Chapter III: Part 3

God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation, through sanctification of the Spirit and _belief_ of the truth.--II. Thessalonians, ii. 13.

Such my _belief_. Oh, that thou would’st thy bold,
Infatuated, withering doubt discard!
The flower would be more sweet, the moon more fresh,
The sun more bright, the sky more blue, the night
(The natural season for deep thought) less dark:
Life’s cares, and wan disease, would blessings be,
And death (annihilation’s herald now)
The harbinger of everlasting bliss.
Dare then be wise. Dash down the subtle web,
Thy pride of intellect had round thee wove,
Despised into the dust; _believe_ in God;
Obey His will;--and then thy rescued soul
Shall, on angelic pinions, wing its way
To heaven’s bright realms of pure beatitude.
_T. L. Merritt._

_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._

Since fools alone all things _believe_
In cloister hatch’d, or college,
Some, by believing nothing, think
They’re at the height of knowledge.
And yet to have no faith demands
More faith than is supposed,
For sceptics have their creed,--of things
Incredibly composed.
Some truths above our reason, we
Reject not, but receive:
Against all reason, infidels
Unnumber’d lies _believe_.
_C. C. Colton._

BELLS.

And beneath upon the hem of it, thou shalt make pomegranates of blue, and of purple, and of scarlet, round about the hem thereof; and _bells_ of gold between them round about.

And it shall be upon Aaron to minister: and his sound shall be heard when he goeth in unto the holy place before the Lord, and when he cometh out, that he die not.--Exodus, xxviii. 33, 35.

In that day shall there be upon the _bells_ of the horses, Holiness unto the Lord.--Zechariah, xiv. 20.

What a deep murmur on the night-air swells,
What a clear tone draws irresistibly
The goblet from my mouth. Ye hollow _bells_,
Proclaim ye Easter’s dawn is drawing nigh?
The word of hope in that sweet music ringing,
That once, when o’er his sepulchre did close
The shades of night, from angel lips arose,
Assurance of a covenant renew’d to mortals bringing.

* * * * *

What in your mighty sweetness, do you seek,
Ye tones of Heaven, with me that dwell in dust?
Seek elsewhere mortals flexible and weak.
I hear the message, but I cannot trust;
Faith’s chosen child is the miraculous.
I dare not strive those distant spheres to gain,
From whence these holy tidings came to us;
And yet it seems that long-remembered strain,
In youth, recalls me back to life again.
The kiss of heavenly love upon me fell,
In the deep stillness of the sabbath calm,
The heartfelt fullness of the sabbath _bell_,
A prayer to my glad soul sufficient balm,
Beyond conception sweet; a holy longing
Drove me to wander forth through wood and mead;
And in the thousand tear-drops warmly thronging,
I felt a world grow up, mine own indeed.
The joyous sports of youth those tones revealing,
Of the spring feast once more the joy unfolds,
And recollection, fraught with childish feeling,
Me from the last dread step of all withholds.
Oh sound, sound on, thou sweet celestial strain,
The tears well forth, the earth hath me again.
_Goethe’s “Faust.”_

List not those cries! How strangely do they blend
With the sweet _bells_ from yonder gothic tower,
Pealing athwart the water. Such the contrast
Of wild religious awe to earthly clamour,
For on the morrow, and the morrow’s morrow,
At this still hour those _bells_ will still peal on;
But these harsh sinful cries, the moment’s offspring,
Will with the moment pass to nought away,
They, and the passions, even as briefly raging;
And, as the echo of those cries, borne far
Up the deep silvery Thames, there dies in air
In the dim distance, seeming well to blend
With the calm beauty of the hour, and heighten
The melody of silence; so the thought
On this vain uproar shall in future years
Prove but a gentle memory! since we shared
The cares it wooed to life, together.
_Archer Gurney._

Stop, O stop the passing _bell_!
Painfully, too painfully,
It strikes against the heart, that knell,
I cannot bear its tones--they tell
Of misery, of misery!
All that soothed and sweetened life,
In the mother and the wife--
All that would a charm have cast
O’er the future, as the past--
All is torturing in that knell!
Stop, O stop the passing _bell_!

Stop it! no--but change the tone,
And joyfully, ah, joyfully,
Let the altered chimes ring on,
For the spirit that hath flown,
Exultingly, exultingly!
She hath left her couch of pain,
She shall never feel again,
But as angels feel!--afar,
Chimed beyond the morning star,
Agony and death unknown!
Let the joyful chimes ring on!
_Robert Story._

BENEFICENCE--BENEVOLENCE.

Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.--Psalm civ. 28.

Give, and it shall be given unto you.--Luke, vi. 38.

Let the husband render unto the wife due _benevolence_: and likewise also the wife unto the husband.--I. Corinthians, vii. 3.

Be rich in good works, ready to distribute.--I. Timothy, vi. 18.

Nature all
Is blooming and _beneficent_, like Thee.
_Thomson._

Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined.
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose--to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind;
Strength to complete, and with delight review,
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.

Rouse to some work of high and holy love,
And thou an angel’s happiness shalt know,--
Shall bless the earth, while in the world above
The good begun by thee shall onward flow
In many a branching stream, and wider grow;
The seed that in these few and fleeting hours
Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow,
Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers,
And yield thee fruits divine in heaven’s immortal bowers.
_Charles Wilcox._

The heart has tendrils like the vine,
Which round another’s bosom twine,
Outspringing from the parent tree
Of deeply-planted sympathy,
Whose flowers are hope, its fruits are bliss;
_Beneficence_ its harvest is.
_J. Bowring._

Trees, and flowers, and streams,
Are social and _benevolent_; and he
Who oft communeth in their language pure,
Roaming among them at the cool of day,
Shall find, like him who Eden’s garden dressed,
His Maker there to teach his listening heart.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

BENEFIT.

