Not to deem evil gone
From every earthly scene,
To see the storm come on
But feel His shield between.
It giveth not a power to human kind
To lay all suffering powerless at its feet,
But keeps within the temple of the mind
A golden altar and a mercy-seat,
A spiritual ark,
Bearing the peace of God
Above the waters dark
And o'er the desert sod.
How beautiful within our souls to keep,
This treasure the All-merciful hath given,
To feel when we awake and when we sleep
Its incense round us like a breath from heaven,
Quiet at heart and home,
Where the heart's joys begin,
Quiet whene'er we roam,
Quiet around, within.
What shall make trouble? not the adverse minds
That like a shadow o'er creation lower,
The spirit peace hath so attuned, finds
The feelings that may own the Calmer's power.
What may she not confer,
E'en whilst she must condemn ?
They take not peace from her,
She may speak peace to them.
What shall make trouble? not an adverse fate,
Not chilling poverty or worldly care,
They who are tending to a better state
Want but that peace to make them feel they are;
Care o'er life's little day
The tempest-clouds may roll,
Peace o'er its eve shall play,
The moonlight of the soul.
What shall make trouble? not the holy thought
Of the departed—that shall be a part
Of the undying things that peace hath wrought
Into a world of beauty in the heart.
Not the forms passed away
That life's strong current bore,
Though the stream might not stay
The ocean shall restore.
What shall make trouble? not slow wasting pain,
Not the impending, certain stroke of death;
These do but wear away, then snap, the chain
That binds the spirit down to things beneath.
The quiet of the grave
No trouble can destroy,
He who is strong to save
Shall break it but with joy.
"That friend of mine who lives in God."
(Thus seems it we should say to our beloved,
Each held by such slight links so oft removed:)
And I can let thee go to the world's end;
All precious names, companion, love, spouse, friend,
Seal up in an eternal silence grey,
Like a closed grave till resurrection-day:
All sweet remembrances, hopes, dreams, desires,
Heap, as one heaps up sacrificial fires :
Then turning, consecrate by loss, and proud
Of penury-go back into the loud
Tumultuous world again with never a moan,
Save that which whispers still, "My own, my own,"
Under the same broad sky whose arch immense
Enfolds us both like the arm of Providence :
And thus contented I could live or die,
With never clasp of hand or meeting eye
On this side Paradise.-While thee I see
Living to God, thou art alive to me.
And I, methinks, can let all dear rights go,
Fond duties melt away like April snow,
And sweet, sweet hopes, that took a life to weave,
Vanish like gossamers of autumn eve.
Nay, sometimes seems it I could even bear
To lay down humbly this love-crown I wear,
Steal from my palace, helpless, hopeless, poor,
And see another queen it at the door-
If only that the king had done no wrong,
If this my palace, where I dwelt so long,
Where not defiled by falsehood entering in:
There is no loss but change, no death but sin,
No parting, save the slow corrupting pain
Of murdered faith that never lives again.
(So endeth faint the low pathetic cry
Of love, whom death hath taught, love cannot die,)
And I can stand above the daisy bed,
The only pillow for thy dearest head,
There cover up for ever from my sight
My own, my own, my all of earth-delight;
And enter the sea-cave of widow'd years,
Where far, far off the trembling gleam appears
Through which thy heavenly image slipped away,
And waits to meet me at the open day.
Only to me, my love, only to me
This cavern underneath the moaning sea;
This long, long life that I alone must tread,
To whom the living seem most like the dead,
Thou wilt be safe out on the happy shore:
He who in God lives, liveth evermore.
Poems by the Author of "John Halifax."
SWEET home echo on the pilgrim's way,
Thrice welcome message from a land of light, As through a clouded sky the moonbeams stray, So on eternity's deep shrouded night
Streams a mild radiance, from that cheering word, "So shall we be for ever with the Lord."
At home with Jesus! He who went before,
For His own people mansions to prepare ;
The soul's deep longings stilled, its conflicts o'er,
All rest and blessedness with Jesus there.—
What home like this can the wide earth afford?
"So shall we be for ever with the Lord."
With Him all gathered! to that blessed home
Through all its windings, still the pathway tends;
While ever and anon bright glimpses come
Of that fair city where the journey ends.
Where all of bliss is centred in one word,
"So shall we be for ever with the Lord.”
Here, kindred hearts are severed far and wide,
By many a weary mile of land and sea,
Or life's all-varied cares, and paths divide ;-
But yet a joyful gathering shall be,
The broken links repaired, the lost restored,
"So shall we be for ever with the Lord."
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