Hymns and Poems.
By
A. L. O. E.,
Author of “The Triumph over Midian,” “Rescued from Egypt,” “The Shepherd of Bethlehem,” &c., &c.
LONDON:
T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW;
EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.
1868.
PREFACE
If there be any distinctive peculiarity in this little volume, it is one that would naturally expose it to literary censure; the verses are very unequal, some of the hymns are avowedly written for the very poor. To admit rhymes for ragged children, needlewomen, and paupers into a book of sacred song, may—in the opinion of some critics—deprive it of all claim to the name of poetry. Yet I venture to hope that those who love to labour in God’s vineyard, will not be sorry to bear to their poorer brethren verses intended to meet their peculiar trials, and cheer them under their peculiar sorrows; while the subjects of many of the hymns are such as are of equal interest to the prince as to the peasant. Humbly I commend my little work to Him whose blessing can alone make it useful in strengthening the tempted, in cheering the sad, or in lifting up the hearts of the happy in joyful adoration and praise.
A. L. O. E.
CONTENTS
Page HYMNS. [The Willing Sacrifice,] 11 [The Resurrection,] 13 [Hymn for the Communion,] 15 [The Beacon,] 16 [The Blossoming Rod,] 18 [Hymn for the Penitent Convict,] 21 [Hymn for the Blind,] 23 [The House not made with Hands,] 25 [Sexton’s Hymn,] 27 [The Second Advent,] 29 [Hopes that Abide,] 31 [Soldier’s Hymn,] 32 [Hymn for Night,] 34 [Song of Joy,] 35 [The Retrospect,] 37 [The Supplicant,] 39 [Weaver’s Hymn,] 41 [Emigrant’s Hymn,] 43 [Fishermen’s Hymn,] 45 [Teacher’s Hymn,] 47 [Workman’s Hymn,] 49 [Sempstress’s Hymn,] 51 [Ragged Boy’s Hymn,] 53 [Ragged Girl’s Hymn,] 55 [Policeman’s Hymn,] 57 [Pauper’s Hymn,] 59 [Postman’s Hymn,] 61 [Servant’s Hymn,] 63 [Miner’s Hymn,] 65 [Gardener’s Hymn,] 67 [Labourer’s Hymn,] 69 [Wife’s Hymn,] 71 [Hymn of Industry,] 73 [Social Hymn,] 75 [National Hymn,] 77 [Soldier’s Hymn,] 79 [The Wise Men from the East,] 81 [Song of Hope,] 85 [The Fearful Heart,] 88 [Conviction of Sin,] 90 [The Sacred Guest,] 92 [The Mourner,] 95 [The Christian Bond,] 97 [The Cure at Gethsemane,] 100 [Hymn for the Communion,] 102 [Hymn for the Dying,] 104 [Death is not Dreadful,] 106 [Never Forsaken,] 109 [Thy Father’s Friend,] 111 [Fear of God and Fear of Man,] 113 [The Sinners’ Portion,] 115 [Death-Bed Hymn,] 117 [Save One!] 119 [New Year’s Hymn,] 121 POEMS. [The Indian Maid,] 125 [Blanche,] 136 [Pride,] 149 [A Dream of the Second Advent,] 153
HYMNS.
I.
THE WILLING SACRIFICE.
The precious blood of Christ my Lord,
The Saviour all-divine,
Was shed to cleanse men’s souls from guilt;
That blood has flowed for mine!
But what return can sinners make
For love so great, so free?
All is too little, oh! my God,
To sacrifice to Thee.
If all that I possessed on earth,
Before thy feet were laid,
Light as the dust the gift would prove
In heaven’s balance weighed.
The costly treasures of the skies
Thou didst resign for me;
All is too little, oh! my God,
To sacrifice to Thee.
But Thou wilt not disdain a heart
That would Thy word obey,
That loves to own the mighty debt
It never hopes to pay.
For were each hair upon my head
A separate life to be,[1]
All were too little, oh! my God,
To sacrifice to Thee.
II.
THE RESURRECTION.
The Summer blossoms fast decay
Beneath the Autumn’s chilling breath,
And man is passing thus away,
Touched by the silent hand of Death.
Still fading—falling—day by day
The withered petals strew the plain,
They never more shall deck the spray—
But man shall rise again!
