A Library of Religious Poetry: A Collection of the Best Poems of All Ages ...

Who hath done it? In your cities "Cleanness" ye "of teeth" discern. "Want of bread in all your cities"; oh, to God! to God return.

PART SECOND.

WHO hath done it? Who but Jesus? He to whom all power belongs;

He who all the wealthy humbles; he who weighs the poor man's wrongs.

He whose balance just and true is; he who searcheth all our hearts;

He who ruleth but by love, who knowledge to his own imparts;

He who sees his cold professors full of idols, fraud, and force,

Evil reigning through creation, earth's foundations out of course;

He who tenderly afflicteth those who as his foes behave;

He who plucks us from the burning, for a remnant he will save.

"Seek ye me, and ye shall live." Yea, Lord, my heart thy face will seek,

Of thy power I will make mention, of thy kingdom's glory speak.

Nigh to those who call upon thee, their desires thou mak'st to bloom;

With our eyes upon thee, waiting, meat shall in due season come.

Come, then, sinner, come to Jesus. He alone can give relief;

Bend in deep humiliation, bend in prayer and

holy grief.

'Tis for you the land withholdeth plentiful and wonted store;

Barren e'en from your transgression, for its cry hath waxed sore.

PART THIRD.

SANCTIFY a fast, ye people, in a solemn crowd

appear;

Gather in God's house with mourning, and his best commandments hear;

But, without a wedding garment, freely granted by his love,

Come not to his presence; seek no half-salvation from above.

DAVID GRAY, a Scottish poet, was born in 1838, and died in 1861. His poems were published with an Introduction by Lord Houghton.

O THOU of purer eyes than to behold
Uncleanness! Sift my soul, removing all
Strange thoughts, imaginings fantastical,
Iniquitous allurements manifold.
Make it a spiritual ark; abode
Severely sacred, perfumed, sanctified,
Wherein the Prince of Purities may abide, -
The holy and eternal Spirit of God.
The gross adhesive loathsomeness of sin
Give me to see. Yet, oh, far more, far more,
That beautiful purity which the saints adore
In a consummate paradise within

The veil, O Lord, upon my soul bestow
An earnest of that purity here below.

DAVID GRAY.

Which for you the Lord ordained,
Now he each day
Hastens towards you?
Cannot ye see

That he is always seeking

After every
Earthly offspring,
Beasts and birds?

Death also in like manner
After mankind seeks,
Throughout this middle earth,
Terrific hunter!

And devours in pursuit.

He will not any track
Ever forsake,

Until he has seized
That which he before
Sought after.

It is a wretched thing,
That citizens
Cannot wait for him;
Unhappy men
Are rather desirous
To anticipate him:
As birds,

Or wild beasts,
When they contend,
Each one would
The other destroy.
But it is wicked

In every man,

That he another
With his thoughts
Should hate in his breast,

Like a bird or beast.

But it would be most right
That every man

Should render to other
Dwellers in the world
Reward proportionable

To his deserts,

In everything:

That is, that he should love

Every one of the good,

As he best may;

And have mercy on the wicked,

As we before said.

He should the man

With his mind love,
And his vices

All hate,

And destroy,

As he soonest may.

829

BOETHIUS, 475-525. KING ALFRED, 841-901. Translated by SAMUEL FOX, 1864.

REJOICE.

"Ermuntert euch, ihr Frommen."

LAURENTIUS LAURENTII was born in Husum, Holstein, June 8, 1660. His father was fond of music, and devoted his son to the musical profession. Laurentius became director of the choir at the cathedral of Bremen, and wrote more than a hundred hymus, chiefly on the passages of Scripture appointed for Sundays and festivals. They are simple and spiritual. He died in 1722.

REJOICE, all ye believers,

And let your lights appear;
The evening is advancing,
And darker night is near.
The Bridegroom is arising,
And soon he draweth nigh.

Up! pray, and watch, and wrestle,
At midnight comes the cry!

See that your lamps are burning,
Replenish them with oil,
And wait for your salvation,

The end of earthly toil.
The watchers on the mountain
Proclaim the Bridegroom near;
Go, meet him as he cometh,
With hallelujahs clear!

Ye wise and holy virgins,
Now raise your voices higher,
Till in songs of jubilee

They meet the angel-choir. The marriage-feast is waiting, The gates wide open stand; Up! up! ye heirs of glory

The Bridegroom is at hand!

Ye saints, who here in patience

Your cross and sufferings bore, Shall live and reign forever

When sorrow is no more. Around the throne of glory

The Lamb ye shall behold, In triumph cast before him Your diadems of gold!

Palms of victory are there;

There, radiant garments are ; There stands the peaceful harvest, Beyond the reach of war. There, after stormy winter,

The flowers of earth arise, And from the grave's long slumber Shall meet again our eyes!

Our Hope and Expectation,

O Jesus! now appear;
Arise, thou Sun, so longed for,

O'er this benighted sphere!
With hearts and hands uplifted,
We plead, O Lord, to see
The day of earth's redemption,
That brings us unto thee!

1779.

THE CROSS.

'Tis my happiness below

Not to live without the cross; But the Saviour's power to know, Sanctifying every loss.

Trials must and will befall;

But with humble faith to see
Love inscribed upon them all, –
This is happiness to me.
Did I meet no trials here,

No chastisement by the way,
Might I not with reason fear

I should prove a castaway?

Trials make the promise sweet;
Trials give new life to prayer;
Bring me to my Saviour's feet,
Lay me low and keep me there.
WILLIAM COWPER.

CONSOLATION.

ALL are not taken! there are left behind Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring, And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind.

But if it were not so if I could find

No love in all the world for comforting,
Nor any path but hollowly did ring,
Where "dust to dust" the love from life dis-
joined -

And if before these sepulchres unmoving
I stood alone, (as some forsaken lamb
Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth)
Crying "Where are ye, O my loved and
loving?"..

I know a Voice would sound, “Daughter, I AM.
Can I suffice for HEAVEN, and not for earth?"
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK.

THE Shadow of the Rock!
Stay, pilgrim, stay!

Night treads upon the heels of day;
There is no other resting-place this way.
The Rock is near,

The well is clear;