 | Sabbath lyrics ; or, songs from scripture |  |
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TO MY WIFE AND The Mother of my Children.
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The Sacred Minstrel.
ISAIAH XXX.
Bring us a song as in the night
When high solemnity is kept;
Make, with thy art, our eyes grow bright,
That late in depth of sorrow wept;—
And lift our hearts, like his, who goes,
With lyre, to God's own mount of bliss,
That we who mourn'd o'er unnamed woes,
May name with joy an hour like this!
When high solemnity is kept;
Make, with thy art, our eyes grow bright,
That late in depth of sorrow wept;—
And lift our hearts, like his, who goes,
With lyre, to God's own mount of bliss,
That we who mourn'd o'er unnamed woes,
May name with joy an hour like this!
Oh, well we know that thou hast strains,
To hush the griefs in human breast;
Thy virtues still have brought thee gains,
That lift thy songs above the rest;
The fire that lights thy burning eye,
Was caught in visions of the night,
When seraphs, speeding through the sky,
Inspire thy song, and bless thy sight.
To hush the griefs in human breast;
Thy virtues still have brought thee gains,
That lift thy songs above the rest;
The fire that lights thy burning eye,
Was caught in visions of the night,
When seraphs, speeding through the sky,
Inspire thy song, and bless thy sight.
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Love thou wilt lesson, 'till it glows
With something so akin to heaven,
That still, rejoicing o'er its woes,
Twill bless that all has not been given;—
That, by denial haply spell'd,
The passions sleep that might forget;
And, taught by what is still withheld,
Give thanks for every other debt.
With something so akin to heaven,
That still, rejoicing o'er its woes,
Twill bless that all has not been given;—
That, by denial haply spell'd,
The passions sleep that might forget;
And, taught by what is still withheld,
Give thanks for every other debt.
The Church at Christmas.
ISAIAH LX.
“The glory of Lebanon shall come unto thee; the fir tree, the pine tree and the box tree together, to beautify the place of my sanctuary; and I will make the place of my feet glorious.”
God's temple is a father's home,
Where love and mercy still have sway;
Thither his happy children come,
With festive wreath and cheerful lay:
Each brings his offerings of the heart,
Together all their gifts they twine,
While all the cares of life depart,
Self-banished from devotion's shrine.
Where love and mercy still have sway;
Thither his happy children come,
With festive wreath and cheerful lay:
Each brings his offerings of the heart,
Together all their gifts they twine,
While all the cares of life depart,
Self-banished from devotion's shrine.
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How proudly swells the temple now,
With glorious gifts from Lebanon!—
How stoops the pine with lofty brow,
The fragrant myrtle near him won!
Green honors strew the ancient aisles,
Fresh wreaths about the pillars twine,
And Beauty for the dwelling smiles,
Where love approves itself divine.
With glorious gifts from Lebanon!—
How stoops the pine with lofty brow,
The fragrant myrtle near him won!
Green honors strew the ancient aisles,
Fresh wreaths about the pillars twine,
And Beauty for the dwelling smiles,
Where love approves itself divine.
How pure in office thus, the hands,
That beautify the sacred place;
Where pine and cedar wove in bands,
Receive a power of mystic grace;
For 'tis his word that, honor'd thus,
With homage pure and tribute meet,
He will make glorious, still for us,
The place whereon he plants his feet.
That beautify the sacred place;
Where pine and cedar wove in bands,
Receive a power of mystic grace;
For 'tis his word that, honor'd thus,
With homage pure and tribute meet,
He will make glorious, still for us,
The place whereon he plants his feet.
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The Peace of Christ's Empire.
ISAIAH XI.
A simple rod from Jesse's stem,
And lo! the tree that shoots,
Exulting, from the heavenly sap,
That triumphs in its roots;
Triumphant over death and sin,
How blest the shelter grows,
In whose sweet shade the pilgrim sinks,
No more afraid of foes!
And lo! the tree that shoots,
Exulting, from the heavenly sap,
That triumphs in its roots;
Triumphant over death and sin,
How blest the shelter grows,
In whose sweet shade the pilgrim sinks,
No more afraid of foes!
Sure in that sacred shadowing,
That still must wrath subdue,
The lamb lies down, nor fears the wolf,
That thinks not to pursue;
The leopard frights the kid no more—
The fatling of the flock
Sees, without dread, approaching nigh,
The lion from his rock!
That still must wrath subdue,
The lamb lies down, nor fears the wolf,
That thinks not to pursue;
The leopard frights the kid no more—
The fatling of the flock
Sees, without dread, approaching nigh,
The lion from his rock!
And lo! the wonder o'er the rest,
The little child, whose hand
Conducts in peace the hostile tribes,
Nor needs to speak command;
So sweet the peace, so sure the law,
That o'er the adder's nest,
The infant still as safely creeps
As to his mother's breast!
The little child, whose hand
Conducts in peace the hostile tribes,
Nor needs to speak command;
So sweet the peace, so sure the law,
That o'er the adder's nest,
The infant still as safely creeps
As to his mother's breast!
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Christ the Conqueror.
ISAIAH LXIII.
Who is it comes from Edom,
With robes of Bozrah dyed,
Marching in strength and stature,
And glorious in his pride?
'Tis one who still is mighty
To spare as well as slay,
And 'tis the blood of foes that stain
The robe he wears to-day.
With robes of Bozrah dyed,
Marching in strength and stature,
And glorious in his pride?
'Tis one who still is mighty
To spare as well as slay,
And 'tis the blood of foes that stain
The robe he wears to-day.
“Alone,” he cries in anger,
“The wine-press have I trod;
It is my day of vengeance,
My hand hath borne the rod;
Their blood is on my garments—
Behold the proofs I bring,
The justice done to subjects
That still defied their King.
“The wine-press have I trod;
It is my day of vengeance,
My hand hath borne the rod;
Their blood is on my garments—
Behold the proofs I bring,
The justice done to subjects
That still defied their King.
“What though their hosts rebellious
No single succor brought?
No faithful subject followed me—
Alone the fight I fought:
Mine arm alone sustained me
In that unequal strife,
And proved me, in my fury still,
The Lord of Death and Life!”
No single succor brought?
No faithful subject followed me—
Alone the fight I fought:
Mine arm alone sustained me
In that unequal strife,
And proved me, in my fury still,
The Lord of Death and Life!”
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Promise for Zion.
ISAIAH LI.
The Lord shall comfort Zion,
Her places waste restore,
And of her silent wilderness,
Make Eden bloom once more;
His garden shall she then become,
And worthy of his choice,
Gladness and thanks in all her smiles,
And music in her voice.
Her places waste restore,
And of her silent wilderness,
Make Eden bloom once more;
His garden shall she then become,
And worthy of his choice,
Gladness and thanks in all her smiles,
And music in her voice.
Thou, too, shalt wake, Jerusalem,
No longer drunk with wine,
With none to guide thy tottering steps—
He makes this promise thine!
The cup of trembling from thy lips,
That made his love deplore,
His anger stay'd, his mercy takes,
And thou shalt drink no more!
No longer drunk with wine,
With none to guide thy tottering steps—
He makes this promise thine!
The cup of trembling from thy lips,
That made his love deplore,
His anger stay'd, his mercy takes,
And thou shalt drink no more!
Like smoke the skies shall vanish,
And earth grow black with years,
Man, too, shall wither in his walks,
A thing of age and fears;
But Zion's promise still shall stand,
A type for aye to show,
Who seeks for God, in faith and love,
Nor age, nor death, shall know!
And earth grow black with years,
Man, too, shall wither in his walks,
A thing of age and fears;
But Zion's promise still shall stand,
A type for aye to show,
Who seeks for God, in faith and love,
Nor age, nor death, shall know!
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The Rejection of Christ.
ISAIAH LIII.
Behold the shepherd cometh—
But who will heed his call,
So humbly as he seeketh now
To win the souls of all;
So meekly in his presence,
With neither form nor grace
To take the eye of pride, that sees
Alone through power and place.
But who will heed his call,
So humbly as he seeketh now
To win the souls of all;
So meekly in his presence,
With neither form nor grace
To take the eye of pride, that sees
Alone through power and place.
A man of many sorrows,
Acquainted still with grief,
By men despised, rejected,
How should he win belief?
For us he bore the anguish,
For us the pang, the scorn,
The bruises, the afflictions
That made his life forlorn.
Acquainted still with grief,
By men despised, rejected,
How should he win belief?
For us he bore the anguish,
For us the pang, the scorn,
The bruises, the afflictions
That made his life forlorn.
Yet not a mortal murmur
Proclaims the grief he bears;
The flock that heeded not his voice
No bitter chiding hears:
To prison and to judgment
They coldly see him borne,
Yet have no heart to feel his grace
Nor in his sorrows mourn.
Proclaims the grief he bears;
The flock that heeded not his voice
No bitter chiding hears:
To prison and to judgment
They coldly see him borne,
Yet have no heart to feel his grace
Nor in his sorrows mourn.
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As lamb beneath the butcher
That sees the fatal knife,
Yet neither groans nor struggles,
He yielded up his life:
And we who, in his travail,
His mission could not see—
The shepherd he, and we the flock—
How scattered still are we!
That sees the fatal knife,
Yet neither groans nor struggles,
He yielded up his life:
And we who, in his travail,
His mission could not see—
The shepherd he, and we the flock—
How scattered still are we!
The Bread of Life.
MATHEW IV.
“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.”
Ah! still in vain, the human care,
That ever craves the morrow's food,
And seeks provision, far and near,
For mortal want and passing mood;
That wastes the soil, that robs the mine
In sleepless march that nought supplies;
Still troubled with the low design,
Still seeking things beneath the skies.
That ever craves the morrow's food,
And seeks provision, far and near,
For mortal want and passing mood;
That wastes the soil, that robs the mine
In sleepless march that nought supplies;
Still troubled with the low design,
Still seeking things beneath the skies.
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As if to-morrow were the life,
As if our only home were earth—
As if this poor and passing strife,
Were aught but ordeal to a birth;
A birth, that leads to countless years,
To homes that ever must endure;
Whose joys compensate present tears
For him who makes election sure.
As if our only home were earth—
As if this poor and passing strife,
Were aught but ordeal to a birth;
A birth, that leads to countless years,
To homes that ever must endure;
Whose joys compensate present tears
For him who makes election sure.
