Where souls are hatch’d unto eternitie. 
 
 In thee the hidden ftone, the manna lies ; 
 
 Thou art the great elixir rare and choice; 
 The key that opens to all myfteries. 
 
 The word in charadler, God in the voice. 
 
 Thou art the oyl and the wine-house ; 
 
 Thine are the present healing leaves. 
 
 Blown from the tree of life to us 
 
 By His breath whom my dead heart heaves. 
 Each page of thine hath true life in’t. 
 And God’s bright minde expreft in print. 
 
 Thou art the faithful, pearly rock ; 
 
 The hive of beamy, living lights ; 
 
 Ever the same, whose diffus’d Rock 
 Entire ftill wears out blackeft nights. 
 
 Thy lines are rays the true Sun fhed ; 
 Thy leaves are healing wings He spreads. 
 
 Vaughan, 
 
Miscellaneous. 317 
 
 SABBATH EVENING. 
 
 I S there a time when moments flow 
 More lovelily than all befide ? 
 
 It is, of all the times below, 
 
 A Sabbath eve in summer tide. 
 
 O then the setting sun smiles fair. 
 
 And all below, and all above. 
 
 The different forms of Nature wear; 
 
 One universal garb of love. 
 
 And then the peace that Jesus beams, 
 The life of grace, the death of fin. 
 
 With Nature’s placid woods and ftreams. 
 Is peace without, and peace within. 
 
 Delightful scene ! a world at reft, 
 
 A God all love, no grief nor fear; 
 
 A heavenly hope, a peaceful breaft, 
 
 A smile unsullied by a tear! 
 
 If heaven be ever felt below, 
 
 A scene so heavenly sure as this. 
 
 May cause a heart on earth to know 
 Some foretafte of celeftial blifs. 
 
318 Miscellaneous, 
 
 Delightful hour! how soon will Night 
 Spread her dark mantle o’er thy reign ; 
 
 And morrow’s quick returning light 
 Muft call us to the world again. 
 
 Yet there will dawn at laft the day, 
 
 A Sun that never sets fhall rise ; 
 
 Night will not vail his ceaselefs ray, 
 
 The heavenly Sabbath never dies. 
 
 Edmejion. 
 
 They affedl 
 
 Truth in her naked beauty, and behold 
 Man with an equall eye, not bright in gold 
 Or tall in title ; so much him they weigh 
 As vertue raiseth him above his clay. 
 
 Thus let us value things : and fince we find 
 Time bends us toward death, let’s in our mind 
 Create new youth ; and arme againft the rude 
 AlTaults of age ; that no dull solitude 
 O’ th’ country dead our thoughts, nor bufie care 
 O’ th’ towne make us not thinke, where now we are 
 And whither we are bound. Time ne’er forgot 
 His journey, though his fteps we numbered not! 
 
 Habington. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 319 
 
 cc 
 
 F' 
 
 r 
 
 OR I have seen the pine, 
 
 Famed for its travels ore the sea, 
 Broken with ftormes and age decline. 
 And in some creek unpittied rot away. 
 
 I have seene cedars fall. 
 
 And in their roome a mufhrome grow : 
 
 I have seene comets, threatning all, 
 
 Vanifh themselves ; I have seene princes so.” 
 
 ‘‘OHOULD I my selfe ingratiate 
 T’ a prince’s smile, 
 
 How soone may death my hopes beguile ! 
 And fhould I farme the proudeft ftate, 
 Pme tennant to uncertaine fate.” 
 
 cc 
 
 O THOU iEternall banquet! where 
 Forever we 
 
 May feede without satietie ! 
 
 Who harmonie art to the eare ! 
 
 Who art, while all things else appeare! ” 
 
 Hahington. 1605—1654. 
 
320 
 
 Miscellaneous, 
 
 FROM THE “CHERUBIC PILGRIM.” 
 
 The Eyes of the Soul, 
 
 T WO eyes hath every soul; one into Time fhall 
 see, 
 
 The other bends its gaze into Eternity. 
 
 Humble and Free, 
 
 From lowly daifies learn, O men ! how ye may be 
 Both good and beautiful, humble in heart and free. 
 
