Just men, by whom impartial laws were given;
And saints who taught, and led, the way to heaven.
Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest,
Since their foundation, came a nobler guest;
Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed
A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.
WRESTLING JACOB.
COME, O thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see;
My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with Thee;
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.
I need not tell Thee who I am,
My misery or sin declare;
Thyself hast called me by my name;
Look on Thy hands, and read it there!
But Who, I ask Thee, Who art Thou?
Tell me thy Name, and tell me now.
In vain Thou strugglest to get free,
I never will unloose my hold;
Art Thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of Thy love unfold.
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,
Till I thy Name, thy Nature know.
Yield to me now, for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak,
Be conquered by my instant prayer!
Speak, or Thou never hence shall move,
And tell me, if thy Name is Love?
'Tis Love! 'tis Love! Thou diedst for me!
I hear thy whisper in my heart!
The morning breaks, the shadows flee ;
Pure universal Love Thou art!
To me, to all, Thy bowels move;
Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love!
My prayer hath power with God; the grace
Unspeakable I now receive;
Through faith I see Thee face to face,
I see Thee face to face, and live :
In vain I have not wept and strove ;
Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love.
I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou art;
Jesus, the feeble sinner's Friend!
Nor wilt Thou with the night depart,
But stay, and love me to the end!
Thy mercies never shall remove,
Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love!
The Sun of Righteousness on me
Hath rose, with healing in His wings; Withered my nature's strength, from Thee My soul its life and succour brings; My help is all laid up above; Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love.
Contented now upon my thigh
I halt, till life's short journey end; All helplessness, all weakness, I
On Thee alone for strength depend; Nor have I power from Thee to move; Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love.
Lame as I am, I take the prey,
Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome;
I leap for joy, pursue my way,
And, as a bounding hart, fly home!
Through all eternity to prove,
Thy Nature, and thy Name, is Love!
CATHOLIC LOVE.
WEARY of all this wordy strife,
These notions, forms, and modes, and names,
To Thee, the Way, the Truth, the Life,
Whose love my simple heart inflames,
Divinely taught, at last I fly,
With Thee and Thine to live and die.
Forth from the midst of Babel brought,
Parties and sects I cast behind;
Enlarged my heart, and free my thought,
Where'er the latent truth I find,
The latent truth with joy to own,
And bow to Jesu's name alone.
Redeemed by Thine almighty grace,
I taste my glorious liberty,
With open arms the world embrace,
But cleave to those who cleave to Thee;
But only in Thy saints delight,
Who walk with God in purest white.
One with the little flock I rest,
The members sound who hold the Head; The chosen few, with pardon blest,
And by the anointing Spirit led
Into the mind that was in Thee,
Into the depths of Deity.
My brethren, friends, and kinsmen these,
Who do my heavenly Father's will;
Who aim at perfect holiness,
And all Thy counsels to fulfil,
Athirst to be whate'er Thou art,
And love their God with all their heart.
For these, howe'er in flesh disjoined,
Whate'er dispersed o'er earth abroad,
Unfeigned, unbounded love I find,
And constant as the life of God;
Fountain of life, from thence it sprung,
As pure, as even, and as strong.
Joined to the hidden church unknown
In this sure bond of perfectness,
Obscurely safe, I dwell alone,
And glory in th' uniting grace,
To me, to each believer, given,
To all Thy saints in earth and heaven.
"Tis not the babbling of an idle world,
Where praise and censure are at random hurled,
That can the meanest of my thoughts control,
Or shake one settled purpose of my soul.
Free and at large might their wild curses roamı
If all, if all, alas, were well at home.
With my hands I'll gird the briars
Round his holy corse to grow.
Elfin Faëry, light your fires;
Here my body still shall bow.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.
Come, with acorn-cup and thorn,
Drain my heartès blood away,
Life and all its good I scorn,
Dance by night, or feast by day.
My love is dead,
Gone to his death-bed,
All under the willow-tree.
Ar the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began ;
No more with himself, or with nature, at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
"Ah! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe?
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall ?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthrall.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay;
Mourn, sweetest complainer; man calls thee to mourn.
O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away;
Full quickly they pass-but they never return.
"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon half extinguished her crescent displays ;
But lately I marked, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again :
But man's faded glory what change shall renew?
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more :
I mourn; but ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering with dew:
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