Looking on the earth, with approbation marks
The just man, and divulges him through heaven
To all his angels, who with true applause
Recount his praises: thus He did to Job,
Who famous was in heaven, on earth less known;
Where _glory_ is false _glory_ attributed
To things not _glorious_, men not worthy of fame.
They err who count it _glorious_ to subdue
By conquest far and wide, to over-run
Large countries, and in field great battles win,
Great cities by assault; what do these worthies,
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wheresoe’er they rove,
And all the flourishing arts of peace destroy.
But if there be in _glory_ aught of good,
It may by means far different be attain’d,
Without ambition, war, or violence;
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance.
_Milton._
Much of the soul they talk, but all awry,
And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves
All _glory_ arrogate, to God give none.
_Milton._
Thus the fond moth around the taper plays,
And sports and flutters in the treacherous blaze;
Ravished with joy he wings his eager flight,
Nor deems of ruin in so clear a light:
He tempts his fate, and courts a _glorious_ doom,
A bright destruction, and a shining tomb.
_Tickell._
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour;
The path of _glory_ leads but to the grave.
_Gray._
O, that mine eye might closed be,
To what concerns me not to see;
That deafness might possess mine ear,
To what concerns me not to hear;
That Truth my tongue might always tie
From ever speaking foolishly;
That no vain thought might ever rest,
Or be conceived, in my breast;
That by each word, and deed, and thought,
_Glory_ may to my God be brought!
_Thomas Ellwood._
Lift up your heads, ye gates that long endure!
The King of _Glory_ comes victoriously!
Who is the King of _Glory_? He, be sure,
The Lord, renowned in battle! This is He!
Lift up your heads, ye gates! He stands before ye;
Oh ye æonian gates, uplifted be,
And make to Him wide entrance whom adore ye.
Who is the King ye herald? who but He,
The Lord of Hosts? Who else is King of _Glory_?
_J. A. Heraud._
Wake, arm divine! awake
Eye of the only wise!
Now for Thy _glory’s_ sake,
Saviour and God arise!
_Keble._
GOD.
Thou art a _God_ ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger,
and of great kindness.--Nehemiah, ix. 17.
The mighty _God_, even the Lord, hath spoken, and called the earth from
the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof.
Our _God_ shall come, and shall not keep silence.--Psalm l. 1, 3.
And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our _God_; we have waited
for him, and he will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for him,
we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.--Isaiah, xxv. 9.
To whom then will ye liken _God_? or what likeness will ye compare unto
him?--Isaiah, xl. 18.
Prepare to meet thy _God_.--Amos, iv. 12.
_God_ is a spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit
and in truth.--John, iv. 24.
Without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: _God_ was
manifest in the flesh.--I. Timothy, iii. 16.
To _God_ more glory, more good-will to men
From _God_, and over wrath shall grace abound.
_Milton._
The heavens are a point from the pen of His perfection;
The world is a rosebud from the bower of His beauty;
The sun is a spark from the light of His wisdom;
And the sky a bubble on the sea of His power.
His beauty is free from stain of sin,
Hidden in a veil of thick darkness.
He formed mirrors of the atoms of the world,
And he cast a reflection from His own face on every atom!
To thy clear-seeing eye whatsoever is fair,
When thou regardest it aright, is a reflection from His face.
_Jami, from the Persian._
O Thou, whose power o’er moving worlds presides,
Whose voice created and whose wisdom guides,
On darkling man in pure effulgence shine,
And cheer the clouded mind with light divine!
’Tis Thine alone to calm the pious breast,
With silent confidence, and holy rest;
From Thee, great _God_! we spring--to Thee we tend,
Path, Motive, Guide, Original, and End.
_Dr. Johnson_.
Not _God_ alone in the still calm we find,
He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
_Pope._
The _God_ that rules on high,
That all the earth surveys,
That rides upon the stormy sky,
And calms the roaring seas--
This awful _God_ is ours,
Our Father and our love;
He will send down His heavenly powers
To carry us above.
_Watts._
Spirit whose life-sustaining presence fills
Air, ocean, central depths by man untried,
Thou for Thy worshippers hast sanctified
All place, all time! The silence of the hills
Breathes veneration: founts and choral rills
Of Thee are murmuring:--to its inmost glade
The living forest with Thy whisper thrills,
And there is holiness in every shade.
