Nugae Modernae Morning thoughts, and midnight musings: consisting of casual reflections, egotisms, &c. In prose and verse. By Thomas Park |
 | VERSE. |
 | Nugae Modernae |  |
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VERSE.
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DAY-BREAK.
Dawn of day! thy twilight dress
A mantle seems of holiness,
Dropt by Him who fashion'd earth,
Ere the morning-stars had birth,
Ere the womb of shapeless night
Heav'd creation into light.
A mantle seems of holiness,
Dropt by Him who fashion'd earth,
Ere the morning-stars had birth,
Ere the womb of shapeless night
Heav'd creation into light.
Dawn of day! how pure to me
Is all thy fresh-born fragrancy
Of odours that from night-fall rise,
A yet untainted sacrifice
From God's footstool to his throne—
Oh, that I so could waft mine own!
Is all thy fresh-born fragrancy
Of odours that from night-fall rise,
A yet untainted sacrifice
From God's footstool to his throne—
Oh, that I so could waft mine own!
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Dawn of day! how rapt thy hush
Of stillness, ere from brake or bush
Beast do rustle, bird take wing,
Or noise of any earthy thing
Break in upon that holy calm,
Which seems to breathe a heavenly charm.
Of stillness, ere from brake or bush
Beast do rustle, bird take wing,
Or noise of any earthy thing
Break in upon that holy calm,
Which seems to breathe a heavenly charm.
Sweet, ah sweetest dawn of day!
Like all that's sweet, how brief thy stay:
For now the sun, in beamy spread,
Tips eastern clouds with garish red,
And gathering sounds the ear steal on—
Dawn of day! thy charm is gone.
Like all that's sweet, how brief thy stay:
For now the sun, in beamy spread,
Tips eastern clouds with garish red,
And gathering sounds the ear steal on—
Dawn of day! thy charm is gone.
EPITAPH FOR A BABE.
Pure as a vernal morn's cerulean hue,Bright as a noon-day cloud o'er ether driven,
Brief as a glistening gem of vesper dew,
“It sparkled, was exhal'd, and went to heaven.”
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CONTENTMENT VINDICATED, AND SPLEEN REPELLED.
When you call my neat cottage a Coop,
'Tis a name makes it dearer to me,—
While each morning my family-group
To the wing of a fond Mother flee.
'Tis a name makes it dearer to me,—
While each morning my family-group
To the wing of a fond Mother flee.
When you deem it an over-stock'd Hive,
Still more does your simile please,—
Since there with gay industry thrive
My Queen and her circlet of bees.
Still more does your simile please,—
Since there with gay industry thrive
My Queen and her circlet of bees.
To the Cell of a prison compar'd,
My dwelling is equally dear,—
Since with those whom we fondly regard
We can never be fetter'd too near.
My dwelling is equally dear,—
Since with those whom we fondly regard
We can never be fetter'd too near.
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Though a Dog-house you ours may declare,
I prefer it to mansions in view,—
For Tippoo, the faithful, guards there,
To keep out intruders like You.
I prefer it to mansions in view,—
For Tippoo, the faithful, guards there,
To keep out intruders like You.
AN APOLOGY FOR MY GARDEN .
The jessamine, sweet-brier, woodbine, and rose,Are all that the west of my garden bestows;
And all on the east, that I have or desire,
Are the woodbine and jessamine, blush-rose and brier;
For variety little could add to the scent,
And the eye wants no change where the heart is content.
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ON QUITTING A COTTAGE RESIDENCE.
While late we dwelt in lowly cot,
Far from the glare of wealth or state,
Content trac'd out the tranquil spot,
And came with Peace, her rustic mate.
Far from the glare of wealth or state,
Content trac'd out the tranquil spot,
And came with Peace, her rustic mate.
Each morn its fragrance breath'd around,
Each evening brought its bosom sweets:
And though our board did not abound
With costly wines, or dainty meats;
Each evening brought its bosom sweets:
And though our board did not abound
With costly wines, or dainty meats;
Yet Health, with all her train, was there,
Of gladsome heart and smiling brow;
Wealth robb'd our cot of nought but care,
And Pomp of nought but empty show.
Of gladsome heart and smiling brow;
Wealth robb'd our cot of nought but care,
And Pomp of nought but empty show.
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THE FILBERD-TREE.
A RUSTIC PLAINT.
I had a little comely cot,
As neat as cottage well could be;
And near it rose a garden-plot,
Where flourish'd one embowering tree—
Ah, 'twas a tree of trees to me!
As neat as cottage well could be;
And near it rose a garden-plot,
Where flourish'd one embowering tree—
Ah, 'twas a tree of trees to me!
To my neat cot it gave a name;
A Filberd was my favourite tree:
Who saw it prais'd it into fame;
Till ev'n my neighbours, envying me,
Confest—it was a goodly tree.
A Filberd was my favourite tree:
Who saw it prais'd it into fame;
Till ev'n my neighbours, envying me,
Confest—it was a goodly tree.
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Its graceful branches o'er my head
Wav'd wide an arched canopy,
And its broad leaves benignly spread
A fan of green embroidery,
That shaded all my family.
Wav'd wide an arched canopy,
And its broad leaves benignly spread
A fan of green embroidery,
That shaded all my family.
It was a screen from wind or sun,
A veil from curiosity;
And when its summer bloom was gone,
We still could feast, with social glee,
On its autumnal fruitery.
A veil from curiosity;
And when its summer bloom was gone,
We still could feast, with social glee,
On its autumnal fruitery.
E'en Winter oft has seen it gay,
With fretted frost-work spangled o'er;
While pendants droop'd from every spray,
And crimson budlets told once more
That Spring would all its charms restore.
With fretted frost-work spangled o'er;
While pendants droop'd from every spray,
And crimson budlets told once more
That Spring would all its charms restore.
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But I have left that comely cot
Where blossoms now my favourite tree;
And I have gain'd an ampler spot,
Which boasts of more variety,
And more enamours all but me.
Where blossoms now my favourite tree;
And I have gain'd an ampler spot,
Which boasts of more variety,
And more enamours all but me.
For what I once have help'd to rear,
Have treasur'd with a guardian eye,
To my weak heart must still be dear,
To my fond thought will oft be nigh—
Thee, Filberd, still for thee I sigh!
Have treasur'd with a guardian eye,
To my weak heart must still be dear,
To my fond thought will oft be nigh—
Thee, Filberd, still for thee I sigh!
A CONCEIT.
Ned calls his wife his Counter-part,With truth as well as whim;
Since every impulse of her heart
Runs counter still to him.
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TO E. W. AUTHOR OF “THE VILLAGE SUNDAY:”
A Poem written in the Manner of Spenser.
He who would emulate Dan Spenser's songMust own a bosom thrill'd with tenderness,
A fancy prodigal, a genius strong,
A power of numbers fitted to express
All tones, all feelings; nay, he must possess
A pure simplicity of heart and mind,
A worth of soul, a moral gentleness
That joys in every joy of human kind.
With these should piety its lustre join:
This thou hast added, Minstrel all unknown!
Much of my namings were before thine own;
And hence thy verse will still have power to shine,
When the false brilliance of the worldling's lay
Shall fade, like meteor-gleams of yesterday.
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TO MARIA-HESTER.
WITH A COPY OF BISHOP WILSON'S BIBLE.
When first I gave myself, dear Wife,
I gave thee what has freighted life
With toil, solicitude, and care,
Too oft, alas! too much to bear
For bosom that is apt to thrill
At visions of foreboded ill,
Which, only view'd by fancy's eye,
Can pierce with real misery.
I gave thee what has freighted life
With toil, solicitude, and care,
Too oft, alas! too much to bear
For bosom that is apt to thrill
At visions of foreboded ill,
Which, only view'd by fancy's eye,
Can pierce with real misery.
Oh, take from me this better gift,
That may thy virtuous spirit lift
To hopes, to prospects, far above
Or human care, or human love;
Whence faith a foretaste may impart
Of joys that wait the “pure in heart,”
And lead thee to that ever blest abode
Where dwells thy Sanctifier, Saviour, God!
That may thy virtuous spirit lift
To hopes, to prospects, far above
Or human care, or human love;
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Of joys that wait the “pure in heart,”
And lead thee to that ever blest abode
Where dwells thy Sanctifier, Saviour, God!
THE BROAD AND NARROW WAY CONTRASTED.
Though broad, O World! and wide thy street,
Yet many jostle those they meet,
From having some poor selfish view
Which they with thwarting course pursue.
Yet many jostle those they meet,
From having some poor selfish view
Which they with thwarting course pursue.
The narrow path I mine would make,
Where all the same direction take;
And where, if others pass me by,
They pass, at least, with courtesy.
Where all the same direction take;
And where, if others pass me by,
They pass, at least, with courtesy.
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And some will pause, with kind delay,
To cheer me on my loitering way;
And all will greet me as a friend,
When I have reach'd my journey's end.
To cheer me on my loitering way;
And all will greet me as a friend,
When I have reach'd my journey's end.
For there no rivalries are shown,
No counteracting schemes are known;
But all, in concord close combin'd,
Are one in heart and one in mind:
No counteracting schemes are known;
But all, in concord close combin'd,
Are one in heart and one in mind:
And One the object they would share,
Their hope, their happiness, their prayer;
An object that precludes all strife—
It is the Lord of light and life!
Their hope, their happiness, their prayer;
An object that precludes all strife—
It is the Lord of light and life!
TRUE DIGNITY.
Nobles may boast, that hand in handWith kings, with princes, they have trod;
The Christian's boast how far more grand,
That he walks humbly with his God.
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A MIDNIGHT MUSING.
“While I thus mused the fire kindled, and at the last I spake
with my tongue.”—Ps. xxxix. 4.
It is an awful thing, men say, to die!
All do avouch it at their final hour,
Plac'd on the brink of an eternity,
When the “dark valley” just begins to lour.
Yet such is this world's fascinating power,
Those who can preach about futurity
Still live as though its birth would never come;
Talk of high heaven, and its felicity,
And yet make earth their only, only home.
Alas, alas! what future woes betide
Such dread delusion: with what harrowing fear
Will rocks and hills be call'd upon to hide,
When at the bar of justice we appear,
And shuddering find, as terror gasps for breath,
The day of Judgement close the night of Death!
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WRITTEN IN MY “COMPANION TO THE ALTAR.”
A few sad hours before the shades of deathHad veil'd in mortal sleep a father's eyes;
Ere yet the voice of hope resign'd its breath,
Ere the pure spirit fled to kindred skies,
This book was given,—in this its humble guise
Pass'd from a dying parent to his son,
As the best gift affection could devise,
Or filial duty could from love have won.
And shall he slight this heritable trust,
A trust bequeath'd at such an awful hour?
No: let him guard it with a mind more just,
And treasure it as earth's immortal dower,
Addressing oft to Heav'n his ardent prayer,
That he may thank the giver for it there.
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TO THE AUTHOR OF “THE SABBATH,” AND OTHER CONTEMPLATIVE POEMS.
When as a letter'd stranger thou wert sought,Ingenuous Grahame! much though I admir'd
Thy sober sense, though much my heart desir'd
Again to greet thee,—little was I taught
That thou hadst claims upon my better thought
Of more than mortal binding; that, inspir'd
By heavenly musings, thou hadst oft retir'd,
Like him in holy vision upward caught,
And commun'd with thy Maker: while each field
Became a temple consecrate with praise;
Each grove an altar, which could incense yield
To the great Shepherd!—Oh, may I oft raise
My feeble voice in fellowship divine,
While the rapt sabbath of the soul is thine!
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WRITTEN ON THE PIER-HEAD AT DOVER, AFTER A VISIT TO DENTON-COURT, THE SEAT OF SIR EGERTON BRYDGES, BART.
Denton! thy tranquil bowers have tun'd my heartTo such pure love of sylvan quietude,
That the gay tumult of this crowded mart
Seems irksome, and for solace much too rude.
Yon armed mounds, where rush the sons of war
To the trump's clangor, bode no calm delight;
And round this peopled pier, a strife-like jar
Of voices puts all soothing thought to flight.
Thy wood-crown'd walks, dear Denton! brought the coo
Of the mild dove on my unstartled ear;
Thy airy uplands did my slow step woo,
Thy verdant valleys could my dim sight cheer;
And all thy charms were heighten'd still to me
By life's prime charm—refin'd society.
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ON READING THE POEMS OF HURDIS, AFTER A PERUSAL OF SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S ACADEMIC DISCOURSE ON GAINSBOROUGH.
Much of thy semblance, Cowper, do we trace,Much of thy tender and attractive air,
In moral Hurdis, though with equal grace
He thy poetic mantle might not wear.
Of Gainsborough thus—whose pencil lent a charm
That vies with nature in her rustic state—
Dupont preserv'd a glow; and Hoppner, warm
With love for Reynolds, gave his tints a date
Beyond their own recording. Now the prey
All, all, of death!—the pupils, like their peers,
Set in dim night: and though but halos they
Of orbs that still may shine for numerous years,
Yet was their lustre such, it leaves a sigh
That they are like to fade from thankless memory.
