Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander Edited, with a preface, by William Alexander |
 | II. | II
POEMS ON SACRED SUBJECTS |
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| I. |
 | II. |
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| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VII. |
 | Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander |  |
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II
POEMS ON SACRED SUBJECTS
Old Testament.
I. Part I.
THE CAVE OF MACHPELAH.
“There they buried Abraham, and Sarah his wife, there they
buried Isaac and Rebekah his wife, and there I buried Leah.”
—Gen. xlix. 31.
Calm is it in the dim cathedral cloister,
Where lie the dead all couched in marble rare,
Where the shades thicken, and the breath hangs moister
Than in the sunlit air:
Where lie the dead all couched in marble rare,
Where the shades thicken, and the breath hangs moister
Than in the sunlit air:
Where the chance ray that makes the carved stone whiter,
Tints with a crimson, or a violet light
Some pale old Bishop with his staff and mitre,
Some stiff crusading knight!
Tints with a crimson, or a violet light
Some pale old Bishop with his staff and mitre,
Some stiff crusading knight!
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Sweet is it where the little graves fling shadows
In the green churchyard, on the shaven grass,
And a faint cowslip fragrance from the meadows
O'er the low wall doth pass!
In the green churchyard, on the shaven grass,
And a faint cowslip fragrance from the meadows
O'er the low wall doth pass!
More sweet—more calm in that fair valley's bosom
The burial place in Ephron's pasture ground,
Where the oil-olive shed her snowy blossom,
And the red grape was found,
The burial place in Ephron's pasture ground,
Where the oil-olive shed her snowy blossom,
And the red grape was found,
When the great pastoral prince with love undying
Rose up in anguish from the face of death,
And weighed the silver shekels for its buying
Before the sons of Heth.
Rose up in anguish from the face of death,
And weighed the silver shekels for its buying
Before the sons of Heth.
Here, when the measure of his days was numbered
—Days few, and evil in this vale of tears!—
At Sarah's side the faithful Patriarch slumbered,
An old man full of years:
—Days few, and evil in this vale of tears!—
At Sarah's side the faithful Patriarch slumbered,
An old man full of years:
Here, holy Isaac, meek of heart and gentle,
And the fair maid who came to him from far,
And the sad sire who knew all throes parental,
And meek-eyed Leah, are;
And the fair maid who came to him from far,
And the sad sire who knew all throes parental,
And meek-eyed Leah, are;
She rests not here, the beautiful of feature,
For whom her Jacob wrought his years twice o'er,
And deemed them but as one, for that fair creature,
So dear the love he bore!
For whom her Jacob wrought his years twice o'er,
And deemed them but as one, for that fair creature,
So dear the love he bore!
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Nor Israel's son beloved,
who brought him sleeping
With a long pomp of woe to Canaan's shade,
Till all the people wondered at the weeping
By the Egyptians made.
With a long pomp of woe to Canaan's shade,
Till all the people wondered at the weeping
By the Egyptians made.
Like roses from the same tree gathered yearly,
And flung together in one vase to keep,—
Some but not all who loved so well, and dearly,
Lie here in quiet sleep.
And flung together in one vase to keep,—
Some but not all who loved so well, and dearly,
Lie here in quiet sleep.
What though the Moslem mosque be in the valley,
Though faithless hands have sealed the sacred cave,
And the red Prophet's children shout “El Allah,”
Over the Hebrew's grave:
Though faithless hands have sealed the sacred cave,
And the red Prophet's children shout “El Allah,”
Over the Hebrew's grave:
Yet a day cometh when those white walls shaking
Shall give again to light the living dead,
And Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, re-awaking
Spring from their rocky bed.
Shall give again to light the living dead,
And Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, re-awaking
Spring from their rocky bed.
RACHEL.
“And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephrath.”
—Gen. xxxv. 19.
The graveyard by the river lies,
In the heart of the old hills;
Over the graves the sycamore
A honey breath distils,
And from its top the mountain thrush
Breaks out in sudden thrills.
In the heart of the old hills;
Over the graves the sycamore
A honey breath distils,
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Breaks out in sudden thrills.
About the graves the river runs
With a low monotonous fall,
Like murmur in a mourner's heart
Who sheds no tear at all,
But ever maketh to herself
A moan continual.
With a low monotonous fall,
Like murmur in a mourner's heart
Who sheds no tear at all,
But ever maketh to herself
A moan continual.
It was at crimson sunset time
I sat in that quiet place,
And watched the shadows wrap the hill
From purple height, to base,
Like sorrow darkening silently
A happy human face.
I sat in that quiet place,
And watched the shadows wrap the hill
From purple height, to base,
Like sorrow darkening silently
A happy human face.
The yellow furze in lines of light
Stood out on its bosom cold,
As if the gilded sunset clouds
When down the west they rolled
Had dropped upon the mountain side
A portion of their gold.
Stood out on its bosom cold,
As if the gilded sunset clouds
When down the west they rolled
Had dropped upon the mountain side
A portion of their gold.
I sat beside a mother's grave
Who had travailed sore, and died—
A sun that set when into Heaven
One little star did glide—
A rose amid its opening buds
Cut off in summer's pride.
Who had travailed sore, and died—
A sun that set when into Heaven
One little star did glide—
A rose amid its opening buds
Cut off in summer's pride.
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I thought of her whom Jacob toiled
In the olden time to win,
Who passed away before her arm
Had clasped her Benjamin,
Where Bethel's haunted plains are passed
And Ephrath's fields begin.
In the olden time to win,
Who passed away before her arm
Had clasped her Benjamin,
Where Bethel's haunted plains are passed
And Ephrath's fields begin.
She died, when joy's full measure throbbed
Like a strong pulse in her breast—
When once again of baby lips
Her bosom should be pressed,
And yet another living son
Sink on her heart to rest.
Like a strong pulse in her breast—
When once again of baby lips
Her bosom should be pressed,
And yet another living son
Sink on her heart to rest.
O, lesson meet for us to learn,
With our dreams of earthly joy—
Who build our golden hopes so high,
And still without alloy,
And then they fade,—or we are gone
Like Rachel from her boy!
With our dreams of earthly joy—
Who build our golden hopes so high,
And still without alloy,
And then they fade,—or we are gone
Like Rachel from her boy!
There is one hope that faileth not,
For it triumphs o'er the grave;
The Patriarch saw it dimly bright
Beyond his burial cave,
I read it on that Christian tomb—
The life that Jesus gave!
For it triumphs o'er the grave;
The Patriarch saw it dimly bright
Beyond his burial cave,
I read it on that Christian tomb—
The life that Jesus gave!
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JACOB AND PHARAOH.
“Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been.”—
Gen. xlvii. 9.
How rarely boyhood loves to paint
In glowing tints his future bright,
A picture where no line is faint—
Whose very clouds are touched with light.
In glowing tints his future bright,
A picture where no line is faint—
Whose very clouds are touched with light.
And girlhood hails a world unknown
And reads it in her own glad dreams,
As lilies see themselves alone
Reflected in their azure streams.
And reads it in her own glad dreams,
As lilies see themselves alone
Reflected in their azure streams.
But rosy clouds that morning brings,
Ere noon may deepen into thunder—
And life's dark stream has sterner things
Than silver lilies growing under.
Ere noon may deepen into thunder—
And life's dark stream has sterner things
Than silver lilies growing under.
So had he found, the Patriarch old,
Who, reckoning o'er by Pharaoh's chair
His hundred years and thirty, told
How evil, and how few they were.
Who, reckoning o'er by Pharaoh's chair
His hundred years and thirty, told
How evil, and how few they were.
One lingering look he backward cast—
Those long dim years lay steeped in gloom,
And through the mist that wrapped the past
He saw but shapes of sorrow loom.
Those long dim years lay steeped in gloom,
And through the mist that wrapped the past
He saw but shapes of sorrow loom.
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The parting of his youth was there,
The cheated love in Leah's bower,
The lingering toil, the long despair
For Joseph lost in evil hour.
The cheated love in Leah's bower,
The lingering toil, the long despair
For Joseph lost in evil hour.
And such a reckoning thine must be,
When time shall disenchant thine eyes,
Fond youth! and life's reality
Break on thee with a sad surprise.
When time shall disenchant thine eyes,
Fond youth! and life's reality
Break on thee with a sad surprise.
But not for this bright hope forego
Or scant one glowing dream of pleasure,
Though life shall never find below
A cup to hold thy brimming measure.
Or scant one glowing dream of pleasure,
Though life shall never find below
A cup to hold thy brimming measure.
For thoughts of great and glorious things
That move thy soul with inward force,
Are but thy spirit's secret springs,
Uprising to their awful source—
That move thy soul with inward force,
Are but thy spirit's secret springs,
Uprising to their awful source—
The touches of a hand divine
Still lingering on thy soiléd face—
Throbs in that deathless heart of thine
That pants for its immortal place.
Still lingering on thy soiléd face—
Throbs in that deathless heart of thine
That pants for its immortal place.
Dream on! but pitch thine hopes still higher,
Like eagles soaring to the sun;
The wildest stretch of man's desire
Can ne'er surpass what Christ has won.
Like eagles soaring to the sun;
The wildest stretch of man's desire
Can ne'er surpass what Christ has won.
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There, where for Him down sunless skies
Eternal Hallelujahs stream—
The truth of thine ideal lies,
The substance of thy youthful dream.
Eternal Hallelujahs stream—
The truth of thine ideal lies,
The substance of thy youthful dream.
MOSES' CHOICE.
“Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God,
than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.”—Heb. xi. 25.
He dwelt in glory, where the light
Fell soft by day in Pharaoh's halls;
And painted lamps the livelong night
Flung ghostly shadows on the walls.
Fell soft by day in Pharaoh's halls;
And painted lamps the livelong night
Flung ghostly shadows on the walls.
All sounds were there of love and sport,
Sweet song of lute, wild laughter ringing,
The splash of fountains in the court,
And birds in stately gardens singing.
Sweet song of lute, wild laughter ringing,
The splash of fountains in the court,
And birds in stately gardens singing.
And cups, that on their carven ledge
Bore shapes that seemed to hail with joy
The wine that bubbled to their edge,
Were proffered to the Hebrew boy.
Bore shapes that seemed to hail with joy
The wine that bubbled to their edge,
Were proffered to the Hebrew boy.
And wrinkled seers that hour by hour
Traced starry dreams on silent stone—
And wiser yet, to whom each power
Of Nature's secret things was known,—
Traced starry dreams on silent stone—
And wiser yet, to whom each power
Of Nature's secret things was known,—
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Came round him with their wisdom weird,
And bade his sharpened reason soar
Through shadowy realms, half known, half feared.
And taught him all Egyptian lore.
And bade his sharpened reason soar
Through shadowy realms, half known, half feared.
And taught him all Egyptian lore.
But more he loved the scanty fare,
The shepherd's toil by vale and hill,
The wandering in the desert bare
With one bright vision leading still.
The shepherd's toil by vale and hill,
The wandering in the desert bare
With one bright vision leading still.
And other music set on fire
His youthful soul, with cadence strong—
Such strains as rush'd from Miriam's lyre,
Winged with prophetic words of song.
His youthful soul, with cadence strong—
Such strains as rush'd from Miriam's lyre,
Winged with prophetic words of song.
