 | Christ in the life : sermons |  |
241
EMANCIPATION.
Hark! through the North a Spirit waking slow,And rousing like a strong man after sleep:
Its murmurs come like whirlwinds speaking low,
Ere yet they lift the billows of the deep.
What though this power is long and slow to wake!
Oh! ye are mad, its strength to brave and dare;
For, if its thunders from their mountains wake,
They'll smite your fields, and clear the northern air.
Then from the North, along its whole frontier,
A light shall stream in columns to the skies,
And like a new Aurora shall appear
To the whole land that South in darkness lies;
And while its flames do shake their banners near,
Your slaves will hail them with rejoicing eyes.
1844.
242
“OLD JOHN BROWN.”
They call thee hot-brained, crazed, and mad;
But every word that falls
Goes straight and true, and hits the mark
More sure than cannon-balls.
Through spectre forms of bogus law
It cuts its way complete;
And judge and jury, too, are tried
At God's great judgment-seat.
But every word that falls
Goes straight and true, and hits the mark
More sure than cannon-balls.
Through spectre forms of bogus law
It cuts its way complete;
And judge and jury, too, are tried
At God's great judgment-seat.
Old man, farewell! They'll take thy life:
For dangerous enough,
In these our sweetly piping times,
Are men of hero stuff.
We should tread soft above the fires
That underneath us lie:
You'll crack the crust of compromise,
And set them spouting high.
For dangerous enough,
In these our sweetly piping times,
Are men of hero stuff.
We should tread soft above the fires
That underneath us lie:
You'll crack the crust of compromise,
And set them spouting high.
Where Henry's cry for “Liberty”
Once sent its shivering thrill,
There's only room, six feet by two,
For heroes now to fill.
And o'er the spot the years will roll,
As spring its verdure weaves,
And autumn o'er the felon's grave
Shakes down its yellow loaves.
Once sent its shivering thrill,
There's only room, six feet by two,
For heroes now to fill.
And o'er the spot the years will roll,
As spring its verdure weaves,
And autumn o'er the felon's grave
Shakes down its yellow loaves.
243
But not the spot six feet by two
Will hold a man like thee:
John Brown will tramp the shaking earth
From Blue Ridge to the sea,
Till the strong angel comes at last,
And ope's each dungeon door,
And God's Great Charter holds, and waves
O'er all his humble poor.
Will hold a man like thee:
John Brown will tramp the shaking earth
From Blue Ridge to the sea,
Till the strong angel comes at last,
And ope's each dungeon door,
And God's Great Charter holds, and waves
O'er all his humble poor.
And then the humble poor will come,
In that far distant day,
And from the felon's nameless grave
They'll brush the leaves away;
And gray old men will point the spot,
Beneath the pine-tree shade,
As children ask with streaming eyes,
Where Old John Brown was laid.
In that far distant day,
And from the felon's nameless grave
They'll brush the leaves away;
And gray old men will point the spot,
Beneath the pine-tree shade,
As children ask with streaming eyes,
Where Old John Brown was laid.
November, 1859.
244
SONG OF THE STARS AND STRIPES.
We see the gallant streamer yet
Float from the bastioned walls:
One hearty song for fatherland
Before its banner fails!
Last on our gaze when, outward bound,
We plough the ocean's foam;
First on our longing eyes again,
To waft our welcome home.
Float from the bastioned walls:
One hearty song for fatherland
Before its banner fails!
Last on our gaze when, outward bound,
We plough the ocean's foam;
First on our longing eyes again,
To waft our welcome home.
Beneath thy shade we've toiled in peace,
The golden corn we reap;
We've taken home our bonny brides,
We've rocked our babes to sleep;
We marched to front the battle storms
That brought the invader nigh,
When the grim lion cowered and sank
Beneath the eagle's eye.
The golden corn we reap;
We've taken home our bonny brides,
We've rocked our babes to sleep;
We marched to front the battle storms
That brought the invader nigh,
When the grim lion cowered and sank
Beneath the eagle's eye.
Beneath the stars and stripes we'll keep,
Come years of weal or woe:
Close up again the broken line,
And let the traitors go!
Ho, brothers of the “Border States”!
We reach across the line,
And pledge our faith and honor now,
As once in Auld Lang Syne.
Come years of weal or woe:
Close up again the broken line,
And let the traitors go!
Ho, brothers of the “Border States”!
We reach across the line,
And pledge our faith and honor now,
As once in Auld Lang Syne.
245
We'll keep the memories bright and green
Of all our old renown;
We'll strike the traitor hand that's raised
To pluck the eagle down.
Still shall it guard your Southern homes
From all the foes that come:
We'll move with you to harp and flute,
Or march to fife and drum.
Of all our old renown;
We'll strike the traitor hand that's raised
To pluck the eagle down.
Still shall it guard your Southern homes
From all the foes that come:
We'll move with you to harp and flute,
Or march to fife and drum.
