Memorials of Theophilus Trinal, Student By Thomas T. Lynch. Third Edition, Enlarged |
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| XI. | CHAPTER XI. |
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 | CHAPTER XI. Memorials of Theophilus Trinal, Student |  |
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CHAPTER XI.
REST.
The day is over,
The feverish, careful day:
Can I recover
Strength that has ebbed away?
Can even sleep such freshness give,
That I again shall wish to live?
The feverish, careful day:
Can I recover
Strength that has ebbed away?
Can even sleep such freshness give,
That I again shall wish to live?
Let me lie down,
No more I seek to have
A heavenly crown,
Give me a quiet grave;
Release and not reward I ask,
Too hard for me life's heavy task.
No more I seek to have
A heavenly crown,
Give me a quiet grave;
Release and not reward I ask,
Too hard for me life's heavy task.
Now let me rest,
Hushed be my striving brain,
My beating breast;
Let me put off my pain,
And feel me sinking, sinking deep
Into an abyss of sleep.
Hushed be my striving brain,
My beating breast;
Let me put off my pain,
And feel me sinking, sinking deep
Into an abyss of sleep.
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The morrow's noise,
Its aguish hope and fear,
Its empty joys,
Of these I shall not hear;
Call me no more, I cannot come;
I'm gone to be at rest, at home.
Its aguish hope and fear,
Its empty joys,
Of these I shall not hear;
Call me no more, I cannot come;
I'm gone to be at rest, at home.
Earth undesired,
And not for heaven meet;
For one so tired
What's left but slumber sweet,
Beneath a grassy mound of trees,
Or at the bottom of the seas?
And not for heaven meet;
For one so tired
What's left but slumber sweet,
Beneath a grassy mound of trees,
Or at the bottom of the seas?
Yet let me have,
Once in a thousand years,
Thoughts in my grave,
To know how free from fears
I sleep, and that I there shall lie
Through undisturbed eternity.
Once in a thousand years,
Thoughts in my grave,
To know how free from fears
I sleep, and that I there shall lie
Through undisturbed eternity.
And when I wake,
Then let me hear above
The birds that make
Songs not of human love:
Or muffled tones my ears may reach
Of storms that sound from beach to beach.
Then let me hear above
The birds that make
Songs not of human love:
Or muffled tones my ears may reach
Of storms that sound from beach to beach.
But hark! what word
Breathes through this twilight dim?
“Rest in the Lord,
Wait patiently for Him;
Return, O soul, and thou shalt have
A better rest than in thy grave.”
Breathes through this twilight dim?
“Rest in the Lord,
Wait patiently for Him;
Return, O soul, and thou shalt have
A better rest than in thy grave.”
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My God, I come;
But I was sorely shaken:
Art Thou my home?
I thought I was forsaken:
I know Thou art a sweeter rest
Than earth's soft side or ocean's breast.
But I was sorely shaken:
Art Thou my home?
I thought I was forsaken:
I know Thou art a sweeter rest
Than earth's soft side or ocean's breast.
Yet this my cry!—
“I ask no more for heaven,
Now let me die,
For I have vainly striven.”
I had, but for that word from Thee,
Renounced my immortality.
“I ask no more for heaven,
Now let me die,
For I have vainly striven.”
I had, but for that word from Thee,
Renounced my immortality.
Now I return;
Return, O Lord, to me:
I cannot earn
That Heaven I'll ask of Thee;
But with Thy Peace amid the strife,
I still can live in hope of Life.
Return, O Lord, to me:
I cannot earn
That Heaven I'll ask of Thee;
But with Thy Peace amid the strife,
I still can live in hope of Life.
The careful day,
The feverish day is over;
Strength ebbed away,
I lie down to recover;
With sleep from Him I shall be blest,
Whose word has brought my sorrows rest.
The feverish day is over;
Strength ebbed away,
I lie down to recover;
With sleep from Him I shall be blest,
Whose word has brought my sorrows rest.
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PURPOSE.
I had an out-blown crocus, and as yet but one,
It opened early when the sun first shone;
But a hailstone smote it, and its life is done.
It opened early when the sun first shone;
But a hailstone smote it, and its life is done.
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I had an uttered thought, my cherished one,
I spread it out freely, dewed with joy begun;
But cold words bowed it, and my hope was gone.
I spread it out freely, dewed with joy begun;
But cold words bowed it, and my hope was gone.
Yet it folded to re-open, for with life is power:
The crocus it was severed from the stalk that bore;
But my heart still bears my thought, and I can hope once more.
The crocus it was severed from the stalk that bore;
But my heart still bears my thought, and I can hope once more.
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THE DARK DOCTOR.
With sad appropriateness termed D.D.,
Some may like Dr. Dimsoul Darkman be:
So learned he can quite dispense
With vision and intelligence.
