LIBRA' OF CONGRESS. I Cljap - i*Ww f a-.. lielf..„*_/°?<2. UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. The ancient abbey's walls may crumbled be, All ivy-clad the portions that remain ; Though totfring tomb-stones clothed with moss we see. Yet saints who sleep beneath shall live again." Page ib. (fxi^SKEXT POETffiIL*TREAMEg ORIGINAL AND SELECTED. i / BY ELDER D. D. PATERSON. Earth's treasures many people strive to find, While others labor hard to store the mind With sparkling gems of truth. GRANT) RAPIDS, MICH: W. W. HART'S STEAM BOOK AND COMMERCIAL PRINTING HOUSE. 1881. ^ ^$* Copyright 1881, BY D. D. PATERSON. TO THE TOILING PILGRIMS WHO ARE JOURNEYING TOWARDS THE REST THAT REMAINETII FOR THE PEOPLE OF GOD, THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. OF POETICyVL TREASURES. THE PILGRIM. I. OUT OF THE ARK. tSjUT of the Ark, from God afar, ^ No peace, nor rest, nor guiding star, A lonely one plods on his way, And toileth hard from day to day. He opes his heart, and creepeth in The world with all her busy din : Her vain allurements try to charm, Her evil habits seek to harm. He glides along the giddy stream, Lost, as it were, in mazy dream ; And cares of life increase apace, As thus he runs life's weary race. His friends seem cold, the world seems drear, With few to give a word of cheer. O, dismal picture, hopeless life, Made up of trials, toils and strife ! A giddy friend swift passeth by, His manner reticent and shy; Another, " How d' ye do to-day ? " 'Tis all that he has time to say. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. " O heartless world, O friendship vain ! " His heart in bitterness exclaims; " Where, where is peace, O tell me where ? I yield, I sink into despair." Night comes. Upon his lonely bed, He tries to rest his aching head, Then startles out of midnight dream — " Lost ! lost ! " he hears the wailing scream. 'Midst retrospective thoughts he hears A voice that melts his heart to tears — A mother's prayer, so sweet, so mild — " O, Heavenly Father, save my child ! " " Yes, mother told me God was kind." 'T was thus he mused, with care-worn mind " I '11 seek my God, to Him I '11 flee, This world hath nothing good for me." Then fell he into slumber deep, But One stood by him in his sleep, And said in tones so sweet and free, " Thou weary one, come unto Me." II. A SAVIOUR FOUND. " I heard the voice of Jesus say, ' Come unto me and rest, Lay down, thou weary one, lay down Thy head upon my breast.' I came to Jesus as I was, Weary, and worn, and sad ; I found in Him a resting place, And He has made me glad." The wanderer hears the well-known strain, Resolves to ope his heart again ; CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. The dreary world he casts behind, And starts the blessed Lord to find. Sweet voice still strikes upon his ear : " Come unto me, I '11 still thy fear ; Take up my yoke, my burden 's light, And hope I '11 give of glory bright. E'en here thy path shall shine as day, For I will guide thee all the way. At last on Zion's hill thou 'It stand Forever with a holy band." " Enough, my Lord, enough," he cried ; " I hear thy voice ; I will arise, From hence I will thy word obey, And tread the pilgrim's narrow way." And so, to gain the glorious prize, Swift down to yonder stream he hies, In baptism there to bow, and own The Father, and his blessed Son. Then, rising from the watery grave, He knows that Jesus died to save ; The glorious sacrifice applied, Now walks he by his Saviour's side. A glowing love his bosom fills, Sweet joys untold his being thrills, And now upon his pathway gleams A beacon light— hope's brilliant beams. " Dark world, farewell, farewell for aye! For me has dawned a brighter day." 'Tis thus he testifies, and then, In language of another's pen, He speaks, that it may sound abroad, And tend to glorify his God : " Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest ; Far did I rove, and found no certain home At last I found them in his sheltering breast, 10 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Who opes his arms and bids the weary come. With Him I found a home, a rest divine, And I since then am his, and He is mine. Yes, He is mine, and naught of earthly things, Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth or power, The fame of heroes or the pomp of kings, Could tempt me to forego his love an hour. Go, worthless world! I cry, with all that's thine Go! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine." The gloom is past. A pilgrim still, He wends his way to Zion's hill. The night far spent, dawned is the day, And thus he muses joyously : " My Father now is reconciled, He owns his weary, wandering child ; Yes, I have found ' the good old way,' And hope points out a brighter day. Just yonder lies the land of rest, Where I shall lean on Jesus' breast, Forever with my loving Lord, Where his dear name shall be adored ; The earth re-clad with pristine bloom, No more dark clouds, nor dismal gloom. Hail, happy clime, home of the free, The King in beauty there I'll see, For lo, my Saviour comes again, And on this earth He'll ever reign; With mighty shout shall He descend, And darkness, sin and death shall end. 'Twill not be long. He'll soon appear; Eternity approacheth near. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 11 Then all his jewels shall arise, And shout Him welcome in the skies, O, hallelujah, praise the Lord, Come, pilgrims, join with one accord, And sound his praises night and day, And with those praises, watch and pray. Our trials soon shall all be o'er, And sighing shall be known no more ; No more shall tears bedew our eyes, Ours, then, the everlasting prize. Our glorious Father there we'll see, Reigning in peerless majesty High over all — enthroned above — The mighty God — the source of love. Lone comrade, art thou weary now? Wipe off those sweat-drops from thy brow, None shall be weary over there, When we have gained the Eden fair. Lift up thy head, for day-dawn bright Breaks on our path — O sweet twilight — The twilight of th' eternal day, When righteousness shall have full sway. Cheer up, deliverance is at hand, Soon shall we reach the promised land ; Companions there, we '11 ever roam The peaceful fields of that blest home. Then come, dear Saviour, is our prayer, We long to meet thee in the air ; Hosamias to thy blessed name, Soon with the angels we '11 proclaim. So now I 'm done. Dear comrades, all, Prepare to meet the mighty call. O, may we greet you on that shore, Where we shall praise God evermore ! " / 12 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Dear reader, to the Saviour cling, His name adore, his praises sing ; A refuge He shall prove to thee For time and for eternity. Thou Bride of Christ, with garments pure, Stand fast in Him- — thy hope is sure; That Jesus comes proclaim abroad — O, Zion, glorify thy God. NEARING HOME. ^TEARING home, O blest assurance, "^ ^ How it nerves us for endurance ; Ring the notes with oft recurrence, We are Hearing home ! See the darkness 'round us thicken, Men with fear shall soon be stricken ; Pilgrims, now your footsteps quicken, We are nearing home. Faithful to the Master ever, Falter in the race-course never ; Soon we'll be with Christ forever, We are nearing home. Lo, He comes with glory blazing, See the world in terror gazing ; Changed, we rise, with rapture praising - Then we '11 rest at home. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 13 EVENING SHADES AND MORNING LIGHT. fHE world's day weareth to its eventide": With solemn sweep The silent shadows, down the mountain side, Fall long and deep. In boding clouds sinks down the cheerless light, But morning cometh hand in hand with night. Long hath the noon of pride and wrong blazed high, And Satan reigned ; And man blasphemed ; and sin sent forth its cry ; And earth complained. But few were looking for the day of doom — Few prayed the year of the redeemed might come. And still, 'mid portents of fast coming woe, They make mad mirth. Pomp lights the festal chamber, and they grow Wanton on earth. They plant, they build — choose Sodom's smiling lot, And in derision cry, " Why comes he not ? " O, dweller of the earth, fear comes on thee ! The pit — the snare — Darkness in heaven — trouble on the sea — O'er all despair. Sorrow and anguish on the world shall fall, And death, and doom, and darkness cover all. But lo! a gleaming from the watch-tower seen — A star of dawn ! Though long and weary hath the darkness been, i4 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 'Twill soon be gone, The treasured ray, that burned thro' all the night, At last is kindling into morning light. Yes ! to the church no day has come as yet To chase her fears ; Her path to glory hath been dark and wet With blood and tears. Her eyes have failed with looking for the day, It seemed so fair and yet so far away. The days grow darker, but she sings, " 'T is well ; He cometh now ! " The winds that smite the cedar only swell Her fig-tree bough. Still, as the dark clouds threaten, hers grow bright — Their cloud of darkness is her j)illared light. Sing praise, thou watcher at the door of hope — Thy last by night ! Dark is the threshold, but the portals ope — Lo! all is bright. The Bridegroom cometh : hark ! He calls thee home : Ere thou " believe for joy " He shall have come. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 15 OUR COMMON ENEMY. T MHO has not felt the keen and bitter pang ^ J Of sad bereavement ? Who hast not a friend Asleep in some lone graveyard ? Therefore Ave With earnest longings pray that death may end. But Death — is lie our friend and not a foe ? And is man but a cage, as many say, Which can be severed at a stroke, then nee The soul or bird to realms of endless day ? No ; Death 's a tyrant that shall hold full sway Until our blessed Lord shall come again To usher in the bright eternal day, And snap in twain forever his dark chain. Yes, that same voice that stilled the wind and waves In olden times, shall shout as lie descends, And waking dead shall rise, and shall be judged All righteously. Here death and darkness ends. But Christians have a hope that bears them up Above affliction's billows dark and drear : For while they're called to drink the bitter cup, The hand of Jesus wipes away the tear. Yea, to the child of God death seemeth rest, For calmly passeth he through waters deep ; By faith he leans his head on Jesus' breast, And sweet and hopefully he falls asleep. 16 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. The ancient abbey's walls may crumbled be — All ivy-clad the portions that remain ; Though tott'ring tomb-stones clothed with moss we see, Yet saints who sleep beneath shall live again. For them that sleep in Jesus, God shall bring With Him ; for theirs the everlasting prize : All clothed immortal, they '11 hosannas sing, As over death triumphant they arise. O haste thee, haste thee, happy, glorious day, When sickness, pain and death shall be no more — When our last enemy shall be destroyed, And when the saints shall meet on Eden's shore. In that glad day the heavens above shall ring With loud sweet anthems of the joyous throng : "All glory be to God and to the Lamb ! " They cry, and heavenly hosts the notes prolong. * And as the ransomed ones march 'round the throne Of their Redeemer — Zion's beauteous King, Their golden harps they strike: "Worthy the Lamb Who conquered death!" exultantly they sing. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 1 1 THE CLOSING OF THE YEAR. r ||§YNCE more we hear the voice of Father Time, ^** And solemnly his accents strike the ear : 'Tis midnight, and the bells join in their chime — Farewell, for aye farewell, another year ! As retrospectively our eyes we cast O'er ups and downs of days and years gone by, Events both sweet and sad go flitting past ; 'Tis here a smile, there tears bedim the eye : A happy scene recalled, sweet faces there Of loved ones fondly cherished. Why that tear '? Long since we laid away their forms so fair In lone and silent graves. O Christ, appear ! Yes, Saviour, come, and bid the dead arise, That we those dear ones may embrace once more, And dwell together 'neath the balmy skies, Companions ever, all sad partings o'er. But to return. Another year has fled, And its events are numbered with the past; Its prayers are offered, and its tears are shed ; Its seeds of future joys and sorrows cast. Its trials, toils and strivings are no more, Ended its sunshine and its clouds of gloom, Its storms, disasters, tempests, all are o'er — Portentous tokens of the day of doom. But still the world runs on. It heedeth not The solemn warnings of God's holy Word : On, on it sweeps, as in the days of Lot, Regardless of the overhanging sword. The sword shall fall; the day of wrath shall come ; And Zion's Conqueror shall soon appear : may these truths to every heart strike home, 2 18 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. At this the threshold of another year ; For as the years roll on hope sees the strand Not far ahead — the golden Eden shore — When with one foot on sea and one on land, Messiah shall proclaim, " Time is no more." Another year ! Weigh well thy deeds and prayers, For Christ what hast thou sown — what hast thou done? In the great day shall it be wheat or tares That thou shalt cast before the judgment throne ? Beyond recall the past ; but it is ours To labor now, and to redeem the time — Employ the moments and spend well the hours — Performing every duty line by line. Another year ! What shall the present bring ? The darkness deepens, and night draweth near : But soon shall heaven with loud hozannas ring, Proclaiming unto Zion, " Thy King is here." For morning cometh also with the night, When comforted shall be Christ's weeping Bride, And faith shall burst into eternal sight — The saints forever by their Saviour's side. O Zion, much beloved of God, rejoice ; Awake, arise, e'en now dry up thy tears ; In songs of praise and triumph lift thy voice, Redemption is at hand, dawn-light appears. But in this morning hour, O watch and pray, For suddenly thy Saviour shall descend: " In such an hour as ye think not," the day Shall burst, and all things mortal have an end. Another year ! O sinner, Time doth fly, And yet thou art unsheltered from the blast ; See yonder Rock of Ages — thither fly, Into the arms of Jesus thyself cast. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Once sheltered there, a Father's loving arm Shall thee protect. The tempest loud may roar, And billows toss, but safe from all alarm Are those in Christ — at last they'll die no more. Good-bye, Old Year ! The youthful heart beats high, The longed-for holidays at length have come ; Yet many disappointed heave a sigh, As turning from vain folly they seek home. True pleasure is a gem on earth most rare ; Seek where thou wilt, 'tis only found in Him, The lowly One, who did our sorrows share, Whose precious blood doth cleanse ws from all sin. O sweet indeed the joy for young or old To meet as children of heaven's glorious King : Communion blest ! The sweet old story told, To blend their voices, and glad anthems sing. Blest holy worship ! — this is joy supreme, For with his own the Saviour still abides : A heavenly walk, a holy life our theme, Then soar we far above earth's swelling tides. Another year! The sands have ebbed once more; O swiftly floweth Time's unceasing tide : But Zion's ship draws near the tranquil shore, And safely o'er the billows doth she ride ; Soon anchored in the haven of Sweet Rest, Her passengers all landed on the shore, Their portion hence, forever with the blest, Her voyage then is ended — storms all o'er. O weary one upon life's stormy sea, Look up; Christ Jesus mighty is to save, Behold his loving hand stretched forth to thee ; A little longer ply the oar; be brave, 'Tis but a little while, and He will come 20 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. To cheer the lonely with his tender voice : The warfare ended and the race all run, Zion with songs of triumph shall rejoice. Time speeds away, but who would stop his pace ? " O come, Lord Jesus," is the pilgrim's prayer ; Then time speed on, that we may see his face ; The joys unfading, and his glories share. A crown ahead, then long we for the same, And longing we must pray, " Thy kingdom come," When angels with sweet voices shall proclaim The reaping over and the harvest home. A hallowed home beyond — a peaceful clime — Where in the balmy groves sweet warblers sing — Where all is bright, and holy, and sublime, And saints to Zion's King their tributes bring. For such a home as this, who would not pray The Lord to hasten in his own good time ? O wand'rer, shall we meet you in that day ? And shall that peaceful hallowed home be thine ? The years fly past ; eternity draws near : Flee to the Ark ; lay hold eternal life. The world's true Light shall soon again appear ; Then ends forever all the bitter strife. Th' eternal sun shall rise to set no more ; Restored shall be the bloom of Eden fair, Nor thorn nor brier seen on that blest shore ; Instead the fir and myrtle shall be there. The curse removed, eternal ages roll, The hills and valleys with God's glory shine, All bliss from east to west, from pole to pole : Farewell, henceforth, forever, Father Time ! CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 21 THE LAND OF REST. fHERE is a land, a fairer land than this; ^ A land of rest, and peace, and joy and bliss; A land where saints immortalized shall dwell, And perfect love shall every bosom swell. By faith the ancients saw this land afar, God's word prophetic was their guiding star; Hope cheered the gloom that sin o'er nature cast, And pointed to a sinless home at last. God promised it to Abraham of old, And to his seed, as we are plainly told ; That seed is Christ, and if we are but his, Heirs with Him are we to this land of bliss. A land "far off," 'twas called in days of yore, But now 'tis near at hand, e'en at the door ; Hail, peaceful dime -sweet Paradise restored - Where God from sea to sea shall be adored. Our precious Saviour there shall ever reign, The heavenly Bridegroom with his Bride remain; No more shall weary pilgrims mourn and sigh, Nor tears shall evermore bedim the eye. The meek, the lowly, and the pure in heart, Shall meet in that blest home no more to part ; The earth renewed, their rest for aye shall be, And Zion's King, so lovely, they shall see. From east to west mellifluent voices ring, And saints with heart and voice extol their King Like voice of mighty thunderings they raise Their hallelujahs, and their songs of praise. 22 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Thrice holy is the Lord ! the seraphs cry, And angel voices too are sounding high, Proclaiming glory to the great I AM, And saints exclaim, All worthy is the Lamb ! harmony so sweet — no discord there : Melodious, holy strains float through the air, And harpers too are mingled with the throng, Who sing before the throne the sacred song. On Calvary a glory then shall rest, A sweet retreat 'twill be for all the blest, A hallowed spot throughout eternity ; Tis there we'll sing the anthem of the free. And Eden's fields so beautiful we '11 roam, With Jesus ever, and for aye at home : Sweet heavenly rest, we long to enter there, Where we with gladness shall thy glories share. Thy rivers and thy rills we yearn to see — Pellucid streams that flow eternally : Thy mountains glory-gilt, thy valleys green, Thy gardens, groves and flowers of heavenly sheen. Hail blessed, happy home, sweet land divine, Where peace shall reign, and heaven's own light shall shine : Hail, hail, all hail ! Messiah quickly come, And sound the conflict o'er, the victory won. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 23 GOD'S TEMPLE. ^ LOWLY and steadily, calmly and silently, ^ Groweth a Temple, majestic and grand ; Fair in its comeliness, goodly and glorious, 'Neath an invisible Architect's hand: Built by the Holy One, Jesus the "corner-stone," Precious, elect in the counsels divine ; All his believing ones, polished and precious stones, Gathered with toil in his Temple to shine. Lo, its foundations lie deep as Eternity ; Higher than heaven its towers ascend ; Brighter by far than the sun's richest glories are, Lasting as God is, it never shall end ! Faultless in symmetry, stainless in purity, Perfect in loveliness, God shall behold Here, in his spotless shrine, all his rich glories shine, Here see fulfilled his high counsels of old. Never hath hammer-stroke yet, or the chisel, woke Earth's startled echoes at noonday or night, While, all unceasingly, aye, and increasingly, Still it hath risen in grandeur and might! Desert and forest-land, valley and mountains grand, Thrill to the tread of the toilers that go Seeking God's precious stones, beautiful "hidden ones," Soon in his Temple's rich setting to glow. And, as it riseth thus, more and more glorious, While the slow ages glide silently past, Angels, with wond'ring eyes, watch the fair mystery — Watch till the "headstone" be brought forth at last; Watch, till the sons of Earth, roused from their guilty mirth, Be hurled in an instant from power and place ; And the glad universe, freed from sin's cruel curse, Ring and re-echo with shoutings of Gkace! 24 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. TIRED. jT§ft)EAR Saviour, the path is so dreary, ( ^ ZJ ~ No shelter the waysides afford ; My feet are all bleeding and weary ; I long for a view of my Lord. My heart is o'ershadowed with sadness, My harp by no song is inspired, Its strings give no echo of gladness, "Tis tuneless — I'm tired, so tired! The tempter his forces has gathered, And marshalled them all to the fray ; O, when will the gale be outweathered And sunbeams illumine my way ? Blind, blind, in the dark do I wander, My feet in the clay-pits are mired, His forces do bear my soul under — My strength fails — I'm tired, so tired! I sought on this earth for pure pleasures, How lovely they glowed from afar ; My heart, how it beat to its measures, Ambition my lone guiding star! But earth gave no pleasure existence, In vain were its splendors admired, They vanished like clouds in the distance, And left me, poor wanderer, so tired ! The friends I so lovingly cherished Pass coldly, unheedingly by ; While some by the wayside have perished, Down in the lone valley they lie ; For them I neglected my Bible, CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 25 Their presence was all I desired ; God saw and removed my dear idols, And left my poor spirit so tired ! " Look up," do I hear my Lord saying ? I do! "Tis the blessed One's voice. " Look up, behold where thou art straying, I bid thee return and rejoice. Earth's joys are a vain empty bubble, Come lean thy lone head on my breast ; The wicked shall here never trouble, And the tired ones ever find rest. Apparently have I forsaken To let thee pass under the rod ; Thy idols and joys have I taken, To show thee the joys of thy God." Yes, Lord, too long I've been straying, Too long earthly pleasures admired ; I'll drink now where life's fount is playing, And where weary ones never grow tired. I'll patiently trust and grow stronger, Our Lord in the clouds soon will come : With loved ones — then idols no longer — We'll enter our glorious home. Afflictions here round us may center, We'll soon reach the haven desired ; Where sickness and death cannot enter, And no one shall say, I am tired. 26 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. OUT IN THE COLD. '£M. T T in the cold, and stormy is the sky ; ; The night is setting in, no shelter nigh ; Deep is the snow and biting is the blast, All shivering she stands, a poor outcast. A parent's wounded pride drives her away — She has no place to go, nowhere to stay ; Shame burns upon her cheek, sad is her heai't, From friends held dear, and home, compelled to part. Farewell, she sighs, and scalding tears flow down Her crimson cheeks. But ah, that parent's frown Strikes with a shudder to her heart, as she Pursues her flight. Alas what misery ! " My God ! " she cries, " say whither shall I flee — No one to pity, none to hear my plea. O Father, canst thou send from heaven above One pitying glance — one token of thy love ?" Recalled to mind a portion of God's word, It seemed a comfort sent from Christ the Lord. She mused : " Christ found a sinner great as I, Nor did He suffer such an one to die : When cruel men stood by with stone in hand, ' Let him that hath no sin,' was his command, ' Throw the first stone,' but none were thrown. They left, and Jesus stood with her alone : But what did Jesus say, though Son of God ? Did He in angry tones apply the rod ? ' Since man hath not condemned thee, nor will I ; Go thou and sin no more,' his mild reply. O had my lot been cast in days of old ! But ah, those piercing winds, so cold, so cold ! " CASKET OP POETICAL TREASURES. 27 The night came on. The snow was drifting high. Filled with despair she cried, "And must I die Forsaken and undone, on mercy cast ? A shelter is there none from this cold blast ? " A light appears. A humble cot is found, Admittance sought ; she hears the welcome sound, " Come in, for cold indeed the night, poor child ; And whither going on a night so wild ? " Her story told, sweet comfort finds she there, And thanks ascend to God at family prayer. Untold the joy her benefactors feel As thus before God's throne they humbly kneel, And praise they render, for their hearts are full ; 'Tis written, "Blessed are the merciful." O blessed Spirit of God's holy Son! That teaches man to lift the fallen one — That weepeth o'er the erring, helps the poor — That turneth not the wand'rer from the door — That comforteth the lonely and the sad, And in the midst of sorrow maketh glad. O wandering sinner, far from God and home, Return, return, why wilt thou longer roam '? Night cometh soon ; the evening shades do fall ; Behold heaven's light, and heed the Master's call. If thou art weary, He shall give thee rest ; The burden He shall bear if sin oppres'd ; If sinking in despair, He '11 lift thee up ; He drank for such as thee a bitter cup. If darkness thee surrounds, a heavenly ray Shall light thy path, and brighten all thy day. If captive bound thou art, He will release ; If troubled is thy heart, He'll send thee peace; If tribulation be thy lot, why fear ? List, 'tis the Master's voice, " Be of good cheer." 28 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. The world He overcame that you might be Partaker of his glorious liberty. In every circumstance of life thou 'It find In Christ a friend all merciful and kind : O prodigal, on God's free gift lay hold ! Why wilt thou longer roam out in the cold ? MY PRAYER. ^FATHER in heaven, God of love, ^y Seated in glory high above, Look down upon us through our Lord ; Fulfill to us thy promised word. For thy blest Spirit now we wait, To help us in our needy state ; Pour down from heaven the gracious shower. Immerse us with thy Spirit's power. For mercies past thy name we praise, For guarding us from dangerous ways, For guiding in the path of life, Away from darkness, sin and strife. Now gracious God, arm us with might, For faith's grand overcoming fight ; Endow with wisdom, power and skill, Perfect in us thy holy will. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 29 THE KING OF ZION. ^pE heals the sick, restores the groping blind, **^ Cheers the desponding, destitute and low ; His tender heart, compassionate and kind, E'er moves in pity at the sight of woe. He calls the dead to life and strength again, And brings salvation to the sons of men. And some believe, while others doubt and sneer, Some hear his word with solemn, sacred joy ; Some shun his pathway and his presence fear, Whom fiendish men are seeking to destroy. But from those sacred lips are never heard To heartless foes an unforgiving word. And when at last on Calvary's rugged side, He meekly bows beneath the stroke of death, For cruel foes who mockingly deride, He prays for pardon with his fainting breath. And thus he dies upon the shameful tree : O wondrous mercy ! Love beyond degree ! 'Tis finished all — the fearful debt is paid: When lo, an angel from the dazzling skies Descends in splendor where his form is laid, And bids the Prince of Glory now arise. A heavenly radiance lights the darkened gloom, As Christ comes forth, victorious o'er the tomb. And when at last with painful, throbbing heai't, With sad foreboding and with tearful eye, The sorrowing behold their Lord depart 30 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. In cloudy chariot to the opening sky. Two glorious beings, beauteous and bright, Stand by their side arrayed in garments white. "Why stand ye here, ye men of Galilee, To gaze in grief at your ascending Lord ? For this same Jesus, slain on Calvary, Shall come again according to his word. In kingly glory shall he then appear — His word is sure, why do ye doubt and fear ? " Yes, He will come again, our mighty King : These blessed words our drooping spirits cheer ; And as the trees put forth their leaves in Spring, E'en so the signs portend his coming near. Ye tardy years, roll on, and bring the day When his bright chariot shall no longer stay. The lame shall leap, the sightless eye shall see, And desert waste shall blossom as the rose ; Our mighty Prince in power and majesty Shall reign victorious over all his foes, And saints shall dwell upon the new made earth, More glorious still than at creation's birth. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. THY WAY — NOT MINE. JtfHY way — not mine, O Lord, ^ However dark it be ; Lead me by thine own hand, Choose out the path for me. Smooth let it be or rough, It will be still the best ; Winding or straight, it matters not, It leads me to thy rest. I dare not choose my lot ; I would not if I might. Choose thou for me, my God, So shall I walk aright. The kingdom that I seek Is thine ; so let the way That leads to it be thine, Else surely I might stray. Take thou my cup, and it With joy or sorrow fill, As best to thee may seem : Choose thou my good and ill. Choose thou for me my friends, My sickness or my health ; Choose thou my cares for me, My poverty or wealth. Not mine, but thine the choice, In things or great or small ; Be thou my guide, my strength, My wisdom and my all. 31 CASKET OF POETICAL TBEASIKKS. BEHOLD YOUR KING. jEDEHOLD your King ! Though the moonlight steals ®^ Through the silvery shade of the olive tree. No star-gemmed sceptre or crown it reveals. In the solemn shades of Gethsemane ; Only a form of prostrate grief — Fallen, crushed, like a broken leaf. O think of his sorrow, that ye may know The depth of love in the depth of woe ! Behold your King ! Is it nothing to you, That the crimson tokens of agony From the kingly brow must fall like dew. Through the shuddering shades of Gethsemane '? Jesus himself, the Prince of Life, Bows in mysterious mortal strife. O think of his sorrow, that ye may kn.>w The untold love in the untold woe ! Behold your King with sorrow crowned ! Alone, alone in the valley is Ik- ! The shadows of death are gathering 'round, And the Cross must follow Gethsemane. Darker and darker the gloom must fall. Filled is the cup — He must drink it all! O think of his sorrow, that ye may know His wondrous love in his wondrous woe ! CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 33 JESUS OF XAZAKETH. ^VpEEK and lowly Son of God, '*&£ When his native land He trod, By the haughty was despised — Little they his teaching prized. But the humble, near the Lord, Gathered 'round to hear his word ; Sweet his tones all touched with grace, Love's bright beam shone from his face. Gentle, sinless, loving Lamb, Image of the great I AM. What compassion filled his breast, How He yearned for the oppressed ! Friend of sinners was his name, Healer of the sick and lame ; Deaf and blind doth hear and see, Devils from his presence rlee. See Him toiling here and there, On his brow the marks of care ; Anxious that He may fulfill All his Father's gracious will. Homeless pilgrim on the earth, Ranked is He of lowest birth ; Spurns He from him mortal fame — To redeem the lost He came. Spends He not an idle hour ; Now He shows his mighty power, Next He seeks some lone retreat, Where Jehovah He may meet. 34 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. By the grave of one who sleeps, With the mourning friends He weeps, To his Father lifts his eyes, Bids the dead forthwith arise. On the ship where none molests, Now the weary Saviour rests ; There reclines that lovely form, Undisturbed by waves or storm. Waked from sleep, He calmly stands, And the winds and waves command ; Mark ! the winds their ragings cease ; Lo ! the waves are lulled to peace. In yon humble mountain cot, With the poor He shares their lot ; There with loved ones finds repose From the strife of angry foes. Lord and Master, truly He, Pattern of humility ; Stoops He to the servant's seat, Washes his disciples' feet. To Gethsemane He hies, On the ground He prostrate lies, Anguish bleeds from every pore ; Lone He spends that bitter hour. Darkest hour is now at hand, Onward comes a ruthless band ; By a kiss our Lord's betrayed, And to judgment quickly led. False accusers there are sought, Then to Pilate He is brought ; Next to Herod is He sent, On his death they are intent. CASKET OE POETICAL TREASURES. 35 Hark ! what noise is that afar ? Tis a shout at Pilate's bar ; List ! O hear the spiteful cry, " Crucify Him ! Crucify!" Cries and threats at length prevail, Pilate yields Him to their will, With the lash he has Him scourged ; Then to Calvary He 's urged. Slowly now his way He wends, 'Neath the heavy cross He bends ; Patiently He moves along, Followed by a mocking throng. Like a lamb to slaughter led, Not a threat'ning word He said ; Crown of thorns and mock-robes wore ; Every insult meekly bore. Stretched upon the cross He hangs, Bears for sinners untold pangs : Hark ! his voice is raised in prayer For his murderers scoffing there. When at length the blessed Son, All his Father's will has done, Loud He cries with dying breath, Bows his head and yields to death. On the third, th' appointed day, Gloomy death gives up his prey ; Calm blest morn ! now from the tomb, See the mighty Victor come. Hopeful hearts with rapture swell, As the joyful news they tell ; Now their company He seeks, Of the coming kingdom speaks. 