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LINES WRITTEN WHILE THE SUBJECT OF THEM WAS TAKING AN AFTERNOON NAP IN HER ELBOW-CHAIR.
To guard my sleep, thou oft watch'd me,—
And safe may thy day-slumbers be,
As now I sit and watch by thee,
And bless thee, oh my Mother!
And safe may thy day-slumbers be,
As now I sit and watch by thee,
And bless thee, oh my Mother!
Soft be thy dozing, sweet thy dream,
If aught should o'er thy fancy gleam;
May Heav'n's bright dawnings form the theme,
Whene'er thou dream'st, my Mother!
If aught should o'er thy fancy gleam;
May Heav'n's bright dawnings form the theme,
Whene'er thou dream'st, my Mother!
And even now it may be so—
For there's a more than earthly glow
Upon thy cheek, and on thy brow
Peace seems to smile, my Mother.
For there's a more than earthly glow
Upon thy cheek, and on thy brow
Peace seems to smile, my Mother.
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Thou hast with Faith and Virtue trod
A noiseless path on Sion's road—
And such will Jesus bring to God,
And to himself, my Mother.
A noiseless path on Sion's road—
And such will Jesus bring to God,
And to himself, my Mother.
Yet still on earth what mercies thine,
When, past the verge of eighty-nine,
Comfort and hope unclouded shine
To gladden thee, my Mother.
When, past the verge of eighty-nine,
Comfort and hope unclouded shine
To gladden thee, my Mother.
And grace still dawns from day to day,
And faith still points thy upward way,—
But do not blame the long delay
Till thou dost soar, my Mother.
And faith still points thy upward way,—
But do not blame the long delay
Till thou dost soar, my Mother.
Some desire for departure had occasionally been expressed, but the close of her pure and pious life was most calm, most saintly, most consolatory. She had outlived every early friend except her son, and was longing for spiritual re-union; though no impatience of any kind disturbed her meek and well-regulated mind.
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SOMNIUM JUCUNDISSIMUM.
------“Oh! too transcendent vision,
To sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given.”
LORD BYRON.
To sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given.”
LORD BYRON.
Sweet was the dream that cheer'd me yesternight:—
I thought an arm of strength was plac'd near mine,
Form'd with a symmetry that seem'd divine,
Yet lifeless, and as pallid to the sight
As clay-cold corse. The hand was open quite:
And I perceiv'd within its hollow palm
A wound, that testified some deadly harm
Had hapt its Owner. Soon, to my delight,
The fingers, moving, grasp'd my arm around,
And gently drew me upward from the ground;
And, as I rose, how heavenly was the joy
That did my visionary thought employ,
For I soon found (and blessed be the sign!)
It was a Saviour's hand that grappled mine.
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TO E. H., ESQ.
WITH A SMALL PLAIN COPY OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.
Two books, my friend, you sought to borrow,And they did greet you on the morrow:
One other now I wish to give,—
Oh, may you prize it while you live!
For 'tis a volume quite unique,
None but itself its worth can speak.
It is a book of such choice kind,
'Tis worth all other books combin'd.
Though vested now in simplest dress,
'Tis comelier for its simpleness.
No wasteful margins here engage
To rival width of printed page;
No gilded edge the front displays,
No tinted band the back arrays,
No costly binding strives to be
A cumbrous superfluity:
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That Inspiration's stamp it bears,
And as more read, will more disclose
Its value with its using grows.
Then use it, friend, till you outwear it,
And I most gladly will repair it.
A WALKING RUMINATION.
The lake unruffled, will reflect
A picture fair of earth and skies;
But how distorted its effect,
When ripples o'er the surface rise.
A picture fair of earth and skies;
But how distorted its effect,
When ripples o'er the surface rise.
Such mirror is the human mind,
When calm composure gilds our day;
And such, alas! the change we find,
When ruffling passions mark their sway.
When calm composure gilds our day;
And such, alas! the change we find,
When ruffling passions mark their sway.
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TO THE POET LAUREATE, AFTER READING HIS EPIC ENTITLED “MADOC.”
Southey! thy mind hath long aspir'd to proveTrue poets are no triflers ; though they seem
Near fields of amaranth at times to rove,
Culling mere pansies. Rightly didst thou deem,
And now approv'st thy deeming: Madoc's lay
Shall lift thy loud fame to the clime, where erst
The bard of Eden wing'd his trackless way.
For such heroic hymning scarce hath burst
From British harp, since Milton's ear did steal
Music from Siloa; or the Cymbrian strain
Of hoary Llywarch, rous'd to vengeful zeal
The host of dread Cadwallon. More humane
Thy war-conch winds, and thence more just thy plea
To wear the palmy wreath of bardic poësy.
Mr. Southey, in a letter written several years before, had hinted to the Author, that it was his purpose to make it appear—poetry was no trifle.
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TO THE REV. HAY DRUMMOND,
ON READING HIS VOLUME OF POEMS, ENTITLED “VERSES SOCIAL AND DOMESTIC.”
Our Scotian Petrarch's amatory verseSo long hath made the name of Drummond dear,
That oft I've wish'd, near Esk's meandering course,
To place a garland on the poet's bier.
But doubly priz'd by my enamour'd thought
Shall that lov'd name to latest life remain,
Since Hay's pure strains, with hallow'd feeling fraught,
Gave to each throbbing pulse luxurious pain.
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The myrtle-chaplet for a widow'd brow,—
The palm of Christian piety is thine,
The band of brotherhood which saints bestow,
And the bright crown that waits the blest above
Who here have shap'd their course by the mild star of Love.
This amiable writer, the son of a late Archbishop of York, lost his life by the upsetting of a coasting vessel, on board of which he had made up a domestic party to take sketches.
INSCRIPTION FOR AN IVY BOWER.
Those who are pleas'd with this low bower,
Whom lowly charms may win,
Must stoop, ere they can gain the power
To view the roof within.
Whom lowly charms may win,
Must stoop, ere they can gain the power
To view the roof within.
This thought may prove of moral worth,
If Christian grace be given,
Since He who lowest stoop'd on earth
Is highest now in heaven.
If Christian grace be given,
Since He who lowest stoop'd on earth
Is highest now in heaven.
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TO EDWARD, LORD THURLOW,
Occasioned by the Perusal of “Sonnets written in the Gallery at Penshurst, and on the Memory of Sir P. Sidney.”