He hath a creed, he hath a tongue,
He had a heart when he was young;
But—very melancholy fact!—
'Tis like a bell that time hath crackt;
Which by this certain mark is known—
His speech is clatter without tone.
His creed is sound as any post,
A growth which former life has lost;
And though his manner polished be
As shiny, new mahogany,
His sermons one another follow
Like echoes in a cavern hollow.
The truth from him is mouldy crust,
His word a wind with blinding dust;
And in his fog of speech you fumble
Till at the plainest things you stumble.
His character may thus be told:
Nor good nor bad, nor hot nor cold;
Spotless, perhaps, as downy goose,
But to the world as little use.
Some may like Dr. Dimsoul Darkman be:
So learned he can quite dispense
With vision and intelligence.
He hath a creed, he hath a tongue,
He had a heart when he was young;
But—very melancholy fact!—
'Tis like a bell that time hath crackt;
Which by this certain mark is known—
His speech is clatter without tone.
His creed is sound as any post,
A growth which former life has lost;
And though his manner polished be
As shiny, new mahogany,
His sermons one another follow
Like echoes in a cavern hollow.
The truth from him is mouldy crust,
His word a wind with blinding dust;
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Till at the plainest things you stumble.
His character may thus be told:
Nor good nor bad, nor hot nor cold;
Spotless, perhaps, as downy goose,
But to the world as little use.
Like wind from an old tomb,
On a chilly winter's day,
Where bones of generations
Are mouldering away;
Is the voice of Dr. Darkman,
Cold and dull,
And the body of his doctrine
No soul makes beautiful.
On a chilly winter's day,
Where bones of generations
Are mouldering away;
Is the voice of Dr. Darkman,
Cold and dull,
And the body of his doctrine
No soul makes beautiful.
He and his people
Are a corpse stiff and stark,
Silently decaying
In its death-chamber dark.
And to veil the ghastliness
From head to feet,
Exterior decency
Is the woven white sheet.
Are a corpse stiff and stark,
Silently decaying
In its death-chamber dark.
And to veil the ghastliness
From head to feet,
Exterior decency
Is the woven white sheet.
Oh! Dr. Dimsoul,
Reason try and Love;
Remember thou art earthly—
There is one God above:
In his pity he hath given us
His well-beloved Son;
With whose Word and whose sorrows
You may thrill each one.
Reason try and Love;
Remember thou art earthly—
There is one God above:
In his pity he hath given us
His well-beloved Son;
With whose Word and whose sorrows
You may thrill each one.
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Religion is as ointment,
Most choice, most pure;
Of costliness and fragrance,
For comfort and for cure;
But dead flies are in it—
The dead creeds are they—
They give to it their savour,
Take its own away.
Most choice, most pure;
Of costliness and fragrance,
For comfort and for cure;
But dead flies are in it—
The dead creeds are they—
They give to it their savour,
Take its own away.
The heavens most ancient
No new God declare;
Though a changing astronomy
Beams on each star;
And in love-bright glory
Still the Christ hath sway;
He, the Truth, is eternal,
Creeds for a day.
No new God declare;
Though a changing astronomy
Beams on each star;
And in love-bright glory
Still the Christ hath sway;
He, the Truth, is eternal,
Creeds for a day.
Each new time its new thought
Must in new words tell;
And the old primary heart tones
In new music swell;
And in grander theologies,
Higher truth be shown;
But unchanged 'mid all changes,
God's heart and our own.
Must in new words tell;
And the old primary heart tones
In new music swell;
And in grander theologies,
Higher truth be shown;
But unchanged 'mid all changes,
God's heart and our own.
Words of warmth and brightness
We in vain desire;
Ye give us dull words—the ashes
Of a nigh-quenched fire.
Oh! the mouth-man and the heart-man!
Different they be,
As death and life, light and dark,
Ice and charity!
We in vain desire;
Ye give us dull words—the ashes
Of a nigh-quenched fire.
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Different they be,
As death and life, light and dark,
Ice and charity!
The great human heart
Is a world-covering vine;
And ever in new seasons
The new clusters shine;
But ye feed us with the raisins
Of another century's sun,
Whilst around hang in sweetness
The grapes of our own.
Is a world-covering vine;
And ever in new seasons
The new clusters shine;
But ye feed us with the raisins
Of another century's sun,
Whilst around hang in sweetness
The grapes of our own.
228
SATURDAY EVE.
As mother stoops to kiss her child
Before she takes the light away,
And leaves him to his rest: so mild
The heaven over earth is bending,
So lovingly withdraws the day.
Before she takes the light away,
And leaves him to his rest: so mild
The heaven over earth is bending,
So lovingly withdraws the day.
'Tis Saturday's dusk that darkens now,
How calmly kind the heaven is!
So mother a more serious brow,
Assumes because the week is ending,
And gives her child a tenderer kiss.
How calmly kind the heaven is!
So mother a more serious brow,
Assumes because the week is ending,
And gives her child a tenderer kiss.
