While yet my days were few,
’Twas traced upon my infant brow,
Fresh with life’s morning dew;
In token that in after years,
Strong in its power and might,
I should beside Christ’s followers stand,
Under His banners fight.
_Matilda F. Dana._
BAPTIST, JOHN THE.
In those days came _John the Baptist_, preaching in the wilderness of
Judea.--Matthew, iii. 1.
And it came to pass in those days, that Jesus came from Nazareth of
Galilee, and was _baptized_ of _John_ in Jordan.
And straightway coming up out of the water, he saw the Heavens opened,
and the Spirit like a dove descending upon Him:
And there came a voice from Heaven, saying, Thou art My Beloved Son, in
whom I am well pleased.--Mark, i. 9, 10, 11.
I say unto you, among those that are born of women, there is not a
greater prophet than _John the Baptist_; but he that is least in the
kingdom of God is greater than he.--Luke, vii. 28.
Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried
Repentance, and Heaven’s kingdom nigh at hand
To all _baptized_: to his great _baptism_ flocked
With awe, the regions round, and with them came
From Nazareth, the Son of Joseph deemed,
To the flood Jordan, came as then obscure,
Unmarked, unknown: but him the _Baptist_ soon
Descried, divinely warned; and witness bore
As to his worthier, and would have resigned
To Him this heavenly office, nor was long
His witness unconfirmed; on Him _baptized_
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a dove
The Spirit descended, while the Father’s voice
From heaven pronounced Him His Beloved Son.
_Milton._
Well mayest thou tremble, _Baptist_; well thy cheek,
Now flushed, now pale, thy labouring soul bespeak!
’Tis He, the Christ, by every bard foretold!
Hear Him, ye nations, and ye Heavens behold!
The Virgin-born, to bruise the Serpent’s head,
The Paschal Lamb, to patient slaughter led,
The King of kings, to crush the gates of Hell,
Messiah, Shiloh, Jah, Emmanuel!
See, o’er His head, soft sinking from above,
With hovering radiance hangs the mystic Dove:
Dread from the cloud Jehovah’s voice is known,
“This is my Son, my own, my well-loved Son!”
_C. H. Johnson._
Why crowd ye cities forth? some reed to find,
Some vain reed trembling to the careless wind?
Or throng ye here to view with doting eye,
Some chieftain stand in purple pageantry?
Some dwell in kingly domes--no silken form
Woos the stern wind and braves the mountain storm.
What rush ye there to seek? some Prophet-seer?
One mightier than the Prophets find ye here--
The loftiest bard that waked the sacred lyre,
To him in rapture poured his lips of fire;
Attuned to him the voice of Sion fell--
Thy name, Elias, closed the mystic shell.
_C. H. Johnson._
In Judah’s rugged wilderness,
Where Jordan rolls his flood,
In manners strict, and rude of dress,
The holy _Baptist_ stood.
And while upon the river’s side,
The people thronged to hear,
“Repent,” the sacred preacher cried,
“The heavenly kingdom’s near.”
Now Jesus to the stream descends;
His feet the waters lave;
And o’er his head, that humbly bends,
The _Baptist_ pours the wave.
When, lo! a heavenly form appears,
Descending as a dove;
And wondrous sounds the assembly hears,
Proclaiming from above.--
“This is my well-beloved Son,
On him my spirit rests;
Now is his reign of grace begun,
Attend his high behests.”
The sacred voice has reached our ear,
And still through distant lands
Shall sound, till all His name revere,
And honour His commands.
_T. Fletcher._
BEAUTIFUL.
One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I
may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold
the _beauty_ of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.--Psalm xxvii. 4.
When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his
_beauty_ to consume away like a moth.--Psalm xxxix. 11.
Favour is deceitful, and _beauty_ is vain: but a woman that feareth the
Lord, she shall be praised.--Proverbs, xxxi. 30.
I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be
exercised in it.
He hath made every thing _beautiful_ in his time.--Ecclesiastes, iii.
10, 11.
Oh, what is _Beauty’s_ power?
It flourishes and dies;
Will the cold earth its silence break.
To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek
Beneath its surface lies?
Mute, mute is all,
O’er _Beauty’s_ fall;
Her praise resounds no more, when mantled in her pall.
The most beloved on earth
Not long survives to-day;
So music past is obsolete,
And yet ’twas sweet, ’twas passing sweet,
But now ’tis gone away.
Thus does the shade
In evening fade,
When in forsaken tomb the form beloved is laid.
_H. K. White._
At Thy rebuke, the bloom
Of man’s vain _beauty_ flies;
And grief shall, like a moth, consume
All that delights our eyes.
_J. Montgomery._
A sinful soul possessed of many gifts,
A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,
A glorious devil, large in heart and brain.
That did love _beauty_ only, (_beauty_ seen
In all varieties of mould and mind,)
And knowledge for its _beauty_; or if good,
Good only for its _beauty_.
_Tennyson._
The _beautiful_, the _beautiful_!
Where do we find it not?
It is an all-pervading grace,
And lighteth every spot.
It sparkles on the ocean-wave--
It glitters in the dew;
We see it in the glorious sky,
And in the flow’ret’s hue.
On mountain-top, in valley deep,
We find its presence there;
The _beautiful_, the _beautiful_!
It liveth every where.
The glories of the noontide-day,
The still and solemn night,
The changing seasons, all can bring
Their tribute of delight.
There’s _beauty_ in the dancing beam
That brightens childhood’s eye,
And in the Christian’s parting glance,
Whose hope is fix’d on high.
And in the being whom our love
Hath chosen for its own,
How _beautiful_! how _beautiful_!
Is every look and tone.
’Twas in that glance that God threw o’er
The young created earth,
When he pronounced it “very good,”
The _beautiful_ had birth.
Then who shall say this world is dull,
And all to sadness given,
While yet there lives on every side
The smile that came from heaven?
If so much loveliness is sent
To grace our earthly home,
How _beautiful_--how _beautiful_
Will be the world to come!
_Anon._
BELIEF--UNBELIEF.
If ye will not _believe_, surely ye shall not be established.--Isaiah,
vii. 9.
Lord, I _believe_; help thou mine _unbelief_.--Mark, ix. 24.
Let not your heart be troubled: ye _believe_ in God, _believe_ also in
me.--John, xiv. 1.
For what, if some did not _believe_? shall their _unbelief_ make the
faith of God without effect? God forbid.--Romans, iii. 3, 4.
God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation, through
sanctification of the Spirit and _belief_ of the truth.--II.
Thessalonians, ii. 13.
Such my _belief_. Oh, that thou would’st thy bold,
Infatuated, withering doubt discard!
The flower would be more sweet, the moon more fresh,
The sun more bright, the sky more blue, the night
(The natural season for deep thought) less dark:
Life’s cares, and wan disease, would blessings be,
And death (annihilation’s herald now)
The harbinger of everlasting bliss.
Dare then be wise. Dash down the subtle web,
Thy pride of intellect had round thee wove,
Despised into the dust; _believe_ in God;
Obey His will;--and then thy rescued soul
Shall, on angelic pinions, wing its way
To heaven’s bright realms of pure beatitude.
_T. L. Merritt._
_Believe_ and fear not! In the blackest cloud
A sunbeam hides; and from the deepest pang
Some hidden mercy may a God declare!
_R. Montgomery._
Since fools alone all things _believe_
In cloister hatch’d, or college,
Some, by believing nothing, think
They’re at the height of knowledge.
And yet to have no faith demands
More faith than is supposed,
For sceptics have their creed,--of things
Incredibly composed.
Some truths above our reason, we
Reject not, but receive:
Against all reason, infidels
Unnumber’d lies _believe_.
_C. C. Colton._
BELLS.
And beneath upon the hem of it, thou shalt make pomegranates of blue,
and of purple, and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof; and _bells_
of gold between them round about.
And it shall be upon Aaron to minister: and his sound shall be heard
when he goeth in unto the holy place before the Lord, and when he
cometh out, that he die not.--Exodus, xxviii. 33, 35.
In that day shall there be upon the _bells_ of the horses, Holiness
unto the Lord.--Zechariah, xiv. 20.
What a deep murmur on the night-air swells,
What a clear tone draws irresistibly
The goblet from my mouth. Ye hollow _bells_,
Proclaim ye Easter’s dawn is drawing nigh?
The word of hope in that sweet music ringing,
That once, when o’er his sepulchre did close
The shades of night, from angel lips arose,
Assurance of a covenant renew’d to mortals bringing.
* * * * *
What in your mighty sweetness, do you seek,
Ye tones of Heaven, with me that dwell in dust?
Seek elsewhere mortals flexible and weak.
I hear the message, but I cannot trust;
Faith’s chosen child is the miraculous.
I dare not strive those distant spheres to gain,
From whence these holy tidings came to us;
And yet it seems that long-remembered strain,
In youth, recalls me back to life again.
The kiss of heavenly love upon me fell,
In the deep stillness of the sabbath calm,
The heartfelt fullness of the sabbath _bell_,
A prayer to my glad soul sufficient balm,
Beyond conception sweet; a holy longing
Drove me to wander forth through wood and mead;
And in the thousand tear-drops warmly thronging,
I felt a world grow up, mine own indeed.
The joyous sports of youth those tones revealing,
Of the spring feast once more the joy unfolds,
And recollection, fraught with childish feeling,
Me from the last dread step of all withholds.
Oh sound, sound on, thou sweet celestial strain,
The tears well forth, the earth hath me again.
_Goethe’s “Faust.”_
List not those cries! How strangely do they blend
With the sweet _bells_ from yonder gothic tower,
Pealing athwart the water. Such the contrast
Of wild religious awe to earthly clamour,
For on the morrow, and the morrow’s morrow,
At this still hour those _bells_ will still peal on;
But these harsh sinful cries, the moment’s offspring,
Will with the moment pass to nought away,
They, and the passions, even as briefly raging;
And, as the echo of those cries, borne far
Up the deep silvery Thames, there dies in air
In the dim distance, seeming well to blend
With the calm beauty of the hour, and heighten
The melody of silence; so the thought
On this vain uproar shall in future years
Prove but a gentle memory! since we shared
The cares it wooed to life, together.
_Archer Gurney._
Stop, O stop the passing _bell_!
Painfully, too painfully,
It strikes against the heart, that knell,
I cannot bear its tones--they tell
Of misery, of misery!
All that soothed and sweetened life,
In the mother and the wife--
All that would a charm have cast
O’er the future, as the past--
All is torturing in that knell!
Stop, O stop the passing _bell_!
Stop it! no--but change the tone,
And joyfully, ah, joyfully,
Let the altered chimes ring on,
For the spirit that hath flown,
Exultingly, exultingly!
She hath left her couch of pain,
She shall never feel again,
But as angels feel!--afar,
Chimed beyond the morning star,
Agony and death unknown!
Let the joyful chimes ring on!
_Robert Story._
BENEFICENCE--BENEVOLENCE.
Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.--Psalm civ. 28.
Give, and it shall be given unto you.--Luke, vi. 38.
Let the husband render unto the wife due _benevolence_: and likewise
also the wife unto the husband.--I. Corinthians, vii. 3.
Be rich in good works, ready to distribute.--I. Timothy, vi. 18.
Nature all
Is blooming and _beneficent_, like Thee.
_Thomson._
Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined.
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose--to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind;
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.
Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
And thou an angel’s happiness shalt know,--
Shall bless the earth, while in the world above
The good begun by thee shall onward flow
In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
The seed that in these few and fleeting hours
Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow,
Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
And yield thee fruits divine in heaven’s immortal bowers.
_Charles Wilcox._
The heart has tendrils like the vine,
Which round another’s bosom twine,
Outspringing from the parent tree
Of deeply-planted sympathy,
Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss;
_Beneficence_ its harvest is.
_J. Bowring._
Trees, and flowers, and streams,
Are social and _benevolent_; and he
Who oft communeth in their language pure,
Roaming among them at the cool of day,
Shall find, like him who Eden’s garden dressed,
His Maker there to teach his listening heart.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
BENEFIT.
Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with _benefits_, even the God
of our salvation.--Psalm lxviii. 19.
Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his _benefits_.--Psalm
ciii. 2.
Without thy mind would I do nothing; that thy _benefit_ should not be
as it were of necessity, but willingly.--Philemon, 14.
Offered life
Neglect not, and the _benefit_ embrace
By faith, not void of works.
_Milton._
I gaze upon the thousand stars
That fill the midnight sky;
And wish, so passionately wish,
A light like theirs on high.
I have such eagerness of hope
To _benefit_ my kind;
I feel as if immortal power
Were given to my mind.
_Miss Landon._
Why are springs enthroned on high,
Where the mountains kiss the sky?
’Tis that thence their streams may flow,
Fertilizing all below.
Why have clouds such lofty flight,
Basking in the golden light?
’T is to send down genial showers
On this lower world of ours.
Why does God exalt the great?
’T is that they may prop the state;
So that toil its sweets may yield,
And the sower reap the field.
Riches why doth He confer?
That the rich may minister
To the children of distress,
To the poor and fatherless.
Does He light a Newton’s mind?
’T is to shine on all mankind.
Does He give to Virtue birth?
’T is the salt of this poor earth.
_Josiah Conder._
BENIGNITY.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my
life.--Psalm xxiii. 6.
Thou Lord art good, and ready to forgive, and plenteous in mercy unto
all them that call upon thee.--Psalm lxxxvi. 5.
The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his
works.--Psalm cxlv. 9.
This turn hath, made amends! Thou hast fulfilled
Thy words, Creator bounteous and _benign_,
Giver of all things fair!
_Milton._
He comes not in the pride of martial pomp,
High in triumphal chariot, while around
The poor remains of vanquished kingdoms grace
The trophied car; not such as Judah’s sons,
By empire’s flattering dreams misled, conceived,
Vindictive monarch over prostrate Rome.
Beyond the confines of this nether world.
At the right hand of the Almighty Sire,
Enthroned he sits; no partial King, to all
Who unfeigned homage offer, He, _benign_,
The treasure of his boundless love vouchsafes.
_Samuel Hayes._
Divinest creed! and worthy to be taught
By Him, the Saviour, who thy tidings brought;
Thou wert the first, descending from above,
To teach the nations that their God was love;
That ire eternal dwelt not on His face,
But love and pity, and redeeming grace.
And all the joy this world since then has known,
Springs from this creed, and springs from this alone;
Whatever triumphs have been gained by mind
O’er Error, Hate, and Ignorance combined;
Whatever progress man may yet have made,
Owes all its worth to Thy _benignant_ aid.
_C. Mackay._
O, Saviour, gracious and _benign_,
Warm and illume this heart of mine,
Disperse the fogs and mists of sin,
And let no evil lurk therein:
Let me Thy love and goodness see--
Thy merciful _benignity_.
_Anon._
THE BIBLE.
And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in
all the scriptures the things concerning Himself.--Luke, xxiv. 27.
Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and
they are they which testify of me.--John, v. 39.
The holy scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation,
through faith which is in Christ Jesus.
All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable
for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in
righteousness.--II. Timothy, iii. 15, 16.
For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our
learning, that we, through patience and comfort of the scriptures,
might have hope.--Romans, xv. 4.
The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.--Ephesians, vi. 17.
Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts,
In several ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie!
Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
_Dryden._
So has this book entitled us to Heaven.
And rules to guide us to that mansion given;
Tells the conditions how our peace was made,
And is our pledge for the great Author’s aid.
His power in nature’s ample book we find,
But the less volume doth express his mind.
_Waller._
A critic on the sacred book should be
Candid and learned, dispassionate and free:
Free from the wayward bias bigots feel,
From fancy’s influence, and intemperate zeal.
_Cowper._
Within this ample volume lies
The mystery of mysteries;
Happiest they of human race
To whom their God has given grace,
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way:
And better had they ne’er been born,
That read to doubt, or read to scorn.
_Sir Walter Scott._
Most wondrous book! bright candle of the Lord!
Star of eternity! the only star
By which the bark of man could navigate
The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss
Securely; only star which rose in time
And on its dark and troubled billows, still
As generation driving swiftly by,
Succeeding generation, threw a ray
Of heaven’s own light, and to the hills of God--
The everlasting hills--pointed the sinner’s eye.
By prophets, seers, and priests, and sacred bards,
Evangelists, apostles, men inspired,
And by the Holy Ghost anointed, set
Apart and consecrated to declare
On earth the counsels of the Eternal one,
This book--this holiest, this sublimest book
Was sent. Heaven’s will, Heaven’s code of laws entire
To man, this book contained; defined the bounds
Of vice and virtue, and of life and death;
And what was shadow, what was substance taught.
This book--this holy book, in every line
Marked with the seal of high divinity,
On every leaf bedewed with drops of love
Divine, and with the eternal heraldry
And signature of God Almighty stamped,
From first to last; this ray of sacred light,
This lamp from off the everlasting throne,
Mercy brought down, and in the night of time
Stands casting on the dark her gracious bow,
And evermore beseeching men with tears
And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live.
Hast thou ever heard
Of such a book? The author God Himself;
The subject, God and man, salvation, life,
And death--eternal life--eternal death.
_Pollok._
The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
With Amalek’s ungracious progeny;
Or how the Royal Bard did groaning lie,
Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
Or Job’s pathetic plaint and wailing cry;
Or wrapt Isaiah’s wild seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He who bore in Heaven the second name,
Had not, on earth, whereon to lay His head;
How His first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he who, lone in Patmos banished,
Saw, in the sun, a mighty angel stand;
And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounced by Heaven’s command.
_Burns._
Look, Christian! in thy _Bible_, and that glass
Which sheds its sands through minutes, hours, and days,
And years; it speaks not: yet methinks it says
To every human heart--“so mortals pass
On to their dark and silent grave!” Alas!
For man:--an exile upon earth he stays,
Weary, and wandering through benighted ways;
To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass
That withers at his feet. Lift up thy head,
Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears;
That book declares whose blood for thee was shed,
Who died to give thee life; and though thy years
Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed,
Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears,
And by his guiding hand to heaven thy steps are led.
_W. Lisle Bowles._
A book there is, of ancient date,
Where all the truly wise and great
Have found the pearls of wisdom spread,
Like gems upon the ocean-bed.
Brighter than Californian gold,
Are deeds inspired apostles told,
Greater than all that Milton thought,
Are truths that saints and prophets taught.
Oh! be it ours from tender age,
To gather wisdom from its page.
_J. Burbidge._
The sacred page
With calm attention scan! If on thy soul,
As thou dost read, a ray of purer light
Break in, O, check it not, give it full scope!
Admitted, it will break the clouds which long
Have dimmed thy sight, and lead thee, till at last,
Convictions like the sun’s meridian beams,
Illuminate thy mind.
_Samuel Hayes._
Father! that book
With whose worn leaves the careless infant plays,
Must be the _Bible_. Therein thy dim eyes
Will meet a cheering light; and silent words
Of mercy breathed from Heaven, will be exhaled
From the blest page unto thy withered heart.
_John Wilson._
What is this world? a wildering maze
Where sin hath tracked ten thousand ways,
Her victims to ensnare.
All broad, all winding, and aslope,
All tempting with perfidious hope,
All ending in despair.
Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,
Bearing their baubles or their loads,
Down to eternal night;
Our humble path that never bends,
Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends
From darkness into light.
Is there a guide to show that path?
The _Bible_! He alone who hath
The _Bible_, need not stray;
Yet he who hath, and will not give
That heavenly guide to all that live,
Himself shall lose the way.
_J. Montgomery._
The _Bible_? That’s the Book, The Book indeed,
The Book of Books;
On which who looks,
As he should do, aright, shall never need
Wish for a better light
To guide him in the night.
Or, when he hungry is, for better food
To feed upon,
Than this alone,
If he bring stomach and digestion good:
And if he be amiss,
This the best physic is.
It is the looking-glass of souls, wherein
All men may see,
Whether they be
Still, as by nature they are, deform’d with sin;
Or in a better case,
As new adorn’d with grace.
’Tis the great Magazine of spiritual arms,
Wherein doth lie
The Artillery
Of heaven, ready charged against all harms,
That might come by the blows
Of our infernal foes.
God’s cabinet of reveal’d counsel ’tis:
Where weal and woe
Are order’d so,
That every man may know which shall be his;
Unless his own mistake
False application make.
It is the index of Eternity.
He cannot miss
Of endless bliss,
That takes this chart to steer his voyage by,
Nor can he be mistook,
That speaketh by this Book.
A Book to which no other Book can be compared
For excellence;
Pre-eminence
Is proper to it, and cannot be shared.
Divinity alone
Belongs to it, or none.
It is the Book of God. What if I should
Say, God of Books?
Let him that looks
Angry at this expression, as too bold
His thoughts in silence smother,
Till he find such another.
_George Herbert._
But to outweigh all harm, the sacred book,
In dusty sequestration wrapped too long,
Assumes the accent of our native tongue;
And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook,
With understanding spirit now may look
Upon her records, listen to her song,
And sift her laws--much wondering that the wrong
Which faith hath suffered, Heaven could calmy brook.
Transcendent Boon! nobler than earthly King
Ever bestowed to equalize and bless,
Under the weight of mortal wretchedness!
But passions spread like plagues, and thousands wild
With bigotry shall tread the offering
Beneath their feet, detested and defiled.
_Wordsworth._