In the world below,
Restless spirits never there
Could chase away their woe,
Let the storm that raves about us,
By our faith be kept without us;
Let us from our troubles cease,
Power and conquest dwell in _peace_.
_J. Gostick._
PERFECTION.
Out of Zion, the _perfection_ of beauty, God hath shined.--Psalm l. 2.
O when wilt thou come unto me? I will walk within my house with a
_perfect_ heart.--Psalm ci. 2.
I have seen an end of all _perfection_.--Psalm cxix. 96.
Be ye therefore _perfect_, even as your Father which is in heaven is
_perfect_.--Matthew, v. 48.
Give glory to the Son, who came
Clothed in our fleshy, mortal frame;
Who bore our sins, vouchsafed to give
Himself to die, that we might live;
Who--holy, harmless, undefiled,
Was patient--spurned, was dumb--reviled;
Who, in the agonies of death,
Poured for His foes His parting breath;
Was _perfect_ God and man in one:
Give glory to the Incarnate Son!
_Barton._
Behold the beauty of His matchless life
In deed and thought connecting earth and heaven:--
Call every virtue which the mind conceives,
Or view _perfection_ in sublime excess
Of glory, such as dreams of God pourtray,
And what can emulate the Prince of Peace!
_R. Montgomery._
Oh! who shall paint them--let the sweetest tone
That ever trembled on the harps of Heaven,
Be discord; let the chanting seraphim,
Whose anthem is eternity, be dumb;
For praise and wonder, adoration,--all
Melt into muteness, ere they soar to Thee,
Thou sole _Perfection_!--Theme of countless worlds!
_R. Montgomery._
Oh, Thou, who all _perfection_ art!
How shall my soul approach to Thee?
How can my black, polluted heart
Endure Thy searching scrutiny?
Only through grace of Him by whom
The just avenging arm is stayed;
By whose descent into the tomb
Was im_perfection perfect_ made.
_Egone._
PESTILENCE--PLAGUE.
And the Lord said unto Moses, Rise up early in the morning, and stand
before Pharoah, and say unto him, Thus saith the Lord God of the
Hebrews, Let my people go, that they may serve me.
For I will at this time send all my _plagues_ upon thine heart, and
upon thy servants, and upon thy people; that thou mayest know that
there is none like me in all the earth.
For now I will stretch out my hand, that I may smite thee and
thy people with _pestilence_; and thou shalt be cut off from the
earth.--Exodus, ix. 13, 14, 15.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under
the shadow of the Almighty.
Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the
noisome _pestilence_.
There shall no evil befal thee, neither shall any _plague_ come nigh
thy dwelling.--Psalm xci. 1, 3, 10.
A terrible change is come; I see a cloud
Brooding above the valley like the wing
Of a destroying angel dark and dread;
And in its awful depth I see a brow
On which is stamped in fiery characters
The one word--_Plague_. The beds of dewy flowers
Are pressed by loathsome forms of dark disease,
Putrid though living; some have dragged their weak
And fainting limbs to where the pure stream glides,
But sink ere they can quench their burning thirst
In its cool waters; some bow down their heads
In prayer, but the unfinished words are quelled
By groans of agony; some wait for death
With stubborn pride that scorns to murmur; some
Rave of cool forests and of shady rivers,
In their delirious pain; the dead and dying
Tenant that valley only.
_C. L. Reddell._
From the sword at noonday wasting,
From the noisome _pestilence_,
In the depth of midnight blasting,
God shall be thy sure defence.
Thee, though winds and waves be swelling,
God, thine hope, shall bear through all,
_Plague_ shall not come nigh thy dwelling,
Thee no evil shall befall.
_J. Montgomery._
PHILOSOPHY.
Beware lest any man spoil you through _philosophy_ and vain deceit,
after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not
after Christ.--Colossians, ii. 8.
Philosophy consists not
In airy schemes, or idle speculation;
The rule and conduct of all social life
Is her great province. Not in lonely cells
Obscure she lurks; but holds her heavenly light
To senates and to kings, to guide their councils,
And teach them to reform and bless mankind.
