On nature in her grandeur and her power;
Reading the fairer portions of her book,
I may have missed her in her solemn hour,
Searching fresh beauty in each wildling flower,
And melody in every woodland song;
I have not seen her when her features lower,
Or known the terrors that to God belong,
Not viewing, in his might, the terrible, the strong!
Come, let me look into the vast abyss,
See the great rush, the whirlwind and the storms;
Hear the “vast hell” where oceans “howl” and “hiss,”
And fell destruction loveliness deforms.
Where is the horror which so much alarms,
At which alike timid and strong turn back?
I hear no howls. I see no horrid forms;
Nor dream of nations or of nature’s wrack,
I see a mighty, but a lovely cataract.
No terrors sit upon its smiling brow,
There sunshine plays upon the _waters_ clear;
And as it pours its mighty flood below,
Sunshine and glory make their dwelling there:
I wonder and admire, but cannot fear,
All is so lovely and so beautiful.
See! the blessed bow of many tints is here,
A seven-fold bow of promised safety full,
Spanning the glorious whole, each rising fear to lull.
Pour on for ever, thou mighty flood,
Thy stream of goodness thus. For ever flow,
Unchanging emblem of infinitude,
Nor deem thy bounty needs a course more slow,
Unmeasured fountains pour their wealth below,
Where diamond wells in deep concealment lie;
And constant streams that never ebb can know,
For ever flowing, bring their rich supply,
Fed by eternal streams--springs which can never dry.
_W. F. Rock._
WAVES.
Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud
_waves_ be stayed.--Job, xxxviii. 11.
Fear ye not me? saith the Lord: will ye not tremble at my presence,
which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual
decree, that it cannot pass it: and though the _waves_ thereof toss
themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they
not pass over it?--Jeremiah, v. 22.
Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we,
That hear the question of that voice sublime?
O, what are all the notes that ever rung
From war’s vain trumpet, by thy thundering side!
Yea, what is all the riot man can make
In his short life, to thy unceasing roar!
And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him
Who drowned a world, and heaped the waters far
Above its loftiest mountains?--a light _wave_,
That breaks, and whispers of its Maker’s might.
_J. G. C. Brainard._
Thou, Thou alone, with whom, enthroned on high,
Sits co-essential wisdom, bad’st subside
The valleys, and the mountains, from amidst
Th’ o’erwhelming moisture, heave their brow sublime.
The liquid troops, obedient to Thy voice,
Fled to the appointed station. Thou a bound
Hast set, they cannot pass; nor ever spread
Their flowing mantle o’er th’ invested earth:
Thou to the sea sayest,--Hitherto advance,
And here thy proud licentious _waves_ be stayed.
_George Bally._
How oft the ruddy cheek will pale
To leave the earth behind!
How oft the glowing heart will quail
Before the tempest wind!
We fear the billow’s dash, but why?
There’s One to guard and save;
There’s One whose wide and watchful eye
Sleeps not above the _wave_.
_Eliza Cook._
WAY.
Show me thy _ways_, O Lord; teach me thy paths.--Psalm xxv. 4.
Jesus saith I am the _way_, the truth, and the life.--John, xiv. 6.
The _way_ of the wicked is an abomination unto the Lord.--Proverbs, xv.
9.
Thou canst accomplish all things, Lord of might!
And every thought is naked to Thy sight.
But O, Thy _ways_ are wonderful, and lie
Beyond the deepest reach of mortal eye.
_Young._
To me, O Lord, be Thou “The _Way_,”
To me be Thou “The Truth;”
To me, my Saviour, be “The Life,”
Thou Guardian of my youth!
So shall that _Way_ be my delight,
That Truth shall make me free;
That Life shall raise me from the dead,
And then I’ll live to thee.
_Leigh Richmond._
Thou art the _Way_, the Truth, the Life--
And hearts that, with presumption rife,
Would seek through other means to gain
Light, Truth, and Life, but toil in vain:
Thy hand alone controls our _way_,
Thy Truth bids darkness turn to day;
And they Eternal Life have gained
Whose names are written on Thy Hand.
_S. D. Patterson._
Know well, my soul, God’s hand controls
Whate’er thou fearest;
Round Him, in calmest music, rolls
Whate’er thou hearest.
What to thee is shadow, to Him is day,
And the end He knoweth;
And not on a blind and aimless _way_
The Spirit goeth.
_J. G. Whittier._
WEAKNESS.
It is good neither to eat flesh, nor to drink wine, nor anything
whereby thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made
_weak_.--Romans, xiv. 21.
Comfort the feeble-minded, support the _weak_.--I. Thessalonians, v. 14.
What _weaker_ breast,
Since Adam’s armour failed, dares warrant his?
That, made by God of all his creatures best,
Straight made himself the worst of all the rest:
If any strength we have, it is to ill;
But all the good is God’s, both power and will;
The dead man cannot rise, though he himself may kill.
_Giles Fletcher._
Ah! what are we, but lumps of walking clay?
Why should we swell? Whence should our spirits rise?
Are not the beasts as strong, and birds as gay,
Trees longer lived, and creeping things as wise?
Only our souls were left an inward light,
To feel our _weakness_, and confess Thy might.
_Sir H. Wotton._
Still let us, Lord, with grace be blest,
Who in thy guardian mercy rest,
Extend thy mercy’s arms to me,
The _weakest_ soul that trusts in Thee;
And never let me lose thy love,
’Till I, even I, am crowned above.
_Dryden._
Oft have I heard of Thine Almighty power,
But never saw thee till this dreadful hour.
O’erwhelmed with shame, the Lord of life I see,
Abhor myself, and give my soul to Thee.
Nor shall my _weakness_ tempt Thine anger more:
Man was not made to question, but adore.
_Young._
And though sometimes Thou seem’st Thy face to hide,
As one that had withdrawn his love from me,
’Tis that my faith may to the full be tried,
And that I may thereby the better see
How _weak_ I am, when not upheld by Thee!
_Thomas Ellwood._
WEALTH.
Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord, _Wealth_ and riches shall be
in his house.--Psalm cxii. 1, 3.
_Wealth_ gotten by vanity shall be diminished: but he that gathereth by
labour shall increase.--Proverbs, xiii. 11.
Let no man seek his own, but every man another’s _wealth_.--I.
Corinthians, x. 24.
I have no guide those honours to obtain,
Which men might heretofore by virtue gain;
Nor have I wit if _wealth_ were given me,
To think bought place or title honoured me;
I yet have no belief that they are wise,
Who for base ends can basely temporize;
Or that it will at length be all for me,
That I lived poor to keep my spirit free.
* * * * *
I should on God alone so much depend,
That I should need nor _wealth_ nor other friend.
_Wither._
Wide-wasting pest! that rages unconfined,
And crowds with crimes the records of mankind;
For gold, his sword the hireling ruffian draws;
For gold, the hireling judge distorts the laws;
_Wealth_ heaped on _wealth_, nor truth nor safety buys,
The dangers gather as the treasures rise.
_Dr. Johnson._
Glittering stones, and golden things,
_Wealth_ and honours that have wings,
Ever fluttering to be gone,
I could never call my own:
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lose;
But the treasures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line,
When I view my spacious soul,
And survey myself a whole,
And enjoy myself alone,
I’m a kingdom of my own.
_Watts._
WEARINESS.
The people shall _weary_ themselves for very vanity.--Habakkuk, ii. 13.
Consider him that endureth such contradiction of sinners against
himself, lest ye be _wearied_ and faint in your minds.--Hebrews, xii. 3.
Let us not be _weary_ in well doing.--Galatians, vi. 9.
Poor worldling! stay thy vain pursuit of peace
In empty vanities: no good can live
In all the gilded charms that mock thee: cease
Thy hold on these; loose every cord, and hear
The word of God: “Come ye that _weary_ are!
Ye heavy-laden, come, and I will give
You rest.” O, heed that call! in holy fear,
In deep humility, bow down: the star
Of hope shall rise, and joy shall speak thy soul’s release.
_Isaac F. Shepard._
O, I am _weary_ of this sinful life!
_Weary_ of error, and yet erring still,
Knowing, yet doing not Thy holy will,
O, I am _weary_ of this endless strife!
I ask not that Thou take me from the earth,
But keep me from its evils--guide my feet,
And give me strength its many cares to meet--
To act all worthy of my heavenly birth.
_Mary J. Reed._
_Weariness_ will follow those
Who touch upon their journey’s close
But as the sun, though setting, burns
Still brightly, and to glory turns
The very clouds that round him roll;
So, even so, do thou my soul,
With in-born radiance, more and more,
Illume the shades of Sixty-four.
Nay, let a yet diviner power
Glorify thy latter hour:
Too long faithless and forlorn
Earthly image thou hast borne;
Now that heavenly impress seek,
Which, when flesh is frail and weak,
Gives the soul new power to soar
Eagle-winged, at Sixty-four.
_Bernard Barton._
WEEPING.
Thou shalt _weep_ no more.--Isaiah, xxx. 19.
Blessed are ye that _weep_ now: for ye shall laugh.--Luke, vi. 21.
Jesus _wept_.--John, xi. 35.
Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and _weep_ with them that
_weep_.--Romans, xii. 15.
Though woe to joy! And though, at morn thou _weep_,
And though the midnight find thee _weeping_ still,
Good cheer! good cheer! The Shepherd loves his sheep--
Resign thee to the watchful Father’s will.
_Rosegarten._
Oh! glorious miracle of heavenly love!
Oh! wondrous spectacle of saving grace!
Oh! sympathy divine with human woe!
He who had conquered death did condescend
To _weep_ over a grave where others _wept_!
How deep the lesson--and how marvellous
The meaning of such sorrow!
Said it not;
Thy grief offends me not, if it be meek,
Trustful, and humble. I forbid not tears,
When they flow patiently. I would not close
The springs of sympathy. I made ye thus
To cling one to the other, and to feel
Each for his neighbour, both in joy and woe;
Yet teach your sorrow reverence; and believe
That he who smites you is the Lord your God.
_Miss Pardoe._
Thou who hearest plaintive music,
Or sweet songs of other days;
Heaven-revealing organs pealing,
Or clear voices hymning praise,
And would’st _weep_, thou know’st not wherefore,
Though thy soul is steeped in joy;
And the world looks kindly on thee;
And thy bliss hath no alloy--
_Weep_, nor seek for consolation,
Let the heaven-sent droplets flow,
They are hints of mighty secrets;
We are wiser than we know.
_Charles Mackay._
WELL.
Men will praise thee, when thou doest _well_ to thyself.--Psalm xlix.
18.
Say ye to the righteous, that it shall be _well_ with him.--Isaiah,
iii. 10.
If when ye do _well_, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is
acceptable with God.--I. Peter, ii. 20.
Such music!
Before was never made,
But when of old the sons of morning sung
Whilst the Creator great
His constellations set,
And the _well_-balanced world on hinges hung.
_Milton._
To pray, without devotion, is to prate;
And hearing is but half our exercise:
We ought not, therefore, to regard alone
How often, but how _well_, the work be done.
_George Wither._
Circles are prais’d, not that abound
In largeness, but th’ exalted round:
So life we praise that does excel
Not in much time, but acting _well_.
_Waller._
Am I doing _well_ or ill?
Soul, a solemn question this!
Am I seeking to fulfil
God’s most high and holy will,
Bending all mine efforts still
To attain eternal bliss?
Am I doing _well_ or ill?
Ask the world, and it will say--
_Well_, for gold thy coffers fill;
Thou hast learning, thou hast skill,
Thou hast climbed up fortune’s hill,
And helped others on the way.
Am I doing _well_ or ill?
Still recurs the solemn quest;
Worldly wealth, and men’s good will,
Cannot satisfy, nor still
Anxious doubts, and fears that fill
Thee with sadness and unrest.
_Egone._
WIFE.
Whoso findeth a _wife_ findeth a good thing, and obtaineth favour of
the Lord.--Proverbs, xviii. 22.
A prudent _wife_ is from the Lord.--Proverbs, xix. 14.
Seek a good _wife_ of thy God, for she is the best gift of His
Providence;
Yet ask not in bold confidence that which He hath not promised:
Thou knowest not His good will:--be thy prayer then submissive
thereunto.
And leave thy petition to His mercy, assured that He will deal
well with thee.
If thou art to have a _wife_ of thy youth, she is now living on
the earth,
Therefore think of her, and pray for her weal; yea, though thou
hast not seen her.
They that love early become like-minded, and the tempter toucheth
them not:
They grow up leaning on each other, as the olive and the vine.
_Martin F. Tupper._
True _wife_! fond _wife_! let us together lean,
Like trees with intertwining boughs, that so
Brave angry skies, whatever winds may blow:
And, though there interpose a cloudy screen,
Lift up their heads towards the blue serene
From whence the sunbeams, and the rain-drops flow,
By which they gather strength, and taller grow,
And keep their shoots and saplings fresh and green.
True _wife_! fond _wife_! we have together stood,
Through years of trial, each supporting each,
Ever unto the infinite and good,
Thy thoughts than mine have higher, wider reached;
And I have felt how true the wise one’s word;
Thou art indeed a gift, a favour from the Lord!
_Egone._
My _wife_! how fondly shall thy memory
Be shrined within the chamber of my heart!
Thy virtuous worth was only known to me,
And I can feel how hard it is to part.
_C. L. Chester._
WILL--WILLING.
Teach me to do thy _will_; for thou art my God.--Psalm cxliii. 10.
Thy _will_ be done in earth, as it is in heaven.--Matthew, vi. 10.
The world passeth away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the
_will_ of God abideth for ever.--I. John, ii. 17.
“Thy _will_ be done.” And is’t not ever done?
But, as in heaven, it must be made our own.
His _will_ must all our inclinations sway,
Whom nature, and the universe obey.
Happy the man, whose longings are confined
To what has been eternally designed;
Referring all to His paternal care,
To whom more dear than to ourselves we are!
_Waller._
Half mankind maintain a churlish strife
With Him, the Donor of eternal life,
Because the deed, by which His love confirms
The largess He bestows, prescribes the terms.
Compliance with His _will_ your lot ensures,
Accept it only, and the boon is yours.
And sure it is as kind to smile and give,
As with a frown to say, Do this and live.
_Cowper._
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 dost deny,
Assist me to resign.
_Burns._
Lord, I submit. Complete Thy gracious _will_,
For, if Thou slay me, I will trust Thee still.
O, be my _will_ so swallowed up in Thine,
That I may do Thy _will_, in doing mine?
_Hannah More._
Subdued and instructed, I bow to Thy _will_;
My hopes and my longings to Thee I resign;
O give me the heart that can wait and be still,
Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but thine!
_Sir R. Grant._
My God and Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life’s rough way,
O teach me from the heart to say,
“Thy _will_ be done!”
If thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne’er was mine;
I only yield Thee what was Thine;
“Thy _will_ be done!”
Renew my _will_ from day to day,
Blend it with thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
“Thy _will_ be done!”
Then, when on earth, I breathe no more
The prayer, oft mix’d with tears before,
I’ll sing upon a happier shore,
“Thy _will_ be done!”
_Elliott._
“O Father! not my _will_, but Thine be done!”
So spake the Son.
Be this our charm, mellowing earth’s ruder noise
Of griefs and joys--
That we may cling for ever to Thy breast,
In perfect rest!
_Keble._
But now, see where He lies
On the cold ground, exposed to thick, dank air,
And all the fury of the maddening skies!
See how each nerve and vein
Trembles and throbs with torture! how His eyes
Start from their seat with anguish and despair!
What drops of sanguine sweat roll down amain
From His fair limbs! “O Father, O remove,
If possible, this cup, yet not My _will_,
But Thine be done!” O agonizing love!
_James Scott._
Perchance he gives his thousands to the poor--
He well may give what he can use no more.
What _willing_ charity! gives, dares he say?
He gives, but not till Heaven has snatched away.
_Thomas Ward._
He sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,
Alike they’re needful to the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! Thy _will_, not mine be done.
Oh, ne’er _will_ I at life repine,
Enough that Thou hast made it mine.
Where falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! Thy _will_, not mine be done.
_Sarah Flower Adams._
It is a short and simple prayer,
But ’tis the Christian’s stay
Through every varied scene of care,
Until his dying day.
As through the wilderness of life
Calmly he wanders on,
His prayer in every time of strife
Is still “Thy _will_ be done!”
_Mary Anne Brown._
By scale and method works the _Will_ Supreme,
Nor clouds, nor waves, without a limit stream;
And all the floods that daylight never saw,
The rayless tide of ruin, owns a law.
O’er all confusions marring earth and air,
O’er all the shuddering hours of man’s despair,
Still reigns one fixed decree of peace and love,
And still, though dim below, ’tis bright above.
_John Sterling._
Leaning on Him, make with reverent meekness,
His own, thy _will_;
And with strength from Him shall thy utter weakness
Life’s task fulfil;
And that cloud itself, which now before thee
Lies dark in view,
Shall, with beams of light, for the inner glory,
Be stricken through.
_J. G. Whittier._
WIND.
Stormy _wind_ fulfilling His word.--Psalm cxlviii. 8.
The _wind_ goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north, it
whirleth about continually, and the _wind_ returneth again according to
his circuits.--Ecclesiastes, i. 6.
He that createth the _wind_, the Lord, the God of Hosts is His
name.--Amos, iv. 13.
The _wind_ bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound
thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so
is every one that is born of the spirit.--John, iii. 8.
Winds, whence and whither do ye blow?
--Ye must be born again to know.
_J. Montgomery._
God of the chainless _winds_ that wildly wreck,
The moaning forest, and the ancient oak
Rend like a sapling spray,--and sweep the sand
O’er the lost caravan,--that trod with pride
Of tinkling bells, and camel’s arching neck,
The burning desert,--a dense host at morn,
At eve, a bubble, on the trackless waste.
God of the _winds_!--canst Thou not rule the heart,
And gather back its passions, when Thou wilt,
Bidding them, “Peace--be still!”
_Mrs. Sigourney._
We come! we come! and ye feel our might,
And we’re hastening on in our boundless flight,
And over the mountains, and over the deep
Our broad invisible pinions sweep,
Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free!
And ye look on our works, and own ’tis we,
Ye call us the _winds_; but can ye tell
Whither we go, or where we dwell?
Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forest, or fan the flower,
When the harebell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower’s o’erthrown, and the oak is rent,
As we waft the bark o’er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave:
And ye say it is we! but can ye trace
The wandering _winds_ to their secret place?
And whether our breath be loud and high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh,
Our threatenings fill the soul with fear,
Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear,
With music aerial, still ’tis we.
And ye list, and ye look; but what do ye see?
Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note, when our numbers cease?
Our dwelling is in the Almighty’s hand;
We come and we go at His command:
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back:
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away
Or win us in gentlest air to play,
Then lift up your hearts to Him who binds,
Or frees as he will, the obedient _winds_.
_Miss Gould._
Ye viewless minstrels of the sky!
I marvel not on times gone by
That ye were deified:
For even on this later day,
To me oft has your power or play,
Unearthly thoughts supplied.
Ye restless, homeless, shapeless things!
Who mock all our imaginings,
Like spirits in a dream;
What epithet can words supply,
Unto the bard, who takes so high
Unmanageable theme?
But one:--to me, when fancy stirs
My thoughts, ye seem heaven’s messengers,
Who leave no path untrod;
And when, as now, at midnight hour,
I hear your voice in all its power,
It seems the voice of God.
_Bernard Barton._
The _wind_ breathes low, the withering leaf
Scarce whispers from the tree;
So gently flows the parting breath
When good men cease to be.
_W. P. O. Peabody._
WISDOM.
The fear of the Lord that is _wisdom_.--Job, xxviii. 28.
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto
_wisdom_.--Psalm xc. 12.
_Wisdom_ is the principal thing; therefore get _wisdom_.--Proverbs, iv.
7.
How much better is it to get _wisdom_ than gold.--Proverbs, xvi. 16.
If any of you lack _wisdom_, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men
liberally, and upbraideth not: and it shall be given him.--James, i. 5.
The _wise_, I here observe,
Are _wise_ towards God, in whose great service still,
More than in that of kings, themselves they serve.
_Sir W. Davenant._
He that is of reason’s skill bereft,
And wants the staff of _wisdom_ him to stay,
Is like a ship in midst of tempest left,
Withouten helm or pilot her to sway;
Full sad and dreadful is that ship’s event:
So is the man that wants intendiment.
_Spenser._
_Wisdom_, the antidote of sad despair,
Makes sharp afflictions seem not as they are,
Through patient sufferance; and doth apprehend,
Not as they seeming are, but as they end.
_Francis Quarles._
_Wisdom’s_ self
Oft seeks so sweet, retired solitude;
Where, with her best nurse--contemplation--
She plumes her feathers, and lets go her wings,
That in the various bustle of resort
Were all too muffled, and sometimes impaired.
_Milton._
All is best, though we oft doubt
What the unsearchable dispose
Of highest _wisdom_ brings about;
And ever best found in the close.
_Milton._
So teach us, Lord, to count our days,
And eye their constant race,
To measure what we want in time,
By _wisdom_ and by grace.
_Christopher Pitt._
_Wisdom_ smiles when humble mortals weep.
When sorrow wounds the breast, as ploughs the glebe,
And hearts obdurate feel the softening shower,
Her seeds celestial then glad _wisdom_ sows,
Her golden harvest triumphs in the soil.
_Young._
The weak have remedies, the _wise_ have joys:
Superior _wisdom_ is superior bliss.
_Young._
When knowledge, at her Father’s dread command,
Resigned to Israel’s king her golden key,
O, to have joined the frequent auditors
In wonder and delight, that whilom heard
Great Solomon descanting on the brutes;
O, how sublimely glorious to apply
To God’s own honour, and good-will to man,
That _wisdom_ he alone, of man, possessed
In plenitude so rich, and cope so rare.
_Smart._
Knowledge and _wisdom_, far from being one,
Have oft-times no connexion, knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
_Wisdom_ in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which _wisdom_ builds,
Till smooth’d and squared, and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems t’ enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn’d so much,
_Wisdom_ is humble that he knows no more.
_Cowper._
Thus _wisdom’s_ words discover
Thy glory and Thy grace,
Thou everlasting Lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye surveyed us
Ere stars were seen above;
In _wisdom_ Thou hast made us,
And died for us in love.
_Cowper._
When did _wisdom_ covet length of days?
Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise?
No:--_wisdom_ views with an indifferent eye
All finite things, as blessings born to die.
_Hannah More._