Chapter XIII: Part 13

And thou shalt put the mercy seat above upon the ark; and in the ark thou shalt put the testimony that I shall give thee.

And there I will _meet_ with thee, and I will commune with thee from above the mercy seat.--Exodus, xxv. 21, 22.

O, when a mother _meets_ on high
The babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrows, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?
_Southey._

O, ’tis one scene of parting here,
Love’s watchword is farewell!
And almost starts the following tear,
Ere dried the last that fell!
’Tis but to feel that one most dear
Is needful to the heart,
And straight a voice is muttering near,
Imperious, Ye must part!

But happiest he, whose gifted eye
Above this world can see,
And those diviner realms descry,
Where partings cannot be;
Who, with One changeless Friend on high,
Life’s various path has trod,
And soars to _meet_, beyond the sky,
The ransomed and their God.
_Townshend._

Oh, what an all-glorious _meeting_,
In yonder bright world we shall know;
When glorified spirits are greeting
The friends they left mourning below.

Earth’s friendships renewed shall then heighten
The loud-rolling anthem of praise;
While each happy spirit shall brighten
At the feet of the ancient of days.
_W. J. Brock._

MERCY.

All the paths of the Lord are _mercy_ and truth unto such as keep his covenant and his testimonies.--Psalm xxv. 10.

The Lord is good to all: and His tender _mercies_ are over all His works.--Psalm cxlv. 9.

He that hath _mercy_ on the poor, happy is he.--Proverbs, xiv. 21.

Blessed are the _merciful_: for they shall obtain _mercy_.--Matthew, v. 7.

Be ye therefore _merciful_, as your Father also is _merciful_.--Luke, vi. 36.

Ye Sacred Writings! in whose antique leaves,
The wondrous deeds of heaven recorded lie,
Say what might be the cause, that _mercy_ heaves
The dust of sin above the starry sky,
And lets it not to dust and ashes fly?
Could Justice be of sin so over-woo’d,
Or so great ill be cause of so great good,
That, bloody man to save, man’s Saviour shed his blood.

Here, when the ruin of that beauteous frame,
Whose golden building shin’d with every star
Of excellence, deform’d with sin became;
_Mercy_ rememb’ring peace in midst of war,
Lift up the music of her voice to bar
Eternal fate, lest it should quite erase
That from the world, which was the first world’s grace.
And all again into their nothing--chaos--chase.
_Giles Fletcher._

Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once;
And He that might the vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you, as you are? O, think on that!
And _mercy_ then will breathe within your lips,
Like men new made.
_Shakspere._

It is an attribute of God himself,
And earthly power doth then show liker God’s,
When _mercy_ seasons justice.
_Shakspere._

When winter fortunes cloud the brows
Of summer friends,--when eyes grow strange,--
When plighted faith forgets its vows,
When earth and all things in it change,--
O Lord, thy _mercies_ fail me never--
Where once thou lovest, thou lovest for ever!
_John Quarles._

_Mercy_ is the highest reach of wit,
A safety unto them that save with it:
Born out of God, and unto human eyes,
Like God, not seen, till fleshly passion dies.
_Lord Brooke._

’Tis He supports my mortal frame,
My tongue shall speak His praise,
My sins would rise His wrath to flame,
And yet His wrath delays.

On a poor worm Thy power might tread,
And I could ne’er withstand,
Thy justice might have crushed me dead,
But _mercy_ held Thy hand.
_Watts._

Hard is his fate who builds his peace of mind
On the precarious _mercy_ of mankind;
Who hopes for wild and visionary things,
And mounts o’er unknown seas with vent’rous wings.
_Crabbe._

Though Nature her inverted course forego,
The day forget to rest, the time to flow,
Yet shall Jehovah’s servants stand secure,
His _Mercy_, fixed, eternal shall endure;
On them her everlasting rays shall shine,
More mild and bright, and sure, O sun! than thine.
_Bishop Lowth._

How are thy servants bless’d, O Lord!
How sure is their defence!
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help, Omnipotence!

In foreign realms, and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I pass’d unhurt,
And breathed in tainted air.

In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I’ll adore;
And praise thee for thy _mercies_ past,
And humbly hope for more.
_Addison._

With grief opprest, and prostrate in the dust,
Shouldst Thou condemn, I own thy sentence just.
But oh! Thy softer titles let me claim,
And plead my cause by _Mercy’s_ gentle name.
_Mercy_, that wipes the penitential tear,
And dissipates the horrors of despair;
From righteous Justice steals the vengeful hour,
Softens the dreadful attributes of power,
Disarms the wrath of an offended God,
And seals my pardon in a Saviour’s blood.
_Mrs. Carter._

O, Thou, whose piercing thought
Doth note each secret path,
For _mercy_ to Thy Throne we fly
From man’s condemning wrath.

How fearless should our trust
In thy compassion be,
When from our brother of the dust
We dare appeal to Thee.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

Believe, and fear not! in the blackest cloud
A sunbeam hides; and from the deepest pang,
Some hidden _mercy_ may a God declare!
_R. Montgomery._

By all the tender _mercy_
God hath shown to human grief,
When fate, or man’s perverseness,
Denied and barr’d relief,--
By the helpless woe which taught me
To look to Him alone,
From the vain appeals for justice
And wild efforts of my own,--
By thy light--thou unseen future,
And thy tears--thou bitter past,
I will hope--though all forsake me--
In His _Mercy_ to the last!
_Mrs. Norton._

If Heaven
Did in the balance of strict justice weigh
The iniquity of men, who could abide
Its judgment? Did not _mercy_ temper wrath,
Eternal ruin would o’erwhelm mankind.
_Samuel Hayes._

_Mercy_ descends
From heaven, and o’er the penitential heart,
Rent by the agonizing pains of guilt,
Spreads the soft blessings of internal peace.
_Samuel Hayes._

Mankind are all pilgrims on life’s weary road,
And many would wander astray
In seeking eternity’s silent abode,
Did _Mercy_ not point out the way.
_G. P. Morris._

I hear a sound that comes from far;
It fills my soul with joy and love;
Not seraphs’ voices sweeter are,
That echo through the courts above.

’Tis _mercy’s_ voice that strikes my ear,
From Calvary it sounds abroad;
It soothes my soul and calms my fear;
It speaks of pardon bought with blood.

And is it true that many fly
The sound that bids my soul rejoice,
And rather choose with fools to die,
Than turn an ear to _mercy’s_ voice.

With such, I own, I once appeared,
But now I know how great their loss;
For sweeter sounds were never heard,
Than _mercy_ utters from the cross.
_Kelly._

Lord have _mercy_ when we strive
To save, through Thee, our souls alive!
When the pampered flesh is strong,
When the strife is fierce and long;
When our wakening thoughts begin
First to loathe their cherished sin,
And our weary spirits fail,
And our aching brows are pale,
Oh, then have _mercy_, Lord!
_H. H. Milman._

MESSAGE.

I have a _message_ from God unto thee.--Judges, iii. 20.

The priest’s lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law at his mouth: for he is the _messenger_ of the Lord of Hosts.--Malachi, ii. 7.

Behold I will send my _messenger_, and he shall prepare the way before me.--Malachi, iii. 1.

This is the _message_ that ye heard from the beginning, that we should love one another.--I. John, iii. 11.

Gently hast thou told
Thy _message_, which might else in telling wound,
And in performing end us.
_Milton._

O for a _message_ from above
To bear my spirit up!
Some pledge of my Creator’s love
To calm my terrors and support my hope!
Let waves and thunders mix and roar;
Be thou my God, and the whole world is mine:
While thou art Sovereign, I’m secure;
I shall be rich till Thou art poor;
For all I fear, and all I wish, Heaven, Earth, and Hell, are thine.
_Watts._

Oh, there are _messengers_ of wrath,
And _messengers_ of love;
And each one goeth on his path,
Commissioned from above.

Eternal justice sends the one,
Mercy the other guides;
Their ways at times so nearly run,
That scarce a line divides.

Which, oh my soul! shall come to thee,
When my last hour is near?
What shall the awful _message_ be,
That thou shalt trembling hear?

Momentous question! yet, alas!
But little heed I pay,
Although I see the _messengers_
Speed by me every day.
_Egone._

MESSIAH.

Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the _Messiah_ the Prince, shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street shall be built again, and the wall, even in troublous times.

And after threescore and two weeks shall _Messiah_ be cut off, but not for himself.--Daniel, ix. 25, 26.

We have found the _Messias_, which is, being interpreted, the Christ.--John, i. 41.

The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay,
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away;
But, fixed, His word, His saving power remains;
Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own _Messiah_ reigns.
_Pope._

_Messiah_ comes!--Let furious discord cease;
Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace!
Disease and anguish feel His blest control,
And howling fiends release the tortured soul!
The beams of gladness Hell’s dark caves illume,
And mercy broods above the distant gloom.
_Bishop Heber._

_Messiah_ comes! ye rugged paths be plain;
The Shiloh comes, ye towering cedars bend;
Swell forth ye valleys; and, ye rocks descend;
The withered branch let balmy fruits adorn,
And clustering roses twine the leafless thorn;
Burst forth, ye vocal groves, your joy to tell--
The God of Peace redeems His Israel.
_C. H. Johnson._

Rising from His cross and passion,
Lo! the King _Messiah_ reigns;
Lord! the strength of Thy salvation
His triumphant joy sustains;
Crowned with conquest
Now th’ eternal throne He gains.

Joy and triumph crown the Saviour,
Seated on the throne above;
There exalted in Thy favour,
Safely trusting in Thy love:
King of Sion!
Never shall Thy throne remove!
_Goode._

MIND.

Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose _mind_ is stayed on thee; because he trusteth in thee.--Isaiah, xxvi. 3.

To be carnally _minded_ is death; but to be spiritually _minded_ is life and peace.

Because the carnal _mind_ is enmity against God.--Romans, viii. 6, 7.

A double-_minded_ man is unstable in all his ways.--James, i. 8.

Mylo, forbear to call him blest,
That only boasts a large estate:
Should all the treasures of the west
Meet, and conspire to make him great,--
Should a broad stream with golden sands
Through all his meadows roll,--
He’s but a wretch, with all his lands,
That wears a narrow soul.

Were I so tall as reach the pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measured by my soul:
The _mind_’s the standard of the man.
_Watts._

When coldness wraps this suffering clay,
Ah, whither strays the immortal _mind_?
It cannot die, it cannot stay,
But leaves its darken’d dust behind.
_Byron._

The insate _mind_, but from without supplied,
Languishes on a weak imperfect food;
If sustenance more spiritual be denied,
With flame consuming on itself ’twill brood.
_Sir E. Brydges._

My voice proclaims
How exquisitely the individual _Mind_
(And the progressive powers perhaps no less
Of the whole species,) to the External world
Is fitted:--and how exquisitely too--
Theme this but little heard of among men--
The External world is fitted to the _Mind_;
And the Creation, (by no lower name
Can it be called,) which they with blended might
Accomplish--this is our high argument.
_Wordsworth._

MINISTRY.

Ye shall be named the Priests of the Lord: men shall call you the _ministers_ of our God.--Isaiah, lxi. 6.

We will give ourselves continually to prayer, and to the _ministry_ of the word.--Acts, vi. 4.

If thou put the brethren in remembrance of these things, thou shalt be a good _minister_ of Jesus Christ.--I. Timothy, iv. 6.

Their _ministry_ performed, and race well run,
Their doctrine and their story written left,
They die.
_Milton._

From essences unseen, celestial names,
Enlight’ning spirits and _ministerial_ flames,
Lift we our reason to that Sovereign Cause,
Who blessed the whole with life.
_Prior._

God gives us _ministers_ of love,
Which we regard not, being near;
Death takes them from us, then we feel
That angels have been with us here!

