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FRENCH OF MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUION.
'Tis folly all !—let me no more be told
0*f Parian porticos, and roofs of gold;
Delightful views of nature, dressed by art,
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart;
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth,
Makes mean the proud magnificence of earth;
The straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall,
Eclipse its lustre; and I scorn it all.
Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales,
Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails;
Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise,
Earth-born, and yet ambitious of the skies,
The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades
Vainly the sun in all its power invades,
Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound,
Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around;
Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep,
And torrents raving down the rugged steep,
Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits cheer,
Meads crowned with ilowers, streams musical and clear,
Whose silver waters and whose murmurs join
Their artless charms, to make the scene divine;
The fruitful vineyard, and the furrowed plain,
That seems a rolling sea of golden grain,
All, all have lost the charms they once possessed;
An infant God reigns sovereign in my breast;
From Bethlehem's bosom I no more will rove;
There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love.
Ye mightier rivers, that with sounding force,
Urge down the valleys your impetuous course!
Winds, clouds, and lightnings! and, ye waves, whose heads,
Curled into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads!
Horrid abyss, where all experience fails,
.Spread with the wreck of planks and shattered sails;
On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides,
While havoc floats on all thy swelling tides,
Thy shores a scene of ruin, strewed around
With vessels bulged, and bodies of the drowned!
Ye fish that sport beneath the boundless waves,
And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves;
Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size,
Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes!
Had I but faith immoveable and true,
I might defy the fiercest storm, like you.
The world, a more disturbed and boisterous sea,
When Jesus shows a smile, affrights not me;
He hides me, and in vain the billows roar,
Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore.
Thou azure vault, where through the gloom of night,
Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light!
Thou Moon, whose car encompassing the skies,
Restores lost nature to our wondering eyes,
Again retiring when the brighter Sun
Begins the course he seems in haste to run,
Behold him where he shines! His rapid rays,
Themselves unmeasured, measure all our days;
Nothing impedes the race he would pursue,
Nothing escapes his penetrating view,
A thousand lands confess his quickening heat,
And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet.
Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose,
I feel the thorn, alas! but miss the rose:
Too well I know this aching heart requires
More solid good to fill its vast desires:
In vain they represent His matchless might,
Who called them out of deep primeval night;
Their form and beauty but augment my woe:
I seek the Giver of those charms they show:
Nor, Him beside, throughout the world He made,
Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid.
Infinite God, thou great unrivalled One!
Whose glory makes a blot of yonder sun;
Compared with thine, how dim his beauty seems,
How quenched the radiance of his golden beams!
Thou art my bliss, the light by which I move;
In Thee alone dwells all that I can love;
All darkness flies when Thou art pleased to appear,
A sudden spring renews the fading year;
Where'er I turn I see thy power and grace,
The watchful guardians of our heedless race;
Thy various creatures in one strain agree,
All, in all times and places, speak of Thee;
Even I, with trembling heart and stammering tongue,
Attempt thy praise, and join the general song.
Almighty Former of this wondrous plan,
Faintly reflected in thine image, Man !—
Holy and just, the greatness of whose name
Fills and supports this universal frame,
Diffused throughout the infinitude of space,
Who art Thyself thine own vast dwelling place;
Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of outs
Discerns, eluding our most active powers;
Encircling shades attend thine awful throne,
That veil thy face, and keep thee still unknown,
Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part, Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart!
Repeat the charming truth that never tires, No God is like the God my soul desires! Me at whose voice Heaven trembles, even He, Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me. Lo! there he lies,—that smiling infant said, "Heaven, earth, and sea exist !"—and they obeyed. Even He, whose Being swells beyond the skies, Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies; Eternal and Immortal, seems to cast That glory from his brows, and breathes his last. Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought, How do they shrink and vanish at the thought!
Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose! This rustic sight assuages all my woes.— That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore; And earth's a shade, that I pursue no more. He is my firm support, my rock, my tower, I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power, And hold this mean retreat for ever dear, For all I love, my soul's delight, is here. I sen the Almighty swathed in infant bands, Tied helpless down the thunder-bearer's hands, And, in this shed, that mystery discern, Which Faith and Love, and they alone, can learn.
Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord! Ye zephyrs, all your whispered sweets afford! Confess the God, that guides the rolling year; Heaven, do him homage; and thou, Earth, revere! Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring Your hearts an offering, and adore your King! Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love; Join in his praise, the harmonious world above; To Bethlehem haste, rejoice in his repose, And praise him there for all that he bestows!
Man, busy Man, alas! can ill afford To obey the summons, and attend the Lord; Perverted reason revels and runs wild, By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled, And blind to genuine excellence and grace, Finds not her author in so mean a place. Ye unbelieving! learn a wiser part, Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart; There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame Glow for that infant God, from whom it came; Resist not, quench not, that divine desire, Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire!
Not so will I requite thee, gentle Love! Yielding and soft this heart shall ever prove; And every heart beneath thy power shall fall, Glad to submit, could mine contain them all.
But I am poor; oblation I have none,
None for a Saviour, but Himself alone:
Whate'er I render Thee, from Thee it came;
And, if I give my body to the flame,
My patience, love, and energy divine
Of heart and soul and spirit, all are thine.
Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score!
The more I pay, I owe thee still the more.
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.
And do I grieve at such an humbling lot?
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought.
Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu!
I have no wish, no memory for you;
The more I feel my misery, I adore
The sacred inmate of my soul the more;
Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride
Spring from the sense of having nought beside.
In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might;
My wanderings prove Thy wisdom infinite;
All that I have I give thee ; and then see
All contrarieties unite in thee;
For Thou hast joined them, taking up our woe,
And pouring out thy bliss on worms below,
By filling with thy grace and love divine
A gulf of evil in this heart of mine.
This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise,
And the hills sink,—'tis matching Earth and Skies!
I feel my weakness, thank thee, and deplore
An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more;
The more I love thee, I the more reprove
A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love;
Till, on a deluge of thy mercy tossed,
I plunge into that sea, and there am lost.
GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD.
Ye Linnets, let us try, beneath this grove,
Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise!
In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove,
P'or all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways.
That God alone should prop the sinking soul,
Fills them with rage against his empire now:
I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole,
To seek one simple heart, set free from all below.
They speak of love, yet little feel its sway,
While in their bosoms many an idol lurks;
Their base desires, well satidw*^ obey.
Leave the Creator"* band, and lean 3pcn bis works.
'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no mere;
Your fellowship, ye warblers '. saiii rce best: Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore,
I'rofaned ' y modern tongues, and slighted as a jest.
My God, who formed you for his praise alone, lieholds his purpose well fulfilled in Voo;
Come, let us join the choir before his throne,
Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true!
Yes, I will always love ; and, as I ought,
Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice;
Preferring Love too vast for human thought.
In vpite of erring men, who cavil at my choice.
Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts,
Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine?
If thou approve,—the zeal thy smile imparts,
How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline?
Love pure and holy, is a deathless fire;
Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire,
When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise.
Self-love dismissed,—'tis then we live indeed,—
In her embrace, death, only death is found:
Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed,
Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound 1
Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear,
Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone;
Let his unequalled excellence be dear,
Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own!
They hear me not.—Alas ! how fond to rove
In endless chase of folly's specious lure! 'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove,
I taste the sweets of truth, —here only am secure.
I AM fond of the swallow ;—I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love:
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended and poised in the regions of air;
'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows,
It is winged like herself, 'tis ethereal fare.