And the best of the world, is its path to the sky,--
Be it gloomy or bright, for the life that He gave
Let us thank Him--but blessed be God for the _grave_!
’Tis the end of our toil, ’tis the crown of our bliss,
’Tis the portal of happiness--aye, but for this,
How hopeless were sorrow, how narrow were love,
If they looked not from earth to the rapture above!
_J. K. Mitchell._
Come unto the churchyard near:
Where the gentle, whispering breeze
Softly rustleth through the trees;
Where the moonbeam pure and white,
Falls in floods of cloudless light,
Bathing many a turfy heap
Where the lowlier slumberers sleep;
And the graceful willow waves,
Banner-like, o’er nameless _graves_:
Here hath prayer arisen like dew,--
Here the earth is holy, too,
Lightly press each grassy mound:
Surely this is hallowed ground.
_M. A. Browne._
Through these branched walks will contemplation wind,
And grave wise Nature’s teachings on his mind;
As the white _grave_-stones glimmer to his eye,
A solemn voice will thrill him, “_Thou_ must die!”
When autumn’s tints are glittering in the air,
That voice will whisper to his soul “Prepare!”
When winter’s snows are spread o’er hill and dell,
“Oh, this is death!” that solemn voice will swell;
But when with spring, streams leap, and blossoms wave,
“Hope, Christian, hope,” ’twill say, “there’s life beyond the
_grave_.”
_Alfred B. Street._
The voice of prayer at the sable bier!
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark _grave_;
It points to the glory where He shall reign
Who whispered, “Thy brother shall rise again!”
_Henry Ware, Jun._
Yes! it is a certain sleep,
Where dreams of woe can ne’er intrude;
Ah! if no earthly passion creep
Into its solemn solitude.
If there at length we cease to feel
Each pang, which living rends the breast;
Who would not from this vain world steal
Into the silent _grave_ to rest?
_Arthur Brook._
GREATNESS.
Ascribe ye _greatness_ unto our God.--Deuteronomy, xxxii. 3.
_Great_ is the Lord, and _greatly_ to be praised; and His _greatness_
is unsearchable.--Psalm cxlv. 3.
Then there arose a reasoning among them, which of them should be
_greatest_.
And Jesus perceiving the thought of their heart, took a child, and set
him by him,
And said unto them, Whosoever shall receive this child in my name
receiveth me; and whosoever shall receive me receiveth him that
sent me: for he that is least among you all, the same shall be
_great_.--Luke, ix. 46, 47, 48.
O happy man, saith he, that lo I see
Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields,
If he but knew his good. How blessed he
That feels not what affliction _greatness_ yields!
Other than what he is who would not be,
Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields.
Thine, thine is that true life; that is to live,
To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve.
_Samuel Daniel._
The good alone are _great_!
When winds the mountain oak assail,
And lay its glories waste,
Content may slumber in the vale,
Unconscious of the blast.
Through scenes of tumult while we roam,
The heart, alas! is ne’er at home;
It hopes in time to roam no more.
The mariner, not vainly brave,
Combats the storm, and rides the wave,
To rest at last on shore.
Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,
How vain your mask of state;
The good alone have joy sincere,
The good alone are _great_!
_Great_, when amid the vale of peace,
They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,
And hear the voice of artless praise;
As when along the trophied plain
Sublime they lead the victor train,
While shouting nations gaze.
_Beattie._
The wretched tumults that confound
The soul, nor wealth can tell, nor kingly state;
And stubborn are the cares that hover round
The vaulted ceilings of the _great_.
_Horace._
To meet life’s ills with soul serene,
Treading the path our Saviour trod:
To live as seeing things unseen,
To walk and commune with our God;
This is true _greatness_! worth divine!
Giv’n by the Spirit and the Word
To man! Thus grows that living shrine,
Formed, hallowed, dwelt in by the Lord!
_Rev. W. M. Hetherington._
What though the _great_,
With costly pomp, and aromatic sweets,
Embalmed his poor remains; or through the dome
A thousand tapers shed their gloomy light,
While solemn organs to his parting soul
Chaunted slow orisons; say, by what mark
Dost thou discern him from the lowly swain,
Whose mouldering bones beneath the thorn-bound turf,
Long lay neglected.
_Glynn._
The truly _great_ are those who make least noise,
And walk with humble looks upon the earth;
They nor affect a swelling part, nor speak
Big words, that make their hearers stand aside
In silent awe, and clear an ample space,
Like Liliputians for some Gulliver.
_Greatness_ consists not in such empty gauds
As dazzle and attract the public eye;
It rests not on the breath of multitudes,
For soothly hath the poet said--“The world
Knows nothing of its _greatest_ men.” There went
A _great_ man once about the daily paths
Of life, and few there were that recognised
The _greatness_ that in goodness dwelt; and still
Small is the number unto whom this truth
Is made apparent.
_Egone._
GRIEF.
He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted
with _grief_: and we hid as it were our faces from Him: He was
despised, and we esteemed Him not.
Surely He hath borne our _griefs_, and carried our sorrows; yet we did
esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.--Isaiah, liii. 3, 4.
For the Lord will not cast off for ever:
For though He cause _grief_, yet will He have compassion according to
the multitude of His mercies.
For He doth not afflict willingly, nor _grieve_ the children of
men.--Lamentations, iii. 31, 32, 33.
For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure
_grief_, suffering wrongfully.--I. Peter, ii. 19.
When _grief_ that well might humble, swells our pride,
And pride increasing, aggravates our _grief_,
The tempest must prevail till we are lost.
_Lillo._
Every _grief_ we feel
Shortens the destined number; every pulse
Beats a short moment of the pain away,
And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees
Time sweeps us off, and soon we shall arrive
At life’s sweet period. Celestial point
That ends this mortal story.
_Watts._
We _grieve_ to think our eyes no more
That form, those features loved, shall trace.
But sweet it is from memory’s store
To call each fondly-cherished grace,
And fold them in the heart’s embrace.
No bliss ’mid worldly crowds is bred,
Like musing on the sainted dead.
We _grieve_ to see expired the race
They ran, intent on works of love;
But sweet to think no mixture base,
With which their better nature strove,
Shall rear their virtuous deeds above.
Sin o’er their soul has lost its hold,
And left them with their earthly mould.
_Bishop Mant._
This is the curse of time. Alas!
In _grief_ I am not all unlearned;
Once thro’ mine own doors death did pass--
One went who never hath returned.
* * * * *
Let _grief_ be her own mistress still,
She loveth her own anguish deep,
More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done--to weep or not to weep.
Words weaker than your _grief_, would make
_Grief_ more. ’Twere better I should cease;
Altho’ myself could almost take
The place of him that sleeps in peace.
_Tennyson._
We overstate the ills of life, and take
Imagination, given us to bring down
The choirs of singing angels, overshone
By God’s clear glory,--down our earth, to rake
The dismal snows instead; flake following flake,
To cover all the corn. We walk upon
The shadow of hills, across a level thrown,
And pant like climbers. Near the alder-brake
We sigh so loud, the Nightingale within
Refuses to sing loud, as else she would.
O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,
The holy name of _Grief_!--holy herein,
That by the _grief_ of One, came all our good.
_Miss Barrett._
Warm, soft, motionless,
As flowers in stillest noon before the sun,
They lie three paces from him: such they lie
As when he left them sleeping side by side,
A mother’s arm round each, a mother’s cheeks
Between them, flusht with happiness and love.
He was more changed than they were, doomed to show,
Thee and the stranger, how defaced and scarr’d
_Grief_ hunts us down the precipice of years,
And whom the faithless prey upon the last.
_W. S. Landor._
GUIDANCE.
For this God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our _guide_ even
unto death.--Psalm xlviii. 14.
The Lord shall _guide_ thee continually.--Isaiah, lviii. 11.
Will thou not from this time cry unto me, My father, thou art the
_guide_ of my youth?--Jeremiah, iii. 4.
That man
May safely venture to go on his way,
That is so _guided_, that he cannot stray.
_Marmyon._
Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And _guide_ me through the dreadful shade.
_Addison._
Difference of good and ill for men to know
Was needless sure, while, with the fearless eye
Of an obedient son, he might look up
To the Almighty Father of his race,
And claim his _guidance_.
_John Hey._
Whither midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler’s eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.
Thou’rt gone, th’ abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet in my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.
He who, from zone to zone
_Guides_ through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
_Bryant._
I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know,
I would be treated as a child,
And _guided_ where to go.
_L. A. Waring._
Here, where all climes their offerings send,
Here, where all arts their tribute lay,
Before thy presence, Lord, we bend,
And for thy smile and blessing pray.
For Thou dost sway the tides of thought,
And hold the issues in thy hand,
Of all that human toil has wrought,
And all that human skill has plann’d.
Thou lead’st the restless Power of Mind
O’er destiny’s untrodden field,
And _guid’st_ him wandering bold but blind,
To mighty ends not yet revealed.
_Anon._
_Guide_ me, O Thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land!
I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Hold me with Thy powerful hand!
Bread of heaven,
Feed me till I want no more.
Open Thou the crystal fountain,
Whence the healing waters flow!
Let the fiery cloudy pillar
Lead me all my journey through!
Strong Deliv’rer!
Be Thou still my strength and shield!
When I tread the verge of Jordan,
Bid my anxious fears subside;
Death of death, and hell’s destruction,
Land me safe on Canaan’s side!
Songs of praises
I will ever give to Thee.
_Oliver._
GUILT.
The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and
abundant in goodness and truth.
Keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression, and
sin, and that will by no means clear the _guilty_.--Exodus, xxxiv. 6, 7.
The Lord will not hold him _guiltless_ that taketh His name in
vain.--Deuteronomy, v. 11.
Deliver me from blood-_guiltiness_, O God, thou God of my salvation:
and my tongue shall sing aloud of Thy righteousness.--Psalm li. 14.
For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he
is _guilty_ of all.--James, ii. 10.
Amidst the royal race, see Nathan stand:
Fervent he seems to speak, and lifts his hand;
His looks the emotion of his soul disclose,
And eloquence from every gesture flows.
Such, and so stern he came, ordained to bring
The ungrateful mandate to the _guilty_ king:
When, at his dreadful voice, a sudden smart
Shot through the trembling monarch’s conscious heart,
From his own lips condemned, severe decree,
Had his God proved as stern a Judge as he.
_Bishop Lowth._
O, happy pair,
Lords of fair Eden’s blooming range, where earth,
Benignant parent, from her verdant lap
Spontaneous pour’d immortal sweets, and gave
Whate’er could minister delight! Too soon,
Alas, this scene was closed: behold them now,
So lately rich in happiness, and blessed
With converse of the Living God, o’erwhelmed
In misery, and tortured by the stings
Of conscious _guilt_.
_Samuel Hayes._
_Guilt_ is a timorous thing, ere perpetration:
Despair alone makes _guilty_ men be bold.
_Coleridge._
And oh, that pang, where more than madness lies!
The worm that will not sleep, and never dies;
Thought of the gloomy day, and ghastly night,
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light:
That winds around, and tears the quivering heart,
Ah! wherefore not consume it and depart!
_Byron._
Skeptic, whoe’er thou art, tell, if thou knowest,
Why every nation, every clime, though all
In laws, in rites, in manners disagree,
With one consent expect another world
Where wickedness shall weep? Why in each breast
Is placed a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends,
Or joy on secret good? Why Conscience acts
With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain
Stands tottering on the precipice of death?
Or why such horror gnaws the _guilty_ soul
Of dying sinners, while the good man sleeps
Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires?
_Glynn._
Come and see a sad example!
Look on my unquiet shade;
Start not, sure ’tis nought uncommon,
When the bones in dust are laid,
That the lonely restless spirit,
Whom a sense of _guilt_ doth fill,
Walks the earth with ceaseless labour,
Seeking to undo the ill.
I was fond of place and power,
Grasped the wealth that was not mine,
Seized the friendless stranger’s dwelling,
Left him in despair to pine.
Now, O where are all my riches!
Come, the sad reverse behold,
For this gain my soul is bartered;
Can a spirit’s loss be told?
_Lopez de Mendoza_ (_Spanish_).
Oppress’d with _guilt_, a painful load,
O come, and spread your woes abroad!
Divine compassion, mighty love,
Will all the painful load remove.
Here mercy’s boundless ocean flows
To cleanse your _guilt_, and heal your woes;
Pardon, and life, and endless peace;
How rich the gift! how free the grace!
_Steele._
HAPPINESS.
As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.
_Happy_ is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not
be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.--Psalm
cxxvii. 4, 5.
Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways.
