Part 7
Instant sympathy to brighten All their weakness and their woe, Guiding grace their way to lighten, Shall Thy loving members know; All their sorrows Thou dost bear, All Thy gladness they shall share.
Make Thy members every hour For Thy blessed service meet; Earnest tongues, and arms of power, Skilful hands, and hastening feet, Ever ready to fulfil All Thy word and all Thy will.
Everlasting life Thou givest Everlasting love to see; They shall live because Thou livest, And their life is hid with Thee. Safe Thy members shall be found, When their glorious Head is crowned!
--_Frances Ridley Havergal._
"_Till He come!_"--Oh, let the words Linger on the trembling chords, Let the "little while" between In their golden light be seen: Let us think how heaven and home Lie beyond that, "_Till He come!_"
When the weary ones we love Enter on that rest above, When their words of love and cheer Fall no longer on our ear, Hush! be ev'ry murmur dumb, It is only "_Till He come!_"
Clouds and darkness round us press; Would we have one sorrow less? All the sharpness of the cross, All that tells the world is loss, Death, and darkness, and the tomb, Pain us only "_Till He come!_"
See, the feast of love is spread, Drink the wine and eat the bread; Sweet memorials, till the Lord Call us round His heavenly board, Some from earth, from glory some, Severed only "_Till He come!_"
--_E. W. Bickersteth._
"Forever with the Lord!" So, Jesus, let it be; Life from the dead is in that word; 'Tis immortality.
Here, in the body pent, Absent from thee I roam: Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home.
My father's house on high, Home of my soul! how near, At times, to faith's aspiring eye, Thy golden gates appear!
"Forever with the Lord!" Father, if 'tis thy will, The promise of thy gracious word Ev'n here to me fulfill.
--_James Montgomery._
THE MEETING-PLACE.
Where the faded flower shall freshen,-- Freshen never more to fade; Where the shaded sky shall brighten,-- Brighten never more to shade: Where the sun-blaze never scorches; Where the star-beams cease to chill; Where no tempest stirs the echoes Of the wood, or wave, or hill: Where the morn shall wake in gladness, And the moon the joy prolong, Where the daylight dies in fragrance, 'Mid the burst of holy song: Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!
Where no shadow shall bewilder, Where life's vain parade is o'er, Where the sleep of sin is broken And the dreamer dreams no more: Where the bond is never severed;-- Partings, claspings, sob and moan, Midnight waking, twilight weeping, Heavy noontide,--all are done: Where the child has found its mother, Where the mother finds the child, Where dear families are gathered, That were scattered on the wild; Brother, we shall meet and rest 'Mid the holy and the blest!
Where the hidden wound is healed, Where the blighted light re-blooms, Where the smitten heart the freshness Of its buoyant youth resumes: Where the love that here we lavish On the withering leaves of time, Shall have fadeless flowers to fix on In an ever spring-bright clime: Where we find the joy of loving, As we never loved before,-- Loving on, unchilled, unhindered, Loving once and evermore: Brother, we shall meet and rest, 'Mid the holy and the blest!
Where a blasted world shall brighten Underneath a bluer sphere, And a softer, gentler sunshine Sheds its healing splendor here: Where earth's barren vales shall blossom, Putting on their robe of green, And a purer, fairer Eden Be where only wastes have been: Where a King in kingly glory, Such as earth has never known, Shall assume the righteous sceptre, Claim and wear the holy crown: Brother, we shall meet and rest, 'Mid the holy and the blest.
--_Horatius Bonar._
A LITTLE WHILE.
Beyond the smiling and the weeping I shall be soon; Beyond the waking and the sleeping, Beyond the sowing and the reaping, I shall be soon. Love, rest and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the blooming and the fading, I shall be soon; Beyond the shining and the shading, Beyond the hoping and the dreading, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the rising and the setting I shall be soon; Beyond the calming and the fretting, Beyond remembering and forgetting, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the gathering and the strowing I shall be soon; Beyond the ebbing and the flowing, Beyond the coming and the going, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the parting and the meeting I shall be soon. Beyond the farewell and the greeting, Beyond this pulse's fever beating, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come.
Beyond the frost-chain and the fever I shall be soon; Beyond the rock-waste and the river, Beyond the ever and the never, I shall be soon. Love, rest, and home! Sweet hope! Lord, tarry not, but come.
--_Horatius Bonar._
ASCENSION DAY.
Soft cloud, that while the breeze of May Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch, Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way, Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march.
My soul is envious of mine eye, That it should soar and glide with thee so fast The while my groveling thoughts half buried lie, Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.
Chains of my heart, avaunt I say-- I will arise, and in the strength of love Pursue the bright track ere it fade away, My Savior's pathway to His home above.
Sure, when I reach the point where earth Melts into nothing from the uncumber'd sight, Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth, And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:
Till resting by th' incarnate Lord Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake, I mark Him, how by seraph hosts ador'd, He to earth's lowest cares is still awake.
The sun and every vassal star, All space beyond the soar of angel wings, Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.
He listens to the silent tear For all the anthems of the boundless sky-- And shall our dreams of music bar our ear To His soul-piercing voice forever nigh?
Nay, gracious Saviour--but as now Our thoughts have trac'd Thee to Thy glory-throne, To help us evermore with Thee to bow Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.
We must not stand to gaze too long, Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend, Where lost behind the bright angelic throng We see Christ's entering triumph slow ascend.
No fear but we shall soon behold, Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive, When issuing from His cloud of fiery gold Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.
Then shall we see Thee as Thou art, Forever fix'd in no unfruitful gaze, But such as lifts the new-created heart, Age after age, in worthier love and praise.
--_John Keble._
THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM.
Genesis, Chapter xxii.
Morn breaketh in the east. The purple clouds Are putting on their gold and violet, To look the meeter for the sun's bright coming. Sleep is upon the waters and the wind; And nature, from the wavy forest-leaf To her majestic master, sleeps. As yet There is no mist upon the deep blue sky, And the clear dew is on the blushing bosoms Of crimson roses in a holy rest. How hallow'd is the hour of morning! meet-- Aye, beautifully meet--for the pure prayer. The patriarch standeth at his tented door, With his white locks uncover'd. 'Tis his wont To gaze upon that gorgeous Orient; And at that hour the awful majesty Of man who talketh often with his God, Is wont to come again, and clothe his brow As at his fourscore strength. But now, he seemeth To be forgetful of his vigorous frame, And boweth to his staff as at the hour Of noontide sultriness. And that bright sun-- He looketh at its pencill'd messengers, Coming in golden raiment, as if all Were but a graven scroll of fearfulness. Ah, he is waiting till it herald in The hour to sacrifice his much-loved son!
Light poureth on the world. And Sarah stands Watching the steps of Abraham and her child Along the dewy sides of the far hills, And praying that her sunny boy faint not. Would she have watch'd their path so silently, If she had known that he was going up, E'en in his fair-hair'd beauty, to be slain As a white lamb for sacrifice? They trod Together onward, patriarch and child-- The bright sun throwing back the old man's shade In straight and fair proportions, as of one Whose years were freshly number'd. He stood up Tall in his vigorous strength; and, like a tree Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not. His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind, And left his brow uncover'd; and his face, Impress'd with the stern majesty of grief Nerv'd to a solemn duty, now stood forth Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime. But the young boy--he of the laughing eye And ruby lip--the pride of life was on him. He seem'd to drink the morning. Sun and dew, And the aroma of the spicy trees, And all that giveth the delicious East Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts With love and beauty. Every thing he met, Buoyant, or beautiful, the lightest wing Of bird or insect, or the palest dye Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path; And joyously broke forth his tiny shout, As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung Away to some green spot or clustering vine, To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree And fragrant shrub was a new hiding place; And he would crouch till the old man came by, Then bound before him with his childish laugh, Stealing a look behind him playfully, To see if he had made his father smile. The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up From the fresh daughters of the earth, and heat Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves, And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams. Still trod the patriarch on, with that same step, Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells, Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot To toss his sunny hair from off his brow, And spring for the fresh flowers and light wings As in the early morning; but he kept Close by his father's side, and bent his head Upon his bosom like a drooping bud, Lifting it not, save now and then to steal A look up to the face whose sternness awed His childishness to silence. It was noon-- And Abraham on Moriah bow'd himself, And buried up his face, and pray'd for strength. He could not look upon his son, and pray; But, with his hand upon the clustering curls Of the fair, kneeling boy, he pray'd that God Would nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was made For the stern conflict. In a mother's love There is more tenderness; the thousand chords, Woven with every fibre of her heart, Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath; But love in man is one deep principle, Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock, Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laid The wood upon the altar. All was done. He stood a moment--and a deep, quick flush Pass'd o'er his countenance; and then he nerv'd His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke-- "Isaac! my only son!"--The boy look'd up And Abraham turn'd his face away, and wept. "Where is the lamb, my father?"--Oh the tones, The sweet, the thrilling music of a child!-- How it doth agonize at such an hour!-- It was the last deep struggle. Abraham held His loved, his beautiful, his only son, And lifted up his arm, and called on God-- And lo! God's angel stayed him--and he fell Upon his face and wept.
--_N. P. Willis._
A SOLITARY WAY.
There is a mystery in human hearts, And though we be encircled by a host Of those who love us well, and are beloved, To every one of us, from time to time, There comes a sense of utter loneliness. Our dearest friend is "stranger" to our joy, And cannot realize our bitterness. "There is not one who really understands, Not one to enter into _all_ I feel;" Such is the cry of each of us in turn, We wander in a "solitary way," No matter what or where our lot may be; Each heart, mysterious even to itself, Must live its inner life in solitude.
And would you know the reason why this is? It is because the Lord desires our love. In every heart he wishes to be _first_. He therefore keeps the secret key Himself, To open _all_ its chambers, and to bless With _perfect_ sympathy and holy peace, Each solitary soul which comes to _Him_. So when we feel this loneliness it is The voice of Jesus saying, "Come to Me;" And every time we are "not understood," It is a call to us to come _again_: For Christ alone can satisfy the soul, And those who walk with him from day to day Can never have a "solitary way." And when beneath some heavy cross you faint, And say, "I cannot bear this load alone," You say the truth. Christ made it purposely So heavy that you must return to Him. The bitter grief, which "no one understands," Conveys a secret message from the King, Entreating you to come to Him _again_. The Man of Sorrows understands it well. In _all_ points tempted He can feel with you. You cannot come too often, or too near; The Son of God is infinite in grace. His presence satisfies the longing soul, And those who walk with Him from day to day Can never have a "solitary way."
--_Unidentified._
THE CHILD'S WELCOME INTO HEAVEN.
The golden gates were open And heavenly seraphs smiled And with their tuneful harpstrings Welcomed the little child.
They shouted "high and holy, A child hath entered in, And safe from all temptation A soul is sealed from sin."
They led him through the golden street On to the King of kings, And a glory fell upon him From the rustling of their wings.
The Saviour smiled upon him As none on earth had smiled, And Heaven's great glory shone around The little earth-born child.
On earth they missed the little one, They sighed and wept and sighed, And wondered if another such As theirs, had ever died.
Oh! had they seen through those high gates, The welcome to him given, They never would have wished their child Back from his home in Heaven.
--_Unidentified._
"NOW."
A night of danger on the sea, Of sleeplessness and fear! Wave after wave comes thundering Against the strong stone pier; Each with a terrible recoil, And a grim and gathering might, As blast on blast comes howling past, Each wild gust wilder than the last, All through that awful night.
Well for the ships in harbor now, Which caught the morning tide; With cable out and anchor sure, How peacefully they ride! Well for the barque that came at eve, Though watched with breathless fear; 'Twas sheltered first ere the tempest burst, 'Tis safe inside the pier!
But see a faint and fitful light Out in the howling sea! A vessel seeks the harbor mouth, As in death agony. Though strong stone arms are open wide, She misses the only way; Alas! too late, the storm drives fast, The mighty waves they sweep her past, And against that sheltering pier they cast Their wrecked and shattered prey.
The billows drive the barque along, Over the deck they dash, Where sailors five are clinging fast To broken stump of sail-less mast, Waiting the final crash. Is it too late? Can succor yet Those drowning men now reach! Life is so near--the firm-built pier Must be the death of each.
The daring hearts--the sturdy arms, The swift and steady feet, They rush into a yawning grave, In strong recoil of mightiest wave, Treading most awful path to save, As they tread a homeward street. Over the boulders 'mid foam they rush Into the ghastly hollow; They fling the rope to the breaking wreck; The aim is sure, and it strikes the deck, The shouts of quick hope follow.
Reached--not saved! there is more to do, A trumpet note is heard; Over the rage,--over the roar Of thundering billows on the shore, Rings out the guiding word. There is one chance, and only one. All can be saved, but how? "The rope hold fast, but quit the mast," The trumpet signals "Now!"
There is a moment when the sea Allays its furious strength; A shuddering pause with sudden whirl, Gathering force again to hurl Billow on billow, whirl on whirl; That moment comes at length: With single shout the "Now" peals out. The answering leap is made. Well for the simple hearts that just Loosing the mast with fearless trust, The strange command obeyed!
The rope is good, the stout arms pull Ere the storm-lull is o'er; 'Tis but a swift and blinding sweep Through waters wild and dark and deep-- The men are safe on shore-- Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue; Safe! though the waves dash high; But the ringing cheer that rises clear Is checked with a sudden cry:--
"There are but four upon the shore, And five were on the deck!" And strained eyes that pierce the gloom Still trace, swift drifting on to doom, One man upon the wreck. Again they chase in sternest race The far re-coiling wave; The rope is cast, the tossing mark It reaches not, the windy dark Hides him they strive to save.