_Mrs. Hemans._
On earth there’s not a creature
Too small, dear _God_, for Thee:
Thou gav’st them form and feature,
And Thine they aye must be.
For Thee the bird sings,
For Thee the fish springs,
For Thee the bee hums,
The gold-beetle drums,
The little mouse pipes clear and fine;--
We all are Thine, dear Lord; but Thine!
_Clemens Brentano._
There is no _God_,--the fool in secret said;
There is no _God_ that rules on earth or sky;
Tear off the band that folds the wretched head,
That _God_ may burst upon his faithless eye.
Is there no _God_?--the stars in myriads spread,
If he look up, the blasphemy deny,
Whilst his own features, in the mirror read,
Reflect the image of Divinity.
Is there no _God_?--the silver stream that flows,
The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees,
The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,
All speak of _God_; throughout one voice agrees,
And eloquent His dread existence shows:
Blind to thyself, ah! see Him, fool, in these.
_Anon._
My _God_, to Thee belong
Incense of praise and hallowed song;
To Thee be all the glory given
Of all my mercies under heaven;
From Thee my daily bread and health,
Each comfort, all my spirit’s wealth,
Have been derived;--my sins alone,
And errings, I can call mine own.
_Walker._
What secret hand, at morning light,
By stealth unseals mine eye,
Draws back the curtain of the night,
And opens earth and sky?
’Tis Thine, my _God_--the same that kept
My resting hours from harm;
No ill came nigh me, for I slept
Beneath the Almighty’s arm.
’Tis Thine--my daily bread that brings,
Like manna scattered round,
And clothes me, as the lily springs
In beauty from the ground.
_J. Montgomery._
With years oppress’d, with sorrows worn,
Dejected, harass’d, sick, forlorn,
To Thee, O _God_, I pray;
To Thee my withered hands arise;
To Thee I lift my failing eyes:
Oh! cast me not away!
_Sir R. Grant._
Who spoke creation into birth,
Arch’d the broad heavens, and spread the rolling earth;
Who form’d a pathway for the obedient sun,
And bade the seasons in their circles run;
Who fill’d the air, the forest, and the flood,
And gave man all for comfort, or for good.
_Charles Sprague._
GOLD.
But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come
forth as _gold_.--Job, xxiii. 10.
The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the
Lord are true and righteous altogether.
More to be desired are they than _gold_, yea, than much fine
_gold_.--Psalm xix. 9, 10.
The trial of your faith, being much more precious that of _gold_ that
perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and
honour and glory, at the appearing of Jesus Christ.--I. Peter, i. 7.
I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of
heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.
And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure
_gold_, like unto clear glass.--Revelation, xxi. 2, 18.
Never exceed thy income. Youth may make
Even with the year; but age if it will hit,
Shoots a bow short, and lessens still its stake,
As the day lessens, and his life with it.
Thy children, kindred, friends, upon thee call;
Before thy journey fairly part with all.
Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil;
Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dim
To all things else. Wealth is the conjurer’s devil;
Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath him.
_Gold_ thou mayest safely touch; but if it stick
Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.
_Herbert._
To purchase heaven has _gold_ the power?
Can _gold_ remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with _gold_?
Are friendship’s pleasures to be sold?
No--all that’s worth a wish--a thought--
Fair virtue gives, unbrib’d, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.
_Dr. Johnson._
Oh, bane of man! seducing cheat!
Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
_Gold_ banish’d honour from the mind,
And only left the name behind;
_Gold_ sow’d the world with ev’ry ill,
_Gold_ taught the murderer’s sword to kill;
’Twas _gold_ instructed coward hearts
In treachery’s more pernicious arts.
_Gay._
_Gold_, many hunted, sweat, and bled for _Gold_;
Waked all the night, and laboured all the day.
And what was this allurement dost thou ask?
A dust dug from the bowels of the earth,
Which, being cast into the fire, came out
A shining thing that fools admired, and called
A god; and in devout and humble plight
Before it kneeled, the greater to the less;
And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace,
Truth, faith, integrity, good conscience, friends,
Love, charity, benevolence, and all
The sweet and tender sympathies of life;
And to complete the horrid murderous rite,
And signalize their folly, offered up
Their souls and an eternity of bliss,
To gain them--what? an hour of dreaming joy,
A feverish hour that hasted to be done,
And ended in the bitterness of woe.
_Pollok._
The deep damnation of the crowd, O _Gold_!
