One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | ||
[He with good gifts that most is blest]
Or stands for God above the rest,
Let him so think—“To serve the dear,
The lowlier children I am here.
He trusts me with it for their sake;
(Hunger I must if none it shares)
It is but mine when it is theirs.
Dear child of God, to make it thine;
When thou hast learn'd it, I shall see
The perfect meaning first in thee.
Nor fraught with incense for the shrine,
Till, when thou sang'st it sweetly through,
I with thy voice sang praises too.
The earth unto the moon doth shine—
Not to herself, for oft her way
Seems but a dark and cloudy day.
For yours, to spend and to be spent;
O Christ of God! let my death be
Not to myself but Thee—but Thee!”
SONG OF PRAISE FOR LONDON.
With a Chorus.
Lies bare 'neath arid skies;
From ruin'd walls her sons are thrust,
Foregone her sacrifice.
But Zion's voice lives yet; and brought
Adown the ages ring
The songs of praise he sweetly taught
That was her shepherd king.
Among the little water'd valleys while he watch'd the fold;
Over rocks of wild En-gedi when he sheathed the sword:
And would we had King David's harp, and so could praise the Lord!
And of Thy goodness tell;
Upon the heights of Zion sing
Thou Hope of Israel.
The hill of Zion is right fair—
A city of great fame;
For why? The Lord our God is there,
Excellent is His name.
Ye priests that on Him wait,
O praise the Lord, for He is good,
And only He is great.
That toil and sleep control;
Praise Him, you angels in the height;
Praise the Lord, O my soul.”
And under murmurous cedars making dusks on Lebanon,
And by the Jordan's sailless waters sang full sweet and clear:
And though King David's harp be mute, let us sing praises here.
To all things just and free;
For many a soul that inly burns
More righteous days to see;
For peace, for law, for gold, for wheat,
And for His printed word,
Praise Him, ye throngs in every street;
Great London, praise the Lord.
Where on the river play
A thousand stars from lamps alight,
That mete out narrower day,
Praise Him, and say this river bears
Great fleets that ceaseless go;
And yet, for these eight hundred years
Hath not borne in a foe.
And helpless, but for God;
Nor siege, nor sack have frighted thee,
Of alien hosts untrod.
Nor danger nigh thee waits;
Pray thy Celestial Sentinel
To guard thy silver gates.
By measure night and day;
Praise Him, while yet a hundred towers
Ring out thy times to pray.
Praise Him, where murmurous fall and swell
(As of some wind-borne chord)
The majesty of millions tell;
Great London, praise the Lord!
But we have learn'd a wondrous song King David never knew.
To One was born of David's line, sing high with sweet accord;
For One who died that we might live, great London, praise the Lord!
[Thou wert far off, and in the sight of heaven]
Dead. And thy Father would not this should be;
And now thou livest, it is all forgiven;
Think on it, O my soul, He kissèd thee!
To cast them from thee at His sacred call,
As Mary, when she met her living Lord,
The burial spice she had prepared let fall.
Afford to waste his shroud, if he might wake;
Thou canst afford to waste the world, and sell
Thy footing in it, for the new world's sake.
Where men put on their robes for that above.
What is the new world? 'tis a Father's face
Beholden of His sons—the face of love.
CHRISTMAS HYMN.
Desired of man so long!
The ancient heavens fled forth in light
To sing thee thy new song;
And shooting down the steep,
To shepherd folk of old,
An angel, while they watch'd their sheep,
Set foot beside the fold.
Of that keen light he shed,
They look'd on his pure majesty,
Amazed, and sore bestead;
Lo! while with words of cheer
He bade their trembling cease,
The flocks of God swept sweetly near,
And sang to them of peace.
That fulgent radiance fell,
So close those innocents did pass,
Their words were heard right well;
Among the sheep, their wings
Some folding, walk'd the sod
An order'd throng of shining things,
White, with the smile of God.
Oh! what it must have been!
Think, Christian people, think, and fear
For cold hearts, for unclean;
How love and longing fail,
Think how we live and how we die,
As this were but a tale.
Live in thy dear renown;
God's smile was in the dark, behold
That way His hosts came down;
Light up, great God, Thy Word,
Make the blest meaning strong,
As if our ears, indeed, had heard
The glory of their song.
But Thou could'st make it near,
And all its living might display
And cry to it, “Be here,”
Here, in th' unresting town,
As once remote to them,
Who heard it when the heavens came down,
On pastoral Bethlehem.
But God can make it now,
And as with that sweet overflow,
Our empty hearts endow;
Take, Lord, those words outworn,
O! make them new for aye,
Speak—“Unto you a child is born,”
To-day—to-day—to-day.
[Weeping and wailing needs must be]
When Love His name shall disavow,
When christen'd men His wrath shall dree,
Who mercy scorn'd in this their day;
But what? He turns not yet away,
Not yet—not now.
Behold a Judge with lowering brow,
The world must weep, and I must weep
Those sins that nail'd Thee on the tree,
Lord Jesu, of Thy clemency,
Let it be now.
And not us only; let Thy tears
Avail the tears of many to win;
Weep with us, Jesu, kind art Thou;
We that have sinn'd many long years,
Let us weep now;
Who did forgive us. See Thy brow—
Beautiful—learn Thy love and grace.
Then wilt Thou wipe away our tears,
And comfort in th' all-hallow'd spheres,
Them that weep now.
MORNING.
A Creator on the throne,
A Redeemer for them given,
A Renewer come from heaven;
God, my fathers' God and mine;
Now with dawn the East is fair,
Hearken to my morning prayer.
Let me serve in my degree
As the sun; and let me love
As the seraphim above.
I will ask Thee nothing less;
Let Thy likeness wax alway
In my soul as dawn to day.
As to Thee, and when the sun
Sets and all Thy stars appear,
Still acquaint me I am dear.
Thou dost know them, every star
By its name—O! life divine,
God, Thou also knowest mine.
Pardon for my sins I pray,
In the great name ever blest,
Ask Thee for the most and best.
Our redeeming Sacrifice,
Our Renewer, let me be
Satisfied, at last, in Thee.
[Thou hast found me and I faint, I cannot bear Thy light]
I have eaten of the bitter bread of sin;
I have said, “There is no hope,” I am vile in God's sight;
I would cleanse me, but O how shall I begin?
Of a broken heart He is dying, His head droops low;—
O, one more day of grace, thou Saviour sacrificed;
O, one more call, I—whither shall I go?
The voice of my Brother's blood doth on me call;
I cannot wash me clean with tears for evermore,
Yet my stains are in His sight who seeth all.
Slain from the world's foundation He me accuseth;—
Lord Christ, upon the cross how long wilt Thou remain,
Pierced for the doomèd world that Thee refuseth?
Falling rocks and mountains should a grave afford;
Where shall I safety find? whither shall I flee?
Where hide my guilty head from the suffering Lord?
“Go not—nay, come, take hold on the deadly tree,
Here seek where thou art sought—to thy peace consent,
Thou canst not covert find—thou art found of Me.
Look unto Me, lost soul, look! thou shalt not die;
Thy sins have nail'd Me here—here is thy pardon seal'd:
None other can forgive, lo, I forgive, even I.”
[Rise, for God calls thee, leaning down to bless]
Aye to thy tears attent;
Why sitt'st thou, dying of drought all shelterless,
Mourning, like Hagar in the wilderness,
When the water was spent.
Whereof she drank of yore.
But she did thirst again. The white sun shone
Blinding above her head—her strength was gone—
The bondwoman hoped no more.
Above did audience give.
He call'd her. Rise, for so He calls to thee,
Opens thine eyes a well of water to see—
Drink, desolate soul, and live.
When he lamenting sore
Doth mourn like Hagar in the wilderness;
Behold it, flowing and free, His love confess,
Drink thou, and thirst no more.
[Now the psalm to heaven ascending]
Sighs of heart are with it blending;
Close together, all unknown,
Each from each doth stand alone.
Nothing of our grief we tell,
Nay, but, God, Thou knowest it well;
Each from Thee for comfort seeks,
In whose ear the silence speaks.
In whose light the hid thing showeth;
Straighten'd measure, endless care,
Hard for them we love to bear
Left behind in life's great plan,
Seeking not for aid from man,
Thou the want, the strife canst see,
The poor commends himself to Thee.
Up to whom the sighing goeth;
Yea, He knoweth, who doth bless,
Yet not spare its bitterness.
I, in sorrow, pain, and loss,
Kiss with many tears the cross;
Tears are my meat: comfort Thou me,
My tears commend themselves to Thee.
My dark places Thou me showest;
Though Thy mercy hold me fast,
Nothing can undo the past;
I repent me of my ways;
I go softly all my days;
My sinful soul doth only flee—
Doth still commend itself to Thee.
Bear our wants, our tears above.
Live, Thou Lord that didst atone,
Great High Priest, before the throne;
Little of our griefs we tell,
Thou, O Father, knowest them well;
Each from Thee may comfort seek,
In whose ear doth silence speak.
[Let me hate mine own life]
That I led in evil ways;
Envy, lying, lust, and strife,
Selfish nights and careless days.
It was death; but now 'tis meet
It were buried, hid, forgot;—
Christ, I lay it at Thy feet.
For Thy sake, and put on Thine;
Though it be with dangers rife,
In the ending it shall shine.
Let me Thy disciple be;
Bear Thy cross, and even so
Live to God, and rest in Thee.
[When children are sick, when times are hard]
(Lord, Christ, hear on Thy heavenly shore)
Thou to my sighing dost lend regard,
For God is my God for evermore.
(Lord, Christ, hear on Thy heavenly shore)
Oft am I troubled, and scarce can pray,
But God is my God for evermore.
(Lord, Christ, hear on Thy heavenly shore)
Thou wilt me pity, I shall not die,
For God is my God for evermore.
(Lord, Christ, hear on Thy heavenly shore)
Thy comforts cheer me, though nights be cold,
And God is my God for evermore.
(Lord, Christ, hear on Thy heavenly shore)
Though I can earn me nor warmth nor bread,
My God is my God for evermore.
(Lord, Christ, hear on Thy heavenly shore)
I must leave you, my friends—I must go,
But God is my God for evermore.
[All desiring, nothing won]
Man, thy day is nearly done;
Is the path of life begun?
Call this poor soul once, once more,
Jesu standing at the door.
Strength to open first afford;
Will to grasp love's sweet award.
Let not, let not all be vain;
Take the everlasting gain.
At His feet, who doth thee call;
In His mercy stands thine all.
Thorn-crown'd King, Thine eyes are sweet;
Master, is it thus we meet?
Lord, I nail'd Thee on the tree;
Lord, good Lord, I scoff'd at Thee!
O! my guilt is deep and high;—
“Peace,” He saith, “thou shalt not die.
I have wash'd in blood divine;
I forgive thee—thou art Mine.”
CAROL.
With a Burden.
After the ewes and lambs, so oft I ponder,
“When the Chief Shepherd comes, that is full tender,
He will, of all His own, true reckoning render;
Them that give suck and feed, them from dust raisèd;
Praise the good Lord, therefòre.”
The Lord be praisèd.
When many lambs are lost ere the storm lifteth,
I think, “When Thou shalt come, though the dark blind me,
Lord, 'twill be light to Thee, straight Thou wilt find me;
I, when Thou call'st my soul, with light amazèd
Shall in Thy light see light.”
The Lord be praisèd.
How shepherds sat of old, still I remember,
And Thou didst send them news, straight from Thy city,
All of Thy great good-will and Thy dear pity;
Glad were the shepherds then with glory dazèd;
Praise the good Lord, therefòre.
The Lord be praisèd.
The Lord be praisèd.
