Part 3
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._
LIFE AND DEATH.
"What is life, father?" "A Battle, my child, Where the strongest lance may fail, Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, And the stoutest heart may quail. Where the foes are gathered on every hand, And rest not day or night, And the feeble little ones must stand In the thickest of the fight."
"What is Death, father?" "The rest, my child, When the strife and toil are o'er; The angel of God, who, calm and mild, Says we need fight no more; Who, driving away the demon band, Bids the din of the battle cease; Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, And proclaims an eternal peace."
"Let me die, father! I tremble, and fear To yield in that terrible strife!" "The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life; My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small; The angels of heaven are on thy side, And God is over all!"
--_Adelaide Procter._
THE ANGEL'S CALL.
Come to the land of peace! Come where the tempest hath no longer sway, The shadow passes from the soul away, The sounds of weeping cease.
Fear hath no dwelling there! Come to the mingling of repose and love, Breathed by the silent spirit of the dove Through the celestial air!
Come to the bright and blest And crown'd for ever!--'midst that shining band, Gather'd to heaven's own wreath from every land, Thy spirit shall find rest!
Thou hast been long alone: Come to thy mother!--on the sabbath shore, The heart that rock'd thy childhood, back once more Shall take its wearied one.
In silence wert thou left! Come to thy sisters!--joyously again All the home voices, blest in one sweet strain, Shall greet their long-bereft.
Over thine orphan head The storm hath swept as o'er a willow's bough: Come to thy father!--it is finish'd now; _Thy tears have all been shed_.
In thy divine abode Change finds no pathway, mem'ry no dark trace, And, oh! bright victory--death by love no place! Come, Spirit! to thy God!
--_Mrs. Hemans._
I would not live alway: I ask not to stay, Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way; The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer.
I would not live alway, thus fettered by sin, Temptation without and corruption within: E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears, And the cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears.
I would not live alway; no, welcome the tomb; Since Jesus hath lain there, I dread not its gloom; There sweet be my rest, till He bid me arise To hail Him in triumph descending the skies.
Who, who would live alway, away from his God! Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode, Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains, And the noontide of glory eternally reigns.
Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet, Their Saviour and brethren transported to greet, While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll, And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul.
--_Muhlenberg._
Jerusalem the golden, With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice oppressed. I know not, oh, I know not What joys await us there, What radiancy of glory, What bliss beyond compare.
They stand, those halls of Sion, All jubilant with song, And bright with many an Angel, And all the Martyr throng; The Prince is ever in them, The daylight is serene; The pastures of the blessed Are decked in glorious sheen.
There is the throne of David; And there, from care released, The shout of them that triumph, The song of them that feast; And they, who with their Leader Have conquered in the fight, For ever and for ever Are clad in robes of white.
O sweet and blessed country, The home of GOD'S elect; O sweet and blessed country That eager hearts expect; JESU, in mercy bring us To that dear land of rest; Who art, with GOD the FATHER And SPIRIT, ever Blest.
--_Bernard._
When our heads are bowed with woe, When our bitter tears o'erflow, When we mourn the lost, the dear, Gracious Son of Mary, hear! Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, Thou hast shed the human tear: Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
When the solemn death-bell tolls For our own departing souls, When our final doom is near, Gracious Son of Mary, hear! Thou hast bowed the dying head, Thou the blood of life hast shed, Thou hast filled a mortal bier: Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
When the heart is sad within With the thought of all its sin, When the spirit shrinks with fear, Gracious Son of Mary, hear! Thou, the same, the grief hast known; Though the sins were not Thine own, Thou hast deigned their load to bear: Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
--_Heber._
O soul, soul, thou art passing, Just now, the border lands: Soul, soul, thy God is calling Thee, from the border lands. Soul, soul, what wilt thou answer, When thou shalt stand alone, Before thy God and Saviour, 'Midst th' glories of the throne?
How hast thou passed the border? What course pursued below? Of all I gave thee, warder, Hast conquered every foe? Soul, soul, hear Jesus calling! He waits for thee above, Oh! answer now, responding In faith, and hope, and love.
--_Henry C. Graves._
THE LOOK.
