Poems of home and country :: :: University of Virginia Library

Blest is the hour when cares depart,
And earthly scenes are far,—
When tears of woe forget to start,
And gently dawns upon the heart
Devotion's holy star.

Blest is the place where angels bend
To hear our worship rise,
Where kindred thoughts their musings blend,
And all the soul's affections tend
Beyond the veiling skies.

Blest are the hallowed vows that bind
Man to his work of love,—
Bind him to cheer the humble mind,
Console the weeping, lead the blind,
And guide to joys above.

Sweet shall the song of glory swell,
Spirit divine, to Thee,
When they whose work is finished well,
In Thy own courts of rest shall dwell,
Blest through eternity.

217

GREAT IS THE WORK, BUT THINE THE POWER.

ORDINATION HYMN.

Great is the work, but Thine, O God, the power,
Our Strength in weakness, and in fear, our Tower;
Seal with Thy Spirit what our hands have done,
And crown with joyful fruits the work begun.

Sustain Thy servant in his varied toil;
Enrich the sower, bless the fruitful soil.
To prayer and faith, let souls redeemed be given;
Graces made perfect, spirits trained for heaven.

The work, the gifts, the heart to do and bear,
To us intrusted, crave, O God, Thy care;
Cheerful, we wait Thy will, our field assign;
Grant us Thy help, and be the glory Thine.

THE CHOSEN OF GOD.

Oh, blest are they to whom 'tis given
To shine as radiant stars above,—
The sons of light, the heirs of heaven,
The tenants of a world of love.

No grief shall draw the swelling tear
Of anguish from the pilgrim's eye;
No wearying toil, no anxious fear,—
The conqueror never more shall die.

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No fierce disease, no chilling blast,
Shall e'er that better land invade;
Faith's vision there shall change to sight,
And glory o'er the scene be shed.

And there the peace that Jesus gives,
In every ransomed soul shall reign;
There parted friends shall meet in joy,
There mothers clasp their babes again.

O glorious world, in vain we strive
To catch a glimpse of joys so high;
Nor thought can reach, nor words describe
The scenes that glow beyond the sky!

With ardent zeal our souls are fired
To pass beyond affliction's rod,
The crown of endless life to win,
And reach the paradise of God.

THE SICKLE AND THE SHEAF.

'T is mine to wield the sickle,
Thine, Lord, to give the sheaf;
Through Thee the buds of spring-time
Burst into life and leaf.
Mine is the toil of seed-time,
And Thine the sun and rain;
Mine is the sweat and patience,
And Thine the ripened grain.

219

Though wan and weary reapers
Amid their labors fall,
And workmen, few and scattered,
In vain for helpers call;
Though noontide heat burns fiercely,
Or threatening tempest lowers,—
The gathering and the gleaning
Is by mightier strength than ours.

We can wait with calm endurance,
Though the drought curls up the leaf;
We can trust Jehovah-jireh
To fill the swelling sheaf.
'T is ours the sturdy muscle,
The vigorous arm to bring;
'T is Thine with heavenly blessing
To make the valleys sing.

We shall reach the outmost furrows,
In their drooping tassels dressed;
Beyond the field of labor,
We shall find a place of rest.
We shall meet again the reapers
Who share our grief and joy;
In the harvest-song of glory,
We shall find one blest employ.

The eagle from her eyrie
Flies forth at dawn of day,
Poised on her fearless pinions,
With God to guide her way,
Soars upward, as the morning
Glows with God's glory bright,
On, till her form, receding,
Loses itself in light.

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So, when the work is ended,—
The garnered crop secure,—
And God shall bid His reapers
Toil in the heat no more;
We from all care and sorrow
Shall find divine relief,
And lay before our Master
The sickle and the sheaf.

CHRIST, THE CORNER-STONE.

We build on Christ, our Corner-stone,
That Rock of Ages we adore;
Glory shall crown His name alone,
Rock of our faith, eternal, sure!

Each stone we lay shall speak His praise;
And spire and pinnacle shall rise
In solemn grandeur, holy grace,—
A grateful tribute to the skies.

In faith, this corner-stone we lay;
In hope, the house of God we rear.
Here God will answer when we pray;
Jehovah shall be worshipped here.

And when in silent dust we sleep,
This sacred stone shall still record
That we and ours the covenant keep,
That we and ours confess the Lord.

Newton Centre, August 27, 1887.

221

THE REAPERS.

Far o'er the distant mountain ridge
Climbs up the morning ray,
Whose growing light and warmth foretell
The reign of perfect day;
O'er the wide fields the springing grain
Shoots up its verdant threads,
Prophetic of the waving crop,
And the wheat's ripened heads.

Joy for the reapers, when they lay
Their gleaming sickles by;
And countless heaps of precious sheaves
In yellow bundles lie.
From field and home, from plain and hill,
Hasting in joyous throngs,
They make the bright and fragrant air
Echo with grateful songs.

So shall the seed of truth and grace,
Scattered by loving hands,
Harvests of untold wealth produce
In all the earth's broad lands.
The germ, once dropped in fertile soil,
A wondrous yield shall see,
Divinely sown, divinely fraught
With immortality.

