« PreviousContinue »
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try;
The Majesty on high.
The Christian's native air;
He enters heaven by prayer.
Returning from his ways;
“Behold he prays!”
They are one in word and mind, When with the Father and his Son
Sweet fellowship they find. No prayer is made on earth alone :
25 The Holy Spirit pleads; And Jesus, on the eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes. 0, Thou, by whom we come to God; The Life, the Truth, the Way;
30 The path of prayer thyself hast trod; Lord, teach us how to pray !
THE EVENING CLOUD.
A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun;
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow;
Tranquil its spirit seem'd, and floated slow; 5
Ev'n in its very motion there was rest;
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given;
And by the breath of mercy made to roll 11 Right onward to the golden gates of heaven;
Where, to the eye of Faith, it peaceful lies,
WHEN Spring unlocks the flowers,
To paint the laughing soil;
Refresh the mower's toil;
The fallow and the flood;
And owns his Maker good.
And those that love the shade;
sweep the mountain,
Rejoiceth on his way;
In silent pomp display.
Expectant of the sky
Shall man, alone unthankful,
20 No; let the year forsake his course,
The seasons cease to be;
And, Saviour, honour thee.
25 The hope of Summer fade; The Autumn droop in Winter,
The birds forsake the shade;
30 But we, in Nature's latest hour, O Lord, will cling to thee.
From India's coral strand,
Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver
Their land from error's chain! What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Java's isle,
And only man is vile:
The gifts of God are strown,
The heathen in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone! Can we, whose souls are lighted
With Wisdom from on high, Can we to men benighted
The lamp of life deny ? Salvation! O, Salvation !
The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation
Has learn'd Messiah's name! Waft, waft, ye winds, his story;
And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory,
It spreads from pole to pole; Till o'er our ransom'd nature,
The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign!
It is not that my lot is low,
250 OF THE BRIGHT THINGS IN EARTH AND AIR
My spirit takes another tone,
THE BRIGHT THINGS IN EARTH AND
How little can the heart embrace !
I know it well, but cannot trace.
of Nature's beauteous book:
I only cast a wishful look.
The scene, the glance, I dearest love- 10
Or faint, or false, their shadows prove.