Part 4
The rare and precious moments Of realizing thrill, Are but love's blissful blossom, To brighten, not to fill The storehouse and the garner With ripe and pleasant fruit; And not alone by these is shown The true and holy root.
What if your own dear father Were summoned to his rest! One lives, by whom that bitterest grief Could well be soothed and blessed. Like balm upon your sharpest woe His still, small voice would fall; His touch would heal, you could not feel That you had lost your all.
But what if He, the Lord of life, Could ever pass away! What if _His_ name were blotted out, And you could know to-day There was _no_ heavenly Father, No Saviour dear and true, No throne of grace, no resting-place, No living God for you!
We need not dwell in horror On what can never be, Such endless desolation, Such undreamt misery. Our reason could not bear it, And all the love of earth, In fullest bliss, compared with this, Were nothing, _nothing_ worth.
Then bring your poor affection, And try it by this test; The hidden depth is fathomed, You see you love Him _best_! 'Tis but a feeble echo Of His great love to you, Yet in His ear each note is dear, Its harmony is true.
It is an uncut jewel, All earth-incrusted now, But He will make it glorious, And set it on His brow: 'Tis but a tiny glimmer, Lit from the light above, But it shall blaze through endless days, A star of perfect love.
--_Frances Ridley Havergal._
Thou art the Way: to thee alone From sin and death we flee; And he who would the Father seek, Must seek Him, Lord, by Thee.
Thou art the Truth; Thy word alone True wisdom can impart; Thou only canst instruct the mind, And purify the heart.
Thou art the Life: the rending tomb Proclaims Thy conquering arm; And those who put their trust in Thee Nor death nor hell shall harm.
Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life: Grant us to know that Way; That Truth to keep, that Life to win, Which leads to endless day.
--_Doane._
THE NIGHT AND THE MORNING.
To dream a troubled dream, and then awaken To the soft gladness of a summer sky; To dream ourselves alone, unloved, forsaken, And then to wake 'mid smiles, and love, and joy;
To look at evening on the storm's rude motion, The cloudy tumult of the fretted deep; And then at day-burst upon that same ocean, Soothed to the stillness of its stillest sleep--
So runs our course--so tells the church her story, So to the end shall it be ever told; Brief shame on earth, but after shame the glory, That wanes not, dims not, never waxes old.
Lord Jesus, come, and end this troubled dreaming. Dark shadows vanish, rosy twilight break! Morn of the true and real, burst forth, calm-beaming. Day of the beautiful, arise, awake!
--_Horatius Bonar._
IN AFFLICTION.
Father! Thy will, not mine, be done! So prayed on earth Thy suffering Son, So, in His name I pray: The spirit fails, the flesh is weak; Thy help in agony I seek; O! take this cup away.
If such be not Thy sovereign will, Thy wiser purpose then fulfil; My wishes I resign, Into Thine hands my soul commend, On Thee for life or death depend; Thy will be done, not mine.
--_James Montgomery._
Give to the winds thy fears; Hope, and be undismay'd; God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears. God shall lift up thy head.
Through waves, through clouds and storms, He gently clears thy way; Wait thou His time; so shall this night Soon end in joyous day.
Still heavy is thy heart? Still sink thy spirits down? Cast off the weight, let fear depart, Bid every care be gone.
What though thou rulest not! Yet heaven, and earth, and hell Proclaim, God sitteth on the throne, And ruleth all things well.
--_Gerhard._
Where wilt thou put thy trust? In a frail form of clay, That to its element of dust Must soon resolve away?
Where will thou cast thy care? Upon an erring heart, Which hath its own sore ills to bear, And shrinks from sorrow's dart?
No! place thy trust above This shadowy realm of night, In Him, whose boundless power and love Thy confidence invite.
His mercies still endure When skies and stars grow dim, His changeless promise standeth sure, Go,--cast thy care on Him.
--_Mrs. Sigourney._
One there is above all others, Well deserves the name of Friend; His is love beyond a brother's, Costly, free and knows no end.
Which of all our friends, to save us, Could or would have shed his blood? But our Jesus died to have us Reconciled in Him to God.
When He lived on earth abasèd, Friend of sinners was His name; Now, above all glory raisèd, He rejoices in the same.
Could we bear from one another What He daily bears from us? Yet this glorious Friend and Brother Loves us though we treat Him thus.
Oh for grace our hearts to soften! Teach us, Lord, at length to love! We, alas! forget too often What a Friend we have above.
--_Newton._
God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants His footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up His vast designs, And works His sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and will break In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust Him for His grace; Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour, The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan His work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
--_Cowper._
Onward, Christian, though the region Where thou art be drear and lone; God has set a guardian legion Very near thee; press thou on.