All policy but her’s is false and rotten;
All valour not conducted by her precepts
Is a destroying fury sent from hell,
To plague unhappy man, and ruin nations.
_Thomson._
What is an high-praised _philosophy_,
But books of poesy in prose compil’d,
Far more delightful than they fruitful be,
Witty appearance, guile that is beguil’d;
Corrupting minds much rather than directing,
Th’ alloy of duty, and our pride’s erecting.
For, as among physicians, what they call
Word magic, never helpeth the disease,
Which drugs and diet ought to deal withal,
And by their real working give us ease;
So these word-sellers have no power to cure
The passions which corrupted lives endure.
_Sir Falke Greville._
In its sublime research, _philosophy_
May measure out the ocean deep--may count
The sands or the sun’s rays--but God! for Thee
There is no weight nor measure:--none can mount
Up to Thy mysteries: Reason’s brightest spark,
Though kindled at Thy light, in vain would try
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.
_From the Russian._
With thee, serene _Philosophy_, with thee
And thy bright garland, let me crown my song!
Effusive source of evidence and truth!
A lustre shedding o’er the ennobled mind
Stronger than summer noon; and pure as that
Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul,
New to the dawning of celestial day.
Hence through her nourished powers, enlarged by thee
She springs aloft, with elevated pride,
Above the tangling mass of low desires
That bind the fluttering crowd; and, angel-winged,
The heights of science and of virtue gains,
Where all is calm and clear; with nature round,
Or in the starry regions, or the abyss,
To reason and to fancy’s eye displayed:
The first up-tracing from the dreary void,
The chain of causes and effects to Him,
The world-producing Essence, who alone
Possesses being; while the last receives
The whole magnificence of Heaven and earth,
And every beauty, delicate or bold,
Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense,
Diffusive painted on the rapid mind.
_Thomson._
Survey the magnet’s sympathetic love,
That woos the yielding needle; contemplate
Th’ attractive amber’s power, invisible
Ev’n to the mental eye; or when the blow
Sent from th’ electric sphere assaults thy frame,
Show me the hand that dealt it!--Baffled here
By His Omnipotence, _Philosophy_
Slowly her thoughts inadequate revolves,
And stands with all His circling wonders round her,
Like heavy Saturn, in th’ ethereal space
Begirt with an inexplicable ring.
_Smart._
Sublime _Philosophy_!
Thou are the patriarch’s ladder, reaching heaven,
And bright with beckoning angels; but, alas!
We see thee, like the patriarch, but in dreams,
By the first step, dull slumbering on the earth.
_Bulwer._
PILGRIMAGE.
These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having
seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and
confessed that they were strangers and _pilgrims_ on the earth.
For they that say such things declare plainly that they seek a
country.--Hebrews, xi. 13, 14.
Dearly beloved, I beseech you, as strangers and _pilgrims_, abstain
from fleshly lusts, which war against the soul.--I. Peter, ii. 11.
Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon;
My scrip of joy, immortal diet;
My bottle of salvation;
My gown of glory, (hope’s true gage,)
And thus I’ll take my _pilgrimage_.
Blood must be my body’s only balmer
Whilst my soul, like a quiet Palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven;
No other balm will there be given.
_Sir W. Raleigh._
From darkness, here, and dreariness,
We ask not full repose;
Only be Thou at hand to bless
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the _pilgrim’s_ toil o’erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not up earth’s dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
_Keble._
While his staff the traveller handles
In his weary journeying,
Thorns may tear his dusty sandals,
Fangs his tender feet may sting;
But were life devoid of pain,
Bliss were proffered man in vain.
Look aloft, where light is breaking
Through this doubt-enveloped sky--
Forward leap, the joy partaking,
Of a higher destiny.
Lift thy staff, and move apace
In the _pilgrim_-thronging race.
_T. G. Spear._
There is a light on the hills, and the valley is past!
Ascend, happy _pilgrim_! thy labours are o’er!
