University of Virginia Library

SONNETS AND OTHER SHORT POEMS ON SCRIPTURAL AND RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS.

THE BIBLE.

How very good is God! that he hath taught
To every Christian that can hear and see
Both what he is and what he ought to be,
And how and why the saints of old have fought.
Whate'er of truth the antique sages sought,
And could but guess of his benign decree,
Is given to Faith affectionate and free,
Not wrung by force of self-confounding thought.
How many generations had gone by
'Twixt suffering Job and boding Malachi!
'Twixt Malachi and Paul—how mute a pause!
Is the book finish'd? May not God once more
Send forth a prophet to proclaim his laws
In holy words not framed by human lore?

THE LITURGY.

Oft as I hear the Apostolic voice
Speaking to God, I blame my heart so cold
That with those words, so good, so pure, and old,
Cannot repent nor hope, far less rejoice.
Yet am I glad, that not the vagrant choice,
Chance child of impulse, timid, or too bold,
The volume of the heart may dare unfold
With figured rhetoric, or unmeaning noise.
Praying for all in those appointed phrases,
Like a vast river, from a thousand fountains,
Swoll'n with the waters of the lakes and mountains,
The pastor bears along the prayers and praises
Of many souls in channel well defined,
Yet leaves no drop of prayer or praise behind.

THE JUST SHALL LIVE BY FAITH.

“The just shall live by faith,”—and why? That faith
By which they live is all that makes them just,
The sole antagonist to the inborn lust
And malice that subjects them to the death
Which Adam earn'd, Cain, Abel suffer'd, Seth
Bequeath'd to all his progeny; who must
Suffer the primal doom of dust to dust,
And for uncertain respite hold their breath.
Think not the faith by which the just shall live
Is a dead creed, a map correct of heaven,
Far less a feeling fond and fugitive,
A thoughtless gift, withdrawn as soon as given.
It is an affirmation and an act
That bids eternal truth be present fact.

BELIEVE AND PRAY.

Believe and pray. Who can believe and pray
Shall never fail nor falter, though the fate
Of his abode, or geniture, or date,
With charms beguile or threats obstruct his way.
For free is faith and potent to obey,
And love content in patient prayer to wait,
Like the poor cripple at the Beautiful Gate,
Shall be relieved on some miraculous day.
Lord, I believe!—Lord, help mine unbelief!
If I could pray, I know that thou would'st hear;
Well were it though my faith were only grief,
And I could pray but with a contrite tear.
But none can pray whose wish is not thy will,
And none believe who are not with thee still.

SETH.

Sad was the Mother of Mankind to see
The sad fulfilment of the primitive curse;
The gentle babe she was so fond to nurse,
Her duteous Abel, that would clasp her knee,
So meekly heark'ning to the history
Of the sweet hours his parents pass'd, before
They learn'd of good and ill the fatal lore,
Or pluck'd the fruit of that forbidden tree.—
What is he now? A helpless lump of earth!
Nay, thou poor Mother, do not so distrust
The Lord, that raised thy husband from the dust,
For he shall give to thee another birth,
A holy babe, whose seed shall save his brother,
And give back Abel to their common Mother.

ENOCH.

He walk'd with God, and like the breath of prayer,
His earthly substance melted all away;
So much he loved the Lord, his mortal clay
Abolish'd quite, or blent with pervious air,
Soft as a rainbow, mix'd with things that were
And are not. Surely God did love him well,
And he loved God so much, he would not dwell
Where God was not. The world was blank and bare;
He was most wretched, for he could not love.
But the good Lord took pity on his woe:
For woe it is, with all the heart above,
To walk a heartless corpse on earth below.
He faded from the earth, and was unseen;
A thought of God was all that he had been.

ABRAHAM.

When Abram was a boy the years were long,
As ours might be, did we for every hour
Extract the good and realise the power,
And train the notes to everlasting song.
And Abram was a comely youth, and strong,
And nimbly 'mid the silky reeds he trod,
When he resolved—“the Lord shall be my God,”
And knew the only God can do no wrong.
Had he not felt that God is God alone,
As holy, as almighty, and all-seeing,—
Foul were his sin, that would with blood atone,
And court the favour of unselfish Being.
But long experience taught him God was true,
And could the life he took by grace renew.

HAGAR.

