Proclaims in joy his Maker's praise,
As well as any drooping flower
That trembles through inclement days,
And bends beneath the piteous shower.
As any star, that hath no care
For clearest or for cloudiest air,
Doing its duty, calm alway,
Throbbing and shining night and day—
So calm she lived. God was not blind,
If men were, to her willing mind
To suffer and rejoice. Above
The tumult of an earthly love,
Her
eyes had ever done with tears
That follow selfish cares and fears.
WRITTEN BY REQUEST, FOR MUSIC COMPOSED BY GEORGE M. GARRETT, MUS. BAC., ST. JOHN'S COLL., CAMB.,
THE CAMBRIDGE ROYAL ALBERT BENEVOLENT SOCIETY.
AN angel dwells in haunts of men,
In busy town and quiet glen ;
Unseen by us her tender eyes,
Unseen her glancing wings,
Known only by the tears she dries,
The happiness she brings:
Beloved in heaven and earth is she,
And mortals call her Charity,
And seraphs call her Charity.
Most tender offices are hers,
She sweetens woes, and lightens cares, Bright flowers on life's path she sheds,The pathway to the tomb.
Pain yields to peace where'er she treads, And joy succeedeth gloom. Whate'er our woe or care may be, "Tis comforted by Charity, "Tis sanctified by Charity.
And woman never is so fair,
As when this angel's minister.
And blest are they in our dear land
Who have this joy preferred,-
To give with ample, willing hand,
To soothe with tender word;
And seeing them, we look on thee,
And bless, we bless thee, Charity,
And heaven doth bless thee, Charity.
WHITHER gazest, O my child?
What beholdest in the sky?
Dost thou feel thyself exiled
From on high?
Doth the Father give to thee
Clearer vision than is mine?
Is it given thee to see
Heaven shine?
Dost thou see the face of Christ
With thy new baptized eyes?
Angels bright emparadised
In the skies ?
O my child, that thou couldst speak!
Or thine eyes reflect the sight!
Thou must, since my faith is weak,
Teach me right.
Shall I teach thee more than thou
Canst reveal from God to me?
For the sight of heaven seems now
Given thee.
Sweet, it seems thy deep blue eyes
Take new azure from the sky;
Truly near to heaven lies
Infancy.
"NOW IS DONE THY LONG DAY'S WORK."
BENEATH the solemn purple of the sky,
Beneath the deepening shadow of the hedge,
Amid ground ivy and the tremulous fern,
Beside the' unfinished furrow, fallen prone
Beside his spade, the labourer lies dead.
Oh, not to-night shall that spare form, so scarred
In the long war with poverty and pain,
Creep bent and weary to the crazy hut;
Nor the departing glory of the sun
Light up the page that powerful is alone
To keep from utter slavehood the poor soul,
To keep from utter death whate'er of high
And of unearthly was bestowed on him.
Nor shall the early stars behold him sit
Before his cottage-door; the while he looks
Above in wonder (if that power be left
To the down-trodden and despised soul),
Where Heaven is, and what it is to him.
He knows all now. Weary and hopeless life, Comfortless poverty, are his no more.
No more of hunger, and no more of pain,
No more of weakness, and no more of toil;
No spade down slipping from the palsied hands;
No cruel jests from light-souled passengers;
No pity, crueller still; but rest at last,
Peace, calm, at last; light, joy, and love, at last.
CHRIST ON OLIVET.
(PUBLISHED 1858.)
LORD Jesus stood on Olivet,
Stood silent on the midmost peak ;
His eyes with solemn sorrow wet,
And agonies too keen to speak.
Not Kedron now invites His gaze,
In its serene and golden rest;
Nor purple mount, through silver haze
Soft rising as a maiden's breast.
Nor Jordan with its sinuous stream,
And banks that every perfume yield; Where ruddy oleanders gleam,
And willows bend o'er stream and field.
Not emerald meads and shaded brooks,
Nor sea far shining as a gem ;
But on the city Jesus looks,
Upon that fair Jerusalem.
What passion of a mighty love,
What passion of a mighty grief, Moves Him, thus looking from above, That tears should be His sole relief?
It is not that where all around
Falls cedarn gloom, His eyes can see
That little plot, that sacred ground,
That place of tears, Gethsemane.
It is that He must speak a woe,
And prophesy a fearful doom;
No wonder that the quick tears flow,
And on His brow sits tender gloom.
On this same spot, full long ago,
With naked feet, and covered brow,
King David wept in utter woe-
But sadder tears are flowing now.
King David mourned his sceptre lost,
The baseness of a cruel son;
Lord Jesus mourns sin's awful cost,
A people doomed, a realm undone.
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem,
Who slayest all who seek thy weal, And would'st to me do as to them, Though come thy pardon to reveal.
"How oft would I, but they withstood,
Thy children gather 'neath my love,
As any hen her nestling brood,
Beneath her soft wings spread abroad!
"Behold, your place is left to you
In desolation and in woe;
Ages shall pass ere Him ye slew,
And His great mercy, ye shall know."
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