Transcriber's Note.

The compiler of this collection is not identified.

Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. "Zavier" has been replaced by "Xavier". Inconsistencies in the use of hyphens and of accents have been retained.

Where individual poems lack titles they are identified, in the Table of Contents, by their first line or an appropriate phrase.

Religious Poems

THE ANGEL'S INTERCESSION.

RELIGIOUS POEMS

SELECTED.

PHILADELPHIA:
THE RODGERS COMPANY.

CONTENTS.

RELIGIOUS POEMS

OUR KING.

"Worship thou Him." Ps. xlv. 11.

O Saviour, precious Saviour,

Whom yet unseen we love,

O Name of might and favor,

All other names above:

We worship Thee, we bless Thee,

To Thee alone we sing;

We praise Thee, and confess Thee

Our holy Lord and King!

O Bringer of salvation,

Who wondrously hast wrought,

Thyself the revelation

Of love beyond our thought:

We worship Thee, we bless Thee,

To Thee alone we sing;

We praise Thee, and confess Thee

Our gracious Lord and King!

In Thee all fullness dwelleth,

All grace and power divine;

The glory that excelleth,

O, Son of God, is Thine:

We worship Thee, we bless Thee,

To Thee alone we sing;

We praise Thee, and confess Thee

Our glorious Lord and King!

Oh, grant the consummation

Of this our song above,

In endless adoration,

And everlasting love:

Then shall we praise and bless Thee,

Where perfect praises ring,

And evermore confess Thee

Our Saviour and our King!

—Frances Ridley Havergal.

THE SLEEP.

He giveth His beloved sleep. Ps. cxxvii. 2.

Of all the thoughts of God that are

Borne inward unto souls afar,

Along the Psalmist's music deep,

Now tell me if that any is,

For gift or grace, surpassing this—

'He giveth His beloved, sleep?'

What would we give to our beloved?

The hero's heart, to be unmoved,

The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,

The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,

The monarch's crown, to light the brows?—

'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

What do we give to our beloved?

A little faith all undisproved,

A little dust to overweep,

And bitter memories to make

The whole earth blasted for our sake.

'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say

But have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.

But never doleful dream again

Shall break the happy slumber when

'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

O earth, so full of dreary noises!

O men, with wailing in your voices!

O delvèd gold, the wailers heap!

O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!

God strikes a silence through you all,

And 'giveth His beloved, sleep.'

His dews drop mutely on the hill,

His cloud above it saileth still,

Though on its slope men sow and reap,

More softly than the dew is shed,

Or clouds is floated overhead,

'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

Aye, men may wonder while they scan

A living, thinking, feeling man,

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;

But angels say, and through the word

I think their happy smile is heard—

'He giveth His beloved, sleep!'

For me, my heart that erst did go

Most like a tired child at a show,

That sees through tears the mummers leap,

Would now its wearied vision close,

Would child-like on His love repose,

Who 'giveth His beloved, sleep!'

And friends, dear friends,—when it shall be

That this low breath is gone from me,

And round my bier ye come to weep,

Let one, most loving of you all,

Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall—

He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

—E. B. Browning.

GOD'S COMMANDS.

How gentle God's commands!

How kind his precepts are!

Come, cast your burdens on the Lord,

And trust his constant care.

Beneath his watchful eye

His saints securely dwell;

That hand which bears all nature up

Shall guard his children well.

Why should this anxious load

Press down your weary mind?

Haste to your heavenly Father's throne

And sweet refreshment find.

His goodness stands approved,

Unchanged from day to day:

I'll drop my burden at his feet,

And bear a song away.

—Doddridge.

BE STRONG.

Be strong to hope, O Heart!

Though day is bright,

The stars can only shine

In the dark night.

Be strong, O Heart of mine,

Look towards the light!

Be strong to bear, O Heart!

Nothing is vain:

Strive not, for life is care,

And God sends pain;

Heaven is above, and there

Rest will remain!

Be strong to love, O Heart!

Love knows not wrong;

Didst thou love—creatures even,

Life were not long;

Didst thou love God in heaven,

Thou wouldst be strong!

—Adelaide Procter.

THE SLEEP OF THE BELOVED.

"So He giveth his beloved sleep." Ps. cxxvii. 2.

Sunlight has vanished, and the weary earth

Lies resting from a long day's toil and pain,

And, looking for a new dawn's early birth,

Seeks strength in slumber for its toil again.

