Thou feign'st to be remote, and speak'st
As if from far above,
That fear may make more bold with Thee,
And be beguiled to love.
On earth Thou hidest, not to scare
Thy children with Thy light; Thou showest us Thy face in heaven, When we can bear the sight.-Faber.
1519. GOD: the soul of Nature.
ALL are but parts of one stupendous whole,
Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;
That changed through all, and yet in all the same,
Great in the earth as in th' ethereal frame;
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;
Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent ;
Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:
To Him no high, no low, no great, no small;
He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all!
Pape.
1520. GOD: the soul's supreme joy.
BUT, oh! thou bounteous Giver of all good,
Thou art, of all Thy gifts, Thyself the crown!
Give what Thou canst, without Thee we are poor,
And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away
Cowper.
Lord of earth! Thy bounteous hand
Well this glorious frame hath plann'd:
Woods that wave, and hills that tower,
Ocean rolling in his power,
All that strikes the gaze unsought,
All that charms the lonely thought;
Friendship, gem transcending price;
Love, a flower of Paradise:
Yet, amid this scene so fair,
Should I cease Thy smile to share,
What were all its joys to me!
Whom have I in heaven but Thee!
Lord of heaven! beyond our sight
Rolls a world of purer light;
There, in Love's unclouded reign,
Parted hands shall join again;
Martyrs there, and prophets high,
Blaze, a glorious company;
While immortal music rings
From unnumber'd seraph-strings:
Oh, that scene is passing fair!
Yet should'st Thou be absent there,
What were all its joys to me!
Whom have I in heaven but Thee!
Lord of earth and heaven! my breast
Seeks in Thee its only rest!
I was lost: Thy accents mild
Homeward lured Thy wandering child.
I was blind: Thy healing ray
Charm'd the long eclipse away.
Source of every joy I know,
Solace of my every woe;
Yet should once Thy smile Divine
Cease upon my soul to shine,
What were heaven or earth to me!
Whom have I in heaven but Thee!—Grant.
1521. GOD: the source of all blessedness.
My God, to Thee belong
Incense of praise and hallow'd song;
To Thee be all the glory given
Of all my mercies under heaven;
From Thee my daily bread and health,
Each comfort, all my spirit's wealth,
Have been derived ;-my sins alone,
And errings, I can call mine own.—Walker.
My springs are all in Thee, my God, Those waters fresh and free
Rise from thy love's unfailing depths,
And ever rise for me.
My springs are all in Thee, my God;
Why should I faint or fear,
While the best source of every good,
Himself, is ever near?
My springs are all in Thee, my God,
Thou bidd'st me freely take
The living, soul-reviving streams,
My deepest thirst to slake.
My springs are all in Thee, my God;
Earth's pleasures, honours, gold,
Are broken cisterns at the best,
They can no water hold.
My springs are all in Thee, my God;
Through Jesus to me still
Peace, joy, and comfort ceaseless flow,
The cure of every ill.
My springs are all in Thee, my God;
Oh! never let me roam
Afar from Thee, my only good,
So fully blest at home.
My springs are all in Thee, my God,
And ever shall remain,
Till life's best springs I drink above,
And never thirst again.-H. T. Heywood.
1522. GOD: the unsearchable Name.
'When I attempt to give the Power which I see manifested in the universe an objective form, personal or otherwise, it slips away from me, declining all intellectual manipulation. I dare not use the pronoun "He" regarding it; I dare not call it a "Mind;" I refuse to call it even a "Cause." Its mystery overshadows me.'-PROF. TYNDALL, in 'Fortnightly Review' for December, 1875.
OH, proud Philosopher, so seeming-meek!
Who on the midnight heavens dost gaze with awe,
And own the mystic Force behind the Law,
Confessing that thy finitude is weak
To gauge infinity, when thou wouldst seek
With eyes that are but mortal eyes, to draw
What never save immortal vision saw,
Or utter what no human lips can speak.
Thou dare not call it "He"?' Then dare not If, underneath the mystery, thou art awed: We talk of man thus: 'he' who treads the sod. Thou wilt not name it 'Mind,' or 'Cause'? Too low
These earth-words comprehensible! Nay, go Back to primordial truth, and call it GOD!
I LOOK to Thee in every need, and never look in vain;
I feel Thy strong and tender love, and all is well again :
The thought of Thee is mightier far
Than sin and pain and sorrow are.
Discouraged in the work of life, dishearten'd by its load,
Shamed by its failures or its fears, I sink beside the road:
But let me only think of Thee,
And then new heart springs up in me.
Thy calmness bends serene above, my restlessness to still;
Around me flows Thy quickening life, to nerve my faltering will:
Thy presence fills my solitude;
Thy providence turns all to good.
1524. GOD waiting.
DREAD is the leisure up above
The while He sits whose name is love,
And waits, as Noah did for the dove,
To wit if she would fly to him.
He waits for us, while, houseless things,
We beat about with bruised wings
On the dark floods and water-springs,
The ruin'd world, the desolate sea;
With open windows from the prime,
All night, all day, He waits sublime,
Until the fulness of the time
Decreed from His eternity.-Jean Ingelow.
WHAT art Thou, God? my soul inquires,
What is Thy form, how looks Thy face?
Art but an Essence filling space,
Before whose power all power retires?
Hast any form, hast any face?
Thou'rt here, Thou'rt there, Thou'rt everywhere,-
Mine ears are strain'd Thy voice to hear,-
Mine aching eyes see not Thy place.
My weak hands vainly search for Thee:
I know Thou art, I see Thy works,
Which show behind some Power lurks;
But whence, or how, I cannot see.
Can man when robed in this dull clay
Love that which merely Essence is,
And has no form, no shape like his ?
But yet he feels it day by day.
Can I be said to love a man
Who is not, though He was, like me,
But now has gone to dwell with Thee,
To live of life a larger plan?
O God, and do I love Thee now?
Thou art so great, so far above-
Is this I feel within me love?
I love not so aught here below.
I study perfect human forms,
But fancy none as like to Thine;
Imagination draws no line
More like to Thee than to the worms.
My mind surmounts this little world
And pierces through its circling dome,
To view Thy features, find Thy home,
I wander oft through vapours curl'd.
Exhausted soon my spirit falls,
And sinks once more to present cares-
To duties here, how yon one fares,
Which all my soul's attention calls.
And soon within, yet from above,
A gentle voice dispels my fear :
'No matter what my form, or where,
Remember, seeker, "God is love."
FOR wonderful indeed are all His works,
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all
Had in remembrance always with delight;
But what created mind can comprehend
Their number, or the wisdom infinite
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep.
Milton.
In human works, though labour'd on with pain,
A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain;
In God's, one single can its ends produce,
Yet serves to second too some other use.-Pope.
And yet were every falt'ring tongue of man,
Almighty Father! silent in Thy praise,
Thy works themselves would raise a general voice,
Even in the depth of solitary woods,
By human foot untrod, proclaim Thy power,
And to the choir celestial Thee resound,
The eternal cause, support, and end of all!
Let no presuming impious railer tax
Creative wisdom as if aught was form'd
In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce
His works unwise of which the smallest part
Exceeds the narrow vision of his mind?
In the vast, and the minute, we see
The unambitious footsteps of the God
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,
And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds.
Cowper.
What prodigies can power Divine perform
More grand than it produces year by year,
And all in sight of inattentive man?
Familiar with th' effect, we slight the cause,
And in the constancy of nature's course,
The regular return of genial months,
And renovation of a faded world,
See nought to wonder at.-Cowper.
The heavens are a point from the pen of His perfection;
The world is a rosebud from the bower of His beauty;
The sun is a spark from the light of His wisdom;
And the sky a bubble on the sea of His power.
His beauty is free from stain of sin,
Hidden in a veil of thick darkness.
He form'd mirrors of the atoms of the world,
And He cast a reflection from His own face on
To thy clear-seeing eye whatsoever is fair,
When thou regardest it aright, is a reflection from His face.-Jami, from the Persian.
There is no God, -the fool in secret said;
There is no God that rules on earth or sky.
Tear off the band that folds the wretched head,
That God may burst upon his faithless eye.
Is there no God?-the stars in myriads spread,
If he look up, the blasphemy deny,
Whilst his own features, in the mirror read,
Reflect the image of Divinity.
Is there no God?-the silver stream that flows,
The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees,
The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that
blows,
All speak of God; throughout one voice agrees,
And eloquent His dread existence shows :
Blind to thyself, ah! see Him, fool, in these.
1527. GODLINESS. Advantage of
ABOUT the joys and pleasures of the world,
This question was not seldom in debate-
Whether the righteous man, or sinner, had
The greatest share, and relish'd them the most?
Truth gives the answer thus, gives it distinct,
Nor needs to reason long: The righteous man.
For what was he denied of earthly growth,
Worthy the name of good? Truth answers-Nought.
Had he not appetites, and sense, and will?
Might he not eat, if Providence allow'd,
The finest of the wheat? Might he not drink
The choicest wine? True, he was temperate;
But then was temperance a foe to peace?
Might he not rise, and clothe himself in gold?
Ascend, and stand in palaces of kings?
True, he was honest still, and charitable :
Were then these virtues foes to human peace?
Might he not do exploits, and gain a name?
Most true, he trod not down a fellow's right,
Nor walk'd up to a throne on skulls of men ;
Were justice, then, and mercy, foes to peace?
Had he not friendships, loves, and smiles, and hopes?
Sat not around his table sons and daughters?
Was not his ear with music pleased? his eye
With light? his nostrils with perfumes ? his lips
With pleasant relishes? grew not his herds?
Fell not the rain upon his meadows? reap'd
He not his harvests? and did not his heart
Revel at will through all the charities
And sympathies of nature, unconfined ?
And were not these all sweeten'd and sanctified
By dews of holiness shed from above?
Might he not walk through Fancy's airy halls?
Might he not History's ample page survey?
Might he not, finally, explore the depths
Of mental, moral, natural, divine?
But why enumerate thus? One word enough.
There was no joy in all created things,
No drop of sweet, that turn'd not in the end
To sour, of which the righteous man did not
Partake-partake, invited by the voice
Of God, his Father's voice-who gave him all
His heart's desire. And o'er the sinner, still,
The Christian had this one advantage more :
That when his earthly pleasures fail'd, and fail
They always did to every soul of man,
He sent his hopes on high, look'd up, and reach'd
His sickle forth, and reap'd the fields of heaven,
And pluck'd the clusters from the vines of God.
1528. GODLINESS. Example of
SOME angel guide my pencil, while I draw, What nothing less than angel can exceed, A man on earth devoted to the skies; Like ships in sea, while in, above the world.With aspect mild, and elevated eye, Behold him seated in a mount serene, Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm! All the black cares and tumults of this life, Like harmless thunders breaking at his feet, Excite his pity, not impair his peace. Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred and the slave, (A mingled mob! a wandering herd!) he sees Bewilder'd in the vale-in all unlike : His full reverse in all! What higher praise? What stronger demonstration of the right ? The present all their care,—the future, his. When public welfare calls, or private want, They give to fame,-his bounty he conceals. Their virtues varnish nature,-his exalt. Mankind's esteem they court; and he, his own. Theirs, the wild chase of false felicities; His, the composed possession of the true. Alike, throughout, is his consistent peaceAll of one colour, and an even thread; While parti-coloured shreds of happiness, With hideous gaps between, patch up for them A madman's robe,-each puff of fortune blows The tatters by, and shows their nakedness. He sees with other eyes than theirs. they
Behold a sun, he spies a Deity;
What makes them only smile, makes him adore;
Where they see mountains, he but atoms sees-
An empire, in his balance, weighs a grain.
They things terrestrial worship as divine;
His hopes immortal blow them by, as dust
That dims his sight, and shortens his survey,
Which longs, in infinite, to lose all bound.
Gold! many hunted, sweat, and bled for Gold; Waked all the night, and labour'd all the day.
STRAIGHT from the hand of God comes many a gift, And what was this allurement? dost thou ask.
Fraught with healing and with consolation
For a world of toil and tribulation;
A dust dug from the bowels of the earth,
Which, being cast into the fire, came out
A shining thing that fools admired, and call'd
A god; and in devout and humble plight
Before it kneel'd, the greater to the less;
And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace,
Truth, faith, integrity, good conscience, friends,
Love, charity, benevolence, and all
The sweet and tender sympathies of life;
And, to complete the horrid murderous rite,
And signalize their folly, offer'd up
Their souls and an eternity of bliss,
To gain them-what? an hour of dreaming joy,
A feverish hour that hasted to be done,
And ended in the bitterness of woe.-Pollok.
That universal idol, Gold,
In homage all unites ;
Without a temple, 'tis adored,
And has no hypocrites.
Nay, more, Gold's warmest devotees Strive most to hide their zeal ; And he that loves this idol most,
Would most that love conceal.—Colton.
1533. GOLD. Description of
GOLD! gold! gold! gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammer'd, and roll'd;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, barter'd, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrow'd, squander'd, doled;
Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold.
Gold! gold! gold! gold!
Good or bad a thousand-fold!
How widely its agencies vary
To save to ruin-to curse-to bless,
As even its minted coins express,
Now stamp'd with the image of good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary.-Hood.
BECAUSE its blessings are abused,
Must gold be censured, cursed, accused? Even virtue's self by knaves is made A cloak to carry on the trade.-Gay. The deep damnation of the crowd, O Gold! Heapeth reproach upon thy innocent dust! 'Evil's prolific root,'-' Bribe of the just,
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