All scenes alike engaging prove,
To souls impressed with sacred love;
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee;
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.
To me remains nor place nor time,
My country is in every clime:
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore, since God is there.
While place we seek, or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But, with my God to guide my way,
'Tis equal joy to go or stay.
Could I be cast where thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful thought:
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all.
I AM fond of the swallow-I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love:
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended and poised in the regions of air;
"Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows;
It is winged, like herself; 'tis ethereal fare.
She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays,
And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun :
So, true to our love, we should covet His rays,
And the place where He shines not, immediately shun.
Our light should be love, and our nourishment prayer;
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth:
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare;
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth.
'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below,
But when for her young she is building a nest;
Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow
A thought on a place not designed for her rest.
Let us leave it ourselves-'tis a mortal abode-
To bask every moment in infinite love;
Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road
That leads to the day-spring appearing above.
GOD, THE GUIDE OF HIS PEOPLE UNTO
AND He is present still. He still shall bless
The thorny path of life's rough wilderness;
He still bids springs of living water rise,
And heavenly food with ceaseless care supplies.
And when by death's cold stream we trembling stand,
The stream which bars us from the promised land,
His voice shall calm our fears, His hand shall guide
Our fainting footsteps through that fiercer tide,
And land us safely on our Canaan's shore,
Where toil, and tears, and death are known no more.
FAIR are the flowers, and fair the trees,
And sweet the groves of Paradise ;
And rills of love unceasing flow,
To water all the garden through.
There is no thorn, no brier seen,
But all is beautiful and green;
No barren spot, no stony ground,
In all that garden can be found.
Jesus, the Sun of Righteousness,
Shines on it with His cheering rays,
And vivifies the lovely flowers
With dews of grace and heavenly showers.
THE HEAVENLY LAND, AND THE
KNOW the land which, in moments of sorrow,
To hearts that are weary and laden is dear,
Where joys of to-day are unchanged on the morrow, And happiness' smile beams no more through a tear?
Know ye it, pilgrims? then linger no more,
But hasten with me to that heavenly shore.
Know ye the way? though 'tis oftentime dreary,
The pilgrim will oftentime faint as he goes;
It leads to the home and the rest of the weary,
Where God's ransomed people find endless repose.
Know ye it, pilgrims? then fearless haste on,
The thorns shall be changed to fair flowers ere long.
Know ye the Friend, who, His glory forsaking,
Has travelled before you that rough thorny road,
Your nature, your sins, and your sufferings taking,
To bring you, poor wanderers, home to your God?
Know ye Him, pilgrims? then lean on His hand,
"Twill guide you on safely to that blessed land.
SAYEST thou that human glory can endure,
That ought of earth affords foundation sure?
Sayest thou that empire, dignity, or fame,
Shall live for ever-flourish on the same?
Gaze on each temple, on each lofty dome;
Gaze on the ruins of imperial Rome;
Can the proud city or embattled tower
Contemn old Time, and set at nought his power?
Gaze on the ruins; nay, go seek the spot
Where high and haughty Babylon is not;
Snakes of the fen, and lions of the wood,
Possess the spot where she, proud city, stood.
Her gates of brass, her gold, her silver-all
Have perished in the universal fall;
No frail memorial is left, to tell
Where stood the stronghold of the impious Bel.
Yet, mark! there is a city that shall be
Strong and unmoved to all eternity.
No sun illuminates that city bright,
No moon is there, to cheer dark dismal night :
No night is there; God is its beaming sun,
Its light the Lamb-the holy Three in One.
What city thus shall cankering age contemn?
No earthly work-the New Jerusalem!
WHY should yon dark unlovely cloud
Obscure the golden ray,
And with its sudden gloom o'ercast
The brightness of the day?
Safe in its folds a treasure lies,
A store of glittering rain;
And God in mercy brings it forth
To cool the sultry plain.
Vain were the beams of summer suns
To paint the mellow fruit,
If God withheld the gentle rain
That nourishes the root.
|