And she who comes in glitt'ring vest
To mourn her frailty, still is frail.
Not so the faded form I prize
And love, because its bloom is gone;
The glory in those sainted eyes
Is all the grace her brow puts on.
And ne'er was beauty's dawn so bright,
So touching as that form's decay,
Which, like the altar's trembling light,
In holy lustre wastes away.
THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.
(Air-STEVENSON.)
THIS world is all a fleeting show,
For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow-
There's nothing true but heaven!
And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of even!
And love and hope and beauty's bloom
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb-
There's nothing bright but heaven!
Poor wand'rers of a stormy day!
From wave to wave we're driven,
And fancy's flash and reason's ray
Serve but to light the troubled way—
There's nothing calm but heaven!
O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR.
"He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds."— Psalm cxlvii. 3.
O THOU Who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee?
The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.
But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too,
Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not Thy wing of love
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our Peace-branch from above!
Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shews us worlds of light
We never saw by day!
WEEP NOT FOR THOSE.
(Air-AVISON.)
WEEP not for those whom the veil of the tomb
In life's happy morning hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies.
Death chill'd the fair fountain ere sorrow had stain'd it;
'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course,
And but sleeps till the sunshine of heaven has unchain'd it,
To water that Eden where first was its source.
Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb
In life's happy morning hath hid from our eyes,
Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom,
Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies.
Mourn not for her, the young bride of the vale,*
Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now,
Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale,
And the garland of love was yet fresh on her brow.
* This second verse, which I wrote long after the first, alludes to the fate of a very lovely and amiable girl, the daughter of the late Colonel Bainbrigge, who was married in Ashbourne Church, October 31, 1815, and died of a fever in a few weeks after; the sound of her marriage-bells seemed scarcely out of our ears when we heard of her death. During her last delirium, she sung several hymns in a voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, and among them were some from the present collection (particularly "There's Nothing Bright but Heaven,") which this very interesting girl had often heard during the summer.
Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying
From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown-
And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying,
Were echo'd in heaven by lips like her own.
Weep not for her-in her spring-time she flew
To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd;
And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew,
Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world.
THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE. (Air-STEVENSON.)
THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine;
My temple, Lord! that arch of thine;
My censer's breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers.
My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murm'ring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea,
Even more than music, breathes of Thee!
I'll seek by day some glade unknown,
All light and silence, like Thy throne;
And the pale stars shall be, at night,
The only eyes that watch my rite.
Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look,
Shall be my pure and shining book,
Where I shall read, in words of flame,
The glories of Thy wond'rous name.
I'll read Thy anger in the rack
That clouds a while the day-beam's track;
Thy mercy in the azure hue
Of sunny brightness breaking through.
There's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,
But in its light my soul can see
Some features of Thy Deity;
There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace Thy love,
And meekly wait that moment when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again!
MIRIAM'S SONG.
(Air-AVISON.*)
"And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. -Exod. xv. 20.
SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph'd-His people are free!
Sing-for the pride of the tyrant is broken,
His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave—
How vain was their boasting, the Lord hath but spoken,
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea;
Jehovah has triumph'd-His people are free!
Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!
His word was our arrow, His breath was our sword.
Who shall return to tell Egypt the story
Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride?
For the Lord hath look'd out from His pillar of glory,+
And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide,
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph'd-His people are free!
GO, LET ME WEEP.
(Air-STEVENSON.)
Go, let me weep-there's bliss in tears
When he who sheds them inly feels
Some ling'ring stain of early years
Effaced by every drop that steals.
The fruitless showers of worldly woe
Fall dark to earth and never rise;
While tears that from repentance flow,
In bright exhalement reach the skies.
Go, let me weep, &c.
Leave me to sigh o'er hours that flew
More idly than the summer's wind,
And while they pass'd a fragrance threw,
But left no trace of sweets behind.
* I have so much altered the character of this air, which is from the beginning of one of Avison's old-fashioned concertos, that, without this acknowledgment, it could hardly, I think, be recognised.
"And it came to pass, that in the morning watch the Lord looked unto the host of the Egyptians through the pillar of fire and of the cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians."-Exod. xiv. 24.
The warmest sigh that pleasure heaves
Is cold, is faint, to those that swell
The heart where pure repentance grieves
O'er hours of pleasure loved too well.
Leave me to sigh, &c.
COME NOT, O LORD.
(Air-HAYDN.)
COME not, O Lord, in the dread robe of splendour
Thou worest on the mount, in the day of Thine ire;
Come veil'd in those shadows, deep, awful, but tender,
Which mercy flings over Thy features of fire!
Lord, thou rememb'rest the night when Thy nation *
Stood fronting her foe by the red-rolling stream;
On Egypt Thy pillar frown'd dark desolation,
While Israel bask'd all the night in its beam.
So when the dread clouds of anger infold Thee
From us, in Thy mercy, the dark side remove;
While shrouded in terrors the guilty behold Thee,
Oh, turn upon us the mild light of Thy love!
WERE NOT THE SINFUL MARY'S TEARS.
(Air-STEVENSON.)
WERE not the sinful Mary's tears
An offering worthy Heaven,
When o'er the faults of former years
She wept and was forgiven?
When, bringing every balmy sweet
Her day of luxury stored,
She o'er her Saviour's hallow'd feet
The precious perfume pour'd;
And wiped them with that golden hair
Where once the diamonds shone;
Though now those gems of grief were there
Which shine for God alone!
Were not those sweets, though humbly shed
That hair-those weeping eyes—
* "And it came between the camp of the Egyptians and the camp of Israel; and it was a cloud and darkness to them, but it gave light by night to these."-Exod. xiv. 20.
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