Cling reverently! Of anxious looks beguiled.
My mother’s eyes upon thy page divine
Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy love;--whilst I a dreaming child,
On breeze-like fancies wandered oft away
To some lone tuft of gleaming spring flowers wild,
Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest: yet would the solemn word
At times with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be
A seed not lost; for which in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart-blessings on the holy dead and thee.
_Mrs. Hemans._
Friend of my early days,
Thou old, brown, folio tome,
Oft opened with amaze,
Within my childhood’s home;
Thy many-pictured pages,
Beheld with glad surprise,
Would lure me from my playmates,
To oriental skies.
I found in thee for friends,
The wise and valiant men
Of Israel, whose heroic deeds
Are writ with holy pen;
And dark brown Jewish maidens,
With festive dance and song,
Or fairly dressed for bridal,
Thy pictured leaves among.
The old life patriarchal
Did beautifully shine,
With angels hovering over,
The good old men divine;
Their long long pilgrimages
I traced through all the way;
While on the stool before me
The pages open lay.
_From the German of Freiligrath._
Fancy, Hope, and Conscience could not prove
A future state, without the Word of God.
This is Hope’s charter, this gives Fancy power,
And this arms Conscience with authority.
This partly lifts the veil which else had hung
Before our eyes, concealing from our view
The Spirit Land.
_Joseph H. Wythes._
Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I’ve tried;
When all were false I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy:
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
_Geo. P. Morris._
BIRDS--FOWLS.
And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature
that hath life, and _fowl_ that may fly above the earth in the open
firmament of heaven.
And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the
waters in the seas, and let _fowl_ multiply in the earth.--Genesis, i.
20, 22.
Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night; who teacheth us
more than the beasts of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the _fowls_
of heaven?--Job, xxxv. 10, 11.
In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul. Flee as a _bird_ to
your mountain?--Psalm xi. 1.
I know all the _fowls_ of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the
field are mine.--Psalm l. 11.
Our soul is escaped as a _bird_ out of the snare of the fowlers.--Psalm
cxxiv. 7.
As a _bird_ hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his
life.--Proverbs, vii. 23.
As the _bird_ by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse
causeless shall not come.--Proverbs, xxvi. 2.
Curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a _bird_ of the air
shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the
matter.--Ecclesiastes, x. 20.
Behold the _fowls_ of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap,
nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye
not much better than they?--Matthew, vi. 26.
The foxes have holes, and the _birds_ of the air have nests; but the
Son of man hath not where to lay his head.--Matthew, viii. 20.
Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap: which neither have
storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better
than the _fowls_?--Luke, xii. 24.
Sweet _bird_! thou sing’st away the early hours
Of winter past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights, which present are,--
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling flowers,
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers,
Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers;
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
(Alter’d in sweetness,) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth’s turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To air of spheres, yes, and to angels’ lays.
_W. Drummond._
Behold! and look away your low despair,
See the light tenants of the barren air:
To them no stores nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky;
He hears their gay and their distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
_Thomson._
What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
That in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
Instructs the _fowls_ of Heaven?
What but God!
Inspiring God! whose boundless spirit all
And unremitting energy pervades,
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
_Thomson._
Like an unfledged hungry _bird_, that in its nest
Hears its returning mother flap her wings,
Circling around when some choice food she brings;
The nestling’s love for both is then exprest--
It strives to reach the food and be carest,
And rustles to begin its wanderings,
And thanks her with unwonted chiruppings,
In notes that seem too sweet for its young breast:--
So do I feel whene’er the brilliant light
Of the almighty sun to which I gaze,
Cheers with unusual warmth my fainting soul;
Urged by internal love to bless and praise,
I take the pen, with joy beyond controul,
And fluttering, praise my God with all my might.
_Vittoria Colonna._
Beautiful _birds_ of lightsome wing,
Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring;
We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn,
Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn,
Though rainbow splendour around you glows,
Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows:
Oh! what a lesson for glory are ye,
How ye preach the grace of humility.
Swift _birds_ that skim o’er the stormy deep,
Who steadily onward your journey keep,
Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay,
But press still forward, by night or day--
As on your unwearying course ye fly,
Beneath the clear and unclouded sky;
Oh! may we, without delay, like you,
The path of duty and right pursue.
Sweet _birds_ that breathe the spirit of song,
And surround heaven’s gate in melodious throng;
Who rise with the earliest beams of day,
Your morning tribute of thanks to pay,
You remind me that we should likewise raise
The voice of devotion, and song of praise;
There’s something about you that points on high,
Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky.
_C. W. Thompson._
_Birds_, joyous _birds_, of the wandering wing!
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
--“We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky,
From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby.
A change we have found, and many a change!
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
And the young that were have a brow of care,
And the place is hushed where the children played--
Nought looks the same, save the nests we made!”
Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
_Birds_ that o’ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air
_Ye_ have a guide, and shall _we_ despair?
_Ye_ over desert and deep have passed--
So shall _we_ reach our bright home at last.
_Mrs. Hemans._
What time thy heavenly voice preludes
Unto the fair and silent night,
Winged minstrel of my solitudes,
Unknown to thee I trace its flight.
Thy voice so touching and sublime,
Seems far too pure for this gross earth;
Surely we well may deem the chime
An instinct which with God has birth.
Thy warblings and thy murmurs sweet,
Into melodious union bring
All fair sounds that in nature meet,
Or float from heaven on wand’ring wing.
And that mysterious voice, that sound
Which angels listen to with me,--
That sigh of pious night is found
In thee, melodious _bird_, in thee.
_Lamartine._
Ye gentle _birds_, that perch aloof,
And smooth your pinions on my roof,
Preparing for departure hence,
Ere winter’s angry threats commence:
Like you my soul would smooth her plume,
For longer flights beyond the tomb.
May God, by whom is seen and heard
Departing man and wandering _bird_,
In mercy mark me for His own,
And guide me to the land unknown!
_Hayley._
The _bird_, let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idler warblers roam.
So grant me, Lord! from every stain
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft through virtue’s purer air,
To steer my course to Thee.
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
The sunshine on her joyful way;
Thy freedom on her wings.
_Moore._
The wild _bird’s_ song is a song of praise,
Which, thankful, he uplifts;
Ever, like him, thy voice upraise,
To the giver of all good gifts.
_Egone._
BIRTH--BORN.
Judah prevailed above his brethren, and of him came the chief ruler;
but the _birthright_ was Joseph’s.--I. Chronicles, v. 2.
Shall I bring to the _birth_, and not cause to bring forth? saith the
Lord.--Isaiah, lxvi. 9.
And thou shalt have joy and gladness; and many shall rejoice at his
_birth_.--Luke, i. 14.
Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be _born_ again.
The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof,
but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every
one that is _born_ of the spirit.--John, iii. 7, 8.
My little children, of whom I travail in _birth_ again until Christ be
formed in you.--Galatians, iv. 19.
Whosoever is _born_ of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth
in him: and he cannot sin, because he is _born_ of God.--I. John, iii.
9.
Orient light,
Exhaling first from darkness, they beheld,
_Birthday_ of heaven and earth.
_Milton._
Thou hast been found
By merit, more than _birthright_, Son of God.
_Milton._
While no baseness in my breast I find,
I have not lost the _birthright_ of my mind.
_Dryden._
They tell me ’tis my _birthday_, and I’ll keep it
With double pomp of sadness;
’Tis what the day deserves which brought me forth.
_Dryden._
Mysterious love! that thou must recommence
Life and existence, and be _born_ anew,
_Born_ both of water and of spirit, whence
Spirit comes only, as flesh must flesh ensue:
And where it lists the wind shall blow, whose sound
Thou hearest, but know’st not--none--
Whence cometh it, nor whither it is bound;
And no man hath ascended into heaven
But he who thence came down, and bore the wound,
And perished that the world might be forgiven.
_J. A. Heraud._
Let us learn the wondrous story,
Of our great Redeemer’s _birth_;
Spread the brightness of His glory,
Till it cover all the earth.
Hasten mortals to adore Him,
Till in heaven ye sing before Him.