Accomplish'd Peer! whose honouring footsteps treadWhere bards and heroes wing'd their tranced hours,
Round Sidney's brow thou hast engarlanded
A coronal of such verse-woven flowers
As he was wont, amid Arcadian bowers,
To wreathe in anademes of asphodel;
While Colin's fancy blent its faëry powers,
To win the grace of matchless Astrophel.
Ah! soothing to the spirit 'tis to know
That noble hands entwine the Muse's meed,
That noble hearts, by their according glow,
Stamp highest guerdon on heroic deed,—
And sooth it is to own, that Thurlow's name
With Spenser and with Sidney grasps acclaim.
These sonnets were first prefixed to an edition of Sir Philip Sidney's “Defence of Poesy,” printed in quarto, but not published.
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TO MARIA-HESTER.
WRITTEN FROM DOVER.
He who was ne'er impell'd to part
From one who bosoms in his heart,
Who ne'er has left her wedded side
Whom twice ten years of truth have tried,
Can never know, as I have known,
How little he could live alone.
From one who bosoms in his heart,
Who ne'er has left her wedded side
Whom twice ten years of truth have tried,
Can never know, as I have known,
How little he could live alone.
But he who, in the quest of health,
Has left his all of human wealth,
And journeys far from home, to find
He left his all of joy behind,
He'll wish, like me, his journey o'er,
And vow to quit his home no more.
Has left his all of human wealth,
And journeys far from home, to find
He left his all of joy behind,
He'll wish, like me, his journey o'er,
And vow to quit his home no more.
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TO THE SAME.
ON A WEDDING-ANNIVERSARY.
Launch'd on this changeful sea of lifeWith thee, joint pilot, help-mate, wife!
Our union-bark, with venturous prow,
Set sail just twenty years ago.
Love was our load-star, Hope our chart,
Our richest cargo—truth of heart.
Prudence and Industry, in turn,
Directed at the head and stern.
These made our vessel safely sail,
'Mid many a rough and trying gale;
These made us steer, o'er rock and sand,
To calm Contentment's peaceful strand:
And still, with “Providence our guide,”
May aid us smoothly on to glide,
Till, every shoal and quicksand past,
The haven of Heav'n be ours at last.
97
TO THE SAME:
AFTER MUCH INDISPOSITION.
SEPT. 29, 1812.
Dearest Wife! may added comfort
Welcome in each added year!
Or if still thy frame should suffer,
Yet may smiles thy spirit cheer.
Welcome in each added year!
Or if still thy frame should suffer,
Yet may smiles thy spirit cheer.
Smiles of peace,—that thou'rt surrounded
By thy husband's, children's love:
Smiles of faith,—that carthly sorrows
Will be turn'd to joy above:
By thy husband's, children's love:
Smiles of faith,—that carthly sorrows
Will be turn'd to joy above:
Smiles of hope,—that retrospection
With complacence views the past;
Smiles of triumph,—that thy Saviour
Must console thee at the last.
With complacence views the past;
Smiles of triumph,—that thy Saviour
Must console thee at the last.
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ON HEARING OF THE DEATH OF BISHOP THOMAS, WHILE AT TUNBRIDGE-WELLS, IN KENT.
And is thy meek and gentle spirit fled,Thou true disciple of thy heavenly Lord?
Then shall thy name be number'd with the dead
Who blazon in Roffensis' bright record.
Milder thy virtues—whence less high thy fame
On learning's register of mitred worth,
Than deep-read Pearce, or Atterbury claim;
Yet let me boast, if boasts be fit for earth,
I owe thee much. For lightly twin'd by thee,
My nuptial wreath with added sweetness blows
Each circling year, and still unfolds to me
“Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose.”
For this, lost friend! hadst thou no other tie,
I must to life's dim close revere thy memory.
The Rev. Martin Benson, Minister of Tunbridge Wells Chapel, said at the time—“I have not known a better man.”
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THE WIDOWER.
A DITTY, SOMEWHAT AFTER THE OLDEN TIME.
“I tell the tale of ruin'd happiness.”
From the dwelling of the Widower
There breathed a hollow moan;
With some one he seem'd talking,
When I knew he was alone:
I listen'd at the lattice
Of the chamber where he lay,
And thus, 'mid sobs of anguish,
I heard him sadly say—
“Thou livest in my bosom, Love!
Though thou from earth hast fled,
And on thy widow'd pillow
Shall no second lay her head.”
There breathed a hollow moan;
With some one he seem'd talking,
When I knew he was alone:
I listen'd at the lattice
Of the chamber where he lay,
And thus, 'mid sobs of anguish,
I heard him sadly say—
“Thou livest in my bosom, Love!
Though thou from earth hast fled,
And on thy widow'd pillow
Shall no second lay her head.”
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Then sighs, that seem'd to rive his heart,
His utterance quite drown'd,
And on his knees, with vehemence,
He dropt upon the ground—
“O give me strength, kind Heaven! (he cried)
This misery to bear;
Or, with the angel I have lost,
Take, take me to your care:
For she within my bosom lives,
Though from my presence fled,
And on her widow'd pillow
Shall no other lay her head.
His utterance quite drown'd,
And on his knees, with vehemence,
He dropt upon the ground—
“O give me strength, kind Heaven! (he cried)
This misery to bear;
Or, with the angel I have lost,
Take, take me to your care:
For she within my bosom lives,
Though from my presence fled,
And on her widow'd pillow
Shall no other lay her head.
“When I do go to sleepless rest,
I go with thrilling fears;
When weary I rise up from bed,
My eyes are dim with tears;
I think of her whose faithful love
My blessing was and pride,
Who day and night, for twice ten years,
Seem'd safety by my side,
And still within my bosom lives,
Though from my presence fled,
Nor on her widow'd pillow
Shall another lay her head.
I go with thrilling fears;
When weary I rise up from bed,
My eyes are dim with tears;
I think of her whose faithful love
My blessing was and pride,
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Seem'd safety by my side,
And still within my bosom lives,
Though from my presence fled,
Nor on her widow'd pillow
Shall another lay her head.
“Ah! must not such lost treasure
To my fond thought be dear,
When e'en the place that held it
Seems all that now can cheer?—
'Tis sorrow's soothing nourishment
To feed on pleasures past,
'Tis true affection's covenant
To live while life shall last:
So live thou in my bosom, Love!
Though thou to heav'n art fled,
For on thy widow'd pillow
I alone will lay my head.”
To my fond thought be dear,
When e'en the place that held it
Seems all that now can cheer?—
'Tis sorrow's soothing nourishment
To feed on pleasures past,
'Tis true affection's covenant
To live while life shall last:
So live thou in my bosom, Love!
Though thou to heav'n art fled,
For on thy widow'd pillow
I alone will lay my head.”
102
OCCASIONED BY THE POEMS OF DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN, First printed in 1616.
On Ora's banks these dulcet lays of loveThe Scotian bard to Auristella sung:
Ausonian sweetness warbled from his tongue,
While his rapt thought was rais'd this earth above,
And with celestial concord seem'd to move.
Alas! how soon to grief his lyre was strung:
What bitter anguish his fond bosom wrung,
When he Love's victim was decreed to prove.
A kindred feeling nurs'd my warm regard,
And made my breast the poet's fate bemoan:
For more than what he suffer'd I have shar'd;
His tenderest sorrows have been all my own!
Mine was the bliss to hail love's opening bloom,
And mine the trembling task—to watch it to the tomb.
103
RETROSPECTION.
WRITTEN ON MICHAELMAS-DAY 1813.
This was the day, the sainted day,
On which my saintly wife,
The cheerer of my chequer'd way,
Was born to mortal life.
On which my saintly wife,
The cheerer of my chequer'd way,
Was born to mortal life.
But since she left this lower sphere,
(I must not say too soon)
Her natal day would now appear
To be the seventh of June.
(I must not say too soon)
Her natal day would now appear
To be the seventh of June.
For then, to crown her Christian worth,
Life to the soul was given;
And what we deem her death on earth,
Her birth-day was in heaven.
Life to the soul was given;
And what we deem her death on earth,
Her birth-day was in heaven.
104
TO MRS. G.
WITH A RUBY RING.
Two rings by her we lost were worn,
When her translation came:
One to Love's widow'd cell was borne,
And one may Friendship claim.
When her translation came:
One to Love's widow'd cell was borne,
And one may Friendship claim.
But it must be some truth-tried friend
To her, to mine, to me;
And when our thoughts we backward send,
Our hearts all point to thee.
To her, to mine, to me;
And when our thoughts we backward send,
Our hearts all point to thee.
The Rev. Tomkyns Briggs, late Curate of Hampstead, when he heard of the suddenness and serenity of her departure, observed—“It was like translation, and not death.”
105
TO C.-C. P. WITH BISHOP WILSON'S “SACRA PRIVATA.”
“Pray! and be both safe and happy.”
Bp.Hall.
Bp.Hall.
Cath'rine, my first and eldest born!
Since she who gave thee life was torn
From my poor drooping heart:
Do thou (as one she left behind
To cheer my sight, and soothe my mind)
Thy filial love impart.
Since she who gave thee life was torn
From my poor drooping heart:
Do thou (as one she left behind
To cheer my sight, and soothe my mind)
Thy filial love impart.
And let me ask, nay let me pray—
That a few minutes every day,
As well as one in seven,
To prayer be yielded, while you live;
For more than earthly peace 'twill give,
A peace deriv'd from heaven.
That a few minutes every day,
As well as one in seven,
To prayer be yielded, while you live;
For more than earthly peace 'twill give,
A peace deriv'd from heaven.
106
And thither onward it will lead,
Guide of thy thought, and word, and deed,
Through this world's brief abode;
And bring thee nearer, day by day,
Unto the true and living Way—
To Jesus, and to God.
Guide of thy thought, and word, and deed,
Through this world's brief abode;
And bring thee nearer, day by day,
Unto the true and living Way—
To Jesus, and to God.
TRUE NEPENTHE.
Some talk of amulets and charmsFor real ills or fancied harms,—
But I prize one of sovereign power,
Which, or at morn or evening hour
Or in the dunnest depth of night,
Can put all feverish fear to flight:
'Tis a small voice, too seldom heard,
'Tis God's own voice, 'tis Christ's own word,
Which shields the spirit from dismay,
Though earth, though heaven itself, do pass away.
107
PHANTASMA.
“I sleep, but my heart waketh.”
Sol. Song.
Sol. Song.
Her widow'd pillow as I press'd this morn,
My darling Wife was shown in dream to me,
Veil'd in a robe of saintly dignity:—
Her face I saw not, but I view'd her form,
And, bending to the earth, with transport warm
Clung to her feet, in silky whiteness clad,
While with sweet tenderness of tone she said—
(More melting sweet than ev'n in life could charm)
“Our love all spiritual now must be!”—
I heard her well-known voice with ecstasy;
Then be it so—(my waking thought replied)
Hence, let us live to Him for us who died,
That both, soul-wedded unto Christ our Lord,
Fruits of the Spirit may bring forth to God!
108
[Such feeling prompts a passing culogy]
“What we admire we praise; and, when we praise,
Advance it into notice, that its worth
Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too.”
cowper.
Advance it into notice, that its worth
Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too.”
cowper.
Such feeling prompts a passing culogy,
Hampstead, on thee! whose air, and soil, and rills,
Can nerve the frame with vital energy,
And brave the waste of sedentary ills
Contracted in the City's smithery.
Hence, o'er thy heath, and round its belted hills,
I oft inhale renew'd salubrity,
While the sooth'd heart with love of nature thrills:
For love of nature leads to love of God!
This have I found at morn, and noon, and eve,
When my lone step thy silent field-paths trod;
And still may I like glow of soul receive,
Whene'er I track such scenes as sorrowing Love
May nest in here,—till it can soar above.
In allusion to the chalybeate and other springs about this Village. See Topographical and Natural History of the same, by John James Park, p. 60 et seq.
109
TO MRS. W.
ON HER WEDDING-ANNIVERSARY.
“Full fair and white she is, and White by name,Whose white doth strive the lily's white to shame:”
So sang a nameless bard of elder time,
When gay conceits first stray'd from Latian clime.
His antique song let me this day repeat,
And, free from flattery, thy nuptials greet:
Since I but praise the tincture of a skin
For its clear reflex of the mind within.
I do but call the cheek of matron fair,
Because a maiden-blush still lingers there,
And through the lily's fairness can disclose
The soften'd radiance of the vermeil rose.
110
Thou surest charm that still the husband binds
To live the lover,—may thy power impart
Life-long affection to each wedded heart,
Even to mine—though widowed now it be—
For still it loves, dear Wife! still loves thy purity.
The concetti of the Italians were imported to us with their style. See poems by “Uncertain Authors,” first printed with those of the Earl of Surrey, in the year 1557.
ON PUTTING A FAMILY RING UPON MY FINGER, WITH THE MOTTO “MEMENTO MORI.”
