A Library of Poetry and Song: Being Choice Selections from the Best Poets

THE SPIRIT-LAND.

O'er all those wide-extended plains

Shines one eternal day;
There God the Son forever reigns,

And scatters night away.

No chilling winds, or poisonous breath,

Can reach that healthful shore; Sickness and sorrow, pain and death,

Are felt and feared no more.

FATHER ! thy wonders do not singly stand,
Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed ;
Around us ever lies the enchanted land,
In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed ;
In finding thee are all things round us found ;
In losing thee are all things lost beside ;
Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound;
And to our eyes the vision is denied ;
We wander in the country far remote,
Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell ;
Or on the records of past greatness dote,
And for a buried soul the living sell ;
While on our path bewildered falls the night
That ne'er returns us to the fields of light.

JONES VERY,

THERE is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign ;
HEAVEN.

Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain. O BEAUTEOUS God! uncircumscribed treasure

There everlasting spring abides, Of an eternal pleasure !

And never-withering flowers ; Thy throne is seated far

Death, like a narrow sea, divides
Above the highest star,

This heavenly land from ours.
Where thou preparest a glorious place,
Within the brightness of thy face,

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
For every spirit

Stand dressed in living green ; To inherit

So to the Jews oid Canaan stood,
That builds his hopes upon thy merit,

While Jordan rolled between.
And loves thee with a holy charity.
What ravished heart, seraphic tongue, or eyes But timorous mortals start and shrink
Clear as the morning rise,

To cross this narrow sea,
Can speak, or think, or see

And linger shivering on the brink,
That bright eternity,

And fear to launch away.
Where the great King's transparent throne
Is of an entire jasper stone ?

0, could we make our doubts remove, There the eye

Those gloomy doubts that rise, O'the chrysolite,

And see the Canaan that we love
And a sky

With unbeclouded eyes,
Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase, -
And above all thy holy, face,

Could we but climb where Moses stood,
Makes an eternal charity.

And view the landscape o'er, When thou thy jewels up dost bind, that day

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Remember us, we pray,

Should fright us from the shore.
That where the beryl lies,
And the crystal ’bove the skies,
There thou mayest appoint us place
Within the brightness of thy face,

HEAVEN.
And our soul
In the scroll

BEYOND these chilling winds and gloomy skies, Of life and blissfulness enroll,

Beyond death's cloudy portal,
That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah! There is a land where beauty never dies,

JEREMY TAYLOR,

Where love becomes immortal;

ISAAC WATTS.

ANONYMOUS.

A land whose life is never dimmed by shade,

If they call me I am waiting,
Whose fields are ever vernal;

Only waiting to obey.
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye eternal.

Only waiting till the shadows

Are a little longer grown, We may not know how sweet its balmy air,

Only waiting till the glimmer How bright and fair its flowers ;

Of the day's last beam is flown. We may not hear the songs that echo there,

Then from out the gathered darkness, Through those enchanted bowers.

Holy, deathless stars shall rise,

By whose light my soul shall gladly
The city's shining towers we may not see

Tread its pathway to the skies.
With our dim earthly vision,
For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key

That opes the gates elysian.
But sometimes, when adown the western sky

THE SOUL.
A fiery sunset lingers,
Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, COME, Brother, turn with me from pining
Unlocked by unseen fingers.

thought

And all the inward ills that sin has wrought; And while they stand a moment half ajar, Come, send abroad a love for all who live, Gleams from the inner glory

And feel the deep content in turn they give. Stream brightly through the azure vault afar Kind wishes and good deeds, — they make not And half reveal the story.

poor ;

They 'll home again, full laden, to thy door ; O land unknown ! O land of love divine !

The streams of love flow back where they begin, Father, all-wise, eternal !

For springs of outward joys lie deep within. O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine

Even let them flow, and make the places glad Into those pastures vernal !

Wheredwellthy fellow-men. Shouldst thou be sad,
And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press
Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness

More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear “ONLY WAITING."

The music of those waters running near ;

And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream, [A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing And thine eye gladden with the playing beam Dov. He replied, "Only waiting.")