 Learn from the Silkworm, 
 
 O fhame ! A silkworm works and spins till it can fly. 
 And thou, my soul, wilt ftill on thine old earth-clod lie. 
 
 God is a Blejfed Stillnefs, 
 
 We pray, “ On earth, in Heaven, O Lord, be done 
 thy will,” 
 
 And yet God has no will, but is forever flill. 
 
 fohannes Angelas Silefius, 
 
Miscellaneous* 
 
 321 
 
 FROM ALGER’S ORIENTAL POETRY. 
 
 Tradition and Life. 
 
 B e no imitator j frefhly a6i: thy part ; 
 
 Through this world be thou an independent ranger: 
 Better is the faith that springeth from thy heart, 
 
 Than a better faith belonging to a ftranger. 
 
 The Haunt of JVisdom. 
 
 Seek truth from thought, and not from mouldy books, 
 O fool! 
 
 Look in the Iky to find the moon, not in the pool. 
 
 Truth out of Convulfion: from Dewletschah. 
 
 Whene’er the sea upheaves its foaming hofts. 
 Pearl after pearl it tofles on the coafts. 
 
 Not Fate^ but Skill. 
 
 Diving and finding no pearls in the sea. 
 Blame not the ocean, the fault is in thee! 
 
 Educate Thyself. 
 
 O square thyself for use ; a ftone that may 
 Fit in the wall, is not left in the way. 
 
322 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 Fount and River. 
 
 The bad fount, which a pitcher can hide from your 
 view, 
 
 Feeds a ftream which an elephant scarce can wade 
 through. 
 
 The Triple Murder. 
 
 These three men all at once to death the flander-poison 
 burns: 
 
 The one who speaks, the one who hears, the one whom 
 it concerns. 
 
 The Ideal Philosophy. From Mahmoud. 
 
 Nothing is the mirror, and the world the image in it: 
 
 God the fhower is, who fhows the vifion every minute. 
 
 The Bitter Cup Sweet. 
 
 My God once mixed a harfh cup, for me to drink it. 
 
 And it was full of acrid bitternefs intenseft ; 
 
 The black and nauseating draught did make me fhrink 
 from it. 
 
 And cry, O Thou who every draught alike dispense!!:. 
 
 This cup of anguifh sore, bid me not to quaff of it. 
 
 Or pour away the dregs and the deadlieft half of it!’* 
 
 But ftill the cup he held ; and seeing He ordained it. 
 
 One glance at Him, — it turned to sweetnefs as I 
 drained it. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 The Ninth Paradise. 
 
 In the nine heavens are eight Paradises ; 
 
 Where is the ninth one ? In the human breaft. 
 
 Only the blefled dwell in th^ Paradises, 
 
 But bleflednefs dwells in the human breaft. 
 
 Created creatures are in th’ Paradises, 
 
 The uncreated Maker in the breaft. 
 
 Rather, O man, want those eight Paradises, 
 
 Than be without the ninth one in thy breaft. 
 
 Given to thee are those eight Paradises 
 
 When thou the ninth one haft within thy breaft. 
 
 The Unwalled House of God. 
 
 The holy Nanac on the ground, one day. 
 
 Reclining, with his feet towards Mecca, lay. 
 
 A pafling Moflem prieft, offended saw. 
 
 And flaming for the honor of his law. 
 
 Exclaimed, “ Base infidel, thy prayers repeat! 
 
 Towards Allah’s house how dar’ft thou turn thy feet?’’ 
 Before the Moflem’s fhallow accents died. 
 
 The pious but indignant Nanac cried, 
 
 “ And turn them, if thou canft, towards any spot 
 Wherein the awful House of God is not ! ” 
 
324 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 A HYMN WHILST WE ARE WASHING. 
 
 A S we by water wafli away 
 
 Uncleannefs from our flefh. 
 
 And sometimes often in a day, 
 
 Ourselves are fain to wafli : 
 
 So ev’ry day, thoughts, words, or deeds, 
 The soul do sully so. 
 
