Where thy still small voice is heard,
For the strong pines of the forests,
That by thy breath are stirr’d;
For the storms on whose free pinions
Thy spirit walks abroad;
For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God.
The royal eagle darteth
On his quarry from the heights,
And the stag that knows no master
Seeks there his wild delights;
But we for thy communion
Have sought the mountain sod;
For the strength of the _hills_ we bless thee,
Our God, our fathers’ God!
_Mrs. Hemans._
Look up, my soul, toward the eternal _hills_;
Those heavens are fairer than they seem,
There pleasures all sincere glide in its crystal rills,
There not a dreg of guilt defiles,
Nor guilt disturbs the stream:
There is no cursed soil, no tainted spring,
No roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting.
_Watts._
HOLINESS.
Thou art _holy_, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.--Psalm
xxii. 3.
_Holiness_ becometh thine house, O Lord, for ever.--Psalm xciii. 5.
Follow peace with all men, and _holiness_, without which no man shall
see the Lord.--Hebrews, xii. 14.
_Holy, holy, holy_, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to
come.--Revelations, iv. 8.
Thrice _holy_ fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire.
_Dryden._
Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine,
The sun of _Holiness_ shall shine.
_H. K. White._
Lord, be it mine, like Thine elect, to choose
The better part; like them to use
The means Thy love hath given;
Be _holiness_ my aim on earth;
That death be welcom’d as a birth
To life and bliss in heaven.
_Bishop Mant._
Not all the pomp and pageantry of worlds
Reflect such glory on the eye supreme,
As the meek virtues of one _holy_ man;
For ever doth his angel, from the face
Divine, beatitude and wisdom draw;
And in his prayer, what privilege adored!
Mounting the heavens, and claiming audience there;
Yes! there, amid a high, immortal host
Of seraphs, hymning in eternal choir,
A lip of clay its orisons can send,
In temple, or in solitude outbreathed.
_R. Montgomery._
Ascribe ye _holiness_ unto the Lord;
Not unto man, for he is never _holy_:
The best of men, who walketh in the light
Of a clear conscience, may not claim that title--
That high distinction, only fit for those
Who dwell with Him--the fount of _holiness_!
_Egone._
HOME.
Man goeth to his long _home_, and the mourners go about the
streets.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 5.
And another also said, Lord, I will follow thee; but let me first go
bid them farewell, which are at _home_ at my house.--Luke, ix. 61.
Therefore we are always confident, knowing that, whilst we are at
_home_ in the body, we are absent from the Lord.--II. Corinthians, v. 6.
Death is, no doubt, in every place the same;
Yet nature casts a look towards _home_, and most,
Who have it in their power, choose to expire
Where first they drew their breath.
_Lillo._
’Twas early day, and sunlight streamed
Soft through a quiet room,
That hushed, but not forsaken seemed,
Still, but with nought of gloom.
For there, secure in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
A father communed with the page
Of heaven-recorded love.
Pure fell the beam and meekly bright
On his gray holy hair,
And touched the book with tenderest light,
As if its shrine were there.
But, oh, that patriarch’s aspect shone
With something lovelier far;
A radiance all the spirit’s own,
Caught not from sun or star.
Some word of life e’en then had met
His calm benignant eye,
Some ancient promise breathing yet
Of immortality.
Some heart’s deep language, where the glow
Of quenchless faith survives;
For every feature said, “I know
That my Redeemer lives.”
And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath,
Before the solemn sanctity
Of thoughts o’ersweeping death.
Silent, yet did not each young heart
With love and reverence melt;
Oh blest be those fair girls, and blest
That _home_ where God is felt.
_Mrs. Hemans._
Sweet is the smile of _home_; the mutual look
When hearts are of each other sure;
Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,
The haunt of all affections pure;
Yet in the world even these abide, and we
Above the world, our calling boast:
Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free;
Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost.
_Keble._
Yes, let the future smile or mourn,
To us a glorious place is given,
With the great church of the first-born,
Whose names are registered in heaven.
Beyond the bounds of time’s expansion,
Where change and sorrow cannot come,
We’re journeying to the promised mansion,
Made ready in our Father’s _home_.
Friends, kindred, loving and beloved,
That wont on earth our lot to cheer,
Thither are, one by one removed,
And we shall find them settled there.
Enough! though sin, and pain, and death,
This transitory world infest,
They who attain to Abraham’s faith,
Shall be with faithful Abraham blest.
_Hankinson._
Our God, to call us _homeward_,
His only Son sent down;
And now, still more to tempt our hearts,
Has taken up our own.