The Saviour looked on Peter. Aye, no word-- No gesture of reproach! The heavens serene Though heavy with armed justice, did not lean Their thunders that way. The forsaken Lord _Looked_ only, on the traitor. None record What that look was; none guess: for those who have seen Wronged lovers loving through a death-pang keen, Or pale-cheeked martyrs smiling to a sword, Have missed Jehovah at the judgment call, And Peter, from the height of blasphemy-- 'I never knew this man' did quail and fall, As knowing straight THAT GOD,--and turned free And went out speechless from the face of all, And filled the silence, weeping bitterly.
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
THE MEANING OF THE LOOK.
I think that look of Christ might seem to say-- 'Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone Which I at last must break my heart upon, For all God's charge to His high angels may Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday Wash _thy_ feet, my beloved, that they should run Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun, And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray? The cock crows coldly.--Go and manifest A late contrition, but no bootless fear! For when thy final need is dreariest, Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here, My voice, to God and angels shall attest, '_Because I_ KNOW _this man, let him be clear_.'
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
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 that he wept before.
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
SUBSTITUTION.
When some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new-- What hope? what help? what music will undo That silence to your sense? Not friendship's sigh-- Nor reason's subtle count! Not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew-- Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees To the clear moon: nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted,--nor the angels' sweet All hails, Met in the smile of God. Nay, none of these. Speak THOU, availing Christ! and fill this pause.
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
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-famed 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._
CHEERFULNESS TAUGHT BY REASON.
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 slope Of yon gray bank of sky, we might be faint 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 taint? O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted,-- And, like a cheerful traveler, take the road, Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thy inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints?--At least it may be said, Because the way is _short_, I thank Thee, God!
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
THE PROSPECT.
Methinks we do as fretful children do, Leaning their faces on the window pane To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, And shut the sky and landscape from their view, And thus, alas! since God the maker drew A mystic separation 'twixt those twain, The life beyond us, and our souls in pain, We miss the prospect which we're called unto. By grief we're fools to use. Be still and strong, O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong,-- That so, as life's appointment issueth, Thy vision may be clear to watch along The sunset consummation-lights of death.
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
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-- And if before these 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 suffice for HEAVEN, and not for earth?'
--_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._
A THOUGHT OVER A CRADLE.
I sadden when thou smilest to my smile, Child of my love! I tremble to believe That o'er the mirror of that eye of blue The shadow of my heart will always pass;-- A heart that, from its struggle with the world, Comes nightly to thy guarded cradle home, And, careless of the staining dust it brings, Asks for its idol! Strange, that flowers of earth Are visited by every air that stirs, And drink its sweetness only, while the child That shuts within its breast a bloom for heaven, May take a blemish from the breath of love, And bear the blight forever.
I have wept With gladness at the gift of this fair child! My life is bound up in her. But, oh God! Thou know'st how heavily my heart at times Bears its sweet burthen; and if Thou hast given To nurture such as mine this spotless flower, To bring it unpolluted unto Thee, _Take Thou its love_, I pray thee! Give it light-- Though, following the sun, it turn from me!-- But, by the chord thus wrung, and by the light Shining about her, draw me to my child! And link us close, oh God, when near to heaven!
--_N. P. Willis._
EVERLASTING BLESSINGS.
"I know that whatsoever God doeth it shall be forever." --ECCLES. iii. 14.
O what everlasting blessings God outpoureth on His own! Ours by promise true and faithful, spoken from eternal throne; Ours by His eternal purpose ere the universe had place; Ours by everlasting covenant, ours by free and royal grace.
With salvation everlasting He shall save us, He shall bless With the largess of Messiah, everlasting righteousness; Ours the everlasting mercy all His wondrous dealings prove; Ours His everlasting kindness, fruit of everlasting love.
In the Lord Jehovah trusting, everlasting strength have we; He Himself, our Sun, our Glory, everlasting Light shall be; Everlasting life is ours, purchased by The Life laid down; And our heads, oft bowed and weary, everlasting joy shall crown.
We shall dwell with Christ forever, when the shadows flee away, In the everlasting glory of the everlasting day. Unto Thee, belovèd Saviour, everlasting thanks belong, Everlasting adoration, everlasting land and song.
