Tales in Verse Illustrative of The Several Petitions of The Lord's Prayer By the Rev. H. F. Lyte. Second Edition |
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| 1. | TALE FIRST.
HARFORD. |
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| 3. |
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 | Tales in Verse Illustrative of The Several Petitions of The Lord's Prayer |  |
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TALE FIRST. HARFORD.
“OUR FATHER, WHICH ART IN HEAVEN, HALLOWED
BE THY NAME.”
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'Twas Sabbath morning; and the pleasant sun
From a blue sky looked smiling out upon
The day of God,—inviting man to come
And walk the fields and muse, where even the dumb
Were eloquent in praise, and dewy eyes
Looked up their beauteous worship to the skies
From every bank and hedgerow, and the trees
Gave song or incense to each passing breeze
To waft on to high heaven; for buxom June
Now pranked the fields, and set the woods in tune;
And Nature, priestess-like, in full attire
Stood forth, and called on Man to lead her choir.
From a blue sky looked smiling out upon
The day of God,—inviting man to come
And walk the fields and muse, where even the dumb
Were eloquent in praise, and dewy eyes
Looked up their beauteous worship to the skies
From every bank and hedgerow, and the trees
Gave song or incense to each passing breeze
To waft on to high heaven; for buxom June
Now pranked the fields, and set the woods in tune;
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Stood forth, and called on Man to lead her choir.
I envy not his feelings who is dead
To such an invitation; who can tread
With unimpassioned step, at such an hour,
On such a day, the dewy herb and flower
All redolent of God;—can look on earth
Young, green, and smiling as it came at birth
Fresh from His hand, nor feel as then was felt,
When every eye and tongue and spirit dwelt
On Him, when morning stars sang joy and love,
And all the sons of God shouted above
A new-born world, where the Creator viewed
His six days' works, and lo they all were good!
I envy not the man who thus can share
Morn's pleasant sun, wild music, and free air,
Nor note the present Deity, who stands
There in his temple not built up with hands,
Whose footprints and whose handlings may be traced
On every side now fresh and uneffaced,
And who from all around receives the praise,
Which man most favoured most neglects to raise.
To such an invitation; who can tread
With unimpassioned step, at such an hour,
On such a day, the dewy herb and flower
All redolent of God;—can look on earth
Young, green, and smiling as it came at birth
Fresh from His hand, nor feel as then was felt,
When every eye and tongue and spirit dwelt
On Him, when morning stars sang joy and love,
And all the sons of God shouted above
A new-born world, where the Creator viewed
His six days' works, and lo they all were good!
I envy not the man who thus can share
Morn's pleasant sun, wild music, and free air,
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There in his temple not built up with hands,
Whose footprints and whose handlings may be traced
On every side now fresh and uneffaced,
And who from all around receives the praise,
Which man most favoured most neglects to raise.
'Twas Sabbath morning; but not thus the Sun
Reached amidst London's vapours dense and dun
The hero of my tale, and struggling through
The garret's sky-light pane of yellow hue,
Shot on his bed a slanting sickly ray,
That just gave notice of returning day,
And roused him up, and called him forth to pass
That morn with nature on the open grass.
I will not say indeed the Sabbath brought
To him these high emotions; that he thought
Of mingling offerings now with bird or flower;
That on such day, at such unwonted hour
He left his comfortable couch, and strode
So resolute along the City Road,
And sought escape from pavements, rails and bricks,
Before Bow-bells rang out the hour of six.
Reached amidst London's vapours dense and dun
The hero of my tale, and struggling through
The garret's sky-light pane of yellow hue,
Shot on his bed a slanting sickly ray,
That just gave notice of returning day,
And roused him up, and called him forth to pass
That morn with nature on the open grass.
I will not say indeed the Sabbath brought
To him these high emotions; that he thought
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That on such day, at such unwonted hour
He left his comfortable couch, and strode
So resolute along the City Road,
And sought escape from pavements, rails and bricks,
Before Bow-bells rang out the hour of six.
