The angel wrote, and vanished. The wat It came again, with a night night And shewd the names whom love of god and blesid, This blesse Thanksging Night, om The raise to the am gratiful voico; wo believing the symies. вујвалени POEMS OF RELIGION. MY GOD, I LOVE THEE. My God, I love thee! not because I hope for heaven thereby ; Nor because those who love thee not Must burn eternally. Thou, O my Jesus, thou didst me For me didst bear the nails and spear, And griefs and torments numberless, Yea, death itself, — and all for one Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ, Should I not love thee well? Nor of escaping hell! Not with the hope of gaining aught, But as thyself hast loved me, E'en so I love thee, and will love, And in thy praise will sing, Solely because thou art my God, And my eternal King. ST. FRANCIS XAVIER (Latin). Translation of EDWARD CASWELL. EMPLOYMENT. Ir as a flowre doth spread and die, Thou wouldst extend me to some good, Before I were by frost's extremitie Nipt in the bud, The sweetnesse and the praise were thine; Put the extension and the room Which in thy garland I should fill were mine At thy great doom. For as thou dost impart thy grace, The measure of our joyes is in this place, Let me not languish, then, and spend As is the dust, to which that life doth tend, All things are busie; only I Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie I am no link of thy great chain, But all my companie is a weed. Lord, place me in thy consort; give one strain To my poore reed. GEORGE HERBERT. THE NEW JERUSALEM. O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem, When shall I come to thee? O happy harbor of God's saints! No dimly cloud o'ershadows thee, Thy walls are made of precious stone, Thy bulwarks diamond-square, Thy gates are all of orient pearl, O God! if I were there! O my sweet home, Jerusalem! Thy joys when shall I see?The King sitting upon thy throne, And thy felicity? I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth,— She is my Maker's creature, therefore good; She is my mother, for she gave me birth; She is my tender nurse, she gives me food: But what's a creature, Lord, compared with thee? Or what's my mother or my nurse to me? I love the air, - her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me; Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh, And with their polyphonian notes delight me : I love the sea, she is my fellow-creature, |