Listen, Christian; their hosanna Rolleth o'er thee: "God is love," Write upon thy red-cross banner, "Upward ever; heaven's above."
By the thorn-road, and none other, Is the mount of vision won; Tread it without shrinking, brother; Jesus trod it; press thou on.
Be this world the wiser, stronger, For thy life of pain and peace, While it needs thee; oh! no longer Pray thou for thy quick release.
Pray thou, Christian, daily rather, That thou be a faithful son; By the prayer of Jesus, "Father, Not my will, but thine, be done."
--_Johnson._
THANKFULNESS.
My God, I thank Thee who hast made The Earth so bright; So full of splendor and of joy, Beauty and light; So many glorious things are here, Noble and right!
I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made Joy to abound: So many gentle thoughts and deeds Circling us round, That in the darkest spot of Earth Some love is found.
I thank Thee _more_ than all our joy Is touched with pain; That shadows fall on brightest hours; That thorns remain; So that Earth's bliss may be our guide, And not our chain.
For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon Our weak heart clings, Hast given us joys, tender and true, Yet all with wings, So that we see, gleaming on high, Diviner things!
I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept The best in store; We have enough, yet, not too much To long for more: A yearning for a deeper peace, Not known before.
I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, Though amply blest, Can never find, although they seek, A perfect rest,-- Nor ever shall, until they lean On Jesus' breast!
--_Adelaide Procter._
Does the Gospel word proclaim Rest for those that weary be? Then, my soul put in thy claim-- Sure that promise speaks to thee!
Marks of grace I cannot show, All polluted is my best; But I weary am, I know, And the weary long for rest.
Burdened with a load of sin, Harassed with tormenting doubt, Hourly conflicts from within, Hourly crosses from without;--
All my little strength is gone, Sink I must without supply; Sure upon the earth is none Can more weary be than I.
In the ark the weary dove Found a welcome resting-place; Thus my spirit longs to prove Rest in Christ, the Ark of grace.
Tempest-tossed I long have been, And the flood increases fast; Open, Lord, and take me in, Till the storm be overpast!
--_Newton._
My God, my Father, while I stray Far from my home on life's rough way, Oh, teach me from my heart to say, "Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
What though in love or grief I sigh For friends beloved no longer nigh; Submissive still would I reply, "Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
If thou shouldst call me to resign What most I prize,--it ne'er was mine; I only yield thee what was Thine: "Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
If but my fainting heart be blest With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest, My God, to Thee I leave the rest; "Thy will be done, Thy will be done!"
--_C. Elliott._
THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN.
ON THE GREAT EXHIBITION, 1851.
Ha! yon burst of crystal splendor, Sunlight, starlight, blent in one; Starlight set in arctic azure, Sunlight from the burning zone! Gold and silver, gems and marble, All creation's jewelry; Earth's uncovered waste of riches, Treasures of the ancient sea. Heir of glory, What is that to thee and me?
Iris and Aurora braided-- How the woven colors shine! Snow-gleams from an Alpine summit. Torch-light from a spar-roofed mine. Like Arabia's matchless palace, Child of magic's strong decree, One vast globe of living sapphire, Floor, walls, columns, canopy. Heir of glory, What is that to thee and me?
Forms of beauty, shapes of wonder, Trophies of triumphant toil; Never Athens, Rome, Palmyra, Gazed on such a costly spoil. Dazzling the bewildered vision, More than princely pomp we see: What the blaze of the Alhambra, Dome of emerald, to thee? Heir of glory, What is that to thee and me?
Farthest cities pour their riches, Farthest empires muster here, Art her jubilee proclaiming To the nations far and near. From the crowd in wonder gazing, Science claims the prostrate knee; This her temple, diamond-blazing, Shrine of her idolatry. Heir of glory, What is that to thee and me?
Listen to her tale of wonder, Of her plastic, potent spell; 'Tis a big and braggart story, Yet she tells it fair and well. She the gifted, gay magician, Mistress of earth, air, and sea; This majestic apparition, Offspring of her sorcery. Heir of glory, What is that to thee and me?
What to that for which we're waiting Is this glittering earthly toy? Heavenly glory, holy splendor, Sum of grandeur, sum of joy. Not the gems that time can tarnish, Not the hues that dim and die, Not the glow that cheats the lover, Shaded with mortality. Heir of glory, That shall be for thee and me!
Not the light that leaves us darker, Nor the gleams that come and go, Not the mirth whose end is madness, Not the joy whose fruit is woe; Not the notes that die at sunset, Not the fashion of a day; But the everlasting beauty, And the endless melody. Heir of glory, That shall be for thee and me!