--_Frances Ridley Havergal._
THE MOTHER TO HER CHILD.
They tell me thou art come from a far world, Babe of my bosom! that these little arms, Whose restlessness is like the spread of wings, Move with the memory of flights scarce o'er-- That through these fringed lids we see the soul Steep'd in the blue of its remember'd home; And while thou sleep'st come messengers, they say, Whispering to thee--and 'tis then I see Upon thy baby lips that smile of heaven! And what is thy far errand, my fair child? Why away, wandering from a home of bliss, To find thy way through darkness home again? Wert thou an untried dweller in the sky? Is there, betwixt the cherub that thou wert, The cherub and the angel thou may'st be, A life's probation in this sadder world? Art thou with memory of two things only, Music and light, left upon earth astray, And, by the watchers at the gate of heaven, Look'd for with fear and trembling? God! who gavest Into my guiding hand this wanderer, To lead her through a world whose darkling paths I tread with steps so faltering--leave not me To bring her to the gates of heaven, alone! I feel my feebleness. Let _these_ stay on-- The angels who now visit her in dreams! Bid them be near her pillow till in death The closed eyes look upon Thy face once more! And let the light and music, which the world Borrows of heaven, and which her infant sense Hails with sweet recognition, be to her A voice to call her upward, and a lamp To lead her steps unto Thee!
--_N. P. Willis._
GIVE ME THY HEART.
With echoing steps the worshipers Departed one by one; The organ's pealing voice was stilled, The vesper hymn was done; The shadows fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air, One lamp alone, with trembling ray, Told of the Presence there!
In the dark church she knelt alone; Her tears were falling fast; "Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death Upon my soul are cast! Have I not shunned the path of sin, And chosen the better part?"-- What voice came through the sacred air?-- "_My child, give me thy Heart!_"
"Have I not laid before Thy shrine My wealth, O Lord?" she cried; "Have I kept aught of gems or gold, To minister to pride? Have I not bade youth's joys retire, And vain delights depart?"-- But sad and tender was the voice,-- "_My child, give me thy Heart!_"
"Have I not, Lord, gone day by day Where Thy poor children dwell; And carried help, and gold, and food? O Lord, Thou knowest it well? From many a house, from many a soul, My hand bids care depart:"-- More sad, more tender was the voice,-- "_My child, give me thy Heart!_"
"Have I not worn my strength away With fast and penance sore? Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; "Did Thy dear saints do more? Have I not gained Thy grace, O Lord, And won in heaven my part?"-- It echoed louder in her soul,-- "_My child, give me thy Heart!_"
"For I have loved thee with a love No mortal heart can show; A love so deep, my saints in heaven Its depths can never know; When pierced and wounded on the cross, Man's sin and doom were mine, I loved Thee with undying love, Immortal and divine!
"I loved Thee ere the skies were spread; My soul bears all thy pains; To gain thy love my sacred heart In earthly shrines remains: Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs, Without one gift divine; Give it my child, thy heart to me, And it shall rest in mine!"
In awe she listened, and the shade Passed from her soul away; In low and trembling voice she cried,-- "Lord, help me to obey! Break Thou the chains of earth, O Lord, That bind and hold my heart; Let it be Thine, and Thine alone, Let none with Thee have part.
"Send down, O Lord, Thy sacred fire! Consume and cleanse the sin That lingers still within its depths; Let heavenly love begin. That sacred flame Thy saints have known, Kindle, O Lord, in me, Thou above all the rest forever, And all the rest in Thee."
The blessing fell upon her soul; Her angel by her side Knew that the hour of peace was come; Her soul was purified: The shadows fell from roof and arch, Dim was the incensed air,-- But Peace went with her as she left The sacred Presence there!
--_Adelaide Procter._
One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er: I'm nearer home to-day Than I have been before; Nearer my Father's house, Where many mansions be, Nearer the great white throne, Nearer the crystal sea.
Nearer the bound of life, Where burdens are laid down, Nearer to leave the cross, And nearer to the crown; But lying dark between, And winding through the night, The deep and unknown stream Crossed ere we reach the light.
