Heart Utterances at Various Periods of a Chequered Life

Turn from the grave, turn from the grave,

There’s fearful mystery there;

Descend not to the shadowy tomb,

If thou wouldst shun despair.

It tells a tale of severed ties

To break the bleeding heart,

And from the “canopy of dust”

Would make it death to part.

Oh! lift the eye of faith to worlds

Where death shall never come,

And there behold “the pure in heart”

Whom God has gathered home,

Beyond the changing things of time,

Beyond the reach of care.

How sweet to view the ransomed ones

In dazzling glory there!

They seem to whisper to the loved

Who smoothed their path below,

“Weep not for us, our tears have all

Forever ceased to flow.”

Take from the grave, take from the grave,

Those bright, but withering; flowers,

The spirit that had loved them once

Is now in fadeless bowers;

Undying is the fragrance there,

Eternal is the bloom;

But the next breeze may waft away

This perishing perfume.

One fearful stamp, “Doomed to decay,”

Marks all the joys of earth;

Oh! what a resting-place for souls

Of an immortal birth!

Then linger round the grave no more,

Lift, lift the eye to Heaven,

Till hues of faith shall gild the gloom,

And every sigh’s forgiven.

Then, when the golden harvest’s done,

The path of duty trod,

Thou with the loved may’st garnered be,

And gathered home to God.

Hush, hush! my thoughts are resting on a changeless world of bliss;

Oh! come not with the voice of mirth to lure them back to this.

’Tis true, we’ve much of sadness in our weary sojourn here,

That fades, and leaves no deeper trace than childhood’s reckless tear;

But there are woes which scathe the heart till all its bloom is o’er,

A deadly blight we feel but once, that once for evermore.

Oh, then, ’tis sweet on fancy’s wing to cleave that bright domain!

The loved and the redeemed are there, why lure me back again?

The cadences of gladness to your hearts may yet be dear;

They have no melody for mine, all, all is desert here.

The sunshine still is bright to you, the moonlight and the flowers;

To me they tell a harrowing tale of dear departed hours.

I would not cull Hope’s blossoms now, they seem of deadly bloom;

And can I love the sunshine, when it smiles upon the tomb?

When on one little hallowed spot its joyous beams are thrown,

That sacred turf—the all of earth—I now may call my own.

For there my joys are sepulchred, my hopes are buried there;

Yet with that holy earth are linked high thoughts that mock despair;

Unfaltering faith, that whispers of a purer world than this,

Where spirits that are parted here may “mingle into bliss;”

“Deep trust” that all our sinless hopes, which death forbids to bloom,

Shall ripen ’neath the cloudless sky that dawns beyond the tomb;

Conviction firm that things of time were never yet designed

To quench the vast and deathless thirst of an immortal mind.

Then hush! my thoughts are resting on a changeless world of bliss;

There is no voice of gladness now can lure them back to this.

I look to Thee, Redeemer! Oh! be every crime forgiven,

And take the weary captive to Thy paradise in Heaven;

Or teach my heart resignedly to say, “Thy will be done,”

And calmly wait thy summons home, thou just and holy One!

Thou mayst have spoiled my cherished schemes, to let my spirit see

That happiness is only found, great God, in serving Thee.

’Tis not when we look on the dreamless dead,

And feel that the spirit forever has fled;

’Tis not when we’re called to the voiceless tomb

By the loved who were culled in their brightest bloom;

’Tis not when the grave’s last rite is o’er,

And we know they are gone to return no more;

But, oh! ’tis when Time with oblivious wing

A balm to all other hearts may bring;

When the dark, dark hours of grief are o’er,

And we join the world we can love no more,—

That world whose grief for the absent one

Passed like a cloud from an April sun;

When, amid the mirth that salutes the ear,

One tone is gone we had used to hear,

One form is missed in that happy train,

That will never exult in its sports again;

We feel that death has indeed passed o’er,

And a blank is left, to be filled no more.