Rather he chose to suffer woe
With God's own people in the wild,
Than wrapped around with regal show
To bear the name of Pharaoh's child.
With God's own people in the wild,
Than wrapped around with regal show
To bear the name of Pharaoh's child.
O, blessed choice! and such be ours—
For better far some quiet place,
Where simple men in lowly bowers
Love God's great Name and seek His face,
For better far some quiet place,
Where simple men in lowly bowers
Love God's great Name and seek His face,
Than joys mid hearts to folly given,
Where pleasure drives the hours away,
Without a thought of God or Heaven—
Or dream that lasts beyond to-day;
Where pleasure drives the hours away,
Without a thought of God or Heaven—
Or dream that lasts beyond to-day;
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Where world-wise men with scornful sneer,
Tell of high deed, and holy word,
O rather like that meek old seer,
Our choice be those who love the Lord.
Tell of high deed, and holy word,
O rather like that meek old seer,
Our choice be those who love the Lord.
THE MANNA IN THE WILDERNESS.
“And when the dew that lay was gone up, behold upon the
face of the wilderness there lay a small round thing, as small as
the hoar frost upon the ground.”—Exod. xvi. 14.
The long low streaks of crimson lay
Fringing the level sands,
As night was blushing into day
O'er Israel's pilgrim bands.
Fringing the level sands,
As night was blushing into day
O'er Israel's pilgrim bands.
Hot went the fiery sun below—
Red-hot he comes again,
Then what is this like beaded snow
That whitens all the plain?
Red-hot he comes again,
Then what is this like beaded snow
That whitens all the plain?
Never from distant Sinai's height
The frost-wind wandering here
Hath bound in silver fetters bright
The desert parched and drear.
The frost-wind wandering here
Hath bound in silver fetters bright
The desert parched and drear.
Never as gentle as a kiss
The snow flakes falling round
Dropped on its breast—then what is this,
Like hoar frost on the ground?
The snow flakes falling round
Dropped on its breast—then what is this,
Like hoar frost on the ground?
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Haste, Israel! press the measure down,
Ere yonder sun have power,
To melt the desert's crystal crown—
This is God's manna-shower.
Ere yonder sun have power,
To melt the desert's crystal crown—
This is God's manna-shower.
We, to that unreaped harvest drawn,
Come watch their labours gay,
Who gather, 'neath the fragrant dawn,
Their sweet food day by day.
Come watch their labours gay,
Who gather, 'neath the fragrant dawn,
Their sweet food day by day.
Our careless lips say day and night,
“Give us our daily bread,”
How little dream we of the might
That erst the manna shed.
“Give us our daily bread,”
How little dream we of the might
That erst the manna shed.
The times of old bright pictures bring,
We give them little heed—
That clamouring host, that small white thing
Like coriander seed,
We give them little heed—
That clamouring host, that small white thing
Like coriander seed,
Found, though they never saw it fall,
When the dew left the land—
Are precious types to us, to all,
Of God's sustaining hand;—
When the dew left the land—
Are precious types to us, to all,
Of God's sustaining hand;—
Are types of faith in Christ above
That day by day returns,
Hangs on the fulness of His love,
Receives but ever yearns;
That day by day returns,
Hangs on the fulness of His love,
Receives but ever yearns;
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Of grace that feeds our inward part
Renewed but still the same,
The small thing leavening all the heart,
We saw not when it came.
Renewed but still the same,
The small thing leavening all the heart,
We saw not when it came.
They sought each morn their measure sweet
The food the Lord had given—
Come we each day to Jesus' feet,
And find the bread of Heaven!
The food the Lord had given—
Come we each day to Jesus' feet,
And find the bread of Heaven!
THE VICTORY OVER AMALEK.
“And it came to pass when Moses held up his hand that Israel
prevailed.”—Exod. xvii. 11.
On red Rephidim's battle plain
The banners sank and rose again;
The tumult of the wild affray
Rolled round to Horeb's mountain grey,
Rolled down to thirsty Meribah,
As Israel's host swept past,
And Amalek's fierce battle-cry
Came surging up the blast.
The banners sank and rose again;
The tumult of the wild affray
Rolled round to Horeb's mountain grey,
Rolled down to thirsty Meribah,
As Israel's host swept past,
And Amalek's fierce battle-cry
Came surging up the blast.
Above the strife the leader hung
With hands upraised, and suppliant tongue,
And still his wearied arm was stayed,
And still the unceasing prayer was prayed,
Till evening held the setting sun
Wrapt in her mantle pale,
And Amalek, and all his host
Rushed routed down the vale.
With hands upraised, and suppliant tongue,
And still his wearied arm was stayed,
And still the unceasing prayer was prayed,
Till evening held the setting sun
Wrapt in her mantle pale,
And Amalek, and all his host
Rushed routed down the vale.
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Then ask us not why day by day
The same sweet morning prayers we say,
Why night by night our evensong
Peals in the same soft strain along
Why children seek the mother's knee
At eve to lisp their prayer,
While lingers rosy-fingered sleep
O'er their fringed eyelids fair.
The same sweet morning prayers we say,
Why night by night our evensong
Peals in the same soft strain along
Why children seek the mother's knee
At eve to lisp their prayer,
While lingers rosy-fingered sleep
O'er their fringed eyelids fair.
Nor say “ye vex God's patient ear,
And vain the strains that linger here—
A soulless form, a weary round,
A cry that hath no echoing sound,—
Ye hear no voice,—ye see no sign—
Adown Heaven's crystal stair,
No white-robed angels gliding bring
An answer to your prayer.”
And vain the strains that linger here—
A soulless form, a weary round,
A cry that hath no echoing sound,—
Ye hear no voice,—ye see no sign—
Adown Heaven's crystal stair,
No white-robed angels gliding bring
An answer to your prayer.”
Nay, but God loves the constant cry,
He wills the words should never die
That speak our needs—Prayer pushes prayer
Up into Heaven's sublimer air,
There round the throne eternally
They pass, and still repass—
Our whispers are the airs that breathe
Above the sea of glass.
He wills the words should never die
That speak our needs—Prayer pushes prayer
Up into Heaven's sublimer air,
There round the throne eternally
They pass, and still repass—
Our whispers are the airs that breathe
Above the sea of glass.
Within His temple shrine of old
He bade the Priests their watches hold;
Still through the carven cedar flowers
The deep chant swelled at solemn hours,
Still day by day the incense burning
Crushed out its odours sweet,
Still, morn and eve, the lamps were lighted
Before the mercy-seat.
He bade the Priests their watches hold;
Still through the carven cedar flowers
The deep chant swelled at solemn hours,
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Crushed out its odours sweet,
Still, morn and eve, the lamps were lighted
Before the mercy-seat.
And Nature with her quiet force
Of powers that keep their ordered course,
And circle on we know not why,
Doth teach a hidden rule more high;
The dews may drop to feed the earth,
But why should planets glow?
Why should the golden daisy cups
Look yearly from below?
Of powers that keep their ordered course,
And circle on we know not why,
Doth teach a hidden rule more high;
The dews may drop to feed the earth,
But why should planets glow?
Why should the golden daisy cups
Look yearly from below?
Yet night by night, so calmly pale
The stars through Heaven's blue ocean sail,
Yet year by year like scattered beads
The wild flowers come to deck our meads.
All have their places and their parts
In Heaven's sublime decrees,
And words that seemed to wander wide
Shall find their end like these.
The stars through Heaven's blue ocean sail,
Yet year by year like scattered beads
The wild flowers come to deck our meads.
All have their places and their parts
In Heaven's sublime decrees,
And words that seemed to wander wide
Shall find their end like these.
A fiercer foe have we to check
Than Israel's dreaded Amalek,
And our dear Church hath many a charm
To prompt the lip, and nerve the arm—
Service, and psalm, and litany,
Strong prayer, and solemn rite—
Like Aaron holding up the hands
That wearied on the height.
Than Israel's dreaded Amalek,
And our dear Church hath many a charm
To prompt the lip, and nerve the arm—
Service, and psalm, and litany,
Strong prayer, and solemn rite—
Like Aaron holding up the hands
That wearied on the height.
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II. Part II.
CALEB AND JOSHUA.
“And Joshua the son of Nun, and Caleb the son of Jephunneh,
which were of them that searched the land, rent their clothes; and
they spake unto all the company of the children of Israel, saying,
‘The land which we passed through to search it, is an exceeding
good land.’”—Numb. xiv. 6, 7,
The mist-wrapp'd mountains stand like grisly shadows,
The driving clouds come blinding from the west,
O'er the black marshes, and the dripping meadows,
And the swollen river's breast.
The driving clouds come blinding from the west,
O'er the black marshes, and the dripping meadows,
And the swollen river's breast.
The clouds hang heavily in leaden masses
On the hilltops, or wildly eastward roll;
The struggling wind moans in the mountain passes,
Like an imprisoned soul.
On the hilltops, or wildly eastward roll;
The struggling wind moans in the mountain passes,
Like an imprisoned soul.
Who now could call up gleams of sunny weather,
Flooding the plain, and dancing on the rill,
And those soft shadows of the purple heather,
Straining th' unclouded hill?
Flooding the plain, and dancing on the rill,
And those soft shadows of the purple heather,
Straining th' unclouded hill?
Ah, no! like rainbow tints that children capture,
Even from our grasp unrealized they part;
Dream as we will, the summer's golden rapture
Thrills not the wintry heart.
Even from our grasp unrealized they part;
Dream as we will, the summer's golden rapture
Thrills not the wintry heart.
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And hard it is, when visible shadows bound us,
Tied to its duties, by its chidings vex'd,
With all of this world ever, ever round us,
To realize the next.
Tied to its duties, by its chidings vex'd,
With all of this world ever, ever round us,
To realize the next.
Hard was it haply in the desert lonely,
For those two hearts that tedious forty years;
Caleb and Joshua—found faithful only,
Amid a people's fears.
For those two hearts that tedious forty years;
Caleb and Joshua—found faithful only,
Amid a people's fears.
When night by night, a ring of fiery lustre,
The hot sun burned into the dead white sand;
When day by day, in the same weary cluster,
The tents stood on the land;
The hot sun burned into the dead white sand;
When day by day, in the same weary cluster,
The tents stood on the land;
And like the scanty plumes at some poor burial,
A few tall palms at furthest distance placed,
With their stiff shadows broke the blue ethereal
Of the monotonous waste:
A few tall palms at furthest distance placed,
With their stiff shadows broke the blue ethereal
Of the monotonous waste:
Hard was it to call up the cornfields golden,
The purple vintage by the brook of grapes,
The giant cedars in the forest olden,
The graceful mountain shapes.
The purple vintage by the brook of grapes,
The giant cedars in the forest olden,
The graceful mountain shapes.
Yet for all this, through all the lone recesses,
Of those wild hills shall summer smile again,
The stream shall dimple to her bright caresses,
The flowers shall paint the plain.
Of those wild hills shall summer smile again,
The stream shall dimple to her bright caresses,
The flowers shall paint the plain.
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Yet for all this, in Canaan Caleb's daughters
Dwelt by the upper and the nether springs,
Still Joshua led through Jordan's riven waters,
And o'er the necks of kings.
Dwelt by the upper and the nether springs,
Still Joshua led through Jordan's riven waters,
And o'er the necks of kings.
