صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

Though now divided by the stream

The narrow stream of death.

One army of the living God,

To his command we bow;
Part of the host have crossed the flood,

And part are crossing now.

Even now to their eternal home

Some happy spirits fly:
And we are to the margin come,

And soon expect to die !

O Jesus, be our constant guide ;

Then when the word is giv'n,
Bid Jordan's narrow stream divide,
And land us safe in heaven.

Edinburgh Sacred Poetry.

How wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan ? Dark river of death, that is flowing

Between the bright city and me, Thou boundest the path I am going,

O how shall I pass over thee

When the cold stormy waters rise o'er me,

And earth disappears from my sight,When a cloud rises thickly before me,

And veils all my spirits in night?

O death! thou last portion of sorrow,

The prospect of heaven is bright;

And fair is the dawn of its morrow,

But stormy and dreadful the night!

O thou who hast broken the pow'r

of this the last victor of men, Be with me in that solemn hour,

O grant me deliverance then !

The glory from Calvary streaming,

May shine o'er the cold sable wave; And the faith that is oftentimes beaming, May burst thro' the gloom of the grave.

Edmeston.

For we who have believed do enter into rest.

Delusive world, farewell!

By grief and sin distress'd,
On one delightful thought I dwell,

That thou art not my rest !

Once thou wert all I sought

To fill this anxious breast,
And it was then a mournful thought,

That thou wert not my rest.

But oft would guilt appear

In legal horrors drest,
And many a sad forboding fear

Denied my hope of rest!

And long with heartfelt pain,

By inward woes oppress’d

Some friendly hand I ask'd in vain,

To point a place of rest.

Till hastning from above,

A self invited guest,
The Saviour, with a smile of love,

Proclaimed himself my rest.

No longer canst thou fill,

False world, this peaceful breast; No more thy frowns my comforts kill,

Since Jesus is my rest.

He bids that scene arise

Which life and love invest;
He bids me quit each earthly prize,

And pant for heavenly rest.

Yes! I shall join the throng,

By his own voice confest,
And celebrate in ceaseless song,
My Lord, my life, my rest!

Edinburgh Sacred Poetry.

Christ our Example in Suffering.

Go to dark Gethsemane,
Ye that feel temptation's power,
Your Redeemer's conflict see,
Watch with him one bitter hour.
Turn not from his griefs away,
Learn of Jesus Christ to pray.

Follow to the judgment-hall,
View the Lord of life arraigned.
O the wormwood and the gall!
O the pangs his soul sustained.
Shun not suffering, shame, or loss ;
Learn of him to bear the cross.

Calvary's mournful mountain climb;
There, admiring at his feet.
Mark that miracie of time,
God's own sacrifice complete ;

It is finished,' hear him cry;
Learn of Jesus Christ to die

Early hasten to the tomb
Where they laid his breathless clay;
All is solitude and gloom ;
--Who has taken him away?
Christ is risen; he meets our eyes.
Saviour, teach us so to rise.

Montgomery.

Pleasure.

I quit the world's fantastic joys,

Her honors are but empty toys,
Her bliss an empty shade:

Like meteors in the midnight sky,
That glitter for a while and die,

Her glories flash and fade.

O source of glory, life, and love!

When to thy courts I mount above

On contemplation's wings,

I look with pity and disdain
On all the pleasures of the vain,

On all the pomp of kings.

Thy beauties rising to my sight.

Divinely sweet, divinely bright, With rapture fill my breast;

Though robb’d of all my worldly store, In thee I never can be poor, But must be ever blest..

Dr. More.

Not ashamed of Jesus.

Jesus, and can it ever be,
A mortal man ashamed of thee?
Scorned be the thought by rich and poor ;
My soul shall scorn it more and more.

Ashamed of Jesus! yes, I may,
When I've no sins to wash away,
No tears to wipe, no joys to crave,
And no immortal soul to save.

Ashamed of Jesus! that dear friend,
On whom my hopes of heaven depend ?
No; when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere his name.

Till then-nor is the boasting vain-
Till then I boast a Saviour slain;
And 0, may this my portion be,
That Saviour's not ashamed of me!

Gregg.

« السابقةمتابعة »