Is narrowed by that too delicious sound!—
The feeling picture,—such may faintly tell,
When Mary worshipped, how her spirit thrilled!
NOT MY WILL, BUT THINE BE DONE.
O LORD my God, do Thou Thy holy will—
I will lie still-
I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm,
And break the charm,
Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast,
In perfect rest.
Wild Fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile
With thy false smile:
I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways;
Be silent, Praise,
Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all
That hear thy call.
Come, Self-devotion, high and pure,
Thoughts that in thankfulness endure,
Though dearest hopes are faithless found,
And dearest hearts are bursting round.
Come, Resignation, spirit meek,
And let me kiss thy placid cheek,
And read in thy pale eye serene
Their blessing, who by faith can wean
Their hearts from sense, and learn to love
God only, and the joys above.
They say, who know the life divine,
And upward gaze with eagle eyrie,
That by each golden crown on high,
Rich with celestial jewelry,
Which for our Lord's redeemed is set,
There hangs a radiant coronet,
All gemmed with pure and living light,
Too dazzling for a sinner's sight,
Prepared for virgin souls, and them
Who seek the martyr's diadem.
Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire,
Must win their way through blood and fire.
The writhings of a wounded heart
Are fiercer than a foeman's dart,
Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining,
In Desolation unrepining,
Without a hope on earth to find
A mirror in an answering mind,
Meek souls there are, who little dream
Their daily strife an angel's theme,
Or that the rod they take so calm
Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm.
And there are souls that seem to dwell
Above this earth—so rich a spell
Floats round their steps, where'er they move,
From hopes fulfilled and mutual love.
Such, if on high their thoughts are set,
Nor in the stream the source forget,
If prompt to quit the bliss they know,
Following the Lamb where'er He go,
By purest pleasures unbeguiled
To idolize or wife or child;
Such wedded souls our God shall own
For faultless virgins round His throne.
Thus everywhere we find our suffering God,
And where He trod
May set our steps: the cross on Calvary
Uplifted high
Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light
In open fight.
To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart
He doth impart
The virtue of His midnight agony,
When none was nigh
Save God and one good angel, to assuage
The tempest's rage.
Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find
All to thy mind,
Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend
Thee to befriend:
So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,
Thy best, thine all.
"O Father! not my will, but Thine be done "-
So spake the Son.
Be this our charm, mellowing earth's ruder noise Of griefs and joys:
That we may cling for ever to Thy breast
USE OF FLOWERS.
GOD might have made the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
The oak tree and the cedar tree,
Without a flower at all.
He might have made enough, enough
For every want of ours;
For luxury, medicine, and toil,
And yet have made no flowers.
The ore within the mountain-mine
Requireth none to grow,
Nor doth it need the lotus flower
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
And the herb that keepeth life in man
Might yet have drunk them all.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
All dyed with rainbow light;
All fashioned with supremest grace,
Upspringing day and night;
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high,
And in the silent wilderness,
Where no man passeth by?
Our outward life requires them not-
Then wherefore had they birth?
To minister delight to man,
So beautiful the earth;
To comfort man-to whisper hope
Whene'er his faith is dim;
For whoso careth for the flowers,
Will much more care for Him!
THE LIGHT OF STARS.
THE night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently,
All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.
There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.
Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
O no! from that blue tent above,
A hero's armour gleams.
And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.
O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain ;
Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand,
And I am strong again.
Within my breast there is no light,
But the cold light of stars;
|