Sing, for thy Saviour's birth,
The Lord be praisèd.
The Lord be praisèd.
For prayers of love are strong,
The Lord be praisèd.
Thy star shall shiue again,
The Lord be praisèd.
Thy King come back to reign.
The Lord be praisèd.
CHRISTMAS WAITS.
First Part.
In a winter night was born;
Angels tell the glorious tale,
Let not, earth, thy welcome fail.
“All hail,” and “all hail.”
Thy great might Thou hast forgot;
Guider of all stars that shone,
Sleep, Thy glory is clean gone.
Sleep on, and sleep on.
And thank God for this Child's sake;
Sing, my heart, the anthem swell,
Since that blessèd birth befell,
All's well, and all's well.
Lost beneath the apple-tree,
Now is won the heavenly shore,
Where light wanes, and life gives o'er
No more, and no more.
Second Part.
Was not welcomed long, erewhile,
Soon they sent Him home, and He
Through the gates of death did flee.
Ah me, and ah me!
For His kindness was not spent,
Now His merits aye prevail
Where no more the welcomes fail.
“All hail,” and “all hail!”
We, ere long, shall see His face,
Forty—thirty—twenty—ten
Years, or days, Christ Jesus then.
Amen, and amen.
[Sweet are His ways who rules above]
He gives from wrath a sheltering place;
But covert none is found from grace,
Man shall not hide himself from love.
Wings of the morning and forth fly,
Faster He goes, whose care on high
Shepherds the stars and doth them guide.
Till day wax dim lamenting me;
He wills that I shall sleep to see
The great gold stairs to His sweet home.
And climb the branch, He lifts his face;
I am not secret from His grace
Lost in the leafy sycamore.
I shame my Lord,—it shall not be;
For He will turn and look on me,
Then must I think thereon and weep.
Nor alleys pleach'd of Paradise,
Nor Herod's judgment-halls suffice:
Man shall not hide himself from love.
[Thick orchards, all in white]
Stand 'neath blue voids of light,
And birds among the branches blithely sing,
For they have all they know;
There is no more, but so,
All perfectness of living, fair delight of spring.
Makes answer as for love
To the deep yearning of man's yearning breast;
And mourneth, to his thought,
As in her notes were wrought
Fulfill'd in her sweet having, sense of his unrest.
With fairest earthly lot,
Cometh the peace assured, his spirit's quest;
With much it looks before,
With most it yearns for more;
And ‘this is not our rest,’ and ‘this is not our rest.’
For more. The heart that took
All spring-tide for itself were empty still;
Its yearning is not spent
Nor silenced in content,
Till He that all things filleth doth it sweetly fill.
Dureth so short a day;
Youth and the spring are over all too soon;
Content us while they last,
Console us for them past,
Thou with whom bides for ever life, and love, and noon.
FROM PSALM CXXX.
O God, I make my moan;
When I by night awaked from sleep
Do watch with Thee alone.
To mark what is amiss;
Forgiveness doth Thee well beseem—
Lord, be Thou fear'd in this.
Till darkness wear away;
My soul doth flee, I say, to Thee
Before the breaking day.
Though yet thy dawn be dim;
He will Thee save from out the grave,
Redemption is with Him.”
[I am dead with Thee, and I remain]
Buried, dark beneath the covering clod;
In my heart, O Master, rise again,
And ascend, as in my sight, to God.
Tell my soul Thou wilt not her forsake;
While I follow, near to me abide,
Else O how shall I that journey make?
It is great, as all Thy counsels tell;
Very glorious, high and far to seek
Lies the goal,—O gird me for it well.
Use my riches for Thyself, and wear
Thou mine honours. Jesu, bear for me
My deep griefs, and carry, Lord, my care.
Great Forerunner to Thy glory pass'd;
Thou hast pardon'd; through the golden gate
O receive me to Thy home at last.
[It is the Lord. He stands with thorny crown]
That I did help to press upon His brow.
Is mine a lost soul? Nay; for He looks down
In love upon me sunk into the slough
Of my despond, and calls—O, can it be?—
“Come unto Me!”
Nothing, thou long hast served it, and for nought;
But now thou knowest its glory cannot save,
Nor its grace comfort. One there is takes thought
Upon thy grief. Myself have pitied thee,—
Come unto Me!
Now in thy poverty, distress, despair,
Emptied of good, look on thy hope—come nigh;
So look away thy misery and thy care,
Thou yet shall have enough and all good see—
Come unto Me!
And all thy sins and thy deplorèd shame;
For I can wash thee clean and clear thy breast,
That knoweth not yet its Great Want's greater name,
My name, even Mine. Behold, I wait for thee!—
Come unto me!”
[O! that I had wings]
Then would I flee away and be at rest;
I would go up where rapt the seraph sings,
There would I satisfy my soul oppress'd,
In the white peace above;
And lay me at the feet of God's great love.
O! that I had wings
Like a dove.
They whom Thou hast died to free,
Bind; whom thou hast loved, despise;—
Aliens each in other's eyes.
That my portion might be peace;
O! that love Thy Church might bless,
While she walks this wilderness.
Wounding stings of envy born;
When the kneeling saint doth scoff,
What shall be the end thereof?
Ay, and strive at Thine own feet
At Thy cross, for us who bled
Saviour; and I said, I said,—
Then would I flee away and be at rest,
I would go up where rapt the seraph sings,
There would I satisfy my soul oppress'd,
In the white peace above;
And lay me at the feet of God's great love;
O! that I had wings
Like a dove.
ADVENT SUNDAY. EVENING.
“An hour is struck on high,
But yet is no streak of light
In the solemn, starless sky;
Dark nor the dayspring breaketh,
The world is drowsed and dumb;
I sleep, but my heart waketh;
When will the Bridegroom come?”
His Father's smile to see;
The wound is heal'd in His side,
He plants, for thy sake, a tree;
Thy speech on His tongue rings sweet,
His country is plain to view,
For He brought its dust on His feet,
His locks were wet with dew.”
And thou, O North wind, blow!
Move in my garden, and make
All my chief spices flow;
Bud, and bud, in the night,
Fruitful tree and fair flower,
Till, with shocks of instant light,
Sounds forth the Bridegroom's hour.
Thou breakest me bread divine;
The wine of Thy cup is good,
But Thy love is better than wine.
Lord, when Thou comest to sup,
I shall know how this can be,
For Thyself shall hold the cup,
I shall drink of it new with Thee.
That present love to greet;
Fain would I see Thy face,
And lie at Thy sacred feet;
Fain would I hear Thy voice,
Speak the language of men
Then shall Thy bride rejoice,
Then, O never, till then.”
Take thy lamp, and take oil,
Put on thy raiment white
The Bridegroom took for a spoil;
Prepare, let thy feet be shod,
For thy heart doth prophecy
Thy desire is born of God,
And is made thy destiny.”
[When through the meads I go]
Or where Lent-lilies blow,
Or purple pasque-flowers, and primroses pale;
I think they look'd e'en so,
When my Lord lived below;
So in their month made sweet the chosen vale.
A little two-years' child,
He mark'd them trembling on the slender stem.
Sweet Innocent! and He
Did stoop, it well may be,
Right pleased, as other babes, to gather them.
Who erst did all things fill,
The Lord that made them knew them not by name;
The speech of heaven foregone,
Not yet had learn'd our tongue,
And pluck'd with inarticulate sweet acclaim.
On the night heavens, Thy ways
Confound my thought, they are too great for me;
But wonders, these are none,
Thou hast them so outdone
In the great ways of Thy humility.
[The measureless gulfs of air are full of Thee]
Thou Art, and therefore hang the stars; they wait,
And swim, and shine in God who bade them be,
And hold their sundering voids inviolate.
With sweet revealing of his love, the soul;
Toward things piteous, full of piteousness;
The Cause, the Life, and the continuing Whole.
Than anything unto itself can be;
Full-foliaged boughs of Eden could not shade
Afford, since God was also 'neath the tree.
Thy likeness till Thou mad'st it manifest.
There is no world but is Thy heaven; no spot
Remote; Creation leans upon Thy breast.
Wonderful whisperings hold Thy creature dumb;
I need not search afar; to me Thou art
Father, Redeemer, and Renewer—come.
A PORTION OF PSALM XLII.
Urged over the desert wilds, and sultry lea;
As the hart panteth after the water brooks,
So panteth my soul after Thee.
When shall I come and appear, O God, before Thee?
When I remember how I Thy courts have trod,
I pour out my soul in me.
With such as keep holiday; but lo! my crown
Is trod in the dust, I mourn through all my days;
O my God, my soul is cast down.
Though Thou me slay, Thou only my hope shalt be;
As the hart panteth after the water brooks,
So panteth my soul after Thee.
[When it was well with me]
Oft I sent up to Thee
My heart in prayer;
Now I lie frail and faint,
Send I my sad complaint,
Where art Thou—where?
Holy and mighty One,
With glory shod;
Searching the starry weft.
Thy garment's hem—bereft
I feel for God.
Moving, majestical,
Heaven's outwork span;
Lord, what is this I see?
They are too high for me;
Lord, what is man?
Set at creation's rim;
Thou hast been here;
Where Thou hast been, Thou art,
Thou hast nor past, nor part,
Nor far, nor near.
Thy time is evermore
Set at to-day;
Thy Spirit, Lord, doth brood
Yet o'er the waters rude,
Forming for aye.
Now is made fair my lot,
Though I be dust;
Maker, redeeming Lord,
Spirit of grace, afford
Me a sure trust.
Man had Thy great love here,
Pledge of all grace;
Teach me on earth that love,
Then in Thy house above,
Show me His face.
[Such as have not gold to bring Thee]
They bring thanks—Thy grateful sons;
Such as have no song to sing Thee,
Live Thee praise—Thy silent ones.
Secret from Thy children here,
Known of Thee, will Thee be telling
How Thy ways with them are dear.
They are one, and they are all
Living stones, the Builder chooseth
For the courses of His wall.
Build us in Thy house divine;
Each one cries, “I, Lord, am willing,
Whatsoever place be mine.”
Hewn to fitness for the height,
By Thy hand to beauty moulden,
Show Thy workmanship in light.
Dark, and of the foot downtrod,
Sink them deep in the foundation—
Buried, hid with Christ in God.
I.
[When the ardent sun rides high]
Then the uncorrupt pure blue
Shows itself a worldless sky;
Children, thus it shows to you.
Lo! the stars of God are there;
Present hosts unseen till night—
Matchless, countless, silent, fair.
Lost is hold of hope divine;
Then the night of grief draws near,
And God's countless comforts shine.
All things else they start to view;
Mercies, countless as the stars—
Matchless, changeless, perfect, true.
II.
[As the veil of broidery fine]
For the temple wrought of old,
Dropp'd before the awful shrine,
Bloom'd in purple, gleam'd in gold;
Ever present, always near,
Charm the soul and fill the eye—
Marvellous, matchless, beauteous, dear.
Hangs before the holy place,
It must reign o'er sight and thought,
Drawn between us and His face.
Shall the present God appear;
We shall see Him then full fain—
Matchless, changeless, perfect, fair.
[It is not dying daunts the heart]
Who die to God forget the smart;
The sick full oft draw painful breath,
Yet, fear no bitterness of death—
No, 'tis the want the needy feel,
And their disgrace, whom none can heal;
Their anguish sore that walk in strife—
It is the bitterness of life.
Man's life by man lies trodden down,
And who can lift his heart to Thee,
And swear, “of this guilt I am free”?
The darts by lost Apollyon hurl'd,
The weight, the labouring of the world,
These are not ours to bear, yet we
Have sinn'd in Thy sight, verily,—
So the world's woe transcends our thought;
But make us wise of heart and true,
The right to learn, the right to do;
For heaven Thy Church aspires and faints,
Sweet is the death, Lord, of Thy saints;
But teach them here to aid the strife,
And soothe the bitterness of life.
[When I lie waking, my heart nigh to breaking]
When all things are dark and cold;
When my bread faileth, and fear assaileth
Me, a sinner grown sick, grown old;
When no man careth how with me it fareth,
For no soul doth count me dear;
Poor, hungry, sighing, a life most like dying,
And no nest in any tree here;
I think on that dwelling all sweet homes excelling,
And long there entrance to win.
O fair, fair city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
A welcome its peace to share;
My God, so be it. I should never see it,
If the cost were my cost to bear;
My misery showeth, and well Thy heart knoweth
Nought have I wherewith to pay:
Nought; and no merit, who would fain inherit
That city more fair than the day,
Where no want fretteth, where the soul forgetteth,
Fed with manna, the bitter bread of sin.
O most fair city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
To rest in the long release,
Pluck leaves of healing, and, safe with God's sealing,
Under the palm-trees have peace.
Hear blameless angels sing their sweet evangels;
Behold kneeling saints in the way
Where, unreprovèd, for one well-belovèd,
They wait in the cool of the day.
O most fair dwelling, all sweet homes excelling,
Thy beauty fain would I win.
O most dear city! Christ, for Thy pity,
Call this poor exile in.
GOOD FRIDAY.
Shocks and tremblings dread;
All the city sunk in gloom—
Thick darkness overhead.
An awful Sufferer straight and stark;
Mocking voices fell;
Tremblings—tremblings in the dark,
In heaven, and earth, and hell.
They pass, whom Christ forgave;
They know not what they do—they say,
“Himself He cannot save.
On His head behold the crown
That alien hands did weave;
Let Him come down, let Him come down,
And we will believe!”
Cloven rocks down hurl'd;
God's love itself doth seem to fail
The Saviour of the world.
Dying thieves do curse and wail,
Either side is scorn;
Lo! He hangs while some cry “Hail!”
Of heaven and earth forlorn.
He nears the deathly goal;
But He shall see in His last hours
Of the travail of His soul;
Lo, a cry!—the firstfruits given
On the accursèd tree—
“Dying Love of God in heaven,
Lord, remember me!”
Long ages ere that day,
And by God's sparing of His own
Our debt of death to pay;
By the Comforter's consent,
With ardent flames bestow'd,
In this dear race when Jesus went
To make His mean abode—
And the world dared not see;
By all redeeming wonders won
Through that dread mystery;—
Lord, receive once more the sigh
From the accursèd tree—
“Sacred Love of God most high,
O remember me!”
FRIDAY.
Gave up His breath and closed His darkening eyes;
As on this day within the tomb was laid,—
Consider it, my soul, and be afraid.
For yet He dieth for man—th' Eternal Son;
Slain first, the Lord of life, when death came in,
And Eve put forth her hand to her first sin.
And still dies daily as the ages roll.
Albeit a way He found to raise us more
And set man higher than he was before.
To save the lost, forsook His home above?
Perhaps, e'en now, some other world astray
Beholds His death and hews His grave to-day.
All at Thy hand, and tremble and believe
Thou dost me clear of guilt, great Father, make;
Now would I loathe my sins for Thy Son's sake.
Rather to make me what Thou lov'st to see;
Then look upon me in my Head, and know
What goodness and what grace once lived below.
To grow into His likeness—to attain,
Reflected from His face some ray divine,
Caught of that pureness which doth round Him shine.
Yet one day I shall truly be like Him;
And all my heart's desire and all my prayer
Is at His feet to lie, and thank Thee there.
Double Hymn.
1.
Tell how the Lord is dead—the Lord of glory?
With reverent fear approach the sealèd stone,
And mourn because of Him that lyeth alone?
1.
They left Him in His tomb—the Lord of glory—
Enwrapp'd with myrrh and spices of the dead,
And linen swathed about His sacred head.
Beneath His closèd lids the death-shades lower
On His cold shroud cold costly balms distil,
And the cold healing hands lie still, lie still.
2.
Did He come down and enter? None can tell.
O wondrous mystery! for man too deep;
The Christ is dead no more, He lyeth asleep.
2.
After the blanks of death our Saviour dear,
It may be as a man, in dreams of peace
Was dimly 'ware the ransom'd world's release,
Whisper'd the sealèd stone and bade it break;
When, like a flash of lightning fall'n from heaven,
An angel answer'd as the word was given.
Flee from the quaking rocks, the dazzling light;
And other angels light on His cold floor,
And minister, and marvel, and adore.
3.
Love's suffering, dying, living Lord to sing?
One to the night comes forth. Behold! 'tis He
Clad in His robes of immortality.
3.
He breathed a conscious calm ere joy began;
A rapture of deep rest that nothing saith,
New from the cold solemnities of death.
And all God's love came on Him from the throne;
The hovering mystic Dove, it may be, fell
Upon the breast of our Immanuel.
4.
The thoughts of Christ, the living Lord of glory;
Since He was God, my God foreknew His reign,
That Light of light would shine in light again.
The garden odours warm were sweet to Him;
And warmèd world, beneath whose bowers withdrawn,
He waited for His mourners till the dawn,
The kneeling women hold Him by the feet.
Heaven's gates fly open. So His words prevail,
That earth for ever answers, “Hail, all hail!”
[Mary of Magdala, when the moon had set]
Forth to the garden that was with night dews wet,
Fared in the dark—woe-wan and bent was she,
'Neath many pounds' weight of fragrant spicery.
“Who shall roll the stone up from yon door?” quoth she;
And trembling down the steep she went, and wept sore,
Because her dearest Lord was, alas! no more.
Light was there within, out to the dark it shone;
With an angel's face the dread tomb was bright,
The which she beholding fell for sore affright.
Heard the white vision speak, and did straightway flee;
And an idle tale seem'd the wild words she said,
And nought her heart received—nought was comforted.
“Our eyes beheld His death, the Saint of Galilee;
Who have borne Him hence truly we cannot say;”
Secretly in fear, they turn'd and went their way.
Follow'd to the tomb, and wept full bitterly,
Linger'd in the dark, where first the Lord was laid;
The white one spake again, she was no more afraid.
Kneeling, yet she weeps, and some one stands anear;
Asketh of her grief—she, all her thoughts are dim,
“If thou hast borne Him hence, tell me,” doth answer Him.
Under dewy leaves, behold Him!—death is dead;
“Mary,” and “O my Master,” sorrow speeds away,
Sunbeams touch His feet this earliest Easter day.
Trembling, of visions haunted, and all alone,
I too shall want Thee, Jesus, my hope, my trust,
Fall'n low, and all unclothed, even of my poor dust.
And call me by my name, Lord, for I am Thine;
Thou wilt stand and wait, I shall so look and see,
In the garden of God, I shall look up—on Thee.
Double Hymn.
THE WALK TO EMMAUS.
1
'Twas at this hour, upon the world's great day,Two men of sorrow went upon their way;
Of bitter death they made their bitter moan,
And One drew nigh, and with them walk'd unknown.
1
So draw Thou nigh to us, dear and dread Lord;So to earth's mourners sacred hope afford;
If yet we know Thee not, reveal our need,
Show us Thyself, the dead Christ, risen, indeed.
2
'Twas at this hour the Sacred Wayfarer,With strange, sweet yearning made their hearts to stir;
Then when He would go on, as one constrain'd
Of prayer, “Abide with us;” return'd, remain'd.
2
So, Lord, abide with us, day is far spent;Be Thou constrain'd to this Thy dear intent;
Hast Thou done all, and shall that all be vain?
Blest Wayfarer, reveal Thyself again.
3
'Twas at this hour they won Him to their board,And suddenly, behold, it was the Lord!—
For He took bread, and bless'd it,—and anon
He gave it to them.—And the Lord was gone.
3
So, go not now; abide, and bless, and break,Till all our bread is holy, for Thy sake;
O Life, be Life indeed, true faith afford,
Let us cry, also, “We have seen the Lord.”
[Thy body done to death below]
Thou still dost freely give;
Thy blood, which is Thy life, bestow,
And in that life I live.
Jesu, my Lord, I Thee confess,
Thy love my heaven will be;
Thy care I crave, Thy name I bless,
And wish myself with Thee.
O yield it from above;
Bless me according to Thine own
And not my feeble love;
Thou wilt not less than I have sought,
But more, my Saviour, give,
Albeit Thy promise passeth thought,
In me to grow to live.
Thou mighty to atone;
Live in my heart, and free from blame
Present it at the throne.
Jesu, my Lord, I Thee confess,
Thy love my heaven will be;
Thy care I crave, Thy work I bless,
And wish myself with Thee.
[In the night I think on Thee]
I remember me by day
Of Thy care; but who shall say
To my soul, “It shall not be
That thou ever fall away”?
To go on with might divine,
This salvation is not mine.
I will trust Thee, lover of man,
To love on, and prove it Thine.
Plead too well again to live,
(Lord, O hear; O Lord, forgive,)
How shall I lift up my head,
Find or peace or palliative?
For Thou art not at the end
Of Thy mercy, and extend
To me, fall'n, a pitying hand,
Piercèd hand, Thou sinner's friend.
Old, I lose Thee from my ken,
Thou chiefest of the sons of men,
And Thy worth from memory fade;
O! most loving Lord, what then?
In Thy memory lives my boast;
On the everlasting coast
Thou wilt meet and own me yet,
To the end and uttermost.
[Thou to whom my soul aspires]
Fain to serve and fain to see,
Answer, answer her desires,
Born of Thee, Lord,—born of Thee.
At the midnight, when men sleep,
Oft my heart to Thy heart calleth,
As deep calleth unto deep.
And Thy dwelling-place I knew
Well, as Thy love's overflowings
Dropping on the world like dew.
Life, and place, and time, and will;
Holy One, in light that hideth,
Mighty Father, moving still;
Even in heaven, O Thou all-fair?
Ay, in Christ's face Thou wilt show Thee,
I shall see Thee,—Thou art there.
PART OF PSALM LXIV.
My God, for Thee I long;
Thy love is all my song,
While through the wilderness,
A thirsty land, I go,
Where no sweet waters flow.
I lift my hands on high,
Thy name to magnify.
Thy love is better than life;
My soul doth hang on Thee,
Thy right hand holdeth me.
E'en as with all good things,
When she Thy praises sings.
Awake, with Thee doth bide;
And sleep beneath the wide
Shade of Thy sheltering wings.
[In foul and cheerless places]
I sought my realm's disgraces;
The poor—I mark'd their faces—ill they sped;
Hard by the forges burning,
And by the great wheels turning,
Behold them, grimly earning,—their bread.
The deep mines, and the mire,
And won not their desire—nay, nor ease;
But trouble to them cleavèd
Till old age unreprievèd,
These have we bereavèd—yea, these.
From their long strife, and crying,
Where my sweet home was lying—fair to see,
A voice mine ears receivèd,
The words of One that grievèd,
“Me have ye bereavèd—yea, Me.”
And One the record keepeth,
While yet the judgment sleepeth—heed and wake;
His want thy glory fretteth,
His shame thine honour letteth,
Lest God thy name forgetteth—break, break.
I lie, down-trod and bleeding,
And ye, my wounds unheeding, pass me by;
Till having lived in pleasure,
In quiet and long leisure,
And heaping up of treasure—ye die.
And whoso in them trusteth,
His own soul forth he thrusteth—heaven to flee;”
The words of One that grievèd,—
“O ye souls deceivèd,
Me have ye bereavèd—yea, Me.”
