And e'en are excusing the babe on the lap
From swallowing the poison, disguised in the pap.
The clergy most nobly are leading the van
To onset for all that is dearest to man;
They've sought out the foe, and are following with skill
The tortuous trail of the Worm of the Still :
Convinced, though the monster be not the real devil, His deeds show the imp of the father of evil.
The ladies, whose smiles are the balsam of life,
Have come to the rescue! - the maiden and wife
And matron have frowns for the fool who has lost
The pearl of his honor, nor valued the cost.
Hail, Temperance! that asks, though at war,
Of glory, no poet to hymn her hosannas, —
Ovation of triumph, nor conqueror's crown-
Far higher, far pronder, whose looked for renown!
To dry up the tear on the beggared one's cheek,
To soothe the distresses no language can speak,
To lighten the bosom whose abject despair
Was too much for woman, wife, mother, to bear;
To bring back the husband, all foul with the stain,
To purity, peace, home and virtue again;
- yea, mind to restore Abused and down-trodden, to reason once more. All this it is much! her determinate aim; Tee-totaller christened, and proud of the name — She goes on from conquering to conquer, for yet There's fight, ere the bale-star, Intemperance, is set.
And take compassion on my grievous plight:
What odor can be, than a heart contrite,
To thee more sweet?
Ben Jonson, 1595.
Now I bend the heart and knee,
Now will I confess to Thee!
Oh, God of purity, the base
In thought can never see thy face.
The spotless lustre of the skies
Is viewed not by adulterous eyes;
The sensual wish, the low desire
May never to thy courts aspire ;
How can the bosom that's impure,
Thy awful scrutiny endure?
If thy sweet heavens are unclean,
And starry seraphim are seen
Glittering in folly, when with Thee
Compared, what in thy sight are we !
Rather, I ask, and what am I,-
Too vile to live, too vile to die,
Whose every thought is steeped in sin,
Who have thine enemy within;
Who drink up guilt like water, who
Wander, and love to wander too!
I do beseech Thee, check this fire That burns to lowest hell; inspire
My heart,—if I thy love have known,-
Once more with love: make me thine own.
Let not the adversary sift
My soul as wheat; but do thou lift
My feet from out the horrid clay,
And set me in the narrow way,
Safe on the Rock of Ages. Then,
Thy grace I'll show to erring men;
And sinners, taught to hope by me,
The chiefest, will return to Thee.
MUCH FORGIVEN, LOVING MUCH.
If he loves much to whom is most
Of grievous sin by thee forgiven, —
Oh, God, of all the holy host
From earth redeemed, who sing in heaven, None can my love to thee excel,
For none deserves, so richly, hell.
Yet if my debt to thee I count,
By all the love that fires me here, —
So worthless is the summed amount,
So mixed with unbelief and fear,
That from sweet obligation free
I'd nothing owe, my Lord, to thee.
CHILDREN ARE BLESSED FOR THE PARENTS' SAKE.
To saved ones that dwell in the bowers of heaven,
Where smiles are not dimmed by the frequent tear,
With bliss that's unfading, for ever is given
Freedom from fears which preyed on them here.
Earth past-they, unheeding its laugh or its care,
Joy not in its joys, sorrow not for its wo,
Ever soaring and singing, the glorified there
Never notice the weary or weeper below.
Yet when the happy in brightness is kneeling
To Him who maketh the darkness his seat, -
And love and humility sweetly revealing,
Is casting the crown at Immanuel's feet-
Though he museth not there on the one he has left
In sin to mourn, in the flesh to stay,-
The child, of a friend, a father bereft,
Wandering alone in the perilous way,—
Think ye not, then, the eye that ne'er sleepeth,
Is resting in kindness and care on that son?
That God, who the seed of the righteous keepeth,
Guards, and will guard him, till toiling is done?
Oh, surely, the sighs and prayers of the good
For children, are heard in their confident trust;
Heaven answers as no parent could,
When lips that breathed them are sealed in dust.
WHO GAZES FROM MOUNT OLIVET?
WHO gazes from Mount Olivet,
His dove-like eyes with sorrow wet-
His bosom with compassion heaving,
His mighty heart with anguish grieving?
Who searches with unerring eye
Into thy sad futurity,
Jerusalem and sees thy doom
Written by imperial Rome ;-
Famine, Slaughter, Fire, agreed
On thy precious ones to feed,
Ruin round thy bulwarks wrap,
And the pagan eagle flap
O'er the sacred mercy seat?
Who is he that sees it all?
Sees, when sacrilegious feet
Tread on Zion- when the call
Is for vengeance most complete?
HE, the prophet, pilgrim-shod;
He, the very son of God!
Years sweep on; - Jerusalem!
Thee the Roman armies hem.
Countless legions on thee press;
Clouds of arrows thee distress;
Stone and dart and javelin
Entrance to thy treasures win.
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