Chapter IX: Part 9

For men to search their own _glory_ is not _glory_.--Proverbs, xxv. 27.

Enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, for fear of the Lord, and for the _glory_ of his majesty.--Isaiah, ii. 10.

T’ raise desert and virtue by my fortune,
Though in a low estate, were greater _glory_,
Than to mix greatness with a prince that owns
No worth but that name only.
_Massinger._

When our souls shall leave this dwelling,
The _glory_ of one fair and virtuous action
Is above all the scutcheons on our tomb,
Or silken banners over us.
_Shirley._

This is true _glory_ and renown, when God,
Looking on the earth, with approbation marks
The just man, and divulges him through heaven
To all his angels, who with true applause
Recount his praises: thus He did to Job,
Who famous was in heaven, on earth less known;
Where _glory_ is false _glory_ attributed
To things not _glorious_, men not worthy of fame.
They err who count it _glorious_ to subdue
By conquest far and wide, to over-run
Large countries, and in field great battles win,
Great cities by assault; what do these worthies,
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin wheresoe’er they rove,
And all the flourishing arts of peace destroy.
But if there be in _glory_ aught of good,
It may by means far different be attain’d,
Without ambition, war, or violence;
By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent,
By patience, temperance.
_Milton._

Much of the soul they talk, but all awry,
And in themselves seek virtue, and to themselves
All _glory_ arrogate, to God give none.
_Milton._

Thus the fond moth around the taper plays,
And sports and flutters in the treacherous blaze;
Ravished with joy he wings his eager flight,
Nor deems of ruin in so clear a light:
He tempts his fate, and courts a _glorious_ doom,
A bright destruction, and a shining tomb.
_Tickell._

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour;
The path of _glory_ leads but to the grave.
_Gray._

O, that mine eye might closed be,
To what concerns me not to see;
That deafness might possess mine ear,
To what concerns me not to hear;
That Truth my tongue might always tie
From ever speaking foolishly;
That no vain thought might ever rest,
Or be conceived, in my breast;
That by each word, and deed, and thought,
_Glory_ may to my God be brought!
_Thomas Ellwood._

Lift up your heads, ye gates that long endure!
The King of _Glory_ comes victoriously!
Who is the King of _Glory_? He, be sure,
The Lord, renowned in battle! This is He!
Lift up your heads, ye gates! He stands before ye;
Oh ye æonian gates, uplifted be,
And make to Him wide entrance whom adore ye.
Who is the King ye herald? who but He,
The Lord of Hosts? Who else is King of _Glory_?
_J. A. Heraud._

Wake, arm divine! awake
Eye of the only wise!
Now for Thy _glory’s_ sake,
Saviour and God arise!
_Keble._

GOD.

Thou art a _God_ ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and of great kindness.--Nehemiah, ix. 17.

The mighty _God_, even the Lord, hath spoken, and called the earth from the rising of the sun unto the going down thereof.

Our _God_ shall come, and shall not keep silence.--Psalm l. 1, 3.

And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our _God_; we have waited for him, and he will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for him, we will be glad and rejoice in his salvation.--Isaiah, xxv. 9.

To whom then will ye liken _God_? or what likeness will ye compare unto him?--Isaiah, xl. 18.

Prepare to meet thy _God_.--Amos, iv. 12.

_God_ is a spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.--John, iv. 24.

Without controversy great is the mystery of godliness: _God_ was manifest in the flesh.--I. Timothy, iii. 16.

To _God_ more glory, more good-will to men
From _God_, and over wrath shall grace abound.
_Milton._

The heavens are a point from the pen of His perfection;
The world is a rosebud from the bower of His beauty;
The sun is a spark from the light of His wisdom;
And the sky a bubble on the sea of His power.
His beauty is free from stain of sin,
Hidden in a veil of thick darkness.
He formed mirrors of the atoms of the world,
And he cast a reflection from His own face on every atom!
To thy clear-seeing eye whatsoever is fair,
When thou regardest it aright, is a reflection from His face.
_Jami, from the Persian._

O Thou, whose power o’er moving worlds presides,
Whose voice created and whose wisdom guides,
On darkling man in pure effulgence shine,
And cheer the clouded mind with light divine!

