SO]^GS Sacred axd Devotiojstal. Compiled by H. 0. FOSTER ILL USTRA TED. NEW YORK : JOHN W. LOVELL, Publisher, 14 AND 16 AsTOR Place. COPYBIGHT, 1880, PRESS Of J. J. LITTLE U LO , NOS. ID TO 2J ASTOR PLACE, NEW rOBK. PREFACE The influences which, during the last half century, have modified the rigor of the prevailing creeds of Christendom, have not been few nor fleeting. Theol- ogy has relaxed its grim features, and tacitly abandoned or put out of sight, one by one, tenets at variance with the advanced intelligence and religious sentiment of the ago. The Poets have, with some exceptions, been in ad- vance of the theologians in giving us ideas of Provi- dence and a future life, consistent with the wants and analogies of our nature, and not at variance with the teachings of revelation. Poetry, from the time of Job, has been the mother tongue of devotion and prophecy ; and the poets, in their highest moods, have generally been true to those inmost assurances of the soul, which represent a God and an after-life in keep- ing with our best ideas of omnipotent benignity and love. It will require but a casual glance to see that this is no sectarian book. It will have fulfilled its mission if it help to indicate that the highest human conceptions of the Beautiful and the True are in accordance with IV PREFACE. the faith which, in the spirit of Christ's teaching, can sincerely and consistently address the Omnipotent as ^' our Father," and which can look through death in the serene assurance that He " doeth all things well,'' and that justice will, in this and every future stage of being, be ever tempered with mercy. CONTENTS. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. PAGE To THE Lord op Life E. Spenser 3 Why should we fear to die Sir Philip Sidney 4 Sleep .' Samuel Daniel 4 Immortality of the Soul W. Shakespeare 5 Sleep, Sweet Father of Soft Rest. . W. Drummond 6 Human Frailty " '* 6 To a Nightingale *' " 7 Milton's Twenty-third Year John Milton 8 On the Religious Memory of Mrs. C.Thomson " «' 8 On the Late Massacre in Piedmont. *' " 9 On the Death of W. Richard West. Thomas Gray 10 To Hope Helen M. Williams 11 Time the Only Cure William L. Boivles 11 To Sleep William Wordsivorth 12 Sky-prospect " *' 12 The Virgin *'. " 13 To Nature S. T. Coleridge 14 To Time 31ary Tighe 14 To a Friend Charles Lamb 15 The Omnipotent Horace Smith 16 The Harvest Moon Lord Thurlow 16 Spring Menezer Elliott 27 VI COKTENTS. PAGE To the Harvest Moon W. S. Eoscoe 18 What art Thou, Mighty One H. K. White 18 Misspent Time Sir A. De Vere 19 The Passion Flower '' " 30 To Liberty Lord Byron 20 The Sea in Cahn £. W. Procter 21 The Setting Sun John Kehle 22 The Lilies of the Field Mrs. Remans 22 On a Remembered Picture of Christ. " " 23 Flight of the Spirit " " 24 Sabbath Sonnet " " 24 Solitude John Keats 25 The Human Seasons " " 26 To Sleep " " 26 The Memory of the Poets T. iV. Talfourd 27 Night Hartley Coleridge 28 To Shakespeare " '' 28 Prayer " '' 29 Prayer " " 30 On Death Thomas Hood 30 A Prayer Sir W. B. Hamilton 31 God, impart Thy Blessing Charles Turner 32 The Holy Emerald " '' 32 The Soul's Expression Mrs. Browning 33 Bereavement " " 34 Consolation " . *' 34 Tears '' " 35 Comfort " *' 36 Work '' '' 36 Come unto the Feast H. Alford 37 To a Friend W. C. Roscoe 38 To a Friend in Bereavement. . Sydney Dohell 38 In the Shadows David Gray 39 FAITH AND RELIGION. The Love of God W. C. Bryafif 45 Delight in God Francis Quarles 46 A Thanksgiving to God for His House Robert Herrick 48 COKTEKTS. Vll PAGE A Christmas Hymn Alfred Domett 50 Christmas Carol John Byrom 52 " " Anonymous 53 The Star of Bethlehem W. C. Bryant 55 The Right must Win F. W. Fahcr 56 Bound upon th' Accursed Tree H. H. 3Iilman 58 To keep a True Lent Rohert Herri clc 59 What is Prayer James Montgomery 60 Trust Alfred Tennyson 62 Up Hill C. G. Rossetti 68 Evening Song Thomas Miller 63 The Spirit-Land Jones Very 65 The Land of Dreams William Blake 65 Not Lost, but Gone Before 3Irs. Morton 66 The Flower George Herbert 68 The Odor '' " 69 Complaining " " 71 Thou art, God Thomas Moore 72 This World is all a Fleeting Show. " " 73 The Better Land Mrs. Hemans 73 They are all Gone H. Vaughoji 74 The Other World H. B. Stowe 76 The Dying Christian to the Soul. .Alex. Pope 78 God John Bowring 78 St. Agnes' Eve Alfred Tennyson 82 Tell me, ye Winged Winds Charles Maclmy 83 Joy and Peace in Believing William Cowper 85 Charity James Montgomery 87 The Child leans on its Parent's Breast Isaac Williams 87 GLEANINGS FROM THE POETS. Regeneration Hartley Coleridge 91 To a Child " " 92 To a Friend in Bereavement '* " 93 Religious Differences " " 93 On a Friend's Death *' " 94 The Word of God " " 95 Vlll CON'TEKTS. PAGE Sonnets Hartley Coleridge 96 Sense, if you can find It '* " 102 Who Prayeth Best S. T. Coleridge 103 Man Redeemable " " 104 Intimations of Immortality Wm. Wordsworth 105 Faith by Virtue " " 109 The Responses of External Nature. "■ " 110 Man never Irreclaimable " " 110 The Moral Law *' " Ill Ode to Duty '' " 112 The Soul's Recuperative Energies . " " 114 Spiritual Population of the Uni- verse John Milton 115 Virtue a Light to Herself " '' 116 The Penitent John Sterling 117 Divine Discipline towards Man '' " 118 The Soul disciplined to see God's Will '' " 120 The Perpetual Religion Horace Smith 121 A Prayer " " 123 The Quarrel of Faith, Hope, and Charity '* " 123 Moral Alchemy " " 127 The Heart's Sanctuary " " 130 The Departed Spirit Andrews Norton 131 Submission " " 132 On a Friend's Death '' " .133 Matins and Vespers John Bowring 134 Hymn " *' 137 The Beauties of Creation *' '' 138 Undeveloped Good *' " 139 Destiny of the Soul " *' 140 From "In Memoriam " Alfred Tennyson 142 Man Immortal James Montgomery 148 To One in Affliction *♦ " 149 De Profundis *' " 150 The Soul's Immortal Origin " " 151 Forever with the Lord ** " 152 The Dead Friend Soutliey 154 There is a Tongue 3Irs. Southey 156 CONTENTS. IX PAGE The Pauper's Death-bed Mrs. Sotifhey 158 Life and Death '' " 160 The Infant's Removal " " 161 Magdalene's Hymn John Wilson 163 Consolation from God's Visible Works " " 164 Immortal Hopes " " 165 The Evening Cloud " '< 166 Reflection of a Soul on Death Leigh Hunt 167 An Angel in the House ** '* 171 AbouBenAdhem *' " 172 The Road of Death ** " .....172 Providence " *' l73 From " The Death of Socrates ". .Lamartine 174 Musings in the Temple of Nature. . Chatfield 178 Repose in Faith. Bulwer Lytton 181 The Land which no Mortal may- Know Barton 183 TooLate " 184 Faith, Hope, and Charity " 185 Signs and Tokens " 186 Farewell " 186 Comfort in Aifliction Thomas Moore 188 But who shall See " '' 189 Bliss of Heaven '' " 190 The Return of Youth Bryant 191 God's Universal Love James Thomson 193 Moral of the Seasons " *' 195 The Soul's High Destiny Sir John Davies 197 Reasons for Immortality " " 198 Affliction's Teachings '* *' 200 God Provideth for the Morrow Reginald Heber 201 On the Death of a Brother " " 202 The Widow of Nain '' '' 203 What is Religion " " 204 Cowper's Grave Mrs. Browning 206 Cheerfulness " " : . . . 210 God is Love 0. W. Holmes 212 Virtue the sole Happiness Alexander Pope 215 The Universal Prayer *' '' 317 X COKTEI^TS. PAGE A Dirge. Mrs. Remans 220 The Lilies of the Field " " 221 The Birds of the Air " " 221 Angel Visits '' " 222 From the *' Night Thoughts " Young 223 Capacity of Man for Progress ScJieffer 230 The Hermit Farnell 232 Edwin's Meditations in Autumn. .Beattie 241 An Address to the Deity Mrs. Barhauld 243 The Unknown God " " 246 The Inner Law Bobert Burns 248 Charity " " 249 A Prayer '* " 250 The Hope of an Hereafter Campbell 251 Mount Hope Bpes Sargent 257 The Immortal Mind Lord Byron 261 Couplets Trench 263 Spring " 265 Shortsightedness of Man " 266 Trial before Reward Quarles 267 The Bridge of Sighs Hood 269 FareweULife " 273 Hope Sarah F. Adams 275 Faith in Divine Goodness " " 276 Nearer to Thee " «' 277 The Child and the Mourners Mackay 279 The Little Moles " 281 Old Opinions <« 283 We are Wiser than we Know " 285 Christmas Carol Mary Howitt 288 Man's Judgment «' " 290 Rejoicing in Heaven " " 292 The Grave's Victor <« «' 293 Song of the Saints P. J. Bailey 295 Life's Ultimate Knowledge " *' 296 The Maiden's Prayer «' " 297 Tauler. J. Q. Whittier 298 The Angel of Patience <« '< 301 Lines in Prospect of Death Robert Nicoll 303 Sermons in Sonnets C. H. Townshend 306 CONTENTS. XI PAGE A Question and Answer C. H. Townshend 346 Wait '' '' 347 MISCELLANEOUS. Songs of Being Anonymous 351 Where are the Dead " 354 A Dream of Heaven " 356 Thoughts for the Departed *' 358 The Happier Sphere " 359 Hope's Brighter Shore " 360 Forgiveness of Error Butcher 361 Conversion De Vere 361 The Stars Anonymous 363 Angelic Mhiistry E. Spenser 364 God's Love Unchangeable Kelley 365 Judge Gently Anonymous 365 Thou art not Lost " 366 The Mission of Christ 3Irs. Mayo 367 The Gospel's Promises Ashworth 368 A Walk in a Churchyard Anonymous 369 Pupil and Tutor '* 371 Life's Discipline Davy 372 Wisdom Anonymous 373 All Things are Yours H, New 374 The Heart of Unbelief Harris 375 The Dead H. Alford 377 Promised Light . Anonymous 378 Immortality " 379 Christian Trust P. Gerhardt 380 Live and Help Live Alice Carey 381 Religious Casuistry Anonymous 383 The Fountain of Grace 31. Angelo 384 The Eloquent Pastor L. Blanchard 385 Universality of Redemption Hodgson 386 Blessed are the Dead Longfellow 386 Man ever Restless George Herhert 387 On the Death of an Infant Jane Taylor 388 Via Crucis, Via Lucis Kosegarten 389 Xll COKTEI^TS. FAGi: My Times are in Thy Hand Anonymous 390 Fragments B. M. Milnes 391 To the Dandelion J. B. Lowell 393 The Law of Mercy Anonymous 394 Trust in Providence Helen 31. Williams 395 God's Purposes W. Cowper 396 Nothing Good will Perish J, Hagen 397 For I shall yet Praise Him Breton 399 The Present and Future N. P. Willis 400 God's Mercies Addison 401 The Cry of the Humble Lamartine 403 The Book of Nature John Kehle 404 Thy Kingdom Come Anonymous 405 Assurance of God's Love Caroline Fry 406 The Unsearchable Gill 407 The Future Life W. C. Bryant 409 Not for Nought Blliott 411 Faith Fritz and Leolett 412 A Sight of Heaven in Sickness. . . .Isaac Watts 413 For Help in Trouble Anonymous 414 The Lord's Chastening John Kehle 415 Light amid Darkness W. Coivpet-'. 417 Practical Devotion Jatie Taylor 419 Grace and Gratitude Gill 420 The Soul's Reliance Philip Doddridge 421 Upward Tendencies of the Soul . . . Akenside 422 The Rainbow Kehle 423 Wisdom and Love Bowring 424 To-Night J. Blaiico White 425 Looking to Jesus T. H. Gill 426 The Saviour of All Editor 429 All Souls are Mine " 427 ll^ligious Suuiiets Religious Sonnets. I TO THE LORD OF LIFE. Most glorious Lord of life ! that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And having harrowed hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win : This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die, Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin, May live for ever in felicity! And that tliy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love Thee for the same again ; And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy, With love may one another entertain. So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought : Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. Edmund Spenser.— 1552 P-1599. KELIGIOUS SONNETS. II WHY SHOULD WE FEAR TO DIE? Since Nature's works be good, and death doth serve As Nature's work, why should wo fear to die? Since fear is vain but when it may preserve, Why should we fear that which we cannot fly? Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears, Disarming human minds of native might ; While each conceit an ugly figure bears Which were not evil, well viewed in reason's light. "Our owly eyes, which dimmed with passions be, And scarce discern the dawn of coming day. Let them be cleared, and now begin to see Our life is but a step in dusty way. Then let us hold the bliss of peaceful mind ; Since this we feel, great loss we cannot find. Sir Philip Sydney.— 1554-1586. Ill SLEEP. Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, Relieve my languish, and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care return, And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : Let waking eyes sufllice to wail their scorn, Without the torment of the night's untruth. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, To model forth the passions of the morrow; Never let rising Sun approve you liars, To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow: Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain. Samuel Daniel.— 1562-1619. IV IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. Poor Soul, tlie centre of my sinful earth. Fooled by these reljel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? ' I Why so large cost, having so short a lease, J Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? ' Shall worms, inheritors of this excess Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul," live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; Within be fed, without be rich no more: ' So Shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men. And Death once dead, there's no more dying then! William Shakspeare.— 1564-1616. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. * V SLEEP, SWEET FATHER OF SOFT REST. Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest. Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings. Sole comforter of minds with grief opprest ; Lo, by thy charming-rod all breathing things Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possest, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou spares, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light which thou art wont to show ; With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe ; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, — I long to kiss the image of my death. William Drummond.— 1585-1649. VI HUMAN FRAILTY. A GOOD that never satisfies the mind, A beauty fading like the April flowers, A sweet with floods of gall that runs combined, A pleasure passing ere in thought made ours, A honour that more fickle is than wind, A glory at opinion's frown that lowers, A treasury which bankrupt time devours, RELIGIOUS SONNETS. A knowledge than grave ignorance more blind, A vain deliglit our equals to command, A stj^le of greatness, in effect a dream, A fabulous thought of holding sea and land, A servile lot, decked with a pompous name: Are the strange ends we toil for here below, Till wisest death make us our errors know. WiLLiAiM Drummond. — 1585-1649. VII TO A NIGHTINGALE. Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Of winters past or coming void of care. Well pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers ; To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare. And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. What soul can be so sick which by thy songs, Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven! Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. William Drummond.— 1585-1649. 8 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. VIII MILTON'S TWENTY-THIRD YEAR. How soon hath Time, the subtle tliief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year ! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arrived so near ; And inward ripeness doth mucli less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits indu'th. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow. It shall be still in strictest measure even. To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven. All is, if I have grace to use it so. As ever in my great task-Master's eye. John MiLTON.~1608-16r4. IX ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OP MRS. CATH- ERINE THOMSON, MY CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED 16 DECEMBER, 1646. When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. Thy worka and alms and all thy good endeavour RELIGIOUS SONNETS. Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod ; But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod. Followed thee up to joy and bliss forever. Love led them on, and Faith, who knew them best, Thy liandmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams And azure wicgs, that up they flew so drest. And spake the truth of thee on glorious themes Before the Judge; who thenceforth bid thee rest, And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. John Milton.— 1608-1674. X ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; Even tliem who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones, Forget not: in thy book record their groans "Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant ; that from these may grow A hundredfold, who having learnt thy way, Early may fiy the Babylonian woe. John Milton.— 1608-1674. 1* 10 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XI ON THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARD WEST. In vain to me the smiling mornings shine, And reddening Phoebus lifts his golden fire; The birds in vain their amorous descant join, Or cheerful fields resume their green attire : These ears, alas ! for other notes repine, A different object do these eyes require; M}^ lonely anguish melts no heart but mine, And in my breast the imperfect joys expire. Yet morning smiles the busy race to cheer, And new-born pleasure brings to happier men; The fields to all their wonted tribute bear, To warm their little loves the birds complain: I fruitless mourn to him that cannot hear. And weej) the more because I weep in vain. Thomas Gray.— 1716-1771. XII TO HOPE. O EVER skilled to wear the form we love ! To bid the shapes of fear and grief depart; Come, gentle Hope ! with one gay smile remove The lasting sadness of an aching heart. Thy voice, benign enchantress! let me hear; Say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom, — That fancy's radiance, friendship's precious tear, Shall soften, or shall chase, misfortune's gloom. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 11 Bdt come not glowing in the dazzling ray "Wliich once with clear ilhisious charmed my eye; O strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my w^ay The flowers I fondly thought too bright to die: Visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast, That asks not happiness, but longs for rest. Helen Maria Williams.— 176^1828. XIII TIME THE ONLY CURE. O Time! who know'st a lenient hand to lay Softest on sorrow's wound, and slowly thence, Lulling to sad repose the weary sense, The faint pang stealest unperceived away; On thee I rest my only hope at last, And think, when thou hast dried the bitter tear That flows in vain o'er all my soul held dear, T. may look back on every sorrow past, And meet life's peaceful evening with a smile; — As some lone bird, at day's departing honr, Sings in the sunbeam, of the transient shower Forgetful, though its wings are wet the while: Yet ah ! how much must that poor heart endure, "Which hopes from thee, and thee alone, a cure ! William Lisle Bowles. —1763-1850. 12 KELIGIOUS SONNETS. XIV TO SLEEP. Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep! And thou liast liad thy store of tenderest names; The very sweetest Fancy culls or frames, When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep! Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims Takest away, and into souls dost creep, Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone, I surely not a man ungently made. Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost? Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown. Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed, Still last to come where thou art wanted most! William Words wokth.— 1770-1850. XV SKY-PROSPECT from the plain of FRANCE. Lo! in the burning west, the craggy nape Of a proud Ararat! and, thereupon. The Ark, her melancholy voyage done! Yon rampant cloud mimics a lion's shape; There, combats a huge crocodile — agape A golden spear to swallow ! and that brown And massy grove, so near yon blazing town, Stirs and recedes — destruction to escape! RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 13 Yet all is harmless— as the Elysian shades Where spirits dwell in undisturbed repose — Silently disappears, or quickly fades: Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of Earth! William Wokdsworth. — 1770-1850. XVI THE VIRGIN. Mother ! whose virgin bosom was uncrost With the least shade of thought to sin allied; Woman ! above all women glorified, Our tainted nature's solitary boast ; Purer than foam on central ocean tost; Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon Before her wane begins on heaven's blue coast; Thy Image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween, Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend, As to a visible Power, in which did blend All that was mixed and reconciled in Thee Of mother's love with maiden purity, Of high with low, celestial with terrene! William Wordsworth. — 1770-1850. 14 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XVII TO NATURE. It may indeed l)e phantasy when I Essay to draw from all created things Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings ; And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie Lessons of love and earnest piety. So let it be ; and if the wide world rings In mock of this belief, to me it brings Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity. So will I build my altar in the iields, And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be, And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee, Thee only God! and Thou shalt not despise Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice. Samuel Taylok Col,eridge.~1773-1834. XVIII TO TIME. Yes, gentle Time, thy gradual, healing hand Hath stolen from Sorrow's grasp the envenomed dart; Submitting to thy skill, my passive heart Feels that no grief can thy soft power withstand ; And though my aching breast still heaves the sigh, Though oft the tear swells silent in mine eye ; RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 15 Yet the keen pang, the agony is gone ; Sorrow and I shall part ; and these faint throes Are but the remnant of severer woes : As when the furious tempest is o'erblown, And when the sky has wept its violence, The opening heavens will oft let fall a shower, The i^oor overcharged boughs still drops dispense, And still the loaded streams in torrents pour. Mary Tighe.— 1773-1810. XIX TO A FRIEND. Friend of my earliest years and childish clays, My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shared, Companion dear, and we alike have fared (Poor pilgrims we) through life's unequal ways; It were unwisely done, should we refuse To cheer our path as featly as we may. Our lonely path to cheer, as travellers use. With merry song, quaint tale, or roundelay ; And we will sometimes talk past troubles o'er, Of mercies shewn, and all our sickness healed. And in his judgments God remembering love; And we will learn to praise God evermore For those glad tidings of great joy revealed By that sooth Messenger sent from above. Charles Lamb.— 1775-1834. 16 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XX THE OMNIPOTENT. Eternal and Omnipotent Unseen! Wlio bad'st the world, with all its lives complete, Start from the void and thrill beneath thy feet, Thee I adore with reverence serene; Here, in the fields, thine own cathedral meet, Built by thyself, star-roofed, and hung with green, AVherein all breathing things in concord sweet, Organed by winds, perpetual hymns repeat. Here hast thou spread that book to every eye. Whose tongue and truth all, all may read and prove, On whose three blessed leaves, Earth, Ocean, Sky, Thine own right hand hath stamped might, justice, love; Grand Trinity, which binds in due degree God, man, and brute, in social unity. Horace Smith.— 1779-1849. XXI THE HARVEST MOON. The crimson moon, uprising from the sea With large delight, foretells the harvest near: Ye shepherds, now prepare your melody To greet the soft appearance of lier sphere; And, like a page enamoured of her train. The star of evening glimmers in the west: Then raise, ye shepherds, your observant strain, That so of the Great Shepherd here are blest. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. ] Our fields are full with the time- ripened grain, Our vineyards with the purple clusters swell ; Her golden splendour glimmers on the main, And vales and mountains her bright glory tell : Then sing, ye shepherds, for the time is come When we must bring the enriched harvest home. Lord Thurlow.— 1781-1829. XXII SPRING. Again the violet of our early days Drinks beauteous azure from the golden sun, And kindles into fragrance at his blaze ; The streams, rejoiced that winter's work is done, Talk of to-morrow's cowslips as they run. Wild apple ! thou art bursting into bloom ; Thy leaves are coming, snowy-blossomed thorn! Wake, buried lily ! spirit, quit thy tomb ; And thou, shade-loving hyacinth, be born ! Then haste, sweet rose ! sweet woodbine, hymn the mom, Whose dew-drops shall illume with pearly light Each grassy blade that thick embattled stands From sea to sea; while daisies infinite Uplift in praise their little glowing hands, O'er every hill that under heaven expands. Ebenezer Elliott.— 1781-1849. 18 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XXIII TO THE HARVEST MOON. Again thou reignest in thy golden hall, Rejoicing in thy sway, fair queen of night. The ruddy reapers hail thee with delight : Theirs is the harvest, theirs the joyous call For tasks well ended ere the season's fall. Sweet orb, thou smilest from thy starry height ; But whilst on them thy beams are shedding bright, To me thou com'st o'ershadowed with a pall: To me alone the year hath fruitless flown ; Earth hath fulfilled her trust through all her lands. The good man gathereth now where he had sown. And the Great Master in his vineyard stands ; But I, as if my task were all unknown, Come to his gates, alas! with empty hands, William Stanley Roscoe.— 1783-1843. XXIV WHAT ART THOU, MIGHTY ONE? What art thou. Mighty One, and where thy seat? Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands. And thou dost bear within thine awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet ; Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dead noon, Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 19 In the drear silence of the polar span Dost thou repose? or in the solitude Of sultry tracts, where the lone caravan Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ? Vain thought, the confines of his throne to trace Who glows through all the fields of boundless space! Henry Kirke White.— 1785-1806. XXV MISSPENT TIME. There is no remedy for time misspent, No healing for the waste of idleness, Whose very languor is a punishment Heavier than active souls can feel or guess. O hours of indolence and discontent. Not now to be redeemed! ye sting not less Because I know this span of life was lent For lofty duties, not for selfishness. Not to be whiled away in aimless dreams, But to improve ourselves, and serve mankind, Life and its choicest faculties were given. Man should be ever better than he seems ; And shape his acts, and discipline his mind, To walk adorning earth, with hope of heaven. Sir Aubrey De Vere.— 1788-1846. 20 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XXVI THE PASSION-FLOWER. Art thou a type of beautj'^, or of power, Of sweet enjoyment, or disastrous sin? For each thy name denoteth, Passion-flower! O no! thy pure corolla's depth within We trace a holier symbol; yea, a sign 'Twixt God and man ; a record of that hour When the expiatory act divine Cancelled that curse which was our mortal dower. It is the Cross ! Never hath Psalmist's tongue Fitlicr of hope to human frailty sung Than this mute teacher in a floret's breast — A star of guidance the wild woods among, A page with more than lettered lore imprest, A beacon to the havens of the blest. Sir Aubrey De Vere.— 1788-1846. XXVII TO LIBERTY. Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, thou art — For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of thee alone can bind ; And when thy sons to fetters are consigned. To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom. And freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. KELIGIOUS SONNETS. 21 Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod. By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God. Lord Byron.— 1788-1824. XXVIII THE SEA IN CALM. Look what immortal floods the sunset pours Upon us!— Mark how still (as tliougli in dreams Bound) the once wild and terrible Ocean seems! How silent are the winds! No billow roars; But all is tranquil as Elysian shores. The silver margin winch aye runneth round The moon-enchanted sea liath here no sound: Even Echo speaks not on tliese radiant moors. What! is the giant of the ocean dead, Whose strength was all unmatched beneath the sun' Ko : he reposes. Now his toils are done, More quiet than the babbling brooks is he. So mightiest powers by deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be ! Bryan Waller Procter.— 1790-1874. 22 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XXIX THE SETTING SUN. When I behold you arch magnificent Spanning the gorgeous West, the autumnal bed Where the great Sun now hides his weary head, With here and there a purple isle, that rent From that huge cloud, their solid continent, Seem floating in a sea of golden light, A fire is kindled in my musing sprite. And Fancy whispers: Such the glories lent To this our mortal life ; most glowing fair, But built on clouds, and melting while we gaze. Yet since those shadowy lights sure witness bear Of One not seen, the undying Sun and Source Of good and fair, who wisely them surveys Will use them well to cheer his heavenward course. John Keble.— 1792-1866. XXX THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. ' CONSIDER THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.' Flowers ! when the Saviour's calm, benignant eye Fell on your gentle beauty ; when from you That heavenly lesson for all hearts He drew, Eternal, universal, as the sky, — Then in the bosom of your purity A voice he set as in a temple-shrine, That life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine. KELIGIOUS SONNETS. 3 And though too oft its low, celestial sound By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned, And the loud steps of vain, unlistening haste, Yet the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul in thouglit's hushed hour, Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced. Felicia Dorothea Hemans.— 1791-1835. XXXI ON A REMEMBERED PICTURE OF CHRIST : AN ECCE homo BY LEONARDO DA VINCI. I MET that image on a mirthful day Of youth ; and, sinking with a stilled surprise, The pride of life,' before those holy eyes. In my quick heart died tlioughtfuUy away, Abashed to mute confession of a sway Awful though meek ; and now that from the strings Of my souPs lyre the tempest's mighty wings Have struck forth tones which then unwakened lay; Now that around the deep life of my mind Affections deathless as itself have twined. Oft does the pale bright vision still float by; But more divinely sweet, and speaking now Of One whose pity, throned on that sad brow, Sounded all depths of love, grief, death, humanity. Felicia Dorothea Hemans.— 179i-1835. b RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XXXII FLIGHT OF THE SPIRIT. Whither, oh! whither wilt thou wing thy way? What solemn region first upon thy sight Shall break, unveiled for terror or delight? What hosts, magnificent in dread ai'ray, My spirit ! when thy prison-house of clay After long strife is rent? Fond, fruitless quest! The unfledged bird, within his narrow nest, Sees but a few green branches o'er him play, And through their parting leaves, by fits revealed, A glimpse of summer sky ; nor knows the field Wherein his dormant powers must yet be tried. Thou art that bird ! — of what beyond thee lies Far in the untracked, immeasurable skies Knowing but this — that thou shalt find thy Guide ! Felicia Dorothea Hemans. — 1794-1835. XXXIII SABBATH SONNET. How many blessed groups this hour are bending. Through England's primrose meadow-paths, their way Towards spire and tower, 'midst shadowy elms ascending. Whence the sweet chimes proclaim the hallowed day ! The halls from old heroic ages gray Pour their fair children forth ; and hamlets low, With whose thick orchard-blooms the soft winds play, Send out their inmates in a happy flow. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 35 Like a freed vernal stream. I may not tread With them those pathways, to the feverish bed Of sickness bound ; yet, O my God ! I bless Thy mercy, that with Sabbath peace hath filled My chastened heart, and all its throbbings stilled To one deep calm of lowliest thankfulness. Felicia Dorothea Hemans.— 1794-1835. XXXIV SOLITUDE. O Solitude ! if I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep, — Nature's observatory — whence the dell. Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell, May seem a span ; let me thy vigils keep 'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell. But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee. Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind. Whose words are images of thoughts refined. Is my soul's pleasure ; and it sure must be Almost the highest bliss of human-kind, When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee. John Keats.— 1795-1821. 2 26 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XXXV THE HUMAN SEASONS. Four seasons fill tlie measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man : He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty in an easy span ; He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven ; quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings He f urleth close ; contented so to look On mists in idleness — to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter, too, of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. John Keats.— 1795-1821. XXXVI TO SLEEP. O SOFT embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting, with careful fingers and benign, Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light, Enshaded in f orgetf ulness divine : O soothest Sleep ! if so it please thee, close, In midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes, Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its lulling charities ; RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 37 Tlien save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes ; Save me from curious conscience, that still lords Its strength, for darkness burrowing like a mole ; Turn the key deftly in the oil^d wards, And seal the hushed casket of my soul. JoHx Keats.— 1795-1S21. XXXVII THE MEMORY OF THE POETS. The fame of those pure bards whose fancies lie Like glorious clouds in summer's calmest even, Fringing the western skirts of darkening heaven, And sprinkled o'er with hues of rainbow dye, Awakes no voice of tluinder, wliich may vie With miglity cliicfs' renown ; — from ages gone, In low undying strain it lengthens on, Earth's greenest solitudes with joy to fill, — Felt breathing in the silence of the sky, Or trembling in the gush of new-born rill, Or whispering o'er the lake's undimpled breast ; Yet blest to live when trumpet notes are still. To wake a pulse of earth-born ecstasy In the deep bosom of eternal rest. Thomas Noon Talfourd.— 1795-1854. 28 KELIGIOUS SONNETS. XXXVIII NIGHT. The crackling embers on the hearth are dead ; The indoor note of industry is still; The latch is fast ; upon the window-sill The small birds wait not for their daily bread ; The voiceless Howers — how quietly they shed Their nightly odours ; — and the household rill Murmurs continuous dulcet sounds that fill The vacant expectation, and the dread Of listening niglit. And haply now She sleeps; For all the garrulous noises of tlie air Are hushed in peace ; the soft dew silent w^eeps, Like hopeless lovers for a maid so fair: — Oh ! that I w^ere the happy dream that creeps To her soft heart, to find my image there. Hartley Coleridge.— 1796-1849. XXXIX TO SHAKSPEARE. The soul of man is larger than the sky, Deeper than ocean, or the abysmal dark Of the unfathomed centre. Like that Ark, Which in its sacred hold uplifted high, O'er the drowned hills, the human family, And stock reserved of every living kind ; So, in the compass of the single mind, Tlie seeds and pregnant foi'ms in essence lie RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 29 That make all worlds. Great poet, 'twas thy art To know thyself, and in thyself to be Whatever love, hate, ambition, destiny, Or the firm, fatal purpose of the heart. Can make of Man. Yet thou wert still the same, Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame. Hartley Coleridge.— 1796-1849. XL PRAYER. Theue is an awful quiet in the air, And the sad earth, with moist imploring eye, Looks wide and wakeful at the pondering sky, Like Patience slow subsiding to Despair. But see, the blue smoke as a voiceless prayer, Sole witness of a secret sacrifice, Unfolds its tardy wreaths, and multiplies Its soft chameleon breathings in the rare Capacious ether, — so it fades away, And nought is seen beneath the jDendent blue, The undistinguishable waste of day. So have I dreamed ! — oh, may the dream be true !- That praying souls are purged from mortal hue. And grow as pure as He to whom they pray. Hartley Coleridge.— 1796-1849. 30 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XLI PRAYER. Be not afraid to pray — to pray is right. Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray, Though hope be weak, or sick with long delay ; Pray in the darkness, if there be no light. Far is the time, remote Iiom luiman sight, When war and discord on the earth shall cease; Yet every prayer for universal peace Avails the blessed tune to expedite. Whatever is good to wish, ask that of Heaven, Though it be what thou canst not hope to see: • Pray to be perfect, though material leaven Forbid the spirit so on earth to be; But if for any wish thou darest not pray, Then pray to God to cast that wish away. Hartley Coleridge.— 1796-1849. XLTI ON DEATH. It is not death, that sometime in a sigh This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight; That sometime these bright stars, that now reply In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night ; That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite, And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow; That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal sprite Be lapped in alien clay and laid below; RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 3l It is not death to know this, — but to know That pious thouglits, which visit at new graves In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go So duly and so oft, — and when grass waves Over the past-away, there may be then No resurrection in the minds of men. Thomas Hood.— 1798-1845. XLIII A PRAYER. O BROODING Spirit of Wisdom and of Love, Whose mighty wings even now o'ershadow me, Absorb me in thine own immensity, And raise me far my finite self above! Purge vanity aAvay, and the weak care That name or fame of me may widely spread; And the deep wish keep burning in their stead, . Thy blissful influence afar to bear, — Or see it borne ! Let no desire of ease, No lack of courage, faith, or love, delay Mine own steps on that high thought-paven way In which my soul her clear commission sees: Yet with an equal joy let me behold Thy chariot o'er that way by others rolled! Sir William Rowan Hamilton.— 1805-1865. 32 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XLIV GOD, IMPART THY BLESSING. God, impart Thy blessing to my cries! 1 trust but faintly, and I daily err; The waters of my heart are oft astir, An angcFs there! and yet I cannot rise! Ah ! would my Lord were here amongst us still, Proffering his bosom to his servant's brow ; Too oft that holy life comes o'er us now Like twihght echoes from a distant liill; We long for his pure looks and words sublime; His lowly-lofty innocence and grace ; The talk sweet-toned, and blessing all the time; The mountain sermon and the ruthf ul gaze ; The cheerly credence gathered from his face; His voice in village groups at eve or prime ! Charles (Tennyson) Turner.— 1808-18T9. XLV THE HOLY EMERALD, SAID TO BE THE ONLY TRUE LIKENESS OF CHRIST. The gem, to which the artist did entrust That face whicli now outshines the Cherul)im, Gave up, full willingly, its emerald dust. To take Christ's likeness — to make room for him. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 33 So must it be, if thou wouldst bear about Thy Lord — thy shining surface must be lowered, Thy goodly prominence be chipt and scored, Till those deep scars have brought his features out: Sharp be the stroke and true, make no complaints; For heavenly lines thou givest earthy grit: But oil! how oft our coward spirit faints, AVhen we are called our jewels to submit To this keen graver, which so oft hath writ The Saviour's image on his wounded saints! Charles (Tennysox) Turner.— 1808-1879. XLVI THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION. With stammering lips and insufficient sound, I strive and struggle to deliver right That music of my nature, day and night n AVith dream and thought and feeling interwound, And inly answering all the senses round With octaves of a mystic depth and height, AVhich step out grandly to the infinite From the dark edges of the sensual ground. This song of soul I struggle to outbear Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, And utter all myself into the air: But if I did it, — as the thunder-roll Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there, Before that dread apocalypse of soul. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. — 1809-1861. 2* 34 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. XLVII BEREAVEMENT. When some Beloveds, 'neath whose eyelids lay The sweet liglits of my childhood, one by one Did leave me dark before the natural sun, And I astonied fell, and could not pray, — A thought within me to myself did say, 'Is God less God, that tlwu art left undone? Rise, worsliip, bless him, in this sackcloth spun, As in that ])urple ! ' — But I answered. Nay ! What child his filial heart in words can loose If he behold his tender father raise The hand that chastens sorely ? can he choose But sob in silence with an upward gaze? — And my great Father, thinking fit to bruise, Discerns in spfeechless tears both prayer and praise. Elizabeth Barrett Browning. — 1809-1861. XLVIII CONSOLATION. All are not taken ; there are left behind Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind : But if it were not so— if I could find No love in all the world for comforting. Nor any path but hollowly did ring, Where ' dust to dust ' the love from life disjoined, RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 35 And if, before those sepulchres unmoving, I stood alone, (as some forsaken lamb Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth) Crying, ' Where are ye, O my loved and loving? ' — I know a Voice would sound, ' Daughter, I Am. Can I suiRce for Heaven and not for earth? ' Elizabeth Barrett Browning.— 1809-1861. XLIX TEARS. Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well — That is light grieving! lighter none befell Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot, The mother singing; at her marriage-bell The bride weeps, and before the oracle Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace, Ye who weep only ! If, as some have done, Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place And touch but tombs, — look up! those tears will run Soon in long rivers down the lifted face. And leave the vision clear for stars and sun. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.— 1809-1861. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. COMFORT. Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so Who art not missed by any that entreat. Speak to me as to Mary at Thy feet ! And if no precious gums my hands bestow, Let my tears drop like amber while I go In reach of Thy divinest voice complete In humanest affection — thus, in sooth, To lose the sense of losing. As a child. Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled. He sleeps the faster tliat he wept before. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.— 1809-1861. LI WORK. What 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 mild curfew shall from work assoil. God did anoint thee with his odorous oil To wrestle, not to reign ; and he assigns All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, For younger fellow-workers of the soil RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 37 To wear for amulets. So otliers sliall Take patience, labour, to their heart and hand, From thy hand and thj' heart and thy brave cheer, And God's grace fructify through thee to all. The least flower, with a brimming cup may stand. And share its dew-drop with another near. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.— 1809-1861. LII "COME UNTO THE FEAST." Rise, said the Master, come unto the feast : — She heard the call and rose with willing feet; But thinking it ifot otherwise than meet For such a ])idding to put on her best, She is gone from us for a few short hours Into her bridal closet, there to wait For the unfolding of the palace gate. That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers. We have not seen her yet, though we have been Full often to her chamber door, and oft Have listened underneath the postern green. And laid fresh flowers, and whispered short and soft; But she hath made no answer; and the day From the clear west is fading fast away. Henry Alford.— 1810-1871. 38 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. LIII TO A FRIEND. Sad soul, whom God, resuming what He gave, Medicines wdth bitter anguisli of the tomb, Cease to oppress the portals of the grave. And strain thy aching sight across tlie gloom. The surged Atlantic's winter-beaten wave Shall sooner pierce the purpose of the wind Than thy storm-tossed and heavy-swelling mind Grasp the full import of his means to save. Through the dark night lie still; God's faithful grace Lies hid, like morning, underneatli the sea. Let thy slow hours roll, like these weary stars, Down to the level ocean patiently ; Till his loved hand shall touch the eastern bars, And his full glory shine upon tlTy face. William Caldwell Roscoe.— 1823-1859. LIV TO A FRIEND IN BEREAVEMENT. No comfort, na3% no comfort. Yet would I In Sorrow's cause with Sorrow intercede. Burst not the great heart, — this is all I plead; Ah ! sentence it to suffer, not to die. * Comfort? ' If Jesus wept at Bethany — That doze and nap of Death — how may we bleed Who watch the long sleep that is sleep indeed ! RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 39 Pointing to Heaven I but remind you why On earth you still must mourn. He who, being bold For life-tO-come, is false to the past sweet Of mortal life, hath killed the world above. For why to live again if not to meet? And why to meet if not to meet in love? And why in love if not in that dear love of old? Sydney Dobell.— 1824-1874. LV IN THE SHADOWS. 1 If it must be ; if it must be, O God ! That I die young, and make no further moans; That underneath the unrespective sod, In unescutcheoned privacy, my bones Shall crumble soon, — then give me strength to bear The last convulsive throe of too sweet breath! I tremble from the edge of life, to dare The dark and fatal leap, having no faith, No glorious yearning for the Apocalypse. But like a child that in the night-time cries For light, I cry ; forgetting the eclipse Of knowledge and our human destinies. O peevish and uncertain soul ! obey The law of life in j)atience till the Day. David Gkay.— 1838-1861. 40 RELIGIOUS SONNETS. LVI IN THE SHADOWS. 2 Now, while the long-delaying ash assumes The delicate April green, and, loud and clear, Through the cool, yellow, mellow twilight glooms, The thrush's song enchants the captive ear; Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling, Stirring the still perfume that wakes around 7 Now that doves mourn, and from the distance calling, The cuckoo answers with a sovereign sound, — Come, with thy native heart, O true and tried ! But leave all books; for what with converse high, Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glide On smoothly, as a river floweth by. Or as on stately pinion, through the gray Evening, the culver cuts his liquid way. David Gray.