For whom again was all this beauty planned? Vain man, 'twas all for thee! for thy delight! Then may the heart respond, while lips repeat The praise of Him beneath whose care thou art! B. STABLE.
WITH heart repentant, Father, lead me on
A willing prisoner in the "bands of love,”
And teach me to adore! I cannot stand
Upon this world of woe, and rest content,
With knowing thee as God; my spirit longs
To meet its great Redeemer, and partake
Of all the light that emanates from thee.
"Tis not the whirlwind, nor the mighty rush,
Of battling sounds, that so proclaimeth thee
The soul's supporter! 'tis "the still small voice,"
Which strikes the sense, and lights the lamp of love;
We stand in awe, and tremble at the shock,
Which speaks thy power;-but the kindred tone
Of Friendship draws us on, and firmly binds
In pure confiding bliss, our hopes in thee!
And now that darkness holds her gloomy sway,
And awful silence lends to thought a charm
That verges on repose; the willing mind
That sweet communion holds, till, lost in love,
Earth far recedes, and heaven fills up the void!
Foretaste of bliss! though soon the spell dissolves,
It still reminds us that our brightest hopes
Will one day be fulfilled; when not a sigh
Shall intercept the peaceful, placid rest,
But hymns of joy from seraph voices thrill,
In wondrous unison the raptured soul.
MATTHEW, XI. 28–30.
O HEAVENLY Father! God of grace!
Across the world's wide, empty space,
I come, oppressed with grief;
In worldly cares, from worldly gain,
I've sought a rest from all my pain,
But could not find relief.
Perceiving this, I thought I could
Find in myself some innate good,
On which I might recline:
But all my faith, and all my tears,
Availed me not; still doubts and fears
Perplexed this heart of mine.
At length I heard thy Spirit's voice,
Whose sound did make my heart rejoice,
In mercy sweetly say,
Poor sinner! there's no earthly ground
Where consolation can be found;
From hence, come, flee away.
'Tis in the ark of covenant
I've found for thee a resting-place,
Where thou shalt safely dwell;
For yet the waves and floods must roar,
Till I shall land thee on a shore
Beyond the reach of hell.
My God! I come! I fly from death!
But send thy spirit's gentle breath
To dry my drooping wing:
Or I shall ne'er that ark attain
Which floats secure across the main,
Where ransomed spirits sing.
For faith and love are sure to sink,
And bring me to the water's brink,
And plunge me in the wave.
My prayer is heard! thine outstretched arm
Secures my soul from every harm;
I see thy power to save.
How strange, my God! it seems to me
That I a stranger am to thee!
That I, who often have beheld
Thy wondrous grace which ne'er withheld
One needful good, am left to prove
The tokens of thy absent love.
How strange to me appears that breath
Which saves my sinful soul from death!
Strange is that power by which I trace
Sin doomed to die through sovereign grace;
Strange is that voice which bade me come
A pilgrim to my Father's home.
Strange do I seem to those blessed powers
Of faith and love, by which my hours
Were once employed in prayer and praise
To Him who claimed my happier days;
Strange to His Word, I cannot see
The light of truth reflect to me,
That sun, without whose cheering rays
I spend in gloom my weary days.
Strange to my God, I wander where
Nor peace, nor joy, to me appear;
And, stranger still, I must believe
My God will yet my soul relieve.
O thou blest Lord! before whose sight
My way, so dark, is clear as light,
Give me but grace to wait thy will,
I'll try to bear my strangeness till
My soul, beyond all turn and change,
To thee nor me no more seem strange.
ACTS, XX. 28. EZEK. XXXIV. 14. THE Gospel comes! ordained of God To cheer the pilgrim on that road
'Tis in the ark of covenant grace,
I've found for thee a resting-place,
Where thou shalt safely dwell;
For yet the waves and floods must roar,
Till I shall land thee on a shore
Beyond the reach of hell.
My God! I come! I fly from death!
But send thy spirit's gentle breath
To dry my drooping wing:
Or I shall ne'er that ark attain
Which floats secure across the main,
Where ransomed spirits sing.
For faith and love are sure to sink,
And bring me to the water's brink,
And plunge me in the wave.
My prayer is heard! thine outstretched arm
Secures my soul from every harm;
I see thy power to save.
How strange, my God! it seems to me
That I a stranger am to thee!
That I, who often have beheld
Thy wondrous grace which ne'er withheld
One needful good, am left to prove
The tokens of thy absent love.
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