36 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Called to sit at God's right hand, In a cloud see Him ascend ; Now for saints He intercedes, Tells his Father of our needs. When He shall again appear, Scorners shall before Him fear ; On the rocks and mountains call, Terror shall their hearts appall. But the holy then shall sing Praises to their coming King ; They eternal glory share, As they meet Him in the air. TRUTH. fHOU must be true thyself If thou the truth wouldst teach : Thy soul must overflow if thou Another soul wouldst reach ; It needs the overflow of heart To give the lips full speech. Think truly, and thy thoughts Shall the world's famine feed : Speak truly, and each word of thine Shall be a fruitful seed : Live truly, and thy life shall be A great and noble creed. CASKET OF POETICAL TEEASUBES. HEAVIER THE CROSS. •ftf^EAVIER the cross the nearer Zion ; ^^ No cross without, no Lord within — Death, judgment from the heart are driven, Amid the world's false glare and din. O, happy he with all his loss, Whom God has set beneath the cross. Heavier the cross, the better Christian ; This is the touchstone God applies. How many a garden would be wasting, Unwet by showers from weeping eyes ! The gold by fire is purified ; The Christian is by trouble tried. Heavier the cross, the stronger faith ; The loaded palm strikes deeper root, The vine juice sweetly issueth When men have pressed the clustered fruit ; And courage grows where dangers come, Like pearls beneath the salt sea foam. Heavier the cross, the heartier the prayer ; The bruised reeds most fragrant are ; If sky and wind were always fair, The sailor would not watch the star ; And David's psalms had ne'er been sung, If grief his heart had never wrung. Heavier the cross, the easier dying ; Death is a friendly face to see ; To life's decay one bids defying, Si CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. From life's distress one then is free. The cross sublimely lifts our faith To Him who triumphed over death. Thou Crucified, the cross I carry, The longer may it dearer be ; And lest I faint while here I tarry, Implant thou such a heart in me, That faith, hope, love may flourish there, Till for the cross my crown I wear. EVEN SO COME, LORD JESUS. fES, come, blessed Lord, for we long to behold thee, Thou chief 'mong ten thousand, thou glorious King, Beloved of the Father, e'en angels adore thee, And mortals for joy at thy coming now sing. Ye heavens sound your praises, ye saints lift your voices, Send forth hallelujahs, let all join the strain; Arise, clap your hands ; e'en the desert rejoices, And blooms as the rose at his coming again. O haste, haste the moment when all shall be gladness, Forever with Jesus, forever at home ; No more to be known neither sighing nor sadness, When those who o'ercome shall sit down in his throne. Then come, precious Jesus, Redeemer so lovely ; O heaven, burst thy veil, let the glory appear ; Awake, slumb'ring pilgrim, arise, look around thee, Know this : Zion's morning is solemnly near ! CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 39 ZION'S BANNERS. j©V BRIDE of Christ, thy banners raise, ' And let them proudly wave, The King of Zion cometh soon, Then let thy march be brave. Let Truth float high upon the breeze, Nor let it suffer loss, And 'midst each howling storm maintain The standard of the Cross. Let Faith, Obedience, Works, stream forth, A mighty banner this — If borne in sweet humility 'Twill carry thee to bliss. Hold fast the banner of our Hope That Jesus soon shall come, To take his Bride unto himself, And to a lovely home. And Love — sweet, holy love, so pure — Must float above them all ; For he that loveth knoweth God, His feet shall never fall. 'Twas love that floated 'round the cross On which our Saviour died ; 'Twas love that caused the stream to flow From yonder pierced side. But higher still o'er all must float, As we to Zion press, A banner waving, glistening, bright, Its name — True Holiness. 40 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. O Bride of Christ, awake ! arise ! And let thy fruits be seen ; Behold the Bridegroom cometh soon, Earth's harvest He will glean. And thou shalt gather golden grain From off that harvest-field, Into the Master's garner ; then Lift up thy sword and shield, And march along with firmer tread ; Thy banners proudly raise, And let thy martial music be A swelling song of praise. HIDDEN IN LIGHT. ^OR^HEN first the sun dispels the cloudy night, ^ The glad hills catch the radiance from afar And smile for joy. We say, " How fair they are — Tree, rock and heather-bloom — so clear and bright! 1 But when the sun draws near in westering night, Enfolding all in one transcendant blaze Of sunset glow, we trace them not, but gaze And wonder at the glorious, holy light, Come nearer, Sun of Righteousness, that we, Whose swift, short hours of day so quickly run, So overflowed with love and light may be, So lost in glory of the nearing Sun, That not our light, but thine, the world may see ; New praise to thee through our poor lives be won. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 41 WE SHALL MEET. : E have wandered oft together, "^ At the hour of setting sun ; Shall we wander thus together, When the toils of life are done ? Many hours we 've spent together, Scenes of joy and grief have known Shall we spend the hours together When the joy will be alone ? Sad indeed would be our parting, If we hoped to meet no more : But although the tears are starting, Look we to a brighter shore. Dark indeed would be the morrow When apart we sadly roam, If beyond this world of sorrow We could see no happier home. But we've heard a joyful story Of a land that's bright and fair, And we hope to share its glory, And to meet each other there. Swiftly onward to the ocean Roll the troubled waves of time, Bearing us with every motion Nearer to the blessed clime. Soon the tears that now are starting, With their causes will be o'er ; Soon the hand now clasped in ]>arting, Will be joined forevermore. 42 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. We have shared one home together, We have sat around one hoard ; And we '11 find a home together In the Paradise restored. OUR HOPE. -|fpILGRIMS and strangers here we roam, -^ Longing for our eternal home ; Heedless of scorn we onward press, Through this dark lonely wilderness. Fleshpots of Egypt left behind, Heavenly manna now we find : Hope points us to the promised land, Where on Mount Zion we shall stand. A little longer here we stay, Till Jesus ushers in the day ; Bright morn ! we hail its glorious dawn, When we from time shall be withdrawn. Soon, robed amid the clouds of light, Shall our dear Lord appear in sight ; The cowered nations then shall wail, While we with joy his coming hail. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 43 COMING AGAIN. ^tgOMING again ! To gather his jewels, ^ Our blessed Messiah and glorified King : Coming again ! Our hope and our glory, O well may his people with rapture now sing. Coming again ! Soft words full of music, And soon we sweet voices of angels shall hear, Rending the air with loud hallelujahs, Proclaiming to Zion, " Thy King doth appear." Coming again ! But dark clouds of omen Are fast settling down upon this wicked world : Coming again ! Yet sinners despise it, And soon shall all such to perdition be hurled. Coming again ! The last shades of evening Are closing around us. Soon morn will appear : Coming again ! The door now is closing, The Master ariseth, and soon He '11 be here. Coming again ! The heavens dafclare it, And star-gazers tell us that woes are at hand ; Quickly it comes, the great time of trouble — E'en now the first droppings do fall on the land. Coming again ! To Christ flee for refuge ; His voice still entreats the poor wand'rer to come : Coming again ! O seek now thy Saviour, For soon He will gather his ransomed ones home. Coming again ! O wake, slumbering virgin, Replenish thy vessel with oil from on high ; Trim now thy lamp, for behold He is coming, For whom thou hast longed and heaved many a sig 44 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Coming again ! The King in his beauty, So fair and so lovely, the glorified One : Coming again ! O Zion so favored, Thy garments shall soon gleam as yonder bright sun. Coming again ! Yes, come blessed Jesus, We long to behold thee in glory descend : Coming again ! The pure and the holy Forever in praises their voices shall blend. Coming again ! Our own precious Saviour Forever ! O blessed hope, ever with thee : Coming again ! O prospect transporting ; Our joys then unfading, thy glory to see. Coming again ! Like swift flash of lightning, Or sudden as thunder-peal strikes on the ear : Coming again ! Prepare ye to meet Him — Prepare for eternity — lo, it is near! CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 45 THE JUDGMENT. 7|&Y DAY of wonders, when the dead shall rise, ^ The Lord of glory shall from heaven descend With shout, and with the trump of God ; and skies With the archangel's mighty voice shall rend. The earth shall quake ; the wicked, filled with fear, Shall cry aloud : " Rocks, mountains, on us fall ! " The day of wrath, the day of judgment here — The dead arising hear the Master's call. "To judgment ! come to judgment !" now He cries : The good, the bad are all assembled there, And trembling stand before those naming eyes, And sinners shriek aloud in wild despair. " According to thy works," it then shall be : If good thy record, life eternal thine — This mortal clothed with immortality, In God's blest kingdom thou shalt henceforth shine. But if thy page be dark, thy doom is sealed : " Depart from me, ye cursed." List the cries ! What weeping, wailing, gnashing teeth ! Revealed Thy sins so loathsome ; lost for aye the prize. And scoffers in that day shall quake with fear, As they behold the Judge upon his throne, Nor shall they longer mock at "judgment near," In bitterness of soul they '11 cry, " undone ! " The judgment o'er, the saints with Christ shall reign Forever in a peaceful holy land ; Then haste, dear Lord, O haste and come again, That we on Zion's holy hill may stand ! CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. LONE WANDERER, COME. fOME, weary one, O come ! Thy Saviour calls thee home ; Leave this dark world behind for aye, Why wilt thou longer roam ? Hark! 