 That often every day fhe needs 
 Unto her cleanser go. 
 
 Our fins purgation doth require. 
 
 Sometime a flood of tears; 
 
 Sometime the painful purging fire 
 Of torments, griefs, or fears: 
 
 And all this cleanfing will be loft. 
 
 When we our heft fhall do, 
 
 Unlefs we by the Holy Ghoft, 
 
 May be baptized too. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 A 
 
Mhcelianeous. 
 
 325 
 
 FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH PRAISED. 
 
 M y fins and follies, Lord I by thee 
 From others hidden are, 
 
 That such good words are spoke of me. 
 
 As now and then I hear; 
 
 For sure if others knew me such. 
 
 Such as myself I know, 
 
 I fhould have been dispraised as much 
 As I am praised now. 
 
 The praise, therefore, which I have heard. 
 
 Delights not so my mind, 
 
 As those things make my heart afeard, 
 
 I-' Which in myself I find : 
 
 And I had rather to be blamed. 
 
 So I were blamelefs made. 
 
 Than for much virtue to be famed. 
 
 When I no virtues had. 
 
 Though danders to an innocent. 
 
 Sometimes do bitter grow. 
 
 Their bitternefs procures content. 
 
 If clear himself he know. 
 
 And when a virtuous man hath err’d. 
 
 If praised himself he hear. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 It makes him grieve, and more afeard, 
 Than if he flander’d were. 
 
 Lord ! therefore make my heart upright, 
 Whate’er my deeds do seem ; 
 
 And righteous rather in Thy fight. 
 Than in the world’s efteem. 
 
 And if aught good appear to be 
 In any a 61 : of mine. 
 
 Let thankfulnefs be found in me. 
 
 And all the praise be Thine. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 
 HRICE happy he whose name is writ above. 
 
 I And doeth good through gaining infamy ; 
 
 Requiteth evil turns with hearty love. 
 
 And recks not what befalls him outwardly ; 
 
 Whose worth is in himselfe, and only blilTe 
 In his pure conscience that doth nought amilTe. 
 
 Who placeth pleasure in his purged soul, 
 
 And virtuous life his treasure doth efteem ; 
 
 Who can his paffions mafter and controll. 
 
 And that true lordly manlinelTe doth deeme ; 
 
 Who from this world himself hath clearly quit. 
 Counts nought his own but what lives in his spright. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 327 
 
 So when his spright from this vain world ftiall flit. 
 
 It bears all with it whatsoever was dear 
 Unto itself, pafling in easy fit. 
 
 As kindly ripen’d corn comes out of th’ ear. 
 
 Thus mindlelTe of what idle men will say 
 He takes his own and ftilly goes his way.” 
 
 -True virtue to herself’s the heft reward. 
 
 Rich with her own, and full of lively spirit. 
 
 Nothing caft down for want of due regard. 
 
 Or ’cause rude men acknowledge not her merit ; 
 
 She knows her worth, and flock from whence she 
 sprung. 
 
 Spreads fair without the warmth of earthly dung. 
 
 Dewed with the drops of heaven fhall flourifh long; 
 
 As long as day and night do fhare the fkie. 
 
 And though that day and night fhould faile, yet flrong 
 And fleddie, fixed on eternitie. 
 
 Shall bloom forever. So the soul ftiall speed, 
 
 That loveth virtue for no worldly meed. 
 
 Though sooth to say, the worldly meed is due 
 To her more than to all the world befide ; 
 
 Men ought do homage with afFe 61 :ions true. 
 
 And offer gifts, for God doth there refide ; 
 
 The wise and virtuous soul is his own seat. 
 
 To such what’s given God himself doth get. 
 
 Dr. Henry More. 1614—1687. 
 
328 
 
 Miscellaneous. 
 
 THE UNITY OF THE SPIRIT. 
 
 HE Church of Chrift that he hath hallow’d here 
 
 JL To be his house, is scattered far and near, 
 
 In North and South and Eaft and Weft abroad. 
 
 And yet in earth and heaven, through Chrift her Lord, 
 
 The Church is one. 
 
 One member knoweth not another here. 
 
 And yet their fellowftiip is true and near, 
 
 One is their Saviour, and their Father one. 
 
 One Spirit rules them, and among them none 
 
 Lives to himself. 
 
 They live to Him who bought them with his blood. 
 Baptized them with his Spirit pure and good. 
 
 And in true faith and ever-burning love 
 Their hearts and hope ascend to seek above 
 
 The eternal Good. 
 
 O Spirit of the Lord, all life is thine. 
 
 Now fill thy Church with life and power divine. 
 That many children may be born to thee. 
 
 And spread thy knowledge like the boundlefs sea. 
 
 To Chrift’s great praise. 
 A. G. Spangenberg. 1747* 
 
INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 .» taei~ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Abide with me. Fast falls the eventide.163 
 
 Again, how can she but immortal be.297 
 
 A garden so well watered before morn.154 
 
 A gentle angel walketh throughout a world of woe.135 
 
 Ah ! say no more there’s nought but heaven .303 
 
 Alas these visits rare and rude...74 
 
 A little longer yet, a little longer.237 
 
 A little while, and every fear.141 
 
 Allah, Allah ! cried the sick man. 4 
 
 All praise and thanks to God most High.218 
 
 Alone with God ! day’s craven cares.157 
 
 A man there came, whence none could tell.72 
 
 And is there care in Heaven ? and is there love.33 
 
 Angels shall free the feet from stain.138 
 
 Another day is numbered with the past.176 
 
 Another hand is beckoning us.262 
 
 Arise ! ye lingering saints, arise !.42 
 
 As ere I down am couched there.23 
 
 A strong and mailed angel .147 
 
 As virtuous men pass mildly away.249 
 
 As we by water wash away.324 
 
 Awake, my soul ! awake, mine eyes !.172 
 
33^) Inde c . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Be no imitator; freshly act thy part.321 
 
 Beyond the smiling and the weeping.235 
 
 Blest be the God, whose tender care.311 
 
 Breathe thoughts of pity o’er a brother’s fall .32 
 
 Brief life is here our portion.279 
 
 Bright shadows of true rest!.314 
 
 But what or who are we, alas .21 
 
 Calm on the listening ear of night ... .179 
 
 Can angel spirits need repose .285 
 
 Children of God, who pacing slow.123 
 
 Come, blessed of my heavenly Father, come!.54 
 
 Come forth ! come on, with solemn song ! .252 
 
 Come, oh ! come, with sacred lays.213 
 
 Come to the morning prayer.155 
 
 Companion none is like.20 
 
 Courage, my sorely-tempted heart! 120 
 
 Day by day the manna fell.79 
 
 Dear Jesus, give me patience here.133 
 
 Dear, secret greenness ! nurst below. 12 
 
 Deathless principle, arise !.258 
 
 Discourage not thyself, my soul..86 
 
 Enthroned upon a hill of light.260 
 
 For I have seen the pine.319 
 
 Fountain of all the good we see.312 
 
 Give me my scallop-shell of quiet.21 
 
 Gloomy night embraced the place.180 
 
 Good night I a word so often said ... .266 
 
 Grace does not steel the faithful heart.107 
 
 Grand rough old Martin Luther.* . . . 56 
 
Index, 331 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Happy me ! O happy sheep.215 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the voice of ceaseless praise.282 
 
