« PreviousContinue »
O Silent Land to
ve! Enough, if there alone be Love, And mortal need can ne'er outgrow What it is waiting to bestow !
7. G. Whittier.
Autumin, 43 159. Footsteps of angels. Vesper, 50. When the hours of day are numbered,
And the voices of the night
To a holy, calm, delight;
Come my messengers divine,
Lay a gentle hand in mine. Uttered not, yet comprehended
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer; Soft rebuke, in blessing ended,
Breathing from the lips of air. 0, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside, If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died.
161. 6- Green pastures and Autumn, 43.
still waters.” Vesper, 50. CLEAR in memory's silent reaches
Lie the pastures I have seen, Greener than the sun-lit spaces
Where the May has flung her green: Needs no sun and needs no star-light
To illume these fields of mine, For the glory of dead faces
Is the sun, the stars, that shine. Yet, О well I can remember,
Once I called my pastures, Pain; And the waters were a torrent
Sweeping through my life amain! Now I call them Peace and Stillness,
Brightness of all Happy Thought, Where I linger for a blessing
From my faces that are naught. Naught? I fear not! If the Power
Maketh thus his pastures green, Maketh thus his quiet waters,
Out of waste his heavens serene, I can trust the mighty Shepherd
Loseth none he ever led: Somewhere yet a greeting waits me
On the faces of my dead!
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
160. Auld lang syne.
Lloyd, 24. It singeth low in every heart,
We hear it each and all, -
However we may call;
We see them as of yore,-
Who walk with us no more. More home-like seems the vast unknown,
Since they have entered there;
Wherever they may fare.
On any sea or shore;
Our God, for evermore!
Hamburg, 12. 162. The angel.
Ward, 18. To weary hearts, to mourning homes, God's meekest angel gently comes, Angel of Patience! sent to calm Our feverish brows with cooling balm. There's quiet in that angel's glance, There's rest in his still countenance; And in his tenderest love, our dear And heavenly Father sends him here. He walks with us, that angel kind, And gently whispers “Be resigned! Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell, The dear Lord ordereth all things well.”
7. G. Whittier.
J. W. CHADWICK.
Away from forms I needs must turn; No prayer have I that I must learn: I ask but help to love thee more, And thy dear will in peace adore.
MRS. L. J. HALL
Lloyd, 24. O Love Divine, of all that is
The sweetest still and best!
Upon thy tender breast;
Says, “Wherefore should I pray
Since thou dost seek alway?”
I pray because I must;
But thankfulness and trust.
And not the words I say;
That only seem to pray.
Than what thou still must be;
Is ever best for me.
Doth sing itself to rest,
Upon thy tender breast.
Ellacombe, 53 165. He knoweth.
Webb, 54. Unto our heavenly Father
We will not fear to pray
That fill our every day;
A want that lieth dim,
And leave it all to him.
Our nature and our need;
And he will bless indeed.
Give what is best to me;
As offerings made to thee.
J. W. CHADWICK.
Hebron, 13. No words of labored prayer I know,I cannot seek my Father so; It gushes up in sudden hours, As sing the birds, as bloom the flowers. And is it prayer? or is it praise? I only know, in loving ways, When joy and sorrow touch the springs, To thee my spirit inly sings.
166. The thought of God. Marlow, 27. The thought of God. the thought of thee
Who liest in my heart,
Outstretched and present art:-
Life's sweetest smiles from tears;
A sunset to our fears.
Nor even that he is;
That by itself is bliss.
What is our þeing but a cry,
A restless longing still,
Alone thy fullness fill!
That lead the way to thee,
'And lists of prophecy. And sweet it is to tread the ground
O’er which their faith hath trod; But sweeter far, when thou art found,
The soul's own sense of God!
Our anxious burdens fall;
Who finds in God his all!
F. L HOSMER.
My prayer. Laban, 33.
To know thee always near;
Thy blessed voice to hear.
0, let me find thee there; Where'er I stay, stay thou with me,
A presence everywhere.
Or if thou bringest pain,
with all that comes,
My voice shall catch thy tone,
All loving like thine own.
Never far. Boylston, 32. FOREVER with the Lord!
Within a thought so great, our souls
Little and modest grow;
The art of walking slow.
Without or praise or prayer,
And marvellous strength to bear.
St. Agnes, 31. 167. The thought of God.
So deep it is and broad,
It is the thought of God.
I feast at Life's full board;
Shines forth the thought of God.
I drop my daily load,
Upon the thought of God.
But take in trust my road;
Are in my thought of God.
The martyr's path who trod;
From out their thought of God.
My pilgrim staff and rod,
O blessed thought of God!
F. L. HOSMER.
168. Divine help. Naomi, 28.
What art thou not to me,
And cast my care on thee!
So, Father, let it be!
'T is immortality!
Here in the body pent,
Seeking for thee I roam;,
A day's march nearer home.
At noon and midnight hour,
Earth's Babel-tongues o'erpower.
Remembered or forgot,
7. Montgomery. 171.
Thine. Laban, 33. BlEst be thy love, dear Lord,
That taught us this sweet way,
And for that love obey.
We to thy goodness fly;
Whate'er we need, supply.
To thee we both resign,
Both we submit to thee;
If thine in death we be.
173. The retreat. Hamburg, 12.
ANNA L. WARING.
Pleyel, 40. 174.
Noyes, 38. O thou Lord of heaven above! Earth beneath is all thine own; In the depths of heavenly love Let my human heart be sown. Where the silent waters flow, It shall multiply its root; It shall blossom, it shall grow, It shall bear immortal fruit.
ANNA L. WARING.
172. Yes, for me. Benneson, 44. YES, for me, for me he careth,
With a Father's tender care; Yes, with me, with me he beareth
Every burden, every fear. Yes, in me abroad he sheddeth
Joys unearthly, love and light; And, to cover me, he spreadeth
His protecting wing of might.
Azmon, 20. 175. The peace of God.
Balerina, 21. We ask not, Father, the repose
Which comes from outward rest, If we may have through all life's woes
Thy peace within our breast.
That peace which suffers and is strong,
Trusts where it cannot see, Deems not the trial way too long,
But leaves the end with thee. That peace which, through the billows'
And angry tempests' roar,
Of joy forevermore.
which flows serene and deep, A river in the soul, Whose banks a living verdure keep,
God's sunshine o'er the whole.
In quiet hours the tranquil soul
176. The calm of the soul. Whittier, 62. WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper
ocean, And billows wild contend with angry
roar, 'f'is said, far down beneath the wild com
motion, That peaceful stillness reigneth ever
Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests
dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully, And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it
flieth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea. So to the heart that knows thee, Love
Eternal ! There is a temple sacred evermore; And all the Babel of life's angry voices Dies in hushed stillness at its peaceful
door. Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise calm and
peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it
flieth, Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord!
FATHER, thy paternal care
MRS. A. B. STOWE.