1497. GOD: His delight in His people.

GOD will deign To visit oft the dwellings of just men, Delighted, and with frequent intercourse Thither will send his wingèd messengers On errands of supernal grace.-Milton.

1498. GOD: His long-suffering.

WE see Thy hand,-it leads us, it supports us;
We hear Thy voice,-it counsels and it courts us;
And then we turn away, and still Thy kindness
Pardons our blindness.

And still Thy rain descends, Thy sun is glowing,
Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blowing;
And, as if man were some deserving creature,

Joy covers nature.

Oh, how long-suffering, Lord! but Thou delightest
To win with love the wandering; Thou invitest,
By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors,
Man from his errors.

1499. GOD: His love.

THOU Love Divine, encircling all,
A soundless, shoreless sea,
Wherein at last our souls shall fall,
O love of God most free!

When over dizzy heights we go,

One soft hand blinds our eyes,
The other leads us safe and slow,

O love of God most wise!

And though we turn us from Thy face,

And wander wide and long,

Thou hold'st us still in Thine embrace,
O love of God most strong!

The sadden'd heart, the restless soul,
The toil-worn frame and mind,
Alike confess Thy sweet control,
O love of God most kind!

But not alone Thy care we claim,
Our wayward steps to win:
We know Thee by a dearer name,
O love of God within!

And, fill'd and quicken'd by Thy breath
Our souls are strong and free
To rise o'er sin, and fear, and death,
O love of God, to Thee!

What is more tender than a mother's love
To the sweet infant fondling in her arms?
What arguments need her compassion move
To hear its cries, and help it in its harms?

Now, if the tenderest mother were possess'd
Of all the love within her single breast
Of all the mothers since the world began.
'Tis nothing to the love of God to man.
John Byrom.

1500. GOD: His sufficiency.

O GOD, Thy power is wonderful ;
Thy glory, passing bright;
Thy wisdom, with its deep on deep,
A rapture to the sight.

I see Thee in the eternal years,
In glory all alone,

Ere round Thine uncreated fires
Created light had shone.

I see Thee walk in Eden's shade;
I see Thee through all time;
Thy patience and compassion seem
New attributes sublime.

All things that have been, all that are,
All things that can be dream'd;

All possible creations, made,

Kept faithful, or redeem'd,—
All these may draw upon Thy power,
Thy mercy may command;
And still outflows Thy silent sea,
Immutable and grand.

O little heart of mine, shall pain
Or sorrow make thee moan,
When this great God is all for thee,
A Father all thine own?-Faber.

1501, GOD: incomprehensible.

IN this wild maze their vain endeavours end;
How can the less the greater comprehend,
Or finite reason reach infinity?

For what could fathom God were more than He.
Dryden.

Thy throne is darkness, in th' abyss of light;
A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.
Oh teach me to believe Thee thus conceal'd,
And search no farther than Thyself reveal'd.

Dryden.

Long pored St Austin o'er the sacred page,
And doubt and darkness overspread his mind;
On God's mysterious being thought the sage,
The triple Person in one Godhead join'd.
The more he thought, the harder did he find
To solve the various doubts which fast arose ;
And as a ship, caught by impetuous wind,

Tosses where chance its scatter'd body throws, So toss'd his troubled soul, and nowhere found repose.

Heated and feverish, then he closed his tome

And went to wander by the ocean side, Where the cool breeze at evening loved to come, Murm'ring responsive to the murm'ring tide; And as Augustine o'er its margent wide Stray'd, deeply pondering on the puzzling theme, A little child before him he espied;

In earnest labour did the urchin seem,

Infinity of wisdom, power, and love,
Through the still'd heart in shadowy visions move,
Link'd with all space, all being, deep and vast:
'Tis a vague sense of future and of past-
Of things beyond the stars, of death, of birth,
Of a wing'd spirit wandering o'er the earth,
Travelling from sun to sun, of whispering wind,
Of thunder, of a more than mortal mind,
That sometimes visits man: a rolling flood
Invisible; an infinite tide of good,
O'erflowing all; a presence in the air,
Upon the land, the waters, everywhere!

stream.

