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If I ask him to receive me,
Will he say me nay? "Not till earth, and not till heaven
With sounds seraphic ring : Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?
Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is he sure to bless ?
Translation of JOHN MASON NEALE.
TO HEAVEN APPROACHED A SUFI
To heaven approached a Sufi Saint,
From groping in the darkness late, And, tapping timidly and faint,
Besought admission at God's gate. Said God, “Who seeks to enter here?"
“ 'T is I, dear Friend," the Saint replied, And trembling much with hope and fear.
“If it be thou, without abide."
O GOD! though sorrow be my fate,
For my heart's faith pursue me,
Thou dost anew imbue me ;
Thy father-love to show me.
When men to terrors leave me,
Shall man have power to grieve me,
Who never will deceive me?
Thou standest pitying by me,
of mine And if 't were thine :
What, then, though foes may try me, Though thorns be in my path concealed ? World, do thy worst ! God is my shield !
And will be ever nigh me.
THE MARTYRS' HYMN.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.
VITAL spark of heavenly Alame !
Flung to the heedless winds,
Or on the waters cast, The martyrs' ashes, watched,
Shall gathered be at last ; And from that scattered dust,
Around us and abroad, Shall spring a plenteous seed
Of witnesses for God.
Hark! they whisper ; angels say,
The Father hath received
Their latest living breath ;
Of victory in their death ;
And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim
From the German of MARTIN LUTHER
Translation of W. J. FOX.
Faithe of the fathers olde Obtained right witness, Which makes me verye bolde To fear no worldes distress.
I now rejoice in harte,
WHEN I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
My true account, lest he returning chide ;
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
Either man's work or his own gifts ; who best
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke,
More enemies now I have Than heeres upon my head ; Let them not me deprave, But fight thou in my steade.
SAID I NOT SO?
Thy God hath not denied thee all,
Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep. Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again : Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain.
Then once again
Lord, say Amen,
Sang as little children sing ;
Sang as sing the birds in June ; Fell the words like light leaves down
On the current of the tune, “Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee."
HEAVEN. O BEAUTEOUS God ! uncircumscribed treasure Of an eternal pleasure ! Thy throne is seated far Above the highest star, Where thou preparest a glorious place, Within the brightness of thy face, For every spirit To inherit That builds his hopes upon thy merit, And loves thee with a holy charity. What ravished heart, seraphic tongue, or eyes Clear as the morning rise, Can speak, or think, or see That bright eternity, Where the great King's transparent throne Is of an entire jasper stone ? There the eye O'the chrysolite, And a sky Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase, And above all thy holy face, Makes an eternal charity. When thou thy jewels up dost bind, that day Remember us, we pray, That where the beryl lies, And the crystal 'bove the skies, There thou mayest appoint us place Within the brightness of thy face, And our soul In the scroll Of life and blissfulness enroll, That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah !
“Let me hide myself in thee :"
Felt her soul no need to hide, Sweet the song as song could be,
And she had no thought beside ; All the words unheedingly
Fell from lips untouched by care, Dreaming not that they might be
On some other lips a prayer, “Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.” “Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
'T was a woinan sung them now, Pleadingly and prayerfully;
Every word her heart did know. Rose the song as storm-tossed bird
Beats with weary wing the air, Every note with sorrow stirred,
Every syllable a prayer, “Rock of ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee." “Rock of ages, cleft for me,"
Lips grown agèıl sing Trustingly and tenderly,
Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim “Let me hide myself in Thec.'
Trembling though the voice and low, Rose the sweet strain peacefully
Like a river in its flow; Sung as only they can sing
Who life's thorny path have passed ; Sung as only they can sing
Who behold the promised rest, “ Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee."
“ROCK OF AGES."
"Such hymns are never forgotten. They cling to us through our whole life. We carry them with us upon our journey. We sing them in the forest. The workman follows the plough with sacred songs. Children catch them, and singing only for the fu; it gives them now, are yet laying up for all their life food of the sweetest joy." — HENRY WARD BRECHER.
** Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
Thoughtlessly the maiden sung.
From her girlish, gleeful tonguo ;
“Rock of ages, cleft for me,”
Sung above a coffin lid ; Underneath, all restfully,
All life's joys and sorrows hid. Nevermore, O storm-tossed soul !
Nevermore from wind or tide, Nevermore from billow's roll,
Wilt thou need thyself to hide. Could the sightless, sunken eyes,
Closed beneath the soft gray hair, Could the mute and stiffened lips
Move again in pleading prayer, Still, aye still, the words would be,
Let me hide myself in Thee."