He passed each nuisance of Town's Sabbath morn:
The coach's rattling wheel and stunning horn;
The loitering groups collecting in the street
With oath and jeer that blessed day to greet;
The drunkard reeling from the licensed sink,
Where his week's hire is spent in one night's drink;
The tawdry harlot shrinking from the light;
And other prowlers of the lawless night,
Still found where man his Maker would dethrone
And shut out God's creation with his own.
Disgusting all: and yet he passed them by
With small offence to either ear or eye;
For daily use had dulled the finer sense
That gives such sights and sounds due influence.
The coach's rattling wheel and stunning horn;
The loitering groups collecting in the street
With oath and jeer that blessed day to greet;
The drunkard reeling from the licensed sink,
Where his week's hire is spent in one night's drink;
The tawdry harlot shrinking from the light;
And other prowlers of the lawless night,
Still found where man his Maker would dethrone
And shut out God's creation with his own.
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With small offence to either ear or eye;
For daily use had dulled the finer sense
That gives such sights and sounds due influence.
Sam Harford had behind a counter lived
For thirty years; was wealthy, fat, and wived.
Early and late still constant at his stand
With ready smile and bow, and yard in hand;
A magic wand, whose touch had influence
To turn whole bales to shillings, pounds, and pence.
None more adroit to wield the shears or quill,
To measure, pack, or item up a bill,
Or deal neat phrases to each customer,
‘As pray sit down, Ma'am,’ ‘pleasant morning, Sir.’
His travel through the day was seldom more
Than now and then from counter to the door,
To just look out, and rub his hands, and then
Back like a pendulum to his place again.
For thirty years; was wealthy, fat, and wived.
Early and late still constant at his stand
With ready smile and bow, and yard in hand;
A magic wand, whose touch had influence
To turn whole bales to shillings, pounds, and pence.
None more adroit to wield the shears or quill,
To measure, pack, or item up a bill,
Or deal neat phrases to each customer,
‘As pray sit down, Ma'am,’ ‘pleasant morning, Sir.’
His travel through the day was seldom more
Than now and then from counter to the door,
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Back like a pendulum to his place again.
Sam Harford's thoughts were like his steps, they moved
One plain small circle, whence they rarely roved.
The world and the world's business occupied
His mind, and left small space for ought beside.
He knew he had a soul, but why or how
Had never brought one wrinkle o'er his brow;
He thought there was a God, and had heard tell
Of Christ, and future being, Heaven and Hell;
But these were matters distant all and dim;
He nas, and that was quite enough for him.
He deemed the Bible a good book, and those
That had the time might read it if they chose;
Sunday was useful too, to check and state
The week's accounts, and keep his ledger strait.
But as for Church, prayers, sermons, and the rest,
He thought the parson managed such things best;
He therefore left them wholly to his care,
And paid his tithes, and kept all matters square.
One plain small circle, whence they rarely roved.
The world and the world's business occupied
His mind, and left small space for ought beside.
He knew he had a soul, but why or how
Had never brought one wrinkle o'er his brow;
He thought there was a God, and had heard tell
Of Christ, and future being, Heaven and Hell;
But these were matters distant all and dim;
He nas, and that was quite enough for him.
He deemed the Bible a good book, and those
That had the time might read it if they chose;
Sunday was useful too, to check and state
The week's accounts, and keep his ledger strait.
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He thought the parson managed such things best;
He therefore left them wholly to his care,
And paid his tithes, and kept all matters square.
Still Harford's mind showed one redeeming trait.—
This man of tills, and ledgers, strange to say,
Loved Nature, loved the earth and skies. A ride
On sunday coach, a row up with the tide
On the broad Thames were life to him. Each void
Of business was in one small spot employed,
Where a few smoke-dried flowers with sickly smile,
And doubtful fragrance overpaid his toil;
And on his busiest hours of care and din
Would rural hopes and visions oft break in,
And he would pause and think how sweet it were
To change the dingy town for the fine air
And green fields of the country, and retire
To his own villa a substantial squire.
Perhaps in every human bosom lurks
A yearning towards Nature and her works,
Which neither cooping, smoking, use, or art
Can stifle quite, or banish from the heart.