Yet for all this, true faith is eagle-sighted,
Steadying her gaze though the weak heart will shrink,
Into the land of sun and moon unlighted,
O'er the dark river's brink,
Steadying her gaze though the weak heart will shrink,
Into the land of sun and moon unlighted,
O'er the dark river's brink,
Into that summer where these wintry sorrows,
That wrap us round and round shall fall away,
Where from past joys no light the spirit borrows,
Christ is its Light for aye!
That wrap us round and round shall fall away,
Where from past joys no light the spirit borrows,
Christ is its Light for aye!
THE DEAD.
Suggested by a scene on Ascension Day.
“He that toucheth the dead body of any man shall be unclean
seven days.”—Num. xix. 11.
I heard the bells clang out, that told
It was the Lord's Ascension Day.
Leisurely the great river rolled,
Keeping its own eternal time;
And from the thorn and from the lime,
Sweet came the breeze of May.
It was the Lord's Ascension Day.
Leisurely the great river rolled,
Keeping its own eternal time;
And from the thorn and from the lime,
Sweet came the breeze of May.
Two wasted tapers flared and died,
Beside a little cradle bed,
Two sleeping babies lay inside;
No need for mother's lullaby,
A white cloth at their feet did lie,
A white cloth at their head.
Beside a little cradle bed,
Two sleeping babies lay inside;
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A white cloth at their feet did lie,
A white cloth at their head.
Soft primrose flowers that first unfurl
Were strewn amidst the snowy bands,
As like they lay as pearl to pearl,
As still, save when the mother press'd,
With restless lip those lips at rest,
Or kissed the waxen hands.
Were strewn amidst the snowy bands,
As like they lay as pearl to pearl,
As still, save when the mother press'd,
With restless lip those lips at rest,
Or kissed the waxen hands.
Yea, Christian mother, fold them fast,
Thou dost not fear defilement given;
No need of sprinkling ashes cast
On garment soiled and weeping face,
Polluted by that last embrace,
Until the seventh day's even.
Thou dost not fear defilement given;
No need of sprinkling ashes cast
On garment soiled and weeping face,
Polluted by that last embrace,
Until the seventh day's even.
Those pale twin brows were washen clean,
The shadow of the Cross is there;
Fair shrines where God Himself has been,
(And never Grecian reared a fane,
With marble of such delicate vein,
Or chiselled work so rare.)
The shadow of the Cross is there;
Fair shrines where God Himself has been,
(And never Grecian reared a fane,
With marble of such delicate vein,
Or chiselled work so rare.)
One fleshly form within the veil,
For sinner's sake has passed to-day,
And evermore the curse doth fail,
Because the glory that He set
On our man's nature lingers yet,
And we are hallow'd clay.
For sinner's sake has passed to-day,
And evermore the curse doth fail,
Because the glory that He set
On our man's nature lingers yet,
And we are hallow'd clay.
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O blessed creed for joy or pain,
And soothing e'en our worst distress,
Teaching that these shall live again;
Love unrebuked may linger now,
O'er the closed lip, and kiss the brow,
And hoard the silken tress.
And soothing e'en our worst distress,
Teaching that these shall live again;
Love unrebuked may linger now,
O'er the closed lip, and kiss the brow,
And hoard the silken tress.
These bodies of our pain and woe,
Wherein the spark of life divine
Was born, and nursed, and struggled so,
Like costly odours that all day,
Burn dimly in a lamp of clay,
Before some Indian shrine.
Wherein the spark of life divine
Was born, and nursed, and struggled so,
Like costly odours that all day,
Burn dimly in a lamp of clay,
Before some Indian shrine.
These bodies that weigh down the soul,
Shall live again in form and frame,
Though death have revell'd on the whole,
When the grave's victory is o'er,
And pain, and sin can hurt no more,
How chang'd, yet still the same!
Shall live again in form and frame,
Though death have revell'd on the whole,
When the grave's victory is o'er,
And pain, and sin can hurt no more,
How chang'd, yet still the same!
THE BURIAL OF MOSES.
“And He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab over
against Beth-peor, but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this
day.”—Deut. xxxiv. 6.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.
And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.
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And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeral
That ever pass'd on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth—
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
That ever pass'd on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth—
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills,
Open their thousand leaves;
So without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown,
The great procession swept.
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills,
Open their thousand leaves;
So without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown,
The great procession swept.
Perchance the bald old eagle,
On grey Beth-peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie,
Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking,
Still shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard,
That which man knoweth not.
On grey Beth-peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie,
Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking,
Still shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard,
That which man knoweth not.
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But when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed
While peals the minute gun.
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed
While peals the minute gun.
Amid the noblest of the land,
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honour'd place
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings
Along the emblazon'd wall.
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honour'd place
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings
Along the emblazon'd wall.
This was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breath'd a word.
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen
On the deathless page truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breath'd a word.
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen
On the deathless page truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
And had he not high honour,
The hill side for a pall,
To lie in state, while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,
And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,
Over his bier to wave,
And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave.
The hill side for a pall,
To lie in state, while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,
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Over his bier to wave,
And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave.
In that strange grave without a name,
Whence his uncoffin'd clay
Shall break again, O wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment Day,
And stand with glory wrapt around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife, that won our life,
With the Incarnate Son of God.
Whence his uncoffin'd clay
Shall break again, O wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment Day,
And stand with glory wrapt around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife, that won our life,
With the Incarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab's land!
O dark Beth-peor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell,
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep
Of him He loved so well.
O dark Beth-peor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell,
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep
Of him He loved so well.
RAHAB.
“By faith Rahab perished not with them that believed not,
when she had received the spies with peace.”—Heb. xi. 31.
Rise up, rise up, O Rahab;
And bind the scarlet thread
On the casement of thy chamber,
When the battle waxeth red.
And bind the scarlet thread
On the casement of thy chamber,
When the battle waxeth red.
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From the double feast of Gilgal,
From Jordan's cloven wave,
They come with sound of trumpet
With banner and with glaive.
From Jordan's cloven wave,
They come with sound of trumpet
With banner and with glaive.
Death to the foes of Israel!
But joy to thee, and thine,
To her who saved the spies of God,
Who shows the scarlet line!
But joy to thee, and thine,
To her who saved the spies of God,
Who shows the scarlet line!
'Twas in the time of harvest,
When the corn lay on the earth,
That first she bound the signal
And bade the spies go forth.
When the corn lay on the earth,
That first she bound the signal
And bade the spies go forth.
For a cry came to her spirit
From the far Egyptian coasts,
And a dread was in her bosom
Of the Mighty Lord of Hosts.
From the far Egyptian coasts,
And a dread was in her bosom
Of the Mighty Lord of Hosts.
And the faith of saints and martyrs
Lay brave at her heart's core,
As some inward pulse were throbbing
Of the kingly line she bore.
Lay brave at her heart's core,
As some inward pulse were throbbing
Of the kingly line she bore.
As there comes a sudden fragrance
In the last long winter's day,
From the paly silken primrose
Or the violet by the way.
In the last long winter's day,
From the paly silken primrose
Or the violet by the way.
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And we pause, and look around us,
And we feel through every vein
That the tender spring is coming
And the summer's rosy reign.
And we feel through every vein
That the tender spring is coming
And the summer's rosy reign.
In the twilight of our childhood,
When youth's shadows lie before,
There come thoughts into our bosoms
Like the spies to Rahab's door.
When youth's shadows lie before,
There come thoughts into our bosoms
Like the spies to Rahab's door.
And we scarcely know their value,
Or their power for good or ill,
But we feel they are God's angels,
And they seek us at His will.
Or their power for good or ill,
But we feel they are God's angels,
And they seek us at His will.
And we tremble at their presence,
And we blush to let them forth,
In some word of tender feeling,
Or some deed of Christian worth.
And we blush to let them forth,
In some word of tender feeling,
Or some deed of Christian worth.
Yet those guests perchance may witness
In that awful battle day,
When the foe is on the threshold,
And the gates of life give way:
In that awful battle day,
When the foe is on the threshold,
And the gates of life give way:
When the soul that seeks for safety,
Shall behold but one red sign—
But the blood drops of Atonement
On the cross of Love Divine!
Shall behold but one red sign—
But the blood drops of Atonement
On the cross of Love Divine!
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THE WARNING ANGEL.
“And an Angel of the Lord came up from Gilgal to Bochim.”
—Judges ii. 1.
An Angel of the Lord came up from Gilgal,
Up to the place of tears,
From where in the deep forest-calms
The ancient wind was singing psalms,
And all in tune, the tall green palms
Bow'd down their feathery spears.
Up to the place of tears,
From where in the deep forest-calms
The ancient wind was singing psalms,
And all in tune, the tall green palms
Bow'd down their feathery spears.
The Angel spake at Bochim to the people,
And like a whirlwind swept
His words of anger, as he told
Of heathen shrines within the fold,
Of heathen altars on the wold,
Till all the people wept.
And like a whirlwind swept
His words of anger, as he told
Of heathen shrines within the fold,
Of heathen altars on the wold,
Till all the people wept.
They wept, like husbandmen in summer weather
Who watch the ripening corn,
And see the crimson poppy stain
The yellowing sea of golden grain,
Like drops of blood: and all in vain
Their idle spring-time mourn.
Who watch the ripening corn,
And see the crimson poppy stain
The yellowing sea of golden grain,
Like drops of blood: and all in vain
Their idle spring-time mourn.
Cometh the Angel of the Lord full often
And standeth by our homes,
Not in his visible presence bright
Passing from Gilgal's palmy height
With word of power, and arm of might,
Yet evermore he comes.
And standeth by our homes,
Not in his visible presence bright
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With word of power, and arm of might,
Yet evermore he comes.
Perchance he takes death by the hand and standeth
Low knocking at our door,—
We miss one little lambkin's bleat,
The gabbling voice so wild and sweet,
The tottering of uneven feet
Along the nursery floor.
Low knocking at our door,—
We miss one little lambkin's bleat,
The gabbling voice so wild and sweet,
The tottering of uneven feet
Along the nursery floor.
Perchance he comes with sickness in his quiver,
And stirreth all the deeps
Of our whole inward life, and tells
Where in our bosom's secret cells
In its green grove some idol dwells,
Some sin unheeded sleeps.
And stirreth all the deeps
Of our whole inward life, and tells
Where in our bosom's secret cells
In its green grove some idol dwells,
Some sin unheeded sleeps.
But whether with sharp pain he come, or sorrow,
Happy who own him near;
Who o'er the bier, and by the bed,
Feel his white wings and know his tread
And softly say with bended head,
“An Angel hath been here!”
Happy who own him near;
Who o'er the bier, and by the bed,
Feel his white wings and know his tread
And softly say with bended head,
“An Angel hath been here!”
Yes, he hath come up surely to our Bochim
Out of the green palm-wood;
So hearken we God's awful word,
Lay bare our bosom's bleeding chord,
And make an offering to the Lord,
Even where the Angel stood.
Out of the green palm-wood;
So hearken we God's awful word,
Lay bare our bosom's bleeding chord,
And make an offering to the Lord,
Even where the Angel stood.
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GIDEON'S FLEECE.
“And Gideon said unto God, Let me prove, I pray Thee, but
this once with the fleece.”—Judges vi. 39.
