Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !
Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene,
Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast—
Thou too again, stupendous mountain ! thou
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest like a vapoury cloud
To rise before me-Rise, oh, ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth with her thousand voices praises God.
GLOOM is upon thy lonely hearth,
O silent house! once filled with mirth;
Sorrow is in the breezy sound
Of thy tall poplars whispering round.
The shadow of departed hours
Hangs dim upon thine early flowers ;
Even in thy sunshine seems to brood
Something more deep than solitude.
Fair art thou, fair to a stranger's gaze,
Mine own sweet home of other days!
My children's birthplace! yet for me
It is too much to look on thee.
Too much, for all about thee spread,
I feel the memory of the dead,
And almost linger for the feet
That never more my step shall meet.
The looks, the smiles, all vanished now,
Follow me where thy roses blow;
The echoes of kind household-words
Are with me midst thy singing birds.
Till my heart dies, it dies away
In yearnings for what might not stay;
For love which ne'er deceived my trust,
For all which went with "dust to dust!
What now is left me, but to raise
From thee, 'lorn spot! my spirit's gaze,
To lift through tears my straining eye
Up to my Father's house on high?
Oh! many are the mansions there,
But not in one hath grief a share !
No haunting shade from things gone by
May there o'ersweep the unchanging sky.
And they are there, whose long-loved mien
In earthly home no more is seen;
Whose places, where they smiling sate,
Are unto us now desolate.
We miss them when the board is spread;
We miss them when the prayer is said ;
Upon our dreams their dying eyes
In still and mournful fondness rise.
But they are where these longings vain
Trouble no more the heart and brain ;
The sadness of this aching love
Dims not our Father's house above.
Ye are at rest, and I in tears,
Ye dwellers of immortal spheres !
Under the poplar boughs I stand,
And mourn the broken household band.
But by your life of lowly faith
And by your joyful hope in death,
Guide me, till on some brighter shore
The severed wreath is bound once more!
Holy ye were, and good, and true!
No change can cloud my thoughts of you;
Guide me, like you, to live and die,
And reach my Father's house on high!
REST IN PILGRIMAGE.
THOU who, in every troubled scene,
Has been Thy people's quiet rest,
Oh! let a tired disciple lean
Upon the Master's breast.
"Tis there I list the whispers sweet,
Which every doubt and fear reprove,
'Tis there I hear the pulses beat
Of everlasting Love.
'Tis there I breathe the secret sigh,
Too deep, too strange for mortal ear ;
And there the Master's hand doth dry
The poor disciple's tear.
"Tis there I own the Sovereign grace
Which shattered earthly hopes of bliss,
And troubled every resting-place,
Save this,-save only this!
My Master! Thou hast borne for me,
The bleeding feet, the weary breast,
And to Thy heart of love I flee,
For solace and for rest.
“DISCOURAGED BECAUSE OF THE WAY.”
PILGRIM of earth, who art journeying to heaven!
Heir of eternal life! child of the day!
Cared for, watched over, beloved and forgiven,
Art thou discouraged, because of the way?
Cared for, watched over, though often thou seemest
Justly forsaken, nor counted a child;
Loved and forgiven-though rightly thou deemest
Thyself all unlovely, impure and defiled.
Weary and thirsty-no water-brook near thee,
Press on, nor faint at the length of the way;
The God of thy life will assuredly hear thee,
He will provide thee with strength for the day.
Break through the brambles and briers that obstruct thee,
Dread not the gloom and the blackness of night,
Lean on the hand that will safely conduct thee,
Trust to His eye to whom darkness is light!
Be trustful, be steadfast, whatever betide thee,
Only one thing do thou ask of the Lord—
Grace to go forward wherever He guide thee,
Simply believing the truth of His word.
1 on thy spirit's deep anguish is pressing—
Not for the yoke that His wisdom bestows,
A heavier burden thy soul is distressing—
A heart that is slow in His love to repose;
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