University of Virginia Library

Early Poems.

‘I leave it all with Thee.’

Yes, I will leave it all with Thee,
And only ask that I may be
Submissive to Thy loving will,
Confiding, waiting, trusting still.
Thou every fond desire dost know
Which in my inmost heart doth glow;
Thou hearest every secret sigh
When silent sorrow's power is nigh.
Omniscience alone may tell
The thoughts which in my spirit dwell;
But 'tis a soothing word to me,
‘My Father every thought can see.’
He knows them all—the hopes—the fears—
Confided not to mortal ears.
He knows the deep intensity
Of feelings wakened now in me.
And if He knows them, 'tis enough!
I need not fear a stern rebuff;
There's sympathy within His breast,
On which my weary heart can rest.
Nor is there sympathy alone,
Almighty is my Father's throne,
And He can grant me each desire;
His gracious hand may never tire.
He can. But will He? Trust Him yet,
My faithless soul! Can I forget
That He hath passed His word of old—
‘Not one good thing will He withhold
From them, the children of My love,
Whose hearts are set on things above’?
Not one good thing! But can I see
What may be good, what ill for me?
Can I unbar the massy gate
Which hides from me the way I take?
But His eye turneth night to day,
E'en like the lightning's piercing ray;
Then here is my security,
That God my truest good doth see.
That joy which earnestly I crave,
O'er which my fondest hopes now wave,
Might prove to me the shade of death!
That healing breeze—the Simoom's breath,
If so—it never will be mine.
At such a loss shall I repine?
No! let me rather praise the Hand
Which looseneth the dangerous band.
But if it be a heaven-born plant,
For whose sweet flowers my soul doth pant
If heavenly gladness it shall bring,
And raise my soul on angel wing,
Till nearer Thee each day I live,—
Oh, then that blessing Thou wilt give.
The joy scarce hoped for shall be mine,
A deeply grateful heart be Thine!
Then I will leave it all with Thee!
My Father, grant that I may be
Submissive to Thine own good will,
Confiding, waiting, loving still!

Matthew xiv. 23.

It is the quiet evening time, the sun is in the west,
And earth enrobed in purple glow awaits her nightly rest;
The shadows of the mountain peaks are lengthening o'er the sea,
And the flowerets close their eyelids on the shore of Galilee.
The multitude are gone away, their restless hum doth cease,
The birds have hushed their music, and all is calm and peace;
But on the lowly mountain side is One, whose beauteous brow
The impress bears of sorrow and of weariness e'en now.
The livelong day in deeds of love and power He hath spent,
And with them words of grace and life hath ever sweetly blent.
Now He hath gained the mountain top, He standeth all alone,
No mortal may be near Him in that hour of prayer unknown.
He prayeth.—But for whom? For Himself He needeth nought;
Nor strength, nor peace, nor pardon, where of sin there is no spot;
But 'tis for us in powerful prayer He spendeth all the night,
That His own loved ones may be kept and strengthened in the fight;
That they may all be sanctified, and perfect made in one;
That they His glory may behold where they shall need no sun;
That in eternal gladness they may be His glorious bride:
It is for this that He hath climbed the lonely mountain side.
It is for this that He denies His weary head the rest
Which e'en the foxes in their holes, and birds have in their nest.
The echo of that prayer hath died upon the rocky hill,
But on a higher, holier mount that Voice is pleading still;
For while one weary child of His yet wanders here below,
While yet one thirsting soul desires His peace and love to know,
And while one fainting spirit seeks His holiness to share,
The Saviour's loving heart shall pour a tide of mighty prayer;
Yes! till each ransomed one hath gained His home of joy and peace,
That Fount of Blessings all untold shall never, never cease.

Matthew xxvi. 30.

The sun hath gilded Judah's hills
With his last gorgeous beam;
Ghost-like the still grey mists arise
From Jordan's sacred stream.
The stars, bright flowers of the sky,
Unfold their beauties now,
And gaze on Salem's marble fane,
By Olivet's dark brow.
In David's city sound is hushed
And tread of busy feet,
For solemnly his sons have met
The paschal lamb to eat.
But list! the silence of the hour
Is broken; the still air
A melody hath caught which far
Its viewless pinions bear.
Unwonted sweetness hath the strain,
And as its numbers flow,
More tender and more touching yet
Its harmony doth grow.
Not royal David's tuneful harp
Such thrilling power had known
To wake deep echoes in the soul,
As its scarce earthly tone.
Within an ‘upper room’ are met
A small, yet faithful band,
On whom a deep yet chastened grief
Hath laid its softening hand.
Among them there is One who wears
A more than mortal mien,
'Tis He on whom in all distress
The weary one may lean.
Mysterious sadness, on that brow
So pure and calm, doth lie;
And untold stores of deepest love
Are beaming from His eye.
What wonder if the strain was sweet
Above all other lays?
Seraphic well might seem the hymn
Which Jesu's voice did raise.
The angels hush their lyres, and bend
To hear the thrilling tone,
And heaven is silent,—with that song
They mingle not their own.
The sorrowing ones around have heard
Their blessèd Master tell,
That He with them no longer now
As heretofore may dwell.
And they have sadly shared with Him
The last, last evening meal,
And heard the last sweet comfort which
Their mourning hearts may heal.
They do not know the fearful storm
Which on His head must burst;
They know not all—He hath not told
His loving ones the worst.
How could He? E'en an angel's mind
Could never comprehend
The weight of woe, 'neath which for us
The Saviour's head must bend;
Ere long the voice, which waketh now
Such touching melody,
Shall cry, ‘My God, My God, oh why
Hast Thou forsaken Me?’
The hour is come; but ere they meet
Its terrors,—yet once more
Their voices blend with His who sang
As none e'er sang before.
Why do they linger on that note?
Why thus the sound prolong?
Ah! 'twas the last! 'Tis ended now,
That strangely solemn song.
And forth they go:—the song is past;
But, like the rose-leaf, still,
Whose fragrance doth not die away,
Its soft low echoes thrill
Through many a soul, and there awake
New strains of glowing praise
To Him who, on that fateful eve,
That last sweet hymn did raise.

