« ForrigeFortsett »
Let Reason slumber if she will,
Let Reason slumber out the night;
But if thou deign to make
Ah, keep my heart awake!
THE JOY OF THE CROSS.
Long plunged in sorrow, I resign
Without reserve or fear;
Transform the falling tear.
My sole possession is thy love;
I have no other store;
I ask thee nothing more.
My rapid hours pursue the course
And I thy sovereign will,
And doomed to suffer still.
By thy command, where'er I stray,
A never failing friend;
Let Sorrow still attend!
It costs me no regret, that she,
Who followed Christ, should follow me;
And though, where'er she goes, Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet, I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.
Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
I taste no sweets in you;
And Jesus thought so too.
The Cross! Oh ravishment and bliss,—
Its bitterness how sweet!
Souls once enabled to disdain
Their dignity secure;
Is delicate and pure.
Self-love no grace in sorrow sees,
'Tis all the bliss she knows:
In suffering her repose.
Sorrow and love go side by side;
Their heaven-appointed bands;
Disjoin their wedded hands.
Jesus, avenger of our fall,
The Cross has ever borm!
And sloth and ease thy scorn!
Thy choice and mine shall be the same,
Which must for ever blaze!
My portion and my praise.
JOY IN MARTYRDOM.
Sweet tenants of this grove,
Who sing, without design,
In unison with mine:
Full many a note of ours,
With all their boasted powers.
O Thou! whose sacred charms
These hearts so seldom love, Although thy beauty warms
And blesses all above; How slow are human things
To choose their happiest lot '. All-glorious King of kings,
Say why we love tbee not?
This heart, that cannot rest,
Shall thine for ever prove; Though bleeding and distressed,
Yet joyful in thy love: 'Tis happy, though it breaks
Beneath thy chastening hand; And speechless,—yet it speaks
What thou canst understand.
Still, still, without ceasing,
I feel it increasing,
And often exclaim,
Let me die in the flame
Had I words to explain
What she must sustain Who dies to the world and its ways;
I low joy and affright,
Distress and delight, Alternately chequer her days.
Thou, sweetly severe!
I would make thee appear,
Not more in the sweet
Than the bitter I meet,
This Faith, in the dark
Pursuing its mark Through many sharp trials of Love,
Is the sorrowful waste
That is to be passed
THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT.
Source oflove, my brighter sun,
See, my race is almost run;
Hast thou left this trembling heart?
In my youth thy charming eyes
Then I drank unmingled joys;
Spouse of Christ was then my name;
And devoted all to thee, Strangely jealous, I became
Jealous of this Self in me.
Thee to love, and none beside,
While alternately I died,
Now of grief, and now of joy.
Through the dark and silent night
And to see the dawning light
Thou my gracious teacher wert;
And thine eye, so close applied, While it watched thy pupil's heart,
Seemed to look at none beside.
Conscious of no evil drift,
This, I cried, is Love indeed!
'Tis the Giver, not the Gift
Whence the joys I feel proceed.
But soon humbled, and laid low,
Nothing left but sin and woe,
Oh, the vain conceit of man,
Arrogating all he can,
He the graces thou hast wrought
Ignorant, that one such thought
Such his folly,—proved, at last,
By the loss of that repose Self-complacence cannot taste,
Only Love Divine bestows.
Tis by this reproof severe,
His defects at last appear,
Man is to himself made known.
Learn, all Earth ! that feeble man,
.Votning is, and nothing can;
LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING.
"I Love the Lord," is still the strain This heart delights to sing;
But I reply,—your thoughts are vain, Perhaps 'tis no such thing.
Before the power of Love Divine
Creation fades away;
In all that we survey.
In gulfs of awful night we find
The God of our desires; 'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires.
Flames of encircling love invest,
'Tis filled with sacred joy, yet pressed
Ah Love! my heart is in the right—
Amidst a thousand woes, To thee, it's ever new delight,
And all its peace it owes.
Fresh causes of distress occur
Where'er I look or move; The comforts I to all prefer
Are solitude and love.
Nor exile I, nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great; I find a Saviour everywhere,
His grace in every state.
Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,
There I can sit, and sing, and weep,