I HAVE no rule, O Saviour, but thy will;
I have no chart but thine unerring Word;
I have no guide but thy clear whisper, heard
Above, behind, around, within me still!
I cannot trust my reason; questions fill
My mind, if e'er I seek to walk alone:
I cannot trust my heart; 'tis only known
To Thee, who searchest all its depths of ill:
I cannot trust my fellows; weak like me,
They have no strength or skill which is not thine :
Lo! in thy light, O Lord, true light I see:
Behold! I lean on thy dear arm divine !
All my fresh springs, Redeemer, are in Thee,
And so life, love, joy, peace, and Heaven are mine!
If this short life were all, sad would it be
From our most loved ones still to dwell apart,
Month after month to have the aching heart
Yearning in vain for closer sympathy.
Were there no Heaven, how terrible to see
The friends we cherish failing one by one,
And, weeping o'er our dearest treasures gone,
To await in fear the death we cannot flee.
But 'tis not so, sweet friend, it is not so :
The heart aches only that it may be pure:
There is a Heaven, and if we mourn below,
'Tis that our heavenly portion may be sure :
If friends depart, they leave us but to show
Our feet the way to pleasures that endure.
ALL blessings on thy life's new-opening year,
Herald of God's own truth! 'mid babblings vain
Of misnamed science, and the scoffs profane
Of folly, hold thy course, nor faint, nor fear!
Thine is the gift to know how deep and clear
The living waters run, and thou hast heard
The still small voice that from the living Word
Breathes ever, for the blessed ears which hear.
Courage and patience! yet a little while,
And men, who know not that they do not know,
Shall learn, how glorious and how rare a thing
Was faith, content with God's approving smile;
Faith-waiting His appearing, who shall show
His truth true wisdom, and Himself true King.
Cambridge, March 2, 1849.
(Written on the Mont Salève, near Geneva.)
BEFORE the everlasting mountains stood,
As thou, dear child, to-day hast seen them stand,
Where sovran Blanc uplifts to many a land
His kingly brow, our God was-great and good :
And He shall be, when mountain, vale, and flood
Have perished at his word of high command;
When, at the signal of his awful Hand,
The sun shall darkness be, the moon as blood.
But art thou his indeed? hear then his voice,
Wafted ev'n now from yon perpetual hills;
Guard it in memory's chambers, and rejoice,
When pressed hereafter by life's transient ills;
'The mountains shall depart, the hills remove,
But thee no change shall sever from my love!'
'A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers, that blow With most success when all besides decay.'
I HAD bright flowers through all the tardy Spring
I watched and watered them; at length they grew
By Summer fervours gaily, and they threw
Rich odours round them, and 'twas joy to bring
Their gathered groups a daily offering
To friends beloved, or bid them bear the dew
To fevered lips, and o'er the pallid hue
Of sickness morning's roseate glory fling.
For such sweet charities they were glad to die :
But Autumn came, and now lo! Winter lowers,
And frosts and storms; but courage, gentle flowers
I have a friend that loves ye, and her eye
And hand are skilled your beauties to portray :.
Come, tempests,-here are flowers ye cannot slay!
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