Heapeth reproach upon thy innocent dust!
“Evil’s prolific root,”--“Bribe of the just,”--
“Strength of the false and cruel,”--“God, extoll’d
By priests, by whom heaven’s pardoning grace is sold,”--
Such are thy titles! while, with covetous lust,
Men hoard the very ore they have befoul’d
With the tongue’s obloquy of wordy rust,--
Yet thou art sinless, _Gold!_ and bright, and bland,
And fit for glorious offices; and blest,
When put to uses holy. Oh, be sure
The curse is not on thee; for ’tis the hand
That toucheth thee doth thee with stains invest,
Or maketh thee beneficent and pure!
_Calder Campbell._
That universal idol, _Gold_,
In homage all unites;
Without a temple, ’tis adored,
And has no hypocrites.
Nay, more, _Gold’s_ warmest devotees
Strive most to hide their zeal;
And he that loves this idol most,
Would most that love conceal.
_Colton._
GOODNESS.
There be many that say, Who will shew us any _good_? Lord, lift Thou up
the light of Thy countenance upon us.--Psalm iv. 6.
There is not a just man upon earth, that doeth _good_, and sinneth
not.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 20.
He hath shewed thee, O man, what is _good_; and what doth the Lord
require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk
humbly with thy God.--Micah, vi. 8.
Do _good_ to them that hate you.--Matthew, v. 44.
As we have therefore opportunity, let us do _good_ unto all
men.--Galatians, vi. 10.
Hold fast that which is _good_.--I. Thessalonians, v. 21.
Therefore to him that knoweth to do _good_, and doeth it not, to him it
is sin.--James, iv. 17.
How far the little candle throws his beams!
So shines a _good_ deed in a naughty world.
_Shakspere._
Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing _good_,
Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours
Are barren in return.
_Rowe._
Then to be _good_, is to be happy: angels
Are happier than mankind, because they’re better.
_Rowe._
Take well whate’er shall chance, though bad it be,
Take it for _good_, and ’twill be _good_ to thee.
_Randolph._
_Good_, the more
Communicated, more abundant grows;
The author not impaired, but honoured more.
_Milton._
Look round the world, behold the chain of love
Combining all below, and all above;
See plastic nature working to this end,
The single atoms each to other tend,
Attract, attracted to the next in place,
Formed and impelled its neighbour to embrace;
See matter next, with various life endued,
Press to one centre, still the general _good_.
_Young._
A _good_ man and an angel! These between
How thin the barrier? What divides their fate?
Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year;
Or if an age, it is a moment still,
A moment, or eternity’s forgot.
_Young._
Who never felt the impatient throb--
The longing of a heart that pants
And reaches after distant _good_.
_Cowper._
Sure the last end
Of the _good_ man is peace!--how calm his exit!
Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft!
_Blair._
The _good_ are better made by ill,
As odours crushed, are better still.
_Rogers._
As flowers which night, when day is o’er, perfume,
Breathes the sweet memory from a _good_ man’s tomb.
_Sir E. B. Lytton._
When to the common rest that crowns our days,
Called in the noon of life, the _good_ man goes,
Or full of years, or ripe in wisdom, lays
His silver temples in their last repose;
When, o’er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows,
And blights the fairest; when our bitterest tears
Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close,
We think on what they were, with many fears
Lest _goodness_ die with them, and leave the coming years.
_W. C. Bryant._
Give credit to thy mortal brother’s heart
For all the _good_ that in thine own hath part.
_Mrs. Norton._
Never despair of _goodness_. Men are bad,
But have been worse. The badness shall die out,
The _goodness_, like the thistle-down, shall float,
Bearing a germ beneath its tiny car--
A germ predestined to become a tree,
To fall on fruitful soil, and on its boughs
Bear seed enough to stock the universe.
_Charles Mackay._
GOSPEL.
And He said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the
_gospel_ to every creature.--Mark, xvi. 15.
To the poor the _gospel_ is preached.--Luke, vii. 22.
For I am not ashamed of the _gospel_ of Christ; for it is the power of
God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and
also to the Greek.--Romans, i. 16.
The word of truth, the _gospel_ of your salvation.--Ephesians, i. 13.
If ye continue in the faith grounded and settled, and be not moved
away from the hope of the _gospel_, which ye have heard, and which was
preached to every creature which is under heaven.--Colossians, i. 23.