‘Leaving us an Example, that ye should follow His Steps.’

O Jesu, Thou didst leave Thy glorious home,
Of brightness more than mortal eye could bear,
And joys ineffable, alone to roam
Through earth's dark wilderness in grief and want and care.
Thou didst exchange the praise of seraph voices
For sin-made discords and the wail of pain,
The anthems swelling high where each in Thee rejoices
For fierce revilings in the world where unbelief doth reign.
Yes, Thou didst leave Thy bliss-encircled dwelling,
Of joy and holiness and perfect love,
And camest to this world of sorrow, telling
Each weary one the way to realms of rest above.
Mark we Thy walk along the holy way,—
Each step is graven, that all the path may trace
Which leads where Thou art gone,—and never may
The powers of darkness one bright step erase!
And Thou hast left a solemn word behind Thee,
Solemn, yet fraught with blessing;—would we learn
How we may gain Thy dwelling, and there find Thee?
Thou sayest, ‘Follow Me.’ Be this our great concern.
And oh how blessèd thus to mark each hour
The footsteps of our Saviour, and to know
That in them we are treading,—then each flower
Of hope seems fairer, and each joy doth yet more brightly glow.
Oh that I always followed Him alone!
I know that I am His, for I have bowed
In peaceful faith before my Saviour's throne,
And gladly there to Him my life, my all, have vowed.
And He hath pardoned me, and washed away
Each stain of guilt, and bade me quickly rise
And follow Him each moment of each day;
And He hath set a crown of life and joy before mine eyes.
How can I turn aside and wound the love
That gave Himself to bleed and die for me!
How can I stray, and grieve the holy Dove
Who lights my soul, opening mine eyes to see!
O Saviour, fix my wayward, wandering heart
Upon Thyself, that I may closely cling
To Thy blest side, and never more depart
From Thee, my loved Redeemer, Thee, my heart's own King.
And grant me daily grace to follow Thee
Through joy and pleasure, or through grief and sadness,
Until an entrance is vouchsafed to me
In Thy bright home of holiness and gladness.

Our English Sabbaths.

Colossians iii. 2.

Clouds in Prospect.

Oh pleasant have the hours of my early childhood been,
When all around me seemed enrobed in brightly glittering sheen;
When a thousand rainbow tints were in every simple flower,
And a thousand new delights came with every sunny hour;
When I thought the merry birds trilled their carols all for me,
And with heart and voice I joined in their joyous melody;
When all heedless of the darkening storm, I loved the purple cloud,
And listened with delight to the thunder pealing loud.
In those happy days of childhood, I did not think or see
That many trials might be waiting even then for me;
But now, though yet I meet them not, I know that they must stand
In many a varied shape and form, unseen on every hand.
As yet from heavy troubles, thank God, I have been free;
Oh, surely there are few who have what is vouchsafed to me!
But one eclipse hath shadowed o'er my childhood's sunny hours,
And now its sharpness seemeth past, that thorn 'mid many flowers.
But still the saddening feeling cometh oftener than before,
That many a future sorrow e'en for me may be in store;
For all around me seem to have some wearying care or grief,
From which they scarcely dare to hope on earth to find relief.
And my memory loves to dwell upon the merry careless hours,
When I thought the world a thornless garden full of lovely flowers.

Earth's Shadow.

Aspirations.

Sunset.

(IMPROMPTU DURING A WALK WITH E. CLAY.)

The Spirit's Longings.

The Old and the New Earth.

Thoughts awakened by Astley Bells.

‘Pray for me.’

On the Death of Captain Allan Gardiner,

The First Missionary to Patagonia.

‘Thank God.’

The Maidens of England

ON THE PRESENTATION OF A BIBLE TO THEIR PRINCESS ROYAL.

‘No, not a Star.’

(ANSWER TO A REMARK.)