As mother, sister, friend, or wife,
They guide us, cheer us, soothe our pain;
And when the grave has closed between
Our heart and theirs, we love--in vain.
_Aldrich._

Oh, thou who once on earth, beneath the weight
Of our mortality did’st live and move,
The incarnation of profoundest love;
Who, on the Cross, that love didst consumate,--
Whose deep and ample fulness could embrace
The poorest, meanest of our fallen race!
How shall we e’er that boundless debt repay?--
By long, loud prayers in gorgeous temples said?
By rich oblations on thine altars laid?--
Ah no! not thus thou didst appoint the way.
When thou wast bowed our human woe beneath,
Then as a legacy thou didst bequeath
Earth’s sorrowing children to our _ministry_;
And as we do to them, we do to thee.
_Anne C. Lynch._

MIRACLES.

After these things Jesus went over the sea of Galilee, which is the sea of Tiberias.

And a great multitude followed him, because they saw his _miracles_ which he did on them that were diseased.--John, vi. 1, 2.

Jesus of Nazareth, a man approved of God among you, by _miracles_, and wonders, and signs.--Acts, ii. 22.

And God wrought special _miracles_ by the hands of Paul.

So that from his body were brought unto the sick handkerchiefs or aprons, and the diseases departed from them, and the evil spirits went out of them.--Acts, xix. 11, 12.

God also bearing them witness, both with signs and wonders, and with divers _miracles_.--Hebrews, ii. 4.

O, what a scale of _miracles_ is here--
Its lowest round high planted in the skies;
Its towering summit lost, beyond the thought
Of man or angel.
_Young._

A _miracle_, with _miracles_ enclosed,
Is man; and starts his faith at what is strange?
What less than wonders from the Wonderful;
What less than _miracles_, from God can flow?
Admit a God--that mystery supreme,
That Cause uncaused, all other wonders cease.
_Young._

Who! O, who shall tell
His acts _miraculous_? When His own decrees
Repeals He, or suspends; when by the hand
Of Moses or of Joshua, or the mouths
Of His prophetic seers, such deeds He wrought,
Before the astonished sun’s all-seeing eye,
That faith was scarce a virtue. Need I sing
The fate of Pharaoh, and his numerous band,
Lost in the reflux of the watery walls,
That melted to their fluid state again?
Need I recount bow Samson’s warlike arm
With more than mortal nerves was strung, to o’erthrow
Idolatrous Philistia? Shall I tell
How David triumphed, and what Job sustained?
--But, O supreme, unutterable mercy!
O love unequalled, mystery immense,
Which angels long to unfold! ’Tis man’s redemption
That crowns Thy glory, and Thy power confirms.
_Smart._

When God came down from Heaven, the Living God,
What signs and wonders marked His stately way?
Brake out the winds in music where He trode?
Shone o’er the heavens a brighter, softer day?

The dumb began to speak, the blind to see,
And the lame leaped, and pain and darkness fled;
The mourner’s sunken eye grew bright with glee,
And from the tomb awoke the wondering dead.
_H. H. Milman._

“Come forth!” He cries, “thou dead!”
O God, what means that strange and sudden sound,
That murmurs from the tomb? That ghastly head,
With funeral fillets bound?
It is a living form--
The loved, the lost, the won,
Won from the grave, corruption, and the worm--
“And is not this the Son
Of God?” they whispered, while the sisters poured
Their gratitude in tears, for they had known the Lord.
_Dale._

At His command fled fever, thirsty fiend,
Whose parching fire dries up the wholesome blood:
And madness wild, whose moon-struck eye-balls glare,
With steady gaze, on vacancy: His touch,
With healing virtue, from the withered limbs
Drove nerveless palsy, that with fatal stroke
’Numbs every fibre, grafting death on life--
Unnatural union! Scaly leprosy,
At His appearance, vanished: dropsy, swol’n,
Withdrew his bloated form, and each confessed
A present God.
_William Bolland._

When raging winds
Rushed from their caverns, and resistless swept
The foaming waves, when hideous roared the storm,
As if the wild contending elements
Had strove for mastery, at His command
The tempest ceased, the towering billows sunk
In undulations calm, and zephyrs played
Upon the bosom of the peaceful deep.
_William Bolland._

MISERY.

Thou shalt forget thy _misery_, and remember it as waters that pass away.--Job, xi. 16.

To every purpose there is time and judgment, therefore the _misery_ of man is great upon him.--Ecclesiastes, viii. 6.

Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your _miseries_ that shall come upon you.--James, v. 1.

Till in our eyes another sight we met;
When fro my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,
Rueing, alas, upon the woeful plight
Of _Misery_, that next appear’d in sight.

His face was lean, and some deal pined away,
And eke his hands consumed to the bone;
But, what his body was, I cannot say,
For, on his carcase raiment had he none,
Save clouts and patched pierced one by one,
With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast,
His chief defence against the winter’s blast.

His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree,
Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share,
Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept be,
As on the which full daint’ly would he fare;
His drink, the running stream! his cup, the bare
Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground,
To this poor life was _Misery_ ybound.
_Sackville._

I do believe myself the creature,
Subject, and soldier, if I so may speak,
Of an Almighty Father, King and Lord;
Before whose presence, when my soul shall be
Of flesh and blood disrobed, I shall appear,
There to remain with all the great and good
That e’er have lived on earth; yea, and with spirits
Higher than earth e’er owned, in such pure bliss
As human hearts conceive not,--if my life,
With its imperfect virtue, find acceptance
From pard’ning love and mercy; but if otherwise,--
That I shall pass into a state of _misery_,
With souls of wicked men and wrathful demons.
_Joanna Baillie._

MISSIONARIES.

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth!--Isaiah, lii. 7.

This gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations: and then shall the end come.--Matthew, xxiv. 14.

They are the messengers of the churches, and the glory of Christ.--II. Corinthians, viii. 23.

By Heaven directed, by the world reviled,
Amidst the wilderness they sought a home,
Where beasts of prey and men of murder roam,
And untamed Nature holds her revels wild.
There on their pious toil their Master smiled,
And prospered them, unknown or scorned of men,
Till in the satyr’s haunt, and dragon’s den,
A garden bloomed, and savage hordes grew mild.
So, in the guilty heart, when heavenly grace
Enters, it ceaseth not till it uproot
All evil passions from each hidden cell;
Planting again an Eden in their place,
Which yields to men and angels pleasant fruit,
And God Himself delighteth there to dwell.
_Pringle._

Strange scenes, strange men, untold, untried distress;
Pain, hardships, famine, cold, and nakedness,
Diseases; death, in every hideous form,
On shore, at sea, by fire, by flood, by storm;
Wild beasts, and wilder men:--unmoved with fear,
Health, comfort, safety, life they count not dear,
May they but hope a Saviour’s love to show,
And warn one spirit from eternal woe:
Nor will they faint, nor can they strive in vain,
Since thus--to live is Christ, to die is gain.
_James Montgomery._

Thus saith the Lord,--My Church, to thee,
Peace, like a river, I will send;
The Gentiles in a stream shall see
My mercy, flowing without end.

The isles that never heard my fame,
Nor knew the glory of my might,
They shall be taught to fear my name
Called out of darkness into light.

And it shall come to pass, that vows
From Sabbath unto Sabbath day,
From moon to moon, in mine own house,
All nations, tribes, and tongues, shall pay.
_James Montgomery._

Our prayers be with them--we who know
The value of a soul to save,
Must pray for those who seek to show
The heathen, hope beyond the grave.
_Miss Landon._

Blessings be on their pathway, and increase!
These are the moral conquerors, and belong
To them the palm-branch and triumphal song--
Conquerors,--and yet the harbingers of peace!
_Miss Landon._

Great Britain has her sons, both frank and brave,
Who noble triumphs win, but wear no glave!
Sons who in heart are firm, in toil are free,
To spread her glorious name from sea to sea!
Men, who have pushed their conquests wide and far,
And changed to pruning-hooks the shafts of war;
Who bear no glittering arms, no banners wave--
Who strike no blow--are stricken but to save!
Yet still they conquer! and where they appear,
The painted savage breaks his poisoned spear;
A bloodless triumph follows in their train--
For those they vanquish feel no victor’s chain!
They conquer!--nor like other conquerors boast
A prostrate people and a plundered coast--
Nor pant to hear a nation’s deafening peals,
With captive warriors at their chariot wheels--
Nor hang, like relics, in our holiest fane,
The flags that blush with war’s unhallowed stains.--
No, theirs are triumphs war can never bring!
Theirs are the pæans guardian seraphs sing!
Their noblest banner is the Book of Truth!
Their trophies--age, and infancy, and youth!
’Tis theirs to free--exalt--and not debase--
The painted brothers of our common race!
Nor stripe--nor tribute--nor oppressive sway
Degrade their labours, or obstruct their way!
Their watchword still--Let war and sorrow cease!
Their noblest epithet--The men of peace!
_Dr. W. Beattie._

He goes to speak the words of life
To souls by error tossed:
And bear the gospel’s joyful sound
To lands in darkness lost--
To speak his Master’s glorious works,
His grace and power proclaim,
And teach untutored savages
To breathe Messiah’s name.

And O, the rich reward that waits
A work of grace like this!
A life of love, a death of peace,
A Heaven of endless bliss!
Earth’s proudest, noblest honours, fall
Far, far below the prize
He gains, who claims this work his own--
His glory never dies!
_S. D. Patterson._

O, bless the pious zeal
And crown with glad success the labouring sons
Of that best charity, whose annual mite
Sends forth Thy gospel to the distant isles!
So shall the nations, rescued myriads, hear,
And own Thy mercy over all Thy works!
So, from each corner of the enlightened earth,
Incessant peals of universal joy
Shall hail Thee, heavenly Father, God of all!
_Madan._

Where is your heathen brother?--From his grave
Near thy own gates, or ’neath a foreign sky,
From the thronged depths of ocean’s mourning wave,
His answering blood reproachfully doth cry,
Blood of the soul!--Can all earth’s fountains make
Thy dark stain disappear?--Stewards of God, awake!
_Mrs. Sigourney._

MOMENT--MINUTE.

In a _moment_ shall they die, and the people shall be troubled at midnight, and pass away.--Job, xxxiv. 20.

Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little _moment_, until the indignation be overpast.--Isaiah, xxvi. 20.

_Minutes_ are number’d by the fall of sands,
As by an hour-glass; the span of time
Doth waste us to our graves and we look on it.
An age of pleasures, revell’d out, comes home
At last, and ends in sorrow; but the life,
Weary of riot, numbers every sand,
Waiting in sighs, until the last drop down;
So to conclude calamity in rest.
_Ford._

Catch, then, O catch the transient hour,
Improve each _moment_ as it flies;
Life’s a short summer,--man a flower;
He dies--alas! how soon he dies!
_Dr. Johnson._

Hark! What petty pulses, beating,
Spring new _moments_ into light;
Every pulse, its stroke repeating,
Sends its _moment_ back to night;
Yet not one of all the train
Comes uncall’d, or flits in vain.

In the highest realms of glory
Spirits trace, before the throne,
On eternal scrolls, the story
Of each little _moment_ flown;
Every deed, and word, and thought,
Through the whole creation wrought.

Were the volume of a _minute_
Thus to mortal sight unroll’d,
More of sin and sorrow in it,
More of man, might we behold,
Than on history’s broadest page
In the reliques of an age.
_James Montgomery._

MORNING.

My voice shalt Thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the _morning_ will I direct my prayer unto Thee, and will look up.--Psalm v. 3.

My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the _morning_: I say, more than they that watch for the _morning_.--Psalm cxxx. 6.

Behold the day, behold it is come: the _morning_ is gone forth.--Ezekial, vii. 10.

Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the _morning_, and maketh the day dark with night.--Amos, v. 8.

When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
To do the like; our bodies but forerun
The spirit’s duty; true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God, as flowers do the sun:
Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in Him sleep.

Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should
Dawn with the day, there are set awful hours
’Twixt Heaven and us; the manna was not good
After sun-rising, for day sullies flowers.
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
And Heaven’s gate opens when the world’s is shut.

Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
Or leaf but hath his _morning_ hymn; each bush
And oak doth know I AM--canst thou not sing?
O leave thy cares and follies! Go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

_Mornings_ are mysteries: the first world’s youth,
Man’s resurrection, and the future’s bud,
Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth,
Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food:
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
Should move--They make us holy, happy, rich.
_Henry Vaughan._

Again the Lord of life and light
Awakes the kindling ray,
Unseals the eyelids of the _morn_,
And pours increasing day.

O, what a night was that which wrapp’d
The heathen world in gloom!
O, what a sun which broke this day
Triumphant from the tomb!

This day be grateful homage paid,
And loud Hosannah’s sung;
Let gladness dwell on every heart,
And praise on every tongue.

Then thousand different lips shall join
To hail this happy _morn_;
Which scatters blessings from its wings
On nations yet unborn.
_Barbauld._

Through the vales the breezes sigh;
Twilight opes her bashful eye,
Peeping from the east, she brings
Dew-drops on her dusky wings:
And the lark, with wak’ning lay,
Upsprings, the harbinger of day.

Now behold! the blushing sky
Tells the bridegroom sun is nigh;
Nature tunes her joyful lyre,
And the trembling stars retire,
Him the east, in crimson drest,
Ushers, nature’s welcome guest,
And the mountains of the west
Seem to lift their azure heads,
Jealous of the smile he sheds.

Glory, beaming from on high,
Charms devotion’s lifted eye;
Bliss, to which sluggards ne’er were born,
Waits the attendant of the _morn_.
_Maria Colling._

The _morning_ breaks,
And earth in her Maker’s smile awakes;
His light is on all, below and above,
The light of gladness, and life, and love.
O, then, on the breath of this early air,
Send up the incense of grateful prayer!
_Henry Ware, Jun._

The God of mercy walks His round
From day to day, from year to year,
And warns us each with awful sound,
“No longer stand ye idle here.”

Ye, whose young cheeks are rosy bright,
Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear,
Waste not of youth the _morning_ light,
Oh fools, why stand ye idle here?

And ye, whose scanty locks of grey
Foretel your latest travail near,
How fast declines your useless day,
And stand ye yet so idle here?

One hour remains, there is but one,
But many a grief and many a tear,
Through endless ages, must atone
For moments lost and wasted here.
_Heber._

Serve God at _morn_, that solemn hallowed hour,
When Nature wakes, as from the sleep of death,
When the glad song from mountain, grove, and bower,
Is heard through heaven and on the earth beneath.
Serve God! Let Him receive thy _morning’s_ early breath.
_Weir._

_Morn_ is the time to think,
While thoughts are fresh and free,
Of life, just balanced on the brink
Of vast eternity!
To ask our souls if they are meet
To stand before the judgment seat.
_Miss Gray._

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 around us while we pray;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
_Keble._

MOSES.

So _Moses_ the servant of the Lord, died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord.

And He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day.--Deuteronomy, xxxiv. 5, 6.

By faith _Moses_, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter;

Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season;

Esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt; for he had respect unto the recompense of the reward.--Hebrews, xi. 24, 25, 26.

Slow glides the Nile; amid the margin flags,
Closed in a bulrush ark, the babe is left;
Left by a mother’s hand. His sister waits
Far off; and pale, ’tween hope and fear, beholds
The royal maid, surrounded by her train,
Approach the river bank; approach the spot
Where sleeps the innocent: she sees them stoop
With meeting plumes; thy rushy lid is ope’d,
And wakes the infant smiling in his tears.
_Grahame._

The son of Amram spurns the regal prize,
From the rich scene the zealous hero flies,
And dwells ’mongst Israel’s sons. Resigned he bears
The servile yoke, and every burden shares;
Rather than violate Jehovah’s trust,
And live the pampered slave of sordid lust,
He quits the Egyptian court, and, undismayed,
Seeks poverty’s inhospitable shade.
_Samuel Hayes._

In his hand
The rod which blasted, with strange plagues, the realm
Of Mizraim, and from its time-worn channels
Upturned the Arabian Sea. Fair was his broad
High front, and forth from his soul-piercing eye,
Did legislation look.
_Hillhouse._

On the Mount
Of Sinai, whose foundations shook, whose top
Was lost in smoke and fire, while seraphim
At distance gazed, full forty days and nights,
Guest of terrestrial mould, did he sojourn
Within the dread pavilion, and the veil
Of cloud and tempest; there as face to face,
In visions of beatitude rejoiced
Past utterance, till his countenance imbibed
Transcendent splendours.
_Charles Hoyle._

_Moses_, the patriot fierce, became
The meekest man on earth,
To show us how love’s quickening flame
Can give our souls new birth.

_Moses_, the man of meekest heart,
Lost Canaan by self-will,
To show, where Grace has done its part,
How sin defiles us still.
_Lyra Apostolica._

Sweet was the journey to the sky
The holy prophet tried;
“Climb up the mount,” said God, “and die”--
The prophet climbed, and died.

Softly his fainting head he lay
Upon his Maker’s breast;
His Maker soothed his soul away,
And laid his flesh to rest.

In God’s own arms he left the breath
That God’s own Spirit gave;
His was the noblest road to death,
And his the sweetest grave.
_Watts._

God made his grave, to men unknown,
Where Moab’s rocks a vale infold;
And laid the aged seer alone,
To slumber while the world grows old.
Thus still, where’er the good and just
Close the dim eye on life and pain,
Heaven watches o’er their sleeping dust,
Till the pure spirit comes again.
_W. C. Bryant._

MOTHER.