[O Christ of God, in my good days]
I found Thee, both in work and praise;
But now the cup of pain I drink
And fail to find Thee there,—and sink.
Jesu, I shall not live but die;
Thee have I loved, yet fear is now,
And though Thou diedst, I find not how.
Thy death was hid from me by life;
Now sinks my heart, now fails my breath,
Thy life is hid from me by death.
There is no resting, Lord, but so!
The abhorrèd nails my lips do meet,
My arms embrace Thy bleeding feet.
Thy little part; behold the whole.
O Christ, Thy thorns have woundèd me,
Of Thee redeem'd, I bleed with Thee.
Am not I near to heed Thy word?
I mourn for God, I make my cry
In union with Thy death to die.
The fellowship of suffering binds;
In this dark hour Thou teachest me
My soul is in the dark—with Thee.
Till all my will is lost in Thine;
Till grief a balm in union prove,
And suffering be assuaged with love.
[Somewhere, quiet in the rest of God]
Live our dead, the well-belovèd dead;
Though we seem'd to leave them 'neath the sod,
To the everlasting hills they sped,
There they sit,—the well-belovèd dead.
Certain as the southing of a star,
Stands the hour writ down when I shall die.
O to go where all my good things are,
Calmly as the southing of a star.
Our good country lies—Immanuel's land;
Earn'd for us and soon to bless our sight.
Anchor'd fast to God, a radiant strand,
O my heart's desire—Immanuel's land.
[Our Saviour fear'd the suff'ring that should be]
This hymn is an attempt to versify the following sentence: —“How wonderful is the love which can discern the love of God revealed in and by deepest suffering, and which rejoices in the love in spite of the suffering. ‘He took the cup, and took the bread’—symbols of a broken body and shed blood—and ‘gave thanks.’” —Journal of Norman Macleod.
The sorrow welling up—a mighty sea,
The shame and passion, the last agony,
And death's cold blanks;
But yet He took the bread while they did sup,
And—all His will to God's will given up—
He bless'd it; then, my soul, He took the cup,
And He gave thanks.
The broken body and shed blood; He knew—
Wonderful love!—how near the trial drew
He must endure.
God's will reveal'd for deepest suffering stood,
He took it, blessing it as very good,
And seal'd it willingly with His best blood
To make it sure.
For Thine own piercèd hands and thorn-crown'd head,
For Thine own body glorious from the dead
Beyond the banks
Of that cold river; all, whose cold is o'er,
Give thanks. Stand sweetly on Thy happy shore
And bless this bread; and for this wine, once more,
Jesus, give thanks.
[I cast my cares on Thee]
Thou wilt not refuse them;
I cast my cares on Thee,
Not that I may lose them,
But that Thou may'st take them,
And Thine own cares make them.
Think, O Lord, on me.
At Thy feet I leave them;
I must go—but, bless,
Saviour, and receive them;
Nought they heed my weeping,
Take to Thine own keeping,
My children fatherless.)
When I cross the river,
Oh near, for love's sake, be
Thou one comfort giver;
Pity my sore sighing,
Loose my bands in dying—
Stand and look on me.
With her stains and sorrow;
I, ransom'd, look to see
A holy, long to-morrow.
Thou that failest never,
I cast all for ever
On Thy clemency.
Thou wilt not refuse them;
Ay, all my cares on Thee,
Not that I may lose them,
But that Thou may'st take them,
And Thine own cares make them.
Think, O Lord, on me.
[Thy son, Adam, was red clay]
Yet;—but Thou didst see our day;
All foreknown the ages rise,
And with God is no surprise;
No-way thwarted was Thy plan
When the serpent tempted man.
Wisdom that was never foil'd,
Let it now mankind suffice
Once to have been in Paradise,
Seeing, O God, it cannot be
That the serpent conquer'd Thee.
Holy Slayer, in Thee we trust;
Thy good children fell—but all
Heaven sang of rising after fall;
While Thou, Triune God, didst sit
And behold and suffer it.
Neighbour countries of despair,
Know man's sighing and the weight
Of his toil outside the gate;
Drink his blood, cover his head
'Neath their sward when he is dead.
That great mystery shall be known;—
At the world's foundation slain
Known the Lamb that lives again,
And the grace He did conceive
When the serpent tempted Eve.
[O Zion on the sacred hills]
Fair mystery of mysteries!
The noon of God her presence fills,
The city of our solemnities.
And hear afar the rapt strange hymn,
Where shooting rainbow-lights ascend
Above the chanting seraphim?
The shining river through her fleets
In palmy shade; and angels are
The common people of her streets.
I met the Christ 'neath some fair tree,
To hear Him speak my soul could bear,
Nor die of joy and no more be.
This boon above all other grace,
I trust, even I, to see the Lord,
And bear the beauty of His face.
(Hymn with a Burden.)
“Thou, only Guardian of my coasts,
In Thee the Island nation boasts.”
(O love the Lord.)
“My fields Thou hast not shown a foe,
The noise of battle nor its woe,
Nor smoke of war my children know.
(I love the Lord.)”
“Good is Thy reign o'er me and mine,
Still from Thy throne upon me shine.”
(O love the Lord.)
“To bless with blessings give not o'er,
I have much peace, yet ask for more,—
Give peace at home from shore to shore.”
(O love the Lord.)
To righteous walking, Lord, them lead,
And mercy to all souls that need.”—
(O love the Lord.)
“To dealings just, a perfect weight,
And in their homes and in their state
To gentleness that maketh great.”
(O love the Lord.)
Thou wak'nest in these latter days
More longing for Thy perfect ways;”—
(I love the Lord.)
“Morning by morning Thou dost hear
The sighing of Thy children dear,
‘Thy will be done,’ that will make clear.”
(O love the Lord.)
Of such as yet in sinful shame
Lie to their sorrow and our blame.”
(O love the Lord.)
“Wake, thou that sleepest! sing, ye dumb,
His goodness in an untold sum;
Wake, wake, and cry, ‘Thy kingdom come.’”
(O love the Lord.)
And if it stand in Thy blest will,
The prayers of all her saints fulfil.”
(O love the Lord.)
“Yea, though her peace depart away,
Her glory sink as sets the day,
O teach her in her woe to say,—
(I love the Lord.)”
[Emptied of good, with many cares oppress'd]
Full oft I long to cast them on Thy breast;
But not that I may lose them, Love Divine,
O rather craving Thou wouldst count them Thine.
Their sorrows—whom I love—are my worse cross:
Do as Thou wilt with me, all shall me please,
Only be gracious, Perfect Love, to these
It is not hard to trust Thee with mine own—
But these—they mourn for griefs, they may not flee,
And I can tell them, Lord, to none but Thee.
For those I love—were my love strong as true.”
But who may ask Thee thus, though long withstood,
He mourneth after God and after good?
Thy comforting, kind voice, my Lord, most dear;
I feel Thy grace, Thy sweetness on me shine—
Poor is my treasure-store of love to Thine.
I call down blessings—grief and trouble fall—
And yet Thy heavenly whisper teacheth me
Love is of God, and mine is born of Thee.
But Thy love seeth all things—my love none.
Mine eyes are held, for so, and only so,
My love would cast their lot, if I might know.
Kind to my fear, and gentle with my prayer;
With these it shall be well, my rest is won,
Because Thou lov'st them most—Thy will be done.
A REQUIEM.
Sustainer and source of our breath;
A word from the nations that lie
Under the shadow of death.
Father, we bring Thee our dead—
See Thou to the rest evermore,
Our love's last and utmost is said.
To ransom from death and from doom;
Behold now, this dead, he is Thine,
Laid low at the door of Thy tomb.
Spirit! O look to Thine own;
Dust is for dust,—in the strife
Death conquer'd, heart fail'd, light is gone.
Shall sparkle in dew o'er his head;
He is cold, he is deaf to our grief;
He is hid. O our dead! O our dead!
We trust, to the utmost and end;
O death—the last enemy—death,
The dying hath Life for His friend.
The shadow of death forth shall flee,
Thou Life, ever blest, ever dear,
We have trusted our dead unto Thee.
[Dear is the lost wife to a lone man's heart]
When in a dream he meets her at his door,
And, waked for joy, doth know she dwells apart,
All unresponsive on a silent shore;
Dearer, yea, more desired art thou—for thee
My divine heart yearns by the jasper sea.
She wants, with emptied arms and love untold,
Her most dear little one that on her smiled
And went; but more, I want Mine own. Behold,
I long for My redeem'd, where safe with Me
Twelve manner of fruits grow on th' immortal tree;
And planted in the city of My God.
Lift up thy head, I love thee; wherefore, then,
Liest thou so long on thy memorial sod
Sleeping for sorrow? Rise, for dawn doth break—
I love thee, and I cry to thee “Awake.”
Ere the long shadow lengthen at thy feet.
Work,—I have many poor, O man, that cry,
My little ones do languish in the street.
Love,—'tis a time for love, since I love thee.
Live,—'tis a time to live. Man, live in Me.
THE BROODING OF THE DOVE.
I.
Didst mourn upon Him hard bestead,
And when His Spirit He set free,
In death didst gather it to Thee,
And, folded to Thy hallow'd breast,
Didst bear it to a place of rest,
And show unto all saints that wait
In the country of souls separate.
At this great Coming, from repose;
Look'd on Love's advent, knew Love's claim,
And learn'd at last Love's mighty name;
While Aaron's priests, of Thee made wise,
Approached th' Eternal sacrifice;
And seers attain'd by Thee reveal'd
The mystery of their visions seal'd.
One that was wounded of His own;
Behold Him, stricken for man's need,
The afflicted God, the woman's seed;
The Angel of the Presence dread
Who spake in dreams at their bed's head;
The Captain at His watch all night,
The wrestler until morning light.
The morning star reveals its rays;
A blest to-morrow waited long
Through eons dimm'd with evensong.
Among the ransom'd souls at rest
The Spirit of the Christ is blest,
And far and fast the shadow flies,
To-morrow dawns in Paradise.
For him the promised, blest “to-day;”
Light of all worlds whose earliest sheen
Is given to Hades “the unseen.”
Peace, peace, our song shall be of peace;
O, suffering Love, Thy troubles cease,
The holy dead receive the word,
And rest together with the Lord.
THE BROODING OF THE DOVE.
II.
The Christ was gone from mortal view:
He left a promise with His own,
“The Comforter shall come to you.”
All-hallow'd wings, the brooding Dove
Came down and moved till His great day
On the deep waters of God's love.
He moved on voids of man untrod;
A Seer, beholding long before
The yet unformèd Church of God.
A holy storm of swift desire,
On humble heads a more than crown,
He fell in hovering tongues of fire.
The Dove of God to be their guest;
And they beheld the sacred flame—
Their power, their sanction, and their rest.
Is not the promise made to all?
Refining fire, informing Lord,
Indwelling Spirit fall—O fall.
[Now my sun will soon depart]
Quiet is the closing day,
God doth gently smooth the way,
And with peace my waiting heart
Still endow.
Work is over, rest is near;
Let me watch for Thee, nor fear
When Thy summons shall be sent,—
“Enter thou.”
Earth her best doth first afford,
And the worser afterward;
But Thou hast kept the good wine
Until now.
[Like a great river Thy love flows]
Let not it run to waste,
I'll dip my hand, so near it goes,
Sure I thereof may taste.
And cry to Thee, “Give, give,
I am athirst; give me to drink.”
He answers, “Drink, and live;
Thou canst not see nor dream;
All is for all, thou hast the whole
Of great love's lasting stream.
Thy thirst, thy longing slake;
Drink, O belovèd, My divine
Sorrow and love partake.