Blessed be the Lord, who daily loadeth us with _benefits_, even the God of our salvation.--Psalm lxviii. 19.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his _benefits_.--Psalm ciii. 2.

Without thy mind would I do nothing; that thy _benefit_ should not be as it were of necessity, but willingly.--Philemon, 14.

Offered life
Neglect not, and the _benefit_ embrace
By faith, not void of works.
_Milton._

I gaze upon the thousand stars
That fill the midnight sky;
And wish, so passionately wish,
A light like theirs on high.
I have such eagerness of hope
To _benefit_ my kind;
I feel as if immortal power
Were given to my mind.
_Miss Landon._

Why are springs enthroned on high,
Where the mountains kiss the sky?
’Tis that thence their streams may flow,
Fertilizing all below.

Why have clouds such lofty flight,
Basking in the golden light?
’T is to send down genial showers
On this lower world of ours.

Why does God exalt the great?
’T is that they may prop the state;
So that toil its sweets may yield,
And the sower reap the field.

Riches why doth He confer?
That the rich may minister
To the children of distress,
To the poor and fatherless.

Does He light a Newton’s mind?
’T is to shine on all mankind.
Does He give to Virtue birth?
’T is the salt of this poor earth.
_Josiah Conder._

BENIGNITY.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.--Psalm xxiii. 6.

Thou Lord art good, and ready to forgive, and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee.--Psalm lxxxvi. 5.

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

This turn hath, made amends! Thou hast fulfilled
Thy words, Creator bounteous and _benign_,
Giver of all things fair!
_Milton._

He comes not in the pride of martial pomp,
High in triumphal chariot, while around
The poor remains of vanquished kingdoms grace
The trophied car; not such as Judah’s sons,
By empire’s flattering dreams misled, conceived,
Vindictive monarch over prostrate Rome.
Beyond the confines of this nether world.
At the right hand of the Almighty Sire,
Enthroned he sits; no partial King, to all
Who unfeigned homage offer, He, _benign_,
The treasure of his boundless love vouchsafes.
_Samuel Hayes._

Divinest creed! and worthy to be taught
By Him, the Saviour, who thy tidings brought;
Thou wert the first, descending from above,
To teach the nations that their God was love;
That ire eternal dwelt not on His face,
But love and pity, and redeeming grace.
And all the joy this world since then has known,
Springs from this creed, and springs from this alone;
Whatever triumphs have been gained by mind
O’er Error, Hate, and Ignorance combined;
Whatever progress man may yet have made,
Owes all its worth to Thy _benignant_ aid.
_C. Mackay._

O, Saviour, gracious and _benign_,
Warm and illume this heart of mine,
Disperse the fogs and mists of sin,
And let no evil lurk therein:
Let me Thy love and goodness see--
Thy merciful _benignity_.
_Anon._

THE BIBLE.

And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning Himself.--Luke, xxiv. 27.

Search the scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me.--John, v. 39.

The holy scriptures, which are able to make thee wise unto salvation, through faith which is in Christ Jesus.

All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.--II. Timothy, iii. 15, 16.

For whatsoever things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we, through patience and comfort of the scriptures, might have hope.--Romans, xv. 4.

The sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.--Ephesians, vi. 17.

Whence, but from Heaven, could men unskilled in arts,
In several ages born, in several parts,
Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why,
Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie!
Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice,
Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price.
_Dryden._

So has this book entitled us to Heaven.
And rules to guide us to that mansion given;
Tells the conditions how our peace was made,
And is our pledge for the great Author’s aid.
His power in nature’s ample book we find,
But the less volume doth express his mind.
_Waller._

A critic on the sacred book should be
Candid and learned, dispassionate and free:
Free from the wayward bias bigots feel,
From fancy’s influence, and intemperate zeal.
_Cowper._

Within this ample volume lies
The mystery of mysteries;
Happiest they of human race
To whom their God has given grace,
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray,
To lift the latch, to force the way:
And better had they ne’er been born,
That read to doubt, or read to scorn.
_Sir Walter Scott._

Most wondrous book! bright candle of the Lord!
Star of eternity! the only star
By which the bark of man could navigate
The sea of life, and gain the coast of bliss
Securely; only star which rose in time
And on its dark and troubled billows, still
As generation driving swiftly by,
Succeeding generation, threw a ray
Of heaven’s own light, and to the hills of God--
The everlasting hills--pointed the sinner’s eye.
By prophets, seers, and priests, and sacred bards,
Evangelists, apostles, men inspired,
And by the Holy Ghost anointed, set
Apart and consecrated to declare
On earth the counsels of the Eternal one,
This book--this holiest, this sublimest book
Was sent. Heaven’s will, Heaven’s code of laws entire
To man, this book contained; defined the bounds
Of vice and virtue, and of life and death;
And what was shadow, what was substance taught.
This book--this holy book, in every line
Marked with the seal of high divinity,
On every leaf bedewed with drops of love
Divine, and with the eternal heraldry
And signature of God Almighty stamped,
From first to last; this ray of sacred light,
This lamp from off the everlasting throne,
Mercy brought down, and in the night of time
Stands casting on the dark her gracious bow,
And evermore beseeching men with tears
And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live.

Hast thou ever heard
Of such a book? The author God Himself;
The subject, God and man, salvation, life,
And death--eternal life--eternal death.
_Pollok._

The priest-like father reads the sacred page,
How Abram was the friend of God on high;
Or Moses bade eternal warfare wage
With Amalek’s ungracious progeny;
Or how the Royal Bard did groaning lie,
Beneath the stroke of Heaven’s avenging ire;
Or Job’s pathetic plaint and wailing cry;
Or wrapt Isaiah’s wild seraphic fire;
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre.