How make the election sure, which yields
Such glorious fruits through endless hours?
By tilling in eternal fields,
As in these lowlier fields of ours;
By toils for food—not bread alone
That only mortal want supplies;—
But such as God himself hath sown,
Whose roots are planted in the skies.
Such glorious fruits through endless hours?
By tilling in eternal fields,
As in these lowlier fields of ours;
By toils for food—not bread alone
That only mortal want supplies;—
But such as God himself hath sown,
Whose roots are planted in the skies.
Brotherly Union.
PSALM CXXXIII.
How pleasant and how lovely is the sightOf brothers in communion blest with peace;
Precious as ointment on the prophet's head,
Or dews in Hermon's valley, which refresh,
The hills of Zion; where, by Heaven's decree,
Blessings shall light and dwell for evermore.
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The Desolation of Moab.
ISAIAH XVI.
Alas! the fields of Heshbon,
They languish in their shame;
The vine of Sibmah dieth
Because of Moab's blame:
The Princes of the Heathen
Have swept with wrath the land,
And smitten, even to Jazer's walls,
The green plants of her hand.
They languish in their shame;
The vine of Sibmah dieth
Because of Moab's blame:
The Princes of the Heathen
Have swept with wrath the land,
And smitten, even to Jazer's walls,
The green plants of her hand.
I, too, bewail with Jazer
The vine of Sibmah's fate;
With tears will water Heshbon's fields,
That now lie desolate.
How lovely were their harvests all,
How sweet their summer fruits!
Alas! the sword of wrath that smote
Their harvests to the roots.
The vine of Sibmah's fate;
With tears will water Heshbon's fields,
That now lie desolate.
How lovely were their harvests all,
How sweet their summer fruits!
Alas! the sword of wrath that smote
Their harvests to the roots.
The Lord of Hosts hath spoken,
His wrath hath made to cease
The shouting of the vintage,
And Death takes place of peace;
The vineyard song is silent
That spoke of ample store,
And they who trod the red wine out
Shall taste of wine no more!
His wrath hath made to cease
The shouting of the vintage,
And Death takes place of peace;
The vineyard song is silent
That spoke of ample store,
And they who trod the red wine out
Shall taste of wine no more!
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The Lament for Moab.
ISAIAH XV.
My heart for Moab sorrows—
The fields of Ar lie waste,
And Kir is brought to silence
By night and shame defaced;
O'er Nebo and Medeba
The sons of Moab wail,
And groans of hapless Heshbon
Proclaim her children's bale.
The fields of Ar lie waste,
And Kir is brought to silence
By night and shame defaced;
O'er Nebo and Medeba
The sons of Moab wail,
And groans of hapless Heshbon
Proclaim her children's bale.
My heart cries out for Moab!
Her fugitives that fly—
Thou, Luthith, hear'st their sorrows,
And all thine echoes sigh;
For Nimrim's waters failing,
Her green banks withered all,
Best suit the hapless wailing
That speaks her people's fall!
Her fugitives that fly—
Thou, Luthith, hear'st their sorrows,
And all thine echoes sigh;
For Nimrim's waters failing,
Her green banks withered all,
Best suit the hapless wailing
That speaks her people's fall!
Her maids, at fords of Arnon,
Like birds that find no nest,
Grow weary still of seeking,
And pray in vain for rest.
Alas! too long their pleasure,
And pride of heart, were set
On things of mortal treasure,
Which made them pray'r forget!
Like birds that find no nest,
Grow weary still of seeking,
And pray in vain for rest.
Alas! too long their pleasure,
And pride of heart, were set
On things of mortal treasure,
Which made them pray'r forget!
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The Overthrow of Ephraim.
ISAIAH XXVIII.
Oh! wo to Ephraim's valleys,
Her crown of pride is down;
Her glorious beauty fadeth
Like flow'rs as soon as blown;
The fierce destroyer spoileth
Her fields while yet they bloom,
As the green fruits of summer tempt
Who sees them, to consume.
Her crown of pride is down;
Her glorious beauty fadeth
Like flow'rs as soon as blown;
The fierce destroyer spoileth
Her fields while yet they bloom,
As the green fruits of summer tempt
Who sees them, to consume.
Oh! in that day of terror,
When God o'erthrows his own;
When, like a fearful tempest,
He treads her mightiest down;
How blest, of all her people,
Shall be the few who wear
His diadem of beauty,
That made them safe, in fear!
When God o'erthrows his own;
When, like a fearful tempest,
He treads her mightiest down;
How blest, of all her people,
Shall be the few who wear
His diadem of beauty,
That made them safe, in fear!
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God's Promise to the Children of his Love.
ISAIAH XXXV.
Thus, to the children of his love,
The Father speaks in sweetest voice:
For ye the wilderness shall bloom,
And all the desert world rejoice;
The waste shall smile, and in your path
Rise up and blossom as the rose;
While realms that lately felt my wrath,
In gladness of my joy repose.
The Father speaks in sweetest voice:
For ye the wilderness shall bloom,
And all the desert world rejoice;
The waste shall smile, and in your path
Rise up and blossom as the rose;
While realms that lately felt my wrath,
In gladness of my joy repose.
The fearful heart may now be strong,
Assured that danger flies his feet;
The reign of right succeeds to wrong,
And for the bitter comes the sweet;
The ways of holiness are clear,
With streams that never lead astray;
While he who seeks them still shall hear
A song of ransom cheer his way.
Assured that danger flies his feet;
The reign of right succeeds to wrong,
And for the bitter comes the sweet;
The ways of holiness are clear,
With streams that never lead astray;
While he who seeks them still shall hear
A song of ransom cheer his way.
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Song of Captivity.
PSALM CXXXVII.
We sat down by Babylon's waters,
And, thinking of Zion alone,
We hung our sad harps on the willows,
In the midst of them making our moan:
For they who had carried us captive,
Asked for Zion's sweet song at our hands;
As if we could sing, in our sorrow,
The song of our God in strange lands!
And, thinking of Zion alone,
We hung our sad harps on the willows,
In the midst of them making our moan:
For they who had carried us captive,
Asked for Zion's sweet song at our hands;
As if we could sing, in our sorrow,
The song of our God in strange lands!
Yes, when I forget thee, my country,
Let my right hand its cunning forget:
When I fail to prefer thee to pleasure,
Hush the tongue that can honor thee yet:
Jerusalem still be the treasure
Most precious that earth can bestow;
And thy vengeance, O God! upon Edom,
That cried “Lay her low, lay her low!”
Let my right hand its cunning forget:
When I fail to prefer thee to pleasure,
Hush the tongue that can honor thee yet:
Jerusalem still be the treasure
Most precious that earth can bestow;
And thy vengeance, O God! upon Edom,
That cried “Lay her low, lay her low!”
Remember, O Lord! in the season
When Zion shall come to her own,
The children of merciless Edom,
And teach them the griefs we have known:
Thrice happy be he, who, pursuing
The daughter of Babylon still,
Shall devote her young babes to the ruin,
And, deaf to all pleading, shall kill.
When Zion shall come to her own,
The children of merciless Edom,
And teach them the griefs we have known:
Thrice happy be he, who, pursuing
The daughter of Babylon still,
Shall devote her young babes to the ruin,
And, deaf to all pleading, shall kill.
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Song of Ransom.
ISAIAH LII.
Put on thy strength, O! Zion,
And thou, Jerusalem, shake
The dust from off thy garments,
Made glorious for thy sake;—
Loose from thy neck the fetters
That late thy daughters made,
Sad captives to the stranger's sway,
For now their ransom's paid.
And thou, Jerusalem, shake
The dust from off thy garments,
Made glorious for thy sake;—
Loose from thy neck the fetters
That late thy daughters made,
Sad captives to the stranger's sway,
For now their ransom's paid.
How lovely, on the mountains,
Are feet of those who bring
Sweet tidings of salvation,
To Zion, from her King!—
Break forth in joy together,
Ye captives of the waste,
Since now Jerusalem's lonely homes
Redemption's blessings taste.
Are feet of those who bring
Sweet tidings of salvation,
To Zion, from her King!—
Break forth in joy together,
Ye captives of the waste,
Since now Jerusalem's lonely homes
Redemption's blessings taste.
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God's Love of the Church.
ISAIAH XVIII.
For Zion's sake, I will not hold my peace,
Jerusalem's glory will not let me rest,
Until her righteousness, which cannot cease,
Goes forth to make the heathen wise and blest;—
She shall no more be widow'd and forsaken,
God's self hath set a name upon her brow,—
His own delight—Hephzibah,—she shall waken,
To be once more a spouse, with happiest overflow.
Jerusalem's glory will not let me rest,
Until her righteousness, which cannot cease,
Goes forth to make the heathen wise and blest;—
She shall no more be widow'd and forsaken,
God's self hath set a name upon her brow,—
His own delight—Hephzibah,—she shall waken,
To be once more a spouse, with happiest overflow.
A crown of glory in his guardian care,
He shall rejoice above her charms, as one
Who weds a virgin, and with rapture rare,
Regards her holy beauties as his own;
By him redeem'd, and from captivity,
Made free in his sweet service, he hath taken,
Her beauty to his care,—and his decree,
Maintains her, night and day—no more to be forsaken.
He shall rejoice above her charms, as one
Who weds a virgin, and with rapture rare,
Regards her holy beauties as his own;
By him redeem'd, and from captivity,
Made free in his sweet service, he hath taken,
Her beauty to his care,—and his decree,
Maintains her, night and day—no more to be forsaken.
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The Spread of the Gospel.
MICAH IV.
The mansion of the Lord
Upon his mount shall rise,
Exalted far above the hills,
And stretching to the skies;
And nations now unknown,
Shall tread his holy height;
Shall hear his word, and seek his path,
And in his law delight.
Upon his mount shall rise,
Exalted far above the hills,
And stretching to the skies;
And nations now unknown,
Shall tread his holy height;
Shall hear his word, and seek his path,
And in his law delight.
From Zion shall proceed
The deep-compelling word;—
From heights of proud Jerusalem,
The summons of the Lord;
He will rebuke the strong,
With words of peace and fear,—
'Till into ploughshare turns the sword,
To pruning hook the spear.
The deep-compelling word;—
From heights of proud Jerusalem,
The summons of the Lord;
He will rebuke the strong,
With words of peace and fear,—
'Till into ploughshare turns the sword,
To pruning hook the spear.
