All vainly may the watchman wake,
The careless souls within who sleep
In fear and terror well may quake.
Except the soul for safety flee
For _refuge_ to the city built
By God for trembling sinners, he
Will be o’ertaken in his guilt.
_Egone._
RELIGION.
If any man among you seem to be _religious_, and bridleth not his
tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s _religion_ is vain.
Pure _religion_ and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To
visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep
himself unspotted from the world.--James, i. 26, 27.
Seeming devotion doth but gild the knave,
That’s neither faithful, honest, just, nor brave;
But where _Religion_ doth with Virtue join,
It makes a hero like an angel shine.
_Waller._
_Religion’s_ all. Descending from the skies
To wretched man, the goddess, in her left,
Holds out this world, and in her right, the next.
_Young._
_Religion!_ Providence! an after state!
Here is firm footing; here is solid rock!
This can support us; all is sea besides;
Sinks under us, bestows, and then devours.
His band the good man fastens on the skies,
And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl.
_Young._
_Religion_ does not censure, or exclude
Unnumbered pleasures, harmlessly pursued.
_Cowper._
Pity _Religion_ has so seldom found
A skilful guide into poetic ground!
The flowers would spring where’er she deigned to stray,
And every muse attend her in the way.
Virtue, indeed, meets many a rhyming friend,
And many a compliment politely penned;
But unattired in that becoming vest
_Religion_ weaves for her, and half undressed,
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn
A wintry figure, like a withered thorn.
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped;
Hackneyed and worn to the last flimsy thread,
Satire has long since done his best, and curs’d;
And loathsome ribaldry has done his worst;
Fancy has sported all her powers away
In tales and trifles, and in children’s play;
And ’tis the sad complaint, and almost true,
Whate’er we write, we bring forth nothing new.
’Twere new, indeed, to see a bard all fire,
Touched with a coal from Heaven, assume the lyre
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung,
With more than mortal music on his tongue,
That he who died below, and reigns above,
Inspires the song, and that His name is Love.
_Cowper._
_Religion!_ what treasures untold
Reside in that heavenly word,
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
_Cowper._
And when _religious_ sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all his learning,
That if a man’s belief is bad,
It will not be improved by burning.
_Praed._
This _Religion_, which dilates our thoughts
Of God Supreme to an infinity
Of awful greatness, yet connects us with Him
As children, loved and cherished;--
Adoring awe with tenderness united.
_Joanna Baillie._
_Religion_ pure,
Unchanged in spirit, though its forms and codes
Wear myriad modes,
Contains all creeds within its mighty span--
The love of God, displayed in love of man.
_Horace Smith._
And when _Religion_ moves upon the face
Of the remote and multitudinous seas,
Be hers again the peaceful mien that charmed
Judea’s midnight winds in secret prayer,
And walked, a spirit of prevailing love,
Upon the star-lit waves of Galilee.
_A. Alexander._
That man alone is truly brave, whose soul
By virtue tutored, by _religion_ swayed,
At their tribunal every impulse scans.
_Samuel Hayes._
_Religion_ is the chief concern
Of mortals here below;
May I its great importance learn,
Its sovereign virtue know!
More needful this than glittering wealth,
Or aught the world bestows;
Not reputation, food, nor health,
Can give us such repose.
_Religion_ should our thoughts engage
Amidst our youthful bloom;
’Twill fit us for declining age,
And for the awful tomb.
_Fawcett._
O deem not that _Religion’s_ hallowed name
Is justly given to deeds of guilt and shame.
Deem not she loves the faggot and the steel,
The blood-stained hand, the heart untaught to feel.
Trace not her footsteps in the princely hall,
Where Borgia’s father held high festival.
She flees from haunts of guilt, nor heeds her voice
To bid the unrepentant heart rejoice;
To the seared spirit opes no ready heaven;
Forgives not him whom God hath not forgiven;
Nor loves she pomp’s vain homage; not the tide
Of low oblations at the shrine of pride.
_Wm. Spicer Wood._
I see the ocean tossing in its strength,
And with a moan that speaks of coming storms
Rousing the dark waves from their lair, to greet
The howling wind, that in its force comes down
As with a war-cry of defiance, to
The might of the proud waters; in the midst
A giant rock uprears its crest, upon
Whose summit stands a form, beneath whose crowned
And awful brow the tempest seems to quail:
The pale magnificent beauty of her face
Is shaded by dark raven locks, that seem
Like night descending on the setting sun--
The calm rebuking chastity of eye
That lays the soul so bare before its glance
Is hers, and her august and stately form
Towers o’er the storm and tempest like a god
Serene in power. ’Tis _Religion_--yes,
Woman thy homage is well paid to her,
Who shall be as a mother to thy race;
When in his dungeon the lone prisoner weeps
Deserted by his kindred; hunted down
Like a wild beast of prey by man, and left
Year after year to count the lingering time
By the slow pulse of his own failing heart;
When in the bitterness of his despair
He weeps, and deems himself forsaken by
All living things; her soothing voice shall thrill
In comfort to his heart; her form shall bend
Like a pitying mother’s o’er him, and
Uphold his drooping head; her hallow’d brow
Shall shed its light upon his soul, and cast
Around him peace ineffable.
_L. C. Reddell._
With ineffectual toil, the Pow’r Supreme
I sought along the mead which flow’rets bore;
Thro’ a dense woodland;--by a mazy stream;--
On heights;--in valleys;--by the wavy shore;
Nor God I found within the solar beam;
Nor in night’s radiance. What I could explore,
I saw, with proofs of His existence teem;
His certain stamp it had, but nothing more!
But thou, _Religion!_ can’st unveil His face!
Shall, then, man’s bosom feel no love for thee,
And seek thee not within thy hallow’d place?
How clearly there the eye of Faith can see
The ever-living God of Truth--Love--Grace!
There man can learn to meet Eternity!
_Rev. W. Pulling._
’Tis _Religion_ that can give,
Sweetest pleasures while we live;
’Tis _Religion_ must supply
Solid comfort when we die.
After death its joys will be
Lasting as eternity!
Be the living God my friend,
Then my bliss shall never end.
_Master._
REMEMBRANCE.
_Remember_, O Lord, thy tender mercies and thy loving-kindnesses; for
they have been ever of old.
_Remember_ not the sins of my youth, nor my transgressions; according
to thy mercy _remember_ thou me for thy goodness’ sake, O Lord.--Psalm
xxv. 6, 7.
They that feared the Lord spake often one to another, and the Lord
hearkened, and heard it, and a book of _remembrance_ was written
before him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his
name.--Malachi, iii. 16.
Gethsemane, can I forget? or there Thy conflict see,
Thine agony and bloody sweat, and not _remember_ Thee?
When to the cross I turn mine eyes, and rest on Calvary,
O Lamb of God, my sacrifice! I must _remember_ Thee!
_Remember_ Thee and all Thy pains, and all Thy love to me;
Yea, while a breath or pulse remains, I will _remember_ Thee!
And when these failing lips grow dumb, and mind and memory flee,
When Thou shalt in Thy kingdom come, Jesus _remember_ me.
_J. Montgomery._
Say, who can mourn
Over the smitten idol, by long years
Cemented with his being, yet perceive
No dark _remembrance_ that he fain would blot,
Troubling the tear? If there were no kind deed
Omitted, no sweet, healing word of love
Expected, yet unspoken; no light tone
That struck discordant on the shivering nerve,
For which the weeper fain would rend the tomb
To cry, “Forgive.” O, let him kneel and praise
God amid all his grief.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
_Remember_ me--not, I entreat,
In scenes of festal week-day joy;
For then it were not kind or meet
Thy thoughts thy pleasures should alloy;
But on the sacred Sabbath day,
And, dearest, on thy bended knee,
When thou for those thou lov’st dost pray,
Sweet sister, then _remember_ me.
_Edward Everett._
_Remember_ thee! _remember_ Christ!
While mem’ry holds her place,
Can we forget the Lord of Life,
Who saves us by his grace?
The Lord of Life, with glory crown’d,
On heaven’s exalted throne,
Forgets not those for whom on earth
He heav’d his dying groan.
The promis’d joy he then obtain’d
When he ascended hence,
Up from the grave to God’s right hand
A Saviour and a prince!
His glory now no tongue of man
Or seraph bright can tell:
Yet still the chief of all his joys,
That souls are saved from hell.
For this he came and dwelt on earth;
For this his life was given;
For this he fought and vanquished death,
For this he pleads in heav’n!
Join, all ye saints beneath the sky,
Your grateful praise to give:
Sing loud hosannas to the Lord,
Who died that you might live.
_Dr. Wardlaw._
_Remember_ thy Creator,
Now in thy youthful days,
And let thy heart, an opening flower,
Breathe incense forth of praise.
_Remember_ thy Creator;
O’er thee His love abides,
His wisdom plans, His power sustains,
His bounteous hand provides.
_Remember_ thy Creator,
In all life’s mirth and glee,
And he shall in thy fading age
Still, still, _remember_ thee.
_W. Martin._
REPENTANCE.
_Repent_ ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.
Bring forth therefore fruits meet for _repentance_.--Matthew, iii. 2, 8.
_Repent_ ye, and believe the gospel.--Mark, i. 15.
_Repent_ ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted
out.--Acts, iii. 19.
And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all
men everywhere to _repent_.--Acts, xvii. 30.
For godly sorrow worketh _repentance_ to salvation not to be _repented_
of: but the sorrow of the world worketh death.--II. Corinthians, vii.
10.
Confess yourself to Heaven;
_Repent_ what’s past; avoid what is to come;
And do not spread the compost on the weeds
To make them ranker.
_Shakspere._
Try what _repentance_ can: what can it not?
Yet what can it, when one cannot _repent_?
O, wretched state! O, bosom black as death!
O, limed soul, that struggling to be free,
Art more engaged!
_Shakspere._
Chide sinners as the father doth his child,
And keep them in the awe of loving fear;
Make sin most hateful, but in words be mild,
That humble patience may the better hear;
And wounded conscience may receive relief,
When true _repentance_ pleads the sinner’s grief.
Yet flatter not the foul delight of sin,
But make it loathsome in the eye of love,
And seek the heart with holy thoughts to win
Unto the best way to the soul’s behove:
So teach, so live, that both in word and deed
The world may joy thy heavenly rules to read.
Heal the infect of sin with oil of grace,
And wash the soul with true contrition’s tears;
And when confession shows her heavy case,
Deliver faith from all infernal fears,
That when high justice threatens sin with death,
Mercy again may give _Repentance_ breath.
_Nicolas Breton._
At the round world’s imagined corners blow
Your trumpets, angels; and arise, arise,
From death you numberless infinities
Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o’erthrow,
All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies,
Despair, law, chance hath slain; and you whose eyes
Shall behold God and never taste death’s woe.
But let them sleep, Lord, and men mourn a space;
For if above all these my sins abound,
’Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,
When we are there; here, on this lowly ground
Teach me how to _repent_; for that’s as good
As if Thou hadst sealed my pardon with Thy blood.
_John Donne._
Heaven may forgive a crime to penitence,
For Heaven can judge if penitence is true.
_Dryden._
While music flows around,
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours;
Amid the roses, fierce _repentance_ rears
Her snaky crest: a quick returning pang
Shoots through the conscious heart.
_Thomson._
I will to-morrow, that I will,
I will be sure to do it;
To-morrow comes, to-morrow goes,
And still thou art to do it.
Thus still _repentance_ is deferred,
From one day to another:
Until the day of death is come
And judgment is the other.
_Drexelius._
Go, let me weep! there’s bliss in tears,
When he who sheds them inly feels
Some lingering strain of early years
Effaced by every drop that steals.
The fruitless showers of worldly woe
Fall dark to earth and never rise;
While tears that from _repentance_ flow,
In bright exhalement reach the skies.
Leave me to sigh o’er hours that flew
More idly then the summer’s wind;
And while they pass’d a fragrance threw,
But left no trace of sweets behind.
The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves
Is faint, is cold to those that swell
The heart, where pure _repentance_ grieves
O’er hours of pleasure loved too well.
_Moore._
He who seeks _Repentance_ for the past,
Should woo the angel virtue for the future.
_Sir E. B. Lytton._
Divine _Repentance_, in thy sacred tear
Alone is wisdom for the erring heart,
That infancy of soul, that stainless hour
When all the chaos of our spirit sleeps
In passionless repose,--how oft it woos
Our feelings back to purity and Heaven!
Alas! that in our solitude we soar
To perfect goodness, but in life descend
To dust again!--our aspirations quenched;
And all that purer moments wisely taught,
Denied, degraded, or forgot!--Thus glide
Our years along, in melancholy dreams
Of what they dare, and what they cannot be!
_R. Montgomery._
_Repentance_ clothes in grass and flowers
The grave in which the past is laid.
_John Sterling._
O blest _Repentance_, in thy weeping eye
Swim the pure beams of embryo-ecstacy.
And Faith, and Hope, and Love, and Joy, prepare
To still thy heart, and wipe thy bitter tear!
To thee alone the privilege is given,
By earthly woe, to kindle joy in Heaven,
For God Himself descends to soothe the heart
That weeps o’er sin, and struggles to depart;
And deeper transport swells the bliss above,
As seraphs sing the triumphs of His love.
_J. K. Mitchell._
RESIGNATION.
I would seek unto God, and unto God would I commit my cause:
Which doeth great things and unsearchable; marvellous things without
number.--Job, v. 8, 9.
I know, O Lord, that Thy judgments are right, and that thou in
faithfulness hast afflicted me.--Psalm cxix. 75.
If, friendless, in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way--
Still let my steady soul Thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on Thee;
With equal eye my various lot receive,
_Resigned_ to die, or resolute to live;
Prepared to kiss the sceptre or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.
_Mrs. Barbauld._
Thou Power supreme! whose mighty scheme,
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here firm I rest; they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want, (O do Thou grant
This one request of mine!)
Since to enjoy Thou didst deny,
Assist me to _resign_.
_Burns._
Luxury and pomp
Are but the splendid cover of distress
Rankling within; while conscience, ever gay,
And placid _resignation_ to his lot,
Cheer the poor tattered pilgrim, and derive
A flavour to his casual homely meal,
The rich man’s laboured dainties cannot yield.
_George Bally._
Yet is He there: beneath our eaves
Each sound His wakeful ear receives;
Hush idle words, and thoughts of ill,
Your Lord is listening; peace, be still.
Christ watches by a Christian’s hearth,
Be silent, vain, deluding mirth,
Till in thine altered voice be known,
Somewhat of _resignation’s_ tone.
_Keble._
REST.
Return unto thy _rest_, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully
with thee.--Psalm cxvi. 7.
Arise ye, and depart; for this is not your _rest_: because it is
polluted.--Micah, ii. 10.
Let us therefore fear, lest a promise being left us of entering into
His _rest_, any of you should seem to come short of it.
There remaineth therefore a _rest_ to the people of God.--Hebrews, iv.
1, 9.
I pass, with melancholy state,
By all these solemn heaps of fate,
And think, as soft and sad I tread
Above the venerable dead,
“Time was, like me, they life possessed;
And time will be, when I shall _rest_.”
_Parnell._
Think not of _rest_; though dreams be sweet,
Start up, and ply your heavenward feet.
Is not God’s oath upon your head,
Ne’er to sink back on slothful bed,
Never again your loins untie,
Nor let your torches waste and die,
Till, when the shadows thickest fall,
Ye hear your Master’s midnight call?
_Keble._
Hail, heavenly voice, once heard in Patmos; “Write,
Henceforth the dead who die in Christ are blest:
Yea, saith the Spirit, for they now shall _rest_
From all their labours!” But no dull, dark night
That _rest_ o’ershadows: ’tis the day-spring bright
Of bliss; the foretaste of a richer feast;
A sleep, if sleep it be, of lively zest,
Peopled with visions of intense delight.
And though the secrets of that _resting_-place
The soul embodied knows not; yet she knows
No sin is there God’s likeness to deface,
To stint His love, no purgatorial woes;
Her dross is left behind, nor mixture base
Mars the pure stream of her serene repose.
_Bishop Mant._
Hail to the day, which He, who made the Heaven,
Earth, and their armies, sanctified and blest,
Perpetual memory of the Maker’s _rest_!
Hail to the day, when He, by whom was given
New life to man, the tomb asunder riven,
Arose! That day His church hath still confest,
At once creation’s and redemption’s feast,
Sign of a world call’d forth, a world forgiven.
Welcome that day, the day of holy peace,
The Lord’s own day! to man’s Creator owed,
And man’s Redeemer; for the soul’s increase
In sanctity, and sweet repose bestowed;
Type of the _rest_, when sin and care shall cease,
The _rest_ remaining for the lov’d of God.
_Bishop Mant._
Lord of the Sabbath, hear our vows,
On this Thy day, in this Thy house,
And own, as grateful sacrifice,
The songs which from the desert rise.
Thine earthly sabbaths, Lord, we love,
But there’s a nobler _rest_ above;
To that our labouring souls aspire,
With ardent pangs of strong desire.
No more fatigue, no more distress,
Nor sin nor hell shall reach the place;
No groans to mingle with the songs
Which warble from immortal tongues.
No rude alarms of raging foes;
No cares to break the long repose;
No midnight shade, no clouded sun,
But sacred, high, eternal noon.
O long-expected day, begin,
Dawn on these realms of woe and sin!
Fain would we leave this weary road,
And sleep in death to _rest_ with God.
_Dr. Doddridge._
O, _rest_ not now, but scatter wide the seeds
Of faithful words, and yet more faithful deeds;
So thou shalt _rest_ above eternally,
When God the harvest fruit shall give to thee.
_Bethune._
Not in this weary world of ours
Can perfect _rest_ be found;
Thorns mingle with its fairest flowers,
Even on cultured ground;
Earth’s pilgrim still his loins must gird
To seek a lot more blest;
And this must be his onward word--
“In Heaven alone is _rest_!”
_Bernard Barton._
He passeth calmly from that sunny morn,
Where all the buds of youth are newly born,
Through varying intervals of onward years,
Until the eve of his decline appears;
And while the shadows round his path descend,
And down the vale of age his footsteps tend,
Peace o’er his bosom sheds her soft control,
And throngs of gentlest memories charm the soul;
Then, weaned from earth, he turns his steadfast eye
Beyond the grave, whose verge he falters nigh,
Surveys the brightening regions of the blest,
And, like a wearied pilgrim, sinks to _rest_.
_Willis G. Clark._
Oh, when life’s sunset draws around me,
Closing my eventful day,
Let Thy love, O Christ, upon me
Shed its pure and spirit ray.
Up the starry steeps of even,
Let Thy spirit be my guide,
Till in the deathless light of heaven,
Lost to earth, my spirit glide.
There, where daylight ever lingers,
O’er the vernal flower-clad plains,--
There, where morning’s rosy fingers
Wreathe with light the azure main--
There, where all we dream of brightness,
Joy or peace, to make us blest,
May the wrapt soul on wings of lightness
Find _rest_, ah, yes: eternal _rest_.
_Rev. E. Case._
RESURRECTION--RISING.
Jesus of Nazareth, which was crucified: he is _risen_: he is not
here:--Mark, xvi. 6.
The hour is coming, in the which all that are in the grave shall
hear His voice, and shall come forth; they that have done good, unto
the _resurrection_ of life; and they that have done evil, unto the
_resurrection_ of damnation.--John, v. 28, 29.
I am the _resurrection_ and the life: he that believeth in me, though
he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in
me shall never die.--John, xi. 25, 26.
Now is Christ _risen_ from the dead, and become the first-fruits of
them that slept.
For since by man came death, by man came also the _resurrection_ of the
dead.
For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.--I.
Corinthians, xv. 20, 21, 22.
The waking cock, that early crows
To wear the night away,
Puts in my mind the trump that blows
Before the latter day;
And as I _rise_ up lustily,
When sluggish sleep is past,
So hope I to _rise_ joyfully
To judgment, at the last.
_George Gascoigne._
Up, and away,
Thy Saviour’s gone before,
Why dost thou stay,
Dull soul? Behold the door
Is open, and His precepts bid thee _rise_,
Whose power hath vanquished all thine enemies.
In vain thou say’st
Thou art buried with thy Saviour,
If thou delay’st
To show by thy behaviour,
That thou art _risen_ with Him. Till thou shine
Like Him, how canst thou say His light is thine.
Open thine eyes
Sin-seized soul, and see
What cobweb ties
They are that trammel thee;
Not profit, pleasure, honours, as thou thinkest,
But loss, pain, shame, at which thou vainly winkest.
All that is good
Thy Saviour dearly bought
With His heart’s blood,
And it must then be sought,
Where he keeps residence, who _rose_ this day;
Linger no longer then, up and away.
_George Herbert._
What though my body run to dust?
Faith cleaves unto it, counting every grain,
With an exact and most particular trust,
Reserving all for flesh again.
_George Herbert._
Man but dives in death;
Dives from the sun, in fairer day to _rise_;
The grave his subterranean road to bliss.
_Young._
Angels of Heaven,
Ye who beheld Him fainting on the cross,
And did Him homage, say, may mortal join
The hallelujahs of the _risen_ God?
Will the faint voice and grovelling song be heard
Amid the seraphim in light divine?
Yes, He will deign, the Prince of Peace will deign
For mercy to accept the hymn of faith,
Low tho’ it be and humble. Lord of life,
The Christ, the Comforter! thine advent now
Fills my _uprising_ soul. I mount, I fly
Far o’er the skies, beyond the rolling orbs;
The bonds of flesh dissolve, and earth recedes,
And care, and pain, and sorrow, are no more.
_Henry Kirke White._
These ashes too, the little dust
Our Father’s care shall keep,
Till the last angel _rise_ and break
The long and dreary sleep.
Then Love’s soft dew on every eye
Shall shed its mildest rays;
And the long-silent dust shall burst
With shouts of endless praise.
_Henry Kirke White._
Majestical He _rose_: trembled the earth;
The ponderous gate of stone was rolled away;
The keepers fell, the angels, awe-struck, sunk
Into invisibility, while forth
The Saviour of the world walked, and stood
Before the sepulchre, and viewed the clouds
Empurpled glorious by the _rising_ sun.
_Graham._
Jesus is _risen_! triumphal anthems sing;
Thus from dead winter mounts the sprightly spring;
Thus does the sun from night’s black shades return,
And thus the single bird wings from the Arabian urn.
Jesus is _risen_! He shall the world restore!
Awake, ye dead! dull sinners, sleep no more!
_Wesley._
Christ hath _arisen_! Oh! not one cherished head
Hath ’midst the flowery sods been pillowed here
Without a hope, (howe’er the heart hath bled
In its vain yearnings o’er the unconscious bier,)
A hope upspringing clear
From those majestic tidings of the morn,
Which lit the living way to all of woman born.
_Mrs. Hemans._