For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: _happy_ shalt thou be,
and it shall be well with thee.--Psalm cxxviii. 1, 2.
Behold we count them _happy_ which endure.--James, v. 11.
How _happy_ is he born or taught,
That serveth not another’s will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill;
Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Not ty’d unto the world with care
Of princes’ ear, or vulgar breath;
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are giv’n with praise,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a chosen book, or friend.
This man is free from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
_Sir Henry Wotton._
He is a _happy_ man whose life, e’en now,
Shows somewhat of that _happier_ life to come;
Who, doomed to an obscure, but tranquil state,
Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose,
Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Prepare for _happiness_; bespeak him one
Content indeed to sojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home.
The world o’erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects more illustrious in her view;
And, occupied as earnestly as she,
Though more sublimely, he o’erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.
_Cowper._
_Happiness_ depends, as Nature shows,
Less on exterior things than most suppose.
Vigilant over all that He has made,
Kind Providence attends with gracious aid;
Bids equity throughout His works prevail,
And weighs the nations in an even scale.
_Cowper._
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o’er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a _happier_ seat,
Counts death kind nature’s signal of retreat;
These goods for man, the laws of Heaven ordain,
These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain;
With these, celestial wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the _happiness_ she does not find.
_Dr. Johnson._
Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet me there.
Increasing avarice would find
Thy presence on its gold enshrined.
The bold adventurer ploughs his way
Through rocks, amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives,
Thou art not in the rocks and waves.
* * * * *
No real _happiness_ is found
In trailing purple o’er the ground.
_Parnell._
How long, ye miserably blind,
Shall idle dreams engage your mind;
How long the passions make their flight
At empty shadows of delight?
No more in paths of error stray,
The Lord, thy Jesus, is the Way,
The Spring of _happiness_, and where
Should men seek _happiness_, but there?
_Parnell._
Consider man in every sphere,
Then tell me is your lot severe?
’Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
That makes you wretched: God is just:
We’re born a restless, needy crew;
Show me a _happier_ man than you?
_Gay._
When are we _happiest_ then? O, when resigned
To whatsoe’er our cup of life may brim;
When we can know ourselves but weak and blind
Creatures of earth; and trust alone in Him
Who giveth, in his mercy, joy or pain;
Oh! we are _happiest_ then.
_M. A. Brown._
Object of my first desire,
Jesus, crucified for me!
All to _happiness_ aspire,
Only to be found in thee;
Thee to praise, and Thee to know,
Constitute our bliss below!
Thee to see, and Thee to love,
Constitute our bliss above.
_Toplady._
True _happiness_ is not the growth of earth,
The toil is fruitless if you seek it here;
’Tis an exotic of celestial birth,
And never blooms but in celestial air.
Sweet plant of Paradise! thy seeds are sown
In here and there a mind of heavenly mould;
It rises slow and blooms, but ne’er was known
To ripen here--the climate it is too cold.
_Anon._
One morning in the month of May,
I wandered o’er the hill;
Though nature all around was gay,
My heart was heavy still.
Can God, I thought, the good, the great,
These meaner creatures bless;
And yet deny our human state
The boon of _happiness_?
Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains,
Ye blessed birds around,
Where, in creation’s wide domains,
Can perfect bliss be found?
The birds wild carolled overhead,
The breeze around me blew,
And nature’s awful chorus said,
No bliss for man she knew.
I questioned Love, whose early day
So heavenly bright appears;
And Love in answer seemed to say
His light was dimmed by tears.
I questioned Friendship;--Friendship moaned,
And thus her answer gave;
The friends whom fortune has not turned,
Were vanished in the grave.
I asked if Vice could bliss bestow;
Vice boasted loud and well;
But fading from her pallid brow,
The venomed roses fell.
I questioned Virtue;--Virtue sighed,
No boon could she dispense;
Nor Virtue was her name she cried,
But humble Penitence.
I questioned Death; the grisly shade
Relaxed his brow severe;
And, “I am _Happiness_,” he said
“If Virtue guides thee here!”
_Bishop Heber._
HARVEST.
The _harvest_ is past, the summer is ended, and we are not
saved.--Jeremiah, viii. 20.
Then saith he unto his disciples, The _harvest_ truly is plenteous, but
the labourers are few;
Pray ye therefore the Lord of the _harvest_, that he will send forth
labourers into his _harvest_.--Matthew, ix. 37, 38.
