DE PROFUNDIS. The past rolls forward on the sun Breath freezes on my lips to moan: I knock and cry, Undone, undone ! This nature, though the snows be down, No bird am I to sing in June, I ask less kindness to be done - Only to lift the turf unmown What harm would that do? Green anon From gracious nature have I won A voice reproves me thereupon, 823 God sends us bitter, lest we fail God sends us bitter, all our sins He sends us bitter, that heaven's sweet, Our passions murmur and rebel, For if our heart the lesson draws He openeth our eyes to see (Eyes that our pride of heart had sealed) The sweetness of life's heavenly tree, And grief is healed; And lo, before us in the way We view the fountains and the palms, And drink, and pitch our tents, and stay Singing sweet psalms. 1865. CHARLES LAWRENCE FORD. IN TRIAL. A spurious stanza is sometimes added to this hymn, beginning, Then come, Lord Jesus, come with speed." WHEN gathering clouds around I view, If aught should tempt my soul to stray If wounded love my bosom swell, UNDER THE CROSS. If vexing thoughts within me rise, When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, And O when I have safely past 1812. SIR ROBERT GRANT. UNDER THE CROSS. "Thy will be done." The following favorite poem has been often included by collectors, but generally with the second and third stanzas omitted It was first used in this way by Professor Child, of Harvard College, in his "Poems of Religious Sorrow. Comfort, Counsel, and Aspiration" (Boston, 1863) The author, born in London in 1818, is a clergyman of the Baptist communion, now residing in Chicago, Ill., where he is connected with the religious press. Mr Richards is a graduate of Madison University, from which he received his degree of Ph D The verses were written in view of a sudden bereavement that occurred in the author's parish. And that it would be sweet to say, Whatever ill My happy state should smite upon "Thy will, my God, be done." 825 THE SOWER. RICHARD WATSON GILDER was born at Bordentown, N. J., Feb. 8, 1844, and has been associate editor of Scribner's Monthly, since its foundation. He published a volume of poems in 1875, entitled "The New Day," and another in 1878, entitled "The Poet and his Master." I. A SOWER went forth to sow, He crushed the flowers beneath his feet, When lightnings interlace The sky and the earth, and his wand Thus did that Sower sow: And yet anon and he must start O hearts of ours! so weak and poor, While every sadder, wiser thought, O Thou who dost our weakness know, IN SICKNESS. WHEN languor and disease invade Sweet to look inward and attend The whispers of his love; Sweet to look upward to the place Where Jesus pleads above. Sweet to look back, and see my name Sweet to reflect how grace divine My sins on Jesus laid; Sweet to remember that his blood My debt of sufferings paid. Sweet on his righteousness to stand, Sweet on his faithfulness to rest, Sweet in the confidence of faith HYMN FOR A SICK GIRL. Sweet to rejoice in lively hope, Then shall my dis-imprisoned soul Shall see him wear that very flesh Soon, too, my slumbering dust shall hear These eyes shall see him in that day, If such the views which grace unfolds, What raptures must the Church above If such the sweetness of the stream, Where saints and angels draw their bliss Oh, may the unction of these truths Forever with me stay; Till, from her sinful cage dismissed, 1777. AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY. HYMN FOR A SICK GIRL. FATHER, in the dark I lay, Thirsting for the light; Helpless, but for hope alway In thy Father-might. Out of darkness came the morn, So, one morning yet more fair, Wide awake, not sleeping, I Shall in him be found. But a morn yet fairer must Till my spirit undefiled 827 GEORGE MACDONALD. IN THE TIME OF DEARTH. JOHN SKEFFINGTON, Lord Viscount Massereene and Ferrard; an Irish nobleman, was born Nov. 30, 1812, and died April 28, 1868. This piece is based upon the following words: "There was a famine in the days of David three years, year after year, and David enquired of the Lord."2 SAM. xxi. 1. PART FIRST. PRAISE the Lord, for he is gracious; praise the Lord, for he is just. Prostrate at his feet, confessing we are weak and worthless dust. But the tender love of Jesus, oh the wondrous ways of God! Oh the joy that faith discloses when we kiss the chastening rod! We have sinned against a Saviour; we have sinnéd e'en to death. God is pleading, gently pleading with the creatures of his breath. Lord, to thee be all the glory! Lord, to thee be all the praise! When thy tender hand doth chasten, it to us thy love displays. And the field around is wasted, and the land around us mourns; Man alone the judgment slighteth, man alone the warning scorns. Who hath done it? Are ye standing in the ways, the paths of yore? Seek ye there to walk, and humbly for divine support implore. Who hath done it, are ye asking? Turn unto your Maker's laws, With the word of God before you, seek not for some hidden cause. Who hath done it? Look around you; "Meat cut off before your eyes: 'Neath their clods the seed is rotten; desolate each garner lies." |