 | The Literary Works of James Smetham |  |
PARAPHRASE—PSALM XVI.
Preserve the soul whose humble trust
Will never cease to call Thee mine:
The ever Pure, the ever Just,
Who dost in Thine own lustre shine:
For ever giving; for Thy store
Flows unreplenished evermore.
Will never cease to call Thee mine:
The ever Pure, the ever Just,
Who dost in Thine own lustre shine:
For ever giving; for Thy store
Flows unreplenished evermore.
How can my goodness profit Thee?
And yet my heart like Thine must flow;
Therefore with those I yearn to be
Who most resemble Thee below,
That all the rapture of my breast
May spend its floods in outspread rest.
And yet my heart like Thine must flow;
Therefore with those I yearn to be
Who most resemble Thee below,
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May spend its floods in outspread rest.
Ah, Lord, Thou only fount of bliss—
There is no other God beside—
I start with hideous phantasies
To see the big upheaving tide
Of growing griefs hem in the crowd,
Whose heads at idol shrines are bowed.
There is no other God beside—
I start with hideous phantasies
To see the big upheaving tide
Of growing griefs hem in the crowd,
Whose heads at idol shrines are bowed.
Their chalices of foaming gore
Pressed madly to blaspheming lips,
My shuddering hand shall never pour,
Unclasped in heathen fellowships;
No name of mystic wickedness
My thankless tongue shall ever bless.
Pressed madly to blaspheming lips,
My shuddering hand shall never pour,
Unclasped in heathen fellowships;
No name of mystic wickedness
My thankless tongue shall ever bless.
The Lord fulfils my brimming cup:
He is my tranquil heritage.
'Tis Thou, unseen, who buildest up
The lot of my advancing age—
Dost mark each pleasant boundary
Wherein my goodly portions lie.
He is my tranquil heritage.
'Tis Thou, unseen, who buildest up
The lot of my advancing age—
Dost mark each pleasant boundary
Wherein my goodly portions lie.
Thee will I bless, whose secret voice,
In the still midnight counsels me,
And makes my quiet veins rejoice
With inmost knowledge fresh from Thee
Who stand'st beside me and before,
And mak'st me moveless by Thy power.
In the still midnight counsels me,
And makes my quiet veins rejoice
With inmost knowledge fresh from Thee
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And mak'st me moveless by Thy power.
Therefore my joys for ever spring;
My glory ever triumpheth;
Though Time's remorseless years will bring
My flesh into the dust of death,
There will I rest in certain hope
And wait till Thou shalt raise me up.
My glory ever triumpheth;
Though Time's remorseless years will bring
My flesh into the dust of death,
There will I rest in certain hope
And wait till Thou shalt raise me up.
Whence strike these strange prophetic beams;
New powers which I can never tell?
I see a light that darts and streams
Up from the hidden deeps of hell;
I see Thy Holy One arise
From blank corruption to the skies.
New powers which I can never tell?
I see a light that darts and streams
Up from the hidden deeps of hell;
I see Thy Holy One arise
From blank corruption to the skies.
Death's unproductive dignity
Thy soul can never tolerate,
Thou Lord of Life, nor e'er on Thee
The grave shall shut its mouldering gate;
Nor suffer God-engendered clay
To melt in its foul arms away.
Thy soul can never tolerate,
Thou Lord of Life, nor e'er on Thee
The grave shall shut its mouldering gate;
Nor suffer God-engendered clay
To melt in its foul arms away.
Show me that radiant, upward road
To where the urns of joy are full,
Fast by the crystal throne of God,
Where creeping mists can never dull—
Those fruitful lands that always lie
Girt round with Immortality.
To where the urns of joy are full,
Fast by the crystal throne of God,
Where creeping mists can never dull—
Those fruitful lands that always lie
Girt round with Immortality.
| The Literary Works of James Smetham | |