— 1838-1861. LVII IN THE SHADOWS. 3 October's gold is dim — the forests rot. The weary rain falls ceaseless, while the day Is wrapped in damp. In mire of village way The hedge-row leaves are stamped ; and, all forgot, The broodless nest sits visible in tlie thorn. Autumn, among her drooping marigolds. Weeps all her garnered sheaves, and empty folds, And dripping orchards — plundered and forlorn. RELIGIOUS SONNETS. 41 The season is a dead one, and I die ! No more, no more for me the Spring shall make A resurrection in the earth, and take The death from out her lieart— O God, I die ! The cold throat-mist creeps nearer, till I breathe Corruption. Drop, stark night, upon my death ! David Gray.— 1838-1861. LVIII IN THE SHADOWS. 4 Die down, O dismal day! and let me live; And come, blue deeps! magnificently strown With coloured clouds — large, light, and fugitive — By upper winds through pompous motions blown. Now it is death in life — a vapour dense Creeps round my window till I cannot see The far snow-shining mountains, and the glens Shagging the mountain-tops. O God ! make free This barren, shackled earth, so deadly cold — Breathe gently forth Thy Spring, till Winter flies In rude amazement, fearful and yet bold, While she performs her 'customed charities. I weigh the loaded hours till life is bare — O God! for one clear day, a snowdrop, and sweet air! David Gkay.— 1838-1861. fait^ anl) lieltgioir. Saxil) aub Hcligtoti. THE LOVE OF GOD. All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green ; The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song, And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long. The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills. And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills. The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox, The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks, And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie ; And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die. (45) 46 FAITH AND RELIGION. And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more, And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore ; And the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell, With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell, Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. From the Provenfal of Bernard Rascas, by William Cullen Bryant.— 1794-1878. DELIGHT IN GOD. I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth, — She is my Maker's creature, therefore good ; She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; She is my tender nurse, she gives me food ; But what's a creature. Lord, compared with thee ? Or what's my mother or my nurse to me ? I love the air, — her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ; Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh. And with their polyphonian notes delight me: But what's the air, or all tlie sweets that she Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee ? I love the sea, — she is my fellow-creature. My careful purveyor; she provides me store; She walls me round; she makes my diet greater; She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore : FAITH AND RELIGION. 47 But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee, What is the ocean or her wealth to me ? To heaven's high city I direct my journey, Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye ; Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney, Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky: But what is heaven, great God, compared to thee ? Without thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me. Without thy presence, earth gives no refection; Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure; Without thy presence, air's a rank infection ; Without thy presence, heaven's itself no pleasure: If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, What's earth, or sea, or air, . or heaven to me ? The highest honors that the world can boast Are subjects far too low for my desire; The brightest beams of glory are, at most, But dying sparkles of thy living fire ; The loudest flames that earth can kindle be But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee. Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares; Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet— sadness; Friendship is treason, and dehghts are snares ; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness ; Without thee. Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have their being, when compared with thee. 48 FAITH AND RELIGION. In having all things, and not thee, what have I ? Not having thee, what have my labors got ? Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I ? And having thee alone, what have I not ? I wish nor sea nor land ; nor would I be Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of thee ! Francis Quarles. — 1593-1644. A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE. Lord, Thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weatherproof ; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry. Where Thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate, Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by the poor, Who hither come, and freely get Good words or meat. Like as my parlor, so my hall, And kitchen small ; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, FAITH AND RELIGION. 49 Which keeps my little loaf of bread Uncbipt, unflead. Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, The pulse is Thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee. The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress. Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent: And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet. To be more sweet, 'Tis Tliou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth ; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink. Spiced to the brink. Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That sows my land : All this, and better, dost Thou send Me for this end : That I should render for my part A thankful heart. Which, fir'd with incense, I resign As wholly thine : But the acceptance — that must be, O Lord, by Thee. Robert Herbick.— 1591-1674, 50 FAITH AND BELIGION. A CHRISTMAS HYMN. It Tvas the calm and silent night ! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was queen of land and sea. No sound w-as heard of clashing wars — Peace brooded o'er the hush'd domain: Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and IMars Held undisturb'd their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago. 'Twas in the calm and silent night ! The senator of haughty Rome, Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home ; Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell His breast w^ith thoughts of boundless sway; What reck'd the Roman what befell A palti-y province far away. In the solemn midnight. Centuries ago ? Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor; A streak of light before him lay. Fallen through a half-shut stable-door Across his path. He pass'd— for naught Told what was going on within ; FAITH AND RELIGION. 51 How keen the stars, his only thought — The air how cahn, and cold, and thin, In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago! O strange indifference I low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares ; The earth was still— but knew not why The world was listening, unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill tlie world forever ! To that still moment, none would heed, Man's doom was link'd no more to sever In the solemn midnight, Centuries ago ! It is the calm and solemn night ! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite The darkness— charm'd and holy now ! The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given ; For in that stable lay, new-born, The peaceful Prince of earth and heaven, In the solemn midnight. Centuries ago ! Alfred Domett.— 1811 . 53 FAITH AND KELIGION. CHRISTMAS CAROL. Christians, awake, salute the happy morn Whereon the Saviour of mankind was born ; Rise to adore the mystery of love Which hosts of angels chanted from above ! With them the joyful tidings first begun Of God incarnate and tlie Virgfin's Son. Then to the watchful shepherds it was told. Who heard the angelic herald's voice: " Behold, I bring good tidings of a Saviour's birth To you and all the nations upon earth : This day hath God fulfiU'd his promised word, This day is born a Saviour, Christ the Lord." He spake : and straightway the celestial choir In hymns of joy, unknown before, conspire : The praises of redeeming love they sang. And heaven's whole arcli with alleluias rang: God's highest glory was their anthem still. Peace upon earth, and unto men good-will. To Bethlehem straight the happy shepherds ran, To see the wonder God liad wrought for man: And found, with Josepli and the blessed maid. Her Son, the Saviour, in a manger laid; Amazed the wondrous story they proclaim. The earliest heralds of the Saviour's name. FAITH AND RELIGION. 53 Let us, like these good shepherds, then employ Our grateful voices to proclaim the joy ; Trace we the Babe, who hath retrieved our loss. From His poor manger to His bitter cross ; Treading His steps, assisted by His grace, Till man's first heavenly state again takes place. Then may we hope, the angelic tlirones among. To sing, redeem'd, a glad triumphal song ; He that was born upon this joyful day Around us all His glory shall display; Saved by His love, incessant we shall sing Of angels and of angel-men the King. John Byrom.— 1691-1763. CHEISTMAS CAROL. God rest you, merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay. For Jesus Christ our Saviour Was born upon this day. To save us all from Satan's power, When Ave were gone astray. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- mas Day ! In Bethlehem, in Jewry, This blessed babe was bom, And laid within a manger. Upon this blessed morn ; 54 FAITH AND RELIGION. The which his mother Mary Nothing did take in scorn. Oh tidings of comfort and joy, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- mas Day ! From God, our Heavenly Father, A blessed angel came, And unto certain shepherds Brought tidings of the same, How that in Bethlehem was born The Son of God by name. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- mas Day ! Fear not, then said the angel, Let nothing you affright, This day is born a Saviour, Of virtue, power, and might, So frequently to vanquish all The friends of Satan quite. Oh tidings of comfort and joy. For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- mas Day ! The shepherds at those tidings Eejoic^d mucli in mind. And left their flocks a-feeding In tempest, storm, and wind. And went to Bethlehem straightway This blessed babe to find. FAITH AK-D RELIGION. 55 Oh tidings of comfort and joy, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- mas Day I But when to Bethlehem they came, Whereat this infant lay, They found him in a manger Where oxen feed on hay; His mother Mary, kneeling, Unto the Lord did j^ray. Oh tidings of comfort and joy, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was boru on Christ- mas Day ! Now to the Lord sing praises. All you within this place, And with true love and brotherhood Each other now embrace ; This holy tide of Christmas All others doth deface. Oh tidings of comfort and joy, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, was born on Christ- mas Day ! Anonymous. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. As shadows cast by cloud and sun Flit o'er the summer grass. So, in thy sight. Almighty One, Earth's generations pass. 56 FAITH AND RELIGION. And while the years, an endless host, Come pressing swiftly on, The briglitest names that earth can boast Just glisten and are gone. Yet doth the Star of Bethlehem shed A luster pure and sweet. And still it leads, as once it led, To the Messiah's feet. O Father, may that holy star Grow every year more bright, And send its glorious beams afar To fill the world with light. William Cullen Bryant.— 1794-1878. THE RIGHT MUST WIN. O, IT is hard to work for God, To rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart ! He hides himself so wondrously. As though there were no God; He is least seen when all the powers Of ill are most abroad. Or he deserts us at the hour The fight is all but lost ; And seems to leave us to ourselves Just when we need him most. FAITH AND RELIGION. 57 111 masters good, good seems to change To ill with greatest ease ; And, worst of all, the good with good Is at cross-purposes. Ah! God is other than we think; His ways are far above, Far beyond reason's height, and reached Only by childlike love. Workman of God ! O, lose not heart, But learn what God is like ; And in the darkest battle-field Thou shalt know where to strike. Thrice blest is he to wiiom is given The instinct that can tell That God is on the field when he Is most invisible. Blest, too, is he who can divine Where real right doth lie. And dares to take the side that seems Wrong to man's blindfold eye. For right is right, since God is God ; And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin ! Frederick William Faber.— 1815-1863. 58 FAITH AND RELIGION. BOUND UPON TH' ACCURSl^D TREE. Bound upon th' accursed tree, Faint and bleeding, who is He ? By the eyes so pale and dim, Streaming blood, and writhing limb, By the flesh, with scourges torn, By the crown of twisted thorn, By the side, so deeply pierced, By the baffled burning thirst. By the drooping death-dew^'d brow, Son of Man ! 'tis Thou ! 'tis Thou I Bound upon th' accursed tree, Dread and awful, wdio is He? By the sun at noonday pale. Shivering rocks, and rending veil, By earth, that trembles at His doom, By yonder saints, that burst their tomb, By Eden, promised ere He died . To the felon at His side, Lord, our suppliant knees we bow ; Son of God! 'tis Thou 1 'tis Thou! Bound upon th' accursed tree, Sad and dying, who is He? By the last and bitter cry, The ghost given up in agony, By the lifeless body laid In the chamber of the dead, FAITH AKD RELIGION. 59 By the mourners, come to weep Where the boues of Jesus sleep ; Crucified ! we know Thee now ; Son of Man! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou! Bound upon th' accursed tree, Dread and awful, who is He ? By the prayer for them that slew, "Lord, they know not what they do ! " By the spoil'd and empty grave. By the souls He died to save, By the conquest He hath won, By the saints before His throne, By the rainbow round His brow. Son of God! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou! Henry Hart Milman.— 1791-1868. TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. Is this a fast — to keep The larder lean. And clean From fat of veals and sheep? Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, yet still To fill The platter high with fish? 60 FAITH AND RELIGION. Is it to fast an hour — Or ragged to go — Or show A downcast look, and sour ? No ! 'tis a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife, From old debate And hate — To circumcise thy life. To show a heart grief- rent ; To starve thy sin. Not bin — And that's to keep thy lent. Robert Herrick.— 1591-1674. WHAT IS PRAYER? Prayer is tlie soul's sincere desire. Uttered or unexpressed — The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burtlien of a sigh, The falling of a tear — The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. FAITH AND RELIGION. 61 Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try — Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The majesty on high. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways. While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry, ' ' Beliold he prays ! " Prayer is tlie Christian's vital breath— The Christian's native air — His watchword at the gates of death- He enters heaven with prayer. The saints in prayer appear as one In word, and deed, and mind, While with the Father and the Son Sweet fellowship they find. Nor prayer is made by man alone— The Holy Spirit pleads— And Jesus, on the eternal throne, For sinners intercedes. O Thou by whom we come to God — The life, the trutl», the way ! The path of prayer Thyself hast trod ; Lord, teach us how to pray ! James Montgomery.— 1771-1854 FAITH AND RELIGION. TRUST. Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void. When God hath made the pile complete ; That not a worm is cloven in vain ; That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire. Or but subserves another's gain. Behold ! we know not any thing; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all — And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream; but what am I ? An infant crying in the night — An infant crying for the light — And with no language but a cry. Alfred Tennyson.— 1809 . FAITH A^D RELIGION. 63 UP HILL. Does the road wind up hill all the way ? Yes, to the 'cery end. Will the day's journey take the whole long day ? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place ? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin ? May not the darkness hide it from my face ? Toil cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night ? lliose icho have gone lefore. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight ? They iciU not Tceep you standing at that door. Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak ? Of lahor you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek ? Yea, lyedsfor all who come. Christina G. Eossetti.— 1830 EYENma soNa. How many days with mute adieu Have gone down yon untrodden sky; And still it looks as clear and blue As when it first was hung on high. 32* 64 FAITH AND RELIGION. The rolling sun, the frowning cloud That drew the lightning in its rear, The thunder tramping deep and loud, Have left no foot-mark there. The village-bells, with silver chime, Come softened by the distant shore ; Though I have heard them many a time, They never rung so sweet before. A silence rests upon the hill, A listening awe pervades the air; The very flowers are shut and still. And bowed as if in prayer. And in this hushed and breathless close. O'er earth and air and sky and sea, A still low voice in silence goes, Which speaks alone, great God, of Thee. The whispering leaves, the far-off brook, The linnet's warble fainter grown. The hive-bound bee, the building rook, — All these their Maker own. Now Nature sinks in soft repose, A living semblance of the grave; The dew steals noiseless on the rose. The boughs have almost ceased to wave ; The silent sky, the sleeping earth, Tree, mountain, stream, the humble sod. All tell from whom they had their birth. And cry, "Behold a God !" Thomas Miller. — 1809- FAITH AND RELIGION. 65 THE SPIRIT-LAND. Father ! thy wonders do not singly stand, Nor far removed where feet liave seldom strayed; Around us ever lies the enchanted land, In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed. In finding thee are all things round us found; In losing thee are all things lost beside ; Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound; And to our eyes the vision is denied. We wander in the country far remote. Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell; Or on the records of past greatness dote, And for a buried soul the living sell ; Wliile on our path bewildered falls the night That ne'er returns us to the fields of light. Jones Vert.— 1813 . THE LAND OF DREAMS. ' Awake, awake, my little boy ! ' Thou wast thy mother's only joy; ' Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep ? ' P wake ! thy father does thee keep.' — ' O what land is the Land of Dreams ? ' What are its mountains, and what are its streams ' O father ! I saw my mother there, ' Among the lilies by waters fair. 66 FAITH AND RELIGION. ' Among the lambs, clothed in white, ' She walk'cl with her Thomas in sweet delight : ' I wept for J03' ; like a dove I mourn : — ' O when shall I again return ! ' — ' Dear child ! I also by pleasant streams ' Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams :- * But, though calm and Avarm the waters wide, ' I could not get to the other side.' — 'Father, O father ! what do we here, ' In this land of unbelief and fear ? — * The Land of Dreams is better far, 'Above the light of the morning star.' William Blake— 1757-1828. NOT LOST, BUT GONE BEFORE. How mournful seems, in broken dreams. The memory of the day, When icy Death had sealed the breath Of some dear form of clay. When pale, unmoved, the face we loved, The face we thought so fair, And the hand lies cold, whose fervent hold Once charmed away despair. Oh, what could heal the grief we feel For hopes that come no more. Had we ne'er heard the Scripture word, "Not lost, but gone before." FAITH AND RELIGION. 67 Oh sadly yet with vain regret The widowed heart must yearn ; And mothers weep their babes asleep In the sunlight's vain return. The brother's heart shall rue to part From the one througli childhood known; And the orphan's tears lament for years A friend and father gone. For death and life, with ceaseless strife, Beat wild on this world's shore, And all our calm is in that balm, "Not lost, but gone before." Oh ! world wherein nor death, nor sin, Nor weary warfare dwells ; Their blessed home we parted from With sobs and sad farewells. Where eyes awake, for whose dear sake Our owm with tears grow dim, And faint accords of dying words Are changed for heaven's sweet hymn; Oh ! there at last, life's trials past. We'll meet our loved once more. Whose feet have trod the path to God — - "Not lost, but gone before.'' Hon. Mrs. Norton.— 1808-1877. 68 FAITH AND RELIGION. THE FLOWER. How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns ! e'en as the flowers in spring — To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. "Who would have thought my shrivelPd heart Could have recovered greenness ? It was gone Quite under ground ; as flow'rs depart To see their mother-root when they have blown, Where they together. All tlie hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house, unknown. These are Thy wonders, Lord of power: Killing and quick'ning, bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an hour : Making a chiming of a passing-bell. We say amiss. This or that is, — Thy word is all, if we could spell. O that I once past changing were, Fast in Thy paradise, wliere no flower can wither ! Many a spring I shoot up fair, Off'ring at heav'n, growing and groaning thither; Nor doth my flower Want-a spring shower, My sins and I joining together. FAITH AND RELIGION. 69 But, while I grow in a straight line, Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own, Thy anger comes, and I decline ; What frost to that ? What pole is not the zone Where all things burn, When Thou dost turn. And the least frown of Thine is shown. And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write ; I once more smell the dew and rain, And relish versing ; O, my only Light, It cannot be That I am he On whom Thy tempests fell all night ! These are Thy wonders. Lord of love. To make us see we are but flowers that glide ; Which when we once can find and prove. Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their paradise by their pride. George Herbert.— 1593-1633. THE ODOR. How sweetly doth My Master sound ! — My Master ! As ambergris leaves a rich scent Unto the taster. So do these words a sweet content An Oriental fragrancy — My Master ! 70 FAITH AND RELIGION. With these all day I do perfume my mind, My mind even thrust into them both— That I might find What cordials make this curious broth, Tliis l)roth of smells, that feeds and fats my mind. My Master, shall I speak ? O that to Thee My servant were a little so As flesh may be ! That these two words might creep and grow To some degree of spiciness to Thee ! Then should the pomander, which was before A speaking sweet, mend by reflection, And tell me more ; For pardon of my imperfection Would warm and work it sweetei-than before. For when My Master, which alone is sweet. And, e'en in my unworthiness pleasing, Shall call and meet My servant, as Thee not displeasing, That call is but the breathing of the sweet. This breathing would with gains, by sweet'ning me, (As sweet things traffic when they meet) Return to Thee; And so tliis new commerce and sweet Should all my life employ, and busy me. George Herbert.— 1593-1633. FAITH AND RELIGION. 71 COMPLAINING. Do not beguile my heart, Because thou art My power and wisdom ! Put me not to shame Because I am Thy clay that weeps, Thy dust that calls ! Thou art the Lord of Glory — The deed and story Are both Thy due; but I a silly fly, That live or die, According as the weather falls. Art Thou all justice, Lord ? Shows not Thy word More attributes ? Am I all throat or eye, To weep or cry ? Have I no parts but those of grief ? Let not Thy wrathful power Afiiict my hour. My inch of life ; or let Thy gracious power Contract my hour That I may climb and find relief. George Herbert,— 1593-1633. 73 FAITH AND KELIGION. THOU ART, GOD! Thou art, O God, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine. And all things fair and bright are Thine. "When day, with farewell beam, delays Among the opening clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze Through golden vistas into Heaven ; Those hues, that make the sun's decline So soft, so radiant. Lord, are Thine. When night, with wings of starry gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies. Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes ; — That sacred gloom, those fire§ divine. So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine. When youthful spring around us breathes, Thy spirit w^arms her fragrant sigh ; And every flower the summer wreathes Is born beneath tliat kindling eye. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine. And all things fair and bright are Thine. Thomas Moore.— 1779-1853. FAITH AND RELIGION. 73 THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW. This world is all a fleeting show For man's illusion given ; The smiles of joy, the tears of woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow, — There's nothing true but Heaven! And false the light on glory's plume. As fading hues of even ; And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom, Are blossoms gathered for the tomb, — There's nothing bright but Heaven! Poor wanderers of a stormy day. From wave to wave we're driven, And fancy's flash and reason's ray Serve but to light the troul)led way, — There's nothing calm but Heaven ! Thomas Moore.— 1779-1853. THE BETTER LAND. I HEAR thee speak of the better land. Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother ! oh, where is that radiant shore ? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the flre-flies glance through the myrtle boughs ? Not there ; not there, my child. 74 FAITH AND RELIGION. Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ? Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ? Not there ; not there, my child. Is it far away in some region old. Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand — • Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ? Not there ; not there, my child. Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy. Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair, Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ; For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb. It is there ; it is there, my child. Felicia Dorothea Hem ans.— 1794-1835. THEY ARE ALL GONE. They are all gone into the world of light, And I alone sit lingering here! Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear; FAITH AND RELIGION. 75 It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove — Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After tlie sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days — My days which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays. O holy hope ! and high humility — High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have showed them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous death — the jewel of the just — Shining nowhere but in the dark ! What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark ! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know, At first siglit, if the bird be flown ; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep. So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes. And into glory peep. Her captive flames must needs burn there, But when the hand that locked her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere. 76 FAITH AND RELIGION. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee ! Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass ; Or else remove me hence unto that hill Where I shall need no glass. Henry Vaughan— 1621-1695. THE OTHER WORLD. It lies around us like a cloud, — A world we do not see ; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be. Its gentle breezes fan our cheek ; Amid our worldly cares Its gentle voices w^hisper love, And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred. And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard. The silence — awful, sweet, and calm — They have no power to break ; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake. FAITH AND RELIGION. 77 So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, So near to press they seem, — They seem to lull us to our rest, And melt into our dream. And in the hush of rest they bring 'Tis easy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be. To close the eye, and close the ear. Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And gently dream in loving arms To swoon to that — from this. Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are. To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. Sweet souls around us! watch us still. Press nearer to our side, Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle lielpings glide. Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream; Your joy be the reality. Our suffering life the dream. Harriet Beecher Stowe.— 1813 . 78 FAITH AND RELIGION. THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. Vital spark of heavenly flame ! Quit, oh quit this mortal frame : Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying ! Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, "Sister spirit, come away." What is this absorbs me quite ? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? The world recedes ; it disappears ! Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! O Grave ! where is thy victory ? O Death ! where is thy sting ? Alexakder Pope.— 1688-1744. GOD. O THOU eternal One ! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide — Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight ! Thou only God — there is no God beside ! FAITH AND RELIGION. >^\ Being above all beings ! Mighty One, Whom none can comprehend and none explore! Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone- Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er,— Being Miiom we call God, and know no more! In its sublime research, philosophy May measure out the ocean-deep— may count The sands or the sun's rays— but, God ! for Thee There is no weight nor measure ; none can mount Up to Thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark, Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ; And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity. Thou from primeval nothingness didst call First chaos, then existence— Lord ! in Thee Eternity had its foundation; all Sprung forth from Thee— of light, joj^, harmony, Sole Origin— all life, all beauty Thine ; Thy word created all, and doth create ; Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine; Thou art, and wert, and shalt be! Glorious! Great! Light-giving, life-sustaining potentate! Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath! Thou the beginning with the end liast bound, And beautifully mingled life and death! As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze, So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee • And as the sjDangles in the sunny rays 80 FAITH AND RELIGION. Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. A million torches lighted by Thy hand Wander unwearied through the blue abyss— They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command. All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. "What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light — A glorious company of golden streams — Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams ? But Thou to these art as the noon to night. Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in Thee is lost : — What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee ? And what am I then? — Heaven's unnumbered host, Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance, weighed Against Thy greatness — is a cipher brought Against infinity ! What am I then ? Naught. Naught ! But the effluence of Thy light divine, Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too ; Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine. As shines the sun-beam in a drop of dew. Naught ! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly Eager towards Thy presence — for in Thee I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high. Even to the throne of Thy divinity. I am, O God ! and surely Thou must be I AITH AITO RELIGION. gl Thou art ! — directing, guiding all — Thou art ! Direct my understanding then to Thee ; Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart ; Though but an atom midst immensity, Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand! I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth — On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land ! The chain of being is complete in me — In me is matter's last gradation lost, And the next step is spirit — deity ! I can command the lightning, and am dust! A monarch and a slave — a worm, a god ! Whence came I here, and how ? so marvellously Constructed and conceived ? unknown ! this clod Lives surely through some higher energy; For from itself alone it could not be ! Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word Created rac! Thou source of life and good! Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! Thy light. Thy love, in their bright plenitude Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring Over the abyss of death ; and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere. Even to its source — to Thee — its author there. Oh thoughts ineffable ! oh visions blest ! Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee, 82 FAITH AND RELIGION. Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, And waft its homage to Thy deity. God ! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, Thus seek Thy presence — Beiug wise and good! Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore; And when the tongue is eloquent no more The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. From the Russian of Dezghavin, By John Bowking.— 179S-1873. ST. AGNES' EVE. Deep on the convent-roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon : My breath to heaven like vapor goes : May my soul follow soon ! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord : Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies. As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground ; As this pale taper's earthly spark. To yonder argent round ; So shows my soul before the Lamb, My spirit before Thee ; FAITH AND RELIGION. 83 So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, O Lord ! and far, Thro' all yon starlight keen, Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star. In raiment white and clean. He lifts me to the golden doors ; The flashes come and go ; All heaven bursts her starry floors, And strews her lights below, And deepens on and up ! the gates Roll back, and far within For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, To make me pure of sin. The sabbaths of Eternity, One sabbath deep and wide — A light upon the shining sea — The Bridegroom with his bride ! Alfred Tennyson.— 1809 . TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS. Tell me, ye winged winds. That round my pathway roar, Do ye not know some spot Where mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleasant dell, Some valley in the west, 84 FAITH AKD RELIGION. Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest ? The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, And sigh'd for pity as it answer'd, "No." Tell me, thou mighty deep, Whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favor'd spot. Some island far away, Where weary man may find The bliss for which he sighs, — Where sorrow never lives. And friendship never dies ? The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, Stopp'd for a while, and sigh'd to answer, "No." And thou, serenest moon. That with such lovely face Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace, Tell me, in all thy round Hast thou not seen some spot Where miserable man May find a happier lot ? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, "No." Tell me, my secret soul. Oh, tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death ? Is there no happy spot Where mortals may be bless'd. FAITH AND RELIGION. 85 Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest ? Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, Waved their bright wings, and whisper'd, "Yes, in Heaven." Charles Mackat.— 1813 . JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING. Sometimes a light surprises The Christian while he sings ; It is the Lord, who rises With healing in His wings. When comforts are declining, He grants the soul again A season of clear shining, To cheer it after rain. In holy contemplation, We sweetly then pursue The theme of God's salvation, And find it ever new ; Set free from present sorrow. We cheerfully can say, E'en let the unknown to-morrow Bring with it what it may ! > It can bring with it nothing But He will bear us through ; Who gives the lilies clothing Will clothe His people too. 86 FAITH AND RELIGION. Beneath the spreading heavens, No creature but is fed ; And he who feeds the ravens Will give His children bread. The vine nor fig-tree neither Their wonted fruit should bear, Though all the fields should wither. Nor flocks nor herds be there : Yet God the same abiding His praise shall tune my voice, For, while in him confiding, I cannot but rejoice. William Co wper.— 1731-1800. CHARITY. Could I command, with voice or pen, The tongues of angels and of men, A tinkling cymbal, sounding brass, My speech and preaching would surpass ; Vain were such eloquence to me. Without the grace of charity. Could I the martyr's flame endure, Give all my goods to feed the poor — Had I the faith from Alpine steep To hurl the mountain to the deep — What were such zeal, such power, to me Without the grace of charity? FAITH AND RELIGION. 87 Could I behold with prescient eye Things future, as the things gone by — Could I all earthly knowledge scan. And mete out heaven with a span — Poor were the chief of gifts to me Without the chiefest — charity. Charity suffers long, is kind — Charity bears a humble mind — Rejoices not when ills befall, But glories in the weal of all ; She hopes, believes, and envies not, Nor vaunts, nor murmurs o'er her lot. The tongues of teachers shall be dumb. Prophets discern not things to come. Knowledge shall vanish out of thought, And miracles no more be wrought ; But charity shall never fail — Her anchor is within the veil. James Montgomery. — 1771-1854. . THE CHILD LEANS ON ITS PARENT'S BREAST. The child leans on its parent's breast. Leaves there its cares, and is at rest ; The bird sits singing by his nest, And tells aloud His trust in God, and so is blest 'Neath every cloud. 88 FAITH AND RELIGION. He has no store, he sows no seed, Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed; By flowing stream or grassy mead He sings to shame Men, who forget, in fear of need, A Father's name. The heart that trusts forever sings, And feels as light as it had wings ; A well of peace within it springs ; Come good or ill Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings. It is His will. Isaac Williams.— 1803-1865. 6Uaniii{(s from t|e foets (Elcaninja from tl)£ Poct0. KEGENERATION. I NEED a cleansing change within — My life must once again begin ; New hope I need, and youth renewed. And more than human fortitude, — New faith, new love, and strength to cast Away the fetters of the past. Ah! why did fabling Poets tell That Lethe only flows in Hell 1 As if, in truth, there was no river Whereby the leper may be clean But that which flows, and flows forever, And crawls along, unheard, unseen, Whence brutish spirits, in contagious shoals, Ctuaff* the dull drench of apathetic souls ! (91) 93 HARTLEY COLERIDGE. Ah, no ! but Leth4 flows aloft With lulling murmur, kind and soft, As voice which sinners send to heaven When first they feel their sins forgiven ; Its every drop as bright and clear As if indeed it were a tear Shed by the lovely Magdalen For Him that was dpspised of nrt^n. It is the only fount of bliss In all the human wilderness — It is the true Bethesda — solely Endued with healing might, and holy ; — Not once a year, but evermore — Not one, but all men to restore. TO A CHILD. Ere thou wast born " into this breathing world," God wrote some characters upon thy heart. Oh, let them not, like beads of dew impearled On morning blades, before the noon depart ! But morning drops before the noon exhale. And yet those drops appear again at even ; So childish innocence on earth must fail, Yet may return to usher thee to heaven. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 93 TO A FRIEND SUFFERING UNDER BEREAVEMENT. Sad night for us, but better day for her ! Well may'st thou mourn, but mourn not without hope: Thou art not one, I know, that can believe A pausing pulse, an intermitted breath, Or aught that can to mortal flesh befal, Can turn to nothing any ray of God, Or frustrate one good purpose of our Lord. She was a purpose of her great Creator, Begun on earth, and well on earth pursued, Now in the heaven of heavens consummate, Or only waiting the predestined day, The flower and glory of her consummation. RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCES. Yea, we do differ, differ still we must. For language is the type of thought, and thought The slave of sense ; and sense is only fraught With cheques and tokens taken upon trust, Not for their worth but promise. Earth is all One mighty parable of Hell and Heaven. The portion we can read at best is small ; 'Tis little that we know ; and if befal That Faith do wander, like the restless raven That rather chose without an aim to roam 94 HARTLEY COLERIDGE. O'er the blank world of waters, than to seek. In the one sacred ark, a duteous home, May good be with it ! Yes, we do differ when we most agree. For words are not the same to you and me. And it may be our several spiritual needs Are best supplied by seeming different creeds. And differing, we agree in one Inseparable communion, If the true life be in our hearts — the faith, Which not to want is death ; To want is penance ; to desire Is purgatorial fire ; To hope, is paradise ; and to believe Is all of Heaven that earth can e'er receive. ON A FRIEND'S DEATH. Sad doth it seem, but nought is really sad, Or only sad that we may better be ; We should, in very gulfs of grief, be glad. The great intents of God could we but see. Think of the souls that he in heaven will meet. Some that on earth he knew and loved most dearly ; And whose perfection at their Saviour's feet, Without a stain of earth, will shine so clearly. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 95 Think, too, of souls on earth unknown to him, Whom he will know as well as kin or neighbors — Laborious samts, that now with seraphim Expect the blessed fruit of all their labors. Think that he is what oft he wished to be While yet he was a mortal man on earth ; Then weep, but know that grief's extremity Contains a hope which never was in mirth. THE WORD OF GOD. In holy books wc read how God hath spoken To holy men in many different ways ; But hath the present worked no sign or token 1 Is God quite silent in these latter days ? And hath our heavenly Sire departed quite, And left His poor babes in this world alone, And only left for blind belief — not sight — Some quaint old riddles in a tongue unknown ? Oh ! think it not, sweet maid ! God comes to us With every day, with every star that rises ; In every moment dwells the Righteous, And starts upon the soul in sweet surprises. yo HARTLEY COLERIDGE. The Word were but a blank, a hollow sound, If He that spake it were not speaking still, If all the light and all the shade around Were aught but issues of Almighty will. Sweet girl, believe that every bird that sings, And every flower that stars the elastic sod, And every thought the happy summer brings To thy pure spirit, is a word of God. SONNETS. Let me not deem that I was made in vain, Or that my Being was an accident. Which Fate, in working its sublime intent. Not wished to be, to hinder would not deign. Each drop uncounted in a storm of rain Hath its own mission, and is duly sent To its own leaf or blade, not idly spent 'Mid myriad dimples on the shipless main. The very shadow of an insect's wing For which the violet cared not while it stayed Yet felt the lighter for its vanishing, Proved that the sun was shining by its shade : Then can a drop of the eternal spring. Shadow of living lights, in vain be made? HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 97 Think upon Death, 'tis good to think of Death, But better far to think upon the Dead. Death is a spectre with a bony head, Or the mere mortal body without breath, The state foredoomed of every son of Seth, Decomposition — dust, or dreamless sleep. But the dear Dead are those for whom we weep. For whom I credit all the Bible saith. Dead is my father, dead is my good mother, And what on earth have I to do but die ? But if by grace 1 reach the blessed sky, I fain would see the same, and not another ; The very father that 1 used to see. The mother that has nursed me on her knee. in. HAGAR Lone in the wilderness, her child and she. Sits the dark beauty, and her fierce-eyed boy ; A heavy burden, and no winsome toy To such as she, a hanging babe must be. A slave without a master — wild, nor free, With anger in her heart ! and in her face Shame for foul wrong and undeserved disgrace, Poor Hagar mourns her lost virginity ! Poor woman, fear not — God is everywhere ; Thy silent tears, thy thirsty infant's moan, 98 HARTLEY COLERTDGF.. Are known to Him, whose never-absent care Still wakes to make all hearts and souls his own ; He sends an angel from beneath his throne To cheer the outcast in the desert bare. IV. ISAIAH XLVI. V. 9. When I consider all the things that were, And count them upwards from the general flood, • The tricks of fraud, and violent deeds of blood, Weigh down the heart with sullen, deep despair. I well believe that Satan, Prince of Air, Torments to ill the pleasurable feeling ; But ever and anon, a breeze of healing Proclaims that God is always everywhere. 'Twas hard to see him in the days of old, And harder still to see our God to-day ; For prayer is slack, and love, alas ! is cold. And Faith, a wanderer, weak and wide astray : Who hath the faith, the courage, to behold God in the judgments that have passed away ? V. All Nature ministers to Hope. The snow Of sluggard Winter, bedded on the hill. And the small tinkle of the frozen rill. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 99 The svvoln flood's sullen roar, the storms that go With crash, and howl, and horrid voice of woe, Making swift passage for their lawless will — All prophesy of good. The hungry trill Of the lone birdie, cowering close below The dripping eaves — it hat i a kindly feeling, And cheers the life that livei; for milder hours. Why, then, since Nature still is busy healing, And Time, the master, his own work concealing. Decks every grave with verdure and with flowers, — Why should Despair oppress immortal powers 1 VI. FAITH. How much thy Holy Name hath been misused, Beginner of all good, all-mighty Faith ! Some men thy blessed symbols have abused, Making them badge or secret Shibboleth For greed accepted, or for spite refused. Or just endured for fear of pain or death. To some, by fearful conscience self-accused. Thou com'st a goblin self, a hideous wrailh . With such as these thou art an inward strife, A shame, a misery, and a death in life, A self- asserting, self-disputing lie ; A thing to unbelief so near allied, That it would gladly be a suicide. And only lives because it dare not die 7 100 HARTLEY COLERIDGE. vn. BELIEVE AND PRAY. Believe and pray. Who can believe and pray Shall never fail nor falter, though the fate Of his abode, or geniture, or date, With charms beguile, or threats obstruct his way. For free is Faith, and potent to obey, And Love, content in patient prayer to wait. Like the poor cripple at the Beautiful Gate, Shall be relieved on some miraculous day. Lord, I believe ! — Lord, help mine unbelief! If I could pray, I know that Thou would'st hear j Well were it though my faith were only grief, And 1 could pray but with a contrite tear. But none can pray whose wish is not Thy will, And none believe who are not with Thee still. VIU. "MULTCM DILEXIT.''* She sat and wept beside His feet ; the weight Of sin oppressed her heart ; for all the blame, And the poor malice of the worldly shame. To her was past, extinct, and out of date. Only the sin remained — the leprous state : — She would be melted by the heat of love, By fires far fiercer than are blown to prove * She loved much. HARTLEY COLERIDGE. 101 And purge the silver ore adulterate. She sat and wept, and with her untressed hair Still wiped the feet she was so blest to touch ; And He wiped off the soiling of despair From her sweet soul, because she loved so much. I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears, Make me a humble thing of love and tears. IX. REPENTANCE BEFORE FORGIVENESS.* If I have sinned in act, I may repent ; If I have erred in thought, I may disclaim My silent error, and yet feel no shame ; But if my soul, big with an ill intent. Guilty in will, by fate be innocent, Or being bad, yet murmurs at the curse And incapacity of being worse, Making my hungry passion still keep Lent In keen expectance of a Carnival, — Where, in all worlds that round the Sun revolve And shed their influence on this passive ball, Abides a power that can my soul absolve 1 Could any sin survive, and be forgiven, One sinful wish would make a hell of heaven. * " May one be pardoned, and retain the offence ? " — Shakspcare, 103 HARTLEY COLERIDGE. SENSE, IF YOU CAN FIND IT. Like one pale, flitting, lonely gleam Of sunshine on a winter's day, There came a thought upon my dream, I know not whence, but fondly deem It came from far away. Those sweet, sweet snatches of delight That visit our bedarkened clay, Like passage birds, with hasty flight It cannot be they perish quite, Although they pass away. They come and go, and come again ; They're ours, whatever time they stay : Think not, my heart, they come in vain, If one brief while they soothe thy pain Before they pass away. But whither go they ? No one knows Their home, — but yet they seem to say. That far beyond this gulf of woes, There is a region of repose For them that pass av/ay. 1770-1834. WHO PRAYETH BEST. O wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea : So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company ! To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray ; While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay ! 7 * (103) "104 SAMFEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. Farewell ! farewell ! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-Guest, He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all. MAN REDEEMABLE. LINES ON VISITING A PRISON. And this place my forefathers made for man ! . . With other ministrations thou, O Nature ! Healest thy wandering and distempered child : Thou pourest on him thy soft influences, Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets, Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters, Till he relent, and can no more endure To be a jarring and a dissonant thing Amid this general dance and minstrelsy ; But, bursting into tears, wins back his way, His angry spirit healed and harmonized By the benignant touch of love and beauty. 1770-1850. ESTTBIATIONS OF rMMORTALITY, PROM RECOLLEC TIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And Cometh from afar : Not in entire forgetful ness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home : Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing boy ; But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, — He sees it in his joy ; The youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's priest, (105) 106 WILLIAM WORDS\TOETH. And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended ; At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity ! Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage ! thou eye among the blind, That, deaf, and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the Eternal Mind, — Mighty prophet ! Seer blest ! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy immortality Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, A presence which is not to be put by, — Thou little child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, — Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife ? Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life ! O, joy ! that in our embers Is something that doth live, — WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 107 That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive ! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest ; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise: But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things. Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized ; High instincts before which our mortal nature Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised : But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may. Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal silence : truths that wake, To perish never ; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor man, nor boy, 108 WILLIAM WOEDS WORTH. Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy ! Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea, Which brought us hither. Can in a moment travel thither, And see the children sport upon the shore. And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song ! And let the young lambs bound. As to the tabor's sound ! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play. Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May ! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower ; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind ; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be ; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering ; In the faith that looks through death. In years that bring the philosophic mind. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 109 FAITH BY VIRTUE. What then remains ? — To seek Those helps, — for his occasions ever near, Who lacks not will to use them : — vows, renewed On the first motion of a holy thought ; Vigils of contemplation ; praise •, and prayer, A stream, which from the fountain of the heart [ssuing. however feebly, nowhere flows Without access of unexpected strength. But, above all, the victory is most sure For him^ who, seeking faith by virtue, strives To yield entire submission to the law Of Conscience ; Conscience reverenced and obeyed As God's most intimate Presence in the soul And his most perfect Image in the world. — Endeavor thus to live ; these rules regard , These helps solicit ; and a steadfast seat Shall then be yours among the happy few Who dwell on earth, yet breathe empyreal air, Sons of the morning. For your nobler part, Ere disencumbered of her mortal chains, Doubt shall be quelled and trouble chased away ; With only such degree of sadness left As may support longings of pure desire ! And §treno;then Love, rejoicing secretly In the sublime attractions of the Grave. 110 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. TIIE RESPONSES OF EXTERNAL NATURE. I HAVE seen A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell ; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely ; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy ; for murmurings from within Were heard, — sonorous cadences ! whereby To his belief, the monitor expressed Mysterious union with its native sea. E'en such a shell the universe itself Is to the ear of Faith ; and there are times, I doubt not, when to you it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things ; Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power ; And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation. Here you stand. Adore and worship, when you know it not ; Pious beyond the intention of your thought ; Devout above the meaning of your will 1 MAN NEVER IRRECLABIABLE. 'Tis Nature's law That none, the meanest of created things, Of forms created the most vile and brute, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Ill The dullest or most noxious, should exist Divorced from good, — a spirit and pulse of good, A life and soul, to every mode of being Inseparably linked. Then be assured That least of all can aught, that ever owned The heaven-regarding eye and front sublime Which man is born to, — sink, howe'er depressed, So low as to be scorned without a sin ; Without offence to God cast out of view Like the dry remnant of a garden flower Whose seeds are shed, or as an implement Worn out and worthless. THE MORAL LAW. All true glory rests, All praise of safety, and all happiness, Upon the moral law. Egyptian Thebes, Tyre by the margin of the sounding waves, Palmyra central in the desert, fell ! And the arts died by which they had been raised. Call Archimedes from his buried tomb Upon the plain of vanished Syracuse, And feelingly this age shall make report How insecure, how baseless in itself. Is that philosophy, whose sway is framed For mere material instruments : — how weak Those arts, and high inventions, if unpropped By virtue. 8 112 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. ODE TO DUTY. Stern daughter of the voice of God ! O Duty ! if that name thou love, Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove ; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe. From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them ; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work and know it not : Long may the kindly impulse last ! But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast ! Serene will be our days and bright. And happy will our nature be. When love is an unerring light. And joy its own security. And they a blissful course may hold, Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed ; Vet find that other strength, according to their need. WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 113 I, loving freedom, and untried, No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust : And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray ; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul. Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control ; But in the quietness of thought • Me this unchartered freedom tires ; I feel the weight of chance desires ; My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face ; Flowers laugh before thee on their beds ; And Fragrance in thy footing treads ; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong -, And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power I I call thee ; I myself commend 114 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. Unto thy guidance, from this hour ; O, let my weakness have an end ! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice ; The confidence of reason give ; And in the light of truth thy bondman let me liv ! TKE SOUL'S RECUPERATIVE ENERGIES As men from men Do, in the constitution of their souls, Differ, by mystery not to be explained ; And as we fall by various ways, and sink One deeper than another, self-condemned, Through manifold degrees of guilt and shame So manifold and various are the ways Of restoration, fashioned to the steps Of all infirmity, and tending all To the same point, — attainable by all, — Peace in ourselves and union with our God. lafeit Plton. 1608-1674. SPIRITUAL POPULATION OF THE UNIVERSE. Nor think, though men were none, That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise. Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep. All these with ceaseless praise His works behold, Both day and night. How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thickets have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air. Sole, or responsive to each other's note, Singing their great Creator ! Oft in bands, While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds In full harmonic numbers joined, their songs Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven. 8 * (115) 116 JOHN MILTON. ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent, which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent, To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide ; ■' Doth God exact day-labor, light denied? " I fondly ask : but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, — " God doth not need Either man's work, or His own gifts ; who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve him best : His state Is kingly ; thousands at His bidding speed. And post o'er land and ocean, without rest : They also serve, who only stand and wait.'' YIRTUE A LIGHT TO HERSELF. Virtue could see to do what Virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. . . . He, that has light within his own clear breast, May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright days: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, Benighted walks under the midday sun ; Himself is his own dungeon ! 1806-1844. THE PENITENT. Stii.l prayers are strong, and God is good ; Man is not made for endless ill ; Dear sprite ! my soul's tormented mood Has yet a hope thou canst not kill. Repentance clothes in grass and flowers The grave in which the past is laid ; And close to Faith's old minster towers, The Cross lights up the ghostly shade. Around its foot the shapes of fear, Whose eyes my weaker heart appal, As sister suppliants thrill the ear With cries that loud for mercy call. (117) Jig JOHT^ STEKLTXa. Thou, God, wilt hear ! Thy pangs are meant To heal the spirit, not destroy ; And what may seem for vengeance sent, When thou commandest, works for joy. DIVINE DISCIPLINE TOWARDS MAN. Eternal Mind ! creation's Light and Lord ! Thou trainest man to love Thy perfect will, By love to know Thy truth's obscurest word. And so his years with hallowed life to fill ; To own in all things round Thy law's accord, Which bids all hope be strong to vanquish ill ; Illumined thus by Thy diffusive ray. The darkened soul and world are bright with day. In storm, and flood, and all decays of time. In hunger, plagues, and man-devouring war ; In all the boundless tracts of inward crime — In selfish hates, and lusts that deepliest mar, In lazy dreams that clog each task sublime. In loveless doubts of truth's unsetting star ; In all — Thy Spirit will not cease to brood With vital strength, unfolding all to good. The headlong cataract and tempest s roar. The rage of seas, and earthquake's hoarse dismay, JOHN STERLING. 119 The crush of Empire, sapped by tears and gore, And shrieks of hearts their own corruption's prey ; All sounds of death enforce Thy righteous lore, In smoothest flow Thy being's truth obey, And, heard in ears from passion's witchery free, One endless music make — a hymn to Thee ! But most, O God ! the inward eyes of thought Discern Thy laws in all that works within ; The conscious will, by hard experience taught, Divines Thy mercy shown by hate of sin ; And hearts whose peace by shame and grief was bought, Thy blessings praise that first in wo begin, For still on earthly pain's tormented ground. Thy love's immortal flowers and fruits abound. Fair sight it is, and med'cinal for man, To see Thy guidance lead the human breast ; In life's unopened germ behold Thy plan. Till 'mid the ripened soul it stands confest ; From impulse too minute for us to scan, Awakening sense with love and purpose blest ; And through confusion, error, trial, grief. Maturing reason, conscience, calm belief. This to have known, my soul, be thankful thou ! — This clear, ideal form of endless good. Which casts around the adoring learner's brow The ray that marks man's holiest brotherhood ; 120 JOHN STERLING. Thus e'en from guilt's deep curse and slavish vow, And dreams whereby the light was long withstood, Thee, Lord ! whose mind is rule supreme to all, Unveiled we see, and hail Thy wisdom's call. THE SOUL DISCIPLINED TO SEE GOD'S WILL. Bold is the life, and deep and vast in man — A flood of being poured unchecked from Thee! To Thee returned by Thy unfailing plan. When tried and trained Thy will unveiled to see. The spirit leaves the body's wondrous frame, That frame itself a world of strength and skill ; The nobler inmate new abodes will claim, In every change to Thee aspiring still. Although from darkness born, to darkness fled. We know that light beyond surrounds the whole ; The man survives, though the weird-corpse be dead, And He who dooms the flesh redeems the soul. 1779-1849. THE PERPETUAL RELIGION. E-ELiGioNS — from the soul deriving breath, -~ Should know no death ; Yet do they perish, mingling their remains With fallen fanes ; Creeds, canons, dogmas, councils, are the wrecked And mouldering Masonry of Intellect. — Apis, Osiris, paramount of yore On Egypt's shore, — Woden and Thor, through the wide North adored, With blood outpoured, — Jove and the multiform divinities, To whom the Pagan nations bowed their knees,— (131) 122 HORACE SMITH. Lo ! they are cast aside, dethroned, forlorn. Defaced, out-worn, Like the world's childish dolls, which but insult Its age adult. Or prostrate scarecrows, on whose rags we tread With scorn proportioned to our former dread. Alas for human reason ! all is change, Ceaseless and strange . All ages form new systems, leaving heirs To cancel theirs ; The future will but imitate the past ; And instability alone will last. Is there no compass, then, by which to steer This erring sphere ? No tie that may indissolubly bind To God, mankind? No code that may defy Time's sharpest tooth 1 No fixed, immutable, unerring truth ? There is ! there is ! One primitive and sure, Religion pure. Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes Wear myriad modes. Contains all creeds within its mighty span : The love of God displayed in love of man. This is the Christian's faith when rightly read ; Oh ! may it spread, HORACE SMITH. 123 Till earth redeemed from every hateful leaven Makes peace with Heaven ; Below one blessed brotherhood of love, One Father — worshipped with one voice — above ! A PRAYER. Father and God ! whose love and might To every sense are blazoned bright On the vast three-leaved Bible — earth Pardon th' impugners of Thy laws, Expand their hearts, and give them cause To bless th' exhaustless grace they now deny sea — si THE QUARREL OP FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY Once Faith, Hope, and Charity traversed the land In sisterhood's uninterrupted embraces. Performing their office of love hand in hand, — Of the whole Christian world, the appropriate Graces. But tiffs, since those primitive days, have occurred, That threaten to sever this friendly relation. As may well be surmised when I state word for word, The terms of their latest and worst altercation, 9 124 HORACE SMITH. '' Sister Charity, prythee allow me to state," Cries Faith, in a tone of contemptuous sneering, '* That while you affect to be meek and sedate, Your conduct is cunning, your tone domineering. " In the times that are gone my world-harassing name " Received some accession of strength every hour ; " St. Bartholomew's Massacre hallowed my fame, " And Sicily's Vespers asserted my power. " When martyrs in multitudes rushed at my call, " To peril their lives for Theology's sake, " Mine too was the voice that cried ' Sacrifice all, " ' With gaol and with gibbet, with faggot and stake.' " When the banner of orthodox slaughter was furled, " And subjects no more from each other dissented, " 1 set them at war with the rest of the world, " And for centuries national struggles fomented. " What are all the great heroes on history's page, " But puppets who figured as I pulled the strings? " Crusades I engendered in every age, " And Faith was the leader of armies and kings. " In those days of my glory Hope followed my track, " In warfare a firm and impartial ally, *' For she constantly patted both sides on the back, " And promised them both a reward in the sky." HORACE SMITH. 125 Here Charity, heaving disconsolate sighs, That said " I admit what I deeply deplore," Uplifted to heaven her tear-sufFused eyes. Which seemed but to anger her sister the more. *' Nay, none of your cant, hypocritical minx ! " She cried in a louder and bitterer tone, " If you feel any fancy to whimper, methinks " You might weep that the days of my glory are gone. " What wreck of my palmy puissance is left? " What bravos and bullies my greatness declare? " Of the holy and dear Inquisition bereft, " All my fierce fulminations are impotent air ! " . . . With the look of an angel, the voice of a dove. Thus Charity answered — " Since Concord alone " Can prosper our partnership mission of love '* And exalt the attraction that calls her her own, " I would not, dear sisters, e'en harbor a thought '' That might peril a friendship so truly divine ; " And if in our feelings a change has been wrought, " I humbly submit that the change is not mine " But now when men, turning from dogmas to deeds, " Bear the scriptural dictum of Jesus in mind, ** That salvation depends not on canons and creeds, *' But on love of the Lord and the love of our kind, 126 HORACE SMITH. " My voice can be heard, and my arguments weighed, " Which explains why such numerous converts of late " Are under my love-breathing standard arrayed, " Who once, beneath yours, were excited to hate. " Superstition must throw off Religion's disguise ; " For men, now enlightened, not darkling, like owls, *• While they reverence priests who are holy and wise, " Will no longer be hoodwinked by cassocks or cowls. *' If, sisters ! forgetting your primitive troth, " You would still part the world into tyrants and slaves, " What wonder that sages should look on you both " As the virtues of dupes for the profits of knaves ? " You would separate 1 Do so — I give you full scope ; " But reflect, you are both of you nought when we part ; " While I, 'tis well known, can supply Faith and Hope, " When I choose for my temple an innocent heart." HORACE SMITH. 127 MORAL ALCHE^rY. The toils of Alchemists, whose vain pursuit Sought to transmute Dross into gold, — their secrets and their store Of mystic lore, What to the jibing modern do they seem? An ignis fatuus chase, a phantasy, a dream ! — Yet for enlightened moral Alchemists There still exists A philosophic stone, whose magic spell No tongue may tell, Which renovates the soul's decaying health, And what it touches turns to purest mental wealth. This secret is revealed in every trace Of Nature's face, Whose seeming frown invariably tends To smiling ends. Transmuting ills into their opposite. And all that shocks the sense to subsequent delight.— Seems Earth unlovely in her robe of snow 1 Then look below, Where Nature in her subterranean Ark, Silent and dark, Already has each floral germ unfurled That shall revive and clothe the dead and naked world. 9* 128 HORACE SMITH. Behold those perished flowers to earth consigned — They, like mankind, Seek in their grave new birth. By nature's power, Each in its hour, Clothed in new beauty, from its tomb shall spring, And from its tube or chalice heavenward incense fling. Laboratories of a wider fold I now behold, Where are prepared the harvests yet unborn Of wine, oil, corn. — In those mute rayless banquet halls I see Myriads of coming feasts with all their revelry. — Yon teeming and minuter cells enclose The embryos Of fruits and seeds, food for the feathered race. Whose chanted grace. Swelling in choral gratitude on high. Shall with thanksgiving anthems melodize the sky. — And what materials, mystic Alchemist ! Dost Thou enlist To fabricate this ever-varied feast, For man, bird, beast? Whence the life, plenty, music, beauty, bloom ? From silence, languor, death, unsightliness, and gloom ! — HORACE SMITH. 129 From Nature's magic hand, whose touch makes sadness Eventual gladness, The reverent moral Alchemist may learn The art to turn Fate's roughest, hardest, most forbidding dross, Into the mental gold that knows not change or loss. — Lose we a valued friend ? — To soothe our woe Let us bestow On those who still survive an added love, So shall we prove, Howe'er the dear departed we deplore, In friendship's sum and substance no diminished store. — Lose we our health? — Now may we fully know What thanks we owe For our sane years, perchance of lengthened scope : Now does our hope Point to the day when sickness, taking flight. Shall make us better feel health's exquisite delight.' — In losing fortune, many a lucky elf Has found himself. — As all our moral bitters are designed To brace the mind. And renovate its healthy tone, the wise Their sorest trials hail as blessings in disguise. 130 HORACE SMITH. There is no gloom on earth ; for God above Chastens in love, Transmuting sorrows into golden joy Free from alloy. His dearest attribute is still to bless, And man's most welcome hymn is grateful cheerful- ness. THE HEART'S SANCTUARY. For man there still is left one sacred charter ; One refuge still remains for human woes. Victim of care ! or persecution's martyr 1 Who seek' St a sure asylum from thy foes, Learn that tl:e holiest, safest, purest, best, Is man's own breast. There, is a solemn sanctuary founded By God himself; not for transgressors meant; But that the man oppressed, the spirit wounded. And all beneath the world's injustice bent. Might turn from outward wrong, turmoil and din, To peace within ! 1786-1853. THE DEPARTED SPIRIT. He has gone to his God ; he has gone to his home. No more amid peril and error to roam ; His eyes are no longer dim ; His feet will no more falter ; No grief can follow him ; No pang his cheek can alter. There are paleness, and weeping, and sighs below ; For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow ; But the harps of heaven are ringing ; Glad angels come to greet him, And hymns of joy are singing, While old friends press to meet him. O ! honored, beloved, to earth unconfined, Thou hast soared on high, thou hast left us behind. 131 132 A2f DREWS XORTOX. But our parting is not forever, We will follow thee by heaven's light Where the grave cannot dissever The souls whom God will unite. SUBJ^nSSION. My God, I thank Thee ! may no thought E'er deem Thy chastisement severe ; But may this heart, by sorrow taught. Calm each wild wish, each idle fear. Thy mercy bids all nature bloom ; The sun shines bright, and man is gay ; Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom, That darkens o'er his little day. Full many a throb of grief and pain Thy frail and erring child must know ; But not one prayer is breathed in vain, Nor does one tear unheeded flow. Thy various messengers employ ; Thy purposes of love fulfil ; And 'mid the wreck of human joy, Let kneeling Faith adore Thy will. ANDREWS NORTON. I33 ON A FRIEND'S DEATH. Dost thou, amid the rapturous glow With which thy soul her welcome hears, Dost thou still think of us below, Of earthly scenes, of human tears? Perhaps e'en now thy thoughts return To when in summer's moonlight walk, Of all that now is thine to learn, We framed no light or fruitless talk. How vivid still past scenes appear ! I feel as though all were not o'er ; As though 'twere strange I cannot hear Thy voice of friendship yet once more. We meet again ! — A little while, And where thou art 1 too shall be ; And then, with what an angel smile Of gladness, thou wilt welcome me. ifi^ i0tormg» MATINS ANP VESPERS. I. Lord ! when I seek Thy face, I feel I am but dust — the sprinkled dew Of morning. But the towering will That soars to heaven, is heavenly still — And man, though clay, is sjnrit too. Yes ! I can feel -that, though a clod Of the dark vale, there is a sense Of better things — the fit abode Of something tending up to God — A germ of pure intelligence. I know not how the Eternal hand Has moulded man — but this I know, That whilst 'mid earth's strange scenes I stand, Bright visions of a better land Go with me still, where'er I go. 134 JOHN BOWRING. 135 And surely dreams so pure, so sweet. Friendly to hope and joy and worth, Are not the phantoms of deceit, Delusions sent to blind, to cheat The weary^ wandering sons of earth. My God ! we are Thine offspring — time Is but our infancy — the earth Our cradle — but our home 's a clime Eternal, sorrowless, sublime — Heaven is the country of our birth I II. Why should we fear ? waking or sleeping, Man is alike in Thy holy keeping, Let him not shrink though his bark be driven By the rude storm — let nought alarm him ; The tempest may burst, but cannot harm him Safely he steers to his port in heaven. God is around us, o'er us, near us, What have his children then to fear ? Is He not always present to hear us, Willing to grant, as willing to hear? m. My God! my Father ! on Thee will I rest — Rest with unbounded confidence on Thee ; No slavish fears shall now inthrall my breast ; 136 JOHN BO WRING. I Stand erect in holiest liberty. Thou dwell'st in light unsearchable — and here Thy children in a night of darkness roam ; But earth shall not detain the wanderer ; Heaven is his destiny, and heaven his home. There peace and love, in holiest union bound, Shall gild with everlasting smiles the scene. And God's pure presence, scattering light around, Fill every heart with joy and bliss serene. IV. Man's hopes and fears may seem confined, to him Whose vision stretches not o'er mortal things ; But the most distant star's invisible beam, Or comet, in his farthest journeyings. Or all the extent which philosophic ken Has given to infinite space, — th' elastic soul Springs over ! These, and more than these, in vain Her free and untried wanderings would control. At will, she travels on from sun to sun — System to system — peoples as she flies Unnumbered stars — an all-creating one ' Dives into nature's deepest mysteries ; Unlocks the gates of death, and holds communion With spirits of the just ; and yet this spajk. So bright and beautiful, is held in union With mortal clay; — unintellectual, dark, — And seems to perish. It can perish never ! Born of the heavens, again to heaven it speeds JOHN BOWRING. . I37 To dwell in its own home — to shine forever, Divested of its dull and mortal weeds ' From the recesses of a lowly spirit , My humble prayer ascends — O Father! hear it: Upsoaring on the wings of fear and meekness, Forgive its weakness. I know, I feel, how mean and how unworthy The trembling sacrifice I pour before Thee ; What can I offer in Thy presence holy, But sin and folly ? For in Thy sight, who every bosom viewest, Cold are our warmest vows, and vain our truest ; Thoughts of a hurrying hour, our lips repeat them. Our hearts forget them. We see Thy hand — it leads us, it supports us ; We hear Thy voice — it counsels and it courts us ; And then we turn away — and still Thy kindness Pardons our blindness. And still Thy rain descends, Thy sun is glowing. Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blowing, And, as if man were some deserving creature, Joys cover nature. 138 JOHN BOWEIXG. O, how long-suffering, Lord ! but Thou delightest To win with love the wandering — Thou invitest, By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors, Man from his errors. Who can resist Thy gentle call, appealing To every generous thought, and grateful feeling ? That voice paternal, whispering, watching ever My bosom 1 — never. Father and Saviour ! plant within that bosom These seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, And spring eternal. Then place them in those everlasting gardens, Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens ; Where every flower that creeps through death's dark portal Becomes immortal. THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION. Ours is a lovely world ! how fair Thy beauties, even on earth, appear ' The seasons in their courses fall. And bring successive joys : the sea, The earth, the sky, are full of ihee. Benignant, glorious Lord of All. JOHN BOWRING. 139 There's beauty in the break of day ; There's glory in the noon-tide ray ; There's sweetness in the twilight shades ; — Magnificence in night : thy love Arched the grand heaven of blue above, And all our smiling earth pervades. And if thy glories here be found Streaming with radiance all around, What must the fount of glory be ? In Thee we'll hope, — in Thee confide. Thou mercy's never-ebbing tide ! Thou love's unfathomable sea. ! UNDEVELOPED GOOD. There is in every human heart Some not completely barren part, Where seeds of truth and love might grow, And flowers of generous virtue blow : To plant, to watch, to water there — This, as our duty, be our care ! Hast thou e'er seen a garden clad In all the robes that Eden had — Or vale o'erspread with streams and trees, A paradise of mysteries — Plains with green hills adorning them, Like jewels in a diadem ? 140 JOHN BOWRIXG. These gardens, vales, and plains, and hillj Which beauty gilds and music fills. Were once but deserts ; — culture's hand Has scattered verdure o'er the land, And smiles and fragrance rule serene. Where barren wilds usurped the scene. And such is man. A soil which breeds Or sweetest flowers or vilest weeds ; Flowers lovely as the morning's light, Weeds deadly as the aconite ; Just as his heart is trained to bear The poisonous weed, or flow'ret fair. Thy outcast brother's blackest crime May, in his Maker's eye sublime. In spite of all thy pride, be less Than e'en thy daily waywardness ; Than many a sin and many a stain Forgotten — and impressed again. DESTINY OF THE SOUL. FROM THE RUSSIAN OF DERZHAVINE. The chain of being is complete in me ; In me is matter's last gradation lost. And the next step is spirit, — deity ! I can command the lightning, and am dust! » JOHN BOWKING. 141 A monarch, and a slave ! a worm, a god ! Whence came I here, and how 1 so marvellously Constructed and conceived ! unknown ? this clod Lives surely through some higher energy, For from itself alone it could not be ! Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word Created me, Thou source of life and good ! Thou Spirit of my spirit, and my Lord ! Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude, Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing Its heavenly mgni oeyona this little sphere, Even to its source, — to Thee — its Author there 1810. PKOM "IN MEMORIAM" 1. Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing wiiere we cannot prove: Thine are these orbs of light and shade ; Thou madest Life in man and brute ; Thou madest Death ; and lo, thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : Thou madest man, he knows not why ; He thinks he was not made to die ; And Thou hast made him ; Thou art just. 142 ALFRED TENNYSON. 143 Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, Thou : Our wills are ours, we know not how Our wills are ours, to make them Thine. Our little systems have their day ; They have their day and cease to be . They are but broken lights of Thee, And Thou, O Lord, art more than they. We have but faith ; we cannot know : For knowledge is of things we see ; And yet we trust it comes from Thee, A beam in darkness : let it grow. Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell ; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before. But vaster. We are fools and slight ; We mock Thee when we do not fear • But help Thy foolish ones to bear ; Help thy vain worlds to bear Thy light. Forgive what seemed my sin in me ; What seemed my worth since I began : For merit lives from man to man. And not from man, O Lord, to Thee. 144 ALFRED TEXNTSON. Forgive my grief for one removed, Thy creature, whom I found so fair, I trust he lives in Thee, and there I find him worthier to be loved. Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth ; Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in Thy wisdom make me wise. 11. O, YET we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete ; That not a worm is cloven in vain, That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire. Or but subserves another's gain. Behold ! we know not any thing ; I can but trust that good shall fall ALFRED TENNYSON. 145 At last, — far off, — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream : but what am I ? An infant crying in the night : An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry. ni. O THOU that after toil and storm May'st seem to have reached a purer air^ Whose faith has centre everywhere, Nor cares to fix itself to form, — Leave thou thy sister, when she prays, Her early heaven, her happy views ; Nor thou with shadowed hint confuse A life that leads melodious days. Her faith through form is pure as thine, Her hands are quicker unto good. Oh, sacred be the flesh and blood To which she links a truth divine! See thou, that countest reason ripe In holding by the law within, Thou fail not in a world of sin. And even for want of such a type. 146 ALFRET> TEXITTSOH, IV Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky> The flying cloud, the frosty light ; The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new. Ring, happy bells, across the snow : The year is going, let him go : Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mmd, For those that here we see no more ; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife ; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times : Ring out, ring out ray mournful rhymes. But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, The civic slander and the spite ; ALFRED TENNYSON. 147 Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the laiiaiii man aim iree, The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; Ring out the darkness of the land. Ring in the Christ that is to he. 1771. MAN IMMORTAL. Man, to this narrow sphere confined, Dies when he but begins to live. Oh! if there be no world on high To yield his powers unfettered scope ; If man be only born to die, Whence this inheritance of hope? Wherefore to him alone were lent Riches that never can be spent ? Enough, not more, to all the rest. For life and happiness, was given ; To man, mysteriously unblest. Too much for "any state but heaven. It is not thus ; — it cannot be. That one so gloriously endowed 148 JAMES MOXTGOMERY. 149 With views that reach eternity, Should shine and vanish like a cloud : Is there a God ? All nature shows There is, — and yet no mortal knows . The mind that could this truth conceive, Which brute sensation never taught, No longer to the dust would cleave, But grow immortal with the thought. TO ONE IN AFFLICTION. Lift up thine eyes, afflicted soul ' From earth lift up thine eyes, Though dark the evening shadows roll, And daylight beauty dies ; One sun is set, a thousand more Their rounds of glory run, Where science lends thee to explore In every star a sun. Thus when some long loved comfort ends, And nature would despair. Faith to the heaven of heaven ascends, And meets ten thousand there ; First faint and small, then clear and bright, They gladden all the gloom, And stars, that seem but points of light. The rank of suns assume. 150 JAMES MONTGOMEKY. DE PROFUNDI^. Out of the depths of woe To Thee, O Lord ! I cry ; Darkness surrounds me, but I know That Thou art ever nigh Then hearken to my voice , Give ear to my complaint ; Thou bid'st the mourning soul rejcifctj Thou com for test the faint. I cast my hope on Thee ; Thou can'st, Thou wilt, forgive ; Wert Thou to mark iniquity, Who in Thy sight could live ? Humbly on Thee I wait, Confessing all my sin : Lord ! I am knocking at Thy gate ; Open, and take me in ! Like those, whose longing eyes Watch, till the morning star (Though late, and seen through tempests) rise, Heaven's portals to unbar, — Like those I watch and pray, And, though it tarry long. Catch the first gleam of welcome day, Then burst into a song. JAMES MONTGOMERY. 151 Glory to God above ! The waters soon will cease : For, lo ! the swift returning dove Brings home the sign of peace. Though storms His face obscure, And dangers threaten loud, Jehovah's covenant is sure, His bow is in the cloud ! THE SOUL'S IMMORTAL ORIGIN. There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary pilgrims found ; And while the mouldering ashes sleep Low in the ground, The soul, of origin divine, God's glorious image, freed from clay, In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine A star of day. The Sun is but a spark of fire, A transient meteor in the sky ; The Soul, immortal as its Sire, Shall never die. 11* 152 JAMES MOXTGOMERY. FOREVER WITH THE LORD. " Forever with the Lord ! " Amen. So let it be ! Life for the dead is in that word, 'Tis immortality. Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam ; Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home. My Father's house on high ! Home of my soul ! how near, At times, to Faith's aspiring eye, Thy golden gates appear ! Ah, then my spirit faints. To reach the land I love ; The bright inheritance of saints, Jerusalem above. Yet doubts still intervene, And all my comfort flies ; Like Noah's dove, I flit between Rough seas and stormy skies. Anon the clouds depart, The winds and waters cease ; While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart, Expands the bow of peace. JAMES MONTGOMERY. 153 " Forever with the Lord ! " Father, if 'tis Thy will, The promise of Thy gracious word, E'en here to me fulfil. Be Thou at my right hand, So shall I never fail : Uphold me, and 1 needs must stand ; Fight, and I must prevail. So, when my latest breath Shall rend the vail in twain, By death I shall escape from death> And life eternal gain. Knowing " as I am known." How shall I love that word, And oft repeat before the throne, " Forever with the Lord ! ** 1774-1843. THE DEAD FRIEND. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul. Descend to contemplate The form that once was dear ! The spirit is not there Which kindled that dead eye, Which throbbed in that cold heart, Which in that motionless hand Hath met thy friendly grasp. The spirit is not there ! It is but lifeless, perishable flesh That moulders in the grave ; Earth, air, and water's ministering particles, Now to the elements Resolved, their uses done. Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul, Follow thy friend beloved ; The spirit is not there ! 154 ROBERT SOUTHET. 155 Oftep together have we talked of death ; How sweet it were to see All doubtful things made clear ! How sweet it were with powers Such as the cherubim To view the depth of heaven ! O, Edmund ! thou hast first Begun the travel of eternity ! I look upon the stars, And think that thou art there, Unfettered as the thought that follows thee. And we have often said how sweet it were. With unseen ministry of angel power, To watch the friends we loved. Edmund ! we did not err ! Sure I h^ve felt thy presence ! Thou hast given A birth to holy thought, Hast kept me from the world unstained and pure. Edmund ! we did not err ! Our best affections here They are not like the toys of infancy ; The soul outgrows them not ; We do not cast them off; O, if it could be so, It were, indeed, a dreadful thing to die ! Not to the grave, not to the grave, my soul. Follow thy friend beloved ! But in the lonely hour. 156 EGBERT SOUTHET. But in the evening walk, Think that he companies thy solitude : Think that he holds with thee Mysterious intercourse ; And, though remembrance wake a c There will be joy in grief. x$. ^mim* \ THERE IS A TONGUE IN EVERY LEAF. There is a tongue in every leaf, A voice in every rill ; A voice that speaketh everywhere, In flood and fire, through earth and air' A tongue that's never still. 'Tis the Great Spirit wide diffused Through everything we see, That with our spirits communeth Of things mysterious — Life and Death, Time and Eternity ! I see Him in the blazing sun, And in the thunder-cloud : I hear Him in the mighty roar, That rusheth through the forest hoar, When winds are piping loud. MRS. SOUTHET. 157 I see Him, hear Him, everywhere^ In all things — darkness, light, Silence, and sound ; but most of all, When slumber's dusky curtains fall. At the dead hour of night. T feel Him in the silent dews. By grateful earth betrayed ; I feel Him in the gentle showers. The soft south wind, the breath of flowers, The sunshine and 'the shade. And yet (ungrateful that I am), I've turned in sullen mood From all these things, whereof He said, When the great whole was finished, That they were " very good." My sadness on the loveliest things Fell like unwholesome dew ; The darkness that encompassed me, The gloom I felt so palpably. Mine own dark spirit threw. Yet was He patient — slow to wrath. Though every day provoked By selfish, pining discontent. Acceptance cold or negligent, And promises revoked ; 158 MKS. SOUTHEY. And still the same rich feast was spread For my insensate heart ! Not always so — I woke again To join Creation's rapturous strain, " O Lord, how good Thou art." The clouds drew up, the shadows fled The glorious sun broke out, And love, and hope, and gratitude, Dispelled that miserable mood Of darkness and of doubt. THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED. Tread softly — bow the head — In reverent silence bow — No passing bell doth toll — Yet an immortal soul Is passing now. Stranger ! however great. With holy reverence bow ; There's one in that poor shed — One by that paltry bed — Greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo ! death doth keep his state ; MRS. SOUTHET. 159 Enter — no crowds attend — Enter — no guards defend This palace gate. That pavement, damp and cold. No smiling courtiers tread : One silent woman stands, Lifting, with meagre hands, A dying head. No mingling voices sound — An infant wail alone ; A sob suppressed — again That short, deep gasp, and then The parting groan. Oh! change — Oh! wondrous change — Burst are the prison bars — This moment, there, so low. So agonized, and now Beyond the stars ! Oh ! change — stupendous change I There lies the soulless clod ; The Sun eternal breaks — The new immortal wakes — Wakes with his God 1 IGO MRS. SOUTHEY. LIFE AND DEATH. Oh, fear not thou to die! Far rather fear to live, — for life Hath thousand snares thy faith to try, By peril, pain and strife. Brief is the work of death, But life ! the spirit shrinks to see. How full ere Heaven recalls the breat) The cup of woe may be. Oh, fear not thou to die ! No more, to suffer or to sin ; No snares without thy faith to try, No traitor heart within ; But fear, oh rather fear, The gay, the light, the changeful scene The flattering smiles that greet thee here, From Heaven thy heart to wean. Fear lest, in evil hour, Thy pure and holy hope o'ercome. By clouds that in the horizon lower, Thy spirit feel the gloom Which over earth and Heaven The covering throws of fell despair, And deems itself the unforgiven. Predestined child of care. Oh, fear not thou to die ! To die, and be that blessed one MRS. SOUTHET. 