 | Poems by the late John Bethune |  |
THE RETURN.
Vainly, in search of happiness,
The soul directs her flight
Where some faint beams of earthly hope
Begem the general night.
Each point which scintillates the gloom
Of this low world, appears
A star of promise; but, alas!
It must be quench'd in tears,
The soul directs her flight
Where some faint beams of earthly hope
Begem the general night.
Each point which scintillates the gloom
Of this low world, appears
A star of promise; but, alas!
It must be quench'd in tears,
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I've follow'd these delusive lights
Too often and too long,
And bless'd the sparkling vanities
Whose lustre led me wrong:
Like crystal spars at distance seen,
They glitter'd on my sight;
But they were cold as icicles,
And brittle, too, as bright.
Too often and too long,
And bless'd the sparkling vanities
Whose lustre led me wrong:
Like crystal spars at distance seen,
They glitter'd on my sight;
But they were cold as icicles,
And brittle, too, as bright.
Yet, like the prodigal, who loved
In distant lands to roam,
My soul went forth in search of them
Far from its native home;
And, like the prodigal, at last,
It spent its little store
To purchase pleasures, which, when touch'd,
Shrunk to return no more;
In distant lands to roam,
My soul went forth in search of them
Far from its native home;
And, like the prodigal, at last,
It spent its little store
To purchase pleasures, which, when touch'd,
Shrunk to return no more;
And even the husks of happiness,
On which the vulgar feed,
Seem'd to my famish'd soul a feast,
Though not for me decreed:
The greedy herd had gulp'd them down,
While I stood gazing by;
Too proud to share their gluttony,
To join their ranks too shy.
On which the vulgar feed,
Seem'd to my famish'd soul a feast,
Though not for me decreed:
The greedy herd had gulp'd them down,
While I stood gazing by;
Too proud to share their gluttony,
To join their ranks too shy.
And like the lonely prodigal,
When all his wealth was gone,
My soul now looks for happiness
To a Father's love alone.
My dreams were false, and I return
At last, O Lord, to thee;
Unworthy to be call'd thy son,
Thy servant let me be.
When all his wealth was gone,
My soul now looks for happiness
To a Father's love alone.
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At last, O Lord, to thee;
Unworthy to be call'd thy son,
Thy servant let me be.
Send me abroad where'er thou wilt,
With friends or foes to meet;
But let thy love sustain my heart,
Thy grace direct my feet.
Let all my pleasures and my hopes
From thee derive their birth,
But ne'er permit my heart again
To trust its all to earth.
With friends or foes to meet;
But let thy love sustain my heart,
Thy grace direct my feet.
Let all my pleasures and my hopes
From thee derive their birth,
But ne'er permit my heart again
To trust its all to earth.
The humble and the penitent
We know thou wilt not spurn—
Bless me with true humility,
And welcome my return.
Oh let thy cheering promises
Shine on my darkness here,
And those bright hopes, which thou canst give,
Still dissipate my fear.
We know thou wilt not spurn—
Bless me with true humility,
And welcome my return.
Oh let thy cheering promises
Shine on my darkness here,
And those bright hopes, which thou canst give,
Still dissipate my fear.
| Poems by the late John Bethune | |