Thine be the meekness of the flower
That bows its head before the blast;
Increase in wisdom and in power;
Be lowliness around thee cast;
Thy faith and love, like flames of fire
Trembling, the higher they aspire.
And when thy master calls thee-thine,
Thine be the crown of endless joy,
Where Heaven's eternal rivers shine
Beneath a bright and cloudless sky.
Those realms-how beautiful and fair,
Stranger! a blissful meeting there!
A RELIGION OF CEREMONIES.
WHEN nations are to perish in their sins,
'Tis in the church the leprosy begins,
Then God's own image on the soul impressed
Becomes a mockery-a standing jest;
And faith, the root whence only can arise
The graces of a life that wins the skies,
Loses at once all value and esteem,
Pronounced a foolish-a pernicious dream:
Then ceremony leads her bigots forth,
Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth;
While truths on which eternal things depend,
Find not, or hardly find a single friend;
And many fill religion's vacant place,
With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace.
MORNING AND EVENING.
As every day thy mercy spares,
Will bring its trials or its care,
O Saviour, till my life shall end,
Be Thou my counsellor and friend;
Teach me thy precepts all divine,
And be thy great example mine.
When each day's scenes, and labours close,
And wearied nature seeks repose,
With pardoning mercy richly blest,
Guard me, my Saviour, while I rest;
And as each morning sun shall rise,
O, lead me onward to the skies!
And at my life's last setting sun,
My conflicts o'er, my labours done,
Jesus, thine heavenly radiance shed,
To cheer and bless my dying bed-
And from death's gloom, my spirit raise,
To see thy face, and sing thy praise.
THE VALUE OF THE SOUL.
KNOW'ST thou the value of a soul immortal ? Behold this midnight glory: worlds on worlds! Amazing pomp! Redouble this amaze,
Ten thousand add; add twice ten thousand more ; Then weigh the whole :-one soul outweighs them
JESUS SEEN OF ANGELS.
BEYOND the glittering starry skies,
Far as the eternal hills,
There in the boundless worlds of light,
Our dear Redeemer dwells.
Immortal angels, bright and fair,
In countless armies shine;
At his right hand with golden harps,
They offer songs divine.
Hail! Prince, they cry, for ever hail!
Whose unexampled love,
Moved thee to quit, these glorious realms,
And royalties above.
Whil'st here, our gracious Lord vouchsafed
To suffer rude disdain;
They cast their honours at his feet,
And waited in his train.
In all his toils and conflicts here,
Their sovereign they attend :
And pause-and wonder how at last,
This scene of love will end!
When all the powers of hell combined,
To fill his cup of woe,
Their wond'ring eyes beheld his tears
In blood and anguish flow.
As on the torturing cross he hung,
And darkness veil'd the sky,
Amazed, they saw that awful sight,—
The LORD OF GLORY DIE.
Anon he bursts the gates of death-
Subdues the tyrant's power;
They saw the glorious conqueror rise,
And hail'd the blissful hour!
They brought his chariot from above,
To bear Him to his throne;
Clapp'd their triumphant wings, and cried,
"The glorious work is done!"
My soul the joyful triumph feels,
And thinks the season long,
Ere she her gracious Saviour sees,
And joins the rapturous throng.
THE HOLY SPIRIT SUPPLICATED.
Он, come with thy olive branch, Spirit of love!
With all thy sweet graces descend from above:
Bring with thee the purity, concord, repose,
Thy peaceful and permanent presence bestows,
As days of "clear shining" that follow the rain,
Thy heart soothing presence can cheer me again;
In tenderness visit this sorrowing breast,
And make it for ever the seat of thy rest.
OH God! by whom the seed is given;
By whom the harvest blest,
Whose word, like manna, showered from heaven,
Is planted in the breast.
Preserve it from the passing feet,
And plunderers of the air;
The sultry sun's destructive heat,
And weeds of worldly care.
Though buried deep, or thinly strewn,
Do thou thy grace supply;
The hope in earthly furrows sown,
Shall ripen for the sky!
FORTH from the camp, calm, and content,
His eye not dim, his strength not spent ;
From Moab's plain, the prophet went
Up Nebo's steep to die.
No mortal ear heard his last breath;
No mortal eye beheld his death;
He died on Pisgah's height.
His grave no mortal mourners tend,
His God was with him as his friend,
And comforted his latter end.
|