PROF. EDWARD H. RICE
(A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing
now. He replied, "Only waiting.")
FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand,
ONLY waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown, Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown ; Till the night of earth is faded
From the heart, once full of day ; Till the stars of heaven are breaking
Through the twilight soft and gray
Only waiting till the reapers
Have the last sheaf gathered home, For the summer time is faded,
And the autumn winds have come. Quickly, reapers ! gather quickly
The last ripe hours of my heart, For the bloom of life is withered,
And I hasten to depart.
BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies,
Beyond death's cloudy portal,
Where love becomes immortal;
Only waiting till the angels
Open wide the mystic gate, At whose feet I long have lingered,
Weary, poor, and desolate. Even now I hear the footsteps,
And their voices far away ; If they call me, I am waiting,
Only waiting to obey.
A land whose life is never dimmed by shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal ;
But blooms for aye eternal.
We may not know how sweet its balmy air,
How bright and fair its flowers ; We may not hear the songs that echo there,
Through those enchanted bowers.
Only waiting till the shadows
Are a little longer grown, Only waiting till the glimmer
Of the day's last beam is flown. Then from out the gathered darkness,
Holy, deathless stars shall rise, By whose light my soul shall gladly
Tread its pathway to the skies.
The city's shining towers we may not see
With our dim earthly vision, For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key That
opes the gates elysian.
FRANCIS LAUGHTON MACB.
But sometimes, when adown the western sky
A fiery sunset lingers,
Unlocked by unseen fingers.
And while they stand a moment half ajar,
Gleams from the inner glory Stream brightly through the azure vault afar,
And half reveal the story.
COME, Brother, turn with me from pining
thought And all the inward ills that sin has wrought ;
send abroad a love for all who live, And feel the deep content in turn they give. Kind wishes and good deeds, they make not
poor ; They 'll home again, full laden, to thy door ; The streams of love flow back where they begin, For springs of outward joys lie deep within.
Even let them flow, and make the places glad Where dwell thy fellow-men. Shouldst thou be
O land unknown! O land of love divine !
Father, all-wise, eternal ! 0, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine
Into those pastures vernal !
NANCY AMELIA WOODBURY PRIEST.
BRYAN WALLER PROCTER
And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, How many smiles ? - a score ? press
Then laugh, and count no more ;
For day is dying !
Lie down, sad soul, and sleep,
And no more measure And thine eye gladden with the playing beam
The flight of time, nor weep That now upon the water dances, now
The loss of leisure; Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.
But here, by this lone stream,
Of starry treasure !
We dream. : do thou the same ;
We love, — forever ; But temper of the soul by which we rate
We laugh, yet few we shame,
The gentle never.
Theu — hope and happy skies
Are thine forever!
TELL ME, YE WINGÈD WINDS. Touched it with life ; and all its forms expand With principles of being made to suit
Tell me, ye winged winds, Man's varied powers and raise him froin the
That round my pathway roar, brute.
Do ye not know some spot And shall the earth of higher ends be full,
Where mortals weep no more ? Earth which thou tread'st, – and thy poor mind
Some lone and pleasant dell, be dull ?
Some valley in the west, Thou talk of life, with hall thy soul asleep?
Where, free from toil and pain, Thon “living dead man," let thy spirit leap
The weary soul may rest ? Forth to the day, and let the fresh air blow
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, Through thy soul's shut-up mansion. Wouldst And sighed for pity as it answered, — "No."
thou know Something of what is life, shake off this death ; Tell me, thou mighty deep, Have thy soul feel the universal breath
Whose billows round me play, With which all nature's quick, and learn to be
Know'st thou some favored spot, Sharer in all that thou dost touch or see ;
Some island far away, Break from thy body's grasp, thy spirit's trance ;
Where weary man may find Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse ;
The bliss for which he sighs, Love, joy, even sorrow, – yield thyself to all !
Where sorrow never lives, They make thy freedom, groveller, not thy thrall. And friendship never dies? Knock off the shackles which thy spirit bind The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, To dust and sense, and set at large the mind ! Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer, Then move in sympathy with God's great whole,
"No." And be like man at first, a living soul.
And thou, serenest moon,
That, with such lovely face,
Asleep in night's embrace ;
Tell me, in all thy round
Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man
May find a happier lot ?
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in vet,
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, -"Na
RICHARD HENRY DANA.