sanctified.--Hebrews, x. 14.
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness and lend us Thy aid!
Star of the east the horizon adorning,
Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!
Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining,
Low lies His bed with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all!
Say, shall we yield Him in costly devotion,
Odours of Edom, and _offerings_ divine;
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine.
Vainly we _offer_ each ample oblation,
Vainly with gold would His favour secure,
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration;
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
_Bishop Heber._
What _offering_ can I bring to Thee
Which may find favour in Thine eye?
Is it some work of charity?
Some form of prayer on bended knee,
Some spoil of earthly treasury,
That toil can win, or gold can buy?
Nay, all were worthless, all were vain
As that oblation made by Cain,
If a sad spirit, and a contrite heart,
Form of the sacrifice no part.
_Egone._
ONE.
That they all may be _one_; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee,
that they also may be _one_ in us: that the world may believe that thou
hast sent me.--John, xvii. 21.
_One_ Lord, _one_ faith, _one_ baptism.--Ephesians, iv. 5.
_One_ baptism, and _one_ faith,
_One_ lord, below, above!
The fellowship of Zion hath
_One_ only watchword,--Love.
From different temples though it rise,
_One_ song ascendeth to the skies.
Our Sacrifice is _one_;
_One_ priest before the throne,--
The crucified, the risen Son,
Redeemer, Lord alone!
And sighs from contrite hearts that spring,
Our chief, our choicest offering.
Oh, why should they who love
_One_ Gospel to unfold,
Who look for _one_ bright home above,
On earth, be strange and cold?
Why, subjects of the Prince of Peace.
In strife abide, and bitterness?
Oh, may that holy prayer,
His tenderest and his last,
The utterance of his latest care,
Ere to his throne he pass’d,--
No longer unfulfill’d remain
The world’s offence, the people’s stain!
Head of thy church beneath,
The catholic,--the true,--
On her disjointed members breathe,
Her broken frame renew!
Then shall thy perfect will be done
When Christians love and live as _one_.
_E. Robinson._
O Thou Eternal _One_! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide,
Unchanged through time’s all-devastating flight,
Thou only God!
_From the Russian._
PARADISE.
And Jesus said unto him, Verily I say unto Thee, To-day shalt thou be
with me in _Paradise_.--Luke, xxiii. 43.
To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is
in the midst of the _Paradise_ of God.--Revelation, ii. 7.
So on he fares, and to the border comes
Of Eden, whose delicious _Paradise_
Now nearer crowns with her enclosure green,
As with a rural mound, the champaign head
Of a steep wilderness, whose hoary sides,
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild,
Access denied: and overhead up-grew
Insuperable height of loftiest shade,
Cedar and pine, and fir, and branching palm;
A sylvan scene! And as the ranks ascend,
Shade above shade, a woody theatre
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops
The verdurous wall of _Paradise_ up-sprung;
Which to our general sire gave prospect large
Into his nether empire neighb’ring round.
_Milton._
Say’st thou there was no “_Paradise_ of God?”
No happy, sinless state of early man?
Ask all the ages past, each record scan,
And see if always cursed was this now barren sod.
Go ask the Greek--he tells of Golden age,
When the god-governed earth was heavenly pure;
When never death, nor woes men now endure
Had entered here, nor hate, nor guile, nor rage.
The eastern Magian speaks of earliest days,
When holy Oromasdes reign’d o’er man:
The far Egyptian tells Osiris’ praise,
Governing all in peace, ere rude revolt began.
And wilt thou God’s own _Paradise_ deny,
When e’en the heathen tales affirm it ceaselessly?
_Ann Flinders._
Lord I will take no comfort but of Thee!
I had an earthly plant--a pleasant vine,
From whose dear grapes I pressed delightful wine,
Which made my heart as merry as could be.
Thine anger hath cut down that cheerful tree;
Or at the least, (for yet I but divine,)
Thou hast cut off its joyful fruit from me,
And made its precious shade no longer mine.
Shall I then murmur? If my road henceforth
Lies but before me wearisome and bare,
And no green garland twined amid my hair
Will guard, as it was wont, my tortured eyes,
What then? The sweeter after this stripped earth
Will be the shady rest of _Paradise_.
_Thomas Burbidge._
The God of nature and of grace
In all His work appears;
His goodness through the earth we trace,
His grandeur in the spheres.
Behold this fair and fertile globe,
By Him in wisdom planned;
’Twas He who girded, like a robe,
The ocean round the land.
Lift to the firmament your eye,
Thither His path pursue;
His glory boundless as the sky,
O’erwhelms the wandering view.
The forests in His strength rejoice,
Hark! on the evening breeze,
As once of old, the Lord God’s voice
Is heard among the trees.
His blessings fall in plenteous showers
Upon the lap of earth,
That teems with foliage, fruit, and flowers,
And rings with infant mirth.
If God hath made the world so fair,
Where sin and death abound;
How beautiful, beyond compare,
Will _Paradise_ be found!
_James Montgomery._
PARDON.
And Moses said unto the Lord, _Pardon_, I beseech Thee, the iniquity of
this people according unto the greatness of Thy mercy, and as Thou hast
forgiven this people, from Egypt even until now.
And the Lord said, I have _pardoned_ according to thy word.--Numbers,
xiv. 13, 19, 20.
Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts;
and let him return unto the Lord, and He will have mercy upon him; and
to our God, for He will abundantly _pardon_.--Isaiah, lv. 7.
But infinite in _pardon_ is our judge.
_Milton._
What can we better do than prostrate fall
Befort Him reverent, and there confess
Humbly our faults, and _pardon_ beg, with tears
Watering the ground?
_Milton._
When with deep agony His heart was racked,
Not for Himself the tear-drop dewed His cheek,
For them He wept, for them to Heaven He prayed,--
His persecutors--“Father _pardon_ them;
They know not what they do.”
_Charles Lamb._
O Time! O Life! ye were not made
For languid dreaming in the shade,
Nor sinful hearts to moor all day
By lily-isle, or grassy bay,
Nor drink at noontide’s balmy hours
Sweet opiates from the meadow-flowers.
O give me grace, dear Lord! to win
Thy _pardon_ for my youthful sin,
For all the days, in woods embowered,
When currents of sweet thought o’erpowered
With pleasant force the sense of duty,
And gentle nature’s harmless beauty,
Too much adored, gave birth to throngs
Of joys effeminate, and songs
Which sprung from earth, and, like a breeze,
Died wantonly among the trees,
Without a moral or a mirth
Above the passing bliss of earth!
_Frederic W. Faber._
PARENTS.
Children, obey your _parents_ in all things: for this is well pleasing
unto the Lord.--Colossians, iii. 20.
Honour thy _parents_ to prolong thine end;
With them, though for a truth, do not contend;
Whoever makes his father’s heart to bleed,
Shall have a son that will avenge the deed.
_Thomas Randolph._
Not those alone are _parents_, to whose cares
The opening buds of human life are given;
Truth, Beauty, Love, have each unnumbered heirs,
And Earth itself is but the child of Heaven.
Nature repeats herself; and human thought
Mirrored in deeds, becomes more truly real:
Thus only on the web of life are wrought
The glowing pictures of the world ideal.
The labourer who embowers his cottage round
With tasteful gifts--his honest hand the donor,
Makes of that little spot of cultured ground,
A pleasing transcript of its joyful owner.
The matron, toiling with unselfish aim
To bless her little band of cherished creatures,
But mounts the picture, from whose shining frame
For ever beam her dear, benignant features.
Thought is the favoured child of thoughtful ones,
As heaven is mirrored in the quiet waters;
The statesman’s high achievements are his sons,
And the sweet poet’s lays his tuneful daughters.
The sculptor, bending o’er his marble child,
Models himself in fixed, enduring beauty;
The painter’s soul hath from the canvass smiled,
Breathing deep tones of passion or of duty.
None shall die childless; and the frailest one
Of all the living crowds around us pressing,
May, like the Eternal Father, give his son
To be humanity’s perpetual blessing.
_Mrs. F. H. Cooke._
PASSIONS.
We also are men of like _passions_ with you, and preach unto you that
ye should turn from those vanities unto the living God.--Acts, xiv. 15.
What profits us, that we from heaven derive
A soul immortal, and with looks erect
Survey the stars, if, like the brutal kind
We follow where our _passions_ lead the way?
_Claudian._
While _passions_ glow, the heart like heated steel
Takes each impression, and is worked at pleasure.
_Young._
The gales
Of pleasure haply waft him, and he bounds
Exultingly upon the flattering main;
Nor heeds the inexperienced boy the hints
Of prudence, and the counsel of the wise;
He steers impetuously through dancing waves
And oceans of illusive bliss, till now,
Crashing upon the keel, his vessel lies
A total wreck upon th’ undreaded reef!
“Avoid the shoal!” the sacred preacher cries,
The volumes of the dead and living, ope
The monitory page, alas, in vain!
If _passion_ hold the helm, and pleasure fill
The swelling sail, though reason, conscience, say
“Avoid the shoal!” the voyager is lost.
_Carrington._
Thou must chain thy _passions_ down;
Well to serve, but ill to sway,
Like the fire they must obey.
They are good, in subject state,
To strengthen, warm, and animate;
But if once we let them reign,
They sweep with desolating train,
’Till they but leave a hated name,
A ruined soul, and blackened fame.
_Eliza Cook._
_Passions_, indulged beyond a certain bound,
Lead to a precipice, and plunge in woe
The heedless agent.
_George Bally._
PAST.
That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been;
and God requireth that which is _past_.--Ecclesiastes, iii. 15.
The _past_ lives o’er again,
In its effects, and to the guilty spirit
The ever-frowning present is its image.
_Coleridge._
Who bears no trace of passion’s evil force?
Who shuns thy sting, O, terrible Remorse?--
Who does not cast
On the thronged pages of his memory’s book,
At times, a sad, and half-reluctant look,
Regretful of the _Past_?
_J. G. Whittier._
Full many a mighty name
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered;
With thee are silent fame,
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.
Thine for a space are they--
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last;
Thy gates shall yet give way,
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable _Past_!
All that of good and fair
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
Shall then come forth, to wear
The glory and the beauty of its prime.
_W. C. Bryant._
Whene’er upon the _past_ I gaze,
Though thorns and clouds appear,
Rich gifts from Heaven demand my praise,
Gifts to the heart most dear,
The strong One’s arm, the friend above,
The fulness of Redeeming Love.
Through childhood’s hours and youthful snares,
That Arm my footsteps led,
That friend amid the heart’s own cares,
The balm of pity shed,
And raised my drooping soul to feel
How deep the wound Love’s power can heal.
_W. J. Brock._
PASTOR.
I will give you _pastors_ according to mine heart, which shall feed you
with knowledge and understanding.--Jeremiah, iii. 15.
Woe be unto the _pastors_ that destroy and scatter the sheep of my
pasture! saith the Lord.--Jeremiah, xxiii. 1.
He was a shepherd, and no mercenary.
And though he holy was and virtuous,
He was to sinful men full piteous;
His words were strong, but not with anger fraught;
A love benignant he discreetly taught.
To draw mankind to Heaven by gentleness
And good example, was his business.
But if that any one were obstinate,
Whether he were of high or low estate,
Him would he sharply check with altered mien:
A better parson there was nowhere seen.
He paid no court to pomps and reverence,
Nor spiced his conscience at his soul’s expense;
But Jesus’ love, which owns no pride or pelf,
He taught--but first he followed it himself.
_Chaucer._
Do not, as some ungracious _pastors_ do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
Whilst, like a puff’d and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own road.
_Shakspere._
A genial hearth, a hospitable board,
And a refined rusticity, belong
To the neat mansion, where, his flock among,
The learned _pastor_ dwells, their watchful lord.
Though meek and patient as a sheathed sword,
Though pride’s least lurking thought appears a wrong
To human kind; though peace be on his tongue,
Gentleness in his heart; can earth afford
Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free,
As when, array’d in Christ’s authority,
He from the pulpit lifts his awful hand;
Conjures, implores, and labours all he can
For re-subjecting to divine command
The stubborn spirit of rebellious man?
_Wordsworth._
He is a faithful _pastor_ of the poor;--
He thinks not of himself; his Master’s words,
“Feed, feed my sheep,” are ever at his heart,
The Cross of Christ is aye before his eyes.
_Grahame._
So glorious let Thy _pastors_ shine,
That, by their speaking lives, the world may learn
First, filial duty, then divine;
That sons to parents, all to Thee may turn.
_Keble._
Of the deep learning in the schools of yore,
The reverend _pastor_ hath a golden stock;
Yet, with a vain display of useless lore,
Or sapless doctrine, never will he mock
The better cravings of his simple flock;
But faithfully their humble shepherd guides
Where streams eternal gush from Calvary’s rock;
For well he knows, not learning’s purest tides
Can quench the immortal thirst that in the soul abides.
_Mrs. Little._
By weakest ministers, the Almighty thus
Makes known His sacred will, and shows His power;
By Him inspired, they speak with urgent tongue
Authoritative, while the illumined breast
Heaves with unwonted strength; high as their theme,
Their great conceptions rise in rapturous flow,
As quick the ready organs catch the thought,
And, in such strains as science could not teach,
Bear it, in all its radiance, to the heart;
The listening throng there feel its bless’d effect,
And deep conviction glows in every breast.
_Charles Jenner._
Shepherd of Israel, Thou dost keep
With constant care, Thy humble sheep,
By Thee inferior _pastors_ rise
To feed our souls and bless our eyes.
Fed by their active, tender care,
Healthful may all Thy sheep appear,
And by their fair example led,
The way to Zion’s pastures tread.
_Doddridge._
PATIENCE.
In your _patience_ possess ye your souls.--Luke, xxi. 19.
And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that
tribulation worketh _patience_;
And _patience_, experience; and experience, hope.--Romans, v. 3, 4.
Take, my brethren, the prophets, who have spoken in the name of the
Lord, for an example of suffering affliction, and of _patience_.
Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the
_patience_ of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is
very pitiful, and of tender mercy.--James, v. 10, 11.
Many are the sayings of the wise,
In ancient and in modern books unroll’d,
Extolling _patience_ as the truest fortitude;
And to the bearing well of all calamities,
All chances incident to man’s frail life,
Consolitaries writ
With studied argument, and much persuasion sought,
Lenient of grief and anxious thought:
But with th’ afflicted in his pangs their sound
Little prevails, or rather seems a tune
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint,
Unless he feel within
Some source of consolation from above,
Secret refreshings, that repair his strength
And fainting spirits uphold.
_Milton._
Give me care,
By thankful _patience_, to prevent despair:
Fit me to bear whate’er Thou shalt assign;
I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine.
_Francis Quarles._
_Patience_ and resignation are the pillars
Of human peace on earth.
_Young._
Like some well-fashioned arch thy _patience_ stood,
And purchased strength from each increasing load.
_Goldsmith._
A dungeon, dark and drear
As death, but in its cold and gloomy depths
I see a form of beauty, round whose locks
A glory plays, that lights the dungeon with
A quivering lustre--she is stretched upon
The damp cold earth, her head is pillowed on
One arm, the while its fellow presses to
Her heart a holy volume. O’er her eyes
The dove of peace seems brooding, while deep sleep
Heaves the long ringlets of the golden hair
That cluster on her neck, and sweep the earth:
A smile is lingering on her placid lip,
As though she dreamt of heaven, the while her brow,
As that same heaven, arched and calm, shoots forth
A halo--in her breast a dove is nestling,
And angel wings are spread to guard her dreams
From evil--favoured one of God--who art thou?
’Tis _patience_, the beloved of Heaven! the meek,
The mild, the lowly, and the gentle _patience_,
Whose eye looks up to God; and ne’er unbends
Its fixed and placid gaze to look upon
The thorns that tear her bleeding breast; who stands
Pale, calm, unmoved amid the storms of life;
Whose soul weeps not for heart’s torture--_patience_,
The meek-eyed pilgrim of the earth, that child
Of heaven--perfection’s crown.
_C. L. Reddell._
For God, who binds the broken heart,
And dries the mourner’s tear,
If faith and _patience_ be their part,
Will unto these be near.
Let such but say “Thy will be done!”
And He who Jesus raised,
Will qualify them, through His Son,
To say “Thy name be praised!”
_Bernard Barton._
When, in justice, he appals us
By the threat of endless pain,
Sink not--soon His mercy calls us
To His pardoning arms again.
Father! O, with _patience_ bless us,
Till each seeming ill be past:
Let whatever gloom oppress us,
All must end in light at last.
_Thomas Ward._
PEACE.
Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright: for the end of that man
is _peace_.--Psalm xxxvii. 37.
Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the man that getteth
understanding.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are
_peace_.--Proverbs, iii. 13, 17.
Lord, thou wilt ordain _peace_ for us.--Isaiah, xxvi. 12.
Blessed are the _peacemakers_, for they shall be called the children of
God.--Matthew, v. 9.
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth _peace_, good will toward
men.--Luke, ii. 14.
_Peace_ I leave with you, my _peace_ I give unto you: not as the world
giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it
be afraid.--John, xiv. 27.
The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, _peace_.--Galatians, v. 22.
The _peace_ of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your
hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.--Philippians, iv. 7.
No war or battle’s sound
Was heard the world around:
The idle spear and shield were high up hung,
The hooked chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood,
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng;
And kings sat still, with awe-full eye
As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.
But _peaceful_ was the night
Wherein the Prince of Light,
His reign of _peace_ upon the earth began:
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the waters kissed,
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sat brooding on the charmed wave.
_Milton._
No more shall nation against nation rise,
Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes,
Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o’er,
The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more;
But useless lances into scythes shall bend,
And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end.
_Pope._
My soul, there is a country
Far beyond the stars,
Where stands a winged sentry
All skilful in the wars;
There above noise and danger
Sweet _peace_ sits crown’d with smiles;
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend,
And oh! my soul, awake;
Did in pure love descend
To die here for my sake.
If thou canst get but thither,
There grows the flower of _peace_;
The rose that cannot wither,
Thy fortress and thy ease
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one who never changes,
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
_Henry Vaughan._
Sure the last end
Of the good man is _peace_. How calm his exit!
Night dews fall not more calmly on the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft.
_Blair._
Hear the last words the believer saith.
He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends;
There is _peace_ in his eye that upward bends;
There is _peace_ in his calm confiding air;
For his last thoughts are God’s, his last words, prayer.
_Henry Ware, Jun._
“_Peace_” was the word our Saviour breathed,
When from our world His steps withdrew;
The gift He to His friends bequeathed,
With Calvary and the Cross in view:--
Redeemer! With adoring love
Our spirits take Thy rich bequest,
The watchword of the host above,
The passport to their realm of rest.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
Oh, _peace_; thou source and soul of social life,
Beneath whose calm inspiriting influence,
Science his views enlarges; art refines,
And swelling Commerce opens all her ports;
Blest be the man divine who gives us thee;
Who bids the trumpet hush its horrid clang,
Nor blow the giddy nations into rage.
Who sheathes the murderous blade, the deadly gun
Into the well-piled armoury returns;
And every vigour from the work of death
To grateful industry converting, makes
The country flourish and the city smile.
_Thomson._
When groves by moonlight silence keep,
And winds the vexed waves release,
And fields are hushed, and cities sleep,--
Lord! is not this the hour of _Peace_?
When Infancy at Evening tries
By turns to climb each Parent’s knees,
And gazing meets their raptured eyes,--
Lord! is not this the hour of _Peace_?
In golden pomp when autumn smiles;
And every vale its rich increase
In man’s full barns exulting piles;--
Lord! is not this the hour of _Peace_?
When Mercy points where Jesus bleeds,
And Faith beholds thine anger cease;
And Hope to black despair succeeds;--
This, Father! this alone is _Peace_!
_Gisborne._
Wherefore from His throne exalted,
Came He on this earth to dwell;
All His pomp an humble manger--
All His court a narrow cell?
“From that world to bring to this,
_Peace_, which of all earthly blisses
Is the brightest, purest bliss.”
_Violante Di Ceo._
Down the dark future, through long generations,
The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease!
And like a bell with solemn sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say “_Peace_!”
_Peace_! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of war’s great organ shakes the skies;
But, beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holiest melodies of love arise.
_Longfellow._
“_Peace_,” shall the world outwearied ever see
Its universal reign? Will states, will kings,
Put down these murderous and unholy things,
Which fill the earth with blood and misery?
Will nations learn that love--not enmity--
Is heaven’s first lesson--which beneath the wings
Of mercy, brooding over land and sea,
Fills earth with joy by its soft ministerings?
’Twere a sad prospect--’twere a vista dark
As midnight--could this wearied mortal eye,
Through the dim mists that veil futurity,
Discern not that heaven-bright though distant spark,
Lighted by prophecy, whose ray sublime
Sheds a soft gleam of hope o’er the dull path of time.
I hate that noisy drum, it is a sound
That tells of war, of bondage, and I blush
That liberty had ever cause to rush
Into a warrior’s arms; that right e’er found
Asylum in the furious field. Not so
The holy crowns of genuine glory grow;
Not there should they who bear the badge serene
Of Him who was the Prince of _Peace_, be seen;
Can such His faithful followers be?--Oh no!
His laurels are not drenched in blood,--but green
And beautiful as spring:--His arms are love
And mercy and forgiveness; and with them
He rules the nations’ mighty destinies
And gently leads us to our homes above.
_Dr. Bowring._