« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
I CANNOT look above and see
Yon high-piled, pillowy mass
Of evening clouds, so swimmingly
In gold and purple pass,
And think not, Lord, how thou wast seen
On Israel's desert way,
Before them, in thy shadowy screen,
Pavilioned all the day!
Or, of those robes of gorgeous hue
Which the Redeemer wore,
When, ravished from his followers' view,
Aloft his flight he bore;
When lifted, as on mighty wing,
He curtained his ascent,
And, wrapt in clouds, went triumphing Above the firmament.
It is not death to die,
To leave this weary road,
And, midst the brotherhood on high, To be at home with God.
It is not death to close
The eye long dimmed by tears,
And wake in glorious repose,
To spend eternal years.
It is not death to bear
The wrench that sets us free
From dungeon-chain, to breathe the air Of boundless liberty.
It is not death to fling
Aside this sinful dust,
And rise on strong, exulting wing,
To live among the just.
Jesus, thou Prince of Life,
Thy chosen cannot die !
Like Thee, they conquer in the strife,
To reign with Thee on high.
GEORGE WASHINGTON BETHUNE
PARAPHRASE OF LUTHER'S HYMN
A MIGHTY fortress is our God,
A bulwark never failing;
Our helper he amid the flood
Of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe
Doth seek to work us woe;
His craft and power are great,
And, armed with cruel hate,
On earth is not his equal.
Did we in our own strength confide,
Our striving would be losing,
Were not the right man on our side,
The man of God's own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus, it is he,
Lord Sabaoth his name,
From age to age the same,
And he must win the battle.
And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us,
We will not fear, for God hath willed
His truth to triumph through us.
The Prince of Darkness grim, —
We tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure,
For lo! his doom is sure:
One little word shall fell him.
That word above all earthly powers,
No thanks to them, abideth;
The spirit and the gifts are ours
Through Him who with us sideth.
Let goods and kindred go,
This mortal life also;
The body they may kill,
God's truth abideth still,
His Kingdom is forever.
FREDERIC HENRY HEdge
DAY of wrath, that day of burning, Seer and Sibyl speak concerning, All the world to ashes turning.
Oh, what fear shall it engender,
When the Judge shall come in splendor,
Strict to mark and just to render !
Trumpet, scattering sounds of wonder,
Rending sepulchres asunder,
Shall resistless summons thunder.
All aghast then Death shall shiver,
And great Nature's frame shall quiver,
When the graves their dead deliver.
Volume, from which nothing 's blotted,
Evil done nor evil plotted,
Shall be brought and dooms allotted.
When shall sit the Judge unerring,
He'll unfold all here occurring,
Vengeance then no more deferring.
What shall I say, that time pending?
Ask what advocate 's befriending,
When the just man needs defending?
Dreadful King, all power possessing,
Saving freely those confessing,
Save thou me, O Fount of Blessing!
Think, O Jesus, for what reason
Thou didst bear earth's spite and treason,
Nor me lose in that dread season!
Seeking me Thy worn feet hasted, On the cross Thy soul death tasted: Let such travail not be wasted!
Righteous Judge of retribution!
Make me gift of absolution
Ere that day of execution!
Culprit-like, I plead, heart-broken,
On my cheek shame's crimson token:
Let the pardoning word be spoken !
Thou, who Mary gav'st remission,
Heard'st the dying Thief's petition,
Cheer'st with hope my lost condition.
Though my prayers be void of merit,
What is needful, Thou confer it,
Lest I endless fire inherit.
Be there, Lord, my place decided With Thy sheep, from goats divided, Kindly to Thy right hand guided!
When the accursed away are driven, To eternal burnings given,
Call me with the blessed to heaven!
I beseech Thee, prostrate lying, Heart as ashes, contrite, sighing, Care for me when I am dying!
Day of tears and late repentance,
Man shall rise to hear his sentence:
Him, the child of guilt and error,
Spare, Lord, in that hour of terror !
MILTON'S PRAYER OF PATIENCE
I AM old and blind!
Men point at me as smitten by God's
Afflicted and deserted of my kind,
Yet am I not cast down.
I am weak, yet strong;
I murmur not that I no longer see;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father Supreme ! to Thee.
IT came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold:
"Peace to the earth, good-will to men
From heaven's all-gracious King!"
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurled;
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world:
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on heavenly wing,
And ever o'er its Babel sounds
The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring:
O, hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!
And ye, beneath life's crushing load
Whose forms are bending low;
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow, Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing; O, rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing.
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song Which now the angels sing.
EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS
Ir lies around us like a cloud,
The world we do not see;
Yet the sweet closing of an eye
May bring us there to be.
Nor would I change my blissful lot,
When thus I am allowed to make
My heart a bankrupt for thy sake.
They tell me when the fleeting charm
Of novelty is o'er,
Thou 'lt turn away with careless brow
And think of me no more.
It may be so! enough for me
If sunny skies still smile o'er thee,
Or I can trace, when thou art far,
Thy pathway like a distant star.
EMMA CATHARINE EMBURY
Upon my heart-strings crushed and closedThy hate should all my love withstand.
Days seem like ages and, ere long,
Ön senseless ears the cry may fall;
Or, stilled by bitter shame and wrong,
The pleading voice may cease to call.
Come back! before the eyes grow dim
That keep but sight to see thee come,
Ere fail and falter hand and limb,
Whose strength but waits to fold thee
HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT
There are two paths for human feet, —
One bordered by a duty plain,
And one by phantoms cursed, yet sweet,
Bewildering heart and maddening brain;
The one will right and reason urge,
But thou must walk beside me there,
Or else I tread the dizzy verge,
And thou some guilt of loss must bear.
Come back, there is no cause on earth,
No word of shame, no deed of wrong— Can bury all of truth and worth,
And sunder bonds once firm and strong. There is no duty, heaven-imposed,
That, velvet-gloved - an iron band
"T IS said that absence conquers love! But, oh! believe it not;
I've tried, alas ! its power to prove,
But thou art not forgot.
Lady, though fate has bid us part,
Yet still thou art as dear,
As fixed in this devoted heart,
As when I clasped thee here.
I plunge into the busy crowd,
And smile to hear thy name;
And yet, as if I thought aloud,
They know me still the same;
And when the wine-cup passes round,
I toast some other fair,
But when I ask my heart the sound,
Thy name is echoed there.
And when some other name I learn,
And try to whisper love,
Still will my heart to thee return
Like the returning dove.
In vain! I never can forget,
And would not be forgot;
For I must bear the same regret,
Whate'er may be my lot.
E'en as the wounded bird will seek
Its favorite bower to die,
So, lady! I would hear thee speak,
And yield my parting sigh.
"T is said that absence conquers love!
But, oh! believe it not;
I've tried, alas! its power to prove,
But thou art not forgot.
FREDERICK WILLIAM THOMAS