Poor throbbing heart! the battle wave of life
Beats strong against thee, yet thou strugglest on,
Breasting the mighty billows, though no kind, well-known voice,
When the great mountain wave threatens to o’erwhelm,
Whispers the soul-reviving words, “Be of good cheer,
The port is nearing fast!” Instead of this
Is heard the mournful moan of the discourager,
Portending peril, shipwreck, loss of all.
But ah! poor struggling heart!
An eye is over thee, a Father’s eye,
Of tender love and pity. There is One
Whose voice is mightier than the noise
Of many waters, who sitteth on the flood
And reigneth King forever.
He sees thee breast the wave, upheld alone
By childlike trust and confidence in Him,
And through the storm is heard His gentle tone,
“Daughter, be comforted,—thy faith hath saved thee.”
12th mo., 1850.
The Lord’s portion is his people, Jacob is the lot of his inheritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness. He led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye. As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings, so the Lord alone did lead him, and there was no strange god with him.—Deut. 32: 9-12.
When the eagle finds her brood is fledged,
She stirreth up the nest;
Gently she fluttereth over it,
And breaketh up their rest.
She taketh them, she beareth them,
She spreadeth abroad her wings,
Then soars aloft to a purer air
Above terrestrial things.
Thus, when the heart with the cares of time
Is burdened and oppressed,
’Tis only the parent hand of love
That is stirring up the nest.
He found us in the wilderness
When no strange god was nigh,
He instructed us, He kept us
As “the apple of His eye.”
Now His wing is fluttering over us
And stirring up the nest,
For the Lord alone is leading us
To His bright and glorious rest.
The shining host of ransomed ones
There worship and adore;
Fulness of joy their portion is,
Pleasure forever more.
Then be glad when the Father teaches us
That this is not our rest,
And bless the hand of sparing love
That stirreth up the nest.
For those who know no chastisement
Are not the sons of God;
He chooseth His adopted ones
Beneath the chastening rod.
Thus, when the fond heart reareth up
A little ark of rest,
How soon the fluttering wing is heard
That stirreth up the nest!
But ah! He spreadeth it abroad,
And teacheth us to soar
To the realms of cloudless blessedness,
Where change is known no more.
1850.
Ah! know ye not in Israel
A prince is fallen to-day,
A just man, from the ills to come,
In mercy called away!
The Church is clothed in mourning,
Who shall supply her loss?
A standard bearer’s quit the field,
A soldier of the cross.
On mission high and holy
He braved the watery main,
And many a faithful heart rejoiced
To welcome him again.
Thrice had the veteran warrior
Nobly forsaken all,
And trod our western wilderness
Obedient to His call,
Whose voice he knew from childhood,
And followed where it led,
For perfect love reigned over him,
And banished fear and dread.
Unmoved by praise or blame;
The mark was always kept in view,
And steady was his aim.
Unfaltering trust in Jesus
Had ever nerved his arm;
He knew His shield of love was near,
Protecting him from harm.
Like Paul, he “went from house to house,”
And boldly preached the word,
And many souls, accepting it,
Were gathered to the Lord;
While from his heart and from his lips,
As onward he would pass,
Fell gentle benedictions,
As showers upon the grass.
Nor from the galling chains of sin
Alone he sought to free;
However named, the bondsman claimed
His whole-souled sympathy.
Bending beneath a weight of care,
A pilgrimage of years,
Before the rulers of the land
Behold him plead with tears!
He lifts his latest breath,
And, with her name upon his lips,
Sinks in the arms of death.
Thoughts of the distant and the loved
Came thronging to his heart;
He felt ’twere sweet to be with them,
Yet sweeter to depart.
“Better to go and be with Christ,”
Were the blest words he said;
Then, in the midst of bonds and chains,
The enfranchised spirit fled;
And in a far-off stranger land,
Near Holston’s billowy wave,
A voice is calling silently
From that lone martyr’s grave.
Oppressor, list its meaning!
It is to thee it calls;
Ah! heed the solemn warning voice
Before the judgment falls.
It tells thee that a martyr’s prayers
Are heard in highest Heaven,
That soon the shackles of the slave
In mercy shall be riven.
Who are groaning to be free;
His promises are sure: “He will
Avenge them speedily.”
But where will be the oppressor
In that soul-searching day,
When perfect truth and equity
Have undivided sway?
Quailing before the majesty
Of the Omniscient One,
Dealers in slaves and souls of men
Will feel their work is done;
And, bowed beneath that word of God
Which pierces like a sword,
Call on the rocks to hide them
From the presence of the Lord.
But Mercy’s voice is whispering,
Immanuel died to save,
And he designs rich fruit shall spring
From that lone martyr’s grave.
1854.
Alas! they have left me all alone
By the receding tide;
But oh! the countless multitudes
Upon the other side!
The loved, the lost, the cherished ones,
Who dwelt with us awhile,
To scatter sunbeams on our path,
And make the desert smile.
The other side! how fair it is!
Its loveliness untold,
Its “every several gate a pearl,”
Its streets are paved with gold.
Its sun shall never more go down,
For there is no night there!
And oh! what heavenly melodies
Are floating through the air!
How sweet to join the ransomed ones
On the other side the flood,
And sing a song of praise to Him
Who washed us in His blood.
Ten thousand times ten thousand
Are hymning the new song!
O Father, join Thy weary child
To that triumphant throng!
But oh! I would be patient,
“My times are in Thy hand,”
“And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel’s land.”
1875.