I find thee in the roon of night,
And read thy name in every star
That drinks its splendour from the light
That flows from mercy's beaming car:
Thy footstool, Lord, each starry gem
Composes-not thy diadem.
And when the radiant orb of light
Hath tipp'd the mountain tops with gold,
Smote with the blaze my weary sight
Shrinks from the wonders I behold:
That ray of glory bright and fair,
Is but thy living shadow there.
Thine is the silent noon of night,
The twilight, eve-the dewy morn;
Whate'er is beautiful and bright,
Thine hands have fashioned to adorn :
Thy glory walks in every sphere,
And all things whisper, “God is here!"
WHEN our heads are bow'd with woe,
When our bitter tears o'erflow;
When we mourn the lost, the dear,
Gracious Son of Mary hear!
Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, Thou hast shed the human tear; Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
When the sullen death-bell tolls
For our own departed souls;
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
Thou hast bow'd the dying head ;
Thou the blood of life hast shed ;
Thou hast filled a mortal bier;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
When the heart is sad within,
With the thought of all its sin;
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
Thou the shame, the grief, hast known, Though the sins were not thine own, Thou hast deign’d their load to bear, Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
'Tis sweet to hear the Sabbath bells
Ring out on woodlands, floods, and fells;
Now clear and jubilant, anon,
Mellowed and mournful they chime on.
And sweet from church or chapel reared,
Midst glens, to rural hearts endeared,
Oh, sweetly, on the morning air,
Sounds the meek hymn ascending there,
When rural voices join to raise
An anthem to their Maker's praise !
And solemn and majestic floats,
The organ-chant in rolling notes,
Poured richly down the pillared aisle
Of some time-hallowed gothic pile.
When mingle then in prayer
and song,
A city's thousand voices strong;
Oh, who unmoved can listen then
To the responsive deep Amen?
The soft refulgent light that streams
Through windows mapped with holiest
themes ;
The blazonry of the cherub wings,
Proclaim thy temple, King of kings !
And marbled tablets, sculptured round,
Mark where the dead have refuge found.
Such are the Sabbath-notes that rise
From earth's vast altar to the skies;
And have the ocean-waves no voice
To bid the sacred hours rejoice?
Have they, who on the dangerous deep
For life an anxious vigil keep,
No tribute for the Almighty One,
Who rules them from his viewless throne ?
Hark! o'er the wide and bellowing main
Soft music comes, a choral strain.
And, kneeling on the barrier frail,
(How vain their strength if that should fail !
That lifts them from the yawning sea,
Bold rugged men are grouped in prayer,
In child-like pure simplicity,
And, lo! their God is with them there.
THERE is a tender sadness in that air,
While yet devotion lifts the soul above ;
Mournful though calm, as rainbow-glories
prove
The parting storm, it marks the past despair!
Heedless of gazers, once with flowing hair
She dried his tear-besprinkled feet, whose
love,
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