This leads the pale mechanic forth to pass
His listless sabbath stretched along the grass;
This throngs the parks; and fills the one-horse chair
That wheels the cit through summer dust and glare
His sweltering sunday ride; and this could lure
Even Harford forth upon this morning's tour,
To roam at will for one whole day, and share
His fill of rural musing and fresh air.
This man of tills, and ledgers, strange to say,
Loved Nature, loved the earth and skies. A ride
On sunday coach, a row up with the tide
On the broad Thames were life to him. Each void
Of business was in one small spot employed,
Where a few smoke-dried flowers with sickly smile,
And doubtful fragrance overpaid his toil;
And on his busiest hours of care and din
Would rural hopes and visions oft break in,
And he would pause and think how sweet it were
To change the dingy town for the fine air
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To his own villa a substantial squire.
Perhaps in every human bosom lurks
A yearning towards Nature and her works,
Which neither cooping, smoking, use, or art
Can stifle quite, or banish from the heart.
This leads the pale mechanic forth to pass
His listless sabbath stretched along the grass;
This throngs the parks; and fills the one-horse chair
That wheels the cit through summer dust and glare
His sweltering sunday ride; and this could lure
Even Harford forth upon this morning's tour,
To roam at will for one whole day, and share
His fill of rural musing and fresh air.
Now pavements, footways, walls, and lamps are passed,
And on the open turf he stands at last
And breathes and gazes. 'Tis a lovely scene,
So fresh, so bright, so fragrant and so green!
The sun up in the sky; the crops all growing;
The cattle brousing round; the hawthorns blowing;
The meads in flower; the large leaves on the trees;
The bees all out and busy; and the breeze
Just stealing from the bean-field, where he lies
Bathing his wings in balms; the butterflies
Hovering about like winged flowers; the swallow
Skimming the lake that in the grassy hollow
Trembles in cowering loveliness.—The whole
Reached even Harford's unpoetic soul;
He thought it vastly pleasant, and again
Would fetch a sunday ramble now and then.
And on the open turf he stands at last
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So fresh, so bright, so fragrant and so green!
The sun up in the sky; the crops all growing;
The cattle brousing round; the hawthorns blowing;
The meads in flower; the large leaves on the trees;
The bees all out and busy; and the breeze
Just stealing from the bean-field, where he lies
Bathing his wings in balms; the butterflies
Hovering about like winged flowers; the swallow
Skimming the lake that in the grassy hollow
Trembles in cowering loveliness.—The whole
Reached even Harford's unpoetic soul;
He thought it vastly pleasant, and again
Would fetch a sunday ramble now and then.
But time went on: and even scenes like these
When limbs are weary lose their power to please.
Harford, I've said, was fat; had trudged some miles;
And climbed o'er sundry hills and gates and stiles:
And now uprose before him steep and high
Another hill his nerves and breath to try.
He sat down, wiped his brow, and called to mind
The desk and day-book he had left behind:
“The scene indeed was pretty, and all that,
But not to spend a day in looking at.”
And what had next occurred I cannot tell,
Had not the chiming of a distant bell
Broke on his servile musings apropos,
And roused him to cross the rise, and know
What was it and from whence. It was the sound
Which calls to sunday prayers the parish round;
Aud as he climbed the hill, more clear and clear
The joyous music rose upon his ear,
Till in a group of elms below was spied
A tall white spire, and there from every side
Up to the house of God, a chequered train,
They gathered in by every path and lane:
Young lads, and knots of talking girls, and pairs
Of decent parents with their little heirs
Scampering before to pull the king-cups; one,
The youngest, chubbiest, riding blithe upon
The father's arm. The labouring man bedight
In plain smock-frock of more than usual white,
Heaving along each slow and ponderous limb,
As if he carried them, and not they him.
Old goody here in silken cloak of black;
There farmer with his dame on Dobbin's back;
And then their maid, who runs, and rights the while
Her ribboned head, in haste to reach the aisle
Ere prayer begins. And, noted o'er the rest,
With book in hand, white tippet, and brown vest,
The little damsels of the sunday school
Pacing in marshalled file beneath the rule
Of staid instructress.—On they swarm, and all
Enter the porch before him great and small.