The _harvest_ is the end of the world; and the reapers are the
angels.--Matthew, xiii. 39.
Life hath its seasons:
And time, on a chariot of hours,
Rolls to eternity’s gate
Adown a dim valley, where flowers,
Bereft of their beauty,
Lie, withered and scattered by fate.
Hearts have their _harvests_:
And sorrow goes after the reapers
To mildew the yellowing grain;
While pity, in tears,
Stands watching the labouring weepers
Go reaping a _harvest_ of pain.
Youth is the seed-time:
The season of sunshine and showers,
That nurtures the delicate germ
Which, in life’s autumn,
Will bring to our bosom sweet flowers,
Or thorns and a cankering worm.
God is the _harvest_:
Whose sickle by mercy is wielded
Among the ripe grain and the tares:
Unto his garner
The sheaves of the gleaner are yielded
With _harvest_-home anthem and prayers.
_Anon._
Then glory to the steel
That shines in the reaper’s hand;
And thanks to God, who has bless’d the sod,
And crowns the _harvest_ land!
_Eliza Cook._
HATRED.
Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that _hate_
him flee before him.--Psalm lxviii. 1.
_Hatred_ stirreth up strifes: but love covereth all sins.--Proverbs, x.
12.
He that _hateth_ dissembleth with his lips, and layeth up deceit within
him.--Proverbs, xxvi. 24.
_Hate_ the evil, and love the good, and establish judgment in the
gate.--Amos, v. 15.
He that _hateth_ me _hateth_ my Father also.--John, xv. 23.
I tell thee not the burning thunderbolt,
When its fierce brow is lit in blasting flames,
Stooping from its red chariot to sweep
The earth, its angry voice is pealing o’er,
Is half so deadly, or so sure as _hate_.
Promethean _hate_! that can make cowards bold;
Where he pursues it is in vain to flee;
Where his form comes, a blight is on the earth;
Where his hand strikes, life passeth, or is cursed;
Where his eye glances, there despair comes down;
Where his breath falls, all mercy vanisheth.
_Constantia L. Reddell._
Blunted unto goodness is the heart which anger never stirreth,
But that which _hatred_ swelleth, is keen to carve out evil.
Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous failing of the just,
The one degree that riseth above zeal, asserting the prerogatives
of virtue;
But _hatred_ is a slow continuing crime, a fire in the bad
man’s breast,
A dull and hungry flame, for ever craving insatiate.
_Hatred_ would harm another; anger would indulge itself;
_Hatred_ is a simmering poison; anger, the opening of the
valve;
_Hatred_ destroyeth as the upas-tree; anger smiteth as a staff;
_Hatred_ is the atmosphere of hell, but anger is known in
heaven.
_Martin F. Tupper._
HEAD.
The hoary _head_ is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of
righteousness.--Proverbs, xvi. 31.
Even to your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you:
I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver
you.--Isaiah, xlvi. 4.
The very hairs of your _head_ are all numbered.--Matthew, x. 30.
These hairs of age are messengers,
Which bid me fast, repent, and pray;
They be of death the harbingers,
That doth prepare and dress the way;
Wherefore, I joy that you may see
Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.
They be the lines that lead the length
How far my race was for to run;
They say my youth is fled with strength,
And how old age is well begun;
The which I feel, and you may see
Such lines upon my _head_ to be.
They be the strings of sober sound,
Whose music is harmonical;
Their tunes declare a time from ground
I came, and bow thereto I shall;
Wherefore I love, that you may see
Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.
God grant to those that white hairs have,
No worse them take than I have meant;
That after they be laid in grave,
Their souls may joy, their lives well spent;
God grant, likewise, that you may see
Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.
_Lord Vaux._
_Head_ of the church triumphant,
We joyfully adore thee!
Till thou appear, Thy members here,
Shall sing like those in glory.
We lift our hands and voices,
With blest anticipation,
And cry aloud, and give to God
The praise of our salvation.
_De Courcey._
HEALING.
_Heal_ me, O Lord, and I shall be _healed_: save me, and I shall
be saved: for Thou art my praise.--Jeremiah, xvii. 14.
But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise
with _healing_ in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as
calves of the stall.--Malachi, iv. 2.