HAST thou admitted, with a blind fond trust,
The lie that burned thy fathers' bones to dust;
That first adjudged them heretics, then sent
Their souls to heaven, and curst them as they
went?
The lie that Scripture strips of its disguise,
And execrates above all other lies?
The lie that claps a lock on mercy's plan,
And gives the key to an infirm old man,
Who once enthroned in apostolic chair,
Is made a God, and sits omniscient there;
The lie that knows no kindred, owns no friend,
But him that makes its progress his chief end;
That having spilt much blood, of that will boast,
And makes a saint of him that sheds the most?
Away with charity that soothes a lie,
And thrusts the truth with scorn and anger by;
Shame on the candour and the gracious smile
Bestowed on them that light the martyr's pile;
While insolent disdain, in frown expressed,
Attends the tenets that endured that test!
Grant them the rights of men, and while they cease
To vex the peace of others grant them peace;
But trusting bigots, whose false zeal has made
Treachery their duty, thou art self-betrayed.
THE night is dark, the sea runs high,
The mast before the tempest bends;
A shore bestrewed with wrecks is nigh,
And on the anchor all depends.
The vessel drifts, if that give way,
It founders on the fatal shore,
Where night and death maintain their sway,
Where light and life are known no more.
At such a time, in such a state,
A single anchor holding all,
No wonder if our fear is great,
No wonder if our strength is small.
Yet one sweet word dispels our fear,
The Word of Him who cannot lie ;
His Truth is pledged, his power is near,
And they can every ill defy.
HOPE is the anchor of the soul;
It enters that within the vail;
And though the waves of trouble roll,
The anchor holds, and ne'er will fail.
WHAT is life?-'tis but a vapour;
Soon it vanishes away;
Life is like a dying taper;
Oh, my soul, why wish to stay?
Why not spread thy wings and fly
Straight to yonder world on high?
See that glory, how resplendent!
Brighter far than fancy paints;
There, in majesty transcendent!
Jesus reigns, the king of saints.
Spread thy wings, my soul, and fly
Straight to yonder world on high.
Joyful crowds his throne surrounding,
Sing with rapture of his love,
Through the heavens his praises sounding,
Filling all the courts above.
Spread thy wings, my soul, and fly
Straight to yonder world on high.
Go and share his people's glory;
Midst the ransom'd crowd appear:
Thine a joyful, wondrous story,
One that angels love to hear.
Spread thy wings, my soul, and fly
Straight to yonder world on high.
THE TRAVELLERS TO EMMAUS.
It happened on a solemn eventide,
Soon after He that was our Surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went
In musings worthy of the great event:
They spake of him they loved, of him whose life,
Though blameless, had incurred perpetual strife :
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The further traced, enriched them still the more.
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than he appeared t' have done :
T'exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wondered he should die.
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A stranger joined them, courteous as a friend,
And asked them with a kind engaging air,
What their affliction was, and begged a share.
Informed, he gathered up the broken thread,
And truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explained, illustrated, and searched so well
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell,
That reaching home "the night," they said, "is near,
We must not now be parted, sojourn here."
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And made so welcome at their simple feast,
He blessed the bread, but vanished at the word,
And left them both, exclaiming, "Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all He deigned to say,
Did they not burn within us by the way?"
CHRIST STILLING THE TEMPEST.
FEAR was within the tossing bark,
When stormy winds grew loud,
And waves came rolling high and dark,
And the tall mast was bowed.
And men stood breathless in their dread,
And baffled in their skill;
But One was there, who rose and said
To the wild sea, "Be still."
And the wind ceased-it ceased! that word
Pass'd through the gloomy sky;
The troubled billows knew their Lord,
And fell beneath His eye.
And slumber settled on the deep,
And silence on the blast;
They sank, as flowers fold to sleep,
When sultry day is past.
O Thou, that in its wildest hour,
Didst rule the tempest's mood,
Send thy meek Spirit forth in power,
Soft on our souls to brood.
Thou that didst bow the billow's pride,
Submissive to thy will,
Oh! speak to passion's raging tide,
Speak, and say, "Peace, be still.”
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