Behold the bare and leafless tree
Blushes in spring to beauty bright;
Where the dark root was buried—see
The eager floweret springs to light!
The sun his gentle influence shed
To break cold winter’s icy chain—
So God shall wake us from the dead,
We all shall rise again!
As beauteous day succeeds to night,
So glory dawns upon the grave—
Praise to the Sun of life and light,
Who lived to bless, and died to save!
We calmly gaze on life’s dark close,
The tomb shall not our forms retain—
E’en as our God and Saviour rose
His own shall rise again!
III.
HYMN FOR THE COMMUNION.
I do not dare, O holy Lord,
Approach Thy sacred shrine
Trusting in mine own righteousness,
For nought but sins are mine,
But in the merits of Thy Son,
The Saviour all-divine.
Unworthy as I own I am
Christ’s feast of love to share,
In His name hear my humble cry,
For His sake grant my prayer,
And let Thy mercy cleanse my soul,
And shed Thy Spirit there!
Oh, make me one with my dear Lord
In His appointed rite,
A branch of the Eternal Vine
Not fruitless in His sight;
His own on earth, His own in heaven
Through ages infinite!
IV.
THE BEACON.
When shades of night around him close,
The lighthouse guard has charge to keep,
And trim the beacon-fire, which glows
Like a red star above the deep.
Still calm and bright
Must shine that light
That guides the seaman on his way,
Till morning gleam
And lighthouse beam
Fade in the rosy blush of day.
Like charge is to the Christian given
In grief or joy, in storm or strife,
To glorify the God of heaven
Both by his lips and by his life.
Still pure and bright
Must shine his light,
And shed around a holy ray,
A flame of love
Lit from above,
And shining on to perfect day.
Pride, discontent, mistrustful fear,
Too oft, alas! the beacon hide;
The sinner must be humbled here
That Jesus may be glorified.
So pure and bright
Shall shine his light,
To other hearts a beam convey,
A flame of love
Lit from above,
Still shining on to perfect day.
Lord, feed our lamps with heavenly grace,
And let them to Thy glory shine,
Nor let our weakness e’er disgrace
The holy faith which seals us Thine!
Then pure and bright
Shall shine our light,
Our heavenly Father’s grace display,
A flame of love
Lit from above,
Still shining on to perfect day!
V.
THE BLOSSOMING ROD.
An angel of comfort from heaven sped—
All nature brightened as he drew near
Where a poor man toiled in his lowly shed
And thanked the Lord for his scanty bread;
The angel breathed in the Christian’s ear,
“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
He spread his pinions, then paused again
Where prayer from a sick man’s couch was heard;
In weary weakness, in restless pain,
For tedious months had the sufferer lain,
But his pale face beamed at the whispered word:
“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
Then the angel flew where a mother prayed
For a son on a course of evil bent;
She wept—half trustful and half afraid,
Beseeching Him who alone could aid;
And to her was the message of comfort sent—
“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
With cares depressed, and with trials worn,
A persecuted believer knelt;
With drooping heart she had meekly borne
The unkind taunt and the look of scorn,
Till the angel’s smile was like sunshine felt.
“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
Then the seraph hovered where death had been,
In its little coffin an infant lay;
The parents wept, but a calm serene
Stole over their souls, as a hand unseen
Gently wiped the trickling tears away.
“Your God beholds, and will not forget;
Your bud shall blossom in glory yet!”
Happy such to whom griefs come not in vain,
Though afflictions bow, or the world contemn,
Thrice blest in sorrow, thrice blest in pain,
Reproach is honour, and loss is gain,
For the angel of peace shall visit them—
Their God beholds, and will not forget;
Their rod shall blossom in glory yet!
VI.
HYMN FOR THE PENITENT CONVICT.
I dare not raise my guilty eye
The gaze of man to meet,
A helpless sentenced wretch I lie,
Lord Jesus! at Thy feet.
Too justly scorned by all beside,
I trembling come to Thee;
If Thou for chief of sinners died,
Is there not hope for me?
The dying thief in torments hung
While sinners scoffed around;
With feeble breath and faltering tongue
He mercy sought—and found.
There flowed before his eyesight dim
The blood which made him free;
If Jesus heard and pitied him
Is there not hope for me?
The weeping prodigal returned
His father’s house to seek;
His supplication was not spurned—
Love still could welcome speak.
