As, gazing on the miracle, they mark'd
The gathered fragments of their feast, and heard Such heavenly words as lip of mortal man
Thou, whose pitying heart
Yearn'd o'er the countless miseries of those
Whom thou didst die to save, touch thou our souls
With the same spirit of untiring love.
Divine Redeemer, may our fellow man,
Howe'er by rank or circumstance disjoin'd,
Be as a brother in his hour of need.
JESUS WEEPING.
"He beheld the city and wept over it."-Luke xix. 41.
DID Christ o'er sinners weep,
And shall our cheeks be dry?
Let floods of penitential grief
Burst forth from every eye.
The Son of God in tears!
The angels, wondering, see:
Hast thou no wonder, O my soul ?
He shed those tears for thee.
He wept that we might weep
Over our sin and shame;
He wept to show His love for us,
And bid us show the same.
Then tender be our hearts,
Our eyes with sorrow dim,
Till every tear from every eye,
Be wiped away by Him.
PROPHETS and Poets were of old
Made of the same celestial mould.
True Poets are a saint-like race,
And with the gift receive the grace.
Of their own songs the virtue feel,
Warmed with a heaven enkindled zeal.
A Poet should have heat and light,
Of all things a capacious sight:
Serenity with rapture joined ;
Aims noble, eloquence refined,
Strong, modest; sweetness to endear;
Expressions lively, lofty, clear.
High thoughts, an admirable theme,
For holiness a great esteem;
Of harmony a perfect skill;
With knowledge clear of good and ill;
And all concentered-souls to please,
Instruct, inflame, melt, calm, and ease.
Such graces no where can be found
Except on consecrated ground
Where Poets fix on God their thought,
By sacred inspiration taught;
Where each in Christ rejoicing, sings
In heavenly strains of heavenly things.
O FOR a faith as firm, unmoved,
As his the "friend of God,"
Who, firmly with the child he loved,
Moriah's mountain trod;
And bound his son, and raised his hand,
Obedient to his Lord's command.
Or his, Arabia's tempted son,
Surcharged with various woes;
His children dead, his riches gone,
In pain and sickness low;
From whose pale lips in anguish burst,
"Though he should slay me, Him I'll trust."
But Lord, to me thy wayward child,
Still prone to choose the wrong,
With guilty thoughts and words defiled,
Do such high things belong?
Yea, is it not deep pride of heart
Which bids such lofty wishes start?
Oh! humbler things in thy blest word
Are fitter far for me;
Yet there, the humblest prayer preferr'd
Was heard and mark'd by thee:
Both, "If thou canst," and, "If thou wilt,"
Were granted, though on doubting built.
Thou art unchanged-thy gracious ear,
Still lists the cry of grief;
"Lord 1 believe"-oh, deign to hear!
"Help thou mine unbelief:"
I know I know thou wilt not spurn,
One who before thy cross would mourn.
Increase my weak, my wavering faith,
Fix it on Thee alone;
Lead me to conquer sin and death,
And foes to me unknown;
Feeble and faint my cry may be,
Yet, Lord, I still would cling to Thee.
THE cool and fragrant hour of morn,
Unvexed by life's intrusive care,
My hour of grateful praise shall be,
Sweet, solitary, praise and prayer.
'Twill gird my spirit for the fight,
The glare, the strife, of this world's way;
Weak, tempted, weary, lone, or sad,
'Tis never, never vain to pray.
Ere falls the stealing step of dawn,
The night's soft dew upon her wings,
Up riseth from her nest the lark,
And soaring to the sunlight, sings.
Thus may my soul sing on and soar
Above the world, beyond all time,
And dwell in heaven's pure light, and breathe
The air of that celestial clime.
"O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done."-Matt, xxvi, 42,
Is there no way but this, most gracious Lord ?
Must every earthly tie thus sever'd be,
Or twined around with thorns? Is there no spot
Whereon my wearied spirit may repose,
My wounded heart, in sweet affection's balm
Be steep'd awhile, ere its last pulse shall throb ?
Thou knowest, Lord- and thou alone canst know—
The inward depths of that deceitful font,
Where many a sin lies sleeping but not dead.
Then let me humbly bend my will to thine,
My righteous Lord, my Father, and my God.
Nor comfortless. If through this dreary world
Thou seest it meet that I should struggle on
In loneliness of spirit, still unsoothed
By human love, uncheer'd by earthly hope,-
O deign to let thy Spirit dwell with me,
Shewing me ever more thy hand of love!
Thou knowest, Lord, my heart's deep bitterness-
Its griefs, its sins, its struggles, all thou seest.
In utter helplessness to thee, I come,
My Saviour. O, my Saviour, aid me now;
Let the full sense of thy unchanging love
Rest on my spirit with abiding power:
That so my yearning heart, cleaving to thee,
May never pine for that which thou deniest.
Give me thy peace-that satisfying peace
Which thou alone canst give, but given,
No power can take away-sinful and weak,
Unworthy of the least of thy rich mercies,
Still would I cast myself on thee for all.
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