HYMN FOR SUNDAY.
The Lord is rich and merciful!
The Lord is very kind!
Oh! come to Him, come now to Him,
With a believing mind.
His comforts they shall strengthen thee,
Like flowing waters cool;
And He shall for thy spirit be
A fountain ever full.
The Lord is very kind!
Oh! come to Him, come now to Him,
With a believing mind.
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Like flowing waters cool;
And He shall for thy spirit be
A fountain ever full.
The Lord is glorious and strong,
Our God is very high;
Oh! trust in Him, trust now in Him,
And have security.
He shall be to thee like the sea,
And thou shalt surely feel
His wind, that bloweth healthily
Thy sicknesses to heal.
Our God is very high;
Oh! trust in Him, trust now in Him,
And have security.
He shall be to thee like the sea,
And thou shalt surely feel
His wind, that bloweth healthily
Thy sicknesses to heal.
The Lord is wonderful and wise,
As all the ages tell:
Oh! learn of Him, learn now of Him,
Then with thee it is well.
And with his light thou shalt be blest,
Therein to work and live;
And He shall be to thee a rest
When evening hours arrive.
As all the ages tell:
Oh! learn of Him, learn now of Him,
Then with thee it is well.
And with his light thou shalt be blest,
Therein to work and live;
And He shall be to thee a rest
When evening hours arrive.
232
SATURDAY NIGHT.
Come, cheer your heart and clear your eyes,
Look into the flowers, look up to the skies;
There is love in the God of mysteries.
Look into the flowers, look up to the skies;
There is love in the God of mysteries.
Body and brain, I am weary quite;
As the clock must tick, so I must write—
Wound up in the morning to go till night.
As the clock must tick, so I must write—
Wound up in the morning to go till night.
But smiles and hopes should shine through woe,
For green leaves peep even through the snow;—
Remember, my love, you told me so.
For green leaves peep even through the snow;—
Remember, my love, you told me so.
God knows the events of our hidden lives,
And to temper sorrows comfort gives.
If William is weak, yet Mary thrives.
And to temper sorrows comfort gives.
If William is weak, yet Mary thrives.
Thanks, love, for those tears, though I wished them gone,
They were shed for my pain that you make your own;
Now, smile me a rainbow, your heart the sun.
They were shed for my pain that you make your own;
Now, smile me a rainbow, your heart the sun.
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True treasure for me is this face of thine;
Shall I fret for a house that is large and fine,
With furniture gay, and pictures, and wine?
Shall I fret for a house that is large and fine,
With furniture gay, and pictures, and wine?
Far better be poor, than a heart to own
Like a sour small cherry, mostly stone;
Being rich, but rich for one's self alone.
Like a sour small cherry, mostly stone;
Being rich, but rich for one's self alone.
Yet money is good: it is bread for life,
It nurtures the babes, it comforts the wife,
Brings plenty and rest for want and strife.
It nurtures the babes, it comforts the wife,
Brings plenty and rest for want and strife.
Earned shillings are sweet as drops of rain;
And sad hearts, bowed with care and pain,
Bedewed with money, grow bright again.
And sad hearts, bowed with care and pain,
Bedewed with money, grow bright again.
A time shall come—is it near at hand?—
When the heart and head shall for good command
The gathered wealth of the labouring hand.
When the heart and head shall for good command
The gathered wealth of the labouring hand.
When whoso will work may hope and enjoy,
When man shall man as his brother employ,
And love shall the gold-glutton wholly destroy.
When man shall man as his brother employ,
And love shall the gold-glutton wholly destroy.
Meanwhile the world, that grinds on and on,
Like a barrel-organ, its Mammon tune,
Now ceases a little—the week is done.
Like a barrel-organ, its Mammon tune,
Now ceases a little—the week is done.
And, my love, my wife, if the morrow be fair,
We will see the fresh fields, will breathe fresh air,
Be with God in His house, and every where.
We will see the fresh fields, will breathe fresh air,
Be with God in His house, and every where.
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REASONING WITH GOD.
O hidden Lord, most wise and rich,
Whom oft I love, but often fear;
Of light and dark, oft doubting which,
Doth most upon Thy works appear:
Why, if in Thee no darkness is,
So deep a shade on human kind?
If Thou be Father, tell me this,
Why the sad heart, the troubled mind?
Whom oft I love, but often fear;
Of light and dark, oft doubting which,
Doth most upon Thy works appear:
Why, if in Thee no darkness is,
So deep a shade on human kind?
If Thou be Father, tell me this,
Why the sad heart, the troubled mind?
Then said a voice, “This truth within thee store,
And wait, believing, ere thou askest more:
Earth is a cloud which Time shall puff away,
Then shalt thou see the heaven and feel the day.”
And wait, believing, ere thou askest more:
Earth is a cloud which Time shall puff away,
Then shalt thou see the heaven and feel the day.”