161 Who in the bright and beauteous sky May feel his conflict done ; — May feel that never more The tear of grief, of shame, shall come For thousand wanderings from the power Who loved and called him home. THE INFANT'S REMOVAL. God took thee in his mercy, A lamb untasked, untried ; He fought the fight for thee, He won the victory, And thou art sanctified 1 I look around and see The evil ways of men ; And, O beloved child ! I'm more than reconciled To thy departure then. Now, like a dewdrop shrined Within a crystal stone, Thou'rt safe in heaven, my dove, Safe with the Source of love, The Everlasting One. 1789. MAGDALENE'S HYMN. FROM "THE CITY OF THE PLAGTTB." The air of death breathes through our souls, The dead all round us lie ; By day and night the death-bell tolls, And says, " Prepare to die." The face that in the morning sun We thought so wond'rous fair, Hath faded, ere his course was run, Beneath its golden hair. I see the old man in his grave, With thin locks silvery-gray ; I see the child's bright tresses wave In the cold breath of clay. ^ 163 JOHN WILSON. 163 The loving ones we loved the best, Like music all are gone ! And the wan moonlight bathes in rest Their monumental stone. But not when the death-prayer is said The life of life departs ; The body in.the grave is laid, Its beauty in our hearts. And holy midnight voices sweet Like fragrance fill the room, And happy ghosts with noiseless feet Come bright'ning from the tomb. We know who sends the visions bright. From whose dear side they came ! — We veil our eyes before thy light, We bless our Saviour's name ! This frame of dust, this feeble breath The Plague may soon destroy ; We think on Thee, and feel in death A deep and awful joy. Dim is the light of vanished years In the glory yet to come ; O idle grief! O foolish tears ! When Jesus calls us home. 164 JOHN WILSON. Like children for some bauble fair That weep themselves to rest ; We part with life^ awake ! and there The jewel in our breast ! CONSOLATION FROM GOD'S -VISIBLE WORKS. Witness Thou ! O Mighty One ! whose saving love has stolen On the deep peace of moonbeams to my heart, — Thou ! who with looks of mercy oft hast cheered The starry silence, when, at noon of night. On some wild mountain Thou hast not declined The homage of Thy lonely worshipper, — Bear witness, Thou ! that both in joy and grief, The love of nature long hath been with me The love of virtue : — that the solitude Of the remotest hills to me hath been Thy temple : — that the fountain's happy voice Hath sung Thy goodness ; and Thy power has stunned My spirit in the roaring cataract ' . . . . Oh ! how oft In seasons of depression, — when the lamp Of life burned dim, and all unpleasing thoughts Subdued the proud aspirings of the soul, — When doubts and fears withheld the timid eye From scanning scenes to come, and a deep sense JOHN WILSON. 165 Of human frailty turned the past to pain, — How oft have I remembered that a world Of glory lay around me, — that a source Of lofty solace lay in every star ; And that no being need behold the sun And grieve, that knew Who hung him in the sky ' Thus unperceived I woke from heavy grief To airy joy : and seeing that the mind Of man, though still the image of his God, Leaned by his will on various happiness, I felt that all was good ; that faculties Though low, might constitute, if rightly used, True wisdom; and when man hath here attained The purpose of his being, he will sit Near Mercy's throne, whether his course hath been Prone on the earth's dim sphere, or, as with wing Of viewless eagle, round the central blaze. IMMORTAL HOPES. O, WHAT were life. Even in the warm and summer light of joy, Without those hopes, that, like refreshing gales At evening from the sea, come o'er the soul Breathed from the ocean of eternity ! And O ! without them who could bear the storms 166 JOHN WILSON. That fall in roaring blackness o'er the waters Of agitated life. Then hopes arise All round our sinking souls, like those fair birds, O'er whose soft plumes the tempest has no power, Waving their snow-white wings amid the darkness, And wiling us, with gentle motion, on To some calm island, on whose silvery strand, Dropping at once, they fold their silent pinions, And, as we touch the shores of paradise, In love and beauty walk around our feet ! THE EVENING CLOUD. A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow: Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the Lake below. Tranquil its spirit seemed : it floated slow ; Even in its very motion, there was rest : While every breath of eve that chanced to blow, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul ! To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given ; And, by the breath of Mercy, made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of Heaven, Where, to the eye of Faith, it peaceful lies And tells to man his glorious destinies. f H3^ |mtt. 1784. REFLECTIONS OF A SOUL ON DEATH. BcENE. — A female sitting bij a bedside, anxioushj looking at the face of her hmband, just dead. The soul within the dead body soliloquizes. What change is this ! What joy ! What depth of rest ! What suddenness of withdrawal from all pain Into all bliss ! into a balm so perfect I do not even smile ! I tried but now, With that breath's end, to speak to the dear face That watches me — and lo ! all in an instant, Instead of toil, and a weak, weltering tear, I am all peace, all happiness, all power. Laid on some throne in space. — Great God! I am dead. 167 168 LEIGH HUNT. [-4 pause.^ Dear God ! Thy love is perfect ; Thy truth known. \^Anot7ier.^ And He, — and they! — How simple and strange ! How beautiful ! But I may whisper it not, — even to thought, Lest strong imagination, hearing it, Speak, and the world be shattered. \^Soul again pauses.^ O balm ! O bliss! O saturating smile Unvanishing ! O doubt ended ! certainty Begun ! O will, faultless, yei all indulged. Encouraged to be wilful ; — to delay Even its wings for heaven ; — and thus to rest Here, here, ev'n here, — 'twixt heaven and earth awhile, A bed in the morn of endless happiness. I feel warm drops falling upon my face ; — My wife ! my love ! — 'tis for the best thou canst not Know how I know thee weeping, and how fond A kiss meets thine in these unowning lips. Ah, truly was my love what thou didst hope it, And more ; and so was thine — I read it all — And our small feuds were but impatiences At seeing the dear truth ill understood. Poor sweet ! thou blamest now thyself, and heapest Memory on memory of imagined wrong. As I should have done too, — as all who love ; And yet I cannot pity thee : — so well I know the end, and how thou'lt smile hereafter. LEIGH HUNT. 169 She speaks my name at last, as though she feared The terrible, familiar sound ; and sinks In sobs upon my bosom. Hold me fast, Hold me fast, sweet, and from the extreme grow calm, — Me cruelly unmoved, and yet how loving ! How wrong was I to quarrel with poor James ! And how dear Francis mistook me ! That pride, How without ground it was ! Those arguments Which I supposed so final, O how foolish ! Yet gentlest Death will not permit rebuke, Ev'n of one's self. They'll know all, as I know, When they lie thus. Colder I grow, and happier, Warmness and sense are drawing to a point. Ere they depart; — myself quitting myself. The soul gathers its wings upon the edge Of the new world, yet how assuredly ! Oh ! how in balm I change ! actively willed, Yet passive, quite ; and feeling opposites mingle In exquisitest peace ! — Those fleshly clothes, Which late I thought myself^ lie more and more Apart from this warm, sweet, retreating me, Who am as a hand, withdrawing from a glove. So lay my mother : so my father : so My children : yet I pitied them. I wept, 170 LEIGH HUNT. And fancied them in their graves, and called them *' poor ! " O graves ! O tears ! O knowledge, will, and time, And fear, and hope ! what petty terms of earth Were ye ! yet how I love ye as of earth The planet's household words ; and how postpone, Till out of these dear arms, th' immeasurable Tongue of the all-possessing smile eternal ! Ah, not excluding these, nor aught that's past, Nor aught that's present, nor that yet's to come. Well waited for. I would not stir a finger Out of this rest, to re-assure all anguish ; Such warrant hath it ; such divine conjuncture ; Such a charm binds it with the needs of bliss. That was my eldest boy's — that kiss. And that The baby with its little unweening mouth ; And those — and those — Dear hearts ! they have all come, And think me dead — me, who so know I'm living, The vitalest creature in this fleshly room. I part ; and with my spirit's eyes full opened Will look upon them. [Spirit parts from the body, and breathes upon their eyes Patient be those tears, Fresh heart-dews, standing on these dear clay-moulds. I quit ye but To meet again, and will revisit soon In many a dream, and many a gentle sigh. LEIGH HUNT. 171 [Spl}-it looks at the body. And was that I? — that hollow-cheeked, pale thing, Shattered with passions, worn with cares : now placid Witii my divine departure? And must love Think of thee painfully 1 of stifling boards 'Gainst the free face, and of the irreverent worm 1 To dust with thee, poor corpse ! to dust and grass, And the glad innocent worm, that does its duty As thou dost thine in changing. I, thy life, — Life of thy life ! — turn my face forth to Heaven ! O the infinitude and the eternity ! The rapid, angelical faces ! My mother ! . . . AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. How sweet it were, if, without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful, beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air. At evening, in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers News of dear friends, and children who have never Been dead indeed, as we shall know forever. Alas ! we think not that we daily see About our hearths angels that are to be. Or may be, if they will, and we prepare Their souls and ours to meet in happy air, — A child, a friend, a wife, whose soft heart sings In unison with ours, breedincr its future win^s. 172 LEIGH HUNT. ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. Abou Ben Adiiem (may his tribe increase !) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel, writing in a book of gold : Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold ; And to the presence in the room he said, " What writest thou ? " The vision raised his head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord. Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord." '* And is mine one ? " said Abou. " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, But cheerily still ; and said, " I pray thee, then. Write me as one that loves his fcllow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light. And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. THE ROAD OF DEATH. Death is a road our dearest friends have gone ; Why, with such leaders, fear to say " Lead on ?" Its gate repels, lest it too soon be tried ; But turns in balm on the immortal side. Mothers have passed it ; fathers ; children ; men, LEIGH HUNT. 173 Whose like we look not to behold again ; Women, that smiled away their loving breath : — Soft is the travelling on the road of Death ! But Guilt has passed it ? Men not fit to die ! Oh, hush — for He that made us all, is by ! Human were all ; all men ; all born of mothers ; All our own se'ves, in the worn shape of others ; Our used and yjii ! be sure, not to be zVZ-used brothers. PROVIDENCE. FKOM THE ITALIAN. Just as a mother, with sweet pious face. Yearns towards her little children from her seat, Gives one a kiss, another an embrace, Takes this upon her knees, that on her feet ; And wh'ile from actions, looks, complaints, pretences, She learns their feelings and their various will, To this a look, to that a word, dispenses, 'And, whether stern or smiling, loves them still ; — So Providence for us, high, infinite, Makes our necessities its watchful task, Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants, And, even if it denies what seems our right, Either denies because 'twould have us ask, Or seems but to deny, or in denying grants. ^l^\mm §t ^mmxtkt FROM "THE DEATH OF SOCRATES." " Know'st thou the way to that invisible shore ? " Said Cebes : *' Hath thine eye then scanned it o'er ? " — " Friends, to that world my steps are drawing near, More and more clearly I its music hear, And to behold its scenes with open eye — " — "What, must we?" Phedon said. "Be pure and die ! There is, somewhere in the immense expanse, To mortals inaccessible, perchance Far overhead beyond the arching skies, Perchance around us, here, on earth, it lies, Another world, a heaven, an Elysium, where Not streams of honey glide through amber fair, Nor virtuous souls, by God alone renewed, Drink nectar and partake ambrosial food, But sainted shades, immortal spirits come 174 ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. 175 To take the crown of earthly martyrdom ! Neither dark Tempe, nor the laughing height Of Menelus, when morning's rosy light Plays round it, and her breath with perfumes rare i^'ills all the fresh, intoxicating air, The vales of Hemus, nor the rich hill-sides Where, with sweet murmurings, Eurotas glides, Nor yet that land, the poets' chosen shore, Where the charmed traveller thinks of home no more, Not all of these can match that blest abode Where the soul's daylight is the look of God 1 Where night can never come, nor night of death, Where in love's atmosphere the soul draws breath I Where bodies that ne'er die, or die to live, • For finer pleasures finer senses give ! " — "What ! bodies ev'n in heaven ? side by side, Death ranged with life ? " — " Yes, bodies glorified By the transfiguring soul, who, to compose These heavenly vestments, through creation goes, Culling the flower of the elements ; All that is present in the world of sense, The tender rays of the transparent light, The softest tints that blend in solar white. The sweetest scents exhaled by evening flowers. The murmured cadences at midnight hours. Borne by the amorous zephyr through the trees, Or o'er the bosom of the sighing seas, The flame that shoots in jets of blue and gold, Crystal of streams beneath a pure sky rolled, 176 ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. The purple tinge Aurora gives her sails, When first they flutter in the morning gales, The rays of tremulous stars that, imaged, sleep On the calm mirror of the silent deep, — All, blended, form beneath her plastic hand A body pliant to the soul's command, And she who, once bound down with many a chain, 'Gainst her revolted senses warred in vain, To-day, triumphant o'er her indolence, Majestically rules the world of sense, Creates new senses, pleasures, endlessly. And plays with space, time, life, creation — free ' * * * Pie seemed to slumber in a dream's embrace. The intrepid Cebes, gazing in his face. By every art of yearning friendship tries To summon back into his fading eyes The soul fust parting with the feeble breath. And questions him e'en on the brink of death : " Sleep'st thou? Is death a slumber? Speak!" he cried. Gathering his energies, the sage replied : " It is a waking ! " ..." Veiled are not thine eyes With funeral shadows ? "... "No ; I see arise Amidst the shades a pure and heavenly day ! " . . . " Hear'st thou no groans — no lamentations?" . . " Nay ; But stars of gold that, as in heaven they flame. Murmur in circling choir a holy name ! " . . . ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE. 177 " What feelest thou?" . . " What the young Chrys- alis Feels, when she bursts her coil, in freedom's bliss. And as the light of morning greets her eyes, The breath of morning wafts her through the skies ! " — "And hast thou taught us truth? The soul . . .? reply! . . ." " Believe this smile ; the soul shall never die ! . . ." "What waitest thou, that the. from earth may'st flee?" . . . " A breath, as waits the ship, impatient for the sea ! " . . . " Whence shall it come ? " " From heaven ! " . . . " Yet one word more ! " " No ; leave my soul alone, in peace to soar ! ' it €\Mt\b. MUSINGS IN THE TEMPLE OF NATURE. Man can build nothing worthy of his Maker, — From royal Solomon's stupendous fane, Down to the humble chapel of the Quaker, All, all are vain. The wondrous world which He himself created Is the fit temple of creation's Lord ; There may His worship best be celebrated, And praises poured. Its altar, earth ; its roof, the sky untainted ; Sun, moon, and stars, are lamps that give it light ; And clouds, by the celestial Artist painted, Its pictures bright. 178 DR. CHATFIELD. 179 lis choir, all vocal things, whose glad devotion In one united hymn is heavenward sped ; The thunder-peal, the winds, the deep-mouthed ocean, Its organ dread ! The face of Nature its God-written Bible, Which all mankind may study and explore, While none can wrest, interpolate, or libel Its living lore. Hence learn we that our Maker, whose affection Knows no distinction, suffers no recall, Sheds His impartial favor and protection Alike on all. Thus by Divine example do we gather. That every race should love alike all others ; Christian, Jew, Pagan, children of one Father, All, all are brothers ! Conscience, Heaven's silent oracle, the assessor Of right and wrong in every human breast. Sternly condemns the impenitent transgressor To live unblest. The pious and the virtuous, though assaulted By fortune's frown, or man's unjust decrees, Still in their bosoms find a pure, exalted, Unfailing peace I 180 DR. CHATFIELD. Hence do we learn that, hardened vice is hateful, Since Heaven pursues it with avenging rod ; While goodness, self-rewarded, must be grateful To man and God. O ! Thou most visible, yet unseen Teacher, Whose finger writes its lessons on our sphere, ! Thou most audible, but unheard Preacher, Whose sermons clear Are seen and read in all that Thou performest. Wilt Thou look down and bless, if, when I kneel, Apart from man-built fanes, I feel the warmest And purest zeal ? If in the temple Thine own hands have fashioned, 'Neath the bright sky, by lonely stream or wood, 1 pour to Thee, with thrilling heart impassioned, My gratitude ? If in Thy present miracles terrestrial Mine eyes behold, wherever I have kneeled, New proofs of the futurity celestial To man revealed ? If, fearing Thee, I love the whole creation, Keeping my bosom undefiled by guilt. Wilt Thou receive and bless mine adoration ? Thou wilt, Thou wilt ! Sir (&. lultoer f jrtte. REPOSE IN FAITH. Behold the storm-beat wanderer in repose ! He lists the sounds at which the Heavens unclose ! Gleam, through expanding bars, the angel-wings, And floats the music borne from seraph-strings ! Holy the oldest creed which Nature gives, Proclaiming God where'er Creation lives; But there the doubt will come 1 — the clear design Attests the Maker and suggests the Shrine; But in that visible harmonious plan, What present shows the future world to man 1 What lore detects, beneath our crumbling clay, A soul exiled, and journeying back to-day; What knowledge, in the bones of charnel urns, T.he ethereal spark, the undying thought, discerns? How from the universal war, the prey Of life on life, can Love explore the way 1 181 182 SIR E. BULWEE LYTTON. Search the material tribes of earth, sea, air, And the fierce Self that strives and slays is there. What but that Self do Man and Nature teach ? Where the charmed link that binds the all to each ? Where the sweet law — (doth Nature boast its birth ?) — " Good will to man, and charity to earth ? " Not in the world without, but that within. Revealed, not instinct — soul from sense can win ! And where the Natural halts, where cramped, confined, The seen horizon bounds the baffled mind, The Inspired begins — the onward march is given ; Bridging all space, nor ending ev'n in Heaven ! There, veiled on earth, we mark divinely clear, Duty and end — the There explains the Here I We see the link that binds the future band, Foeman with foeman gliding hand in hand ; And feel that Hate is but an hour's — the Son Of earth, to perish when the earth is done — But Love eternal ; and we turn below, To hail the brother where we loathed the foe : There, in the soft and beautiful Belief, Flows the true Lethe for the lips of Grief; There, Penury, Hunger, Misery, cast their eyes, How soon the bright Republic of the Skies ! There, Love, heart-broken, sees prepared the bower, And hears the bridal step, and waits the nuptial hour ! There, smiles the mother, we have wept ' there bloom Again the buds asleep within the tomb ; There, o'er bright gates inscribed, " No more to part," Soul springs to soul, and heart unites to heart ! 1784-1849. THE LAND WHICH NO MORTAL MA'S KNOW. Though earth has full many a beautiful spot, As a poet or painter might show ; Yet more lovely and beautiful, holy and bright. To the hopes of the heart and the spirit's glad sight, Is the land that no mortal may know. There the crystalline stream, bursting forth from the throne, Flows on, and forever will flow ; Its waves, as they roll, are with melody rife. And its waters are sparkling with beauty and life, In the land which no mortal may know. And there, on its margin, with leaves ever green, With its fruits healing sickness and woe, 183 184 BERNARD BARTON. The fair tree of life, in its glory and pride, Is fed by that deep, inexhaustible tide, Of the land which no mortal may know. There too are the lost ! whom we loved on this earth, With whose mem'ries our bosoms yet glow ; Their reliques we gave to the place of the dead, But their glorified spirits before us have fled To the land which no mortal may know. Oh ! who but must pine in this dark vale of tears, From its clouds and its shadows to go, To walk in the light of the glory above, And to share in the peace, and the joy, and the love, Of the land which no mortal may know ! TOO LATE. Bitter the anguish with these two words blended, For those contemplating their hopeless lot. Who find Hfe's summer past, — its harvest ended, — And winter nigh, while they are gathered not. Y'et do Thou, Lord, by Thy supreme conviction, Give them to feel that, though their sins are great, Thy love and mercy own not our restriction, But that with Thee^ it never is too late ! BERNARD BARTON. 185 FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. Still abide the heaven-born Three, Faith, and Hope, and Charity ! Faith — to point our heavenly goal, . Hope — an anchor to the soul : Faith and Hope must pass away ; Charity endures for aye! Hope must in possession die ; Faith — in blissful certainty ; These to gladden each were given; Love, or Charity — for Heaven ! For, in brighter realms above, Charity survives — as Love. Love to Him, the great I AM ! Love to Him, the atoning Lamb ! Love unto the Holy Ghost ! Love to all the heavenly host ! Love to all the human race, Sanctified by saving grace ! In that pure and perfect love, Treasured up for Heaven above. Christian ! may thy grateful heart Have its everlasting part ; And when Faith and Hope are mute. Find in endless Love their fruit I 186 BERNARD BARTON. SIGNS AND TOKENS. He who watches winds that blow. May too long neglect to sow ; He who waits lest clouds should rain, Harvest never shall obtain. Signs and tokens false may prove ; Trust thou in a Saviour's love, In His sacrifice for sin, And His Spirit's power within. Keep thou Zion-ward thy face, Ask in faith the aid of grace, Use the strength which grace shall give Die to self — in Christ to live. Faith in God, if such be thine. Shall be found thy safest sign. And obedience to His will Prove the best of tokens still. FAREWELL. Nay, shrink not from the word " farewell ! '* As if 'twere friendship's final knell ; Such fears may prove but vain : BERNARD BARTON. 187 So changeful is life's fleeting day, Whene'er we sever — hope may say " We part to meet again ! " Even the last parting earth can know, Brings not unutterable woe, To souls that heavenward soar ; For humble Faith, with steadfast eye, Points to a brighter world on high. Where hearts that here at parting sight May meet — to vart no more. 1780-1852. COMFORT IN AFFLICTION. Oh ! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee ! The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone ; But Thou wilt heal that broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part. Breathes sweetness out of woe. 188 THOMAS MOORE. IgQ When joy no longer soothes or cheers, And even the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, Is dimmed and vanished too, — Oh who would bear life's stormy doom. Did not Thy wing of love Come brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above ! Then sorrow touched by Thee grows bright, With more than rapture's ray ; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day. BUT ^VHO SHALL SEE. But who shall see the glorious day When, throned on Zion's brow, The Lord shall rend that veil away Which hides the nations now ? When earth no more beneath the fear Of His rebuke shall lie ; When pain shall cease, and every tear Be wiped from ev'ry eye. Then, Judah, thou no more shalt mourn Beneath the heathen's chain ; Thy days of splendor shall return, And all be new again. 190 THOMAS MOORE. The Fount of Life shall then be quaffed In peace, by all who come ; And every wind that blows shall waft Some long-lost exile home. BLISS OF HEAVEN. Go, wing thy flight from star to star, From world to luminous world as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall : Take all the pleasures of all the spheres, And multiply each through endless years, One minute of heaven is worth them all. 1794. THE RETURN OF YOUTH. My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime, For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight. Thou musest, with wet eyes, upon the time Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light, — Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong, And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to speak, And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek. Thou lookest forward on the coming days, Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep. A path, thick-set with changes and decays Slopes downward to the place of common sleep ; 191 192 WILLIAM CULLEN BEY ANT. And they who walked with thee in life's first stage, Leave, one by one, thy side, and, waiting near, Thou seest the sad companions of thy age — Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear. Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone. Nor deem that glorious season e'er could die. Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn. Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky ; Waits, like the morn, that folds her wing and hides, Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour ; Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bides Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower. There shall He welcome thee, when thou shalt stand On His bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet Than when at first He took thee by the hand, Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet ' He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still, Life's early glory to thine eyes again ; Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then. Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here. Of mountains where immortal morn prevails *? Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear A gentle rustling of the morning gales ; A murmur, wafted from that glorious shore. Of streams that water banks forever fair. And voices of the loved ones gone before, More musical in that celestial air 1 1700-1748. GOD'S UNIVERSAL LOVE. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale : and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him ; Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 193 194 JAMES THOMSON. Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike. Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day ! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round. On Nature write with every beam His praise. The thunder rolls • ' ><^ hushed the prostrate world, While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye mossy rocks, Retain the sound : the broad responsive low Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns ; And His unsufferino kingdom yet will come ! . . . Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes. Rivers unknown to song ; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles ; 'tis nought to me : Since Gou is ever present, ever felt. In the void waste as in the city full ; And where He vital breathes there must be joy. When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing : I cannot go Where Universal Love not smiles around. Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; From seeming Evil still educing Good, JAMES THOMSON. 195 And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in Him, in Light ineffable ! Come, then, expressive silence, muse His praise. MORAL OF THE SEASONS. 'Tis done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! How dumb the tuneful ! horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! See here thy pictured life ; pass some few years. Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength. Thy sober Autumn fading into age. And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah ! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? Those restless cares? those busy bustling days? Those gay-spent, festive nights ? those veering thoughts^ Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life? All now are vanished ! Virtue sole survives, Immortal, never-failing friend of man, His guide to happiness on high. And see ! 'Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth Of heaven and earth ! awakening Nature hears The new-creating word, and starts to life, 196 JAMES THOMSON. In every heightened form, from pain and death Forever free. The great eternal scheme, Involving all, and in a perfect whole Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads, To reason's eye refined clears up apace. Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, Confounded in the dust, adore that Power And Wisdom oft arraigned : see now the cause. Why unassuming worth in secret lived, And died, neglected : why the good man's share In life was gall and bitterness, of soul : Why the lone widow and her orphans pined In starving solitude ; while Luxury, In palaces, lay straining her low thought. To form unreal wants : why heaveo-born truth And moderation fair, wore the red marks Of superstition's scourge : why licensed pain, That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed ! Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while, And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deemed evil, — is no more : The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, And one unbounded spring encircle ALL I Sir |0|u gato 1570-1626. THE SOUL'S HIGH DESTINY. O IGNORANT poor man ! what dost thou bear Locked up within the casket of thy breast ? What jewels, and what riches hast thou there ? What heavenly treasure in so weak a chest ? Look in thy soul, and thou shalt beauties find. Like those which drowned Narcissus in the flood Honor and pleasure both are in thy mind, And all that in the world is counted good. Think of her worth, and think that God did mean This worthy mind should worthy things embrace; Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts unclean, Nor her dishonor with thy passion base. 197 198 SIR JOHN DA VIES. Kill not her quickening power with surfeitings; Mar not her sense with sensuality ; Cast not away her wit on idle things ; Make not her free-will slave to vanity. And when thou think'st of her eternity, Think not that death against her nature is : Think it a birth ; and, when thou goest to die, Sing like a 3-ym as if thcu wf ntst to bliss 1 REASONS FOE THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY. Again, how can she but immortal be, When, with the motions of both will and wit, She still aspireth to eternity, And never rests till she attain to it ? All moving things to other things do move Of the same kind, which shows their nature such^ So earth falls down, and fire doth mount above, Till both their proper elements do touch. And as the moisture which the thirsty earth Sucks from the sea to fill her empty veins, From out her womb at last doth take a birth, And runs, a lymph, along the grassy plains, SIR JOHN DAVIES. 199 Long doth she slay, as loth to leave the land From whose soft side she first did issue make ; She tastes all places, turns to every hand, Her flowery banks unwilling to forsake. Yet nature so her streams doth lead and carry As that her course doth make no final stay, Till she herself unto the sea doth marry, Within whose watery bosom first she lay. E'en so the soul, which, in this earthly mould. The spirit of God doth secretly infuse. Because, at first, she doth the earth behold, And only this material world she views, At first, her mother earth she 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 celestial wings; — Yet, under heaven, she cannot light on aught That with her heavenly nature doth agree ; She cannot rest, she 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 wish, when he had health 1 Or, having wisdom, was not vexed in mind 1 200 SIR JOHN DATIES. Then, as a bee, which among weeds doth fall, Which seem sweet flowers with lustre fresh and gay, She lights on that, and this, and tasteth 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 she first was sent, And flies to Him that first her wings did make. AFFLICTION'S TEACHINGS. If aught can teach us aught, affliction's looks (Making us pry into ourselves so near) Teach us to know ourselves beyond all books, Or all the learned schools that ever were. She within lists my ranging mind hath brought, That now beyond myself I will not go : Myself am centre of my circling thought : Only myself I study, learn, and know. I know my life's a pain, and but a span ; I know my sense is mocked in every thing ; And, to conclude, I know myself a man. Which is a proud and yet a wretched thing. 1783-1826. GOD PROVIDETH FOR THE MORROW. Lo ! the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield ! Hark to Nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of Heaven. Every bush and tufted tree Warbles sweet philosophy, — " Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow: God provideth for the morrow ! " Say, with richer crimson glows The kingly mantle than the rose ? Say, have kings more wholesome fare Than we poor citizens of air ? Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Yet we carol merrily, — 201 203 EEGINALD HEBMR. Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, God provideth for the morrow ! " One there lives whose guardian eye Guides our humble destiny ; One there lives, who, Lord of all, Keeps our .feathers lest they fall ; Pass we blithely, then, the time, Fearless of the snare and lime. Free from doubi and faithless sorrow ; God provideth for the morrow ! " ON THE DEATH OF A BROTHER. Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb ; Thy Saviour has passed through its portals before thee, And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom ! Thou art gone to the grave ! we no longer behold thee. Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side ; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may die, for the sinless has died ! Thou art gone to the grave ! and, its mansion for- saking, Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long; REGINALD HEBER. 203 But the mild rays of Paradise beamed on thy waking, And the sound which thou heardst was the sera- phim's song ! Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee, Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide ; He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee, And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died. THE WIDOW OF NAIN AND HER SON. Wake not, oh mother ! sounds of lamentation ! Weep not, oh widow ! weep not hopelessly ! Strong is His arm, the Bringer of salvation. Strong is the Word of God to succor thee ! Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him : Hide his pale features with the sable pall : Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him : Widowed and childless, she has lost her all. Why pause the mourners ? Who forbids our weeping? Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? " Set down the bier — he is not dead but sleeping ! " Young man, arise ! " — He spake, and was obeyed ! 204 REGI^rALD HEBER. Change then, oh sad one, grief to exultation : Worship and fall before Messiah's knee, Strong was His arm, the Bringer of salvation; Strong was the Word of God to succor thee! WHAT IS RELIGION?* Is it to go to church today, To look devout and seem to pray, And ere tomorrow's sun goes down Be dealing slander through the town ? Does every sanctimonious face Denote the certain reign of grace ? Does not a phiz that scowls at sin Oft veil hypocrisy within ? Is it to take our daily walk, And of our own good deeds to talk, Yet often practice secret crime, And thus misspend our precious time^ Is it for sect and creed to fight, To call our zeal the rule of right, When what we wish is, at the best, To see our church excel the rest? * A juvenile production. REGINALD HEBER. 205 Is it to wear the Christian dress, And love to all mankind profess, To treat with scorn the humble poor, And bar against them every door ? Oh, no ! religion means not this, Its fruit more sweet and fairer is , Its precept's this — to others do As you would have them do to you. It grieves to hear an ill report, And scorns with human woes to sport. Of others' deeds it speaks no ill, But tells of good^ or else keeps still. And does religion this impart ? Then may its influence fill my heart ! Oh ! haste the blissful, joyful day. When all the world may own its sway. (BlxiMl} lurM Sr0tonmg» COWPER'S GRAVE. It is a place where poets crowned May feel the heart's decaying, — It is a place where happy saints May weep amid their praying : Yet let the grief and humbleness, As low as silence, languish ! Earth surely now may give her calm To whom she crave her anguish. O poets ! from a maniac's tongue, Was poured the deathless singing ! O Christians ! at your cross of hope, A hopeless hand was clinging! O men ! this man, in brotherhood. Your weary paths beguiling, 206 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 207 Groaned inly while he taught you peace, And died while ye were smiling. And now, what time ye all may read Through dimming tears his story, How discord on the music fell And darkness on the glory. And how, when one by one, sweet sounds And wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face Because so broken-hearted ; He shall be strong to sanctify The poet's high vocation. And bow the meekest Christian down In meeker adoration ; Nor ever shall he be, in praise. By wise or good forsaken ; Named softly, as the household name Of one whom God hath taken. With quiet sadness and no gloom, I learn to think upon him. With meekness that is gratefulness To God whose heaven has won him — Who suffered once the madness-cloud, To His own love to blind him; But gently led the blind along Where breath and bird could find him ; 208 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. And wrought within his shattered brain, Such quick poetic senses, As hills have language for, and stars, Harmonious influences ! The pulse of dew upon the grass Kept his within its number ; And silent shadows from the trees Refreshed him like a slumber. Wild timid hares were drawn from woods To share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes With sylvan tendernesses : The very world, by God's constraint, From falsehood's ways removing, Its women and its men became Beside him, true and loving. But while in blindness he remained Unconscious of the guiding, And things provided came without The sweet sense of providing, He testified this solemn truth, Though frenzy desolated — • Nor man, nor nature satisfy, Whom only God created ! Like a sick child that knoweth not His mother while she blesses ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 209 And drops upon his burning brow The coolness of her kisses, — That turns his fevered eyes around — " My mother ! where's my mother V — As if such tender words and looks Could come from any other ! — The fever gone, with leaps of heart, He sees her bending o'er him ; Her face all pale from watchful love, The unweary love she bore him ! — Thus, woke the poet from the dream, His life's long fever gave him. Beneath those deep pathetic Eyes, Which closed in death, to save him I Thus ? oh, not thus ! no type of earth Could image that awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant Of seraphs, round him breaking. Or felt the new immortal throb Of soul from body parted ; But felt those eyes alone, and knew 3Ii/ Saviour ! not deserted ! Deserted ! who hath dreamt that when The Cross in darkness rested, Upon the Victim's hidden face, No love was manifested ? 210 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. What frantic hands outstretched have e'er The atoning drops averted, What tears have washed them from the soul. That one should be deserted 1 Deserted ! God could separate From His own essence rather : And Adam's sins have swept between The righteous Son and Father ; Yea, once, Immanuel's orphaned cry, His universe hath shaken — It went up single, echoless, " My God, I am forsaken ! " It went up from the Holy's lips Amid His lost creation, That, of the lost, no son should use Those words of desolation ; That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope, Should mar not hope's fruition. And I, on Cowper's grave, should see His rapture, in a vision ! CHEERFULNESS. I THINK we are too ready with complaint In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope Indeed beyond the zenith and the cope ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 211 Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be fain To muse upon eternity's constraint Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope Must widen early, is it well to droop For a few days consumed in loss and faint ? O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted ; And like a cheerful traveller, take the road, Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshrxi To meet the flints ? At least it may be said, " Because the way is short, I thank Thee, God ! " DKte MtMl l0tou5* GOD IS LOVE. .... Or is our being's only end and aim To add new glories to our Maker's name, As the poor insect, shrivelling in the blaze, Lends a faint sparkle to its streaming rays ? Does earth send upwards to the Eternal's ear The mingled discords of her jarring sphere To swell His anthem, while Creation rings With notes of anguish from its shattered strings? Is it for this the immortal Artist means These conscious, throbbing, agonized machines ? Dark is the soul whose sullen creed can bind In chains like these the all-embracing mind ; No ! two-faced bigot ! thou dost ill reprove The sensual selfish, yet benignant Jove, 213 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 213 And praise a tyrant throned in lonely pride, Who loves himself, and cares for nought beside ; Who gave thee, summoned from primeval night, A thousand laws, and not a single right ; A heart to feel and quivering nerves to thrill, The sense of wrong, the death-defying will ; Who girt thy senses with this goodly frame. Its earthly glories and its orbs of flame, Not for thyself, unworthy of a thought. Poor helpless victim of a life unsought. But all for him, unchanging and supreme. The heartless centre of thy frozen scheme! Trust not the teacher with his lying scroll. Who tears the charter of thy shuddering soul ; The God of love, who gave the life that warms All breathing dust in all its varied forms. Asks not the tribute of a world like this To fill the measure of His perfect bliss. Though winged with life through all its radiant shores, Creation flowed with unexhausted stores. Cherub and seraph had not yet enjoyed! For this He called thee from the quickening void! Nor this alone ; a larger gift was thine, A mightier purpose swelled His vast design ; Thought ; conscience ; will ; to make them all thine own He rent a pillar from the eternal throne ! 214 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. Made in His image, thou must nobly dare The thorny crown of sovereignty to share ; With eye uplifted it is thine to view From thine own centre, Heaven's o'erarching blue ; So round thy heart a beaming circle lies No fiend can blot, no hypocrite disguise. From all its orbs one cheering voice is heard, Full to thine ear it bears the Father's word. Now, as in Eden where His first-born trod : " Seek thine own welfare, true to man and God ! " Think not too meanly of thy low estate ; Thou hast a choice ; to choose is to create ! Remember whose the sacred lips that tell, Angels approve thee when thy choice is well ; Remember, One, a judge of righteous men, Swore to spare Sodom if she held but ten ! Use well the freedom which the Master gave, (Think'st thou that Heaven can tolerate a slave? ) And He who made thee to be just and true Will bless thee, love thee, — ay, respect thee too ! 1688-1744. VnirUE THE SOLE HAPPINESS HERE AND HEREAFrER. Know then this truth — (enough for man to know! )• Virtue alone is happiness below. The only point where human bliss stands still, And tastes the good without the fall to ill ; Where only merit constant pay receives, Is blest in what it takes, and what it gives ; The joy unequalled, if its end it gain. And if it lose, attended with no pain : Without satiety, though e'er so blest, And but more relished as the more distressed : The broadest mirth unfeeling Folly wears, Less pleasing far than Virtue's very tears ; Good, from each object, from each place acquired^ Forever exercised, yet never tired \ 215 216 ALEXANDER POPE. Never elated, while one man's oppressed ; Never dejected, while another's blest ; And where no wants, no wishes can remain. Since but to wish more virtue, is to gain. See the sole bliss Heaven could on all bestow ! Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind. The bad must miss : the good, iir/.r^ught, will find ; Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, But looks through Nature, up to Nature's God, — Pursues that chain, which links th' immense design, Joins Heaven and Earth, and mortal and divine, — Sees that no being any bliss can know, But touches some above and some below, — Learns from this union of the rising whole The first, last purpose of the human soul. And knows where faith, law, morals, all began. All end, — in love of God and love of man ! For him alon-e, Hope leads from goal to goal And opens still, and opens on his soul : Till lengthened on to Faith, and unconfined. It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. He sees why Nature plants in man alone Hope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown : (Nature, whose dictates to no other kind Are given in vain, but what they seek they find ;) Wise is her present ; she connects in this His greatest- virtue with his greatest bliss ; At once his own bright prospect to be blest. And strongest motive to assist the rest. ALEXANDER POPE. 217 Self-love thus pushed to social, to divine, Gives thee to make thy neighbor's blessing thine. Is this too little for the boundless heart ? Extend it — let thy enemies have part. Grasp the whole world of reason, life, and sense, In one close system of benevolence : Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, And height of bliss but height of charity. God loves from whole to parts ; but human soul Must rise from individual to the whole. Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds. Another still, and still another spreads , Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace ; His country next ; and next all human race; Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind Take every creature in, of every kind ; Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, And Heaven beholds its imaore in his breast. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. Father of all ! in every age. In every clime adored. By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord ! 218 ALEXANDER POPE. Thou great First Cause ! least understood ; Who all my sense confined, To know but this, — that Thou art good, And that myself am blind ; — Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill ; And, binding nature fast in fate, Let free the human will ; — What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do. This teach me, more than hell, to shun, That, more than heaven, pursue. What blessings Thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away ; For God is paid when man receives ; T' enjoy is to obey. Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let ipe bound ; Or think Thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round. Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume Thy bolts to throw ; And deal damnation round the land On each I judge Thy foe. ALEXANDER POPE. 219 If I am right, Thy grace impart Still in the right to stay ; If I am wrong, O teach my heart To find that better way. Save me alike from foolish pride Or impious discontent, At aught Thy wisdom has denied. Or aught Thy goodness lent. Teach me to feel another's wo. To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Mean though I am, — not wholly so. Since quickened by Thy breath, — O ! lead me, whereso'er I go, Through this day's life or death. This day be bread and peace my lot ; All else beneath the Sun Thou know'st if best bestowed or not ; And let Thy will be done ! To Thee whose temple is all space, Whose altar earth, sea, skies ! One chorus let all Being raise, All nature's incense rise ! 1794-1835. A DIRGE. Calm on the bosom of thy God, Young spirit ! rest thee now ; Even while with us thy footstep trod His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! Soul to its place on high ! — They that have seen thy look in death. No more may fear to die. Lone are the paths, and sad the bowers. Whence thy meek sraile is gone ; But oh ! — a brighter home than ours, In heaven is now thine own. 220 MRS. HEMANS. 221 THE LILIES OF THE FIELD. " Consider th£ lilies of the field." Flowers ! when the Saviour's calm benignant eye Fell on your gentle beauty — when from you That heavenly lesson for all hearts He drew, Eternal, universal as the sky — Then, m the bosom of your purity, A voice He set, as in a temple-shrine. That life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine. And though too oft its low, celestial sound. By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned, And the loud steps of vain unlistening Haste, Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hushed hour Than yours, ye Lilies ! chosen thus and graced ! THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. " And behold the birds of the air." Ye too, the free and fearless birds of air. Were charged that hour, on missionary wing, The same bright lesson o'er the seas to bear, Heaven-guided wanderers with the winds of spring ! Sing on, before the storm and after, sing ! And call us to your echoing woods away 222 MKS. HEMANS. From worldly cares ; and bid our spirits bring Faith to imbibe deep wisdom from your lay. So may those blessed vernal strains renew Childhood, a childhood yet more pure and true E'en than the first, within the awakened mind ; While sweetly, joyously, they tell of life, That knows no doubts, no questionings, no strife, But hang& upon its God, unconsciously resigned. ANGEL VISITS. Are ye forever to your skies departed ? Oh ! will ye visit this dim world no more? Ye, whose bright wings a solemn splendour darted Through Eden's fresh and flowering shades of yore 1 Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot, And ye — our faded earth beholds you not ! But may ye not, unseen, around us hover, With gentle promptings and sweet influence yet, Though the fresh glory of those days be over, When, 'midst the palm-trees, man your footsteps met? Are ye not near when faith and hope rise high, When love, by strength, o'ermasters agony 1 1684-1765. FROM THE "NIGHT THOUGHTS." Why then their loss deplore, that are not lost? Why wanders wretched thought their tombs around. In infidel distress ? Are angels there ? * The psychology of Young is at variance with his theology. The former is liberal and noble ; leading to inferences directly hos- tile to the doctrine of any punishment hereafter apart from that which must be self-inflicted by the soul until it conforms itself to the divine laws. Truly and forcibly has Young remarked, in his Preface to Night the Sixth, — " The dispute about religion, and the practice of it, seldom go together. The shorter, therefore, the dis- pute, the better. I think it may be reduced to this single question, Is man ivxmortal, or is he not? If he is not, all our disputes are mere amusements, or trials of skill. * * I have been long per- suaded that most, if not all, our infidels are supported in their de- plorable error by some doubt of their immortality at the bottom. And I am satisfied, that men, once thoroughly convinced of their immortality, are not far from being Christians." 223 224 EDWARD YOUNa. Slumbers, raked up in dust, ethereal fire? — They live ! they greatly live — a life, on earth Unkindled, unconceived ; and from an eye Of tenderness let heavenly pity fall On me, more justly numbered with the dead. . All, all on earth is shadow^ all beyond Is substance ; the reverse is Folly's creed. How solid all, where change shall be no more ! This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule : Life's theatre as yet is shut, and Death, Strong Death alone, can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free ! Life makes the soul dependent on the dust. Death gives her wings to mount above the spheres. Through chinks, styled organs, dim life peeps at light, Death bursts th' involving cloud, and all is day ; All eye, all ear, the disembodied power. Death h^s feigned evils. Nature shall not feel ; Life, ill substantial. Wisdom cannot shun. Is not the mighty mind, — that son of Heaven — By tyrant Life, dethroned, imprisoned, pained 1 By Decdh enlarged, ennobled, deified ? Death but entombs the body ; Life the soul ! . . . . Death is the crown of life Death wounds to cure : we fall, we rise, we reign I Spring from our fetters, fasten in the skies. EDWARD YOUNG. 335 Where blooming Eden withers in our sight Death gives us more than was in Eden lost! This king of terrors is the prince of peace. When shall I die to vanity, pain, death 1 When shall I die ? — When shall I live forever ? thou great Arbiter of life and death ! Nature's immortal, immaterial Sun ! Whose all-prolific beam late called me forth From darkness, teeming darkness, where I lay, The worm's inferior, and, in rank, beneath The dust I tread on, high to bear my brow, To drink the spirit of the golden day, And triumph in existence ; and could know No motive but my bliss ; and hast ordained A rise in blessing ! — With the patriarch's joy, Thy call I follow to the land unknown ; 1 trust in Thee, and know in whom I trust ; * Or life, or death is equal ; neither weighs ; All weight is this : O let me live to Thee \ Angels are men in lighter habit clad. . . . Nor are our brothers thoughtless of their kin ; Yet absent, but not absent from their love. Michael has fought our battles ; Raphael sung Our triumphs ; Gabriel on our errands flown, Sent by the Sovereign : and are these, O man ! Thy friends, thy warm allies, and thou (shame burn Thy cheek to cinder !) rival to the brute ? 226 EDWARD YOUNG. Religion ! Providence ! an after-state ! Here is firm footing ; here is solid rock ! This can support us ; all is sea besides ; Sinks under us ; bestorms, and then devours ! His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids Earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. The soul of man, a native of the skies High-born and free, her freedom should maintain Unsold, unmortgaged for earth's little bribes. Th' illustrious stranger in this foreign land, Like strangers, jealous of her dignity, Studious of home, and ardent to return, Of earth auspicious, earth's enchanted cup With cool reserve light touching, should indulge On immortality her godlike taste, There take large draughts ; make her chief banquet there. Why is a wish far dearer than a crown 1 That wish accomplished, why, the grave of bliss? Because, in the great future buried deep, Beyond our plans of empire and renown. Lies all that man with ardor should pursue, And He who made him bent him to the right. — Man's heart th' Almighty to the future sets, By secret and inviolable springs ; And makes his hope his sublunary joy. . . . Why happiness pursued, though never found 1 EDWARD YOFXG. 227 Man's thirst of happiness declares it is, (For Nature never gravitates to nought) ; That thirst unquenched declares it is not here. 'Tis immortality deciphers man, And opens all the mysteries of his make. Without it half his instincts are a riddle : Without it all his virtues are a dream. His very crimes attest his dignity ; His sateless thirst of pleasure, gold and fame, Declares him born for blessings infinite: What less than infinite makes un-absurd Passions, which all on earth but more inflames ? — Fierce passions, so mismeasured to this scene, Stretched out, like eagles' wings, beyond our nest, Far, far beyond the worth of all below, For Earth too large, — presage a nobler flight, And evidence our title to the skies ! Nothing is dead ; nay, nothing sleeps ; each soul, That ever animated human clay, Now wakes ; is on the wing : and where, O where Will the swarm settle ? — When the trumpet's call, As sounding brass, collects us, round Heaven's throne Conglobed, we bask in everlasting day, (Paternal splendor !) and adhere forever. Had not the soul this outlet to the skies, In this vast vessel of the universe. 228 EDWARD YOUNG. How should we gasp, as in an empty void ! How in the pangs of famished hope expire ' Who tells me he denies his soul immortal, Whatever his boast, has told me, he's a knave. His duty 'tis to love himself alone ; Nor care, though mankind perish, if he smiles. Who thinks, ere long the man shall ivholly die, Is dead already ; nought but brute survives. A Deity believed, is joy begun ; A Deity adored, is joy advanced ; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires ; Faith builds a bridge from this world to the next, O'er death's dark gulf, and all its horror hides ; Praise, the sweet exhalation of our joy, That joy exalts, and makes it sweeter still ; Prayer ardent opens Heaven, lets down a stream Of glory on the consecrated hour Of man, in audience with the Deity. Who worships the Great God, that instant joins The first in Heaven, and sets his foot on Hell. The soul of man was made to walk the skies ; Delightful outlet of her prison here! Thcre^ disencumbered from her chains, the ties Of joys terrestrial, she can rove at large; EDWARD YOUNG. " 229 There^ freely can respire, dilate, extend. In full proportion let loose all her powers ; And, undeluded, grasp at something great. Nor, as a stranger, does she wander there ; But, wonderful herself, through wonder strays ; Contemplating their grandeur, finds her own ; Dives deep in their economy divine. Sits high in judgment on their various laws, And, like a master, judges not amiss. Hence, greatly pleased, and justly proud, the soul Grows conscious of her birth celestial ; breathes More life, more vigor, in her native air ; And feels herself at home among the stars I 1784. CAPACITY OP MAN POR PROGRESS. "This dull, dark strife with unillumined souls, Ending not with the day, but every morn Afresh returning for another day — Such warfare makes at last the noblest mind Heavy and hopeless. Earnestly I wish 'Twere done, that 1 might rest and silent be ! " So speak you. But distinguish well the truth. The conflict is not gloomy. Grieved you see Around you but a dull distracted house. The old false world with evil deeds, wrong words, Heavily pressing on all noble minds. The conflict is right clear, in daylight waged, With brightness ever pressing on the gloom ! Nor is your conflict with irrationals 230 LEOPOLD SCHEFFER. 231 (For all would wiser be, and every one Has faculties for wiser — better — growing) : See, then, your only conflict is with men, And your sole strife is to defend and teach The unillumined, who, without such care, Must dwindle. Every unenlightened man Commends himself to you, even as your child. How easily for him and for yourself Life's burdens may be lightened, by your words Opening the spring of truth in his own breast, And cleansing out the root of all his errors ; Destroying,- even with a single word, A coming harvest of injurious weeds ! If, then, the Better never must grow weary, But always think of better, and. fulfil it, How shall the Wise be weary of his task To show the right, and for the truth contend? How shall the heart of the good man grow weary, Though hand and tongue are worn out in his work ? And how can gentleness be ever weary ? (For all true love is gentle, falling on Men's souls as gentle rains upon the earth). How can you e'er grow weary of the truth? Weary of gentleness and genuine love ? Be firm and happy, therefore, in the strife ! And keep love in your heart all life's day long, Till, like the eternal stars, its beams are spread. 1679-1717. THE HERMIT.* Far m a wild, unknown to public view, From youth to age, a reverend hermit grew ; The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell. His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well ; Remote from men, with God he passed his days, Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. A life so sacred, such serene repose, Seemed heaven itself, till one suggestion rose — That vice should triumph, virtue, vice obey ; This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway ; * The doctrine of an overruling Providence, so consistent mth that of the disciplinary object of life and the beneficent intentions of the Creator towards man, here and hereafter, is happily illustrated in this poem. Indeed, it is impossible to reconcile the notion of a special Providence, here set forth, with the creed, which would make the Almighty consign any human soul to everlasting perdition- 232 THOMAS PAEKELL. 233 His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, And all the tenor of his soul is lost. So when a smooth expanse receives impressed Calm nature's image on its watery breast, Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow, And skies beneath with answering colors glow; But, if a stone the gentle sea divide, Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, And glimmering fragments of a broken sun. Banks, trees and skies, in thick disorder run. To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight. To find if books, or swains, report it right, — For yet by swains alone the world he knew. Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew, -— He quits his cell ; the pilgrim staff he boare. And fixed the scallop in his hat before ; Then, with the sun a rising journey went. Sedate to think, and watching each event. The morn was wasted in the pathless grass. And long and lonesome was the wild to pass ; But when the southern sun had warmed the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way. His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. Then, near approaching, " Father, hail ! " he cried ; And, " Hail, my son ! " the reverend sire replied. Words followed words, from question answer flowed, And talk, of various kind, deceived the road ; Till, each with other pleased, and loath to part, While in their age they differ, join in heart. 234 THOMAS PARNELL. Thus stands an aged elm, in ivy bound, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. Now sank the sun ; the closing hour of day Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray ; Nature in silence bade the world repose. When, near the road, a stately palace rose. There, by the moon, through ranks of trees they pass, Whose verdure crowned their sloping sides of grass. It chanced the noble master of the dome Still made his house the wandering stranger's home ; Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, Proved the vain flourish of expensive ease. The pair arrive ; the liveried servants wait ; Their lord receives them at the pompous gate ; The table groans with costly piles of food, And all is more than hospitably good. Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, Along the wide canals the zephyrs play ; Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, And shake the neighboring wood, to banish sleep. Up rise the guests, obedient to the call, An early banquet decked the splendid hall ; Rich, luscious wine a golden goblet graced, Which the kind master forced the guests to taste. Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go, And, but the landlord, none had cause for woe ; His cup was vanished ; for, in secret guise. The younger guest purloined the glittering prize. THOMAS PARNELL. 235 As one who spies a serpent in his way, Glistening and basking in the summer ray, Disordered stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear ; So seemed the sire, when, far upon the road. The shining spoil his wily partner showed. He stopped with silence, walked with trembling heartj And much he wished, but durst not ask, to part; Murmuring, he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, Th^t generous actions meet a base reward. While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, The changing skies hang out their sable clouds ; A sound in air presaged approaching rain, And beasts to covert scud across the plain. Warned by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, To seek for shelter at a neighboring seat. 'Twas built with turrets on a rising ground. And strong, and large, and unimproved around ; Its owner's temper, timorous and severe. Unkind and griping, caused a desert there. As near the miser's heavy door they drew, Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; The nimble lightning, mixed with showers, began. And o'er their heads loud rolling thunders ran. Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, Driven by the wind, and battered by the rain. At length some pity warmed the master's breast,— 'Twas then his threshold first received a guest ; — Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, And half he welcomes in the shivering pair ; 236 THOMAS PARNELL. One frugal fagot lights the naked walls, And nature's fervor through their limbs recalls; Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, Each hardly granted, served them both to dine ; And when the tempest first appeared to cease, A ready warning bade them part in peace. With still remark, the pondering hermit viewed, In one so rich, a life so poor and rude. " And why should such, within himself," he cried, " Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ? " But what new marks of wonder soon take place In every settling feature of his face. When from his vest, the young companion bore That cup, the generous landlord owned before, And paid profusely, with the precious bowl. The stinted kindness of this churlish soul ! But now the clouds in airy tumult fly ; The sun, emerging, opes an azure sky ; A fresher green the smelling leaves display, And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day ; The weather courts them from the poor retreat. And the glad master bolts the wary gate. While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom wrought With all the travail of uncertain thought ; His partner's acts without their cause appear, 'Twas there a vice, and seemed a madness here; Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes. Lost and confounded with the various shows. Now night's dim shades again involve the sky, Again the wanderers want a place to lie ; THOMAS PARJfELL. 237 Again they search, and find a lodging nigh ; The soil improved around, the mansion neat, And neither poorly low, nor idly great : It seeme^I to speak its master's turn of mind. Content, and not for praise, but virtue, kind. Hither the walkers turn their weary feet. Then bless the mansion, and the master greet. Their greeting fair, bestowed with modest guise, The courteous master hears, and thus replies : " Without a vain, without a grudging heart, To Him who gives us all, I yield a part; From Him you come, from Him accept it here, A frank and sober, more than costly cheer ! " He spoke, and bade the welcome table spread ; They talk of virtue till the time of bed ; When the grave household round his hall repair, Warned by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. At length the world, renewed by calm repose. Was strong for toil : the dappled morn arose ; Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept Near the closed cradle, where an infant slept. And writhed its neck ; the landlord's little pride — O, strange return ! — grew black, and gasped, and died. Horror of horrors ! what ! his only son ! How looked our hermit when the fact was done ! Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. Confused, and struck with silence at the deed, He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. 238 THOMAS PARNELL. His Steps the youth pursues ; the country lay Perplexed with roads ; a servant showed the vi ay ; A river crossed the path ; the passage o'er Was nice to find ; the servant trod before ; Long arms of oak an open bridge supplied, And deep the waves beneath them bending glide. The youth, who seemed to watch a time to sin, Approached the careless guide, and thrust him in; Plunging he falls, and, rising, lifts his head, Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. Wild sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes. He bursts the bonds of fear, and madly cries, " Detested wretch ! " — but scarce his speech began, When the strange partner seemed no longer man ! His youthful face grew more serenely sweet, His robe turned white, and flowed upon his feet ; Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair. Celestial odors breathe through purpled air, And wings, whose colors glittered on the day, Wide at his back their gradual plumes display ; The form ethereal bursts upon his sight. And moves in all the majesty of light. Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, Sudden he gazed, and wist not what to do ; Surprise, in secret chains, his words suspends, And in a calm his settling temper ends. But silence here the beauteous angel broke, — The voice of music ravished as he spoke : — " Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, In sweet memorial rise before the throne , THOMAS PARNELL. 239 These charms success in our bright region find, And force an angel down to calm thy mind. For this commissioned, I forsook the sky ; — Nay, cease to kneel, thy fellow-servant I. " Then know the truth of government divine, And let these scruples be no longer thine. " The Maker justly claims that world he made; In this the right of Providence is laid ; Its sacred majesty, through all, depends On using second means to work His ends. 'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, The Power exerts His attributes on high ; Your actions uses, not controls your will, And bids the doubting sons of men be still. " What strange events can strike with more surprise. Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes ! Yet, taught by these, confess the Almighty just, And, where you can't unriddle, learn to trust! " The great vain man, who fared on costly food, Whose life was too luxurious to be good, Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine. And forced his guests to morning draughts of wme, Has, with the cup, Jthe graceless custom lost. And still he welcomes, but 'with less of cost. " The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door Ne'er moved in pity to the wandering poor, With him I left the cup, to teach his mind That Heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind ; Conscious of wanting worth, he views the bowl, And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. 240 THOMAS PARNELL. Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, With heaping coals of fire upon its head ; [n the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, And, loose from dross, the silver runs below. " Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, But now the child half weaned his heart from God; Child of his age, for him he lived in pain. And measured back his steps to earth again. To what excesses had his dotage run ! But God, to save the father, took the son. To all but thee, in fits he seemed to go, And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow ; The poor, fond parent, humbled in the dust, Now owns, in tears, the punishment was just. " But how had all his fortunes felt a wrack. Had that false servant sped in safety back ! This night his treasured heaps he meant to steal, And what a fund of charity would fail ! " Thus Heaven instructs thy mind ; this trial o'er, Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more." On sounding pinions, here the youth withdrew, The sage stood wondering, as the seraph flew ; Thus looked Elisha, when, to mount on high, His master took the chariot of the sky ; The fiery pomp ascending left to view ; The prophet gazed, and wished to follow too. The bending hermit here a prayer begun, " Lord, as in heaven, on earth. Thy will be done," Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, And passed a life of piety and peace. lames '§tMt 1735-1803. EDWIN'S MEDITATIONS IN AUTUMN. " O YE wild groves, O where is now your bloom ! " (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought) ''Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom Of late so grateful in the hour of drought ! Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake ? Ah ! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought ? For now the storm howls mournful through the brake, And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake " Yet such the destiny of all on earth ; So flourishes and fades majestic man ! Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth, And fostering gales a while the nursling fan : O smile, ye heavens, serene ; ye mildews wan, 241 242 JAMES BEATTIE Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime, Nor lessen of his life the little span : Borne on the swift, though silent, wings of Time, Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime. " And be it so. Let those deplore their doom. Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn : But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate and wonder how they mourn. Shall Spring to these sad scenes no more return ? Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed? — Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn, And Spring shall soon her vital influence shed, Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead. " Shall I be left abandoned in the dust, When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive, Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust. Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live 1 Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive With disappointment, penury, and pain ? — No: Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive And man's majestic beauty bloom again. Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign." 1743-1825. AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY. God of my life ! and Author of my days ! Permit my feeble voice to lisp Thy praise ; And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue That hallowed name, to harps of seraphs sung. Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore. Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere, Are equal all, — for all are nothing here. All nature faints beneath the mighty name. Which nature's works through all their parts proclaim I feel that name my inmost thoughts control, And breathe an awful stillness through my soul ; As by a charm, the waves of grief subside ; Impetuous Passion stops her headlong tide : 248 244 MRS. BARBAULD. At Thy felt presence all emotions cease, And my hushed spirit finds a sudden peace, Till every worldly thought within me dies, And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes Till all my sense is lost in infinite, And one vast object fills ray aching sight. But soon, alas ! this holy calm is broke ; My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke ; With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain, And mingles with the dross of earth again. But He, our gracious Master, kind as just, Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust. His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind, Sees the first wish to better hopes inclined ; Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim, And fans the smoking flax into a flame. His ears are open to the softest cry. His grace descends to meet the lifted eye ; He reads the language of a silent tear, And sighs are incense from a heart sincere. Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give ; Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live : From each terrestrial bondage set me free ; Still every wish that centres not in Thee ; Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease, And point my path to everlasting peace. If the soft hand of winning Pleasure leads By living waters, and through flowery meads. MES. BARBAULD. 245 When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene, And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene, teach me to elude each latent snare, And whisper to m) sliding heart — Beware ! With caution let me hear the syren's voice, And doubtful, with a tremblinsr heart, rejoice. If friendless, in a vale of tears I stray, Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way. Still let my steady soul Thy goodness see, And with strong confidence lay hold on Thee ; With equal eye my various lot receive, Resigned to die, or resolute to live ; Prepared to kiss the sceptre or the rod, While God is seen in all, and all in God. 1 read His awful name, emblazoned high With golden letters on th' illumined sky ; Nor less the mystic characters I see Wrought in each flower, inscribed in every tree ; In every leaf that trembles to the breeze I hear the voice of God among the trees ; With Thee in shady solitudes I walk. With Thee in busy crowded cities talk ; In every creature own Thy forming power, In each event Thy Providence adore. Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul, Thy precepts guide me, and Thy fears control : Thus shall I rest, unmoved by all alarms, Secure within the temple of Thine arms ; 246 MRS. BARBAULD. From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free, And feel myself omnipotent in Thee. Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh, And earth recedes before my swimming eye ; When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate I stand, and stretch my view to either state ; Teach me to quit this transitory scene With decent triumph and a look serene ; Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high, And having lived to Thee, in Thee to die. THE UNKNOWN GOD. To learned Athens, led by fame As once the man of Tarsus came, — With pity and surprise, Midst idol altars as he stood O'er sculptured marble, brass, and wood, He rolled his awful eyes. But one, apart, his notice caught. That seemed with higher meaning fraught, Graved on the wounded stone ; Nor form, nor name was there expressed ; Deep reverence filled the musing breast, Perusing " To the God unknown." MRS. BARBAULD. 24" Age after age has rolled away, Altars and thrones have felt decay, Sages and saints have risen ; And, like a giant roused from sleep, Man has explored the pathless deep, And lightnings snatched from heaven. And many a shrine in dust is laid. Where kneeling nations homage paid, By rock, or fount, or grove ; Ephesian Dian sees no more Her workmen fuse the silver ore, Nor Capitolian Jove. E'en Salem's hallowed courts have ceased With solemn pomp her tribes to feast ; No more the victim bleeds ; The censers, filled with rare perfumes, And vestments from Egyptian looms, A purer rite succeeds. Yet still, where'er presumptuous man His Maker's essence strives to scan, And lifts his feeble hands. Though saint and sage their powers unite, To fathom that abyss of light. Ah ! still that altar stands. 1759-1796. THE INNER LAW. The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip. To hand the wretch in order ; But where ye feel your honor grip, Let that aye be your border : Its slightest touches, instant pause — Debar all side pretences ; And resolutely keep its laws, Uncaring consequences. The great Creator to revere Must sure become the creature ; But still the preaching cant forbear. And even the rigid feature ; 248 EGBERT BUEIS-S. 349 Yet ne'er with wits profane to range, Be complaisance extended ; An Atheist's laugh's a poor exchange For Deity offended ! When ranting round in pleasure's ring, Religion may be blinded ; Or if she gi'e a random sting, It may be little minded ; But when on life we're tempest driven, A conscience but a canker, A correspondence fixed wi' Heaven Is sure a noble anchor 1 CHARITY. Then gently scan your brother man. Still gentler sister woman ; Though they may go a trifle wrong, To step aside is human : One point must still be greatly dark. The moving why they do it : And just as lamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us ; He knows each chord — its various tone, Each spring — its various bias ; 250 ROBERT BURNS. Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it ; What's done we partly may compute, But not know what's resisted. A PRAYER, Under the pressure of violent anguish. O, THOU great Being ! what Thou art Surpasses me to know : Yet sure I am, that known to Thee Are all thy works below. Thy creature here before Thee stands. All wretched and distrest ; Yet sure those ills that wring my soul Obey Thy high behest. Sure, Thou, Almighty, canst not act From cruelty or wrath ! O, free my weary eyes from tears, Or close them fast in death ! But, if I must afflicted be, To suit some wise design, Tiien man my soul with firm resolves To bear, and not repine ! %\mm (Jiunpbell 1777-1844. THE HOPE OF AN HEREAFTER. Unfading Hope ; when life's last embers bum. When soul to soul, and dust to dust return, Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! Oh! then, thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power! What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye, Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey The morning dream of life's eternal day — Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin! And all the Phoenix spirit burns within ! Oh! deep enchanting prelude to repose. The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh. It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 351 252 THOMAS CAAri'IiEI.L. Mysterious worlds, untravelled by the sun ! Where Time's far-wand'ring tide has never run, From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod The roaring waves, and called upon his God, With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! Melt, and dispel, ye spectre doubts, that roll Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul ! Fiji like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! The strife is o'er — the pangs of Nature close, And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, The noon of Heaven undazzled by the blaze, On Heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, Float the sweet tones of star-born melody; Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale. When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill ! Soul of the just! companion of the dead ! Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ? THOMAS CAMPBELL. 253 Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; Doomed on his airy path awhile to burn, And doomed, like thee, to travel and return. — Hark ! from the world's exploding centre driven, With sounds that shook the firmament of Heaven, Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, On bick'ring wheels, and adamantine car ; From planet whirled to planet more remote. He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun! So hath the traveller of earth unfurled Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; And o'er the path by mortal never trod. Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God ! Oh ! lives there, Heaven ! beneath thy dread ex- panse, One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance, Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined, The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; Who, mould'ring earthward, 'reft of every trust, In joyless union wedded to the dust, Could all his parting energy dismiss, And call this barren world sufficient bliss? — There live, alas ! of Heaven-directed mien, Of cultured soul, and sapient eye serene, Who hailed thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day. Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay ! 254 THOMAS nAMPEELL. Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ! A friendless slave, a child without a sire, Whose mortal life, and momentary fire. Lights to the grave his chance-created form As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm ; And when the gun's tremendous flash is o'er, To Night and Silence sink for ever more ! — Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame? Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, Children of Truth, and champions of her cause ? For this hath Science searched, on weary wing. By shore and sea — ^ each mute and living thing ? Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep, To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep ? Or round the cope her living chariot driven, And wheeled in triumph through the signs of Heaven t Oh! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there, To waft us home the message of despair ? Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! Ah me ! the laurelled wreath that murder rears, Blood-nursed, and watered by the widow's tears, Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, As waves the night-shade round the skeptic head. What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain 1 I smile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain ! But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife Be all the faithless charter of my life, THOMAS CAMPBELL. 255 If Chance awaked, inexorable power ! This frail and feverish being of an hour, Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, To know Delight but by her parting smile, And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while ; Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom ! And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, But leave — oh ! leave the light of Hope behind ! What though my winged hours of bliss have been, Like angel-visits, few, and far between ! Her musing mood shall every pang appease, And charm — when pleasures lose the power to please ! . . . . When, 'reft of all, yon widowed sire appears A lonely hermit in the vale of years ; Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Wo ? No ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, — Souls of impassioned mould, she speaks to you ! Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain, Congenial spirits part to meet again ! — .... Cold in the dust this perished heart may lie. But that which warmed it once shall never die I That spark unburied in its mortal frame, With living light, eternal, and the same, 256 THOMAS CAMPBELL. Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, Unveiled by darkness — uiiassuaged by tears ! . . . , Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee ! If in that fram.e no deathless spirit dwell, If that faint murmur be the last farewell ! If fate unite the faithful but to part, Why is their memory sacred to the heart ? Why does the brother of my childhood seem Restored awhile in every pleasing dream? Why do I joy the lonely spot to view, By artless friendship blessed when life was new ? Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. — When all the sister planets have decayed ; When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, And Pleaven's last thunder shakes the world below ; Thou, undismayed shalt o'er the ruins smile, And ligli^ thy torch at Nature's funeral pile I %s Bm^trd. MOUNT HOPE. ODE DELIVERED AT THE CONSECRATION OF THE CEME- TERY OF MOUNT HOPE, NEAR BOSTON. Not in this green retreat However beautiful, while Summer launches Her odors and soft airs through swaying branches ; — Though wild flowers court our feet, And though the wild birds capture The listening sense with their melodious rapture,— Not here, not here, my friends. Let us believe the loved one shall repose. Or that life's true receptacle descends To the dark mould, where sods above it close, And the immortal with the mortal blends ! Let not despair or sensual distrust Confound this mouldering dust 257 258 EPES SARGENT. With the true person — with the inner form, Which gave the outward all it had of fair ; — Which is no kindred of the worm, No warrant for despair ! Not here, my soul, not for one moment here, Sinks the pure life-spring of one generous tear ; Of one heaven-aimed affection, One tender recollection, One deed of goodness in seclusion wrought. One lesson, or one thought ! As water rises to its fountain-head. However low you lay its transient bed. So must the spirit, from its earthward course, Mount to the Deity, which is its source ! We give the infant, who to walk is learning. His leading strings ; — corks to the doubtful swim- mer ; So are these bodies, for our brief sojourning. Helps to us here, while schooled in being's primer. For here, in God's stupendous seminary. What various lore the thoughtful eye engages ! Morning and night — the seasons as they vary, — Spread for our use illuminated pages. If all were ours unearned, what need of action t If God no problem set for our unfolding. Where were the joy, the power, the benefaction Of toil, and faith, and prayer, our spirits moulding! Where were the innocence, without temptation ? Where, without freedom, were the self-denial 1 EPES SARGENT. 259 Where were the goal, the triumph, the salvation, Without the doubt, the danger, and the trial ? And though to some the fairer lot be given, Unstained, because untried, to enter Heaven, O doubt not there is compensation ever From Him, the just and unforgetting Giver! If then the Saviour's promise and example Be an assurance ample. Let us not say, however fair the breast Of the green hill-side, where the graves are made,— " Here the beloved ones rest ! " Here in this forest shade ! " Distant, — and yet how near ! — Where kindred spirits kindred joys pursue, In duties ever dear, Surprises ever new, They range from sphere to sphere Through all the fresh delights of God's eternal year ! Nor are their human ties forgotten quite : With the strong will to see friends left behind Cometh a might Swifter than light, And they are here, though viewless as the wind ; With privilege, at times, to interpose Between us and our woes. Since it is gain ineffable, to die Unto the mortal eye, 2 CO EPES SARGENT. What doth it matter to the spirit freed If the decaying husk feed flower or weed ? Then for the living be the grounds outlaid, The eager soil arrayed ! Remote from cities and from habitations, Here where the grateful trees and underwood Convert corruption's noxious emanations, Through Nature's wondrous alchemy, to good. Not a Necropolis, — Rather a garden this ! With sylvan alleys and enamelled banks And pines in plume-tost ranks. Here let the roses bloom ! Here let the wild bee come To find the ground Heaped with such flowery wealth as bee ne'er found ! But O, high-building Vanity ! forbear To rear upon this spot th' o'ercostly pile ! Rather let living "Want thy bounty share. And trust thou unto watchful Nature's smile To keep the turf above thy ashes bright, In Spring's first verdure dight. Then shall this be a Mount of Hope indeed, Where not one doubtful title we shall read. 1788-1824. THE i:mmortal mind. When coldness wraps this suffering clay, Ah, whither strays the immortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then, unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet's heavenly way ? Or fill at once the realms of space ; A thing of eyes, that all survey ? Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all in earth, or skies displayed, Shall it survey, shall it recall : 361 2G2 LORD BYRON. Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all, that was, at once appears. Before creation peopled earth, Its eye shall roll through chaos back : And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o'er all to be, While sun is quenched or system breaks ; Fixed in its own eternity. Above or Love, Hope, Hate, or Fear, It lives all passionless and pure : An age shall fleet like earthly year ; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, . O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly, A nameless and eternal thing, Forgetting what it was to die. I, «, ®rmt. COUPLETS. To halls of heavenly truth admission wouldst thon win t Oft Knowledge stands without, while Love may enter in. God many a spiritual house has reared, but never one Where lowliness was not laid first, the corner-stone. Sin, not till it is left, will duly sinful seem , A man must waken first, ere he can tell his dream. When thou art fain to trace a map of thine own heart, As undiscovered land set down the largest part. Wouldst thou do harm, and yet unharmed thyself abide? None ever struck another, save through his own side. 263 264 ^- C. TRENCH. God's dealings still are love, — his chastenings are alone Love now compelled to take an altered, louder tone. From our ill-ordered hearts we oft are fain to roam, As men go forth who find unquietness at home. Sin may be clasped so close we cannot see its face, Nor seen nor loathed until held from us a small space. Set not thy heart on things given only with intent To be alleviations of thy banishment 111 fares the child of heaven, who will not entertain On earth the stranger's grief, the exile's sense of pain Mark how there still has run, enwoven from above, Through thy life's darkest woof, the golden thread of love. Things earthly we must know ere love them : 'tis alone Things heavenly that must be first loved and after known. The sinews of Love's arm use makes more firm and | strong, Which , being left unused, will disappear ere long. When will the din of earth grate harshly on our ears ? When we have once heard plain the music of the spheres. R. C. TRENCH. 265 Why win we not at once what we in prayer require? That we may learn great things as greatly to desire. The tasks, the joys of earth, the same in heaven will be ; Only the little brook has widened to a sea. SPRINa. Who was it that so lately said, All pulses in thine heart were dead, Old earth, that now in festal robes Appearest, as a bride new wed ? Oh wrapped so late in winding-sheet, Thy winding-sheet, oh ! where is fled ? Lo ! 'tis an emerald carpet now, Where the young monarch, Spring, may tread, He comes, — and a defeated king, Old Winter, to the hills is fled. The warm wind broke his frosty spear, And loosed the helmet from his head; And he weak showers of arrowy sleet From his strong-holds has vainly sped. All that was sleeping is awake, And all is living that was dead. Who listens now can hear the streams Leap tinkling from their pebbly bed, 266 Tl. C. TRENCH. Or see them from their fetters free, Like silver snakes the meadows thread : The joy, the life, the hope of earth, They slept awhile, they were not dead : Oh, thou, who say'st thy sore heart ne'er With verdure can again be spread ; Oh, thou, who mournest them that sleep, Low lying in an earthly bed ; Look out on this reviving world, And be new hopes within thee bred ! SHORTSIGHTEDNESS OF MAN. A DEW-DROP falling on the ocean-wave, Exclaimed in fear — " I perish in this grave ;" But, in a shell received, that drop of dew Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew ; And, happy now, the grace did magnify Which thrust it forth — as it had feared — to die ; Until again, " I perish quite," it said, Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed : O unbelieving ! — So it came to gleam Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem. 1592-1644. TRIAL BEFORE REWARD. What joyful harvester did e'er obtain The sweet fruition of his hopeful gain, Till he in hardy labors first had passed The summer's heat and stormy winter's blast ? A sable night returns a shining morrow, And days of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow ; The way to bliss lies not on beds of down, And he that had no cross deserves no crown. There's but one heaven, one place of perfect ease ; In man it lies to take it where he please, Above, or here below : and few men do Enjoy the one, and taste the other too : Sweating and constant labor win the goal Of rest ; afflictions clarify the soul, 367 268 FRANCIS QUARLES. And, like hard masters, give more hard directions, Tutoring the nonage of uncurbed affections. Wisdom, the antidote of sad despair, Makes sharp afflictions seem not as they are, Through patient sufferance ; and doth apprehend. Not as they seeming are, but as they end. To bear affliction with a bended brow. Or stubborn heart, is but to disallow The speedy means to health ; salv^ heals no sore, If misapplied, but makes the grief the more. Who sends affliction sends an end, and He Best knows what's best for Him, what's best for me 'Tis not for me to carve me where I like ; Him pleases when He list to stroke or strike. I'll neither wish nor yet avoid temptation, But still expect it, and make preparation : If He thinks best my faith shall not be tried, Lord, keep me spotless from presumptuous pride ! If otherwise, with His trial give me care By thankful patience to prevent despair. Fit me to bear whate'er Thou shalt assign ; I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine ! Howe'er, let me not boast, nor yet repine ; With trial, or without, Lord, make me Thine I f l]0m]is I00X 179&-1845. THE BRIDGE OF SIGHSw * Drowned I drowned I " — JTamlet. One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashioned so slenderly. Young, and so fair ! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; 270 THOMAS HOOD. Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing , Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully ; Think of her mournfully ; Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her, Novi' is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful ; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb. Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home 1 . THOMAS HOOD. Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer oue Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other ? Alas for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! Oh ! it was pitiful ! Near a whole city full, Home, she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed ; Love by harsh evidence Thrown from its eminence ; Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement. From garret to basement. She stood with amazement Houseless by night. 271 272 THOMAS HOOD. • The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver But not the dark arch Or the black flowing riVer ; Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurled — Any where, any where Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it. Picture it — think of it, Dissolute man ! Lave in it, drink of it. Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care. Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, kindly, — Smooth and compose them. And her eyes, close them. Staring so blindly ! THOMAS HOOD. Dreadfully staring Through muddy impuritr. As when the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity ; Into her rest. — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly. Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving, with meekness, Her sins to her Saviour ! 273 FAREWELL LIFE. Farewell Life ! My senses swim. And the world is growing dim : Thronging shadows crowd the light, Like the advent of the night ; 274 THOMAS HOOD. Colder, colder, colder still. Upward starts a vapor chill ; Strong the earthly odor grows, — I smell the mould above the rose ! Welcome Life ! The Spirit strives ! Strength returns, and hope revives ; Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn Fly like shadows at the morn, — O'er the earth there comes a bloom ; Sunny light for sullen gloom. Warm perfume for vapor cold, — I smell the rose above the mould 1 'm\ ilaM ^kms. HOPE. The world may change from old to new. From new to old again ; Yet Hope and Heaven for ever true, Within man's heart remain. The dreams that bless the weary soul, The struggles of the strong, Are steps towards some happy goal, The story of Hope's song. Hope leads the child to plant the flower, The man to sow the seed ; Nor leaves fulfilment to her hour, But prompts again to deed. And ere upon the old man's dust The grass is seen to wave, 275 276 SARAH FLOWER ADAMS. We look through fallen tears — to trust Hope's sunshine on the grave. Oh no ! it is no flattering lure, No fancy weak or fond, When Hope would bid us rest secure In better life beyond. Nor loss nor shame, nor grief nor sin, Her promise may gainsay ; The voice Divine hath spoke within, And God did ne'er betray. FAITH IN DIVINE GOODNESS. He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower, Alike they're needful to the flower, And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment. As comes to me or cloud or sun, •Father, Thy will, not mine, be done ! Can loving children e'er reprove With murmurs whom they trust and love? Creator, I would ever be A trusting, loving child to Thee. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father Thy will, not mine, be done ! SARAH FLOWER ADAMS. 377 O, ne'er will I at life repine ! Enough that Thou hast made it mine. When falls the shadow cold of death, I yet will sing, with parting breath. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, Thy will, not mine, be done ! NEABER TO THEE. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! Ee'n though it be a cross That raiseth me ; Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee — Nearer to Thee ! Though like a wanderer — The sun gone down, Darkness comes over me, My rest a stone ; Yet in my dreams I'd be Nearer, my God, to Thee — Nearer to Thee ! There let the way appear Steps unto heaven ; All that Thou sendest me In mercy given ; 278 SARAH FLOWER ADAMS. Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee — Nearer to Thee ! Then with my waking thoughtj Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise ; So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee — Nearer to Thee ! Or, if on joyful wing, Cleaving the sky. Sun, moon and stars forgot. Upwards I fly — Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee — Nearer to Thee ! Claries P^cH^S, THE CHILD AND THE MOURNERS, A LITTLE child, beneath a tree Sat and chanted cheerily A little song, a pleasant song, Which was — she sang it all day long — " When the wind blows the blossoms fall ; But a good God reigns over all." There passed a lady by the way, Moaning in the face of day : There were tears upon her cheek, Grief in her heart too great to speak ; Her husband died but yester-morn, And left her in the world forlorn. »» She stopped and listened to the child That looked to heaven, and singing, smiled ; 279 280 CHARLES MACKAY. And saw not for her own despair. Another lady, young and fair, Who also passing, stopped to hear The infant's anthem ringing clear. For she but few sad days before Had lost the little babe she bore ; And grief was heavy at her soul As that sweet memory o'er her stole, And showed how bright had been the Past, The Present drear and overcast. And as they stood beneath the tree Listening, soothed and placidly, A youth came by, whose sunken eyes Spake of a load of miseries ; And he, arrested like the twain, Stopped to listen to the strain. Death had bowed the youthful head Of his bride beloved, his bride unwed : Her marriage robes were fitted on, Her fair young face with blushes shone. When the destroyer smote her low, And changed the lover's bliss to woe. And these three listened to the song, Silver-toned, and sweet, and strong. Which that child, the livelong day, Chanted to itself in play : CHARLES MACKAY. 281 " When the wind blows the blossoms fall, But a good God reigns over all." The widow's lips impulsive moved ; The mother's grief, tho' unreproved, Softened, as her tremblinor tono-ue O S3 Repeated what the infant sung ; And the sad lover, with a start, Conned it over to his heart. And though the child — if child it were. And not a seraph sitting there — Was seen no more, the sorrowing three Went on their way resignedly, The song still ringing in their ears — Was it music of the spheres? Who shall tell ? They did not know. But in the midst of deepest woe The strain recurred when sorrow grew, To warn them, and console them too : " When the wind blows the blossoms fall, But a good God reigns over all." THE LITTLE MOLES. When canting hypocrites combine To curb a free man's thought. And hold all doctrine undivine That holds their canting naught ; 282 CHARLES MACKAY. When round their narrow pale they plod, And scornfully assume That all without are cursed of God, And justify the doom : — We think of God's eternal love And strong in hope reply, Grub, little moles, grub under ground, There'^s sunshine in the sky. When smug philosophers survey The various climes of earth, And mourn, poor sagelings of a day ! Its too prolific birth ; And prove by figure, rule, and plan. The large fair world too small To feed the multitudes of man That flourish on its ball : We view the vineyards on the hills. Or corn-fields waving high ; — Grub, little moles, grub under ground^ There''s sunshine in the sky. When men complain of human kind In misanthropic mood. And thinking evil things, grow blind To presence of the good ; When, walled in prejudices strong. They urge that evermore The world is fated to go wrong For going wrong before : CHARLES MACKAY. 383 We feel the truths they cannot feel, And smile as we reply, Grub, little moles, grub under ground. There's sunshine in the sky. OLD OPINIONS. Once we thought that Power Eternal Had decreed the woes of man ; That the human heart was wicked Since its pulses first began ; That the earth was but a prison, Dark and joyless at the best, And that men were born for evil, And imbibed it from the breast ; That 'twas vain to think of urging Any earthly progress on. Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! Get you gone ! get you gone ! Once we thought that Kings were holy Doing wrong by right divine ; That the Church was Lord of Conscience, Despot over Mine and Thine : That whatever priests commanded, No one could reject and live ; And that all who differed from them It was error to forgive, — 284 CHARLES MACKAY. Right to send to stake or halter With eternal malison. Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! Get you gone ! get you gone ! Once we thought that holy Freedom Was a cursed and tainted thing ; Foe of Peace and Law and Virtue ; Foe of Magistrate and King ; That all vile degraded passion Ever followed in her path ; Lust and Phinder, War and Rapine, Tears, and Anarchy, and Wrath ; That the angel was a cruel, Haughty, blood-stained Amazon. Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! Get you gone ! get you gone ! Once we thought that Education Was a luxury for the few ; That to give it to the many Was to give it scope undue ; That 'twas foolish to imagine It could be as free as air, Common as the glorious sunshine To the child of want and care; That the poor man, educated. Quarreled with his toil anon. Old opinions ! rogs and tatters ! Get you gone ! get you gone ! CHARLES MACKAY. 285 Old opinions, rags and tatters; Ye are worn ; — ah, quite threadbare ! We must cast you off for ever ; — We are wiser than we were : Never fitting, always cramping, Letting in the wind and sleet, Chilling us with rheums and agues, Or inflaming us with heat. We have found a mental raiment Purer, whiter to put on. Old opinions ! rags and tatters ! Get you gone ! get you gone ! "WE AEE WISER THAN WE KNOW." Thou, who in the midnight silence Lookest to the orbs on high, Feeling humbled, yet elated, In the presence of the sky ; Thou, who minglest with thy sadness Pride ecstatic, awe divine. That ev'n thou canst trace their progress And the law by which they shine — Intuition shall uphold thee, Even though reason drag thee low ; Lean on faith, look up rejoicing, We are wiser than we know. 286 CHARLES MACKAT. Thou, who hearest plaintive music, Or sweet songs of other days ; Heaven-revealing organs pealing, Or clear voices hymning praise, And wouldst weep, thou know'st not wherefore^ Though thy soul is steeped in joy ; And the world looks kindly on thee, And thy bliss hath no alloy — Weep, nor seek for consolation. Let the heaven-sent droplets flow, They are hints of mighty secrets, We are wiser than we know. Thou, who in the noon-time brightness Seest a shadow undefined ; Hear'st a voice that indistinctly Whispers caution to thy mind : Thou, who hast a vague foreboding That a peril may be near, Even when Nature smiles around thee, And thy Conscience holds thee clear — Trust the warning — look before thee — Angels may the mirror show, Dimly still, but sent to guide thee, We are wiser than we know. Countless chords of heavenly music. Struck ere earthly time began. Vibrate in immortal concord To the answering soul of man : CHAELES MACK AY. 287 Countless rays of heavenly glory Shine through spirit pent in clay, On the wise men at their labors, On the children at their play. Man has gazed on heavenly secrets, Sunned himself in heavenly glow. Seen the glory, heard the music, Wc are wiser than we know. Slarg fotoitt. CHRISTMAS CAROL. Listen, all ye Christian people. Let no fears your souls dismay ; God's own Son, the Lord, the Saviour He was oorn on Christmas day. All the earth was bound in sadness, Darkness lay upon the land. And the silence of the midnight. When the moment was at hand ; When through all the midnight darkness, Through the world's sad heart forlorn, Passed a thrill of life ecstatic ; — And the Christ ! the Christ was born ! Nature owned the glad emotion ; And the simple shepherd folk, 288 MART HOAVTTT. I As if day shone out above them, With the joyful impulse woke ; Woke, and lo ! a glorious vision Filled their souls with wondering awe, And ten thousand holy angels, Thronging all the heavens, they saw. And they heard them sing, as never Skylark sang above the corn, — "Peace on earlli and cnu!»'«- blessing! For the Christ ! the Christ is born ! - " Sons and daughters of affliction, Join great Nature's choral voice ! Thou, the captive ; thou, the stranger ; Thou, the poor, rejoice ! rejoice ! Weeping mother, cease thy anguish, For thy first-born gone astray ; Christ is born, the dear Redeemer, Who will save the castaway ! Little toiling orphan children, Heirs of destiny forlorn, Weep not, for the true Consoler — Christ, the mourner's Friend — is born ! " Sinner, conscious of transgression, Scorned of men, outcast and vile, Christ is born, whose blood shall cleanse thee, And to God shall reconcile ! Noble spirit, patriot, poet, Thirsting to be great and free, 390 MARY HOWITT. Christ is born, thy true ensample, Dying on the Cross for thee ! " Thus they sang, those holy angels, 'Mid the pallid stars of morn, ** Peace on earth, and endless blessing ! For the Christ ! the Christ is born ! " MAN'S JUDGMENT, Name her not, the guilty one, Virtue turns aside for shame At the mention of her name : Very evilly hath she done. Pity is on her misspent : She was born of guilty kin. Her life's course hath guilty been ; Never unto school she went. And whate'er she learned was sin ; Let her die ! She was nurtured for her fate ; Beautiful she was, and vain ; Like a child of sinful Cain, She was born a reprobate. Lives like hers the world defile ; Plead not for her, let her die, As the child of infamy, MARY HO WITT. 291 Ignorant and poor and vile, Plague-spot m the public eye; Let her die ! THE HEART OF THE OUTCAST. I AM young, alas ! so young ! And the world has been my foe ; And by hardship, wrong, and woe, Hath my bleeding heart been stung. There was none, O God, to teach me What was wrong and what was right. I have sinned before Thy sight ; Let my cry of anguish reach Thee, Piercing through the glooms of night, God of love ! Man is cruel, and doth smother Tender mercy in his breast ; Lays fresh burdens on the oppressed , Pities not an erring brother. Pities not the stormy throes Of the soul despair hath riven, Nor the brain to madness driven. No one but the sinner knows What it means to be forgiven, God of love ! Therefore will I put my trust In thy mercy : and I cleave 293 MART HOWITT. To that love which can forgive ; To that judgment which is just ; Which can pity all my weakness ; Which hath seen the life-long strife Of passions fiercer than the knife ; Known the desolating bleakness. Of my desert path through life, God of love ! 1 must perish in my youth ; And had I been better taught, And did Virtue as it ought, And had grey-haired Wisdom ruth, I should not have fallen so low. 'Tis the power of circumstance, *Tis the wretch's dire mischance, To be born to sin and woe. Pity Thou my ignorance, God of love ' REJOICING IN HEAVEN. Young spirit, freed from bondage, Rejoice ! Thy work is done ; The weary world is 'neath thy feet ; Thou, brighter than the sun ! MART HO WITT. 293 Arise, put on the garments Which the redeemed win. Now, sorrow hath no part in thee, Thoa, sanctified from sin ! Awake, and breathe the living air Of our celestial clime ! Awake to love which knows no change. Thou, who hast done with time ! Awake ! Lift up thy joyful eyes. See, all heaven's host appears ; And be thou glad exceedingly. Thou, who hast done with tears. Awake ! descend ! Thou art not now With those of mortal birth ; The living God hath touched thy lips, Thou, who hast done with earth ! THE GRAVE'S VICTOR. Yes, than earth's miglftiest mightier, O Grave, thou hast thy vanquisher ! Long in thy night was man forlorn, Long didst thou laugh his hope to scorn Vainly Philosophy might dream : — Her light was but the meteor gleam, 294 MART HOWITT. Till rose the Conqueror of Death, — The humble Man of Nazareth : He stood between us and despair ; He bore, and gave us strength to bear ; The mysteries of the grave unsealed, Our glorious destiny revealed ; Nor sage nor bard may comprehend The heaven of rest to which we tend. Our home is not this mortal clime; Our life hath not its bounds in time ; And death is but the cloud that lies Between our souls and paradise. O Gtave ! well might each thoughtful race Give thee tlie high and holy place . Mountains anti groves were meet for thee, Thou portal of eternity ! !I]i% laiES Sailes. SONG OF THE SAINTS. FROM "FESTUS." Call all who love Thee, Lord ! to Thee ; Thou knowest how they long To leave these broken lays, and aid In Heaven's unceasing song ; How they long, Lord ! to go to Thee, And hail Thee with their eyes, — Thee in Thy blessedness, and all The nations of the skies. All who have loved Thee and done well, Of every age, creed, clime. The host of saved ones from the ends And all the worlds of time : 295 296 PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. The wise in matter and in mind, The soldier, sage, and priest, King, prophet, hero, saint, and bard, The greatest soul and least. The old and young and very babe, The maiden and the youth. All re-born angels of one age — The age of Heaven and truth ; The rich, the poor, the good, the bad, Redeemed alike from sin ; Lord ! close the book of time, and let Eternity begin. THIS LIFE'S ULTIMATE KNOWLEDGE. And as the vesper hymn of Time precedes The starry matins of Eternity And daybreak of existence in the Heavens, — To know this, is to know we shall depart Into the storm-surrounding calm on high. The sacred cirque, the all-central infinite Of that self-blessedness wherein abides Our God, all kind, all loving, all beloved ; — To feel life one great ritual, and its laws Writ in the vital rubric of the blood. Flow in obedience and flow out command, PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. In sealike circulation ; and be here Accepted as a gift by Him, who gives, An empire as an alms, nor counts it aught, So long as all his creatures joy in Him, The great Rejoicer of the Universe, Whom all the boundless spheres of Being bless. 297 THE MAIDEN'S PRAYER. FROM •• THE ANGEL WORLD." My Lord, my God ! Thine is the Spirit which commands and smiles ; The soul which serves and suffers ; — Thine the stars Tabled upon Thy bosom like the stones Oracular of light, on the priest's breast ; Thine the minutest mote the moonbeams shew ! Let but Thy words come true, and all are blest ; Be but Thine infinite intents fulfilled, — And what shall foil the covenanted oath Whereon the mounded earth is based ? — and lo ! The whole at last redeemed and glorified. Pitt §xmM miiMtt TATTLER. Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day, Without the walls of Strasburg, by the Rhine, Pondering the solemn miracle of life, As one who, wandering in the starless night. Feels, momently, the jar of unseen waves, And hears the thunder of an unknown sea, Breaking along an unimagined shore. And as he walked he prayed — even the same Old prayer with which, for half a score of years, Morning, and noon, and evening, lip and heart Had groaned : " Have pity upon me, O Lord ! Thou seest, while teaching others, I am blind : Send me a man that can direct my steps ! " 298 JOHX GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 299 Then, as he mused, he heard along his path A sound as of an old man's staif among The dry, dead linden leaves, and looking up He saw a stranger, weak, and poor, and old. "Peace unto thee, father ! " Tauler said : " God gives thee a good day ! " The old man raised Slowly his calm blue eyes. " I thank thee, son ; But all my days are good, and none are ill." Wondering thereat, the preacher spake again : " God give thee a happy life." The old man smiled : " I never am unhappy." Tauler laid His hand upon the stranger's coarse gray sleeve : " Tell me, O father, what thy strange words mean. Surely man's days are evil, and his life Sad as the grave it leads to." " Nay, my son, Our times are in God's hands, and all our days Are as our needs : for shadow as for sun, For cold as heat, for want as wealth, alike Our thanks are due, since that is best which is, And that which is not, sharing not His life, Is evil only as devoid of good. And for the happiness of which I spake, I find it in submission to His will, And calm trust in the holy Trinity, Its knowledge, goodness, and almighty power.*' 300 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. Silently wondering for a little space Stood the great preacher ; then he spake as one Who, suddenly grappling with a haunting thought, Which long has followed, whispering through the dark Strange terrors, drags it, shrieking, into light : " What if God's will consign thee hence to hell 1 " " Then," said the stranger, cheerily, " be it so. What hell may be I know not ; this I know — I cannot lose the presence of the Lord. One arm, Humility, takes hold upon His dear Humanity ; the other. Love, Clasps his Divinity. So, where I go He goes ; and better fire-walled hell with Him Than golden-gated paradise without." Tears sprang in Tauler's eyes. A sudden light, Like the first ray that fell on chaos, clove Apart the shadow wherein he had walked Darkly at noon. And, as the strange old man Went his slow way until his silver hair Set like the white moon, where the hills of vines Slope to the Rhine, he bowed his head and said : " My prayer is answered. God hath sent the man Long sought, to teach me, by his simple trust, Wisdom the weary schoolmen never knew." So, entering with a changed and cheerful step The city gates, he saw, far down the street, A mighty shadow break the light of noon. JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIEE. 301 Which tracing backward till its airy lines Hardened to stony plinths, he raised his eyes O'er broad fa-cade and lofty pediment, O'er architrave and frieze and sainted niche, Up the stone lace- work, chiseled by the wise Erwin of Steinbach, dizzily up to where In the noon brightness the great minster's tower, Jewelled with sunbeams on its mural crown, Rose like a visible prayer. " Behold ! " he said, " The stranger's faith made plain before mine eyes ! As yonder tower outstretches to the earth The dark triangle of its shade alone When the clear day is shining on its top. So darkness in the pathway of man's life Is but the shadow of God's providence. By the great sun of wisdom cast thereon ; And what is dark below is liorht in heaven ! " THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE. A FREE PARAPHRASE OF THE GERMAN. To weary hearts, to mourning homes, God's meekest Angel gently comes ; No power has he to banish pain. Or give us back our lost again. And yet, in tenderest love, our dear And Heavenly Father sends him here. 303 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. There's quiet in that Angel's glance, There's rest in his still countenance ; He mocks no grief with idle cheer, Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear ; But ills and woes he may not cure, He kindly learns us to endure. Angel of Patience ! sent to calm Our feverish brow with cooling balm; To lay the storms of hope and fear, And reconcile life's smile and tear; And throbs of wounded pride to still, And make our own our Father's will Oh ! thou, who mournest on thy way, With longings for the close of day, He walks with thee, that Angel kind, And gently whispers, — " Be resigned ! Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell The dear Lord ordereth all things well i " |[0W Pc0ll 1814-1837. L1"NES WKITTEN IN PROSPECT OF DEATH.* The dew is on the summer's greenest grass, Through which the modest daisy blushing peeps ; The gentle wind that like a ghost doth pass, A waving shadow on the corn-field keeps ; But I who love them all shall never be Again among the woods, or on the moorland lea ! The sun shines sweetly — sweeter may it shine ! — Blessed is the brightness of a summer day ; It cheers lone hearts ; and why should I repine, Although among green fields I cannot stray ! Woods 1 I have grown, since last I heard you wave, Familiar now with death, and neighbor to the grave ! * It is believed that this was the last, or among the very last, of Nicoll's compositions. 303 304 ROBERT NICOLL. These woods have shaken mighty human souls — Like a sepulchral echo drear they sound' — E'en as the owl's wild whoop at midnight rolls The ivied remnants of old ruins round. Yet wherefore tremble ? Can the soul decay ? — Or that which thinks and feels, in aught e'er fade away? Are there not aspirations in each heart, After a better, brighter world than this ? Longings for beings nobler in each part — Things more exalted — steeped in deeper bliss? Who gave us these ? What are they ? Soul ! in thee The bud is budding now for immortality ! Death comes to take me where I long to be ; One pang, and then bright blooms th' immortal flower ; Death comes to lead me from mortality To lands which know not one unhappy hour : I have a hope — a faith ; — from sorrow here I'm led by death away — why should I start and fear 1 If 1 have loved the forest and the field, Can I not love them deeper, better, there ? If all that power hath made, to mc doth yield Somethmg of good and beauty — something fair — Freed from the grossness of mortality. May I not love them all, and better all enjoy? ROBERT NICOLL. 305 A change from woe to joy — from earth to heaven — Death gives me this ; — it leads me calmly where The souls that long ago from mine were riven May meet again ! Death answers many a prayer. Bright day ! shine on — be glad : — days brighter far Are stretched before my eyes than those of mortals are. I would be laid among the wildest flowers, I would be laid where happy hearts can come : — The worthless clay I heed not ; but in hours Of gushing noontide joy, it may be, some Will dwell upon my name ; and I will be A happy spirit there, affection's look to see. Death is upon me^ yet I fear not now : — Open my chamber-window — let me look Upon the silent vales — the sunny glow That fills each alley, close, and copsewood nook : I know them — love them — mourn not them to leave ; Existence and its change my spirit cannot grieve ! C|Hima2 f au i0tons|tnlr. SERMONS IN SONNETS. " iso limeB of restitution of all things." mc*», ««^ _. liiVE evil but an end — and all is clear ! Make it eternal — all things are obscured ! And all that we have thought, felt, wept, endured, Worthless. We feel that ev'n if our own tear Were wiped away for ever, no true cheer Could to our yearning bosoms be secured While we believed that sorrow clung uncured To any being we on earth held dear. Oh, much doth life the sweet solution want Of all made blest in far futurity ! Heaven needs it too. Our bosoms yearn and pant Rather indeed our God to justify Than our own selves. Oh, why then drop the key That tunes discordant worlds to harmony 1 306 nHATINCEY HARE TOWNSHE-N^D. 307 II. ' ^peak good of his name." Psalm c. 4 Oh no, great God ! We feel Thou canst not be Spectator or upholder of distress, So long, indeed, as it is objectless. No ! ii Thou look'st on sorrow, 'tis to see Its benefit and end. If before Thee One hopeless ill could spread the smallest shroud, Oh, would'st Thou not dissolve it as a cloud In the mere fervors of Thy radiancy ? 'Tis so ! And Thou Thy dearest Son didst send That message of a boundless love to make ; Not as a mockery — more the heart to rend, If all were offered what but few could take ! Not as a thing of words — but as a meed, Which, like Thyself, is Truth and Love indeed. m. * He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not 1 him also freely give us all things ? " Eomans, yiii. 32. Oh, not Thyself, great God, to satisfy (Who in Thyself dost hold a full content), Was Thy dear Son unto our being lent To walk on earth, to suffer, and to die ! But 'twas to still the heart's own pier&ing cry For Expiation. 'Twas divinely meant To show which way Thy tender mercy went 308 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. When Thou createdst man — the remedy For a disease which did thy pity move, None 'scaping it — for none are good but Thou ! Oh, 'twas the crowning act of Thy dear love, Supreme assurance, sent us from above, That Thou would'st save, and with all joy endow Thy children, trembling in their human sense With dim mysterious warnings of offence. IV. " The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us." St. John, 1. 14. And so Thou wert made man ! A visible sign That Thou for ever didst by man mean well. Made man Thou wert ; else how, Lord, could'st Thou tell How feels the human moulded from divine 1 What wars of being call for aid benign, And dear indulgence ? What sad fears to quell, Which make Thee — Thee ! Creator of a hell Forged by our sinful selves when fears condign Have blotted out Thy light. All this to know By sad experience, Thou to man wert made ; And in this word — of man — the whole is said, All pain, all want, all fear, all forms of woe. In thought eternal these now rest with Thee, Thou took'st them on Thyself — but man is free I CHAUNCEY HAEE TOW^SHEIH). 309 V. " Wc are chastened that we be not condemned." 1 Corinthian*, iL 83^ Yes, chastisement must be ! — only, instead Of bitter vengeance, read corrective love. Methinks this thought would more impress and move, And realizing influence o'er us shed, Than all fantastic terrors, bigot-bred. Souls by the just and true alone improve ; And true it is, that ill acts from above Draw down a retribution on the head ; But stripes of vengeful wrath no bettering bring. Only, when smitten by a Father's hand. We kiss the rod of heavenly chastening, That blossoms into joy like Aaron's wand. Oh, then 'twere wise weak mortals to protect From threats too horrible to take effect. VI. "Behold, therefore, the goodness and severity of God." Romana, U. 23. Severity indeed true kindness is. Inspired by love and wisdom. Never we, Like the wronged child of a false charity. Shall, in the next world, blame the Judge of this, Bitinor the hand which we pretend to kiss 310 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. No ; for we feel that we are beings free, Not fettered by weak love, nor tyranny ; Nor can we say that God hath dealt amiss, When sufferings reach us from the depths of sin. Mortals we may suspect, who frown on us For their own pleasure, or who mine within Our sterner soul by flatteries dangerous. But God, we know, hath not a selfish end. Smiling, or frowning, still He must befriend. VII. " He shall send them a saviour." Isaiah, xix. 20. Saviour ! There is a beauty in the name ! Who wants not saving from some ill of life } Who has not felt the torture and the strife Of guilt or sorrow bounding through the frame } Who has not seen some cloud of fear or shame Hang in his atmosphere, with threatenings rife ? Or of keen Death the ready-whetted knife Towards his heart trembling ? — Then, in woes the same. Men should be one in faith. O brotherhood Of sorrow, wherefore darken by a ban Of bigot cruelty, or cry for blood, The word which should be sorrow's talisman ? Let me at least feel this, deep, deep within, If from naught else, Thou, Saviour, sav'st from sin ! CHAITNCEY HAEE TOWNSHEND. 311 vni. "And his soul was grieved for the misery of Israel." Judges, x. 1& Art Thou a cold Abstraction, O Thou Source Of sweet affections, human tenderness ; When we are yearning with a deep distress, Feel'st Thou not ? Can no sorrow, no re- morse. Touch Thee with somewhat of a kindred force ? Oh, dost Thou never grieve that we are less — Less perfect than Thyself, by the mere stress Of a rude nature, which, with devious course, Must run from Thee, that it may duly keep An individual will, and learn to choose The good way of itself? Canst Thou refuse Thy sympathy for needs so sad and deep? Thou canst not, dost not ! — Sure our hearts may be That, when we harm ourselves, we sorrow Thee. IX. " Upholding all things by the word of his power." Hebrews, 1, 3. Since all things are, O God, upheld by Thee, And Thou canst never quite withdraw Thyself From any work of Thine, else o'er the shelf Of being it would fall, and nothing be, — Canst Thou uphold an endless misery 1 Canst Thou for ever feed the ravening wolf, Remorse ; gaze ever on Hell's boiling gulf? 313 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. That were indeed a dread eternity ! But, no ! Even we, who over judgment-halls Riot, and hold unfeeling festivals. Would crush an insect writhing at our feet To put it out of pain. Oh, then, 'tis sure If Thou, to make some mighty scheme com- plete, Permittest 111 to live — Thou know'st the cure. X. " Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have aompassion on the son of her womb ? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee." Isaiah, xlLz. 15. The thought that any should have endless woe Would cast a shadow on the throne of God, And darken Heaven. . . From the scarce-warm clod To Seraphs, all Him as a Father know ; He, all as children. Even with us below The one rebellious son more thought and love Than all the rest will in a parent move, God stirring in us. Then how strong the glow Of God's great heart our sorrows to relieve ' Could He be blest, beholding sufferings, And not their end ? His tenderness would grieve If even the least of His created things Should miss of joy. In its serenity God's present happiness proves ours to be. CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. 313 XI. " A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another." St, John, xiiL 3i Men do indeed paint Human Justice blind, Through bandaged sight ; and truly. But the day Is coming, when the fillet snatched away Shall give her eyes with equitable mind On her own scales to gaze, and for mankind To poise them rightly. Then by clearer ray Will she her study-book — man's soul — survey ; And Christ's great law upon her frontlet bind. Now, ignorant of Nature as of God, Not yet we learn that terrors ne'er deter, But harden and attract. That the brute rod Makes rebels, but not children. That all fear Instruction mars. That mortals to amend, First we must show ourselves indeed their friend. XII. " Therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you." Isaiah, xxx. 18. Why through the scheme of God doth vengeance roll ? Because, alas, men know too well the word ! — Because it like a trumpet's note is heard, Waking no doubtful echo in the soul ! — Because we are, in truth, most apt to stroll In doubtful ways : — and to the common herd 314 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. The scourge is needful ! — Nor, indeed, were stirred Longings within us for a heavenly goal, Without opposing shades of pain and fear. Yet in the Bible are there sayings dear, Where God's great love, as if to make a path Direct unto our apprehensions dull, Dropping the garment of a dusky wrath, Stands forth in naked mercy beautiful. XIII. " O, speak good of the Lord, all ye works of his, in all places of his dominioni.'* Paalvi ciiL 28. Answer, with all thy pulses, throb and speak, Thou tender, palpitating heart of God! Through earth, through air, and caves of ocean broad, All thronged with myriad beings, strong or weak In terror, or deep love ! Flush on the cheek Of morn, breathe sweet from evening's dewy sod ! Tremble in music, 'mid the choral ode That from the soft vale to the mountain peak Whispers or thunders ! — Art Thou cold, or dead, Or vengeful ? — Hush ! A holy silence reigns : That our own heart, stilling our throbbing veins, And only with its own assurance fed, May be itself Thy answer and abode, O tender, palpitating heart of God ! CHAUNCEY HAKE rOWXSHEND. 315 XIV. " In my Father's house are many mansions." St. John, ziv. 2. Ye orbs that tremble through infinity, And are ye, then, linked only with our eyes. Dissevered from our thoughts, our smiles, our sighs, — Our hopes and dreams of being, yet to be ? Oh, if ail nature be a harmony (As sure it is), why in those solemn skies Should ye our vision mock, like glittering lies To man ail unrelated? Must I see Your glories only as a tinselled waste 1 If so, I half despise your spectacle ! But, if I deem that ye form aeras vast, And do, by mighty revolution, tell Time to intelligent existences ; Awe-struck, I do assist at your solemnities ! XV. " All things serve thee." Fsalm cxix. 91. Thee all things serve. Then even the spirits bad Which, felt or feigned, are round us. They too serve Thy high behests, and work on brain or nerve. Only as Thou decreest. Tidings how glad To those whom unseen influences make mad With ignorance ! Whom images of fear. And terrors whispered into childhood's ear. Distract with gloom that Nature ne'er had had Unspoiled by man Oh, blest it is to hear 316 CHAUNCEY harp: townshend. That there is purpose in our every pain ; That we are not a sport and mockery, Whereon an evil host their skill may try For base experiment ; but children dear Of a wise God, whose very frowns are gam. XVI. " Who is he that condemneth ? It is Christ that died." /iOtwotw, viiL 34. Perchance I whisper to my happy soul, " Thought of past sin should burthens on thee lay, And send thee weeping on a dreary way, And self-abased." . . But then, beyond control Of such mistrust, new pleasures still unroll Their calm sweet glories to the visual ray Of inward faith ; and heavenly voices say Unto my spirit, " Joy is the great pole Of thy existence. Not as mortals do The Saviour doth : He raiseth from the ground The crushed one, and restores from every wound The self-respect of man. No friend untrue Is He, with past offence to make thee sad. Smiles He? Thou canst not choose but to be glad." XVII. " The poor shall never cease out of the land." DeuteronoTny. xv. 11. Had all a joy within, what outward ill Could touch ? This, this alone, the cure Of all the pangs that mortals must endure ; CHALTNCEY HARE TOWJ^SHEND. 317 Not in the dreams of bliss impossible To our condition. 'Tis the evil Will That forms an inward hideous portraiture Of God. And while our darkened breasts immure This falsehood, all the riches, that could fill The world with blessings equal as the day, Were vain to clear one discontented brow, Or dignify one sorrow. Give away Thy very cloak — 'tis well ! — but think not thou Aught less than Christ acknowledged can absorb The wants, the tears, of this distracted orb. xvm. " God gave Solomon largeness of heart." 1 Kings. Iv. 29. Largeness of heart ! Inestimable gift ! Sure all that trust in Christ — Creation's Morn — Must unto thee expand and be reborn, However stinted by their nature's thrift. For God's great Spirit doth exalt, and lift The soul out of itself ; far from forlorn And personal narrowness, and all weak scorn Of any who along life's current drift. Thus much is sure. — He, who conceived the thought, For angels — men ^ ay, even worms — to die, That all Creation might be raised and brought Out of its own inherent frailty. Dwells not in bosoms that would Heaven repress Unto their own exclusive narrowness. 318 CHAHNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. XIX. " What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common." Acte, x. 15. Behold men's judgments ! Common and uncleaii We call whatever with our pride doth jar, Though from one God and Father all things are. Behold men's judgments ! The deep truth unseen, Rash we decide w^hat mere externals mean. Know' St thou, while thy proud eye is closed afar, In what mean worm God may illume a star ? Know'st thou where His great Spirit dwells serene ? Thou dost not. What thy pride may worthless deem, Ay, tainted with pollution, may become. Raised from the dust, the fairest, loveliest home Where radiant Deity can shrine its beam ; May be redeemed from Nature's common blot, Ay, though perhaps thy very self be not! XX. " His hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him." GeneaiSj xri. 12, Oh, woe for those, and pity more than woe, Who in the gulf of men's opinion sink ! — Every man's hand against them, as they think. What marvel their own hand, nor slack nor slow, Should against every man remorseless go ? Oh, could one snatch them from the dreary brink Of the tiue hell — to feel themselves no link CHAUNCEY HAEE TOWNSHEND. 319 In God's great scheme — that were a joy to knoM\ Ye who can find no shelter, homeless poor ! Ye wicked, who were never taught to pray ! Ay, even ye who from the better way Turn wilful (therefore to be pitied more) ! Sure ye are men, for you still Christ did die, And Hope were your divinest remedy ! XXI. " But thou saidst, There is no hope." Jeremiah, u. 2S. Without a hope is no activity, No motive that exalts to bettering, No life. There is no other breeze to fling One ripple over Being's stagnant sea ! If life be precious, then should hope too be! And if to make a soul with conscious wing Of thought and will, a heart where love may cling Be Heaven's first work, then Man's first villainy Must be to murder hope ! Yet 'tis a crime Acted in awful silence every day When we from sin or sorrow turn away, Or tell our bosoms 'tis no longer time For penitence. Yet hear this truth, o'erawed, To say there is no hope, expunges God ! 320 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. xxn. •* The wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God." St. James's Epistle, i. 20. Man, though thou makest this world dark and rude, By blotting out sweet hope, life's vital part, Thou canst not reach the river's bounteous heart, That pulses in the mountain solitude ! With life, hope, love, Heaven is not less imbued Because thou play'st the churl with niggard art, Hiding th' Almighty! He to view will start When least thou deem'st His mercy will intrude. No measure art thou of th' Eternal Mind ! Yet sad it is we should let any die Despairing, or blaspheming ! — Oh, be kind As Christ ! His new law bars that any lie Death-dvoomed. Didst thou observe His generous rule, Then were each prison-house a noble school ' XXIII. " And he taught daily in the temple." St. Lvke, xix. 47. Though the free circuit of the silent air Oft saw the worship of the Son of God, Some rock His pulpit ; yet His steps, too, trod The temple's pavement. Daily His repair Was to the shrine where dwelt God's honour fair , CHAUXCEY HARE TOAYXSHEND. 321 And there He taught ; and, from that dread abode Driving unhallowed ihings with scourge and rod. Called it His Father's House — a House of Prayer. Accept both lessons, Man ! God's love is free, Is universal as pervading Heaven ; Yet be fair temples to His worship given, The best our hands can offer. — And trust, ye Who turn His gifts unto the Giver's praise, His smile hath prompted and will bless your ways. XXIV. " None that trust in him shall be desolate." Psalm xxxiy. 22. Distrust is that which makes the curse of life. Oh, if we trusted God, what ills were spared ! The feeling of the outcast makes us hard, And fierce — and places in our hand the knife ! Did man trust man, what desolating strife Of fiery thought we back from us should ward ! Sweet Faith would be our fortress and our guard From every anguish with which souls are rife. And so the Book of God makes all sin light Weighed with distrust — the giant ill of man : Our happiness commanding — under l>an Placing whatever dims the soul with blight ; It whispers still unto our troubled sense, Heaven would'st thou know ? Heaven's charm is con- fidence ! 322 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. XXV. •* There U none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we most be saved." Acts, iv. 12. Nature's defect, the ground-work of our woe, Shadowed in all religions grandly forth, We find — from the rude Sagas of the north. To the high visions bright with India's glow. This, then, as knowledge which ourselves do know Too sadly — this is not the boon to earth Which makes the Bible so divinely worth, Or Thou didst come, O Saviour, to bestow! 'Tis the dear love, that, pointing the disease, Doth also whisper of the remedy ; 'Tis the high gift of all that best agrees With our soiled nature and its sovereign cry, Forgiveness — restoration — means to rise Out of ourselves. — And these Christ's Word alone supplies. XXVI. " The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." St. Mark, U. 27. I LOVE thee. Day of God ! If rather not We christen thee, with Christ, the Day of Man ! And thee as offspring of our nature scan. The very need and yearning of our lot — That, once in seven days, our toil forgot, OHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEXD. 323 We rest ; not only the tired artisan, But all who keep our being's healthful plan, Lest mind or body overstrained we blot. When shall we learn that God for His own sake Nothing commands ? that arbitrary powers Dwell not in Him ? that all the gain is ours When He an ordinance for man doth make : Chief when He tells us that, one day in seven, We need a foretaste of our rest in Heaven ? XXVII. " stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ has made us free." Galatiamtt T. ]. Are we beneath the Law of Liberty, Or old Judean bondage 1 Has the Son Of God in vain for us the chains undone That bound us to our nature's slavery? To pant and strive, yet never once be free ; To labor, as in dreams, at deeds begun But never ended ; all that fancy won To see dissolved in airy vacancy — Is this to last for ever ? Shame, oh shame ! So much of beauty that we will not seize Upbraids us. When, as now, our thwarted aim Turns back God's remedies to our disease Agam — when broken is the loveliest charm Of all our toiling days — when Sabbaths harm ! 324 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. XXVIII. ' Which Of yon shall have an ass, or an ox, fallen into a pit, and will not rtimightirBy pull him out on the Sabbath day ? " St. Luke, xiv. 5. Wisdom profound ! But do we know it yet ! Alas, beneath our dread of Sabbath-works Of love and need, a dread deception lurks, And makes a mischief of a benefit ! What would Christ say, if now His feet were set Again on earth ? He, who from mercy's debt, Ev'n to an ox or ass, absolved not man By Sabbath-law '? How would He clear His plan Unto our eyes 1 now, when our hearts forget All that we owe our fellow-beings — Love, And care for all ; — Love, that all care bestows That none shall suffer by a day's repose. And setteth human welfare far above The pre-conceived notions we can bring To force God's Book to our interpreting. XXIX. 'It pleased the Father by him to reconcile all things unto himself, whether things oa earth or things in heaven." Colossians, i. 10, 20. Where spreads not Thy dominion, Saviour dear? Where is not Thy salvation's glory thrown ? In heaven Thou wert — to earth Thou earnest down — Hell was dissolved before Thee. The vast tear CHAI7.N-GEY HARE TOWXSHEND. 