I know, I feel, how mean and how unworthy For in thy sight, who every bosom viewest, We see thy hand, it leads us, it supports us; We hear thy voice,—it counsels and it courts us; And then we turn away, and still thy kindness Pardons our blindness. And still thy rain descends, thy sun is glowing, Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blowing, And, as if man were some deserving creature, O how long-suffering, Lord! but thou delightest To win with love the wandering,-thou invitest, By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors, Man from his errors. Who can resist thy gentle call, appealing That voice paternal, whispering, watching ever? My bosom? Never! Father and Saviour! plant within that bosom These seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom. In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, And spring eternal. Then place them in those everlasting gardens, Where angels walk, and seraphs are the wardens; Where every flower that creeps through death's dark portal Becomes immortal. THE GATE OF HEAVEN. DISCIPLES' HYMN-BOOK. SHE stood outside the gate of heaven, and saw them entering in, A world-long train of shining ones, all washed in blood from sin. The hero-martyr in that blaze uplifted his strong eye, And trod firm the reconquered soil of his na tivity! THE GATE OF HEAVEN. 223 And he who had despised his life, and laid it down in pain, Now triumphed in its worthiness, and took it up again. The holy one, who had met God in desert cave alone, Feared not to stand with brethren around the Father's throne. They who had done, in darkest night, the deeds of light and flame, Circled with them about as with a glowing halo came. And humble souls, who held themselves too dear for earth to buy, Now passed through the golden gate, to live eternally. And when into the glory the last of all did go, "Thank God! there is a heaven," she cried, "though mine is endless woe." The angel of the golden gate said: "Where, then, dost thou dwell? And who art thou that enterest not?" soul escaped from hell.” 66 A "Who knows to bless with prayer like thine, in hell can never be; God's angel could not, if he would, bar up this door from thee.” She left her sin outside the gate, she meekly entered there, Breathed free the blessed air of heaven, and knew her native air. PART VII. TRUST AND SUBMISSION. ACTION AND THOUGHT. R. M. MILNES. THERE is a world where struggle and stern toil False shapes and true, divine and devilish, close. A meditative and compassionate eye, Broodeth the Spirit of God; thence evermore, On those poor wanderers, cast from shore to shore, Falleth a voice, omnipotent to teach Them that will hear,-"Despair not! it is I." |