_city_.--Isaiah, i. 26.
How doth the _city_ sit solitary that was full of people! All her gates
are desolate.--Lamentations, i. 1, 4.
For he looked for a _city_ which hath foundations, whose builder and
maker is God.--Hebrews, xi. 10.
And the _city_ had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine
in it; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light
thereof.--Revelations, 21, 23.
Where are the _cities_ which of old in mighty grandeur rose!
Amid the desert’s burning sands, or girt with frozen snows;
Is there no vestige now remains their wondrous tale to tell,
Of how they blazed, like meteor-stars, and how, like them, they
fell?
Hark! hark! the voice of prophecy comes o’er the desert wide,
Come down, come down, and in the dust thy virgin beauties hide;
Oh “Daughter of Chaldea,” thou no more enthroned shall be,
For the desert and the wilderness alone shall tell of thee.
Though old Euphrates still rolls in his everlasting stream,
Thy brazen gates and golden halls, as though they ne’er had been;
Where stood thy massy tower-crowned walls, and palaces of pride,
The dragon and the wild beast now therein securely hide.
The “besom of destruction” o’er thee hath swept its way
In wrath, because thine impious hand on God’s Anointed lay.
_H. Brownlee._
This is the _city_ John did once discern
Descend from heaven apocalyptical,
Whereof “his thoughts do breathe, his words do burn.”
Beautiful _city_! Mother of us all!
Vision of Peace! white bride of Deity!
Whose Glory clothes thine apostolic walls!
Angels thy gates encompass lovingly,
Equal in all dimensions as beseems,
And like an angel’s thy capacity.
Death is not in thee, nor the fierce extremes
Of pain or sorrow, nor anxiety.
Here evil comes not, neither evil dreams;
No temple hast thou, for the Lord Most High
Thy temple is. No sun thou hast, nor moon,
His Glory is thy light eternally.
Lo! every nation brings to thee a boon;
Thy gates shall not be shut at all by day,
Nor night be thine, land of perpetual noon;
The kings of earth to thee their homage pay.
But no defiled thing shall enter thee,
Loving a lie, or tempting to betray.
_J. A. Heraud._
Jehovah is great, and great be his praise;
In the _city_ of God He is King;
Proclaim ye his triumphs in jubilant lays,
On the mount of his holiness sing.
The joy of the earth, from her beautiful height,
Is Zion’s impregnable hill;
The Lord in her temple still taketh delight,
God reigns in her palaces still.
Go walk about Zion, and measure the length,
Her walls and her bulwarks mark well;
Contemplate her palaces, glorious in strength,
Her towers and her pinnacles tell.
Then say to your children:--Our stronghold is tried;
This God is our God to the end;
His people for ever his counsel shall guide;
His arm shall for ever defend.
_J. Montgomery._
CLOTHES.
Then all the princes of the sea shall come down from their thrones, and
lay away their robes, and put off their broidered garments: they shall
_clothe_ themselves with trembling.--Ezekiel, xxvi. 16.
Take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink?
or, Wherewithal shall we be _clothed_? for your heavenly Father knoweth
that ye have need of all these things.--Matthew, vi. 31, 32.
For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being burdened: not for
that we would be _unclothed_, but _clothed_ upon, that mortality might
be swallowed up of life.--II. Corinthians, v. 4.
If there come unto your assembly a man with a gold ring, in goodly
apparel, and there come in also a poor man in vile raiment:
And ye have respect to him that weareth the gay _clothing_, and say
unto him, Sit thou here in a good place; and say to the poor, Stand
thou there, or sit here under my footstool:
Are ye not then partial in yourselves, and are become judges of evil
thoughts?--James, ii. 2, 3, 4.
If thou beest he; but O how fall’n! how changed
From him who in the happy realms of light,
_Clothed_ with transcendent brightness, did’st outshine
Myriads, though bright!
_Milton._
The golden palace of my God,
Towering above the clouds I see;
Beyond the cherub’s bright abode,
Higher than angels’ thoughts can be!
How can I in those courts appear
Without a wedding garment on?
Conduct me, Thou life-giver, there,
Conduct me to thy glorious throne!
And _clothe_ me with thy robes of light,
And lead me through sin’s darksome night.
_Bowring, from the Russian._
All _clothed_ with majesty and power,
The Lord of glory and of might,
He comes, who can abide the hour?
Who can behold the dreadful sight?