Jesus, confirm my trust; Strengthen the hand of faith To feel Thee, when I stand Upon the shore of death. Be near me when my feet Are slipping o'er the brink; For I am nearer home, Perhaps, than now I think.
--_Phoebe Cary._
LEFT BEHIND.
Look at this starbeam! From its place of birth, It has come down to greet us here below; Now it alights unwearied on this earth, Nor storm nor night have quenched its heavenly glow.
Unbent before the winter's rugged blast, Unsoiled by this sad planet's tainted air, It sparkles out from yon unmeasured vast, Bright 'mid the brightest, 'mid the fairest fair.
Undimmed it reaches me; but yet alone: The thousand gay companions that took wing Along with it have perished one by one, Scattered o'er space like blossoms of the spring.
Some to yon nearer orbs have sped their course, Yon city's smoke has quenched a thousand more; Myriads in yon dark cloud have spent their force; A few stray gleams are all that reach our shore.
And with us! How many, who began Life's race with us, are dropping by the way; Losing themselves in darkness one by one, From the glad goal departing wide astray;
When we shall reach the kingdom of the blest, How few who started with us shall we find Arriving or arrived, for glorious rest! How many shall we mourn as left behind!
--_Horatius Bonar._
Lord, what a change within us one short hour Spent in Thy presence will prevail to make-- What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, What parched grounds refresh, as with a shower! We kneel, and all around us seems to lower; We rise, and all, the distant and the near, Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear; We kneel how weak, we rise how full of power! Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others--that we are not always strong; That we are ever overborne with care; That we should ever weak or heartless be, Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer, And joy, and strength, and courage, are with Thee?
--_Richard Chenevix Trench._
OUR FATHER.
Oh that I loved the Father With depth of conscious love, As steadfast, bright, and burning As seraphim above! But how can I be deeming Myself a loving child, When here, and there, and everywhere, My thoughts are wandering wild?
It is my chief desire To know Him more and more, To follow Him more fully Than I have done before: My eyes are dim with longing To see the Lord above; But oh! I fear from year to year, I do not truly love.
'For when I try to follow The mazes of my soul, I find no settled fire of love Illumining the whole; 'Tis all uncertain twilight, No clear and vivid glow; Would I could bring to God my King The perfect love I owe!'
The gift is great and holy, 'Twill not be sought in vain; But look up for a moment From present doubt and pain, And calmly tell me _how_ you love The dearest ones below? "This love," say you, "is deep and true!" But tell me how you know?
How do you love your father? "Oh in a thousand ways! I think there's no one like him, So worthy of my praise, I tell him all my troubles, And ask him what to do; I know that he will give to me His counsel kind and true.
"Then every little service Of hand, or pen, or voice, Becomes, if he has asked it, The service of my choice. And from my own desires 'Tis not so hard to part, If once I know I follow so His wiser will and heart."
'I know the flush of pleasure That o'er my spirit came, When far from home with strangers, They caught my father's name; And for his sake the greeting Was mutual and sweet, For if they knew my father too, How glad we were to meet!
'And when I heard them praising His music and his skill, His words of holy teaching, Life-preaching, holier still, How eagerly I listened To every word that fell! 'Twas joy to hear that name so dear Both known and loved so well.
'Once I was ill and suffering, Upon a foreign shore, And longed to see my father, As I never longed before. He came: his arm around me; I leaned upon his breast; I did not long to feel more strong, So sweet that childlike rest.
'The thought of home is pleasant, Yet I should hardly care To leave my present fair abode, Unless I knew him there. All other love and pleasure Can never crown the place, A home to me it cannot be Without my fathers face.'
This is no fancy drawing, But every line is true, And you have traced as strong a love As ever daughter knew. But though its fond expression Is rather lived than told, You do not say from day to day, 'I fear my love is cold!'
You do not think about it; 'Tis never in your thought-- 'I wonder if I love him As deeply as I ought? I know his approbation Outweighs all other meed, That his employ is always joy, But do I love indeed?'
Now let your own words teach you The higher, holier claim Of Him, who condescends to bear A Father's gracious name. No mystic inspiration, No throbbings forced and wild He asks, but just the loving trust Of a glad and grateful child.