Long hours since the city rocked and sung
Itself to slumber: only the stars swung
Aloft their torches in the midnight skies
With watchful eyes.
Itself to slumber: only the stars swung
Aloft their torches in the midnight skies
With watchful eyes.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v28 - Songs, Hymns, Lyrics
16874 (#574) ##########################################
16874
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“To you, in David's town, this day
Is born of David's line
The Savior who is Christ the Lord;
And this shall be the sign:
“The heavenly babe you there shall find
To human view displayed,
All meanly wrapt in swathing-bands,
And in a manger laid. ”
Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith
Appeared a shining throng
Of angels, praising God, and thus
Addressed their joyful song:
“All glory be to God on high,
And to the earth be peace;
Good-will henceforth from heaven to men
Bogin, and never cease! »
NAHUM TATE,
TRYSTE NOEL
THE
HE Ox he openeth wide the Doore
And from the Snowe he calls her inne,
And he hath seen her smile therefore,
Our Ladye without Sinne.
Now soone from Sleepe
A Starre shall leap,
And soone arrive both King and Hinde;
Amen, Amen :
But oh, the place co'd I but finde!
The Ox hath husht his voyce and bent
Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow,
And on his lovelie Neck, forspent,
The Blessed lays her Browe.
Around her feet
Full Warme and Sweete
His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell;
Amen, Amen:
But sore am I with Vaine Travel!
The Ox is host in Juda's stall,
And Host of more than onelie one,
## p. 16875 (#575) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16875
For close she gathereth withal
Our Lorde her littel Sonne.
Glad Hinde and King
Their Gyfte may bring,
But wo'd to-night my Teares were there,
Amen, Amen:
Between her Bosom and His hayre!
LOUISE I MOGEN GUINEY.
SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANI'S MOTHER
1
HAD not seen my son's dear face
(He chose the cloister by God's grace)
Since it had come to full flower-time.
I hardly guessed, at its perfect prime,
That folded flower of his dear face.
Mine eyes were veiled by mists of tears,
When on a day in many years
One of his Order came. I thrilled,
Facing, I thought, that face fulfilled.
I doubted, for my mists of tears.
His blessing be with me forever!
My hope and doubt were hard to sever;-
That altered face, those holy weeds.
I filled his wallet and kissed his beads,
And lost his echoing feet forever.
If to my son my alms were given
I know not, and I wait for Heaven.
He did not plead for child of mine,
But for another Child divine,
And unto Him it was surely given.
There is One alone who cannot change;
Dreams are we, shadows, visions strange:
And all I give is given to One.
I might mistake my dearest son,
But never the Son who cannot change.
ALICE MEYNELL.
## p. 16876 (#576) ##########################################
16876
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
JESUS THE CARPENTER
"I
«SN'T this Joseph's son? ” — ay, it is he,
Joseph the carpenter- same trade as me;-
I thought as I'd find it — I knew it was here -
But my sight's getting queer.
I don't know right where as his shed must ha' stood,
But often, as I've been a-planing my wood,
I've took off my hat, just with thinking of he
At the same work as me.
He warn't that set up that he couldn't stoop down
And work in the country for folks in the town;
And I'll warrant he felt a bit pride, like I've done,
At a good job begun.
The parson he knows that I'll not make too free;
But on Sunday I feels as pleased as can be,
When I wears my clean smock, and sits in a pew,
And has taught a few.
I think of as how not the parson hissen,
As is teacher and father and shepherd o' men,-
Not he knows as much of the Lord in that shed,
Where he earned his own bread.
And when I goes home to my missus, says she,
“Are ye wanting your key ? ”
For she knows my queer ways, and my love for the shed
(We've been forty years wed).
So I comes right away by mysen, with the book,
And I turns the old pages and has a good look
For the text as I've found, as tells me as he
Were the same trade as me.
Why don't I mark it? Ah, many say so;
But I think I'd as lief, with your leaves, let it go:
It do seem that nice when I fall on it sudden-
Unexpected, you know!
CATHERINE C. LIDDELL (C. C. FRASER-TYTLER).
## p. 16877 (#577) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16877
THE GUEST
YET
Et if his Majesty, our sovereign lord,
Should of his own accord
Friendly himself invite,
And say, “I'll be your guest to-morrow night,”
How should we stir ourselves, call and command
All hands to work! Let no man idle stand.
Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall;
See they be fitted all:
Let there be room to eat,
And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.
« Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dais o'er the head,
The cushions in the chairs,
And all the candles lighted on the stairs ?
Perfume the chambers; and in any case,
Let each man give attendance in his place. ”
Thus if the king were coming would we do:
And 'twere good reason too;
For 'tis a duteous thing
To show all honor to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labor lost.
But at the coming of the King of Heaven
All's set at six and seven:
We wallow in our sin;
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain him always like a stranger,
And as at first still lodge him at the manger.
From Christ Church MS. To it music was written by Thomas Ford.
CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE
H®
ow happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
## p. 16878 (#578) ##########################################
16878
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Nor vice; hath ever understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of State, but rules of good :
Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains, the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;-
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
DEATH THE LEVELER
T"
HE glories of our blood and state
re shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against fate:
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow.
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
## p. 16879 (#579) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16879
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds;
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
JAMES SHIRLEY.
NIGHT UNTO NIGHT SHOWETH FORTH KNOWLEDGE
W***
HEN I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear;
My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward fies,
The almighty mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character,
Removed far from our human sight,
But if we steadfast look,
We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.
It tells the conqueror
That far-stretched power
Which his proud dangers traffic for,
Is but the triumph of an hour;
That from the farthest north
Some nation may
Yet undiscovered issue forth,
And o'er his new-got conquest sway: -
Some nation yet shut in
With hills of ice
## p. 16880 (#580) ##########################################
16880
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice;
And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have:
For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.
Thus those celestial fires,
Though seeming mute,
The fallacy of our desires
And all the pride of life, confute.
For they have watched since first
The world had birth;
And found sin in itself accursed,
And nothing permanent on earth.
William HABINGTON.
IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO
OLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!
Though thou be black as night,
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!
Fº
Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth!
Though here thou livest disgraced,
And she in heaven is placed,
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth!
Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,
That so have scorched thee,
As thou still black must be
Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow her while yet her glory shineth!
There comes a luckless night
That will dim all her light;—
And this the black unhappy shadow divineth.
Follow still, since so thy fates ordained!
The sun must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,-
The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained.
T. CAMPION.
## p. 16881 (#581) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16881
I LOVE TO STEAL AWHILE AWAY
1
LOVE to steal awhile away
From every cumbering care,
And spend the hours of setting day
In humble, grateful prayer.
I love in solitude to shed
The penitential tear,
And all his promises to plead
Where none but God can hear.
I love to think on mercies past,
And future good implore,
And all my cares and sorrow cast
On him whom I adore.
I love by faith to take a view
Of brighter scenes in heaven:
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.
Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.
PHEBE HINSDALE BROWN.
TRUST IN FAITH
O
WORLD, thou choosest not the better part!
It is not wisdom to be only wise,
And on the inward vision close the eyes,
But it is wisdom to believe the heart.
Columbus found a world, and had no chart,
Save one that faith deciphered in the skies;
To trust the soul's invincible surmise
Was all his science and his only art.
Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine
That lights the pathway but one step ahead,
Across a void of mystery and dread.
Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine,
By which alone the mortal heart is led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine.
GEORGE SANTAYANA.
XXVIII-1056
## p. 16882 (#582) ##########################################
16882
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS
OM
NWARD, Christian soldiers,
Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus
Going on before.
Christ, the royal master,
Leads against the foe;
Forward into battle,
See, his banners go.
Like a mighty army
Moves the Church of God;
Brothers, we are treading
Where the saints have trod:
We are not divided, -
All one body we;
One in hope and doctrine,
One in charity.
Crowns and thrones may perish,
Kingdoms rise and wane,
But the Church of Jesus
Constant will remain;
Gates of hell can never
'Gainst that Church prevail:
We have Christ's own promise,
And that cannot fail.
Onward, then, ye people :
Join our happy throng:
Blend with ours your voices,
In triumphant song -
Glory, laud, and honor
Unto Christ the King.
This through countless ages
Men and angels sing.
SABINE BARING-GOULD.
A PRAYER FOR UNITY
E"
TERNAL Ruler of the ceaseless round
Of circling planets singing on their way;
Guide of the nations from the night profound
Into the glory of the perfect day;
## p. 16883 (#583) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16883
Rule in our hearts that we may ever be
Guided and strengthened and upheld by thee.
