While darkness veils this mortal eye,
And wait Thy wise, Thy holy will:
Wrapp’d yet in fears and mystery,
I cannot, Lord! Thy purpose see!
Yet all is ruled--since ruled by Thee.
When mounted on Thy clouded car,
Thou send’st Thy darker spirits down,
I can discern Thy light afar,
Thy light sweet beaming through Thy frown;
And should I faint a moment--then
I think of Thee--and smile again,
So, _trusting_ in Thy love, I tread
The narrow path of duty on;
What though some cherished joys are fled!
What though some flattering dreams are gone;
Yet purer, brighter joys remain,
Why should my spirit then complain?
_Bowring._
For now in truth I find
My Father all His promises hath kept;
He comforts those who here in sadness wept.
Eyes to the blind
Thou art, O God! Earth I no longer see,
Yet _trustfully_ my spirit looks to Thee.
_Mrs. Neal._
Oh, yet we _trust_ that, somehow, good
Will be the final goal of all,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy’d,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another’s gain.
Behold! we know not anything;
I can but _trust_ that good shall fall
At last, far off, at last to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream:--but what am I?
An infant crying in the night;
An infant crying for the light;
And with no language but a cry.
_Tennyson._
In patience, then, possess thy soul,
Stand still!--for while the thunders roll,
Thy Saviour sees thee through the gloom,
And will to thy assistance come;
His love and mercy will be shown
To those who _trust_ in Him alone.
_William Allen._
Some in chariots, some in horses,
We in God Jehovah _trust_;
And, while He our sure resource is,
They are fallen in the dust:
Save Jehovah, save and hear us,
King of glory, King of might;
When we call, be ever near us,--
Even for Thy servants fight.
_Tupper._
Oft, alas! we make our boast
In the strength of armed host:
Creatures frail in whom we _trust_,
What are they but ashes--dust?
_Egone_.
TRUTH.
The _truth_ of the Lord endureth for ever.--Psalm cxvii. 2.
Buy the _truth_, and sell it not; also wisdom, and instruction, and
understanding.--Proverbs, xxiii. 23.
Speak ye every man the _truth_ to his neighbour.--Zechariah, viii. 16.
Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the _truth_, and the life: no man
cometh unto the Father, but by me.--John, xiv. 6.
When He, the Spirit of _truth_, is come, He will guide you into all
_truth_.--John, xvi. 13.
It is the Spirit that beareth witness, because the Spirit is
_truth_.--I. John, v. 6.
Dare to be _true_; nothing can need a lie,
A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby.
_Herbert._
_Truth_, in her pure simplicity, wants art
To put a feigned blush on.
_John Ford._
Defend the _truth_; for that who will not die,
A coward is, and gives himself the lie.
_Thomas Randolph._
These furies fell, which turn the world to ruth,
Both Envy, Strife, and Slander, her appear,
In dungeon dark they long enclosed _Truth_,
But time at length did loose his daughter dear,
And sets aloft that sacred lady bright,
Who things long hid reveals and brings to light.
Though Strife wake her, though Envy eat her heart,
The innocent though Slander rend and spoil:
Yet Time will come, and take this lady’s part,
And break her bands and bring her foes to foil.
Despair not then, though _Truth_ be hidden oft,
Because at length, she shall be set aloft.
_Whitney._
God hath how sent His living oracle
Into the world to teach His final will,
And sends His Spirit of _truth_ henceforth to dwell
In pious hearts: and inward oracle
To all _truth_ requisite for men to know.
_Milton._
For error and mistake are infinite,
But _truth_ has but one way to be i’ th’ right:
As numbers may t’ infinity be grown,
But never be reduc’d to less than one.
_Butler._
Marble and recording brass decay,
And like the ’graver’s memory, pass away;
The works of man inherit, as is just,
Their author’s frailty, and return to dust;
But _truth_ divine for ever stands secure,
Its head is guarded, as its base is sure;
Fixed in the rolling flood of endless years,
The pillar of the eternal plan appears;
The raving storm and dashing wave defies,
Built by that Architect who built the skies.
