Will find Temptation’s arrows hurtless strike
Against the brazen shield of _Temperance_.
For ’tis the inferior appetites enthral
The man, and quench the immortal light within him;
The senses take the soul an easy prey,
And sink the imprison’d spirit into brute.
_H. More._
TEMPLE.
The Lord is in His holy _temple_, the Lord’s throne is in
heaven.--Psalm xi. 4.
One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I
may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold
the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His _temple_.--Psalm xxvii. 4.
And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out
of heaven.
And I saw no _temple_ therein; for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb
are the _temple_ of it.--Revelation, xxi. 2, 22.
Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise!
Exalt thy towering head, and lift thine eyes!
See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons, and daughters yet unborn,
In crowding ranks, on every side arise,
Discarding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gates attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy _temple_ bend.
_Pope._
’Twas thee
The almighty chose among the sons of men,
To dedicate a _temple_ to His name,
Where He whose awful presence fills the vast
Immensity of space, who makes the clouds
His chariot, rides sublime the whirlwind’s wing,
And guides the raging storm, would deign to dwell,
And make His presence known. The exalted task
Thy wisdom worthily performed.
_William Hodson._
The groves were God’s first _temples_. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the root above them,--ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication.
_W. C. Bryant._
O Thou, to whom, in ancient time,
The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung,
Whom kings adored in songs sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue.
Not now, on Zion’s height alone,
The favoured worshipper may dwell,
Nor where, at sultry noon, Thy Son
Sat, weary, by the Patriarch’s well.
From every place below the skies,
The grateful song, the fervent prayer--
The incense of the heart--may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.
In this Thy house, whose doors we now
For social worship first unfold,
To Thee the suppliant throng shall bow,
While circling years on years are roll’d.
To Thee shall age, with snowy hair,
And strength and beauty, bend the knee,
And childhood lisp, with reverend air,
Its praises and its prayers to Thee.
O Thou, to whom in ancient time,
The lyre of prophet bards was strung,
To Thee, at last, in every clime,
Shall _temples_ rise, and praise be sung.
_Pierpont._
And now the assembled Hosts advance, and glow
Into a hymn as they ascend the hill,
In numbers without number, singing so.
“Glad was I when they said to me, we will
Go up into the _Temple_ of the Lord;
Lo, we shall dwell in Salem.”
Thus, until
They reached the sacred gates, did they record
Their raptures in no mortal verse; their strain
Of higher mood they raised and bolder word.
_J. A. Heraud._
In a _temple_ fair to see,
Gracious Lord, we worship Thee:
Meet it is that we should come
Duly to the hallowed dome;
Kneel, and pray, our sins confessing,
Asking--hoping for Thy blessing.
_Egone._
TEMPTATION.
Then was Jesus led up of the spirit into the wilderness to be _tempted_
of the devil.--Matthew, iv. 1.
Lead us not into _temptation_.--Matthew, vi. 13.
Watch and pray, that ye enter not into _temptation_.--Matthew, xxvi. 41.
There hath no _temptation_ taken you but such as is common to man: but
God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be _tempted_ above that ye
are able; but will with the _temptation_ also make a way to escape,
that ye may be able to bear it.--I. Corinthians, x. 13.
Not thou mistrust, but tender love enjoins,
That I should mind thee oft, and mind thou me
Firm we subsist yet possibly to swerve,
Since reason not impossibly may meet
Some specious object by the foe suborned,
And fall into deception unaware,
Not keeping strictest watch as she was warned.
Seek not _temptation_ then; which to avoid
Were better! * * * trial will come unsought.
Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve
First thy obedience: th’ other who can know,
Not seeing thee attempted, who attest?
But if thou think, trial unsought may find
Us both securer that thus warned thou seem’st,
Go, for thy stay not free absents thee more,
Go, in thy native innocence, rely
On what thou hast of virtue, summon all,
For God towards thee hath done his part; do thine.
_Milton._
When gath’ring clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who not in vain,
Experienced every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
If aught should _tempt_ my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom’s narrow way,
To flee the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do,
Still He, who felt _temptation’s_ power
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
_Grant._
And now came on _temptation’s_ demon hour
To crush the Saviour! By the Holy Ghost
Constrained, within a desert’s trackless wild
Alone He wandered, unperceived by eyes
Of mortal; there to fathom time and truth,
Redemption and the vast designs of Love.
* * * * *
Thus forty days of dire _temptation_ leagued
Their might hell-born, with hunger, thirst, and pain.
Meanwhile, in thankless calm the world reposed,
Life went her rounds, and busy hearts maintain’d
Their wonted purpose: still uprose the parent orb,
And all the dewy ravishment of flowers
Enkindled; day and ocean mingled smiles,
And then, meek night with starr’d enchantment rose,
While moonlight wander’d o’er the palmy hills
Of green-hair’d Palestine: and thus unmark’d
By aught portentous, save demonian wiles,
His fasting period in the desert gloom
Messiah braved.
_Robert Montgomery._
The _Tempter_ to my soul hath said,
“There is no help in God for thee:”
Lord, lift thou up thy servant’s head,
My glory, shield, and solace be.
Thus to the Lord I made my cry;
He heard me from his holy hill;
At his command the waves roll’d by;
He beckon’d and the winds were still.
_J. Montgomery._
O trembling, learn
That Peter, too, was chosen by his Lord,
Admonished, and forewarned, and resolute,
And sworn to persevere in righteousness;
Yet in the hour of trial, Peter fell.
Into _temptation_ lead us not, O God!
But with Thy hand deliver us from ill!
_Cockburn._
He who sends _temptation_, giveth
Strength to meet and overcome the foe,
If but to Him we pray,
And in Him put our trust.
_Egone._
THANKFULNESS.
O Lord my God, I will give _thanks_ unto thee for ever.--Psalm xxx. 12.
Enter into his gates with _thanksgiving_, and into his courts with
praise: be _thankful_ unto him, and bless his name.--Psalm c. 4.
In every thing give _thanks_; for this is the will of God in Christ
Jesus concerning you.--I. Thessalonians, v. 18.
A thankful heart hath earned me favour twice,
But he that is ungrateful wants no vice.
_Quarles._
God is much displeased
That you take with _unthankfulness_ His doing;
In common, worldly things, ’tis called ungrateful,
With dull unwillingness to repay a debt
Which with a bounteous hand was kindly lent;
Much more to be thus opposite with Heaven,
For it requires the debt it lent you.
_Shakspere._
When all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I’m lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
Unnumber’d blessings on my head
Thy tender care bestow’d,
Before my infant heart conceived
From whom those blessings flow’d.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily _thanks_ employ;
Nor is the least a grateful heart,
To taste those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I’ll pursue;
And, after death, in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
_Addison._
Break forth into _thanksgiving_,
Ye banded instruments of wind and chords!
Unite, to praise the Ever-living,
Your inarticulate notes with the voice of words,
Nor hushed be service from the lowing mead,
Nor mute the forest hum of noon:
Thou too be heard lone eagle! freed
From snowy peak and cloud, attune
Thy hungry barkings to the hymn
Of joy, that from her utmost walls
The six days work, by flaming Seraphim
Transmits to Heaven! as deep to deep
Shouting through one valley rolls;
All worlds, all nature, mood and measure keep
For praise and ceaseless gratulation poured
Into the ear of God--their Lord.
_Wordsworth._
Is there any smile of prophecy upon the world’s wide face?
Among the striving millions there, say who shall win the race?
’Mid fallen towers, and falling thrones, and glories that decay,
Will any kingdom rise to shine in everlasting day?
One spirit powers His riches o’er all the earth abroad,
And all these changing pictures shew the glory of our God.
But, would you know the meaning and the virtue of the whole,
Descend to yonder vale, where dwells one happy human soul.
There sitting in the sunshine, the grey-haired labourer see,
He smiles upon his grandson there, who plays besides the tree;
Where, when a child, he played himself, and soon its bough shall
wave,
When he rests from all his labours, above his quiet grave!
Oh yes; there is a meaning and a rest for every heart,
Not in gazing on the whole, but in doing well a part;
Where rests in peace and _thankfulness_, one reasonable soul,--
There centres all the happiness, the wisdom of the whole!
_J. Gostick._
THOUGHT.
O Lord, how great are thy works? and thy _thoughts_ are very
deep.--Psalm xcii. 5.
I hate vain _thoughts_; but thy law do I love.--Psalm cxix. 113.
The _thoughts_ of the wicked are an abomination to the Lord.--Proverbs,
xv. 26.
Which of you by taking _thought_ can add one cubit unto his
stature.--Matthew, vi. 27.
My words fly up, my _thoughts_ remain below;
Words without _thoughts_ never to Heaven go.
_Shakspere._
Rise, O my soul, with thy desires to heaven,
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, where time’s eternity is given,
And let vain _thoughts_ no more thy _thoughts_ abuse;
But sown in darkness let them lie;
So live the better, let the worst _thoughts_ die!
_Sir Walter Raleigh._
_Think_ that is just; ’tis not enough to do,
Unless thy very _thoughts_ are upright too.
_Thomas Randolph._
His pure _thoughts_ were borne
Like fumes of sacred incense o’er the clouds,
And wafted thence on angels’ wings, through ways
Of light to the bright Source of all.
_Congreve._
Companion none is like
Unto the mind alone,
For many have been harmed by speech,--
Through _thinking_, few, or none.
Fear oftentimes restraineth words,
But makes not _thoughts_ to cease;
And he speaks best, that hath the skill
When for to hold his peace.
Our wealth leaves us at death,
Our kinsmen at the grave,
But virtues of the mind unto
The heavens with us we have;
Wherefore, for virtue’s sake,
I can be well content,
The sweetest time of all my life
To deem in _thinking_ spent.
_Lord Vaux._
_Thoughts_ uncontrolled and unimpressed, the births
Of pure election, arbitrary range,
Not to the limits of one world confined.
_Young._
O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,
Who flowery fields in endless view survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day;
O yet while Fate delays th’ impending blow,
Be roused to _thought_, anticipate the woe;
Lest, like the lightning’s glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill.
_Beattie._
O reader, had you in your mind,
Such stores as silent _thought_ can bring,
O gentle reader, you would find
A tale in everything.
_Wordsworth._
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain,
Our _thoughts_ are linked by many a hidden chain.
Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise!
Each stamps its image as the other flies!
Each, as the various avenues of sense,
Delight or sorrow to the soul dispense,
Frightens or fades; yet all, with magic art,
Control the latent fibres of the heart.
_Rogers._
God is great and right!
He crowned man’s brow with radiant orbs of light--
Light which inspires all abstracts, and prints
On each twin lens all images and tints.
To contract, brings the world beyond our span,
And makes the farthest star converse with man;
To read His works, God thus illumed the head,
But made man’s breast no window to be read.
Glory to God; though given to King and Pope,
To seal our eyes, our bosoms none can ope;
There still shall freedom one asylum find:
Go to, make creeds and laws to scourge mankind;
Enthral them, hand and foot, and sight and speech,
_Thought_ only, _thought_ is barred beyond your reach;
What racks can bind? or what research unveil
The soul, with flesh encompassed as a mail
Of proof, impervious, save to God alone,
Defies her labours, and resumes her own.
Whether she break communion with the tongue
And bid it mock you with the lie you wrung,
Or scorning such degenerate use of breath,
Escape with truth, and leave you dust and death.
_Nicholas Thorning Moile._
_Think’st_ thou to be concealed, thou little _thought_,
That in the curtained chamber of the soul
Dost wrap thyself so close, and dream to do
A secret work? Look to the hues that roll
O’er the changed brow--the moving lips behold--
Linking thee unto speech--the feet that run
Upon thy errands, and the deeds that stamp
Thy lineage plain before the noon-day sun;
Look to the pen that writes thy history down
In those tremendous books that ne’er unclose
Until the day of doom, and blush to see
How vain thy trust in darkness to repose,
Where all things tend to judgment. So beware,
O, erring human heart! what _thought_ thou lodgest there.
_Mrs. Sigourney._
_Methought_ I heard a reverend old man speak;
Grey were his locks, his eyes were calmly bright,
The rosiness of youth was on his cheek,
And, as he spoke, a heaven of truth and light
Open’d itself upon my inner sight;
While, banish’d by his accents soft and meek,
Dissolve itself in holy harmony.
Then to the old man, doubtfully, I said,
“Yet in the world these evils are not dead!”
But, confidently, thus he gave reply--
“As in my _thoughts_, so in the world they lie.”--
And with these words he rais’d his drooping head.
_J. Gostick._
Free from guile, and free from sin,
May the _thoughts_ my breast within,
Gracious God, Thy favour win!
_Egone._
TIDINGS.
Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord.
He shall not be afraid of evil _tidings_: his heart is fixed, trusting
in the Lord.--Psalm cxii. 1, 7.
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field,
keeping watch over their flock by night.
And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for behold I bring you good
_tidings_ of great joy, which shall be to all people.--Luke, ii. 8, 10.
The _tidings_ which that infant brings,
Are not for conquerors, or for kings:
Not for the sceptre or the brand,
For crowned head, or red right hand.
But to the contrite and the meek,
The sinful, sorrowful, and weak:
Or those who, with a hope sublime,
Are waiting for the Lord’s good time.
Only for those the angels sing,
“All glory to our new-born King,
And peace and good-will unto men,
Hosanna to our God! Amen!”
_Miss Landon._
Sent from the ark, the dove, with timid flight,
Strove through the storms, yet found not where to light;
Pursued by winds o’er restless ocean’s roar,
Back to the flood-tossed crew no leaf she bore:
So through the past man’s tempest-driven mind,
Sent fancy forth some resting-place to find;
O’er bush, tree, hill, she winged her trackless way,
Nor foothold found her weary flight to stay;
Back o’er the sea on terror-haunted air,
She flew, to tell the _tidings_ of despair;
Again she flies for fairer forms to seek,
And lo! the olive borne upon her beak!
Hear her glad news,--she rested on the tomb,
Saw the dawn break, and flit the ancient gloom!
Through night she swept, and heard the gentle fall
Of angel footsteps in its silent hall;
Upborne from earth, in strong and joyous flight,
Fearless she sought the empyrean height,
Gazed on the source whence pours the living ray,
On earth’s time-shadows, God’s eternal day.
_John Brooks Fellon._
TIME.
O Lord, Thou art my God: my _times_ are in Thy hand.--Psalm xxxi. 14,
15.
It is _time_ to seek the Lord.--Hosea, x. 12.
It shall come to pass that at evening _time_ it shall be
light.--Zechariah, xiv. 7.
But this I say, brethren, the _time_ is short.--I. Corinthians, vii. 29.
Behold, now is the accepted _time_: behold, now is the day of
salvation.--II. Corinthians, vi. 2.
And the angel which I saw stand upon the sea and upon the earth, lifted
up his hand to heaven,
And sware by him that liveth for ever and ever, that there should be
_time_ no longer.--Revelation, x. 5, 6.
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown’d,
Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight,
And _time_ that gave, doth now his gift confound.
_Time_ doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
_Shakspere._
Misshapen _time_, copesmate of ugly night;
Swift subtle post, carrier of grisly care;
Eater of youth, false slave to false delight,
Base watch of woes, sin’s pack-horse, virtue’s snare:
Thou nursest all, and murderest all that are.
_Shakspere._
_Time’s_ glory is to calm contending kings,
To unmask falsehood, and bring truth to light;
To stamp the seal of _time_ on aged things,
To wake the morn, and sentinel the night,
To wrong the wronger, till he render right.
_Shakspere._
_Time_ is so swift that none can match his course,--
_Time_ is so strong that none can match his force:
Like to a thiefe _Time_ stealingly doth haste;
No man can call _Time_ backe when _Time_ is past.
* * * * *
_Time_ is as swift as thought--the swift’st-wing’d swallow
Cannot endure the flight of _Time_ to follow:
_Time_ is of the Ubiquitaries’ race,--
_Time_’s here, _Time_’s there, _Time_ is in every place;
_Time_ is divided in a three-fold sum,
_Time_ past, _Time_ present, and the _Time_ to come.
A present _Time_ I presently intreat,
For therein lies the sum of my conceit,
For _Time_ (once past) can never be recall’d.
And therefore _Time_ is figured to be bald.
_Peter Small._
Fly, envious _Time_, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace,
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is our gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb’d,
And last of all thy greedy self consum’d,
Then long eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And joy shall overtake us as a flood,
And perfectly divine,
With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine,
About the supreme throne
Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb,
Then all this earthly grossness quit,
Attir’d with stars, we shall for ever sit
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O _Time_!
_Milton._
Throw years away!
Throw empires, and be blameless. Moments seize
Heavens on their wing: a moment we may wish,
When worlds want wealth to buy.
_Young._
O _Time_! than gold more sacred; more a load
Than lead to fools, and fools reputed wise.
What moment granted man without account?
What years are squandered, wisdom’s debt unpaid!
Our wealth in days all due to that discharge.
_Young._
_Time_ as he passes us, has a dove’s wing,
Unroil’d and swift, and of a silken sound;
But the World’s _Time_, is _Time_ in masquerade!
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged,
With motley plumes; and where the peacock shews
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red
With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades, the emblems of untimely graves.
_Cowper._
“Why sits thou by that ruin’d hall,
Thou aged carle so stern and grey?
Dost thou its former pride recall,
Or ponder how it pass’d away?”
“Know’st thou not me?” the deep voice cried,
“So long enjoyed, so oft misused--
Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
Desired, neglected, and accused?
Before my breath, like smoking flax,
Man and his marvels pass away,
And changing empires wane and wax,
Are founded, flourish, and decay.
Redeem mine hours--the space is brief
While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,
And measureless thy joy or grief,
When _time_ and thou shalt part for ever!”
_Sir Walter Scott._
_Time_ speeds away--away--away:
Another hour--another day--
Another month--another year--
Drop from us like the leaflet sear;
Drop like the life-blood from our hearts;
The rose-bloom from the cheek departs,
The tresses from the temples fall,
The eye grows dim and strange to all.
_Time_ speeds away--away--away,
Like torrent in a stormy day;
He undermines the stately tower,
Uproots the tree, and snaps the flower;
And sweeps from our distracted breast
The friends that loved--the friends that blest;
And leaves us weeping on the shore,
To which they can return no more.
_Time_ speeds away--away--away:
No eagle through the skies of day,
No wind along the hills can flee
So swiftly or so smooth as he.
Like fiery steed--from stage to stage,
He bears us on from youth to age;
Then plunges in the fearful sea
Of fathomless eternity.
_Knox._
_Time_, as he courses onwards, still unrolls
The volume of concealment. In the future,
As in the optician’s glassy cylinder,
The undistinguishable blots and colours
Of the dim past collect and shape themselves,
Upstarting in their own completed image
To scare, or to reward.
_Coleridge._
And who is he, the vast, the awful form,
Girt with the whirlwind, sandalled with the storm?
A western cloud around his limbs is spread,
His crown a rainbow, and a sun his head,
To highest Heaven he lifts his kingly hand,
And treads at once the ocean and the land;
And hark! His voice amid the thunder’s roar,
His dreadful voice--that _time_ shall be no more!
_Bishop Heber._
I ask’d an aged man, a man of cares,
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs;
“_Time_ is the warp of life,” he said, “Oh, tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!”
I ask’d the ancient, venerable dead,
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled;
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flow’d,
“_Time_ sow’d the seed we reap in this abode!”
I ask’d a dying sinner, ere the tide
Of life had left his veins.--“_Time!_” he replied;
“I’ve lost it! ah, the treasure!” and he died.
I ask’d the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years;
They answered, “_Time_ is but a meteor glare,”
And bade us for Eternity prepare.
I ask’d the Seasons, in their annual round,
Which beautify or desolate the ground;
And they replied, (no oracle more wise,)
“’Tis folly’s blank, and wisdom’s highest prize!”
I ask’d a spirit lost, but oh, the shriek
That pierc’d my soul! I shudder while I speak!
It cried, “a particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite!”
Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply--
“_Time_ is the season fair of living well,
The path of glory, or the path of hell!”
I ask’d my Bible, and methinks it said,
“_Time_ is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any living being rose or set!”
I ask’d old Father _Time_ himself at last;
But in a moment he flew swiftly past:--
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
I ask’d a mighty angel, who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land:
“By Heaven,” he cried, “I swear the mystery’s o’er;
_Time_ was,” he cried, “but _Time_ shall be no more!”
_Joshua Marsden._
O _Time_! the fatal wreck of mortal things,
That draws oblivion’s curtains over kings.
Their sumptuous monuments, men know them not,
Their names without a record, are forgot,
Their parts, their ports, their pomp’s all laid i’ the dust,
Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings, ’scape _Time’s_ rust;
But he whose name is ’graved in the white stone,
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone.
_Mrs. Anne Bradstreet._