325 Of all creation Thou away didst clear, And turn to music the tremendous groan And travail of the birth that's laid upon Whatever is not God ! . . Thrilled out of fear, The air by Thee was touched with rapture's glow I At the brightness of Thy presence Earth did move Pier burthens to cast off — and put on love ! The sea saw that, and fled from her deep woe. Heaven laughed, and glittered, as if fresh with morn ; God gave a glorious smile — and Hope was born ! XXX. •• Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God." Eiihesians, iv. 30. Earth's giants, to be strong, must touch the Earth, — Heaven's children must grasp Heaven ! Forfeit not The high prerogative of thy great lot, Thou soul, that once hast ta'en from Christ thy birth 1 Sensual delights not only will make dearth Within thee ; but thy tender God forgot Will grieve, because thou form'st a thoughtless plot To mar creation's end — thy joy and mirth. Oh, say, what threatening of a wrath to come Can move thee like thy own upbraiding heart Whispering — thou hast returned upon thy doom To pierce thy Saviour with a newer dart. Ingratitude ! that word Heaven's self might dim ! God means thee well — wilt thou mean ill to Him I 326 CHAUNCEY HAKE TOWNSHEND. XXXI. " Marvel not that I said. Ye must be born again." St. John, uL 7, Born out of God, with pain and bitter tears, Back unto God we must be born agaia, Also with struggle and reluctant pain ! Our mortal days are types of greater years ; And all that to our body's eye appears In this great universe of loss and gain Shadows our inner life, and is a chain That ever linketh us by hopes and fears — By Terror and by Trust — by Life and Death — With grandeur. All this world is but a womb Unto another. As we draw our breath, We weep as infants do when first they come Into this orb. So strive we in our thirst To drink Heaven's air, which pains us at the first XXXII. His banner over me was love." Cant. ii. 4. He who loves best knows most. Then why should I Let my tired thoughts so far, so restless run, In quest of knowledge underneath the sun, Or round about the wide-encircling sky ! Nor earth nor heaven is read by scrutiny ! But touch me with a Saviour's love divine, I pierce at once to wisdom's inner shrine, CHATJl^CEY HAEE TOWNSHEND. 327 And my soul seeth all things like an eye. Then have I treasures, which to fence and heed Makes weakness bold and folly wisdom-strung, As doves are valorous to guard their young, And larks are wary from their nests to lead. Is there a riddle, and resolved you need it? Love — only love — and you are sure to read it ' XXXIII. " Perfect love casteth out fear." 1 JoTin, iv. 18. Seest thou with dread creation's mystery ? Dost thou life's drear enigma beat in vain ? Hast thou a cloud upon thy heart and brain ? Love — only love — and all resolved shall be ' Art thou a fool in this world's subtlety ? Must thou thy fond belief still rue with pain In all thy fancy deemed was joy and gain ? Love — only love — and wisdom comes to thee? But, mind, thy love must be a heavenly fire : For flames, from any earthly shrine ascending, Kindled in vanity, in woe expire. And leave experience o'er but ashes bending. Then, too, the fear of God's avenging rod Can only be escaped by loving God 1 328 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. XXXIV. " I will purely purge away thy dross." baiah, i. 21 Our sins from fire a dreadful emblem make Of punishment, and woes that never tire : — And yet how friendly — beautiful is fire ! Truth, dressed in fable, tells us it did wake Man from brute sleep. Heaven's bounty to partake. And arts, and love, and rapture of the lyre. The cottage hearth, the taper's friendly spire. Have images to soften hearts that ache. Virtuous is fire. The stars give thoughts of love, And the sun chaseth ill desires away. Fire cleanses too ; by it we gold do prove, And precious silver hath its bright assay. Why then not deem the Bible's fires mean this — Evil all melted, to make way for bliss ? XXXV. " WJiat is truth ? " St. John, xriii. 38. On, how we pine for truth ! for something more Than husks of learning! How did ancient Greece Hang on the virtuous lips of Socrates, Turning from words more sounding to adore The wisdom that sent souls to their own store CHAUNCEY HARE TOAYXSHEND. 329 For knowledge. So let us our hearts release ! 'Tis time the jargon of the schools should cease -^ Errors that rot Theology's deep core, Lying at the base of things. Down, down must fall The glittering edifice, cemented much With blood, yet baseless. At Truth's simple touch All the vain fabric will be shattered — all ! But not the Bible ! Nature there is stored, And God ! Eternal is the Saviour's Word ! XXXVI. " Lord, to whom shall we go ? " St. John, vi. G8. To whom, or whither, should we go from Thee, Christ? Beyond ourselves, beyond all law Of hope, and being ; beyond love and awe ; Beyond creation — to some shoreless sea, — To one huge blot of dreary vacancy ? 1 look around, above, below ; I draw On stores that sensual vision never saw — I ransack piles of old philosophy ! Nothing I find, except the self-same thing, One deep expression of tremendous want, Nothing that even pretends to seal the grant That to the heart's great void shall fulness bring ! Then, Saviour, I sink back before Thy knee, And all things find in Thee, and only Thee 1 330 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. XXXVII. ** All 3i5a tisaggressions that he hath committed, they shall not be mentioned onto him." Ezekiel, xviii. 22. O WATERS of Oblivion, Fable fair When back across the Past with throbbing brain In thought we journey, thou dost mock our pain, Like the false fountains on a desert's glare ! Our fancy grasps thee, though thou be but air, And bitter the heart's cry, " In vain ! in vain ! " Oh then, if Heaven should whisper, " Seek again ! And thou may'st yet to real brooks repair ; Stretch thy faint limbs, and wander or repose By the green pasture and the cooling stream. Dissolving quite the memory of thy woes In present ecstasy." The hope and dream Of such delight might make the desert bloom ! What then, if it be true, this side the tomb ? XXXVIII. *■ The sting of death is sin." 1 Corinthians, xv. 56. " Oh, Death will be so beautiful ! " one said To me ; a child he was by sickness worn ; — I looked at him. His face was like the morn When from its beauty the dull vapors glide ! The dusky curtains that the next world hide Seemed for a moment's space asunder torn ! CHAUNCEY HARE TOWJ^SHEND. 33 1 " My Saviour loves me ! " Yet again he sighed, And upward gazed with eye beatified ; — That look with him unto the grave was borne ! Oh, could we smile into the next world too ! Why not ? O bounteous Nature, bounteous Grace^ If Death be dread, 'tis we who make it so, Straying alike from God and Nature's face. Two lovely roads lead to our common rest — Forgiveness, Innocence — and both are best • XXXIX. " Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child shall in no 1 enter therein." St. Luke, xviii. 17. The sting^of death doth neither fright the worm That spins itself in peace a silken tomb, Nor the forgiven child. Death is life's womb. O'er life, o'er death, alike we spread the storm, By straying from our being's simple form. Bright are our natural faculties in bloom Of childhood ; free from terror and from gloom Is our life's year when in its tender germ. The little child hath never doubt of God ! Ay, even the ploughman is more near to Heaven Who feels our nature's want to be forgiven (As childlike more) than he who with a load Of sin and learning, Pride's rebellious son. Hating old age and death, unto the grave toils on ! 332 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. XL. " In returning and rest shall ye be saved." Isaiah, xxx. LJ. Yes ! There are hearts that, when I am no more, Will love my verse ! It to their hearts will creep Like music they have longed for, still and deep, Loosing those chains that brain and bosom o'er Are wove by Terrors haunting death's dread shore, And Doubts that ask why here we toil and weep. Scarce knowing why we came into this sleep Called Life. A spirit from my strain will pour, Whispering, that God is good and Nature kind. And that our struggles make our agony : And that to rest beneath the steadfast eye Of God, and sit in holy stillness shrined, Turns all things into calm reality, And taketh all the burthen from the mind. XLI. " The law is holy, and the commandment holy and just and good." Eortums, vii. 12. What are the laws of God ? Our being they. The true expression of our health and joy. No arbitrary phrases they employ ; No prohibitions fertile to betray. 'Tis true that, if transgressed, they bring alway A penalty ; but pleasure's broken toy Yields wisdom wrought from sorrow and annoy, Warning us back to nature's happy way ; And pain is not so much a punishment, CHAUXCEY HARE TOWXSHEXD. 3B:J As a great lesson we must learn or die ! Thou hast no tortures in thy treasury, O God, but medicines kind and prevalent To soothe or heal, when we ungenerous Have sinned against ourselves and Thee in us. XLII. " No'w is the accepted time." 2 Corinthians, vi. 2. Press on our foreheads Thy salvation-seal Now, now, O dear Redeemer of the world ! Lest, when Thy glorious standard be unfurled, In Thy great day, we should but anguish feel And shame ; lest light should all our sins reveal To all creation ; and, by anguish whirled. We from Thy glorious presence should be hurled To lower grades of being ! With glad zeal, Oh, let us now ourselves by Thee restore ; Accept Thy covenant and Thy marriage dress, Lest deep ingratitude should sink us more Even than our sins, to sorrows measureless ! Which shall we do — be human or divine? Stand by our merits, or accept of Thine? XLni. « It doth not yet appear what we shall be." First Epistle of St. John, liL % We cannot know, indeed, how much were lost By present negligence ; but this we know, That in our exit from this world of woe. L)4 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSIIEND. It is the next step that concerns us most ! The dream of torture and the wailing ghost Are nothing ; but to fall ourselves below, To be more exiled from our God than now, Were horrible ! Oh, what a fearful coast It were to land on, peopled by dark souls ; Many, yet lonely, — by communion worse, — Stranded upon creation's outcast shoals. The dregs and refuse of the universe ! Whose pain were to behold, both near and far, God as he is, ourselves too as we are ! XLIV. " With destruction from the presence of the Lord." 2 ThessdUmiama, \. 9. Say, dost thou know what one sad moment were, That were of God deprived utterly ? Hast thou been sick in spirit, bound, yet free, To let thy fancies riot in despair ? Hast thou so breathed an unsubstantial air, As, like a ghastly dream, the world to see, To lose the sense of great reality ; Unto the land of madness to repair, Keeping thy consciousness 1 Then hence divine. What were whole cycles of such banishment ; And think each moment worse than idly spent, That does not draw thee nearer to the shrine Whence only pleasure flows, where dwelleth He Who only makes Life, Love, Reality ! CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEXD. 335 XLV. " Thy mercy is greater than the heavens." Psalm cyUL 4 GREATER than the heavens Thy mercy is, God, for it doth include the universe ! There is with Thee no anger and no curse ! Nor was — even then when man first did amiss ! Even then Thy love and truth did meet and kiss. Thy boundless love no boon imperfect gave, Nor did create till it decreed to save, And wrap existence in eternal bliss ! But we, who take a portion for the whole Of Thy great plan ; who, in our narrow range, Scarce our conceptions bring to the next change Of being ; how shall we Thy scheme unroll, Which goes through cycles, working endlessly Back from sin's dreary nothing unto Thee ! XLVI. " All things work together for good to them that love God." Romans, viU. 3BL Oh, what a load of struggle and distress Falls off before the Cross ! The feverish care ; The wish that we were other than we are ; The sick regrets ; the yearnings numberless ; The thought, " this might have been," so apt to press On the reluctant soul ; even past despair. Past sin itself, — all — all is turned to fair Ay, to a scheme of ordered happiness. So soon as we love God, or rather know 336 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. That God loves us ! . . Accepting the great pledge Of His concern for all our wants and woe, We cease to tremble upon danger's edge ; While varying troubles form and burst anew, Safe in a Father's arms, we smile as infants do ! XLVII. * Nevertheless, though 1 am sometime afraid, yet put I my trust in thee." Psalm M. 8. Forsake me not ! Oh, if Thou could' st indeed. For me were blotted out earth, sea, and sky ! Give me Thy^.Mf, what canst Thou then deny 1 Thyself, if Thou deny me, all is need ! Without Thee, I am but a worthless weed Fit to be thrown away. But Thou be nigh. And flowers, and fruit, and festal luxury. Unto my drooping and my dearth, succeed. My God, forgive these seeming doubts of Thee ! I play with language, but I feel no fears ! To me Thy faithfulness so true appears. My very sins have no alarm for me. Not like the world, disheriting its child, Dost Thou prove fickle, where Thou once hast smiled. XLVIII. "Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever." Hehrewa, xiii. 8L I KNOW that Thou wilt love me without end, Saviour ; that nought Thy fixdd Truth can shake ; That Thou my woes wilt soften and partake, CHATJNCEY HARE TOWNRHEXD. 337 Though every love were far and every friend ; That Thou through every danger wilt defend, And of my heart a fenced garden make, Where evil scarce may enter, for Thy sake. So on Thy changeless Word do I depend, As on a mother the most trusting child ; — And thus in Thee my being I ensphere, Beyond the reach of earthly tempests wild. I only rest, while round me all doth move, And pillow all my heart upon Thy love. XLIX. " A law unto themselves." Romans, ii. 14. Oh, who can doubt with man Thy Spirit strove, Out of the pale even of Thy chosen race ; Wherever struggling from the vile and base There shone a spark of beauty and bright love ? But most where thirst of knowledge deep did move — Knowledge of what we are, whither we pace Along life's darkling road — how best to brace Our nature to a height itself above ! And so, by souls half-touched with prophet-fire (Not wholly — to make known what faults remain Where Thou didst not bestow Thyself entire — ), The path for Thy great Advent was made plain ; And mortals, who on Plato's words had hung, Were thus prepared to hear a wiser tongue. 338 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. L. " Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law." Gaiaiiaas, iiL VL How slavish is the fear that ties the tongue, When we would sing of free-redeeming grace, Lest men should deem we leave the law no place, And should be reckoned libertines among ! Yes ! Libertines are we ! The weight that hung Upon our souls, a bondage dull and base, Now leaves no blush upon our cleared face. What matters us men's judgments? We have flung Away all thought but this — that sin we hate Because it bars us from our only joy — From Thee, dear Lord ! What Thou cam'st to destroy That we rebuild not ; whether the dull state Of old tyrannic law, or tyrant sin : We cast all from us, only Thee to win. LI. " In thy presence is fulness of joy." Psalm xvi. U. Each day, O Lord, in this poor mode of mine, I strive to paint Thee better to my heart, That it may love Thee more. What if I start Sometimes at shadows that obscure Thy shrine. Dim earthly vapours breathed o'er light divine, Wrought into spectral shapes by Fear's bad art, Even to the acting of so dread a part As that of Hindoo deities which twine Into one form of horror. . . Yet not long CHAUlSrCET HAEE TO^Yl^SHEND. 339 I mar Thy goodness by a dream like this. I see Thee in all beauty, in all bliss ; In light, and loveliness, and poet's song. Thus much at least I know : from out Thy store Of joy, the more I take, I find the more. LII. " "Weep not." St. Lvke, xxiii. 28. Weep not ! Oh, earth is nothing worth a tear. Weep not ! Thy sorrow far too precious is To be poured out on worldly vanities ! If Disappointment frown on thee severe. Weep not ! Be sure a heavenly good is near, And thy wish gained had teemed with miseries. Hast thou been martyred by the agonies Of a heart broken o'er a loved one's bier 1 Weep not ! Oh, less than ever weep thou then, Deeming thy treasure gone beyond earth's woe. Weep not ! for God doth love thee ! — Only when Him thou hast grieved, allow thy grief to flow ; Like some fond cruse of tears a tomb within, Bury thy shrined sorrow with thy sin. LIII. • If ye shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed and be thou cast into the f«^ it shall be done." St. Matthew, xxi. 21. Mountains of sin from off my panting breast Were at Thy word removed. There came a faith, Into my soul, more strong than woe or death ; 340 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. Yet lay I weaker than an infant's rest Beneath thine eye. The agony, that prest Erewhile my brain, I felt had been the breath That even in its torture quickeneth, And of my sorrow I had gained the west To rise on other worlds. . . Oh miracle ! What were Olympus, crumbled in the sea, Unto the heaps of anguish moved from me ; And in Thy love, O Lord, made soluble ? — Thy love, an ocean, whose abyss profound The plummet-line of thought did never sound. LIV. " If thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him." St. John, xx. 1 What marvel if the whole wide world about (No longer wide to me, but narrow made As if 'twere all one tomb) I mourning strayed, Seeking my only Good, wrongly devout ? So many mists, by mortal creeds breathed out, Made twilight everywhere and dreary shade, I could not tell where men my Christ had laid. So, though He stood beside me, my rash doubt Buried His nearness in a dim eclipse ; And, like to Mary when her trembling lips Even to Himself did the inquiry frame, *' Where lies He now? " — so did I syllable Vain words. But when lie gently breathed my name I knew His voice, and at His feet I fell. CHAUNCEY HAEE TOWNSHEND. 341 LV. " Not as the world giveth, give I unto you." St. John, xiv. 27. Not as the world gives, givest Thou, indeed, Blest Lord of peace ! Pleasures that end in sighs — Tears of dull sorrow — bitter agonies — A hollow love that fails us in our need — Wrong judgments — mockery when our bosoms bleed — These are the presents which the world supplies Out of its poison-caves, and treasuries : Unto our vassalage and slavish heed. Lord of love and life, and inner joy, Thy gifts are different, sure — a gentle ray That makes the heart more lightsome every day, A faithfulness no wrongs of ours destroy, — A thousand pleasures, innocent and coy, Forgiveness when we err, and guidance when we stray. LVI. • Where the spirit of tlie Lord is — there is liberty." 2 Corintfdans, iii. 17. 1 HEARD a child, on a fair summer day, Its mother ask — " Who made these flowers — this sod?" The mother answered gently — " The good God Who gave His Son that you might freely play, And happy be." Then joyfully did stray The child ; and Pleasure followed where he trod. Nature was glad. Obeying zephyr's nod 343 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. The green leaves twinkled ; and the brooklet gay Danced to the sound of its own melody. Light clouds roved free o'er Heaven's fields of blue ; The sweet birds sang as if their song was new. And leaves, and brooks, and clouds, and birds for me Said but these happy words — " Be free, be free, Christ has given all things joy and liberty ! " LVII. " Eyes to the blind." Jdh, xxix. 15. On, joy it is when we our mission find, Even if it be to wipe the humblest tear, Or still the very faintest human fear. But something it must be for human kind ! How else appease the thirst of soul and mind — Remorse — which most doth wait on wasted powers The rankling nothingness of trifled hours And thwarted aims ? Feel'st thou that thou art blind ? Go unto Nature. Beauty, Joy, and Use, Are severed but in man's philosophy. The rose does more than feed the honey bee ; Nothing dies in itself. Only unloose In Christ — Creation's eye — thy filmy sight. And thou on earth shalt choose thy place aright. CHAUlSrCEY HARE TOTV^NSHEND. 343 LVIII. "I will glory of the things which concern mine infirmities." 2 (Jorinthians, xL 901 He, who did boast his own infirmities As his best right, in this my rule shall be ; Lord, in Thy sight, I have no other plea Save that I want Thy precious sacrifice ! Behold me 1 dust and ashes in Thine eyes ; Yet has the blood of Christ been shed for me, Therefore I needs must have a dignity ; Nor dare I even my wretched self despise For whom Thou didst Thy Father's bosom leave, To live and die in sorrow. Let me, then, The more my depths lie open to my ken. Rise but the more in Thee ! When most I grieve, Most let me triumph in a joy divine, Felt to be dearest because wholly Thine. LIX. " At thy right hand are pleasures tor evermore." Psalm xvL 11, Without the smile of God upon the soul We see not, and the world has lost its light ; For us there is no quiet in the night, No beauty in the stars. The saffron stole Of morning, or the pomp of evening's goal That celebrates Day's marriage with the Sea ; Blue distance — silver lake — hill, glen, and tree, Are sealed unto the spirit like a scroll Writ in a perished language. But a ray 344 CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEND. Upon this darkness suddenly may dart, And Christ'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 skies a glory, and the dews a balm. LX. " Fire and hail, snoir and vapours — storniy wind fulfilling his word." Psalm cxIviiL& There are who deem the earthquake and the storm Fulfilments of that dread mysterious curse. Which God inflicted on the universe When man from angel drooped into a worm : But, come with me, and view sweet Nature's form After the tempest, which was loud and fierce The livelong night. Now, all things do rehearse The praises of that strife which was the germ Of future peace. Bright is the boundless air. Earth joyous with her dewy coronal : And hark ! a festive voice is everywhere Murmuring in Faith's glad ear, " God blesses all, Even His judgments. Cheer thee, drooping soul ; Doubt not all sorrow hath a happy goal." LXI. " He taught them as one having authority." St. Matthew, vii. 29. The written Word is needful ! What were man Without authority ? Little, I wist. More than a coil of sand that billows twist, CHAUNCEY HARE TOWXSHEND. 345 Leaving brief chronicle where last they ran. Authority is of Life's darkling span The need. . . By more than eloquence enticed, Plato had hung upon the words of Christ ; Plato, who laid himself beneath the ban Of human ignorance, nor taught as one Having authority. Even Mahomet Nations with Holy Books o'er others set Who had from heaven no written record won.* And this was wisdom : for, to man the worm, Truth's essence breathes away without Truth's form. LXII. " As gods, knowing good and evil." Genesis, iii. 6. Evil ! thou art a necessary good — Fountain of Individualities, Great tenure, thou, of all existences That are not God. . . If rightly understood, Thou art the lesson-book, and holy rood Whereby, ascending up sublime degrees, We know, and reconcile, and difference seize. And change our earthly for a heavenly mood. Ah, who can grieve that man has plucked the fruit Of knowledge? . . Scarcely name we Innocence The Virtue that is not Experience. No ! We our souls divinely must transmute Out of the God-led instincts of the brute, Into the loftier ways of Providence ! ♦ See Layard's Ninevek. 346 CHAUNCET HARE TOWNSHEND. LXIII. The seraphs veil their faces with their wings Before Thy throne, O God ! Then how should I, Who tremble in a frail mortality, Reach Thee in reverential visitings ? Forgive me, if my soul too boldly flings Conjecture forth to bridge and bring me nigh To Thee. I only do in truth reply To my own doubts, my heart's sad murmurings. I do but put away all thoughts that bar My love of Thee, and clear Thy lovely name From things that with Thy high perfection jar, By the soul's noblest instincts marked with blame ; Yet in my ignorance I veil my face Before the throne of Thy adored grace. A QUESTION AND ANSWER. Wheue is damnation? — Man-woven sadness ! — Hark ! all creation Answers in gladness! " Sin shall dissolve In goodness supernal ! — Beauty and Joy Alone are eternal ! " CHAUNCEY HARE TOWNSHEI!?T>. 347 WAIT. Wait ! for the day is breaking, Though the dull night be long ; Wait ! God is not forsaking Thy heart. Be strong — be strong! Wait ! and the clouds of sorrow Shall melt in gentle showers, And hues from heaven shall borrow, As they fall amidst the flowers. Wait ! 'tis the key to pleasure And to the plan of God ; Oh, tarry thou His leisure — Thy soul shall bear no load! Wait ! for the time is hasting When life shall be made clear. And all who know heart-wasting Shall feel that God is dear. htdhvitoM. illi0rellaneou5. SONGS OF BEING. THE BIRTH. Hail ! new-waked atgm of the Eternal whole, Young voyager upon Time's mighty river ! Hail to thee, Human Soul ! Hail, and forever ! Pilgrim of life, all hail ! He who at first called forth From nothingness the earth, Who clothed the hills in strength, and dug the sea, Who gave the stars to gem Night like a diadem, Thou little child, made thee ; Young habitant of earth, Fair as its flowers, though brought in sorrow forth, Thou art akin to God who fashioned thee ! 351 352 MISCELLANEOUS. The heavens themselves shall vanish as a scroll, The solid earth dissolve, the stars grow pale, Bat thou, O Human Soul, Shalt be immortal ! Hail ! Thou young Immortal, Hail ! He, before whom are dim Seraph and cherubim. Who gave the archangels strength and majesty, Who sits upon heaven's throne. The everlasting One, Thou little child, made thee ! Fair habitant of earth. Immortal in thy God, though mortal by thy birth, Born for life's trials, hail ! all hail to thee ! THE DEATH. Shrink not, O Human Spirit ! The Everlasting Arm is strong to save ! Look up, look up, frail nature ! put thy trust In Him who went down mourning to the dust, And overcame the grave ! Quickly goes down the sun ; Life's work is almost done ; Fruitless endeavor, hope deferred, and strife ! One little struggle more, One pang, and then is o'er AH the long, mournful weariness of life. Kind friends, 'tis almost past ; Come now, and look your last ! MISCELLANEOUS. 353 Sweet children, gather near, And his last blessing hear. See how he loved you who departeth now ! And, with thy trembling step and pallid brow, O, most beloved one, Whose breast he leaned upon, Come, faithful unto death, Receive his parting breath ! The fluttering spirit panteth to be free, — Hold him not back who speeds to victory ! — The bonds are riven, the struggling soul is free! Hail, hail, enfranchised spirit ! Thou that the wine-press of the field hath trod ! On, blessed Immortal, on through boundless space, And stand with thy Redeemer, face to face, And stand before thy God ! Life's weary work is o'er, Thou art of earth no more : No more art trammelled by- the oppressive clay. But tread'st with winged ease The high acclivities Of truths sublime, up heaven's crystalline way. Here is no bootless quest ; The city's name is Rest ; Here shall no fear appall ; Here love is all in all ; Here shalt thou win thy ardent soul's desire ; Here clothe thee in thy beautiful attire. Lift, lift thy wondering eyes ! Yonder is Paradise. 854 MISCELLAXEOUS. And this fair shining band Are spirits of thy land ! And these that throng to meet thee are thy kin, Who have awaited thee, redeemed from sin ! The city gates unfold — enter, O, enter in ! WHERE ARE THE DEAD? Where are the mighty ones of ages past, Who o'er the world their inspiration cast, — Whose memories stir our spirits like a blast? — Where are the dead 1 Where are the lofty minds of Greece ? Where be The men of Sparta and Thermopylae ? The conquering Macedonian, where is he ? — Where are the dead? Where are Rome's founders? Where her chiefest son, Before whose name the whole known world bowed down, — Whose conquering arm chased the retreating sun ? — Where are the dead ? Where's the bard-warrior king of Albion's state, A pattern for earth's sons to emulate, — The truly, nobly, wisely, goodly great? — Where are the dead ? MISCELLANEOUS. 355 Where is Gaul's hero, who aspired to be A second Caesar in his mastery, — To whom earth's crowned ones trembling bent the knee 1 — Where are the dead ? Where is Columbia's son, her darling child. Upon whose birth Virtue and Freedom smiled, — The Western Star, bright, pure, and undefiled? — Where are the dead ? Where are the sons of song, the soul-inspired, — The bard of Greece, whose muse (of Heaven acquired) With admiration ages past has fired, — The classic dead ? Greater than all, — an earthly Sun enshrined, — Where is the King of bards ? Where shall we find The Swan of Avon, — monarch of the mind, — The mighty dead ? With their frail bodies, did they wholly die, Like the brute dead passing for ever by ? Then wherefore was their intellect so high, — The mighty dead ? Why was it not confined to earthly sphere, — To earthly wants 1 If it must perish here. Why did they languish for a bliss more dear, — The blessed dead? 356 MISCELLANEOUS. If here they perished, in their bsing's germ, — Here thought and aspiration had their term, — Why should a giant's strength propel a worm ? — The dead — the dead, — There are no dead ! The forms, indeed, did die, That cased the ethereal beings now on high : 'Tis but the outward covering is thrown by : — This is the dead ! The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing, Have perished not ; they have but taken wing, — Changing an earthly for a Heavenly spring : There are the dead ! A DREAM OF HEAVEN. Lo, the seal of death is breaking. Those who slept its sleep are waking, Eden opes her portals fair ! Hark, the harps of God are ringing, Hark, the seraph's hymn is singing, And the living rills are flinging Music on immortal air ! There no more at eve declining. Suns without a cloud are shining MISCELLANEOUS. 357 O'er the land of life and love ; Heaven's own harvests woo the reaper, Heaven's own dreams entrance the sleeper Not a tear is left the weeper To profane one flower above. No frail lilies there are breathing, There no thorny rose is wreathing In the bowers of paradise ; Where the founts of life are flowing, Flowers unknown to time are blowing, Mid far richer verdure glowing Than is sunned by mortal skies. There no sigh of memory swelleth, There no tear of misery dwelleth, Hearts will bleed or break no more ; Past is all the cold world's scorning, Gone the night and broke the morning. With seraphic day adorning Life's glad waves and golden shore. Oh, on that bright shore to wander, Trace those radiant waves meander, All we loved and lost to see, — Is this hope so pure, so splendid. Vainly with our being blended ? No ! with time ye are not ended, Visions of eternity ! 358 MISCELLANEOUS. THOUGHTS FOR THE DEPARTED. Think ever of the dead : — When Spring is beautiful, when Summer shines, When the soft skies rose-mingled lustre shed,. When autumn sunbeams kiss the purple vines, And when the snow-stars glisten — to them wing Thy gentlest thought ; they filled thy life with spring. They think of thee — the dead : — The glorious dwellers in yon peopled skies ! Their thoughts, like dew-drops, on thy heart are shed : They fill thy soul with blessed sanctities, — Sweet inspirations of the pure aud fair, — The spring-time breathings of celestial air ! They dwell with thee — the dead : — Pavilioned in the auroral tents of light ; Their spheres of heavenly influence round thee spread, Their pure transparence veiling them from sight. Angelic ministers of love and peace, Whose sweet solicitudes will never cease. They strive with thee — the dead : — Spirit with spirit striving, heart with heart, Alluring from the paths of Wrong you tread, Spurned and resisted they may not depart, In the dark prison of Life's last despair, Lo! the delivering Angel's with thee there ! MISCELLANEOUS. 359 They watch with thee — the dead : — ■ Through the last agony, the doubt, the gloom, When Sou! and Body are through pain unwed, And Night droops down — the midnight of the tomb : — And o'er the soul sense steals their wakening hymn, Familiar — yet the song of Seraphim. They welcome thee — the dead : — The soft, sweet glow of those beloved eyes Balms each worn heart that long hath inly bled, And gives new glory to God's paradise ! Love and remember them — unseen, yet near, — Their white feet guide thee to the immortal sphere ! THE HAPPIER SPHERE. If yon bright stars which gem the night, Be each a blissful dwelling sphere, Where kindred spirits re-unite, Whom death has torn asunder here, How sweet it were at once to die. And leave this blighted orb afar — - Mix soul with soul, to cleave the sky, And soar away from star to star. But oh ! how dark, how drear, how lone Would seem the brightest world of bliss, 360 inSCELLANEOUS. If wandering through each radiant zone, We failed to find the loved of this ! If there no more the ties should twine, Which death's cold hand alone can sever, Ah ! then these stars in mockery shine, More hateful as they shine forever. It cannot be ! — each hope and fear That blights the eye or clouds the brow, Proclaims there is a happier sphere Than this black world that holds us now ! There is a voice which sorrow hears, When heaviest weighs life's galling chain ; 'Tis heaven that whispers " dry thy tears — The pure in heart shall meet again ! " HOPE'S BRIGHTER SHORE. Thrice happy he whom through each devious path The Lamp of Faith conducts with steady light! His spirit quails not at the tempest's wrath ; He trembles not when lowers the moonless night, Nor fears the Ocean's roar. O ! life may have its sorrows and its cares, Yet come they but from sin to purify ; While Death itself, the power that never spares, Is but the soul-bark of Mortality, Seeking a brighter shore 1 MISCELLANEOUS. 361 FORGIYENESS OF ERROR. From north and south, from east and west. Advance the myriads of the blest . From every clime of earth they come, And find in heaven a common home. In one immortal throng we view Pagan and Christian, Greek and Jew ; But, all their doubts and darkness o'er, One only God they now adore. Howe'er divided here below, One bliss, one spirit, now they know , Though some ne'er heard of Jesus' name Yet God admits their honest claim. On earth, according to their light, They aimed to practise what was right ; Hence all their errors are forgiven, And Jesus welcomes them to heaven. BUTCHEB. CONVERSION. God's voice doth sometimes fall on us with fear ; More often with a music low yet clear, 362 MISCELLANEOUS. Sdft whispering " It is I : be not afraid." And sometimes, mingling strangely joy with dread, It thrills the spirit's caverned sepulchre Deep as that voice which on the awe-struck ear Of him, the three-days buried, murmuring, said " Come forth " — and he arose. Oh ! Christians, hai' As brethren all on whom our glorious Sun, No matter how, or when, or where, hath shone With vital warmth ; and neither mourn nor rail Because one light, itself unchanging, showers A thousand colors on a thousand flowers. De Verb. THE STARS. ' The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handy work." — Psalm xix. 1, No cloud obscures the summer sky, The moon in brightness walks on high. And, set in azure, every star Shines, like a gem of heaven, afar ! Child of the earth ! oh ! lift thy glance To yon bright firmament's expanse ; The glories of its realm explore. And gaze, and wonder, and* adore! Doth it not speak to every sense The marvels of Omnipotence? MISCELLANEOUS. 363 Seest thou not there the Almighty name, Inscribed in characters of flame ? Count o'er those lamps of quenchless light, That sparkle through the shades of night! Behold them ! — can a mortal boast To number that celestial host ? Mark well each little star, whose rays In distant splendor meet thy gaze ; Each is a world by Him sustained, Who from eternity hath reigned. * Each, shining not for earth alone, Hath suns and planets of its own. And beings, whose existence springs From Him the all-powerful King of kings. Haply, those glorious beings know Nor stain of guilt, nor tear of wo ! But raising still the adoring voice. For ever in their God rejoice. *' What then art thou, oh! child of clay ! Amid creation's grandeur, say ? — E'en as an insect on the breeze, E'en as a dew-drop, lost in seas ! r Yet fear thou not ! — the sovereign hand, Which spread the ocean and the land, 364 MISOELLAXEOrS. And hung the rolling spheres in air, Hath, e'en for thee, a Father's care! Be thou at peace ! — the all-seeing eye, Pervading earth, and air, and sky, The searching glance which none may flee, Is still, in mercv, turned on thee. ANGELIC MINISTRY. And is th^re care in Heaven ? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move ? There is : — else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts : but O ! the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves His creatures so, And all His works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed Angels He sends to and fro. To serve to wicked man, to serve His wicked foe ! How oft do they their silver bowers leave. To come to succor us that succor want ! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant. Against 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 ; O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard? Edmund Spenser. — 1553-1598-9. MISCELLANEOUS. 365 GOD'S LOVE UNCHANGEABLE. Every human tie may perish ; Friend to friend unfaithful prove Mothers cease their own to cherish, Heaven and earth at last remove ; But no changes Can avert the Father's love. In the furnace God may prove thee, Thence to bring thee forth more bright ; But can never cease to love thee ; Thou art precious in his sight : God is with thee, — God, thine everlasting light. Kellbt. JUDGE GENTLY. Oh, there has many a tear been shed. And many a heart been broken, For want of a gentle hand stretched forth, Or a word in kindness spoken. Then oh, with brotherly regard Greet every son of sorrow, So from each tone of love his heart New hope, new strength, shall borrow. ]QQ ^ MISCELLANEOUS. Nor turn, with cold and scornful eye, From him who hath offended, But let the harshness of reproof With kindest tones be blended. The seeds of good are every where : And, in the guiltiest bosom, Would, by the quickening rays of love, Put forth their tender blossom ; — While many a tempted soul hath been . To deeds of evil hardened, Who felt that bitterness of grief, The first olfence unpardoned. THOU AllT NOT LOST. Thou art not lost. — Thy spirit giveth Immortal peace, and high it liveth ! Thou art not mute. — With angels blending, Thy voice is still to me descending. Thou art not absent. — Sweetly smiluig, I see thee yet, my griefs beguiling ! Soft, o'er my slumbers art thou beaming. The sunny spirit of my dreaming ! Thine eyelids seem not yet concealing In death their orbs of matchless feeling; MISCELLANEOUS. 367 Their living charms my heart stil numbers ; Ah ! sure they do but veil thy slumbers ! As kind thou art ; — for still thou'rt meeting This breast, which gives the tender greeting ! And shall I deem thee altered ? — Never ! Thou'rt with me waking — dreaming — ever! THE MISSION OF CHRIST UNIVERSAL. Oh, yes! there is joy in sincerely believing, No heart that is faithless can dream of, or know ; There is strength in the thought that our souls are re- ceiving Such wealth as a Father alone can bestow. Then away with the dogma that sin is eternal ! It dims the bright glow of Immaniiel's name ; For it was net to build up a kingdom infernal That Jesus, the Friend of the sorrowful, came. It was not to lay in the path of the blinded High walls, over which they must stumble and fall, That He came, all sublime and serene and hio-h- minded, And laid down his life — a redemption for all ! It was not to slaughter, in anger and blindness. The wandering lambs that were dying of cold. That he lifted them up to his bosom in kindness. And brought them all home to their rest in the fold. 368 MISCELLANEOUS. He is good^ — and the heart that serenely reposes And lays down its burthens to rest in his love, Will find that the door of salvation ne'er closes So long as one sinner continues to rove. He loves the young lambs, though afar they are straying, He seeks out the weary with tender concern ; Oh hear His soft voice in the wilderness praying, *' To the arms of your Saviour poor lost ones return ! " Mrs. S. C Edgarton Mayo. — 1819-1848. THE GOSPEL'S PROMISES FOR ALL. Pour, blessed Gospel, glorious news for man ! Thy stream of life o'er springless deserts roll : Thy bond of peace the mighty earth can span. And make one brotherhood from pole to pole. On, piercing Gospel, on ! of every heart. In every latitude, thou own'st the key : From their dull slumbers savage souls shall start, With all their treasures first unlocked by thee. Spread, mighty Gospel, spread thy scaring wings ! Gather thy scattered ones from every land : Call home the wanderers to the King of kings ; Proclaim them all thine own ; 'tis Christ's command C. AsinvouTH. — 1709-1744. MISCELLANEOUS. 369 A WALK IN A CHURCHYARD. We walked within the churchyard bounds, My little boy and I ; He, laughing, running happy rounds — I, pacing mournfully. " Nay, child, it is not well," I said, " Among the graves to shout, To laugh and play among the dead, And make this noisy rout." A moment to ray side he clung, Leaving his.merry play, A moment stilled his joyous tongue, Almost as hushed as they. Then quite forgetting the command, In life's exulting burst Of early glee, let go my hand, Joyous as at the first. And now I did not check him more, For, taught by Nature's face, I had grown wiser than before, E'en in that moment's space. She spread no funeral-pall above That patch of churchyard ground, 370 MISCELLANEOUS. But the same azure vault of love As hung o'er all around. And white clouds o'er that spot would pass As freely as elsewhere ; The sunshine on no other grass A richer hue might wear. And, formed from out that very mould In which the dead did lie, The daisy, with its eye of gold, Looked up into the sky. The rook was wheeling overhead, Nor hastened to be gone ; • The small bird did its glad notes shed, Perched on a gray headstone. And God, I said, would never give This light upon the earth, Nor bid in childhood's heart to live These springs of gushing mirth, If our one wisdom were to mourn, And linger with the dead, To nurse, as wisest, thoughts forlorn Of worm and earthy bed. Oh, no ! the glory earth puts on. The child's unchecked delight, MISCELLANEOUS. 371 Both witness to a triumph won, If we but read aright ; — A triumph won o'er sin and death, From these the Saviour saves ; And, like a happy infant, Faith Can play among the graves. PUPIL AND TUTOR. P. What shall I do, lest life in silence pass? T. And if it do, And never prompt the bray of noisy brass, What need'st thou rue 1 Remember aye the ocean deeps are mute, The shallows roar. Worth is the ocean ; fame is but the bruit Along the shore. P. What shall I do to be forever known ? T. Thy duty ever. P. This did full many who yet sleep unknown. T. Oh ! never, never. Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown Whom thou know'st not? By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown, Divine their lot ! 373 MISCELLANEOUS. P. What shall I do to have eternal life? T. Discharge aright The simple dues with which the day is rife. Yea, with thy might. Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise, Will life be fled ; While he who ever acts as Conscience cries Shall live, though dead. LIFE'S DISCIPLINE A TRAINING FOR HEAVEN. All speaks of change : the renovated forms Of long-forgotten things arise again. The light of suns, the breath of angry storms, The everlasting motions of the main, — These are but engines of the Eternal will. The One Intelligence, whose potent sway Has ever acted, and is acting still. Whilst stars, and worlds, and systems all obey ; Without Whose power, the whole of mortal things Were dull, inert, an unharmonious band. Silent as are the harp's untuned strings Without the touches of the poet's hand. A sacred spark, created by His breath, The immortal mind of man His image bears ; MISCELLANEOUS. 373 A spirit living 'midst the forms of death, Oppressed, but not subdued, by mortal cares ; A germ, preparing in the winter's frost To rise, and bud, and blossom in the spring; An unfledged eagle by the tempest tossed, Unconsious of his future strength of wing ; The child of trial, to mortality And all its changeful influences given ; On the green earth decreed to move and die. And yet, by such a fate, prepared for heaven ! Sir Humphry Davy. — 1778-1829. WISDOM. Ah ! when did wisdom covet length of days ? Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise ? No : wisdom views, with an indifferent eye, All finite joys, all blessings born to die. The soul on earth is an immortal guest. Compelled to starve at an unreal feast; A spark that upward tends by nature's force, A stream diverted from its parent source ; A drop dissevered from the boundless sea, A moment parted from eternity ! A pilgrim panting for a rest to come ; An exile anxious for his native home. 374 MISCELLANEOUS. ALL THINGS ARE YOURS. Ope, ope, my Soul ! around thee press A thousand things divine ; All Glory and all Holiness Are waiting to be thine. Lie open, Soul ! be swift to catch Each glory ere it flies ; Life's hours are charged, to those who watch, With heavenly messages. Lie open ; Love and Duty stand, Thy guardian angels, near; To lead thee gently by the hand, — Their words of welcome hear ! i^ie open, Soul ! the Beautiful That all things doth embrace, Shall every passion sweetly lull And clothe thee in her grace. Lie open. Soul ! the Great and Wise About thy portal throng. The wealth of souls before thee lies, Their crifts to thee belong. Lie open, Soul ! lo, Jesus waits To enter thine abode ; MISCELLANEOUS. 375 Messiah lingers at thy gates, — Let in the Son of God ! Receive Him, Soul ! He with Him brings The blest ones from above ; The heavenly hosts stretch forth their wings To seek and know thy love. Lie open, Soul ! in watchfulness Each brighter glory win ; The Infinite thy peace shall bless. And God shall enter in ! O awful joy ! O Life divine ! O bliss too great, too full ! Earth, Man, Heaven, Angels, all are thine And thou art God's, my Soul ! H. New. THE HEART OF UNBELIEF. Night without star or eve or dawning, gloom Intense and chill and palpable, lay spread Where sat the x\theist, lone, within a tomb, — Pale watcher of the dead ! — Each beautiful Belief whose living form Within the spirit's Pantheon rose enshrined ; Each Faith whose radiant wing shed sudden morn Upon the illumined mind ; 376 MISCELLANEOUS. Each Hope that stood with angel-finger spired And pointing to the illimitable sky, Revealed in tones with inspiration fired The Soul's great destiny ; — All to that unbelieving heart had died, Filling with spectral shapes the haunted breast, And left him in the midnight, sorely tried, Watching their awful rest. Grave seemed to shout to grave like deep to deep, The blind worms revelled in the festering sod, And a voice came, as death comes following sleep, " There is no Soul, no God ! " *' No Soul, no God ! " this wail for evermore Beat, surging o'er his rigid lips of stone. Like the wild breakers, on some wintry shore, Making perpetual moan. Wondering I gazed and mused and wept the while. When, lo ! a seraph passed before my face, And the calm beauty of his peaceful smile With day filled all the place. " Would'st know," he said, " why Pain and Fear and Night With dark and desolate pinions o'er him sweep ? Learn thou that Sin clouds heaven from human sight : He sowed as he doth reap ! MISCELLANEOUS. 