Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

It was my guide, my light, my all;
It bade my dark forebodings cease,
And through the storm and danger's thrall
It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moored, my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever, and for evermore,

The Star-the Star of Bethlehem!

HYMN.

KIRKE WHITE.

IN

SORROW.

SAVIOUR, when in life's dark wild
Far from Thee my footsteps stray :
Lead, oh lead, my wandering spirit
Back into the narrow way:
Wean this heart from all that's earthly,

From each idol it has made;

From each flower of mortal beauty,

Flowers which bloom awhile, then fade.

Saviour, mighty Saviour, hear me,

Listen when I cry to Thee.

Raise this weary earth-bound spirit,
Lowly bending at Thy feet;
Wash it in the crimson Fountain
Issuing from Thy mercy-seat.
Thou hast seen the bitter anguish,
Thou hast marked the burning tear

Welling from its heart of sorrow

When none but Thou, O Christ, wert near.
Mighty Saviour, bend and hear me,
Raise this weary heart to Thee.

Wean it from its creature-idols,

Fix on Thee its hope and trust ;
Break each galling chain which binds it
To those kindred ties of dust.
Thou who raised the widow's lone one,
Thou who wept at Lazarus' grave,
Thou who seest our heart's deep anguish,
Thou who died our souls to save;
Immanuel, Jesus,- bend and hear me,
Listen from Thy throne on high.

In each hour of tribulation,
In our deep sad misery,

When the world frowns coldly on us,
Raise our breaking hearts to Thee.
When we see our idols shattered,
When we see them droop and die,
And the star of hope has perished
In our darkened, earthly sky;
In that trying hour be with us,
Mighty Saviour,-be Thou nigh.

MRS D'ARCY.

"HOW OLD ART THOU?"

COUNT not the days that have idly flown,
The years that were vainly spent ;

Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own
When thy spirit stands before the throne,
To account for the talents lent.

But number the hours redeemed from sin,
The moments employed for heaven ;—
Oh, few and evil thy days have been,
Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene,
For a nobler purpose given.

Will the shade go back on thy dial-plate?
Will thy sun stand still on his way?
Both hasten on; and thy spirit's fate
Rests on the point of life's little date ;-
Then live while 'tis called to-day.

Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page,

As they lessen, in value rise:

Oh! rouse thee and live; nor deem that man's age Stands in the length of his pilgrimage,

But in days that are truly wise.

THE SABBATH.

It was a pleasant morning, in the time
When the leaves fall, and the bright sun shone out
As when the morning stars first sang together,
So quietly and calmly fell his light

Upon a world at rest. There was no leaf
In motion, and the loud winds slept, and all
Was still. The labouring herd was grazing
Upon the hillside quietly, uncalled

By the harsh voice of man; and distant sound,
Save from the murmuring waterfall, came not
As usual on the ear. One hour stole on,
And then another of the morning, calm
And still as Eden ere the birth of man ;
And then broke in the Sabbath chime of bells,
And the old man and his descendants went
Together to the house of God. I joined
The well-apparelled crowd. The holy man
Rose solemnly, and breathed the prayer of faith,
And the grey saint just on the wing for heaven,
And the fair maid, and the bright-haired young man,
And child of curling locks, just taught to close
The lash of its blue eye the while, all knelt
In attitude of prayer ;-and then the hymn,
Sincere in its low melody, went up

To worship God.

The white-haired pastor rose
And looked upon his flock,-and with an eye
That told his interest, and voice that spoke
In tremulous accents eloquence like Paul's,
He lent Isaiah's fire to the truths

Of revelation, and persuasion came

Like gushing waters from his lips, till hearts
Unused to bend were softened, and the eye
Unwont to weep sent forth the willing tear.
I went my way, but as I went I felt

How well it was that the world-weary soul
Should have its times to set its burden down.

WILLIS.

ONE NOTE WRONG.

BLUE bends the sky above,
Blue runs the stream below-

Earth quiet as a dove;

Would that my heart were so!

Nor leaf nor shadow falls

On all the green hillside ;
Even to the cuckoo's calls
Echo but half replied.

Bird, blossom, branch, and stream,
All quiet as the air;
And, lying as in a dream,

Earth seemeth passing fair.

Oh! what a hymn divine

Breathes from this golden noon;

Only this heart of mine,

Is beating out of tune.

« VorigeDoorgaan »