Or, if ye turn from us in scorn,
Still shall our nation's sign
Roll out again its streaming stars
On all the border line.
And with the same old rallying cry,
Beneath its folds we'll meet;
And they shall be our conquering sign,
Or be our winding-sheet!
Still shall our nation's sign
Roll out again its streaming stars
On all the border line.
And with the same old rallying cry,
Beneath its folds we'll meet;
And they shall be our conquering sign,
Or be our winding-sheet!
'Tis said that when Jerusalem
Sank in her last despair,
A spectre sword hung gory red
Just o'er her in the air.
Ye that tear down your country's flag,
Look, where God's gathering ire
Hangs in its place, just o'er your heads,
A sword of bloody fire!
Sank in her last despair,
A spectre sword hung gory red
Just o'er her in the air.
Ye that tear down your country's flag,
Look, where God's gathering ire
Hangs in its place, just o'er your heads,
A sword of bloody fire!
March, 1861.
246
SONG FOR JULY 4, 1861.
Still wave our streamer's glorious folds
O'er all the brave and true,
Though ten dim stars have turned to blood
On yonder field of blue.
O'er all the brave and true,
Though ten dim stars have turned to blood
On yonder field of blue.
It is our nation's judgment-day,
That makes her stars to fall.
Lo! all the dead start from their graves
At Freedom's trumpet-call.
That makes her stars to fall.
Lo! all the dead start from their graves
At Freedom's trumpet-call.
And in the thunders of the storm
She speaks, an angel strong:
“Now comes my reign of righteousness;
Now ends the slavers' wrong.
She speaks, an angel strong:
“Now comes my reign of righteousness;
Now ends the slavers' wrong.
Lift up your heads, ye faithful ones,
For now your prayers prevail.
Ye faithless! hear the tramp of doom,
And dread the iron hail!
For now your prayers prevail.
Ye faithless! hear the tramp of doom,
And dread the iron hail!
God's last Messiah comes apace
In Freedom's awful name,
And parts the tribes to right and left,—
To glory or to shame.”
In Freedom's awful name,
And parts the tribes to right and left,—
To glory or to shame.”
Then wave the streamer's glorious folds
O'er all the brave and true,
Till all its stars shine bright again
On yonder field of blue.
O'er all the brave and true,
Till all its stars shine bright again
On yonder field of blue.
247
THE HOME GUARD.
On the nations bound in error,
Lies the ancient night of terror,—
Lies the old Egyptian gloom.
Still the blinded nations leading,
Are the hosts of martyrs bleeding,—
Bleeding till the morning come.
Lies the ancient night of terror,—
Lies the old Egyptian gloom.
Still the blinded nations leading,
Are the hosts of martyrs bleeding,—
Bleeding till the morning come.
Where the stars and stripes are streaming,
Fall the martyrs, grandly dreaming
Of the coming Age of Gold;
And we write their names in glory,
Fighting in the battle gory,
Lying in their coffins cold.
Fall the martyrs, grandly dreaming
Of the coming Age of Gold;
And we write their names in glory,
Fighting in the battle gory,
Lying in their coffins cold.
But those other martyrs' praises,
Which no trump of fame upraises,
But whose works their glory show,—
Parents, teachers, wives, and daughters,
Leading by the gentle waters
Where the trees of knowledge grow,—
Which no trump of fame upraises,
But whose works their glory show,—
Parents, teachers, wives, and daughters,
Leading by the gentle waters
Where the trees of knowledge grow,—
Faithful Home Guard of the nation,
In its glorious celebration
Shall your works forever shine;
For they break the night of terror,
And drive back the ancient error,
Leading in the Day Divine.
In its glorious celebration
Shall your works forever shine;
For they break the night of terror,
And drive back the ancient error,
Leading in the Day Divine.
July 4, 1861.
248
HOW GOLD MAY BE KEPT BRIGHT.
[From Horace.]
O Crispus, foe to sordid gain!
The man whose heart is tender
Makes all the gold his hands obtain
Shine with redoubled splendor.
The man whose heart is tender
Makes all the gold his hands obtain
Shine with redoubled splendor.
Thus Proculeius lives in song,
And all our love engages:
Fame bears him on her wings along
The never-dying ages.
And all our love engages:
Fame bears him on her wings along
The never-dying ages.
For when, upon his brothers, Fate
With cruel hand was pressing,
He shared with them his own estate,
With all a father's blessing.
With cruel hand was pressing,
He shared with them his own estate,
With all a father's blessing.
Add field to field,—rule all the climes
Whose shores the sea is laving:
'T is nobler far to rule betimes
The soul that's in thee craving.
Whose shores the sea is laving:
'T is nobler far to rule betimes
The soul that's in thee craving.
250
SERENITY.
[A paraphrase from Horace. Carmen III., Lib. II.]
My friend, where'er you tread this scene
Of varied joys and cares,
Preserve thy mind alike serene
In sad or gay affairs.
Of varied joys and cares,
Preserve thy mind alike serene
In sad or gay affairs.