Like him, in grief and penitence,
To mercy’s door I flee,
O Father, wilt thou spurn me thence;
Is there not hope for me?
Yes, there is hope! while He, once crowned
With thorns, now pleads in heaven,
Rejoices o’er the lost one found,
The wanderer forgiven;
To those who mourn and turn from sin
He offers mercy free;
I feel another life begin—
There yet is hope for me!
VII.
HYMN FOR THE BLIND.
I cannot see the sunny gleam
Which gladdens every eye but mine,
But I can feel the warming beam,
And bless the God who made it shine.
O Lord, each murmuring thought control,
Let no repining tear-drop fall,
Pour holy light upon my soul,
That I may own Thy love in all!
I cannot see the flow’rets blow,
All sparkling from the summer showers,
But I can breathe their sweet perfume,
And bless the God who made the flowers.
O Lord, each murmuring thought control,
Let no repining tear-drop fall,
Pour holy light upon my soul,
That I may own Thy love in all!
I cannot see the pages where
Thy holy will is written, Lord;
But I can seek Thy house of prayer,
And humbly listen to Thy word,
Which bears my thoughts to that bright place
Where I at Thy dear feet may fall,
Behold my Saviour face to face,
And see and own His love in all!
VIII.
THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS.
The stately mansion riseth beneath the builder’s hand,
When our children sleep in dust that mansion still may stand;
But a nobler and more lasting dwelling to the saints is given,
In a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.
The poor in spirit and the meek, the merciful and pure,
On them the Saviour blessings breathed, for ever to endure;
Those persecuted for His sake, from friends or kindred driven,
Share a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.
And those who deeply mourn their sins shall find there yet is room,
For such the Lord endured the cross, descended to the tomb;
He ready stands to welcome those whose contrite hearts are riven,
To a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.
What matter, then, how lowly be the roof above our head,
What matter then how soon the stranger o’er our graves may tread,
If we are pressing on with hearts renewed and sins forgiven,
To a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven!
IX.
SEXTON’S HYMN.
I’ve laid the earth above the child
Whose life was but a summer’s day;
I knew that God, in mercy mild,
Had called his happy soul away.
Then therefore weep
O’er those who sleep?
Their precious dust the Lord will keep,
Till He appear
In glory here,
The harvest of the earth to reap.
I’ve laid the earth above the youth
Whose early days to God were given,
Whose end bore witness to this truth,
None die too soon who live for Heaven!
Then wherefore weep
O’er those who sleep?
Their precious dust the Lord will keep,
Till He appear
In glory here,
The harvest of the earth to reap.
I’ve laid the earth o’er reverend age,
Whose hoary hairs were glory’s crown,
The saint had closed his pilgrimage,
And gently laid life’s burden down.
Then wherefore weep
O’er those who sleep?
Their precious dust the Lord will keep,
Till He appear
In glory here,
The harvest of the earth to reap.
And soon the earth will close o’er me,
Yet mourn I not my life’s decline,
Lord! pardoned—ransomed—saved by Thee,
Living or dying—I am Thine!
Oh! wherefore sigh
For those who die
In Christ? the forms that mouldering lie
Shall burst the sod
To meet their God.
And mount with seraph wings on high!
X.
THE SECOND ADVENT.
Now in the East Hope’s trembling light
Proclaims a brighter dawning,
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning.
For many weary ages past
Hath sin’s dark night prevailing,
A gloom o’er all the nations cast,
Whence rose the sound of wailing.
The idol-gods have many a shrine
Where, bound in chains of error,
Myriads shut out from light divine
Crouch down in shame and terror.
But in the East Hope’s rosy light
Proclaims a brighter dawning;
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning.
Pleasure has thrown her torches’ glare
Upon a world benighted,
And Science in the murky air
Her glimmering tapers lighted;
Some joys, like fireflies, played and glanced
To mock our vain pursuing,
And Folly’s meteors wildly danced
Above the gulf of ruin!
But in the East Hope’s purer light
Proclaims a brighter dawning;
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning!
Like Cynthia from her silver car,
The Church could darkness brighten;
Each high example, like a star,
Shone forth to cheer and lighten.
But I shall need nor star nor moon
In that clear day before me,
The Sun of Righteousness shall soon
Burst forth in cloudless glory!
Yes, in the East Hope’s kindling light
Proclaims a brighter dawning;
Though woe endureth for a night,
Joy cometh in the morning!
