« VorigeDoorgaan »
Who would not dare to die?
Peace! my proud aim, And hush the wish that knows not what it asks. Await His will, who hath appointed this, With every other trial. Be that will Done now, as ever. For thy curious search, And unprepared solicitude to gaze On Him—the Unrevealed-learn hence, instead, To temper highest hope with humbleness. Pass thy novitiate in these outer courts, Till rent the veil, no longer separating The Holiest of all—as erst, disclosing A brighter dispensation; whose results Ineffable, interminable, tend Even to the perfecting thyself—thy kindTill meet for that sublime beatitude, By the firm promise of a voice from heaven Pledged to the pure in heart!
Abide with Me.
The darkness deepens : Lord, with me abide!
Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;
I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless :
skies : Heaven's morning breaks, and earth’s vain sha
dows flee; In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!
A Freshly Gathered Lily. TTE was our father's darling,
A bright and happy boy-
Of innocence and joy;
Fell softly on the ear,
Might linger long to hear.
Her life’s untarnished lightHer blessed joy by morning,
Her visioned hope by night:
That brighten all below;
Of sunset's gorgeous glow.
A very child of glee,
Scarce higher than our knee;
Were wild as mountain wind; His laugh, the free unfettered laugh
Of childhood's chainless mind. He was our brothers' treasure,
Their bosom’s only prideA fair depending blossom
By their protecting side:
A thing to watch and cherish,
With varying hopes and fears
Their staff for future years.
His home is in the sky;
Beneath his Maker's eye:
A bud of early doom,
A Noon-Day Hymn. ITP to the throne of God is borne
The voice of praise at early morn;
Nor will He turn his ear aside
What though our burden be not light,
Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
Why should we crave a hallowed spot ?
Look up to heaven! the industrious sun
Lord! since his rising in the east,
Help with thy grace through life's short day,
Autumn Sabbath Walk. W HEN homeward bands their several ways
disperse, I love to linger in the narrow field Of rest; to wander round from tomb to tomb, And think of some who silent sleep below.