_Cowper._
But what is _Truth_? ’Twas Pilate’s question, put
To _Truth_ itself, that deigned him no reply.
And wherefore? Will not God impart His light
To them that ask it? Freely,--’tis His joy,
His glory, and His nature, to impart.
But to the proud, uncandid, insincere,
Our negligent enquirer, not a spark.
_Cowper._
All _truth_ is precious, if not all divine,
And what dilates the powers must needs refine.
_Cowper._
So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Though one did fling the fire,
Heaven flowed upon the soul in many dreams
Of high desire.
Thus _truth_ was multiplied on _truth_, the world
Like one great garden show’d,
And thro’ the wreaths of floating dark upcurl’d
Rare sunrise flow’d.
_Tennyson._
Dark, dark, yea, irrecoverably dark,
Is the soul’s eye; yet how it strives and battles
Through the impenetrable gloom to fix
That master light, the secret _truth_ of things,
Which is the body of the infinite God.
_Arthur H. Hallam._
Searching the skiey depths all night in vain,
The starry seer hath known this mystery--
That the sky orb, which over half the sky
Hath baulked his chase, and mocked his utmost pain
If (haply while the daylight poured amain
Into the empty concave of the night)
Hath stepped into his glass, as clear to sight
As the one tree that stars a glassy plain,
So is it known that some secretive _Truth_,
Which Thought and Patience strove in vain to find,
Just when Despair and Doubt were swallowing all,
Hath dropped into the heart without a call,
Conspicuous as a Fire, and sweet as Youth,
An everlasting stronghold to the mind.
_Thomas Burbidge._
Not seldom, clad in radiant vest,
Deceitfully goes forth the morn;
Not seldom evening, in the west,
Sinks smilingly forsworn.
The smoothest seas will sometimes prove
To the confiding bark _untrue_;
And if she trust the stars above,
They can be treacherous too.
The umbrageous oak, in pomp outspread,
Full oft, when storms the welkin rend,
Draws lightning down upon the head
It promised to defend.
But Thou art _true_, incarnate Lord!
Who didst vouchsafe for man to die,
Thy smile is sure, Thy plighted word
No change can falsify.
_Wordsworth._
That one half creation is to know
Luxurious joy, and others only woe,
And so go down into the common tomb
With none to question their unequal doom?
Shall we give credit to a thought so fond?
Ah! no--the world beyond--the world beyond!
There shall the desolate heart regain its own!
There the oppressed shall stand before God’s throne!
There, when the tangled web is all explained,
Wrong suffered, pain inflicted, grief disdained,
Man’s proud, mistaken judgments and false scorn
Shall melt, like mists before the uprising morn,
And holy _truth_ stand forth, serenely bright,
In the rich flood of God’s eternal light!
_Mrs. Norton._
It is not in the heart of thought
Nor in the breast of care,
That _truth_ its dwelling-place has sought,
For all is sterile there:
Nor is it in the mind where gay
Delusive visions throng,
That chastening _truth_ can find a way
Its glittering dreams among:
Yet as within the desert far,
There are reflections given
Of light, so in the heart there are
Remembrances of Heaven.
_W. Anderson._
Oh! _truth_ abideth with Him everywhere;
And lovely is her brow, albeit too bright
For earthly eye, she veils her aspect fair,
Lest bold vain men be blasted with its light,
Beneath a diverse visage, now austere,
Now lovely, suited to the gazer’s sight.
He who upon her naked face might bear
To look, would know her heavenly and divine,
And Deity itself in her revere--
Thy soul, oh Man! is her especial shrine;
There find her, thou unto thyself shalt wake,
And to thy God; for heaven is her’s and thine:
Seek her in youth, nor yet in age forsake.
_J. A. Heraud._
Immortal _Truth_! by inspiration taught,
Thou spurn’st the servile chains of human art;
In native majesty arrayed, thou shed’st
Thy radiant beams through all this vale below;
Thy piercing voice resounds through distant climes,
By all distinguished, and by all adored.
_Charles Jenner._
_Truth_ is in each flower
As well as in the solemnest things of God.
_Truth_ is the voice of Nature and of Time--
_Truth_ is the startling monitor within us--
Nought is without it, it comes from the stars,
The golden sun, and every breeze that blows--
_Truth_, it is God! and God is everywhere!
_William Thomson Bacon._
UNITY.
Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together
in _unity_!
It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down upon
the beard, even Aaron’s beard: that went down to the skirts of his
garments.--Psalm cxxxiii. 1, 2.
Endeavouring to keep the _unity_ of the Spirit in the bond of
peace.--Ephesians, iv. 3.
E’en as the ointment whose sweet odours blended,
From Aaron’s head upon his beard descended,
And, falling thence, with rich perfume ran o’er
The holy garb the prophet wore:
So doth the _unity_ that lives with brothers
Share its best blessings and its joy with others.
_Kamphuyzen._
Behold how good it is that brethren dwell
In _unity_ together. Sweet it is,
As the rich unguent that o’er Aaron fell
From head to beard, and even deigned to kiss
His garment skirts. ’Tis precious as the dew
Distilled on Hermon in fine essences.
Yea, it refreshes Zion’s mountains too;
For there the blessing of eternal life,
The Lord our God shall evermore renew.
_J. A. Heraud._
The glorious universe around,
The heavens with all their train,
Sun, moon, and stars are firmly bound
In one mysterious chain.
In one fraternal bond of love,
One fellowship of mind,
The saints below, the saints above,
Their bliss and glory find.
Here, in their house of pilgrimage,
Thy statutes are their song;
There, through one bright eternal age,
Thy praises they prolong!
Lord, may our _union_ form a part
Of that thrice happy whole,
Derive its pulse from Thee, the heart,
Its life from Thee, the soul.
_J. Montgomery._
VALOUR.
Through God we shall do _valiantly_: for He it is that shall tread down
our enemies.--Psalm cviii. 13.
I never saw an angry person _valiant_:
Virtue is never aided by a vice.
_Ben Jonson._
In the good man’s breast,
Justice and piety, with _valour_ reign:
He, though the fabric of the shaken world
Should burst in thundering ruin o’er his head,
Calm and unawed would view the crushing wreck,
Nor shudder at destruction; but to brave
The wrath of Heaven, or rashly to intrude,
Spotted with guilt, into his Maker’s sight;
Or lift for mercy a rebellious hand
Dyed with a brother’s gore, he justly fears;
Yet, in Himself collected, will defy
The taunt of malice, or that groundless right
The weakest, lightest of mankind assume
To brand with infamy his injured name,
And scorn the coward, daring to forgive.
_C. P. Layard._
Who is _valiant_, tell me who?
Is it he who braves all danger,
Foremost ever in the field,
’Mid the clash of sword and shield,
Where there’s bloodiest work to do,
Unto fear a stranger?
Who is _valiant_, tell me who?
He, who where the tempest rages,
’Mid the elemental strife,
Boldly risking limb and life,
With a dauntless heart and true,
In the work engages?
These are _valiant_, but methinks
’Tis a higher, nobler _valour_,
In a cause that just and right,
Bearing scorn, neglect, and slight,
With a soul that never shrinks,
And a cheek that knows no pallor.
_Egone._
VANITY.
Surely God will not hear _vanity_, neither will the Almighty regard
it.--Job, xxxv. 13.
Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth: and mine age is as
nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether
_vanity_.--Psalm xxxix. 5.
Man is like to _vanity_: his days are as a shadow that passeth
away.--Psalm cxliv. 4.
_Vanity_ of _vanities_, saith the Preacher, _vanity_ of _vanities_; all
is _vanity_.--Ecclesiastes, i. 2.
Cast not thy serious wit on idle things,
Make not thy free-will slave to _vanity_.
_Davies._
What well-devised ear regards
What earth can say?
Thy words are gold, but thy regards
Are painted clay:
Thy cunning can but pack the cards,
Thou canst not play:
Thy game at weakest, still thou vy’st:
If seen and then revy’d, deny’st;
Thou art not what thou seem’st false world, thou ly’st.
Thy tinsel bosom seems a mint
Of new coined treasure:
A paradise that hath no stint,
No change, no measure,
A painted cask, but nothing in it,
Nor wealth, nor pleasure,
_Vain_ earth! that falsely thus comply’st
With man; _vain_ man! that thou rely’st
On earth; _vain_ man, thou dot’st, _vain_ earth, thou ly’st.
What mean dull souls, in this high measure
To haberdash
In earth’s bare wares, whose greatest treasure
Is drop and trash?
The height of whose enchanting pleasure
Is but a flash?
Are these the goods that thou supply’st
Us mortals with? Are these the highest?
Can these bring cordial peace! _vain_ world thou ly’st.
_Francis Quarles._
The pride
And wand’ring _vanity_, when least was safe,
Rejected my forewarning.
_Milton._
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,
And we that worship him, ignoble graves.
Nothing is proof against the general curse
Of _vanity_, that seizes all below.
_Cowper._
How wise a short retreat to steal,
The _vanity_ of life to feel,
And from its cares to fly:
To act one calm, domestic scene,
Earth’s bustle and the grave between,
Retire, and learn to die!
_Hannah More._
Lord, let me know mine end,
My days, how brief their date,
That I may timely comprehend
How frail my best estate.
My life is but a span
Mine age is nought with Thee;
Man, in his highest honour, man
Is dust and _vanity_.
_James Montgomery._
Art thou puffed with _vanity_?
Hear the preacher, what saith he?
Be thy state however great,
Lofty though thy station be,
Like a shadow, o’er a meadow
Swiftly that is seen to flee:
Like a morning flower that soon
Withers in the eye of noon;
Like a gleam, upon a stream,
That we but a moment see;--
Such thou art, oh, haughty man,
And thy days are but a span;
And thy works, however strong,
May not have endurance long;
And thy thoughts, however high,
What are they but _vanity_?
_Egone._
VAPOUR.
Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He in heaven, and in earth, in
the seas, and all deep places.
He causeth the _vapours_ to ascend from the ends of the earth.--Psalm
cxxxv. 6, 7.
What is your life? It is even a _vapour_, that appeareth for a little
time, and then vanisheth away.--James, iv. 14.
Great is the Lord, exalted high,
Above all pow’rs and ev’ry throne;
Whate’er He please in earth and sea,
Or heav’n, or hell, His hand hath done.
At His command the _vapours_ rise,
The lightnings flash, the thunders roar;
He pours the rain, He brings the wind
And tempests from His airy store.
_Watts._
Life is a span, a fleeting hour!
How soon the _vapour_ flies!
Man is a tender transient flower,
That e’en in blooming dies.
_Steele._
How gloriously ’neath yon cerulean arch,
The _vapoury_ legions hold their stately march;
Onward they press, with banners all unroll’d,
Like gleaming cohorts, clad in steel and gold;
The space they cover is of vast extent,
And afar off rise tower and battlement,
As of some city bright, with jasper walls,
Enclosing, as we deem, wide stately halls,
And spacious streets, and temples all inlaid
With precious stones, and fit for worship made.
’T is but a dream! behold, comes on the night;
The heavens grow black, and blotted from the sight
Are those fair shapes, and such the airy schemes
Of human pride, all unsubstantial dreams.
_Vapour_ and mist enwrap our senses here,
Only about God’s throne is all serene and clear.
_Egone._
VENGEANCE.
O Lord God, to whom _vengeance_ belongeth; O God, to whom _vengeance_
belongeth, shew Thyself.--Psalm xciv. 1.
Say to them that are of a fearful heart, be strong; fear not:
behold, your God will come with _vengeance_, even God with a
recompense.--Isaiah, xxxv. 4.
Dearly beloved, _avenge_ not yourselves, but rather give place unto
wrath: for it is written, _Vengeance_ is mine; I will repay, saith the
Lord.--Romans, xii. 19.
From Sinai’s top Jehovah gave the law,
Life for obedience, death for every flaw.
When the great Sovereign would His will express,
He gives a perfect rule, what can He less?
And guards it with a sanction as severe
As _vengeance_ can inflict, or sinners fear:
Else His own glorious rights He would disclaim,
And man might safely trifle with His name.
_Cowper._
Speak not of _vengeance_! ’t is the right of God.
“_Vengeance_ is His.” Who shall usurp the bolt
And launch it for Omnipotence? shall man
Assume the right of judgment, or prescribe
How far the line of mercy shall extend,
Or punishment shall stretch its iron rod?
In thine own cause to judge, who gave thee right,
Presumptuous man!
_C. P. Layard._
Some deluded minds,
Harrowed by penal terrors, in the gulf
Of black despair are whelmed. No ray of hope
Dispels the involving gloom; a Deity,
With all the thunder of dread _vengeance_ round Him,
Is ever present to their tortured thoughts.
_Samuel Hayes._
To _vengeance_ horrible aroused,
And clad in tenfold fierceness, shalt thou stand
Beside the atheist’s bed; by his who oft,
With wit profane, and poignant blasphemy,
And specious show of argument, hath scoffed
Each awful truth, and ridiculed his God.
_William Gibson._
VICTORY.
O sing unto the Lord a new song; for he hath done marvellous things:
his right hand, and his holy arm, hath gotten him the _victory_.--Psalm
xcviii. 1.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy _victory_?
Thanks be to God, which giveth us the _victory_, through our Lord Jesus
Christ.--I. Corinthians, xv. 55, 57.
This is the _victory_ that overcometh the world, even our faith.--I.
John, v. 4.
Ye dead! where can your dwelling be?
--The house of all the living;--come and see.
O life! what is thy breath?
--A vapour lost in death.
O death! how ends thy strife?
--In everlasting life.
O grave! where is thy _victory_?
--Ask Him who rose again from me.
_J. Montgomery._
Look, ye saints, the sight is glorious,
See the “Man of Sorrows” now;
From the fight returned _victorious_,
Every knee to Him shall bow!
Crown Him! crown Him!
Crowns become the _victor’s_ brow.
Sinners in derision crown’d Him,
Mocking thus the Saviour’s claim;
Saints and angels crowd around Him,
Own His title, praise His name:
Crown Him! crown Him!
Spread abroad the _victor’s_ fame!
_Kelly._
Millions now before the throne,
Lay their trophied offerings down;
Clad in robes of purity,
Now they sing of _victory_.
Millions more still onward go,
Militant while here below;
Soon the shield and sword shall be
Laid aside for _victory_.
_W. J. Brock._
Beauty;--may that of holiness be mine;
May power be given me to o’ercome the world;
For pleasure, may I have a hand to pour
The oil and wine upon another’s wound!
For honour, may I bear my Saviour’s cross;
For splendour, light that from His follower beams;
And be my glory His approving smile;
My fame, the world’s reproaches for His sake;
My wealth, a conscience where no rust corrodes--
One that may look into a coming world,
As nature shall dissolve, and feel secure;
With these to aid me in the mortal strife,
May I, the palm of _victory_ o’er the grave,
Make my immortal prize!
_Hannah F. Gould._
Waft not to me the blast of fame,
That swells the trump of _victory_;
For to my ear it gives the name
Of slaughter and of misery.
Boast not so much of honour’s sword,
Wave not so high the _victor’s_ plume;
They point me to the bosom gor’d,
They point me to the blood-stained tomb.
The boastful shout, the revel loud,
That strive to drown the voice of pain;
What are they but the fickle crowd,
Rejoicing o’er their brethren slain?
And oh, through glory’s fading blaze,
I see the cottage taper, pale,
Which sheds its faint and feeble rays,
Where unprotected orphans wail.
Where the sad widow weeping stands,
As if her day of hope was done;
Where the wild mother clasps her hands,
And asks the _victor_ for her son.
Where, midst that desolated land,
The sire lamenting o’er his son,
Extends his pale and powerless hand,
And finds its only prop is gone.
See, how the bands of war and woe
Have rifled sweet domestic bliss;
And tell me if your laurels grow,
And flourish in a soil like this.
_Sigourney._
Up to the strife with care,
Be thine an oaken heart,
Life’s daily contest nobly share,
Nor act a craven part;
Give murmurs to the coward throng,
Be thine the joyous notes of song.
If thrown upon the field,
Up to the task once more,
’T is worse than infamy to yield,
’T is childish to deplore;
Look stern misfortune in the eye,
And breast the billow manfully.
Close in with every foe,
As thickly on they come,
They can but lay thy body low,
And send thy spirit home;
Yet may’st thou stand it out and view
What giant energy can do.
Soon shall the combat cease,
The struggle fierce and long,
And thine be true, unbroken peace,
And thine the _victor’s_ song;
Beyond the clouds will wait for thee.
The wreath of immortality.
_(Rev.) E. C. Jones._
Who shall wear the _victor’s_ wreath
In the realms of deathless glory?
Those who reaped the fields of death,
Heroes of an earthly story?
Nay not these, nor such as these,
They have won rewards and prizes,
Shadowy unrealities,
Which the humble saint despises.
He the _victor’s_ wreath shall wear,
Meekly who the cross could bear.
_Egone._
VINE.
Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts: look down from heaven, and
behold and visit this _vine_;
And the _vineyard_ which thy right hand hath planted, and the branch
that thou madest so strong for thyself.--Psalm lxxx. 14, 15.
I am the true _vine_, and my Father is the husbandman.--John, xv. 1.
Thanks to Thy sovereign grace, O God, if I
Am graffed in that true _vine_ a living shoot,
Whose arms embrace the world, and in whose root,
Planted by faith, our life must hidden lie.
But Thou beholdest how I fade and dry!
Choked with a waste of leaf, and void of fruit,
Unless Thy spring perennial shall recruit
My sapless branch, still wanting fresh supply.
O cleanse me, then, and make me to abide
Wholly in Thee, to drink Thy heavenly dew,
And, watered daily with my tears to grow.
Thou art the truth, thy promise is my guide;
Prepare me when Thou comest, Lord, to show
Fruits answering to the stock on which I grow.
_From the Italian of Vittoria Colonna._
Hast Thou not planted with Thy hands
A lovely _vine_ in heathen lands?
Did not Thy pow’r defend it round,
And heav’nly dews enrich the ground?
How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with the fruit!
But now, dear Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning _vine_, that lovely tree.
Why is its beauty thus defac’d?
Why hast Thou laid her fences waste?
Strangers and foes against her join,
And ev’ry beast devours the _vine_.
Return, Almighty God, return:
Nor let Thy bleeding _vineyard_ mourn;
Turn us to Thee, Thy love restore;
We shall be sav’d and sigh no more.
_Watts._
VIOLENCE.
_Violence_ shall no more be heard in thy land, wasting nor destruction
within thy borders.--Isaiah, lx. 18.
Thus saith the Lord, do no wrong, do no _violence_ to the stranger, the
fatherless, nor the widow.--Jeremiah, xxii. 3.
And the soldiers likewise demanded of him, saying, and what shall we
do? And he said unto them, Do _violence_ to no man.--Luke, iii. 14.
All the elements
At least had gone to wreck, disturbed and torn
With _violence_ of this conflict, had not soon
Th’ Eternal hung his golden scales.
_Milton._
Grieved at heart, when looking down He saw
The whole earth filled with _violence_; and all flesh
Corrupting each their way.
_Milton._
The grief of mind is that intestine war
That stirs sedition in the state of man;
Where, when our passions once commanding are,
Our peaceful days are desperate, for then
The stir’s more hot than when it first began;
For heady passion ’s like an untamed beast,
That riots most when we desire it least.
This _violence_ exceeds his virtuous mien,
Like swelling tides that overcome their shore,
Leaving the awful current of their stream,
And break their banks that bounded them before;
Yet grief in his great _violence_ is more;
For if that reason bound not grief with laws,
In our destruction grief will be the cause.
_Christopher Lever._