 He bids us come ; His voice we know.loi 
 
 Here may the band that now in triumph shines .287 
 
 He that from dross would win the precious ore.194 
 
 High hopes that burne'd like stars sublime.142 
 
 His courtiers of the caliph crave .39 
 
 How good a God have we !.177 
 
 How happy is it and how sweet.28 
 
 I dwell in grace’s courts.83 
 
 I fashioned in my soul a fantasy. /. . . 267 
 
 If God is mine, then present things .223 
 
 If joy be made when men are born .257 
 
 If virtue be thy guide.8 
 
 ,I journey through a desert drear and wild.202 
 
 I love (and have some cause to love) the earth ...... 209 
 
 I mourn no more my vanished years.144 
 
 In all extremes. Lord, thou art still...210 
 
 In the silent midnight watches.187 
 
 In times of want we feel what bliss.305 
 
 * In trouble and in grief, O God.115 
 
 In vain do men.22 
 
 I say to thee, do thou repeat.104 
 
 Is there a time when moments flow.317 
 
 Is this a fast, to keep.. 54 
 
 It is not they who idly dwell.46 
 
 I went into the house of prayer.313 
 
 “ Jesus’ hour is not yet come ”.140 
 
 Jesus immutably the same.190 
 
 Jesus, my Saviour, look on me.197 
 
 Jesus! the ladder of my faith.191 
 
 Joy of my life, while left me here.64 
 
Index, 
 
 332 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Late to our town there came a maid. ...68 
 
 Let them that would build castles in the air.151 
 
 Life’s mystery — deep, restless as the Ocean.207 
 
 Lift not thou the wailing voice.254 
 
 Light of light enlighten me .233 
 
 Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest.201 
 
 Long plunged in sorrow, I resign.119 
 
 Lord, I have lain.48 
 
 Lord, it belongs not to my care.109 
 
 Lord, shall we grumble when thy flames do scourge us ? . . 114 
 
 Love divine Its word hath spoken.. 26 
 
 Mortal! on our azure pathway.61 
 
 My Father is the mighty Lord.231 
 
 My God ! I know that I must die.243 
 
 My God with me in every place !.227 
 
 My hope is built on nothing less.195 
 
 My Jesus, as thou wilt .116 
 
 My little maiden of four years old.34 
 
 My sins and follies Lord ! by thee.325 
 
 My soul, there is a countrie.2 
 
 My soul, why dost thou in my breast.192 ' 
 
 My stock lies dead ; and no increase. ..165 
 
 No outward mark we have to know.38 
 
 Not as all other women are.65 
 
 Nothing but leaves ; the Spirit grieves.49 
 
 Nothing resting in its own completeness.127 
 
 Now darkness over all is spread.121 
 
 Now let our souls on wings sublime.242 
 
 Now that the sun is gleaming bright.169 
 
 O Father-eye that hath so truly watch’d 
 Of life’s past woes the fading trace 
 O for a heart to praise my God . . 
 
 . 232 
 
 . . 70 
 
 • 159 
 
Index. 333 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Oft have I wished a traveller to be. 17 
 
 O God ! who on the tablets of the heart.308 
 
 O hearts that never cease to yearn ..264 
 
 Oh ! that mine eye might closed be.160 
 
 O joyes! infinite sweetness ! with what flowres.153 
 
 O ! learn that it is only by the lowly.301 
 
 O love divine, how sweet thou art! .3 
 
 O love divine, that stooped to share.171 
 
 O make our house Thy sanctuary.161 
 
 One sweetly welcome thought.290 
 
 One time I was allowed to steer.150 
 
 O not to fill the mouth of fame .. 45 
 
 O peace of God, sweet peace of God !.iii 
 
 O say not we through life must struggle.51 
 
 O silence deep and strange !.170 
 
 O! that in unfettered union.269 
 
 O think that, while you ’re weeping here.256 
 
 O Thou by long experience tried.226 
 
 O thou aeternall banquet! where.319 
 
 O Thou, on earth beloved, adored.280 
 
 O Thou that in thy lowly sojourn here.307 
 
 Our Father.166 
 
 Our Lord and brother who put on.182 
 
 Our Saviour (pattern of true holiness).155 
 
 Over the river they beckon to me.277 
 
 O way for all that live !.206 
 
 O ! years gone down into the past.80 
 
 Pain’s furnace-heat within me quivers ..136 
 
 Peace has unveiled her smiling face.no 
 
 Peace, muttering thoughts ! 75 
 
 Peace, peace ; it is not so.124 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth.15 
 
 Prayer—the church’s banquet; angel’s age. . ..152 
 
334 
 
 Index . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Quietly rest the woods and dales.174 
 