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How He who bore in Heaven the second name,
Had not, on earth, whereon to lay His head;
How His first followers and servants sped;
The precepts sage they wrote to many a land:
How he who, lone in Patmos banished,
Saw, in the sun, a mighty angel stand;
And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounced by Heaven’s command.
_Burns._

Look, Christian! in thy _Bible_, and that glass
Which sheds its sands through minutes, hours, and days,
And years; it speaks not: yet methinks it says
To every human heart--“so mortals pass
On to their dark and silent grave!” Alas!
For man:--an exile upon earth he stays,
Weary, and wandering through benighted ways;
To-day in strength, to-morrow like the grass
That withers at his feet. Lift up thy head,
Poor pilgrim, toiling in this vale of tears;
That book declares whose blood for thee was shed,
Who died to give thee life; and though thy years
Pass like a shade, pointing to thy death-bed,
Out of the deep thy cry an angel hears,
And by his guiding hand to heaven thy steps are led.
_W. Lisle Bowles._

A book there is, of ancient date,
Where all the truly wise and great
Have found the pearls of wisdom spread,
Like gems upon the ocean-bed.
Brighter than Californian gold,
Are deeds inspired apostles told,
Greater than all that Milton thought,
Are truths that saints and prophets taught.
Oh! be it ours from tender age,
To gather wisdom from its page.
_J. Burbidge._

The sacred page
With calm attention scan! If on thy soul,
As thou dost read, a ray of purer light
Break in, O, check it not, give it full scope!
Admitted, it will break the clouds which long
Have dimmed thy sight, and lead thee, till at last,
Convictions like the sun’s meridian beams,
Illuminate thy mind.
_Samuel Hayes._

Father! that book
With whose worn leaves the careless infant plays,
Must be the _Bible_. Therein thy dim eyes
Will meet a cheering light; and silent words
Of mercy breathed from Heaven, will be exhaled
From the blest page unto thy withered heart.
_John Wilson._

What is this world? a wildering maze
Where sin hath tracked ten thousand ways,
Her victims to ensnare.
All broad, all winding, and aslope,
All tempting with perfidious hope,
All ending in despair.

Millions of pilgrims throng those roads,
Bearing their baubles or their loads,
Down to eternal night;
Our humble path that never bends,
Narrow, and rough, and steep, ascends
From darkness into light.

Is there a guide to show that path?
The _Bible_! He alone who hath
The _Bible_, need not stray;
Yet he who hath, and will not give
That heavenly guide to all that live,
Himself shall lose the way.
_J. Montgomery._

The _Bible_? That’s the Book, The Book indeed,
The Book of Books;
On which who looks,
As he should do, aright, shall never need
Wish for a better light
To guide him in the night.

Or, when he hungry is, for better food
To feed upon,
Than this alone,
If he bring stomach and digestion good:
And if he be amiss,
This the best physic is.

It is the looking-glass of souls, wherein
All men may see,
Whether they be
Still, as by nature they are, deform’d with sin;
Or in a better case,
As new adorn’d with grace.

’Tis the great Magazine of spiritual arms,
Wherein doth lie
The Artillery
Of heaven, ready charged against all harms,
That might come by the blows
Of our infernal foes.

God’s cabinet of reveal’d counsel ’tis:
Where weal and woe
Are order’d so,
That every man may know which shall be his;
Unless his own mistake
False application make.

It is the index of Eternity.
He cannot miss
Of endless bliss,
That takes this chart to steer his voyage by,
Nor can he be mistook,
That speaketh by this Book.

A Book to which no other Book can be compared
For excellence;
Pre-eminence
Is proper to it, and cannot be shared.
Divinity alone
Belongs to it, or none.

It is the Book of God. What if I should
Say, God of Books?
Let him that looks
Angry at this expression, as too bold
His thoughts in silence smother,
Till he find such another.
_George Herbert._

But to outweigh all harm, the sacred book,
In dusty sequestration wrapped too long,
Assumes the accent of our native tongue;
And he who guides the plough, or wields the crook,
With understanding spirit now may look
Upon her records, listen to her song,
And sift her laws--much wondering that the wrong
Which faith hath suffered, Heaven could calmy brook.
Transcendent Boon! nobler than earthly King
Ever bestowed to equalize and bless,
Under the weight of mortal wretchedness!
But passions spread like plagues, and thousands wild
With bigotry shall tread the offering
Beneath their feet, detested and defiled.
_Wordsworth._

What household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,
Cling reverently! Of anxious looks beguiled.
My mother’s eyes upon thy page divine
Were daily bent; her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy love;--whilst I a dreaming child,
On breeze-like fancies wandered oft away
To some lone tuft of gleaming spring flowers wild,
Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest: yet would the solemn word
At times with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be
A seed not lost; for which in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart-blessings on the holy dead and thee.
_Mrs. Hemans._

Friend of my early days,
Thou old, brown, folio tome,
Oft opened with amaze,
Within my childhood’s home;
Thy many-pictured pages,
Beheld with glad surprise,
Would lure me from my playmates,
To oriental skies.

I found in thee for friends,
The wise and valiant men
Of Israel, whose heroic deeds
Are writ with holy pen;
And dark brown Jewish maidens,
With festive dance and song,
Or fairly dressed for bridal,
Thy pictured leaves among.

