« FöregåendeFortsätt »
The path of prayer thyself hast trod :
AWAKE, Sweet harp of Judah, wake,
When God's right arm is bared for war,
'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly,
Thus while we dwell in this low scene,
While yet we sojourn here below,
Yet courage-days and years will glide,
Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,
Shall meet the Father face to face,
H. K. WHITE.
ON A SKULL.
Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall,
THE OCEAN AN IMAGE OF ETERNITY.
ROLL on, thou deep and dark blue ocean-roll!
His steps are not upon thy paths,-thy fields
For earth's destruction thou dost all despise,
And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his gods, where haply lies His petty hopes in some near fort or bay, And dashest him again to earth:-there let him lay. The armaments which thunder-strike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war;
These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.
Thy shores are empires changed in all save theeAssyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free; And many a tyrant since; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts:-not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' playTime writes no wrinkle on thine azure browSuch as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving ;-boundless, endless, and sublime
The image of Eternity-the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless,
TRUST IN THE SAVIOUR.
Nor seldom, clad in radiant vest,
The smoothest seas will sometimes prove,
And if she trust the stars above,
The umbrageous Oak, in pomp outspread,
But Thou art true, incarnate Lord!
I bent before thy gracious throne,
FROM THE CURSE OF KEHAMAH.
THEY sin who tell us Love can die.
In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Its holy flame for ever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth
And hath in heaven its perfect rest;
TO THE MEMORY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE
BRIGHT be the place of thy soul,
On earth thou wert all but divine,
As thy soul shall immortally be;
And our sorrow may cease to repine
When we know that thy God is with the
Light be the turf of thy tomb!
May its verdure like emeralds be,
For why should we mourn for the blest?