1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
III.
HYMNS FOR DEDICATION. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
Airs of Palestine, and other poems | ||
III.
HYMNS FOR DEDICATION.
[I. O Thou, to whom in ancient time]
Written for the Opening of the Independent Congregational Church in Barton Square, Salem, December 7th, 1824.
The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung,
Whom kings adored in song sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue,—
Thy favored worshipper may dwell;
Nor where, at sultry noon, thy Son
Sat, weary, by the Patriarch's well.
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,—
The incense of the heart,—may rise
To Heaven, and find acceptance there.
For social worship first unfold,
To thee the suppliant throng shall bow,
While circling years on years are rolled.
And Strength and Beauty, bend the knee,
And Childhood lisp, with reverent air,
Its praises and its prayers to Thee.
The lyre of prophet bards was strung,
To thee, at last, in every clime
Shall temples rise, and praise be sung.
[II. With trump, and pipe, and viol chords]
And song, the full assembly brings
Its tribute to the Lord of lords,
Its homage to the King of kings.
Where death had bound him, brought his Son,
To God these walls from earth have risen;—
To God, “the high and lofty One.”
Alike the years and oceans roll,
Here may thy truth in Christ, our Lord,
Shine forth and sanctify the soul.
Father and Judge! may many a knee
And many a spirit humbly bow,
In worship and in prayer to thee.
Our hearts no longer beat or burn,
Then may the children that we love
Take up the strain, and, in their turn,
Here pay, with music's sweet accords,
Their tribute to the King of kings,
Their homage to the Lord of lords.
[III. When thy Son, O God, was sleeping]
Written for the Dedication of the New Stone Congregational Church in Quincy, November 12th, 1828.
In death's rocky prison bound,
When his faithful ones were weeping,
And the guards were watching round,
Then thy word, that strong house shaking,
Rent the rocky bars away,
And the holy sleeper, waking,
Rose to meet the rising day.
In its power is heard even now,
Shake the hills, the rocks are broken,
As on Calvary's trembling brow.
From the bosom of the mountain,
At that word, these stones have burst,
And have gathered round the fountain
Where our souls may quench their thirst.
Long hath gushed, a liberal wave;
Here a Father of our nation
Drank, and felt the strength it gave.
Here he sleeps, his bed how lowly!
But his aim and trust were high;
And his memory,—that is holy;
And his name,—it cannot die.
Rest the relies of the just,
While the light of hope immortal
Shines above his sacred dust,
While the well of life its waters
To the weary here shall give,
Father, may thy sons and daughters,
Kneeling round it, drink and live!
[IV. To God, to God alone]
Written for the Dedication of the First Congregational Church in Cincinnati, Ohio, May 23d, 1830.
This temple have we reared;
To God, who holds a throne
Unshaken and unshared.
Sole King of Heaven,
Who 'st heard our prayers
And blessed our cares,
To thee 't is given.
This plain so rich and wide,
And makes its guardian hills
Rejoice, on every side,
With shady tree
And growing grain;
This decent fane
We give to thee.
To load our land with good,
Whose hand this vale hath scooped,
And rolleth down its flood
This house we raise,
And now, with praise,
Devote to thee.
Dost thou thy footsteps show;
The white and blue above,
The green and gold below,
The grove, the breeze,
The morning's beam,
The star, the stream,—
They 're seen in these.
The domes of art are piled,
Thy paths, not long ago,
Dropped fatness on a wild.
O let us see
Thy goings here,
Where now we rear
A house for thee.
And light of Bethlehem's star,
A vine on Calvary grew,
And cast its shade afar.
A storm went by,—
One blooming bough,
Torn off, buds now
Beneath our sky.
This plant of thine come nigh;
But may the dew, all night,
Upon its branches lie;
Till towards this vine
All flesh shall press,
And taste and bless
Its fruit and wine.
Hath visited the West,
And given our hearts a place
Of worship and of rest;
Old age and youth,
The weak, the strong,
Shall praise in song
Thy grace and truth.
By thine Anointed Son,
Here let such lips proclaim
As fire hath fallen upon,
From out the high
And holy place
Where dwells in grace
Thy Deity.
This temple have we reared:
To thee,—before whose throne,
Unshaken and unshared,
With thanks we bow,—
This temple now
For praise is given.
[V. To Thee, O God, in humble trust]
Our hearts their grateful incense burn
For this thy word, “Thou art of dust,
And unto dust shalt thou return.”
The hopes, joys, loves, that cling to clay,
All, all departed, one by one,
And yet life's load borne on for aye.
All bloom, in flower and flesh, shall fade;
Ye whispering trees, when we shall fall,
Be our long sleep beneath your shade!
Take back, in peace, what thou hast given;
And all that is of heavenly birth,
O God, in peace, recall to Heaven.
[VI. Thou, who on the whirlwind ridest]
Written for the Dedication of the Seaman's Bethel, under the Direction of the Boston Port Society, September 4th, 1833.
At whose word the thunder roars,
Who, in majesty, presidest
O'er the oceans and their shores;
From those shores, and from the oceans,
We, the children of the sea,
Come to pay thee our devotions,
And to give this house to thee.
We go down to sea in ships,
And our weeping wives and daughters
Hang, at parting, on our lips,
This, our Bethel, shall remind us,
That there 's One who heareth prayer,
And that those we leave behind us
Are a faithful pastor's care.