And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the
everlasting _gospel_ to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and
to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.--Revelation, xiv.
6.
O, I have seen, (nor hope perhaps in vain,
Ere life go down, to see such sights again,)
A veteran warrior in the Christian field,
Who never saw the sword he could not wield;
Grave without dulness, learned without pride,
Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed;
A man that would have foiled, at their own play,
A dozen would-be’s of the modern day;
Who, when occasion justified its use,
Had wit as bright, as ready to produce;
Could fetch the records of an earlier age,
Or from philosophy’s enlightened page
His rich materials, and regale your ear
With strains it was a privilege to hear:
Yet, above all, his luxury supreme,
And his chief glory was the _gospel_ theme;
There he was copious as old Greece or Rome,
His happy eloquence seemed there at home,--
Ambitious not to shine, or to excel,
But, to treat justly what he loved so well.
_Cowper._
Behold His life, and learn from Him to live;
In death still greater view thy dying Lord,
And imitate that worth thou canst not reach.
Smooth are His paths, and to conduct thy feet,
The _Gospel’s_ holy light around thee sheds
Its mild effulgence.
_William Bolland._
Gazing ever on the _Gospel_ light,
That endless source of evidence and truth,
Prove every doctrine by that golden rule,
And “try the spirits if they be of God.”
_Mrs. Sigourney._
The _Gospel’s_ glorious hope,
Its rule of purity, its eye of prayer,
Its fort of firmness on temptation’s steep,
Its bark that fails not, ’mid the storm of death,
He spread before them, and with gentlest tone,
Such as a brother to his sister breathes,
His little sister, simple and untaught,
Did urge them to the shelter of that ark
Which rides the wrathful deluge.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
The moon is up! How calm and slow
She wheels above the hill;
The weary winds forget to blow,
And all the world lies still.
The way-worn travellers, with delight,
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.
It glistens where the hurrying stream
Its little ripple leaves;
It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.
So once, on Judah’s evening bills,
The heavenly lustre spread;
The _gospel_ sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.
And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendour throws;
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.
The waning moon in time shall fail
To walk the midnight skies,
But God hath kindled _this_ bright light
With fire that never dies.
_W. B. O. Peabody._
GRACE.
The Lord will give _grace_ and glory; no good thing will he withhold
from them that walk uprightly.--Psalm lxxxiv. 11.
The law was given by Moses, but _grace_ and truth came by Jesus
Christ.--John, i. 17.
We have access by faith into this _grace_ wherein we stand, and rejoice
in hope of the glory of God.--Romans, v. 2.
My _grace_ is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in
weakness.--II. Corinthians, xii. 9.
For the _grace_ of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all
men.--Titus, ii. 11.
Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of _grace_, that we may
obtain mercy, and find _grace_ to help in time of need.--Hebrews, iv.
16.
Pray for the health of all that are diseased,
Confession unto all that are convicted,
And patience unto all that are displeased,
And comfort unto all that are afflicted,
And mercy unto all that have offended,
And _grace_ to all, that all may be amended.
_Nicholas Breton._
The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with _Grace_,
And there it revels, and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.
_Shakspere._
That word, _Grace_,
In an un_gracious_ mouth, is but profane.
_Shakspere._
Who God doth late and early pray,
More of His _grace_ than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;--
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
_Henry Wotton._
Prevenient _grace_ descending had removed
The stony from their hearts.
_Milton._
But _grace_, abused, brings forth the foulest deeds,
As richest soil, the most luxuriant weeds.
_Cowper._
My stock lies dead, and no increase,
Doth my dull husbandry improve;
O let thy _grace_ still without cease,
Drop from above!
The dew doth every morning fall,
And shall the dew outstrip thy dove,
The dew for which grass cannot call?
Drop from above!
Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove;
Let _grace_ work too, and on my soul
Drop from above!
Sin is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardness void of love;
Let suppling _grace_, to cross his art,
Drop from above!
O come! for Thou dost know the way,
Or if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me when I need, and say--
Drop from above!
_George Herbert._
I want that _grace_ which springs from Thee,
Which quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me
Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose.
_Cowper._
All-powerful _Grace_, exert thy gentle sway,
And teach my rebel passions to obey;
Lest lurking folly, with insidious art,
Regain my volatile, inconstant heart!
_Mrs. Carter._
O God! how beautiful the thought,
How merciful the bless’d decree,
That _Grace_ can e’er be found, when sought,
And nought shut out the soul from Thee.
The cell may cramp, the fetters gall,
The flame may scorch, the rack may tear;
But torture, stake, or prison-wall,
Can be endured with faith and prayer.
_Eliza Cook._
This _grace_ is ours: who asks in Thy great name,
May ask for all; and with assurance claim
The purchased pardon to believers given,
The seal of mercy, and the hope of heaven.
_Perronet._
Every act
Which shunned the trifling plaudit of mankind,
Shall here to wondering millions be displayed,
A monument of _grace_.
_C. P. Layard._
_Faith!_ anchor of the soul amid the storms
Which vex and toss the ocean deep, which forms
The pathway to that land of light and love,
Which waits the ransom’d in the world above;
While this life lasts, I fain would stay on thee;
I shall not need thee in eternity.
_Hope!_ be thou mine, while here on earth I rove,
But only till I reach my home above:
But _Charity!_ of christian _graces_ best,
Ever increasing, blessing still and blest,
Thou shalt remain when Faith and Hope shall cease,
The source and fulness e’en of Heaven’s bliss!
No period circumscribes my prayer for thee;
Be mine on earth, and through eternity!
_Mary Milner._
_Grace!_ ’tis a charming sound,
Harmonious to my ear;
Heaven with the echo shall resound,
And all the earth shall hear.
_Grace_ first contrived a way
To save rebellious man;
And all the steps that _grace_ display
Which drew the wondrous plan.
_Grace_ taught my wand’ring feet
To tread the heavenly road;
And new supplies each hour I meet,
While pressing on to God.
_Grace_ all the work shall crown,
Through everlasting days;
It lays in heaven the topmost stone,
And well deserves the praise.
_Doddridge._
GRAVE--TOMB.
The Lord killeth, and maketh alive: he bringeth down to the _grave_,
and bringeth up.--I. Samuel, ii. 6.
God will redeem my soul from the power of the _grave_: for he shall
receive me.--Psalm xlix. 15.
Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is
no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the _grave_, whither
thou goest.--Ecclesiastes, ix. 10.
I will ransom them from the power of the _grave_: I will redeem them
from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O _grave_, I will be thy
destruction.--Hosea, xiii. 14.
When self-esteem, or other’s adulation,
Would cunningly persuade us we are something
Above the common level of our kind;
The _grave_ gainsays the smooth-complexion’d flatt’ry,
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.
_Blair._
Dull _grave_! thou spoil’st the dance of youthful blood,
Strik’st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,
And every smirking feature from the face;
Branding out laughter with the name of madness.
_Blair._
All at rest now--all dust!--wave flows on wave,
But the sea dries not! What to us the _grave_?
It brings no real homily; we sigh,
Pause for awhile, and murmur “all must die;”
Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more,
Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore.
_Sir E. B. Lytton._
Oh! for a heart that seeks the sacred gloom
That hovers round the precincts of the _tomb_!
While fancy, musing there, sees visions bright,--
In death discovering life, in darkness, light.
What though the chilling blasts of winter’s day
Forbid the garden longer to be gay?
Of winter yet I’ll not refuse to sing,
Thus to be followed by eternal spring.
_Leigh Richmond._
What is the _Grave_ of Pride? Is it to lie
’Neath sculptured marble, where the night-winds sigh
Through solemn arches, and ’mid pillars tall,
The while the pallid moonbeams coldly fall
On shrine, and urn, and “animated bust,”
The vain memorials all of “dust to dust?”
Is it to lie with hands uprear’d in prayer,
As many a warrior rests in sculpture rare;
His banner floating o’er the chisell’d stone,
’Neath which, long ages since, he laid him down,
To fear no battle-cry, nor trumpet call,
Till on his startled ear the peal shall fall,
That from the storied _tomb_, or daisied sod,
Death’s sleepers shall awake to meet their God?
Then will it seek not, if in minster-pile,
While music roll’d through each time-honour’d aisle,
And choral hymnings swell the flood of sound,
That rose and fell through all the vaults around;
Or if beneath some village yew-tree’s shade,
The child of earth to his long rest were laid.
The marble _tomb_ must yield its treasured trust,
The grass-grown _grave_ give up the sleeping dust.
_Mary Milner._
I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground, God’s Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each _grave_ within its walls,
And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the Archangel’s blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
_Longfellow._