Over thy sins and shame;
Love, for My love is given to such
As think upon My name.
And give thee a white stone;
Dear shall thy name be in His sight,
By whom 'tis read alone.
And hear My heaven-sweet call;
Behold Me offer'd, take thy part
In love's unending all.”
Accept, since Thou art won;
There is great silence in my soul
As glory were begun;—
To thank Thee and to pray,
“Preserve it, Saviour, free from blame
Until the judgment day;—”
And from its bordering sod,
Drink of the river that makes glad
The city of my God.
EVENING.
And sink adown his golden wake;
Behold us, met now work is done
To seek Thy grace at evensong.
Warm us, and draw our souls to Thee;
Draw us to follow, as the sun,
Thy servant, vassal worlds draws on.
Food fresh from heaven as manna spread,
Lest of the poisonous fruits of death
Eat the sad soul that hungereth.
When Thou dost yearn to yield us all;
But for this life, this little hour,
Ask all Thy love and care, and power.
Into Thy kingdom give us birth.
We would not wish or dare, to wait
In better worlds a better state.
Receive each soul and hear its vow:
“My Father's God, on Thee I call,
Thou shalt be my God, and my All.”
[Now will I sing a song I learn'd of old]
To One whom my soul loveth. “O my Vine,
My Life, Thy branch cries out to Thee; behold,
For good, this fruitless graft, that yet is Thine.
Leaves that do languish, wither'd buds are there;
When the Great Husbandman shall presently
Come down, is nothing sweet, and nothing fair.
Budded, brake forth, and bloom'd in Aaron's hand;
O mystic Vine, shall He do less for Thee
Than bid Thy favour'd branch revive, expand.
And call the clouds to drop in gracious dew;
Let Thy sap rise in this dry branch and flow—
(For yet 'tis Thine)—Rise, rise, in it anew.
But what if it should come with loss, with pain?
How should the wheat desire the winnowing fan—
How shall the branch desire so sore a gain?
Thee let me yet some sweetness grow, and then
It shall suffice Thy branch—(is it not Thine?)—
To ask, to pray, “Even so come. Amen.”
SERVICE.
That her Messias came to her, and sat by Jacob's well
Aweary, for the way was long—He lean'd upon the brink—
Cometh a woman down to draw—“Give Me,” saith He, “to drink.”
“So would that I,” and “Would that I,” and “Would that I might do;”
And “Would that in that woman's place it might have been for me
To draw the water Thou didst long for—Blessèd One—for Thee.”
Did lift the water, nothing 'ware of ought but mortal's drouth;
Then ask—O sad, O sweet her words—of Him, blest Son of Man,
“How is it Thou wilt ought of me, th' unloved Samaritan?”
Thou wilt of sinners ask for aid, thou wilt “have dealings” now?
“Give Me to drink, the well is deep, I sit, I wait for thee;
I am athirst, I am athirst; 'beseech you, succour Me!
And whoso aideth mortal want, so aideth My divine.”
I yield Thee hearty thanks, O Lord! So yet, it mine may be
To draw the water Thou dost long for—Blessèd One—For Thee.
Double Hymn.
1.
My Jesu! In the crowd He walks with sorrow's down-trod sons;He is afflicted in the streets for His afflicted ones.
Lord Jesu, buffeted again while rushing crowds go by,
He pleadeth for His poor unheard, for His oppress'd doth sigh.
2.
What are these wounds, Thou Love of God, so low that condescends?Alas! Thou'rt wounded in the house, my Jesu, of Thy friends;
I will go down into the streets, for sure Thou beckonest me;
Go down, Thou saviour of my heart, and serve Thy poor with Thee.
1.
Once the fishers Thine appearingSaw, and cried for aid;
Want and toil behold Thee nearing
Now, no more afraid.
Dear to misery's sons and daughters,
Now Thy visits be,
Walking on the whelming waters
Of their stormy sea.
3.
My Jesu! On the height He walks a-shepherding His sheep;A little flock, a scatter'd flock new waken'd out of sleep,
For slumber yet their heavy eyes can scarce His beauty see,
And “Who will climb upon the heights and tend this flock for Me?”
4.
Dear, my Lord Jesu, my desire, the lonely paths are high;The scatter'd flock doth wander oft, and deep the snowdrifts lie;
But in Thy pleasure is my life, Thy will my law shall be;
Lo! I will climb upon the heights and tend this flock for Thee.
2.
There, one day, O Lord, their onlyTrust, shall sound Thy feet
Coming up the pastures lonely,
In remoteness sweet.
Coming, in the dim, the golden
Dawn ere shadows flee
As Thou camest in ages olden—
Walking on the sea.
5.
My Jesu! walking on the strand, a ship about to sail,And “All My love to them she bears, is but an unknown tale;
Where is the man will tell My tale and dare the desert sea,
Albeit, he take his life in hand, and sailing meet—with Me?”
6.
Lord Jesu, I will sail this night, and tell Thy story o'er,E'en though unto the land beloved return the ship no more,
For O sweet death, and O sweet death, if death my dower should be,
Even so come, Lord Jesus,—come, and meet us on the sea.
3.
When the rent heavens rage and thunder,When the unfriended barque
Beaten of the deep goes under,
Foundering in the dark;
When the yeasty waves all cover,
When the spirits flee—
Meet them, mankind's Lord and lover,
Walking on the sea.
HARVEST.
And harvests from the deep;
By day Thou giv'st with bounteous hand,
By night Thou giv'st in sleep.
Thou giv'st the wakening of the spring,
In autumn sheaves to live;
We give but thanks, our God, O King,
Nought else we have to give.
Who doth me hold in life;
Of His own life did me afford,
And shared my bread, my strife.
By me did toil, and with me housed,
Consider'd sore my doom;
My misery rued, my cause espoused,
And made with me His tomb.
The sting of death He stole;
Now am I glad, that was full sad
And sick;—in Him made whole.
O heaven and earth, high praise afford,
Thou deep its echoes roll;
Praise ye the Lord, praise ye the Lord—
Praise the Lord, O my soul.
CONFLICT.
In the dark, with Thy dread might?
I am nought: O how should I contend?
And I did think Thou wert my friend,
Thou Wrestler in the night.
I faint—I am undone;
I fall—there once was pity with Thee;
By Thy past pity, O set me free,
My Lord, my Holy One.
Lord, Thou hast laid me low;
All my sins rise and hem me round,
In the dark accusing whispers sound—
I, whither shall I go?
Thy smiles on me were sure;
I have done amiss and evil wrought;
Now, in great darkness, I am taught
How, Lord, Thine eyes are pure.
Nay, through all tears, I wot
Thou art nearer to me than of old;
While Thou dost strive I can Thee hold.
Slay,—but depart Thou not.
These bitter tears deplore.
To have grieved Thy heart is my worse dole;
Forgive, blest Wrestler, with my soul
I would Thee wound no more.
My one hope, all my grace;
O Love! I cannot be denied;
O Christ! Thou wilt not me divide
From the comfort of Thy face.
I shall not see Thee here,
But I have held Thee;—do not take
Away Thy hand till Thou me make
Glad in Thy love and fear.
[Now winter past, the white-thorn bower]
Breaks forth and buds down all the glen;
Now spreads the leaf and grows the flower:
So grows the life of God, in men.
To me Thy waxing glory show;
Wake in my heart as wakes the spring,
Grow as the leaf and lily grow.
Didst make Thyself again to me;
And holy, harmless, undefiled,
Play'd at Thy mother Mary's knee.
The copy in my childish breast
Was a child's copy. I did know
God, made in childhood manifest.
The God-man, strong to love, to will,
Who was alone, yet not alone,
Held in His Father's presence still.
My peace, the Absolver for me set;
Thy goings pass through deeps obscure,
But Thou with me art gentle yet.
As One that e'en the child doth wait,
Thy full salvation is my shield,
Thy gentleness hath made me great.
[As a pillar on the shore]
Darkly dim the Christ they see;
Ere the morning watch is o'er—
“Children, have ye any meat?”
He doth ask them tenderly.
Weary casts do nought afford.”
In the sudden morning light,
Now they know Him—fearful, sweet
To their hearts—it is the Lord.
Still of faith He questions thus;
Lo we, kneeling at His feet,
Answer, “Ay, the meal is spread,
Bless and break, and give to us.”
Ought of Mine or ought of Me?”
“Ay, this living bread to eat;
Ay, these drops for healing shed;
Ay, Lord Jesus, we have Thee.”
[All in still heat the waters lie]
And one doth watch with faded eye;
But never angel wings are sent
To move them, for him impotent.
Untroubled as the pool doth stand;
In power He meets the suffering soul,
Demanding, “Wilt thou be made whole?”
Strange words but wondrous is the face;
He will, and straight the blessing won,
He riseth, all his dolour done.
Yet Thy words wound as doth a sword;
Not weary watch, nor healing wave,
Nor angel wings, they cry, can save.
And waitest for his will's consent;
Repeating to the sin-struck soul,
“Wilt thou, poor sufferer, be made whole?”
Only to make me whole? Dost plead
Only to give me all: O still
Help the heart's answer, “Lord, I will.”
[In great London as I walk'd, and day was dying]
And a shifting throng unended lined the street,
O, my heart it fell a sighing, fell a sighing,
For their want, their burden'd lives, their aching feet.
Whom He pleadeth with and for from age to age;
Trifler, mourner, outcast, erring, though he giveth
Thought nor care to his great hope and heritage.
Most to them, or most to us that on Thee call?
Saying, “Lord, we seek Thy way, and yearn to know it;”
While these others whom Thou lovest want for all.
Want the fellowship of saints their hands to take,
Crying, “One are we in Him whose love excelleth;
Mine is thine, and I am thine for Christ His sake.”
I that know Thee, let me know that I may do;
Live to them for whom Thou diedst, neither weighing
Life nor death, for death shall live, but days are few.
While the child of shame low kneeleth me beside.
With Thy other sinful children, while I'm telling
Thee my sins, I'll pray Thee thus nor go denied.
Shine and turn them to Thy light, and they shall see.
Bear the burdens of the poor, O tender Father,
Ease the hearts that want, nor know their want is Thee.
Liest Thou low? then bring me low to meet Thee there;
Give me, Christ, Thy poor to teach, that with them learning
I may reach Thy feet and hold them, Thou All-Fair.
Thou hast tasted death, Thou knowest all its sting;
O on me bestow my heart's desire, and sighing
Still to shepherd them for Thee, Thou Shepherd King.”
ADVENT.
“Though God be all my stay;
Zion, thy sons shall yet behold
A fairer, sweeter day.
In the city of David light shall spring,
Judgment her gates shall bless;
A Man shall be the peace—a King
Shall reign in righteousness.
Behold this man shall be;
A sheltering ark they shall Him find
Upon a rain-vexed sea.
As cold water to a thirsting flock
Errant on sultry sand,
As the shadow of a great rock
In a weary land.”
O earth, before great heaven;
Cry “Unto us the child is born,”
To us the Son is given.”
He bringeth peace to men of peace;
The poor His name confess;
Behold the Man! the world's release,
The Lord, our Righteousness.
[A still small voice would fain me rouse]
“Hungry thou art and lone,
Very far from thy Father's house,
And no man heeds thy moan.
But misery for thy pains?
They grudge thee e'en thine evil lot—
Scant husks and sordid gains.
About thy path doth shine;
Thou hast no home, and 'tis thy sore
To see the blame all thine.
Wholly thou art undone;
No pity—none—but in His heart
Who counts thee yet a son.
Thy Father's door stands wide;
A great way off He hears thee cry,
Thou shalt not be denied.