The bell is ceased; the busy crowd is gone;
And Harford stands reflective and alone.
When limbs are weary lose their power to please.
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And climbed o'er sundry hills and gates and stiles:
And now uprose before him steep and high
Another hill his nerves and breath to try.
He sat down, wiped his brow, and called to mind
The desk and day-book he had left behind:
“The scene indeed was pretty, and all that,
But not to spend a day in looking at.”
And what had next occurred I cannot tell,
Had not the chiming of a distant bell
Broke on his servile musings apropos,
And roused him to cross the rise, and know
What was it and from whence. It was the sound
Which calls to sunday prayers the parish round;
Aud as he climbed the hill, more clear and clear
The joyous music rose upon his ear,
13
A tall white spire, and there from every side
Up to the house of God, a chequered train,
They gathered in by every path and lane:
Young lads, and knots of talking girls, and pairs
Of decent parents with their little heirs
Scampering before to pull the king-cups; one,
The youngest, chubbiest, riding blithe upon
The father's arm. The labouring man bedight
In plain smock-frock of more than usual white,
Heaving along each slow and ponderous limb,
As if he carried them, and not they him.
Old goody here in silken cloak of black;
There farmer with his dame on Dobbin's back;
And then their maid, who runs, and rights the while
Her ribboned head, in haste to reach the aisle
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With book in hand, white tippet, and brown vest,
The little damsels of the sunday school
Pacing in marshalled file beneath the rule
Of staid instructress.—On they swarm, and all
Enter the porch before him great and small.
The bell is ceased; the busy crowd is gone;
And Harford stands reflective and alone.
The Sun now lorded it aloft in Heaven,
And from before his burning face had driven
The bird and brute, who slunk into the glade,
And, meek and silent, through the leafy shade
Eyed the strong Monarch. Not a living sound
Or object crossed the solitude around;
Save when by chance a bee that way came humming,
Or the dry grasshopper at hand was strumming
His monotone; or from the house of prayer
The voice of worship floated up the air.
Dim, but most sweet, like the faint memory
Of some fair vision.—Harford felt as he
Were a strange outcast there; for once he felt
A wish to bend the knee where others knelt,
And lift his voice with theirs. He onward prest
To enter in and worship with the rest;
And reached the porch just as the psalm was done,
And prayer alternate was again begun.
And from before his burning face had driven
The bird and brute, who slunk into the glade,
And, meek and silent, through the leafy shade
Eyed the strong Monarch. Not a living sound
Or object crossed the solitude around;
Save when by chance a bee that way came humming,
Or the dry grasshopper at hand was strumming
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The voice of worship floated up the air.
Dim, but most sweet, like the faint memory
Of some fair vision.—Harford felt as he
Were a strange outcast there; for once he felt
A wish to bend the knee where others knelt,
And lift his voice with theirs. He onward prest
To enter in and worship with the rest;
And reached the porch just as the psalm was done,
And prayer alternate was again begun.
It might do good to any heart to share
The simple, solemn scene that met him there,
So peaceful, so devotional; where eye,
And lip, and heart, seemed all in harmony,
All turned to one high object,—to their God;
As if they felt him present, and were awed,
Yet not o'erwhelmed. Humility was here
To check bold zeal, and love to temper fear;
And all appeared in singleness of heart
To come as to a Father, to impart
Their wants and woes, to tell him all their cares,
Place in His hands themselves and their affairs,
Pour their thanksgivings forth for mercies past,
And humbly beg His blessing to the last.
The simple, solemn scene that met him there,
So peaceful, so devotional; where eye,
And lip, and heart, seemed all in harmony,
All turned to one high object,—to their God;
As if they felt him present, and were awed,
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To check bold zeal, and love to temper fear;
And all appeared in singleness of heart
To come as to a Father, to impart
Their wants and woes, to tell him all their cares,
Place in His hands themselves and their affairs,
Pour their thanksgivings forth for mercies past,
And humbly beg His blessing to the last.
It was a goodly presence; and the blood
Thrilled in the veins of Harford as he viewed
Their patriarchal worship. ‘Sure’ he thought,
‘God is in this place, and I knew it not!’
How suitable the forms of prayer and praise,
In all their antique simpleness of phrase,
For hearts indeed in tune! And how much more
They spoke than when he heard them jabbered o'er
Mid whisper, cough, and yawn, and rustling gown,
And all the nuisances of Church in Town.
Religion here appeared in truth to be
A Spirt-soothing, sweet reality:
And as he gazed and listened, o'er his soul
Unwonted thoughts and feelings 'gan to roll;
And wants and wishes never felt till now
Yearned at his heart, and bathed his anxious brow.
Thrilled in the veins of Harford as he viewed
Their patriarchal worship. ‘Sure’ he thought,
‘God is in this place, and I knew it not!’
How suitable the forms of prayer and praise,
In all their antique simpleness of phrase,
For hearts indeed in tune! And how much more
They spoke than when he heard them jabbered o'er
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And all the nuisances of Church in Town.
Religion here appeared in truth to be
A Spirt-soothing, sweet reality:
And as he gazed and listened, o'er his soul
Unwonted thoughts and feelings 'gan to roll;
And wants and wishes never felt till now
Yearned at his heart, and bathed his anxious brow.
But still went on the service. Prayers were ended;
And to the pulpit from the desk ascended
The man of God, the delegate of Heaven,
The shepherd of the fold, to whom was given
To break for them the bread of life, to guide
The wandering, soothe the wounded, wake and chide
The slothful and the wayward. On his tongue,
As if athirst to hear, the audience hung;
Till from his lips the text appropriate came,
“Our Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name.”
And to the pulpit from the desk ascended
The man of God, the delegate of Heaven,
The shepherd of the fold, to whom was given
To break for them the bread of life, to guide
The wandering, soothe the wounded, wake and chide
The slothful and the wayward. On his tongue,
As if athirst to hear, the audience hung;
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“Our Heavenly Father, hallowed be Thy name.”
His air was gravity with mildness blended,
His language strong, yet simple; and descended
As soft at first as snow upon the stream.
But as he followed up his lofty theme,
He kindled like a torch as he went on;
His manner grew more earnest; and his tone
And features seemed new meaning to acquire,
Till living thoughts leaped forth in words of fire;
And round him shone a glory and a grace,
Like that which Israel's Prophet on his face,
Awful and bright, from Sinai once did bring,
And told with whom he had been communing.
His language strong, yet simple; and descended
As soft at first as snow upon the stream.
But as he followed up his lofty theme,
He kindled like a torch as he went on;
His manner grew more earnest; and his tone
And features seemed new meaning to acquire,
Till living thoughts leaped forth in words of fire;
And round him shone a glory and a grace,
Like that which Israel's Prophet on his face,
Awful and bright, from Sinai once did bring,
And told with whom he had been communing.
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He shewed how God was Father of all men:
First by mere virtue of creation; then
By force of benefits transcendent far
Beyond what any earthly parents' are.
He shewed with what solicitude and care
He watched and kept us sinners as we were;
Bade earth give up her increase to our hand,
And seasons come and go at our demand;
Bade light and gladness round our senses play,
And health and plenty spring up in our way.
And then His pardoning long-enduring love,
His angels sent to tend us from above,
His Jesus dying on the cross for sin,
His Heaven wide opened to receive us in;
As if the Father's bliss was incomplete
Unless the child might have a part in it.
He turned him next to ask how much was owed
From children such as we to such a God.
Should we not love Him, cherish Him, who thus
So loved, so cherished, pitied, pardoned us?
Was His the spirit we should lightly grieve?
Was His the service we should loathe and leave?
Or should not rather all within us burn,
To do some little, make some poor return,
For so much done? Ah! should not all our aim
Be still to hallow and exalt His name?
First by mere virtue of creation; then
By force of benefits transcendent far
Beyond what any earthly parents' are.
He shewed with what solicitude and care
He watched and kept us sinners as we were;
Bade earth give up her increase to our hand,
And seasons come and go at our demand;
Bade light and gladness round our senses play,
And health and plenty spring up in our way.
