Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, Which covers what was once a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me for a little while,
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.
And O, when I have safely past Through every conflict but the last, Still, still unchanging, watch beside My painful bed, — for thou hast died; Then point to realms of cloudless day, And wipe the latest tear away.
"T is done, the great transaction 's done!
I am my Lord's, and he is mine;
He drew me, and I followed on,
Charmed to confess the voice divine.
Now rest my long-divided heart, Fixed on this blissful centre, rest; Nor ever from thy Lord depart, With him of every good possessed.
High Heaven, that heard the solemn vow,
That vow renewed shall daily hear;
Till in life's latest hour I bow,
And bless in death a bond so dear.
"THOU HAST PUT ALL THINGS UNDER HIS FEET."
O NORTH, with all thy vales of green!
O South, with all thy palms !
From peopled towns and fields between
Uplift the voice of psalms.
Raise, ancient East! the anthem high,
And let the youthful West reply.
Lo! in the clouds of heaven appears
God's well-beloved Son.
He brings a train of brighter years,
His kingdom is begun.
He comes a guilty world to bless
With mercy, truth, and righteousness.
O Father! haste the promised hour,
When at his feet shall lie
All rule, authority, and power,
Beneath the ample sky;
When he shall reign from pole to pole,
The Lord of every human soul;
When all shall heed the words he said,
Amid their daily cares,
And by the loving life he led
Shall strive to pattern theirs :
And he who conquered Death shall win
The mightier conquest over Sin.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
O, HAPPY DAY THAT FIXED MY
CHOICE!
O, HAPPY day that fixed my choice
On thee, my Saviour and my God!
Well may this glowing heart rejoice,
And tell its raptures all abroad.
Blessed are they who are homesick, for they shall come at last to their Father's house."- HEINRICH STILLING.
NoT as you meant, O learned man, and good!
Do I accept thy words of truth and rest;
God, knowing all, knows what for me is best.
And gives me what I need, not what he could,
Nor always as I would!
I shall go to the Father's house, and see
Him and the Elder Brother face to face,
What day or hour I know not. Let me be
Steadfast in work, and earnest in the race,
Not as a homesick child who all day long
Whines at its play, and seldom speaks in song
If for a time some loved one goes away,
And leaves us our appointed work to do,
Can we to him or to ourselves be true
In mourning his departure day by day,
And so our work delay?
Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make
The absence brief by doing well our task,
Not for ourselves, but for the dear One's sake!
And at his coming only of him ask
Approval of the work, which most was done,
Not for ourselves, but our Beloved One!
Our Father's house, I know, is broad and grand;
In it how many, many mansions are !
And far beyond the light of sun or star,
Four little ones of mine through that fair land
Are walking hand in hand!
Think you I love not, or that I forget
These of my loins? Still this world is fair,
And I am singing while my eyes are wet
With weeping in this balmy summer air:
Yet I'm not homesick, and the children here
Have need of me, and so my way is clear.
I would be joyful as my days go by,
Counting God's mercies to me.
If I, a wretch, should leave thee,
O Jesus, leave not me!
In faith may I receive thee,
When death shall set me free. When strength and comfort languish, And I must hence depart, Release me then from anguish,
By thine own wounded heart.
"BRIGHT portals of the sky,
Embossed with sparkling stars;
Doors of eternity,
With diamantine bars,
Your arras rich uphold;
Loose all your bolts and springs,
Ope wide your leaves of gold;
That in your roofs may come the King of kings.
"Scarfed in a rosy cloud,
He doth ascend the air;
Straight doth the Moon him shroud
With her resplendent hair;
The next encrystalled light
Submits to him its beams;
And he doth trace the height
Of that fair lamp which flames of beauty streams.
"The choirs of happy souls,
Waked with that music sweet,
Whose descant care controls,
Their Lord in triumph meet;
The spotless spirits of light
His trophies do extol,
And, arched in squadrons bright,
Greet their great Victor in his capitol.
"O glory of the Heaven!
O sole delight of Earth!
To thee all power be given,
God's uncreated birth;
Of mankind lover true,
Endurer of his wrong,
Who dost the world renew,
Still be thou our salvation, and our song."
From top of Olivet such notes did rise,
When man's Redeemer did transcend the skies.
WILLIAM DRUMMOND.
Ye saw of old on chaos rise
The beauteous pillars of the skies;
Ye know where morn exulting springs,
And evening folds her drooping wings.
Bright heralds of th' Eternal Will,
Abroad his errands ye fulfil;
Or, throned in floods of beamy day,
Symphonious, in his presence play.
Loud is the song, the heavenly plain
Is shaken by the choral strain,
And dying echoes, floating far,
Draw music from each chiming star.
But I amid your choirs shall shine,
And all your knowledge will be mine;
Ye on your harps must lean to hear
A secret chord that mine will bear.
PRAISE TO GOD, IMMORTAL PRAISE
PRAISE to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days,-
Bounteous source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ !
For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's use;
Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow sheaves of ripened grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse;
All that Spring, with bounteous hand,
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that liberal Autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing stores :
These to thee, my God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow!
And for these my soul shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.
Yet should rising whirlwinds tear
From its stem the ripening ear,
Of men then beasts: but O the exceeding grace
Of Highest God! that loves his creatures so,
And all his workes with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!
How oft do they their silver bowers leave,
To come to succour us that succour want!
How oft do they with goldon pinions cleave
The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant,
Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant!
They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant;
And all for love, and nothing for reward;
O, why should heavenly God to men have such
regard!
ETERNAL SOURCE OF EVERY JOY!
ETERNAL Source of every joy!
Well may thy praise our lips employ,
While in thy temple we appear
Whose goodness crowns the circling year.
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