He look'd, and saw the child a hole had scoop'd,
Shallow and narrow, in the shining sand,
O'er which at work the labouring infant stoop'd,
Still pouring water in with busy hand :

The saint address'd the child in accents bland:
'Fair boy,' quoth he, 'I pray, what toil is thine?
Let me its end and purpose understand.'
The boy replied, 'An easy task is mine,

To sweep into this hole all the wide ocean's brine.'
'Oh, foolish boy!' the saint exclaim'd, 'to hope
That the broad ocean in that hole should lie!'
'Oh, foolish saint!' exclaim'd the boy, 'thy scope
Is still more hopeless than the toil I ply!
Who think'st to comprehend God's nature high,
In the small compass of thine human wit.
Sooner, Augustine, sooner far shall I
Confine the ocean in this tiny pit,

Than finite minds conceive God's nature infinite!'

1502. GOD. Infinity of

THOU, Lord! art all in all, and man is nought:
For though in privileged hours his soaring thought
Would seem to catch a glance of Thee, Thy light
Soon becomes dazzling, and he sinks in night.
Yes! we are blind-and when we most aspire,
Most feel our weakness and our vain desire.
We trace the comets in their orbits-fly
From star to star, across the crowded sky,
And, far beyond what natural powers discern,
Guided by art, we nature's mysteries learn:
But when we think of Thee-confounded, lost,
From one proud billow to another toss'd,
Our reason wreck'd, the horizon shaded o'er,
We dash upon a dark and dangerous shore.

What art Thou, Lord? By what high name, what word

Of majesty, shall we address Thee, Lord?
God! awful sound, recess of mystery!

God! what strange notions of infinity,

Upon fair Nature's universal breast,-
Wafted by every breeze, and borne along
By every motion that has sense or song-
Splendent above and beautiful below,
The soul of all the universe art Thou!
We find Thee there we revel in the thought-
Forgive the daring, Lord! we know Thee not.
When man hath scaled the heavens, and weigh'd the

sun,

And visited the stars-then, Infinite One!
Then may he, then, though still unworthily,
Lift up his thoughts and turn his eyes to Thee;
To Thee, whose glorious brightness human eye
Ne'er gazed on yet in its intensity.

O God! I tremble when on Thee I think;
I feel as if I shudder'd on the brink
Of profanation-yet I love Thee: read
My doubting, fearing heart-it loves indeed!
Loves, and would fain obey-Oh, touch the chord
That vibrates at Thy name, and tune it, Lord!
To reverence and to virtue: all beside-
The vain desires of folly or of pride-
All, all I throw, an offering at Thy feet;
Accept that homage, Being Infinite !-Bowring.

Why bursts such melody from bush and tree,
The overflowing of each songster's heart,
So filling mine that it can scarcely be
Content to listen, but would take its part?
'Tis but one song I hear where'er I rove,
Though countless be the notes, that God is Love.'

In heaven's starr'd pavement at the midnight hour,
In roseate hues that come at morning dawn,
In the bright bow athwart the falling shower,
In woods and waters, hills and velvet lawn,
One truth is written, all conspire to prove,
What grace of old reveal'd, that 'God is Love.'

Nor less this pulse of health, this step of joy,

This heart so moved with beauty, perfume, song, This spirit, soaring through a gorgeous sky, Or diving ocean's coral caves among, Fleeter than darting fish or swiftest doveAll, all, declare the same, that God is Love.'

1505. GOD. Messengers of

ALL that in this wide world we see,
Almighty Father! speaks of Thee;
And in the darkness, or the day,
Thy monitors surround our way.

The fearful storms that sweep the sky,
The maladies by which we die,
The pangs that make the guilty groan,
Are angels from Thy awful throne.

Each mercy sent when sorrows lower,
Each blessing of the winged hour,
All we enjoy and all we love,
Bring with them lessons from above.

Nor thus content, Thy gracious hand,
From midst the children of the land,
Hath raised, to stand before our race,
Thy living messengers of grace.

Davies.

We thank Thee that so clear a ray
Shines on Thy straight, Thy chosen way,
And pray that passion, sloth, or pride,
May never lure our steps aside. -Bryant.

1506. GOD. Morning Hymn to

IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNIX.

AWAKE, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!

Oh, struggling with the darkness all night long,
And all night visited by troops of stars,

Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink ;
Companion of the morning-star at dawn-
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald, wake; oh wake, and utter praise!
Ye ice-falls, ye that from the mountain's brow,
Adown enormous ravines slope amain-
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once, amidst their maddest plunge,
Motionless torrents! Silent cataracts!

Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living

flowers

Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
God, let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer; and let the ice-plains echo-God!
God, sing ye meadow streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder-God!
Thou, too, hoar mount, with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,
Thou too, again, stupendous mountain, thou,
That as I raise my head, awhile bow'd down
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow travelling with dim eyes, suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me. Rise, oh, ever rise;
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth;
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch! tell there the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell the rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God!

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,

All this magnificence in Thee is lost: What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee? And what am I then? Heaven's unnumber'd host, Though multiplied by myriads, and array'd

In all the glory of sublimest thought,

Is but an atom in the balance, weigh'd

Against Thy greatness, is a cipher brought Against infinity! Oh, what am I then? Nought! Nought! yet the effluence of Thy light Divine,

Pervading worlds, hath reach'd my bosom too;

Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,
As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
Nought! yet I live, and on hope's pinions fly
Eager towards Thy presence; for in Thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell; aspiring high,
Even to the throne of Thy Divinity.

I am, O God! and surely Thou must be !
Thou art directing, guiding all, Thou art!
Direct my understanding, then, to Thee;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Though but an atom 'midst immensity,
Still I am something, fashion'd by Thy hand!
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand,

Close to the realms where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land!

The chain of being is complete in me;
In me is matter's last gradation lost,
And the next step is spirit-Deity!

I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch, and a slave; a worm, a god!
Whence came I here? and how so marvellously
Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod
Lives surely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be !

Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word
Created me! Thou source of life and good!
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord!
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude
Fill'd me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
The garments of eternal day, and wing

Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere,
Even to its source-to Thee-its Author there.

The Lord uplifts His awful hand,
And chains you to the shore.

Ye winds of night, your force combine :
Without His high behest,

Ye shall not, in the mountain-pine,
Disturb the sparrow's nest.

His voice sublime is heard afar;

In distant peals it dies ;

He yokes the whirlwind to His car,
And sweeps the howling skies.

Ye nations, bend-in reverence bend;
Ye monarchs, wait His nod,
And bid the choral song ascend

To celebrate your God.-H. K. White.

1510. GOD. Omnipresence of

To whom thus Michael with regard benign:
'Adam! thou know'st heaven His, and all the earth,
Not this rock only; His omnipresence fills
Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives,
Fomented by His virtual power, and warm'd ;
All the earth He gave thee to possess and rule,
No despicable gift! surmise not then
His presence to these narrow bounds confined,
Of Paradise, or Eden: this had been

Perhaps thy capital seat; from whence had spread
All generations, and had hither come

From all ends of the earth, to celebrate
And reverence thee, their great progenitor.

But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons.
Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain,
God is, as here, and will be found alike
Present; and of His presence many a sign
Still following thee, still compassing thee round
With goodness and parental love; His face
Express, and of His steps the track divine.'-Milton.

1511. GOD: our life and light.

THOU art, O God, the life and light
Of all this wondrous world we see ;
Its glow by day, its smile by night,

Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine.

When day, with farewell beam, delays Among the opening clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze Through golden vistas into heaven,— Those hues, that mark the sun's decline So soft, so radiant, Lord, are Thine.

When night, with wings of starry gloom,
O'ershadows all the earth and skies,
Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes,—
That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine.
When youthful Spring around us breathes,
Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh;
And every flower the Summer wreathes
Is born beneath that kindling eye.
Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine,

And all things fair and bright are Thine.-Moore.

1512. GOD. Praise to

PRAISE, my soul, the King of heaven;
To His feet thy tribute bring;
Ransom'd, heal'd, restored, forgiven,
Who like thee His praise should sing?
Praise Him! praise Him!
Praise the everlasting King!

Praise Him for His grace and favour
To our fathers in distress;
Praise Him, still the same for ever,
Slow to chide, and swift to bless :
Praise Him! praise Him!
Glorious in His faithfulness!

Father-like He tends and spares us;

Well our feeble frame He knows ;
In His hands He gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes:

Praise Him! praise Him!
Widely as His mercy flows!

Angels, help us to adore Him,

Ye behold Him face to face;
Sun and moon, bow down before Him;
Dwellers all in time and space,

Praise Him! praise Him!

Praise with us the God of grace !-Lyte.

1513. GOD: reveals Himself only to the humble.

To critic cold and sly God never yet appear'd; No riddle ever was by logic solved and clear'd: It takes a pure and humble heart the Lord to see, And free-wing'd wit to soar through mystery. Oriental, tr. by Alger.

1514 GOD: seen in little things.

THOU, Lord, who rear'st the mountain's height, And mak'st the cliff with sunshine bright,

Oh grant that I may own Thy hand

No less in every grain of sand!