And then His pardoning long-enduring love,
His angels sent to tend us from above,
His Jesus dying on the cross for sin,
His Heaven wide opened to receive us in;
As if the Father's bliss was incomplete
Unless the child might have a part in it.
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From children such as we to such a God.
Should we not love Him, cherish Him, who thus
So loved, so cherished, pitied, pardoned us?
Was His the spirit we should lightly grieve?
Was His the service we should loathe and leave?
Or should not rather all within us burn,
To do some little, make some poor return,
For so much done? Ah! should not all our aim
Be still to hallow and exalt His name?
“But set aside the claims of gratitude,
The gift of life, and every living good,
The love of self were plea enough to draw
And bind our hearts to Him and to His law.
His glory and our interests are tied
And linked in bonds which nothing can divide;
And on what head may blessedness descend,
If not on his who calls the Almighty friend?
His yoke indeed is easy, and more light
Than to the bird the wing that speeds his flight,
Bearing its bearer; and His laws are those
Which Wisdom of her own accord had chose
For her own good, and these His love employs
To speed and fit us for eternal joys,
Making a duty of our interest;
Leading us thus through blessings to be blest.
And then in sorrow, sickness, pain, and strife,
And all the chances of heart-breaking life,
How sweet it is to peacefully look up,
And know a Father fills the bitter cup!
To feel 'tis mercy lifts the chastening rod,
To drive us from all other rest—to God!
When fortune frowns, friends fail, and hopes are riven,
Where should he fly who knows not Him nor Heaven?
Where should he turn when earth grows dark around,
To whom all other is forbidden ground?
Where should he turn? From God he cannot turn.
Fly from His smile, we meet him dark and stern.
Refuse Him for a Father, He nill come
A King, a Judge, to strike the apostate dumb.
Seek we the screen of night? those thousand eyes
Are His that watch us from the silent skies.
Plunge in the grave? the grave must ope her womb,
And judgment follow, and eternal doom.
Where then to fly? there is no refuge where
The godless may betake him but despair!
Ah rather seek Him, seek Him! He is good,
Apt to forgive, and willing to be sued;
More mild, more merciful, more wise and great,
Than heart can wish, or fancy can create:
He gave His Son to wash our guilt away;
And loves to pardon more than we to pray;
The future He can mend, the past atone;
Believe, repent, reform, and be His own.
The gift of life, and every living good,
The love of self were plea enough to draw
And bind our hearts to Him and to His law.
His glory and our interests are tied
And linked in bonds which nothing can divide;
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If not on his who calls the Almighty friend?
His yoke indeed is easy, and more light
Than to the bird the wing that speeds his flight,
Bearing its bearer; and His laws are those
Which Wisdom of her own accord had chose
For her own good, and these His love employs
To speed and fit us for eternal joys,
Making a duty of our interest;
Leading us thus through blessings to be blest.
And then in sorrow, sickness, pain, and strife,
And all the chances of heart-breaking life,
How sweet it is to peacefully look up,
And know a Father fills the bitter cup!
To feel 'tis mercy lifts the chastening rod,
To drive us from all other rest—to God!
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Where should he fly who knows not Him nor Heaven?
Where should he turn when earth grows dark around,
To whom all other is forbidden ground?
Where should he turn? From God he cannot turn.
Fly from His smile, we meet him dark and stern.
Refuse Him for a Father, He nill come
A King, a Judge, to strike the apostate dumb.
Seek we the screen of night? those thousand eyes
Are His that watch us from the silent skies.
Plunge in the grave? the grave must ope her womb,
And judgment follow, and eternal doom.
Where then to fly? there is no refuge where
The godless may betake him but despair!
Ah rather seek Him, seek Him! He is good,
Apt to forgive, and willing to be sued;
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Than heart can wish, or fancy can create:
He gave His Son to wash our guilt away;
And loves to pardon more than we to pray;
The future He can mend, the past atone;
Believe, repent, reform, and be His own.
