Obrazy na stronie
PDF
ePub

Then tender be our hearts,

Our eyes in sorrow dim, Till every tear from every eye

Is wiped away by Him !

PSALM cxxxix.

Omniscient God, Thine eye

divine My inmost soul can see; And every thought and act of mine

Is open, Lord, to Thee !

When up I rise, when down I lie,
Still Thou art at my

side. Where shall I shun Thy awful eye,

Or from Thy Spirit hide ?

If up to Heaven my flight I take,

I meet Thee face to face; If down to Hell, Thy terrors make

The darkness of the place.

I plunge into the shades of night ;

But Thou art there with me : And darkness kindles into light

Before one glance from Thee.

From Thee, O Lord, I came at first,

The creature of Thy hand :
Thy providence my life has nursed,

And by Thy grace I stand.

Each member of my wondrous frame

Displays Thy skill and power ; And countless benefits proclaim

Thy love from hour to hour.

Down in Thy arms at night I lie ;

Thou watchest while I sleep. I wake at morn; Thou still art nigh,

My soul to tend and keep.

Search

me,

O Lord ! my spirit prove,

From sin 0 set me free !

And make

my

heart return the love It daily shares from Thee.

THE WALL-FLOWER.

Why loves my flower, so high reclined

Upon these walls of barren gloom,
To waste her sweetness on the wind,

And far from every eye to bloom ?
Why joy to twine with golden braid
This ruined rampart's aged head,
Proud to expose her gentle form,
And swing her bright locks in the storm ?

1

That lonely spot is bleak and hoar,

Where prints my flower her fragrant kiss ; Yet sorrow hangs not fonder o'er

The ruins of her faded bliss.

And wherefore will she thus inweave

The owl's lone couch, and feel at eve
The wild bat o'er her blossoms fling,
And strike them down with heedless wing ?

Thus, gazing on the loftiest tower

Of ruined Fore at eventide,
The Muse addressed a lonely flower

That bloomed above in summer pride.
The Muse's eye, the Muse's ear,

Can more than others see and hear :

The breeze of evening murmured by,
And gave, she deemed, this faint reply:

“On this lone tower, so wild and drear,

-'Mid storms and clouds I love to lie.

“ Because I find a freedom here

" Which prouder haunts could ne'er supply.

« PoprzedniaDalej »