222

THE AGED PASTOR.

TO REV. C. A. THOMAS, D. D., BRANDON, VT.

Hail, pastor! with thy honored brow
And age's silver head;
What memories of the loved and lost,
The living and the dead,
Crowd on the thoughts, as time recalls
The scenes of earlier years,
Weaving, like flowers with autumn leaves,
Garlands of joy and tears!

How forty years of life have made
Familiar faces strange!
While history with her pen records
How men and landscapes change;
And near twice forty years, thy steps,
The wreath of cloud and flame
Has led, alternate, proving still
Thy covenant, God, the same.

Hail, pastor! though the years have sped,
Faithful and trusted still;
Trusted, on life's ascending slope,
Faithful, as slants the hill
Declining westward, where the sun
Turns toward the light of even,
And rests among the pillared clouds,
The gateways into heaven.

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We bring no formal incense here;
We speak no empty praise;
We hang not on the grand old oak,
A wreath of heartless bays,—
While thankful memory wanders back
Through all the growing years,
And eyes the busy world has dazed,
Are dimmed with grateful tears.

The wide career our feet have trod;
The tasks of duty done;
The conquered fields, the harvests gained;
The laurels sought and won,—
Are but his life, whose lips have taught
Lessons of love and truth,
Embodied in our riper days,
Taught in our tender youth.

And he whose lips and life alike
Inspired us to be men,
Enshrined in Time's slow-gathering years,
Shall live and move again,
As sculptured bust or painted form,
The boast of ancient days,
Transmitted through all ages, still
Lives for a joy and praise.

224

STEWARDSHIP.

[_]

Sung at the opening of the Seaman's Bazaar at Faneuil Hall, Boston, December 22, 1865.

In marts of wealth, in gilded halls,
At power's exalted shrine,
With solemn voice, Jehovah calls,
“This wealth, this power, is mine.”

Grateful, whate'er you need, enjoy,
Of all the bounteous store;
The rest, 't is God's command, employ
To bless His suffering poor.

Give freely, like the fruitful seed;
Give, like the sun and rain,—
Claiming no merit for the deed,
Nor asking aught again.

Those words of love, a rich reward
For every gift shall be,—
“Ye gave it unto Christ the Lord,
Ye gave it unto me.”

225

GOD OF THE STARRY WORLDS ABOVE.

INVOCATION BEFORE THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH.

God of the starry worlds above!
God of Creation's goodly frame!
Glory, Thy robe; Thy nature, love,—
We rear this temple to Thy name.

Come, O Divine Shekinah, come!
God over all, here hold Thy state!
Dwell in this house,—Thy chosen home;
These earthly courts Thy presence wait.

Come, like the peaceful twilight hour;
Come, like the glowing noontide ray.
Come, blessing by Thy glorious power;
Thy light diffuse, Thy grace display.

Come, as the gentle rain distils
On new-mown fields, with quickening power;
Revive us, from the heavenly hills,
As dews revive the fainting flower.

And while our new hosannas here,
With grateful heart and voice, we raise,
Descend in glorious grace, and rear
A living temple to Thy praise.

226

COME, O DIVINE SHEKINAH, COME!

DEDICATION HYMN.

Come, O Divine Shekinah, come!
With glory fill this new abode:
Come,—in our waiting souls there's room,—
Display Thy power,—a present God.

Come to our shrine, O God of love,—
Come as a God of love and power;
Refresh Thy people from above,
As dews refresh the drooping flower.

Come as a spring and fount of grace,
Our temple with Thy light adorn,
As crimson rays of glory trace
The gorgeous rising of the morn.

Come as a dove, with wings of peace,
The sad to cheer, the bruised to heal,
The wounds that sin has made, to ease,
The covenant of our life to seal.

Display Thy power, a present God;
Come, in our waiting souls there 's room;
With glory fill this new abode,—
Come, O Divine Shekinah, come!

227

DEDICATION OF CARYVILLE CHAPEL.

Come, God the Father, for our hands have reared
This sacred shrine to Thy almighty name;
Come, as, of old, the solemn cloud appeared,
When to the temple veil Thy presence came.

Come, God the Son, display Thy healing power;
Accept our gift, and here set up Thy throne;
Our refuge Thou, our hope, our only tower,
Thy blood our ransom, reign in us alone.

Come, God the Spirit, teach our hearts to bring
Words of true prayer; our human lips inspire;
Thine is the temple, Thine the psalms we sing;
Our hearts are Thine; Thou art our souls' desire.

Come, Father, Son, and Spirit, God alone;
With reverent homage at Thy feet we bow.
We yield to Thee the work our hands have done,—
Our temple stands, its crowning glory, Thou.

228

GOD OF THE MOUNTAINS AND THE SEA.

RE-DEDICATION OF SEAMEN'S BETHEL, NOVEMBER 8, 1893.

“The abundance of the sea shall be converted unto Thee.”

God of the mountains and the sea,
Thy grateful people come to Thee,
To offer humble praise and prayer,
Thy love to own,—Thy grace to share.