Thy all of hope there lies;
Answer Him, ‘Lord, it is enough;
Father, I will arise.’”
NEW YEAR'S EVE; OR, “THE WATCH-NIGHT.”
Men and angels thee upbraid;
Rise, cry, cry to God aloud,
Ere the swift hours weave thy shroud:
O, for Jesus' sake,
Wake!
Through the dark to drowse and dream;
In the dead-time of the night
Here is One can give thee light:
O, for Jesus' sake,
Wake!
God shall take and shall let fall
Soon, into the whelming sea
Of His wide eternity:
O, for Jesus' sake,
Wake!
The last moments falter and go;
The time-angel sent this way
Sweeps them like a drift away:
O, for Jesus' sake,
Wake!
The crowned Saviour there makes room,
Sleeper, hark! He calls thee, rise,
Lift thy head, and raise thine eyes!
Now, for Jesus' sake,
Wake!
HYMN FOR EDINBURGH.
Favour'd in a favour'd nation,
Is she, set in regal station—
Britain's northern crown.
God has many saints that cry in
Her,—as doves that upward fly in
Heaven's high dome, their prayers they sigh, in
Edinburgh town.
No, but they that seek shall find Him,
And with cords of love shall bind Him,
Sweetly to come down.
Give repentance, Lord, and power,
Double her desires and dower;
Bless, O bless in this good hour,
Edinburgh town.
Over souls in danger sleeping,
And receive her to Thy keeping,
Great in old renown.
God, make all her goings fair, for
Thy name's sake. Her, ever care for.
God of nations, hear my prayer for
Edinburgh town.
FROM ISAIAH LXIV.
As in Salem town;
Ay, as with Thy seers Thou didst,
Lord of old renown;
O that Thou would'st rend the heavens—
That Thou would'st come down.
Resting in Thy word;
Eye of man hath not perceived,
Ear hath never heard;
Neither in the watchful heart
Hath that knowledge stirr'd:
Though full near it be
For Thy saints, in righteousness
Walking duteously,
Whom Thou goest forth to meet
In their search for Thee.
Unto us the blame;
We do fade as fades the leaf,
Thou are still the same;
O, our Father, be not wroth,
Think upon Thy name.
Is continuance still,
And we shall be saved, though God
Die His heaven to fill.
In Thy hands we are as clay,
Work in us Thy will.
As to Salem town;
All Thy saints for Thee are faint,
Come, Creation's Crown.
O, that Thou would'st rend the heavens,
That Thou would'st come down.”
[Holy of Holies, forming Mind]
Not as a mighty rushing wind,
Thy great descent we look to greet,
And fill this house wherein we meet.
As did Thy saints of Galilee;
But give the better grace to hold,
Thy coming dear as held of old.
Yet knew not what the gift would be;
And when Thy mighty presence came,
Amazed they wore the crowning flame.
Nor rushing wind nor falling fire;
We know, but ask a slender dole,
And lips and life deny the whole.
The gifts, she saith, bestow'd of yore;
But could she dare to fast, to pray
For such a dower in such a day.
And close to her the world's kind heart—
Her world forgiven, her all too dear,
The sister she hath lived so near?
I that have lost who might have won;
Let me no more Thy gifts restrain,
Albeit my heart they rend in twain.
Yea fire, yea sword, yea lives forlorn
To follow if they must—yet give.
Set us apart, and let us live.
'Twere good to part, so best to meet;
A mighty church made strong to hold
The awaken'd world within her fold.”
EARLY QUESTIONS OF THE CHURCH.
Watching at the door with tears;
“Christ is risen,” Angels said;
Mourn not, worship not the dead.
While death held Him had they none,
And would fain have found them room
For their misery in His tomb.
Lord, how swift to bring relief;
Only three days dead,—and now
Living, asks, “Why weepest thou?”
Till in life He stood again;
So till faith His rising see,
Church of God, it is with thee.
Dead to thee. Behold, thy head.
Life, in Him thy life, He giveth—
Know that thy Redeemer liveth.
First Thou gavest at Thy board;
Thy yet living blood divine,
They did drink, Lord, in the wine.
Soon and offer for their sake;
Living blood, full soon to flow
Deathward, for this world of woe.
While the life Thine eyes forsook;
Precious food, a ceaseless store,
Now Thou livest evermore.
By Whose power the worlds first were,
By Whose rule the heavens were laid,
In Whose likeness man was made.
Lord, that walk'd in Paradise—
Over vague leagues, pale with light,
Steer'd the sailing ark aright—
In his tents, and marshall'd them—
Show'd to seers unearthly things—
Visited the dreams of kings—
Taught to man Thy righteous mind—
In the dark world gone astray,
Wakening hope of some good day—
And much more for us undone;
Thou has been since time began
Only three days dead to man.
Didst Thou rise that we should weep?
Church of God, rise thou—and shine;
Sing for joy, “Thy life is mine.”
By His rising Thou dost rise;
Day by day thy life He giveth,
Sing, for thy Redeemer liveth.
[Tell to us, tell, O, Church of God]
Where is thy faithful Shepherd gone?
Green pastures of His foot untrod;
Still waters all unsmiled upon.
With whom He bides in bliss untold,
And for His flock makes ready there,
The safe, the everlasting fold.
He counts the flock, and knoweth them all;
His sheep and lambs He will not lose,
And one by one He doth them call.
Where lieth the shadow of a sleep,
Dark is the shadow; but they dread
No evil, He their steps will keep.
The golden gates He entered so.
Hark, hark! I hear in darkness dim
The songs of them that down it go.
I will not fear the gloom to see,
For death, since Thou hast pass'd this way,
Is but the shadow of death to me.”
EASTER.
Are there high-days, holier than the rest?
One another, with salutings bland,
Greet the saints upon the birthday blest?
In Immanuel's land, so far away,
If they keep e'en now their Easter day
Alleluias, none can reach our ken;
Yet, earth, make sweet thine answer—“Amen.”
Coming down, Immanuel walks the shade;
Saints beneath the palm-trees, one by one,
Hear a man's sweet voice, no whit afraid,
Making mention of His sojourn here;
Then all angels sing in joyance clear
Alleluias. O they pass our ken;
Yet, earth, make sweet thine answer—“Amen.”
“As upon this day in Salem old,
Me My sorrowing mother, Mary, found
'Mid the Father's courts of beaten gold;
When a child I knew not all My part,
And desired it of My Father's heart.”
Alleluias sang the angels then;
O, earth, make sweet thine answer—“Amen.”
While the winds of heaven about Him blow,
Looking down from some high, glorious peak
On the far-off earth that spins below;
“There, as on this day my work all o'er,
I slept to God and woke to sleep no more;”
Alleluias sang the angels then.
O, earth, make sweet thine answer—“Amen.”
[Would I, to save my dear child dutiful]
Dare the white breakers on a storm-rent shore?
Ay, truly, Thou all good, all beautiful,
Truly I would,—then truly Thou would'st more.
After long sinning, sued without my door
For pardon, open it? Ay, fortunate
To hear such prayer, I would,—Lord, Thou would'st more.
And want divide, albeit 'twere scant, my store?
Ay, and mine enemy, sick, shelterless,
Dying, I would attend,—O, Lord, Thou more.
Of unbelief I rue. My love before
Thy love I set: my heart's discovery,
Is sweet,—whate'er I would, Thou wouldest more.
And Thou did'st die for me, yet heretofore
I have fear'd; now learn I love's supremacy,—
Whate'er is known of love, Thou lovest more.
[Was never sight so wondrous given?]
Yet angels talk with them that see;
“Why stand ye gazing up to heaven,”
They ask, “ye men of Galilee?”
The earth is void, the heavens are cleft
Of Him gone up the steep highways
To God,—this hour are we bereft.
We, following glad through tears would fall,
E'en rapt with our sweet listening lost,—
The blessèd One, the all in all.
Alas, unknown, the field, the shore;
To-day He was our present God,
And we shall see His face no more.
The Christ for heaven bereaves His own,
And what is left on earth for us
But still to gaze where He is gone?”
While steadfast eyes those watchers strain,
“This Jesus, caught to heaven to-day,
Shall in like manner come again.”
Ay, this same Jesus shall come down.”—
Spare Him, O God, from Thy right hand,
Most holy Saviour, take Thy crown.
Is dark, Thy mourners wait and yearn.
O Lamb of God, O Light of Light,
O Love of Love, return, return!
[I sought the Lord, and afterward I knew]
He moved my soul to it Who sought for me;
It was not I that found, O Saviour true;
No, I was found of Thee.
I walk'd and sank not on the storm-vexed sea;
But not so much that I on Thee took hold
As by Thy hold of me.
Of love is but my answer, Lord, to Thee;
Lord, Thou wert long beforehand with my soul—
Always Thou lovèdst me.
[The meaning of Thy meat and drink]
Lord, is for me too high;
And so much more than I can think,
As Thon art more than I.
In faith that cannot see,
I, raised above life's narrow scope,
Reach forth my prayer for Thee.
From love's un'minish'd store,
Whatever I have learn'd to take,
Lord Jesus, give me more.
Standing among Thine own;
For “two or three” that hold Thee dear
Have drawn Thee, Saviour, down.
Thy all I cannot know;
But till Thou to the utmost bless
I will not let Thee go.
THE EARLY QUESTIONS OF THE CHURCH.
Calm lie the desert pools in a fair wilderness;
Wind-shaken moves the reed, so moves His voice the soul;
Sick folk surprised of joy, wax when they hear it, whole.
Peace, peace, He shall not cry, nay, He shall not make haste;
Heaven gazes, hell beneath moved for Him, moans and stirs—
Lo, John lies fast in prison, sick for his messengers.
Cast into loathèd thrall, his use and mission done;
John from his darkness sends a cry, but not a plea;
Not, “Hast Thou felt my need?” but only, “Art Thou He?”
None know what pang that hour might pierce the Healer's soul;
Silence that faints to Him—but must e'en so be vain;
A word—the fetters fall—He will that word restrain.
Retired full oft in God, show'd not His mind to man;
Nor Their great matters high His human lips confess;
He will His wonders work, and not make plain, but bless.
Enring'd the outmost waste that evil power had wrought;
His measure none can take, His strife we are not shown,
Nor if He gather'd then more sheaves than earth hath grown.
The proof of Sonship given in characters sublime;
Sad hope will He make firm, and fainting faith restore,
But yet with mortal eyes will see his face no more.
Unknown to us and dark, first piercings of the spear:
And to each martyr since 'tis even as if He said,
“Verily I am He—I live, and I was dead.
I chose it, will'd it Mine, seal'd for My feet alone;
Thou can'st not therein walk, yet thou hast part in Me,
I will not break thy bonds, but I am bound with thee.
A mystery seal'd from hell, and wonder'd at in heaven;
I send thee rest at heart to love, and still believe;
But not for thee—nor Me—is found from death reprieve.”
THE MILKY WAY.
The wheat fields rustle nigh;
A golden reaping-hook—the moon
Hangs like a sign on high.
Who guides the worlds o'erhead,
Yet gives us in His heart a share,
And thinks upon our bread.
Pierce to thought's outmost bars,
Where faint, because of farness, lies
Light, as the dust of stars.
Where bedded deep in space,
All twisted like a house-wife's skein
The myriads interlace;
No more, is each to me;
Wonderful worlds that round them float,
Led forth, great God, of Thee.
How far, to think we fear,
For all within Thy presence stand,
And we, as they, are near.
How great Thy goings were;
Hiding Thy power, Thou did'st unfold,
Father revered, Thy care.
(Like some of those far rays)
Have reach'd, at last, man's watchful thought,
To light these latter days.
