WHEN, as returns this solemn day,
Man comes to meet his Maker, God,
What rites, what honors shall he pay?
How spread his Sovereign's praise abroad?
From marble domes and gilded spires
Shall curling clouds of incense rise?
And gems, and gold, and garlands deck
The costly pomp of sacrifice?
Vain, sinful man!-Creation's Lord
Thy golden offerings well may spare;
But give thy heart, and thou shalt find
Here dwells a God who heareth prayer.
MODERNIZED FROM SON-DAYES," IN VAUGHAN'S 66 SILEX SCINTILLANS."
TYPES of eternal rest-fair buds of bliss,
In heavenly flowers unfolding week by weekThe next world's gladness imaged forth in thisDays of whose worth the Christian's heart can speak!
Eternity in Time-the steps by which
We climb to future ages-lamps that light
Man through his darker days, and thought enrich,
Yielding redemption for the week's dull flight.
Wakeners of prayer in man-his resting bowers
As on he journeys in the narrow way,
Where, Eden-like, Jehovah's walking hours
Are waited for as in the cool of day.
Days fix'd by God for intercourse with dust,
To raise our thoughts, and purify our powers-
Periods appointed to renew our trust—
A gleam of glory after six days' showers.
A milky-way mark'd out through skies else drear,
By radiant suns that warm as well as shine—
A clue, which he who follows knows no fear,
Though briers and thorns around his pathway twine.
Foretastes of heaven on earth-pledges of joy
Surpassing fancy's flight and fiction's story—
The preludes of a feast that cannot cloy,
And the bright out-courts of immortal glory!
SAY not the law divine
Is hidden from thee, or afar removed;
That law within would shine,
If there its glorious light were sought and loved.
Nor ask who thence shall bring it down to earth;
Hath no such star, didst thou but know its worth.
Nor launch thy bark
In search thereof upon a shoreless sea
No dove to bring this olive-branch to thee.
In search of that which wandering cannot win; At home! at home!
That word is placed, thy mouth, thy heart within.
Turn to its teachings with devoted will;
Watch unto prayer,
And in the power of faith this law fulfil.
THE HAPPINESS OF THE GODLY.
BLESSED state! and happy he
Who is like that planted tree;
Living waters lave his root,
Bends his bough with golden fruit.
Thine, O Lord! the power and praise
Which a sight like this displays;
Power of thine must plant it there,
Praise of thee it should declare.
Thou must first prepare the ground,
Sow the seed and fence it round;
Streams that water, suns that shine;
Each and all are ever thine.
When the seedling from its bed
First lifts up its timid head,
Ministry of thine must give
All on which its life can live.
Showers from thee must bid it thrive,
Breath of thine must oft revive;
Light from thee its bloom supplies,—
Left by thee it fades and dies.
Whose, then, when a tree up-grown,
Should its fruit be, but thine own?
And thy glorious heritage
Is its fadeless leaf in age.
THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair! Thyself how wondrous then !
Unspeakable! who sittest above these heavens,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak ye, who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels! for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing. Ye in heaven!
On earth, join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end!
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater; sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fliest
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb, that flies;
And ye five other wandering fires, that move
In mystic dance, not without song; resound
His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix,
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honor to the world's great Author rise,
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolor'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers;
Rising or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave!
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls! ye birds
That, singing, up to heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
|