_Thomas Ward._
How sweetly flowed the gospel’s sound,
From lips of gentleness and grace,
When listening thousands gathered round,
And joy and reverence filled the place.
From heaven He came--of heaven He spoke,
To heaven He led his followers’ way;
Dark clouds of gloomy night He broke,
Unveiling an immortal day.
“Come wanderers to my Father’s _home_,
Come, all ye weary ones, and rest!”
Yes, sacred Teacher.--we will come--
Obey thee, love thee, and be blest.
_Bowring._
_Home_ of the Christian! when Messiah comes
A scene of Heaven in miniature art thou,
Where all is redolent of charms divine,
Temper renewed, and souls of grave becalmed.
Thy quiet precincts of a purer world
Breathe to the heart of faith, and, when compared
With what the worldling in his home enjoys.--
E’en like the vexing hum of some large street,
Where all is haste and hurry, tramp and strife,
In contrast with the unpolluted calm
Of some cathedral, when a spirit’s hush
Hath brooded--seems that worldlings’ noisy hour.
_R. Montgomery._
How sweet, bow consoling, when seasons of gloom
Roll over the soul like the billowy spray,
To view in the mansions of Heaven a _home_,
Where sorrow and sighing shall vanish away.
_W. J. Brock._
And in our _home_ above there is a friend,
More tender, true, more loving and sincere,
Who knows each want, and every help will lend
Our souls, through this world’s misery to steer;
In danger’s path is present, ever near,
Allures to brighter worlds, hath cleared the way,
Will wipe from every cheek the sinner’s tear,
Deigns in our hearts to claim a peaceful sway,
And leads us to our _homes_ in realms of endless day.
_Stuart Farquharson._
HONESTY.
Let us walk _honestly_, as in the day.--Romans, xiii. 13.
Study to be quiet, and to do your own business, and to work with your
own hands, as we commanded you;
That ye may walk _honestly_ toward them that are without, and that ye
may have lack of nothing.--I. Thessalonians, iv. 11, 12.
Pray for us: for we trust we have a good conscience, in all things
willing to live _honestly_.--Hebrews, xiii. 18.
_Honesty!_
A name scarce echo to a sound--_honesty_!
Attend the stately chambers of the great--
It dwells not there, nor in the trading world;
Speaks it in councils? No, the sophist knows
To laugh it thence.
_Havard._
I ask not for his lineage,
I ask not for his name--
If manliness be in his heart,
He noble birth may claim.
I care not though of world’s wealth
But slender be his part;
If yes you answer, when I ask--
Hath he a true man’s heart?
I ask not from what land he came,
Nor where his youth was nursed--
If pure the stream, it matters not
The spot from whence it burst:
The palace or the hovel,
Where first his life began,
I seek not of: but answer this--
Is he an _honest_ man?
Nay, blush not now--what matters it
Where first he drew his breath?
A manger was the cradle-bed
Of Him of Nazareth!
Be nought, be any, every thing--
I care not what you be--
If yes you answer, when I ask--
Art thou pure, true, and free?
_R. Nicoll._
HONOUR.
Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands:
Sing forth the _honour_ of his name: make his praise glorious.--Psalm
lxvi. 1, 2.
I receive not _honour_ from men.--John, v. 41.
Jesus answered, If I _honour_ myself, my _honour_ is nothing; it is my
Father that _honoureth_ me; of whom ye say, that he is your God.--John,
viii. 54.
Render therefore to all their dues; tribute to whom tribute is
due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; _honour_ to whom
_honour_.--Romans, xiii. 7.
The voice of nature, yea, the voice of God
Commands to _honour_ those that gave us birth,--
Even her, from whose supporting bosom flowed
By far the sweetest stream that flows on earth;
Whose tongue of kindness never knew a dearth
Of soothing words that could our griefs allay--
Even him who listened to our prattling mirth,
Who early taught our infant lips to pray,
And led our tottering steps to walk in wisdom’s way:
A parent is indeed a tender friend,
And, if once lost, we never more shall find
A bosom that so tremblingly can blend
Its feelings with our own congenial mind;
Our lips may speak their anguish to the wind
That hurries heedlessly and wildly by--
Our hearts, to lonely agony consigned,
May thirst without relief--for no reply
Comes from their mouldering breasts, that in their graves lie.
And then we pause to think--alas! how late!
Of deeds that wrung a parent’s heart with pain;
And oh! could we but open death’s dark gate,
And lead them back into the world again--
Oh! but once more to see their face!--’tis vain!
Once more to hear their voice!--’tis sweetly driven
Across our fancy, and expires,--and then
We wish ourselves away--away to heaven,
To weep upon their breast, and there to be forgiven.