We are of thee, the children of thy love,
The brothers of thy well-beloved Son:
Descend, O Holy Spirit! like a dove,
Into our hearts, that we may be as one,-
As one with thee, to whom we ever tend;
As one with Him, our Brother and our Friend.
We would be one in hatred of all wrong,
One in our love of all things sweet and fair,
One with the joy that breaketh into song,
One with the grief that trembles into prayer,
One in the power that makes thy children free
To follow truth, and thus to follow thee.
Oh! clothe us with thy heavenly armor, Lord, —
Thy trusty shield, thy sword of love divine.
Our inspiration be thy constant word;
We ask no victories that are not thine.
Give or withhold, let pain or pleasure be:
Enough to know that we are serving thee.
John WHITE CHADWICK.
THE STARRY HOST
THE
He countless stars, which to our human eye
Are fixed and steadfast, each in proper place,
Forever bound to changeless points in space,
Rush with our sun and planets through the sky,
And like a flock of birds still onward fy;
Returning never whence began their race,
They speed their ceaseless way with gleaming face
As though God bade them win Infinity.
Ah whither, whither is their forward flight
Through endless time and limitless expanse ?
What power with unimaginable might
First hurled them forth to spin in tireless dance ?
What beauty lures them on through primal night,
So that for them to be is to advance ?
JOHN LANCASTER SPALDING.
## p. 16884 (#584) ##########################################
16884
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
UNIVERSAL WORSHIP
O
THOU, to whom in ancient time
The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung;
Whom kings adored in songs sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue:
Not now on Zion's height alone
Thy favored worshipers may dwell,
Nor where at sultry noon thy Son
Sat weary, by the patriarch's well:
From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,
The incense of the heart, may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.
To thee shall age with snowy hair,
And strength and beauty, bend the knee;
And childhood lisp, with reverent air,
Its praises and its prayers to thee.
O thou, to whom in ancient time
The lyre of prophet-bards was strung,-
To thee at last in every clime
Shall temples rise, and praise be sung.
JOHN PIERPONT.
THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH
W
HERE ancient forests round us spread,
Where bends the cataract's ocean-fall,
On the lone mountain's silent head,
There are thy temples, God of all!
Beneath the dark-blue midnight arch,
Whence myriad suns pour down their rays,
Where planets trace their ceaseless march,
Father! we worship as we gaze.
The tombs thy altars are; for there,
When earthly loves and hopes have Aed,
To thee ascends the spirit's prayer,
Thou God of the immortal dead!
All space is holy; for all space
Is filled by thee: but human thought
## p. 16885 (#585) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16885
Burns clearer in some chosen place,
Where thy own words of love are taught.
Here be they taught; and may we know
That faith thy servants knew of old,
Which onward bears through weal and woe,
Till Death the gates of heaven unfold.
Nor we alone: may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where
And raise to thee still holier prayers.
do now,
ANDREWS NORTON.
THE OLD CHURCH
C"
LOSE to the road it stood among the trees,
The old, bare church, with windows small and high,
And open doors that gave, on meeting-day,
A welcome to the careless passer-by.
Its straight, uncushioned seats, how hard they seemed !
What penance-doing form they always wore
To little heads that could not reach the text,
And little feet that could not reach the floor.
What wonder that we hailed with strong delight
The buzzing wasp, slow sailing down the aisle,
Or, sunk in sin, beguiled the constant fly
From weary heads, to make our neighbors smile.
How softly from the church-yard came the breeze
That stirred the cedar boughs with scented wings,
And gently fanned the sleeper's heated brow
Or Auttered Grandma Barlow's bonnet strings.
With half-shut eyes, across the pulpit bent,
The preacher droned in soothing tones about
Some theme, that like the narrow windows high,
Took in the sky but left terrestrials out.
Good, worthy man, his work on earth is done:
His place is lost, the old church passed away;
And with them, when they went, there must have gone
That sweet, bright calm, my childhood's Sabbath day.
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSON.
## p. 16886 (#586) ##########################################
16886
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE WINGED WORSHIPERS
To Two SWALLOWS IN A CHURCH
AY, guiltless pair!
What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.
G
Why perch ye here,
Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear
The God ye never could offend?
Ye never knew
The crimes for which we come to weep;
Penance is not for you,
Blest wanderers of the upper deep!
To you 'tis given
To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays;
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.
Then spread each wing,
Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing
In yon blue dome not reared with hands;
Or, if ye stay
To note the consecrated hour,
Teach me the airy way,
And let me try your envied power!
Above the crowd
On upward wings could I but fly,
I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.
'Twere heaven indeed,
Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On Nature's charms to feed,
And Nature's own great God adore.
CHARLES SPRAGUE.
## p. 16887 (#587) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16887
THE CIRCUIT PREACHER
H"
is thin wife's cheek grows pinched and pale with anxiousness
intense;
He sees the brethren's prayerful eyes o'er all the conference;
He hears the bishop slowly call the long appointment” rolls,
Where in his vineyard God would place these gatherers of souls.
(
>
Apart, austere, the knot of grim presiding elders sit:
He wonders if some city charge may not for him have writ?
Certes! could they his sermon hear on Paul and Luke awreck,
Then had his talent ne'er been hid on Annomessix Neck!
Poor rugged heart, be still a pause, and you, worn wife, be meek!
Two years of banishment they read far down the Chesapeake!
Though Brother Bates, less eloquent, by Wilmington is wooed,
The Lord that counts the sparrow's fall shall feed his little brood.
«Cheer up, my girl! here Brother Riggs our circuit knows 'twill
please :
He raised three hundred dollars there, besides the marriage fees.
What! tears from us who preached the word these thirty years or
SO -
Two years on barren Chincoteague, and two in Tuckahoe ?
“The schools are good, the brethren say, and our church holds the
wheel:
The Presbyterians lost their house; the Baptists lost their zeal.
The parsonage is clean and dry; the town has friendly folk,-
Not half so dull as Murderkill, nor proud like Pocomoke.
“Oh, thy just will, our Lord, be done! though these eight seasons
more
We see our ague-crippled boys pine on the Eastern shore,
While we, thy stewards, journey out our dedicated years
Midst foresters of Nanticoke or heathen of Tangiers !
“Yea! some must serve on God's frontiers, and I shall fail perforce
To sow upon some better ground my most select discourse :
At Sassafras or Smyrna preach my argument on Drink,'
My series on the Pentateuch at Appoquinimink.
«Gray am I, brethren, in the work, though tough to bear my part:
It is these drooping little ones that sometimes wring my heart,
And cheat me with the vain conceit the cleverness is mine
To fill the churches of the Elk, and pass the Brandywine.
## p. 16888 (#588) ##########################################
16888
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
« These hairs were brown when, full of hope, ent’ring these holy
lists,
Proud of my order as a knight, — the shouting Methodists,-
I made the pine woods ring with hymns, with prayer the night-
winds shook,
And preached from Assawaman Light far north as Bombay Hook.
“My nag was gray, my gig was new fast went the sandy miles;
The eldest trustees gave me praise, the fairest sisters smiles;
Still I recall how Elder Smith of Worten Heights averred
My Apostolic Parallels the best he ever heard.
«All winter long I rode the snows, rejoicing on my way;
At midnight our revival hymns rolled o'er the sobbing bay;
Three Sabbath sermons, every week, should tire a man of brass-
And still our fervent membership must have their extra class!
(
"Aggressive with the zeal of youth, in many a warm requite
I terrified Immersionists, and scourged the Millerite;
But larger, tenderer charities such vain debates supplant,
When the dear wife, saved by my zeal, loved the Itinerant.
“No cooing dove, of storms afeard, she shared my life's distress -
A singing Miriam, alway, in God's poor wilderness.
The wretched at her footstep smiled, the frivolous were still:
A bright path marked her pilgrimage, from Blackbird to Snowhill.
"A new face in the parsonage, at church a double pride! -
Like the Madonna and her babe they filled the Amen side):
Crouched at my feet in the old gig, my boy, so fair and frank,
Naswongo's darkest marshes cheered, and sluices of Choptank.
“My cloth drew close; too fruitful love my fruitless life outran:
The townfolk marveled, when we moved, at such a caravan!
I wonder not my lads grew wild, when, bright, without the door
Spread the ripe, luring, wanton world — and we, within, so poor!