What give we are not shown;
Thou givest all to us—for love
Is all, and love made known.
And all Thy brightness here?
It may be not, for only one,
Thy love has cost Thee dear.
Lapsed from Thy grace did lie;
Perhaps, made manifest in them,
Thy Love went forth to die.
Yet saved, and safe from thrall;
We think, if we may dare to think,
Thou givest all to all.
[Mighty and merciful, to Thee]
A wearied spirit yearns,
That fain as sacred fire would be,
Which ever mounts and burns.
And come day's golden rim;
As in Thy shrine of old—with me
The lamp of God burns dim.
They dwelt, who loved and fear'd,
When Christ within the fasten'd door
Appear'd and disappear'd:
When Christ made void the tomb,
Between a glory going away—
A glory yet to come:
I walk, His follower true;
But O to share on this side heaven,
That promised glory too.
No souls in Him are lost;
But 'tis for each the flame must fall,
The dower at Pentecost.
The very heavens would stir;
He is not come, with Whom is power,
The Lord, the Comforter.
This stammering tongue set free;
And over sins, and sloth, and shame,
Give Thine own victory.
[Lord, how Thou lovest! with each one]
Yes, every soul Thou bringest in;
'Tis as Thou hadst but one alone,
So fain Thou art that one to win.
E'en joy on earth when dangers pass'd;
Obedience crowns the call divine,
That draws Thy wanderers home at last.
The covering back, and wish for her)
Was to Thy mariner-saint of old
At her alighting welcomer—
Reveal'd, He knew forlorn of shore
She was a type of all should flee
To mercy's arms for evermore.
Which floats upon Thy love's wide sea,
Their trembling, wearied wings dost mark,
O Lord, who fainting fly to Thee;
Comfort, and 'neath Thy rule make great;
So, one with Thee, and many that rest
Safe there to God's name dedicate:
And serving each in his degree,
For they are all one—even all,
Bound in the bundle of life with Thee.
Thy one, Thy all (Thou sayest it) share;
O let me in their life have part,
And love Whose easy yoke they wear.
That in the ark full fain would be;
Live to the whole, and in the whole,
And of the whole, Thy Church and Thee.
[All in the city, whose gates are gold]
The saints walk softly, unshod,
And gather with Christ from the tree of life,
And drink of the river of God.
Even I, in the happy land;
I shall kiss the hem of His raiment there,
And it may be, touch His hand.
And His lips do move in speech;
No words so holy since time began!
But we know not what they teach:
He talketh of bliss unknown,
Till the heavens do laugh to their outmost shore,
And answers come from the throne.
Nor any our access blame;
When close at His feet the saved are met,
He will know us all by name.
[Thou, who didst bear man's grief of old]
Receive my heart-sick cry;
O my great Father, I am bold
To speak, let me not die.
For Thou dost feel my moan,
Assuage my grief, it paineth Thee:
Lord, it is even Thine own.
And yearns to ways upright,
With earnest mourning intercedes,
And moves toward the light.
But sin doth yet endure;
And Thou continuest holy still,
I know that Thou art pure.
Canst love my ruin'd race,
And fain didst spare heaven's rightful heir
To win us to His place.
His travail sore to fill
With ransom'd men the courts above.
O let Him have His will.
Nor foil Thy great decree.
Father of mercies, all is done—
Well done, and perfectly.
In ways sincere and sure,
Holy in mind, in deed, in talk
Made pure, as He is pure.
His wounds are not made whole,
Till in high heaven Thou let Him see
Of the travail of His soul.
PALM SUNDAY.
A King forth fared to His wond'rous ride;
And a multitude that went before,
And a multitude that follow'd cried,
“Hosanna.”
And straw'd green palms on the rock-hewn way;
“Great Son of David,” in greeting sweet,
“Blessèd art Thou,” they did sing and say;
“Hosanna.”
Beautiful Salem in all her pride,
Under the olives He weeping went,
While bearing their palms her children cried,
“Hosanna.”
But the song of the palms shall ne'er be o'er,
For the multitudes yet following cry,
As the multitude gone on before,
“Hosanna.”
THE SAVIOUR'S MESSAGE TO THE ISLANDS CONCERNING ISRAEL.
Isaiah xlix. to ver. 23, and lx. 9.
And hearken ye people from far,
I was hid in the hand of My God,
I was sent with the light of a star;
I was shown unto Israel, His choice,
But they would not their Light I should be;
Then I said, “I have labour'd in vain;”
Yet, surely, My work is with Thee.
Listen, O Isles, unto Me.
“Should'st Thou serve Me for Israel alone?
Nay, truly it is a light thing,
Thou, only begotten, My Son,
To the ends of the earth Thou shalt save,
Thou shalt reign in the realm of the sea:
For a light to the Gentiles, O Son,”
Saith My God, “I will also give Thee.”
Listen, O Isles, unto Me.
“I will give Thee for worship and peace,
To light the dark world with Thy love,
To yield to Thy prisoners release;
Thou shalt guide where the watersprings flow,
And wash them, and let them go free;
Their hunger and thirst Thou shalt bless,
Who hunger and thirst after Thee.”
Listen, O Isles, unto Me.
But Zion with dust on her head,
“My God hath forgotten me,” mourn'd,
“My Lord hath forsaken me,” said.
O Zion, and can I forget?
For ever engraven shall be
Thy name on the palms of My hands,
It was graven anew there of Thee.
Listen, O Isles, unto Me.
The ships of the Islands shall wait,
My sons and my daughters to bear
To the land that of old I made great;
I will bless them, the Isles, I have said,
“Yea, blessèd, O Israel, shall be,
Who for sake of My name and My love,
And My life, and My death blesseth Thee.”
Listen, O Isles, unto Me.
ASCENSION DAY.
Yet doth Thy man's heart, even there,
Partaker of man's yearning care,
Love to the end.
The odours of Thine incense fill
The Temple courts, the heavenly hill,
Offer'd with prayers of saints that still
Thither ascend.
Touch'd for their tears, Thy pilgrim band,
Who all their griefs in this dark land
To Thee commend;
And mourn, nor think their heavenward quest
Answers the yearning of Thy breast,
Till they to Thee, Who art their rest,
Thither ascend.
Wounded Thou art full oft again,
For such as fruitless still remain,
Or wanderers wend;
Or like another Eve, the tree
Forbidden, aye desiring see,
Nor heart and mind in heaven—to Thee,
Thither ascend.
To wound again Thy sacred heart;
But still to draw us where Thou art,
Priest, Saviour, Friend,
Make bright Thy stars—Thy churches, seven
Full fill with Thy celestial leaven,
Till all the saints with hearts in heaven
Thither ascend.
[Thee my soul desires]
Thee my heart admires,
Crown'd Messiah, slain ere sin began;
All my ways confess Thee,
And my mouth shall bless Thee,
Mighty son of Mary—God with man.
Pass'd Thee, Jesus, bleeding;
I was that poor soul. Thou pitiedst me.
Now, Thy mourner, weeping,
Vow'd to Thy blest keeping;
I am Thy poor friend that loveth Thee.
Lord, Thy light remaineth;
I shall see it though my sun decline;
Sun of my salvation,
Star of consolation,
Bright and morning Star, arise and shine.
Thee my heart admires,
Crown'd Messiah, slain ere sin began;
All my ways confess Thee,
And my heart shall bless Thee,
Mighty Son of Mary—God with man.
[That precious oil we bought of Thee]
O Bridegroom, watch'd for in the night,
Let not its use and spending be
Only to keep our lamps alight,
No, grant us still some light to shed,
Lord, when Thy feet are entering in,
On the dark dust where Thou wilt tread.
Their shining for our joy—Thy grace
To burn, and burn for pure love's sake,
Spent with aspirings for Thy face.
Speak gently on the great white throne,
“I bless their moving cresset lights,
Who watch afar for My dear Son.”
O Christ, of all our hopes the sum,
And list, so piercing sweet the call,
“Thy kingdom come, Thy kingdom come.”
[While his God, th' Almighty Lord]
It is noteworthy that Jacob does not get the better blessing till he has told his name, which is in fact to confess his fault. I am “a Supplanter.” With the true blessing, which God (as his Father foreknew) had in store for him, but which he would not wait for, he receives a better name. Having confessed his fault, it is to be named no more.
It should be observed that in singing a hymn with a chorus, the hymn itself can be sung by one voice or many; but these one or many continue to sing with the chorus when it joins in.
Hymns with a burden are sung dividing the singers into two parties, and these never join.
A double hymn cannot be sung by less than four voices, the first commencing and the second answering.
Hymn, page 118, is intended for an adult baptism or reception into the Church.
Jacob cried on, by the ford,
In a moonless midnight dim;
Suddenly took hold on him
A greatness, that he could not scan,
A Majesty that was a man.
His sins look'd him in the face;
All his soul was dark with fear
Of God's silentness austere;
Strife till dawn—and cometh then,
Esau, with four hundred men.
“O, the blessing trusted long;
For its cause I, banish'd, bann'd,
Sojourn'd in an alien land;
Now I feel Thy frown divine,
That teacheth me, it is not mine.”
Still he cries on God the more,
“Wilt Thou—wilt Thou me forgive?”
But none answering bids him live,
How shall he his cause make good,
One of God and man withstood.
Only yet reveal'd by night,
If thy nature learn'd at length
He took hold upon thy strength,
Thou, and none but Thou, can'st know
Who said sweetly, “Let me go.”
If he fail he can but die;
Turn'd to mourning, and to woe,
Is the birthright bought below;
For the blessing falsely won,
He, at dawn, shall be undone.
Ere Thy time? Thyself Thy might
To me yielding—till that fail,
Wrestler, how should'st Thou prevail?
Till Thou me forgiveness show,
I will never let Thee go.
All its meaning, all its blame;
From its misery set me free,
And, departing, bless Thou me,
For on whom Thy blessings rest,
He, I wot, indeed is blest.”
Dawn'd,—the Wrestler went His way.
Still He yields mankind His might;
Wrestling Love He wills to fail,
O my soul, thou shalt prevail!
[Thou hast been alway good to me and mine]
Since our first father by transgression fell.
Through all Thy sorest judgments love doth shine—
Lord, of a truth, Thou doest all things well.
Compass with flame, lest he thereto should win.
But what? his doom, yet eating of that tree,
Had been immortal life of shame and sin!
Desirèd death, not life, is now my song.
Through death shall I go back to Paradise,
And sin no more—Sweet death, tarry not long!
Where yet th' immortalizing tree doth grow;
He shall there meet us, and once more reveal
The fruit of life, where crime is not, nor woe.
[“Dark is my place and chill the night]
No fire have I, nor candlelight;
Come down, make good to me Thy word,
O humble and right piteous Lord.
Like to a shadow my days are gone,
Me in this dimness shine upon,
Bring back the shadow in my sight,—
Let there be light, let there be light.
And know not good, but long endure;
I charge it not on Thee, blest Lord,
Enough for all Thy fields afford;
But some have much and other none,
The weak are robb'd, the mean undone,
And Thou abidest holy and strong,—
O Lord, how long? O Lord, how long?
And hide them from Thy frowning face;
If they oppress, O Lord, forgive;
But what of them that in Thee live?
Oft pray Thy rich for us, yet hold
The mastery and increase with gold,
And we, as roots dried up past date,
Lie desolate, lie desolate.
They counsel us in words divine;
But there is no meat and no meal,
And scant is work, and far is weal.
Wandering I go of hunger led,
Hither and thither seeking bread;
Ay, tossing like the salt sea foam,
Till I go home, till I go home.