“Remember Death!”—yes, I have much, much cause,
From loss of parents, sister, friends, and wife;
The laws of God (which men call Nature's laws)
Have those recall'd who long endear'd my life.
From loss of parents, sister, friends, and wife;
The laws of God (which men call Nature's laws)
Have those recall'd who long endear'd my life.
Hence, much of death I think, each day I live,
And much of those who death's dark vale have trod,
But most of Him whose words this comfort give—
That those who die in Christ shall live with God!
And much of those who death's dark vale have trod,
But most of Him whose words this comfort give—
That those who die in Christ shall live with God!
111
REMEMBRANCE.
WRITTEN ON CHRISTMAS-EVE 1817.
With ivy “never sere” and mournful yew
I crown the semblance of a friend most true,
A wedded friend! who might have been to me
Even as a sister, for her chastity;
Unblemish'd still in spirit and in thought—
Would that my mind her purity had caught!
Pious she was, and on her Lord's lov'd day
Compos'd a lowly pattern how to pray.
Such firm dependence had she on her God,
That, though a path of peril oft she trod,
Her every care was on her Maker cast,
Assur'd, so doing, to be safe at last.
I crown the semblance of a friend most true,
A wedded friend! who might have been to me
Even as a sister, for her chastity;
Unblemish'd still in spirit and in thought—
Would that my mind her purity had caught!
Pious she was, and on her Lord's lov'd day
Compos'd a lowly pattern how to pray.
Such firm dependence had she on her God,
That, though a path of peril oft she trod,
Her every care was on her Maker cast,
Assur'd, so doing, to be safe at last.
Friendship was cherish'd with such generous glow,
That she would rush, at night, thro' frost and snow,
To succour female weakness, when her frame
Needed from others' watchings much the same.
With tenderest pity would her bosom bleed,
And her own wants deny for those in need:
While love connubial and maternal join'd
To wear her life by such an anxious mind,
That she became a martyr to her fears,
If not a victim to her matron cares.
That she would rush, at night, thro' frost and snow,
112
Needed from others' watchings much the same.
With tenderest pity would her bosom bleed,
And her own wants deny for those in need:
While love connubial and maternal join'd
To wear her life by such an anxious mind,
That she became a martyr to her fears,
If not a victim to her matron cares.
By skill and science highly was she grac'd
In Music's melting art, and with such taste
And touch of feeling did she sounds convey,
Her heart appear'd more than her hands to play:
Yet what did most the hearts of others win,
All was sweet harmony, sweet peace within;
Whence I may say, who best have claim to know,
She never lost a friend, she never made a foe.
Take this remembrance, dear departed Worth!
Till Heav'n do more make known what once thou wert on Earth.
In Music's melting art, and with such taste
And touch of feeling did she sounds convey,
Her heart appear'd more than her hands to play:
Yet what did most the hearts of others win,
All was sweet harmony, sweet peace within;
Whence I may say, who best have claim to know,
She never lost a friend, she never made a foe.
Take this remembrance, dear departed Worth!
Till Heav'n do more make known what once thou wert on Earth.
113
OBLOQUY INVITABLE.
Saviour-Lord! make mine and meWorthy to be blam'd for Thee!
'Tis the Christian's honour'd badge,
High distinctive privilege.
Welcome scorn, derision, shame,
If for Jesus' hallowed name
These should falsely charged be,
Either upon mine or me.
Blessings are to such assign'd
Who, with stableness of mind,
Still unto their Lord resort
Both through “good and ill report:”
Christ to such hath promise given—
“Great is your reward in heaven.”
Saviour-Lord! make mine and me
Worthy to be blam'd for Thee!
114
SPIRITUAL ASPIRATION.
Ah, Lord! it were a blessed thing,
To Thee if I could flee for rest,
And fold at night my weary wing,
As a bird settles in its nest.
To Thee if I could flee for rest,
And fold at night my weary wing,
As a bird settles in its nest.
It were a blessed thing indeed,
To be releas'd from human care,
From every captive passion freed,
And rescued from the fowler's snare.
To be releas'd from human care,
From every captive passion freed,
And rescued from the fowler's snare.
If it be not too much to want,
This blessing, Lord, vouchsafe to me!
If it be not too much to grant,
Oh, grant it all my family!
This blessing, Lord, vouchsafe to me!
If it be not too much to grant,
Oh, grant it all my family!
115
TO MR. MESSER, ON THE LOSS OF HIS SON ISAAC.
Mysterious are God's ways, and must be soTill finite infinite can comprehend;—
Be it enough for man by faith to know,
That God his father is, and Christ his friend;
That wisdom and that mercy nought intend
But future blessedness without alloy,
Through all our chastenings if we mark the end—
That those who “sow in tears shall reap in joy.”
Thy parent-woe is great!—and thou wouldst own
The same of mine, didst thou its nature know:
Yet we have comforts to the world unknown,
Which from the Source of our salvation flow,—
We mourn for Christians, children that will be
The children of their Lord to all eternity!
This amiable and endearing youth was taken away in the prime of life, but in the fulness of amicable regard.
116
A MIDNIGHT MUSING.
June 7, 1818.
Most have some cause for midnight-moan,
Most have some secret anguish known,
And each most piteous deems his own,
In this wide waste of sorrow;
Hence may it be, that mine appears
So passing sad,—while sighs and tears
Give hastening pace to downward years;
Wings I from Grief do borrow.
Most have some secret anguish known,
And each most piteous deems his own,
In this wide waste of sorrow;
Hence may it be, that mine appears
So passing sad,—while sighs and tears
Give hastening pace to downward years;
Wings I from Grief do borrow.
Yet sure my woe, should I impart
Its source to any christian-heart,
Would thrill it with a keener smart
Than it was wont to nourish:
Ah! should it reach some rival-grief,
May it to such yield short relief,
To think its own is not the chief
Of soils, where sorrows flourish.
Its source to any christian-heart,
Would thrill it with a keener smart
Than it was wont to nourish:
Ah! should it reach some rival-grief,
May it to such yield short relief,
To think its own is not the chief
Of soils, where sorrows flourish.
117
In one short hour (O treasur'd wife!)
I lost the joy of half my life,
The healing cure for all the strife
Which worldly cares could cluster.
Yes: in one brief and baleful hour
Death seem'd to glutton on his power,
And cropt my prime domestic flower,
Even in its loveliest lustre.
I lost the joy of half my life,
The healing cure for all the strife
Which worldly cares could cluster.
