Bear it in meek patience! Not in gloomy silence Not in fever'd pride. Not in weak desponding- Childlike love and trust. In the sick-room's silence, He, too, bore it daily. Through these shadows dim. Wayward, well-loved spirit, Bear it after Him. MRS. HENRY FAUSSETT (ALESSIE BOND.) The Cairns of Iona. (G. Herbert, Dublin.) Ан me, what unimagined calm He giveth when 'tis needed most! To bitterest grief what precious balm! To grief what thoughts, in radiant host! MRS. HENRY FAUSSETT (ALESSIE BOND.) The Cairns of Iona. (G. Herbert, Dublin) TO A FRIEND IN BEREAVEMENT. No comfort, nay, no comfort. Yet would I In Sorrow's cause with Sorrow intercede. Burst not the great heart,-this is all I pleadAh, sentence it to suffer, not to die. "Comfort?" If Jesus wept at Bethany, -That doze and nap of Death-how may we bleed bold For life-to-come, is false to the past sweet A CRY IN THE NIGHT. Hush, hush, faint heart! why this may be thy chance, When all is at the worst, to prove thy faith; Stand still, and see His great Deliverance, And trust Him at the darkest unto death. Ofttimes upon the last grim ridge of war God takes His stand to aid us in the fight; He watches while we roll the tide afar, And, beaten back, is near us in His might. We hear the arrows in the dark go by: The cowering soul no longer soars or sings, Or it might know His presence the most nigh, Our darkness being the Shadow of His wings. No need of faith if all were visibly clear! 'Tis for the trial-time its help was given; Though clouds be thick, the Sun is just as near, That shines within and makes the heart its heaven. Amidst our wildest night of saddest woes, When Earth is desolate-Heaven dark with doom, Faith has its fire flash of the soul that shows The face of the Eternal through the gloom. GERALD MASSEY. Poetical Works. (Routledge) THIS hath He done, and shall we not adore Him? Yea, thro' life, death, thro' sorrow and thro' sinning VIII. THE BLESSEDNESS OF "Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, As you Like It, Act II., Sc. 1. AFFLICTION. O COME, and welcome! come, refine! Flowers that in sunshine riot still, Die, scorched and sapless. Though storms kill, The fall is fair even to desire Where in their sweetness all expire. O come, pour on! What calms can be So fair as storms that appease thee? www H. VAUGHAN. Sacred Poems. BUT night is still, and o'er the hills are stars. There is no strife in their mysterious rest. And Christ hath laid His finger on life's scars, And taught us now that sorrow can be blest. MRS. HENRY FAUSSETT (ALESSIE BOND). The Cairns of Iona. (G. Herbert, Dublin.) THEN, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! ROBERT BROWNING. Dramatis Persona: Poetical Works. (Smith, Elder, and Co.) COUNT each affliction, whether light or grave, Of mortal tumult to obliterate The soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be AUBREY DE Vere. Is the summons come for us to meet Him; He will stay, And darken our sun; He will stay A desolate night, a weary day. Since in that shadow our work is done, And in that shadow our crowns are won, Let us say still, while his bitter chalice Slowly into our hearts is poured,— "Blessed is he that cometh In the name of the Lord!" ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. Legends and Lyrics. (G. Bell.) www WHY are all fair things at their death the fairest ? Why doth rich sunset clothe each closing day WHEN God afflicts thee, think He hews a rugged With ever-new apparelling the rarest ? stone Why are the sweetest melodies all born Which must be shaped, or else aside as useless Of pain and sorrow? Mourneth not the dove thrown. R. C. TRENCH. Poems. (Macmillan.) GOD's dealings still are love; his chastenings are alone Love now compelled to take an altered sterner tone. R. C. TRENCH. Poems. (Macmillan.) WISH not, dear friends, my pain away, The dearest offering He can crave His portion in our souls to prove, What is it to the gift He gave, The only Son of His dear love? JOHN KEBLE. Christian Year. (Parker.) WHO is the Angel that cometh? Pain! Let us arise and go forth to greet him ; Not in vain In the green forest gloom an absent love? Leaning her breast against that cruel thorn, DAVID GRAY. [By kind permission of Messrs. James Maclehose and Sons.] YET, Lord, in memory's fondest place I shrine those seasons sad, When looking up, I saw thy face In kind austereness clad. I would not miss one sigh or tear, Yes! let the fragrant scars abide, Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side, DEATH came to me and took me by the hand, What time the earth had girt her first with spring, And all the meadows put on blossoming. "Come forth," said he, "and see my flowers expand." And forth we passed into the pleasant land. And as we went, the small birds all did sing, And all the flowers praised Death in everything. Then, as I look'd, amazed, to see the brand And sign of that his dreadful sovranty, Behold, a crown of holiest sorrowing Most softly, "Lo! he ruleth all that be, JOHN PAYNE. Intaglios. (Pickering, 1871.) MEN thrive in conflict: soul refreshes soul, No blessing till he strove the whole night long! FROM fair to fairer; day by day LIFE, I repeat, is energy of love, www DARKNESS is easier far to bear Than that unrestful gloom, Where the light snows in, and vaguely haunts One of those darknesses was this, Slowly light came, the thinnest dawn, An advent of pure light: Perhaps not light; rather the soul Which just then came to see, And saw through its world-darkened life, O God! it was a time divine, Rich epoch of calm grace, A pressing of our hearts to Thine In mystical embrace. |