WRITTEN UNDER THE PRESSURE OF EXTREME BODILY PAIN.
I'LL trust in that Almighty power
Who shields us in the darkest hour;
Who guides our steps through sun and shade,
I'll trust in HIM, nor feel afraid!
When pangs assail, and fears alarm,
Why should I dread approaching harm ?
I've so often proved,
Why should I fear 'twill be removed?
When faint and worn with pain I lie,
His goodness can fresh strength supply;
His mercy easy make my bed,
And round my pillow comfort shed!
Like oil, poured on the troubled sea,
His soothing care shall be to me;
To still the anguish of my soul,
And every doubt and fear control!
Though all unworthy of his grace,
Strong in his Love, my faith I'll place,
Relying on his guardian power,
In sorrow's gloom, as joy's bright hour!
No pain shall shake that fervent trust,
Although this frame of breathing dust,
When mortal pangs and griefs assail,
May sometimes feel its courage quail !
My thoughts shall rise on soaring wing
To that sole Source whence comforts spring;
And in supporting mercy prove
How firm their rock who trust His love!
Lord! Saviour! hear a sinner's prayer:
Let not my fainting flesh despair:
But, when to THEE for aid I cry,
Be thou thy trembling creature nigh!
MRS. CORNWELL-BARON WILSON.
THE FIRST PSALM.
THE man, in life wherever placed,
Hath happines in store,
Who walks not in the wicked's way,
Nor learns the guilty lore.
Nor from the seat of scornful pride
Casts forth his eyes abroad,
But with humility and awe
Still walks before his God,
That man shall flourish like the trees
Which by the streamlets grow;
The fruitful top is spread on high,
And firm the roots below.
But he whose blossom buds in guilt
Shall to the ground be cast;
And, like the rootless stubble, tost
Before the sweeping blast.
For why? that God the good adore,
Hath given them peace and rest,
But hath decreed that wicked men
Shall ne'er be truly blest.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
Still seem as to my childhood's sight,
A midway station given,
For happy spirits to alight,
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamt of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow?
When science from creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws!
And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.
When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's grey fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign!
And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod,
Each mother held aloft her child,
To bless the bow of God.
Methinks thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang,
On earth deliver'd from the deep,
And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's eye,
Unraptured greet thy beam;
Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme.
The earth to thee its incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings,
When glittering in the freshen'd fields
The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast
O'er mountain, tower, and town,
Or mirror'd in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down.
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem,
As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.
For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span,
Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.
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