No more with mortal wrath,
Shall nations strive in might,
But savage war shall yield to peace,
And rule give way to right;
The shepherd 'neath his vine,
Shall slumber in the shade,
In shelter of his fig recline,
With none to make afraid.
Shall nations strive in might,
But savage war shall yield to peace,
And rule give way to right;
The shepherd 'neath his vine,
Shall slumber in the shade,
In shelter of his fig recline,
With none to make afraid.
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The Lord of Hosts hath said,
That thus secure from blame,
His people all shall walk in peace,
And glory in HIS NAME!
That thus secure from blame,
His people all shall walk in peace,
And glory in HIS NAME!
Thanksgiving for Mercy.
ISAIAH XII.
Oh! I will praise thee, Father!
Though thou wast angry late,
Yet hast thou turned thy wrath away
With mercy sweet as great:
Thee will I seek for safety still,
Nor fear from other foes,
But find the strength for song, that faith
In thy great love, bestows.
Though thou wast angry late,
Yet hast thou turned thy wrath away
With mercy sweet as great:
Thee will I seek for safety still,
Nor fear from other foes,
But find the strength for song, that faith
In thy great love, bestows.
With joy, from wells of virtue,
I draw the draught that saves,
And walk serene through carnage still,
Though still I walk o'er graves;
As one who dwells in Zion,
Permitted thus by thee,
I sing and shout the wondrous things
Thou dost for her and me!
I draw the draught that saves,
And walk serene through carnage still,
Though still I walk o'er graves;
As one who dwells in Zion,
Permitted thus by thee,
I sing and shout the wondrous things
Thou dost for her and me!
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The Pride and Doom of Babylon.
ISAIAH XLVII.
The lady of kingdoms no more,
Oh! Virgin of Babel, thy fate,
In the dust of thy path to deplore,
With the kingdom that honor'd thee late!—
Thy pride, which in luxury shone,
Even lovely for worship, shall be
Degraded to toils which shall leave thee undone,
The pity of all who may see.
Oh! Virgin of Babel, thy fate,
In the dust of thy path to deplore,
With the kingdom that honor'd thee late!—
Thy pride, which in luxury shone,
Even lovely for worship, shall be
Degraded to toils which shall leave thee undone,
The pity of all who may see.
Thou daughter of Chaldee, in vain,
Thou dreams't of the sway of thy sires;
Thine eyes shall not witness again,
The glory that filled thy desires;
Thou wast proud of thy treasures of dust,
Thou wast glad that the earth was thine own,
And the pride and the shame of thy lust,
Left thee reckless, and leave thee undone!
Thou dreams't of the sway of thy sires;
Thine eyes shall not witness again,
The glory that filled thy desires;
Thou wast proud of thy treasures of dust,
Thou wast glad that the earth was thine own,
And the pride and the shame of thy lust,
Left thee reckless, and leave thee undone!
Where now is thy magic,—thy spells,—
The enchantments that came at thy call;—
Thy sorcerers—whose art never tells,
Of the fate that hangs ready to fall?
Let thy magians who counsell'd thy ways,
And spoke with the stars each by name,
Now save thee the death of these days;—
They save not themselves from the flame!
The enchantments that came at thy call;—
Thy sorcerers—whose art never tells,
Of the fate that hangs ready to fall?
Let thy magians who counsell'd thy ways,
And spoke with the stars each by name,
Now save thee the death of these days;—
They save not themselves from the flame!
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The Fall of Babylon.
ISAIAH XIV.
How hath the hard oppressor,
That smote the nations, sunk!—
How fall'n the golden city,
With pride and passion drunk!—
God's might the rule hath broken,
That kept the world in fear;
His anger hath but spoken,
And lo! the ruin here!
That smote the nations, sunk!—
How fall'n the golden city,
With pride and passion drunk!—
God's might the rule hath broken,
That kept the world in fear;
His anger hath but spoken,
And lo! the ruin here!
The earth starts up rejoicing,
Her terrors all subdued;
The cedar grows to voicing
In Lebanon's gray wood;
No more, he cries, I tremble,
Lest axe of thine o'erthrow;
Fear need no more dissemble,
Since heaven hath laid thee low!
Her terrors all subdued;
The cedar grows to voicing
In Lebanon's gray wood;
No more, he cries, I tremble,
Lest axe of thine o'erthrow;
Fear need no more dissemble,
Since heaven hath laid thee low!
Vain Lucifer, each warning,—
How dost thou fall from high,
Oh! brightest son of morning,
That sought to sway the sky.—
Thy heart conceived the conquest,
Of heaven, itself, at last;
Yet lo! a breath has vanquish'd
And thou art with the past.
How dost thou fall from high,
Oh! brightest son of morning,
That sought to sway the sky.—
Thy heart conceived the conquest,
Of heaven, itself, at last;
Yet lo! a breath has vanquish'd
And thou art with the past.
27
The Desolation of Babylon.
ISAIAH XIII.
The noise of trooping thousands
That clamor for the strife,
Great hosts that shake their bended spears,
In thirst for human life;
The banner proud, of Babylon,
Upon her mountains set,
Waves for the nobles of her courts,
A host more mighty yet.
That clamor for the strife,
Great hosts that shake their bended spears,
In thirst for human life;
The banner proud, of Babylon,
Upon her mountains set,
Waves for the nobles of her courts,
A host more mighty yet.
But hark! a mightier clamor!—
A thousand nations rise;
The Lord of Hosts assembleth
His legions of the skies;
His day of vengeance dawneth,
While that of earth grows black;
And Heaven's vast empire trembleth,
A world upon the rack.
A thousand nations rise;
The Lord of Hosts assembleth
His legions of the skies;
His day of vengeance dawneth,
While that of earth grows black;
And Heaven's vast empire trembleth,
A world upon the rack.
The doom is over Babylon,
That glory of the earth,
Most priceless to the Chaldean
Of all his stores of worth:
As Sodom and Gomorrah,
So sink her mighty domes,
No more, through countless ages,
To joy in human homes.
That glory of the earth,
Most priceless to the Chaldean
Of all his stores of worth:
As Sodom and Gomorrah,
So sink her mighty domes,
No more, through countless ages,
To joy in human homes.
28
The curse of God hangs o'er her!—
The Arab shrinks in fear,
Nor, though o'erborne with weariness,
Seeks tent or shelter there;
Her ruins know the owl alone,
The dragon at her midnight feast,
And loathly, in their obscene rites,
The bittern and the beast.
The Arab shrinks in fear,
Nor, though o'erborne with weariness,
Seeks tent or shelter there;
Her ruins know the owl alone,
The dragon at her midnight feast,
And loathly, in their obscene rites,
The bittern and the beast.
False Prophets.
MICAH III.
To the false prophets who mislead,
And, in the name of holiness,
Still counsel shame and evil deed,
Still blighting where ordained to bless;—
Behold, the might shall come which brings,
No visions to their aching eyes;
The darkness show no shadowy things,
Which hold prophetic mysteries.
And, in the name of holiness,
Still counsel shame and evil deed,
Still blighting where ordained to bless;—
Behold, the might shall come which brings,
No visions to their aching eyes;
The darkness show no shadowy things,
Which hold prophetic mysteries.
Ye shall no more divine for me,
To these, the people in your care;
The sun by day ye shall not see,
And night shall shroud each traitor seer;
His spirit bound in fast eclipse,
Shall hear no voice of mine abroad;
And shame shall spell the silent lips,
That vainly seek a voice from God!
To these, the people in your care;
The sun by day ye shall not see,
And night shall shroud each traitor seer;
His spirit bound in fast eclipse,
Shall hear no voice of mine abroad;
And shame shall spell the silent lips,
That vainly seek a voice from God!
29
Shepherd's Hymn.
PSALM XXIII.
Oh, when I rove the desert waste, and 'neath the hot sun pant,
The Lord shall be my shepherd then, he will not let me want;
He'll lead me where the pastures are of soft and shady green,
And where the gentle waters rove the quiet hills between.
The Lord shall be my shepherd then, he will not let me want;
He'll lead me where the pastures are of soft and shady green,
And where the gentle waters rove the quiet hills between.
And when the savage shall pursue, and in his grasp I sink,
He will prepare the feast for me, and bring the cooling drink;
And save me harmless from his hands, and strengthen me in toil,
And bless my home and cottage lands, and crown my head with oil.
He will prepare the feast for me, and bring the cooling drink;
And save me harmless from his hands, and strengthen me in toil,
And bless my home and cottage lands, and crown my head with oil.
With such a shepherd to protect, to guide and guard me still,
And bless my heart with every good, and keep from every ill,
Surely, I shall not turn aside and scorn his kindly care,
But keep the path he points me out, and walk forever there.
And bless my heart with every good, and keep from every ill,
Surely, I shall not turn aside and scorn his kindly care,
But keep the path he points me out, and walk forever there.
30
The Desolation of the City.
JEREM. LAM. I.
How lonely sits the city, with joyous crowds once fill'd,
How like a widow weeping, her cup of blessing spill'd;
Late proud among the nations, with thousands in her train,
Now lone, at midnight wailing, with tears that fall like rain;
Her friends have all deserted, no more her lovers bow,
Of all that lately worshipped her, none seeks to comfort now;
A captive with the heathen, how fades her virgin bloom,
Her fair white limbs in manacles, and servitude her doom.
How like a widow weeping, her cup of blessing spill'd;
Late proud among the nations, with thousands in her train,
Now lone, at midnight wailing, with tears that fall like rain;
Her friends have all deserted, no more her lovers bow,
Of all that lately worshipped her, none seeks to comfort now;
A captive with the heathen, how fades her virgin bloom,
Her fair white limbs in manacles, and servitude her doom.
Thus sin despoileth loveliness, from evil beauty flies,
And Zion mourns the solemn feasts, which worshippers despise;
Her priests at altars desolate, their idle rites bemoan,
And still her virgins in the gate, bewail the glories gone;
Like harts that find no pasture, her princes fly in fear,
And feel no strength for valiant strife when comes the foeman near;
Well, with a sorrow at her soul that never stays its stings,
Doth she recall the days of old, with all their happier things;
The pride, the pomp, the joyous song, sweet night and cloudless sky,
When God with gracious blessings craved her virgin loyalty;
Ere, all forgetful of his laws, with guilty passions sway'd,
His holy anger she defied, his will she disobeyed;—
Oh, sad the wild lament which cries, “No grief is sure like mine,
'Neath God's dread vengeance thus to fall, and vainly to repine;
His fire prevails, his anger burns, his snares my feet have wound,
His hand about my neck the yoke of my offence hath bound;
He leads me captive to the foe that most are swoll'n with hate,
And treads beneath his sovereign feet, the guardians of my state;
The youth who would have striven to save, he tramples in his path,
And as the grape, in vine-press crush'd, my virgins feel his wrath!
Oh! for these things I weep—I weep—with constant bitter tears,
Yet vainly weep, since he alone who comforts, never hears;
My children desolate, my foes prevailing where they move,
All fled or into bondage gone, who tribute brought in love;
In vain I call on those who bow'd—deceit was in their hearts—
Priests faint and fail, and elders fly, and every hope departs,
My cup has reached its overflow, I sink, I gasp for breath;
Spare Lord!—unless thou spare and save, this bitterness is death.
And Zion mourns the solemn feasts, which worshippers despise;
Her priests at altars desolate, their idle rites bemoan,
And still her virgins in the gate, bewail the glories gone;
Like harts that find no pasture, her princes fly in fear,
And feel no strength for valiant strife when comes the foeman near;
Well, with a sorrow at her soul that never stays its stings,
Doth she recall the days of old, with all their happier things;
31
When God with gracious blessings craved her virgin loyalty;
Ere, all forgetful of his laws, with guilty passions sway'd,
His holy anger she defied, his will she disobeyed;—
Oh, sad the wild lament which cries, “No grief is sure like mine,
'Neath God's dread vengeance thus to fall, and vainly to repine;
His fire prevails, his anger burns, his snares my feet have wound,
His hand about my neck the yoke of my offence hath bound;
He leads me captive to the foe that most are swoll'n with hate,
And treads beneath his sovereign feet, the guardians of my state;
The youth who would have striven to save, he tramples in his path,
And as the grape, in vine-press crush'd, my virgins feel his wrath!
Oh! for these things I weep—I weep—with constant bitter tears,
Yet vainly weep, since he alone who comforts, never hears;
My children desolate, my foes prevailing where they move,
All fled or into bondage gone, who tribute brought in love;
32
Priests faint and fail, and elders fly, and every hope departs,
My cup has reached its overflow, I sink, I gasp for breath;
Spare Lord!—unless thou spare and save, this bitterness is death.
The Fear of God the Security for Peace.
PSALM CXXVIII.
He who Jehovah fears, and walketh in his ways,Shall eat the labor of his hands in blessings all his days;
With him the earth shall prosper still, and all his gifts shall grow;
His wife be like a fruitful vine with constant overflow;
His children round his table spread, like olive stems shall rise,
And still their children's children see, with glad and grateful eyes;
Peace, for their sakes, shall bless the land, that claims them for its own,
And for their people still shall smile the peace that's God's alone!
33
The Fall of the Tyrant.
ISAIAH XIV.
How art thou fallen from Heaven, O, Lucifer, son of the morning,
How art thou cast to the common, thou who didst trample the nations;
Thou hast said in the pride of thy stature, the rights of thy maker still scorning,
O'er the stars will I build me a realm—I will sway from the loftiest stations,
With a vanity honored to madness, the strength of thy Lord thou defiest,—
With a blindness that dreams not thy weakness, thou dost aim for the throne of the highest.
How art thou cast to the common, thou who didst trample the nations;
Thou hast said in the pride of thy stature, the rights of thy maker still scorning,
O'er the stars will I build me a realm—I will sway from the loftiest stations,
With a vanity honored to madness, the strength of thy Lord thou defiest,—
With a blindness that dreams not thy weakness, thou dost aim for the throne of the highest.
Thou wert deaf to the terrible judgment that doom'd thee to hell's dark recesses,
Thou wert blind to the pit's awful mansions, even then 'neath thy proud footstep yawning;
Not then didst thou dream, in thy passion, of the grave and its stifling caresses,
Of thy struggle, still falling, to clamber, once more to embrace with the dawning;—
Oh! how will they wonder that see thee, once vexed with such sovereign ambition,
Thus hurled from thy heights and thus striving, in vain, with thy loathly condition.
Thou wert blind to the pit's awful mansions, even then 'neath thy proud footstep yawning;
Not then didst thou dream, in thy passion, of the grave and its stifling caresses,
Of thy struggle, still falling, to clamber, once more to embrace with the dawning;—
Oh! how will they wonder that see thee, once vexed with such sovereign ambition,
Thus hurled from thy heights and thus striving, in vain, with thy loathly condition.
34
A Dwelling for the Deity.
PSALM CXXXII.
No sleep shall bless these eye-lids,
I seek no couch of rest,
Nor enter in my dwelling,
Where peace shall make me blest;
'Till for the mighty Father,
For Jacob's God and mine,
I find a proper mansion,
I build a proper shrine.
I seek no couch of rest,
Nor enter in my dwelling,
Where peace shall make me blest;
'Till for the mighty Father,
For Jacob's God and mine,
I find a proper mansion,
I build a proper shrine.
Here, by the wild Ephratah,
By Jaar's fields so lone,
We build his habitation,
His worship seek and own:—
Be present, mighty Father,
Our humble faith employ,
While priests are clothed with judgment,
And people shout with joy.
By Jaar's fields so lone,
We build his habitation,
His worship seek and own:—
Be present, mighty Father,
Our humble faith employ,
While priests are clothed with judgment,
And people shout with joy.
35
Birth of Christ.
MICAH V.
Though 'mong Judea's thousandsThy place and sway be small,
Yet, Bethlehem Ephratah,
Thou yield'st the prince of all!
From thee shall yet awaken
For Israel's rule, to me,
A chief whose birth has been of old,
Even from eternity.
And this, when o'er thy neck,
The foreign foe shall tread;
When Israel's Judge with smitten cheek,
Shall bow the captive head;
When, in her sad dismay,
Still hopeless of relief,
Her people, sworn to stranger sway,
Shall know no native chief.
In favor of the Lord,
Thy prince the flocks shall feed,
Robed in his majesty and rule,
And powerful in his deed;
To earth's remotest ends
His name shall spread with weight,
Until the scattered brethren, all,
With Israel re-unite.
36
Prayer for the Exile.
PSALM CXXVI.
When God brought back his captives,
To Zion, widow'd long,
Our mouths were filled with laughter,
Our lips were full of song;
We were like those that dream delight,
And well might rival nations say,
“Great things their God hath done for them
And therefore they rejoice to-day.”
To Zion, widow'd long,
Our mouths were filled with laughter,
Our lips were full of song;
We were like those that dream delight,
And well might rival nations say,
“Great things their God hath done for them
And therefore they rejoice to-day.”
We do rejoice, Oh Lord, and ask,
For other mercies at thy hands;
Oh! bring our brother captives back,
That wander still in sterile lands;—
So, they who long have sown in tears,
May reap, at last, in joy and peace;
And he who griev'd o'er exiled years,
Return with joy and great increase.
For other mercies at thy hands;
Oh! bring our brother captives back,
That wander still in sterile lands;—
So, they who long have sown in tears,
May reap, at last, in joy and peace;
And he who griev'd o'er exiled years,
Return with joy and great increase.
37
The Temple in Ashes.
ISAIAH LXIV.
Alas! our beautiful and holy house,
Wherein our fathers met of yore to praise,
Is, with consuming fire burnt up, and all
Our pleasant things are perish'd in the blaze;
Our holy city is a wilderness,
And desolation threatens still our eyes;—
Father, we know that we have sinn'd, but bless,
With mercy, where thy justice might despise.
Wherein our fathers met of yore to praise,
Is, with consuming fire burnt up, and all
Our pleasant things are perish'd in the blaze;
Our holy city is a wilderness,
And desolation threatens still our eyes;—
Father, we know that we have sinn'd, but bless,
With mercy, where thy justice might despise.
Suffer that we this ruin may repair,
Re-build the home our fathers raised to thee,
Repeal the covenant that bids thee spare,
Nor scatter wide the flock that would not flee;
True, they have wandered from thy shepherd's fold,
Have heeded not his call, but still astray,
Have turn'd deaf ear, with hearts too quickly cold,
And merit not the mercies that we pray.
Re-build the home our fathers raised to thee,
Repeal the covenant that bids thee spare,
Nor scatter wide the flock that would not flee;
True, they have wandered from thy shepherd's fold,
Have heeded not his call, but still astray,
Have turn'd deaf ear, with hearts too quickly cold,
And merit not the mercies that we pray.
Yet, spare us, father; and the Holy House
That still we loved to seek on sacred days,
Restore and hallow, that we may not fear,
Again, the terrors of the midnight blaze;—
Make peaceful still the walks we loved of yore,
Make green once more the trees that felt thy scaith,
That, seeing how gracious art thou to restore,
Our gratitude may help our feeble faith.
That still we loved to seek on sacred days,
Restore and hallow, that we may not fear,
Again, the terrors of the midnight blaze;—
Make peaceful still the walks we loved of yore,
Make green once more the trees that felt thy scaith,
That, seeing how gracious art thou to restore,
Our gratitude may help our feeble faith.
38
Restoration from the Ruin.
ISAIAH XXIV.
The Conqueror now hath welcome,
His ancients hail his sway,
That stays the tide of evil things,
The sad world's disarray;—
For now the earth but languisheth
Beneath the curse of crime
That breaks the holy covenant
That God had made with Time.
His ancients hail his sway,
That stays the tide of evil things,
The sad world's disarray;—
For now the earth but languisheth
Beneath the curse of crime
That breaks the holy covenant
That God had made with Time.
The joy of tabrets ceaseth,
The beauties of the earth,
Beneath the terror fadeth,
That stays their thoughless mirth;
The wine that now is drunken,
With bitterness so springs,
That he who tastes the fearful cup,
No longer o'er it sings.
The beauties of the earth,
Beneath the terror fadeth,
That stays their thoughless mirth;
The wine that now is drunken,
With bitterness so springs,
That he who tastes the fearful cup,
No longer o'er it sings.
While now the joy is darkened,
The city overthrown,
The haughty of her palaces,
In shame and trembling, down;—
Shout for the coming brightness,
That all the past repairs,
The march of him who plants anew,
The seed of better years.
The city overthrown,
The haughty of her palaces,
In shame and trembling, down;—
Shout for the coming brightness,
That all the past repairs,
The march of him who plants anew,
The seed of better years.