Whether you live in sorrow's shade,
Or on the grass recline
In bowers by pines and poplars made
To quaff the generous wine,—
Or on the grass recline
In bowers by pines and poplars made
To quaff the generous wine,—
There, while the boughs above thy head
A living roof weave high,
And purling brooks with quivering tread
Run bounding gladly by,—
A living roof weave high,
And purling brooks with quivering tread
Run bounding gladly by,—
Let them bring wine, and sweet perfume,
And roses fresh and gay;
For soon, like these, we cease to bloom,
And fade from earth away.
And roses fresh and gay;
For soon, like these, we cease to bloom,
And fade from earth away.
The house, the grove, the costly field
Which yellow Tiber laves,
This heaped-up wealth to heirs we yield,
And seek forgotten graves.
Which yellow Tiber laves,
This heaped-up wealth to heirs we yield,
And seek forgotten graves.
251
The highest and the humblest thing,
The wealthiest, poorest,—all
Are victims to the tyrant king,
And all alike must fall.
The wealthiest, poorest,—all
Are victims to the tyrant king,
And all alike must fall.
Even now the fatal lot we know
Is shaken in the urn:
Soon it comes forth, and then we go
Whence we shall not return.
Is shaken in the urn:
Soon it comes forth, and then we go
Whence we shall not return.
May, 1851.
252
OLD ENGLAND AND NEW.
[_]
[Written and sung on board the Cunard steamship “Siberia,” which sailed from Liverpool Aug. 20, 1873.]
Old England's shore of summer green
Fades on the dark-blue waters.
God's blessing on thy noble Queen,
And all thy sons and daughters!
The land where holy martyrs bled,
Of thrilling song and story,—
Thy sun shines bright, and may it shed
A blaze of endless glory!
Fades on the dark-blue waters.
God's blessing on thy noble Queen,
And all thy sons and daughters!
The land where holy martyrs bled,
Of thrilling song and story,—
Thy sun shines bright, and may it shed
A blaze of endless glory!
Land of the western shore! we keep
Our filial hearts still near thee:
Our love for thee grows strong and deep,
With all our wandering weary.
Above our homes thy peaceful bow
Its sweetest hues is blending;
Thy lightnings round the world that go,
Not bane, but bliss, are sending.
Our filial hearts still near thee:
Our love for thee grows strong and deep,
With all our wandering weary.
Above our homes thy peaceful bow
Its sweetest hues is blending;
Thy lightnings round the world that go,
Not bane, but bliss, are sending.
Our gallant ship that walks the seas
From one shore to the other,
Oh, bear the olive-boughs of peace
From brother back to brother!
God bless thy captain and his men,
The waves thy pathway making,
And all who keep the golden chain
Of brotherhood from breaking!
From one shore to the other,
Oh, bear the olive-boughs of peace
From brother back to brother!
253
The waves thy pathway making,
And all who keep the golden chain
Of brotherhood from breaking!
254
ODE.
[_]
[For the fiftieth anniversary of Dr. Eliphalet Nott's Presidency at Union College, Schenectady.]
We've wandered east, we've wandered west,”
Since through these halls we strayed
And fondly dreamed our waking dreams
In Union's soothing shade.
Now we return with sandals worn,
To Learning's ancient shrine
Where busy memories start and throng
From days of auld lang syne,—
The thronging memories fond and dear
Of auld lang syne.
Since through these halls we strayed
And fondly dreamed our waking dreams
In Union's soothing shade.
Now we return with sandals worn,
To Learning's ancient shrine
Where busy memories start and throng
From days of auld lang syne,—
The thronging memories fond and dear
Of auld lang syne.
We've wandered east, we've wandered west,
On prairie, sea, and shore;
And some have laid their weary forms
Where life's last dream is o'er.
They walked with us through Learning's bowers,
And plucked its “gowans fine:”
They girded on their armor bright,
With us in days lang syne.
We'll breathe for them one pensive strain
Of auld lang syne.
On prairie, sea, and shore;
And some have laid their weary forms
Where life's last dream is o'er.
They walked with us through Learning's bowers,
And plucked its “gowans fine:”
They girded on their armor bright,
With us in days lang syne.
We'll breathe for them one pensive strain
Of auld lang syne.
We've wandered east, we've wandered west,
O'er many a shifting scene:
This spot, in all the lengthening past,
Has only grown more green;
For here our father, friend and sage,
With locks of silvery shine,
Kept watch above our youthful ways,
In days of auld lang syne.
We've kept his memory bright and dear
Of auld lang syne.
O'er many a shifting scene:
This spot, in all the lengthening past,
Has only grown more green;
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With locks of silvery shine,
Kept watch above our youthful ways,
In days of auld lang syne.
We've kept his memory bright and dear
Of auld lang syne.
Borne onward by the solemn sea,
From time's receding shore,
Union, thy light, from which we steered,
Shall greet our eyes no more.
Still thou, the Pharos of the waves,
Shalt o'er the waters shine,
And bear upon thy beaming front
One name from years lang syne,—
One ever dear remembered name.
Of auld lang syne.
From time's receding shore,
Union, thy light, from which we steered,
Shall greet our eyes no more.
Still thou, the Pharos of the waves,
Shalt o'er the waters shine,
And bear upon thy beaming front
One name from years lang syne,—
One ever dear remembered name.
Of auld lang syne.
256
HYMN.
Our fathers, where are they,
Who here in ancient time
Came with the faltering steps of age,
Or manhood's glorious prime?
Oh! some in yonder peaceful tombs
Their long, last sabbath keep,
Where from the idle, hurrying throng
The mourner turns to weep.
Who here in ancient time
Came with the faltering steps of age,
Or manhood's glorious prime?
Oh! some in yonder peaceful tombs
Their long, last sabbath keep,
Where from the idle, hurrying throng
The mourner turns to weep.
Along these solemn aisles
Where floats the song of praise,
Do not their lingering spirits hear
Their old and cherished lays?
And when the fervent voice of prayer
To God for favor calls,
Oh! blend they not their spirit tones
That “talk along the walls”?
Where floats the song of praise,
Do not their lingering spirits hear
Their old and cherished lays?
And when the fervent voice of prayer
To God for favor calls,
Oh! blend they not their spirit tones
That “talk along the walls”?
Their children, where are they,
Who now their footsteps tread?
Walk they in bonds of love and peace,
To join the pious dead?
Come blooming youth, come reverend age,
While yet your years revolve,
And take, within this holy fane,
The high and pure resolve.
Who now their footsteps tread?
Walk they in bonds of love and peace,
To join the pious dead?
Come blooming youth, come reverend age,
While yet your years revolve,
And take, within this holy fane,
The high and pure resolve.
257
God of our fathers, hear
The solemn vows we pay,
And let celestial breathings move
Upon our souls to-day!
Oh, may the tie we consecrate,
Thy pledge of favor prove!
Shed here thy warm, benignant beams
Of everlasting love.
The solemn vows we pay,
And let celestial breathings move
Upon our souls to-day!
Oh, may the tie we consecrate,
Thy pledge of favor prove!
Shed here thy warm, benignant beams
Of everlasting love.
258
HYMN.
[_]
[For the fiftieth anniversary of the settlement of Rev. Joseph Field, D.D., over the First Parish in Weston.]
Father of mercies! in the radiant morning
Thy youthful servant started on his way;
And prayers were breathed for light and grace adorning,
And that his strength be equal to his day.
Thy youthful servant started on his way;
And prayers were breathed for light and grace adorning,
And that his strength be equal to his day.
And Thou hast answered. Fifty years of blessing
Have fallen o'er us gently as the rain:
Thy promised grace, thy heavenly peace, possessing,
Here in thy house, and in our homes again.
Have fallen o'er us gently as the rain:
Thy promised grace, thy heavenly peace, possessing,
Here in thy house, and in our homes again.
Father, we thank Thee. Through the fruitful meadows.
Still guide the flock and pastor by thy hand,
And grant him, walking through the evening shadows,
Still brighter openings towards the Promised Land,
Still guide the flock and pastor by thy hand,
And grant him, walking through the evening shadows,
Still brighter openings towards the Promised Land,
Till, passing on through earth's brief joys and trials,
Pastor and people join the immortal throng,
Who sweeter incense waft from golden vials,
And worship Thee in their unending song.
Pastor and people join the immortal throng,
Who sweeter incense waft from golden vials,
And worship Thee in their unending song.
February, 1865.
259
GOLDEN-WEDDING HYMN.
Two summer streams were flowing
Bright in the morning sun;
And in their course, with gentle force,
They mingled into one.
Bright in the morning sun;
And in their course, with gentle force,
They mingled into one.
Now flows the blended river
Beneath the western sky;
And manifold the hues of gold
Calm on its bosom lie.
Beneath the western sky;
And manifold the hues of gold
Calm on its bosom lie.
So, friends beloved and honored,
Your stream of life has flowed;
And now may rest upon its breast
The golden peace of God!
Your stream of life has flowed;
And now may rest upon its breast
The golden peace of God!
Warm hearts are beating round you;
And in our fervent song,
Here do we pray, your closing day
May linger late and long;
And in our fervent song,
Here do we pray, your closing day
May linger late and long;
That warmest benedictions
May soothe its latest stage,
And wreathe with flowers of summer hours
The snowy crown of age;
May soothe its latest stage,
And wreathe with flowers of summer hours
The snowy crown of age;
260
Till, clothed in wedding garments,
You stand before the throne
Whence cometh down the bridal crown,
And the sweet voice, “Well done!’
You stand before the throne
Whence cometh down the bridal crown,
And the sweet voice, “Well done!’
1865.
The opening stanza is not a literal quotation, but is in close imitation of Brainard's very beautiful Epithalamium, commencing,—
“I saw two clouds at morning.”261
A GREETING FROM THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.