Lone in the wilderness, her child and she,
Sits the dark beauty, and her fierce-eyed boy;
A heavy burden, and no winsome toy
To such as her, a hanging babe must be.
A slave without a master—wild, not free,
With anger in her heart! and in her face
Shame for foul wrong and undeserved disgrace,
Poor Hagar mourns her lost virginity!
Poor woman, fear not—God is everywhere;
Thy silent tears, thy thirsty infant's moan,
Are known to Him, whose never-absent care
Still wakes to make all hearts and souls his own;
He sends an angel from beneath his throne
To cheer the outcast in the desert bare.

ISAAC AND REBEKAH.

The child of promise, spared by God's command,
He grew and ripen'd, till his noon of life,
As days were then, deserved and claim'd a wife;
But she must be no toy of faithless land;
So the good steward o'er the thirsty sand
His prescient camels follows to the well,
Where the sweet daughter of old Bethuel
Supplies his need with white and courteous hand.
And oh! what meeter than a maid so fair
To be the answer to that good man's prayer?
And then how sweetly did the Spirit move her,
Without a word of maidenly delay,
Or coy petition for a farewell day,
To quit her home, and seek an unseen lover!

LEAH.

Most patient of all women, unbeloved,
Yet ever toiling for thy husband's grace,
Methinks I see thee, with thy downcast face,
Pondering on tasks that should not be reproved.
For seven long years their tents were not removed,
And Leah work'd for Jacob all the while,
And yet she hardly got a sullen smile,—
So good a wife, and mother duly proved.
Yet sore it must have been to see her mate
Rising at morn to work, and working late,
And know he work'd so hard to get another;
And yet she bore it all, in hope to be,
What her sweet offspring was, by God's decree,
The better Eve, the second Adam's mother.

MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES.

She left her babe, and went away to weep,
And listen'd oft to hear if he did cry;
But the great river sung his lullaby,
And unseen angels fann'd his balmy sleep.
And yet his innocence itself might keep;
The sacred silence of his slumb'rous smile
Makes peace in all the monster-breeding Nile;
For God e'en now is moving in the sweep
Of mighty waters. Little dreams the maid,
The royal maid, that comes to woo the wave
With her smooth limbs beneath the trembling shade
Of silver-chaliced lotus, what a child
Her freak of pity is ordain'd to save!
How terrible the thing that looks so mild!

ON A PICTURE OF JEPHTHAH AND HIS DAUGHTER.

BY STROZZI. IN THE POSSESSION OF J. BRANKER, ESQ.

I.

'Tis true the painter's hand can but arrest
The moment that in Nature never stays,
But fleets impatient of the baffled gaze.
Yet if that single moment be the best
Of many years, commission'd to attest
The excellence, whose beauty ne'er decays,
Let not the mute art lack a rightful praise,
That shows the lovely ever loveliest:
And thou, sweet maid! for ever keep that look:
Thou never hadst so sweet a look till now.
Read in thy father's face, as in a book,
Thy virgin doom, the irrevocable vow.
Well were it if thy father ne'er had shook
Away the doubt that hangs upon his brow.

II. IN CONTINUATION.

What if the angry God hath made thy arm
Dread as the thunderbolt or solid fire,
Or pest obedient to his vengeful ire,
Think'st thou thy oath was like a wizard's charm,
Or hadst thou need, with proffer'd blood, to farm
Jehovah's might? It proves thy faith unsure,
Thy creed idolatrous, thy heart impure;
Thy god a greedy trafficker in harm,
Not Israel's hope. But she, thy daughter, mild,
Whose eager love and over-hasty greeting,
Has made thee murderer of thy blameless child,
Loves not the less for that unhappy greeting;—
Guiltless she dies, to save thee from the guilt
Which must be thine, though her pure blood be spilt.

RUTH.

RIZPAH.

Blood will have blood. Here is a grievous pest,
And Gibeon craves the blood of guilty Saul.
And what can David do? He gives not all—
One he reserves, to death resigns the rest.
Poor Rizpah, mother of a brood unbless'd,
Must see Amoni and Mephibosheth
For Israel's life to ignominious death,
Because their sire so fatally transgress'd,
Consign'd tho' guiltless. She, sad mother, staid
On her stern seat of sackcloth day by day,
And, like a statue, scared the fowls away,
'Till genial rain the thirst of earth allay'd.
Patient in grief, she won the historic Spirit,
To make immortal mention of her merit.