The old life patriarchal
Did beautifully shine,
With angels hovering over,
The good old men divine;
Their long long pilgrimages
I traced through all the way;
While on the stool before me
The pages open lay.
_From the German of Freiligrath._

Fancy, Hope, and Conscience could not prove
A future state, without the Word of God.
This is Hope’s charter, this gives Fancy power,
And this arms Conscience with authority.
This partly lifts the veil which else had hung
Before our eyes, concealing from our view
The Spirit Land.
_Joseph H. Wythes._

Thou truest friend man ever knew,
Thy constancy I’ve tried;
When all were false I found thee true,
My counsellor and guide.
The mines of earth no treasures give
That could this volume buy:
In teaching me the way to live,
It taught me how to die.
_Geo. P. Morris._

BIRDS--FOWLS.

And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and _fowl_ that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.

And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let _fowl_ multiply in the earth.--Genesis, i. 20, 22.

Where is God my maker, who giveth songs in the night; who teacheth us more than the beasts of the earth, and maketh us wiser than the _fowls_ of heaven?--Job, xxxv. 10, 11.

In the Lord put I my trust: how say ye to my soul. Flee as a _bird_ to your mountain?--Psalm xi. 1.

I know all the _fowls_ of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are mine.--Psalm l. 11.

Our soul is escaped as a _bird_ out of the snare of the fowlers.--Psalm cxxiv. 7.

As a _bird_ hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life.--Proverbs, vii. 23.

As the _bird_ by wandering, as the swallow by flying, so the curse causeless shall not come.--Proverbs, xxvi. 2.

Curse not the rich in thy bedchamber: for a _bird_ of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter.--Ecclesiastes, x. 20.

Behold the _fowls_ of the air; for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?--Matthew, vi. 26.

The foxes have holes, and the _birds_ of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.--Matthew, viii. 20.

Consider the ravens: for they neither sow nor reap: which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the _fowls_?--Luke, xii. 24.

Sweet _bird_! thou sing’st away the early hours
Of winter past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights, which present are,--
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet smelling flowers,
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers,
Thou thy Creator’s goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers;
What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs
(Alter’d in sweetness,) sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth’s turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to Heaven?
Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To air of spheres, yes, and to angels’ lays.
_W. Drummond._

Behold! and look away your low despair,
See the light tenants of the barren air:
To them no stores nor granaries belong,
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song;
Yet your kind Heavenly Father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky;
He hears their gay and their distressful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
_Thomson._

What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
That in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
Instructs the _fowls_ of Heaven?
What but God!
Inspiring God! whose boundless spirit all
And unremitting energy pervades,
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
_Thomson._

Like an unfledged hungry _bird_, that in its nest
Hears its returning mother flap her wings,
Circling around when some choice food she brings;
The nestling’s love for both is then exprest--
It strives to reach the food and be carest,
And rustles to begin its wanderings,
And thanks her with unwonted chiruppings,
In notes that seem too sweet for its young breast:--
So do I feel whene’er the brilliant light
Of the almighty sun to which I gaze,
Cheers with unusual warmth my fainting soul;
Urged by internal love to bless and praise,
I take the pen, with joy beyond controul,
And fluttering, praise my God with all my might.
_Vittoria Colonna._

Beautiful _birds_ of lightsome wing,
Bright creatures that come with the voice of spring;
We see you arrayed in the hues of the morn,
Yet ye dream not of pride, and ye wist not of scorn,
Though rainbow splendour around you glows,
Ye vaunt not the beauty which nature bestows:
Oh! what a lesson for glory are ye,
How ye preach the grace of humility.

Swift _birds_ that skim o’er the stormy deep,
Who steadily onward your journey keep,
Who neither for rest nor for slumber stay,
But press still forward, by night or day--
As on your unwearying course ye fly,
Beneath the clear and unclouded sky;
Oh! may we, without delay, like you,
The path of duty and right pursue.

Sweet _birds_ that breathe the spirit of song,
And surround heaven’s gate in melodious throng;
Who rise with the earliest beams of day,
Your morning tribute of thanks to pay,
You remind me that we should likewise raise
The voice of devotion, and song of praise;
There’s something about you that points on high,
Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky.
_C. W. Thompson._

_Birds_, joyous _birds_, of the wandering wing!
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?
--“We come from the shores of the green old Nile,
From the land where the roses of Sharon smile,
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky,
From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby.

A change we have found, and many a change!
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange!
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair,
And the young that were have a brow of care,
And the place is hushed where the children played--
Nought looks the same, save the nests we made!”

Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
_Birds_ that o’ersweep it in power and mirth!
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air
_Ye_ have a guide, and shall _we_ despair?
_Ye_ over desert and deep have passed--
So shall _we_ reach our bright home at last.
_Mrs. Hemans._

What time thy heavenly voice preludes
Unto the fair and silent night,
Winged minstrel of my solitudes,
Unknown to thee I trace its flight.

Thy voice so touching and sublime,
Seems far too pure for this gross earth;
Surely we well may deem the chime
An instinct which with God has birth.

Thy warblings and thy murmurs sweet,
Into melodious union bring
All fair sounds that in nature meet,
Or float from heaven on wand’ring wing.

And that mysterious voice, that sound
Which angels listen to with me,--
That sigh of pious night is found
In thee, melodious _bird_, in thee.
_Lamartine._

Ye gentle _birds_, that perch aloof,
And smooth your pinions on my roof,
Preparing for departure hence,
Ere winter’s angry threats commence:
Like you my soul would smooth her plume,
For longer flights beyond the tomb.

May God, by whom is seen and heard
Departing man and wandering _bird_,
In mercy mark me for His own,
And guide me to the land unknown!
_Hayley._

The _bird_, let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idler warblers roam.

So grant me, Lord! from every stain
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft through virtue’s purer air,
To steer my course to Thee.

