They tell him, all he has on earth, his brightest, dearest things,
His loves and friendships, joys and hopes, have all their falls and springs :
A wave upon a moon-lit sea, a leaf before the blast, A summer flow'r, an April show'r, that gleams and hurries past.
And be it so; I know it well: myself, and all that's mine,
Must with the fleeting year advance, and ripen to decline.
I do not shun the solemn truth; to him it is not
Whose hopes can rise above the skies, and see a Saviour near.
It only makes him feel with joy this earth is not his home;
It sends him on from present ills to brighter hours
It bids him take with thankful heart whate'er his God may send,
Content to go through weal or woe to glory in the
Оí, look up to the soft blue sky,
Arching above thee bright and fair ;
Cold is the heart, and dull the eye,
Which feels not, sees not God is there.
Look round thee on this spacious earth,
With every varied beauty rife-
Starts not an instant thought to birth
Of Him whose presence gives it life?
Survey the billowy, boundless deep;
Is there no voice salutes thine ear,
Whispering, when tempests o'er it sweep,
In still small accents, God is here?
Glance upward, in night's silent hour,
To countless stars in glory bright;
These speak, unheard, their Maker's power,
Whose presence is their source of light.
Hark to the winds which come and go
O'er seas unfathomed, wastes untrod;
Are they not heralds, to and fro,
Of Him, the Omnipresent God?
All forms of living creatures trace,—
Proclaim they not his power and love, Vocal, in harmony and grace,
Of Him in whom they live and move?
Last, but not least, oh, turn within,
With humble hope and fervent prayer;
For in each heart redeemed from sin,
The eternal God is present there.
THE BEAUTIES OF CREATION.
I PRAISED the earth in beauties seen,
With garlands gay of various green;
I praised the sea, whose ample field,
Shone glorious as a silver shield;
And earth and ocean seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day!"
I praised the Sun, whose chariot rolled,
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the moon, whose softer eye,
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky!
And Moon, and Sun, in answer, said,
"Our days of light are numbered."
O God! O good, beyond compare!
If thus thy meaner works are fair!
If thus thy beauties gild the span
Of ruined earth, and sinful man;
How glorious must the mansion be,
Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!
BISHOP HEBER.
THOUGHTS IN SICKNESS ON HEARING CHURCH BELLS CHIME.
YE gentle winds, O waft again that swell
So soft and sweet, across the deepen'd dell;
Speak to my heart, and not my ear alone,
The hallow'd music of your chasten'd tone;
Chime not in vain, sweet bells, but faithful say,
To rich and poor, neglect me not to-day!
Oft have I heard your sacred sounds, and made
Some faint excuse your summons to evade :
But now, to languor and disease a prey,
How doubly dear appears this hallow'd day!
O prove a Sabbath to my mind indeed,
A holy day, from worldly subjects freed.
Aloft my soul, may dove-like pinions bear
Thee far above this world of sin and care;
Yes, onward bear, till thou a Pisgah's view
Of Canaan blest obtain-Jerus'lem New.
Here let my spirit rest, nor back convey
Me down the hills of sin's backsliding way.
Rather, O Saviour, let me absent be
From all I love on earth, if safe with Thee,
To die with heaven in view, is life exchanged:
To live without it, death, from Thee estranged.
Here, Lord, my forehead with thy signet stamp,
If life be spared, supply with oil my lamp,
That hence, how dark soe'er my way may be,
Thy light may guide, thy grace may succour me;
And when my days of prayer on earth are o'er,
Admit me where my praise shall end no more.
"He is our peace.”—Eph. ii. 14.
PRINCE of Peace! control my will,
Bid this struggling heart be still;
Bid my fears and doubtings cease,
Hush my spirit into peace:
Thou hast bought me with thy blood,
Open'd wide the gate to God:
Peace, I ask-but peace must be,
Lord, in being one with Thee.
Thou, who still'd the raging deep,
Placidly to child-like sleep;
Thou, whose voice the maniac heard,
Knew, and straight confessed his Lord;
Thou, who hush'd the mourner's cry
Mid maternal agony,
Chase these doubtings from my heart, Faith, and perfect peace impart.
King of Salem! strong to save,
No triumphant joy I crave;
Let thy spirit's soothing calm
Glide into my soul like balm:
Raise my heart to things above,
Make me know thy pard'ning love:
May thy will, not mine, be done;
May thy will and mine be one.
|