136. THE MYSTERIES OF PROVIDENCE.
OD moves in a mysterious way,
G His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!
The clouds you so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for his grace;
Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er, or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude; 'tis but to hold
Converse with nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd.
But 'midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess,
And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless; Minions of splendour shrinking from distress! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less, Of all that flatter'd, follow'd, sought, and sued: This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!
Abide with us, for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent.
ST. LUKE Xxiv. 29.
IS gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze :
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.
In darkness and in weariness
The traveller on his way must press;
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whiling away the lonesome hour.
Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near!
Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise,
To hide Thee from thy servant's eyes!
When round thy wondrous works below
My searching, rapturous glance I throw,
Tracing out wisdom, power, and love,
In earth or sky in sea or grove;-
Or by the light thy words disclose
Watch time's full river as it flows,
Scanning thy gracious Providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense;
When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold;
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.
If some poor wandering child of thine
Have spurn'd, to-day, the voice divine;
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin,
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick; enrich the poor
With blessings from thy boundless store:
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
and light.
Like infant's slumbers, pure
Come near, and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take;
Till in the ocean of thy love
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
139. MARK ANTONY'S ORATION.
TRIENDS, Romans, Countrymen! lend me your
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do, lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones:
So let it be with Cæsar!-Noble Brutus
Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious—
If it was so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answer'd it!
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest-
For Brutus is an honourable man!
So are they all! all honourable men
Come I to speak at Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me But Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man!
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff!--
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man!
You all did see, that, on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And sure he is an honourable man!
I speak, not to disprove what Brutus spoke;
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once; not without cause:
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou hast fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason! Bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar:
And I must pause till it come back to me!
But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world- now lies he there,
And none so poor as do him reverence !
O masters! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honourable men!
I will not do them wrong: I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
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