A Library of Poetry and Song

THE SPIRIT-LAND.

FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand,
Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed;
Around us ever lies the enchanted land,
In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed;
In finding thee are all things round us found;
In losing thee are all things lost beside;
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound;
And to our eyes the vision is denied ;
We wander in the country far remote,
Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell;
Or on the records of past greatness dote,
And for a buried soul the living sell;
While on our path bewildered falls the night
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.
JONES VERY.

THERE IS A LAND OF PURE DELIGHT.

Within the brightness of thy face,

And our soul

In the scroll

Of life and blissfulness enroll,

HEAVEN.

BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies,
Beyond death's cloudy portal,

That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah! There is a land where beauty never dies,

JEREMY TAYLOR.

Where love becomes immortal;

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade,

Whose fields are ever vernal;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
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.

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.

But sometimes, when adown the western sky
A fiery sunset lingers,

Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly,
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.

O land unknown!

O land of love divine!

Father, all-wise, eternal!

O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine
Into those pastures vernal !

"ONLY WAITING."

ANONYMOUS.

COME, Brother, turn with me from pining
thought

And all the inward ills that sin has wrought;
Come, 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 sad,
And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press
Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness
More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear
The music of those waters running near;
And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream,

[A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing And thine eye gladden with the playing beam

now. He replied, "Only waiting."]

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.

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;

That now upon the water dances, now
Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.

Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell
The power that wrought so beautiful a spell?
In thine own bosom, Brother? Then as thine
Guard with a reverent fear this power divine.

And if, indeed, 't is not the outward state,
But temper of the soul by which we rate
Sadness or joy, even let thy bosom move
With noble thoughts and wake thee into love,
And let each feeling in thy breast be given
An honest aim, which, sanctified by Heaven,
And springing into act, new life imparts,
Till beats thy frame as with a thousand hearts.
Sin clouds the mind's clear vision,
Around the self-starved soul has spread a dearth.
The earth is full of life; the living Hand
Touched it with life; and all its forms expand
With principles of being made to suit

Man's varied powers and raise him from the brute.
And shall the earth of higher ends be full,
Earth which thou tread'st, and thy poor mind

be dull?

Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep?

Thou "living dead man," let thy spirit leap Forth to the day, and let the fresh air blow Through thy soul's shut-up mansion. Wouldst thou know

Something of what is life, shake off this death;
Have thy soul feel the universal breath

With which all nature's quick, and learn to be
Sharer in all that thou dost touch or see;
Break from thy body's grasp, thy spirit's trance;
Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse ;
Love, joy, even sorrow, yield thyself to all!
They make thy freedom, groveller, not thy thrall.
Knock off the shackles which thy spirit bind
To dust and sense, and set at large the mind!
Then move in sympathy with God's great whole,
And be like man at first, a LIVING SOUL.

RICHARD HENRY DANA.

SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL. SIT down, sad soul, and count The moments flying; Come, tell the sweet amount That 's lost by sighing! How many smiles? - a score? Then laugh, and count no more;

For day is dying!

Lie down, sad soul, and sleep,
And no more measure
The flight of time, nor weep

The loss of leisure;

But here, by this lone stream,
Lie down with us, and dream
Of starry treasure!

We dream; do thou the same;

We love, - forever;

We laugh, yet few we shame,

The gentle never.

Stay, then, till sorrow dies;
Then

hope and happy skies
Are thine forever!

'T were vain the ocean depths to sound,

Or pierce to either pole.

The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh: 'T is not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears
There is a life above,

Unmeasured by the flight of years ;

And all that life is love.

There is a death whose pang Outlasts the fleeting breath: O, what eternal horrors hang Around the second death!

GREENWOOD CEMETERY.

How calm they sleep beneath the shade
Who once were weary of the strife,
And bent, like us, beneath the load
Of human life!

The willow hangs with sheltering grace
And benediction o'er their sod,
And Nature, hushed, assures the soul
They rest in God.

O weary hearts, what rest is here,

From all that curses yonder town!
So deep the peace, I almost long
To lay me down.

For, O, it will be blest to sleep,

Nor dream, nor move, that silent night, Till wakened in immortal strength And heavenly light!

CRAMMOND KENNEDY.

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

NOTHING but leaves; the spirit grieves
Over a wasted life;

Sin committed while conscience slept,
Promises made but never kept,
Hatred, battle, and strife;
Nothing but leaves !

Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves

Of life's fair, ripened grain; Words, idle words, for earnest deeds; We sow our seeds, -lo! tares and weeds; We reap, with toil and pain, Nothing but leaves!

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

FATHER of all! in every age,

In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined

To know but this, that thou art good,
And that myself am blind;

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.

What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,
This, teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.

What blessings thy free bounty gives

Let me not cast away;

For God is paid when man receives,
To enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round:

Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land
On each I judge thy foe.

If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, O, teach my heart

To find that better way!

Save me alike from foolish pride, Or impious discontent,

At aught thy wisdom has denied,

Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me.

Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quickened by thy breath;
O, lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Through this day's life or death!

This day be bread and peace my lot;
All else beneath the sun,
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not,
And let thy will be done.

To thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies!
One chorus let all Being raise!
All Nature's incense rise!

ALEXANDER POPE.

WRESTLING JACOB.

FIRST PART.

COME, O thou Traveller unknown, Whom still I hold, but cannot see; My company before is gone,

And I am left alone with thee;
With thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell thee who I am;
My sin and misery declare;
Thyself hast called me by my name;
Look on thy hands, and read it there;

But who, I ask thee, who art thou?
Tell me thy name, and tell me now.
In vain thou strugglest to get free ;
I never will unloose my hold:
Art thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of thy love unfold;
Wrestling, I will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.

Wilt thou not yet to me reveal

Thy new, unutterable name? Tell me, I still beseech thee, tell;

To know it now resolved I am; Wrestling, I will not let thee go Till I thy name, thy nature know.

What though my shrinking flesh complain And murmur to contend so long,

I rise superior to my pain;

When I am weak, then am I strong! And when my all of strength shall fail, I shall with the God-man prevail.

SECOND PART.

YIELD to me now, for I am weak,

But confident in self-despair;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak ;

Be conquered by my instant prayer;
Speak, or thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if thy name be Love.

"T is love! 't is love! Thou diedst for me;
I hear thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee;
Pure, universal love thou art ;
To me, to all, thy bowels move;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.

My prayer hath power with God; the grace
Unspeakable I now receive;
Through faith I see thee face to face;

I see thee face to face and live!
In vain I have not wept and strove ;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.

I know thee, Saviour, who thou art,
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend;
Nor wilt thou with the night depart,

But stay and love me to the end;
Thy mercies never shall remove;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
The Sun of Righteousness on me

Hath rose, with healing in his wings; Withered my nature's strength; from thee My soul its life and succor brings; My help is all laid up above; Thy nature and thy name is Love.

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