_Cawood._
Are all the memories of life
Buried when life has fled?
Are we forbid to keep again
The _birthdays_ of the dead?
Time was when each successive year
Brought one bright day of mirth,
The looked-for anniversary
Of some belov’d one’s _birth_.
The _birthday_ feasts of childhood’s age,
The feasts of riper years,
Remind us of like youthful joys
Remembered now with tears.
For they with whom those days were spent,
Have done with all on earth,
The fond home circle’s broken up
That hailed each day of _birth_.
Yet as the days come round again
Marked with affection’s seal,
Once more we think of those we’ve lost,
Once more their presence feel.
The blessed spirits now in Heaven,
May not such cycles keep,
Time metes not out their happiness,
They know not night or sleep.
Yet may they still retain the thoughts
Commemorating _birth_,
And haply still they keep in Heaven
The calender of Earth.
Far off are they, but still towards them
Our loving arms we spread,
And ever in our hearts we’ll keep
The _birthdays_ of the dead.
_George E. Shirley._
BLESSING--BLESSEDNESS--BLESS.
I will _bless_ the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be
in my mouth.--Psalm xxxiv. 1.
_Blessed_ are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising
thee.
_Blessed_ is the man whose strength is in thee.--Psalm lxxxiv. 4, 5.
_Blessings_ are upon the head of the just, but violence covereth the
mouth of the wicked.--Proverbs, x. 6.
The _blessing_ of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow
with it.--Proverbs, x. 22.
_Blessed_ are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.--Matthew, v. 8.
I say unto you, love your enemies, _bless_ them that curse you, do
good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use
you.--Matthew, v. 44.
_Blessing_; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should
inherit a _blessing_.--I. Peter, iii. 9.
O All-Sufficient, All-Beneficent!
Thou God of Goodness and of glory, hear!
Thou who to lowest minds dost condescend,
Assuming passions to enforce thy laws,
Adopting jealousy to prove thy love!
Thou who resigned humility upholdest,
E’en as the florist props the drooping rose;
But quellest tyrannic pride with peerless power,
E’en as the tempest drives the stubborn oak!
O All-Sufficient, All-Beneficent!
Thou God of goodness and of glory, hear!
_Bless_ all mankind, and bring them in the end
To heaven, to immortality, and Thee!
_Smart._
O my soul, with all thy powers,
_Bless_ the Lord’s most holy name;
O my soul, till life’s last hours,
_Bless_ the Lord, his praise proclaim;
Thine infirmities He healed;
He thy peace and pardon sealed.
As in Heaven, His throne and dwelling.
King on earth He holds his sway;
Angels, ye in strength excelling,
_Bless_ the Lord, his voice obey;
All his works beneath the pole,
_Bless_ the Lord, with thee, my soul.
_J. Montgomery._
Author of being! life-sustaining king!
Lo! want’s dependant eye from Thee implores
The seasons, which provide nutritious stores;
Give to her prayers the renovating spring,
And summer’s heats all perfecting, that bring
The fruits which autumn, from a thousand shores
Selecteth provident! when earth adores
Her God, and all her vales exultory sing.
Without thy _blessing_ the submissive steer
Bends to the ploughman’s galling yoke in vain;
Without thy _blessing_ on the varied year,
Can the swarth reaper grasp the golden grain?
Without thy _blessing_ all is blank and drear;
With it the joys of Eden bloom again.
_Wordsworth._
_Blessed_ be thy name for ever,
Thou of life the guard and giver;
Thou canst guard the creatures sleeping,
Heal the heart long broke with weeping.
God of stillness and of motion,
Of the desert and the ocean,
Of the mountain, rock, and river,
_Blessed_ be thy name for ever.
Thou who slumberest not, nor sleepest,
_Blest_ are they thou kindly keepest;
God of evening’s parting ray,
Of midnight’s gloom, and dawning day,
That rises from the azure sea,
Like breathings of eternity;
God of life! that fade shall never,
_Blessed_ be thy name for ever.
_James Hogg._
Oh! ’tis a sight the soul to cheer,
The promise of the fruitful year,
When God abroad his bounty flings,
And answering nature laughs and sings!
He, “for the evil and the good,”
For them, who with heart’s gratitude,
For them, who thanklessly receive
The _blessings_ He vouchsafes to give,
Bids from his storehouse in the skies,
“His rain descend, his sun arise.”
_Mant._
Thrice _blessed_ they who dwell
Within thine house, my God,
Where daily praises swell,
And still the floor is trod
By those who in thy presence bow,
By those whose King and God art thou.
_J. Montgomery._
_Blessed_ are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs,
Their soul is Christ’s abode.
Spotless their robes and pure,
Dipped in the sea of light,
That hides the unapproached shrine
From men’s and angels’ sight.
_Keble._
From darkness here, and dreariness,
We ask not full repose,
Only be thou at hand to _bless_
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not, up earth’s dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
_Keble._
Thou that created’st all! Thou fountain
Of our sun’s light--who dwellest far
From man, beyond the farthest star,
Yet, ever present; who dost heed
Our spirits in their human need;
We _bless_ thee, Father, that we are!
We _bless_ thee for our inward life;
For its immortal date decreeing;
For that which comprehendeth thee,
A spark of thy divinity,
Which is the being of our being!
We _bless_ thee for this bounteous earth;
For its increase--for corn and wine;
For forest-oaks, for mountain-rills;
For cattle “on a thousand hills;”
We _bless_ thee--for all good is thine!
_Mary Howitt._
We have the promise of th’ eternal truth,
Those who live well, and pious paths pursue,
To man and to their Maker true;
Let them expire in age or youth,
Can never miss
Their way to everlasting _bliss_;
But from a world of misery and care,
To mansions of eternal ease repair;
Where joy in full perfection flows,
And in an endless circle moves
Through the vast round of beatific love,
Which no cessation knows.
_John Pomfret._
No, ’tis in vain to seek for _bliss_,
For _bliss_ can ne’er be found
Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heav’nly ground.
_Watts._
When we have slept that dreamless sleep,
Which dearest hearts must sever;
O may we wake no more to weep,
But live in _bliss_ for ever.
_John Linden._
True _bliss_, the flower of Paradise,
Lives not in this ungenial clime;
It blossoms in celestial skies,
Beyond the ravages of time;
The joy to christian pilgrims given,
Is but the rich perfume of heaven.
_W. J. Brock._
True _bliss_, the flower of Paradise,
Why seek it here below?
It groweth only ’neath those skies
With love divine that glow.
Warmed by the sun of righteousness,
And watered by the dews
Of mercy, and redeeming grace,
How lively are its hues!
In heaven, an amaranthine flower,
On earth, it blossoms but an hour.
_Egone._
BLINDNESS.
The Lord openeth the eyes of the _blind_.--Psalm cxlvi. 8.
Then the eyes of the _blind_ shall be opened.--Isaiah, xxxv. 5.
He hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to
the captives, and recovering of sight to the _blind_.--Luke, iv. 18.
Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God
through the ignorance that is in them, because of the _blindness_ of
their heart.--Ephesians, iv. 18.
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s works, or his own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state
Is kingly, thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve, who only stand and wait.”
_Milton._
There is a poor _Blind_ Man, who every day,
In summer sunshine, or in winter’s rain,
Duly as tolls the bell to the high fane,
Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,
To kneel before his Maker, and to hear
The chanted service pealing full and clear.
Ask why, alone, in the same spot he kneels
Through the long year? Oh! the wide world is cold,
As dark to him; here, he no longer feels
His sad bereavement--Faith and Hope uphold
His heart--he feels not he is poor and _blind_,
Amid the unpitying tumult of mankind:
As thro’ the aisles the choral anthems roll,
His soul is in the choirs above the skies,
And songs, far off, of angel companies.
Oh! happy, if the Rich--the Vain--the Proud--
The plumed Actors in life’s motley crowd,--
Since pride is dust, and life itself a span,--
Would learn one Lesson from a poor _Blind_ Man.
_Lisle Bowles._
I see, and yet I see not; outward things
Are visible unto me: I behold
The fresh, cool verdure of succeeding springs;
The glories of the summer manifold;
The forests rich with their autumnal gold;
The creatures beautiful, that spread their wings
In the warm sunshine; blossoms that unfold
Bright as man’s hopes and vain imaginings.
The glories of the universe are spread
Before me, and I see them with delight:
Yet am I _blind_ of heart, and cold, and dead
To spiritual things. God grant me light
To understand, and warmth to feel, and grace
Thy message to receive--Thy wondrous power to trace.
_Egone._
But in God’s temple the great lamp is out,
And he must worship glory in the dark!
Till death, in midnight mystery, hath brought
The veiled soul’s re-illuminating spark--
The pillar of the cloud enfolds the Ark!
And, like a man that prayeth underground
In Bethlehem’s rocky shrine, he can but mark
The lingering hours by circumstance and sound,
And break, with gentle hymns, the solemn silence round.
Yet still life’s better light shines out above!
And in that village church, where first he learned
To bear his cheerless doom, for heaven’s dear love,
He sits, with wistful face, for ever turned
To hear of those who heavenly pity earned;
_Blind_ Bartimæus, and him desolate,
Who for Bethesda’s waters vainly yearned:
And only sighs, condemned so long to wait,
Baffled and helpless still, beyond the Temple gate!
_Mrs. Norton._
BLOOD.
And Moses took the _blood_, and sprinkled it on the people, and said,
Behold the _blood_ of the covenant, which the Lord hath made with
you.--Exodus, xxiv. 8.
Deliver me from _blood_-guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation:
and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.--Psalm li. 14.
By the _blood_ of thy covenant I have sent forth thy prisoners out of
the pit.--Zechariah, ix. 11.
God hath made of one _blood_ all nations of men for to dwell on all the
face of the earth.--Acts, xvii. 26.
Neither by the _blood_ of goats and calves, but by his own _blood_, he
entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption
for us.--Hebrews, ix. 12.
Almost all things are by the law purged with _blood_; and without
shedding of _blood_ is no remission.--Hebrews, ix. 22.
The _blood_ of Jesus Christ, his son, cleanseth us from all sin.--I.
John, i. 7.
Strange is it that our _bloods_,
Of colour, weight, and heat, poured all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In difference so mighty.
_Shakspere._
Ye Sacred Writings! on whose antique leaves
The wondrous deeds of heaven recorded lie,
Say, what might be the cause, that mercy heaves
The dust of sin above the starry sky,
And lets it not in dust and ashes fly?
Could Justice be of sin so over-wooed,
Or so great ill because of so great good,
That, _bloody_ man to save, man’s Saviour shed his _blood_.
_Giles Fletcher._
O, thou great Power! in whom we move,
By whom we live, to whom we die,
Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilst on this couch of tears I lie,
And cleanse my sordid soul within
By thy Christ’s _blood_, the bath of sin.
No hallowed oils, no gums I need,
No new-born drams of purging fire:
One rosy drop from David’s seed
Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire:
O, precious ransom! which once paid,
The _Consummatum est_ was said.
And said by him, that said no more,
But sealed it with his sacred breath:
Thou, then, thus hast dispurged our score,
And dying wert the death of death;
Be now whilst on thy name we call,
Our life, our strength, our joy, our all.
_Sir Henry Wotton._
Stretched on the cross, the Saviour dies,
Hark! his expiring groans arise!
See, how the sacred crimson tide
Flows from his hands, his feet, his side.
But life attends the deathful sound,
And flows from every _bleeding_ wound;
The vital stream, how free it flows,
To save and cleanse his rebel foes!
Lord! didst thou _bleed_? for sinners _bleed_?
And could the sun behold the deed?
No! he withdrew his sickening ray,
And darkness veiled the mourning day.
_Steele._
There is a fountain filled with _blood_,
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
O may I there, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away!
Dear dying Lamb! thy precious _blood_
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransomed church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.
_Cowper._
Not all the _blood_ of beasts
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.
But Christ the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name,
And richer _blood_ than they.
_Watts._
BLOSSOM.