Christ Jesus, after that ye have _suffered_ awhile, make you perfect,
stablish, strengthen, settle you.--I. Peter, v. 10.
Christ _suffers_, and in this his tears begin;
_Suffers_ for us, and joy on us bestows:
_Suffers_ to death,--here is his manhood seen;
_Suffers_ to rise,--and hence his Godhead shows;
For man that could not by himself have rose
Out of the grave doth by the Godhead rise;
And God that could not die, in manhood dies,
That we in both might live, by that sweet sacrifice.
_Giles Fletcher._
They who have rarest joy, know joy’s true measure;
They who most _suffer_, value _suffering’s_ pause;
They who but seldom taste the simplest pleasure,
Kneel oftenest to the Giver and the Cause.
_Mrs. Norton._
O ye, whose hearts in secret bleed
O’er transient hope, like morning dew,
O’er friendship faithless in your need,
Or love to all its vows untrue,
Who shrink from persecution’s rod,
Or slander’s fang, or treachery’s tone,
Look meekly to the Son of God,
And in His griefs forget your own.
Forsaken are ye?--so was He;
Reviled?--yet check the ’vengeful word;
Rejected?--should the servant be
Exalted o’er his _suffering_ Lord?
Nor deem that Heaven’s omniscient eye
Is e’er regardless of your lot,--
Deluded man from God may fly,
But when was man by God forgot?
_Mrs. Sigourney._
SUN.
O give thanks unto the Lord; for He is good:
To Him that made great lights; the _sun_ to rule by day: for His mercy
endureth for ever.--Psalm cxxxvi. 1, 7, 8.
The Lord, which giveth the _sun_ for a light by day; the Lord of Hosts
is His name.--Jeremiah, xxxi. 35.
He maketh His _sun_ to rise on the evil and on the good.--Matthew, v.
45.
When creatures had no real light
Inherent in them, Thou didst make the _sun_
Impart a lustre, and allow them bright;
And in this, show what Christ hath done.
_George Herbert._
Great source of day! best image here below
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide
From world to world the vital ocean round.
On nature write with every beam his praise.
The thunder rolls: he hushed the prostrate world;
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh ye hills, ye mossy rocks
Return the sound; the broad responsive low
Ye valleys raise, for the great shepherd reigns,
And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come.
_Thomson._
Look up to Heaven! the industrious _sun_
Already half his race hath run,
He cannot halt nor go astray,
But our immortal spirits may.
Lord! since his rising in the east,
If we have faltered or transgressed,
Guide, from thy love’s abundant source,
What yet remains of this day’s course.
Help with thy grace through life’s short day
Our upward and our downward way,
And glorify for us the west,
When we shall sink to final rest.
_Wordsworth._
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm;
Tho’ round its breast the rolling clouds are spread,
Eternal _sunshine_ settles on its head.
_Goldsmith._
Doth thy great Maker, _Sun!_ forbid the thought,
That of his glory, thou one ray hast caught;
When thou go’st measuring the boundless skies,
Art thou not _Sun_! the brightness of his eyes?
Ah! if I’ve sometimes in misfortune’s days
Blasphem’d the _sun’s_ vexation-causing rays;
And if I’ve cursed the gifts, receiv’d from thee,
My God! who readest hearts--O pardon me!
_Pulling, from Lamartine._
I marvel not, O _sun_, that unto thee
In adoration man should bow the knee,
And pour the prayer of mingled awe and love;
For like a God thou art, and on thy way
Of glory sheddest, with benignant ray,
Beauty and life and joyance from above.
_Southey._
Source of light! thou mak’st the _sun_
On his burning axles run:
The stars like dust around him fly,
And strew the area of the sky:
He drives so swift his race above,
Mortals can’t perceive him move;
To smooth his course oblique or straight,
Olympus shakes not with his weight.
As the queen of solemn night,
Fills at his vase her orb of light,
Imparted lustre, thus we see
The solar virtues shine by thee!
Phœbus borrows from thy beams
His radiant locks, and golden streams!
Whence thy warmth and light disperse,
To cheer the grateful universe.
_Samuel Wesley._
Cold and obscure, in vain the king and sage
Gave law and learning to the darkened age.
There was no present faith, no future hope,
Earth bounded then the earth-drawn horoscope;
Till to the east there rose the promised star--
Till rose the _Sun_ of Righteousness afar--
Till on a world redeemed the Saviour shone,
Earth for His footstool,--Heaven for His throne.
_Miss Landon._
_Sun_ of the firmament! planet of wonderment!
Now thy far journey of day it is done;
Still thou art parting bright, shedding immortal light
Down on the throne of night--hail! setting _sun_!
Slow thou depart’st away, far from the realms of day,
Ling’ring in pity on summer’s loved bowers;
Thy last ray is streaming, thy farewell tint beaming,
Yet soon thou’lt return to refreshen the flowers.
Thy parting brings sadness, yet nations in gladness
Are waiting to worship thee--fountain of light!
Where’er thy footsteps be, there do we beauty see,
Thou kindlest day in the dwellings of night.
Where sleeps the thunder--there dost thou wander,
Down ’neath the ocean deep, there dost thou stray,
Kissing the stars at morn, high on the air upborne,
Skirting creation’s far verge on thy way.
Grandeur and glory, they travel before thee,
Brightness and majesty walk in thy train!
Darkness it flies from thee, clouds may not rise to thee
When thou awak’st from the ocean again.
All own thy influence, kindly thou dost dispense
Blessings o’er nature where’er its bounds be;
Afric’s lone desert, it blooms at thy presence;
And Lapland is turn’d into summer by thee.
Time cannot conquer thee, age cannot alter thee,
Years have no power to limit thy sway;
Strength and sublimity, still they attend on thee,
Pilgrim of ages, but not of decay.
_Sun_ of the firmament! planet of wonderment!
Now thy far journey of day it is done;
Still thou art parting bright, shedding immortal light
Down on the throne of night--hail! setting _sun_!
_Robert Gilfillan._
O _Sun_! what makes thy beams so bright?
--The word that said “Let there be light!”
_J. Montgomery._
SUPERSTITION.
Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars’ hill, and said, Ye men of Athens,
I perceive that in all things ye are too _superstitious_.--Acts, xvii.
22.
’Tis _Superstition_! that
Dread bolt that seems to him and thee the home
Of torture, is the earth, the beauteous earth,
Created by thy God, a perfect thing,
All loveliness, and life, and light, to be
The dwelling-place of thee and thine--but this,
This ignorant, besotted fool, sees but
In that beneficent gift, where all is formed
For happiness, a scene of punishment
And death; turns every joy to bitterness,
Reproaches God with never-ending fears,
And, like a thankless wretch, dashes aside
The cup of happiness the Almighty hand
Gives to his lips, when he might know his praise,
And gratitude can but be shown by free
And innocent enjoyment; not content
That his own soul must suffer misery,
He would crush down his fellow-beings with
The weight of his own gloom. His voice shall fill
The earth with one loud cry; at his command,
The homes of thousands shall be desolate;
At his command, fathers shall give their sons
To be devoured by lingering fire, or stretched
Upon a wheel, whose racking torture tears
The victim limb-meal, and then lift their hands,
Their impious hands, to heaven, and call the deed
Of blasphemy a holy act. Weak fools!
To think it pleaseth Him who made them in
His image--that that image should be torn,
Defaced, and blotted.
_Constantia Louisa Riddell._
But hence, far hence be ostentatious pomp,
And _superstition’s_ tinsel.
_Samuel Hayes._
Fell _Superstition_ leads
Her horrid train, engendered in the womb
Of her own mad imaginings.
_A. Alexander._
SUPPER, THE LORD’S.
Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life; and I
will raise him up at the last day.
For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.--John, vi.
54, 55.
The Lord Jesus, the same night in which He was betrayed, took bread.
And when He had given thanks, He brake it, and said, Take eat; this is
my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.
After the same manner also He took the cup, when He had supped, saying,
This cup is the New Testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye
drink it, in remembrance of me.
For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do show the
Lord’s death till He come.--I. Corinthians, xi. 23, 24, 25, 26.
Him first to love, great right and reason is,
Who first to us our life and being gave,
And after, when we fared had amiss,
Us wretches from the second death did save;
And last, the Food of Life, which now we have,
Even He Himself, in His dear Sacrament,
To feed our hungry souls, unto us lent.
Then next to love our brethren, that were made
Of that self-mould, and that self-Maker’s hand.
_Spenser._
I love to mingle there
In sympathy of praise and prayer,
And listen to that Living Word,
Which breathes the Spirit of the Lord:
Or, at the mystic table placed,
Those eloquent mementoes taste
Of Thee, Thou suffering Lamb divine,
Thy soul-refreshing bread and wine;
Sweet viands, given us to assuage
The faintness of the pilgrimage.
_Thomas Grinfield._
And oft your willing steps renew, around the sacred board,
And break the bread, and pour the wine, in memory of your Lord:
To drink with me the grape’s first juice, to you shall yet be
given,
Fresh from the deathless vine that blooms in blest abodes of
Heaven.
_Thomas Dale._
Bread of Heaven, on Thee we feed,
For Thy flesh is meat indeed;
Ever let our souls be fed
With this true and Living Bread.
Vine of Heaven, Thy blood supplies
This blest cup of sacrifice;
Lord, Thy wounds our healing give;
To Thy cross we look and live.
Day by day, with strength supplied,
Through the life of Him who died,
Lord of life, O’ let us be
Rooted, grafted, built on Thee!
_Conder._
Bow thee to earth, and from thee cast
All stubbornness of human will;
Then dare to drink the Sacred Cup
Thy God and Saviour died to fill.
Come with thy guilt new-washed in tears,
Thy spirit raised in faith above;
Then drink, and so thy soul shall live,
Thy Saviour’s blood,--thy Saviour’s love.
_Miss Landon._
Break to us each, this day, our daily bread,
Nor let earth’s fading food alone be given;
Feed us upon THY WORD,--in Christ our Head,
To find Thy Peace, the living Bread from Heaven.
_H. H. Weld._
For say, can fancy, fond to weave the tale
Of bliss ideal, feign more genuine joy
Than thine, Believer, when the man of God
Gives to thy hand the consecrated cup,
Blessed memorial of a Saviour’s love!
Glowing with zeal, the humble penitent
Approacheth: Faith her fostering radiance points
Full on his contrite heart: Hope cheers his steps,
And Charity, the fairest in the train
Of Christian virtues, swells his heaving breast
With love unbounded.
_Thomas Zouch._
So is it with true Christian hearts;
Their mutual share in Jesus’ blood
An everlasting bond imparts
Of holiest brotherhood:
Oh! might we all our lineage prove,
Give and forgive, do good and love,
By soft endearments in kind strife
Lightening the load of daily life!
_Keble._
Thou who didst taste
Of man’s infirmities, yet bar his sins
From thine unspotted soul, forsake us not
In our temptations, but so guide our feet,
That our Last _Supper_ in this world may lead
To that immortal banquet by thy side,
Where there is no betrayer.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
By chain yet stronger must the soul be tied:
One duty more, last stage of this ascent,
Brings to thy food, memorial Sacrament,
The offspring, haply at the parents’ side;
But not till they, with all that do abide
In Heaven, have lifted up their hearts to laud
And magnify the glorious name of God,
Fountain of Grace, whose Son for sinners died,
Here must my song in timid reverence pause;
But shrink not, ye, whom to the saving rite
The Altar calls; come early, under laws
That can secure for you a path of light
Through gloomiest shade; put on, nor dread its weight,
Armour divine, and conquer in your cause.
_Wordsworth._
Here He led
From the Last _Supper_, when the hymn was sung,
His few grieved followers out, in that drear night,
When, in the garden, on the mountain’s slope,
His agony wrung forth the crimson drops!
While these sad pictures hang upon thy sides,
Thou consecrated height, dissolve the heart
In pious sorrow!
_Hannah F. Gould._
SUPPLICATION.
I cried to Thee, O Lord; and unto the Lord I made
_supplication_.--Psalm xxx. 8.
Let my _supplication_ come before Thee: deliver me according to Thy
word.--Psalm cxix. 170.
O my God incline Thine ear, and hear: for we do not present our
_supplications_ before Thee for our righteousnesses, but for Thy great
mercies.--Daniel, ix. 18.
Oh, when Thy last frown shall proclaim
The flocks of goats to folds of flame;
And all Thy lost sheep found shall be,
Let “Come, ye blessed” then call me.
Oh, hear a _suppliant_ heart all crush’d
And crumbled into contrite dust;
My Hope, my Fear, my Judge, my Friend,
Take charge of me, and of my end.
_Crashaw._
Like the low murmur of the secret stream,
Which through dark alders winds its shaded way,
My _suppliant_ voice is heard. Ah, do not deem
That on vain toys I throw my hours away.
In the recesses of the forest vale,
On the wild mountains, on the verdant sod,
When the fresh breezes of the morn prevail,
I wander lone, communing with my God.
_Beckford._
From lowest depths of woe
To God I send my cry;
Lord bear my _supplicating_ voice,
And graciously reply!
My soul with patience waits
For Thee, the living Lord;
My hopes are on Thy promise built,
Thy never-failing word!
Let Israel trust in God;
No bounds His mercy knows;
The plenteous source and spring from whence
Eternal succour flows.
_Brady and Tate._
TEACHING.
Blessed is the man whom Thou chastenest, O Lord, and _teachest_ him out
of Thy law.--Psalm xciv. 12.
There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus:
The same came to Jesus by night, and said unto Him, Rabbi, we know that
Thou art a _teacher_ come from God.--John, iii. 1, 2.
Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; _teaching_
and admonishing one another.--Colossians, iii. 16.
The azure vault, the crystal circles bright,
The gleaming, fiery torches powdered there,
The changing round, the shining, beamy light,
The sad and bearded fires, the monsters fair,
And prodigies appearing in the air;
The rending thunders, and the blust’ring winds,
The birds in hue, and shape, and nature rare;
The pretty notes of winged musicians fine;
Of earth the saucy flowers, the metalled mine,
The wholesome herbs, the healthful, pleasant trees,
The silver streams, the beasts of sundry kinds;
The bounding waves and fishes of the seas:
All these for _teaching_ man the Lord did frame,
To do His will whose glory shines in flame.
_King James I._
If man sleeps on, _untaught_ by what he sees,
Can he prove infidel to what he feels?
_Young._
Father of light and life! Thou good Supreme!
O _teach_ me what is good! _Teach_ me Thyself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit.
_Thomson._
Spirit of Light! do Thou impart
Majestic truths, and _teach_ my heart;
_Teach_ me to know how weak I am,
How vain my powers, how poor my frame;
_Teach_ me celestial paths untrod,
The ways of glory and of God.
_Crabbe._
Lord, grant our hearts be so inclined,
Thy work to seek, Thy will to do;
And while we _teach_ the youthful mind,
Our own be _taught_ Thy lessons too.
_Miss Landon._
Chief of the household Gods
Which hallow Scotland’s lowly Scottish homes!
While looking at thy signs
Which speak, though dumb, deep thought upon me comes--
With sad yet solemn dreams my heart is stirred,
Like childhood when it hears the carol of a bird!
The mountains old and hoar--
The chainless winds--the streams so pure and free--
The God-enamelled flowers--
The waving forest--the eternal sea--
The eagle floating o’er the mountain’s brow--
Are _teachers_ all; but oh! they are not such as thou!
_Robert Nicoll._
To conquer hate,
And in its place to cherish love unfeigned,
Forgiveness and forgetfulness of wrongs,
No precepts but the perfect law of Christ,
No _teacher_ but the blessed Son of God,
Could e’er instruct mankind.
_C. P. Layard._
Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie,
Life’s lingering languors o’er, its labours done;
Where waving boughs, between the earth and sky,
Admit the farewell radiance of the sun.
And here the impressive stone, engraved with words
Which grief sententious gives to marble pale,
Shall _teach_ the heart; while waters, leaves, and birds
Make cheerful music in the passing gale.
_Willis G. Clark._
Your voiceless lips, O flowers, are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, every leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous _teachers_,
From loneliest nook.
Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining,
Far from the voice of _teachers_ and divines,
My soul would find in flowers of Thy ordaining,
Priests, sermons, shrines.
_Horace Smith._
TEARS.
My _tears_ have been my meat day and night, while they continually say
unto me, Where is thy God?--Psalm xlii. 3.
The Lord God will wipe away _tears_ from off all faces.--Isaiah, xxv. 8.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the
sun light on them, nor any heat.
For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and
shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe
away all _tears_ from their eyes.--Revelation, vii. 16, 17.
Not when the earth revives with genial heat,
To fresh and blooming flowers, the bee applies
With such delight, and bears on loaded thighs
The fragrant treasure to her loaded seat;
Not young and timorous hind with course so fleet,
Escaped to trackless forest from the cries
Of fell pursuit, now unsuspected flies,
Panting to reach the cooling waters sweet,
As I in those hot _tears_ exult, which shower
From my relenting eyes, when up to God,
With love or kindling zeal my heart ascends.
“How great,” in transport thus my soul I pour,
“Must be their glory in the blest abode,
Whose joy the pleasure of my grief transcends!”
_From the Italian of Gabriel Fiamma._
No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear;
From every face He wipes off every _tear_.
_Pope._
To hurry at thy mandate, matchless King!
The orbs of night have cars of sapphire dyes;
To reach Thee th’ eagle hath at least his wing,
And nought have we except our sighs!
May thy saints’ voice ascend and calm thy wrath,
Terrestrial incense is the just man’s prayer;
But pass we sinners, nought the sinner hath,
Unto thy shrine, but _tears_ to bear.
_Lamartine._
Raise it to Heaven when thine eye fills with _tears_,
For only in a watery sky appears
The bow of light; and from th’ invisible skies
Hope’s glory shines not, save through weeping eyes.
_Frances Ann Kemble._
Thou hast wept mournfully, O, human love!
E’en on this greensward; night hath heard thy cry,
Heart-stricken one! thy precious dust above,
Night, and the hills, which sent forth no reply
Unto thine agony!
But he who wept like thee, thy Lord, thy guide,
Christ, hath arisen, O love! thy _tears_ shall all be dried.
_Mrs. Hemans._
Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well--
That is light grieving! lighter none befel,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
_Tears!_ what are _tears_? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing: at her marriage bell
The bride weeps: and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot
That moisture on his cheeks. Commend the grace,
Mourners who weep! Albeit, as some have done,
Ye grope, _tear_-blinded, in a desert place,
And touch but tombs,--look up! Those _tears_ will run,
Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear, for stars and sun.
_Miss Barrett._
O, turn, and be thou turned! The selfish _tear_,
In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun,
Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear,
The turbid waters brightening as they run.
Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart
In penitential drops have ebbed away;
Then fearless, turn where Heaven hath set thy part,
Nor shudder at the eye that saw thee stray.
O, lost and found! All gentle souls below
Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove
Such joy o’er thee as raptured seraphs know,
Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love.
_Keble._
What sadder scene can angels view
Than self-deceiving _tears_,
Poured idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
A record of to-day engage,
A woe for future years?
_Keble._
For Spring, and flowers of Spring,
Blossoms and what they bring,
Be our thanks given;
Thanks for the maiden’s bloom,
For the sad prison’s gloom;
And for the sadder tomb,
E’en as for heaven!
Great God thy will be done,
When the soul’s rivers run
Down the worn cheeks,
Done when the righteous bleed,
When the wrong’d vainly plead,
Done in the mended deed,
When the heart breaks.
Lo! how the dutiful
Snows clothe in beautiful
Life, the dead earth!
Lo! bow the clouds distil
Riches o’er vale and hill,
While the storm’s evil will
Dies in its birth!
Bless’d is the unpeopled down,
Bless’d is the crowded town,
Where the tir’d groan:
Pain but appears to be;
What are man’s fears to Thee,
God! if all _tears_ shall be
Gems on Thy throne.
_E. Elliot._
And _tears_ once filled His eye
Beside a mortal’s grave,
Who left His throne on high
The lost to seek and save.
And fresh, from age to age,
Their memory shall be kept,
While man shall bless the page
Which tells that Jesus wept!
_Bernard Barton._
Alas! who hath not _tears_ on earth,
Perchance though often wept unseen?
On every soil they have their birth,
In hearts where blithest smiles have been.
_Tears_ are the blessings of the heart,
When nature oft would fain rebel,
Yet bends beneath the rending dart,
And _tears_ her deepest anguish tell.
_Tears_ are the heir-loom of our race,
From sire to son profusely given;
Bright dew-drops on the mourner’s face,--
Bright only in the light of Heaven.
In that pure light the mother sees
Through her fast _tears_ the cloud grow bright;
Hope gilded with sweet promises,
Smiling upon the brow of night.
Faith draws the distant vision nigh,
Where basks her child in thornless bowers;
While cherub hands suppress each sigh,
And wreath her heart with fadeless flowers.
In that bright world no _tears_ are seen,
For God hath wiped all _tears_ away;
Earth’s last deep groan of anguish keen
Ne’er mingles with Redemption’s lay.
Washed in the Saviour’s cleansing blood,
The white-robed saints in glory stand,
Hailing Earth’s lingerers o’er the flood
To the full bliss of Canaan’s land.
Oh, blest re-union! No more _tears_
Shall dim the sun-blaze of the soul,
But smiles shall be the chroniclers
Of joys that own not death’s control.
_W. J. Brock._
The sage’s and the poet’s theme,
In every clime, in every age;
Thou charm’st in Fancy’s idle dream,
In Reason’s philosophic page.
That very law which moulds a _tear_,
And bids it trickle from its source;
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.
_Rogers._
TEMPERANCE.
Every man that striveth for the mastery is _temperate_ in all
things. Now they do it to obtain a corruptible crown, but we an
incorruptible.--I. Corinthians, ix. 25.
If all the world
Should, in a pet of _Temperance_, feed on pulse,
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze,
Th’ All-Giver would be unthank’d, would be unprais’d,
Not half His riches known, and yet despis’d;
And we should serve Him as a grudging master,
And a penurious niggard of His wealth.
_Milton._
Nature, good cateress,
Means her provision only to the good,
That live according to her sober laws,
And holy dictates of spare _Temperance_.
_Milton._
Rarely shall that path be trod,
Which without horror leads to death’s abode.
Some few, by _temperance_ taught, approaching slow,
To distant fate by easy journeys go;
Gently they lay them down, as evening sheep
On their own woolly fleeces softly sleep.
_Dryden._
Grateful and salutary spring the plants
Which crown our numerous gardens, and
Invite to health and _temperance_, in the simple meal
Unpoisoned with rich sauces, to provoke
Th’ unwilling appetite to gluttony.
For this the bulbous esculents their roots
With sweetness fill; for this with cooling juice
The green herb spreads its leaves; and opening buds,
And flowers, and seeds, with various flavours.
_Dodsley._