Ho, teachers, friends, and parents dear,
Who join our festive throng,
We send you greeting as we sing
Our merry Christmas song!
The song which here we sing to-night
Shall be the glad refrain
Of that which swept the heavenly lyres
O'er Bethlehem's starlit plain.
Who join our festive throng,
We send you greeting as we sing
Our merry Christmas song!
The song which here we sing to-night
Shall be the glad refrain
Of that which swept the heavenly lyres
O'er Bethlehem's starlit plain.
O ye whose selfish hearts are chilled
Beneath the world's cold blight,
Make room! make room! for lo! He comes—
A Saviour comes to-night.
Hold up to Him your waning lamps,
To fill with oil once more,
Till, from the fount of Love Divine,
Your souls are brimming o'er.
Beneath the world's cold blight,
Make room! make room! for lo! He comes—
A Saviour comes to-night.
Hold up to Him your waning lamps,
To fill with oil once more,
Till, from the fount of Love Divine,
Your souls are brimming o'er.
And ye who bear the ills of life,
And faint beneath its load,
Grown weary of your painful toil
To climb the heavenly road,
Good cheer! good cheer! He comes—He comes,
Your pain and grief to share;
For He who reigns in glory now
Has borne the cross ye bear.
And faint beneath its load,
Grown weary of your painful toil
To climb the heavenly road,
262
Your pain and grief to share;
For He who reigns in glory now
Has borne the cross ye bear.
Ho, children! sing, and clap your hands,
And lift your notes of praise
To Him whose heart beats warm with yours,
In childhood's winsome ways.
He came your joyous times to know,—
The babe of heavenly birth;
For He who reigns in glory now
Was once a child on earth.
And lift your notes of praise
To Him whose heart beats warm with yours,
In childhood's winsome ways.
He came your joyous times to know,—
The babe of heavenly birth;
For He who reigns in glory now
Was once a child on earth.
Hail, Santa Claus! whose hand to-night
Brings tokens rich and free:
The fruits that grow in sunniest climes
Hang on the Christmas-tree.
Good-will and Faith and Hope and Love
Its bending branches bear.
Come, let us pluck the healing leaves
And golden clusters there.
Brings tokens rich and free:
The fruits that grow in sunniest climes
Hang on the Christmas-tree.
Good-will and Faith and Hope and Love
Its bending branches bear.
Come, let us pluck the healing leaves
And golden clusters there.
263
CALM AT SEA.
[Off Cohasset Beach, July 8, 1847.]
Ye spirits of the air and wave,
Oh! whither are ye fled?
All nature sleeps; nor only sleeps,
But, like a corpse, lies dead.
Across the charmed and glassy sea
No morning zephyr strays:
The sun, with face of blood-red hue,
Looks angry through the haze.
Oh! whither are ye fled?
All nature sleeps; nor only sleeps,
But, like a corpse, lies dead.
Across the charmed and glassy sea
No morning zephyr strays:
The sun, with face of blood-red hue,
Looks angry through the haze.
The sky above, and the sky below,
With rival fires are seen;
And midway in this awful space
Our vessel hangs between.
But we move! not o'er the heaving main,
Where cool sea-breezes blow,
But we're sinking down, we're sinking down,
To lodge in that sky below.
With rival fires are seen;
And midway in this awful space
Our vessel hangs between.
But we move! not o'er the heaving main,
Where cool sea-breezes blow,
But we're sinking down, we're sinking down,
To lodge in that sky below.
Look yonder! for some spectre moves
In terror o'er the sea:
Beneath his wings the waves look black,
And quiver frightfully.
He comes! he comes! our vessel scuds
Before his threatening ire;
And from our prow, on either side,
Roll floods of foaming fire.
In terror o'er the sea:
Beneath his wings the waves look black,
And quiver frightfully.
He comes! he comes! our vessel scuds
Before his threatening ire;
And from our prow, on either side,
Roll floods of foaming fire.
264
He smites the air, and from their cells
Rush out the shrieking gales:
They catch the canvas as they come,
And flap the bellying sails.
Across the noon his ghastly form
Its baleful shadow flings:
He lifts the spray, and through the air
He shakes it from his wings.
Rush out the shrieking gales:
They catch the canvas as they come,
And flap the bellying sails.
Across the noon his ghastly form
Its baleful shadow flings:
He lifts the spray, and through the air
He shakes it from his wings.
Ah, treacherous calm! like that which comes
O'er souls that sleep in sin,
What time the passions cease to stir,
And stillness reigns within.
I thought my sins removed; I felt
Their power within me die:
I thought the peace of souls redeemed
Came sweetly from on high.
O'er souls that sleep in sin,
What time the passions cease to stir,
And stillness reigns within.
I thought my sins removed; I felt
Their power within me die:
I thought the peace of souls redeemed
Came sweetly from on high.