That is sore troubled; to me lend
A little comfort. Nay, good Lord,
Be not displeased—put up Thy sword;
It shall be as Thou wilt with me,
Only Thy goodness let me see;
Shine out and show in sweet advance,
Thy countenance, Thy countenance.”
Judge not My rich, I judge, even I;
Pray, rather, pray for them, and weep,
For trouble cometh and shall not sleep;
But I have chosen the poor to make
Heirs of my God, for mine own sake;
Ay, thou hast all! (O well is thee!)
For thou hast Me, for thou hast Me.”
PRAYER AGAINST THE GREAT SEPARATION.
Am offering up my chasten'd heart;
To Thee, O Lord, I make my moan,
Save not, O save not me alone.
How am I saved, if I am sole,
My very self, my children dear,
Without a part in Thy sweet fear.
Hear me, I come Thy heart to prove,
With long desire and waiting faint,
Opening my grief and my complaint.
Till mine with me are wholly blest;
My need is now, my prayer is now—
Where art Thou, Lord, why tarriest Thou?
Is't for my sins I am withstood?
Search me, O God; behold, and see
If ought of evil cleave to me.
Yet will I ne'er my hope forego;
Nay, but I'll rise to regions higher,
Fulfil, O Christ, Thine own desire—
Satiate with peace upon Thy breast;
Let the souls enter, many, and live—
Great Father;—give to Him—O give.
They are not left to my poor prayer;
I move Thee to Thine own intent
To bring these souls from banishment.
My sun declineth from its noon;
But what! I know they shall be blest,
I'll dare with Thee to leave the rest.
First over mine uncrownèd head,
I know salvation they shall see,
I trust my best-beloved with Thee.
PRAYER AGAINST THE GREAT SEPARATION.
Love perfect, changeless, undecay'd,
Man's heart looks upward to Thy throne,
His part in Thee desires its own.
Thou only, Thou canst give me light;
The soul of love doth on Thee call,
Who art love's source, its end, its all.
Whose love is what I have of Thee;
Shall one come in—one ever left,
Divided, darken'd, lost, bereft?
Love is remembrance, and love grows.
Wilt Thou but one Thy life afford?
O, that be far from Thee, Good Lord.
Nay; but I'll trust Thee. Heed my cry,
Thou wond'rous God, who once did know
For Love's best sake, Love's deepest woe.
(Love sent from heaven) sustainedst Thee
Apart, and knew as seem'd Thee good,
Mysterious, awful solitude.
By that great meeting, more, Lord, more;
Thou triune God upon the throne,
Remember such as pray alone.
With the great Son of Thy great heart,
And not for ever, Lord, decree
Division betwixt mine and me.
Thy passion doth of right prevail,
And Thou art willing—I will rest
On the wide bounty of Thy breast.
That both shall see Thy face in heaven;
Accepted in Thy love's abode,
And satiate with the peace of God.
[I sit before Him, and it draws to night]
But now with new-born hope I'll wait;
For some have learn'd that yet He giveth sight,
Who heal'd the poor blind beggar desolate.
O Son of David, in Thy mercy great,
Hear me, that I may thank Thee for like grace;
O Light, Light, Light,
Of old one blind, believed, and saw Thy face,
Light of the world, Lord Christ, compassionate.
Only, that they may see the sun;
Give pardon, Christ, give, give in anywise,
The light within, the better day begun;
Tell me Thou lov'st me, and I'll kiss the rod,
Then give, what Thou wilt give to me undone;
O God, God, God,
Rise on my darken'd soul, in pity rise,
Helper and Healer, God, my holy one.
'Tis not new things that I would know,
Give the old faith to trust and crave aright,
Lord, 'tis but eighteen hundred years ago
(One day with Thee) since Thou gav'st many sight;
Pray with me, O my friends, that I may see;
O Light, Light, Light,
Give me but faith, I look, I wait for Thee,
Light of the world, Lord Christ, that healeth me.
Thy promise, “If thou canst believe;”
But now my soul mounts up to meet the word,
Now I restrain Thee not—I will receive,
Embrace, desire, expect the gift downtrod
And doubted,—God, if now Thy will it be;
O God, God, God,
Thou knowest the light is sweet, I cry to Thee,
Who gavest the light of life, give light to me.
EARLY QUESTIONS OF THE CHURCH.
They sweetly echo now,
The early quest, the early cry,
“Master, where dwellest Thou?
Where, Master art Thou found?
For we would walk with Thee;”
Yet little heed the answer gains,
Blest answer, “Come and see.”
Oft in a sordid shed;
The poor did have Thy household talk,
And earn with Thee their bread;
But some that are Thy rich
Oft seek Thee now, and fail;
They climb to meet Thee on the height,
When Thou art in the vale.
The great, for His renown,
“We will go up,” they cry, “for Him,”
But no, they shall go down
Among the lost, the low;
There shall He best be seen,
Who, when He touch'd the leper's hand,
Became with him unclean.
Life yet her secret holds,
The mysteries of a mourning world
No voice from Thee unfolds;
Thou openest doors in heaven,
But earth with tears is wet;
Scant bread and bitter eat the poor,
The slave lies fetter'd yet.
To them of base estate,
The simple, in his simpleness,
Reads all My strangeness straight.”
He saith, “The slave despised,
His life makes plain in Me;
All My hard sayings suit them well,
Whom I sink deep to free.”
Who may the bearers blame;
But He had all, and did leave all,
Emptied of all He came.
'Twere sweet from all to wend
So once to walk with Him the way
As a man walks with his friend.
Have honour, woe's my heart,
I will Him seek and share the shame,
I must to Him depart.
“Master, where dwellest Thou?
I fain would visit Thee;”
Hark, hark! Himself will be my guide,
He answers, “Come and see.”
EARLY QUESTIONS OF THE CHURCH.
And they fear'd, albeit for love content to die;
And we love, but lips of men no more do say Him,
Love's desponding words of wonder, “Is it I?”
Yet against their own hearts turn'd distrusting sore;
Who are we, and what are we? that thought should waken
Such a dread and such a doubt in us no more.
Having known His word, we name Him, not afraid;
But from age to age He moves among the nations,
And in souls of men is born—and is betray'd.
But the angels of the churches, while they pray,
And the saints who sing in peace, nor hear of danger,
These have wrought, and these do love—and they betray.
By the casting out of sinners to their shame,
By the folding in of sinners fouler hearted,
By all hard things done and said in His great name—
Evil envy, words untrue, and counsels cold;
By their rising who should stoop in lowly fashion
To the low, by lust of ease, by greed of gold.
Wash me clean of this dark stain before I die.
Give an answer of deep peace to me, I pray Thee,
To me mourning at the supper, “Is it I?”
LISTENING TO THE WAITS.
Stars do sparkle as they'd fall;
Hark! the waits come down the street,
Heart o' mine, their news is sweet.
Nay, I care not for the cold,
Harkening thus good tidings old;
“Wake! you friends and neighbours, wake!
Thank the Lord for Christ, His sake.
Christ as on this night was born,
When to God the tidings came,
Clustering angels heard the same;
And He sent by Bethlehem town,
As it were an handful down,
Saying, ‘Sing, for mortals' cheer,
Songs myself am used to hear.’
God's good children innocent;
Blessèd creatures, how they sang,
All the moonlit welkin rang,
‘Peace, goodwill—goodwill and peace;
This poor world shall find release;’
Friends and neighbours, answer make,
Thank the Lord for Christ, His sake.
We are old, we do but die;
We must mourn, our children sleep
In the grave, and in the deep;
We are poor, our toil is drear,
There is no room for us here;
Peace, you wanting souls, e'en so
Fared it with your Lord below.
Master of this earthly sod;
Then the proud shall meet rebuff,
Then the poor shall have enough;
Then the mourners glad shall be,
Then th' oppressèd shall go free;
Bide in hope, He comes again,
Sleep and rest, He comes to reign.”
Faints away their music sweet;
Jesus Christ, this wint'ry night,
Stand me instead of warmth and light,—
Nay, I care not for the cold,
Waiting on glad tidings old;
All my song shall henceforth be,
“Well is me,” and “well is me.”
[How dreadful is this place.]
As Thou wert far away,
I slept in this my day,
Nor would Thy grace.
I wake and find that Thou art here,
And my soul melts in me for fear,
Lord, of Thy face.
Now hast Thou found my soul;
O'er me Thy thunders roll,
Me sore bestead.
O how shall I Thy glance abide,
No place is found where I may hide
My guilty head.
Thy faded eyes are sweet;
Low at Thy piercèd feet
I sink for fear.
O suffering Son of God most high,
If I must perish, let me lie
And perish here.
Thou knowest my guilt is great;
Pity my lost estate,
My misery see.
Absolve, O Lord, my sinful soul;
None can forgive and make me whole,
Jesu, but Thee.
[I wait till Christ be form'd in me]
My heart his mortal home would be,
The babe of God, and Him confess.
Drink of my cup, and reach me Thine,
Eat of my bread, in me enshrine
Thy sorrows and Thy humbleness.
His stars shone through the open door;
He gazing wist not what they were.
Partaker of our milk and meal,
When those His mother forth would deal,
He sweetly watch'd her for His share.
The silence of His youth to learn,
The striving that His soul would stir.
By faith, by searchings and by thought,
In eastern sheds with Him I've wrought,
Many good days, a carpenter.
None, Thou Child-God, but in Thy face,
None, Thou God-man, but in Thy mien,
For I do know Thee; on the strand,
When as the nets were drawn to land,
Thy humble follower I have been.
In the garden of Gethsemane;
Yet after I denied Thy name.
Yea, and amen—for now my tears,
Young man that saved me, all my years,
Fall, for Thy worship, and my shame.
For me they made that holy head
Familiar with the burial myrrh;
My name was writ in heaven that day,
When Thou didst warm Thy sacred clay,
And break the sealèd sepulchre.
Thy perfect love doth cast out fear;
Thy goodness long my theme shall be.
I wait becalm'd, and draw my breath,
At home with pain, at one with death,
In league with God because of Thee.
[Lord Christ, the river is so cold]
None see beyond the gates of gold;
Our dead, once cross'd, have never told
Ought they have found there;
Consider us, that we shall go
Alone through that dark river's flow
Soon, to the land we cannot know,
Though we are bound there.
For Thee we search, to Thee we grope;
Thou art Thyself our all of hope:
O make hope brighter.
Make Thyself near, make Thyself dear,
Make Thyself strong to vanquish fear;
Make Thyself most belovèd, here,
So dark death lighter.
Since Thou hast cross'd, shall surely be
Partakers in Thy life and Thee:
Let fear have ending.
Albeit that sacred voice of Thine
We did not hear in Palestine,
Nor see Thy risen form divine
To God ascending,
Who met Thee on Thy rising day,
Who walk'd beside Thee in the way,
And Thee receivèd:
We know Thy thought to us did lean
When Thou didst say that blissful e'en,
“Blessèd are they that have not seen,
Yet have believèd.”
[Among the worlds of God lay one]
As if He had rent it from its sun,
And had been will'd to cast it far,
Thrown out where night and darkness are.
A world unblest, a prison dim,
It knew no visitings from Him,
But shook with sighs of them undone,
Whelm'd of the flood they would not shun,
And sent where th' unform'd billow rolls—
The sometime disobedient souls.
“What is Thy name?—what is Thy name?”
For lo! into their midst come down
A spirit with a shadowy crown!
A marvel from the dead it stands,
All alien to those unblest lands;
It speaks—unwonted morning breaks,
And the adamantine mountain quakes.
Is anything too hard for Thee?
Or wert Thou at the end of grace,
At that beginning, in that place?
For healing of their sins and shame;
To us, who learn not all its scope,
An opening for a door of hope.
One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | ||