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"Thy will be done!"-and dost thou find In the deep musings of thy mind
No fear, no hope, no passion there,
Thou couldst not freely from thee tear?
And darest thou call upon thy God
To try thee with his chastening rod,
And round the wide world steadfast look,
And find no ill thou canst not brook?
What! couldst thou see the whirlwind come
To tear thee from thy cherish'd home?
See the strong arm of death embrace
The best beloved of all thy race?
See, undeserved, an evil fame
Attaint thy long unsullied name?
Feel slow consuming sickness break
Thy mind, now impotent and weak?
Yet not one murmur ?-If but one,
Thou must not say, "Thy will be done!"
No: rather, ere thy spirit dare
Adopt the Savior's fervent prayer,
The Savior's spirit earnest seek,
Enduring, patient, firm, and meek.
Go, seek of God a heavenly mind,
Active, like His-like His, resign'd:
Pray, that thy very prayer may bring
No hated, no unwelcome thing;
Pray, that the will of Heaven may be
Health, joy, and all things else to thee;
And, thus the work of prayer begun,
Thou well may'st say, "Thy will be done."
GOD is good! each perfumed flower,
The smiling fields, the dark green wood,
The insect fluttering for an hour,-
All things proclaim that "God is good."
I hear it in the rushing wind;
The hills that have, for ages stood,
And clouds, with gold and silver lined,
All still repeat that "God is good."
Each little rill which many a year
Has the same verdant course pursued ;
And every bird, in accents clear,
Join in the song that "God is good."
The countless hosts of twinkling stars,
Which e'en the keenest sight elude,
The rising sun each day declares,
In rays of light, that "God is good."
The restless main, with haughty roar,
Calms each wild wave and billow rude; Retreats, submissive, from the shore,
And joins the chorus-" God is good."
The moon, that walks in brightness, says That "God is good:" and man, endued With power to speak his Maker's praise,
Should still repeat that "God is good."
THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE.
O'ER Kedron's stream, and Salem's height,
And Olivet's brown steep,
Moves the majestic queen of night,
And throws from heaven her silver light,
And sees the world asleep;
All but the children of distress,
Of sorrow, grief, and care—
Whom sleep, though prayed for, will not bless : These leave the couch of restlessness,
To breathe the cool, calm air.
For those who shun the glare of day,
There's a composing power
That meets them, on their lonely way,
In the still air, the sober ray
Of this religious hour.
'Tis a religious hour;-for He
Who many a grief shall bear,
In his own body on the tree,
Is kneeling in Gethsemane,
In agony and prayer.
O, Holy Father, when the light
Of earthly joy grows dim,
May hope in Christ grow strong and bright,
To all who kneel, in sorrow's night,
In trust and prayer like him.
LEVITICUS Xxv. 8-13.
The Sabbath of the jubilee announced;
The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land,
At once, in every city, echoing rings,
From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs,
So loud, that, far within the desert's verge,
The crouching lion starts, and glares around.
Free is the bondman now; each one returns
To his inheritance. The man, grown old
In servitude far from his native fields,
Hastes joyous on his way. No hills are steep;
Smooth is each rugged path. His little ones
Sport as they go, while oft the mother chides
The lingering step, lured by the way-side flowers.
At length, the hill from which a farewell look,
And still another parting look, he cast
On his paternal vale, appears in view.
The summit gained, throbs hard his heart, with joy And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more.
Instant his eager eye darts to the roof
Where first he saw the light. His youngest born
He lifts, and, pointing to the much-loved spot,
Says, "There my fathers lived, and there they sleep."
Onward he wends: near and more near he drawsHow sweet the tinkle of the palm-bower'd brook!
The sunbeam, slanting through the cedar grove,
How lovely, and how mild! but lovelier still
The welcome in the eye of ancient friends,
Scarce known at first;—and dear the fig-tree shade,
In which, on Sabbath eve, his father told
Of Israel, from the house of bondage freed,
Led through the desert to the promised land.
With eager arms the aged stem he clasps,
And with his tears the furrow'd bark bedews;
And still at midnight hour he thinks he hears
The blissful sound that brake the bondman's chains,—
The glorious peal of freedom and of joy.
ALL THINGS TO BE CHANGED.
I LOVE to see the falling leaf,
To watch the waning moon:
I love to cherish the belief
That all will change so soon.
I love to see the beauteous flowers
In bright succession pass;
As they would deck the fleeting hours,
And hide Time's ebbing glass.
I love the rushing wind to hear
Through the dismantled trees,
And shed the sad but silent tear
O'er joys that changed like these.
I love to think the glorious earth
Is but a splendid tomb,