“If any here has yet to lift his eye,
And feel he hath a father in the sky,
Has trodden still that dark and downward way
Whose course is madness, and whose end dismay,
Here let him pause. The God whom he has held
So long in lightness will not be repelled;
He will not give him up: He will not lose
His child, His creature; but even now pursues
His wanderings, haply to perdition's brink,
And calls him while he may to stop and think;
To fly to Him from that devouring gulf,
Who loves him better than he loves himself;
Turn from despair to His protecting breast,
Hallow Him, serve Him, bless Him, and be blest.
And feel he hath a father in the sky,
Has trodden still that dark and downward way
Whose course is madness, and whose end dismay,
Here let him pause. The God whom he has held
So long in lightness will not be repelled;
He will not give him up: He will not lose
His child, His creature; but even now pursues
His wanderings, haply to perdition's brink,
And calls him while he may to stop and think;
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Who loves him better than he loves himself;
Turn from despair to His protecting breast,
Hallow Him, serve Him, bless Him, and be blest.
“And should some yearning spirit here exclaim
How shall I hallow as I ought His name?—
Are there not laws of His to keep and do?
Rise not His temples in our land to woo
Our footsteps in? Can nothing for His sake
Be found to yield, resist, or undertake?
Loves He not prayer? Delights He not in praise?
Commands He not to train up in His ways
The infant mind? and do not thousands groan,
Children of His, and brothers of our own,
Whom we may aid? Or if our lot denies
Of outward goods a worthy sacrifice,
We all have hearts to proffer!—give Him them:—
The simple offering He will not contemn.”
How shall I hallow as I ought His name?—
Are there not laws of His to keep and do?
Rise not His temples in our land to woo
Our footsteps in? Can nothing for His sake
Be found to yield, resist, or undertake?
Loves He not prayer? Delights He not in praise?
Commands He not to train up in His ways
The infant mind? and do not thousands groan,
Children of His, and brothers of our own,
Whom we may aid? Or if our lot denies
Of outward goods a worthy sacrifice,
25
The simple offering He will not contemn.”
'Tis done. The blessing given, the service closed;
The rustics to their homes in peace disposed;
And Harford to the City moves again,
A wiser and a better man than when
He walked that way at morn. His full heart swelled
Within him now; and from its fountain welled
The unwonted tear: and though words came not, these
Breathed purer eloquence to Him who sees
The spirit's fine vibrations. He discerned
Melting contrition there, and shame that spurned
Its own misdoings; awe and humble love
That longed, yet feared, to lift an eye above,
And say, “My Father!”—God beheld the whole,
And sent to calm and reassure his soul;—
Then praise burst forth, and struggling tears found vent,
And his heart burned within him as he went.
The rustics to their homes in peace disposed;
And Harford to the City moves again,
A wiser and a better man than when
He walked that way at morn. His full heart swelled
Within him now; and from its fountain welled
The unwonted tear: and though words came not, these
Breathed purer eloquence to Him who sees
The spirit's fine vibrations. He discerned
Melting contrition there, and shame that spurned
Its own misdoings; awe and humble love
That longed, yet feared, to lift an eye above,
26
And sent to calm and reassure his soul;—
Then praise burst forth, and struggling tears found vent,
And his heart burned within him as he went.
Duly is Harford now each sabbath day
With wife and children seen in neat array
Amidst his neighbours at the house of prayer,
And none more fervent or attentive there.
From worldly interests his eye is turned
To those by Wisdom prized, by faith discerned;
He feels that wealth is best employed when spent
In His high service who the boon hath lent:
And if his earthly gains are 'minished,
He has a Heavenly treasure in their stead;
And lives to bless the day, when forth he trod
To ramble in the fields,—and met with God.
With wife and children seen in neat array
Amidst his neighbours at the house of prayer,
And none more fervent or attentive there.
From worldly interests his eye is turned
To those by Wisdom prized, by faith discerned;
He feels that wealth is best employed when spent
In His high service who the boon hath lent:
And if his earthly gains are 'minished,
He has a Heavenly treasure in their stead;
And lives to bless the day, when forth he trod
To ramble in the fields,—and met with God.
| Tales in Verse Illustrative of The Several Petitions of The Lord's Prayer | |