SOLOMON.

Then Solomon sat on the throne as king;
So had his sire appointed:—great and least,
Hebrew and Stranger, warrior chief and priest,
With one glad shout make air, earth, rock to ring.
Ah! sons of Abraham, is it such a thing
That your old monarch is so nigh deceased?
And ye must blow your horns, as if the feast
Of the ripe harvest and the hopeful spring
Fell on one day. 'Tis well the old man dies.
The sweetest string in all the holy lyre
Cracks when the old man heaves his latest sighs,
And with his breath the highest tones expire.
Ten thousand minstrels play for Solomon—
What are they all, if David be not one?

ELIJAH.

A little cake he ask'd for, that was all;
And that she gave—'twas all she had to give
To the poor hungry Prophet fugitive;
Not knowing quite, she yet believed the call,
And she was blest. Within her cottage wall,
By day the Prophet prays, at night he lies,
Whose prayer and presence daily multiplies
The meat and cruse that, let what will befal,
Shall still suffice for each successive day.
She gave a little, and she gave enough,
And taught us how to use the passive stuff
That earth affords,—to give and still to pray.
Hope be the Prophet, and the cruse Content!
Where Hope abides the cruse shall ne'er be spent.

THE JEWISH CAPTIVES.

By the smooth streams of haughty Babylon
The Jewish Captives sat them down and wept,—
Wept for their king, their country, and their home.
Jerusalem's remembrance, duly kept,
Shadow'd the aspect of a beauteous land,
Darken'd the sun, and ruffled the soft waves;
But chiefly sorrow'd the unhappy band
At the rude taunts of unbelieving slaves.
“Sing us a song!” cried they, “a song of mirth!”
How could they plume the wing and soar on high,
Forgetful of their sorrow's recent birth,
The dread fulfilment of each prophecy?
Ah no! Jerusalem, they remember'd thee,
And could not touch the harp in thy adversity.

EZRA, III., 11—13.

Hark! what a shout! Alas! it sounds but thin,
Though the sad remnant like one man unite,
And the lorn widow brings her widow's mite.
Few are the tribes, and feeble is their din,
Subdued with memory of ancestral sin,
Opprest with conscience of a guilty fear
And faint distrust, and hope but half sincere,
That asks the end before they well begin
The holy renovation. Drear the tone
Of joyous hymns in trembling accents piped;
And faces stain'd with selfish tears unwiped,
Ill emulate the upturn'd look that shone
In God's own light, what time the Cherubim
Made the first Temple's gilded glory dim.

CHRISTMAS.

SIMEON.

In the huge temple, deck'd by Herod's pride,
Who fain would bribe a God he ne'er believed,
Kneels a meek woman, that hath once conceived,
Tho' she was never like an earthly bride.
And yet the stainless would be purified,
And wash away the stain that yet was none,
And for the birth of her immaculate Son
With the stern rigour of the law complied:
The duty paid received its due reward
When Simeon bless'd the Baby on her arm;
And though he plainly told her that a sword
Must pierce her soul, she felt no weak alarm,
For that for which a Prophet thank'd the Lord
Once to have seen, could never end in harm.

JESUS PRAYING.

LUKE VI. 12.

He sought the mountain and the loneliest height,
For He would meet his Father all alone,
And there, with many a tear and many a groan,
He strove in prayer throughout the long, long night.
Why need He pray, who held by filial right,
O'er all the world alike of thought and sense,
The fullness of his Sire's omnipotence?
Why crave in prayer what was his own by might?
Vain is the question,—Christ was man in deed,
And being man, his duty was to pray.
The Son of God confess'd the human need,
And doubtless ask'd a blessing every day.
Nor ceases yet for sinful man to plead,
Nor will, till heaven and earth shall pass away.

BUT JESUS SLEPT.

“But Jesus slept.” The inland sea was wild,
And the good son of Mary was asleep,
For sleep He did, an infant meek and mild,
When fain He would, and fain He would not weep;
As peevish, fond, as any other child,
Close to the Virgin breast He long'd to creep,
And feel the warmth of mother undefiled.
And now the Shepherd of the chosen sheep,
Doth He not watch? Oh, vain and faithless guest!
He slept a man,—but, lo! He wakes our God!
What man is this, at whose almighty nod
The winds are still, and every wave at rest?
'Tis He whose seeming sleep approves our faith,
But ever wakes to save us from the death.