All night long on hot Gilboa's mountain,
With unmoistened breath, the breezes blew;
All night long the green corn in the valley
Thirsted, thirsted for one drop of dew.
With unmoistened breath, the breezes blew;
All night long the green corn in the valley
Thirsted, thirsted for one drop of dew.
Came the warrior from his home in Ophrah,
Sought the white fleece in the mountain pass,
As he heard the crimson morning rustle
In the dry leaves of the bearded grass.
Sought the white fleece in the mountain pass,
As he heard the crimson morning rustle
In the dry leaves of the bearded grass.
Not a pearl was on the red pomegranate,
Not a diamond in the lily's crown,
Yet the fleece was heavy with its moisture,
Wet with dew-drops where no dew rained down.
Not a diamond in the lily's crown,
Yet the fleece was heavy with its moisture,
Wet with dew-drops where no dew rained down.
All night long the dew was on the olives,
Every dark leaf set in diamond drops;
Silver frosted lay the lowland meadows,
Silver frosted all the mountain-tops.
Every dark leaf set in diamond drops;
Silver frosted lay the lowland meadows,
Silver frosted all the mountain-tops.
Once again from Ophrah came the chieftain,
Sought his white fleece mid the dewy damps,
As the early sun looked through the woodlands
Lighting up a thousand crystal lamps.
Sought his white fleece mid the dewy damps,
As the early sun looked through the woodlands
Lighting up a thousand crystal lamps.
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Every bright leaf gave back from its bosom,
Of that breaking sun a semblance rare;
All the wet earth glistened like a mirror,
Yet the fleece lay dry and dewless there.
Of that breaking sun a semblance rare;
All the wet earth glistened like a mirror,
Yet the fleece lay dry and dewless there.
Type, strange type, of Israel's early glory,
Heaven-besprinkled when the earth was dry;
Mystic type too of her sad declining,
Who doth desolate, and dewless lie,
Heaven-besprinkled when the earth was dry;
Mystic type too of her sad declining,
Who doth desolate, and dewless lie,
When all earth is glistening in the Presence
Of the Sun that sets not night or day,
When the fulness of His Spirit droppeth
On the islands very far away.
Of the Sun that sets not night or day,
When the fulness of His Spirit droppeth
On the islands very far away.
Dream no more of Israel's sin and sorrow,
Of her glory and her grievous fall,
Hath that sacrament of shame and splendour
To thine own heart not a nearer call?
Of her glory and her grievous fall,
Hath that sacrament of shame and splendour
To thine own heart not a nearer call?
There are homes whereon the grace of Heaven
Falleth ever softly from above,
Homes by simple faith, and Christian duty,
Steeped in peace, and holiness, and love:
Falleth ever softly from above,
Homes by simple faith, and Christian duty,
Steeped in peace, and holiness, and love:
Churches where the voice of praise and blessing
Droppeth daily like the silver dew,
Where the earnest lip of love distilleth
Words, like water running through and through.
Droppeth daily like the silver dew,
Where the earnest lip of love distilleth
Words, like water running through and through.
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There are children trained in truth and goodness,
Graceless, careless in those holy homes,
There are hearts within those Christian temples,
Cold as angels carved upon the domes.
Graceless, careless in those holy homes,
There are hearts within those Christian temples,
Cold as angels carved upon the domes.
Places are there sin-defiled and barren,
Haunts of prayerless lips, and ruined souls:
Where some lonely heart, in secret, filleth
Cups of mercy, full as Gideon's bowls:
Haunts of prayerless lips, and ruined souls:
Where some lonely heart, in secret, filleth
Cups of mercy, full as Gideon's bowls:
Where some Christ-like spirit, pure and gentle,
Sheddeth moisture on the desert spot,
Feels a tender Spirit, in the darkness,
Dewing all the dryness of his lot.
Sheddeth moisture on the desert spot,
Feels a tender Spirit, in the darkness,
Dewing all the dryness of his lot.
Christ! be with us, that these hearts within us
Prove not graceless in the hour of grace;
Dew of heaven! fill us with the fulness
Of Thy Spirit in the dewless place.
Prove not graceless in the hour of grace;
Dew of heaven! fill us with the fulness
Of Thy Spirit in the dewless place.
SAMSON.
“And they called for Samson out of the prison-house, and he
made them sport.”—Judges xvi. 25.
“Bring the captive from the prison,”
Quoth the lordly Philistine,
“To-day we hold high festival
With banquet, and with wine.
Call all Philistia's nobles,
From the sea to the mountain gorge,
Call the maiden from the millstone
The warrior from the forge;
Quoth the lordly Philistine,
“To-day we hold high festival
With banquet, and with wine.
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From the sea to the mountain gorge,
Call the maiden from the millstone
The warrior from the forge;
“From all the rich corn country
'Twixt the hills, and the sandy plain,
Where five great cities ride like ships
Upon a golden main,
From Gaza where the fish-god
Hath many honoured shrines,
To Ashdod, and to Askelon,
And Jaffa on her wave-washed throne,
And Ekron girt with vines;
'Twixt the hills, and the sandy plain,
Where five great cities ride like ships
Upon a golden main,
From Gaza where the fish-god
Hath many honoured shrines,
To Ashdod, and to Askelon,
And Jaffa on her wave-washed throne,
And Ekron girt with vines;
“From fair pomegranate gardens
Red as the blushing east,
From thickets hung with oranges,
Like gold-lamps at a feast,
Come to the hall of Dagon!
Come throng his temple court!
To-day we bring the strong man forth
To make the people sport.”—
Red as the blushing east,
From thickets hung with oranges,
Like gold-lamps at a feast,
Come to the hall of Dagon!
Come throng his temple court!
To-day we bring the strong man forth
To make the people sport.”—
The eagle cast a shadow
As he sailed to and fro,
On far Lekiah's limestone cliff,
And on the sward below;—
The white clouds flung strange figures
On the corn, and the waving grass,
While the blind man ground in his prison-house,
Bound with his chains of brass.
But shades and lights more wonderful
Were in that lone dark place,
For the shadow of his own great deeds,
Was on the blind man's face.
As he sailed to and fro,
On far Lekiah's limestone cliff,
And on the sward below;—
The white clouds flung strange figures
On the corn, and the waving grass,
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Bound with his chains of brass.
But shades and lights more wonderful
Were in that lone dark place,
For the shadow of his own great deeds,
Was on the blind man's face.
At Timnath in the vineyards
He heard the lion roar,
And the Lord's Spirit mightily
Came on him as of yore;
Three thousand warriors bore him down
From Etam's rock again,
And he cast away their cords like flax,
And slew his thousand men.
He heard the lion roar,
And the Lord's Spirit mightily
Came on him as of yore;
Three thousand warriors bore him down
From Etam's rock again,
And he cast away their cords like flax,
And slew his thousand men.
Once more he bore the Gazite gates
Up Hebron's weary hill,
And at his side a woman's voice
Was sounding, sounding still.
And ever while his heavy hand
Ground in the prison drear,
“The Philistines be upon thee,”
Was sounding in his ear.
Up Hebron's weary hill,
And at his side a woman's voice
Was sounding, sounding still.
And ever while his heavy hand
Ground in the prison drear,
“The Philistines be upon thee,”
Was sounding in his ear.
In the chambers of its darkness,
When the Christian soul lies low,
Counting o'er his former graces;
And the spiritual foe
Shows his armies without number,
Shows his weapons keenly tried,
Let him look up through his blindness,
For the Lord is on his side.
When the wicked triumph greatly,
And the Dagon of their sin
Hath conquered both with guile and sword,
Cast down the servants of the Lord
And quenched good thoughts within;
Then let them tremble where they stand,
For the Lord's vengeance is at hand,
And He is sure to win.
When the Christian soul lies low,
Counting o'er his former graces;
And the spiritual foe
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Shows his weapons keenly tried,
Let him look up through his blindness,
For the Lord is on his side.
When the wicked triumph greatly,
And the Dagon of their sin
Hath conquered both with guile and sword,
Cast down the servants of the Lord
And quenched good thoughts within;
Then let them tremble where they stand,
For the Lord's vengeance is at hand,
And He is sure to win.
Come forth, thou blind old champion!
The people call thee now,
The day of wrath is come at length;
For lo! the seven locks of thy strength
Show grisly on thy brow.
A glorious death thou com'st to die,
A nation's wail thy funeral cry;
Lay hand upon the pillars twain,
And as they lean, and bend, and fall,
Lie down beneath the crushing wall,
Upon thy thousands slain.
The people call thee now,
The day of wrath is come at length;
For lo! the seven locks of thy strength
Show grisly on thy brow.
A glorious death thou com'st to die,
A nation's wail thy funeral cry;
Lay hand upon the pillars twain,
And as they lean, and bend, and fall,
Lie down beneath the crushing wall,
Upon thy thousands slain.
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HANNAH'S OFFERING.
“Therefore also have I lent him unto the Lord, as long as he
liveth, he shall be lent unto the Lord.”—I Sam. i. 28.
To Shiloh from the mountains,
Where Ephraim's grapes are trod,
The mother brought her offering
Unto the house of God.
The merchantmen from Edom
Give spices rich for gold,
But she doth bear a gift more rare,
Unto that sacred hold.
Where Ephraim's grapes are trod,
The mother brought her offering
Unto the house of God.
The merchantmen from Edom
Give spices rich for gold,
But she doth bear a gift more rare,
Unto that sacred hold.
There are lambs in Ephraim's pastures,
Pure as the drifted snows,
That lie on the brow of Lebanon,
For ever, like a rose.
There are heifers in her valleys,
And costly gifts they are—
But she doth bring a living thing,
That is more precious far.
Pure as the drifted snows,
That lie on the brow of Lebanon,
For ever, like a rose.
There are heifers in her valleys,
And costly gifts they are—
But she doth bring a living thing,
That is more precious far.
The little face that nestled
Into her heart at night,
The lips that lisping “mother,”
First thrilled her with delight.
He that in all home music
Was her one golden chord;
She brings him now to shrive her vow,
And leaves him with the Lord.
Into her heart at night,
The lips that lisping “mother,”
First thrilled her with delight.
He that in all home music
Was her one golden chord;
She brings him now to shrive her vow,
And leaves him with the Lord.
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The brow of the child Nazarite
Was open as the morn,
Whereon like gold-fringed cloudlets
Lay the bright locks unshorn—
The baby hand that rested
In hers was pure from stain,
As she brought him nigh to the old priest's eye,
Nor brought him forth again.
Was open as the morn,
Whereon like gold-fringed cloudlets
Lay the bright locks unshorn—
The baby hand that rested
In hers was pure from stain,
As she brought him nigh to the old priest's eye,
Nor brought him forth again.
O mothers, by the cradles
Of your baptizéd sons,
Weaving a web of happy years,
For those belovéd ones,
As in each passive feature
Some glorious hope ye trace,
And a long bright shade by the future made,
Lies on the sleeping face;
Of your baptizéd sons,
Weaving a web of happy years,
For those belovéd ones,
As in each passive feature
Some glorious hope ye trace,
And a long bright shade by the future made,
Lies on the sleeping face;
Give them a fate more noble,
In your unspoken thought,
Than earth, with her dreamy greatness
And fame, hath ever brought.
Bring them a free heart-offering,
Back to the God Who gave,
By the vows that were said on the infant head,
Over the hallowed wave.