In our wave-rocked dreams embalmed,
Winds that come from spicy islands
When we long have lain becalmed,
As the offerings we shall bring
Hither, to the Omnipresent,
For the shadow of his wing.
To this house we 'll press in throngs;
When at sea, with spirit lowly,
We 'll repeat its sacred songs.
Outward bound, shall we, in sadness,
Lose its flag behind the seas;
Homeward bound, we 'll greet with gladness
Its first floating on the breeze.
We remember, Lord, that life
Is a voyage upon an ocean,
Heaved by many a tempest's strife.
Be thy statutes so engraven
On our hearts and minds, that we,
Anchoring in Death's quiet haven,
All may make our home with thee.
[VII. The winds and waves were roaring]
Written for the Dedication of the new Congregational Church in Plymouth, built upon the Ground occupied by the earliest Congregational Church in America.
The Pilgrims met for prayer;
And here, their God adoring,
They stood, in open air.
When breaking day they greeted,
And when its close was calm,
The leafless woods repeated
The music of their psalm.
Do we, their children, throng;
The temple's arch we raise thee
Gives back our choral song.
Yet, on the winds, that bore thee
Their worship and their prayers,
May ours come up before thee
From hearts as true as theirs!
To this, the Pilgrims' shore!—
Their hill of graves behind us,
Their watery way before,
Against the rocks they trod,
Their memory, and their ashes,—
Be thou their guard, O God!
Forsake this hallowed spot,
Till on that shore we gather
Where graves and griefs are not;
The shore where true devotion
Shall rear no pillared shrine,
And see no other ocean
Than that of love divine.
[VIII. Tossed on the billows of the main]
Written for the Opening of the Mariner's House in Ann Street, Boston, as a Boarding-house for Seamen, by the Ladies of “The Seaman's Aid Society,” in May, 1837.
And doomed from zone to zone to roam,
The seaman toiled for others' gain,
But, for himself, he had no home.
For him, just “rescued from the wreck”;
No sister clasped her arms and hung,
In speechless joy, around his neck;
More dangerous than the ocean's roar,
When o'er his bark the surges curled,
And drove it on a leeward shore.
Who, as his bark began to fill,
Said to the Lake of Galilee,
When lashed by tempests, “Peace! Be still!”
By perils, while at sea, beset,
The sailor found himself, in port,
Exposed to greater perils yet.
And perils by his countrymen,
And perils by the sirens fair
That lured him to the robber's den.
With open arms, to take him in,
And spreads a banquet and a bed
That may be tasted without sin.
We thank thee, God, for what we see;
Let him no more 'mid perils roam,
But come, at once, to it and thee.
Rev. Edward T. Taylor, (formerly a seaman,) Pastor of the Seaman's Chapel, or Bethel, and general Superintendent of the Mariner's House.
[IX. No curtains drawn, nor tent, nor shed]
Shut out the over-arching skies,
When Jesus, in his manger bed,
First turned to heaven his infant eyes.
From diamond cups, on all the ground,
Their blessed gift of light and dew,
While oxen fed or slept around.
Hath brought a gift more blessed far
Than night dews, or the brightest ray
That ever dropped from sun or star.
He giveth to a world of sin;
And to his name we give this place,
That once a mangered stall hath been.
With offerings to the new-born King,
Of myrrh, and frankincense, and gold,
Come we; but, Lord, this house we bring
Before all temples, hearts sincere,
We pray that many a worshipper
May kneel and find acceptance here.
[X. On this stone, now laid with prayer]
Written on the Occasion of Laying the Corner Stone of the Suffolk Street Chapel, in Boston, for the Ministry to the Poor, May 23d, 1839.
Let thy church rise, strong and fair;
Ever, Lord, thy name be known,
Where we 've laid this Corner Stone.
Man from error to reclaim,
And the sinner to atone
With thee, bless this Corner Stone.
O'er the place where He was nursed,
And on wondering Magi shone,
Beam upon this Corner Stone.
That once hovered, like a dove,
O'er the Jordan, hither flown,
Hover o'er this Corner Stone.
In the heart by care oppressed,
Let the seeds of truth be sown,
Where we 've laid this Corner Stone.
For the outcast and the poor,
Who can call no house their own,
Where we 've laid this Corner Stone.
Here be living stones prepared
For the temple near thy throne;—
Jesus Christ its Corner Stone.
[XI. Knowledge and Virtue! sister powers]
Who guard and grace a Christian state,
Better than bulwarks, walls, or towers,
To you this hall we dedicate.
Now first thrown open, do we throng,
And reverently stand before
Creation's God, with prayer and song.
Earth, ocean, sun, and stars to see,
And thee in all;—they roll or rise
To teach us of thy majesty.
In earth or heaven, in light or shade,
These walls shall to your voice reply;
Here shall your wonders be displayed.
Flowers! that spring up in every zone,
Winds! that with fragrance fill your hand,
Where trees have leafed, or flowers have blown,—
Planets! that walk around our own,
Comets! that rush to fill your urn
With light out-gushing from his throne,—
And back to all its oceans go,
Cooling, in clouds, the flaming skies,
Cheering, in rains, the world below,—
Glaciers! that on its shoulders shine,
Pearls! in your ocean bed that blush,
Diamonds! yet sleeping in your mine,—
Thunders! that in its bosom sleep,
Fires! that from Etna's crater spout,
Rocks! that the earthquake's records keep,—
Or dance around a waterfall,
Tornadoes! that earth's face deform,—
Teach us, O teach us, in this hall.
Airs of Palestine, and other poems | ||