University of Virginia Library

MEEKNESS.

THIRD BEATITUDE.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”—Matt. v. 5.

Thy ways, O Lord, are unlike ours,
Thy Thoughts surpass our own;
And angels, when they scan their powers,
Fall wing-veil'd round the Throne.
Eternity Thine eyes peruse,
Omniscient is Thy mind;
And whatsoe'er Thy wisdom choose
Is perfect in its kind.
But we, by pride and passion stain'd,
Our good no longer know,
And when we dream the goal is gain'd,
Have reach'd intenser woe.
Ay, Good and Evil, Pain and Bliss
In vain blind heathens thought
To image in a world like this
Those models which they sought.
Our Centre true they could not see
In aught the creatures bring;
But Christ, who show'd us Deity,
Unveils that holy Thing.
But yet a paradox this wears
To men who walk by sense,
Which deep humility declares
The heart's sublime defence.
Resistance seems a noble gift
To reason's haughty view;
And passions that proud self uplift
Re-echo it as true.
But He whose will was crucified
Throughout His sad career;
Whom earth abhorr'd, and man denied
One sympathetic tear,
By bearing outrage, wrong, and hate,
This heaven-born lesson taught,—
That souls are not divinely great
Except with meekness fraught.
Submission tender, mild, and deep,
Not sullen, stern, or sad,
But gentle as when Angels weep
While they o'erwatch the bad,
Such the chaste virtue Christ commends,
Believer! as divine;
And if thy heart its Master bends,
That lovely grace is thine.
And who with such a just appeal
To injured souls could cry,
“Like Me must true disciples feel
If doom'd to live or die?”
In Christ the Lamb and Lion met,
Their graces were combined;
And blest are those who follow yet
The path He left behind.
Whether before the Council placed,
Or girt with savage yell,
Or else, by fiendish mock disgraced
Whose accent came from hell;
Or, nail'd upon the wrenching Cross
In one incarnate pang,
While foes beneath Him rage and toss,
And impious gibings rang,—
However tried, 'tis patience all!
From Him no wrath-tones roll;
To God ascends each dying call
Which rent His yielded soul.
And who can keep a Christlike heart,
Except his moral tone,
When call'd to bear life's bitter part,
Recall the Saviour's own?
Yet deem not that in stoic frost
Warm feelings must be chill'd;
Or that impassion'd minds are lost
When thus by patience still'd.
Perturb'd emotions, strong and keen,
When pure Religion's cause
Demands a Hero for her scene,
Infringe no hallow'd laws:

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But, guard thee well! lest temper stain
And poison glorious zeal,
Till selfish anger's secret reign
Proves all the god we feel.
Meek charity, that master-grace
The peerless type of heaven,
Oh, let it from thy creed displace
What cannot say, “forgiven!”
Nor ever let the sun go down
Upon our inward ire;
They cannot wear a Saviour's crown
Whom love doth not inspire.
Pure Lord of lowliness, and love!
Thus make Thy model dear
To all who live for thrones above,
By bearing crosses here.
Thy meekness hath its own reward,
Calm blessings line its path;
Without, it keeps celestial guard,
Within, true peace it hath!
The proud are poor, 'mid all the gold
Ambition's pride obtains;
The meek are rich, though none behold
The beauty of their gains.
No acres may to them belong,
No scenes of garish pleasure;
But yet they chant a mental song
O'er Truth's divinest treasure.
Then, Lord of Gentleness! be Thou
For ever at our side;
And when we mark Thy wounded brow,
Abhorr'd be human pride!
We are not Thine, unless we bear
Thy yoke upon our souls,
And welcome in each cross and care
The Hand which All controls.
Disciples true the Christ reflect,
And must His shadows be;
And none but craven souls reject
The watchword,—“Follow Me!”
Yes, “follow Thee;” Lord, grant the will,
And Love at once agrees
Their heaven to taste, whose hearts fulfil
What Thy calm word decrees.
In life and death such spirits burn
To hear Thy Voice divine,
And glorify each grace they learn
By using it as Thine.