SUNDAY.

THE SOUL.

Is not the body more than meat? The soul
Is something greater than the food it needs.
Prayers, sacraments, and charitable deeds,
They realise the hours that onward roll
Their endless way “to kindle or control.”
Our acts and words are but the pregnant needs
Of future being, when the flowers and weeds,
Local and temporal, in the vast whole
Shall live eternal. Nothing ever dies!
The shortest smile that flits across a face,
Which lovely grief hath made her dwelling-place,
Lasts longer than the earth or visible skies!
It is an act of God, whose acts are truth,
And vernal still in everlasting youth.

PRAYER.

Be not afraid to pray—to pray is right.
Pray, if thou canst, with hope; but ever pray,
Though hope be weak, or sick with long delay;
Pray in the darkness, if there be no light.
Far is the time, remote from human sight,
When war and discord on the earth shall cease;
Yet every prayer for universal peace
Avails the blessed time to expedite.
Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven,
Though it be what thou canst not hope to see:
Pray to be perfect, though material leaven
Forbid the Spirit so on earth to be;
But if for any wish thou darest not pray,
Then pray to God to cast that wish away.

PRIVILEGES.

Good is it to be born in Christian land,
Within the hearing of sweet Sabbath bells,
To con our letters in the book that tells
How God vouchsafed His creatures to command.
How once He led His chosen by the hand,
Presenting to their young and opening sense
Such pictures of His dread Omnipotence,
We all could see, though none might understand.
Oh! good it is to dwell with Christian folk,
Where even the blind may see, the deaf may hear,
The words that Paul hath wrote, that Jesus spoke,
By book or preacher shown to eye or ear,
Where Gospel truth is rife as song of birds—
“Familiar in our ears as household words.”

FAITH—HOW GUARDED.

Yes, thou dost well, to arm thy tender mind
With all that learning, and stern common sense
Living hath spoke, or dying left behind;
To blank the frowardness of pert pretence
With long experience of a mighty mind,
That, daring to explore the truth immense,
Subsided in a faithful reverence
Of the best Catholic hope of human kind.
Yes, thou dost well to build a fence about
Thine inward faith, and mount a stalwart guard
Of answers, to oppose invading doubt.
All aids are needful, for the strife is hard;
But still be sure the truth within to cherish,—
Truths long besieged too oft of hunger perish.

STAY WHERE THOU ART.

Stay where thou art, thou canst not better be,
For thou art pure and noble as thou 'rt sweet,
And thy firm faith still working, will complete
A lovely picture of the Deity.
For 'tis in thee, mild maid, and such as thee,
Whose goodness would make any features fair,
I find the hope that bids me not despair,
But know there is a Saviour even for me.
May God in mercy from thy knowledge hide
All but the path in which thou art advancing.
For evil things there are, on either side,
Dark flames on one, like antic demons dancing,
And on the left a desert waste and wide,
Where is no chart, no compass, and no guide.

PSALM XCI. v. 1.

Where is that secret place of the Most High?
And who is He? Where shall we look for Him
That dwelleth there? Between the cherubim,
That o'er the seat of grace, with constant eye,
And outspread wing, brood everlastingly?
Or shall we seek that deeper meaning dim,
And as we may, walk, flutter, soar, and swim,
From deep to deep of the void, fathomless sky?
Oh! seek not there the secret of the Lord
In what hath been, or what may never be;
But seek the shadow of the mystic word—
The shadow of a truth thou canst not see:
There build thy nest, and, like a nestling bird,
Find all thy safety in thy secresy.

ISAIAH XLVI. v. 9.

When I consider all the things that were,
And count them upwards from the general flood,
The tricks of fraud, and violent deeds of blood,
Weigh down the heart with sullen, dull despair;
I well believe that Satan, Prince of Air,
Torments to ill the pleasurable feeling;
But ever and anon a breeze of healing
Proclaims that God is always everywhere.
'Twas hard to see Him in the times of old,
And harder still to see our God to-day;
For prayer is slack, and love, alas! is cold,
And Faith a wanderer, weak and wide astray:
Who hath the faith, the courage, to behold
God in the judgments that have pass'd away?

THE CHURCH.