WISH AND RESPONSE.
The Heart said, Oh that thou wouldst hide me in the grave! The Truth said, He that endureth to the end shall be saved.
243
THE WISH.
He hath lain down to rest
In the churchyard old;
He fears not the morrow,
He feels not the cold.
In the churchyard old;
He fears not the morrow,
He feels not the cold.
At morning and at midnight
And at evening chill,
The clock strikes loud,
But he sleeps on still.
And at evening chill,
The clock strikes loud,
But he sleeps on still.
Hour passes hour,
Yet he stirs not a limb:
The chimes in the tower
Call in vain to him.
Yet he stirs not a limb:
The chimes in the tower
Call in vain to him.
He will not turn and listen
To the thunder in the sky;
At his little children's voices
Will not start nor sigh.
To the thunder in the sky;
At his little children's voices
Will not start nor sigh.
Not once his head he raises,
He will never know
Whether over him are daisies
Or over him is snow.
He will never know
Whether over him are daisies
Or over him is snow.
He is hidden from calamities,
Free from care and labour:
Oh, how quiet and how safe he is!
I wish I were his neighbour.
Free from care and labour:
Oh, how quiet and how safe he is!
I wish I were his neighbour.
THE RESPONSE.
But if thou art a Christian,
why fearest thou the morrow?
And if thou art a soldier,
why shrinkest thou from cold?
Bright as morning after rain
shall thy heart be after sorrow;
And at solitary midnight
thy song shall make thee bold.
why fearest thou the morrow?
And if thou art a soldier,
why shrinkest thou from cold?
244
shall thy heart be after sorrow;
And at solitary midnight
thy song shall make thee bold.
And if thou art a workman,
oh, listen to the hour
As it strikes for thee in tones that break
and tremble in the wind;
Like a voice of love still crying
with tenderness and power,—
“Be thou neither of presuming
nor despairing mind.”
oh, listen to the hour
As it strikes for thee in tones that break
and tremble in the wind;
Like a voice of love still crying
with tenderness and power,—
“Be thou neither of presuming
nor despairing mind.”
Wouldst thou wrap thee in thy dulness,
and lie thee down and sleep,
When the chime of truths and mercies
ever calls to worship new;
Or, so long and so strong,
and of such an ample sweep,
Strange event affrights thy country
like a thunder rolling through?
and lie thee down and sleep,
When the chime of truths and mercies
ever calls to worship new;
Or, so long and so strong,
and of such an ample sweep,
Strange event affrights thy country
like a thunder rolling through?
Dost thou ask for day a lighter load,
for night a softer rest,
Wish that smiles were meat for children,
and kisses could be bread;
Say, Oh that man might build a home
as bird provides a nest,
And that touch of loving hand
could heal an aching head?
for night a softer rest,
Wish that smiles were meat for children,
and kisses could be bread;
Say, Oh that man might build a home
as bird provides a nest,
And that touch of loving hand
could heal an aching head?
245
Oh, traveller, still travel on,
though sore of foot and slow;
Let thy burden and thy company
make heart and shoulder strong;
Thou art guide to those thou lovest,
through the summer and the snow,
And art carrying the gold
for thy heavenly harp of song.
though sore of foot and slow;
Let thy burden and thy company
make heart and shoulder strong;
Thou art guide to those thou lovest,
through the summer and the snow,
And art carrying the gold
for thy heavenly harp of song.
Thou'lt be neighbour to the dead
when thou fallest in the fight;
Now thou'rt neighbour to the living,
who would help and counsel borrow;
And even till the chimes of heaven
call thee to the light,
A neighbour thou shalt find in Him
who was the Man of Sorrow.
when thou fallest in the fight;
Now thou'rt neighbour to the living,
who would help and counsel borrow;
And even till the chimes of heaven
call thee to the light,
A neighbour thou shalt find in Him
who was the Man of Sorrow.
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THE SCRIBE.
What, Scribe! darest thou to write
“God is love” upon the wall—
Thou, for truth, who wilt not fight
Even at Love's saddest call?
Scribe, thou hast in that brief line
Written the doom of thee and thine.
“God is love” upon the wall—
Thou, for truth, who wilt not fight
Even at Love's saddest call?
Scribe, thou hast in that brief line
Written the doom of thee and thine.
At thy neighbour thou dost cry
“Heretic!” with pucker'd brow;
“God is love” then smilingly
On the plaster writest thou.
Scribe, thou hast in that brief line
Written the doom of thee and thine.
“Heretic!” with pucker'd brow;
“God is love” then smilingly
On the plaster writest thou.
Scribe, thou hast in that brief line
Written the doom of thee and thine.
Hast thou sap within thy roots,
Though thy branch is sere and dry?
“God is love”—the verdant shoots
That thou callest heresy,
On thyself, O Scribe, shall shine;
Happy doom for thee and thine!