He, even he, who hath put on
The spotless robe of righteousness,
Washed in the blood of God’s dear Son:
Thus _clothed_, the ransomed soul may press
Into the presence bright with songs of thankfulness.
_Egone._
CLOUDS.
Behold, God is great, and we know him not, neither can the number of
His years be searched out.
For He maketh small the drops of water: they pour down rain according
to the vapour thereof;
Which the _clouds_ do drop and distil upon man abundantly.
With _clouds_ He covereth the light; and commandeth it not to shine by
the _cloud_ that cometh betwixt.--Job, xxxvi. 26, 27, 28, 32.
Who maketh the _clouds_ His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the
wind.--Psalm civ. 3.
While they beheld, He was taken up; and a _cloud_ received Him out of
their sight.--Acts, i. 9.
Behold He cometh with _clouds_; and every eye shall see
Him.--Revelation, i. 7.
A _cloud_ lay cradled near the setting sun,
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow,
Long had I watch’d the glory moving on,
O’er the still radiance of the lake below:
Tranquil its spirit seem’d, and floated slow,
Even in its very motion there was rest,
While every breath of eve that chanced to blow,
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul,
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given,
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the golden gates of heaven,
Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies,
And tells to man his glorious destinies.
_J. Wilson._
See’st yon light _cloud_, the wind is hurrying by?
The eagle’s scarce more rapid in his flight,
’Tis thus the years of youth,--hope--rapture fly,
Clad in attractive hues and robes of light,
Swiftly they fly, but ah! a weary night
Their reign succeeds--a more than midnight gloom,
That gives no peace to morn’s uprising bright,
Nor bids sweet Hope her wonted smile resume.
Ah! yes; though dark our night and drear the tomb,
Through its long vista, lo! the glorious star,
Whose rays from heaven’s bright vestibule illume
Death’s deepest vaults with radiance from afar,
Sun of immortal day! victorious faith
Eyes thy uprising blaze, and triumphs over death.
_G. M. J._
I asked the _clouds_, in their pomp of light,
As they sat in the crimson west at night,
Wherefore they gathered around the sun,
And brightened although his race was run;
When, perhaps, the breezes of night might strew
Their fragile folds into mist and dew?
The _clouds_ replied, “Though we should be driven
Away from our rest, we shall still be in heaven.”
_M. A. Browne._
When gathering _clouds_ around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few;
On Him I lean, who not in vain
Experienced every human pain:
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
And, oh! when I have safely past
Through every conflict--but the last;
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My dying bed,--for thou hast died.
Then point to realms of _cloudless_ day,
And wipe the latest tear away.
_Grant._
See where yonder _cloudlet_ lingers
On the tranquil verge of day;
The golden sunset with its fingers,
Gilds it with its burnished ray;
Swiftly, calmly, on it glides,
Mingling, melting, into air,
Fainter, fainter--now it hides
In the bosom of its lair.
So I’ve seen the gentle spirit
Linger as it pass’d away,
Softly, brightly glowing, ere it
Faded in eternal day.
Glowing with the light of Heaven--
Light of God’s eternal love:--
Like the _cloudlet_ of the even,
So it pass’d to realms above.
_Rev. E. Case._
COMFORT.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I
will fear no evil: for Thou art with me: thy rod and thy staff they
_comfort_ me.--Psalm xxiii. 4.
This is my _comfort_ in my affliction: for thy word hath quickened
me.--Psalm cxix. 50.
_Comfort_ ye, _comfort_ ye my people, saith your God.--Isaiah, xl. 1.
I, even I, am He that _comforteth_ you: who art thou, that thou
shouldest be afraid of a man that shall die, and of the Son of
Man which shall be made as grass; and forgettest the Lord thy
Maker.--Isaiah, li. 12, 13.
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed
me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the
broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of
the prison to them that are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance
of our God; to _comfort_ all that mourn.--Isaiah, lxi. 1, 2.
Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of
mercies, and the God of all _comfort_;
Who _comforteth_ us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to
_comfort_ them which are in any trouble, by the _comfort_ wherewith we
ourselves are _comforted_ of God.--II. Corinthians, i. 3, 4.
There is a haven yet to rest my soul on,
In midst of all unhappiness, which I look on
With the same _comfort_ as a distressed seaman
Afar off views the coast he would enjoy,
When yet the seas do toss his reeling barque,
’Twixt hope and danger.
_Shirley._
In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!
When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!
When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!
When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
’Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!
When the judgment is revealed,
And that open which was sealed,
When to thee I have appealed,
Sweet Spirit, _comfort_ me!