He maketh the barren woman to keep house, and to be a joyful _mother_ of children. Praise ye the Lord.--Psalm cxiii. 9.

Despise not thy _mother_ when she is old.--Proverbs, xxiii. 22.

Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his _mother_, and his _mother’s_ sister, Mary the wife of Cleophas, and Mary Magdalene.

When Jesus therefore saw his _mother_, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his _mother_, Woman, behold thy son!

Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy _mother_! And from that hour that disciple took her into his own home.--John, xix. 25, 26, 27.

Her pious love excelled to all she bore;
New objects only multiplied it more;
And as the chosen found the pearly grain
As much as every vessel could contain:
As in the blissful vision, each shall share,
As much of glory as his soul can bear,
So did she love, and so dispense her care.
_Dryden._

But when I go
To my lone bed, I find no _mother_ there;
And weeping kneel, to say the prayer she taught;
Or when I read the Bible that she loved,
Or to her vacant seat at church draw near,
And think of her, a voice is in my heart,
Bidding me early seek my God, and love
My Blessed Saviour; and that voice is her’s,
I know it is, because these were the words
She used to speak so tenderly, with tears,
At the still twilight hour,--or when we walked
Forth in the Spring, among rejoicing birds,
Or peaceful talked beside the Winter hearth.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

But if in yon immortal clime,
Where flows no parting tear,
That root of earthly love may grow,
Which struck so deeply here;
With what a tide of boundless bliss,
A thrill of rapture wild,
An angel _mother_ in the skies,
Will greet her cherub child.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

And say to _mothers_ what a holy charge
Is theirs--with what a kingly power their love
Might rule the fountains of the new-born mind.
Warn them to wake at early dawn, and sow
Good seed before the world has sown its tares.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

Hast thou sounded the depths of yonder sea,
And counted the sands that under it be?
Hast thou measured the height of heaven above?
Then may’st thou mete out a _mother’s_ love.

Hast thou talked with the blessed of leading on
To the throne of God some wandering son?
Hast thou witnessed the angel’s bright employ?
Then may’st thou speak of a _mother’s_ joy.

Evening and morn hast thou watched the bee
Go forth on her errands of industry.
The bee for himself hath gathered and toiled,
But the _mother’s_ cares are all for her child.

Hast thou gone with the traveller Thought afar--
From pole to pole, and from star to star?
Thou hast--but on ocean, earth, and sea,
The heart of a _mother_ has gone with thee.

There is not a grand, inspiring thought,
There is not a truth by wisdom taught,
There is not a feeling pure and high,
That may not be read in a _mother’s_ eye.

And ever, since earth began, that look
Has been to the wise an open book,
To win them back from the lore they prize,
To the holier love that edifies.

There are teachings in earth, and sky, and air,
The heavens the glory of God declare;
But louder than voice, beneath, above,
He is heard to speak through a _mother’s_ love.
_Emily Taylor._

The _mother’s_ love--there’s none so pure,
So constant, and so kind,
No human passion doth endure
Like this within the mind.
_Mrs. Hale._

Lo! where yon cottage whitens through the green,
The loveliest feature of a matchless scene;
Beneath its shading elm, with pious fear,
An aged _mother_ draws her children near;
While from the Holy Word, with earnest air,
She teaches them the privilege of prayer.
Look! How their infant eyes with rapture speak;
Mark the flushed lily on the dimpled cheek;
Their hearts are filled with gratitude and love,
Their hopes are centred in a world above,
Where, in a choir of angels, Faith portrays
The loved, departed, father of their days.
_Rufus Dawes._

By thee, dear _Mother_, o’er whose darksome bed
Summer now pours his beams in vain--by thee
Gladly my infant love of flowers was fed;
By thee my steps through flow’ry tracts were led,
Where ne’er mine eye could aught but beauty see;
Throughout our borne exotics perfume shed,
In sooth, it was fair Flora’s treasury!
Thy love, and use of heaven’s blest means of grace,
Faith bids me trust, have placed thee with thy God,
Where flowers unfading deck the lovely place.
Oh, when I’ve closed my toilsome earthly race,
With thee may those bright scenes by me be trod,
With thee may I behold th’ eternal face.
_William Pulling._

A _mother’s_ love
Is an undying feeling. Earth may chill
And sever other sympathies, and prove
How weak all human bonds are; it may kill
Friendships, and crush hearts with them--but the thrill
Of the maternal breast must ever move
In blest communion with her child, and fill
Even Heaven itself with prayers and hymns of love.
_S. D. Patterson._

I see my _mother’s_ calm, sad face
Look through the mist of by-gone years;
And from yon high and holy place,
Her accents come unto mine ears,
To bid me hope amid my fears.
_Egone._

MOUNTAIN.

As the _mountains_ are round about Jerusalem, so the Lord is round about his people from henceforth even for ever.--Psalm cxxv. 2.

It shall come to pass in the last days, that the _mountain_ of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the _mountains_, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.--Isaiah, ii. 2.

Once more, hoar _mount_! with thy sky-pointing peak,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pine serene,
Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast--
Thou too again stupendous _mountain_! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bow’d low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
To rise before me--rise, O ever rise,
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth!
Thou kingly spirit throned amongst the hills.
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
_Coleridge._

Behold! the _mountain_ of the Lord
In later days shall rise
On _mountain_ tops above the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes:

To this the joyful nations round,
All tribes and tongues shall flow;
“Up to the hill of God,” they’ll say,
And to his house we’ll go.

The beam that shines from Zion’s hill,
Shall lighten every land;
The King who reigns in Salem’s towers,
Shall all the world command.
_Logan._

Calvary’s mournful _mountain_ climb;
There, adoring at His feet,
Mark that miracle of time,
God’s own sacrifice complete.
_J. Montgomery._

MOURNING.

I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly; I go _mourning_ all the day long.--Psalm xxxviii. 6.

Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself: for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy _mourning_ shall be ended.--Isaiah, lx. 20.

Blessed are they that _mourn_: for they shall be comforted.--Matthew, v. 4.

O man! while in thy early years,
How prodigal of time!
Misspending all thy precious hours,
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Alternate follies take the sway;
Licentious passions burn;
Which tenfold force gives nature’s law,
That man was made to _mourn_.

Many and sharp the num’rous ills
Inwoven with our fame!
More pointed still we make ourselves,
Regret, remorse, and shame!
And man, whose heaven-erected face
The smiles of love adorn,
Man’s inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands _mourn_.

See yonder poor, o’erlabour’d wight;
So abject, mean, and vile,
Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil;
And see his lordly fellow-worm
The poor petition spurn,
Unmindful tho’ a weeping wife
And helpless offspring _mourn_.

Yet let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast;
This partial view of human kind
Is surely not the best!
The poor, oppressed, honest man,
Had never, sure, been born,
Had there not been some recompense
To comfort those that _mourn_.
_Burns._

God of my life, to thee I call,
Afflicted at Thy feet I fall;
When the great waterfloods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail!

Did ever _mourner_ plead with Thee,
And Thou refuse that _mourner’s_ plea?
Does not Thy word still fix’d remain,
That none shall seek Thy face in vain?
_Cowper._

We _mourn_ for those who toil,
The slave who ploughs the main,
Or him who hopeless tills the soil
Beneath the stripe and chain;
For those who in the world’s hard race,
O’erwearied and unblest,
A host of restless phantoms chase,--
Why _mourn_ for those who rest?

We _mourn_ for those who sin,
Bound in the tempter’s snare,
Whom syren pleasure beckons in
To prisons of despair,
Whose hearts, by whirlwind passions torn,
Are wrecked on folly’s shore,--
But why in sorrow should we _mourn_
For those who sin no more?

We _mourn_ for those who weep,
Whom stern afflictions bend
With anguish o’er the lowly sleep
Of lover or of friend;--
But they to whom the sway
Of pain and grief is o’er,
Whose tears our God hath wiped away
Oh! _mourn_ for them no more!
_Mrs. Sigourney._

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.
_R. Grant._

MURDER.

Jesus said, Thou shalt do no _murder_.--Matthew, xix. 18.

Whosoever hateth his brother, is a _murderer_; and ye know that no _murderer_ hath eternal life abiding in him.--I. John, iii. 15.

The great King of kings
Hath in the table of His law commanded
That thou shalt do no _murder_; wilt thou then
Spurn at His edict, and fulfil a man’s?
_Shakspere._

Other sins only speak; _murder_ shrieks out.
The element of water moistens the earth,
But blood mounts upwards.
_John Webster._

Silently, swift as the lightning’s blast,
A hand of fire across his temples passed;
He ran, as in the terror of a dream,
To quench his burning anguish in the stream;
But, bending o’er the brink, the swelling wave
Back to his eye the branded visage gave;
As soon on _murdered_ Abel durst he look:
Yet power to fly his palsied limbs forsook;
There turned to stone, for his presumptuous crime,
A monument of wrath to latest time,
Might Cain have stood; but mercy raised his head
In prayer for help,--his strength returned, he fled.
_James Montgomery._

The _murderer_ has no past
But one eternal present.
_T. N. Talfourd._

He told how _murderers_ walked the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain;
With crimson clouds before their eyes,
And flames about their brain:
For blood has left upon their souls
Its everlasting stain!
_Thomas Hood._

Lo, on the everlasting stone engraved,
“No _murder_ shalt thou do.” From God to man
The solemn law came down: by specious gloss
Of subtle learning, seek not to evade
The great command.
_Samuel Hayes._

MUSIC.

Sing unto Him a new song; play skilfully with a loud noise.--Psalm xxxiii. 3.

Praise Him with the sound of the trumpet: praise Him with the psaltery and harp.--Psalm cl. 3.

Cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of _music_.--Daniel, iii. 5.

That chant to the sound of the viol, and invent to themselves instruments of _music_ like David.--Amos, vi. 5.

How sour sweet _music_ is
When time is broke, and no proportion kept!
So is it in the _music_ of men’s lives.
_Shakspere._

There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness through mine ear
Dissolve me into ecstacies,
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
_Milton._

The church triumphant, and the church below,
In songs of praise their present union show;
Their joys are full; our expectation long,
In life we differ, but we join the song.
Angels and we, assisted by this art,
May sing together, though we dwell apart.
_Waller._

Hark! the organs blow
Their swelling notes ’round the cathedral’s dome,
And grace the harmonious choir, celestial feast
To pious ears, and med’cine of the mind!
The thrilling trebles, and the manly base,
Join in accordance meet, and with one voice
All to the sacred subject suit their song;
While in each breast sweet melancholy reigns,
Angelically pensive, till the joy
Improves and purifies.
_Smart._

Born on the swelling notes, our soul aspire,
While solemn airs improve the sacred fire,
And angels lean from Heaven to hear.
_Pope._

Should the well-meant songs I leave behind,
With Jesus’ lovers an acceptance find,
’Twill heighten even the joys of Heaven, to know
That in my verse the saints hymn God below.
_Bishop Ken._

The song of Zion is a tasteless thing,
Unless when rising on a joyful wing,
The soul can mix with the celestial bands,
And give the strain the compass it demands.
_Cowper._

How shall the harp of poesy regain
That old victorious tone of prophet-years--
A spell divine o’er guilt’s perturbing fears,
And all the hovering shadows of the brain?
Dark, evil wings took flight before the strain,
And showers of holy quiet, with its fall,
Sank on the soul:--O, who may now recall
The mighty _music’s_ consecrated reign?--
Spirit of God! whose glory once o’erhung
A throne, the Ark’s dread cherubim between,
So let Thy presence brood, though now unseen,
O’er those two powers by whom the harp is strung--
Feeling and thought!--till the rekindled chords
Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words.
_Mrs. Hemans._

O, surely melody from Heaven was sent
To cheer the soul, when tired with human strife,
To soothe the wayward heart by sorrow rent,
And soften down the rugged road of life.
_Kirke White._

O, what a gentle ministrant is _music_
To piety--to mild, to penitent piety!
O, it gives plumage to the tardy prayer
That lingers in our lazy, earthly air,
And melts with it to Heaven.
_H. H. Milman._

_Music_, the tender child of rudest times,
The gentle native of all lands and climes;
Who hymns alike man’s cradle and his grave,
Lulls the low cot, or peals along the nave.
_Mrs. Norton._

’Tis He that taught the lark, from earth upspringing,
To warble forth his matin strain;
And the pure stream, in liquid gushes singing,
Gladly to bless the thirsty plain;
And from the laden bee, when homeward winging
Its tuneful flight doth not disdain,
To hear the song of praise.
There’s not a voice in Nature, but is telling
(If we will hear that voice aright,)
How much, when human hearts with love are swelling,
His blessed bosom hath delight
In our rejoicing lays.
His love, that never slumbers,
Taught thee those tuneful numbers.
_Bethune._

But O, her richest, dearest notes to man,
In strains aerial over Bethlehem poured,
When He, whose brightness is the light of Heaven,
To earth descending, for a mortal’s form,
Laid by His glory, save one radiant mark,
That moved through space, and o’er the infant hung,
He summoned _Music_ to attend Him here,
Announcing peace below!
He called her, too,
To sweeten that sad Supper, and to twine
Her mantles round Him and His few grieved friends,
To join their mournful spirits with the hymn,
Ere to the Mount of Olives He went out
So sorrowful.
And now, His blessed word,
A sacred pledge, is left to dying man,
That at His second coming, in His power,
_Music_ shall still be with Him, and her voice
Sound through the tombs, and wake the dead to life.
_Hannah F. Gould._

The solemn hymn to ancient _music_ set
In many a heart response of memory met.
To me, it seemed departed Sabbaths hung
Upon those notes, which gave the past a tongue
To speak again in voices from the dead,
And wake an echo from their silent bed.
_Elizabeth Bogart._

MYSTERY.

Behold I shew you a _mystery_; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump.--I. Corinthians, xv. 51, 52.

The _mystery_ which hath been hid from ages and from generations, but now is made manifest to his saints.--Colossians, i. 26.

Praying also for us, that God would open unto us a door of utterance, to speak the _mystery_ of Christ.--Colossians, iv. 3.

With outstretched arms,
Stern justice and soft-smiling love embrace,
Supporting, in full majesty, thy throne,
When seemed its majesty to need support,
Or that, or man, inevitably lost:
What, but the fathomless of love divine
Could labour such expedient from despair,
And rescue both? Both rescue? Both exalt!
O, how are both exalted by the deed!
The wondrous deed! or shall I call it more?
A wonder in Omnipotence itself!
A _mystery_ no less to gods than men.
_Young._

Hail, Sovereign Lord! by all Thy works confess’d!
By angels worship’d, and by saints address’d!
Hail, Sovereign Lord! _mysterious_ Wisdom! hail;
In whom the Father and His fulness dwell.
In whom the Godhead and the man unite,
Stamp of His form, and glory of His light!
In whom complete, in Thee completed shine,
The God incarnate, and the man divine.
_Mysterious_ truth! withheld from reason’s eye;
Outcast on earth! but loftiest on high!
Hail, wondrous cross!--yet how more wondrous He
That cross who bore!--Thyself its _mystery_!--
And borne for man!--a greater _mystery_ still;
So great Thy love, and love’s _mysterious_ will!
_Peronnet._

That things to mortals are _mysterious_,
Is not because the things themselves are dark,
But the perceptions through which they are viewed.
_David Bates._

NAME.

Thou shalt not take the _name_ of the Lord thy God in vain.--Exodus, xx. 7.

Blessed be the _name_ of the Lord from this time forth and for evermore.--Psalm cxiii. 2.

A good _name_ is rather to be chosen than great riches.--Proverbs, xxii. 1.

God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every _name_.

That at the _name_ of Jesus every knee should bow.--Philippians, ii. 9, 10.

We wish our _names_ eternally to live.
Wild dream! which ne’er had haunted human thought,
Had not our natures been eternal too.
Instinct points out an interest in hereafter,
But our blind reason sees not where it lies;
Or seeing, gives the substance for the shade.
_Young._

In the fair book of life and grace,
O may I find my _name_
Recorded in some humble place,
Beneath my Lord the Lamb.
_Watts._

I read His awful _name_ emblazoned high,
With golden letters, on the illumined sky;
Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flower, inscribed on every tree:
In every leaf that trembles to the breeze,
I hear the voice of God among the trees.
_Mrs. Barbauld._

Wide he extends
His royalties, and still the throne adorns
With piety and mercy. Loved and feared.
Twice twenty years, with equitable hand,
He sways the sceptre; then in peace repose
His ashes, but his _name_ lives evermore.
_Charles Hoyle._

O blessed Father, righteous Lord!
Within Thy book of life record
My undeserving _name_;
Teach me to know and do Thy will;
My heart with holy longings fill,
And heavenly love inflame.
_Bayly._

Alone I walk’d the ocean strand,
A pearly shell was in my hand;
I stoop’d and wrote upon the sand
My _name_, the year, the day.
As onward from the spot I pass’d,
One lingering look I fondly cast;
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And wash’d my lines away.

And so, methought, ’twill shortly be
With every mark on earth from me;
A wave of dark oblivion’s sea
Will sweep across the place
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, and been to be no more;
Of me--my day--the _name_ I bore,
To leave no track nor trace.

And yet with Him, who counts the sands,
And holds the waters in His hands,
I know a lasting record stands
Inscribed against my _name_,
Of all this mortal part has wrought--
Of all this thinking soul has thought,
And from these fleeting moments caught
For glory or for shame.
_Miss Gould._