Yes: in one brief and baleful hour
Death seem'd to glutton on his power,
And cropt my prime domestic flower,
Even in its loveliest lustre.
Five years this night are past and gone
Since first I breathed a widower's moan,—
Yet I do put fresh mourning on
For thee, and one thou barest;
A daughter, ev'n than thee more mild,
Our most most lov'd, most gifted child,
Whom we our angel-offspring styl'd,
Of all thy race the rarest.
Since first I breathed a widower's moan,—
Yet I do put fresh mourning on
For thee, and one thou barest;
A daughter, ev'n than thee more mild,
Our most most lov'd, most gifted child,
Whom we our angel-offspring styl'd,
Of all thy race the rarest.
118
Like oil on seas, her voice could calm,
Her words could every passion charm,
Her spirit seem'd ethereal balm,
Her heart-pulse throbb'd with love;
She needed but to look, not speak,
It was a look so mild, so meek,
None would a verier surety seek
Unction was given her from above.
Her words could every passion charm,
Her spirit seem'd ethereal balm,
Her heart-pulse throbb'd with love;
She needed but to look, not speak,
It was a look so mild, so meek,
None would a verier surety seek
Unction was given her from above.
Pure spirit! what to thee I owe
This world can never never know—
But that revealing day will show,
When every thought's laid open:
My more than child, my almost guide,
My filial boast, (I fear, my pride)
We were in very soul allied,—
And now—must it be spoken?—
This world can never never know—
But that revealing day will show,
When every thought's laid open:
My more than child, my almost guide,
My filial boast, (I fear, my pride)
We were in very soul allied,—
And now—must it be spoken?—
119
Thou hardly know'st thy much-lov'd sire:
With wandering glance those eyes retire,
Which us'd to beam with holy fire,
Such as God's Spirit granted
To those, a heavenly-favour'd few,
Who from the living fountain drew
Sion's and Hermon's sacred dew,
Who for Immanuel panted.
With wandering glance those eyes retire,
Which us'd to beam with holy fire,
Such as God's Spirit granted
To those, a heavenly-favour'd few,
Who from the living fountain drew
Sion's and Hermon's sacred dew,
Who for Immanuel panted.
I do not dare to reason, Lord,
About thy Will—but clasp thy Word,
And pray Thou still may'st grace afford,
To give me strength to bear it!
I bow to earth, until be past
This stifling cloud, this samiel-blast,—
It will not, cannot always last;
Thou, Sun of Peace! must clear it.
About thy Will—but clasp thy Word,
And pray Thou still may'st grace afford,
To give me strength to bear it!
I bow to earth, until be past
This stifling cloud, this samiel-blast,—
It will not, cannot always last;
Thou, Sun of Peace! must clear it.
120
ANNE LAWSON .
“My delight is upon the saints that are in the earth, and
upon such as excel in virtue.”
Psal. xvi. 3.
Hence, the lone walk I oft prefer
Is to a Widow, poor and blind;
And I do seem to value her
Before the most of womankind.
Is to a Widow, poor and blind;
And I do seem to value her
Before the most of womankind.
Should it surprise, when this I own,
My reason too may some surprise:
'Tis that I look on her as one
Whom Christ regards with favouring eyes.
My reason too may some surprise:
'Tis that I look on her as one
Whom Christ regards with favouring eyes.
As one, whom He will deign to raise
Near Mercy's seat and Glory's throne,
When, on the final day of days,
He comes to gather up his own.
Near Mercy's seat and Glory's throne,
When, on the final day of days,
He comes to gather up his own.
121
For she, 'mid sickness, age, and want,
Lifts to high heaven her sightless eye,—
Thankful, though daily food be scant,
And cheerful, 'midst her poverty:
Lifts to high heaven her sightless eye,—
Thankful, though daily food be scant,
And cheerful, 'midst her poverty:
Assur'd that she shall never need,
Though nothing she her own can call;
And so in faith with Paul agreed,
That having nothing, she hath all.
Though nothing she her own can call;
And so in faith with Paul agreed,
That having nothing, she hath all.
Oh, hear ye this, ye rich! ye great!
Not one, one murmuring thought appears,
Though but a crust she hath to eat,
And nought to moisten it but tears.
Not one, one murmuring thought appears,
Though but a crust she hath to eat,
And nought to moisten it but tears.
Low bending to her Saviour's will,
Her sight she ceases to deplore;
Nay, scarcely deems her loss an ill,
Scarce sighs that she can see no more.
Her sight she ceases to deplore;
Nay, scarcely deems her loss an ill,
Scarce sighs that she can see no more.
122
For now no more her eye is pain'd
By deeds of dark or cruel kind;
But an interior sight is gain'd,
Sight to the spirit and the mind:
By deeds of dark or cruel kind;
But an interior sight is gain'd,
Sight to the spirit and the mind:
Sight of that world, where tears and sighs
And pain and death shall all be o'er;
Where He the lowly heart will prize
Who was himself both meek and poor.
And pain and death shall all be o'er;
Where He the lowly heart will prize
Who was himself both meek and poor.
Hers is the true disciple's plan—
In Christ she lives, Christ lives in her;
And hence I honour poor blind Anne
More than I could an emperor.
In Christ she lives, Christ lives in her;
And hence I honour poor blind Anne
More than I could an emperor.
Hers is that soul of second-birth,
Which lives upon a Saviour's love,
And leads me to her oft on earth,
As one I hope to meet above.
Which lives upon a Saviour's love,
And leads me to her oft on earth,
As one I hope to meet above.
123
TO MISS P. ON HER REMOVAL FROM HAMPSTEAD.
Take, gentle friend, on this plain card,
In plain simplicity,
A tribute of my true regard,
Nay love—for thine and thee.
In plain simplicity,
A tribute of my true regard,
Nay love—for thine and thee.
And since, with those whom love sincere
Links in a Christian cord,
There's nothing that can bind so near
As their beloved Lord;
Links in a Christian cord,
There's nothing that can bind so near
As their beloved Lord;
May the good Shepherd us incline
On faith and hope to hold,
Till all his sever'd flock shall join
An undivided fold.
On faith and hope to hold,
Till all his sever'd flock shall join
An undivided fold.
124
TO MISS D. ON RETURNING SOME COMMENDATORY VERSES, WHICH EXPRESSED A WISH THAT THE OBJECT OF HER CHOICE MIGHT BE HEAVEN-CHOSEN.
With this unknown Encomiast of thine,I too, sweet friend, will join:
And pray that he who to thy choice is given,
May be the choice of Heaven!