39
God's Sanction Alone Gives Success.
PSALM CXXVII.
Unless the Lord decree the home,
Idly the builders strive amain;—
Unless his eye the city keeps,
Its watchman waketh still in vain;
And ye who rise with early toil,
And late retire to seek your rest,
Ye eat the bread of care in vain,
Unless by him beloved and bless'd.
Idly the builders strive amain;—
Unless his eye the city keeps,
Its watchman waketh still in vain;
And ye who rise with early toil,
And late retire to seek your rest,
Ye eat the bread of care in vain,
Unless by him beloved and bless'd.
Haply, for such, he spreads the board,
And keeps the watch, and still approves:
Children, the best gifts of the Lord,
He groups around the man he loves;
As arrows in the warrior's hand,
Are children of our youth, that grow
The guardians of the sire's estate,
To baffle and confound his foe.
And keeps the watch, and still approves:
Children, the best gifts of the Lord,
He groups around the man he loves;
As arrows in the warrior's hand,
Are children of our youth, that grow
The guardians of the sire's estate,
To baffle and confound his foe.
40
Prayer of David in Exile.
PSALM III.
Oh! Lord how many are the enemies,
That rise against me in mine hour of grief;
How many who exult with fearful cries,
“The God he serves will never bring relief.”
But undismayed, with thee, O! Lord, my shield,
My glory, that sustain'st my spirit still,
I call upon thee with my lips unseal'd,
And know thou hear'st me from thy Holy Hill.
That rise against me in mine hour of grief;
How many who exult with fearful cries,
“The God he serves will never bring relief.”
But undismayed, with thee, O! Lord, my shield,
My glory, that sustain'st my spirit still,
I call upon thee with my lips unseal'd,
And know thou hear'st me from thy Holy Hill.
Thus confident, I lay me down at night,
And sleep, though fugitive, without a fear;
Albeit, a thousand foemen rise in sight,
Thou still sustaining, succouring, ever near.
Deliverance comes from thee, and thou wilt rise
Oh! God, to bless thy people, and to save;—
Wilt smite the cheeks of all mine enemies,
And, of the wicked, break the teeth that rave.
And sleep, though fugitive, without a fear;
Albeit, a thousand foemen rise in sight,
Thou still sustaining, succouring, ever near.
Deliverance comes from thee, and thou wilt rise
Oh! God, to bless thy people, and to save;—
Wilt smite the cheeks of all mine enemies,
And, of the wicked, break the teeth that rave.
41
God the Champion of his People.
PSALM CXXIV.
If God had not been for us,
In that o'erwhelming day,
When hostile hosts rose up to crush,
Oh! what had been our stay!—
Their wrath was like consuming fire,
Their fury like the raging sea,
Their floods had swallow'd us alive,
So feeble then were we!
In that o'erwhelming day,
When hostile hosts rose up to crush,
Oh! what had been our stay!—
Their wrath was like consuming fire,
Their fury like the raging sea,
Their floods had swallow'd us alive,
So feeble then were we!
But he hath stay'd the billows,
That would have over-swept;
And blessed be Jehovah's pow'r,
His flock that safely kept!
He broke the snares that compass'd us,
He set the feeble captive free;
And, like the bird from fowler 'scaped,
We sing Oh! God, in praise to thee.
That would have over-swept;
And blessed be Jehovah's pow'r,
His flock that safely kept!
He broke the snares that compass'd us,
He set the feeble captive free;
And, like the bird from fowler 'scaped,
We sing Oh! God, in praise to thee.
42
Confidence in God's Protection.
PSALM XI.
How say ye to my soul,
Like a mountain bird depart,
For the wicked bend the bow,
With their aim upon the heart;—
In the Lord I put my trust,
The great giver of my breath,
He is mighty as he's just,
He will guard my soul from death.
Like a mountain bird depart,
For the wicked bend the bow,
With their aim upon the heart;—
In the Lord I put my trust,
The great giver of my breath,
He is mighty as he's just,
He will guard my soul from death.
On his holy throne he sits,
With the nations all in view;
Shall the false one then prevail,
In their conflict with the true?
The man of wrath he gives,
To the torture and the blight;
But he succors and sustains
All the humble in his sight.
With the nations all in view;
Shall the false one then prevail,
In their conflict with the true?
The man of wrath he gives,
To the torture and the blight;
But he succors and sustains
All the humble in his sight.
43
The Cry of the Drowning.
PSALM CXXX.
Out of deep waters do I cry to thee—
Hearken O! Lord, the burden of my cry;
Mete not the measure of my fault to me,
For who shall stand, if mercy thou deny?
I build on thy forgiveness, in my fear,—
My soul with all its fault, is full of trust;
Thy promise fills my guilty heart with cheer,
For well I know thee merciful as just.
Hearken O! Lord, the burden of my cry;
Mete not the measure of my fault to me,
For who shall stand, if mercy thou deny?
I build on thy forgiveness, in my fear,—
My soul with all its fault, is full of trust;
Thy promise fills my guilty heart with cheer,
For well I know thee merciful as just.
I look for thee, O, Lord—I look for thee,—
As watchman for the morning; and I know,
With sweet redemption thou shalt Israel free,
Thy mercy ever pleased with overflow;—
Spite of his great iniquities, thy love,
Redeems him from the error of his ways,
And still I teach him, to the Lord above,
Turn ever, for his blessing, all his days.
As watchman for the morning; and I know,
With sweet redemption thou shalt Israel free,
Thy mercy ever pleased with overflow;—
Spite of his great iniquities, thy love,
Redeems him from the error of his ways,
And still I teach him, to the Lord above,
Turn ever, for his blessing, all his days.
44
Song of Solomon.
C. I., V. I TO VII.
Oh! for the song of songs!
'Tis Solomon's alone;
For him the kisses of my mouth,
To him my beauties shown;
Sweeter than juices of the cup,
Than precious odours pour'd to waste,
His love, which holiest virgins seek,
And all the pure of heart would taste.
'Tis Solomon's alone;
For him the kisses of my mouth,
To him my beauties shown;
Sweeter than juices of the cup,
Than precious odours pour'd to waste,
His love, which holiest virgins seek,
And all the pure of heart would taste.
Dark are my cheeks, but comely;
The sun, with noonday power,
Hath look'd upon my maiden face,
And brown'd its youthful flower.
In early years they sent me forth,
To keep the vineyards lone;
Ah! since thy vineyard I have seen,
I could not keep mine own.
The sun, with noonday power,
Hath look'd upon my maiden face,
And brown'd its youthful flower.
In early years they sent me forth,
To keep the vineyards lone;
Ah! since thy vineyard I have seen,
I could not keep mine own.
Thou, whom my spirit loveth,
Oh! tell me where at noon,
Thou tak'st thy flock to pasture,
That I may seek thee soon;
Why, when all else are joyous,
Should I be turned aside,
That other flocks should seek the place,
And thou another bride.
Oh! tell me where at noon,
Thou tak'st thy flock to pasture,
That I may seek thee soon;
Why, when all else are joyous,
Should I be turned aside,
That other flocks should seek the place,
And thou another bride.
45
The Season of Joy.
SOLOMON C. II.
The voice of my beloved,
Upon the mountains hear,
A young hart leaping o'er the hills,
I feel his footsteps near;
Beneath the wall he standeth,
He looks within and cries,—
“Wake, dearest one, from slumber,
I come for thee, arise!
Upon the mountains hear,
A young hart leaping o'er the hills,
I feel his footsteps near;
Beneath the wall he standeth,
He looks within and cries,—
“Wake, dearest one, from slumber,
I come for thee, arise!
“Rise, for the winter's over,
The storm is past and gone;
Once more the flowers are springing,
The earth no more is lone;—
The time of birds for singing,
Their raptures, is at hand;
And oh! once more the turtle's voice,
Is heard throughout the land.
The storm is past and gone;
Once more the flowers are springing,
The earth no more is lone;—
The time of birds for singing,
Their raptures, is at hand;
And oh! once more the turtle's voice,
Is heard throughout the land.
“Away with me, beloved!
The fig her fruitage yields,
And oh! how sweet the tender vine,
Gives odour to the fields;
Oh! thou, my dove, awaken,
Come forth with me and show,
How sweet thy voice, how lovelily,
Thy maiden features glow.
The fig her fruitage yields,
And oh! how sweet the tender vine,
Gives odour to the fields;
Oh! thou, my dove, awaken,
Come forth with me and show,
How sweet thy voice, how lovelily,
Thy maiden features glow.
46
The Rose of Sharon.
SOLOMON II.
Look on me, if thou lovest me,
For I am Sharon's Rose,
More lovely than the lily's flow'r
In thorny thick that grows;
A fruit tree in the forest,
Where none are sweet beside;
Look on me, if thou lovest me,
And cherish me, thy bride.
For I am Sharon's Rose,
More lovely than the lily's flow'r
In thorny thick that grows;
A fruit tree in the forest,
Where none are sweet beside;
Look on me, if thou lovest me,
And cherish me, thy bride.
I sit beneath thy shadow,
Secure within thy sight;
Thou hang'st love's banner over me,
And feed'st me with delight.
With very love, I'm languishing,
Oh! bring thy apples near,
And pour, from precious flagon out,
The draughts of joy that cheer.
Secure within thy sight;
Thou hang'st love's banner over me,
And feed'st me with delight.
With very love, I'm languishing,
Oh! bring thy apples near,
And pour, from precious flagon out,
The draughts of joy that cheer.
I charge ye, Salem's daughters,
Even by the hinds ye keep,
Ye stir not, with your mirthful songs
My noble lover's sleep;
His left hand bears my drooping head,
His right, with sweet embrace,
Now folds me to his happy heart,
That bears my happier face.
Even by the hinds ye keep,
Ye stir not, with your mirthful songs
My noble lover's sleep;
His left hand bears my drooping head,
His right, with sweet embrace,
Now folds me to his happy heart,
That bears my happier face.
47
Prayer in Flight.
PSALM XLII.
As for the water-brooks the hart,
Sore pressed by hunter's rage, will flee,
So, sadly thirsting, forth I dart,
And speed in fear, O God, to thee!
For now my tears, both day and night,
Are all the food I find or crave,
While scoffers cry—“where is the God,
To whom thou fondly look'dst to save?”
Sore pressed by hunter's rage, will flee,
So, sadly thirsting, forth I dart,
And speed in fear, O God, to thee!
For now my tears, both day and night,
Are all the food I find or crave,
While scoffers cry—“where is the God,
To whom thou fondly look'dst to save?”
Oh! when I think on all the past,
How, with the crowd, on Holy Days,
I sought in joy the house of God,
My soul to pour in thanks and praise!—
And thou, with blessings far and wide,
Wast present there to heart and eye;—
Alas! thy presence now denied,
I pour my soul in many a sigh!
How, with the crowd, on Holy Days,
I sought in joy the house of God,
My soul to pour in thanks and praise!—
And thou, with blessings far and wide,
Wast present there to heart and eye;—
Alas! thy presence now denied,
I pour my soul in many a sigh!
Yet why despond, and why cast down,
My soul, disquieted within?
Hope still in him, whose awful frown,
Hangs only o'er the heart of sin:
Give him thy homage, as of old,—
In him confide, even though his rod
Bends o'er thee, and his looks are cold,
He will deliver thee, thy God!
My soul, disquieted within?
Hope still in him, whose awful frown,
Hangs only o'er the heart of sin:
Give him thy homage, as of old,—
In him confide, even though his rod
Bends o'er thee, and his looks are cold,
He will deliver thee, thy God!
48
To him thou ow'st the song of praise,
For mercies shown when all was ill:
He hath maintained through evil days,
And, spite of foes, will guard thee still.
Remember thou his helping hand,
That brought thee safe through strife and bale;
From Mizar's mount, from Jordan's land,
Pursued by hate, through Hermon's vale!
True that His Deeps, with answering noise,
And cataract might, have o'er thee gone,
Yet will he hear the drowning voice,
That cries, in faith, to him alone.
For mercies shown when all was ill:
He hath maintained through evil days,
And, spite of foes, will guard thee still.
Remember thou his helping hand,
That brought thee safe through strife and bale;
From Mizar's mount, from Jordan's land,
Pursued by hate, through Hermon's vale!
True that His Deeps, with answering noise,
And cataract might, have o'er thee gone,
Yet will he hear the drowning voice,
That cries, in faith, to him alone.
By day and night, my pray'r and song,
Shall plead to him, of old my rock:
He will not surely leave me long
The rebel's scorn, th' oppressor's mock:
With ever in mine ear that cry,
As sword of foeman through my heart:
“Where now the God that came so nigh,
Why comes he not to take thy part?”
This hurls me to the earth in scorn,
This mockery flings me bruised and low:
Father, why leave me thus forlorn,
Forgotten, in my shame and wo?
Shall plead to him, of old my rock:
He will not surely leave me long
The rebel's scorn, th' oppressor's mock:
With ever in mine ear that cry,
As sword of foeman through my heart:
“Where now the God that came so nigh,
Why comes he not to take thy part?”
This hurls me to the earth in scorn,
This mockery flings me bruised and low:
Father, why leave me thus forlorn,
Forgotten, in my shame and wo?
Yet why cast down my soul? O why
Disquieted within? Be still,—
Unless, with faith, on him to cry,
Thy health and strength where all is ill.
Disquieted within? Be still,—
Unless, with faith, on him to cry,
Thy health and strength where all is ill.
49
Appeal from Man to God.
PSALM XLIII.
Judge me thyself, O God! and plead
With this unpitying race my cause;
Protect me from deceitful deed,
From wrath unjust, and cruel laws.
Thou art my hope:—to thee alone
I look for succor now, when late,
Thou fling'st me off, as one unknown,
The victim to th' oppressor's hate.
With this unpitying race my cause;
Protect me from deceitful deed,
From wrath unjust, and cruel laws.
Thou art my hope:—to thee alone
I look for succor now, when late,
Thou fling'st me off, as one unknown,
The victim to th' oppressor's hate.
Send out thy light, thy truth once more;
To these I yield my willing feet—
These, to my prayer again restore,
And bring me to thy holy seat;—
Then, with a joy exceeding speech,
Thy house once more my voice shall hear;
And with the harp and song, I'll teach,
My soul, to speak thy praises there.
To these I yield my willing feet—
These, to my prayer again restore,
And bring me to thy holy seat;—
Then, with a joy exceeding speech,
Thy house once more my voice shall hear;
And with the harp and song, I'll teach,
My soul, to speak thy praises there.
God of my gladness and my life,
Before thy altars will I bow,
Assured of rescue from the strife,
That still pursues and threats me now.
Be not disquieted, my soul,—
No more cast down with fear, but still
Praise Him, thy God, whose sweet control
Brings health and strength when all is ill!
Before thy altars will I bow,
Assured of rescue from the strife,
That still pursues and threats me now.
Be not disquieted, my soul,—
No more cast down with fear, but still
Praise Him, thy God, whose sweet control
Brings health and strength when all is ill!
50
Hymn to the Departed.
Oh! ever thus, in earnest prayer,
My spirit claims and clings to thine,
And longs to fly and seek thee, where
All things, for ever blessed, shine,
All being, not less than thee, divine;—
And, in the silent hours, I pray
The swallow's sweeping wing were mine,
That I might soar and be away.
My spirit claims and clings to thine,
And longs to fly and seek thee, where
All things, for ever blessed, shine,
All being, not less than thee, divine;—
And, in the silent hours, I pray
The swallow's sweeping wing were mine,
That I might soar and be away.
And, in that high and bright abode,
Where, in eternal anthems dress'd,
The prayers of millions seek their God,
For ever blessing, ever bless'd,—
I know thy song above the rest,—
The purest strain of music, where
Undying gladness is the guest,
And love's own spirit speaks in prayer.
Where, in eternal anthems dress'd,
The prayers of millions seek their God,
For ever blessing, ever bless'd,—
I know thy song above the rest,—
The purest strain of music, where
Undying gladness is the guest,
And love's own spirit speaks in prayer.
The heavy earth is on my wing,
And human fears and pains are mine;
Panting, I seek the gushing spring;—
Its waters teem, and taste of brine,
Oh! for one genial draught from thine—
Thy quiet home, those blessed airs,
Enough for love, nor less divine,
Though full of dreams that move our tears.
And human fears and pains are mine;
Panting, I seek the gushing spring;—
Its waters teem, and taste of brine,
Oh! for one genial draught from thine—
Thy quiet home, those blessed airs,
Enough for love, nor less divine,
Though full of dreams that move our tears.
51
Hymn at Evening.
Bright the sun is sinking
In the blue wave, drinking
Glory from his blaze;
And, no longer sleeping,
Lo! the night star leaping,
Wins his latest rays.
In the blue wave, drinking
Glory from his blaze;
And, no longer sleeping,
Lo! the night star leaping,
Wins his latest rays.
Down, his chariot driven,
Leaves the cope of heaven,
Robed with yellow fleece;
While a softer glory
O'er yon promontory,
Swells aloft in peace.
Leaves the cope of heaven,
Robed with yellow fleece;
While a softer glory
O'er yon promontory,
Swells aloft in peace.
Source of every blessing,
All beyond expressing,
That a god may give;
Type of light and being
Seen by all, all seeing,
In thy glance we live.
All beyond expressing,
That a god may give;
Type of light and being
Seen by all, all seeing,
In thy glance we live.
Though we dwell with sorrow
Yet thy ray to-morrow,
Shall remove our chain;
Thou wilt banish sadness,
Thou wilt bring us gladness,
When thou com'st again.
Yet thy ray to-morrow,
Shall remove our chain;
Thou wilt banish sadness,
Thou wilt bring us gladness,
When thou com'st again.
52
And, this blessed even,
Take our prayer to heaven—
If to-night we die,
That—through death's dark portal,
More than thee, immortal,
We may win the sky.
Take our prayer to heaven—
If to-night we die,
That—through death's dark portal,
More than thee, immortal,
We may win the sky.
Forest Worship.
And whence can the prayer of affection
More purely ascend to the sky,
Than from temples whose glorious erection
Still brings the Great Architect nigh?
Deep woods, in whose solemn recesses,
Tall pines, 'neath whose pillars of might,
The spirit looks upward and blesses,
And the shadows grow sacred to sight!
More purely ascend to the sky,
Than from temples whose glorious erection
Still brings the Great Architect nigh?
Deep woods, in whose solemn recesses,
Tall pines, 'neath whose pillars of might,
The spirit looks upward and blesses,
And the shadows grow sacred to sight!
Can the prayer that is breathed by devotion,
Thus hallowed by silence and thought,
And nursed by the deepest emotion
That ever religion has taught,
Be unworthy God's ear because offered
In a temple whose majesty shames
The proudest that art ever proffered,
For His sacred acceptance and Fame's!
Thus hallowed by silence and thought,
And nursed by the deepest emotion
That ever religion has taught,
Be unworthy God's ear because offered
In a temple whose majesty shames
The proudest that art ever proffered,
For His sacred acceptance and Fame's!
53
The soul that has drunk from the chalice
Of sorrow and love, and is bow'd,
Needs none of the pomps of the palace,
Nor the cold measured rites of the crowd;
It rather implores the dim regions,
Of shadow and silence; and there,
In the sweet hallow'd twilight, are legions
Of angels, to sanction its prayer.
Of sorrow and love, and is bow'd,
Needs none of the pomps of the palace,
Nor the cold measured rites of the crowd;
It rather implores the dim regions,
Of shadow and silence; and there,
In the sweet hallow'd twilight, are legions
Of angels, to sanction its prayer.
There gather, in pity, down-bending,
The blessedest hopes of the heart;
Dear children, that, never offending,
Have been bidden, while pure, to depart;
Sweet angels, in shapes that have perish'd,
The mother, the sister, the wife,
All the bright ones that life ever cherish'd,
All striving to lift us to life!
The blessedest hopes of the heart;
Dear children, that, never offending,
Have been bidden, while pure, to depart;
Sweet angels, in shapes that have perish'd,
The mother, the sister, the wife,
All the bright ones that life ever cherish'd,
All striving to lift us to life!
Their shrine wafts no earthly oblation,
Their temple, pure, lovely and grand,
Still rises, as when, at Creation,
It bloomed, the fair work of His Hand;
And well may the devotee falter,
As he thinks on the races of yore,
The myriads who've bow'd at an altar,
Where myriads yet must adore.
