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By the gloom that veiled the skies
O'er that dreadful sacrifice,
Listen to our humble cry,
Hear our solemn litany!
By the deep expiring groan,
By the sad sepulchral stone,
By the vault whose dark abode
Held in vain the rising God;
O! from earth to heaven restored,
Mighty re-ascended Lord,
Listen, listen to the cry
Of our solemn litany!
When gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few;
On him I lean, who, not in vain,
Experienced every human pain.
He sees my griefs, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly Wisdom's narrow way;
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the thing I would not do;
Still He, who felt temptation's power,
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
If wounded love my bosom swell,
Despised by those I prized too well,
He shall his pitying aid bestow,
Who felt on earth severer woe;
At once betrayed, denied, or fled,
By those who shared his daily bread.
When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And, sore dismayed, my spirit dies;
Yet He, who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.
When, mourning, o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers all that was a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.
And O! when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last;
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed--for Thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.
REFLECTED in the lake, I love
To mark the star of evening glow;
So tranquil in the heaven above,
So restless on the wave below.
Thus heavenly hope is all serene;
But earthly hope, how bright soe'er, Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene, As false and fleeting as 'tis fair.
Hues of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell ;-
Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gav,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by, with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing ;-
Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream,
Pay, for soft rains in season given,
Their tribute to the genial Heaven ;-
Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless sight;
Who day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of heaven and you partake ?
Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise !
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new!
New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,
Hover round us while we pray;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
If on our daily course our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures, still of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of Heaven in each we see:
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain
Untired we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before;
Such is the bliss of souls serene,
When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all to espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.
O could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise !
How would our hearts with wisdom talk,
Along Life's dullest, dreariest walk!
We need not bid, for cloistered cell,
Our neighbour and our work farewell;
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky.
The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask ;
Room to deny ourselves; a road
To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Seek we no more; content with these,
Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease,
As Heaven shaīl bid them, come and go :
The secret this of Rest below.
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love,
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
"Tis 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,