Types of our human weakness and our sorrow!
Who lives unhaunted by his loved ones dead?
Who, with vain longing seeketh not to borrow
From stranger eyes the home-lights which have fled?
Oh brother man! fold to thy heart thy brother;
Where pity dwells, the peace of God is there :
To worship rightly is to love each other,
Each smile a hymn, each kindly deed a prayer.
Follow with reverent steps the Great Example
Of Him whose holy work was doing good;"
So shall the wide earth seem our Father's temple,
Each loving life a psalm of gratitude.
Then shall all shackles fall; the stormy clangor
Of wild war-music o'er the earth shall cease; Love shall tread out the baleful fire of anger, And in its ashes plant the tree of peace!
LINES BY CAROLINE FRY.
How cold must the heart be, that, beating in health,
And blest with the blessings of freedom and wealth,
Surrounded by joys all the earth can afford,
To forget, for one moment, the claims of the Lord.
From whence cometh all that the eye doth behold?
Life, sustenance, raiment to neutralize cold;
Whence cometh the power to utter a word?
But from Him, the forgotten, creation's own Lord.
The air that is breathed, and the earth that is trod,
Proceed from the fatherly goodness of God;
And connections and friends by affection adored,
As life's sweetest ties are derived from the Lord.
And cold must the heart be-ungratefully cold, Permitted for years such choice blessings to hold, Which cannot one poor daily moment afford
To acknowledge in secret the claims of the Lord!
Wealth!-oh! that I had wealth!
To be the bounteous giver
Of good and blessed things,
And bear on Plenty's wings,
Joy, flowing like a river!
To see the pale lip quiver
Of hunger, pain and woe,
With new and grateful gladness!
To mark the warm tear flow,
No more the tear of sadness!
To bless the pining seed
Of squalidness and toil
That droops on earth's cold soil,
With labor's generous meed!
Oh! my pent soul is burning
To place in each their hand
Its lawful, rightful earning,
Withheld in Christian land!
To clothe Want's shivering limbs,
To see the poor man righted,
To wake the cheerful hymns
Of industry requited!
Power!-would that I had power
To shake the hearts of stone
That in pride's moated castles
Sit selfishly alone!
Headless earth's cry of sorrowing
From those who faint and toil, Scarce from stern grandeur borrowing A breathing on its soil! To spread, o'er land and sea,
The arm of strong protection, Where'er the helpless be,
Of every clime's complexion!
To shield the homeless poor,
Who droop in trembling sorrow,
Whose part to-day-to-morrow,
Is ever-to endure!
And where the weeping willow
Of sadness now is seen,
To plant bright evergreen,
And joy's fresh rose to guide!
His silken, downy pillow
To take from pampered pride;
To win from rich-robed pleasure
Her hoards of idle treasure,
And make, of gold and gems,
Abiding diadems!
Such as on angel-brow
Might rest-illumed the while With God's benignant smile And heaven's responding glow.
I have not wealth: Thou knowest it, Thou-who hast given me bread :
Power!-Strength!—I cannot boast it:
Oh! aching heart and head,
What can ye do for sorrow?
What can ye do to bless
This world, whose each to-morrow
Ne'er makes its suffering less?
Alas! not these possessing,
My lonely prayer must rise
Up to that God, whose blessing
Marks each mute sacrifice;
That He my soul would keep
From apathy's dead sleep,
Teach it for misery's smart,
And every aching heart,
Still mournfully to weep,
Still tenderly to feel,
Though impotent to heal!
Still, by a kind smile bless,
As He hath made it able,-
The face, or pale, or sable,
That saddens with distress!
Still speak an earnest word
For woe that sits alone,
Though, by my feeble tone No other breast be stirred!
If only in my own
Its echo may be heard,
Each kind pulse quickening— He--He may bless the mite
I to his treasury bring,
And Love's poor offering
Make welcome in His sight.!
Go, search the records of the past,
Thine eye on heathen learning cast;
Go, ask of Grecia's pride and shame-
Rome's injured purchaser of fame ;
Go, where repentance drop'd a tear,
Go, where the prayers of saints appear:
'Mid all the beauties opening there,
Unequall'd stands this simple prayer—
“Father, forgive them."
Search keep, amid the extensive field
Of virtues, modern writers yield,
The history of the world unfold,
Its brightest moral gems be told,
And tell, in present or in past,
Can she one jewel from her cast,
With half the beauty glist'ning there,
That's found in Jesus' simple prayer-
Father, forgive them."
See him betray'd, forsaken, sad;
View him in purple mockery clad;
Denied, insulted, scourged, reviled ;
With brow unshadowed, placid, mild.
See him away to Calvary led,
The piercing crown upon his head ;
And then, upon th' accursed tree,
List thou his heaven-breath'd melody-
"Father, forgive them."
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