Their temple, pure, lovely and grand,
Still rises, as when, at Creation,
It bloomed, the fair work of His Hand;
And well may the devotee falter,
As he thinks on the races of yore,
The myriads who've bow'd at an altar,
Where myriads yet must adore.
54
Ah! vain is that worship, whose vision
Still craves for the gold on the shrine;
Still looks, with an eye of derision,
On the rude scatter'd emblems of mine;
More blessed by far, if the blossom
Of faith may be nourish'd and known,
In the depths of the wood, where the bosom,
Can feel but God's glory alone!
Still craves for the gold on the shrine;
Still looks, with an eye of derision,
On the rude scatter'd emblems of mine;
More blessed by far, if the blossom
Of faith may be nourish'd and known,
In the depths of the wood, where the bosom,
Can feel but God's glory alone!
And think not the prayer of that being,
O'er whom fortune forever hath smiled,
Can be grateful to him, the All-Seeing,
As the offering of misery's child;
Though the former, in palace most splendid,
The rites of acknowledgment gave,
While the latter's frail offering is blended
With the winds of the desert and wave.
O'er whom fortune forever hath smiled,
Can be grateful to him, the All-Seeing,
As the offering of misery's child;
Though the former, in palace most splendid,
The rites of acknowledgment gave,
While the latter's frail offering is blended
With the winds of the desert and wave.
55
“Look Aloft.”
Is the night around thee,
Hath the oppressor bound thee,
Fortune known so oft?
Cease thy sad repining,
Lo! a star is shining,
Look aloft! look aloft!
Hath the oppressor bound thee,
Fortune known so oft?
Cease thy sad repining,
Lo! a star is shining,
Look aloft! look aloft!
See, where bright before thee,
Beams a planet o'er thee,
Graciously and soft!
Seems the hour not brighter,
Feels the chain not lighter—
Look aloft! look aloft!
Beams a planet o'er thee,
Graciously and soft!
Seems the hour not brighter,
Feels the chain not lighter—
Look aloft! look aloft!
Fond, in future hours,
Life shall bring thee flow'rs,
As youth knew them oft;
Banish, then, thy sadness,
For a holy gladness,
Sent thee from aloft.
Life shall bring thee flow'rs,
As youth knew them oft;
Banish, then, thy sadness,
For a holy gladness,
Sent thee from aloft.
And, when earth is dreary,
Hopes grow sick and weary,
As we feel them oft;
Cheer thee—do not languish,
Let thine eye of anguish,
Look aloft—look aloft.
Hopes grow sick and weary,
As we feel them oft;
Cheer thee—do not languish,
Let thine eye of anguish,
Look aloft—look aloft.
57
The Prayer of the Parent.
Oh! Father, dwelling high,Distant yet ever nigh,—
In this dark hour,
We bend, we bow to Thee,
Low heart on humbled knee:—
Let not thy hand with power,
Fall on the head so dear;
Spare us, in mercy spare,
Leave us this flower.
Spare us this agony,
Let us not see it die,
That child so dear;
Oh! cool its burning brow,
Come to its succor now,
Spare us, oh! spare!
58
Fragment from the Psalms.
The heavens he stretcheth abroad as a tent,O'er the ocean the arch of his dwelling he binds;
The clouds for a chariot round him are bent,
And onward he speeds on the wings of the winds!
59
Vision of the Seraphim.
ISAIAH VI.
'Twas in the year when King Uzziah died,
That, in a vision,—seated in his pride,
These eyes beheld Jehovah on his throne,
High lifted, and in majesty, alone.
His train of glory filled the temple's space,
Whilst round him stood the servants of his grace,
The seraphim six-winged, each in place;
Each with two wings still mantled up his face,
As still unfit, the master's eye to meet.
Still with two other wings each wrapt his feet,
While from his shoulders, two outspread for flight,
Declared his service ready, day and night.
Then one took up the anthem for the other,
And each pure seraph echoed back his brother,
As still with music from divinest tongue,
And this the song of homage which they sung,
That, in a vision,—seated in his pride,
These eyes beheld Jehovah on his throne,
High lifted, and in majesty, alone.
His train of glory filled the temple's space,
Whilst round him stood the servants of his grace,
The seraphim six-winged, each in place;
Each with two wings still mantled up his face,
As still unfit, the master's eye to meet.
Still with two other wings each wrapt his feet,
While from his shoulders, two outspread for flight,
Declared his service ready, day and night.
Then one took up the anthem for the other,
And each pure seraph echoed back his brother,
As still with music from divinest tongue,
And this the song of homage which they sung,
“Oh! Holy! Holy! Holy! Ever Holy!
Jehovah, Lord of Hosts,
That fill'st the earth with majesty and grace!”
Jehovah, Lord of Hosts,
That fill'st the earth with majesty and grace!”
Even at the chaunt of these, so proud, yet lowly,
The great earth shook through all her hills and coasts,
While clouds of reeking incense filled the space.
The great earth shook through all her hills and coasts,
While clouds of reeking incense filled the space.
60
The Universal Power of God.
JOB IX.
What would'st thou teach I do not know,That man is nought, to God the foe?—
Who hath withstood his mighty hand—
The wise, the powerful of the land?—
His hand, that in the hour of wrath,
Hurls the great mountains from his path,—
Shakes earth's foundations to their fall,
And makes its pillars tremble all?
He speaks—the sun delights no eyes—
The stars he seals up in the skies;
The heavens in loneliness he spreads,
And walks o'er ocean's billowy heads!
Libra, the Polar Star he made,
The chambers of the South arrayed,
The seven great lights, and all the host,
Whose glories blind us, guiding most.
Great things, unsearchable by men,
And wondrous, far beyond his ken,
He doth with numerous hands;—even now,
His eye is passing o'er my brow,
And yet I see not;—passing there,
Before me, and I'm not aware!
He takes, and who shall then restore?—
Who ask ‘what doest thou?’ Know'st thou more?
61
The Triumphal March of the Sun.
PSALM XIX.
For the sun hath he pitched a tent in heaven,From whence, as a bridegroom, forth he goes,
As the hero, out of his chamber, rejoicing,
Proud of his victory over his foes;—
He goeth forth from the verge of heaven,
To the ends thereof he speedeth his way,
And with the beams of his light and his beauty,
He filleth the earth with the smiles of day.
62
The Quest for Peace.
Lead me not thither! 'Tis not in the halls,
Where mirth and merriment prolong the hour,
Nor in the bright and purple-trophied walls,
Where pride and pomp display the form of power:—
Where mirth and merriment prolong the hour,
Nor in the bright and purple-trophied walls,
Where pride and pomp display the form of power:—
As little may we seek her where the throng,
Wayward and still unheeding, crowd the shrine,
Where wild ambition, borne with shouts along,
Proclaims his sway in minstrelsy and wine;—
Wayward and still unheeding, crowd the shrine,
Where wild ambition, borne with shouts along,
Proclaims his sway in minstrelsy and wine;—
She that we seek, was never nursed in dreams
Of glory, or the passionate lust of rule;
Still striving in, still fettered by, the schemes
Where he who toils for fame becomes its fool.
Of glory, or the passionate lust of rule;
Still striving in, still fettered by, the schemes
Where he who toils for fame becomes its fool.
63
And, ah! to love as little may we look—
His eager thirst, still hostile to our quest,
Its milder virtues never yet could brook;—
Love in the heart drives peace from out the breast.
His eager thirst, still hostile to our quest,
Its milder virtues never yet could brook;—
Love in the heart drives peace from out the breast.
And, who that knows the miser—how his fears
Grow with his gains, and, with each bright increase,
Furrow the cheeks, that, never blessed with tears,
Betray a barren soul that knows not peace.
Grow with his gains, and, with each bright increase,
Furrow the cheeks, that, never blessed with tears,
Betray a barren soul that knows not peace.
Oh! not with these that daughter of delight!
She has no life with such as vex the mine—
Who joy in pomps, who seek the heady fight—
Who cleave for commerce the deep ocean brine:
She has no life with such as vex the mine—
Who joy in pomps, who seek the heady fight—
Who cleave for commerce the deep ocean brine:
Who, with the vain, still haunt the shrine of power,
Who deem all answer'd when the proud replies—
Who, with the jocund, fly to pleasure's bower,
And live but in the life that fills the eyes.
Who deem all answer'd when the proud replies—
Who, with the jocund, fly to pleasure's bower,
And live but in the life that fills the eyes.
Ah! whither for this boon o'er all the rest?
To love, which hath no beauty for the sight—
Joy, that withholds temptation from the quest—
A home which faith can only seek by night.
To love, which hath no beauty for the sight—
Joy, that withholds temptation from the quest—
A home which faith can only seek by night.
64
Duty.
Well hast thou said, that mine was but a madness,
The toys I sought, the pleasant hopes pursued,
Sweetly they seem'd to smile, and shapes of gladness,
Gather'd in fancy, won as soon as woo'd.
But soothly has the sage denounc'd the pleasure
Thus quickly yielding to the grasp and lure;
How small its worth, how very brief its measure,
How formed to cheat, how little to endure.
The toys I sought, the pleasant hopes pursued,
Sweetly they seem'd to smile, and shapes of gladness,
Gather'd in fancy, won as soon as woo'd.
But soothly has the sage denounc'd the pleasure
Thus quickly yielding to the grasp and lure;
How small its worth, how very brief its measure,
How formed to cheat, how little to endure.
There is nought sure but sorrow and transition,
And best he wills, who to his task has brought
The stern resolve to work in his condition,
Nor to its profit, nor its loss, give thought.
The duty is not less assign'd to being,
Though not a smile of fortune crowns the toil;
There is no refuge from the task in fleeing,
And wisdom makes it happiness to moil.
And best he wills, who to his task has brought
The stern resolve to work in his condition,
Nor to its profit, nor its loss, give thought.
The duty is not less assign'd to being,
Though not a smile of fortune crowns the toil;
There is no refuge from the task in fleeing,
And wisdom makes it happiness to moil.
Not from the bird or beast we take our moral,—
Man, only, has the privilege to wear
His crown of thorns—far nobler than the laurel,—
And wins his immortality from care.
He forfeits his high destiny, imploring
That freedom which is subject to him still;
The dog that sleeps, the bird that sings in soaring—
These are but lowly vassals at his will.
Man, only, has the privilege to wear
His crown of thorns—far nobler than the laurel,—
And wins his immortality from care.
