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DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL.
Love is the Lord whom I obey,
The centre of my rest, my stay,
For uncreated charms I burn,
For One in whom I may discern,
He little loves Him who complains,
His heart is sordid, and he feigns,
Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
And he has never tasted love
Sweet is the cross, above all sweets, To souls enamoured with Thy smiles;
The keenest woe life ever meets Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles.
'Tis just that God should not be dear Where Self engrosses all the thought,
And groans and murmurs make it clear, Whatever else is loved, the Lord is not.
The love of Thee flows just as much As that of ebbing self subsides;
Our hearts, their scantiness is such, Bear not the conflict of two rival tides.
Both cannot govern in one soul; Then let self-love be dispossessed;
The love of God deserves the whole, And will not dwell with so despised a guest.
THE SECRETS OF DIVINE
Sun! stay thy course, this moment stay—•
Suspend the o'erflowing tide of day,
O Night! propitious to my views,
Ye Stars! whose faint and feeble fires
Express my languishing desires,
Whose slender beams pervade the skies
As silent as my secret sighs,
Those emanations of a soul
That darts her fires beyond the pole;
Your rays, that scarce assist the sight,
LOVE ARE TO BE KEPT.
Thou Moon! whose never-failing course
While, in the blue abyss of space,
Ye thought-composing, silent Hours,
In sylvan scenes and caverns rude,
Imbowering Shades, and Dens pro-
Ye Rills! that, murmuring all the way,
Enamelled Meads, and Hillocks green,
If, when my pain and grief increase,
Ye Meads and Groves, unconscious things!Ye know not whence my pleasure springs:
Ye know not, and ye cannot know,
Ye Deserts X where the wild beasts rove,
V'e Lambs! who sport beneath these
How calm, amid these scenes, my mind!
Ye swift-finned nations, that abide
Away! dive deep into the brine,
My soul her bondage ill endures;
I pant for liberty like yours;
I long for that immense profound,
That knows no bottom and no bound;
Lost in infinity, to prove
The incomprehensible of Love.
Ye Birds! that lessen as ye fly,
How blest and how secure am I,
Omniscient God, whose notice deigns
Love, all-subduing and divine,
THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.
I SUFFER fruitless anguish day by day,
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
The more I strive the more I am withstood;
Anxiety increasing every hour,
And nought remains of all my former power.
My peace of heart is fled, I know not where;
My happy hours, like shadows, passed away;
Night darker seems, succeeding such a day.
Dear faded joys, and impotent regret, What profit is there in incessant tears?
Alas! He flies me—treats me as his foe, Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead;
Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe,
Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive;
My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires;
Hell seems to lose its less tremendous fires.
Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear,
So thy severe displeasure might subside?
My life extinguished, and yet death denied.
Is this the joy so promised ?—this the love, The unchanging love, so sworn in better days?
Ah! dangerous glories! shown me, but to prove
Why did I see them? had I still remained
My humbler wishes I had soon obtained,
Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires,
Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain?Dubious and uninformed, my soul inquires—
Suffering, I suffer not; sincerely love,
Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame;
As chance inclines me, unconcerned I move,
I search my heart, and not a wish is there,
Such is the sad disquietude I share, A sea of doubts, and self the source of all.
I ask not life, nor do I wish to die;
And if thine hand accomplish not my cure, I would not purchase with a single sigh
A free discharge from all that I endure.
I groan in chains, yet want not a release;
Am sick, and know not the distempered part; Am just as void of purpose as of peace;
Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart.
My claim to life, though sought with earnest care,
Once I had faith, but now in self-despair
My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks,
Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks
Language affords not my distress a name,—
Yet is it real, and no sickly dream;
Is all I know of happiness supreme.
When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast,
When Love returns, the gloomy scene is past,
Then tell me why these ages of delay?
O Love, all excellent, once more appear, Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day,
From this abyss of night, these floods of fear!
No—Love is angry, will not now endure
He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure;
He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow;He flies, he reappears, and wounds again ;— Was ever heart that loved Thee treated so?Yet I adore Thee, though it seem in vain.