The sunshine of Heaven around thee is cast,
And thy weak, doubting footsteps can falter no more.
On, _pilgrim_! that hill richly circled with rays
Is Zion! Lo, there is the “city of saints!”
And the beauties, the glories, that region displays,
Inspiration’s own language imperfectly paints.
_Mrs. Opie._
_Pilgrim_, burden’d with thy sin,
Come the way to Zion’s gate,
There, till mercy speaks within,
Knock, and weep, and watch, and wait.
Knock--he knows the sinner’s cry;
Weep--he loves the mourner’s tears;
Watch--for saving grace is nigh;
Wait--till heavenly grace appears.
Hark, it is thy Saviour’s voice,
“Welcome _pilgrim_ to thy rest.”
Now within the gate rejoice,
Safe, and own’d, and bought, and blest.
Safe--from all the lures of vice;
Own’d--by joys the contrite know;
Bought--by love and life the price;
Blest--the mighty debt we owe.
Holy _pilgrim_ what for thee,
In a world like this remain?
From thy guarded breast shall flee
Fear, and shame, and doubt and pain.
Fear--the hope of heaven shall flee;
Shame--from glory’s view retire;
Doubt--in full belief shall die;
Pain--in endless joy expire.
_Crabbe._
We journey through a vale of tears
By many a cloud o’ercast;
And worldly cares, and worldly fears,
Go with us to the last!
Not to the last--Thy word hath said,
Could we but read aright;
Poor _Pilgrim_! lift, in hope, thy head;
At eve there shall be light.
_Bernard Barton._
PITY.
To him that is afflicted _pity_ should be shewed from his friend.--Job,
v. 14.
Like as a father _pitieth_ his children, so the Lord _pitieth_ them
that fear him.--Psalm ciii. 13.
He that hath _pity_ upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord.--Proverbs,
xix. 17.
Genius of _pity_! exercise thy sway,
And with thy soft emotions soothe each breast;
May every heart thy kind dictates obey,
And be thy humanizing pow’r confess’d!
May sweet Benevolence, auspicious fair,
Vouchsafe thy cheering progress to attend,
And smiling Charity, with constant care,
Where’er distress appears, her succour lend.
In the drear season of embitter’d woe,
Oh! may the sons of opulence and ease
Feel _pity’s_ genial animating glow,
Nor suffer avarice their soul to freeze!
May they, whene’er the child of want is seen,
Dispense their warm benevolence around,--
The hapless suff’rer from misfortune screen,
Nor to a narrow sphere their mercies bound!
Not to the wanderer their gifts confine,
But the sad roofs of silent woe explore,
Where modest mourners secretly repine,
And, unsoliciting, their wants deplore.
Then shall the orphan’s and the widow’s prayer,
To Heav’n, with thanks for such relief, be made;
The welcome boon with grateful hearts they share,
And bless the donor for his timely aid.
_Anon._
Oh! do not seek the mirthful throng,
But find where friendship lingers,
And feel the strings, untouched so long,
Swept o’er by _Pity’s_ fingers.
Though not a star has lent its light,
Who knows what may be dawning?
The mists that robe the earth at night
Precede the brightest morning!
_J. Burbidge._
PLEASING--PLEASURE.
The Lord taketh _pleasure_ in them that fear Him.--Psalm cxlvii. 11.
He that loveth _pleasure_ shall be a poor man: he that loveth wine and
oil shall not be rich.--Proverbs, xxi. 17.
Hear now this, thou that art given to _pleasures_, that dwellest
carelessly, evil shall come upon thee.--Isaiah, xlvii. 8, 11.
Walk worthy of the Lord unto all _pleasing_, being fruitful in every
good work.--Colossians, i. 10.
So we speak; not as _pleasing_ men, but God, which trieth our
hearts.--I. Thessalonians, ii. 4.
Admirers of false _pleasures_ must sustain
The weight and sharpness of ensuing pain.
_John Beaumont._
Short is the course of every lawless _pleasure_--
Grief, like a shade, on all its footsteps waits,
Scarce visible in joy’s meridian height;
But, downwards as its blaze declining speeds,
The dwarfish shadow to a giant spreads.
_Milton._
_Pleasures_ are few, and fewer we enjoy;
_Pleasure_, like quicksilver, is bright and coy;
We strive to grasp it, with our utmost skill,
Still it eludes us, and it glitters still:
If seized at last, compute your mighty gains;
What is it but rank poison in your veins?
_Young._
_Pleasure_ is good, and man for _pleasure_ made;
But _pleasure_ full of glory as of joy;
_Pleasure_ which neither blushes nor expires.
* * * * *
Death treads in _pleasure’s_ footsteps round the world,
When _pleasure_ treads the paths which reason shuns.
_Young._
_Pleasure_, admitted in undue degree,
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
* * * * *
Peace follows virtue as its sure reward;
And _pleasure_ brings as surely in her train
Remorse, and sorrow, and vindictive pain.
_Cowper._
_Pleasures_, like wonders, quickly lose their price,
When reason or experience makes us wise.
_Bishop King._
If the soft hand of winning _pleasure_ leads
By living waters and through flowery meads,
Where all is smiling, tranquil, and serene;
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene;
Oh! teach me to elude each latent snare,
And whisper to my sliding heart--Beware!
With caution let me hear the syren’s voice,
And doubtful with a trembling heart rejoice.
_Mrs. Barbauld._
Graces withered by too warm a beam,
May spread and flourish in the dreary shade:
And _pleasure_, to voluptuous guilt denied,
May bloom ambrosial from affliction’s thorn.
_George Bally._
All these fond _pleasures_, if fond things
Deserve so good a name,
Should not seduce a noble mind
To stain itself with shame.
The time shall come when all these same,
Which seem so rich with joy,
Like tyrants, shall torment thy mind,
And vex thee with annoy.
_Brandon._
I ask Thee for the daily strength,
To none that ask denied,
And a mind to blend with outward life
While keeping at Thy side;
Content to fill a little space,
If Thou be glorified.
And if some things I do not ask,
In my cup of blessing be,
I would have my spirit fill’d the more
With grateful love to Thee--
More careful--not to serve Thee much,
But to _please_ Thee perfectly.
_A. L. Waring._
That _pleasure_ is of all
Most bountiful and kind,
That fades not straight, but leaves
A living joy behind.
_Campion._
POVERTY.
The Lord maketh _poor_, and maketh rich: He bringeth low, and lifteth
up.--I. Samuel, ii. 7.
Give me neither _poverty_ nor riches; feed me with food convenient for
me;
Lest I be full, and deny thee, and say, Who is the Lord? or lest I be
_poor_, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain.--Proverbs, xxx.
8, 9.
Blessed be ye _poor_: for yours is the kingdom of God.--Luke, vi. 20.
In a great trial of affliction, the abundance of their joy, and their
deep _poverty_, abounded unto the riches of their liberality.--II.
Corinthians, viii. 2.
If well thou view’st us with no squinted eye,
No partial judgment, thou wilt quickly rate
Thy wealth no richer than my _poverty_;
My want no _poorer_ than thy rich estate.
Our ends and births alike, in this as I,
_Poor_ thou wert born, and _poor_ again shalt die.
My little fills my little-wishing mind,
Thou having more than much, yet seekest more;
Who seeks, still wishes what he seeks to find;
Who wishes, wants; and whoso wants, is _poor_:
Then this must follow of necessity,
_Poor_ are thy riches, rich my _poverty_.
Though still thou gett’st, yet is thy want not spent,
But as thy wealth, so great thy wealthy itch;
But with my little I have great content--
Content hath all, and who hath all is rich;
Then this in reason thou must needs confess,
If I have little, yet that thou hast less.
Whatever man possesses, God has lent,
And to his audit liable is ever,
To reckon how, and where, and when he spent.
Then thus thou bragg’st thou art a great receiver.
Little my debt, when little is my store,
The more thou hast, thy debt still grows the more.
But seeing God himself descended down,
T’ enrich the _poor_ by His deep _poverty_,
His meat, his house, his grave were not his own,
Yet all is His from all eternity;
Let me be like my Head, whom I adore,
Be thou great, wealthy, I still base and _poor_.
_Phineas Fletcher._
I would be great, but that the sun doth still
Level his rays against the rising hill;
I would be high, but see the proudest oak,
Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke;
I would be rich, but see men, too unkind,
Dig in the bowels of the richest mine:
I would be wise, but that I often see
The fox suspected, whilst the ass goes free:
I would be fair, but see the fair and proud,
Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud:
I would be _poor_, but know the humble grass
Still trampled on by each unworthy ass;
Rich hated: wise suspected: scorn’d if _poor_:
Great fear’d: fair tempted: high still envied more:
I have wish’d all; but now I wish for neither;
Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair; _poor_ I’ll be rather.
_Sir Henry Wotton._
No soil like _poverty_ for growth divine,
As leanest land supplies the richest mine.
Earth gives too little, giving only bread,
To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head.
_Cowper._
Around each pure, domestic shrine,
Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine;
Our hearths are altars all:
The prayers of hungry souls and _poor_,
Like armed angels at the door,
Our unseen foes appal.
_Keble._
And what is want? ’Tis virtue’s test:
What weakness? An escape from pride:
That life on earth may be the best
In which, by woe, the soul is tried:
For He whose word is ever sure,
Hath said that “Blessed are the _Poor_.”
_H. H. Weld._
If _poverty_--a bitter medicine--cure
The soul’s distempers, blessed are the _poor_;
Yea, if ye be Christ’s _poor_, thrice blessed men are ye.
_Thomas McKellar._
POWER.
_Power_ belongeth unto God.--Psalm lxii. 11.
Let every soul be subject unto the higher _powers_. For there is no
_power_ but of God; the _powers_ that be are ordained of God.
Whosoever therefore resisteth the _power_, resisteth the ordinance of
God.--Romans, xiii. 1, 2.
Upholding all things by the word of His _power_.--Hebrews, i. 3.
O, all-preparing Providence divine!
In thy large book, what secrets are enrolled,
What sundry helps doth Thy great power assign,
To prop the course which Thou intend’st to hold!
What mortal sense is able to define
Thy mysteries, Thy councils manifold!
It is Thy wisdom strangely that extends
Obscure proceedings to apparent ends.
_Michael Drayton._
There is a _power_
Unseen, that rules the illimitable world,
That guides its motions from the brightest star
To the least dust of this sin-tainted mould.
While man, who madly deems himself the Lord
Of all, is nought but weakness and dependence.
This sacred truth, by sure experience taught,
They must have learn’d when wand’ring all alone,
Each bird, each insect, flitting through the sky,
Was more sufficient for itself than thou.
_Thomson._
For the strong spirit will at times awake,
Piercing the mists that wrap her clay abode;
And, born of thee, she may not always take
Earth’s accents for the oracles of God;
And ev’n in this--O dust, whose mask is _power_!
Reed, that wouldst be a scourge thy little hour!
Spark, whereon yet the mighty hath not trod,
And therefore thou destroyest,--where were flown
Our hope, if man were left to man’s decrees alone.
_Mrs. Hemans._
O put away thy pride,
Or be ashamed of _power_,
That cannot turn aside
The breeze that waves a flower.
_Clare._
I’ve thought, at gentle and ungentle hour,
Of many an act and giant shape of _power_;
Of the old kings with high exacting looks
Sceptered and globed; of eagles on their rocks
With straining feet, and that fierce mouth and drear,
Answering the strain with downward drag austere;
Of the rich-headed lion, whose huge frown,
All his great nature, gathering, seems to crown;
Then of cathedral with its priestly height,
Seen from below at superstitions night;
Of ghastly castle, that eternally
Holds its blind visage out to the lone sea;
And of all sunless subterranean deeps
The creature makes, who listens while he sleeps;
Avarice; and then of those old earthly cones,
That stride, they say, over heroic bones;
And those stone heaps Egyptian, whose small doors
Look like low dens, under precipitous shores;
And him, great Memnon, that long sitting by,
In seeming idleness, with stony eye,
Sang at the morning’s touch, like poetry;
And then of all the fierce and bitter fruit
Of the proud planting of a tyrannous foot,
Of bruised right, and flourishing bad men,
And virtue wasting heavenwards from a den;
Brute force, and fury; and the devilish drouth
Of the fool cannon’s ever-gaping mouth;
And the bride-widowing sword; and the harsh bray
The sneering trumpet sends across the fray;
And all which lights the people-thinning star
That selfishness invokes--the horsed war,
Panting along with many a bloody mane.
_Leigh Hunt._
All-knowing, all-directing God!
In whom we move and live,
Our thoughts, and works, and empty days,
And careless wrongs forgive;
But most in need the cruel heart
That breeds the conscious wrong,
And cares not for the consequence
To helpless old and young.
Some wilful deeds are perfect crimes,
And some less wicked are,
Because ’twas meant that good should spring
Beneath the baleful star.
Yet of all sinful beings most
In need of mercy those,
Who having _power_ much good to do,
All goodness would oppose,
And turn heaven’s bounteous gifts to gall,
And nature’s smiles to blows.
_Horne._
’Tis not in mockery of man that earth
Is strewed with splendid fragments, temple, tower;
That realms, where glory sprang full-arm’d to birth,
Are desolate, the snake and tiger’s bower:
They lie the monuments of misused _power_,
Not freaks of fate, but warnings against crime:
And ancient Babylon might, at this hour,
Had she been guiltless, stand as in her prime,
Nay, stand in growing pomp, till God had finished time.
_Croly._
But, God be thanked! they are moments only when
Man, subdued by nature’s mightiest _power_,
Thinks even his purer self the sport of waves.
In such like moments ’tis the Godhead shows us
The distance ’twixt itself and us,--chastises
Man’s vain audacity to equal it,
And casts him back to nothingness and woe.
In such like moments, even the wisest sinks
Unto the dust: he, too, is formed of dust;
But soon again he rises purified
By Fate’s worst blast, and thus the Eternal’s will
Declares and proves its own omnipotence.
_From the German of Herder._
With God a thousand years are as one day;
He in one day can sum a thousand years;
All acts with him are equal; for no more
It costs Omnipotence to build a world,
And set a sun amidst the firmament,
Than mould a dewdrop, and light up a gem.
_R. Montgomery._
PRAISE.
_Praise_ ye the Lord. _Praise_ the Lord, O my soul.
While I live will I _praise_ the Lord: I will sing _praises_ unto my
God while I have any being.--Psalm cxlvi. 1, 2.
_Praise_ ye the Lord. _Praise_ God in his sanctuary: _praise_ him in
the firmament of his power.
_Praise_ him for his mighty acts: _praise_ him according to his
excellent greatness.
Let every thing that hath breath _praise_ the Lord.--Psalm cl. 1, 2, 6.
For they loved the _praise_ of men more than the _praise_ of
God.--John, xii. 43.
My God! I will address Thee
In loudest hymns of _praise_;
Then, too, my soul shall bless Thee,
When mute in deep amaze;
For Thou, who kind receivest
Each word to be addressed,
The silent thought perceivest,
The feeling unexpressed.
And, while we ne’er can know
Thy deep and wondrous ways,
Words sink far, far below
Thy due reward of _praise_.
_From the Greek of Synesius._
O! while thy sinful soul can cast
Sin’s robes away--redeem the past,
If not in deeds, in words to _praise_ thy Maker haste.
In sacred hymns employ the day,
In _praises_ pass the night away;
And let the martyrs’ _praise_ attune the willing lay.
O what a privilege, could I,
The prison of mortality
Thus burst, and breathing forth this language, die!
_From the Spanish of Prudentius._
Not thankful when it pleaseth me;
As if Thy blessings had spare days:
But such a heart whose pulse may be
Thy _praise_.
_George Herbert._