Remember how undauntedly He stood,
And sweat Himself into a crimson flood,
To ransom thee; remember how his woes
Were asperated by his raging foes;
Remember how his sacred temples wore
A spiny crown; remember how it tore
His sublime front; remember how they broached
His breast with spears, and shamefully reproached
His spotless fame; remember how they nailed
His spreading hands; remember how they scaled
His ivory walls; remember how they spawled
Upon his face; remember how they bawled
And banded at his agony, whilst He
Proved patient martyr to their tyranny;
Remember, when He came unto the brink
Of death, they gave Him vinegar to drink.
Here's love, O man, that does as far transcend
Thy thoughts as thy deserts, that Heaven should
send
His Son and Heir to be incarnated
And suffer death for thee: thou wert as dead As sin could make thee; 'twas for thy offence He died, ah! how, how canst thou recompense Such high-bred favours? After thou art fed, Wilt thou contemn the hand that gave thee bread? Wouldst thou not love that friend that should bestow
A superannuated crust, and show
Respect unto thee when the ebbing tide
Of fortune runs so low, that thou mayst ride
Upon the sands of poverty? Fond man,
Strive to be grateful; study how to scan
The mercies of thy God; remember how
He feeds thy soul with manna; learn to bow
The unruly thoughts; with admiration think
How often and how much embittered drink
Thy Saviour drank, with what a doleful cry
He begged of God to let that cup pass by;
But knowing that his pleasure must be done,
He proved Himself a most obedient Son.
And wilt thou not, coy wretch! drink one poor
Of bitter drink for Him that drank a cup
Firm as the Rocks thy Promise
Stands.
IN every object here I see
Something, O Lord, that leads to Thee:
Firm as the rocks Thy promise stands,
Thy mercies countless as the sands;
Thy love, a sea immensely wide,
Thy grace, an ever-flowing tide.
In every object here I see
Something, my heart, that points at thee:
Hard as the rocks that bound the strand,
Unfruitful as the barren sand,
Deep and deceitful as the ocean,
And, like the tides, in constant motion.
HEN my breast labours with oppressive care,
And o'er my cheek descends the falling tear,
While all my warring passions are at strife,
Oh, let me listen to the word of life!
Raptures deep felt his doctrine did impart,
And thus He raised from earth the drooping heart:
"Think not, when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board;
Think not, when worn the homely robe appears,
While on the roof the howling tempest bears;
What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again.
Say, does not life its nourishment exceed?
And the fair body its investing weed?
Behold, and look away your low despair-
See the light tenants of the barren air:
To them not stores nor granaries belong;
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky.
To Him they sing when spring renews the plain,
To Him they cry in winter's pinching reign;
Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain;
He hears the gay and the distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
Observe the rising lily's snowy grace;
Observe the various vegetable race;
They neither toil nor spin; but careless grow; Yet see how warm they blush, how bright they glow!
Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous,
God hath written in those stars above:
But not less in the bright flowrets under us
Stands the revelation of his love.
Bright and glorious is that revelation,
Written all over this great world of ours;
Making evident our own creation,
In these stars of earth,-these golden flowers.
And the Poet, faithful and far-seeing
Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part
Of the self-same, universal being,
Which is throbbing in his brain and heart.
Gorgeous flowrets in the sunlight shining,
Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day,
Tremulous leaves, with soft and silver lining,
Buds that open only to decay;
Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues,
Flaunting gayly in the golden light;
Large desires, with most uncertain issues,
Tender wishes, blossoming at night!
These in flowers and men are more than seeming,
Workings are they of the self-same powers,
Which the Poet, in no idle dreaming,
Seeth in himself and in the flowers.
Everywhere about us are they glowing,
Some like stars, to tell us Spring is born; Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, Stand like Ruth amid the golden corn;
Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing,
And in Summer's green-emblazoned field,
But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing,
In the centre of his brazen shield;
Not alone in meadows and green alleys,
On the mountain-top, and by the brink
Of sequestered pools in woodland valleys,
Where the slaves of Nature stoop to drink;
Not alone in her vast dome of glory,
Not on graves of bird and beast alone,
But in old cathedrals, high and hoary,
On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone;
In the cottage of the rudest peasant,
In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present,
Tell us of the ancient Games of Flowers;
In all places, then, and in all seasons,
Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings,
Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons,
How akin they are to human things.
And with childlike, credulous affection
We behold their tender buds expand;
Emblems of our own great resurrection,
Emblems of the bright and better land.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
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