« 이전계속 »
Then let the rude tempest assail,
The blast of adversity blow;
The haven, though distant, I hail,
Beyond this rough ocean of woe ;
When safe on the beautiful strand,
I'll smile at the billows that foam,
Kind angels to hail me to land,
And Jesus to welcome me home.
ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY.
YOUNG Life presented to her view
Its sweetest flowers of brightest hue;
The glowing tint she saw, and smiled,
Yet not these charms her heart beguiled-
She chose a branch of 'during palm,
Imbued in Gilead's sacred balm,
The dews of heaven preserved it bright,
And round it beam'd a holy light.
Those lovely flowers were stolen away—
But this she kept, and wears for aye;
Empyreal splendours 'round her rise,
And Eden's beauties feast her eyes.
A SAINT! Oh, would that I could claim
The privileged, the honour'd name,
And confidently take my stand,
Though lowest, in the saintly band.
Would, though it were in scorn applied,
That term the test of truth could bide!
Like kingly salutations given,
In mockery to the King of Heaven.
A saint! and what imports the name
Thus banded in derision's game?
"Holy, and separate from sin;
To good, nay even to God akin.”
Is such the meaning of the name,
From which a Christian shrinks with shame ?
Yes, dazzled by the glorious sight,
He owns his crown is all too bright.
And ill might son of Adam dare,
Alone such honour's weight to bear;
But fearlessly he takes the load,
United to the Son of God.
A saint! Oh, scorner, give some sign,
Some seal, to prove the title mine,
And warmer thanks thou shalt command,
Than bringing kingdoms in thy hand.
Oh! for an interest in that name,
When hell shall ope its jaws of flame,
And sinners to their doom be hurl'd,
While scorned saints "shall judge the world."
How shall the name of saint be prized,
Though now neglected and despised,
When Truth shall witness to the Lord,
That none but "saints shall judge the world!"
PICTURE, thou troublest me.
Upon thy portraiture, intent to praise,
But dimness, born of dreams-mysterious awe-
Steals o'er my vision, as if Christ I saw :
O, that thou wert a scene of common life,
Speaking alone of human love or strife!
Then could I write, nor deem Him at my side,
Who laid His hand upon the ark—and died.
Picture, thought-chaining picture, I behold
Thy cedars darken 'gainst a sky of gold;
Hills made by sunset gorgeous as the cloud,
And clouds like mountains piled, a stately crowd;
And thou hast female forms-one meekly sad,
And one a sister, yet more meekly glad;
Beauty and quiet on thy page appear―
Sunset and woman-is it these I fear?
O, not for these my eye of soul grows dim,
But heaven is in that form;-God breathes in him.
The Nazarene is there-and can I know
The thrilling words that from his lips now flow,
Reproof that sinks the spirit into dust,
And praise that fills with ecstasy of trust;
Nor turn from all the beauty glowing there,
Abash'd, like her-the one of too much care!
O, gentle Presence! Lowliest, yet Most High!
And thou wert canopied by this our sky!
And earth, most lovely, and most guilty thing,
(As bearing in her bosom man and spring,)
Hath felt thy footsteps! Well may she be proud,
And well may ocean, and the silent cloud :
Butman, like whom thou walk'dst in heart and limb,
Sorrow and shame, not lofty thoughts for him :
His sin the cause that thou on earth wert seen,
Wearing thy glories with a grief-worn mien,
That each resemblance that thy name would bear
Must heavenly beauty dim with human care !
But now, sad thoughts, farewell: the pictured three,
Are safe in heaven at last, from sorrow free-
Christ on the throne of God-his birth-right meet,
And Martha-now like Mary, at his feet!
FORTH from his dark and lonely hiding-place,
(Portentous sight!) the owlet Atheism,
Sailing on obscene wings athwart the noon,
Drops his blue-fringed lids, and holds them close,
And hooting at the glorious sun in Heaven,
Cries out, "Where is it?"