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Into a moment's vision: even as light
Mounts o'er a cloudy ridge, and all is bright,
From west to east one thrilling ray
Turning a wintry world to May.
Wouldst thou the pangs of guilt assuage?
Lo here an open page,
Where heavenly mercy shines as free, Written in balm, sad heart, for thee. Never so fast, in silent April shower, Flush'd into green the dry and leafless bower, As Israel's crowned mourner felt
The dull hard stone within him melt.
The absolver saw the mighty grief,
And hasten'd with relief;
"The Lord forgives; thou shalt not die :”— 'Twas gently spoke, yet heard on high, And all the band of angels, us'd to sing In heaven, accordant to his raptur'd string, Who many a month had turn'd away With veiled eyes, nor own'd his lay,
And all this leafless and uncolour'd scene
Now spread their wings, and throng around
And welcome, with bright open face,
The broken heart to love's embrace. The rock is smitten, and to future years Springs ever fresh the tide of holy tears And holy music, whispering peace Till time and sin together cease.
There drink and when ye are at rest,
If ever, floating from faint earthly lyre,
By all the trembling hope ye feel,
Think on the minstrel as ye
Think on the shame, that dreadful hour
f The fifty-first Psalm.
Ps. li. 12. Uphold me with thy free Spirit." The original word
seems to mean "ingenuous, princely, noble." Read Bishop Horne's Paraphrase on the verse.
Should his own lay th' accuser prove,
And a true voice to him may cry,
Thy GOD forgives-thou shalt not die.”
SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER
From whence can a man satisfy these men with bread here in the wilderness? St. Mark viii. 4.
GO not away, thou weary
Heaven has in store a precious dole
Here on Bethsaida's cold and darksome height,
Where over rocks and sands arise
Proud Sirion in the northern skies,
And Tabor's lonely peak, 'twixt thee and noon-day
And far below, Gennesaret's main
Spreads many a mile of liquid plain, (Though all seem gather'd in one eager bound,) Then narrowing cleaves yon palmy lea,
Towards that deep sulphureous sea,
Where five proud cities lie, by one dire sentence drown'd.
Landscape of fear! yet, weary heart, Thou needst not in thy gloom depart, Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home: Sweetly thy sickening throbs are ey'd
By the kind Saviour at thy side;
For healing and for balm even now thine hour is
No fiery wing is seen to glide,
No cates ambrosial are supplied,
But one poor fisher's rude and scanty store
Who men and angels daily feeds,
And stills the wailing sea-bird on the hungry shore.
The feast is o'er, the guests are gone,
And over all that upland lone
The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old—
But far unlike the former dreams,
The heart's sweet moonlight softly gleams Upon life's varied view, so joyless erst and cold.
As mountain travellers in the night, When heaven by fits is dark and bright, Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell, Then bolder scale the rugged fell,
Conscious the more of One, ne'er seen, yet ever near:
So when the tones of rapture gay
On the lorn ear die quite away,
The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven;
Earth's common paths are strewn all o'er
With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven.
The low sweet tones of Nature's lyre
No more on listless ears expire,
Nor vainly smiles along the shady way
The primrose in her vernal nest,
Nor unlamented sink to rest
Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay.