« PreviousContinue »
Thy choice and mine shall be the same,
Which must for ever blaze!
JOY IN MARTYRDOM.
SWEET tenants of this
Full many a note of ours,
With all their boasted powers.
O Thou! whose sacred charms
And blesses all above;
To choose their happiest lot!
Say why we love thee not?
This heart, that cannot rest,
Shall thine for ever prove;
"Tis happy, though it breaks
STILL, still, without ceasing,
Let me die in the flame
Of a love that can never expire!
Had I words to explain
What she must sustain
Who dies to the world and its ways:
How joy and affright,
Alternately chequer her days.
Thou, sweetly severe !
I would make thee appear,
In all thou art pleased to award,
This Faith, in the dark
Through many sharp trials of Love,
Is the sorrowful waste
In the way to the Canaan above.
THE NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT.
SOURCE of love, my brighter sun,
Hast thou left this trembling heart?
In my youth thy charming eyes
Drew me from the ways of men ; Then I drank unmingled joys;
Frown of thine saw never then.
Spouse of Christ was then my name;
Jealous of this Self in me.
Thee to love, and none beside,
Was my darling, sole employ; While alternately I died,
Now of grief, and now of joy.
Through the dark and silent night
On thy radiant smiles I dwelt; And to see the dawning light
Was the keenest pain I felt.
Thou my gracious teacher wert;
Conscious of no evil drift,
But soon humbled, and laid low,
Stript of all thou hast conferr'd, Nothing left but sin and woe,
I perceived how I had err'd.
Oh the vain conceit of man,
Dreaming of a good his own, Arrogating all he can,
Though the Lord is good alone!
He the graces thou hast wrought
Makes subservient to his pride; Ignorant, that one such thought
Passes all his sin beside.
Such his folly,-proved, at last,
Only Love Divine bestows.
"Tis by this reproof severe,
And by this reproof alone, His defects at last appear,
Man is to himself made known.
Learn, all Earth! that feeble man, Sprung from this terrestrial clod, Nothing is, and nothing can;
Life and power are all in God.
LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING.
"I LOVE the Lord," is still the strain
'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind, And doubles all its fires.
Flames of encircling love invest,
And pierce it sweetly through; 'Tis fill'd with sacred joy, yet press'd With sacred sorrow too.
Ah Love! my heart is in the right—
To thee, it's ever new delight,
Fresh causes of distress occur