Though thy branch is sere and dry?
“God is love”—the verdant shoots
That thou callest heresy,
On thyself, O Scribe, shall shine;
Happy doom for thee and thine!
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Art thou full of sapless death?
“God is love”—when He hath found,
Vain for thee his gentlest breath,
He will pluck thee from the ground;
Through thy wood his fire shall shine,
Woeful doom for thee and thine!
“God is love”—when He hath found,
Vain for thee his gentlest breath,
He will pluck thee from the ground;
Through thy wood his fire shall shine,
Woeful doom for thee and thine!
AN EXCHANGE.
If the love of truth abate,
Faith can only work by hate;
Souls will sicken, churches die,
Faith supplanting charity;
An exchange the simple rue,
For this false faith flouts the true.
Faith can only work by hate;
Souls will sicken, churches die,
Faith supplanting charity;
An exchange the simple rue,
For this false faith flouts the true.
Sweet Charity, that pretty bird,
Her nest with feathers lined,
And far around her song was heard,
“Come, let us all be kind.”
Her nest with feathers lined,
And far around her song was heard,
“Come, let us all be kind.”
But Faith, the wicked Cuckoo came,
And dropp'd an egg therein,
A naughty bird, too strong for shame,
And very bold in sin.
And dropp'd an egg therein,
A naughty bird, too strong for shame,
And very bold in sin.
And so among the nurslings hatch'd
By Charity's warm breast,
Was one, alas! that little match'd
In temper with the rest.
By Charity's warm breast,
Was one, alas! that little match'd
In temper with the rest.
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And, ah! upon a cruel day,
In wilful, wicked mood,
He, while the mother was away,
Thrust out her tender brood.
In wilful, wicked mood,
He, while the mother was away,
Thrust out her tender brood.
Sweet Charity, her song grew sad,
Though soft and varied, too;
But Faith felt very proud and glad,
And cried aloud, “Cuckoo!”
Though soft and varied, too;
But Faith felt very proud and glad,
And cried aloud, “Cuckoo!”
To call out this the whole day long,
Was all that he could do;
And ever hoarser grew his song,—
“Cuckoo, Cuckoo-oo, Cuckoo-oo-oo!”
Was all that he could do;
And ever hoarser grew his song,—
“Cuckoo, Cuckoo-oo, Cuckoo-oo-oo!”
A CHURCH WITH BELLS.
“Bells,” said a child, “I want to go,
Sir, to a church with bells.”
And whether high, or broad, or low,
With hope my spirit swells,
When such a church as this I find,
And hear the heavenly chime;
Oh, then I have a holy mind,
Oh, then a happy time.
And though my hours are weak and sad,
I feel my life sublime;
Of Love the first, and Love the last,
If any service tells,
All my anxiety is past,
I've found a church with bells.
Sir, to a church with bells.”
And whether high, or broad, or low,
With hope my spirit swells,
When such a church as this I find,
And hear the heavenly chime;
Oh, then I have a holy mind,
Oh, then a happy time.
And though my hours are weak and sad,
I feel my life sublime;
Of Love the first, and Love the last,
If any service tells,
All my anxiety is past,
I've found a church with bells.
253
I to an ancient abbey went,
And sat beside a tomb;
'Twas on a showery day in Lent,
But near the Day of Bloom.
Along with me a blind man knelt,
No glories could he see;
But, oh! the music how he felt—
“Have mercy, Lord!” sang we;
And angels from the window smiled
Upon both him and me.
Said I, “Antiquity and grace
Blend here their holy spells;
In truth this is a noble place,
This is a church with bells.”
And sat beside a tomb;
'Twas on a showery day in Lent,
But near the Day of Bloom.
Along with me a blind man knelt,
No glories could he see;
But, oh! the music how he felt—
“Have mercy, Lord!” sang we;
And angels from the window smiled
Upon both him and me.
Said I, “Antiquity and grace
Blend here their holy spells;
In truth this is a noble place,
This is a church with bells.”
Whitewash'd, upon a windy hill,
There stood a building square;
I enter'd gently, hoping still
That bells there might be there.
“Come, weary folks,” an old man said,
“You have come—come again,
'Tis every night you need your bed,
Not only now and then.
Lord, give us better, safer rest.”
The people said, “Amen.”
And when the kindly talk I heard,
That angry sorrow quells,
“Here sounds,” said I, “the inviting word,
This is a church with bells.”
There stood a building square;
I enter'd gently, hoping still
That bells there might be there.
“Come, weary folks,” an old man said,
“You have come—come again,
'Tis every night you need your bed,
Not only now and then.
Lord, give us better, safer rest.”
The people said, “Amen.”
And when the kindly talk I heard,
That angry sorrow quells,
“Here sounds,” said I, “the inviting word,
This is a church with bells.”
I went the silent Friends to see,
And there no bells could ring;
For how can any music be
Where nobody will sing?
