Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

But what's the air, or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to Thee ?
I love the sea ; she is my fellow creature,

My careful purveyor, she provides me store; She walls me round; she makes

my

diet greater;

She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore; But, Lord of oceans, when compared with Thee, What is the ocean or her wealth to me? To heaven's high city I direct my journey,

Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye; Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,

Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky; But what is heaven, great God, compared with

Thee ? Without thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me. Without thy presence, earth gives no refection; Without thy presence, sea affords no trea

sure ; Without thy presence, air's a rank infection; Without thy presence, heaven itself no

pleasure; If not possessed, if not enjoyed in Thee, What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me? The highest honour that the world can boast,

Are subjects far too low for my desire ; Its brightest beams of glory are at most

But dying sparkles of thy living fire; The proudest flames that earth can kindle, be But nightly glowworms if compared to Thee.

Without thy presence, wealth is bags of care;

Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet sadness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing

madness. Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have their being when compared with Thee. In having all things and not Thee, what have I?

Not having Thee, what have my labours got ? Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I ?

And having Thee alone, what have I not? I wish not sea nor land; nor would I be Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of Thee.

FRANCIS QUARLES.

Quisdom. “LOVE God, love truth, love virtue, and be

happy;" These were the words first uttered in the ear Of every being rational made, and made For thought, or word, or deed accountable. Most men the first forgot, the second none. Whatever path they took, by hill or vale, By day or night, the universal wish, The aim and sole intent was happiness. But, erring from the heaven-appointed path, Strange tracks indeed they took through barren

wastes, And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled,

Which pining lay beneath the curse of God,
And nought produced. Yet did the traveller look
And point his eye before him greedily,
As if he saw some verdant spot, where grew
The heavenly flower, where sprang the well of life,
Where undisturbed felicity reposed;
Though Wisdom's eye no vestige could discern,
That happiness had ever passed that way.

Wisdom was right, for still the terms remained
Unchanged, unchangeable—the terms on which
True peace was given to man, unchanged as God,
Who, in His own essential nature, binds
Eternally to virtue happiness,
Nor lets them part through all His universe.

ROBERT POLLOK.

Where Two or Three are Gathered

together. IT is the

Sabbath bell, which calls to prayer, Even to the House of God, the hallowed dome, Where He who claims it bids his people come To bow before his throne, and serve Him there With prayers, and thanks, and praises. Some

there are Who hold it meet to linger now at home,

And some o'er fields and the wide hills to roam, And worship in the temple of the air !

For me, not heedless of the lone address,

Nor slack to greet my Maker on the height, By wood, or living stream; yet not the less

Seek I his presence in each social rite Of his own temple: that He deigns to bless, There still he dwells, and there is his delight.

BISHOP MANT,

Where art Thou, Mighty One ? WHAT art Thou, mighty One ? and where

thy seat ? Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the

lands, And thou dost bear within thy awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet; Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind

Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's

dread noon,

Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon
Disturb’st the sleeping giant of the Ind.
In the drear silence of the polar span

Dost Thou repose ? or in the solitude
Of sultry tracks, where the lone caravan

Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood ? Vain thought! the confines of his throne to trace, Who glows through all the fields of boundless space.

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

Watching for the Son of Man.
EVEN

VEN thus, amid thy pride and luxury,
O earth! shall that last coming burst on

thee,
That secret coming of the Son of Man,
When all the cherub-thronging clouds shall shine
Irradiate with his bright advancing sign :
When that great Husbandman shall wave his

fan, Sweeping like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away: Still to the noontide of that nightless day, Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course main

tain. Along the busy mart and crowded street, The buyer and the seller still shall meet,

And marriage feasts begin their jocund strain : Still to the pouring out the cup of woe; Till earth, a drunkard, reeling to and fro, And mountains molten by His burning feet, And heaven His presence own, all red with

furnace heat.

The hundred-gated cities then,
The towers and temples named of men

Eternal and the thrones of kings;
The gilded summer-palaces,
The courtly bowers of love and ease,

Where still the bird of pleasure sings;
Ask

ye the destiny of them ?
Go, gaze on fallen Jerusalem !

« VorigeDoorgaan »