In your unspoken thought,
Than earth, with her dreamy greatness
And fame, hath ever brought.
Bring them a free heart-offering,
Back to the God Who gave,
By the vows that were said on the infant head,
Over the hallowed wave.
O Christian, when thou bringest
An offering to God's shrine,
Take of the thing that is closest twined
Around that heart of thine—
The hope, or the pride, or the dearest love
That ever thy soul has known,
Lay them down there, in Christ's own care,
And He will bless the loan.
An offering to God's shrine,
Take of the thing that is closest twined
Around that heart of thine—
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That ever thy soul has known,
Lay them down there, in Christ's own care,
And He will bless the loan.
THE HARPING OF DAVID.
“And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon
Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand, so
Saul was refreshed and was well.”—I Sam. xvi. 23.
The cloud is on the monarch's soul,
Foreshadower of his future doom;
So mists, before the thunders roll,
Come down and wrap the hill in gloom—
Foreshadower of his future doom;
So mists, before the thunders roll,
Come down and wrap the hill in gloom—
Go, call the gentle Bethlemite,
And bid him wake his sweetest lay,
Perchance that music, pure and light,
May drive the threatening fiend away.
And bid him wake his sweetest lay,
Perchance that music, pure and light,
May drive the threatening fiend away.
The shepherd boy has brought his lute,
He sings, he strikes the pliant chords!
Each ear is caught, each lip hangs mute,
On the sweet air, the wondrous words.
He sings, he strikes the pliant chords!
Each ear is caught, each lip hangs mute,
On the sweet air, the wondrous words.
He stays his hand, the impassioned strain
Along the lofty palace dies;
The listening courtiers breathe again,
The cloud has left the monarch's eyes.
Along the lofty palace dies;
The listening courtiers breathe again,
The cloud has left the monarch's eyes.
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Ah, no! the measure died not all—
The echoes of that golden rhyme
Are ringing on, from fall to fall,
For ever down the stream of time.
The echoes of that golden rhyme
Are ringing on, from fall to fall,
For ever down the stream of time.
At matin hour, in vespers low,
They ring, they ring, those silver bells,
For praise, for plaint, for joy or woe,
Whene'er our strain of worship swells.
They ring, they ring, those silver bells,
For praise, for plaint, for joy or woe,
Whene'er our strain of worship swells.
The fair cathedral's arches grand,
Her marble saints with lifted palms,
Her carven pillars ever stand,
Wrapt in a dream of rolling psalms.
Her marble saints with lifted palms,
Her carven pillars ever stand,
Wrapt in a dream of rolling psalms.
The grey old walls beneath the yew,
With modest porch, and taper spire,
Have ripened to their music too,
Rung from the clamorous village choir.
With modest porch, and taper spire,
Have ripened to their music too,
Rung from the clamorous village choir.
When wakeful men, with ears unstopped,
Through weary hours have told each sound
That broke upon the dark, then dropped
Into the pulseless silence round,
Through weary hours have told each sound
That broke upon the dark, then dropped
Into the pulseless silence round,
While the strained eye impatient longs
For the first throb of breaking light,
What snatches of those heavenly songs
Have come to him at dead of night?
For the first throb of breaking light,
What snatches of those heavenly songs
Have come to him at dead of night?
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Some grand Laudate's lofty roll,
Some tender penitential wail,
Have made a music in his soul,
Sweeter than any nightingale.
Some tender penitential wail,
Have made a music in his soul,
Sweeter than any nightingale.
Come, blessed Psalms! when mists of sin,
Over my soul beclouded lie,
Pierce through the wide world's strife and din,
And bid the evil spirit fly.
Over my soul beclouded lie,
Pierce through the wide world's strife and din,
And bid the evil spirit fly.
Come, blessed Psalms! when weak and lone
My heart breaks down, and finds no aid,
And let me find in your deep tone
Some voice of comfort ready made.
My heart breaks down, and finds no aid,
And let me find in your deep tone
Some voice of comfort ready made.
For who shall find, in pain or loss,
Words of such sweet, sustaining power,
As those that hung about the Cross,
And soothed my Saviour's dying hour?
Words of such sweet, sustaining power,
As those that hung about the Cross,
And soothed my Saviour's dying hour?
THE BURIAL OF SAMUEL.
“And Samuel died, and all the Israelites were gathered
together, and lamented him, and buried him in his house
at Ramah.”—I Sam. XXV. 1.
Thirty days amid the hills of Ramah
Doth the voice of lamentation swell,
Like the murmur of a mighty river,
When the winter floods are on the fell,
Doth the voice of lamentation swell,
Like the murmur of a mighty river,
When the winter floods are on the fell,
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Like a wind imprisoned in the gorges
Of the mountains, moaning as it sweeps—
But no tempest in the valley struggles,
And no torrent tumbles from the steeps.
Of the mountains, moaning as it sweeps—
But no tempest in the valley struggles,
And no torrent tumbles from the steeps.
All the Israelites make moan together
With a lamentation loud and sore,
For the seer is gathered to his fathers,
They shall hear the prophet's voice no more.
With a lamentation loud and sore,
For the seer is gathered to his fathers,
They shall hear the prophet's voice no more.
Bear him, bear him slowly to the burial,
Haunted as ye go is all the air,
With a thousand sweet and solemn fancies,
Memories of the great man that ye bear.
Haunted as ye go is all the air,
With a thousand sweet and solemn fancies,
Memories of the great man that ye bear.
Like a sudden incense borne from Shiloh,
Round the cold corpse comes a fragrant breath,
And a young child with a linen ephod
Girded, glideth by the car of death.
Round the cold corpse comes a fragrant breath,
And a young child with a linen ephod
Girded, glideth by the car of death.
There's a look upon the sharpened features
Of the old man, strangely like the grace
And the glory of unclouded childhood,
As it smiles upon that phantom face.
Of the old man, strangely like the grace
And the glory of unclouded childhood,
As it smiles upon that phantom face.
Sure those lips have held a high communion
And those ears a wondrous Voice have heard,
When the call came through the darkened chamber,
And the child made answer, “Speak, O Lord.”
And those ears a wondrous Voice have heard,
When the call came through the darkened chamber,
And the child made answer, “Speak, O Lord.”
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For his smile is shadowed in its brightness,
As by some great glory pass'd away—
So the hills that have been gold at sunrise,
Wear a deeper purple all the day.
As by some great glory pass'd away—
So the hills that have been gold at sunrise,
Wear a deeper purple all the day.
Lo! the kingly Benjamite beside him
Walketh once again with stately tread,
And the withered hands are raised in blessing,
And the oil is poured upon his head.
Walketh once again with stately tread,
And the withered hands are raised in blessing,
And the oil is poured upon his head.
But the prophet's heart is full of sorrow,
And some natural tears unbidden spring,
For he sees the rending of the mantle,
And he mourneth for the fallen king.
And some natural tears unbidden spring,
For he sees the rending of the mantle,
And he mourneth for the fallen king.
Sons of Jesse, tall of form, and goodly,
Seven brave warriors pass before the seer,
Look not on their beauty, or their stature,
For the Lord's anointed is not here.
Seven brave warriors pass before the seer,
Look not on their beauty, or their stature,
For the Lord's anointed is not here.
Call the youngest, call him from the sheepfold,
In his eye a spirit pure and free,
On his cheek the colour of the morning,
Call him from the sheepfold! this is he!
In his eye a spirit pure and free,
On his cheek the colour of the morning,
Call him from the sheepfold! this is he!
Slowly, slowly now the visions vanish,
Israel's wail comes up upon the ear,
Prayers of pleading, words of love and warning,
All are over—lift the silent bier!
Israel's wail comes up upon the ear,
Prayers of pleading, words of love and warning,
All are over—lift the silent bier!
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Leave the old man—leave him with his Father,
Dark and lonely in that quiet place
Lonelier shadows on his heart have fallen,
Darker griefs have deepened on his face.
Dark and lonely in that quiet place
Lonelier shadows on his heart have fallen,
Darker griefs have deepened on his face.
An ungrateful people's causeless clamour,
Sons regardless of their father's call,
And his dream of hero-goodness broken
On the hard heart of rebellious Saul.
Sons regardless of their father's call,
And his dream of hero-goodness broken
On the hard heart of rebellious Saul.
But the tree that blossomed well in summer,
Blossoms sweetly at the autumn's close;
Graces nursed in childhood and in manhood,
In old age are sweeter than the rose.
Blossoms sweetly at the autumn's close;
Graces nursed in childhood and in manhood,
In old age are sweeter than the rose.
Here is incense, richer than in Shiloh
The child-Levite from the altar sent,
Deeds of love and mercy and devotion,
All the fragrance of a life well spent.
The child-Levite from the altar sent,
Deeds of love and mercy and devotion,
All the fragrance of a life well spent.
Calmly slept the fair child by the altar,
As he waited for God's voice of dread—
Calmer doth the good saint sleep in Ramah,
Waiting for the Voice that wakes the dead.
As he waited for God's voice of dread—
Calmer doth the good saint sleep in Ramah,
Waiting for the Voice that wakes the dead.
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SAUL.
“But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul.
—I Sam. xvi. 14.
I stood beside the shadowy lake,
I watched the glorious brimful tide,
In lines of foamy music break
Against her shingly side.
I watched the glorious brimful tide,
In lines of foamy music break
Against her shingly side.
The wild hills by her waters kiss'd,
Hung round her soft as soft might be,
They glimmer'd through a silver mist,
Down on a silver sea.
Hung round her soft as soft might be,
They glimmer'd through a silver mist,
Down on a silver sea.
And where their darkest ridge upheaves,
A rich red light was streaming o'er,
—Like a great heap of crimson leaves,
Piled on a purple floor—
A rich red light was streaming o'er,
—Like a great heap of crimson leaves,
Piled on a purple floor—
Red in the western heaven on high,
Red in the burning lake below,
And deep-red in the Eastern sky
That kindled with the glow.
Red in the burning lake below,
And deep-red in the Eastern sky
That kindled with the glow.
So like, methought, a noble life,
Attempered well in every part,
No jarring element at strife
With God's grace in the heart.
Attempered well in every part,
No jarring element at strife
With God's grace in the heart.
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I came another eventime—
The long blue tide had ebbed away;
A sullen ridge of sand and slime
Under the mountains lay.
The long blue tide had ebbed away;
A sullen ridge of sand and slime
Under the mountains lay.
The crimson light in heaven might burn,
The purple hue might wrap the hill,
But down below was no return,
For all was dark and still.
The purple hue might wrap the hill,
But down below was no return,
For all was dark and still.
Wandering along the lonely shore,
The curlew gave her sorrowful call,
Like a good angel weeping sore
Over a sinner's fall.
The curlew gave her sorrowful call,
Like a good angel weeping sore
Over a sinner's fall.
For that wild scene was like a heart
Whence God's full tide of grace is driven,
That dwells in wilful sin apart,
And hath no share in heaven.
Whence God's full tide of grace is driven,
That dwells in wilful sin apart,
And hath no share in heaven.
I thought of Ramah's regal feast,
I thought of red Gilboa's plain,
Of bright hopes in that kingly breast,
Of that unworthy slain:
I thought of red Gilboa's plain,
Of bright hopes in that kingly breast,
Of that unworthy slain:
Of all the promise rich that lay
Around thy glorious youth, great Saul!
Of stubbornness that spurned at sway,
And pride that marred it all.
Around thy glorious youth, great Saul!
Of stubbornness that spurned at sway,
And pride that marred it all.
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Sweet lake! again thy tide shall draw
Soft rippling to thy mountains' feet—
Against thy nature's gentle law
Thy wild heart never beat.
Soft rippling to thy mountains' feet—
Against thy nature's gentle law
Thy wild heart never beat.
But never more God's holy dew
Came to that God-forsaken man,
Till wilfulness, rebellion grew,
And pride to madness ran.
Came to that God-forsaken man,
Till wilfulness, rebellion grew,
And pride to madness ran.
O, when we read with wondering eyes,
The hero's greatness, and his sin,
Self-doubting be the thoughts that rise,
Sharp be the glance within!
The hero's greatness, and his sin,
Self-doubting be the thoughts that rise,
Sharp be the glance within!
We too would walk our own wild way—
Our hearts are wilful every one,
Ever the hardest prayer to pray,
Is Christ's, “Thy will be done.”
Our hearts are wilful every one,
Ever the hardest prayer to pray,
Is Christ's, “Thy will be done.”
So catch we Nature's lesson still,
Her harmony of hue and tone,
That heart, and mind, and fretful will,
Move to God's will alone.
Her harmony of hue and tone,
That heart, and mind, and fretful will,
Move to God's will alone.
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THE DEATH OF DAVID.
“So David slept with his fathers.”—I Kings ii. 10.
King David sleepeth in his fathers' grave—
O for one echo of that deep dirge-strain,
Mourning so well the beautiful and brave,
That rang erewhile o'er Gilboa's royal slain!
O for one echo of that deep dirge-strain,
Mourning so well the beautiful and brave,
That rang erewhile o'er Gilboa's royal slain!
O for a murmur as of his own Psalms,
Touching all hearts, like a great wind at play,
That sports with Nature in long ocean calms,
And green earth valleys, all a summer's day.
Touching all hearts, like a great wind at play,
That sports with Nature in long ocean calms,
And green earth valleys, all a summer's day.
From his calm face the shadows sharp and strong
Of olden days have passed, and left it still;
From his closed lip the last low lingering song,
Like the last echo flung back from a hill,
Of olden days have passed, and left it still;
From his closed lip the last low lingering song,
Like the last echo flung back from a hill,
Has died away; and never, never more,
So bold a hand shall sweep the silver lyre,
So true a tone shall teach to kneel and soar,
So sweet a voice shall lead the saintly choir.
So bold a hand shall sweep the silver lyre,
So true a tone shall teach to kneel and soar,
So sweet a voice shall lead the saintly choir.
Warrior, and king, and minstrel more renown'd
Than ever touched fair fancy's noblest chord,
Saint with a wondrous weight of glory crown'd,
At once the type and prophet of his Lord.
Than ever touched fair fancy's noblest chord,
Saint with a wondrous weight of glory crown'd,
At once the type and prophet of his Lord.
He hath gone down into the shadowy vale—
What though his face with many tears was wet,
Though sin's remorseful cry, though sorrow's wail
Swelled from that harp to heavenly music set;
What though his face with many tears was wet,
Though sin's remorseful cry, though sorrow's wail
Swelled from that harp to heavenly music set;
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Still in that grief we read a deeper sorrow,
The awful mystery of a suffering God,
Still from that sharp, sin-laden cry we borrow
A voice that mourns where our own feet have trod.
The awful mystery of a suffering God,
Still from that sharp, sin-laden cry we borrow
A voice that mourns where our own feet have trod.
What though his warrior-eye might ne'er behold
On green Moriah's side the white stone flower,
For which his red right hand had piled the gold,
Planning God's temple in his happier hour;
On green Moriah's side the white stone flower,
For which his red right hand had piled the gold,
Planning God's temple in his happier hour;
Still like a dream before his eye it slept,
Its chambers flooded with a golden glow,
A strange bright place where faintest odours crept,
From cedar-flowers eternally in blow.
Its chambers flooded with a golden glow,
A strange bright place where faintest odours crept,
From cedar-flowers eternally in blow.
And he had heard a grander music thrilling
Where needs no temple's marble wall to rise,
Had seen his glorious ritual's fulfilling,
And known the One-sufficient Sacrifice.
Where needs no temple's marble wall to rise,
Had seen his glorious ritual's fulfilling,
And known the One-sufficient Sacrifice.
As a great mountain on a stormy eve,
After a stormy day, stands dimly shown,
—How many times we saw the grey mist weave
A murky mantle for his crest of stone!—
After a stormy day, stands dimly shown,
—How many times we saw the grey mist weave
A murky mantle for his crest of stone!—
Now a brief sunset splendour wraps his brow,
A crimson glory on a field of gold,
Yet the wild tide is breaking dark below,
Nor from its shaggy side the cloud has rolled—
A crimson glory on a field of gold,
Yet the wild tide is breaking dark below,
Nor from its shaggy side the cloud has rolled—
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So dim, so beautiful we see thy form,
Conqueror and saint, man sinning and forgiven,
Around thee wrapt earth's shadows and its storm,
With here and there a glimpse of purest heaven.
Conqueror and saint, man sinning and forgiven,
Around thee wrapt earth's shadows and its storm,
With here and there a glimpse of purest heaven.
But the morn breaks, a morning without clouds,
A clear calm shining when the rain is o'er,
He lieth where no mist of earth enshrouds,
In God's great sunlight wrapped for evermore.
A clear calm shining when the rain is o'er,
He lieth where no mist of earth enshrouds,
In God's great sunlight wrapped for evermore.
Psalmist of Israel! sure thou hearest now,
If sweeter strains than thine can ever be,
A sweeter music where the elders bow,
Striking their harps upon the crystal sea.
If sweeter strains than thine can ever be,
A sweeter music where the elders bow,
Striking their harps upon the crystal sea.
New Testament Subjects.
THE ADORATION OF THE WISE MEN.
Saw you never in the twilight,
When the sun had left the skies,
Up in heaven the clear stars shining,
Through the gloom like silver eyes?
So of old the wise men watching,
Saw a little stranger star,
And they knew the King was given,
And they followed it from far.
When the sun had left the skies,
Up in heaven the clear stars shining,
Through the gloom like silver eyes?
So of old the wise men watching,
Saw a little stranger star,
And they knew the King was given,
And they followed it from far.
Heard you never of the story,
How they cross'd the desert wild,
Journey'd on by plain and mountain,
Till they found the Holy Child?
How they open'd all their treasure,
Kneeling to that Infant King,
Gave the gold and fragrant incense,
Gave the myrrh in offering?
How they cross'd the desert wild,
Journey'd on by plain and mountain,
Till they found the Holy Child?
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Kneeling to that Infant King,
Gave the gold and fragrant incense,
Gave the myrrh in offering?
Know ye not that lowly Baby
Was the bright and morning star,
He who came to light the Gentiles,
And the darkened isles afar?
And we too may seek His cradle,
There our heart's best treasures bring,
Love, and Faith, and true devotion,
For our Saviour, God, and King.
Was the bright and morning star,
He who came to light the Gentiles,
And the darkened isles afar?
And we too may seek His cradle,
There our heart's best treasures bring,
Love, and Faith, and true devotion,
For our Saviour, God, and King.
“HE CAME DOWN TO NAZARETH.”
There was of old a poor man's house,
Within a lowly eastern town,
Wherein our blessed Saviour lived,
When He to earth from heaven came down.
Within a lowly eastern town,
Wherein our blessed Saviour lived,
When He to earth from heaven came down.
There did He live a little Child,
Was subject to His parents' sway;
There worked, perhaps, with willing hand,
And grew in wisdom day by day.
Was subject to His parents' sway;
There worked, perhaps, with willing hand,
And grew in wisdom day by day.
The breeze blew fragrant from the hills,
The blue lake gently murmured, near:
But sweeter than the mountain's flower,
And purer than the water clear,
The blue lake gently murmured, near:
But sweeter than the mountain's flower,
And purer than the water clear,
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Was Sharon's rose beneath that roof—
The holy Child so pure and fair,
In meek obedience year by year,
Love's perfect pattern lingering there.
The holy Child so pure and fair,
In meek obedience year by year,
Love's perfect pattern lingering there.
O let us often seek in thought,
That cottage-house in Galilee;
And by this blest example learn,
What Christian children ought to be:
That cottage-house in Galilee;
And by this blest example learn,
What Christian children ought to be:
Then show within our own poor hearts,
Obedient love and duteous care;
And Christ, Who was a peasant Child,
Shall come Himself and bless us there.
Obedient love and duteous care;
And Christ, Who was a peasant Child,
Shall come Himself and bless us there.
“BAPTIZED IN JORDAN.”
Still bright and blue doth Jordan flow,
Between his banks all rough and bold,
And round the far forgotten shore,
Where Jesus was baptized of old.
Between his banks all rough and bold,
And round the far forgotten shore,
Where Jesus was baptized of old.
And only from the woodland near,
The lonely ringdove comes to sing,
Where erst the Spirit like a dove,
Came down upon her silver wing;
The lonely ringdove comes to sing,
Where erst the Spirit like a dove,
Came down upon her silver wing;
And where the voice of God was heard,
In silence o'er the desert sod;
And round the rocks that saw and felt
The presence of the Triune God.
In silence o'er the desert sod;
And round the rocks that saw and felt
The presence of the Triune God.
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Still in Thy Church, O Lord, flow on
The waves of Thy baptismal grace;
And still the holy Dove comes down,
As soft they touch each infant face.
The waves of Thy baptismal grace;
And still the holy Dove comes down,
As soft they touch each infant face.
And still above the new-crossed brow,
The three great names of God are spoken;
And Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
Are near to bless that healing token.
The three great names of God are spoken;
And Father, Son, and Holy Ghost
Are near to bless that healing token.
Oh, as Thy children wander on,
Still o'er them brood, Thou Threefold Power;
And still the vow be on their souls,
They breathed in their baptismal hour.
Still o'er them brood, Thou Threefold Power;
And still the vow be on their souls,
They breathed in their baptismal hour.
THE DOVE.
Ogentle dove, Spring's harbinger,
How much I love to hear,
From budding larch in boisterous March,
Thy woodnote sweet and clear!
How much I love to hear,
From budding larch in boisterous March,
Thy woodnote sweet and clear!
When in our fields the daffodil
Just shows her golden sheath,
And here and there a primrose rare
Comes peeping underneath,
Just shows her golden sheath,
And here and there a primrose rare
Comes peeping underneath,
Then as the cold morn struggling out
Lights lawn and leafless trees,
And scarce a note from woodbird's throat
Comes on the ruffling breeze,
Lights lawn and leafless trees,
And scarce a note from woodbird's throat
Comes on the ruffling breeze,
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I hear across the windy dawn
Thine oft-repeated strain,
And memories fraught with holy thought
Come surging thro' my brain.
Thine oft-repeated strain,
And memories fraught with holy thought
Come surging thro' my brain.
I see in distant Palestine
The sacred Jordan flow,
And lilies that heard the Saviour's Word
Along his banks in blow.
The sacred Jordan flow,
And lilies that heard the Saviour's Word
Along his banks in blow.
