133 SACRED POETRY. Eve. O pale, pathetic Christ-I worship thee! CHRIST. For, at last, rapping round me your humanity, ich, being sustain'd, shall neither break nor burn eath the fire of Godhead, will tread earth, ransom you and it, and set strong peace ixt you and its creatures. With my pangs confront sunken to all Nature's heart from yours, your sins: and since your sins rs of my clean soul shall follow them, a holy passion to work clear e consecration. In my brow Look on me! ☛ whiteness, shall be crown'd anew s of eclipse and anguish dread, ercy. Ye shall fall n. nor pass out pich hope, move on, 131 rners. e lowli -bec th, t arepe ther and love, rayers THE BRIDAL AND THE BURIAL. By JAMES MONTGOMERY. BLESSED is the bride whom the sun shines on; I saw thee young and beautiful, And the little children sang 66 Flowers, flowers, kiss her feet; The winter is past, the rains are gone; Blessed is the bride whom the sun shines on." I saw thee poor and desolate, I saw thee fade away, In broken-hearted widowhood, And the little children sang,— Sweets to the sweet! The summer's past, the sunshine's gone; Blessed is the corpse which the rain rains on." ON WITNESSING A BAPTISM. By N. P. WILLIS. SHE stood up in the meekness of a heart The forehead of the beautiful child lay soft And the temptations of the world, and death, "BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN." Он, deem not they are blest alone The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears; There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night; And thou, who o'er thy friend's low bier Nor let the good man's trust depart, For God has mark'd each sorrowing day, A DOMESTIC SCENE. By Mrs. HEMANS. "The priest-like father reads the sacred page." 'Twas early day-and sunlight stream'd That hush'd, but not forsaken seem'd- Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, And touch'd the book with tenderest light, Some word of life ev'n then had met Some ancient promise, breathing yet Some heart's deep language, where the glow That my Redeemer lives." And silent stood his children by, Hushing their very breath Before the solemn sanctity Of thoughts o'ersweeping death: Oh! blest be those fair girls-and blest HYMN. By Bishop HEBER. THE Lord shall come! the earth shall quake; And withering from the vault of night, The Lord shall come! but not the same The Lord shall come! a dreadful form, AFFLICTION. By JAMES MONTGOMERY. I CANNOT call affliction sweet, My wearied soul was all resign'd Where are the vows which then I vow'd, These like the early dew. Lord, grant me grace for every day, Whate'er my state may be; Through life, in death, with truth to say, "My God is all to me!" |