He forfeits his high destiny, imploring
That freedom which is subject to him still;
The dog that sleeps, the bird that sings in soaring—
These are but lowly vassals at his will.
65
The World at the Sight of God.
HABBAKUK C. III.
The mountains trembling saw thee,The waters fled thine eye;
And ocean lifted up its voice,
And raised its billowy hands on high;
The sun and moon within their tents,
Stood still as they beheld thee rise,
And shrunk to see thine arrows speed,
Thy shafts of lightning rend the skies.
Jacob Blesses Judah.
GENESIS C. XLIX.
Judah! the leader in the strife,Thy brethren, for their chief shall own;
Thy hand shall rob the foe of life,
Thy people bow before thy throne.
Thou, the young lion of the waste,
In spoils of every foe shalt rise;
Sleep safe, a lion still unchased,
With none so bold to ope thine eyes.
Nor shall thy sway be dispossess'd,
Thy sceptre from thy hand depart;
And thou shalt win thy goal of rest,
To sleep in peace upon thy heart.
66
The Early Dead.
Bring to the grave the beautiful and bright,
And spread the turf above her:—'tis the doom!—
Thus sinks each human glory to the tomb,
Even as a star, that rushing from the sight,
Leaves all a vacant sadness in the night.
And spread the turf above her:—'tis the doom!—
Thus sinks each human glory to the tomb,
Even as a star, that rushing from the sight,
Leaves all a vacant sadness in the night.
Shall we deplore,—though lovely as the flow'rs,
Sweet as the blossoming zephyrs?—who shall stand,
Beholding but a sunshine in the land,
Without the sickness of some cloudy hours
To taint the fragrance of his cherish'd bow'rs?
Sweet as the blossoming zephyrs?—who shall stand,
Beholding but a sunshine in the land,
Without the sickness of some cloudy hours
To taint the fragrance of his cherish'd bow'rs?
Had nature no ascendant, glorious faith—
Were there no sun beyond the desolate grave,
Strongly to lighten up and still to save,—
'Twere terrible, indeed, to meet with Death,
Yielding up every hope in yielding breath.
Were there no sun beyond the desolate grave,
Strongly to lighten up and still to save,—
'Twere terrible, indeed, to meet with Death,
Yielding up every hope in yielding breath.
But we have promise,—and this delicate rose,
Broke rudely from the stalk while blossoming,
With all the fruitage of a fertile spring,
Has but descended to a brief repose,
Where wild storm never beats—where rude wind never blows.
Broke rudely from the stalk while blossoming,
With all the fruitage of a fertile spring,
Has but descended to a brief repose,
Where wild storm never beats—where rude wind never blows.
67
Mercy's Dream.
FROM BUNYAN.
Ah, bless'd of Heaven, and loved of earth,
Well may thy bosom bound with mirth,
A music of the house and heart
Shall never from thy dream depart.
Well may thy bosom bound with mirth,
A music of the house and heart
Shall never from thy dream depart.
Thou soul of innocence, 'tis given
For such as thee, a song of heaven,
A music blessing still, and sure
For dreams as fond, and hearts as pure.
For such as thee, a song of heaven,
A music blessing still, and sure
For dreams as fond, and hearts as pure.
What tho' the worldling laughs with scorn,
To hear thee moan with soul forlorn;
Ah! with that moaning o'er thy heart,
Its cruel hardness must depart.
To hear thee moan with soul forlorn;
Ah! with that moaning o'er thy heart,
Its cruel hardness must depart.
The opening heavens behold thy grief,
And one descends to bring relief;
He bids thy tears and anguish cease,
And whispers fondly—“be at peace!”
And one descends to bring relief;
He bids thy tears and anguish cease,
And whispers fondly—“be at peace!”
Rich garments o'er thy limbs are spread,
A crown of beauty decks thy head;
Thy neck with chains, thine ears with rings,
Betoken gifts of loftier things.
A crown of beauty decks thy head;
Thy neck with chains, thine ears with rings,
Betoken gifts of loftier things.
68
He bids thee follow—bright before,
Unfolds the high and holy door;
A mansion glorious as the sun,
And, on the throne, the Eternal One!
Unfolds the high and holy door;
A mansion glorious as the sun,
And, on the throne, the Eternal One!
Daughter, a blessed dream is thine!—
He bids thee welcome to his shrine;
Thy toils are done, thy sorrows cease,
That heavenly vision brings thee peace.
He bids thee welcome to his shrine;
Thy toils are done, thy sorrows cease,
That heavenly vision brings thee peace.
Innocent maiden, well for thee,
The laughter of the heart set free,
Untroubled by the worldling's scorn,
And blest, because to trouble born.
The laughter of the heart set free,
Untroubled by the worldling's scorn,
And blest, because to trouble born.
Thus the pure spirit, clad in grace,
Meets God in vision, face to face;
It needs not hours of waking pray'r,
Nor watchful thoughts to win him near.
Meets God in vision, face to face;
It needs not hours of waking pray'r,
Nor watchful thoughts to win him near.
In dreams of souls so pure as thine
Comes evermore the form divine;
Thy sleep, untroubled still by guile,
Lies sure and sacred in his smile.
Comes evermore the form divine;
Thy sleep, untroubled still by guile,
Lies sure and sacred in his smile.
69
Plaint for the First Born.
Oh! blasted are the blossoms of the tree,
Once set for thee;—
Leaves blighted, color vanish'd, odor flown,
All that was lovely, gone,—
All reft from sight and sense, when thou wast reft from me.
Once set for thee;—
Leaves blighted, color vanish'd, odor flown,
All that was lovely, gone,—
All reft from sight and sense, when thou wast reft from me.
And wherefore should the tree or flower survive?
Thou dost not live;
'Twas in thy presence that they brought delight
To sense and sight,
And kept the soul still steep'd in dews of sweetness bright.
Thou dost not live;
'Twas in thy presence that they brought delight
To sense and sight,
And kept the soul still steep'd in dews of sweetness bright.
Yet still, in dearest memories of thee,
Their joys I see;
Oft when the noonday sun is beating warm,
I note thy form,
Crouch'd, in the well known shade, beneath that old oak tree.
Their joys I see;
Oft when the noonday sun is beating warm,
I note thy form,
Crouch'd, in the well known shade, beneath that old oak tree.
I hear the gentle music of thy words,
Music like any bird's;
And all forgot, that dread and rushing doom,
I dream of days to come,
Thou smiling at my hearth with cheeks of maiden bloom.
Music like any bird's;
And all forgot, that dread and rushing doom,
I dream of days to come,
Thou smiling at my hearth with cheeks of maiden bloom.
70
My child, my child,—in blindness of delight,
With thee in sight,—
I did forget that, charter'd to destroy,
Death spared no joy,
And innocence on earth had little right.
With thee in sight,—
I did forget that, charter'd to destroy,
Death spared no joy,
And innocence on earth had little right.
And in my heart's most fond forgetfulness,
With thee to bless,
It needed that the Sire of Souls should send
Some sudden friend,
Else might I never hope thy angel lip to press.
With thee to bless,
It needed that the Sire of Souls should send
Some sudden friend,
Else might I never hope thy angel lip to press.
Despondency and Yearning.
I pine for the free air and far dominion,
And weep to feel my spirit in the chain—
I chafe, as chafes the bird with broken pinion,
That once has scann'd alike the sky and main.
And weep to feel my spirit in the chain—
I chafe, as chafes the bird with broken pinion,
That once has scann'd alike the sky and main.
I mourn that with an ever hopeless spirit,
Still seeking for the realm I may not win,
This loop-hole province I must still inherit,
As if the sin of others were my sin.
Still seeking for the realm I may not win,
This loop-hole province I must still inherit,
As if the sin of others were my sin.
Shall I not use the wing, and with the morning,
Win the proud boon of spirit liberty;
Nor fettered thus, myself and nature scorning,
Turn sickening from the soil I still must see.
Win the proud boon of spirit liberty;
Nor fettered thus, myself and nature scorning,
Turn sickening from the soil I still must see.
71
Alas! the day and night still blend together,—
No sooner does the eye behold the sun,
Than glooms the storm and comes the fearful weather,
Day shrinks away in clouds, night rushes on!
No sooner does the eye behold the sun,
Than glooms the storm and comes the fearful weather,
Day shrinks away in clouds, night rushes on!
The soul, too, has its night, a perilous hour,—
The mind its madness, and the heart its pain;
Thorns still begird the fresh and scented flower,
And he who sings hath yet a song in vain.
The mind its madness, and the heart its pain;
Thorns still begird the fresh and scented flower,
And he who sings hath yet a song in vain.
He may not rest, with idiot satisfaction,
Beneath the cank'ring chain, the curse, the clay,
But, longing for a wing of sleepless action,
Soar for the blessed clime, the enduring day.
Beneath the cank'ring chain, the curse, the clay,
But, longing for a wing of sleepless action,
Soar for the blessed clime, the enduring day.
Children the Gift of Heaven.
PSALM CXXVII.
Lo! children are heaven's gifts, and he is blest,Who hath them for an heritage for good—
His sons shall be as arrows in his hand,
And happy he, and unashamed, when foes
Would bring him for harsh judgment to the King,
Whose quiver with such hero shafts is full.
72
The Shepherd's Birth.
Where, among the pasturing rocks,
The glad shepherds kept their flocks,
Came an angel to the fold,
And, with voice of rapture, told,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born!
The glad shepherds kept their flocks,
Came an angel to the fold,
And, with voice of rapture, told,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born!
Born in Bethlehem, sacred place,
Of a virgin full of grace;—
In a manger, lowly spot,
Symbol of his mortal lot,
Lo! the Saviour, Christ, is born!
Of a virgin full of grace;—
In a manger, lowly spot,
Symbol of his mortal lot,
Lo! the Saviour, Christ, is born!
Dread and glorious was the bright
Of that sudden, shining light,
Which, around the angel, then,
Token'd to the simple men,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born!
Of that sudden, shining light,
Which, around the angel, then,
Token'd to the simple men,
That the Saviour, Christ, was born!
But the voice that filled the blaze,
Cheer'd them in their deep amaze;—
“Tidings of great joy I bring,
In the coming of your King,
The true Shepherd, Christ, is born.”
Cheer'd them in their deep amaze;—
“Tidings of great joy I bring,
In the coming of your King,
The true Shepherd, Christ, is born.”
| Sabbath lyrics ; or, songs from scripture | |