City of the pearl-bright portal; City of the jasper wall; City of the golden pavement; Seat of endless festival. City of Jehovah, Salem, City of eternity, To thy bridal-hall of gladness, From this prison would I flee. Heir of glory, That shall be for thee and me!
Ah! with such strange spells around me, Fairest of what earth calls fair, How I need thy fairer image, To undo the syren snare? Lest the subtle serpent-tempter Lure me with his radiant lie; As if sin were sin no longer, Life were no more vanity. Heir of glory, What is that to thee and me?
Yes, I need _thee_, heavenly city, My low spirit to upbear; Yes, I need thee--earth's enchantments So beguile me with their glare. Let me see thee, then these fetters Break asunder; I am free; Then this pomp no longer chains me; Faith has won the victory. Heir of glory, That shall be for thee and me?
Soon where earthly beauty blinds not, No excess of brilliance palls, Salem, city of the holy, We shall be within thy walls! There, beside you crystal river, There, beneath life's wondrous tree, There, with naught to cloud or sever-- Ever with the Lamb to be! Heir of glory, That shall be for thee and me!
--_Horatius Bonar._
I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles, For the langed-far hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles, An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see The gowden gates o' heav'n an' my ain countrie. The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an' gay, The birdies warble blithely, for my Faither made them sae: But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me, When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countrie.
I've His gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King To His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring; Wi' een an' wi' hert rinning ower, we shall see The King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie. My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair, But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair For His bluid has made me white, and His han' shall dry my e'e, When He brings me hame at last, to my ain countrie.
Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place, I only ken it's Hame, whaur we shall see His face: It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to be In the glory o' His presence, in oor ain countrie. Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest, I wad fain' be gangin' noo, unto my Saviour's breast, For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me, And carries them Himsel', to His ain countrie.
He is faithfu' that hath promised, an' He'll surely come again, He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken; But He bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be, To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie. Sae I'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I wait For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate: God gie His grace to ilka ane wha' listens noo to me, That we a' may gang in gladness to oor ain countrie.
(_Unidentified._)
THE SINNER'S FRIEND.
O thou, the contrite sinner's Friend, Who loving, lov'st them to the end, On this alone my hopes depend, That Thou wilt plead for me!
When, weary in the Christian race, Far-off appears my resting-place, And fainting, I mistrust Thy grace-- Then, Saviour, plead for me!
When I have err'd and gone astray Afar from Thine own and Wisdom's way, And see no glimmering guiding ray-- Still, Saviour, plead for me!
When Satan, by my sins made bold, Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold, Then with Thy pitying arms enfold, And plead, oh, plead for me!
And when my dying hour draws near, Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear, Then to my fainting sight appear, Pleading in Heaven for me!
When the full light of Heavenly day Reveals my sins in dread array, Say, Thou hast wash'd them all away; Oh, say, Thou plead'st for me!
--_Charlotte Elliott._
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRL'S SCHOOL.
"Now in thy youth, beseech of Him, Who giveth, upbraiding not, That His light in thy heart become not dim, And His love be unforgot; And thy God, in the darkest of days, will be Greenness, and beauty, and strength to thee."
--_Bernard Barton._
Hush! 'tis a holy hour--the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, With all their clustering locks, untouched by care, And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night--in prayer.
Gaze on,--'tis lovely! childhood's lip and cheek, Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought-- Gaze--yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek, And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity!
Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest, Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, As birds with slumber's honey-dew oppressed, 'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun-- Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes;
Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs Of hope make melody where'er ye tread; And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, Is woman's tenderness--how soon her woe!
Her lot is on you--silent tears to weep, And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sunless riches, from affection's deep, To pour on broken reeds--a wasted shower? And to make idols, and to find them clay, And to bewail that worship--therefore pray!
Her lot is on you--to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, With a pale cheek, and yet a brow inspired, And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain. Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay, And oh! to love through all things--therefore pray!
And take the thought of this calm vesper time, With its low murmuring sounds and silvery light, On through the dark days fading from their prime, As a sweet dew to keep your souls from blight. Earth will forsake--oh! happy to have given Th' unbroken heart's first fragrance unto Heaven.
--_Mrs. Hemans._
I worship thee, sweet Will of God! And all thy ways adore; And every day I live, I seem To love thee more and more.
Thou wert the end, the blessed rule Of our Saviour's toils and tears; Thou wert the passion of His Heart Those three-and-thirty years.
And He hath breathed into my soul A special love of thee, A love to lose my will in His, And by that loss be free.