 Say, Reader! canst thou bear and not complain.89 
 
 See the Day-Spring from afar .204 
 
 She stood outside the gate of heaven.35 
 
 Should I my selfe ingratiate.319 
 
 Sleep, drowsy sleep! come close mine eyes.173 
 
 Some think there is no earthly state.76 
 
 Sometime, O Lord ! at least in show. 16 
 
 Son of the Carpenter, receive .310 
 
 Soul’s joy, now I am gone.248 
 
 Spirit divine 1 attend our prayer.162 
 
 Stand but your ground, your ghostly foes will fly.203 
 
 Still hope ! still act! Be sure that life.60 
 
 Sweet babe, she glanced into our world to see.255 
 
 Sweet-voiced Hope, thy fine discourse.90 
 
 Sweet voices ! seldom mortal ear.128 
 
 That so thy blessed birth, O Christ.57 
 
 That which makes us have no need. 6 
 
 The Church of Christ that he hath hallow’d here.328 
 
 The golden palace of my God.274 
 
 The lopped tree in time may grow again.149 
 
 The modest front of this small floor. , . . . 71 
 
 The night was made for cooling shade.93 
 
 The pilgrim and stranger, who, through the day.53 
 
 There are who fear thy summons. Death ! .241 
 
 There is an eye that never sleeps.156 
 
 There is a plant that in its cell .30 
 
 There is a pure and peaceful wave. 13 
 
 The seas are quiet when the winds are o’er.300 
 
 The Son of God goes forth to war.183 
 
 They affect Truth in her naked beauty.318 
 
 They gave to Thee . . . . •. i 
 
 This is the Sabbath day!.168 
 
Index. 335 
 
 PAGE 
 
 This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign.58 
 
 Thou art my all — to Thee I flee.220 
 
 Thou, Lord, who rear’st the mountains height.229 
 
 Thrice happy he whose name is writ above.326 
 
 “Thy will be done,” God of the desolate.309 
 
 Till love appear, we live in anxious doubt.25 
 
 ’T is but one family, —the sound is balm.251 
 
 ’T is not the skill of human art.37 
 
 Tremble not, though darkly gather ... .114 
 
 ’T was when the sea’s tremendous roar.105 
 
 Two eyes hath every soul — one into Time shall see . . . . 320 
 
 Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain.291 
 
 Unchangeable, Almighty Lord.134 
 
 Unto the glor)’ of thy Holy Name.177 
 
 Up, Christian, up ! —and sleep’st thou still ?.44 
 
 Up to those bright and gladsome hills.212 
 
 Veil, Lord, mine eyes till she be past.10 
 
 Wait! for the day is breaking.139 
 
 Walk in the light! — So shalt thou know. 9 
 
 Watcher, who wakest by the bed of pain.196 
 
 We ask for peace, O Lord ! .95 
 
 Welcome, dear book, soul’s joy and food.316 
 
 What are we set on earth for ? Say, to toil.113 
 
 What cheering words are these.99 
 
 Whate’er my God ordains is right.102 
 
 What mean ye by this wailing .246 
 
 What pleases God, O pious soul.96 
 
 What shall I do lest life in silence pass ?.11 
 
 What though the comforts of the light.222 
 
 When all the year our fields are fresh and green .125 
 
 When, before, my God commanded ..224 
 
 When I can trust my all with God .131 
 
336 Index. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 When our purest delights are nipt in the blossom.188 
 
 When tempests toss and billows roll.284 
 
 When the death-dews dim my eyes.275 
 
 When Thou shalt please this soul to enthrone.239 
 
 When words are weak and foes encount’ring strong . . . . 87 
 
 When we cannot see our way.100 
 
 Whilst Andrew, as a fisher, sought.185 
 
 Whither, O whither should I fly.189 
 
 Who keepeth not God’s word, yet sailh.41 
 
 Why dost thou talk of death, laddie ?. 50 
 
 Why doth ambition so the mind distresse.'8 
 
 Why longed Paul to be dissolv’d.245 
 
 Without the smile of God upon the soul.228 
 
 With tearful eyes I look around . -.199 
 
 Ye dainty mosses, lichens gray.. 240 
 
 Yes ! our Shepherd leads with gentle hand.186