There Jesus bore man's baptism,
There God's great word was said,
And the form was thine that Love Divine
Bade hover o'er His head.
There God's great word was said,
And the form was thine that Love Divine
Bade hover o'er His head.
I see a slow emerging world,
A slow retreating sea,
A raven dark from a stranded ark
And a lonely olive tree.
A slow retreating sea,
A raven dark from a stranded ark
And a lonely olive tree.
I see the dove, kind messenger,
Caught in by Noah's hand,
With the leaf sere that told hope near
To that imprison'd band.
Caught in by Noah's hand,
With the leaf sere that told hope near
To that imprison'd band.
As once Thy Spirit like a dove
On Thy “Beloved” was pour'd,
So let Thy grace find resting place
In this poor heart, O Lord!
On Thy “Beloved” was pour'd,
So let Thy grace find resting place
In this poor heart, O Lord!
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In the world's strife to Thee I flee,
Let Thy hand take me in—
Safe in Thy fold Thy wanderer hold,
And keep from shame and sin.
Let Thy hand take me in—
Safe in Thy fold Thy wanderer hold,
And keep from shame and sin.
LENT.
“And Jesus put forth His hand and touched him, saying,
I will, be thou clean.”—S. Matt. vii. 3.
Thou Who didst touch the leper foul,
And cleanse him with the word “I will,”
Have mercy on Thy sinful child,
Touch me too in Thy mercy mild,
My plague is fouler still.
And cleanse him with the word “I will,”
Have mercy on Thy sinful child,
Touch me too in Thy mercy mild,
My plague is fouler still.
He bore the brand upon his flesh,
Mine lieth deep and dark within,
Down in my heart where bad thoughts hide,
Where passion reigns, and wrath, and pride,
The leprosy of sin.
Mine lieth deep and dark within,
Down in my heart where bad thoughts hide,
Where passion reigns, and wrath, and pride,
The leprosy of sin.
The leper felt his fearful doom,
But I am cold and slow to see
My strength how weak, my sins how great,
The misery of my lost estate,
And all my need of Thee.
But I am cold and slow to see
My strength how weak, my sins how great,
The misery of my lost estate,
And all my need of Thee.
'Tis Thou alone canst make me clean,
O Blessed Saviour, if Thou wilt,
And 'tis Thy will, full well I know,
To wash me all as white as snow,
For this Thy blood was spilt.
O Blessed Saviour, if Thou wilt,
And 'tis Thy will, full well I know,
To wash me all as white as snow,
For this Thy blood was spilt.
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I cannot feel Thy healing touch,
I cannot see the river flow,
The cleansing water, and the blood,
But I can bring to that pure flood,
My load of sin and woe.
I cannot see the river flow,
The cleansing water, and the blood,
But I can bring to that pure flood,
My load of sin and woe.
This deep corruption cleanse, O Lord,
Unseen, but open to Thy sight;
My sinful soul doth trembling stand,
Touch it with purifying hand,
And make the scarlet white.
Unseen, but open to Thy sight;
My sinful soul doth trembling stand,
Touch it with purifying hand,
And make the scarlet white.
“TROUBLE NOT THE MASTER.”
“Dear is thy Daughter, trouble not the Master”—
Thus in the Ruler's ear his servants spake,
While tremblingly he urged the Saviour faster
Up the green slope from that white-margined Lake.
Thus in the Ruler's ear his servants spake,
While tremblingly he urged the Saviour faster
Up the green slope from that white-margined Lake.
The soft wave weltered, and the breeze came sighing
Out of the oleander thickets red;
He only heard a breath that gasped in dying,
Or “Trouble not the Master—She is dead.”
Out of the oleander thickets red;
He only heard a breath that gasped in dying,
Or “Trouble not the Master—She is dead.”
Trouble Him not. Ah! are these words beseeming
The desolation of that awful day,
When love's vain fancies, hope's delusive dreaming
Are over—and the life has fled for aye?
The desolation of that awful day,
When love's vain fancies, hope's delusive dreaming
Are over—and the life has fled for aye?
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We need Him most when the dear eyes are closing,
When on the cheek the shadow lieth strong,
When the soft lines are set in that reposing
That never Mother cradled with a song.
When on the cheek the shadow lieth strong,
When the soft lines are set in that reposing
That never Mother cradled with a song.
Then most we need the gentle Human Feeling
That throbs with all our sorrows and our fears,
And that great Love Divine its light revealing
In short bright flashes through a mist of tears.
That throbs with all our sorrows and our fears,
And that great Love Divine its light revealing
In short bright flashes through a mist of tears.
Then most we need the Voice that while it weepeth
Yet hath a solemn undertone that saith—
Weep not, thy darling is not dead, but sleepeth;
Only believe, for I have conquered death.
Yet hath a solemn undertone that saith—
Weep not, thy darling is not dead, but sleepeth;
Only believe, for I have conquered death.
Then most we need the thoughts of Resurrection,
Not the life here, 'mid pain, and sin, and woe,
But ever in the fulness of perfection,
To walk with Him in robes as white as snow.
Not the life here, 'mid pain, and sin, and woe,
But ever in the fulness of perfection,
To walk with Him in robes as white as snow.
When in our nursery garden falls a blossom,
And as we kiss the hand and fold the feet,
We cannot see the lamb in Abraham's bosom,
Nor hear the footfall in the golden street.
And as we kiss the hand and fold the feet,
We cannot see the lamb in Abraham's bosom,
Nor hear the footfall in the golden street.
When all is silent—neither moan nor cheering,
The hush of hope, the end of all our cares—
All but that harp above, beyond our hearing,
Then most we need to trouble Him with prayers.
The hush of hope, the end of all our cares—
All but that harp above, beyond our hearing,
Then most we need to trouble Him with prayers.
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Did He not enter in when that cold sleeper
Lay still, with pulseless heart and leaden eyes,
Put calmly forth each loud tumultuous weeper,
And take her by the hand and bid her rise?
Lay still, with pulseless heart and leaden eyes,
Put calmly forth each loud tumultuous weeper,
And take her by the hand and bid her rise?
Come to us, Saviour! in our lone dejection,
Speak calmly to our wild and passionate grief,
Bring us the hopes and thoughts of Resurrection,
Bring us the comfort of a true Belief.
Speak calmly to our wild and passionate grief,
Bring us the hopes and thoughts of Resurrection,
Bring us the comfort of a true Belief.
Come! with that Human Voice that breaks in weeping,
Come! with that awful Tenderness Divine,
Come! tell us that they are not dead but sleeping,
But gone before to Thee, for they are Thine.
Come! with that awful Tenderness Divine,
Come! tell us that they are not dead but sleeping,
But gone before to Thee, for they are Thine.
“SHE IS NOT DEAD, BUT SLEEPETH.”
Like a young flower of early May,
That children pluck and leave to die,
The ruler's little daughter lay,
With cold pale cheeks and sunken eye,
Out-stretched upon the little bed,
Where oft she slumbered calm and light,
They left the maiden stiff and dead;
No faded blossom half so white.
That children pluck and leave to die,
The ruler's little daughter lay,
With cold pale cheeks and sunken eye,
Out-stretched upon the little bed,
Where oft she slumbered calm and light,
They left the maiden stiff and dead;
No faded blossom half so white.
The childless mother weepeth sore,
The mourners make a louder moan;
But Christ has pass'd the chamber door,
And chid the mourners' scoffing tone.
The hand that clothes the hawthorn tree,
When spring returns to deck the plain,
Gives warm and bright that human flower
Back to her mother's breast again.
The mourners make a louder moan;
But Christ has pass'd the chamber door,
And chid the mourners' scoffing tone.
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When spring returns to deck the plain,
Gives warm and bright that human flower
Back to her mother's breast again.
O, work of joy! O, work of love!
He holds her hand, He bids her rise,
Her lip grows red, the eyelids move,
The child looks up with wondering eyes.
Then who should fear a dying bed,
Or who in hopeless sorrow weep,
Since Jesus stands beside His dead,
And whispers soft, “They do but sleep.”
He holds her hand, He bids her rise,
Her lip grows red, the eyelids move,
The child looks up with wondering eyes.
Then who should fear a dying bed,
Or who in hopeless sorrow weep,
Since Jesus stands beside His dead,
And whispers soft, “They do but sleep.”
AT JACOB'S WELL.
“Jesus saith unto her, Give Me to drink.”—St. John iv. 7.
The noonday's sun from Ebal's crest,
On Shechem's valley fell;
A weary Man sat down to rest,
Alone by Jacob's well.
On Shechem's valley fell;
A weary Man sat down to rest,
Alone by Jacob's well.
The woman with her pitcher hied,
Down to the deep well's brink:
She little thought Who sat beside,
And ask'd her for a drink.
Down to the deep well's brink:
She little thought Who sat beside,
And ask'd her for a drink.
She little dream'd what lips were those
That made that poor request:
Lips whence the living water flows,
Wherewith all hearts are blest.
That made that poor request:
Lips whence the living water flows,
Wherewith all hearts are blest.
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O, often to our hearths and homes,
When least we know or think,
Athirst, and weary, Jesus comes,
And bids us give Him drink.
When least we know or think,
Athirst, and weary, Jesus comes,
And bids us give Him drink.
He asks us by some daily care,
Some claim of common life;
Some heart that hath a grief to share,
Some work with kindness rife.
Some claim of common life;
Some heart that hath a grief to share,
Some work with kindness rife.
Make haste, and hear thy Saviour's call,
Let love and pity plead;
Make haste, and let thy pitcher fall,
And do the tender deed.
Let love and pity plead;
Make haste, and let thy pitcher fall,
And do the tender deed.
So from the depths of love divine,
The streams of grace shall pour;
Wash that sin-wearied soul of thine,
And let thee thirst no more.
The streams of grace shall pour;
Wash that sin-wearied soul of thine,
And let thee thirst no more.
THE STORM.
“It is I, be not afraid.”—St. John vi. 20.
From all the low green hills that crown
The waters of that inland sea,
The loosen'd winds rush'd madly down,
And swept the lake of Galilee.
The waters of that inland sea,
The loosen'd winds rush'd madly down,
And swept the lake of Galilee.
A little boat was labouring sore,
While darker still the dark night grew;
And the sea rose from shore to shore,
By reason of the wind that blew.
While darker still the dark night grew;
And the sea rose from shore to shore,
By reason of the wind that blew.
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'Twixt sea and sky a darken'd speck,
She drifts along the stormy deep;
No Saviour on her wave-wash'd deck,
Lies pillow'd now in quiet sleep.
She drifts along the stormy deep;
No Saviour on her wave-wash'd deck,
Lies pillow'd now in quiet sleep.
But who is this that walks the storm,
With even step, and calm, firm eye?
They tremble as His awful form,
On the wild waters draweth nigh.
With even step, and calm, firm eye?
They tremble as His awful form,
On the wild waters draweth nigh.
“'Tis I,” He saith, “be not afraid.”
Then fast the storm-clouds fled away;
And still as flowers in summer glade,
Around His feet the foam-wreaths lay.
Then fast the storm-clouds fled away;
And still as flowers in summer glade,
Around His feet the foam-wreaths lay.