"For, down the silent cypress aisles came shapes even me to scout,
Mocking the lean flanks of my mare, my boy's patched roundabout,
And saying: 'Have these starveling boors, thy congregation, souls,
That on their dull heads Heaven and thou pour forth such living
coals? )
« Then prayer brought hopes, half secular, like seers by Endor's
witch:
Beyond our barren Maryland God's folks were wise and rich;
## p. 16889 (#589) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16889
Where climbing spires and easy pews showed how the preacher
thrived,
And all old brethren paid their rents, and many young ones wived !
«I saw the ships Henlopen pass with chaplains fat and sleek;
From Bishopshead with fancy's sails I crossed the Chesapeake;
In velvet pulpits of the North said my best sermons o'er -
And that on Paul to Patmos driven, drew tears in Baltimore.
“Well! well! my brethren, it is true we should not preach for
pelf;
(I would my sermon on St. Paul the bishop heard himself! )
But this crushed wife — these boys — these hairs! they cut me to
the core;
Is it not hard, year after year, to ride the Eastern Shore ?
“Next year? Yes, yes, I thank you much!
Then my reward
may fall!
(That is a downright fair discourse on Patmos and St. Paul! )
So, Brother Riggs, once more my voice shall ring in the old lists.
Cheer up, sick heart, who would not die among these Methodists ? ”
GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND.
SACRIFICE
FASTING
Lent
'T' uplift the curtain with a weary hand
,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
Calm peace is frighted with my mood to-night,
Nor visits my dull chamber with her light,
To guide my senses into her sweet rest
And leave me blest.
Long hours since the city rocked and sung
Itself to slumber: only the stars swung
Aloft their torches in the midnight skies
With watchful eyes.
No sound awakes; I, even, breathe no sigh,
Nor hear a single footstep passing by;
## p. 16890 (#590) ##########################################
16890
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Yet I am not alone, for now I feel
A presence steal
Within my chamber walls: I turn to see
The sweetest guest that courts humanity;
With subtle, slow enchantment draws she near,
And Sleep is here.
What care I for the olive branch of Peace ?
Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release, -
Nepenthes that alone her mystic hand
Can understand.
And so she bends, this welcome sorceress,
To crown my fasting with her light caress.
Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss
Of her warm kiss.
But still my duty lies in self-denial;
I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial
Will reawaken all my depth of pain.
So once again
I lift the curtain with a weary hand:
With more than sorrow, silently I stand,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
«Go, Sleep,” I say, before the darkness die,
To one who needs you even more than I;
For I can bear my part alone, but he
Has need of thee.
“ His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief,
His heart more tired still, with all its grief;
His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim -
Go thou to him.
« When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings,
And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings
That in his soul with fret and fever burn,
To me return. ”
She goes.
The air within the quiet street
Reverberates to the passing of her feet;
I watch her take her passage through the gloom
To your dear home.
## p. 16891 (#591) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16891
Beloved, would you knew how sweet to me
Is this denial, and how fervently
I pray that Sleep may lift you to her breast,
And give you rest -
A privilege that she alone can claim.
Would that my heart could comfort you the same;
But in the censer Sleep is swinging high,
All sorrow's die.
She comes not back, yet all my miseries
Wane at the thought of your calm sleeping eyes -
Wane, as I hear the early matin bell
The dawn foretell.
And so, dear heart, still silently I stand,
Uplift the curtain with a weary hand;
The long, long night has bitter been and lone,
But now 'tis gone.
Dawn lights her candles in the East once more,
And darkness flees her chariot before;
The Lenten morning breaks with holy ray,
And it is day!
BRIER
Good Friday
B
ECAUSE, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.
Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you alk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.
Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now:
That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.
E. PAULINE JOHNSON (“Tekahionwake”).
## p. 16892 (#592) ##########################################
16892
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
ART THOU WEARY?
AKT
RT thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distressed ?
“Come to me,” saith One, «and coming,
Be at rest. ”
Hath he marks to lead me to him,
If he be my Guide ?
“In his feet and hands are wound-prints,
And his side. "
Is there diadem as Monarch,
That his brow adorns ?
« Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns. ”
If I find him, if I follow
What his guerdon here?
“Many a sorrow, many a labor,
Many a tear. »
If I still hold closely to him,
What hath be at last ?
“Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,
Jordan passed. ”
If I ask him to receive me,
Will he say me nay?
“Not till earth, and not till heaven,
Pass away. ”
Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is he sure to bless ?
«Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
Answer, Yes. ”
ST. STEPHEN THE SABAITE.
Translation of John Mason Neale.
THE GUEST
[Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and
open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him; and he with me. ]
PEECHLESS Sorrow sat with me;
I was sighing wearily.
Lamp and fire were out; the rain
Wildly beat the window-pane.
S"
## p. 16893 (#593) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16893
In the dark we heard a knock,
And a hand was on the lock:
One in waiting spake to me,
Saying sweetly,
"I am come to sup with thee ! »
All my room was dark and damp:
“Sorrow,” said I, “trim the lamp;
Light the fire, and cheer thy face;
Set the guest-chair in its place. ”
And again I heard the knock;
In the dark I found the lock:-
“Enter! I have turned the key!
Enter, Stranger,
Who art come to sup with me! ”
Opening wide the door He came,
But I could not speak his name;
In the guest-chair took his place,
But I could not see his face!
When my cheerful fire was beaming,
When my little lamp was gleaming,
And the feast was spread for three,
Lo! my Master
Was the Guest that supped with me!
HARRIET MCEWEN KIMBALL.
I HOLD STILL
PR
Ain's furnace heat within me quivers,
God's breath upon the flame doth blow,
And all my heart in anguish shivers,
And trembles at the fiery glow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And in his hottest fire hold still.
He comes and lays my heart, all heated,
On the hard anvil, minded so
Into his own fair shape to beat it
With his great hammer, blow on blow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And at his heaviest blows hold still.
## p. 16894 (#594) ##########################################
16894
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
He takes my softened heart and beats it, -
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it,
And lets it cool, and makes it glow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And, in his mighty hand, hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be;
Its end may come, and will, to-morrow,
When God has done his work in me:
So I say, trusting, As God will!
And, trusting to the end, hold still.
He kindles for my profit purely
Affliction's glowing fiery brand,
And all his heaviest blows are surely
Inflicted by a Master-hand:
So I say, praying, As God will!
And hope in him, and suffer still.
Julius STURM (German).
WISHES AND PRAYERS
0
UR wishes and our prayers are not
Always the same;
Alas! we often wish for what
We dare not name.
We strive to pray with bitter tears
For what we should,
But sadder than all else appears
The prayed-for good.
Lord! pardon me if I deplore
My granted prayer:
Lord, what thou taught'st me to pray for,
Teach me to bear.
MARGARET DELAND.
## p. 16895 (#595) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16895
MILTON'S PRAYER OF PATIENCE
I
AM old and blind!
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown,
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.
All-merciful One!
When men are furthest, then art thou most near;
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Thy glorious face
Is leaning toward me; and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place, -
And there is no more night.
On my bended knee
I recognize thy purpose clearly shown:
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see
Thyself - thyself alone.
I have naught to fear:
This darkness is the shadow of thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred; here
Can come no evil thing.
Oh, I seem to stand
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been,
Wrapped in that radiance from the sinless land
Which eye hath never seen!
Visions come and go:
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.
It is nothing now,
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow,
That earth in darkness lies.
## p. 16896 (#596) ##########################################
16896
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
In a purer clime
My being fills with rapture,- waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit,- strains sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now a lyre!
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine:
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.
ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL.
THE VOYAGE
HICHEVER way the wind doth blow,
Some heart is glad to have it so;
Then blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.
W*
My little craft sails not alone:
A thousand feets from every zone
Are out upon a thousand seas;
And what for me were favoring breeze
Might dash another, with the shock
Of doom, upon some hidden rock.
And so I do not dare to pray
For winds to waft me on my way,
But leave it to a Higher Will
To stay or speed me; trusting still
That all is well, and sure that He
Who launched my bark will sail with me
Through storm and calm, and will not fail,
Whatever breezes may prevail,
To land me, every peril past,
Within his sheltering heaven at last.
Then, whatsoever wind doth blow,
My heart is glad to have it so;
And blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.
CAROLINE ATHERTON MASON.
## p. 16897 (#597) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16897
THE WILL OF GOD
1
WORSHIP thee, sweet will of God!