And then, alas! they woke again,
And raged without control:
Storms that had seemed forever hushed
Swept o'er my darkened soul;
O'er the dead waves of deep desire
Some dark temptation came;
And so my bark was tossed again
On waves of rolling flame.
And raged without control:
Storms that had seemed forever hushed
Swept o'er my darkened soul;
O'er the dead waves of deep desire
Some dark temptation came;
And so my bark was tossed again
On waves of rolling flame.
Methinks that on this solemn scene,
And at this thoughtful hour,
Where ever-changing forms do preach
God's never-changing power;
While from the quickly pulsing waves,
The loud sea-anthems roll,—
A more prevailing prayer might rise
From the heavenward breathing soul:—
And at this thoughtful hour,
Where ever-changing forms do preach
God's never-changing power;
265
The loud sea-anthems roll,—
A more prevailing prayer might rise
From the heavenward breathing soul:—
Send then, O God, thy cherubim
All fragrant with thy love,
And let their whitely-flashing wings
Around my spirit move;
There let them breathe no treacherous calm,
But breathe a holy rest
Till thy glorious heavens see themselves
In my clear and tranquil breast.
All fragrant with thy love,
And let their whitely-flashing wings
Around my spirit move;
There let them breathe no treacherous calm,
But breathe a holy rest
Till thy glorious heavens see themselves
In my clear and tranquil breast.
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DIRGE.
Farewell, brother! deep and lowly
Rest thee on thy bed of clay.
Kindred saints, and angels holy,
Bore thy heavenward soul away.
Sad, we gave thee to that number
Laid in yonder icy halls,
Where above thy peaceful slumber
Many a shower of sorrow falls.
Rest thee on thy bed of clay.
Kindred saints, and angels holy,
Bore thy heavenward soul away.
Sad, we gave thee to that number
Laid in yonder icy halls,
Where above thy peaceful slumber
Many a shower of sorrow falls.
Hear our prayer, O God of glory,
Lowly breathed in sorrow's song!
Bleeding hearts lie bare before Thee,
Come, in holy trust made strong.
Hark! a voice moves nearer, stronger,
From the shadowy land ye dread,—
“Mortals! mortals! seek no longer
Those that live, among the dead.”
Lowly breathed in sorrow's song!
Bleeding hearts lie bare before Thee,
Come, in holy trust made strong.
Hark! a voice moves nearer, stronger,
From the shadowy land ye dread,—
“Mortals! mortals! seek no longer
Those that live, among the dead.”
Farewell, brother! soon we meet thee
Where no cloud of sorrow rolls;
For glad tidings float, how sweetly!
From the glorious land of souls.
Death's cold gloom—it parts asunder:
Lo! the folding shades are gone.
Mourner, upward! yonder, yonder,
“God's broad day comes pouring on!”
Where no cloud of sorrow rolls;
For glad tidings float, how sweetly!
From the glorious land of souls.
Death's cold gloom—it parts asunder:
Lo! the folding shades are gone.
Mourner, upward! yonder, yonder,
“God's broad day comes pouring on!”
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GUARDIAN ANGELS.
As in the garden's gloomy shades,
To Jesus bending low,
They came, and from his burdened soul
Rolled off its weight of woe;
So now they come whene'er we droop
With sickness, care, or pain,
And pour a cool, assuaging balm
Through every burning vein.
To Jesus bending low,
They came, and from his burdened soul
Rolled off its weight of woe;
So now they come whene'er we droop
With sickness, care, or pain,
And pour a cool, assuaging balm
Through every burning vein.
At night I seek my weary couch,
Now rough with many a thorn,
And pray, while sleep forsakes my eyes,
“Oh, speed the wings of morn!”
But ere the light from morning land
First through my window gleams,
The guardian spirit softly comes,
And prompts my pleasing dreams.
Now rough with many a thorn,
And pray, while sleep forsakes my eyes,
“Oh, speed the wings of morn!”
But ere the light from morning land
First through my window gleams,
The guardian spirit softly comes,
And prompts my pleasing dreams.
When the frail robe thy spirit wears,
At length is worn away,
The angel band shall lead thee on,
And smooth thine upward way;
And thou wilt rise, thou weary one,
And be an angel too,
And bear the same sweet ministries
Which now they bear to you.
At length is worn away,
The angel band shall lead thee on,
And smooth thine upward way;
And thou wilt rise, thou weary one,
And be an angel too,
And bear the same sweet ministries
Which now they bear to you.
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IN SICKNESS.
There is an hour of silent prayer:
I've felt its joys serene,
When, Lord, thy face beamed like a sun,
With not a cloud between:
'Twas when my passions lulled to rest,
And all my pride was still,
Thy peace descended as the dew
Falls soft on Hermon's hill.
I've felt its joys serene,
When, Lord, thy face beamed like a sun,
With not a cloud between:
'Twas when my passions lulled to rest,
And all my pride was still,
Thy peace descended as the dew
Falls soft on Hermon's hill.