_Knox._
_Honour_’s a sacred tie--the law of kings,
The noble mind’s distinguishing perfection,
That aids and strengthens virtue when it meets her,
And imitates her actions where she is not.
_Addison._
_Honour_ demands my song. Forget the ground
My generous muse, and sit among the stars!
There sing the soul that, conscious of her birth,
Lives like a native of the vital world
Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state
Just to herself: how nobly she maintains
Her character, superior to the flesh,
She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows
The brutal powers were born but to obey.
_Watts._
This deity, whose altars reek with blood,
Though millions bend the prostituted knee
Before the radiant shrine, though millions own
His power vindictive just, and call him _Honour_,
All cannot sanctify what public good
What nature’s moral dictates disavow,
And Heaven’s almighty mandate impious deems.
_Samuel Hayes._
_Honour_--in blood congealed to take a life,
Which had been murder in the heat of strife!
_Honour_--when its result we dare not tell!
_Honour_--to plunge a fellow’s soul to hell!
_Honour_--to stand to be a murderer’s mark,
And hurl defiance e’en with life’s last spark;
To dare that law which has for ages stood--
“He dies by man who sheds a brother’s blood!”
Oh, in that moment when we all shall stand
Waiting the judgment of the Almighty hand,
Will then thy _honour_ palliate the crime,
And Heaven’s high monarch hear the plea of time?
Stript of those robes which make it _honour_ here,
Before that throne the murder will appear,
Disrobed of ornament the sin is there;
The crime is Cain’s; why not his judgment share--
An outcast on the earth, and in the Heaven,
O God! can crimes like these be e’er forgiven?
_Anon._
HOPE.
Happy is he that hath the God of Jacob for his help, whose _hope_ is in
the Lord his God.--Psalm cxlvi. 5.
The Lord is my portion, saith my soul, therefore will I _hope_ in
Him.--Lamentations, iii. 24.
It is good that a man should both _hope_ and quietly wait for the
salvation of the Lord.--Lamentations, iii. 26.
If in this life only we have _hope_ in Christ, we are of all men the
most miserable.--I. Corinthians, xv. 19.
Which _hope_ we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast,
and which entereth into that within the veil.--Hebrews, vi. 19.
Upon her arm a silver anchor lay,
Whereon she leaned ever, as befel:
And ever up to Heaven as she did pray,
Her steadfast eyes were bent, not swerved otherway.
_Spenser._
_Hope_, eager _hope_, the assassin of our joy,
All present blessings treading under foot,
Is scarce a milder tyrant than despair.
With no past toils content, still planning new,
_Hope_ turns us o’er to death alone for ease.
Possession why more tasteless than pursuit?
Why is a wish far dearer than a crown?
That wish accomplished, why the grave of bliss?
Because in the great future buried deep,
Beyond our plans of empire and renown,
Lies all that man with ardour should pursue;
And He who made him, bent him to the right.
_Young._
Rich _Hope_ of boundless bliss!
Bliss, past man’s power to paint it; time’s to close!
This _Hope_ is earth’s most estimable prize:
This is man’s portion while no more than man:
_Hope_, of all passions, most befriends us here;
Passions of prouder name befriend us less.
Joy has her tears, and transport has her death;
_Hope_, like a cordial, innocent, though strong,
Man’s heart at once inspirits and serenes;
Nor makes him pay his wisdom for his joys;
’Tis all our present state can safely bear,
Health to the frame, and vigour to the mind!
A joy attempered! A chastised delight!
Like the fair summer evening, mild and sweet,
’Tis man’s full cup, his paradise below.
_Young._
_Hope_, with uplifted foot, set free from earth,
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth;
On steady wings, sails through the immense abyss,
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss,
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here,
With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear.
_Hope_, as an anchor, firm and sure, holds fast
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast.
_Cowper._
Reflected on the lake, I love
To see the stars of evening glow;
So tranquil in the heavens above,
So restless in the wave below.
Thus heavenly _hope_ is all serene,
But earthly _hope_, how bright soe’er,
Still flutters o’er this changeful scene,
As false, as fleeting as ’tis fair.
_Bishop Heber._
Whose was that voice, that whispering sweet,
Promised methought long days of bliss sincere;
Soothing it stole on my deluded ear,
Most like soft music that might sometimes cheat
Thoughts dark and drooping! ’twas the voice of _hope_.
Of love and social scenes it seem’d to speak:
Of truth, of friendship, of affection meek;
That hand in hand along life’s downward slope,
Might walk with peace and cheer the tranquil hours:
Ah me! the prospect sadden’d as she sung,
Loud on my startled ear the death-bell rung:
Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bowers
She built, while pointing to yon breathless clay,
She cried, “No peace be thine, away, away!”
_W. L. Bowles._
Daughter of faith, awake, arise, illume
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb;
Melt and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll
Cimmerian darkness on the parting soul!
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay,
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day!
The strife is o’er--the pangs of nature close,
And life’s last rapture triumph’s o’er her woes.
Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze,
The noon of heaven undazzled by the blaze,
On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky,
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody;
Wild as that hallow’d anthem sent to hail
Bethlehem’s shepherds in the lonely vale,
When Jordan hush’d his waves, and midnight still
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill!
Soul of the just! companion of the dead!
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled?
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes,
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose;
Doom’d on his airy path awhile to burn,
And doom’d, like thee, to travel and return.
_Campbell._
A Heaven as bright, as blue, as mild, as calm,
As thine own eye; the sun hath passed away,
But left his mantle of transparent light
To deck the gorgeous west, amid whose bright
And purple depths I see a floating speck
Of purest white, and now ’tis fixed, and now
Swells into clearest beauty--’tis a star,
Whose trembling orb seems shrinking from the light,
Like a rebuked seraph’s eye, when drooped
’Neath the chastising glance; a bright ray shoots
Up from its centre; gradual the star
Severs before that ray, it parts--it spreads--
And from its heart comes forth a gliding form,
Surpassing all my mortal thought of beauty:--
* * * * *
’Tis _Hope_! the enduring angel he has deigned
To send upon the earth, that she may be
Your comforter, that when despair comes down
Upon your spirit, ye may flee to her,
And in her cradling arms of safest rest
Lay down your wearied heads upon her heart,
Till your own souls have caught the light of hers;
’Tis she, whose fervent voice, and star-like eye,
Shall string you to your toil of wrestling with
The care of being; blessed be the name
Of Him, whose mercy hath thus given ye
A beacon to your path!
_Constantia Louisa Reddell._
All _hope_ on earth for ever fled,
A higher _hope_ remaineth;
For while His wrath is o’er me shed,
I know my Saviour reigneth.
The worm may waste the withering clay,
When flesh and spirit sever;
My soul shall see eternal day,
And dwell with God for ever!
_T. Dale._
She lights our gloom, she soothes our care,
She bids our fears depart,
Transmutes to gems each grief-fraught tear,
And binds the broken heart!
She glances o’er us from above,
The brightest star that’s given,
And guides us still, through faith and love,
To endless peace, in Heaven.
_Anna Peyre Dinnies._
The night is mother of the day,
The winter of the spring,
And ever, upon old decay,
The greenest mosses cling.
Behind the cloud the star-light lurks,
Through showers the sunbeams fall;
For God, who loveth all His works,
Hath left His _Hope_ with all.
_J. G. Whittier._
The world may change from old to new,
From new to old again;
Yet _Hope_ and Heaven, for ever true,
Within man’s heart remain.
The dreams that bless the weary soul,
The struggles of the strong,
Are steps towards some happy goal,
The story of _Hope’s_ song.
_Sarah Flowers Adams._
HOUSE.
I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the _house_ of the
Lord.--Psalm cxxii. 1.
Except the Lord build the _house_, they labour in vain that build
it.--Psalm cxxvii. 1.
It is better to go to the _house_ of mourning, than to go to the
_house_ of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living
will lay it to his heart.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 2.
Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me.
In my Father’s _house_ are many mansions: if it were not so, I would
have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.--John, xiv. 1, 2.
It is the Sabbath bell, which calls to pray’r,
Ev’n to the _house_ of God, the hallow’d dome,
Where He who claims it bids His people come
To bow before His throne, and serve him there
With pray’rs, and thanks, and praises: some there are
Who bold it meet to linger now at home,
And some o’er fields and the wide hills to roam,
And worship in the temple of the air!
For me, not heedless of the lone address,
Nor slack to greet my maker on the height,
By wood, or living stream; yet not the less
Seek I His presence in each social rite
Of His own temple: that He deigns to bless,
There still He dwells, and there is His delight.
_Bishop Mant._
If in the family thou art the best,
Pray oft, and be the mouth unto the rest;
Whom God hath made the heads of families,
He hath made priests to offer sacrifice.
Daily let part of Holy Writ be read,
Let as the body, so the soul have bread;
For look, how many souls in thy _house_ be,
With just as many souls God trusteth thee.
_Anonymous._ (1600.)
If to the _house_ of God below
Thou go’st with faith and holy love;
Thy soul, released, may hope to go
And dwell in God’s own _house_ above.
