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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A Wise Man—builds upon a Rock.
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 | A memorial volume of sacred poetry |  |
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A Wise Man—builds upon a Rock.
He builds his house upon the sand,
Who builds, great God! on aught but Thee!
He is a wanderer in the land,
Who seeks for any guiding hand
But Thine—our best security.
Who builds, great God! on aught but Thee!
He is a wanderer in the land,
Who seeks for any guiding hand
But Thine—our best security.
He builds his house upon a rock,
Who makes Thy word his hope and trust:
And flood and flame and tempest shock
In vain will rage,—they cannot rock
The steadfast temple of the just.
Who makes Thy word his hope and trust:
And flood and flame and tempest shock
In vain will rage,—they cannot rock
The steadfast temple of the just.
So would I build—and dwell serene
'Midst wrecks and storms—the mountain-base
Is not more firm. Time's busy scene
Shall glide along—till death's dark screen
Be spread around our resting-place.
'Midst wrecks and storms—the mountain-base
Is not more firm. Time's busy scene
Shall glide along—till death's dark screen
Be spread around our resting-place.
And then a day—a brighter day
Shall dawn above the snowy hills,
That frown upon the grave. Away,
Away, despair!—Even now its ray
The path of life with splendour fills.
Shall dawn above the snowy hills,
That frown upon the grave. Away,
Away, despair!—Even now its ray
The path of life with splendour fills.
| A memorial volume of sacred poetry | |