THE seraphs veil their faces with their wings Before Thy throne, O God! Then how should I, Who tremble in a frail mortality,
Reach Thee in reverential visitings?
Forgive me, if my soul too boldly flings
Conjecture forth to bridge and bring me nigh
To Thee. I only do in truth reply
To my own doubts, my heart's sad murmurings.
I do but put away all thoughts that bar
My love of Thee, and clear Thy lovely name
From things that with Thy high perfection jar,
By the soul's noblest instincts marked with blame;
Yet in my ignorance I veil my face
Before the throne of Thy adoréd grace.
WHERE is damnation?
Man-woven sadness!
Hark! all creation
Answers in gladness!
"Sin shall dissolve
In goodness supernal!
Beauty and Joy
Alone are eternal!"
WAIT! for the day is breaking,
Though the dull night be long ;
Wait! God is not forsaking
Thy heart. Be strong-be strong!
Wait! and the clouds of sorrow
Shall melt in gentle showers,
And hues from heaven shall borrow,
As they fall amidst the flowers.
Wait! for the time is hasting
When life shall be made clear,
And all who know heart-wasting
Shall feel that God is dear.
I NEED a cleansing change within
My life must once again begin;
New hope I need, and youth renewed,
And more than human fortitude,
New faith, new love, and strength to cast
Away the fetters of the past.
Ah! why did fabling Poets tell
That Lethé only flows in Hell?
As if, in truth, there was no river
Whereby the leper may be clean
But that which flows, and flows forever,
And crawls along, unheard, unseen,
Whence brutish spirits, in contagious shoals,
Quaff the dull drench of apathetic souls!
Ah, no! but Lethé flows aloft
With lulling murmur, kind and soft,
As voice which sinners send to heaven
When first they feel their sins forgiven;
Its every drop as bright and clear
As if indeed it were a tear
Shed by the lovely Magdalen
For Him that was despised of men.
It is the only fount of bliss
In all the human wilderness
It is the true Bethesda solely
Endued with healing might, and holy ;
Not once a year, but evermore
Not one, but ALL men to restore.
ERE thou wast born "into this breathing world,"
God wrote some characters upon thy heart.
Oh, let them not, like beads of dew impearled
On morning blades, before the noon depart!
But morning drops before the noon exhale,
And yet those drops appear again at even;
So childish innocence on earth must fail,
Yet may return to usher thee to heaven.
SUFFERING UNDER BEREAVEMENT.
SAD night for us, but better day for her!
Well may'st thou mourn, but mourn not without hope:
Thou art not one, I know, that can believe
A pausing pulse, an intermitted breath,
Or aught that can to mortal flesh befal,
Can turn to nothing any ray of God,
Or frustrate one good purpose of our Lord.
She was a purpose of her great Creator,
Begun on earth, and well on earth pursued,
Now in the heaven of heavens consummate,
Or only waiting the predestined day,
The flower and glory of her consummation.
YEA, we do differ, differ still we must,
For language is the type of thought, and thought
The slave of sense; and sense is only fraught
With cheques and tokens taken upon trust,
Not for their worth but promise. Earth is all
One mighty parable of Hell and Heaven.
The portion we can read at best is small;
'Tis little that we know; and if befal
That Faith do wander, like the restless raven
That rather chose without an aim to roam
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