_Egone._
HUMILITY.
The fear of the Lord is the instruction of wisdom: and before honour is
_humility_.--Proverbs, xv. 33.
Better is it to be of an _humble_ spirit with the lowly, than to divide
the spoil with the proud.--Proverbs, xvi. 19.
By _humility_, and the fear of the Lord, are riches, and honour, and
life.--Proverbs, xxii. 4.
A man’s pride shall bring him low: but honour shall uphold the _humble_
in spirit.--Proverbs, xxix. 23.
Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased: and he that shall
_humble_ himself shall be exalted.--Matthew, xxiii. 12.
All of you be subject one to another, and be clothed with _humility_:
for God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the _humble_.--I.
Peter, v. 5.
He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow.
In Haman’s pomp poor Mardocheous wept,
Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe:
The Lazar pined while Dives’ feast was kept,
Yet he to Heaven, to hell did Dives go.
We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May,
Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away.
_Robert Southwell._
_Humble_ we must be, if to Heaven we go;
High is the roof there, but the gate is low:
Whene’er thou speak’st look with a lowly eye--
Grace is increased by _humility_.
_Robert Herrick._
He that is down need fear no fall;
He that is low, no pride;
He that is _humble_ ever shall
Have God to be his guide.
_Bunyan._
_Humility_ is the softening shadow before the statue of
excellence,
And lieth lowly on the ground beloved and lovely as the violet:
_Humility_ is the fair-haired maid that calleth worth her
brother,
The gentle, silent nurse, that fostereth infant virtues:
As when the blind man is nigh unto a rose its sweetness is herald
of its beauty,
So, when thou savourest _humility_, be sure thou art nigh unto
merit.
_Tupper._
When Mary chose the “better part,”
She meekly sat at Jesus’ feet!
And Lydia’s gently-opened heart,
Was made for God’s own temple meet:
Fairest and best adorned is she,
Whose clothing is _humility_.
The saint that wears heaven’s brightest crown,
In deepest adoration bends;
The weight of glory bows him down,
Then most, when most the soul ascends:
Nearest the throne itself must be
The footstool of _humility_.
_James Montgomery._
Pride, with haughty port, defies in vain
The force of rough adversity, which rends
With double violence the stubborn heart.
But, like a tender plant, _Humility_
Bends low before the threat’ning blast unhurt,
Eludes its rage, and lives through all the storm.
Pride is the livery of the prince of darkness,
Worn by his slaves, who glory in their shame;
A gaudy dress, but tarnish’d, rent and foul,
And loathsome to the holy eye of heaven.
But sweet _humility_, a shining robe,
Bestowed by heaven upon its favourite sons;
The robe which God approves and angels wear--
Fair semblance of the glorious Prince of Light,
Who stoop’d to dwell (divine _humility_!)
With sinful worms, and poverty, and scorn.
Pride leads her wretched votaries to contempt,
To certain ruin, infamy, and death.
But sweet _humility_ points out the way
To happiness, and life, and lasting honours.
_Humility_ how glorious! how divine!
Thus clothed, and thus enrich’d, O may I shine;
Be mine this treasure, this celestial robe,
And let the sons of pride possess the globe.
_Mrs. Steele._
HYMN.
And when they had sung an _hymn_, they went out into the Mount of
Olives.--Matthew, xxvi. 30.
Whose business was to serve their Lord,
High up in heav’n with songs to _hymn_ His throne.
* * * * *
They touched their golden harps, and _hymning_ praised
God and His works.
_Milton._
Then, kneeling down, to Heaven’s Eternal King
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope “springs exulting on triumphant wing,”
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear;
Together _hymning_ their Creator’s praise,
In such society yet still more dear,
When circling time moves round, in an eternal sphere.
_Burns._
They chant their artless notes in simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps “Dundee’s” wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive “Martyrs,” worthy of the name;
Or noble “Elgin” feeds the heav’n-ward flame,
The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays:
Compared with these, Italian trills are tame;
The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise;
Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise.
_Burns._
There is no gloom on earth, for God above
Chastens in love;
Transmuting sorrow into golden joy,
Free from alloy.
His dearest attribute is still to bless,
And man’s most welcome _hymn_ is grateful cheerfulness.
_Horace Smith._
Celestial voices
_Hymn_ it unto our souls.
_R. H. Dana._
HYPOCRISY.
The _hypocrite’s_ hope shall perish.--Job, viii. 13.
The triumphing of the wicked is short, and the joy of the _hypocrite_
but for a moment.--Job, xx. 5.