And all thy ways adore;
And every day I live, I seem
To love thee more and more.
Thou wert the end, the blessed rule,
Of our Savior's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of his heart
Those three-and-thirty years.
And he hath breathed into my soul
A special love of thee -
A love to lose my will in his,
And by that loss be free.
He always wins who sides with God;
To him no chance is lost:
God's will is sweetest to him when
It triumphs at his cost.
When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,
I do the little I can do,
And leave the rest to thee.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
NOT MY WILL, BUT THINE
TAK
AKE thou the heart I cannot give;
Take that which is thine own.
To give, to take, to will, to do,
Is thine, and thine alone.
Yet, leaning on th' upholding arm,
I trust, but cannot see;
Help me, as of myself, to stretch
My helpless hands to thee.
And when thon hast received thine own,
Oh, keep it, Lord, I pray;
And save me from the wayward will
That seeks a wider way.
XXVIII-1057
## p. 16898 (#598) ##########################################
16898
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
If ever, before adverse winds,
Between the cloud and sea,
I- at the mercy of my heart -
Am drifting far from thee;
Light of all tempted souls, be mine,
Till, sea and desert passed,
Safe in thy circling love I find
My anchorage at last!
M. A. L.
THE THINGS I MISS
A
N EASY thing, O Power Divine,
To thank thee for these gifts of thine!
For summer's sunshine, winter's snow,
For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow.
But when shall I attain to this, -
To thank thee for the things I miss ?
For all young Fancy's early gleams,
The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams,
Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known
Through others' fortunes, not my own,
And blessings seen that are not given,
And never will be, this side heaven.
Had I too shared the joys I see,
Would there have been a heaven for me?
Could I have felt thy presence near,
Had I possessed what I held dear?
My deepest fortune, highest bliss,
Have grown perchance from things I miss.
Sometimes there comes an hour of calm ;
Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm;
A Power that works above my will
Still leads me onward, upward still:
And then my heart attains to this, -
To thank thee for the things I miss.
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
## p. 16899 (#599) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16899
«THOUGH NAUGHT THEY MAY TO OTHERS BE »
I
F in these thoughts of mine that now assuage
The tedium of the toilsome life I live,
The few who chance to notice should perceive
Nothing their lasting interest to engage,
And quickly cease to turn the farther page, -
It were a shameful thing if I should grieve.
For if kind Destiny has chosen to give
To other minds, in many a clime and age,
Days brighter than my hours, should I repine ?
And what if by an over-hasty glance
Some import be not heeded, or, perchance,
Too dim a light upon the pages shine ?
Would I be wronged, even though the wealth I own,
And not the less enjoy, were all unknown?
GEORGE MCKNIGHT.
THE ABBÉ'S DREAM
T"
HE Abbé Michael dreamed one night
That heaven was open to his sight;
And first among the radiant throng
Which filled the streets with praise and song,
He saw a man whose reckless. might
Had seamed his earthly life with wrong.
The Abbé saw not streets of gold,
Or splendid mansions manifold,
Or sea of glass, or jewels rare,
Or pearly gates beyond compare,
Or hosts of angels richly stoled;
He only saw this sinner there!
The hymns of triumph reached his ears,
But brought no solace for his tears;
Peace from his jealous soul had flown:
“My life is spent for God alone,”
He cried; and yet this man appears
Among the nearest to the throne. ”
((
»
(
But ere he woke he heard a voice,
Which said unto his heart, “Rejoice!
The diamond which is full of light
Was once a coal as black as night!
## p. 16900 (#600) ##########################################
16900
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Judge not the means which God employs
To make the wrong bloom into right. ”
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
TAKE MY LIFE
TA
WAKE my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord to thee.
Take my moments and my days:
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of thy love.
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift, and beautiful for thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from thee.
Take my silver and my gold:
Not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as thou shalt choose.
Take my will, and make it thine:
It shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart: it is thine own;
It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love: my Lord, I pour
At thy feet its treasure-store.
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for thee.
FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL
## p. 16901 (#601) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16901
JUSTICE
A
HUNDRED noble wishes fill my heart:
I long to help each soul in need of aid;
In all good works my zeal would have its part,
Before no weight of toil it stands afraid.
But noble wishes are not noble deeds,
And he does least who seeks to do the whole:
Who works the best, his simplest duties heeds;
Who moves the world, first moves a single soul.
Then go, my heart, thy plainest work begin;
Do first not what thou canst, but what thou must;
Build not upon a corner-stone of sin,
Nor seek great works until thou first be just.
CHARLES FRANCIS RICHARDSON.
LOVE AND HUMILITY
F
AR have I clambered in my mind,
But naught so great as love I find:
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might,
Are naught compared to that good sprite.
Life of delight, and soul of bliss!
Sure source of asting happiness!
Higher than heaven! lower than hell!
What is thy tent? Where mayst thou dwell ?
My mansion hight humility,
Heaven's vastest capability.
The further it doth downward bend,
The higher up it doth ascend;
If it go down to utmost naught,
It shall return with what it sought.
Could I demolish with mine eye
Strong towers; stop the fleet stars in sky,
Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon,
Or turn black midnight to bright noon;
Though all things were put in my hand, -
As parched, as dry, as Libyan sand
Would be my life, if Charity
Were wanting. But Humility
## p. 16902 (#602) ##########################################
16902
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Is more than my poor soul durst crave,
That lies entombed in lowly grave.
But if 'twere lawful up to send
My voice to heaven, this should it rend:
Lord, thrust me deeper into dust,
That thou mayst raise me with the just.
HENRY MORE.
CONSCIENCE
T.
HE friend I loved betrayed my trust
And bowed my spirit to the dust.
I keep the hurt he gave, yet know
He was forgiven long ago.
From him I did not merit ill;
But I would bear injustice still,
Content, could years of guiltless woe
Undo the wrong I did my foe.
FLORENCE EARLE COATES.
CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE
(
“G
OOD-By,” I said to my Conscience-
“Good-by for aye and aye;)
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away:
And Conscience, smitten sorely,
Returned not from that day.
But a time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace:
And I cried, “Come back, my Conscience,
I long to see thy face; »
But Conscience cried, “I cannot,-
Remorse sits in my place. ”
PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR.
## p. 16903 (#603) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16903
THE HOUSE OF HATE
INE enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight;
But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite:
And the name thereof I set in the stonework over the gate,
With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it the House of Hate.
M"
And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair;
Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair:
That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue,
It must fall on my evil work, and my hatred should pierce him through.
And I said, “I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire
On my foe:) and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with
fire;
But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled
man,
And the hearth was cold from the hour that the House of Hate
began.
And I called with a voice of power, “Make ye merry, all friends of
mine,
In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine;
We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled ! »
And they stared and they passed me by, but I scorned thereby to be
schooled.
And I ordered my board for feast, and I drank in the topmost seat
Choice grape from a curious cup, and the first it was wonder-sweet;
But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black,
And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack.
Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear,
And thinly I laughed but once, for the echoes were strange to hear;
And the wind on the stairway howled, as a green-eyed wolf might
cry,
And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man or die!
So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked and I saw it grown
(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone:
And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled;
And a fire-snake writhed where it fell, and at midnight the sky was
red.
And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin despoiled of flame,
I fell at mine enemy's feet and besought him to slay my shame.
## p. 16904 (#604) ##########################################
16904
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
»
But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were calm and
great:
“You rave or have dreamed,” he said, -"I saw not your House of
Hate ! »
Lippincott's Magazine.
THE WIND OF MEMORY
R
ED curtains shut the storm from sight,
The inner rooms are live with light;
The fireside faces all aglow
See not the pale ghost in the snow,-
The pale ghost at the window pressed,
With the wind moaning in her breast.
She sees the face she hurt with scorn;
The other face where joy, new born,
Died out at her cheap mockery;
The eyes she filled, how bitterly!
The head that drooped beneath her jest —
The wind is moaning in her breast.
Invisible, unfelt, unknown,
She lingers trembling. She alone
Notes tenderly her vacant place,
And sees in it her vanished face;
She only — of this happy nest!
The wind is moaning in her breast.
Star-like the happy windows glow,
Framed in with mile on mile of snow;
And from their light a thing of death,
Of grief and memory, vanisheth,-
Her sin not deep but unredressed,
And the wind m ng in her breast.
ETHELWYN WETHERALD.