No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
The sunshine on her joyful way;
Thy freedom on her wings.
_Moore._

The wild _bird’s_ song is a song of praise,
Which, thankful, he uplifts;
Ever, like him, thy voice upraise,
To the giver of all good gifts.
_Egone._

BIRTH--BORN.

Judah prevailed above his brethren, and of him came the chief ruler; but the _birthright_ was Joseph’s.--I. Chronicles, v. 2.

Shall I bring to the _birth_, and not cause to bring forth? saith the Lord.--Isaiah, lxvi. 9.

And thou shalt have joy and gladness; and many shall rejoice at his _birth_.--Luke, i. 14.

Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be _born_ again.

The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth: so is every one that is _born_ of the spirit.--John, iii. 7, 8.

My little children, of whom I travail in _birth_ again until Christ be formed in you.--Galatians, iv. 19.

Whosoever is _born_ of God doth not commit sin; for his seed remaineth in him: and he cannot sin, because he is _born_ of God.--I. John, iii. 9.

Orient light,
Exhaling first from darkness, they beheld,
_Birthday_ of heaven and earth.
_Milton._

Thou hast been found
By merit, more than _birthright_, Son of God.
_Milton._

While no baseness in my breast I find,
I have not lost the _birthright_ of my mind.
_Dryden._

They tell me ’tis my _birthday_, and I’ll keep it
With double pomp of sadness;
’Tis what the day deserves which brought me forth.
_Dryden._

Mysterious love! that thou must recommence
Life and existence, and be _born_ anew,
_Born_ both of water and of spirit, whence
Spirit comes only, as flesh must flesh ensue:
And where it lists the wind shall blow, whose sound
Thou hearest, but know’st not--none--
Whence cometh it, nor whither it is bound;
And no man hath ascended into heaven
But he who thence came down, and bore the wound,
And perished that the world might be forgiven.
_J. A. Heraud._

Let us learn the wondrous story,
Of our great Redeemer’s _birth_;
Spread the brightness of His glory,
Till it cover all the earth.
Hasten mortals to adore Him,
Till in heaven ye sing before Him.
_Cawood._

Are all the memories of life
Buried when life has fled?
Are we forbid to keep again
The _birthdays_ of the dead?

Time was when each successive year
Brought one bright day of mirth,
The looked-for anniversary
Of some belov’d one’s _birth_.

The _birthday_ feasts of childhood’s age,
The feasts of riper years,
Remind us of like youthful joys
Remembered now with tears.

For they with whom those days were spent,
Have done with all on earth,
The fond home circle’s broken up
That hailed each day of _birth_.

Yet as the days come round again
Marked with affection’s seal,
Once more we think of those we’ve lost,
Once more their presence feel.

The blessed spirits now in Heaven,
May not such cycles keep,
Time metes not out their happiness,
They know not night or sleep.

Yet may they still retain the thoughts
Commemorating _birth_,
And haply still they keep in Heaven
The calender of Earth.

Far off are they, but still towards them
Our loving arms we spread,
And ever in our hearts we’ll keep
The _birthdays_ of the dead.
_George E. Shirley._

BLESSING--BLESSEDNESS--BLESS.

I will _bless_ the Lord at all times: his praise shall continually be in my mouth.--Psalm xxxiv. 1.

_Blessed_ are they that dwell in thy house: they will be still praising thee.

_Blessed_ is the man whose strength is in thee.--Psalm lxxxiv. 4, 5.

_Blessings_ are upon the head of the just, but violence covereth the mouth of the wicked.--Proverbs, x. 6.

The _blessing_ of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it.--Proverbs, x. 22.

_Blessed_ are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.--Matthew, v. 8.

I say unto you, love your enemies, _bless_ them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.--Matthew, v. 44.

_Blessing_; knowing that ye are thereunto called, that ye should inherit a _blessing_.--I. Peter, iii. 9.

O All-Sufficient, All-Beneficent!
Thou God of Goodness and of glory, hear!
Thou who to lowest minds dost condescend,
Assuming passions to enforce thy laws,
Adopting jealousy to prove thy love!
Thou who resigned humility upholdest,
E’en as the florist props the drooping rose;
But quellest tyrannic pride with peerless power,
E’en as the tempest drives the stubborn oak!
O All-Sufficient, All-Beneficent!
Thou God of goodness and of glory, hear!
_Bless_ all mankind, and bring them in the end
To heaven, to immortality, and Thee!
_Smart._

O my soul, with all thy powers,
_Bless_ the Lord’s most holy name;
O my soul, till life’s last hours,
_Bless_ the Lord, his praise proclaim;
Thine infirmities He healed;
He thy peace and pardon sealed.

As in Heaven, His throne and dwelling.
King on earth He holds his sway;
Angels, ye in strength excelling,
_Bless_ the Lord, his voice obey;
All his works beneath the pole,
_Bless_ the Lord, with thee, my soul.
_J. Montgomery._

Author of being! life-sustaining king!
Lo! want’s dependant eye from Thee implores
The seasons, which provide nutritious stores;
Give to her prayers the renovating spring,
And summer’s heats all perfecting, that bring
The fruits which autumn, from a thousand shores
Selecteth provident! when earth adores
Her God, and all her vales exultory sing.
Without thy _blessing_ the submissive steer
Bends to the ploughman’s galling yoke in vain;
Without thy _blessing_ on the varied year,
Can the swarth reaper grasp the golden grain?
Without thy _blessing_ all is blank and drear;
With it the joys of Eden bloom again.
_Wordsworth._

_Blessed_ be thy name for ever,
Thou of life the guard and giver;
Thou canst guard the creatures sleeping,
Heal the heart long broke with weeping.
God of stillness and of motion,
Of the desert and the ocean,
Of the mountain, rock, and river,
_Blessed_ be thy name for ever.

Thou who slumberest not, nor sleepest,
_Blest_ are they thou kindly keepest;
God of evening’s parting ray,
Of midnight’s gloom, and dawning day,
That rises from the azure sea,
Like breathings of eternity;
God of life! that fade shall never,
_Blessed_ be thy name for ever.
_James Hogg._

Oh! ’tis a sight the soul to cheer,
The promise of the fruitful year,
When God abroad his bounty flings,
And answering nature laughs and sings!
He, “for the evil and the good,”
For them, who with heart’s gratitude,
For them, who thanklessly receive
The _blessings_ He vouchsafes to give,
Bids from his storehouse in the skies,
“His rain descend, his sun arise.”
_Mant._

Thrice _blessed_ they who dwell
Within thine house, my God,
Where daily praises swell,
And still the floor is trod
By those who in thy presence bow,
By those whose King and God art thou.
_J. Montgomery._

_Blessed_ are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs,
Their soul is Christ’s abode.

Spotless their robes and pure,
Dipped in the sea of light,
That hides the unapproached shrine
From men’s and angels’ sight.
_Keble._

From darkness here, and dreariness,
We ask not full repose,
Only be thou at hand to _bless_
Our trial hour of woes.
Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not, up earth’s dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?
_Keble._

Thou that created’st all! Thou fountain
Of our sun’s light--who dwellest far
From man, beyond the farthest star,
Yet, ever present; who dost heed
Our spirits in their human need;
We _bless_ thee, Father, that we are!

We _bless_ thee for our inward life;
For its immortal date decreeing;
For that which comprehendeth thee,
A spark of thy divinity,
Which is the being of our being!

We _bless_ thee for this bounteous earth;
For its increase--for corn and wine;
For forest-oaks, for mountain-rills;
For cattle “on a thousand hills;”
We _bless_ thee--for all good is thine!
_Mary Howitt._

We have the promise of th’ eternal truth,
Those who live well, and pious paths pursue,
To man and to their Maker true;
Let them expire in age or youth,
Can never miss
Their way to everlasting _bliss_;
But from a world of misery and care,
To mansions of eternal ease repair;
Where joy in full perfection flows,
And in an endless circle moves
Through the vast round of beatific love,
Which no cessation knows.
_John Pomfret._

No, ’tis in vain to seek for _bliss_,
For _bliss_ can ne’er be found
Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heav’nly ground.
_Watts._

When we have slept that dreamless sleep,
Which dearest hearts must sever;
O may we wake no more to weep,
But live in _bliss_ for ever.
_John Linden._

True _bliss_, the flower of Paradise,
Lives not in this ungenial clime;
It blossoms in celestial skies,
Beyond the ravages of time;
The joy to christian pilgrims given,
Is but the rich perfume of heaven.
_W. J. Brock._

True _bliss_, the flower of Paradise,
Why seek it here below?
It groweth only ’neath those skies
With love divine that glow.
Warmed by the sun of righteousness,
And watered by the dews
Of mercy, and redeeming grace,
How lively are its hues!
In heaven, an amaranthine flower,
On earth, it blossoms but an hour.
_Egone._

BLINDNESS.

The Lord openeth the eyes of the _blind_.--Psalm cxlvi. 8.

Then the eyes of the _blind_ shall be opened.--Isaiah, xxxv. 5.

He hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the _blind_.--Luke, iv. 18.

Having the understanding darkened, being alienated from the life of God through the ignorance that is in them, because of the _blindness_ of their heart.--Ephesians, iv. 18.

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide,
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask: but patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s works, or his own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state
Is kingly, thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve, who only stand and wait.”
_Milton._

There is a poor _Blind_ Man, who every day,
In summer sunshine, or in winter’s rain,
Duly as tolls the bell to the high fane,
Explores, with faltering footsteps, his dark way,
To kneel before his Maker, and to hear
The chanted service pealing full and clear.

Ask why, alone, in the same spot he kneels
Through the long year? Oh! the wide world is cold,
As dark to him; here, he no longer feels
His sad bereavement--Faith and Hope uphold
His heart--he feels not he is poor and _blind_,
Amid the unpitying tumult of mankind:
As thro’ the aisles the choral anthems roll,
His soul is in the choirs above the skies,
And songs, far off, of angel companies.

Oh! happy, if the Rich--the Vain--the Proud--
The plumed Actors in life’s motley crowd,--
Since pride is dust, and life itself a span,--
Would learn one Lesson from a poor _Blind_ Man.
_Lisle Bowles._

I see, and yet I see not; outward things
Are visible unto me: I behold
The fresh, cool verdure of succeeding springs;
The glories of the summer manifold;
The forests rich with their autumnal gold;
The creatures beautiful, that spread their wings
In the warm sunshine; blossoms that unfold
Bright as man’s hopes and vain imaginings.
The glories of the universe are spread
Before me, and I see them with delight:
Yet am I _blind_ of heart, and cold, and dead
To spiritual things. God grant me light
To understand, and warmth to feel, and grace
Thy message to receive--Thy wondrous power to trace.
_Egone._

But in God’s temple the great lamp is out,
And he must worship glory in the dark!
Till death, in midnight mystery, hath brought
The veiled soul’s re-illuminating spark--
The pillar of the cloud enfolds the Ark!
And, like a man that prayeth underground
In Bethlehem’s rocky shrine, he can but mark
The lingering hours by circumstance and sound,
And break, with gentle hymns, the solemn silence round.