That now upon the water dances, now
Only waiting till the shadows

Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.
Are a little longer grown,

Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell Only waiting till the glimmer

The power that wrought so beautiful a spell ? Of the day's last beam is flown;

In thine own bosom, Brother? Then as thine Till the night of earth is faded

Guard with a reverent fear this power divine. From the heart, once full of day;

And if, indeed, 't is not the outward state,
Till the stars of heaven are breaking

But temper of the soul by which we rate
Through the twilight soft and gray.

Sadness or joy, even let thy bosom move
Only waiting till the reapers

With noble thoughts and wake thee into love,
Have the last sheaf gathered home,

And let each feeling in thy breast be given For the summer time is faded,

An honest aim, which, sanctified by Heaven,
And the autumn winds have come.

And springing into act, new life imparts,
Quickly, reapers ! gather quickly

Till beats thy frame as with a thousand hearts.
The last ripe hours of my heart,

Sin clouds the mind's clear vision,
For the bloom of life is withered,

Around the self-starved soul has spread a dearth.
And I hasten to depart.

The earth is full of life ; the living Hand

Touched it with life; and all its forms expand
Only waiting till the angels

With principles of being made to suit
Open wide the mystic gate,

Man's varied powers and raise him from the brute.
At whose feet I long have lingered, And shall the earth of higher ends be full,
Weary, poor, and desolate.

Earth which thou tread'st, — and thy poor mind Even now I hear the footsteps,

be dull ? And their voices far away ;

Thou talk of life, with half thy soul asleep?

Thou “living dead man," let thy spirit leap Tell me, thou mighty deep,
Forth to the day, and let the fresh air blow

Whose billows round me play, Through thy soul's shut-up mansion. Wouldst Know'st thou some favored spot, thou know

Some island far away,
Something of what is life, shake off this death ; Where weary man may find
Have thy soul feel the universal breath

The bliss for which he sighs, –
With which all nature's quick, and learn to be Where sorrow never lives,
Sharer in all that thou dost touch or see ;

And friendship never dies ?
Break from thy body's grass, thy spirit's trance ; The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse ; Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer,
Love, joy, even sorrow, — yield thyself to all !

“No.” They make thy freedom, groveller, not thy thrall. Knock off the shackles which thy spirit bind

And thou, serenest moon, To dust and sense, and set at large the mind !

That, with such lovely face, Then move in sympathy with God's great whole,

Dost look upon the earth,
And be like man at first, a LIVING SOUL.

Asleep in night's embrace ;
RICHARD HENRY DANA. Tell me, in all thy round

Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man

May find a happier lot?
SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL.

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
Sit down, sad soul, and count

And a voice, sweet but sad, responded, — "No."
The moments flying ;

Tell me, my secret soul,
Come, tell the sweet amount

0, tell me, Hope and Faith,
That 's lost by sighing !

Is there no resting-place
How many smiles ? - a score ?

From sorrow, sin, and death ?
Then laugh, and count no more ;

Is there no happy spot
For day is dying !

Where mortals may be blessed,
Lie down, sad soul, and sleep,

Where grief may find a balm,
And no more measure

And weariness a rest?
The flight of time, nor weep

Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortalsgiven,
The loss of leisure ;

Waved their bright wings, and whispered, But here, by this lone stream,

“Yes, in heaven !"
Lie down with us, and dream

Of starry treasure !
We dream ; do thou the same ;
We love, forever;

O, WHERE SHALL REST BE FOUND !
We laugh, yet few we shame, –
The gentle never.

O, WHERE shall rest be found, -
Stay, then, till sorrow dies;

Rest for the weary soul ?
Then — hope and happy skies

’T were vain the ocean depths to sound, Are thine forever !

Or pierce to either pole.

CKARLES MACKAY.

BARRY CORNWALL.

The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh :
'T is not the whole of life to live,

Nor all of death to die.

TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS.
Tell me, ye wingéd winds,

That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot

Where mortals weep no more ? Some lone and pleasant dell,

Some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain,

The weary soul may rest ?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity as it answered, — “No."

Beyond this vale of tears

There is a life above,
Unmeasured by the flight of years ;

And all that life is love.

There is a death whose pang

Outlasts the fleeting breath : 0, what eternal horrors hang

Around the second death !

