THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit this mortal frame,
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying;
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying.
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!
Hark! they whisper: angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes, it disappears,
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings! I, mount, I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?
Moore.
[B. 1780.-D. 1852.]
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 odours pour'd!
And wiped them with that golden hair,
Where once the diamond shone;
Though now those gems of grief were there,
Which shine for God alone!
Were not those sweets, so humbly shed-
That hair those weeping eyes-
And the sunk heart that inly bled—
Heaven's noblest sacrifice!
Thou, that hast slept in error's sleep,
Oh! wouldst thou wake in heaven,
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep,
Love much-and be forgiven!
GOD THE SOURCE OF CONSOLATION.
O Thou! who driest 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 rapturous ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.
ISRAEL'S SONG OF TRIUMPH.
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 boast! for 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
And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah has triumph'd-his people are free.
MARY, STAR OF THE SEA.
WHEN evening shades are falling
O'er ocean's sunny sleep,
To pilgrims' hearts recalling
Their home beyond the deep;
When, rest o'er all descending,
The shores with gladness smile,
And lutes, their echoes blending,
Are heard from isle to isle;
Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,
We pray, we pray, to thee!
The noonday tempest over,
Now ocean toils no more,
And wings of halcyons hover
Where all was strife before.
Oh! thus may life in closing
Its short tempestuous day,
Beneath Heaven's smile reposing,
Shine all its storms away.
Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea,
We pray, we pray, to thee!
OPENING OF "PARADISE AND THE PERI."
ONE morn a Peri at the gate
Of Eden stood, disconsolate,
And, as she listen'd to the springs
Of life within, like music flowing,
And caught the light upon her wings,
Through the half-open portal glowing,—
She wept to think her recreant race
Should e'er have lost that glorious place.
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