XI.
HOPES THAT ABIDE.
Earth’s bright hopes must fade,
Not those which grace hath given;
Joys were fleeting made,
But not the joys of Heaven!
Stars that shine above,
And flowers that cannot wither,
These are types of peace and love
That shall abide for ever.
Who that seeks the skies
Would mourn earth’s pleasures blighted,
Weep o’er broken ties
Soon to be re-united?
Blest e’en awhile to be
In darkness and in sorrow,
Assured we soon the dawn shall see
Of an eternal morrow!
XII.
SOLDIER’S HYMN.
There is a sword of glittering sheen,—
All unite to defend the right!
Its blade is bright and its edge is keen,
But the wound it gives is a wound unseen,—
And who would flinch in the glorious fight!
There is a foe—a ruthless foe—
Such unite to oppose the right;
In secret ambush he croucheth low,
And the blow he strikes is a deadly blow,—
But flinch not we in the glorious fight!
There is a banner floating wide,—
All unite to defend the right!
The blood of martyrs its folds has dyed,
When the best and bravest fought side by side,—
Who would not flinch in the glorious fight!
There is a Leader exalted high,—
All unite to defend the right!
Through Him His followers hosts defy,
Through Him they learn to do and to die,
And scorn to flinch in the glorious fight!
There is a palm—a victor’s palm,—
All unite to defend the right!
’Twill be given in realms of peace and calm
To the steadfast spirit, the stalwart arm,
That never flinched in the glorious fight.
Then shall lips touched with living flame
In song unite, in the world of light;—
In our Leader’s strength, in our Leader’s name,
We fought—we struggled—we overcame,
And victors stood in the glorious fight!
XIII.
HYMN FOR NIGHT.
After labour sweet is rest,
Gently the wearied eyelids close;
As an infant sleeps on his mother’s breast,
The child of God may in peace repose.
Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,
We are His who gave His life for our sake.
He to whom darkness is as light,
Tenderly guards his slumbering sheep;
The Shepherd watches His flock by night,
The feeble lambs He will safely keep.
Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,
We are His who gave His life for our sake.
Death’s night comes,—it may now be near,—
Lord! if our faith be fixed on Thee,
Oh! how calm will that rest appear,
Oh! how sweet will the waking be!
Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,
We are His who gave His life for our sake.
XIV.
SONG OF JOY.
The balmy Spring awakes the flowers
That long had slept in Winter’s night,
Her light green robe adorns the bowers,
And all is beauty, all delight.
With joy I view earth’s smiling frame,
And bless, O Lord, and bless Thy name!
Thou hast vouchsafed me buoyant health,
A cheerful, light, and bounding heart;
Contentment—better far than wealth,
And Hope—that rests when joys depart.
What gratitude such gifts should claim,—
For these, O Lord, I bless thy name!
Surrounded from my earliest days
By those who loved—who love me still,
My grateful heart I humbly raise
To Him, by whose Almighty will
To me earth’s sweetest blessings came;
I praise and magnify His name!
But more than all I thank Thee, Lord,
For sins through Thy dear blood forgiven,
The comforts of Thy precious Word,
And hopes of endless bliss in Heaven;
Bought by Thy suffering and Thy shame,—
For these, O Lord, I bless Thy name!
Lord! should it be Thy sovereign will
To blast my earthly happiness,
Yet give me grace to praise Thee still,
With trembling lips Thy wisdom bless;
Crushed or exalted—still the same,
To bless, with fervour bless Thy name!
Should all life’s pleasures disappear,
Support me with Thy heavenly love,—
And when my course is ended here,
Oh, raise my soul to bliss above,
With saints to magnify Thy fame,
And bless, for ever bless Thy name!
XV.
THE RETROSPECT.
When on Zion’s hill we rest
In the mansions of the blest,
What a strange and fleeting dream
All life’s hopes and fears will seem?
What will all our pleasures here—
Titles—honours—then appear?
Like a bubble on the river,
Bright awhile—then lost for ever!
Things that now employ each thought,
Warmly wished for, fondly sought—
We may smile, and wonder much
Heirs of Heaven could stoop to such!
Will the petty wrongs of earth
Seem one moment’s anger worth;
Or a friend’s depart—the sorrow
Felt by those so soon to follow?