377 " Doubt is the eternal shade by Evil cast ! ' The vision and the faculty divine ' Fail when the spirit o'er its empire vast Thrones Appetite and Crime. " Only the ear in chord with goodness grown, Hears the full tide of Truth's immortal hymn, The heart where living virtues bloom alone, God's angels enter in ! *' Write the great law in alphabet of flame, Sound it with prophecy and psalm abroad ; Doubt's awful tempests veil the tents of shame : The pure alone see God ! " Thomas L. Habbis. THE DEAD. The dead alone are great ! While heavenly plants abide on earth, The soil is one of dewless death ; But when they die, a mourning shower Comes down and makes their memories flower With odors sweet though late. The dead alone are fair ! While they are with us, strange lines play Before our eyes, and chase away 378 MISCELLANEOUS. God's light ; but let them pale and die. And swell the stores of memory — There is no envy there. The dead alone are dear ! While they are here, long shadows fall Fron) our own forms, and darken all ; But when they leave us, all the shade Is round our own sad footsteps made, And they are bright and clear. The dead alone are blest ! While they are here, clouds mar the day, And bitter snow-falls nip their May ; But when the tempest-time is done, The light and heat of Heaven's own sun Broods on their land of rest. Henky Alfobc. PROMISED LIGHT. • .\t evening time it shall be light." I thank Thee for thy promise, Lord ; T irough all this weary darkling fight What comfort tiiese sweet words afford ! " A.t evening time it shall be light." Then why, my soul, so sad and low ? P rengthcii thyself in heaven-sprung might, And on thy way rejoicing go. MISCELLANEOUS. 379 "At evening time it shall be light." Then how canst thou e'er dare to fear, Though now the sky may not be bright — No kindly hand or voice be near 1 Although the tempest round thee roar, And thou mayst seem forsaken quite, Yet cheer, faint heart, 'twill soon be o'er : ". At evening time it shall be light." The clouds that hide the sun all day, And keep his glories from our sight, As night draws on, shall melt away, " At evening time it shall be light." IMMORTALITY. The insect bursting from its tomb-like bed — The grain that in a thousand grains revives — The trees that seem in wintry torpor dead — Yet each new year renewing their green lives ; All teach, without the added aid of Faith, That life still triumphs o'er apparent death ! But dies the insect when the summer dies ; The grain hath perished, though the plant remain , In death, at last, the oak of ages lies ; Here Reason halts, nor further can attain, 380 MISCELLANEOUS. For Reason argues but from what she sees, Nor traces to their goal these mysteries. But Faith the dark hiatus can supply — Teaching, eternal progress still shall reign ; Telling (as these things aid her to espy) In higher worlds that higher laws obtain ; Pointing, with radiant finger raised on high. From life that still revives, to life that cannot die CHRISTIAN TRUST. Give to the winds thy fears ; Hope and be undismayed ; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears ; God shall lift up thy head. Through waves, through clouds and storms, He gently clears thy way ; Wait thou His time ; so shall the night Soon end in joyous day. He everywhere hath way, And all things serve His might ; His every act pure blessing is, His paths, unsullied light. When He makes bare His arm. What shall His work withstand ? When He His people's cause defends, Who, who shall stay His hand? MISCELLANEOUS 381 Leave to His sovereign sway To choose and to command ; With wonder filled, thou then shalt own How wise, how strong. His hand. Thou comprehend'st Him not Yet earth and heaven tell, God sits as sovereign on the throne — He ruleth all things well. Thou seest our weakness. Lord ! Our hearts are known to Thee ; O lift Thou up the sinking head Confirm the feeble knee ! Let us, in life and death, Boldly Thy truth declare, And publish with our latest breath Thy love and guardian care. P. Gerharim, LIVE AND HELP LIVE. Mighty in faith and hope, why art thou sad ? Sever the green withes, look up and be glad ! See all around thee, below and above, The beautiful, beautiful gifts of God's love ! What though our hearts beat with death's sullen waves 1 What though the green sod is broken with graves ? 382 MISCELLANEOUS. The sweet hopes that never shall fade from their bloom. Make their dim birth-chamber down in the tomb I Parsee or Christianman, bondman or free, Loves and humilities still are for thee; Some little good every day to achieve, Some slighted spirit no longer to grieve. In the tents of the desert, alone on the sea, On the far-away hills with the starry Chaldee ; Condemned and in prison, dishonored, reviled, God's arm is around thee, and thou art His child. Mine be the lip ever truthful and bold ; Mine be the heart never careless nor cold ; A faith humbly trustful, a life free from blame — All else is unstable as flax in the flame. And while the soft skies are so starry and blue ; And while the wide earth is so fresh with God's dew, Though all around me the sad sit and sigh, I will be glad that I live and must die. Alice Caret. RELIGIOUS CASUISTRY. My heart is sick, my whole head drooping faints With all this coil of Sabbaths and of saints : Even as of yore the Pharisaic tribe, Lawyer astute, and casuistic Scribe. MISCELLANEOUS. 383 Their grievous loads on weak men's shoulders laid, Yet would not, could not, lend a finger's aid, So still God's Law, with human fancies fraught, Is circumscribed, belied, and set at naught. One damns the use of some indifferent dish, And pins his hopes of heaven on Wednesday fish ; This shakes his head, and " doubts if grace be sent To those who pray by Act of Parliament ;" That " hopes the best for Schismatists, but can't See aught for them within the covenant." Meantime the inquirer, penitent and lone, Who gropes in darkness for the Altar Stone, Disturbed by doubt, by wakening conscience vexed, And the remembrance of some child-learnt text, Ponders amazed, if one of these be true, Where all the other sects are wandering to ; And turns from priest to priest with vacant eye, " How shall I save my soul ? " his anxious cry. One preaching this for truth, and that another. Proves himself fallible, if wrong his brother ; For all, with instinct's true consent, declare God's covenant, a blessing, not a snare. " Faith Catholic," they cry, " is to receive What all men, always, everywhere believe : " Well said — but O ! how sadly missed the uses Of this, their own, expcrimentum cruets — While all dispute on points of doctrine, none Doubt what Religion teaches to be done. Bear sorrow here, and look to Heaven for bliss — This thy theology, thy practice this : 384 MISCELLANEOUS. Believe God's promises, his precepts keep, Joy with the joyful, with the mourner weep, Exalt Love's banner, evermore unfurled, And keep thyself unspotted from the world. O blest indeed, if thus we knew our good, O blest even on this Earth, if but we would ! Sure that, though shades close densely round our way. The path of Duty leads to perfect day. Blackwood's Magazimb. THE FOUNTAIN OF GRACE. " O Lord, open Thou my lips ; and my mouth shall show forth Thy pralae." The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed, If Thou the spirit give by which I pray ; My unas-isted heart is barren clay, That of its native self can nothing feed : Of good and pious works Thou art the seed That quickens only where Thou say'st it may : Unless Thou show to us Thine own true way No man can find it : Father ! Thou must lead. Do Thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in Thy holy footsteps I may tread ; The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of Thee, And sound Thy praises everlastingly. Michael Angelo. — 1474-1564. MISCELLANEOUS. 385 THE ELOQUENT PASTOR. He taught the cheerfulness that still is ours, The sweetness that still lurks in human powers; — If heaven be full of stars, the earth has flowers ! His was the searching thought, the glowing mind ; The gentle will to others' soon resigned ; But, more than all, the feeling just and kind. His pleasures were as melodies from reeds, — Sweet books, deep music and unselfish deeds, Finding immortal flowers in human weeds. True to his kind, nor of himself afraid, He deemed that love of God was best arrayed In love of all the things that God has made. He deemed man's life no feverish dream of care, But a high pathway into freer air, Lit up with golden hopes and duties fair. He showed how wisdom turns its hours to years, Feeding the heart on joys instead of fears. And worships God in smiles, and not in tears. His thoughts were as a pyramid up-piled, On whose far top an angel stood and smiled, — Yet in his heart was he a simple child. Laman Blanchard. — 1803-1845. 386 MISCELLANEOUS. UNIVERSALITY OF REDEMPTION Ye nations, worship at the call ! Emmanuel comes, to rescue all From death's relentless doom ; Thou slumbering world, awake and see Thy life and immortality In yon poor manger's gloom ! Lay down your worthy offerings here ; The myrrh he loves is sorrow's tear. O'er conscious guilt distilled ; His frankincense the grateful sigh Of guilt redeemed from misery — Thus be his temple filled ! ** Peace and good will " to earth he brings, And heaven that hears, in transport sings ! Oh ! turn to him alone, Turk, Heathen, Jew ! till heaven behold One Shepherd, and one spotless fold Surround Jehovah's throne. HoDQsoir* BLESSED ARE THE DEAD. O, HOW blest are ye whose toils are ended ! Who, through death, have unto God ascended ! Ye have arisen From the cares which keep us still in prison. MISCELLANEOUS. 387 We are still as in a dungeon living, Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving ; Our undertakings Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings. Christ has wiped away your tears forever ; Ye have that for which we still endeavor. To you are chanted Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. Ah ! who would not, then, depart with gladness, To inherit heaven for earthly sadness? Who here would languish Longer in bewailing and in anguish ? Come, O Christ, and loose the chains that bind us I Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us. With thee, th' Anointed, Finds the soul its joy and rest appointed. From the German of Dach by Longfellow. MAN EVER RESTLESS. WnEN God at first made man. Having a fount of blessings standing by, Let us, said he, pour on him all we can ; Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span. 388 MISCELLANEOUS. So strength first made a way; Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure; When almost all was out, God made a stay ; Perceiving, that alone, of all his treasure, Rcst^ in the bottom lay. For if I should, said he. Bestow this']e,we\ also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me ; And rest in nature, not the God of nature ; — So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness ; Let him be rich, and weary ; that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast. George Herbert. — 1593-1632. ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT. With what unknown delight the mother smiled, When this frail treasure in her arms she pressed I Her prayer was heard, — she clasped a living child,— But how the gift transcends the poor request ! A child was all slie asked, with many a vow ; Mother, behold the child an angel now ! MISCELLANEOUS. 389 Now ill her Father's house she finds a place; Or, if to earth she take a transient flight, 'Tis to fulfil the purpose of His grace, To guide thy footsteps to the world of light; — A ministering spirit sent to thee, That where she is, there thou mayst also be. Jane Taylor. — 1733-1823. VIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS.* Through the cross comes the crown ; when the cares of this life Like giants in strength may to crush thee combine, Never mind, never mind ! after sorrow's sad strife, Shall the peace and the crown of salvation be thine. Through woe comes delight : if at evening thou sigh, And thy soul still at midnight in sorrow appears, Never mind, never mind ! for the morning is nigh. Whose sunbeams of gladness shall dry up thy tears ! Through death comes our life : to the portal of pain, Through Time's thistle fields are our weary steps driven ; Never mind, never mind ! through this passage we gain The mansions of light and the portals of heaven. From the German op Kosegarten. • The way of the Cross, the way of Light. 390 MISCELLANEOUS. ITY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. My times are in Thy hand ! I know not what a day Or e'en an hour may bring to me; But I am safe while trusting Thee, Though all things fade away. All weakness, I On Him rely, Who fixed the earth and starry sky. My times are in Thy hand ! Pale poverty or wealth, Corroding cares or calm repose, Spring's balmy breath or Winter's snows, Sickness or buoyant health, — Whate'er betide, If God provide, *Tis for the best — I wish no lot beside. My times are in Thy hand ! Should friendship pure illume And strew my path with fairest flowers, Or should I spend life's dreary hours In solitude's dark gloom, Thou art a friend Till time shall end, Unchangeably the same ; in Thee all beauties blend. MISCELLANEOUS. 391 My times are in Thy hand ! Many or few my days, I leave with Thee — this only pray, That by Thy grace I, every day Devoting to Thy praise, May ready be To welcome Thee, Whene'er Thou comest to set my spirit free. My times are in Thy hand ! Howe'er those times may end, Sudden or slow my soul's release, 'Midst anguish, frenzy, or in peace, I'm safe with Christ, my friend. If He be nigh, Howe'er I die, 'Twill be the dawn of heavenly ecstacy. FRAGMENTS. Upon your heart this truth may rise Nothing that altogether dies Suffices man's just destinies. So should we live, that every Hour May die as dies the natural flower, - A self-reviving thing of power ; 392 MISCELLANEOUS. That every Thought and every Deed May hold within itself the seed Of future good and future meed ; Esteeming Sorrow, whose employ Is to develope, not destroy, Far better than a barren Jov. II. O ye ! who talk of Death, and mourn for Death, Why do you raise a phantom of your weakness, And then shriek loud to see what ye have made? There is no Death, to those who know of Life — No Time to those who see Eternity. RiCHAKD M. MiLNES. TO THE DANDELION. My childhood's earliest thoughts are linked with thee; The sight of thee calls back the robin's song, Who, from the dark old tree Beside the door sung clearly all day long, And I, secure in childish piety. Listened as if I heard an angel sing With news from Heaven, which he did bring Fresh every day to my untainted ears. When birds and flowers and I were happy peers. MISCELLANEOUS. 393 Thou art the type of those meek charities Which make up half the nobleness of life, Those cheap delights the wise Pluck from the dusty wayside of earth's strife ; Words of frank cheer, glances of friendly eyes, Love's smallest coin, which yet to some may give The morsel that shall keep alive A starving heart, and teach it to behold Some glimpse of God where all before was cold. Thy winged seeds, whereof the winds take care, Are like the words of poet and of sao-e Which through the free heaven fare, And, now unheeded, in another age Take root, and to the gladdened future bear That witness which the present would not heed, Bringing forth many a thought and deed, And, planted safely in the eternal sky. Bloom into stars which earth is guided by. Full of deep love thou art, yet not more full Than all thy common brethren of the ground, Wherein, were we not dull, Some words of highest wisdom might be found ; Yet earnest faith from day to day may cull Some syllables, which, rightly joined, can make A spell to soothe life's bitterest ache. And ope Heaven's portals, which are near us still, Yea, nearer ever than the gates of 111. 394 MISCELLANEOITS. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art ! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book. James Russell Lowell. THE LAW OF MERCY. 'Tis written with the pen of heavenly Love On every heart which skill divine has moulded; A transcript from the statute book above, Where angels read their Sovereign's will unfolded. It bids us seek the holes where Famine lurks. Clutching the hoarded crust with trembling fingers ; Where Toil in damp unwholesome caverns works, Or with strained eyeballs o'er the needle lingers. It bids us stand beside the dying bed Of those about to quit the world forever, Smooth the tossed pillow, prop the sinking head, Cheer the heart-broken, whom death hastes to sever. It bids us tell the tempted that the joy Of guilt indulged, will change ere long to sorrow ; MISCELLANEOUS. 395 The draft of sickly sweetness soon will cloy, And pall upon the sated taste tomorrow. And those who copy thus Christ's life on earth, Feeding the poor, and comforting the weeper. Will all receive a meed of priceless worth, When ripely gathered by the heavenly Reaper. TRUST IN PROVIDENCE. Whilst Thee I seek, protecting Power! Be my vain wishes stilled ; And may this consecrated hour With better hopes be filled. Thy love the power of thought bestowed, To Thee my thoughts would soar ; Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed ; That mercy I adore. In each event of life, how clear Thy ruling hand I see ! Each blessing to my soul more dear Because conferred by Thee. In every joy that crowns my days, In every pain I bear. My heart shall find delight in praise. Or seek relief in prayer. 396 MISCELLANEOUS. When gladness wings my favored hour, Thy love my thoughts shall fill ; Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, My soul shall meet Thy will. My lifted eye without a tear The gathering storm shall see ; My steadfast heart shall know no fear ; That heart will rest on Thee. Helen Maria Williams. — 1762-1827. GOD'S PURPOSES. "Unto the upright there ariseth light in the darkness." God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform ; He plants His footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up His bright designs, And works His sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take ; The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. MISCELLANEOUS. 397 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. But trust Him for His grace ; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour ; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain ; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain. Wm. Cowper. — 1731-1800. NOTHING GOOD WILL PERISH. Nothing good shall ever perish, Only the corrupt shall die ; Truth, which men and angels cherish, Flourishes eternally. None are wholly God-forsaken, All His sacred image bear ; None so lost but should awaken In our hearts a brother's care. 398 MISCELLANEOUS. Not a mind but has its wisdom — Power of working wo or weal ; So degraded none's condition But the world its weight may feel. Words of kindness, words of warning. Deem not thou may'st work in vain. Even those thy counsel scorning, Oft shall they return again. Though the mind absorbed in pleasure Holds the voice of counsel light, Still doth faithful memory treasure, What at first we seemed to slight. Words of kindness we have spoken. May, when we have passed away, Heal, perhaps, a spirit broken. Guide a brother led astray. No one act but is recorded ; Not a word but has its weight : Every virtue is rewarded — Outrage punished soon or late. Let no being then be rated As a thing of little worth : Every soul that is created, Has its part to play on earth. J. Haoim. MISCELLANEOUS. 399 ••FOR I SHALL YET PRAISE HIM." While the Angels are all singing, All of glory ever springing In the grounds of Heaven's high graces Where all virtues have their places, O that my poor soul were near them With a humble heart to hear them ! But ah ! wretched, sinful creature ! How should the corrupted nature Of this wicked heart of mine Think upon that love divine, That doth tune the Angels' voices, Whilst the Host of Heaven rejoices ? Yet while Mercy is removing All the sorrow of the loving, How can Faith be full of blindness, To despair of Mercy's kindness. While the hand of Heaven is giving Comfort from the Ever-Living? No ! my Soul, be no more sorry ! Look unto that life of glory, Which the grace of Faith regardeth, And the tears of Love rewardeth, Where the soul the Comfort getteth. That the Angels' music setteth ! 400 inSCELLANEOUS. There, when thou art well conducted, And by heavenly grace instructed, How the faithful thoughts to fashion Of a true adorer's passion. Sing with saints to Angels nighest, " Hallelujah in the highest ! " Breton. THE PRESENT LIFE IN VIEW OF THE FUTURE Oh, if we are not bitterly deceived — If this familiar spirit that communes With yours this hour — that has the power to search All things but its own compass — is a spark Struck from the burning essence of its God — If, as we dream, in every radiant star We see a shining gate through which the soul, In its degrees of being, will ascend — If, when these w^eary organs drop away, We shall forget their uses and commune With angels and each other, as the stars Mingle their light, in silence and in love — What is this fleshly fetter of a day That we should bind it with immortal flowers 1 How do we ever gaze upon the sky, And watch the lark soar up till he is lost, And turn to our poor perishing dreams away. Without one tear for our imprisoned wings ! N. P. Willis. MISCELLANEOUS. 401 GOD'S MERCIES. " Ey^tj day will I bless Thee ; and I will praise Tliy name for ever and ever." When all Thy mercies, O my God, My rising soul surveys ; Transported with the view I'm lost In wonder, love and praise. O how shall words with equal warmth The gratitude declare, That glows within my ravished heart 1 But Thou canst read it there ! Thy providence my life sustained, And all my wants redrest, When in the silent womb I lay. And hung upon the breast. To all my weak complaints and cries Thy mercy lent an ear, Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learned To form themselves in prayer. Unnumbered comforts to my soul Thy tender care bestowed, Before my infant heart conceived From whom those comforts flowed. When in the slippery paths of youth With heedless steps I ran, 402 MISCELLANEOUS. Thine arm unseen conveyed me safe, And led me up to man. Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, It gently cleared my way, And through the pleasing snares of vice More to be feared than they. When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou With health renewed my face, And when in sin and sorrows sunk, Revived my soul with grace. Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss Has made my cup run o'er ; And in a kind and faithful friend Has doubled all my store. Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy. Through every period of my life Thy goodness I'll pursue ; And, after death, in distant worlds The glorious theme renew. When nature fails, and day and night Divide Thy works no more. MISCELLANEOUS. 403 My ever grateful heart, O Lord, Thy mercy shall adore. Through all eternity to Thee A joyful song I'll raise, For, O ! eternity's too short To utter all Thy praise. Joseph Addison; 1672-1719. THE CRY OF THE HUMBLE. " He forgetteth not the cry of the humble." Soul ! fear not lest the harmony Of spheres all tuneful at one time Great Nature's myriad-voiced chime For thy weak voice too strong may be. O ! all the while the spheres are ringing, Yea, while the seven bright Heavens are singing, While all the people of the sky Unto their Lord make melody, — The Lord still listens for thy part ! Each echo from a lonely heart Upbeareth heavenward, ere it dieth, The humblest voice " My God ! " that crieth. Lamabtine. 404 ' MISCELLANEOUS. THE BOOK OF NATURE. • All Thy works praise Thee, O Lord, and Thy saints shall bleia There is a book, who runs may read, Which heavenly truth imparts, And all the lore its scholars need, Pure eyes and Christian hearts. The works of God above, below, Within us and around, Are pages in that book, to show How God Himself is found. The glorious sky embracijig all Is like the Maker's love, Wherewith encompassed, great and small In peace and order move. Two worlds are ours : 'tis only Sin Forbids us to descry The mystic heaven and earth within, Plain as the sea and sky. Thou, who hast given me eyes to see And love this sight so fair, Give me a heart to find out Thee, And read Thee everywhere. EsBUb MISCELLANEOUS. 405 THY KINGDOM COME. Listen, awake, inquire : What doth the watchman cry ? Is He, who proves the earth by nre Descending nigh ? What doth the watchman say, Whose call the slumberer wakes I " The night hath nearly passed away The morning breaks." Priests ! statesmen ! be not dumb ; Seers ! Peoples ! shout aloud, *' Lord, let Thy kingdom quickly come O'erthrow the proud ! " Princes and nobles all ! Hark to the solemn cry : Beneath your Judge oppressions fall Your time draws nigh. Tremble, ye men of ease. Who worship self for God : Wide sweeps the sword of His decrees : Severe His rod ! Stand up and brace the heart ; Take courage, brethren brave ! 406 MISCELLANEOUS. Prepare to act a noble part : God smites to save. In war He is our peace ; Men's thunder is His voice : Through sufferings sharp He brings release Believe ! rejoice ! The hours with steady flight Haste on the glorious year : The triumph of Eternal right Shall soon appear. In those more blessed days The children of mankind Beneath their God's benignant gaze Mild Peace shall find. ASSURANCE OF GOD'S LOVE. O ! WOULD you be assured you love your God, Make Him a God that must be loved of need, A God you cannot otherwise than love. Throw off that yoke of joyless servitude, That niggard balancing of right and wrong, Which fears to give too little or too much. Doubt is not love — suspicion is not love ! Believe that He has known you, pitied you, MISCELLANEOUS. 407 Taken you Himself from prison and from death, Sought and pursued you through a world of ill — Restrained you, taught you, reared you for His own. Believe that He forgives you every sin, Pays every debt, and cancels every claim — Watches beside your pillow while you sleep. Supports you, leads you, guards you when you wake, And bids His angels know no better task Than to administer to you His child ; — And while in heaven's high mansion He prepares The seat of royalty He bids you claim, Arrays you in a vesture so divine, Of holiness and virtue not your own, That when the hour of just adjudgment comes, All may confess in you the heir of heaven. Believe the Lord your God is such an one, And you must love Him, even to your soul. Caroline Fry THE UNSEARCHABLE. " O I God most hidden and most manifest." — St. Augustine. O HEIGHT that doth all height excel. Where the Almighty doth abide ! O awful depth unsearchable. Wherein the Eternal One doth hide ! O dreadful glory that doth make Thick darkness round the Heavenly Throne, 408 anSCELLANEOUS. Througn which no angel eye may break. Wherein the Lord doth dwell alone ! Our fainting souls the quest give o'er, Their weary wings no longer try ; His dwelling we may not explore, We may not on His glory pry. What secret place, what distant star, Is like, dread Lord, to Thine abode ? Why dwellest Thou from us so far ? We yearn for Thee, Thou Hidden God ! Vain searchers ! but we need not mourn, We need not stretch our weary wings ; Thou meetest us, where'er we turn. Thou beamest, Lord, from all bright things. The glory no man may abide Doth visit us, a gracious guest. Thou, whom " excess of light" doth hide, Here shinest sweetly manifest. But sweetest dost Thou, Lord, appear In the dear Saviour's smiling face ; The Heavenly Majesty draws near And offers us its soft embrace. To us, vain searchers after God, To us the Holy Ghost doth come : MISCELLANEOUS. 409 From us Thou hidest Thine abode, But Thou wilt make our souls Thy home. O Glory that no eye may bear ! — O Presence Bright, our soul's sweet Guest ! O farthest off, O ever near ! Most Hidden and Most Manifest ! T. H. Gill. THE FUTURE LIFE. How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps The disembodied spirits of the dead, When all of thee that time could wither sleeps And perishes among the dust we tread ? For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain If there I meet thy gentle presence not ; Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. Will not thy own meek heart demand me there 1 That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given? My name on earth was ever in thy prayer. Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ? In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, 4t0 . MISCELLANEOUS. And larger movements of the unfettered miml, Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ? The love that lived through all the stormy past, And meekly with my harsher nature bore, And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last, — Shall it expire with life, and be no more ? A happier lot than mine, and larger light Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will In cheerful homage to the rule of right. And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll ; And wrath has left its scar — that fire of hell Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye. Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, The wisdom that I learned so ill in this — The wisdom which is love — till I become Thy fit companion in the world of bliss? William C. Bkyant. MISCELLANEOUS. 411 NOT FOR NOUGHT. Do and suffer nought in vain : Let no trifling be : If the salt of life is pain, Let e'en wrongs bring good to thee ; Good to others, few or many ; Good to all or good to any. If men curse thee, plant their lies Where, for truth, they best may grow ; Let the railers make thee wise. Preaching peace, where'er thou go : God no useless plant hath planted, Evil (wisely used) is wanted. If the nation-feeding corn Thriveth under iced snow ; If the small bird, on the thorn, Useth well its guarded sloe ; Bidi;hy cares thy comforts double ; Gather fruit from thorns of trouble. See the Rivers ! how they run. Strong in gloom, and strong in light ! Like the never-wearied sun, Through the day and through the night, Each along his path of duty. Turning coldness into beauty! Ebenezer Elliott. — 1781-1845. 4l12 miscellaneous. FAITH. Ye who think the truth ye sow Lost beneath the winter's snow^ Doubt not, Time's unerring law Yet shall bring the genial thaw. God in nature ye can trust, — » Is the God of mind less just t Read we not the mighty thought Once by ancient sages taught 1 Though it withered in the blight Of the mediseval night, Now the harvest we behold ; See ! it bears a thousand fold. Workers on the barren soil. Yours may seem a thankless toil ; Sick at heart with hope deferred, Listen to the cheering word : Now the faithful sower grieves ; Soon he'll bind his golden sheaves. If Great Wisdom have decreed Man may labor, yet the seed Never in this life shall grow. Shall the sower cease to sow 1 The fairest fruit may yet be boro On the resurrection morn ! Fritz and Leoleti. MISCELLANEOUS. 413 A SIGHT OF HEAVEN IN SICKNESS. Oft have I sat in secret sighs To feel my flesh decay, Then groaned aloud with frighted eyes To view the tottering clay. But I forbid my sorrows now, Nor dares the flesh complain ; Diseases bring their profit too ; The joy o'ercomes the pain. My cheerful soul now all the day Sits waiting here and sings ; Looks through the ruin of her clay, And practises her wings. Faith almost changes into sight While from afar she spies Her fair inheritance, in light Above created skies. Had but the prison walls been strong And firm, without a flaw, In darkness she had dwelt too long, And less of glory saw. But now the everlasting hills Through every chink appear, 414 MISCELLANEOUS. And something of the joy she feels While she's a prisoner here. The shines of heaven rush sweetly in At all the gaping flaws, Visions of endless bliss are seen, And native air she draws. O may these walls stand tottering still, The breaches never close, If I must here in darkness dwell, And all this glory lose ! Or rather let this flesh decay, The ruins wider grow, Till, glad to see the enlarged way, I stretch my pinions through. Isaac Watts. — 1674-1748. FOR HELP IN TROUBLE. Lowly and solemn be Thy children's cry to Thee, Father divine ! A hymn of suppliant breath. Owning that life and death Alike are Thine ! MISCELLANEOUS. 415 O Father ! in that hour When earth all succoring power Shall disavow ; When spear, and shield, and crown, In faintness are cast down, — Sustain us. Thou ! By Him who bowed to take The death-cup for our sake, The thorn, the rod ; From whom the last dismay Was not to pass away, — Aid us, O God ! Tremblers beside the grave, We call on Thee to save, Father divine ! Hear, hear our suppliant breath, Keep us in life and death, Thine, only Thine ! THE LORD'S CHASTENING. " Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth^- Wish not, dear friends, my pain away, Wish me a wise and thankful heart. With God, in all my griefs, to stay, Nor from His loved correction start. 416 MISCELLANEOUS. The dearest offering He can crave His portion in our souls to prove, What is it to the gift He gave, The only Son of His dear love ? But we, like vexed unquiet sprites. Will still be hovering o'er the tomb. Where buried lie our vain delights, Nor sweetly take a sinner's doom. In Life's long sickness evermore Our thoughts are tossing to and fro : We change our posture o'er and o'er, But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe. Were it not better to lie still, Let Him strike home, and bless the rod, Never so safe as when our will Yields undiscerned by all but God ? Thy precious things, whate'er they be That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, Look at the Cross, and thou shalt see How thou may'st turn them all to gain ! Lovest thou praise ? the Cross is shame : Or ease ? the Cross is bitter grief: More pangs than tongue or heart can frame Were suffered there without relief MISCELLANEOUS. 417 We of that altar would partake, But cannot quit the cost — no throne Is ours, to leave for Thy dear sake — We cannot do as Thou hast done. We cannot part with Heaven for Thee — Yet guide us in Thy track of love : Let us gaze on where light should be, Though not a beam the clouds remove. So wanderers ever fond and true Look homeward through the evening sky, Without a streak of Heaven's soft blue To aid Affection's dreaming eye. The wanderer seeks his native bower, And we will look and long for Thee, And thank Thee for each trying hour, Wishing, not struggling, to be free. Keblb. LIGHT A^HD DARICNESS. Uat unto you that fear my name, shall the Sun of Righteousness arise, with hudinf in His wings." Sometimes a light surprises The Christian as he sings; It is the Lord who rises With healing on His wings : 418 MISCELLAJOSOUS. When comforts are declining. He grants the soul again A season of clear shining To cheer it after rain. In holy contemplation We sweetly then pursue The theme of God's salvation. And find it ever new ; Set free from present sorrow, We cheerfully can stay, E'en let the unknown tomorrow Bring with it what it may. It can bring with it nothing But He will bear us through ; Who o-ives the lilies clothing Will clothe His people too. Beneath the spreading heavens No creature but is fed ; And He, who feeds the ravens, Will give His children bread. Though vine nor fig-tree neither Their wonted fruit should bear, — Though all the field should wither, Nor flocks nor herds be there ; — Yet God the same abiding, His praise shall tune my voice ; For, while in Him confiding, I cannot but rejoice. Wm. Cowpeb. MISCELLANEOUS. 419 PRACTICAL DEVOTION. " Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one Father of our feeble race ! Wise, beneficent and kind ! Spread o'er nature's ample face, Flows Thy goodness unconfined. Musing in the silent grove, Or the busy walks of men, Still we trace Thy wondrous love, Claiming large returns again. Lord ! what offering shall we bring At Thy altar when we bow ? Hearts, — the pure, unsullied spring Whence the kind affections flow ! Soft Compassion's feeling soul, By the melting eye expressed I Sympathy, at whose control, Sorrow leaves the wounded breast ! — V/illing hands to lead the blind, Bind the wounded, feed the poor ! — Love, embracing all our kind ! Charity, with liberal store ! Teach us, O Thou Heavenly King ! Thus to show our grateful mind ; Thus th' accepted offering bring, — Love to Thee and all mankind ! Jane Taylor. 420 MISCELLANEOUS. GRACE AND GRATITUDE. Lord ! come too many gifts from Thee For us to mark each gift ? Down streams Thy grace too plenteously Our spirits up to lift ? Thy light would glorify our lot ; Thyself besets our way : And yet Thine ingrates feel Thee not, And yet Thy pilgrims stray. Still sometimes glorious grows the road, And grateful raptures come ; All close and tender feels our God, — All near appears our home. Some sweet surprise our souls doth take Straight to the heavenly Throne : — Some sudden blaze of bliss doth make The Lord's bright Presence known. Or midst some mighty woe awhile Our gracious God appears, And strangely beams th' Eternal Smile Amid the mortal tears. Alas these visits rare and rude Unto Thy Holy Place! — MISCELLANEOUS. 42I Our weak, wild bursts of gratitude — Thy calm, clear deeps of grace ! O never shall Thy mercy make Our souls to rest in Thine ? Nor mortal gratitude partake The flow of Grace Divine ? When shall our grateful raptures rise Fast as Thy grace descends, And link to endless harmonies The Love that never ends ! T. H. Gi LI- THE SOUL'S RELIANCE. Interval of grateful shade, Welcome to my weary head ! Welcome slumbers to my eyes, Tired with glaring vanities ! My great Master still allows Needful periods of Repose : By my Heavenly Father blest Thus I give my powers to rest. Heavenly Father ! gracious name ! Night and Day His love the same : Far be each suspicious thought, Every anxious care forgot : 423 MISCELLANEOUS. Thou, my ever bounteous God, Crown'st my days with various good : Thy kind eye, that cannot sleep. These defenceless hours shall keep. What if death my sleep invade ? Should I be of death afraid ? Whilst encircled by Thy arm, Death may strike but cannot harm. With Thy heavenly presence blest, Death is life, and labor rest. Welcome sleep or death to me. Still secure, if still with Thee. Philip Doddridge. — 1702-1751. UPWARD TENDENCIES OF THE SOUL. From the birth Of mortal man, the sovereign Maker said, That not in humble nor in brief delight. Not in the fading echoes of Renown, Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap, The soul should find enjoyment : but from these Turning disdainful to an equal good, Throuorh all the ascent of thino^s enlarge her view, Till every bound at length should disappear, And infinite perfection close the scene. Akenside. — 1721-1770. MISCELLANEOUS. 423 THE RAINBOW. Sweet Dove ! the softest steadiest plume In all the sunbright sky, Brightening in every changing gloom, As breezes change on high ; — Sweet Leaf! the pledge of peace and mirth " Long sought and lately won," Blest increase of reviving Earth When first it felt the sun ; — Sweet Rainbow ! pride of summer days. High set at Heaven's command, Though into drear and dusky haze Thou melt on either hand ; — Dear tokens of a pardoning God, We hail you, one and all, As when our fathers walked abroad, Freed from their twelve-months' thrall ! Lord ! if our fathers turned to Thee With such adoring gaze, Wondering frail men Thy light should see Without Thy scorching blaze ; — Where is our love and where our hearts We who have seen Thy Son, 424 MISCELLANEOUS. Have tried Thy Spirit's winning arts, And yet we are not won ? The Son of God in radiance beamed Too bright for us to scan ; But we may face the rays that streamed From the mild Son of Man. There, parted into rainbow hues In sweet harmonious strife, We see celestial Love diffuse Its light o'er Jesus' life. God by His bow vouchsafed to write This truth in heaven above : As every lovely hue is Light, So every grace is Love. Keblb. WISDOM AND LOVE. God is love : His mercy brightens All the path in which we rove : Bliss He wakes, and woe He lightens ; God is wisdom, God is love. Chance and change are busy ever ; Man decays, and ages move ; But His mercy waneth never, God is wisdom, God is love. MISCELLANEOUS. 425 Even the hour that darkest seemeth Will his changeless goodness prove ; From the mist His brightness streameth, God is wisdom, God is love. He with earthly cares entwineth Hope and comfort from above • Everywhere His glory shineth ; God is wisdom, God is love. BOWRING. TO NIGHT. Mysterious night ! when our first parent knew Thee from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue ? Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And, lo ! creation widened in man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O sun ? or who could find. Whilst fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind ? Why do we, then, shun death with anxious strife? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ? J. Blanco White, 426 MISCELLANEOUS. LOOKING TO JESUS. Thou, to our woe who down didst come. Who one with us wouldst be, Wilt lift us to Thy Heavenly home, Wilt make us one with Thee. Our earthly garments Thou hast worn, And we Thy robes shall wear ! Our mortal burdens Thou hast borne, And we Thy bliss may bear 1 O mighty grace, our life to live, To make our earth divine ; O mighty grace ! Thy Heaven to give, And lift our Life to Thine ! O strange the gifts and marvellous. By Thee received and given ! Thou tookest woe and death from us, And we receive Thy Heaven ! T. H. Gill. "■m 0oul9 are JKtm " Ezekiel, xviii. 4. iALL souls, Lord, are Thine ; — assuranc* Vil* ^ Thine, not our own to rob of Help Divine ; Not man's, to doom by any human test, But Thine, gracious Lord, and only Thine ! Surely " the soul that sinneth, it shall die " — Die to the sin that would its life confine ! Evil shall boast not perpetuity. Since every soul, however fall'n, is 'Inme. Thine, by thy various discipline, to lead To heights where heavenly truths immortal shine ;< Truths, none eternally shall fail to heed, For all, Lord, are Thine, forever Thine. 437 428 "AI.L SOULS AEE MINE." Forgive the thought, that everlasting ill To any can be part of Thy design ; Finite, imperfect, erring, guilty, — still All souls, great God, are Thine, — and mercy Thine. The soul, its own inquisitor, respects No other claim save that Thy words enshrine ; In its serene profundity reflects No power beyond and over it save Thine. And Poesy her voice accordant lends When highest rapture wings her flight divine, Notes of immortal cheer forever blends With those proclaiming. Lord, all souls are Thine. " All souls are Mine " ! Who shrinks to yield his breath, Whose child-like faith can on those words recline ? Come with thy scourges. Fate ! Come, Anguish, Death, — Since God himself hath said ; " All souls are Mine " ! Slje 5avmxr of :3lll. W« tnut in the living God who is the Saviour of all men, especially of I believe. — 1 Timothy, iv. 10. " Saviour of all " — on that we lean — Who shall our trast gainsaj'- ? What earth-born cloud shall intervene To hide that heavenly ray "^ Not to this life, redeeming grace Is partially confined ; It knoweth neither time nor place, And visits every mind. The Saviour is a Saviour still Through being's endless scope ; Winning the soul from woe and ill, Never withholding hope. 429 430 MISCELLANEOUS. And though the present aye must be The truBj th' accepted hour^ We cannot from His mercy flee, His sin-subduing power. Then in the living God we'll tniat, Who doeth all things well ; The body shall return to dust, The poul in heaven shall dwelL INDEX OF FIRST LINES. PAGE Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) Ldrjh Hunt 172 A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun John Wilson 166 A dew-drop falling on the ocean wave i?. C. French 266 . 198 . 17 Again the violet of our early days ..Ebenezer Elliott .... Again thou reignest in thy golden hall . . W. S. jRoscoe . 18 A good that never satisfies the mind . .Dvummond . 6 Ah ! when did wisdom covet length of days ..Anonymous . 373 A little child, beneath a tree . . Charles Mackmj . 273 All are not taken ; there are left behind ...E.B. Broicninrj ... . 34 All nature ministers to Hope. The snow . . H. Coleridge . 98 All souls, Lord, are Thine ;— assurance blest . . . . . C. H. Townshend . . . 427 AH speaks of change * the renovated forms Sir H Davy 372 All things tliat are on earth shall pass away ... W. C. Bryant . 45 All true glory rests . . Wordsworth . Ill And as the vesper hymn of Time precedes ..P.J.Bailey . 296 And is there care in Heaven ? And is there love . ..Spenser . 3G4 And this place my forefathers made for man ! . . . ..S. T. Coleridge . 104 Are ye forever to your skies departed ? . . 3frs. Henians 222 Art thou a type of beauty, or of power ..Aubrey Be Yere .... . 20 As men from men . 114 . 55 As shadows cast by cloud and sun . . W. C. Bryant At evening time it shall be light ..Anonymous . 378 Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints ..Milton 9 Awake, awake, my little boy ! ..William Blake . 65 . 181 Behold the storm-beat wanderer in repose ..E. Bulwer Lytton.. Believe and pray. Who can believe and pray ..n. Coleridge . 100 Be not afraid to pray— to pray is right .. " " . 30 Bitter the anguish with these two words blended . . . Bernard Barton . . . . 184 Bold is the life, and deep and vast in man 120 Bound upon th' accursed tree ..H.H. Mihnan 58 189 But who shall see the glorious day . . Tfiomas 3{oore Call all who love Thee, Lord ! to Thee ..P. J. Bailey 431 295 432 INDEX OF Fill ST LINES. PAGE Calm on the bosom of thy God MvS IliJTLCinS 220 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night ...Sanmel Daniel 4 Christians, awake, salute the happy morn . John Biivoifn 59 Could I command, with voice or pen 86 Death is a road our dearest friends have gone. . . . ...Leigh Hunt .. 1?,' Deep on the convent-roof the snows ...A. Tennyson . 82 Die down, dismal day ! and let me live. . . David Gray 41 Do and suffer nought in vain ! . . . Ebenezer Elliott 411 Doos^ the road wind up hill all the way ? ... (7. G. Rossetti .... . 63 Do not beguile my heart . . . George Herbert .... . 71 Dost thou, amid the rapturous glow ...A. Norton . 133 Ere thou wast born "into this breathing world •". ...H Coleridge . 92 Eternal and Omnipotent Unseen . . . Horace Smith . 16 Eternal Mind ! creation's Light and Lord ! . ..John Sterling . 118 Eternal spirit of the chalnless mind . . Byron . 20 Every human tie may perish ...Kdley . 365 Farewell life I My senses swim . . Thomas Hood . 273 Far in a wild, unknown to public view . . Thos. Parnell . 232 Father and God ! whose love and mio-ht Horace Smith 123 Father of all ! In every age ..Alexander Pope . . . . 217 Fatiier of our feeble race ! . ..Jane Taylor . 419 Father ! thy wonders do not singly stand . . . Jones Very . 65 Flowers ! when the Saviour's calm, benignant eye . . 3f7-s. Heinans 22 Fond words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep. . . Wordsworth . 12 Forever with the Lord . Montgomery . 155 For man there still is left one sacred charter . . Horace Smith . 130 Four seasons fill the measure of the j'ear ..Keats . 26 Friend of my earliest years and childi:^h days .. Charles Lamb . 15 From north and south, from east and west ...Butcher . 361 From the birth . .Akenside . 422 From the recesses of a lowly spirit . .John Bowring . 137 Give evil but an end— and all is clear ! ..C.H. Townshend.. . 306 Give to the winds thy fears . P. Gerhardt . 381 God is love : His mercy brightens . . Bowring . 421 God moves in a mysterious way . . Cowper . 396 God of my life ! and Author of my days ..Mrs. Barbaidd . 243 God rest you, merry gentlemen ..Anonymous . 53 God's voice doth sometimes fall on us with fear De Vere . 361 God took thee in his mercy . .3frs. Sou f hey 161 Go wing thy flight from star to star . . Thomas Moore 190 Hail ! new-waked atom of the eternal whole ..Anonymous 351 Ho has gone to his God; he has gone to his home. ..A. Norton 131 He scndeth sun. He sendcth showers ..S. F. Adam^ 276 He taught the cheerfulness that still is ours . . Lamon Blanchard . 385 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. He who w