We too would rest; but ere we close the eye

Upon the consciousness of waking thought,

Would calmly turn it to yon star-bright sky,

And lift the soul to Him who slumbers not.

Above us is thy hand with tender care,

Distilling over us the dew of sleep:

Darkness seems loaded with oblivious air,

In deep forgetfulness each sense to steep.

Thou hast provided midnight's hour of peace,

Thou stretchest over us the wing of rest;

With more than all a parent's tenderness,

Foldest us sleeping to thy gentle breast.

Grief flies away; care quits our easy couch,

Till wakened by thy hand, when breaks the day—

Like the lone prophet by the angel's touch,—

We rise to tread again our pilgrim-way.

God of our life! God of each day and night,

Oh, keep us still till life's short race is run!

Until there dawns the long, long day of light.

That knows no night, yet needs no star nor sun.

—Horatius Bonar.

SELF-DEPENDENCE.

Weary of myself, and sick of asking

What I am, and what I ought to be,

At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me

Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire

O'er the sea and to the stars I send:

"Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me,

Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters,

On my heart your mighty charm renew;

Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,

Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,

Over the lit sea's unquiet way,

In the rustling night-air came the answer,—

"Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.

"Unaffrighted by the silence round them,

Undistracted by the sights they see,

These demand not that the things without them

Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.

"And with joy the stars perform their shining,

And the sea its long moon-silvered roll;

For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting

All the fever of some differing soul.

"Bounded by themselves, and unregardful

In what state God's other works may be,

In their own tasks all their powers pouring,

These attain the mighty life you see."

O air-born voice! long since severely clear,

A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear,—

"Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he

Who finds himself loses his misery!"

—Matthew Arnold.

WHAT IS PRAYER?

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,

Unuttered or expressed;

The motion of a hidden fire

That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burden of a sigh,

The falling of a tear,

The upward glancing of an eye,

When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech

That infant lips can try;

Prayer the sublimest strains that reach

The majesty on high.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,

Returning from his ways;

While angels in their songs rejoice,

And cry—"Behold he prays!"

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,

The Christian's native air:

His watchword at the gates of death—

He enters heaven with prayer.

The saints in prayer appear as one

In word, and deed, and mind,

While with the Father and the Son

Sweet fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made by man alone

The Holy Spirit pleads

And Jesus, on the eternal throne

For sinners intercedes.

O Thou, by whom we come to God—

The Life, the Truth, the Way;

The path of prayer Thyself hast trod;

Lord! teach us how to pray.

—James Montgomery.

THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS.

But see, the Virgin blest

Hath laid her babe to rest.

Milton's Hymn on the Nativity.

Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One!

My flesh, my Lord!—what name? I do not know

A name that seemeth not too high or low,

Too far from me or Heaven.

My Jesus, that is best! that word being given

By the majestic angel whose command

Was softly as a man's beseeching said,

When I and all the earth appeared to stand

In the great overflow

Of light celestial from his wings and head.

Sleep, sleep, my saving One!

And art Thou come for saving, baby-browed

And speechless Being—art Thou come for saving?

The palm that grows beside our door is bowed

By treadings of the low wind from the south,

A restless shadow through the chamber waving:

Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun;

But Thou, with that close slumber on Thy mouth,

Dost seem of wind and sun already weary.

Art come for saving, O my weary One?

Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary

Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul

High dreams on fire with God;

High songs that make the pathways where they roll

More bright than stars do theirs; and visions new

Of Thine eternal Nature's old abode.

Suffer this mother's kiss,

Best thing that earthly is,

To guide the music and the glory through,

Nor narrow in Thy dream the broad upliftings

Of any seraph wing!

Thus, noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One!

The slumber of His lips meseems to run

Through my lips to mine heart; to all its shiftings

Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness

In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down

As Moses did, and die,[1] —and then live most.

I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences,

That stand with your peculiar light unlost,

Each forehead with a high thought for a crown,

Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Yet throw

No shade against the wall! How motionless

Ye round me with your living statuary,

While through your whiteness, in and outwardly,

Continual thoughts of God appear to go,

Like light's soul in itself! I bear, I bear,

To look upon the dropped lids of your eyes,

Though their external shining testifies

To that beatitude within, which were

Enough to blast an eagle at his sun.