But as we all were sitting hush'd,
Up rose a sister grey,
And said with face a little flush'd,
“This is a sunny day,
And Jesus is our inward light
To guide us on our way.”
“Ah, yes,” said I, “this Sister pure
The old glad tidings tells;
And here, too, I am very sure
I've found a church with bells.”
And there no bells could ring;
For how can any music be
Where nobody will sing?
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Up rose a sister grey,
And said with face a little flush'd,
“This is a sunny day,
And Jesus is our inward light
To guide us on our way.”
“Ah, yes,” said I, “this Sister pure
The old glad tidings tells;
And here, too, I am very sure
I've found a church with bells.”
Then by a door I heard men say,
“He is not ‘sound,’ we fear.”
Thought I, before I turn away
I'll try if bells are here.
“Quit you like men,” a strong voice cried,
“Not hang the bulrush head;
Our fathers' God is by our side,
For truth our fathers bled.
Let no man sell his liberty,
For butter or for bread.”
Said I, “That's no unholy note,
How loud and clear it swells;
St. Paul's a stirring man to quote,—
This, too 's, a church with bells.”
“He is not ‘sound,’ we fear.”
Thought I, before I turn away
I'll try if bells are here.
“Quit you like men,” a strong voice cried,
“Not hang the bulrush head;
Our fathers' God is by our side,
For truth our fathers bled.
Let no man sell his liberty,
For butter or for bread.”
Said I, “That's no unholy note,
How loud and clear it swells;
St. Paul's a stirring man to quote,—
This, too 's, a church with bells.”
Oh, I have got of sweet bells eight,
And you may have the same;
I ring them early, ring them late,
And know them each by name:—
There's Faith, and Hope, and Love, and Peace,
And Joy, and Liberty,
And then, before the chime can cease,
Patience and Victory;
Come, neighbour, listen to the bells
That ring for you and me.
When windy skies are all aflame,
Of rest their chiming tells;
We've never been since Jesus came,
In want of Heavenly Bells.
And you may have the same;
I ring them early, ring them late,
And know them each by name:—
There's Faith, and Hope, and Love, and Peace,
And Joy, and Liberty,
And then, before the chime can cease,
Patience and Victory;
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That ring for you and me.
When windy skies are all aflame,
Of rest their chiming tells;
We've never been since Jesus came,
In want of Heavenly Bells.
THE MOUNTAIN CITY.
High o'er the mountains shines the Mount of Blessing,
On which the Saviour hath His city builded;
A highest height, high heaven itself caressing,
Crown'd with bright clouds, with wealth of sunbeams gilded.
Beautiful refuge, hush'd in safe repose,
Fountains of comfort still from thee are flowing;
Within thee spring the heavenly lily and rose,
Around, new corn, new grass are ever growing.
On which the Saviour hath His city builded;
A highest height, high heaven itself caressing,
Crown'd with bright clouds, with wealth of sunbeams gilded.
Beautiful refuge, hush'd in safe repose,
Fountains of comfort still from thee are flowing;
Within thee spring the heavenly lily and rose,
Around, new corn, new grass are ever growing.
Ascend, ye Poor! still cries the King of nations,
Rich in the bounty of unfailing pity;
Your sighs and tears have been no vain oblations,
Come, eat the fat things of the royal city.
For you the Kingdom-gate is ever open,
The King's heart is the gate into His favour,—
Humble beneath your burdens ye have spoken,
Still rather of your love than of your labour.
Rich in the bounty of unfailing pity;
Your sighs and tears have been no vain oblations,
Come, eat the fat things of the royal city.
For you the Kingdom-gate is ever open,
The King's heart is the gate into His favour,—
Humble beneath your burdens ye have spoken,
Still rather of your love than of your labour.
Come up and rest, ye blessed of my Father,
And with you bring the timid Mourners too;
Rouse them from grief with gentle words, for rather
Will mourners lie and weep, than to pursue
The comfort that they need, rise and begird
Their failing loins with strength; so help the faint,
Ye humble ones beloved, for God hath heard
Your simple prayer and their sad complaint.
And with you bring the timid Mourners too;
Rouse them from grief with gentle words, for rather
Will mourners lie and weep, than to pursue
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Their failing loins with strength; so help the faint,
Ye humble ones beloved, for God hath heard
Your simple prayer and their sad complaint.
Come hither, too, ye Hungry and Athirst,
Who love no husks nor the earth's meat of stone;
From the great deeps of righteousness there burst,
Piercing as yet this happy hill alone,
The sweet, clear founts of truth, whose streams beside,
The juicy bread-fruits of forgotten heaven,
Grow bounteously, their leaves no serpent hide,
They flower anew for each day of the seven.
Who love no husks nor the earth's meat of stone;
From the great deeps of righteousness there burst,
Piercing as yet this happy hill alone,
The sweet, clear founts of truth, whose streams beside,
The juicy bread-fruits of forgotten heaven,
Grow bounteously, their leaves no serpent hide,
They flower anew for each day of the seven.