Come, enter, Lord, our Bethel gates,
The temple for Thy presence waits;
Display Thy power, Thy grace make known;
In every heart erect Thy throne.

We dedicate the house to Thee;
Here let Thy saints Thy glory see,
Thy name to waiting souls reveal,
The contrite soothe, the wounded heal.

Gather from every land and shore
Glad trophies of Thy saving power,
And own the abundance of the sea,
A rightful offering, Lord, to Thee.

229

THE FATHERS, WHERE ARE THEY?

While centuries pass with solemn tread,
And kingdoms sink, the Church remains,—
From life's immortal fountain fed,
A light whose glory never wanes.

Where are the fathers? Once they stood
With fervent faith, with armor bright;
Now, gathered with the sons of God,
As stars at morning melt in light.

Here have they worshipped; here they died;
And here their fallen mantles rest;
Though gone from earth, their works abide,
Like sunset glory in the west.

The censers, from their hands we take,
And wave with hallowed incense still;
They sleep in death; their children wake,
The lamps with golden light to fill.

Head of the Church, our All, our Guide,
We own Thy power, we sing Thy grace;
Still to new conquests Thou shalt ride,
And added centuries speak Thy praise.

230

SWEEP ON, O CAR OF LIGHT!

DEDICATION OF THE GOSPEL CAR “EMMANUEL,” IN DENVER, COLORADO, MAY, 1893.

Sweep on, O car of light!
God bless thy holy flight;
On thy wheels bring
Peace to the troubled breast,
And, to the weary, rest;
Glad, for thy mission blest,
The angels sing.

Roll o'er the mountain's height;
Roll to the waters bright,
The distant sea;
Visit the lonely vale,
Outfly the wintry gale;
Thy errand will not fail,
God moves with thee.

Ride on, triumphant Lord!
Thy Spirit and Thy word
Shall speed Thy way.
Scatter the shades of night;
Command, “Let there be light!”
Gird on Thy sword of might,
And win the day.

Salvation's chariot, roll
On, till from pole to pole
Christ reigns alone;

231

Till darkness turns to day,
Till earth shall choose His sway,
And all its trophies lay
Before His throne.

Davenport, Iowa, March, 1893.

FAREWELL TO THE OLD CHURCH.

Dear is each well-remembered face,
Preserved in memory's shrine;
No scene will drive them from their place,
Or dim one precious line.
We linger, chained by love, to-day,
Amid the hallowed past,
And weep, as mournfully we say,—
This hour must be the last.

Here were our early footsteps brought,
And here, in riper years,
Our hearts, with joy or sorrow fraught,
Burdened with doubts and fears,
Like rivers, swollen with floods in spring,
Gushed with repentant grief,
Or felt the power of grace to bring
The needed, sweet relief.

Here pilgrims came, with weary feet,
And sat in pious trust,
And left, their pilgrimage complete,
The memory of the just;

232

We linger in the places where
Their honored footsteps trod,
And trace the path of faith and prayer,
By which they passed to God.

Here we have pledged the solemn vow
To Him who reigns above;
Here learned in humble faith to bow
To Him whose name is Love.
Here have we stood, a grateful band,
Nor sought such bonds to part,—
Dear every brother's faithful hand,
Each sister's loving heart.

As pilgrims, doomed awhile to roam
On some far distant shore,—
Returned to seek their early home,
Their well known cottage-door,—
Mourn for the friends of earlier times,
For many an honored head,—
Some passed, long since, to other climes,
Some, sleeping with the dead,—

Some, rifled of their youthful bloom,
White rose-leaves on their brow,
Some, shadowed o'er by clouds of gloom,—
Alas, how altered now!—
We seek the friends to memory dear,—
How many—but in vain;
Oh, who will bring our loved ones here,
Just as they were, again?

Gone, but not lost,—in nobler spheres,
Redeemed and saved, they shine;

233

Each hand a palm of glory bears,
Each brow, a light divine;
And we on earth, and they above,
Led by one Shepherd's hand,
Encircled by one wreath of love,
Form still one blessed band.

'T is done,—we leave the hallowed ground,
But keep what grace has done;
The rushing tide of life has found
New victories to be won;
But, temple, where the saints have prayed,
Where God has deigned to dwell,
How shall we let thy glory fade?
How shall we say “farewell”?

How shall we leave the sacred shrine
Where once our fathers trod;
How darken here the light divine
Of those who walked with God?
With quivering lip, with tearful eye,
With calm, but bleeding heart,
We sit in mournful sympathy,
And breathe the word,—Depart.

But yonder, springs in joyous light,
A temple high and pure;
The tenants, clad in raiment bright,
Shall leave its courts no more;
No night shall darken o'er its wall;
No sigh with anthems blend;
No mourners weep, no shadow fall,—
Its worship never end.

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Then they that sowed in faith and tears
Shall reap in endless joy;
And saints from all the varied years,
Shall find one glad employ.
Cemented by one bond of love,
Striking one heavenly strain
Our members all shall meet above,
Baldwin Place Church again.