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!
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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