Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub

If

а

The.angel kordą, and venishThe wock night It came apsin, with a great wahering light lind she's the names álom kore often that which

, And lo! Ben Atkem's name led all the rest

Leigh stunt

here on this bless Thanksging tight,
the raise To Thee ou gratiful boico;

.
for what Than daess, Lord, is righe
And this believing the reycnes.

bystalling

[ocr errors][merged small]

POEMS OF RELIGION.

MY GOD, I LOVE THEE.

My God, I love thee ! not because

I hope for heaven thereby ; Nor because those who love thee not

Must burn eternally.

Thou, O my Jesus, thou didst me

Upon the cross embrace ! For me didst bear the nails and spear,

And manifold disgrace.

For as thou dost impart thy grace,

The greater shall our glorie be.
The measure of our joyes is in this place,

The stuffe with thee.
Let me not languish, then, and spend

A life as barren to thy praise
As is the dust, to which that life doth tend,

But with delaies.
All things are busie ; only I

Neither bring hony with the bees, Nor flowres to make that, nor the husbandrie

To water these. I am no link of thy great chain,

But all my companie is a weed. Lord, place me in thy consort ; give one strain

To my poore reed.

And griefs and torments numberless,

And sweat of agony, Yea, death itself, — and all for one

That was thine enemy.

GEORGE HERBERT.

Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ,

Should I not love thee well ? Not for the hope of winning heaven,

Nor of escaping hell !
Not with the hope of gaining aught,

Not seeking a reward ;
But as thyself hast loved me,

O everlasting Lord !

THE NEW JERUSALEM.

E'en so I love thee, and will lore,

And in thy praise will sing, – Solely because thou art my God, And my eternal King. ST. FRANCIS XAVIER (Latin). Translation

of EDWARD CASWELL.

O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end, -

Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbor of God's saints !

O sweet and pleasant soil !
In thee no sorrow can be found,

Nor grief, nor care, nor toil.
No dimly cloud o'ershadows thee,

Nor gloom, nor darksome night ;
But every soul shines as the sun,

For God himself gives light. Thy walls are made of precious stone,

Thy bulwarks diamond-square,
Thy gates are all of orient pearl,

O God ! if I were there!
O my sweet home, Jerusalem !

Thy joys when shall I see ? -
The King sitting upon thy throne,

And thy felicity ?

EMPLOYMENT.

IF as a flowre doth spread and die,

Thou wouldst extend me to some good, Before I were by frost's extremitie

Nipt in the bud, The sweetnesse and the praise were thine ;

But the extension and the room Which in thy garland I should fill were mine

At thy great doom.

DARKNESS IS THINNING.

Thy gardens and thy goodly walks

Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets with pleasing sound

The flood of life doth flow ; And on the banks, on every side,

The trees of life do grow.

DARKNESS is thinning; shadows are retreating ;
Morning and light are coming in their beauty.
Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry,

God the Almighty !
So that our Master, having mercy on us,
May repel languor, may bestow salvation,
Granting us, Father, of thy loving kindness

Glory hereafter !
This of his mercy, ever-blesséd Godhead,
Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us,
Whom through the wide world celebrate forever

Blessing and glory!
ST. GREGORY THE GREAT (Latin). Translation

of J. M. NEALE.

These trees each month yield ripened fruit ;

Forevermore they spring,
And all the nations of the earth

To thee their honors bring.

Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place

Full sore I long to see ; O that my sorrows had an end,

That I might dwell in thee !

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me ?

Time posteth, O, how fast ! Unwelcome death makes haste; None can call back what's past,

Judgment delays not ; Though God bring in the light,

Sinners awake not, Because hell's out of sight,

They sin forsake not.

а

The highest honors that the world can boast

Are subjects far too low for my desire ;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,

But dying sparkles of thy living fire ;
The loudest flames that earth can kindle be

But nightly glow-worms if compared to thee. Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares ;

Wisdom but folly ; joy, disquiet, sadness ; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing

madness, Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be,

Nor have their being, when compared with thee. In having all things, and not thee, what have I ?

Not having thee, what have my labors got ? Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I ?

And having thee alone, what have I not ?
I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be
Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of
thee !

FRANCIS QUARLES.

Man walks in a vain show;
They know, yet will not know ;
Sit still when they should go,

But run for shadows,
While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
And crop the flowers that grow,

In Christ's sweet meadows. Life's better slept away

Than as they use it ; In sin and drunken play

Vain men abuse it.

RICHARD BAXTER.

THE BIRD LET LOOSE.

[blocks in formation]

a

ROBERT HERRICK.

Over the silver mountains

Is it to quit the dish Where spring the nectar fountains.

Of flesh, yet still There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,

To fill
And drink mine everlasting fill

The platter high with fish ?
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before,

Is it to fast an hour,
But after, it will thirst no more.

Or ragged to go, Then by that happy, blissful day,

Or show
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,

A downcast look, and sour?
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.

No! 't is a fast to dole
I'll take them first to quench their thirst,

Thy sheaf of wheat, And taste of nectar's suckets

And meat,
At those clear wells where sweetness dwells

Unto the hungry soul.
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we

It is to fast from strife,
Are filled with immortality,

From old debate Then the blest paths we'll travel,

And hate, -
Strewed with rubies thick as gravel,

To circumcise thy life.
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly bowers.

To show a heart grief-rent;
From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall,

To starve thy sin, Where no corrupted voices brawl ;

Not bin, -
No conscience molten into gold,

And that's to keep thy lent.
No forged accuser, bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the King's Attorney ;
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees ;

I WOULD I WERE AN EXCELLENT And when the grand twelve-million jury

DIVINE Of our sins, with direful fury, 'Gainst our souls black verdicts give,

I would I were an excellent divine Christ pleads his death, and then we live.

That had the Bible at my fingers' ends ; Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,

That men might hear out of this mouth of mine Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!

How God doth make his enemies his friends ; Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,

Rather than with a thundering and long prayer Not with a bribéd lawyer's palms.

Be led into presumption, or despair.
And this is mine eternal plea
To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea,

This would I be, and would none other be, That since my flesh must die so soon,

But a religious servant of my God; And want a head to dine next noon,

And know there is none other God but he, Just at the stroke when my veins start and And willingly to suffer mercy's rod, spread,

Joy in his grace, and live but in his love, Set on my soul an everlasting head :

And seek my bliss but in the world above. Then am I, like a palmer, fit To tread those blest paths which before I writ. And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer, Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, For all estates within the state of grace, Who oft doth think, must needs die well. That careful love might never know despair,

Nor servile fear might faithful love deface ; And this would I both day and night devise To make my humble spirit's exercise.

[ocr errors]

a

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

A TRUE LENT.

Is this a fast, - to keep

The larder lean,

And clean
From fat of veals and sheep!

And I would read the rules of sacred life ;

Persuade the troubled soul to patience ;
The husband care, and comfort to the wife,

To child and servant due obedience ;
Faith to the friend, and to the neighbor peace,
That love might live, and quarrels all might cease.

« VorigeDoorgaan »