O TURN not such a withering look
On one who still can feel;
Nor by a cold and harsh rebuke
An outcast's misery seal!
But think, ere thus the mourner's sigh,
The mourner's tears, you spurn,
That 'tis perhaps a FRIEND on high
Who prompts my late return!
The haunts of vice may pleasing seem
When first I dared to stray;
But ah! one hour dispelled the dream,
And dashed my joys away.
Amidst the crowds in pleasure's bower
My heart was still forlorn;
And when I thought to find a flower, I only felt a thorn.
O say not then, the cup of wrath
I must submit to drain,
When in the safe, the narrow path,
I wish to tread again!
It is not thus the gospel speaks
To those who cease from sin;
The soul IMMANUEL'S fold that seeks, Is ever welcomed in.
And say not that my guilt is great :
I know I feel 'tis true;
But while I groan beneath its weight,
I hope for pardon too.
Beyond the reach of grace divine
Myself I have not thrown;
And once, at least, to guilt like mine
My LORD has mercy shewn.
When once a wandering sheep, as I,
Was unto JESUs brought,
And all the cruel standers-by
A rigid sentence sought;
The feeble reed He would not break,
Though it was bruised sore;
The gentle words the SAVIOUR Spake
Were, "Go and sin no more."
BENEATH our feet, and o'er our head,
Is equal warning given;
Beneath us lie the countless dead,
Above us is the heaven.
Their names are graven on the stone,
Their bones are in the clay;
And ere another day is done,
Ourselves may be as they.
Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in every flower;
Each season has its own disease,
Its peril every hour.
Our eyes have seen the rosy light
Of youth's soft cheek decay,
And fate descend, in sudden night,
On manhood's middle day.
Our eyes have seen the steps of age
Halt feebly towards the tomb;
And yet shall earth our hearts engage?
And dreams of days to come?
Turn, mortal, turn! thy danger know!
Where'er thy foot can tread,
The earth rings hollow from below,
And warns thee of her dead.
Turn, Christian, turn! thy soul apply
To truths divinely given;
The bones that underneath thee lie,
Shall live for hell or heaven!
I'VE roamed through many a weary round,
I've wandered east and west;
Pleasure in every clime I found,
But sought in vain for rest.
While glory sighs for other spheres
I feel that one's too wide,
And think the home which love endears
Worth all the world beside.
The needle thus, too rudely moved,
Wanders unconscious where;
Till, having found the place it loved,
It, trembling, settles there.
"THE HAIRS OF HER HEAD ARE ALL NUMBERED."
SWEET promise of JESUS to weak and frail man,
To sustain him in sickness, in sorrow, in pain;
The closer His heavenly guidance we scan,
The less of all doubting and fear will remain.
The children of GOD dare not doubt of His aid ;
'Tis pledged, and His promises always are sure;
Though at times we may seem from His memory to fade,
Believe Him, and trust Him; His word will endure.
The infant thy God hath entrusted to thee,
Claims tenderest watching, faith, love, and prayer;
But all thou bestowest yet never can be
Like His who has made and preserves her with care.
Then when danger and sorrow her path shall enclose,
May it always by thee be remembered,
That however the foe may disturb her repose,
Yet "The hairs of her head are all numbered."
THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.
THERE is not in this wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet:
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart!
Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene
Her purest of crystal, and brightest of green;
'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill!
Oh! no; it was something more exquisite still.
|