O Saviour, when on life's dark lake
The waves are roaring darkly round;
When conscience bids the spirit quake,
And sin, and grief, and pain abound;
The waves are roaring darkly round;
When conscience bids the spirit quake,
And sin, and grief, and pain abound;
Stand Thou upon the stormy shore,
Walk Thou along the uneasy wave;
Say to me, Sinner, fear no more,
For I am drawing nigh to save.
Walk Thou along the uneasy wave;
Say to me, Sinner, fear no more,
For I am drawing nigh to save.
Draw nigh, O Lord, reach forth Thine hand,
Come up into the ship with me:
So shall I soon be at the land,
The heavenly land where I would be.
Come up into the ship with me:
So shall I soon be at the land,
The heavenly land where I would be.
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“PEACE, BE STILL.”
Fiercely came the tempest sweeping,
Down the lake of Galilee;
But the ship where Christ lay sleeping,
Might not sink in that wild sea.
When He rose the tempest chiding,
When He bade the waters rest;
Calm the little ship went gliding
On the blue lake's quiet breast.
Down the lake of Galilee;
But the ship where Christ lay sleeping,
Might not sink in that wild sea.
When He rose the tempest chiding,
When He bade the waters rest;
Calm the little ship went gliding
On the blue lake's quiet breast.
And the white waves rushing past her,
Round her keel lay smooth and still;
For the wild waves knew their Master,
And the winds obeyed His will.
Thou Who heard'st those seamen pleading,
Waking at their anguish cry—
Sleep not now, when comfort needing,
Saviour, unto Thee we fly.
Round her keel lay smooth and still;
For the wild waves knew their Master,
And the winds obeyed His will.
Thou Who heard'st those seamen pleading,
Waking at their anguish cry—
Sleep not now, when comfort needing,
Saviour, unto Thee we fly.
When at night our homes are shaken,
And the howling winds we hear—
As in terror we awaken,
Keep us safe from harm and fear.
When the waves of pride or anger,
Rise to vex our hearts within:
Keep us from a grater danger,
From the passion storms of sin.
And the howling winds we hear—
As in terror we awaken,
Keep us safe from harm and fear.
When the waves of pride or anger,
Rise to vex our hearts within:
Keep us from a grater danger,
From the passion storms of sin.
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THE BLIND MAN BEGGING.
The blind man in his darkness,
Beside the highway sat,
He heard the trampling footsteps
Throng to the city gate,
They told him Christ of Nazareth
That hour was passing by:
And “Jesus, have Thou mercy,”
Was then the blind man's ery.
Beside the highway sat,
He heard the trampling footsteps
Throng to the city gate,
They told him Christ of Nazareth
That hour was passing by:
And “Jesus, have Thou mercy,”
Was then the blind man's ery.
And when the people chid him,
Still louder cried he,
“O Jesu, Son of David,
Have mercy upon me.”
O, joy! He stands and calls him,
O gush of great delight!
His pitying words have given
The blessed gift of sight.
Still louder cried he,
“O Jesu, Son of David,
Have mercy upon me.”
O, joy! He stands and calls him,
O gush of great delight!
His pitying words have given
The blessed gift of sight.
We too had sat in darkness,
Lost in our sin and care,
With blind eyes turned to heaven,
That saw no Saviour there:
If Jesus had not made us
His own by love and grace,
Here in His Church to serve Him,
And see at last His face.
Lost in our sin and care,
With blind eyes turned to heaven,
That saw no Saviour there:
If Jesus had not made us
His own by love and grace,
Here in His Church to serve Him,
And see at last His face.
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Then let us rise and follow,
Since Christ has called us in,
And cast away the garments
Of slothfulness and sin;
Till from our dim dark vision
Each scale be rent away,
And we behold His glory,
And see the perfect day.
Since Christ has called us in,
And cast away the garments
Of slothfulness and sin;
Till from our dim dark vision
Each scale be rent away,
And we behold His glory,
And see the perfect day.
“HE SET A CHILD IN THE MIDST.”
A gentle and a holy child,
Was sure that little one of old,
Whom Jesus took into His arms,
And to His own Apostles told:
Was sure that little one of old,
Whom Jesus took into His arms,
And to His own Apostles told:
Ye cannot enter into heaven,
If still your hearts are proud and wild,
Except your hearts converted be,
Like little children pure and mild.
If still your hearts are proud and wild,
Except your hearts converted be,
Like little children pure and mild.
Had we been waiting at His side,
When Jesus taught His people thus,
Uplooking in His holy face,
Could He have chosen one of us?
When Jesus taught His people thus,
Uplooking in His holy face,
Could He have chosen one of us?
O! not unless our childish hearts,
In simple truthfulness obey;
Unless our souls be guileless found,
And meek and gentle, day by day.
In simple truthfulness obey;
Unless our souls be guileless found,
And meek and gentle, day by day.
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O Saviour, make us good and mild,
And fill our hearts with simple joy,
And bless us with Thy gentle hand,
As Thou didst bless that Jewish boy.
And fill our hearts with simple joy,
And bless us with Thy gentle hand,
As Thou didst bless that Jewish boy.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
In the pleasant sunny meadows,
Where the buttercups are seen;
And the daisies' little shadows
Lie along the level green;
Where the buttercups are seen;
And the daisies' little shadows
Lie along the level green;
Flocks of quiet sheep are feeding,
Little lambs are playing near;
For the watchful shepherd leading,
Keeps them safe from harm and fear.
Little lambs are playing near;
For the watchful shepherd leading,
Keeps them safe from harm and fear.
Hill and plain he leads them over,
Where at noon the shadows sleep,
Where the richest purple clover
Grows along the sunny steep:
Where at noon the shadows sleep,
Where the richest purple clover
Grows along the sunny steep:
Where, within the mountain hollow,
Cool the shining waters flow;
And the sheep their shepherd follow,
For his gentle voice they know.
Cool the shining waters flow;
And the sheep their shepherd follow,
For his gentle voice they know.
Christians are like sheep abiding
In the Church's pasture free;
Jesus is our Shepherd guiding,
And the little lambs are we.
In the Church's pasture free;
Jesus is our Shepherd guiding,
And the little lambs are we.
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O sweet Shepherd, gently lead us,
Lest we fall or go astray;
With the bread of heaven feed us,
That we faint not by the way.
Lest we fall or go astray;
With the bread of heaven feed us,
That we faint not by the way.
Pasture green and clover blossom
Are types of heavenly love;
Jesus, bear us in Thy bosom
Safely to Thy fold above.
Are types of heavenly love;
Jesus, bear us in Thy bosom
Safely to Thy fold above.
THE ASCENSION.
The golden gates are lifted up,
The doors are open'd wide,
The King of Glory is gone in
Unto His Father's side.
The doors are open'd wide,
The King of Glory is gone in
Unto His Father's side.
Thou art gone up before us, Lord,
To make for us a place,
That we may be where now Thou art,
And look upon God's face.
To make for us a place,
That we may be where now Thou art,
And look upon God's face.
And ever on our earthly path
A gleam of glory lies,
A light still breaks behind the cloud
That veil'd Thee from our eyes.
A gleam of glory lies,
A light still breaks behind the cloud
That veil'd Thee from our eyes.
Lift up our hearts, lift up our minds
Let Thy dear grace be given,
That while we wander here below,
Our treasure be in Heaven.
Let Thy dear grace be given,
That while we wander here below,
Our treasure be in Heaven.
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That where Thou art at God's right Hand,
Our hope, our love may be,
Dwell Thou in us, that we may dwell
For evermore in Thee.
Our hope, our love may be,
Dwell Thou in us, that we may dwell
For evermore in Thee.
“WHEN JESUS SAW HIS MOTHER.”
When Jesus saw His mother stand
Beside His cruel cross of death,
In all His pains He thought of her,
And soothed her with His dying breath.
Beside His cruel cross of death,
In all His pains He thought of her,
And soothed her with His dying breath.
O perfect pattern, spotless love!
In life, in death, we learn of Thee,
Whose human heart so warmly beat,
To teach us what a child should be.
In life, in death, we learn of Thee,
Whose human heart so warmly beat,
To teach us what a child should be.
Ours cannot be as pure as Thine
Who, all Thy holy childhood dear,
Didst never vex Thy mother's soul,
Nor cost her eye a single tear.
Who, all Thy holy childhood dear,
Didst never vex Thy mother's soul,
Nor cost her eye a single tear.
But give us tender loving thought,
To feel a mother's inward care;
And still, with many a little art,
To soothe the grief we cannot share.
To feel a mother's inward care;
And still, with many a little art,
To soothe the grief we cannot share.
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THE RESURRECTION.
I.
In the rich man's garden ground,
Many a precious bud was found;
Dark blue leaf or silver bell,
Wrapt within its silken shell.
Many a precious bud was found;
Dark blue leaf or silver bell,
Wrapt within its silken shell.
But a bud more rich and rare,
Waited for its blooming there;
Where the Lord's dear body lay,
Folded in its white array.
Waited for its blooming there;
Where the Lord's dear body lay,
Folded in its white array.
Soon those buds shall give to light
Their rich blossoms blue and white,
Sooner yet to wondering eyes,
Shall the Lord of life arise.
Their rich blossoms blue and white,
Sooner yet to wondering eyes,
Shall the Lord of life arise.
Once in the baptismal wave,
All our sins, as in Thy grave,
By a type were buried low,
Teach us, Lord, to leave them so.
All our sins, as in Thy grave,
By a type were buried low,
Teach us, Lord, to leave them so.
Us from sin and death to save,
Thou didst lie in Joseph's cave;
Let our evil nature be,
Buried still, and dead with Thee.
Thou didst lie in Joseph's cave;
Let our evil nature be,
Buried still, and dead with Thee.
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II.
There was within a garden fair
A rich man's burial cave,
No form of man had moulder'd there,
It was a new-made grave.
A rich man's burial cave,
No form of man had moulder'd there,
It was a new-made grave.
But in that lonely narrow cell
The mystery was wrought,
The resurrection miracle
Whereby to man was brought
The mystery was wrought,
The resurrection miracle
Whereby to man was brought
Assurance of a wondrous change,
A balm for pain and strife,
A recompense for all the strange
Unequal things of life.
A balm for pain and strife,
A recompense for all the strange
Unequal things of life.
With spice and myrrh His bed they made,
The women came to weep,
And there the Prince of life was laid
And slept His three days' sleep.
The women came to weep,
And there the Prince of life was laid
And slept His three days' sleep.
But vain the Hebrew's stern award,
The heathen's bitter scorn,
The priest-seal'd stone, the Roman guard,
He rose on Easter morn.
The heathen's bitter scorn,
The priest-seal'd stone, the Roman guard,
He rose on Easter morn.
As comes the dawn in red and gold,
And none the moment know,
As flowers their thousand leaves unfold
And no man sees them blow;
And none the moment know,
As flowers their thousand leaves unfold
And no man sees them blow;
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So, silently, as flower or flame
He pass'd at break of day,
And then the attending angel came
And roll'd the stone away.
He pass'd at break of day,
And then the attending angel came
And roll'd the stone away.
O resurrection mystery,
In thee we have our part,
O risen Lord, we look to Thee,
Our very life Thou art!
In thee we have our part,
O risen Lord, we look to Thee,
Our very life Thou art!
That when we die, for Thou hast died,
We rise again to keep
An everlasting Easter tide,
Glad waking from short sleep.
We rise again to keep
An everlasting Easter tide,
Glad waking from short sleep.
| Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander | |