Imagens da página
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

Ah, world unknown! how charming is thy view,
Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new!
Ah, world experienced! what of thee is told?
How few thy pleasures, and those few how old!
Crabbe.

Talk who will of the world as a desert of thrall,
Yet, yet there is bloom on the waste;
Though the chalice of life hath its acid and gall,
There are honey-drops, too, for the taste.

We murmur and droop should a sorrow-cloud stay,
And note all the shades of our lot;
But the rich rays of sunshine that brighten our way,
Are bask'd in, enjoy'd, and forgot.

Those who look on mortality's ocean aright,
Will not mourn o'er each billow that rolls;
But dwell on the beauties, the glories, the might,
As much as the shipwrecks and shoals.

[blocks in formation]

Cease, oh, cease thy vain desirings, Only seek thy Father's will. Leave behind thy faithless sorrow

And thine every anxious care: He who only knows the morrow Can for thee its burden bear.

Frances Ridley Havergal.

3579. WORLD: full of peril. ALAS! the world is full of peril!

The path that runs through the fairest meads, On the sunniest side of the valley, leads Into a region bleak and sterile !-Longfellow.

3580. WORLD: hollow.

THE world is just as hollow as an egg-shell;
It is a surface, not a solid round;
And all this boasted knowledge of the world
To me seems but to mean acquaintance with
Low things, or evil, or indifferent.-Bailey.

3581. WORLD: illusory.

BLINDED in youth by Satan's arts,
The world to our unpractised hearts
A flattering prospect shows;
Our fancy forms a thousand schemes
Of gay delights, and golden dreams,
And undisturb'd repose.

So in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic power produced in haste

(As ancient fables say),

Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the traveller meet,

And stop him in his way.

But while he listens with surprise,
The charm dissolves, the vision dies;
'Twas but enchanted ground:
Thus, if the Lord our spirit touch,
The world, which promised us so much,
A wilderness is found.

At first we start, and feel distress'd,
Convinced we never can have rest
In such a wretched place;

But He whose mercy breaks the charm
Reveals His own almighty arm,

And bids us seek His face.

Then we begin to live indeed,

When, from our sin and bondage freed

By this beloved Friend,

We follow Him from day to day,

Assured of grace through all the way,

And glory at the end.-Cowper.

3582. WORLD: neither to be feared nor loved.

A PILGRIM through this lonely world,
The blessed Saviour pass'd;

A mourner all His life was He,

A dying Lamb at last.

That tender heart that felt for all,
For all its life-blood gave;

It found on earth no resting-place
Save only in the grave.

Such was our Lord,-and shall we fear
The cross, with all its scorn?

Or love a faithless, evil world,

That wreath'd His brow with thorn?

No! facing all its frowns or smiles,

Like Him obedient still,

We homeward press through storm or calm, To Zion's blessed hill.-Denny.

3583. WORLD. Power of the

WHENCE has this world her magic power?
Why deem we death a foe,
Recoil from weary life's best hour,
And covet longer woe?

The cause is Conscience? Conscience oft

Her tale of guilt renews;
Her voice is terrible, though soft,
And dread of death ensues.

Then, anxious to be longer spared,
Man mourns his flying breath :
All evils then seem light, compared
With the approach of death.

The judgment shakes him! there's the fear
That prompts the wish to stay!
He has incurr'd a long arrear,
And must despair to pay.
Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid;

His death your peace ensures;
Think on the grave where He was laid,
And calm descend to yours.-Cowper.

3584. WORLD. Question about the

WHAT is the world? tell, worldling, if thou know it.

If it be good, why do all ills o'erflow it?
If it be bad, why dost thou like it so?
If it be sweet, how comes it bitter then?
If it be bitter, what bewitcheth men?

If it be friend, why kills it, as a foe,
Vain-minded men that over-love and lust it?
If it be foe, fondling, how dar'st thou trust it?

Sylvester.

3585. WORLD. Quitting the

I HAVE not loved the world, nor the world me,— But let us part fair foes: I do believe,

Though I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things, hopes which will not deceive,

And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing: I would also deem

O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve;
That two, or one, are almost what they seem,
That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream.
Byron.

Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home:
Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean's brine,
Long I've been toss'd like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.

Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur, with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come:
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.

I'm going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosom'd in yon green hills alone,—
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies plann'd;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod, —
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

Oh, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretch'd beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,

I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools, and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet!
Emerson.

3586. WORLD. Sale of the

THE world for sale! Hang out the sign;
Call every traveller here to me;
Who'll buy this brave estate of mine,

And set this weary spirit free?

'Tis going! yes, I mean to fling The bauble from my soul away, I'll sell it, whatsoe'er it bring;

The world at auction here, to-day!

It is a glorious sight to see

But, ah! it has deceived me sore, It is not what it seems to be.

For sale! it shall be mine no more. Come, turn it o'er and view it well,

I would not have you purchase dear. 'Tis going! going! I must sell!

Who bids? who'll buy the splendid tear?
Here's wealth, in glittering heaps of gold;
Who bids? But let me tell you fair,
A baser lot was never sold!

Who'll buy the heavy heaps of care?
And here, spread out in broad domain,

A goodly landscape all may trace,
Hall, cottage, tree, field, hill, and plain ;
Who'll buy himself a burial-place?
Here's Love, the dreamy potent spell

That Beauty flings around the heart;

I know its power, alas! too well;

'Tis going! Love and I must part!
Must part? What can I more with Love?
All over's the enchanter's reign.
Who'll buy the plumeless, dying dove,

A breath of bliss, a storm of pain?
And Friendship, rarest gem of earth;

Who e'er hath found the jewel his? Frail, fickle, false, and little worth,

Who bids for Friendship-as it is? 'Tis going! going! hear the call;

Once, twice, and thrice, 'tis very low!
'Twas once my hope, my stay, my all,
But now the broken staff must go!
Fame! hold the brilliant meteor high,
How dazzling every gilded name!
Ye millions! now's the time to buy.

How much for Fame? how much for Fame?
Hear how it thunders! Would you stand
On high Olympus, far renown'd,
Now purchase, and a world command,
And be with a world's curses crown'd.

Ambition, fashion, show, and pride,
I part from all for ever now;
Grief, in an overwhelming tide,

Has taught my haughty heart to bow.
By Death, stern sheriff! all bereft,
I weep, yet humbly kiss the rod;
The best of all I still have left-

My faith, my Bible, and my God!—Hoyt.

3587. WORLD. The enticing By day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair : But all night as the moon so changeth she; Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy,

And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.

By day she woos me to the outer air,

Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety :
But through the night, a beast she grins at me,
A very monster void of love and prayer.
By day she stands a lie: by night she stands,
In all the naked horror of the truth,

With pushing horns and claw'd and clutching hands.
Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell
My soul to her, give her my life and youth,
Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell?
Christina G. Rosetti.

3587a. WORLD: transient.

THE flower that smiles to-day,
To-morrow dies;

All that we wish to stay,

Tempts, and then flies:
What is this world's delight?
Lightning, that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.-Shelley.

3588. WORLD: treacherous.

THE world's esteem is but a bribe:
To buy their peace you sell your own;
The slave of a vainglorious tribe,

Who hate you while they make you known.

The joy that vain amusements give,

Oh! sad conclusion that it brings!
The honey of a crowded hive,

Defended by a thousand stings.

'Tis thus the world rewards the fools

That live upon her treacherous smiles:
She leads them blindfold by her rules,

And ruins all whom she beguiles.—Cowper.

3589. WORLD. Vanity of the

OH! the world is but a word;
Were it all yours to give it in a breath,
How quickly were it gone.-Shakespeare.

3590. WORLD. Youth of the

WHO will say the world is dying?

Who will say our prime is past?
Sparks from heaven within us lying

Flash, and will flash to the last.
Fools! who fancy Christ mistaken;
Man a tool to buy and sell;
Earth a failure, God-forsaken,
Ante-room of hell.

Still the race of hero spirits

Pass the lamp from hand to hand; Age from age the words inherits,— Wife and child and fatherland.

Still the youthful hunter gathers
Fiery joy from wold and wood;
He will dare as dared his fathers,
Give him cause as good.

While a slave bewails his fetters;
While an orphan pleads in vain;
While an infant lisps his letters,

Heir of all the ages' gain;
While a lip grows ripe for kissing;

While a moan from man is wrung ;
Know, by every want and blessing,

That the world is young.-C. Kingsley,

3591. WORLDLINESS. Influence of

THE world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This sea that bares her bosom to the moon,

The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowersFor this, for everything, we're out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn, So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. Wordsworth.

3592. WORLDLING. Lament of the

[blocks in formation]

Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast,

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears,

And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,

Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest,

'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath.

O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene,—

As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,

So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me!-Byron.

3593. WORLDLINGS. Ways of

Lo! here spread out the plains of heavenly light,
And narrow way, that ends where all is bright.
Behold, with globes upon the lightsome green,
To different work address'd, two men are seen.
With careless ease one rolls his globe along,
And follows after full of mirth and song;
The other strives to move his world's vast weight
Uphill, toward the brightly shining gate;

He strives in vain; the globe, though in the track,
Still downward tending drives him farther back :
And though they seem contrary roads to go,
They meet together in the vale below.
Thus some pursue an open course of sin;
Some Christ profess, yet hold the world within;
Though these appear to play a different game,
Their fate is equal, and their end the same.
Other

3594. WORLDS.

W. Holmes.

But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth it- OTHER worlds. Those planets evermore self be past.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or oceans of ex

cess:

On their golden orbits swiftly glide on—
From quick Hermes by the solar shore
To remote Poseidon.

Are they like this earth? The glory shed
From the ruddy dawn's unfading portals-

The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in Does it fall on regions tenanted

vain

By a race of mortals?

The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never Are there merry maidens, wicked-eyed,
stretch again.
Peeping slyly through the cottage lattice?
Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself Have they vintage-bearing countries wide?
Have they oyster-patties?

comes down ;

It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its Have they silent shady forest realms,

own;

Odorous violets that in grassy nooks hide,

Aged oaks and great ancestral elms
Growing by the brook-side?

Does a mighty ocean roar and break

On dark rocks and sandy shores fantastic?
Have they any Darwins there to make
Theories elastic?

Have they landscapes that would set a flat alight
With their beauty? Have they snow-neck'd clerici?
Poets who be-rhyme each whirling satellite?
Dr Temple's heresy ?

Does their weather change? November fog-
Weeping April-March with many a raw gust?
And do thunder and demented dog

Come to them in August?

Nineteenth-century science should unravel

All these queries, but has somehow miss'd 'em.
When will it be possible to travel

Through the solar system?
Mortimer Collins.

3595. WORSHIP. Acceptable

No sacred lore, howe'er profound,
Nor all the long and varied round
Of sacred rites, can bliss procure
For worthless man, in heart impure.
Although a man with zeal and skill
Should all external rites fulfil,
He reaps no fruit of all his toil
If sin his inner man should soil.

Even he his all in alms who spends
With heart defiled, secures no meed:
The disposition, not the deed,

Has value--all on it depends.

Vayu Purana, viii. 190.

Two altars are uprear'd in yonder plain;
Two worshippers with different gifts draw near;
Two sacrifices are presented there,
Heaven's merciful approval to obtain.
One brings a bloody offering, and the slain
Crimsons earth's beauteous carpet with its gore;

A lamb-a sinless victim-there is slain;
Such sacrifice Earth never saw before.
Upon the other altar luscious fruits,

Like incense, are in rich profusion piled,
Mix'd with earth's ripen'd grain, its fruitful roots,
And gorgeous flowers, all beautiful and wild.
Which of these two oblations will be found
Most worthy-tribute from the ..ock, or from the
ground?

Heaven takes the former, but the latter spurns ; One lifts his head to heaven to thank the Giver, Nor thinks to mourn his lost condition ever; With Pharisaic pride his spirit burns,

But in deep penitence the other turns

His downcast eyes to earth, in sorrow bent: He offers bleeding innocence, and yearns Vicarious release from punishment. The promised Christ to bruise the serpent's head, The substitute for man, is shadow'd here; And Heaven approves the gift-accepts the deed, The principle of future trust is there. Abel, by faith, Heaven's favour thus obtains For a more excellent sacrifice by far than Cain's. Churchill.

3596. WORSHIP: in what spirit it is to be

offered.

I.

'I WOULD my gift were worthier,' sigh'd the Greek, As on he goaded to the temple door

His spotted bullock: 'Ever of our store Doth Zeus require the best. And fat and sleek The ox I vow'd to him (no brindle streak,

No fleck of dun), when through the breakers' roar He bore me safe, that day, to Naxos' shore: And now-my gratitude-how seeming weak! 'But here be chalk-pits: What if I should white The blotches, hiding all unfitness so? The victim in the people's eyes would show Better therefor, the sacrificial rite

Be quicklier granted at so fair a sight,

And the great Zeus himself might never know!'

II.

We have a God who knows: And yet we dare,
On His consuming altar-coals, to lay
(Full loth the goad of conscience to obey)-
The whited sacrifice, the glossing prayer,
In place of what we vow'd-in our despair-
Of best and holiest ; glad no mortal may
Pierce through the cheat, and hoping half to stay
That eye before whose search all souls are bare.

Nay, rather let us bring the victim-heart,

Defiled, unworthy, blemish'd though it be, And fling it on the flame, entreating : 'See! I blush to know how vile in every part Is this, my gift, through sin's delusive art, Yet 'tis the best that I can offer Thee!' Margaret J. Preston.

3597. WORSHIP. Places of SPIRIT! whose life-sustaining presence fills

Air, ocean, central depths, by man untried, Thou for Thy worshippers hast sanctified All place, all time! The silence of the hills Breathes veneration; founts and choral rills

Of these are murmuring: to its inmost glade

« AnteriorContinuar »