I love to see thee bring to nought The plans of wily men; When simple hearts outwit the wise, Oh thou art loveliest then!
The headstrong world, it presses hard Upon the church full oft, And then how easily thou turn'st The hard ways into soft.
I love to kiss each print where thou Hast set thine unseen feet; I cannot fear thee, blessèd will, Thine empire is so sweet.
When obstacles and trials seem Like prison-walls to be, I do the little I can do, And leave the rest to thee.
I know not what it is to doubt; My heart is ever gay; I run no risk, for come what will, Thou always hast thy way.
I have no cares, O blessèd will, For all my cares are thine; I live in triumph, Lord, for thou Hast made thy triumphs mine.
And when it seems no chance or change From grief can set me free, Hope finds its strength in helplessness, And gayly waits on thee.
Man's weakness waiting upon God Its end can never miss, For men on earth no work can do More angel-like than this.
Ride on, ride on triumphantly, Thou glorious Will! ride on; Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take The road that thou hast gone.
He always wins who sides with God, To him no chance is lost; God's will is sweetest to him when It triumphs at his cost.
Ill, that God blesses, is our good, And unblest good is ill; And all is right that seems most wrong, If it be his dear will!
--_F. W. Faber._
THE PEACE OF GOD.
We ask for Peace, O Lord! Thy children ask Thy peace; Not what the world calls rest, That toil and care should cease, That through bright sunny hours Calm Life should fleet away, And tranquil night should fade In smiling day;-- It is not for such Peace that we would pray.
We ask for Peace, O Lord! Yet not to stand secure, Girt round with iron Pride, Contented to endure: Crushing the gentle strings That human hearts should know, Untouched by others' joy Or others' woe;-- Thou, O dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.
We ask Thy Peace, O Lord! Through storm, and fear, and strife, To light and guide us on, Through a long, struggling life: While no success or gain Shall cheer the desperate fight, Or nerve, what the world calls, Our wasted might:-- Yet pressing through the darkness to the light.
It is Thine own, O Lord, Who toil while others sleep, Who sow with loving care What other hands shall reap; They lean on Thee entranced, In calm and perfect rest: Give us that Peace, O Lord, Divine and blest, Thou keepest for those hearts who love Thee best.
--_Adelaide Procter._
LISTENING IN DARKNESS--SPEAKING IN LIGHT.
"What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light." MATT. x. 27.
He hath spoken in the darkness In the silence of the night, Spoken sweetly of the Father. Words of life and love and light, Floating through the sombre stillness Came the loved and loving Voice, Speaking peace and solemn gladness, That His children might rejoice. What He tells thee in the darkness-- Songs He giveth in the night-- Rise and speak it in the morning, Rise and sing them in the light!
He hath spoken in the darkness, In the silence of thy grief, Sympathy so deep and tender, Mighty for thy heart-relief. Speaking in thy night of sorrow Words of comfort and of calm, Gently on thy wounded spirit Pouring true and healing balm. What He tells thee in the darkness, Weary watcher for the day, Grateful lip and life should utter When the shadows flee away.
He is speaking in the darkness, Though thou canst not see His face, More than angels ever needed, Mercy, pardon, love and grace. Speaking of the many mansions, Where, in safe and holy rest, Thou shalt be with Him forever, Perfectly and always blest. What He tells thee in the darkness, Whispers through Time's lonely night, Thou shalt speak in glorious praises In the everlasting light.
--_Frances Ridley Havergal._
THE MORNING STAR.
There is a morning star, my soul, There is a morning star; 'Twill soon be near and bright, tho' now, It seem so dim and far. And when time's stars have come and gone, And every mist of earth has flown, That better star shall rise On this world's clouded skies, To shine forever!
The night is well nigh spent, my soul, The night is well nigh spent, And soon above our heads shall shine A glorious firmament; A sky all glad, and pure, and bright, The Lamb, once slain, its perfect light; A star without a cloud, Whose light no mists enshroud, Descending never.
--_Horatius Bonar._
God of the world! Thy glories shine, Through earth and heaven, with rays divine: Thy smile gives beauty to the flower, Thine anger to the tempest power.
God of our lives! the throbbing heart Doth at Thy beck its action start-- Throbs on, obedient to Thy will, Or ceases, at Thy fatal chill.
God of eternal life! Thy love Doth every stain of sin remove; The cross, the cross--its hallowed light Shall drive from earth her cheerless night.
God of all goodness! to the skies Our hearts in grateful anthems rise; And to Thy service shall be given The rest of life--the whole of heaven.
--_S. S. Cutting._