In our embraces we again infold her,
She will not be a child.
But a fair maiden in her Father's mansion,
Clothed with celestial grace,
And beautiful with all the soul's expansion
Shall we behold her face.
And though at times, impetuous with emotion,
And anguish long suppressed,
The swelling heart heaves moaning like the occan
That cannot be at rest,
We will be patient, and assuage the feeling
We cannot wholly stay;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing,
The grief that must have way.
"There is an immeasurable distance between submission to the cross and acceptance of it. Simon the Cyrenian compelled to bear it, and Paul glorying in his infirmities that the power of Christ might rest on him, are the representatives of two classes whom man may confound, but who are severally discerned of God. The one bends in silent acquiescence beneath the burden that a stronger hand has fixed beyond his power to shake off; the other regards his affliction as a Heaven-appointed means of bringing him to a fuller participation in what Christ's sufferings have purchased for him-even that strength proportioned to his day which is doubly precious as being a fulfilled promise."-CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH. 17*
A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE.
A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE THE
ONLY ADEQUATE SUPPORT UNDER AFFLICTION.
ONE adequate support
For the calamities of mortal life
Exists, one only an assured belief
That the procession of our fate, howe'er
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being
Of infinite benevolence and power;
Whose everlasting purposes embrace
All accidents, converting them to good.
The darts of anguish fix not where the seat
Of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified
By acquiescence in the Will Supreme,
For time and for eternity; by faith,
Faith absolute in God, including hope,
And the defence that lies in boundless love
Of his perfections; with habitual dread
Of aught unworthily conceived, endured
Impatiently; ill done, or left undone,
To the dishonor of his holy name.
Soul of our souls, and safeguard of the world,
Sustain thou only canst - the sick of heart;
Restore their languid spirits, and recall
Their lost affections unto thee and thine!
"Tis, by comparison, an easy task
Earth to despise; but to converse with Heaven —
This is not easy to relinquish all
We have, or hope, of happiness and joy,
And stand in freedom loosened from this world,
I deem not arduous; but must needs confess
That 'tis a thing impossible to frame
Conceptions equal to the soul's desires,
And the most difficult of tasks to keep
Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
Man is of dust; ethereal hopes are his,
Which, when they should sustain themselves aloft,
Want due consistence; like a pillar of smoke,
That with majestic energy from earth
Rises, but, having reached the thinner air,
Melts, and dissolves, and is no longer seen.
From this infirmity of mortal kind
Sorrow proceeds, which else were not; at least,
If grief be something hallowed and ordained,
If, in proportion, it be just and meet,
Through this, 'tis able to maintain its hold,
In that excess which conscience disapproves.
For who could sink and settle to that point
Of selfishness? so senseless who could be
In framing estimates of loss and gain,
As long and perseveringly to mourn
For any object of his love, removed
From this unstable world, if he could fix
A satisfying view upon that state
Of pure, imperishable blessedness,
Which reason promises and holy writ
Insures to all believers? Yet mistrust
A BELIEF IN A SUPERINTENDING PROVIDENCE.
Is of such incapacity, methinks,
No natural branch; despondency far less.
And, if there be whose tender frames have drooped
Even to the dust, apparently, through weight
Of anguish unrelieved, and lack of power
An agonizing sorrow to transmute,
Infer not hence a hope from those withheld
When wanted most; a confidence impaired
So pitiably, that, having ceased to see
With bodily eyes, they are borne down by love
Of what is lost, and perish through regret.
O, no; full oft the innocent sufferer sees
Too clearly, feels too vividly, and longs
To realize the vision with intense
And over-constant yearning; there, there lies
The excess, by which the balance is destroyed.
Too, too contracted are these walls of flesh,
This vital warmth too cold, these visual orbs,
Though inconceivably endowed, too dim
For any passion of the soul that leads
To ecstasy; and, all the crooked paths
Of time and change disdaining, takes its course
Along the line of limitless desires.
I, speaking now from such disorder free,
Nor rapt, nor craving, but in settled peace,
I cannot doubt that they whom you deplore
Are glorified; or, if they sleep, shall wake
From sleep, and dwell with God in endless love.
Hope, below this, consists not with belief
In mercy, carried infinite degrees
Beyond the tenderness of human hearts:
Hope, below this, consists not with belief
In perfect wisdom, guiding mightiest power,
That finds no limits but her own pure will.
But, above all, the victory is most sure
For him who, seeking faith by virtue, strives
To yield entire submission to the law
Of conscience; conscience reverenced and obeyed
As God's most intimate presence in the soul,
And his most perfect image in the world.
Endeavor thus to live; these rules regard;
These helps solicit; and a steadfast seat
Shall then be yours among the happy few
Who dwell on earth, yet breathe empyreal air,-
Sons of the morning. For your nobler part,
Ere disencumbered of her mortal chains,
Doubt shall be quelled, and trouble chased away;
With only such degree of sadness left
As may support longings of pure desire,
And strengthen love, rejoicing secretly
In the sublime attractions of the grave.
REASONS AGAINST IMMODERATE SORROW.
FOR whose sake dost thou weep?
For the sake of Not for him that
him that is dead, or for thy own? is dead, sure, for we suppose him to be happy. Is it reasonable to say, Ah me, what shall I do? I have
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