'tis the Saviour's voice : " Come lean upon my breast, Thy sorrows all shall flee away, And thou shalt have sweet rest." Thy burden He hath borne In sad Gethsemane ; And O how sorrowful his soul On dark Mount Calvary. What ! wilt thou still reject ? Dear lonely wanderer, come ; God offers thee both life and peace, And an eternal home. O heed his voice to-day, Return, thou wayward child, Nor longer stay 'neath heaven's frown, But be thou reconciled. Thy path shall then be bright — Darkness forever fled, And by a loving Father's hand, Thou shalt henceforth be led. Then come, lone wanderer, come, And have sweet joys untold : A pure white robe — a dazzling crown - A palm — a harp of gold. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 47 THE NIGHT FAR SPENT, THE DAY AT HAND. {JuJu^E are journeying on in a wilderness way, ^ Enshrouded by gloom, but waiting for day ; For the glad day of rest, from sin ever free, When the saints with their Saviour forever shall be : Where the storm winds of time shall be hushed into rest, And the weary, worn pilgrim, be happy and blest. For this we wait here in the gloom of the night, And watch for the day o'er the far mountain height : And a sweet voice speaks to the lone waiting band — " The night is far spent, and the day is at hand." So our hearts are glad, though the darkness is deep, And some of the pilgrims have fallen asleep, And some have forsaken the straight narrow way, And hopelessly wander in deserts astray ; And some have forgotten that glory and rest Are waiting for us in the home of the blest ; And scoffers make light of God's promise so true Of the blest restitution. Yet faith's eye may view The promise fulfilled on the glory-lit strand — " The night is far spent, and the day is at hand." Already we see, o'er the mountain afar, The herald of day — the bright morning star : There are signs of the dawn in the orient skies, And the sun of eternity shortly shall rise. It shines on the mountain, and soon it will throw Its glorious light on the valley below. Then nature shall bloom in the smile of her Lord, And the wayworn pilgrims receive their reward. Our rest will be sweet in the bright morning land — " The night is far spent, and the day is at hand. " 48 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. NOT WHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD. |[!vTOT where to lay thy head ? Methinks ~^ ^ The grand hills thou hast trod Were proud to wind their green arms 'round The couch where slept my Lord. The stern old mountains never knew, Nor isle, nor rock, nor sea, Nor wondering earth, a pageantry So bright as circled thee. No dwelling place ! — but low and sweet The winds sink down and die ; And all the long night angel feet In shining ranks go by. Time's startled kingdoms never woke A song which deeper swept Than when o'er earth in music broke This anthem, " Jesus wept." The palace gate hath sword and spear To shield its royal breast : Only the great deep stars were here To guard thy place of rest. Not where to sleep ! Methinks within Each isle, and mount, and sea, Struggled a thousand prisoned tones, O Christ, to welcome thee. The wanderer has his bed of straw, The prisoner knows his cell ; The gray old eagle's eyrie saw The meteors where tbey fell ; The white waves capped with spray are furled, The red sun seeks the west ; But, peerless Monarch of the world, Thou hadst no place of rest. CASKET OF POETICAL TBEASUKES. 49 WALKING WITH THE WORLD. fHE Church and the World walked far apart On the changing shore of time : The World was singing a giddy song, And the Church a chant sublime. "Come give me your hand," cried the merry World, "And walk with me this way." But the good Church hid her snowy hands, And solemnly answered "Nay; I will not give you my hand at all, And I will not walk with you : Your way is the way to endless death — Your words are all untrue." " Nay, walk with me but a little space," Said the World with a kindly air : "The road I walk is a pleasant road, And the sun shines always there. Your path is rough and thorny and rude, And mine is broad and plain : My road is paved with flowers and dew, And yours with tears and pain : The sky above me is always blue, No want, no toil I know : Your sky above you is always dark — Your lot is a lot of woe. My path you see is a broad, fair one, And my gate is high and wide : There's room enough for you and me To travel side by side." Half shyly the Church approached the World, And gave him her hand of snow : 50 CASKET OF POETICAL TKEASUEES. The old World grasped it and walked along, Saying in accents low : "Your dress is too simple to please my taste, 1 will give you pearls to wear ; Rich velvets and silks for your graceful form, And diamonds to deck your hair." The Church looked down at her plain white robes, And then at the dazzling World, And blushed as she saw his handsome lip With a smile contemptuous curled. " I will change my dress for a costlier one," Said the Church with a smile of grace : Then her pure white garments drifted away. And the "World gave in their place Beautiful satins and shining silks. And roses and gems and pearls ; And over her forehead her bright hair fell. Crisped in a thousand curls. "Your house is too plain," cried the proud old World, "I'll build you one like mine: Carpets of Brussels and curtains of lace. And furniture ever so tine." So he built her a costly and beautiful home, Splendid it was to behold : Her sons and her beautiful daughters dwell there. Gleaming in purple and gold : And fairs and shows in her halls were held, And the World and his children were there, And laughter and music and feasts were heard In the place that was meant for prayer. She had cushioned pews for the rich and great To sit in their pomp and pride, While the poor folks, clad in their shabby suits, Sat meekly down outside. CASKJCT OF FOKTI'/AJ. -JJtKASLKES. 51 The Angel of Mercy flew over the Church And whispered, "I know thy -in :" Then the Church looked back with a sigh, and longed To gather her children in. But some were off to the midnight hall, And some were off to the play, .And some were drinking in gay saloons, - she quickly went her way. Then the sly World gallantly said to her: '• Four children mean no harm — Merely indulging in innocent sports;" - she leaned on the proffered arm, And smiled and chatted and gathered flowers Afi she walked along with the World, While million- swept down by the giddy stream — To perdition dark were hurled. "Your preachers are all too old and plain," Said the gay World with a sneer : "They frighten my children with dreadful tales, Which 1 would not have them hear; They talk of judgment, when Christ .shall come, And of a dark and woeful night. Of plagues and of wrath — such should not be E'er mentioned to ears polite. I will send you some of another stamp, Brilliant and gay and fast, Who will tell them that people may live as they list, And go to Zion at last. The Father is merciful, great and good, Tender and true and kind; Do you think lie would take one child to himself And leave the rest behind ?" So he filled her house with gay divines, Gifted and great and learned, 52 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. And the plain old men who preached the cross Were out of the pulpit turned. "You give too much to the poor," said the "World, " Far more than you ought to do : If the poor need shelter and food and clothes, Why need it trouble you ? Go take your money and buy rich robes, And horses and carriages fine ; And pearls and jewels and dainty food, And the rarest and choicest wine. My children they dote on all such things, And if you their love would win, You must do as they do, and walk in the ways That they are walking in." Then the Church held tightly the strings of her purse, And gracefully bowed her head, And simpered, " I 've given too much away ; I '11 doj sir, as you said." So the poor were turned from her door in scorn, And she heard not the orphan's cry ; And she drew her beautiful robes aside As the widows went weeping by. And the sons of the World and the sons of the Church Walked closely hand and heart, And only the Master who knoweth all Could tell the two apart. Then the Church sat down at her ease and said : "I am rich and in goods increased; I have need of nothing, and naught to do But to laugh and dance and feast." And the sly World heard her and laughed in his sleeve, And mockingly said aside : CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 53 "The Church is fallen, the beautiful Church, And her shame is her boast and pride." The angel drew near to the mercy seat, And whispered in sighs her name, And the saints their anthems of rapture hushed, And covered their heads with shame. And a voice came down through the hush of heaven, From Him who sat on the throne : " I know thy works, and how thou hast said, ' I am rich,' and hast not known That thou art naked and poor and blind, And wretched before my face : Therefore from my presence I cast thee out, And blot thy name from its place." THE WAY OF PEACE. ,F sin be in the heart The fairest sky is foul, and sad the Summer weather, The eye no longer sees the lambs at play together, The dull ear cannot hear the birds that sing so sweetly, And all the joy of God's good earth is gone completely — If sin be in the heart. If Christ be in the heart, The wildest Winter storm is full of solemn beauty, The midnight lightning-flash but shows the path of duty, Each living creature tells some new and joyous story, The very trees and stones all catch a ray of glory — If Christ be in the heart. 