How strange to me appears that breath
Which
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
Which leads to endless day;
From hence the saints of Christ are fed
With living streams and living bread,
Their strength, and joy, and stay.
As travellers resting, here they meet;
Sitting around their Master's feet,
They listen to that voice
Which, as they pass to realms above,
Reveals the wonders of His love,
Who bids them to rejoice.
Then, while to Zion's sons the sound
Of mercy comes, may I be found
Among the happy few!
Great God of heaven! hear my prayer,
O let me, Lord, thy mercies share;
I'll sing thy glories too.
Into a perfect calm, that not a breath
Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves
Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods, diffused
In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse
"Tis silence all,
Forgetful of their course.
And pleasing expectation,
INTO a gradual calm the zephyrs sink,
A blue rim borders all the lake's still brink;
And now, on every side, the surface breaks
Into blue spots, and slowly lengthening streaks.
Here, spots of sparkling water tremble bright,
With thousand thousand twinkling points of light:
There, waves that, hardly weltering, die away,
Tip their smooth ridges with a softer ray.
And now the universal tides repose,
And brightly blue the burnished mirror glows,
Save where, along the shady western marge,
Coasts with industrious oar the charcoal barge:
The sails are dropped, the poplar's foliage sleeps,
And insects clothe, like dust, the glassy deeps.
WORDSWORTH.
JERUSALEM AT THE FIRST CRUSADE.
ON two unequal hills the city stands,
A vale between divides the higher lands.
Three sides without impervious to the foes,
The northern side an easy passage shows,
With smooth ascent; but well they guard the part
With lofty walls, and laboured works of art.
The city lakes and living springs contains,
And cisterns to receive the falling rains:
But bare of herbage is the country round;
Nor springs nor streams refresh the barren ground.
No tender flower exalts its cheerful head;
No stately trees at noon their shelter spread;
Save where, two leagues remote, a wood appears,
Embrowned with noxious shade, the growth of years!
Where morning gilds the city's eastern side,
The sacred Jordan pours its gentle tide.
Extended lie, against the setting day,
The sandy borders of the midland sea:
Samaria to the north, and Bethel's wood,
Where to the golden calf the altar stood:
And on the rainy south the hallowed earth
Of Bethlehem, where the Lord received His birth.
HOOLE'S TASSO.
THERE is a family on earth
Whose Father fills a throne;
But, though a seed of heavenly birth,
To men they're little known.
Whene'er they meet the public eye,
They feel the public scorn;
For men the fairest claims deny,
And count them basely born.
But 'tis the King who reigns above
That claims them for His own;
The favoured objects of His love,
And destined to a throne.
The honours that belong to them
By men are set at nought;
Whatever shines not they contemn,
Unworthy of a thought!
But, ah! how little they reflect!
For mark th' unerring word,
"That which with men has most respect
Is odious to the Lord."
Were honours evident to sense,
Their portion here below,
The world would do them reverence,
And all their claims allow.
But when the King Himself was here,
His claims were set at nought:
Would they another lot prefer?
Rejected be the thought.
No! they will tread, while here below,
The path their Master trod;
Content all honour to forego,
But that which comes from God.
And when the King again appears,
He'll vindicate their claim;
Eternal honour shall be theirs,
Their foes be filled with shame.
OMNIPRESENCE OF GOD.
Of thou, by long experience tried,
Near whom no grief can long abide,
My Lord, how full of sweet content
pass my years of banishment.
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