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Lord God of truth and grace,

Teach us that death to shun, Lest we be banished from thy face, And evermore undone.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

THERE IS AN HOUR OF PEACEFUL

REST.

THERE is an hour of peaceful rest

To mourning wanderers given ; There is a joy for souls distressed, A balm for every wounded breast;

'T is found above, – in heaven.

There is a soft, a downy bed,

”T is fair as breath of even ;
A couch for weary mortals spread,
Where they may rest the aching head,
And find repose,

in heaven. There is a home for weary souls

By sin and sorrow driven; When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, Where storms arise, and ocean rolls,

And all is drear, — but heaven.

There Faith lifts up her cheerful eye,

To brighter prospects given,
And views the tempest passing by,
The evening shadows quickly fly,
And all serene,

- in heaven.

There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,

And joys supreme are given ;
There rays divine disperse the gloom ;
Beyond the confines of the tomb

Appears the dawn of heaven.

W. B. TAPPAN.

NOTHING BUT LEAVES.

NOTHING but leaves ; the spirit grieves

Over a wasted life ;
Sin committed while conscience slept,
Promises made but never kept,
Hatred, battle, and strife;

Nothing but leaves !

Nothing but leaves ; no garnered sheaves

Of life's fair, ripened grain ; Words, idle words, for earnest deeds ; We sow our seeds, – lo! tares and weeds ; We reap, with toil and pain,

Nothing but leaves /

What conscience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do, This, teach me more than hell to shun,

That, more than heaven pursue.

But who, I ask thee, who art thou ? Tell me thy name, and tell me now.

In vain thou strugglest to get free;

I never will unloose my hold : Art thou the Man that died for me?

The secret of thy love unfold; Wrestling, I will not let thee go Till I thy name, thy nature know.

What blessings thy free bounty gives

Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives,

To enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span

Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round : Let not this weak, unknowing hand

Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land

On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart

Still in the right to stay ;
If I am wrong, 0, teach my heart

To find that better way!

Wilt thou not yet to me reveal

Thy new, unutterable name ? Tell me, I still beseech thee, tell;

To know it now resolved I am ; Wrestling, I will not let thee go Till I thy name, thy nature know.

Save me alike from foolish pride,

Or impious discontent, At aught thy wisdom has denied,

Or aught thy goodness lent.

What though my shrinking flesh complain

And murmur to contend so long, I rise superior to my pain ;

When I am weak, then am I strong! And when my all of strength shall fail, I shall with the God-man prevail.

Teach me to feel another's woe,

To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show,

That mercy show to me. Mean though I am, not wholly so,

Since quickened by thy breath ; 0, lead me wheresoe'er I go,

Through this day's life or death!

SECOND PART. YIELD to me now, for I am weak,

But confident in self-despair ; Speak to my heart, in blessings speak;

Be conquered by my instant prayer; Speak, or thou never hence shalt move, And tell me if thy name be Love. ·

This day be bread and peace my lot ;

All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestowed or not,

And let thy will be done.

To thee, whose temple is all space,

Whose altar, earth, sea, skies ! One chorus let all Being raise !

All Nature's incense rise !

'Tis love ! 't is love! Thou diedst for me ;

I hear thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee ;

Pure, universal love thou art ;
To me, to all, thy bowels move;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
My prayer hath power with God; the grace

Unspeakable I now receive;
Through faith I see thee face to face ;

I see thee face to face and live !
In vain I have not wept and strove ;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.

ALEXANDER POPE.

I know thee, Saviour, who thou art,

Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend ; Nor wilt thou with the night depart,

But stay and love me to the end ; Thy mercies never shall remove; Thy nature and thy name is Love.

WRESTLING JACOB..

FIRST PART.
COME, O thou Traveller unknown,

Whom still I hold, but cannot see ; My company before is gone,

And I am left alone with thee;
With thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.
I need not tell thee who I am ;

My sin and misery declare ;
Thyself hast called me by my name;
Look on thy hands, and read it there;

The Sun of Righteousness on me

Hath rose, with healing in his wings; Withered my nature's strength ; from thee

My soul its life and succor brings ;
My help is all laid up above ;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.

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