THE SOUL THIRSTING AFTER GOD. Yet thy sure mercies ever in my sight, My heart shall gladden through the tedious day; To Thee I'll duly tune the grateful lay. Rock of my hope! great solace of my heart! Why faint, my soul? Why doubt Jehovah's aid? A Poet's Prayer. £3 O God! it is an awful thing indeed, As in thy gospel thou hast done; nor less, Could man have ever found to thee access, Or worshipp'd thee aright in spiritual holiness? No! for the utmost that we could have done, Were to have raised, as Paul at Athens saw, Altars unto the dread and unknown One, Bending before we knew not what with awe; And even now, instructed by a law Holier than that of Moses, what know we Of thee, the Highest? Yet thou bidst us draw Near thee in spirit; O, then pardon me If, in this closing strain, I crave a boon of thee. It shall be this: Permit me not to place My soul's affections on the things of earth; But, conscious of the treasures of thy grace, To let them, in my inmost heart, give birth A POET'S PRAYER. To gratitude proportion'd to their worth: Teach me to feel that all that thou hast made Upon this mighty globe's gigantic girth, Though meant with filial love to be survey'd, Is nothing to thy self-the shadow of a shade. If thou hast given me, more than unto some, O grant that this may lead me still, through all Which should be thine alone, and waken at thy call. I would not merely dream my life away In fancied rapture, or imagined joy; Nor that a perfumed flower, a dew-gemm'd spray, To thee who framed them all, and can destroy, Or innocent enjoyment serve to feed, Grant me to gaze and love, and thus thy works to read. But while from one extreme thy power may keep My erring frailty, O preserve me still From dulness! nor let cold indifference steep Of early bliss must sober, as it will, 5 A POET'S PRAYER. And should, when earthly things to heavenly yield, That while I yet can walk through grove or field, And when I shall, as soon or late I must, Become infirm; in age, if I grow old; Or, sooner, if my strength should fail its trust; At morn or eve, and can no more behold Thy glorious works: forbid me to repine; Let memory still their loveliness unfold Before my mortal eye, and let them shine With borrow'd light from thee, for they are thine! BERNARD BARTON. Acquaint Thyself with God. Job xxii. 21. ACQUAINT thee, O mortal! acquaint thee with God; Acquaint thee, O mortal! acquaint thee with God; ΚΝΟΣ. The Ballad of Lutzen. Ox Lutzen's morn, ere heaven's red flame the drooping clouds had kiss'd, No trumpet swell'd its rallying blast, no clarion's pealing breath, "Halt, halt!" the cry rang through the host, "their ranks are all in view, And full before the Leaguers' host we seek, on bended knee, The king was there, with burning hope his manly visage glow'd, 66 Now, soldiers, now," and answer'd well each heart the kingly tone, "For holy faith, for life or death,—Lord Jesus, aid thine own!" |