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Yea, through life, death, through sorrow and | Despised with Jesus, sorrowful and lonely, through sinning,
Yet calmly looking upward in its strife.
Seeking no aid from any human creature,
FREDERIC W. H. MYERS.
And he will come in his own time and power THE CHRISTIAN CALLING.
To set his earnest-hearted children free:
Watch only through this dark and painful hour, The night is dark; behold, the shade was deeper And the bright morning yet will break for thee. In the old garden of Gethsemane, When that calm voice awoke the weary sleeper: "Couldst thou notwatch one houralone with me?"
THE SOUL'S CRY. O thou, so weary of thy self-denials !
“I cry unto Thee daily." — Ps. Ixxxvi. 3. And so impatient of thy little cross, Is it so hard to bear thy daily trials,
0, EVER from the deeps
Within my soul, oft as I muse alone, To count all earthly things a gainful loss ?
Comes forth a voice that pleads in tender tone; What if thou always suffer tribulation,
As when one long unblest And if thy Christian warfare never cease;
Sighs ever after rest;
Or as the wind perpetual murmuring keeps. The gaining of the quiet habitation Shall gather thee to everlasting peace.
I hear it when the day
Fades o'er the hills, or ’cross the shimmering sea ; But here we all must suffer, walking lonely
In the soft twilight, as is wont to be, The path that Jesus once himself hath gone :
Without my wish or will, Watch thou in patience through the dark hour
While all is hushed and still, only,
Like a sad, plaintive cry heard far away. This one dark hour, - before the eternal dawn.
Not even the noisy crowd, The ptive's oar may pause upon the galley,
That like some mighty torrent rushing down The soldier sleep beneath his plumèd crest, And Peace may fold her wing o'er hill and valley, But ever in my heart
Sweeps clamoring on, this cry of want can drown ; But thou, O Christian ! must not take thy rest.
Afresh the echoes start;
Each waking morn anew
I feel myself a child, helpless as when
I watched my mother's eye, Heed not the images forever thronging
As the slow hours went by, From out the foregone life thou liv’st no more ;
And from her glance my being took its hue. Faint-hearted mariner ! still art thou longing For the dim line of the receding shore.
I cannot shape my way
Where nameless perils ever may betide, Canst thou forget thy Christian supersciption,
O'er slippery steeps whereon my feet may slide ; “Behold, we count them happy which endure”?
Some mighty hand I crave, What treasure wouldst thou, in the land Egyptian, To hold and help and save, Repass the stormy water to secure ?
And guide me ever when my steps would stray. Poor, wandering soul! I know that thou art seeking There is but One, I know, Some easier way, as all have sought before, That all my hourly, endless wants can meet; To silence the reproachful inward speaking, Can shield from harm, recall my wandering feet; Some landward path unto an island shore. My God, thy hand can feed
And day by day can lead 0, that thy faithless soul, one great hour only,
Where the sweet streams of peace and safety flow. Would comprehend the Christian's perfect life;
Sears, idle tears
idle tears, I know not what they mean,
that are no more.
In looking and thinking
turned to the Earth, but she frowns a
they turned to the sea, and he smiled as of old: Sweeter was the peril of the breakers white and wild,
Sweeter than the land, with its bondage and gold!
To chasten and subdue. And I have felt The World is too much with us ; late and soon, of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime
A presence that disturbs me with the joy Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; of something far more deeply interfused, Little we see in nature that is ours ;
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
And the round ocean, and the living air, This sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
And the blue sky, and, in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit that impels The winds that will be howling at all hours
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers, All thinking things, all objects of all thought, For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
And rolls through all things. Therefore am I
still It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be A lover of the meadows, and the woods, A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
And mountains, and of all that we behold So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, From this green earth ; of all the mighty world
Haveglimpses that would make me less forlorn; Of eye and ear, both what they half create Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ;
And what perceive ; well pleased to recognize Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
In nature and the language of the sense
HEXAMETERS AND PENTAMETERS.
The bubbling brook doth leap when I come by,
for the spirit; And e'en the clouds and silent stars of heaven ; Nature is but a scroll; God's handwriting For he who with his Maker walks aright,
thereon. Shall be their lord as Adam was before ;
Ages ago, when man was pure, ere the flood overHis ear shall catch each sound with new delight, whelmed him, Each object wear the dress that then it wore; While in the image of God every soul yet lived, And he, as when erect in soul he stood,
Everything stood as a letter or word of a language Hear from his Father's lips that all is good.
familiar, JONES VERY. Telling of truths which now only the angels
Lost to man was the key of those sacred hieroTINTERN ABBEY.
· glyphics, I HAVE learned
Stolen away by sin, till Heaven restored it; To look on nature, not as in the hour
Now with infinite pains we here and there spell Of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes
out a letter, The still, sad music of humanity,
Here and there will the sense feebly shine Not harsh nor grating, though of ample power
through the dark.
he is prone,
When we perceive the light that breaks through | Press to one center still, the general good.
See dying vegetables life sustain,
All forms that perish other forms supply Yet is the meaning the same as when Adam lived (By turns we catch the vital breath, and die); sinless in Eden,
Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, Only long hidden it slept, and now again is They rise, they break, and to that sea return. revealed.
Nothing is foreign ; parts relate to whole; Man unconsciously uses figures of speech every One all-extending, all-preserving Soul moment,
Connects each being, greatest with the least; Little dreaming the cause why to such terms Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast;
All served, all serving ; nothing stands alone ; Little dreaming that everything here has its own The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown. correspondence
Has God, thou fool! worked solely for thy good,
For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn. And through our commonest speech illumine Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings ? the path of our thoughts.
Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. Thus doth the lordly sun shine forth a type of Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? God-head;
Loves of his own and raptures swell the note. Wisdom and love the beams that stream on a The bounding steed you pompously bestride darkened world.
Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. Thus do the sparkling waters flow, giving joy to Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain ? the desert,
The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. And the fountain of life opens itself to the Thine the full harvest of the golden year? thirst.
Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer : Thus doth the word of God distill like the rain The hog that plows not, nor obeys thy call, and the dew-drops ;
Lives on the labors of this lord of all. Thus doth the warm wind breathe like to the Know, Nature's children all divide her care ; spirit of God;
The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear. And the green grass and the flowers are signs of While man exclaims, “See all things for my use!” the regeneration.
“See man for mine!” replies a pampered goose: And just as short of reason he must fall
Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. O thou Spirit of Truth, visit our minds once
Grant that the powerful still the weak control; Give us to read in letters of light the language Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole :
Nature that tyrant checks; he only knows,
Say, will the falcon, stooping from above,
Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings ?
Man cares for all : to birds he gives his woods,
He saves from famine, from the savage saves ;
And, till he ends the being, makes it blest; See plastic nature working to this end,
Which sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain, The single atoms each to other tend,
Than favored man by touch ethereal slain. Attract, attracted to, the next in place,
The creature had his feast of life before ; Formed and impelled its neighbor to embrace. Thou too must perish when thy feast is o'er ! See matter next, with various life endued,
CHRISTOPHER P. CRANCH.
FROM "THE ESSAY ON MAN."