54 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. SPEAK FOR JESUS. ©PEAK earnest words for Jesus, ^ For time is rushing on ; And soon both taught and teacher Must stand before the Throne. Speak simple words for Jesus, Which all may understand ; Give liberally the manna Entrusted to your hand. Speak gospel words for Jesus — Tell how for us He died ; How each may have salvation Since Christ was crucified. Speak loving words for Jesus, For love may strike a chord Whose harmonies will vibrate In music for the Lord. Speak happy words for Jesus, Just show what He can do, To make such rifts in sorrow That sunlight must shine through. Speak patient words for Jesus To those who long have erred : You do not know how rarely They hear a patient word. Speak whispered words for Jesus, To some poor timid soul, Who hardly dares acknowledge Her wish to be made whole. Speak parting words for Jesus, In loving, tender tones ; Your hearers next may meet you Before the great white throne. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 55 HOW LONG? jE|))0 they still linger — these slow-treading ages ? c ^-*- How long must we still bear their cold delay ? Streak after streak the glowing dawn presages, And yet it breaks not — the expected day ! Each tossing year with prophet lip hath spoken : "Prepare your praises; earth, awake and sing!" And yet yon dome of blue remains unbroken — No tidings yet of the descending King ! Darkness still darkens ; nearer now and nearer The lightnings gleam ; the sea's scorched billows moan, And the sere leaf of earth is growing serer : Creation droops, and heaves a bitter groan. storm and earthquake, wind and warring thunder, Your hour is coming ! One wild outburst more, One other day of war, and wreck, and plunder, And then your desolating reign is o'er. These plains are not your battle-field forever : That glassy deep was never made for you : These mountains were not made for you to shiver : These buds are not for your rude hands to strew. Flee, and give back to earth its verdant gladness — The early freshness of its unsoiled dew : Take hence your sackcloth, with its stormy sadness, And let these wrinkled skies their youth renew. Come back, thou holy love, so rudely banished When evil came, and hate, and fear, and wrong : Return, thou joyous light, so quickly vanished : Revive, thou life that death has quenched so long. 56 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. Re-fix, re-knit the chain so harshly broken, That bound this lower orb to yon bright heaven Hang out on high the ever-golden token That tells of earth renewed and man forgiven. Withdraw the veil that has for ages hidden That upper kingdom from this nether sphere : Renew the fellowship so long forbidden : God, thyself take up thy dwelling here ! THE HOUR BEFORE SUNRISE. SHE clouds now are breaking, 'tis dawn of the day ^ Which wakens in brightness and knows no decay — That day which succeeds to the long night of gloom, When jewels in Christ will arise from the tomb. The thick clouds of darkness which error has cast O'er nature's fair landscape will vanish at last, And the Name, 'bove all names, shall shine as the sun On Eden's fair bosom, when time's course is run. What brightness and beauty on that land will shine, The glory of Jesus, effulgence divine ; The light shall descend from the Father's great throne, And the light of the sun and the moon be outshone. Ye drowsy ones wake, and look toward the east, The clouds now are breaking — soon comes marriage feast: As you value your hope in Eternity's light, Awake before sunrise and make your lamp bright. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 57 ROCK OF AGES." ' il 0CK of Ages cleft for me— " ^ 'T was a happy little flock, Sang, yes sang melodiously, And they rested on that " Rock." For their Saviour dear was there, Whispering, " My peace to thee," And gave answer to the prayer, "Let me hide myself in thee." And they feasted with the Lord As they sang that sweet old hymn, And they praised God for his Word That had brought them unto Him. Happy are ye, " little flock," Safely sail through life's rough sea ; Ever keep in view that " Rock," " Rock of Ages cleft for thee." " Rock of Ages cleft for me — " ' T was a toiling pilgrim now Sang that sweet old melody, And the sweat stood on his brow. Weary was he and oppress'd, But he heard the still small voice Whisper, " Come ; I '11 give you rest," And his heart was made rejoice. Next beside a dying bed, There we see a weeping band ; " Speak, dear father,* speak," they said, * The author's father. 58 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. And they held his withered hand ; And that father's feeble voice Spake and made them all rejoice ; Came these words so faint but free, " Rock of Ages cleft for me." Christian, if your love be cold, Look upon that Rock and see Blood flow down. O love untold ! Christ thy Saviour died for thee. Linger there around the spot Till your heart be full and free ; Realize that you are bought By that blood of Calvary. Pilgrims all on Zion's way, Trust that Saviour of the cross ; Learn to know Him day by day, Counting all things else but dross. Cast on Him your every care, And be this your song, your prayer, " Rock of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee." CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. " A LITTLE WHILE." JK LITTLE while, our fighting shall be o'er ; ®^ 3> A little while, our tears be wiped away ; A little while, the presence of Jehovah Shall turn our darkness into heaven's bright day. A little while, the fears that oft surround us Shall to the memories of the past belong ; A little while, the love that sought and found us Shall change our weeping into heaven's glad song. A little while ! His presence goes before us, A fire by night, a shadowy cloud by day : His banner, love inscribed, is floating o'er us, His arm almighty is our strength and stay. A little while to live and work for Jesus, To gather with the reapers till He comes ; O let not faithless fears and doub tings seize us — A little while, and then the harvest home ! A little while ! 'Tis ever drawing nearer — The wished for dawning of that glorious day. Blest Father, make thy children's vision clearer, And guide them ever in the shining way. A little while ! blessed expectation ! A little while ! " Lord, tarry not," we cry ; Our hearts exult in fond anticipation ; Rejoice ! " The coming of the Lord is nigh ! " 60 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. MY SAVIOUR. JUUjAIL ! blessed Saviour, thou art henceforth, mine • ^^ Myself to thee I once for all resign ; The ties of earth my heai't no longer bind, I leave them all true love in thee to find. By faith I saw the thorns which crowned thy brow, This broke my once proud heart, 'tis contrite now ; Down low before thee and thy cross I fall, And own thee as my precious Lord — my all. Thy love divine doth now to me unfold, As I thy pierced hands and feet behold ; lovely Lamb of God ! and can it be Such grief as thou didst bear was borne for me ? Surely I never can thy love forget, Thy agonizing pain, thy bloody sweat ; The sorrows borne in sad Gethsemane ; Thy dying groans and pains on Calvary ! Help me then, blessed Lord, in grace to grow, Into my heart let living waters flow ; Within me shed thy holy love abroad, Thou meek and lowly One, thou Son of God. And let me still that sweet old story tell Of Calvary, which I now love so well ; And when thy glorious coming I shall see, 1 would be pointing men to Calvary. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 6l PUT ON THY BEAUTIFUL ROBES. •|tpDUT on thy beautiful robes, Bride of Christ ; •*** For the King shall embrace thee to-day ; Break forth into singing ; the morning has dawned, And the shadows of night flee away. Thou art the Bride of his love, his elect ; Dry thy tears, for thy sorrows are past : Lone were the hours when thy Lord was away, But He comes with the morning at last. The winds bear the noise of his chariot- wheels, And the thunders of victory roar : Lift up thy beautiful gates, Bride of Christ, For the grave has dominion no more. Once they arrayed Him with scorning; but see! His apparel is glorious now : In his hand are the keys of death and the grave, And the diadem gleams on his brow. Hark ! 'tis her voice : Alleluia she sings : Alleluia ! the captives are free ! Unfolded the gates of Paradise stand, And unfolded forever shall be. Choir answers choir, where the song has no end ; All the saints raise hosannas on high ; Deep calls unto deep in the ocean of love As the Bride lifts her jubilant cry. 62 CABINET OF POETICAL TREASURES. BE NOT WEARY. §p2?E not weary, Zion's pilgrim, ( ^^ Patiently the cross sustain ; Let each conflict make thee bolder, Fight till thou the battle gain. Be not weary, Zion's watchman, Feed thy flock with heavenly food ; Strive to imitate thy Master, Ever bent on doing good. Think of them who need thy prayers, Need thy kind and loving hand ; Rouse them from their griefs and tears, Point them to the Eden land. Noble work to thee is given, Shrink not from thy duty here ; Wait for thy reward in Eden, When thou shalt with joy appear. Friends of Jesus, be not weary, Whisper words of kindness still ; Seek out those whose lives are dreary, And their hearts with gladness fill. Be not weary in well doing, Faint not ere thy task is done ; Still go on, in faith pursuing, Till thy earthly race is run. CASKET OP POETICAL TREASURES. CAST THY BREAD UPON THE WATERS." MDEAR old man, some threescore years or more, Sat with his book. Beside him on the floor A little girl reclined, or rather sat, Amusing grandpa with her pleasant chat. With Kitty's parents it had been the rule To take their child to church as well as school, And on the Monday grandpa had to search And read the text they had o'ernight at church. To-day the text was found, and grandpa read, " Upon the waters cast in faith thy bread," ( But while he paused on Kitty seem'd to gaze,) "And thou shalt find it after many days." He merely said, " Work for a gracious Lord, And thou hereafter shalt have his reward." Together there the family knelt in prayer, When soon commenced the daily toil and care. Soon after this our Kitty had to go Into the larder ; and, while doing so, Her mind was running on the text they read. What could it mean ? — " Cast thou in faith thy bread Upon the waters," (here she moved some trays,) " And thou shalt find it after many days." While thinking thus her eyes were on the shelves, And there she noticed, standing by themselves, Two home-baked loaves, so pretty and so round, The crumb so crimpled, and the crust so brown'd : " Would ma be angry," said the little child, " If I should borrow them ? " She stopped and smiled. 64 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. " If I should borrow them, and wait and see Would Jesus send them back in time for tea ? " Thus Kitty reasoned, and began to think, " Those pretty loaves are almost sure to sink." But presently her little wand'ring eyes The paste-board saw, whereon ma made her pies. Beyond the orchard were some bow'ring groves ; There Kitty wended with her board and loaves, Until she reached the margin of a stream. Her busy little head had plann'd the scheme ; She placed the board upon the flowing brook, And very carefully one loaf she took And balanced gently ; then she took the next, Her mind still thinking o'er her grandpa's text : "And thou shalt see them back again," thought she ; "Perhaps they'll come again in time for tea." With childish happiness her eyes did gleam, She pushed the board, and gently down the stream She saw her loaves go floating. " Mind and be," She whispered softly, " back in time for tea." She watch'd and watch'd as down the stream they went, She sat so quiet, yet seem'd so content, Then clapp'd her hands and shouted with delight, Until her board and loaves were out of sight. She waited long and scann'd the streamlet's track, And wonder'd when her loaves were coming back. But tea-time came ; her brother Frank had brought His sister Kitty, whom he long had sought, " And found her sitting by the stream," he said. She had not told him of the floating bread — The loaves were made for Frank and Kitty's tea, And ma in vain had asked where they could be : But Kitty told them how the loaves she took — OASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 65 How they were floating gently down the brook. They wonder'd much, but to each other smiled, While thanking God they had a truthful child. Beside the stream, and not much farther down, With three poor little ones, lived Widow Brown. This Monday morning, Jem, a boy of nine, Had gone with rod and hook, and bait and twine, To fish for perch and roach. Long did he wait, None seem'd inclined to try his tempting bait, For neither roach nor perch nor shining dace, Nor even minnows, would come near the place, Or would not bite. Perhaps they saw the hook, And so retreated farther down the brook. Poor Jem grew rather tired, yet tried again, But all his skill in whipping seem'd in vain. Yet once again he tried, with heart elate, And whips the stream with yet more tempting bait. While watching thus he gave a sideward look ; What 's that he sees come floating down the brook ? He drops his line, forgets both perch and roach, To see the funny-looking raft approach ; Two little loaves upon a board he spies, Wonder and pleasure beaming from his eyes. He takes his rod and in a minute more The board and loaves are safely brought to shore. He hastens home, that they might break their fast — 'Twas Kitty's bread upon the waters cast. Poor Widow Brown, whose faith was sorely tried. Expected bread, but not upon the tide : She asked the Lord, who 's merciful and good, To send her little hungry children food. They sat them down to eat, and thank'd the Lord, ) CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. When Jem discovered, cut upon the board, A well-known name, which Master Frank had done, And shortly after Jem was seen to run To Kitty's father with the empty board, And Jem's sad tale was Kitty's sweet reward. The bread came back again, her grandpa said, Through thankful hearts, poor orphans wanting bread. Whenever purchases were made in town, Kitty remembered poor old Widow Brown. In faith her bread was on the waters thrown, And food for hungry souls was being sown. Let all be done for Christ and for his praise And we shall find it after many days. TRUE AMBITION. ^J^HENCE is the throb that swells my rising breast? ^ What lofty hopes my beating heart inspire ! Why do I proudly spurn inglorious rest, The pomp of wealth, the tumult of desire ? Is it to swell the brazen trump of fame, To bind the laurel 'round an aching head, To hear for once the people's loud acclaim, Then lie forever with the nameless dead ? O no ! Far nobler hopes my life control, Presenting scenes of splendor yet to be: Great God ! thy word directs the lofty soul To live for glory, not for man, but thee. CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. 67 IN MEMORIAM. ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. §pJ?ER life was brief, but calm sweet rest ** She sought and found on Jesus' breast — The weary pilgrim's rest. Although at times her path seemed drear, Yet hope at length shone bright and clear — The sure hope of the blest. But soon did set her sun of life, Forever ceased her toils and strife, And calmly doth she sleep ; And tears and throbbing sighs now blend 'Mongst those who loved her to the end — With mourning hearts they weep. But mourn they not, as those who mourn With dark forebodings, hope forlorn — They " weep with those who weep ; " For 'midst their tears hope's cheering rays Incline their hearts their Lord to praise, E'en through emotions deep. Among the throng that gather there Are those who bent their knees in prayer With her before the throne ; They drank together of the stream Of living waters : heavenly beams Upon their pathway shone. And there are those whose light was dim, That by her aid were led to Him Who is the world's true light. 68 CASKET OF POETICAL TREASURES. And now they tread the narrow way, And long they for that brighter day Where there shall be no night. Four darling children — sadder still — O who their mother's place will fill ? My Father, do thou bless, Do thou look down from heaven above, And take them in thy arms of love ; O Saviour, them caress. Let sighs no longer bosoms swell, Our Father doeth all things well : Friends, pass beneath the rod ; And when the trump of God shall sound, She who now sleeps shall then be found Among the saints of God. No sighs or sorrows in that day, For God shall wipe all tears away ; Then one and all prepare, That we may meet in that blest land Our loved ones, clasping holy hands, Eternal joys to share. e^