Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end.
But He, who knew what human hearts would prove,
How slow to learn the dictates of His love,
That, hard by nature and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still,
In pity to the souls His grace designed
To rescue from the ruins of mankind,
Called for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, Go spend them in the vale of tears.
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air!
O salutary streams that murmur there!
These flowing from the Fount of Grace above,
Those breathed from lips of everlasting love.
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys,
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys,
An envious world will interpose its frown
To mar delights superior to its own,
And many a pang, experienced still within,
Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin;
But ills of every shape and every name,
Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim;
And every moment's calm that soothes the breast,
Is given in earnest of eternal rest.
CHRISTIAN LIBERTY.
GRACE makes the slave a freeman: "Tis a change
That turns to ridicule the turgid speech
And stately tone of moralists, who boast,
As if, like him of fabulous rencwn,
They had indeed ability to smooth
The shag of savage nature, and were each
An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song ;
But transformation of apostate man
From fool to wise, from earthly to divine,
Is work for Him that made him.
And He by means in philosophic eyes
Trivial, and worthy of disdain, achieves
The wonder; humanizing what is brute
In the lost kind, extracting from the lips
Of asps their venom, overpowering strength
By weakness, and hostility by love.
Patriots have toiled, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse
Proud of the treasure, marches with it down
To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn,
Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass
To guard them, and immortalize her trust;
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth,
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood,
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed,
And for a time ensure, to his loved land,
The sweets of liberty and equal laws;
But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,
And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed
In confirmation of the noblest claim,
Our claim to feed upon immortal truth,
To walk with God, to be divinely free,
To soar, and to anticipate the skies.
Yet few remember them. They lived unknown
Till persecution dragged them into fame,
And chased them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew
-No marble tells us whither. With their names
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:
And history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed
The tyranny that doomed them to the fire,
But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm,
Can wind around him, but he casts it off,
With as much ease as Samson his green withes.
He looks abroad into the varied field
Of nature, and though poor perhaps, compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers: his to enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say-" My Father made them all!"
Are they not his by a peculiar right,
And by an emphasis of interest, his,
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love,
That planned, and built, and still upholds a world
So clothed with beauty for rebellious man?
Yes-ye may fill your garners, ye that reap
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good
In senseless riot; but ye will not find
In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance,
A liberty like his, who unimpeached
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates Nature as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of yours than
He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth
Of no mean city; planned or ere the hills
Were built, the fountains opened, or the sea
With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom is the same in every state ;
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
Brings its own evils with it, makes it less :
For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine.
No nook so narrow but he spreads them there
With ease,
and is at large. The oppressor holds
His body bound; but knows not what a range
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that to bind him is a vain attempt,
Whom God delights in, and in whom He dwells.
"Blessed is the man that trusteth in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is."-JER. xvii. 7.
Can thy poor fellow mortals be?
Are they not erring, finite, frail?
What can their utmost aid avail?
Their very love will prove a snare ;
Then, when thy heart becomes aware
Of its own danger, it will bleed
For leaning on a broken reed.
Why does thy bliss so much depend,
On earthly relative, or friend?
There is a Friend who changes never,
The love He gives, He gives for ever.
He has withdrawn thee now apart,
To teach these lessons to thy heart;
Has darkened all thy earthly scene,
That thou on Him alone mayest lean.
His precious love that balm supplies,
For which thy wounded spirit sighs,
That only medicine can make whole
The
weary, faint and sin-sick soul.
Go to that Friend, poor aching heart,
He knows how desolate thou art ;
He waits-He longs to see thee blest,
And in Himself to give thee rest.
TAKE NO THOUGHT FOR THE MORROW.
"Take, therefore, no thought for the morrow."-MATT. vi. 34.
'Tis to us no cause of sorrow,
That we cannot tell to-day
What it is, may be to-morrow;
'Tis enough that we can say,
He whom we our Father call
Knows the future, knows it all.
Happy they who all committing
To their Father's care and love,
Let Him choose what most is fitting,
And of all He does approve,
These have then no anxious care,
Blessed in this, Thy people share.
Teach us, O our God and Father,
Teach us to obey Thee thus,
Be Thy will our portion rather
Than what might seem good to us ;
'Tis not meet we should refuse
Aught that Thou, our God, shall choose.
Future things with Thee are present,
All to come Thine eye can see—
Safe it is for us, and pleasant,
Future things to leave with Thee.
Then Thy people happy are
When on Thee they cast their care.
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