By fascination strange, if not by love,
My spirit hovers o'er the mournful past.
So looks, intently, as the visions rise,
Tho' nought arise to expectation new.
But solemn is the stillness of the past
Reviewed!its agitations hushed, and all
As calm as death!-The soul would fain revoke
Its incantations, and, in dread, remand
The phantoms it hath raised, but cannot,-nor
Avert its gaze.-Oblivion's gates unfold!
In slow succession pass the spectral shades
Of griefs yet bleeding, and of follies, armed
With scorpion stings, as heretofore, when first
They flattered and betrayed.-Each bears its cup
Of bitterness, and, as the sad array
Proceeds, each pours the baleful draught of woe
Into one ebon-chalice, till the brim
O'erflows.-Nor is there here one drop of aught,
But may appal the soul-and did so, nigh
To madness, when the cup was real-yet,
Mysterious power!-doth its memory dwell
As if it found a welcome in my heart,
And will not be repulsed!-nor let it be !
God of compassion!-merciful in frowns!
Sustainer of my life in anguish deep!
Deep anguish, which, tho' partially revealed,
None fully understood, nor keenest eye,
In all its springs and traversings, could trace;→
My Sun! my Shield! Uplifter of my head!
To thee, chastized, in utter helplessness,
I fled for refuge and for peace, and, now,-
Escaped the storm, and disciplined by grief,-
Beneath the shadow of thy brooding wings,
That peace I find. Celestial Visitant!
Scarce known, and never rightly valued, save
Where war hath raged-thou comest not in pomp,
Nor laughing revelry, nor clad in gold;
Thy greetings are not rapture, nor thy joys:
But quiet, safety, cheerfulness serene,
With fortitude and virtue fill thy train;
While evil, in whatever guise, abashed,
Before the brightness of thy coming shrinks.
Still deign to make my bosom thine abode !
No wayward passion pluck thy banner thence!
No rebel folly ruffle thy control!
The gift of heaven thou, stay with me, stay,
In present duty, or in future cares,
Until, to heaven upraised, I with thee dwell,
Secure for ever in my Father's house.
My Father's house! my kindling spirit soars.
There dwells the family of God! There rest
Dear death-dissevered friends in endless life!
There Jesus!" elder brother," who unbarred
Its portals at the price of blood, that man,
Released from penalty, and formed afresh
In god-like purity, might find a home;
And severed friends, in blest re-union, taste
The ceaseless interchange of sinless love!
My Father's house! glad termination this
Of earthly care! The spirit's worthy home,
Where God wipes tears away and writes them "past!"
"If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God."
Say, what is Wisdom? is it to play
With earthly joys as they come?
Earth's pleasures, alas! but a moment stay,
And our joys are consigned to the tomb!
Ah! can it be wise for ever to ply
A cup that so often fails?
To trust to a spring so subject to dry
That its promise but rarely avails!
Then what is Wisdom? is it to dwell
In league with sorrows and sighs?
To hail, as music, the funeral knell,
And, as beauty, the mourner's guise?
Nay, this is not Wisdom, nor will she
Be known to thy weary breast,
Till first inscribed by her hand there be
On thine heart, "this is not your rest!"
This Wisdom woo, thine heart she will teach
Life's sorrows and pleasures to weigh,
And place thee, at last, where grief cannot reach,
And the joy never passes away!
Her lessons will shew you the path that is right
To think, or to suffer, or do,
Your zeal enkindle, your spirit excite,
And assist you the path to pursue.
With courage on she will aid you to go,
Thro' conflicts and trials and pains,
And teach you to pass allurements below,
Ever seeking" the rest" that " remains."
Thus winds the stream to its ocean-source,
With flow'rs and weeds in its way;
The weeds entangle it not in its course,
Nor the flowers entice it to stay.
"Who by searching can find out God? Who can find out the Almighty unto perfection?"
Wondrous source of all I see !
Good, yet wrapt in mystery!
That Thou art, convinced I stand,
What Thou art, say, heav'nly band!
Angels, who for ever dwell
Near His throne beholding!-tell.
Nay! Thou art the Holy One,
Veiled in light approached by none !
What are angels? spirits they,
Unconfin'd by mortal clay.
Each a pure, a happy mind
Nought can sully—nothing bind,
High in wisdom, great in might,
Dwelling in eternal light!
Such are angels,-spirits they,
Unconfin'd by mortal clay.
What is light? Of Him a ray
From whose glance first sprang the day.
Beauty's soul, and vision's breath;
Hidden,-emblem drear of death,-
Shine the gem, or blush the rose,
Life of all that shines, or glows;
Such is light? of Him a ray
From whose glance first sprang the day.
God of angels! Source of light!
All that are those spirits bright,
All that is the purest ray,
Such art Thou! and more than they.
What Thou art, I ask no more,
Thou art holy! I adore !
To be as Thou art shall be
Noblest aim of life to me.
God of angels! Source of light!
Teach, oh! teach me what is right!
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