Oh! do not think I slight, or scorn, or hate
The zeal wherewith ye view the strong and vast
Dominion of the Church in ages past,
And giant splendour of her huge estate;
For in her outward semblance she was great,—
A mighty mansion, fit to entertain
All nations, whom the mountain or the plain,
Or Nature, in the length of time, could generate.
Ye wish, I know, we could as one unite,
And have a Church as ample as the sky,
Whence every Church might draw its whole of light,
And not divide, but only multiply.
Good is your purpose; but, ye English youth,
[Mistake ye not the symbol for the truth?]

RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCES.

WYTHEBURN CHAPEL AND HOSTEL.

ON THE CONSECRATION OF A SMALL CHAPEL.

I.

There was a little spot of level ground,
For many an age unmark'd by casual eyes,
Bleak hills afar and sinuous banks around,
And terraced gardens, gradual mound on mound,
With every season's sweet variety.
And there uprose an house devote to God,
As lowly as befits a house of prayer;
Yet large enough to sanctify the sod,
The heaving earth that may conceal a clod,
Which human love may wish to treasure there.
O Lord! methinks to give this spot to Thee
Did hardly need an act of consecration:
I deem the pile no wilful novelty,
But a good purpose—old as Thy creation.

II. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.

And yet I deem we rightly may rejoice
When the chief shepherd of the many flocks,
That wait the high call of his pastoral voice
On many lawns or yellow pastures choice,
Or crop the turf beneath the sheltering rocks,—
Comes to unite this lone and sever'd fold,
That feed so gently on their native flowers,
With the best sheep that bled in days of old.
Oh! should we not be thankful to behold
One shepherd chief in such a fold as ours?
How may the Sabbath utterance of the dell,
With all the churches, make a mighty one,
And with the minster organ's gorgeous swell
The simple psalm combine in unison.

THE DESERTED CHURCH.

After long travail on my pilgrimage,
I sat me down beside an aged heap,
For so it seem'd, with one square shatter'd keep,
Pensively frowning on the wrecks of age.
The river there, as at its latest stage,
Sinks in the verdure of its Sunday sleep,
And sings an under-song for them that weep
O'er the sad blots in life's too open page.
I look'd within, but all within was cold!
The walls were mapp'd with isles of dusky damp,
The long stalls look'd irreverently old,
The rush-strewn aisle was like a wither'd swamp,
And mark'd with loitering foot's unholy tramp;
The chancel floor lay thick with sluggish mould.
Hark! do you hear the dull unfrequent knell,
Survivor sad of many a merry peal,
Whose Sabbath music wont to make us feel
Our spirits mounting with its joyous swell,
That scaled the height, that sunk into the dell?
Now lonely, lowly swinging to and fro,
It warns a scatter'd flock e'en yet to go,
And take a sip of the deserted well.
And, dost thou hear?—then, hearing, long endure.
The Gospel sounds not now so loud and bold
As once it did. Some lie in sleep secure,
And many faint because their love is cold;
But never doubt that God may still be found,
Long as one bell sends forth a Gospel sound!

THE WORD OF GOD.

A GRACE.

Sweetest Lord! that wert so blest
On thy sweetest mother's breast,
Give to every new-born baby
Food that needs—as good as may be.
Jesus! Lord, who long obey'd
The sainted sire, the Mother Maid,
Teach my young heart to submit,—
Deign thyself to govern it.
Babe, and boy, and youth, and man,
All make up the mighty plan;
And these the Saviour sanctified,
For He was all—and then He died.
Whate'er He gives us we may take,
But still receive it for His sake.
But might the prayer within my breast
Make others blest, as I am blest;
And might my joy in thanking Thee
Make for all hungry souls a plea;
Then would I praise and Thee adore,
And ever thank Thee, more and more
Rejoicing, if Thou would'st but bless
Thy creatures for my thankfulness.

“MULTUM DILEXIT.”

She sat and wept beside His feet; the weight
Of sin oppress'd her heart; for all the blame,
And the poor malice of the worldly shame,
To her was past, extinct, and out of date,
Only the sin remain'd,—the leprous state;
She would be melted by the heat of love,
By fires far fiercer than are blown to prove
And purge the silver ore adulterate.
She sat and wept, and with her untress'd hair
Still wiped the feet she was so blest to touch;
And He wiped off the soiling of despair
From her sweet soul, because she loved so much.
I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears,
Make me a humble thing of love and tears.