If here amidst the storms of life,
Shut in this house of clay,
Such gleams of glory struggle through
From thine eternal day,
Oh, what the peace that o'er the heart
Its golden dews distils,
Beneath that morn that ever reigns
O'er all the heavenly hills!
Shut in this house of clay,
Such gleams of glory struggle through
From thine eternal day,
Oh, what the peace that o'er the heart
Its golden dews distils,
Beneath that morn that ever reigns
O'er all the heavenly hills!
But here the clouds will cast their gloom
Across my sunlit skies;
Dark thoughts, like flocks of evil birds,
Out of my heart will rise.
And yet I know thine angels come,
An ever-shining throng,
To guard from evil, and to make
My spirit bright and strong.
Across my sunlit skies;
Dark thoughts, like flocks of evil birds,
Out of my heart will rise.
And yet I know thine angels come,
An ever-shining throng,
To guard from evil, and to make
My spirit bright and strong.
269
Lord, send thy pure, baptizing fire
To cleanse my heart anew;
And o'er my spirit let thy grace
Descend like heavenly dew.
Come as thy Spirit came of old,
Soft on the rushing breeze,
And fit me for those “heavenly troops
And sweet societies.”
To cleanse my heart anew;
And o'er my spirit let thy grace
Descend like heavenly dew.
Come as thy Spirit came of old,
Soft on the rushing breeze,
And fit me for those “heavenly troops
And sweet societies.”
July 19, 1847.
270
AWAY FROM CHURCH.
Father Divine! thy glorious face,
That beamed so bright erewhile,
Now seems behind the gathering clouds
To hide its gracious smile.
How heavy o'er my couch of care
These sabbath hours have flown!
Far from the meekly gathering flock,
Their pastor droops alone.
That beamed so bright erewhile,
Now seems behind the gathering clouds
To hide its gracious smile.
How heavy o'er my couch of care
These sabbath hours have flown!
Far from the meekly gathering flock,
Their pastor droops alone.
'Tis not the sufferings Thou dost send,
'Tis not the pain I bear,
That hangs upon my drooping heart
This heavy load of care;
'Tis not the opening gate of death,
The Christian's sweet release,
Through which thy beckoning angel calls
Up to the land of peace.
'Tis not the pain I bear,
That hangs upon my drooping heart
This heavy load of care;
'Tis not the opening gate of death,
The Christian's sweet release,
Through which thy beckoning angel calls
Up to the land of peace.
But while those sweetly sounding chimes
Here through my windows roll,
Thy word, that must not pass my lips,
Lies burning in my soul.
And oh! another thought than that
Comes o'er my spirit now,
Deepening the shade that sickness flings
Across my throbbing brow.
Here through my windows roll,
Thy word, that must not pass my lips,
Lies burning in my soul.
And oh! another thought than that
Comes o'er my spirit now,
Deepening the shade that sickness flings
Across my throbbing brow.
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For ere the cheek had lost its glow,
Or the arm had lost its power,
Oh! did I serve Thee as I ought,
And seize the golden hour?
Mine was the sorrowing to console,
The sinful to reprove;
Did I give my people all my strength
And undivided love?
Or the arm had lost its power,
Oh! did I serve Thee as I ought,
And seize the golden hour?
Mine was the sorrowing to console,
The sinful to reprove;
Did I give my people all my strength
And undivided love?
Now, too, the Past throws wide its doors,
As Memory turns the key,
And shows how poor are all the works
My hands have done for Thee.
Then up, and up, through golden air,
While the earth wanes below,
I see thy saints, that cast their crowns,
In white robes bending low.
As Memory turns the key,
And shows how poor are all the works
My hands have done for Thee.
Then up, and up, through golden air,
While the earth wanes below,
I see thy saints, that cast their crowns,
In white robes bending low.
How glad they move on wingèd feet,
Thy mandates to fulfil!
No self in them to be denied,—
Theirs but the Eternal Will.
Oh! in these long and silent hours,
Send thy baptizing love,
That I on earth may do thy will,
As they in heaven above.
Thy mandates to fulfil!
No self in them to be denied,—
Theirs but the Eternal Will.
Oh! in these long and silent hours,
Send thy baptizing love,
That I on earth may do thy will,
As they in heaven above.
Oh! now I see a Father's love,
And not a Father's frown:
Thou mak'st the burning tongue be still,
And the hands hang feebly down.
For in thy name the tongue must speak,
And in that name alone;
That feeble hand thy glory serve,
But never serve its own.
And not a Father's frown:
Thou mak'st the burning tongue be still,
And the hands hang feebly down.
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And in that name alone;
That feeble hand thy glory serve,
But never serve its own.
My God! thy high and pure designs
I seek not to explore:
Thine is my strength if here restored,
Thine when my life is o'er.
Thine through these lingering days I'll live,
And thine in meekness die;
And in my Father's folding arms,
Now like a child I lie.
I seek not to explore:
Thine is my strength if here restored,
Thine when my life is o'er.
Thine through these lingering days I'll live,
And thine in meekness die;
And in my Father's folding arms,
Now like a child I lie.
