« AnteriorContinua »
Seeking to do His will, to know His love,
Longing to dwell, to reign with Him above; So shall His Spirit's unction breathe on thee, And fill thy soul with heavenly sanctity.
TO A SLUMBERING CHRISTIAN.
"Ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day we are not of the night, nor of darkness. Therefore, let us not sleep, as do others, but let us watch and be sober."-1 Thess. v. 5, 6.
FOND, busy dreamer, cease to weave
A web of fancied joy,
Nor o'er its fragile texture grieve,
'Tis but an empty toy.
This world can have no rest for thee,
No happiness below;
Life is a sad reality
Of trouble, care, and woe.
Say, can the fighting soldier sleep
Or, 'midst the din of combat, keep
Then cease to sorrow o'er the past,
With thy loins girded, follow fast
Oh! watch and pray, thou ransomed one,
Till fought the fight, the victory won,
"And Rizpah, the daughter of Aiah, took sackcloth, and spread it for her upon the rock, from the beginning of harvest until the water dropped upon them out of heaven; and suffered neither the birds of the air to rest on them by day, nor the beasts of the field by night."-2 Sam. xxi. 10.
HUSH! for a sound of dirge-like music floats
And casts a sable hue her form around.
No ravening beast by night, no bird by day, Shall mark those mouldering bodies for their
For, hour by hour that lonely woman keeps
By night or day, though o'er her sunken eye
And still she watches, while the moon's clear beam
Shines o'er the vallies low, and running stream;
"How are ye fallen, my bright-haired sons! Cut off in your beauty, my blooming ones; Struck down, ere the glory of manhood's prime, As a green tree falls before its time.
The bird shall spring from her grassy nest. And the wild goat climb o'er the mountain's breast;
But your princely forms shall no more be seen Bounding along in the forest green.
Hushed are the voices that whispered low,
But now ye must pass to the silent tomb,
Sad and alone in my misery."
So weeps that mourning mother o'er the slain, Through the long day, and in the evening's
No comfort near, no voice to speak relief,
The soul's deep wounds; Thy loving heart can feel
Each sorrowing mourner's woe, for Thou hast been
A man of sorrows in this world of sin.