Ye Meek, come forward, ye who stand behind,
This bread, this water, they are both for you;
Oh, be no longer of a doubting mind!
Heavy the cross is, but the promise true.
Stronger is he who meekly bears his pain
Than he who cleaves his foe and rules the earth;
The earth is yours, patience the fight shall gain,
Sharp is the pain, but happy is the birth.
This bread, this water, they are both for you;
Oh, be no longer of a doubting mind!
Heavy the cross is, but the promise true.
Stronger is he who meekly bears his pain
Than he who cleaves his foe and rules the earth;
The earth is yours, patience the fight shall gain,
Sharp is the pain, but happy is the birth.
And with the meek, ye Merciful climb up,
Mount to the light together, hand in hand;
Ye who have strew'd your corn and shared your cup,
Look with your friends down on the widening land,
That yet shall be meek Mercy's favour'd realm,
Nourish'd by waters freely flowing hence;
No need of sword to smite, of shield and helm,
For glorious peace shall be her own defence.
Mount to the light together, hand in hand;
Ye who have strew'd your corn and shared your cup,
Look with your friends down on the widening land,
That yet shall be meek Mercy's favour'd realm,
Nourish'd by waters freely flowing hence;
No need of sword to smite, of shield and helm,
For glorious peace shall be her own defence.
Far in the valleys, hidden from the noise
Of crowds that lust and strive, your Lord descries
You, too, ye Pure in heart, and sends his joys
Into the sorrow of your waiting eyes.
What look ye for, ye simple ones and sad?
Why gaze ye still so earnestly above?
I hear your sudden song, your heart is glad,
Far off ye see the City of His Love.
Of crowds that lust and strive, your Lord descries
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Into the sorrow of your waiting eyes.
What look ye for, ye simple ones and sad?
Why gaze ye still so earnestly above?
I hear your sudden song, your heart is glad,
Far off ye see the City of His Love.
Yes, this is God, this long'd-for Light is He,
And every beam is like his touch and kiss;
Come, from your valleys climb, the city see,
And bring the Men of Peace to home and bliss.
Oft in the vale ye soothe their wounded heart,
Then forth they go to quench the wanton fires,
Whose forky tongues strike with a serpent's dart,
Whose grimy smoke infects the world's desires.
And every beam is like his touch and kiss;
Come, from your valleys climb, the city see,
And bring the Men of Peace to home and bliss.
Oft in the vale ye soothe their wounded heart,
Then forth they go to quench the wanton fires,
Whose forky tongues strike with a serpent's dart,
Whose grimy smoke infects the world's desires.
Ye children of the Highest, come, refresh
Your torn and tired hearts in that true home,
Where spirit, loosed from the unpeaceful flesh,
Rests on the sea of light, nor fears the foam
Of breakers that the dark and rocky world
Throws off and up in restless fear and hate;
Towards, but not unto, this height are hurl'd
Passions, that with themselves, themselves must sate.
Your torn and tired hearts in that true home,
Where spirit, loosed from the unpeaceful flesh,
Rests on the sea of light, nor fears the foam
Of breakers that the dark and rocky world
Throws off and up in restless fear and hate;
Towards, but not unto, this height are hurl'd
Passions, that with themselves, themselves must sate.
Oh, blest are ye who, Peaceful, Meek, and Pure,
Yet calmly front the Persecutor's rage;
Brief is your rest, for ye must yet endure
The world's attack, and all its might engage.
Descend anew, refresh'd with heavenly wine,
Bear the great banner of God's righteousness;
Through His Son's heart, the holy gate Divine,
He sends you forth to suffer and to bless.
Yet calmly front the Persecutor's rage;
Brief is your rest, for ye must yet endure
The world's attack, and all its might engage.
Descend anew, refresh'd with heavenly wine,
Bear the great banner of God's righteousness;
Through His Son's heart, the holy gate Divine,
He sends you forth to suffer and to bless.
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For bless'd are ye, and therefore can ye bless,
Lovers of good eternal, undefiled;
Be sure the opposing world ye shall possess,
Though still by false and cruel tongues reviled.
Pierce ye the foe with salted words of fire,
The pure, bright fire of love celestial,
And your reward shall be as your desire;
With all the righteous prophets ye shall dwell.
Lovers of good eternal, undefiled;
Be sure the opposing world ye shall possess,
Though still by false and cruel tongues reviled.
Pierce ye the foe with salted words of fire,
The pure, bright fire of love celestial,
And your reward shall be as your desire;
With all the righteous prophets ye shall dwell.
Unscathed, though burnt; whole, although sawn asunder;
Bright, though bemired; and powerful, though despised;
God's glory and his adversary's wonder,
His love your own, that great reward ye prized.
Rejoice in hope, be glad exceedingly,
Know ye not Him who builded hath this city?
Mighty the mount, but mightier far is He,
His power is like His patience and His pity.
Bright, though bemired; and powerful, though despised;
God's glory and his adversary's wonder,
His love your own, that great reward ye prized.
Rejoice in hope, be glad exceedingly,
Know ye not Him who builded hath this city?
Mighty the mount, but mightier far is He,
His power is like His patience and His pity.
O'er the broad earth far shines the coming morning,
Long hath the dawn upon this hill-top rested;
How long, O Lord, how long must still the scorning,
The darkness with which earth is yet invested,
And quarrel of the wrestling winds endure,
And hurtful fires from the confronting clouds?
Come from the city, come, with radiance pure,
Descend the mountain, draw to Thee the crowds,
Long hath the dawn upon this hill-top rested;
How long, O Lord, how long must still the scorning,
The darkness with which earth is yet invested,
And quarrel of the wrestling winds endure,
And hurtful fires from the confronting clouds?
Come from the city, come, with radiance pure,
Descend the mountain, draw to Thee the crowds,
Bring the broad day: lo, leprous darkness kneeling,
Says, “Lord, Thou wilt and Thou canst make me clean.”
Earth's palsied servants all have need of healing;
And our Proud Power knows that itself hath been
In office only for a heavenly king.
Speak, and thy word shall every strength recruit,
Whose service fails us in the very thing,
We hoped would yield us long-desired fruit.
Says, “Lord, Thou wilt and Thou canst make me clean.”
Earth's palsied servants all have need of healing;
And our Proud Power knows that itself hath been
In office only for a heavenly king.
Speak, and thy word shall every strength recruit,
Whose service fails us in the very thing,
We hoped would yield us long-desired fruit.
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Come, Lord, to Peter's house, our House of Faith,
Where heavenly Love, mother of Charity,
By which Faith works his good, as Wisdom saith,
Fever'd with weakness lies, ready to die;
Raise her—the whole earth needs her ministry;
Thee first, and then her daughter, and her son
She will salute, and then look round and see
What for us all may be most kindly done.
Where heavenly Love, mother of Charity,
By which Faith works his good, as Wisdom saith,
Fever'd with weakness lies, ready to die;
Raise her—the whole earth needs her ministry;
Thee first, and then her daughter, and her son
She will salute, and then look round and see
What for us all may be most kindly done.
I wake!—what music wakes me from my vision?
The joyful strain sinks to a wailing minor;
Must hope be still the common world's derision?
No, hope returns, the song is louder, finer;
The major sank into the minor's sorrow,
The minor rises to the major's glory;
So peace to-day changes to war to-morrow,
Then triumph stands upon the field so gory.
The joyful strain sinks to a wailing minor;
Must hope be still the common world's derision?
No, hope returns, the song is louder, finer;
The major sank into the minor's sorrow,
The minor rises to the major's glory;
So peace to-day changes to war to-morrow,
Then triumph stands upon the field so gory.
Lord, does the way unto the Mount of Blisses,
Not for a visit, but for lasting ease,
Lie across Calvary, where still there hisses
The Serpent old, whose victim when he sees,
For him he weaves the folds of agony,
Nor spares the Pure, the Peacemaker, the Meek,
The Merciful, the Poor,—so hungry he,—
Upon the Just that mourn his hate to wreak?
Not for a visit, but for lasting ease,
Lie across Calvary, where still there hisses
The Serpent old, whose victim when he sees,
For him he weaves the folds of agony,
Nor spares the Pure, the Peacemaker, the Meek,
The Merciful, the Poor,—so hungry he,—
Upon the Just that mourn his hate to wreak?
E'en so, did not the Saviour speak the blessing,
And then descend that He might bear the curse;
And then ascend once more, the throne possessing,
To conquer which in pain he did immerse
His holy love, all the dark anguish bearing,
That out of sorrow might be born the joy,
His fully then, when all those foes are sharing,
Whose angry enmity he would destroy?
And then descend that He might bear the curse;
And then ascend once more, the throne possessing,
To conquer which in pain he did immerse
His holy love, all the dark anguish bearing,
That out of sorrow might be born the joy,
His fully then, when all those foes are sharing,
Whose angry enmity he would destroy?
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Oh, heart, look up, for, see, aloft is shining
The great prophetic City of His Love;
Saints with Himself the Saviour is combining,
That by one work below, one rest above
For people and king may be for ever gained;
Into its joy each saddened song returns,
Nor friend nor foe need any more be pained,
When heaven's one fire in every bosom burns.
The great prophetic City of His Love;
Saints with Himself the Saviour is combining,
That by one work below, one rest above
For people and king may be for ever gained;
Into its joy each saddened song returns,
Nor friend nor foe need any more be pained,
When heaven's one fire in every bosom burns.
| CHAPTER XI. Memorials of Theophilus Trinal, Student | |