1862.
273
“SHOW US THE FATHER.”
Show us the Father! Lift thine eye
And bend thy gaze above,
Where, mild and clear, the evening star
Sends down its look of love;
When sinking Day resigns once more
The fields he brightly won,
And Night, with slow and solemn pomp,
O'er her wide realm moves on.
And bend thy gaze above,
Where, mild and clear, the evening star
Sends down its look of love;
When sinking Day resigns once more
The fields he brightly won,
And Night, with slow and solemn pomp,
O'er her wide realm moves on.
Show us the Father! Now the sun
Sinks in his “golden grave,”
And weary whirlwinds droop their wings
Upon the peaceful wave.
The land and sea unite to raise
Their grateful evening hymn;
While Nature's altar-fires burn bright,
Devotion's fire burns dim.
Sinks in his “golden grave,”
And weary whirlwinds droop their wings
Upon the peaceful wave.
The land and sea unite to raise
Their grateful evening hymn;
While Nature's altar-fires burn bright,
Devotion's fire burns dim.
Show us the Father! Beauty flings
Her banner on the air,
And Earth, from all her sombre heights,
Sends up her evening prayer.
Summer's low anthems sweetly breathe
From harps of heavenly frame:
Comes there no sound upon thine ear,
To speak the Father's name?
Her banner on the air,
And Earth, from all her sombre heights,
Sends up her evening prayer.
Summer's low anthems sweetly breathe
From harps of heavenly frame:
Comes there no sound upon thine ear,
To speak the Father's name?
274
Oh! if the earth-bound spirit feels
No presence from above,
Turn to that everlasting page,
Bright with a Father's love.
Close the wide world of glory out,
Of sea and earth and air;
And, having shut thy closet door,
Oh! meet the Father there.
No presence from above,
Turn to that everlasting page,
Bright with a Father's love.
Close the wide world of glory out,
Of sea and earth and air;
And, having shut thy closet door,
Oh! meet the Father there.
1836.
275
TWO SPIRIT WORLDS.
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;”
Their saintly minds in heaven's pure light
Cleave not to earth again.
Where saints immortal reign;”
Their saintly minds in heaven's pure light
Cleave not to earth again.
No winter storms in their abode,
No blight, and no decay:
Their sunshine is the smile of God,
That makes eternal day.
No blight, and no decay:
Their sunshine is the smile of God,
That makes eternal day.
How young they grow, as o'er them still
The endless years roll on!
How strong they grow to do God's will,
And live to Him alone!
The endless years roll on!
How strong they grow to do God's will,
And live to Him alone!
Another spirit land, I trow,
Vexed with our mean affairs,
Lies close upon earth's confines low,
And meddles with its cares.
Vexed with our mean affairs,
Lies close upon earth's confines low,
And meddles with its cares.
The “carnal mind” still to them clings,
Is with them there as here;
And so, with endless gossipings,
They mingle in our sphere.
Is with them there as here;
And so, with endless gossipings,
They mingle in our sphere.
Friend of my youth! who here in time
Put on thy robes of white,
Thy home is on those heights sublime,
Among the sons of Light.
Put on thy robes of white,
Thy home is on those heights sublime,
Among the sons of Light.
276
Not mingling in our vulgar noise,
Thy cheery tones we hear,
But mingling in the “still small voice”
That charms my inward ear.
Thy cheery tones we hear,
But mingling in the “still small voice”
That charms my inward ear.
July 30, 1875.
277
MY PSALM.
O thou most present in our paths
When least thy steps we see!
Amid these wrecks of earthly hopes
I breathe my prayer to Thee.
When least thy steps we see!
Amid these wrecks of earthly hopes
I breathe my prayer to Thee.
What though this house thy hand has built
Must in these ruins fall!
My soul shall rise, sustained by Thee,
Serene above them all.
Must in these ruins fall!
My soul shall rise, sustained by Thee,
Serene above them all.
And pain, which in the long, long hours
Keeps on by night and day,
Through these fast crumbling walls to Thee
Finds a new opening way;
Keeps on by night and day,
Through these fast crumbling walls to Thee
Finds a new opening way;
For through the rents already made,
I see thy glorious face,
And songs unheard by mortal ears
Chant thy redeeming grace.
I see thy glorious face,
And songs unheard by mortal ears
Chant thy redeeming grace.
Oh! build anew this mortal frame,
And make it serve Thee still,
Or make these ministries of pain
Their blessed end fulfil,
And make it serve Thee still,
Or make these ministries of pain
Their blessed end fulfil,
That, held and chastened by thy hand,
I yet may come to Thee,
Subdued and ripened for the work
Of immortality.
I yet may come to Thee,
Subdued and ripened for the work
Of immortality.
278
For there upon the immortal shores,
The throngs in white array
Came from these ministries of pain,
To serve Thee night and day.
The throngs in white array
Came from these ministries of pain,
To serve Thee night and day.
June 18, 1875.
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