« ForrigeFortsett »
Because none ever saw so clear
The shore beyond of endless bliss :
But that in such communion high
He hath a fount of strength within,
O’erburthen'd by his brethren's sin ;
brook On the true face of Sin to look.
What then shall wretched sinners do,
When in their last, their hopeless day,
God turn his face for aye away ?
As thou hast touch'd our ears, and taught
Our tongues to speak thy praises plain,
That would make fast our bonds again.
From idle words, that restless throng,
And haunt our hearts when we would pray, From pride's false chime, and jarring wrong,
Seal thou my lips, and guard the way:
THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER
And he turned him unto his disciples, and said privately, Blessed are
which see the things that ye see: for I tell you, that many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them : and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them. St. Luke x. 23, 24.
Of Thee and of thy ways:
Fasting he watch'd and all alone,
Wrapt in a still, dark, solid cloud,
Drawn round him like a shroud :
So, separate from the world, his breast
Might duly take and strongly keep The print of Heaven, to be express'd
Ere long on Sion's steepk.
There one by one his spirit saw,
Of things divine the shadows bright, The pageant of God's perfect law;
Yet felt not full delight.
Through gold and gems, a dazzling maze,
From veil to veil the vision led, And ended, where unearthly rays
From o'er the Ark were shed.
Yet not that gorgeous place, nor aught
Of human or angelic frame,
The void was still the same.
“ Shew me thy glory, gracious Lord !
“ 'Tis Thee,” he cries, “not thine, I seek!"Nay, start not at so bold a word
k See that thou make all things according to the pattern shewed to thee in the mount. Hebrews viii. 5.
i Exodus xxxiii. 18.
From man, frail worm and weak :
The spark of his first deathless fire
Yet buoys him up, and high above The holiest creature, dares aspire
To the Creator's love.
in smiles may wander round, Caught by earth's shadows as they fleet ; But for the soul no help is found,
Save Him, who made it, meet.
Spite of yourselves, ye witness this",
Who blindly self or sense adore ; Else wherefore leaving your own bliss
Still restless ask ye more ?
This witness bore the saints of old
When highest rapt and favour'd most, Still seeking precious things untold,
Not in fruition lost.
m Pensees de Pascal, part 1. art. viii.