NAAMAN'S PRIDE AND FOLLY.
II. Kings, v. xii.
THUS arrogant and thus absurd,
Was he who then the prophet heard;
We blame his language;-are not we
As foolish and as proud as he ?
A fountain is unsealed to save,
Of virtue passing Jordan's wave,
Beyond Bethesda's healing spring,-
Though ruffled by an angel's wing.
There might we in this gospel day,
Wash all our leprosy away,
Cleanse from our spirits every stain,
And more than child-like whiteness gain.
But faith is low, and pride is high,
We view that fount with doubting eye,
And choose with proud and angry tone
Well springs and fountains of our own.
O Thou! whose love that fount unseal'd
By which alone we can be heal'd,
Strengthen our faith, subdue our pride,
Nor let our leprosy abide.
Teach us in simple faith to prove,
The power of thy redeeming love,
That like the Syrian we may see,
And own there is no God but Thee
OH! sweet as vernal dews that fill
The closing buds on Sion's hill,
When evening clouds draw thither,
So sweet, so heavenly tis to see
The members of one family
Live peacefully together.
The children like the smiling flowers,
On which descend the sun and showers,
Their hues of beauty blending;
The parents, like the willow boughs,
On which the lovely foliage grows,
Their friendly shade extending.
Yet leaves the greenest will decay.
And flowers the brightest fade away,
When autumn winds are sweeping;
And be the household e'er so fair,
The hand of death will soon be there,
And turn the scene to weeping.
But leaves again will clothe the trees, And lilies wave beneath the breeze,
When spring comes smiling hither; And friends who parted at the tomb, May yet again renew their bloom, And meet in heaven together.
DEAR is the hallowed morn to me
When village bells awake the day;
And by their sacred minstrelsy,
Call me from earthly cares away.
And dear to me the winged hour,
Spent in thy hallowed courts, O Lord!
To feel devotion's soothing power,
And catch the manna of thy word,
And dear to me the loud Amen,
Which echoes through the blest abode, Which swells and sinks, and swells again, Dies on the walls, but lives to God.
In secret I have often prayed,
And still the anxious tear would fall; But on thy sacred altar laid,
The fire descends and dries them all.
Oft when the world, with iron hands,
Has bound me in his six-days' chain,
This bursts them, like the strong man's bands,
And lets my spirit loose again.
Then dear to me the sabbath morn,
The village bells, the shepherd's voice;
These oft have found my heart forlorn,
And always bid my heart rejoice.
Go, man of pleasure, strike thy lyre,
Óf broken Sabbaths sing the charms,
Ours be the prophet's car of fire,
That bears us to our Father's arms.
CUNNINGHAM.
THE HEAVENLY TEACHER.
FROM every thing our Saviour saw,
Lessons of wisdom he would draw ;
The clouds, the colours of the sky;
The gentle breeze that whispers by;
The fields white o'er with waving corn;
The lilies that the vale adorn;
The reed that trembles in the wind;
The tree when none its fruit can find;
The drifting sand, the flinty rock,
That bears unmoved the tempest's shock;
The thorns that on the earth abound;
The tender grass that clothes the ground;
The cheerful birds that fly in air,
The sheep that needs the shepherd's care;
The pearls that deep in ocean lie;
The gold that charms the miser's eye;
All from his lips some truth proclaim.
And tell of their Creator's name.
IT is a short and simple prayer,
But 'tis the Christian's stay,
Through every varied scene of care,
Until his dying day.
As through the wilderness of life
Calmly he wanders on,
His prayer in every time of strife
Is still, "Thy will be done!"
When in his happy infant years
He treads 'midst thornless flowers;
When pass away his smiles and tears
Like April suns and showers:
Then, kneeling by his parents' hearth,
Play-tired, at set of sun,
What is the prayer he murmurs forth?
-"Father, thy will be done."
When the bright summer sky of time,
Cloudless, is o'er him spread;
When love's bright wreath is in its prime,
With not one blossom dead:
Whilst o'er his hopes, and prospects fair,
No mist of woe hath gone;
Still, he repeats his first taught prayer"Father, thy will be done."
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