A memorial volume of sacred poetry by the late Sir John Bowring. To which is prefixed, a memoir of the author, by Lady Bowring |
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Private Devotion.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
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Private Devotion.
There are no hours so sweet as those
When the tired spirit finds repose
In the calm peace of virtuous thought,
And makes the heart a throne, where God
And goodness make their blest abode;
While sin and folly are forgot.
When the tired spirit finds repose
In the calm peace of virtuous thought,
And makes the heart a throne, where God
And goodness make their blest abode;
While sin and folly are forgot.
O only then, if ever, then
Doth God delight to dwell with men,
And men become almost divine;
When heaven's own purity can chase
Defilement from its dwelling-place,
And consecrates man's bosom-shrine.
Doth God delight to dwell with men,
And men become almost divine;
When heaven's own purity can chase
Defilement from its dwelling-place,
And consecrates man's bosom-shrine.
O teach and train my spirit, Lord!
With Thy own wisdom and Thy word,
To welcome and to watch for Thee;
And in its hour of virtue come
And make my heart a heaven, a home
For Thy own peace and purity.
With Thy own wisdom and Thy word,
To welcome and to watch for Thee;
And in its hour of virtue come
And make my heart a heaven, a home
For Thy own peace and purity.
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |