Gambar halaman
PDF
ePub

Senfe looks downwards

Faith above;

That sees harfhness-This fees love;

Oh! let Faith victorious be

Let it reign triumphantly!

But thou art gone! not loft, but flown,
Shall I then ask thee back, my own?
Back-and leave thy fpirit's brightness?
Back-and leave thy robes of whiteness?
Back-and leave thine angel mould?
Back-and leave those streets of gold?
Back-and leave the Lamb who feeds thee?
Back-from founts to which He leads thee?
Back-and leave thy Heavenly Father?
Back-to earth and fin? Nay, rather
Would I live in folitude!

I would not afk thee, if I could;
But patient wait the high decree,
That calls my spirit home to thee!

XLI.

THE DEAF AND DUMB.

OW the bright fpring comes forth to

clothe the trees,

And her foft-fighing whispers in the breeze;

The liquid warblings, from a thousand throats,

Pour on the perfumed air their richest notes;

The gush of many ftreams comes o'er the foul,
The harmonies of nature past me roll,—
But the deaf hear them not!

It is a Sabbath morn; and many feet
Haften, thro' funny paths, their God to meet
In His own temple—and on bended knee
Tell Him their wants, and for His pardon pray;
To hear of all His love-to hear and feel,

And send their hearts up with the anthem's swell,—
But the dumb cannot fing!

Amid a bufy world they are alone,

And to no kindred heart can make their moan;
The spirit has no vent.-Oh, who can tell
The paffionate longing, or the struggling fwell,
Of the imprisoned Eagle caged within,
To burst its barriers, and its freedom win!-
But the dumb cannot speak.

But there was one, who in His inmost foul,
Sighed for the mute, and with His touch made whole.
Teach them to know Him! Soon His healing balm
Sheds o'er the struggling foul a holy calm-
No longer desolate, for He is nigh.

Oh! pitying heart, that like thy Lord can figh,
Pray for the deaf and dumb!

A day will come, when on the closed ear
The melodies of Heaven will burst fo clear,
That the mute mourner's bounding heart fhall note,
And vibrate to the chords that round him float-

The theme will give the power-before unknown, And the full heart roll out the tide of fong,

Poured by the deaf and dumb.

C. J.

XLII.

THE SABBATH.

JABBATH hours! they come and go
Like the fummer ftreamlet's flow,
Bringing to the waste relief,
Beautiful, but oh! too brief;
Sparkling in the golden ray,

Iris-coloured-then away!

Yet fertility is seen

Fresher, where the stream hath been.

[graphic]

Sabbath hours! ye come between,

Like an iflet's emerald green,
Rifing o'er life's ftormy fea,

Where its wearied ones may flee;

Catching, from its tide-wafhed ftrand,
Vifions of their father-land,

Till they deem the foft winds come,
Breathing melodies from home.

May the Sabbath ever be,
Harbinger of good to me!
Calling up my foul from earth-
Fixing it on things of worth.

Swiftly do its funbeams fly,
O'er this changing wintry sky:
And, in Heaven's fabbatic bowers,
I fhall praise Thee for thefe hours.

XLIII.

THE SABBATH.

[graphic]

HERE'S mufic in the morning air,
A holy voice and sweet,

For calling to the Houfe of Prayer

The humbleft peafant's feet.

From hill and vale, and diftant moor,

Long as the chime is heard,

Each cottage fends its tenants poor,

For God's enriching Word.

Still where the British power hath trod,

The crofs of faith afcends; And like a radiant arch of God,

The light of Scripture bends! Deep in the foreft wilderness,

The wood-built Church is known; A sheltering wing in man's diftrefs, Spread like the Saviour's own!

[merged small][ocr errors]

Far as the Sabbath chimes are fent,
In Chriftian nations wide,-

Thousands and tens of thousands bring,
Their forrows to His fhrine,
And taste the never-failing spring
Of Jefus' love divine!

If at an earthly chime the tread
Of million, million feet,
Approach where'er the Gospel's read,
In God's own temple feat;

How bleft the fight, from death's dark fleep,

To fee God's faints arife,

And countless hofts of angels keep

The Sabbath of the Skies!

XLIV.

HOLY SORROW.

H! Thou, that drieft the mourner's

[graphic]

tear,

How dark this world would be,

If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends, who in our funfhine live,
When winter comes, are flown;

And he who has but tears to give
Muft weep thofe tears alone.

« SebelumnyaLanjutkan »