## p.
16874
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“To you, in David's town, this day
Is born of David's line
The Savior who is Christ the Lord;
And this shall be the sign:
“The heavenly babe you there shall find
To human view displayed,
All meanly wrapt in swathing-bands,
And in a manger laid. ”
Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith
Appeared a shining throng
Of angels, praising God, and thus
Addressed their joyful song:
“All glory be to God on high,
And to the earth be peace;
Good-will henceforth from heaven to men
Bogin, and never cease! »
NAHUM TATE,
TRYSTE NOEL
THE
HE Ox he openeth wide the Doore
And from the Snowe he calls her inne,
And he hath seen her smile therefore,
Our Ladye without Sinne.
Now soone from Sleepe
A Starre shall leap,
And soone arrive both King and Hinde;
Amen, Amen :
But oh, the place co'd I but finde!
The Ox hath husht his voyce and bent
Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow,
And on his lovelie Neck, forspent,
The Blessed lays her Browe.
Around her feet
Full Warme and Sweete
His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell;
Amen, Amen:
But sore am I with Vaine Travel!
The Ox is host in Juda's stall,
And Host of more than onelie one,
## p. 16875 (#575) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16875
For close she gathereth withal
Our Lorde her littel Sonne.
Glad Hinde and King
Their Gyfte may bring,
But wo'd to-night my Teares were there,
Amen, Amen:
Between her Bosom and His hayre!
LOUISE I MOGEN GUINEY.
SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANI'S MOTHER
1
HAD not seen my son's dear face
(He chose the cloister by God's grace)
Since it had come to full flower-time.
I hardly guessed, at its perfect prime,
That folded flower of his dear face.
Mine eyes were veiled by mists of tears,
When on a day in many years
One of his Order came. I thrilled,
Facing, I thought, that face fulfilled.
I doubted, for my mists of tears.
His blessing be with me forever!
My hope and doubt were hard to sever;-
That altered face, those holy weeds.
I filled his wallet and kissed his beads,
And lost his echoing feet forever.
If to my son my alms were given
I know not, and I wait for Heaven.
He did not plead for child of mine,
But for another Child divine,
And unto Him it was surely given.
There is One alone who cannot change;
Dreams are we, shadows, visions strange:
And all I give is given to One.
I might mistake my dearest son,
But never the Son who cannot change.
ALICE MEYNELL.
## p. 16876 (#576) ##########################################
16876
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
JESUS THE CARPENTER
"I
«SN'T this Joseph's son? ” — ay, it is he,
Joseph the carpenter- same trade as me;-
I thought as I'd find it — I knew it was here -
But my sight's getting queer.
I don't know right where as his shed must ha' stood,
But often, as I've been a-planing my wood,
I've took off my hat, just with thinking of he
At the same work as me.
He warn't that set up that he couldn't stoop down
And work in the country for folks in the town;
And I'll warrant he felt a bit pride, like I've done,
At a good job begun.
The parson he knows that I'll not make too free;
But on Sunday I feels as pleased as can be,
When I wears my clean smock, and sits in a pew,
And has taught a few.
I think of as how not the parson hissen,
As is teacher and father and shepherd o' men,-
Not he knows as much of the Lord in that shed,
Where he earned his own bread.
And when I goes home to my missus, says she,
“Are ye wanting your key ? ”
For she knows my queer ways, and my love for the shed
(We've been forty years wed).
So I comes right away by mysen, with the book,
And I turns the old pages and has a good look
For the text as I've found, as tells me as he
Were the same trade as me.
Why don't I mark it? Ah, many say so;
But I think I'd as lief, with your leaves, let it go:
It do seem that nice when I fall on it sudden-
Unexpected, you know!
CATHERINE C. LIDDELL (C. C. FRASER-TYTLER).
## p. 16877 (#577) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16877
THE GUEST
YET
Et if his Majesty, our sovereign lord,
Should of his own accord
Friendly himself invite,
And say, “I'll be your guest to-morrow night,”
How should we stir ourselves, call and command
All hands to work! Let no man idle stand.
Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall;
See they be fitted all:
Let there be room to eat,
And order taken that there want no meat.
See every sconce and candlestick made bright,
That without tapers they may give a light.
« Look to the presence: are the carpets spread,
The dais o'er the head,
The cushions in the chairs,
And all the candles lighted on the stairs ?
Perfume the chambers; and in any case,
Let each man give attendance in his place. ”
Thus if the king were coming would we do:
And 'twere good reason too;
For 'tis a duteous thing
To show all honor to an earthly king,
And after all our travail and our cost,
So he be pleased, to think no labor lost.
But at the coming of the King of Heaven
All's set at six and seven:
We wallow in our sin;
Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn.
We entertain him always like a stranger,
And as at first still lodge him at the manger.
From Christ Church MS. To it music was written by Thomas Ford.
CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE
H®
ow happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
## p. 16878 (#578) ##########################################
16878
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Nor vice; hath ever understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of State, but rules of good :
Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains, the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;-
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
DEATH THE LEVELER
T"
HE glories of our blood and state
re shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against fate:
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.
The garlands wither on your brow.
Then boast no more your mighty deeds:
## p. 16879 (#579) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16879
Upon death's purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds;
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb:
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
JAMES SHIRLEY.
NIGHT UNTO NIGHT SHOWETH FORTH KNOWLEDGE
W***
HEN I survey the bright
Celestial sphere,
So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear;
My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward fies,
The almighty mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent, but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character,
Removed far from our human sight,
But if we steadfast look,
We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.
It tells the conqueror
That far-stretched power
Which his proud dangers traffic for,
Is but the triumph of an hour;
That from the farthest north
Some nation may
Yet undiscovered issue forth,
And o'er his new-got conquest sway: -
Some nation yet shut in
With hills of ice
## p. 16880 (#580) ##########################################
16880
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice;
And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have:
For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.
Thus those celestial fires,
Though seeming mute,
The fallacy of our desires
And all the pride of life, confute.
For they have watched since first
The world had birth;
And found sin in itself accursed,
And nothing permanent on earth.
William HABINGTON.
IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO
OLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!
Though thou be black as night,
And she made all of light,
Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!
Fº
Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth!
Though here thou livest disgraced,
And she in heaven is placed,
Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth!
Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,
That so have scorched thee,
As thou still black must be
Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.
Follow her while yet her glory shineth!
There comes a luckless night
That will dim all her light;—
And this the black unhappy shadow divineth.
Follow still, since so thy fates ordained!
The sun must have his shade,
Till both at once do fade,-
The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained.
T. CAMPION.
## p. 16881 (#581) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16881
I LOVE TO STEAL AWHILE AWAY
1
LOVE to steal awhile away
From every cumbering care,
And spend the hours of setting day
In humble, grateful prayer.
I love in solitude to shed
The penitential tear,
And all his promises to plead
Where none but God can hear.
I love to think on mercies past,
And future good implore,
And all my cares and sorrow cast
On him whom I adore.
I love by faith to take a view
Of brighter scenes in heaven:
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.
Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour,
And lead to endless day.
PHEBE HINSDALE BROWN.
TRUST IN FAITH
O
WORLD, thou choosest not the better part!
It is not wisdom to be only wise,
And on the inward vision close the eyes,
But it is wisdom to believe the heart.
Columbus found a world, and had no chart,
Save one that faith deciphered in the skies;
To trust the soul's invincible surmise
Was all his science and his only art.
Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine
That lights the pathway but one step ahead,
Across a void of mystery and dread.
Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine,
By which alone the mortal heart is led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine.
GEORGE SANTAYANA.
XXVIII-1056
## p. 16882 (#582) ##########################################
16882
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS
OM
NWARD, Christian soldiers,
Marching as to war,
With the cross of Jesus
Going on before.
Christ, the royal master,
Leads against the foe;
Forward into battle,
See, his banners go.
Like a mighty army
Moves the Church of God;
Brothers, we are treading
Where the saints have trod:
We are not divided, -
All one body we;
One in hope and doctrine,
One in charity.
Crowns and thrones may perish,
Kingdoms rise and wane,
But the Church of Jesus
Constant will remain;
Gates of hell can never
'Gainst that Church prevail:
We have Christ's own promise,
And that cannot fail.
Onward, then, ye people :
Join our happy throng:
Blend with ours your voices,
In triumphant song -
Glory, laud, and honor
Unto Christ the King.
This through countless ages
Men and angels sing.
SABINE BARING-GOULD.
A PRAYER FOR UNITY
E"
TERNAL Ruler of the ceaseless round
Of circling planets singing on their way;
Guide of the nations from the night profound
Into the glory of the perfect day;
## p. 16883 (#583) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16883
Rule in our hearts that we may ever be
Guided and strengthened and upheld by thee.
We are of thee, the children of thy love,
The brothers of thy well-beloved Son:
Descend, O Holy Spirit! like a dove,
Into our hearts, that we may be as one,-
As one with thee, to whom we ever tend;
As one with Him, our Brother and our Friend.
We would be one in hatred of all wrong,
One in our love of all things sweet and fair,
One with the joy that breaketh into song,
One with the grief that trembles into prayer,
One in the power that makes thy children free
To follow truth, and thus to follow thee.
Oh! clothe us with thy heavenly armor, Lord, —
Thy trusty shield, thy sword of love divine.
Our inspiration be thy constant word;
We ask no victories that are not thine.
Give or withhold, let pain or pleasure be:
Enough to know that we are serving thee.
John WHITE CHADWICK.
THE STARRY HOST
THE
He countless stars, which to our human eye
Are fixed and steadfast, each in proper place,
Forever bound to changeless points in space,
Rush with our sun and planets through the sky,
And like a flock of birds still onward fy;
Returning never whence began their race,
They speed their ceaseless way with gleaming face
As though God bade them win Infinity.
Ah whither, whither is their forward flight
Through endless time and limitless expanse ?
What power with unimaginable might
First hurled them forth to spin in tireless dance ?
What beauty lures them on through primal night,
So that for them to be is to advance ?
JOHN LANCASTER SPALDING.
## p. 16884 (#584) ##########################################
16884
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
UNIVERSAL WORSHIP
O
THOU, to whom in ancient time
The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung;
Whom kings adored in songs sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue:
Not now on Zion's height alone
Thy favored worshipers may dwell,
Nor where at sultry noon thy Son
Sat weary, by the patriarch's well:
From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,
The incense of the heart, may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.
To thee shall age with snowy hair,
And strength and beauty, bend the knee;
And childhood lisp, with reverent air,
Its praises and its prayers to thee.
O thou, to whom in ancient time
The lyre of prophet-bards was strung,-
To thee at last in every clime
Shall temples rise, and praise be sung.
JOHN PIERPONT.
THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH
W
HERE ancient forests round us spread,
Where bends the cataract's ocean-fall,
On the lone mountain's silent head,
There are thy temples, God of all!
Beneath the dark-blue midnight arch,
Whence myriad suns pour down their rays,
Where planets trace their ceaseless march,
Father! we worship as we gaze.
The tombs thy altars are; for there,
When earthly loves and hopes have Aed,
To thee ascends the spirit's prayer,
Thou God of the immortal dead!
All space is holy; for all space
Is filled by thee: but human thought
## p. 16885 (#585) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16885
Burns clearer in some chosen place,
Where thy own words of love are taught.
Here be they taught; and may we know
That faith thy servants knew of old,
Which onward bears through weal and woe,
Till Death the gates of heaven unfold.
Nor we alone: may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where
And raise to thee still holier prayers.
do now,
ANDREWS NORTON.
THE OLD CHURCH
C"
LOSE to the road it stood among the trees,
The old, bare church, with windows small and high,
And open doors that gave, on meeting-day,
A welcome to the careless passer-by.
Its straight, uncushioned seats, how hard they seemed !
What penance-doing form they always wore
To little heads that could not reach the text,
And little feet that could not reach the floor.
What wonder that we hailed with strong delight
The buzzing wasp, slow sailing down the aisle,
Or, sunk in sin, beguiled the constant fly
From weary heads, to make our neighbors smile.
How softly from the church-yard came the breeze
That stirred the cedar boughs with scented wings,
And gently fanned the sleeper's heated brow
Or Auttered Grandma Barlow's bonnet strings.
With half-shut eyes, across the pulpit bent,
The preacher droned in soothing tones about
Some theme, that like the narrow windows high,
Took in the sky but left terrestrials out.
Good, worthy man, his work on earth is done:
His place is lost, the old church passed away;
And with them, when they went, there must have gone
That sweet, bright calm, my childhood's Sabbath day.
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSON.
## p. 16886 (#586) ##########################################
16886
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE WINGED WORSHIPERS
To Two SWALLOWS IN A CHURCH
AY, guiltless pair!
What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.
G
Why perch ye here,
Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear
The God ye never could offend?
Ye never knew
The crimes for which we come to weep;
Penance is not for you,
Blest wanderers of the upper deep!
To you 'tis given
To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays;
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.
Then spread each wing,
Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing
In yon blue dome not reared with hands;
Or, if ye stay
To note the consecrated hour,
Teach me the airy way,
And let me try your envied power!
Above the crowd
On upward wings could I but fly,
I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.
'Twere heaven indeed,
Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On Nature's charms to feed,
And Nature's own great God adore.
CHARLES SPRAGUE.
## p. 16887 (#587) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16887
THE CIRCUIT PREACHER
H"
is thin wife's cheek grows pinched and pale with anxiousness
intense;
He sees the brethren's prayerful eyes o'er all the conference;
He hears the bishop slowly call the long appointment” rolls,
Where in his vineyard God would place these gatherers of souls.
(
>
Apart, austere, the knot of grim presiding elders sit:
He wonders if some city charge may not for him have writ?
Certes! could they his sermon hear on Paul and Luke awreck,
Then had his talent ne'er been hid on Annomessix Neck!
Poor rugged heart, be still a pause, and you, worn wife, be meek!
Two years of banishment they read far down the Chesapeake!
Though Brother Bates, less eloquent, by Wilmington is wooed,
The Lord that counts the sparrow's fall shall feed his little brood.
«Cheer up, my girl! here Brother Riggs our circuit knows 'twill
please :
He raised three hundred dollars there, besides the marriage fees.
What! tears from us who preached the word these thirty years or
SO -
Two years on barren Chincoteague, and two in Tuckahoe ?
“The schools are good, the brethren say, and our church holds the
wheel:
The Presbyterians lost their house; the Baptists lost their zeal.
The parsonage is clean and dry; the town has friendly folk,-
Not half so dull as Murderkill, nor proud like Pocomoke.
“Oh, thy just will, our Lord, be done! though these eight seasons
more
We see our ague-crippled boys pine on the Eastern shore,
While we, thy stewards, journey out our dedicated years
Midst foresters of Nanticoke or heathen of Tangiers !
“Yea! some must serve on God's frontiers, and I shall fail perforce
To sow upon some better ground my most select discourse :
At Sassafras or Smyrna preach my argument on Drink,'
My series on the Pentateuch at Appoquinimink.
«Gray am I, brethren, in the work, though tough to bear my part:
It is these drooping little ones that sometimes wring my heart,
And cheat me with the vain conceit the cleverness is mine
To fill the churches of the Elk, and pass the Brandywine.
## p. 16888 (#588) ##########################################
16888
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
« These hairs were brown when, full of hope, ent’ring these holy
lists,
Proud of my order as a knight, — the shouting Methodists,-
I made the pine woods ring with hymns, with prayer the night-
winds shook,
And preached from Assawaman Light far north as Bombay Hook.
“My nag was gray, my gig was new fast went the sandy miles;
The eldest trustees gave me praise, the fairest sisters smiles;
Still I recall how Elder Smith of Worten Heights averred
My Apostolic Parallels the best he ever heard.
«All winter long I rode the snows, rejoicing on my way;
At midnight our revival hymns rolled o'er the sobbing bay;
Three Sabbath sermons, every week, should tire a man of brass-
And still our fervent membership must have their extra class!
(
"Aggressive with the zeal of youth, in many a warm requite
I terrified Immersionists, and scourged the Millerite;
But larger, tenderer charities such vain debates supplant,
When the dear wife, saved by my zeal, loved the Itinerant.
“No cooing dove, of storms afeard, she shared my life's distress -
A singing Miriam, alway, in God's poor wilderness.
The wretched at her footstep smiled, the frivolous were still:
A bright path marked her pilgrimage, from Blackbird to Snowhill.
"A new face in the parsonage, at church a double pride! -
Like the Madonna and her babe they filled the Amen side):
Crouched at my feet in the old gig, my boy, so fair and frank,
Naswongo's darkest marshes cheered, and sluices of Choptank.
“My cloth drew close; too fruitful love my fruitless life outran:
The townfolk marveled, when we moved, at such a caravan!
I wonder not my lads grew wild, when, bright, without the door
Spread the ripe, luring, wanton world — and we, within, so poor!
"For, down the silent cypress aisles came shapes even me to scout,
Mocking the lean flanks of my mare, my boy's patched roundabout,
And saying: 'Have these starveling boors, thy congregation, souls,
That on their dull heads Heaven and thou pour forth such living
coals? )
« Then prayer brought hopes, half secular, like seers by Endor's
witch:
Beyond our barren Maryland God's folks were wise and rich;
## p. 16889 (#589) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16889
Where climbing spires and easy pews showed how the preacher
thrived,
And all old brethren paid their rents, and many young ones wived !
«I saw the ships Henlopen pass with chaplains fat and sleek;
From Bishopshead with fancy's sails I crossed the Chesapeake;
In velvet pulpits of the North said my best sermons o'er -
And that on Paul to Patmos driven, drew tears in Baltimore.
“Well! well! my brethren, it is true we should not preach for
pelf;
(I would my sermon on St. Paul the bishop heard himself! )
But this crushed wife — these boys — these hairs! they cut me to
the core;
Is it not hard, year after year, to ride the Eastern Shore ?
“Next year? Yes, yes, I thank you much!
Then my reward
may fall!
(That is a downright fair discourse on Patmos and St. Paul! )
So, Brother Riggs, once more my voice shall ring in the old lists.
Cheer up, sick heart, who would not die among these Methodists ? ”
GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND.
SACRIFICE
FASTING
Lent
'T' uplift the curtain with a weary hand
,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
Calm peace is frighted with my mood to-night,
Nor visits my dull chamber with her light,
To guide my senses into her sweet rest
And leave me blest.
Long hours since the city rocked and sung
Itself to slumber: only the stars swung
Aloft their torches in the midnight skies
With watchful eyes.
No sound awakes; I, even, breathe no sigh,
Nor hear a single footstep passing by;
## p. 16890 (#590) ##########################################
16890
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Yet I am not alone, for now I feel
A presence steal
Within my chamber walls: I turn to see
The sweetest guest that courts humanity;
With subtle, slow enchantment draws she near,
And Sleep is here.
What care I for the olive branch of Peace ?
Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release, -
Nepenthes that alone her mystic hand
Can understand.
And so she bends, this welcome sorceress,
To crown my fasting with her light caress.
Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss
Of her warm kiss.
But still my duty lies in self-denial;
I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial
Will reawaken all my depth of pain.
So once again
I lift the curtain with a weary hand:
With more than sorrow, silently I stand,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
«Go, Sleep,” I say, before the darkness die,
To one who needs you even more than I;
For I can bear my part alone, but he
Has need of thee.
“ His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief,
His heart more tired still, with all its grief;
His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim -
Go thou to him.
« When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings,
And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings
That in his soul with fret and fever burn,
To me return. ”
She goes.
The air within the quiet street
Reverberates to the passing of her feet;
I watch her take her passage through the gloom
To your dear home.
## p. 16891 (#591) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16891
Beloved, would you knew how sweet to me
Is this denial, and how fervently
I pray that Sleep may lift you to her breast,
And give you rest -
A privilege that she alone can claim.
Would that my heart could comfort you the same;
But in the censer Sleep is swinging high,
All sorrow's die.
She comes not back, yet all my miseries
Wane at the thought of your calm sleeping eyes -
Wane, as I hear the early matin bell
The dawn foretell.
And so, dear heart, still silently I stand,
Uplift the curtain with a weary hand;
The long, long night has bitter been and lone,
But now 'tis gone.
Dawn lights her candles in the East once more,
And darkness flees her chariot before;
The Lenten morning breaks with holy ray,
And it is day!
BRIER
Good Friday
B
ECAUSE, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.
Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you alk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.
Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now:
That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.
E. PAULINE JOHNSON (“Tekahionwake”).
## p. 16892 (#592) ##########################################
16892
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
ART THOU WEARY?
AKT
RT thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distressed ?
“Come to me,” saith One, «and coming,
Be at rest. ”
Hath he marks to lead me to him,
If he be my Guide ?
“In his feet and hands are wound-prints,
And his side. "
Is there diadem as Monarch,
That his brow adorns ?
« Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns. ”
If I find him, if I follow
What his guerdon here?
“Many a sorrow, many a labor,
Many a tear. »
If I still hold closely to him,
What hath be at last ?
“Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,
Jordan passed. ”
If I ask him to receive me,
Will he say me nay?
“Not till earth, and not till heaven,
Pass away. ”
Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is he sure to bless ?
«Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
Answer, Yes. ”
ST. STEPHEN THE SABAITE.
Translation of John Mason Neale.
THE GUEST
[Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and
open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him; and he with me. ]
PEECHLESS Sorrow sat with me;
I was sighing wearily.
Lamp and fire were out; the rain
Wildly beat the window-pane.
S"
## p. 16893 (#593) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16893
In the dark we heard a knock,
And a hand was on the lock:
One in waiting spake to me,
Saying sweetly,
"I am come to sup with thee ! »
All my room was dark and damp:
“Sorrow,” said I, “trim the lamp;
Light the fire, and cheer thy face;
Set the guest-chair in its place. ”
And again I heard the knock;
In the dark I found the lock:-
“Enter! I have turned the key!
Enter, Stranger,
Who art come to sup with me! ”
Opening wide the door He came,
But I could not speak his name;
In the guest-chair took his place,
But I could not see his face!
When my cheerful fire was beaming,
When my little lamp was gleaming,
And the feast was spread for three,
Lo! my Master
Was the Guest that supped with me!
HARRIET MCEWEN KIMBALL.
I HOLD STILL
PR
Ain's furnace heat within me quivers,
God's breath upon the flame doth blow,
And all my heart in anguish shivers,
And trembles at the fiery glow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And in his hottest fire hold still.
He comes and lays my heart, all heated,
On the hard anvil, minded so
Into his own fair shape to beat it
With his great hammer, blow on blow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And at his heaviest blows hold still.
## p. 16894 (#594) ##########################################
16894
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
He takes my softened heart and beats it, -
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it,
And lets it cool, and makes it glow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And, in his mighty hand, hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be;
Its end may come, and will, to-morrow,
When God has done his work in me:
So I say, trusting, As God will!
And, trusting to the end, hold still.
He kindles for my profit purely
Affliction's glowing fiery brand,
And all his heaviest blows are surely
Inflicted by a Master-hand:
So I say, praying, As God will!
And hope in him, and suffer still.
Julius STURM (German).
WISHES AND PRAYERS
0
UR wishes and our prayers are not
Always the same;
Alas! we often wish for what
We dare not name.
We strive to pray with bitter tears
For what we should,
But sadder than all else appears
The prayed-for good.
Lord! pardon me if I deplore
My granted prayer:
Lord, what thou taught'st me to pray for,
Teach me to bear.
MARGARET DELAND.
## p. 16895 (#595) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16895
MILTON'S PRAYER OF PATIENCE
I
AM old and blind!
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown,
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.
All-merciful One!
When men are furthest, then art thou most near;
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Thy glorious face
Is leaning toward me; and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place, -
And there is no more night.
On my bended knee
I recognize thy purpose clearly shown:
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see
Thyself - thyself alone.
I have naught to fear:
This darkness is the shadow of thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred; here
Can come no evil thing.
Oh, I seem to stand
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been,
Wrapped in that radiance from the sinless land
Which eye hath never seen!
Visions come and go:
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.
It is nothing now,
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow,
That earth in darkness lies.
## p. 16896 (#596) ##########################################
16896
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
In a purer clime
My being fills with rapture,- waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit,- strains sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now a lyre!
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine:
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.
ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL.
THE VOYAGE
HICHEVER way the wind doth blow,
Some heart is glad to have it so;
Then blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.
W*
My little craft sails not alone:
A thousand feets from every zone
Are out upon a thousand seas;
And what for me were favoring breeze
Might dash another, with the shock
Of doom, upon some hidden rock.
And so I do not dare to pray
For winds to waft me on my way,
But leave it to a Higher Will
To stay or speed me; trusting still
That all is well, and sure that He
Who launched my bark will sail with me
Through storm and calm, and will not fail,
Whatever breezes may prevail,
To land me, every peril past,
Within his sheltering heaven at last.
Then, whatsoever wind doth blow,
My heart is glad to have it so;
And blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.
CAROLINE ATHERTON MASON.
## p. 16897 (#597) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16897
THE WILL OF GOD
1
WORSHIP thee, sweet will of God!
And all thy ways adore;
And every day I live, I seem
To love thee more and more.
Thou wert the end, the blessed rule,
Of our Savior's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of his heart
Those three-and-thirty years.
And he hath breathed into my soul
A special love of thee -
A love to lose my will in his,
And by that loss be free.
He always wins who sides with God;
To him no chance is lost:
God's will is sweetest to him when
It triumphs at his cost.
When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,
I do the little I can do,
And leave the rest to thee.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
NOT MY WILL, BUT THINE
TAK
AKE thou the heart I cannot give;
Take that which is thine own.
To give, to take, to will, to do,
Is thine, and thine alone.
Yet, leaning on th' upholding arm,
I trust, but cannot see;
Help me, as of myself, to stretch
My helpless hands to thee.
And when thon hast received thine own,
Oh, keep it, Lord, I pray;
And save me from the wayward will
That seeks a wider way.
XXVIII-1057
## p. 16898 (#598) ##########################################
16898
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
If ever, before adverse winds,
Between the cloud and sea,
I- at the mercy of my heart -
Am drifting far from thee;
Light of all tempted souls, be mine,
Till, sea and desert passed,
Safe in thy circling love I find
My anchorage at last!
M. A. L.
THE THINGS I MISS
A
N EASY thing, O Power Divine,
To thank thee for these gifts of thine!
For summer's sunshine, winter's snow,
For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow.
But when shall I attain to this, -
To thank thee for the things I miss ?
For all young Fancy's early gleams,
The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams,
Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known
Through others' fortunes, not my own,
And blessings seen that are not given,
And never will be, this side heaven.
Had I too shared the joys I see,
Would there have been a heaven for me?
Could I have felt thy presence near,
Had I possessed what I held dear?
My deepest fortune, highest bliss,
Have grown perchance from things I miss.
Sometimes there comes an hour of calm ;
Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm;
A Power that works above my will
Still leads me onward, upward still:
And then my heart attains to this, -
To thank thee for the things I miss.
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.
## p. 16899 (#599) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16899
«THOUGH NAUGHT THEY MAY TO OTHERS BE »
I
F in these thoughts of mine that now assuage
The tedium of the toilsome life I live,
The few who chance to notice should perceive
Nothing their lasting interest to engage,
And quickly cease to turn the farther page, -
It were a shameful thing if I should grieve.
For if kind Destiny has chosen to give
To other minds, in many a clime and age,
Days brighter than my hours, should I repine ?
And what if by an over-hasty glance
Some import be not heeded, or, perchance,
Too dim a light upon the pages shine ?
Would I be wronged, even though the wealth I own,
And not the less enjoy, were all unknown?
GEORGE MCKNIGHT.
THE ABBÉ'S DREAM
T"
HE Abbé Michael dreamed one night
That heaven was open to his sight;
And first among the radiant throng
Which filled the streets with praise and song,
He saw a man whose reckless. might
Had seamed his earthly life with wrong.
The Abbé saw not streets of gold,
Or splendid mansions manifold,
Or sea of glass, or jewels rare,
Or pearly gates beyond compare,
Or hosts of angels richly stoled;
He only saw this sinner there!
The hymns of triumph reached his ears,
But brought no solace for his tears;
Peace from his jealous soul had flown:
“My life is spent for God alone,”
He cried; and yet this man appears
Among the nearest to the throne. ”
((
»
(
But ere he woke he heard a voice,
Which said unto his heart, “Rejoice!
The diamond which is full of light
Was once a coal as black as night!
## p. 16900 (#600) ##########################################
16900
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Judge not the means which God employs
To make the wrong bloom into right. ”
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
TAKE MY LIFE
TA
WAKE my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord to thee.
Take my moments and my days:
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of thy love.
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift, and beautiful for thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from thee.
Take my silver and my gold:
Not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as thou shalt choose.
Take my will, and make it thine:
It shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart: it is thine own;
It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love: my Lord, I pour
At thy feet its treasure-store.
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for thee.
FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL
## p. 16901 (#601) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16901
JUSTICE
A
HUNDRED noble wishes fill my heart:
I long to help each soul in need of aid;
In all good works my zeal would have its part,
Before no weight of toil it stands afraid.
But noble wishes are not noble deeds,
And he does least who seeks to do the whole:
Who works the best, his simplest duties heeds;
Who moves the world, first moves a single soul.
Then go, my heart, thy plainest work begin;
Do first not what thou canst, but what thou must;
Build not upon a corner-stone of sin,
Nor seek great works until thou first be just.
CHARLES FRANCIS RICHARDSON.
LOVE AND HUMILITY
F
AR have I clambered in my mind,
But naught so great as love I find:
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might,
Are naught compared to that good sprite.
Life of delight, and soul of bliss!
Sure source of asting happiness!
Higher than heaven! lower than hell!
What is thy tent? Where mayst thou dwell ?
My mansion hight humility,
Heaven's vastest capability.
The further it doth downward bend,
The higher up it doth ascend;
If it go down to utmost naught,
It shall return with what it sought.
Could I demolish with mine eye
Strong towers; stop the fleet stars in sky,
Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon,
Or turn black midnight to bright noon;
Though all things were put in my hand, -
As parched, as dry, as Libyan sand
Would be my life, if Charity
Were wanting. But Humility
## p. 16902 (#602) ##########################################
16902
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Is more than my poor soul durst crave,
That lies entombed in lowly grave.
But if 'twere lawful up to send
My voice to heaven, this should it rend:
Lord, thrust me deeper into dust,
That thou mayst raise me with the just.
HENRY MORE.
CONSCIENCE
T.
HE friend I loved betrayed my trust
And bowed my spirit to the dust.
I keep the hurt he gave, yet know
He was forgiven long ago.
From him I did not merit ill;
But I would bear injustice still,
Content, could years of guiltless woe
Undo the wrong I did my foe.
FLORENCE EARLE COATES.
CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE
(
“G
OOD-By,” I said to my Conscience-
“Good-by for aye and aye;)
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away:
And Conscience, smitten sorely,
Returned not from that day.
But a time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace:
And I cried, “Come back, my Conscience,
I long to see thy face; »
But Conscience cried, “I cannot,-
Remorse sits in my place. ”
PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR.
## p. 16903 (#603) ##########################################
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16903
THE HOUSE OF HATE
INE enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight;
But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite:
And the name thereof I set in the stonework over the gate,
With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it the House of Hate.
M"
And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair;
Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair:
That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue,
It must fall on my evil work, and my hatred should pierce him through.
And I said, “I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire
On my foe:) and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with
fire;
But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled
man,
And the hearth was cold from the hour that the House of Hate
began.
And I called with a voice of power, “Make ye merry, all friends of
mine,
In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine;
We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled ! »
And they stared and they passed me by, but I scorned thereby to be
schooled.
And I ordered my board for feast, and I drank in the topmost seat
Choice grape from a curious cup, and the first it was wonder-sweet;
But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black,
And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack.
Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear,
And thinly I laughed but once, for the echoes were strange to hear;
And the wind on the stairway howled, as a green-eyed wolf might
cry,
And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man or die!
So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked and I saw it grown
(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone:
And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled;
And a fire-snake writhed where it fell, and at midnight the sky was
red.
And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin despoiled of flame,
I fell at mine enemy's feet and besought him to slay my shame.
## p. 16904 (#604) ##########################################
16904
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
»
But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were calm and
great:
“You rave or have dreamed,” he said, -"I saw not your House of
Hate ! »
Lippincott's Magazine.
THE WIND OF MEMORY
R
ED curtains shut the storm from sight,
The inner rooms are live with light;
The fireside faces all aglow
See not the pale ghost in the snow,-
The pale ghost at the window pressed,
With the wind moaning in her breast.
She sees the face she hurt with scorn;
The other face where joy, new born,
Died out at her cheap mockery;
The eyes she filled, how bitterly!
The head that drooped beneath her jest —
The wind is moaning in her breast.
Invisible, unfelt, unknown,
She lingers trembling. She alone
Notes tenderly her vacant place,
And sees in it her vanished face;
She only — of this happy nest!
The wind is moaning in her breast.
Star-like the happy windows glow,
Framed in with mile on mile of snow;
And from their light a thing of death,
Of grief and memory, vanisheth,-
Her sin not deep but unredressed,
And the wind m ng in her breast.
ETHELWYN WETHERALD.
## p.
