Grant us thy truth to make us free,
And kindling hearts that burn for thee,
Till all thy living altars claim
One holy light, one heavenly flame!
Dr. O. W. Holmes.
OF THE INCOMPARABLE TREASURE OF THE HOLY
ERE is the spring where waters flowe,
To quench our heate of finne;
Here is the tree where trueth doth grow,
To lead our lives therein;
Here is the Judge that stints the strife,
Where men's devices faille;
Here is the bread that feedes the life
That death cannot affaile;
The tidings of salvation deare
Come to our eares from hence;
The fortress of our faith is here,
And fhielde of our defence.
Then be not like the hogge that hath
A pearle at his defire,
And takes more pleasure in the trough,
And wallowing in the mire;
Reade not this booke in any case
But with a fingle eye;
Read not but firft defire God's grace
To vnderstand thereby ;
Pray still in faith with this respect,
To fructifie therein,
That knowledge may bring this effect
To mortify thy finne.
Then happie thou in all thy life,
What so to thee befalles;
Yea, double happie fhalt thou be
When God by death thee calles.
From Barker's Bible.
STAND without here in the porch,
I hear the bell's melodious din,
I hear the organ peal within,
I hear the prayer with words that scorch
Like sparks from an inverted torch,
I hear the sermon upon fin,
With threatenings of the last account.
And all, tranflated in the air,
Reach me but as our dear Lord's prayer,
And as the Sermon on the Mount.
Muft it be Calvin, and not Christ?
Muft it be Athanafian creeds,
Or holy water, books, and beads?
Muft ftruggling souls remain content
With councils and decrees of Trent?
And can it be enough for these
The Chriftian Church the year embalms
With evergreens and boughs of palms,
And fills the air with litanies ?
I know that yonder Pharisee
Thanks God that he is not like me;
In my humiliation dreffed,
I only stand and beat my breast,
And pray for human charity.
Not to one church alone, but seven,
The voice prophetic spake from heaven:
And unto each the promise came,
Diverfified, but ftill the same;
For him that overcometh are
The new names written on the stone,
The raiment white, the crown, the throne,
And I will give him the Morning Star!
Ah! to how many Faith has been
No evidence of things unseen,
But a dim fhadow that recasts
The creed of the Phantafiafts,
For whom no Man of Sorrows died,
For whom the Tragedy Divine
Was but a symbol and a fign,
And Chrift a phantom crucified !
For others a diviner creed
Is living in the life they lead.
The paffing of their beautiful feet
Bleffes the pavement of the street,
And all their looks and words repeat
Old Fuller's saying, wise and sweet,
Not as a vulture, but a dove,
The Holy Ghoft came from above.
H. W. Longfellow. 1863.
HE Banyan of the Indian ifle
Spreads deeply down its maffive root,
And spreads its branching life abroad,
And bends to earth, with scarlet fruit;
But when the branches reach the ground,
They firmly plant themselves again:
They rise and spread and droop and root,
An ever green and endless chain.
And so the Church of Jesus Christ,
The bleffed Banyan of our God,
Faft-rooted upon Zion's mount,
Has sent its fheltering arms abroad;
And every branch that from it springs,
In sacred beauty spreading wide,
As low it bends to bless the earth,
Still plants another by its fide.
Long as the world itself fhall laft,
The sacred Banyan ftill fhall spread,
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