Yet still life’s better light shines out above!
And in that village church, where first he learned
To bear his cheerless doom, for heaven’s dear love,
He sits, with wistful face, for ever turned
To hear of those who heavenly pity earned;
_Blind_ Bartimæus, and him desolate,
Who for Bethesda’s waters vainly yearned:
And only sighs, condemned so long to wait,
Baffled and helpless still, beyond the Temple gate!
_Mrs. Norton._

BLOOD.

And Moses took the _blood_, and sprinkled it on the people, and said, Behold the _blood_ of the covenant, which the Lord hath made with you.--Exodus, xxiv. 8.

Deliver me from _blood_-guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of thy righteousness.--Psalm li. 14.

By the _blood_ of thy covenant I have sent forth thy prisoners out of the pit.--Zechariah, ix. 11.

God hath made of one _blood_ all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth.--Acts, xvii. 26.

Neither by the _blood_ of goats and calves, but by his own _blood_, he entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption for us.--Hebrews, ix. 12.

Almost all things are by the law purged with _blood_; and without shedding of _blood_ is no remission.--Hebrews, ix. 22.

The _blood_ of Jesus Christ, his son, cleanseth us from all sin.--I. John, i. 7.

Strange is it that our _bloods_,
Of colour, weight, and heat, poured all together,
Would quite confound distinction, yet stand off
In difference so mighty.
_Shakspere._

Ye Sacred Writings! on 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 in dust and ashes fly?
Could Justice be of sin so over-wooed,
Or so great ill because of so great good,
That, _bloody_ man to save, man’s Saviour shed his _blood_.
_Giles Fletcher._

O, thou great Power! in whom we move,
By whom we live, to whom we die,
Behold me through thy beams of love,
Whilst on this couch of tears I lie,
And cleanse my sordid soul within
By thy Christ’s _blood_, the bath of sin.

No hallowed oils, no gums I need,
No new-born drams of purging fire:
One rosy drop from David’s seed
Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire:
O, precious ransom! which once paid,
The _Consummatum est_ was said.

And said by him, that said no more,
But sealed it with his sacred breath:
Thou, then, thus hast dispurged our score,
And dying wert the death of death;
Be now whilst on thy name we call,
Our life, our strength, our joy, our all.
_Sir Henry Wotton._

Stretched on the cross, the Saviour dies,
Hark! his expiring groans arise!
See, how the sacred crimson tide
Flows from his hands, his feet, his side.

But life attends the deathful sound,
And flows from every _bleeding_ wound;
The vital stream, how free it flows,
To save and cleanse his rebel foes!

Lord! didst thou _bleed_? for sinners _bleed_?
And could the sun behold the deed?
No! he withdrew his sickening ray,
And darkness veiled the mourning day.
_Steele._

There is a fountain filled with _blood_,
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
O may I there, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away!

Dear dying Lamb! thy precious _blood_
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransomed church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.
_Cowper._

Not all the _blood_ of beasts
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.

But Christ the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name,
And richer _blood_ than they.
_Watts._

BLOSSOM.

Therefore as the fire devoureth the stubble, and the flame consumeth the chaff, so their root shall be as rottenness, and their _blossom_ shall go up as dust: because they have cast away the law of the Lord of hosts, and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel.--Isaiah, v. 24.

The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice, and _blossom_ as the rose. It shall _blossom_ abundantly.--Isaiah, xxxv. 1, 2.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do you fall so fast?
Your date is not so past
But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be
An hour and half’s delight
And so to bid good-night?
’Twas pity nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne’er so brave,
And after they have shown their pride
Like you awhile, they glide
Into the grave.
_Herrick._

Our life hath many a wintry scene,
Deciduous are our sweetest joys;
And _blossoms_ that have loveliest been,
Some withering demon oft destroys.

But there are germs that inly lie,
Waiting the touch of some kind hand,
Germs that destruction’s power defy,
And soon in _bloom_ of hope expand.
_W. J. Brock._

Lo, the arid desert
Shall _blossom_ as the rose,
Wheresoe’er the messenger
Of the Saviour goes.
_Egone._

BOLDNESS.

I speak as concerning reproach, as though we had been weak. Howbeit whereinsoever any is _bold_, (I speak foolishly,) I am _bold_ also.--II. Corinthians, xi. 21.

Great is my _boldness_ of speech towards you.--II. Corinthians, vii. 4.

Christ Jesus our Lord: In whom we have _boldness_ and access with confidence by the faith of him.--Ephesians, iii. 11, 12.

Herein is our love made perfect, that we may have _boldness_ in the day of judgment: because as he is, so are we in this world.--I. John, iv. 17.

We were _bold_ in our God to speak unto you the gospel of God with much contention.--I. Thessalonians, ii. 2.

The wicked flee when no man pursueth: but the righteous are _bold_ as a lion.--Proverbs, xxviii. 1.

Where high the heavenly temple stands,
The house of God not made with hands,
A great High Priest our nature wears,
The guardian of mankind appears.

He who for men their surety stood,
And poured on earth His precious blood,
Pursues in heaven His mighty plan,
The Saviour and the friend of man.

With _boldness_, therefore, at the throne
Let us make all our sorrows known,
And ask the aid of heavenly power
To help us in the evil hour.
_Logan._

Jesus! Thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are my glorious dress;
’Midst flaming worlds, in these array’d,
With joy shall I lift up my head.

_Bold_ shall I stand in Thy great day;
For who aught to my charge shall lay?
Fully absolv’d through these I am
From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.
_Wesley._

The man is _bold_ who fronts the cannon’s mouth,
And trembles not when danger leads the way;
But _bolder_ far is he who speaks the truth
Regardless who may stand around and hear,
And with a kindly spirit dares reprove
The fool that cavils at a world to come.
_J. Burbidge._

BONDAGE.