_Robert Herrick._
The voice which I did more esteem
Than music in her sweetest key;
Those eyes which unto me did seem
More _comfortable_ than the day!
Those now by me, as they have been,
Shall never more be heard or seen;
But what I once enjoyed in them,
Shall seem hereafter as a dream.
All earthly _comforts_ vanish thus;
So little hold of them have we,
That we from them, or they from us,
May in a moment ravished be.
Yet we are neither just nor wise,
If present mercies we despise;
Or mind not how there may be made
A thankful use of what we had.
_Wither._
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismay’d,
The reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul:
_Comfort_ came down, the trembling wretch to raise,
And his last, faltering accents whisper’d praise.
_Goldsmith._
_Comfort_, ye ministers of grace,
_Comfort_ my people, saith your God!
Ye soon shall see his smiling face,
His golden sceptre, not his rod;
And own, when now the cloud’s removed,
He only chasten’d whom he loved.
Who sow in tears, in joy shall reap,
The Lord shall _comfort_ all that mourn,
Who now go on their way and weep,
With joy they doubtless shall return,
And bring their sheaves with vast increase,
And have their fruit to holiness.
_Wesley._
They sank amid the wilderness,
The weary and forsaken;
She gave the boy one faint caress,
And prayed it might not waken.
Far, far away the desert spread;
Ah! love is fain to cherish
The vainest hopes, but now she said,
“Let me not see him perish.”
Then spoke the Lord, and at his word
Sprang forth a little fountain,
Pure, cold as those whose crystal hoard
Is in some pine-clad mountain.
O blessed God! thus doth thy power,
When, worn and broken-hearted,
We sink beneath some evil hour,
And deem all hope departed.
Then doth the fountain of thy grace
Rise up within the spirit,
And we are strengthened for that race,
Whose prize we shall inherit.
When least we hope, our prayer is heard,
The judgment is averted,
And comes the _comfort_ of thy word,
When most we seem deserted.
_Miss Landon._
On wings of everlasting love
The _Comforter_ is come;
All terrors at his voice disperse,
And endless pleasures bloom.
_Doddridge._
COMMAND--COMMANDMENT.
Moses went up unto mount Sinai, as the Lord had _commanded_ him, and
took in his hand the two tables of stone.
And he wrote upon the tables the words of the covenant, the ten
_commandments_.--Exodus, xxxiv. 4, 28.
Jesus said, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.
This is the first and great _commandment_.
And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as
thyself.
On these two _commandments_ hang all the law and the
prophets.--Matthew, xxii. 37, 38, 39, 40.
How, in one house,
Should many people, under two _commands_
Hold amity?
_Shakspere._
Whatever hypocrites austerely talk
Of purity, and place, and innocence,
Reforming as impure what God declares
Pure, and _commands_ to some, leaves free to all
Our Maker bids increase; who bids abstain
But our destroyer, foe to God and man.
_Milton._
Heralds of creation cry,
--Praise the Lord, the Lord most high;
Heaven and earth, obey the call,
Praise the Lord, the Lord of all.
For He spake, and forth from night
Sprang the universe to light;
He _commanded_,--Nature heard,
And stood fast upon his word.
_J. Montgomery._
What is the first and great _command_?--
To love thy God above:
And what the second?--As thyself
Thy neighbour thou shalt love:
Who is my neighbour?--He who wants
The help that thou canst give:
Jesus, our blessed Saviour, said--
This do, and thou shalt live.
_Anon._
COMPASSION.
Thou O Lord, art a God full of _compassion_, and gracious,
long-suffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth.--Psalm lxxxvi. 15.
It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his
_compassions_ fail not.--Lamentations, iii. 22.
Have _compassion_ on us, and help us.--Mark, ix. 22.
Ye had _compassion_ of me in my bonds.--Hebrews, x. 34.
Be ye all of one mind, having _compassion_ one of another.--I. Peter,
iii. 8.
Jesus, the friend of human kind,
With strong _compassion_ moved,
Descended, like a pitying God,
To save the souls he loved.
Exalted high at God’s right hand,
And Lord of all below,
Through him is pardoning love dispensed,
And boundless blessings flow.
And still, for erring, guilty man,
A brother’s pity flows;
And still his bleeding heart is touched
With memory of our woes.
_Barbauld._
The light of love and glory
Has shone through Christ the Saviour,
The holy Guide, who lived and died,
That we might live for ever.
And since thy great _compassion_
Thus brings thy children near thee,
May we to praise devote our days,
And love as well as fear thee.
_Henry Ware, Jun._
Lord, what offerings shall we bring,
At thine altars when we bow?
Hearts, the pure unsullied spring,
Whence the kind affections flow;
Soft _compassion’s_ feeling soul,
By the melting eye exprest,
Sympathy, at whose control
Sorrow leaves the wounded breast.
_John Taylor._
CONCORD.
What _concord_ hath Christ with Belial?--II. Corinthians, vi. 15.
But lovely _concord_, and most sacred peace,
Doth nourish virtue, and fast friendship breedes;
Weake she makes strong, and strong things does increase,
Till it the pitch of highest praise exceedes--
Brave be her warres, as honourable deedes,
By which she triumphs over ire and pride,
And winnes an olive garden for her meedes.
_Spenser._
One shall rise
Of proud ambitious heart, who, not content
With fair equality, fraternal state,
Will arrogate dominion undeserved
Over his brethren, and quite dispossess
_Concord_, and law of nature from the earth.
_Milton._
E’en as the dew, that, at the break of morning,
All nature with its beauty is adorning,
And flows for Heaven, calm and still,
And bathes the tender grass on Zion’s hill,
And to the young and withering herb resigns
The drops for which it pines:
So are fraternal peace and _concord_ ever
The cherishers without whose guidance, never
Would sainted quiet seek the breast,--
The life, the soul of unmolested rest,--
The antidote to sorrow and distress,
And prop of human happiness.
_Kamphuyzen._
It is not once an age two hearts are set
So well in unison, that not a note
Jars in their music; but a skilful hand
Slurs lightly over the discordant tones,
And wakens only the full power of those
That sound in _concord_.
Happy, happy those
Who thus perform in the grand concert--life.
_Mrs. Southey._
CONQUEST.
As it is written, For thy sake we are killed all the day long; we are
accounted as sheep for the slaughter.
Nay, in all these things we are more than _conquerors_ through Him that
loved us.--Romans, viii. 36, 37.
And I saw, and behold a white horse; and he that sat on him had a bow;
and a crown was given unto him; and he went forth _conquering_ and to
_conquer_.--Revelations, vi. 2.
The _conquered_ also, and enslaved by war,
Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose,
And fear of God.
_Milton._
Well then, my soul, joy in the midst of pain;
Thy Christ, that _conquered_ hell, shall from above
With greater triumph yet return again,
And _conquer_ his own justice with his love--
Commanding earth and seas to render those
Unto His bliss, for whom He paid His woes.
_Henry Wotton._
Strange _conquest_, when the _conqueror_ must die,
And he is slain who wins the victory,
And yet another _conquest_ he must gain,
Or all our faith and highest hopes are vain.
_Anon._
He on whose eyes sweet light revealed hath been,
He on whose ears the mysteries of sound,
The lame who now can walk, he who hath seen
The gate of death and he whom death hath bound,
Rejoice aloud--a choral company!
And had they not, the stones from out the ground
Witness of Him, whom Patriarchs longed to see,
Had borne; such was the aspiration then,
The rapture and procession. And lo, He
Went like a _conqueror_ on his way, while men
Cowered as before a God.
_J. A. Heraud._
To Thee, who dying, _conquerest_, all hail!
Son of the virgin! Hero of the blest!
Over the gates of death and hell prevail;
Warrior who hast alone the wine-press trod.
_J. A. Heraud._
CONSCIENCE.
And herein do I exercise myself, to have always a _conscience_ void of
offence toward God, and toward men.--Acts, xxiv. 16.
Their _conscience_ also bearing witness, and their thoughts the
meanwhile accusing or else excusing one another.--Romans, ii. 15.
Ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for _conscience_
sake.--Romans, xiii. 5.
Holding the mystery of the faith in a pure _conscience_.--I. Timothy,
iii. 9.
Purge your _conscience_ from dead works to serve the living
God.--Hebrews, ix. 14.
We trust we have a good _conscience_.--Hebrews, xiii. 18.
Guilt still alarms, and _conscience_, ne’er asleep,
Wounds with incessant strokes, not loud but deep;
While the vexed mind her own tormentor flies,
A scorpion scourge unmark’d by human eyes!
Trust me no tortures that the poets feign,
Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain
He feels, who day and night, devoid of rest,
Carries his own accuser in his breast.
_Juvenal._
Study _conscience_, more than thou wouldst fame;
Though both be good, the latter yet is worst,
And ever is ill got, without the first.
_Ben Jonson._
For though the plain judge, _Conscience_, makes no show,
But silently to her dark session comes,
Not as red law does to arraignment go,
Or war to execution, with loud drums;
Though she on hills sets not her gibbets high,
Where frightful law sets hers; nor bloody seems,
Like war in colours spread, yet secretly
She does her work, and many men condemns;
Chokes in the seed what law, till ripe, ne’er sees;
What law would punish, _Conscience_ can prevent;
And so the world from many mischiefs frees;
Known by her cures, as law by punishment.
_Sir William Davenant._
So gnaws the grief of _conscience_ evermore,
And in the heart it is so deeply grave,
That they may never sleep nor rest therefor,
Nor think one thought but on the dread they have.
_Earl of Dorset._
The soul’s rough file that smoothness does impart;
The hammer that does break the stony heart!
The worm that never dies! the “thorn within,”
That pricks and pains! the whip and scourge of sin!
The voice of God in man! that without rest
Does softly cry within a troubled breast--
“To all temptations is that soul set free
That makes not to itself a curb of me.”
_Sir E. Sherburne._
For him a waking bloodhound, yelling loud,
(That in his bosom long had sleeping laid,
A guilty _conscience_ lurking after blood,)
Pursued eagerly, nor ever stayed,
Till the betrayer’s self it had betrayed;
Oft changed he place in hope away to wind,
But change of place could never change his mind,
Himself he flies to lose, but follows but to find.
_Giles Fletcher._
There is a kind of _conscience_ some men keep,
Is like a member that’s benumbed with sleep;
Which, as it gathers blood, and wakes again,
It shoots, and pricks, and feels as big as ten.
_Quarles._
The swelling of an outward fortune can
Create a prosperous, not a happy, man;
A peaceful _conscience_ is the true content,
And wealth is but her golden ornament.
_Quarles._
Divine authority, within man’s breast,
Brings every thought, word, action, to the test;
Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains,
As reason, or as passion takes the reins.
Heaven from above, and _Conscience_ from within,
Cries in his startled ear,--Abstain from sin.
_Cowper._
From behind her secret stand,
The sly informer minutes every fault,
And her dread diary with horror fills.
Not the gross act alone employs her pen;
She reconnoitres fancy’s airy band,
Our dawning purposes of heart explores,
And steals our embryos of iniquity.
_Young._
’Tis ever thus
With noble minds; if chance they slide to folly,
Remorse stings deeper, and relentless _conscience_
Pours more of gall into the bitter cup
Of their severe repentance.
_Mason._
Knowledge or wealth to few are given,
But mark how just the ways of heaven:
True joy to all is free.
Nor wealth nor knowledge grant the boon,
’Tis thine, O _Conscience_! thine alone--
It all belongs to thee.
_Mickle._
What terrestial woe can match
The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought
The bane of others, or enslaved itself
With shackles vile? Not poison, nor sharp fire,
Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate
Suggested, or despotic rage imposed,
Were at that season an unwished exchange;
When the soul loathes herself, when flying thence,
To crowds, on every brow she sees pourtrayed
Fell demons, hate or scorn, which drive her back
To solitude, her Judge’s voice divine,
To hear in secret, haply sounding through
The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still
Demanding for his violated laws
Fit recompense; or charging her own tongue
To speak the award of justice on herself.
_Akenside._
_Conscience_ distasteful truths may tell,
But mark her sacred lessons well,
With her whoever lives at strife,
Loses his better friend for life.
_Anon._
_Conscience_, tremendous _conscience_, in his fits
Of inspiration, whencesoe’er it came,
Rose like a ghost, inflicting fear of death
On those who feared not death in fiercest battle,
And mocked him in their martyrdoms of torments;
That secret, swift, and silent messenger,
Broke on them in their lonely hours;--in sleep,
In sickness; haunting them with dire suspicions
Of something in themselves that would not die--
Of an existence elsewhere, and hereafter;
Of which tradition was not wholly silent,
Yet spake not out; its dreary oracles
Confounded superstition to conceive,
And baffled scepticism to reject,
What fear of death is like the fear beyond it?
_J. Montgomery._
Nothing they saw, but a low voice was heard
Threading the ominous silence of that fear,
Gentle and terrorless, as if a bird,
Wakened by some volcano’s glare, should cheer
The murk air with his song; yet every word
In the cathedral’s farthest arch seemed near,
As if it spoke to every one apart,
Like the clear voice of _conscience_ to each heart.
_Lowell._