All that time bestowed will be
Lost in bright eternity;
Save the harvest Christian Love
Sowed on earth—to reap above!
XVI.
THE SUPPLICANT.
A helpless sinner in Thy sight,
At mercy’s threshold, Lord, I wait;
Inscribed in characters of light,
Thy promise shines upon the gate.
“Ask—ye shall receive;
Seek—and ye shall find;
Knock—and enter in, but leave
All sins and doubts behind.”
I ask Thy boundless grace to share,
I seek for pardon through Thy blood,
I knock by earnest, fervent prayer,—
Lord, hear and answer me for good!
“Ask—ye shall receive;
Seek—and ye shall find;
Knock—and enter in, but leave
All sins and doubts behind.”
Yes; each mistrustful doubt of Thee,
Each long-indulged, besetting sin,
Repented and renounced must be
By those who dare to venture in.
Then asking—we receive,
And seeking—we shall find,
Till, entering Heaven’s gate, we leave
Earth, sin, and death behind!
XVII.
WEAVER’S HYMN.
How swiftly flies man’s mortal thread
Within the mighty loom of Time;
What brilliant hues on some are shed,
While some are stained with woe or crime!
But they bright webs are weaving,
Who, trusting and believing,
Through scenes of sorrow, scenes of joy,
God’s grace are still receiving.
’Tis thus the Christian we behold
In sickness and in want resigned,
Because religion’s thread of gold
Is in his gloomy lot entwined.
A bright web he is weaving
When, trusting and believing,
He from a loving Father’s hand
Each trial is receiving.
Death soon will break our thread in twain,
Time’s busy loom itself must rest;
Nought but a winding-sheet remain
Of all that mortals here possest.
Then every trial leaving,
No more o’er sorrows grieving,
How blest the Christian, from his Lord
The crown of life receiving!
XVIII.
EMIGRANT’S HYMN.
Father of Heaven, Thy guidance we implore
Where’er Thy providence our steps may send;
With drooping hearts we leave our native shore,
Do Thou be with us always—to the end!
Protect and guard us on the lonely sea,
Though angry storms our flutt’ring canvas rend,
The anchor of our hope is fixed on Thee,
Do Thou be with us always—to the end!
Prepare for us a home beyond the wave,
Where we in honest toil our days may spend,
Till gently sinking to a peaceful grave;
And be Thou with us always—to the end!
Oh! bless the dear ones whom we leave behind!
Though severed now from parent—brother—friend—
In Thee the parted yet may union find,
With them and us be always—to the end!
Nor time nor space can from Thy love divide;
For ever near to bless and to defend,
Our lives—our all—we to Thy care confide,
Be with us always—even to the end!
XIX.
FISHERMEN’S HYMN.
There were fishermen once by the blue Galilee,
Whose lives were as toilsome and hard as our own,
They launched in the morning their boats in the sea,
Their nets in the soft heaving waters were thrown.
A plentiful blessing rewarded their toil,
Though all the night long they had laboured in vain,
Their vessels were filled with the glittering spoil,
And slowly, deep-laden, they moved o’er the main.
’Twas the presence of Christ that a miracle wrought,
The richly filled net was cast forth at His word,
And the draught far surpassing their hopes or their thought,
Was the least of the blessings bestowed by the Lord.
Be with us, O Lord! when we launch forth alone,
Be with us when toiling our bread to obtain,
Though Thy presence no more be by miracles known,
Who labour in faith, will not labour in vain.
But we ask Thee for blessings more precious by far
Than the depths of the earth or the ocean can yield,
Make us feel, like Thy Peter, what sinners we are,
Make us know that, though sinners, our pardon is sealed.
Make us willing to quit all that keep us from Thee,
Like the chosen disciples in ages long past,
Like them, throughout life, Thy true followers be,
And anchor in Heaven’s safe haven at last!
XX.
TEACHER’S HYMN.
“Feed thou My lambs,” the Saviour said
To one whose spirit burned to prove
By toils endured, or life-blood shed,
The strength of his devoted love.
“Feed thou My lambs;” oh! sacred trust
E’en for a great apostle meet,
To raise the feeble from the dust,
And guide them to the Saviour’s feet.
“Feed thou My lambs.” And ever thus
His flock the heavenly Shepherd tends;
His mild command He breathes to us,
And to our care His sheep commends.
“Feed thou My lambs;” despised on earth
The friendless little one may be,
But who can tell the priceless worth
Of one soul, Lord, redeemed by Thee!
May we pursue the blest employ
Endowed with wisdom from above,
And count it privilege and joy
To feed the lambs whom Thou dost love!
XXI.
WORKMAN’S HYMN.
Before the morning’s toil begin,
We thank Thee, Giver of all good,
For needful health and strength to win,
By daily labour, daily food.
The seeing eye, the skilful hand,
The powerful arm, are gifts from Thee;
Thou for our comfort all hast planned,
Used to Thy glory all should be.
When Thou didst come to visit man,
A lowly lot, O Lord, was Thine;
In poverty Thy life began,
Shall we at poverty repine?
Thou who dost all our trials know,
Thou who didst all our sorrows share,
The comforts of Thy grace bestow,
And make us rich in faith and prayer.
Soon will the hours of toil be past,
And calm repose at night be given;
So life’s short day is closing fast,
And sweet will be the rest of Heaven!
XXII.
SEMPSTRESS’S HYMN.
Day after day my weary task I ply,
And half the night to ceaseless toil is given;
When weary is my heart and dim mine eye,
I seem to hear the Saviour’s voice from Heaven:
“Come unto Me, all ye by toil opprest,
Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.”
When all my labour scarce can bread procure,
And weak with want my feeble fingers move;
When dear ones round me hunger’s pangs endure,
My drooping spirit hears that voice of love:
“Come unto Me, all ye by grief opprest,
Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.”
O Lord, how shall I come? my sinful heart
Is prone to murmur, and Thy truth forget;
Dare I approach Thee, holy as Thou art?
Methinks I hear that gentle whisper yet:
“Come unto Me, all ye by sin opprest,
Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.”
Oh, let me patiently await the day
When Christ my Lord in glory shall appear,
When tears shall be for ever wiped away,
And those who trust Him now His voice shall hear:
“Come, faithful servants, of My Father blessed,
And I will give you everlasting rest.”
XXIII.
RAGGED BOY’S HYMN.
I would not take what is not mine, for hoards of wealth untold,—
Far better grasp the red-hot steel, than touch another’s gold;
The love of money, God hath said, of evil is the root,
And if dishonesty thence spring, destruction is the fruit.
I would not take what is not mine, though none were near to see,
Conscience would my accuser stand, and God my judge would be;
The covetous desire, the wicked thought I would control,—
What shall it profit man to gain the world, and lose his soul?
I would not take another’s goods,—the loser might repine,
His loss might heavy seem to him, but small compared to mine;
For oh! more precious far than all the wealth to nobles given,
An honest name, a quiet conscience, and the hope of Heaven!
I would not take what is not mine, but treasure seek above,
Gained without money, without price, from our Redeemer’s love;
Time cannot change it, moth corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal,
And all eternity will but its boundless worth reveal!
XXIV.
RAGGED GIRL’S HYMN.
The Sabbath sun has risen high,
And sweetly sounds the Sabbath bell,
My basket now untouched must lie,
This day I neither buy nor sell.
The Sabbath rest I will not break,
But God’s commands my study make,
And trust the word
Of my dear Lord,
“I will not leave thee, nor forsake.”
But I am poor, with none to aid,
And Satan sore is tempting me,
“If thou give up the Sabbath trade,
The Sabbath meal is not for thee.”
My God, oh, let me never break
The least command that Thou didst make,
But trust the word
Of my dear Lord,
“I will not leave thee, nor forsake.”
When Christ was faint with hunger’s pain,
The Tempter urged God’s blessed Son
In way unmeet relief to gain;
But steadfast stood the Holy One,
His perfect faith no doubt could shake,
The least command He would not break,
He knew the love
Of God above,
Would never leave Him, nor forsake.
Now, high in heaven, He hears and grants
The prayers of those in faith who pray;
My earthly cares, my earthly wants,
O Saviour, at Thy feet I lay:
Supply Thy servant’s need, and make
Her soul of heavenly food partake,
For still, O Lord,
I trust Thy word,
“I’ll never leave thee, nor forsake.”
XXV.
POLICEMAN’S HYMN.
In the silence of night when the stars glimmer o’er me,
The sound of my tread breaks the stillness alone,
I think of the far-distant mansions of glory,
Where angels keep watch round the Holy One’s throne.
Then, when clock after clock tells the hours that are fleeting,
I think how each brings the day near and more near,
When around the dread judgment-seat multitudes meeting,
The last solemn verdict of justice shall hear.
On the right hand will stand Christ’s redeemed ones, possessing
Robes washed in His blood, with His righteousness crowned;
On the left the lost souls that rejected the blessing;
O God, in which number shall I then be found?
Am I resting my hopes on His infinite merit,
Who suffered our pardon and peace to procure;
Am I seeking the aid of His life-giving Spirit
To make my heart penitent, humble, and pure?
Oh! for those who believe there is “no condemnation,”
The Judge shall Himself be their Saviour and Friend,
His voice shall award them eternal salvation,
And bliss, in His presence, which never shall end.
XXVI.
PAUPER’S HYMN.
Far from the friends to me most dear,
Within the crowded ward I lie,
Destined, perhaps, mid strangers here
To suffer and to die.
Time may all other joys remove
Yet leaves he still Faith, Hope, and Love.
Faith to the cross my spirit leads,
And tells of One now glorified,
Who at the Father’s right hand pleads
For those for whom He died.
What trials can too bitter prove
While yet there rest Faith, Hope, and Love?
Hope whispers of that happy place
Where I my Saviour shall behold,
And sing the wonders of His grace
To harp of shining gold.
What sorrows can our patience move
While still remain Faith, Hope, and Love?
Love draws my heart towards my kind,
Makes me in each a brother (or sister) see,
To cheer the sad, to help the blind,
Are joys still left to me.
Bless my companions, heavenly Dove,
Fill them with Faith, and Hope, and Love.
There is no pain or sorrow here,
For those who will God’s lesson learn,
But Faith may brighten, Hope may cheer,
And Love to blessing turn;
Then Peace descending from above
Unites with Faith, and Hope, and Love.
XXVII.
POSTMAN’S HYMN.
In daily rounds my constant course I keep,
Expected oft, but never asked to stay,
Nor know I who may laugh, or who may weep
When gazing at the tidings I convey.
So is there one who comes to rich and poor,
Expected long, unwelcome though he be;
When death’s loud knock is sounding at my door,
What are the tidings he will bring to me?
The haughty man to great possessions heir,
The selfish man, whose treasure is below,
The selfish man all full of worldly care—
To them his message is of fear and woe.
Bold Sabbath-breakers, scoffers at God’s word,
Who rush on paths which conscience must condemn,
When death’s loud knock is at their dwellings heard,
Oh! fearful tidings must he bring to them.
The contrite, mourning o’er repented sin,
The meek in heart, whose treasure is above,
The faithful, who a heavenly crown would win—
To such his message is of peace and love.
He comes to tell them that their griefs are o’er,
That Christ from sin and sorrow sets them free;
Oh! when death’s knock is sounding at my door,
Such blessed tidings may he bring to me!
XXVIII.
SERVANT’S HYMN.
To whom do I obedience owe,
Who should my willing service claim?
One master dwelling here below,
And One above the starry frame.
Oh! may the thought of Him above,
Each Christian servant’s zeal awake,
To serve with faithfulness and love—
For Christ, our heavenly Master’s sake.
The earnest follower of the Lord,
Must by the badge of truth be known,
Integrity that shrinks from fraud,
And needs no eye—save God’s alone
The cheerful heart, the ready mind
That can in labour pleasure take,
To every kindly act inclined,
For Christ, our heavenly Master’s sake.
Though our best service is, we own,
To God “unprofitable” still,
The Lord, to whom the heart is known,
Rewards the attempt to do His will.
Oh! through His mercy may we rise,
When the last trump our sleep shall break,
And find a welcome in the skies,
For Christ, our heavenly Master’s sake!
XXIX.
MINER’S HYMN.
When verdant fields are seen no more,
Where Heaven’s beams can never shine,
Earth’s hidden treasures to explore
We labour in the gloomy mine.
But bright the torches’ yellow rays
That light us on our darksome way,
And sweet the voice of Hope that says,
“We soon shall see the light of day.”
And thus awhile must all mankind
Toil on and labour here below,
Poor sinful mortals, weak and blind,
And subject all to pain and woe.
But brightly shines God’s holy Word
Which lights us on our darksome way,
And sweet the hope its leaves afford,
“We soon shall see a heavenly day.”
The Lord of Angels deigned to come
To bear our punishment and pain,
He made our dark abode His home,
That we might rise, that we might reign.
And those who in His Word delight,
Who trust His love, His will obey,
Shall shine in robes of spotless white
In Heaven’s everlasting day!
XXX.
GARDENER’S HYMN.
Ere our first parents fell, the ground
All beauty and abundance crowned;
But now the soil our labour needs,—
The earth produces thorns and weeds.
And trials on our pathway grow,
The prickly care, the stinging woe,
How oft the wounded spirit bleeds,—
Our life produces thorns and weeds.
But—worse than all—we find within,
The poisoned roots of pride and sin,
From them our misery proceeds,—
The heart produces thorns and weeds.
But, Lord, Thou bidst Thy sunbeams glow,
Thy gentle raindrops fall below;
When industry has dressed the bowers,
The earth produces fruits and flowers.
So when Thy love its radiance lends,
Thy Spirit like the dew descends,
When Faith, and Hope, and Peace are ours,
Our life produces fruits and flowers.
Oh! lead us to that blissful shore,
Where thorns and weeds are known no more,
Where Death can never reach the bowers,
To blast the fruit or blight the flowers!
XXXI.
LABOURER’S HYMN.
I bless Thee, Lord, in early spring,
When first the daisy decks the mead,
And in the furrowed ground we fling,
With hope and prayer, the golden seed.
Let children in life’s spring-time days
Lift up their hearts in prayer and praise!
I bless Thee in the summer heat,
When cattle seek the cooling streams,
And o’er green fields of waving wheat
The sun pours down his ripening beams.
Let man in life’s bright summer days
Lift up his heart in prayer and praise!
I bless Thee in the autumn morn,
When varied tints are on the leaves,
When gaily sounds the hunter’s horn,
Where reapers bind the golden sheaves.
Let man in life’s declining days
Lift up his heart in prayer and praise!
I’ll bless my God in winter’s gloom,
When Nature sleeps beneath the snow;
Oh! grant that when, beneath the tomb,
My body lies in slumber low,
Thou wilt my soul to Heaven raise,
Where all is joy and all is praise!
XXXII.
WIFE’S HYMN.
Help me, Lord Jesus, to fulfil
The duties of a wedded wife,
Obedient to my husband’s will,
The joy and sunshine of his life.
Upon my brow no angry cloud,
Upon my lips no hasty word,
Not one rebellious thought allowed,
His wishes to my own preferred.
Help me to make my husband’s home
The calm abode of peace and love,
Where strife and discord ne’er may come,
A type of that we seek above.
To walk together in Thy sight,
To share each other’s joys and woes,
Together pray at dawn of light,
Together praise at evening’s close;
Each ready, when temptation lowers,
With gentle counsel, kindly aid;
Lord Jesus! let such lot be ours,
Oh, bless the tie which Thou hast made!
United “until death us part,”
Not death the Christian bond can sever;
Who love Thee here with faithful heart,
With Thee shall live, and love for ever!
XXXIII.
HYMN OF INDUSTRY.
Not alone in God’s house, or in seasons of prayer,
Must the power of a Christian’s religion be shown,
At his home, at his counter, and everywhere
Must the strength of his faith by his actions be known;
For the clear path of duty is marked in God’s Word,
“Be not slothful in business, but serving the Lord.”
Not slothful in business! God wills that we toil,
From the claims of our calling permits no retreat,
Though indolence may from the sentence recoil,
“If the hand will not labour, the mouth should not eat;”
Faith to industry must but new motive afford,
“Be not slothful in business, but serving the Lord.”
Yes, serving the Lord; ’mid our toils and our cares
May we never forget the great Master we serve,
Who the mansions of light for His people prepares;
For though man from his Maker can nothing deserve,
God hath graciously promised Himself to reward
Their labours of love who are “serving the Lord.”
To the hand ever prompt in the business of life,
But which never would close over fraudulent gain,
To the heart firm and strong in the world’s busy strife,
Which can holy, and humble, and faithful remain,
God in life and in death will His blessing accord,
“Be not slothful in business, but serving the Lord.”
XXXIV.
SOCIAL HYMN.
How beautiful is Nature’s face!
God made all things so fair,
Each keeps its own allotted place,
Nor hate, nor strife are there.
The hill and the plain,
The grass and forest tree,
The mighty waters of the main,