They rush again, again they fail, Again, and yet again: The storm yells back defiance loud, The breakers rear a rampart proud, And roar, "In vain, in vain!" Then a giant wave takes up the wreck And bears it on its crest;-- One moment it hung quivering there In horrible arrest. The lonely man on vengeful sea A lightning flash uplit, Still clinging fast to broken mast He had not dared to quit.
Then horror of great darkness fell, While eyes flashed inward fire; And over all the roar and dash, Through that great blackness came a crash, A token sure and dire. The wave had burst upon the pier, The wreck was scattered wide; Another "Now" would never reach The corpse that lay upon the beach With the receding tide.
God's "Now" is sounding in your ears, Oh, let it reach your heart! Not only from your sinfulness He bids you part; Your righteousness as filthy rags Must all relinquished be, And only Jesus' precious death Must be your plea.
_Now_ trust the one provided rope, Now quit the broken mast, Before the hope of safety be Forever past. Fear not to trust His simple word, So sweet, so tried, so true, And you are safe for evermore, Yes,--even you!
--_Frances Ridley Havergal._
OCEAN TEACHINGS.
"This great and wide sea."--PSALM civ. 25.
That rising storm! It has awakened me; My slumbering spirit starts to life anew; That blinding spray-drift, how it falls upon me, As on the weary flower the freshening dew.
That rugged rock-fringe that girds in the ocean, And calls the foam from its translucent blue, It seems to pour strange strength into my spirit,-- Strength for endurance, strength for conflict too.
And these bright ocean-birds, these billow-rangers, The snowy-breasted,--each a winged wave-- They tell me how to joy in storm and dangers, When surges whiten, or when whirlwinds rave.
And these green-stretching fields, these peaceful hollows, That hear the tempest, but take no alarm, Has not their placid verdue sweetly taught me The peace within when all without is storm?
And thou keen sun-flash, through the cloud-wreath bursting, Silvering the sea, the sward, the rock, the foam, What light within me has thy pure gleam kindled? 'Tis from the land of light that thou art come.
And of the time how blithely art thou telling, When cloud and change and tempest shall take wing; Each beam of thine prophetic of the glory, Creation's daybreak, earth's long-promised spring.
Even thus it is, my God me daily teacheth Sweet knowledge out of all I hear and see; Each object has a heavenly voice within it, Each scene, however troubled, speaks to me.
For all upon this earth is broken beauty, Yet out of all what strange, deep lessons rise? Each hour is giving out its heaven-sent wisdom, A message from the sea, the shore, the skies.
--_Horatius Bonar._
INCOMPLETENESS.
Nothing resting in its own completeness Can have worth or beauty: but alone Because it leads and tends to further sweetness, Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.
Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; But is hidden in her tender leaning To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers.
Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly Into day, which floods the world with light; Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy Just because it ends in starry Night.
Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow From Strife, that in a far-off future lies; And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.
Life is only bright when it proceedeth Towards a truer, deeper Life above; Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth To a more divine and perfect Love.
Learn the mystery of Progression duly: Do not call each glorious change, Decay; But know we only hold our treasures truly, When it seems as if they passed away.
Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness; In that want their beauty lies: they roll Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.
--_Adelaide Procter._
NOTHING TO DO.
"Nothing to do" in this world of ours, Where weeds spring up with the fairest flowers, Where smiles have only a fitful play, Where hearts are breaking every day?
"Nothing to do?" thou Christian soul, Wrapping thee round in thy selfish stole, Off with the garments of sloth and sin; Christ thy Lord hath a kingdom to win.
"Nothing to do?" there are prayers to lay On the altar of incense day by day; There are foes to meet within and without; There is error to conquer, strong and stout.
"Nothing to do?" there are minds to teach The simplest forms of Christian speech; There are hearts to lure with loving wile From the grimmest haunts of sin's defile.
"Nothing to do?" there are lambs to feed, The precious hope of the Church's need; Strength to be borne to the weak and faint, Vigils to keep with the doubting saint.
"Nothing to do?" there are heights to attain, Where Christ is transfigured yet again, Where earth will fade in the vision sweet, And the soul press on with wingèd feet.
"Nothing to do?" and thy Saviour said, "Follow thou me in the path I tread." Lord, lend thy help the journey through, Lest, faint, we cry, "So much to do!"
--_Unidentified._
When death is drawing near, And thy heart shrinks in fear, And thy limbs fail, Then raise thy hands and pray To Him who smooths the way Through the dark vale.