The _bondage_ was heavy upon this people.--Nehemiah, v. 18.

They answered him, We be Abraham’s seed, and were never in _bondage_ to any man: how sayest thou, Ye shall be made free.--John, viii. 33.

And God spake on this wise, That his seed should sojourn in a strange land: and that they should bring them into _bondage_, and entreat them evil four hundred years.--Acts, vii. 6.

The creature itself also shall be delivered from the _bondage_ of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.--Romans, viii. 21.

Put on charity, which is the _bond_ of perfectness.--Colossians, iii. 14.

Deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to _bondage_.--Hebrews, ii. 15.

Get up, my soul; redeem thy sluggish eyes
From drowsy _bondage_: O beware; be wise:
Thy foe’s before thee; thou must fight or fly:
Life lies most open in a closed eye.
_Quarles._

Lamb of God, for sinners slain,
To thee I feebly pray;
Heal me of my grief and pain,
O take my sins away;

From this _bondage_ Lord release;
No longer let me be opprest;
Jesus, Master, seal my peace,
And take me to thy breast.
_Wesley._

My God, what silken cords are thine!
How soft, and yet how strong!
While power, and truth, and love combine,
To draw our souls along.

Thou sawest us crushed beneath the yoke
Of Satan and of sin:
Thy hand the iron _bondage_ broke,
Our worthless hearts to win.

Drawn by such cords, we onward move,
Till round thy throne we meet;
And, captive in the chains of love,
Embrace our conqueror’s feet.
_Doddridge._

BOOK.

And he took the _book_ of the covenant, and read in the audience of the people.--Exodus, xxiv. 7.

Ezra opened the _book_ in the sight of all the people; (for he was above all the people;) and when he opened it, all the people stood up.--Nehemiah, viii. 5.

Oh that my words were now written! oh that they were printed in a _book_!--Job, xix. 23.

Of making many _books_ there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.--Ecclesiastes, xii. 12.

There shall in no wise enter into it (the holy city) any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, or maketh a lie: but they which are written in the Lamb’s _book_ of life.--Revelation, xxi. 27.

Thy glass will shew thee how thy beauties wear,
Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste,
Thy vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear,
And of this _book_ this learning may’st thou taste:
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show,
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by the dial’s shady stealth may’st know
Time’s thievish progress to eternity;
Look, what thy memory cannot contain,
Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shall find
Those children nursed delivered from thy brain
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices so oft as thou wilt look,
Will profit thee, and much enrich thy _book_.
_Shakspere._

But what strange art, what magic can dispose
The troubled mind to change its native woes,
Or lead us willing from ourselves, to see
Others more wretched, more undone than we?
This _books_ can do;--nor this alone, they give
New views of life, and teach us how to live.
They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise,
Fools they admonish, and confound the wise;
Their aid they lead to all; they never shun
The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone.
Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud,
They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd;
Nor tell to various people various things,
But show to subjects what they show to kings.
Blessed be the gracious Power! who taught mankind
To stamp a lasting image of the mind.
Beasts may convey and tuneful birds may sing
their mutual feelings in the opening spring,
But man alone has skill and power to send
The heart’s warm dictates to a distant friend;
’Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise
Ages remote, and nations yet to rise.
_Crabbe._

I love the sacred _book_ of God,
No other can its place supply;
It points me to the saints’ abode,
It gives me wings, and bids me fly.

Blest _book_! in thee my eyes discern
The image of my absent Lord;
From thine instructive page I learn
The joys his presence will afford.

Then shall I need thy light no more,
For nothing shall be there concealed;
When I have reached the heavenly shore
The Lord himself will stand revealed.

When, ’midst the throng celestial placed,
The bright original I see,
From which thy sacred page was traced,
Blest _book_! I’ve no more need of thee.

But while I’m here thou shalt supply
His place, and tell me of His love;
I’ll read with faith’s discerning eye,
And thus partake of joys above.
_Kelly._

There is a _book_, who runs may read,
Which heavenly truth imparts,
And all the lore its scholars need
Pure eyes and Christian hearts.

The works of God above, below,
Within us, and around,
Are pages in that _book_, to show
How God Himself is found.
_Keble._

BOUNTY.

I will sing unto the Lord, because he hath dealt _bountifully_ with me.--Psalm xiii. 6.

Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt _bountifully_ with thee.--Psalm cxvi. 7.

Being enriched in every thing to all _bountifulness_, which causeth through us thanksgiving to God.--II. Corinthians, ix. 11.

This goodly frame of temperance,
Formerly grounded, and fast settled
On firm foundation of true _bountihood_.
_Spenser._

Those godlike men, to wanting virtue kind,
_Bounty_ well placed preferred, and well designed,
To all their titles.
_Dryden._

How full of cheer,
Joyous, devout, and grateful is the soul
To see again its unexhausted God
Thus pile the table of a world with bread!
For what’s the globe on which we all subsist?
The table of immortal _bounty_ ’tis,
A feast perpetual, where unnumbered sons
Sit down to banquet as their sires withdraw,
And in succession generations feed,
Contented rise, give thanks, and pass away.
_Hurdis._

The hand that built the palace of the sky,
Formed the light wings that decorate a fly;
The power that wheels the circling planets round,
Rears every infant floweret on the ground;
That _bounty_ which the mightiest beings share,
Feeds the least gnat that gilds the evening air.
_J. Montgomery._

I love the Lord;--he lent an ear
When I for help implored;
He rescued me from all my fear,
Therefore I love the Lord.

* * * * *

Return, my soul, unto my rest,
From God no longer roam;
His hand hath _bountifully_ blest,
His goodness called thee home.
_J. Montgomery._

BREAD.