That he thy tender heart with tenderness,
And truest love may bless:
And still through life that heart most fondly prize
For its blest charities;
Its filial piety, its christian truth,
Which have so grac'd thy youth;
And will give comfort, much as earth can give,
Long as you there shall live.
May he thou choosest never warp thy soul
From its celestial goal:
125
To Love's eternal source!
That in pure rivalry ye both may rise
To gain Redemption's prize:
Remembering still, thy spirit first did wed
With Christ, thy living head;
That knit to Him thou might'st for ever be
In mystic unity;
And prove, like some upon Divine Record,
The handmaid of thy Lord:
Gaining, with Mary, at his feet a place,
Through God's transcendent grace.
TO MR. B. WHEN HIS WIFE WAS INCAPABLE OF TAKING NOURISHMENT AFTER HAVING RECEIVED THE LORD'S SUPPER.
Resigning all thy will to that of Heaven,Grieve not, though food seems wanting to thy wife;
For all the food she wanted Christ has given—
The cup of blessing and the bread of life!
126
THE DEATH-SONG OF A CHRISTIAN.
ALTERED FROM THAT OF A CHEROKEE INDIAN.
The world sets in night, I no more look for day,
But Faith yet may strengthen, though Nature decay:
Lift up, O my spirit! thy hope to thy God,
And think on the path which Immanuel trod.
But Faith yet may strengthen, though Nature decay:
Lift up, O my spirit! thy hope to thy God,
And think on the path which Immanuel trod.
Remember the pangs which His body endur'd,
Remember the grace which for us He procur'd.
Oh! let not His sorrows be suffer'd in vain,
Who died to redeem us from sorrow and pain.
Remember the grace which for us He procur'd.
Oh! let not His sorrows be suffer'd in vain,
Who died to redeem us from sorrow and pain.
Remember, my soul! who with anguish did melt,
Who the wrath of his God for his murderers felt:
Whate'er may be mine, yet far more was his pain,
And believers in Jesus should never complain.
Who the wrath of his God for his murderers felt:
Whate'er may be mine, yet far more was his pain,
And believers in Jesus should never complain.
127
I go to the land where my father is gone—
May his spirit rejoice in the faith of his son;
For, like his, on the word of a Saviour 'tis built,
Who was slain that his blood might absolve from all guilt.
May his spirit rejoice in the faith of his son;
For, like his, on the word of a Saviour 'tis built,
Who was slain that his blood might absolve from all guilt.
TO A PIOUS YOUNG FRIEND.
I love thee, fair-one, with a love
Of such expansive view,
That I do hope in worlds above
To love not only you,
Of such expansive view,
That I do hope in worlds above
To love not only you,
But every soul of every saint
Which bows before the throne,
Where Dove and Lamb espousals grant,
And Love will reign alone.
Which bows before the throne,
Where Dove and Lamb espousals grant,
And Love will reign alone.
128
ALLODIUM SEPULCHRALE: OR, THE POET'S LANDED PROPERTY.
In the parish of Acton I hold an estate,
Which I visit scarce once in a year,—
Though there do wife, parents, and sister abide,
And there I look forward myself to reside,
When the lease of my dwelling ends here.
Which I visit scarce once in a year,—
Though there do wife, parents, and sister abide,
And there I look forward myself to reside,
When the lease of my dwelling ends here.
Brick-wall'd is the building, with stone is it fac'd,
With moss-grass the roof is o'ergrown,
And above it the names of the tenants are trac'd,—
For unless near each limit some land-mark is plac'd,
There's none that could challenge his own.
With moss-grass the roof is o'ergrown,
And above it the names of the tenants are trac'd,—
For unless near each limit some land-mark is plac'd,
There's none that could challenge his own.
129
The portal is narrow, the entrance is dark,
And the yew-tree contributes a shade;
But stillness and peace have their station within,
And howe'er the world jangles, no sense of its din
Can that hallow'd asylum invade.
And the yew-tree contributes a shade;
But stillness and peace have their station within,
And howe'er the world jangles, no sense of its din
Can that hallow'd asylum invade.
In a populous neighbourhood, near yet apart,
Dwell a concourse unsocial, 'tis true:
One sleeping-room there is the mansion of all,
Which is chill as a grotto, and even more small,
And quite as contracted the view.
Dwell a concourse unsocial, 'tis true:
One sleeping-room there is the mansion of all,
Which is chill as a grotto, and even more small,
And quite as contracted the view.
But upward the prospect unbounded extends,
And the soul that hath shook off its leaven,
Will burst through the regions of infinite space,
Which sight cannot measure, which thought cannot trace,
Till it reaches the concave of Heaven.
And the soul that hath shook off its leaven,
Will burst through the regions of infinite space,
Which sight cannot measure, which thought cannot trace,
Till it reaches the concave of Heaven.
130
That safe in reversion, no change can I dread,
Though to fragments my shelter be riven—
Though the roofing be rent, the foundation decay,
And without any warning I'm hurried away,
By mortality's mandamus driven.
Though to fragments my shelter be riven—
Though the roofing be rent, the foundation decay,
And without any warning I'm hurried away,
By mortality's mandamus driven.
For the Lord of my freehold is Lord of the world!
Which He rules with so equal a sway,
That the rich who possesses whole quarries of pelf,
And the poor whose possession is only himself,
Have at last a like portion of clay.
Which He rules with so equal a sway,
That the rich who possesses whole quarries of pelf,
And the poor whose possession is only himself,
Have at last a like portion of clay.
And a hope not less equal cheers pauper and prince,
(May it cheer the whole race of mankind!)
The hope of a high and celestial abode,
Whose founder is Jesus, whose builder is God,
For ages eternal design'd:
(May it cheer the whole race of mankind!)
The hope of a high and celestial abode,
Whose founder is Jesus, whose builder is God,
For ages eternal design'd:
131
Where all nations, tongues, people, and kindred shall meet
Round the throne of their Lord and the Lamb,
Giving glory, and honour, and blessing, and power,
While thousands of thousands of thousands adore
The Great Everlasting I AM!
Round the throne of their Lord and the Lamb,
Giving glory, and honour, and blessing, and power,
While thousands of thousands of thousands adore
The Great Everlasting I AM!
GLORIA IN EXCELSIS DEO.
Glory be to God on high,Lord of earth, and sea, and sky!
Unto Christ be glory given,
Guide of souls from earth to heaven!
To the blest Spirit glory be,
Source of endless sanctity!
All glory to the glorious Three in One,
Holy, all holy, Father, Spirit, Son!
Halleluiah. Amen.
| Nugae Modernae | |