TH MATTHEW V. 3- 10. HERE is a dwelling-place above; There is a paradise of reft; For contrite hearts and souls diftreft There is a goodly heritage, Where earthly paffions cease to rage; There is a board, where they who pine, There is a voice to mercy true; There is a name, in heaven bestowed; There is a kingdom in the sky, Where they shall reign with God on high, Lord! be it mine like them to choose The better part, like them to use The means Thy love hath given. Be holiness my aim on earth, Bishop R. Mant. 1831. THE CITY OF REST. "And the name of that city is reft." BIRDS from out the east, O birds from out the O weft, Have ye found that happy city in all your weary queft? Tell me, tell me, from earth's wandering may the heart find glad surcease, Can ye fhow me as an earnest any olive-branch of peace? I am weary of life's troubles, of its fin and toil and care; I am faithless, crushing in my heart so many a fruitless prayer. O birds from out the east, O birds from out the west, Can ye tell me of that city the name of which is Rest? Say, doth a dreamy atmosphere that blefféd city crown? Are there couches spread for fleeping softer than the eider-down? Does the filver sound of waters, falling 'twixt its marble walls, Hufh its solemn filence even into ftiller intervals? Doth the poppy fhed its influence there, or doth the fabled moly With its leafy-laden Lethe lade the eyes with slumber holy? Do they never wake to sorrow, who, after toilsome quest, Have entered in that city, the name of which is Rest? Doth the fancy wile not there for aye? Is the restless soul's endeavor Hushed in a rhythm of solemn calm, forever and forever? But weary, weary of the ore within its yellow sun, O tell me, do they there forget what here hath made them bleft, Nor figh again for home and friends, in the city naméd Reft? O little birds, fly east again, — O little birds, fly weft; Ye have found no happy city in all your weary queft. Still fhall ye find no spot of reft wherever ye may ftray, And ftill like you the human soul muft wing its weary way, There fleepeth no such city within the wide earth's bound, Nor hath the dreaming fancy yet its blissful portals found. We are but children crying here upon a mother's breast, For life and peace and blessedness, and for eternal Rest! Bless God, I hear a ftill small voice, above life's clamorous din, Saying, Faint not, O weary one, thou yet mayft enter in ; That city is prepared for those who well do win the fight, Who tread the wine-press till its blood hath washed their garments white, Within it is no darkness, nor any baleful flower Shall there oppress thy weeping eyes with stupefying power. It lieth calm within the light of God's peace-giving breaft, Its walls are called Salvation, the city's name is Reft! Household Words. MY HOW LONG? Y God, it is not faithleffness It is not heaviness of heart That hinders me in song; "How long?" 'Tis not despair of truth and right, Nor coward dread of wrong. But how can I with such a hope With such a joy before my eyes, These years, what ages have they been! This life, how long it seems! And how can I, in evil days, 'Mid unknown hills and ftreams, But figh for those of home and heart, And vifit them in dreams? Yet peace, my heart, and hush, my tongue; Be calm, my troubled breaft; Each hurrying hour is hastening on The everlasting rest; |