Then with a ripple and a radiance through me Rise and be manifest, O Morning Star! Flow on my soul, thou Spirit, and renew me, Fill with thyself, and let the rest be far. Safe to the hidden house of thine abiding Carry the weak knees and the heart that faints; Shield from the scorn and cover from the chiding; Give the world joy, but patience to the saints. Saints, did I say? with your remembered faces, Dear men and women, whom I sought and slew! Ah, when we mingle in the heavenly places, How will I weep to Stephen and to you! O for the strain that rang to our reviling Still, when the bruised limbs sank upon the sod; O for the eyes that looked their last in smiling, Last on this world here, but their first on God! O, could I tell, ye surely would believe it! How, till He bringeth you where I have been? ; Surely he cometh, and a thousand voices Shout to the saints and to the deaf are dumb; Surely he cometh, and the earth rejoices, Glad in his coming who hath sworn, I come. This hath he done, and shall we not adore him? This shall he do, and can we still despair? Come, let us quickly fling ourselves before him, Cast at his feet the burden of our care, Flash from our eyes the glow of our thanksgiving, Yea, through life, death, through sorrow and Despised with Jesus, sorrowful and lonely, And he will come in his own time and power THY night is dark; behold, the shade was deeper And the bright morning yet will break for thee. In the old garden of Gethsemane, When that calm voice awoke the weary sleeper: "Couldst thou not watch one hour alone with me?" ANONYMOUS. "I cry unto Thee daily."- Ps. lxxxvi. 3 O, EVER from the deeps Within my soul, oft as I muse alone, Comes forth a voice that pleads in tender tone; As when one long unblest Sighs ever after rest; Or as the wind perpetual murmuring keeps. I hear it when the day Fades o'er the hills, or 'cross the shimmering sea; While all is hushed and still, Like a sad, plaintive cry heard far away. Not even the noisy crowd, That like some mighty torrent rushing down I hear them still amidst the tumult loud. The sense of many a need returns again ; I watched my mother's eye, As the slow hours went by, And from her glance my being took its hue. I cannot shape my way Where nameless perils ever may betide, To hold and help and save, And guide me ever when my steps would stray. That all my hourly, endless wants can meet ; Tears, idle tears I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart & gather to the eyes In looking And thinking on the happy Autumn ficlits, on The days They turned to the Earth, but she frowns they on her child; turned to the Sea, and he smiled as of old: Sweeten was the peril of the breakers white and wild, Sweeter than the land, with its bondage and gold! Bayard Taylor, POEMS OF NATURE. To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A lover of the meadows, and the woods, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. NATURE. THE bubbling brook doth leap when I come by, TINTERN ABBEY. JONES VERY. I HAVE learned To look on nature, not as in the hour Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power CORRESPONDENCES. HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS. ALL things in nature are beautiful types to the soul that reads them; Nothing exists upon earth but for unspeakable ends; Every object that speaks to the senses was meant for the spirit; Nature is but a scroll; God's handwriting thereon. Ages ago, when man was pure, ere the flood overwhelmed him, While in the image of God every soul yet lived, Everything stood as a letter or word of a language familiar, Telling of truths which now only the angels can read. Lost to man was the key of those sacred hiero glyphics, Stolen away by sin, till Heaven restored it; Now with infinite pains we here and there spell out a letter, Here and there will the sense feebly shine through the dark. |