But though the world and its witching smile,

That cheats the heart of its woes awhile,

Would prove in its time of deepest need

But the frail support of a broken reed,

Religion’s beam has the magic power

To chase the cloud from its darkest hour,

To turn the soul from its idols here,

And fix its hopes on a purer sphere;

Then land it safe in a port of rest,

The haven sure of a Saviour’s breast.

My father! Oh! I cannot dwell

On hours when we shall meet again;

I only feel, I only know

That all my prayers for thee were vain.

“Come, brother, take a last farewell;

Soon, soon they’ll bear him far away.”—

“No, sister, no,—he is not there,

I parted with him yesterday.

“Our father is in Heaven now,

Forever free from care and pain;

And, if a half-formed wish could bring

His sainted spirit back again,

“The selfish wish I would not breathe;

’Twould cloud with woe that placid brow,

Round which a seraph seems to wreathe

A crown of glory even now.

“How deep the gloom that mantled there!

How sweetly, too, ’twas all withdrawn!

Thus, ever thus, night’s darkest hour

Precedes the day’s triumphant dawn.

“Oh! while he lingered, struggling still

With pain and anguish and despair,

The sting of death was felt indeed,

And then I wearied Heaven with prayer.

“But when the unfettered spirit fled

From earth and earthly cares away,

I joyed to think how blest would be

Its entrance on eternal day.

“I joyed to think that never more

That tranquil breast would throb with pain;

Hope pencilled, too, the sheltering port

Where parted spirits meet again.

“Oh! I would drain the bitter cup

To him in boundless mercy given,

A glorious Sabbath-day to win

Of never-ending rest in Heaven.

“Come, sister, let us follow him,

Though rugged was the path he trod;

’Twill lead us to the ‘saints in light,’

’Twill lead us to our father’s God.”

Fare thee well, fare thee well, for thy journey is o’er,

And the place that has known thee, shall know thee no more;

The eye that has seen thee, shall seek thee in vain,

And thy kindness will soothe us, oh, never again!

Yet we cannot forget thee, for, shrined in the heart,

Is the memory of virtues that will not depart,—

Generosity, candor, integrity, worth,

An assemblage of all that is lovely on earth.

Thou wert guardian, guide, and instructor to me,

And I lose, with thy children, a father in thee.

Thy children, alas! they are orphans indeed.

Who now shall direct them in seasons of need?

The smile that has blest them will bless them no more,

And approval and counsel forever are o’er.

But the angel of mercy recorded thy prayers,

And in gloom and in sunshine thy God will be theirs.

Oh! the world looks glad, for the spring has smiled,

And the birds are come with their “wood-notes wild,”

And the waters leap with a joyous sound,

Like freedom’s voice when a chain’s unbound.

And soon with its bloom will the earth be gay,

For the air is bland as the breath of May;

Sunshine and buds and all glorious things

Will give to the hours their downiest wings.

Nature has burst from her wintry tomb,

Wreathed with the glory of brightening bloom;

Fetters of frost-work are gently unbound,

Blossoms and flowers are clustering round.

Bosoms that know not the blighting of care,

Sunshine and gladness may smilingly wear;

But for the broken and desolate heart

Springtime, alas! has no balm to impart.

Tones that are hushed it awakens no more;

“Friends that are gone” it can never restore;

Yet e’en to the mourner one hope it may bring,

’Tis the type of Eternity’s glorious spring.

Oh, for a home of rest!

Time lags alone so slow, so wearily;

Couldst thou but smile on me, I should be blest.

Alas, alas! that never more may be.

Oh, for the sky-lark’s wing to soar to thee!

This earth I would forsake

For starry realms whose sky’s forever fair;

There, tears are shed not, hearts will cease to ache,

And sorrow’s plaintive voice shall never break

The heavenly stillness that is reigning there.

Life’s every charm has fled,

The world is all a wilderness to me;

“For thou art numbered with the silent dead.”

Oh, how my heart o’er this dark thought has bled!

How I have longed for wings to follow thee!

In visions of the night

With angel smile thou beckon’st me away,

Pointing to worlds where hope is free from blight;

And then a cloud comes o’er that brow of light,

Seeming to chide me for my long delay.

To the heart of trusting childhood life is all a gilded way,

Wherein a beam of sunny bliss forever seems to play;

It roams about delightedly through pleasure’s roseate bower,

And gaily makes a playmate, too, of every bird and flower;

Holds with the rushing of the winds companionship awhile,

And, on the tempest’s darkest brow, discerns a brightening smile,

Converses with the babbling waves, as on their way they wend,

And sees, in everything it meets, the features of a friend.

“To-day” is full of rosy joy, “to-morrow” is not here:

When, for an uncreated hour, was childhood known to fear?

Not until hopes, warm hopes, its heart a treasure-house have made,

Like summer flowers to bloom awhile, like them, alas, to fade;

Cherished too fondly and too long, for ah! the rich parterre,

Crushed in its brightest blossoming, leaves but a desert there.

This is life’s second stage; the gloss of springtime has passed o’er,

The trusting bosom is deceived, but still it trusts the more;

Its young affections are bound up within a mother’s love,

And oh! if blessings ever yet descended from above

And rested on an earthly tie to mark approval given,

A mother’s love, assuredly, is sanctioned thus by Heaven.

But soon the ruthless spoiler comes, and all its trust is vain:

The eye that beamed so kindly once, will ne’er unclose again;

The voice of love that still could soothe when all its hopes were o’er,

Alas! those sweetly sacred tones are hushed forever-more;

The smile that lingered round its path when other lights had fled,

Oh! can it be that blessed smile is buried with the dead?

Then what is left the orphan heart thus mournfully bereft?

To call its crushed affections home and count the treasures left,

With trembling fear to count them o’er, and bitterly to sigh,

Remembering they are earthly too,—they, too, alas, must die.

Perchance of its remaining joys, its fondly garnered things,

One may be dearer than the rest—to that it fondly clings;

And, resting thus confidingly, it half forgets the woe

Which changed the orphan’s joyous tones to cadence sad and low.

And can the stern destroyer find naught else to call his own

That he has stamped his fearful mark upon this chosen one?

It boots not to inquire the cause, the why it must be so;

“It is his victim,” this alone is pain enough to know.

What’s left thee now, poor orphan heart, that entered life so gay,

And fondly dreamed ’twould all have proved a bright and cloudless way?

Where are the joys that wreathed thee round in childhood’s reckless hours?

’Twas thine to watch them droop and fall, like pale, decaying flowers.

Where is thy home of love? Ah! well, that thought may cloud thy brow—

The dear loved home that sheltered thee is claimed by strangers now;

And does that echoing hall repeat no well-remembered tone?

The stranger’s voice, the stranger’s step have there familiar grown.

And where the joyous faces now that circled round the hearth?

Gone. Are all gone? Then changed indeed, fearfully changed, is earth!

Alas! poor desolated heart, what more remains for thee?

(A sad and solitary wreck on life’s tempestuous sea)—

What but to feel, destroying Time, indeed, has roughly past

And blighted fairest dreams of bliss, oh! too, too fair to last;

What but to muse on perished joys to which sad memory clings,

While pleasure’s wrecked and ruined hopes, a mournful band, she brings,

Death’s trophies, which proclaim his shaft at treasured bliss he threw,

And oh! which mournfully disclose his fearful victory too.

Yes, this is life! but life it is without that heavenly ray

Which ever throws its purest light upon the stormiest way;

Which sweetly gilds the darkest sky and comes like angel voice,

(E’en ’mid the wreck of dearest hopes), to bid the heart rejoice;

Which flings a smile on sorrow’s brow, and sunshine on the tomb,

And scatters o’er the bed of death bright buds of deathless bloom.

’Tis true the parting hour will come, “the loved” it cannot save;

But it can teach us with a smile to yield them to the grave;

To watch with chastened sober bliss the spirit’s calm release,

Trusting, though life have storms for us, all with the dead is peace.

And even while the bosom aches, aches to its inmost core,

This heavenly beam can bid it joy that earthly ties are o’er.

For oh! our covenant Lord, who ne’er his sacred promise breaks,

Has sweetly said, when all the world, the changing world, forsakes,

He will be all the world to us; then freely may the heart

Resign the fondly coffered bliss that clogs the immortal part,

(In holy trust ’twill all be ours when earth has passed away,)

And calmly wait the unclouded dawn of an eternal day,

Conscious while God is near, earth’s best and purest joy is given,

For ’tis His holy presence makes the perfect bliss of Heaven.

Shepherd of Israel! o’er Thy fold

How sweet Thy guardian care,

To them invisible indeed,

Yet present everywhere.

Thy crook still points to “pastures green,”

When rugged paths they see,

Beside “still waters” bids them rest,

And cast their care on Thee.

The “stranger’s voice” thou, Lord, canst teach

Their watchful ears to know,

And make their “peace,” their heavenly peace,

Like boundless waters flow.

When round this thorny world we stray

And find no place of rest,

Then come like “doves unto the ark,”

Faint, wearied, and oppressed,

Thy gentle hand is soon put forth

Each wanderer to receive;

Thou bindest up the broken heart,

And bidd’st the sinner live.

Why should we fear the storms of time?

Thy word their force can stay;

Enough, be still! the high behest,

Which winds and waves obey.

“Thy will be done” can calm the soul

By fearful tempests driven,

The holiest anthem sung on earth,

The highest heard in Heaven.

Oh, the brow that has never been shaded by care

The rosewreath of pleasure may smilingly wear,

And the heart that is wholly a stranger to gloom,

’Mid the din of existence may fearlessly bloom;

But the one that is blighted by sadness and pain,

And blighted too rudely to blossom again,

When its hold on a reed-like support is resigned.

Nor peace, nor composure, nor solace can find,

Nor strength to submit to the chastening rod,

Save only in stillness—alone with its God!

And oh! if a blissful communion with Heaven

To earth-wearied spirits has ever been given,

If the loved and the distant, the lost and the dead,

Who smiled on our pathway a moment, and fled,

Who darkened our sunshine and saddened our mirth,

To prove that the soul has no home upon earth,

Are sent in the night-time of gloom and distress,

As heralds of mercy to comfort and bless,

To place, while the tempest is fearfully loud,

The bright bow of peace on the dark thundercloud,

To whisper of purer and holier ties,

Of a land where the blossom of joy never dies—

Such tidings to welcome, oh! where shall we flee,

If not, dearest Woodburn, to silence and thee?

For ah! did the angel of peace over roam,

On an errand of love, from her own hallowed home,

To gladden a sin-blighted world for awhile,

Make the desert rejoice and the wilderness smile,

She has certainly paused in her holy career,

And closed up her pinions delightfully here.

Dear to me are thy shades, when no sound may be heard

Save the soul-soothing strains of thy harmonist bird,

For they seem on the soft wing of quiet to come,

Like celestial melodies luring us home,

Faint breathings from Heaven, to bid us prepare

For peals of ethereal minstrelsy there.

But oh! when day rests on the portals of eve,

As though loath the bright scene of enchantment to leave,

While its drapery of gold, hurried carelessly on,

Fades away, tint by tint, till at last all are gone,

I feel ’tis an emblem of life’s little hour,

(Thus perish the hues of hope’s loveliest flower),

And I sigh for repose on that heavenly shore

Where the day is eternal, and change is no more.

They have left their homes and kindred, they are in the strangers’ land,

The voice of God revealed his will; His will was their command.

They crossed the pathless main, nor feared the sadly treacherous wave,

For is not He in whom they trust omnipotent to save?

But did no dark forebodings come? Was all at peace within?

Did prompt obedience’ sure reward e’en with the toil begin?

Ah no! for nature’s fond appeal would in that hour be heard;

Maternity’s deep spring of love within the heart was stirred.

Perhaps some little cherub form, that it was joy to see,

Would climb no more, with sunny smile, its happy parent’s knee;

Perhaps some gentle household voice, that sighed “farewell” with pain,

Might never welcome their return to that loved home again;

Then came the thought of glistening eyes, which long had done with tears,

Eyes that had kept an anxious watch o’er childhood’s reckless years;

While mem’ry dwelt upon that last and earnest gaze of love,

Which shows the heart withholds its seal from what the lips approve.

They feared those silvery locks, that told ’twas almost “close of day,”

Would to the grave go down, and they, their children, far away!

A moment nature shrank—the thought was too, too full of pain—

But ah! their Master’s strength was made in weakness perfect then;

The voice that lulls the billowy deep soon bade the storm be still,

Bade them rejoice that they were called to do his perfect will;

To execute with fearless trust the holy high command,—

“Go, and glad gospel tidings spread, over a distant land,

And beams of heavenly peace around your guarded path shall play,

Peace that the world can never give, nor ever take away.”

But has the fearful sacrifice at last been made in vain?

And shall no trace within our hearts, no deathless trace remain?

Bright record, that with us awhile their dwelling place has been,

Preparing temples for their Lord’s high service to begin.

Oh yes, I trust, a fount of light and life they have unsealed

To many a thirsting, fainting soul, a Saviour’s love revealed;

Have taught “that in his service there is perfect freedom” still,

That ’tis the highest bliss of Heaven to do his sovereign will,

And if a humble suppliant may bow before Thy throne,

My Father! and a blessing ask on hearts to her unknown,

Oh! grant for them “the lines may fall in pleasant places” here,

“Beside still waters” bid them rest, and feel that Thou art near.

Thou hast Thyself declared, that great their recompense shall be,

Who have “forsaken all” to love and follow only Thee;

And they have left the “near and dear,” the parent, child, and friend;

Then in Thy holy name may all these sweet affections blend!

And should the world desert them, Lord, oh, be the world to them,

The song of their rejoicing here, in Heaven the crowning gem;

Thy sacred guidance grant, I pray, o’er life’s tempestuous sea,

Awhile a gentle course, and then,—a sheltering port in Thee.

When darkness over Egypt reigned,

A darkness to be felt,

Light sweetly shone round Goshen still,

The tents where Israel dwelt.

Awestruck, the Egyptians silent lay,

They rose not from their place;

God’s finger had been o’er their land,

And left a fearful trace.

The very idols which they served

A gloom around them threw,

The stream they worshipped turned to blood,

The sun his light withdrew.

But Pharaoh’s heart was hardened still,

He let not Israel go

Until Jehovah, King of kings,

Struck the last fearful blow.

The first-born on the kingly throne,

The first-born in the hall,—

God sent his awful mandate forth,

And death passed over all.

No house remained in this proud land

Which mourned not for its dead,

And every street was filled with gloom,

And every heart with dread.

At midnight was the message sent—

It was an awful hour,

Proclaiming man’s impotency

And God’s eternal power.

The mighty monarch, struck with awe,

Dismissed the people then;

Contending with Omnipotence

He felt indeed was vain.

And how were Israel employed

When light around them shone?

They then prepared the paschal lamb,

And stood with sandals on;

Staves in their hands, loins girded too,

They waited the command

To throw their loosened shackles off,

And seek the promised land.

But first they ate the passover,

And freely sprinkled round

The blood of an unblemished lamb,

In whom no spot was found.

And the destroying angel passed

Harmless o’er every door

Whose side-posts and whose lintels, too,

Faith’s striking symbol bore.

Now let us pause and ask our hearts

If we have aught to learn,

If very many teaching things

We cannot here discern?

Is there not “darkness to be felt”

In Egypt at this hour?

And does she not refuse to bow

Before Jehovah’s power?

And oh! when God’s own Israel

Would break the oppressor’s chain,

Does she approach His sacred throne

And supplicate in vain?

Ah, no! upon the captive still

Is poured a flood of light,

While he prepares for better worlds

To take his joyous flight.

His bonds are burst, he only waits

The omnipotent command

To journey forth,—his armor’s on,

His staff within his hand.

Not settled down in carnal ease,

This world is not his home,

A pilgrim and a stranger here,

He seeks for one to come.

Christ is his holy passover,

He has a part in Him;

For he applies his blood, in faith,

To purify from sin.

But oh! with very bitter herbs

It must be eaten still;

Suffering is yet the lot of those

Who do their Master’s will.

And let the Christian not forget,

Israel was bid to stay

Within the shelter of the tent

Until the opening day.

And God is now his people’s tent,

In Him may we abide;

Then though the faith will oft be proved,

The patience oft be tried,

An hour of sweet release will come,

And all the pilgrim band,

By flame and cloud alternate led,

Attain the promised land;

And wearing there the crown of joy,

And carrying, too, the palm,

Eternally ascribe the praise

To God and to the Lamb.

The last look is taken, the last word is said—

Haste away o’er the waves, then, glad tidings to spread;

Thy Master has called thee, no longer delay,

His work it is glorious, haste, haste thee away.

Come, set the sails, mariner, now we’re off shore,

Then weep for the loved ones thou leavest no more;

He is faithful who promised, thou heard’st Him declare

That all thou intrusts to his fatherly care

He will keep in the sheltering fold of his love,

Where nothing shall harm them and nothing shall move.

He will suffer no plague nigh thy dwelling to come,

And His angels shall guard thee wherever thou roam;

No weapon shall prosper that’s formed against thee,

For the truth thou hast loved, shield and buckler shall be.

This the heritage is of the child of the Lord,

Of him who confides in his covenant word,

And freely forsakes, when his Saviour commands,

His brethren, and sisters, and children, and lands.

Though the ocean may roar, and earth shake with the swell,

His home is in Jesus, and all will be well;

Though the mountains depart, and the hills may remove,

He quietly rests ’neath the wing of His love.

He knows that the work of the righteous is peace,

That the blessed effect thereof never shall cease;

A gracious assurance of quietude here,

And bliss without end in a holier sphere.

So, Christian, God speed thee, and should the storm lower,

Cast firmly thine anchor, and trust in His power.

His voice than the billows is mightier far,

And His mercy is o’er thee a safe guiding star.

But oh! when the clouds have all vanished away,

And life smiles around thee, a bright summer’s day,

When the breeze wafts thee onward, and no rocks appear,

Then, Christian, thine hour of peril is near;

The world may frown on thee, but oh! should it smile,

Come apart to the desert, and rest thee awhile.

Ah! be not sad, though adverse winds may blow,

Thy patience and thy fortitude to prove;

Thy Saviour wears no frown upon his brow,—

“’Tis but the graver countenance of love.”

Though clouds and darkness round about him roll,

In righteousness and truth He sits enthroned;

And precious in His sight the immortal soul,

For whose deep stain of guilt His love atoned.

He makes our dearest earthly comforts flee,

Or, e’en when clustering round us, bids them pall,

That thus the “altogether lovely,”—He,—

“Chief of ten thousand,” may be all in all.

And hast thou not some blissful moments known,

Even while bowed beneath the chast’ning rod,

When to thy humble spirit it was shown

That glorious is the “City of thy God?”

Hast thou not seen the King in beauty there,

And has He not assured thy fainting heart,

That from His reconciled, His child and heir,

The covenant of His peace would ne’er depart?

Has He not fully satisfied thy soul

With the pure river of His joy and love,

Subdued each murmuring thought to his control,

And stayed thy mind on changeless things above?

When He, thou callest “Abba, Father,” placed

The earnest of adoption in thine heart,

Thou wast engraven, ne’er to be effaced,* * John 10:28.

Upon His holy hands, and His thou art.

Then doubt no more, for the omniscient God,

All whose mysterious ways are just and true,

In life will comfort with his staff and rod,

Be near in death, and guide thee safely through.

And when the race is run, the victory given,

How sweet with the redeemed to bear the palm,

Ten thousand times ten thousand saints in Heaven,

Who hymn eternal praises to the Lamb!

Fare thee well, we’ve no wish to detain thee,

For the loved ones are bidding thee come,

And, we know, a bright welcome awaits thee

In the smiles and the sunshine of home,

Thou art safe on the crest of the billow,

And safe in the depths of the sea;

For the God we have worshipped together

Is Almighty, and careth for thee.

And when, in the home of thy fathers,

Thy fervent petition shall rise

For the loved who are circling around thee,

The joy and delight of thine eyes,

Oh, then, for the weak and the faltering,

Should a prayer, as sweet incense, ascend

To the God we have worshipped together,

Remember thy far-distant friend.

We miss the calm light of thy spirit,

We miss thy encouraging smile;

But we bless the unslumbering Shepherd

Who sent thee to cheer us awhile.

The light, which burned brightly among us,

We rejoiced for a season to see,

For the God we have worshipped together

Gave a halo of glory to thee.

But didst thou not point to another,

A brighter, an unsetting sun?

For thou preached not thyself to us, brother,

But Jesus, the Crucified One.

May He be thy rock and thy refuge,

In Him thy “strong confidence” be;

For the God we have worshipped together

Still loveth and careth for thee.

Oh! mayst thou abide ’neath the shadow

Of Immanuel’s sheltering wing,

And continue proclaiming the goodness

Of Zion’s all-glorious King,

Till the sun shall be turned into darkness,

The moon in obscurity be;

And the God we have worshipped together,

Be a “light everlasting” to thee.

The God of glory thundereth! who hath not heard His voice,

Bidding the sinner tremble, and the pure in heart rejoice?

Yes, yes, the sinner trembleth, for the Judge is on His throne,

Rendering to all a recompense for the deeds which they have done,

For the mercies they have slighted, and the time they have destroyed,

For the idols they have worshipped, and the talents misemployed.

But the pure in heart rejoiceth, because for him doth blend,

In the Judge of all the universe, a Saviour and a Friend;

He looketh up confidingly, with unpresumptuous eye,

And smiling says, “My Father, on Thy mercy I rely!”

The God of glory thundereth! How awful is His voice,

Bidding the sinner tremble, and the pure in heart rejoice?

Yes, yes, the sinner trembleth, for his robes are still defiled,

To the God of love and purity he is not reconciled;

Yet He is seated on His throne in fearful, dread array,

Before whose face both heaven and earth shall swiftly flee away.

But the pure in heart rejoiceth, for his robes are free from stain,

And not one dark, defiling spot shall cleave to them again;

Made white beneath the fountain which flowed from Jesus’ side,

So as “no fuller on the earth could whiten them” beside.

The God of glory thundereth! still louder is His voice,

Bidding the sinner tremble, and the pure in heart rejoice.

Yes, yes, the sinner trembleth, for his day of grace is o’er,

The Bridegroom hath arisen, and closed is mercy’s door;

That grace he long resisted, how did it plead in vain!

And now its sweet persuasive strains will ne’er be heard again.

But the pure in heart rejoiceth, his lamp is burning bright,

And welcome is the cry to him, though heard at dead of night,

“Behold, the Bridegroom cometh!” Oh, what joy to enter in

Where the nations that are saved, their Sabbath shall begin.

The God of glory thundereth! yet louder is His voice,

Bidding the sinner tremble, and the pure in heart rejoice.

Well may the sinner tremble, and quake with fear and dread,

For the last trump is sounding and the sea gives up her dead.

The Books, the Books are opened! awestruck his eyes behold

That in the unfolded Book of Life his name is not enrolled.

But the pure in heart rejoiceth, he hath heard a welcome home;

With songs of joy and gladness unto Zion he is come;

“Well done, thou faithful servant! to thee it shall be given

To see thy Saviour as He is, and reign with Him in Heaven.”

But the great men and the captains and the chief men, where are they?

And the sellers of the souls of men upon this fearful day?

They are calling on the mountains and on the rocks to fall,

And hide them from the wrath of Him who died to save them all.

They have met, they have met! now their pinions unfurl

In that city whose pavement is gold,

Whose every gate is of one liquid pearl,

And her beauty and glory untold;

That city, which needeth no light from the sun,

Where the moon sheds her lustre no more,

But where, in the smile of the Crucified One,

Countless myriads bow down and adore.

One by one are the loved ones all gathering there,

In white robes they encircle the throne;

Oh! what bliss to unite where sin cannot blight,

And where parting and death are unknown.

They are come to Mount Zion, the city of God;

They are joined to the glorified throng;

One pathway of sorrow by all has been trod,

All sing one harmonious song.

Omnipotent Lord, just and true are Thy ways!

Thy works great and marvellous are!

Oh! who shall not fear Thee and echo Thy praise,

And Thy glory and honor declare.

Ye have met, ye have met, disencumbered of pain,

Of sorrow, and sickness, and care;

And the slave and the prisoner, now freed from their chain,

Have rejoicingly welcomed you there.

The true light now shines and the darkness is past,

For that which is perfect is come,

And your pure loving spirits are gathered at last,

In their only congenial home.

May the balm of your memory steal through the soul,

Like a gale from Arabia the blest,

Exert o’er the feelings a sacred control,

And hush every murmur to rest!

In the world we shall seek your resemblance in vain,

Your places shall know you no more;

Yet who by a wish would recall you again?

For the days of your mourning are o’er.

The King in His beauty your eyes now behold,

He has sweetly dispelled all your fears;

To the well-spring of waters the Lamb leads His fold,

And God wipes away all their tears.

Great grace was upon you, and oh! unto us

May a manifold portion be given,

That through pardoning love we may mingle above.

A circle unbroken in Heaven!

“The accuser of the brethren!”

How fitting is the name!

Since the creation of the world

His business is the same;

Bringing false accusations,

Sowing the seeds of strife,

Watching the halting of the saints,

And striking at the life.

If with the aspersed one he should fail,

The asperser’s sure to fall;

For, losing Christian charity,

Have we not lost our all?

Ye know not, vain contenders,

What spirit ye are of;

Alas! ye are weak “defenders”

Of “the faith that works by love,”

Which purifies the feelings,

And makes all sweet within,

Tenders the heart before the Lord,

And keeps the spirit clean.

Go and adorn the doctrine

Ye are feigning to approve,

And seek for strength to follow Him

Whose first, best name is Love.

But cease from defamation;

The poet says ’tis worse

To steal his reputation

Than rob him of his purse.

Look home, look home, defamers,

There’s business there for you;

Weed well your own deceitful hearts,

You’ll find enough to do.

Perhaps that God, before whose glance

Each soul unveiled appears,

Sees that thy brother’s work is done,

While thine is in arrears.

Then leave, ah! leave the little mote

Which thou, and thou alone,

Mark’st in his eye, and take away

The beam that blinds thine own.

Thou hast had much, yea much forgiven;

Then is it just and right,

From him, who is thy fellow worm,

To exact the utmost mite?

“Judge not,” the blessed Jesus said,

“Judgment is mine alone;

He only who has never sinned

Should dare to cast a stone.

“But love thy neighbor as thyself,

His friend, his helper be,

And show that mercy unto him

Which God has shown to thee.”