’Tis Thine alone to calm the pious breast,
With silent confidence, and holy rest;
From Thee, great _God_! we spring--to Thee we tend,
Path, Motive, Guide, Original, and End.
_Dr. Johnson_.

Not _God_ alone in the still calm we find,
He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind.
_Pope._

The _God_ that rules on high,
That all the earth surveys,
That rides upon the stormy sky,
And calms the roaring seas--
This awful _God_ is ours,
Our Father and our love;
He will send down His heavenly powers
To carry us above.
_Watts._

Spirit whose life-sustaining presence fills
Air, ocean, central depths by man untried,
Thou for Thy worshippers hast sanctified
All place, all time! The silence of the hills
Breathes veneration: founts and choral rills
Of Thee are murmuring:--to its inmost glade
The living forest with Thy whisper thrills,
And there is holiness in every shade.
_Mrs. Hemans._

On earth there’s not a creature
Too small, dear _God_, for Thee:
Thou gav’st them form and feature,
And Thine they aye must be.
For Thee the bird sings,
For Thee the fish springs,
For Thee the bee hums,
The gold-beetle drums,
The little mouse pipes clear and fine;--
We all are Thine, dear Lord; but Thine!
_Clemens Brentano._

There is no _God_,--the fool in secret said;
There is no _God_ that rules on earth or sky;
Tear off the band that folds the wretched head,
That _God_ may burst upon his faithless eye.
Is there no _God_?--the stars in myriads spread,
If he look up, the blasphemy deny,
Whilst his own features, in the mirror read,
Reflect the image of Divinity.
Is there no _God_?--the silver stream that flows,
The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees,
The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,
All speak of _God_; throughout one voice agrees,
And eloquent His dread existence shows:
Blind to thyself, ah! see Him, fool, in these.
_Anon._

My _God_, to Thee belong
Incense of praise and hallowed song;
To Thee be all the glory given
Of all my mercies under heaven;
From Thee my daily bread and health,
Each comfort, all my spirit’s wealth,
Have been derived;--my sins alone,
And errings, I can call mine own.
_Walker._

What secret hand, at morning light,
By stealth unseals mine eye,
Draws back the curtain of the night,
And opens earth and sky?

’Tis Thine, my _God_--the same that kept
My resting hours from harm;
No ill came nigh me, for I slept
Beneath the Almighty’s arm.

’Tis Thine--my daily bread that brings,
Like manna scattered round,
And clothes me, as the lily springs
In beauty from the ground.
_J. Montgomery._

With years oppress’d, with sorrows worn,
Dejected, harass’d, sick, forlorn,
To Thee, O _God_, I pray;
To Thee my withered hands arise;
To Thee I lift my failing eyes:
Oh! cast me not away!
_Sir R. Grant._

Who spoke creation into birth,
Arch’d the broad heavens, and spread the rolling earth;
Who form’d a pathway for the obedient sun,
And bade the seasons in their circles run;
Who fill’d the air, the forest, and the flood,
And gave man all for comfort, or for good.
_Charles Sprague._

GOLD.

But he knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as _gold_.--Job, xxiii. 10.

The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether.

More to be desired are they than _gold_, yea, than much fine _gold_.--Psalm xix. 9, 10.

The trial of your faith, being much more precious that of _gold_ that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory, at the appearing of Jesus Christ.--I. Peter, i. 7.

I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

And the building of the wall of it was of jasper: and the city was pure _gold_, like unto clear glass.--Revelation, xxi. 2, 18.

Never exceed thy income. Youth may make
Even with the year; but age if it will hit,
Shoots a bow short, and lessens still its stake,
As the day lessens, and his life with it.
Thy children, kindred, friends, upon thee call;
Before thy journey fairly part with all.

Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil;
Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dim
To all things else. Wealth is the conjurer’s devil;
Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath him.
_Gold_ thou mayest safely touch; but if it stick
Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.
_Herbert._

To purchase heaven has _gold_ the power?
Can _gold_ remove the mortal hour?
In life can love be bought with _gold_?
Are friendship’s pleasures to be sold?
No--all that’s worth a wish--a thought--
Fair virtue gives, unbrib’d, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.
_Dr. Johnson._

Oh, bane of man! seducing cheat!
Can man, weak man, thy power defeat?
_Gold_ banish’d honour from the mind,
And only left the name behind;
_Gold_ sow’d the world with ev’ry ill,
_Gold_ taught the murderer’s sword to kill;
’Twas _gold_ instructed coward hearts
In treachery’s more pernicious arts.
_Gay._

_Gold_, many hunted, sweat, and bled for _Gold_;
Waked all the night, and laboured all the day.
And what was this allurement dost thou ask?
A dust dug from the bowels of the earth,
Which, being cast into the fire, came out
A shining thing that fools admired, and called
A god; and in devout and humble plight
Before it kneeled, the greater to the less;
And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace,
Truth, faith, integrity, good conscience, friends,
Love, charity, benevolence, and all
The sweet and tender sympathies of life;
And to complete the horrid murderous rite,
And signalize their folly, offered up
Their souls and an eternity of bliss,
To gain them--what? an hour of dreaming joy,
A feverish hour that hasted to be done,
And ended in the bitterness of woe.
_Pollok._

The deep damnation of the crowd, O _Gold_!
Heapeth reproach upon thy innocent dust!
“Evil’s prolific root,”--“Bribe of the just,”--
“Strength of the false and cruel,”--“God, extoll’d
By priests, by whom heaven’s pardoning grace is sold,”--
Such are thy titles! while, with covetous lust,
Men hoard the very ore they have befoul’d
With the tongue’s obloquy of wordy rust,--
Yet thou art sinless, _Gold!_ and bright, and bland,
And fit for glorious offices; and blest,
When put to uses holy. Oh, be sure
The curse is not on thee; for ’tis the hand
That toucheth thee doth thee with stains invest,
Or maketh thee beneficent and pure!
_Calder Campbell._

That universal idol, _Gold_,
In homage all unites;
Without a temple, ’tis adored,
And has no hypocrites.

Nay, more, _Gold’s_ warmest devotees
Strive most to hide their zeal;
And he that loves this idol most,
Would most that love conceal.
_Colton._

GOODNESS.

There be many that say, Who will shew us any _good_? Lord, lift Thou up the light of Thy countenance upon us.--Psalm iv. 6.

There is not a just man upon earth, that doeth _good_, and sinneth not.--Ecclesiastes, vii. 20.

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is _good_; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God.--Micah, vi. 8.

Do _good_ to them that hate you.--Matthew, v. 44.

As we have therefore opportunity, let us do _good_ unto all men.--Galatians, vi. 10.

Hold fast that which is _good_.--I. Thessalonians, v. 21.

Therefore to him that knoweth to do _good_, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.--James, iv. 17.

How far the little candle throws his beams!
So shines a _good_ deed in a naughty world.
_Shakspere._

Great minds, like Heaven, are pleased in doing _good_,
Though the ungrateful subjects of their favours
Are barren in return.
_Rowe._

Then to be _good_, is to be happy: angels
Are happier than mankind, because they’re better.
_Rowe._

Take well whate’er shall chance, though bad it be,
Take it for _good_, and ’twill be _good_ to thee.
_Randolph._

_Good_, the more
Communicated, more abundant grows;
The author not impaired, but honoured more.
_Milton._

Look round the world, behold the chain of love
Combining all below, and all above;
See plastic nature working to this end,
The single atoms each to other tend,
Attract, attracted to the next in place,
Formed and impelled its neighbour to embrace;
See matter next, with various life endued,
Press to one centre, still the general _good_.
_Young._

A _good_ man and an angel! These between
How thin the barrier? What divides their fate?
Perhaps a moment, or perhaps a year;
Or if an age, it is a moment still,
A moment, or eternity’s forgot.
_Young._

Who never felt the impatient throb--
The longing of a heart that pants
And reaches after distant _good_.
_Cowper._

Sure the last end
Of the _good_ man is peace!--how calm his exit!
Night-dews fall not more gently to the ground,
Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft!
_Blair._

The _good_ are better made by ill,
As odours crushed, are better still.
_Rogers._

As flowers which night, when day is o’er, perfume,
Breathes the sweet memory from a _good_ man’s tomb.
_Sir E. B. Lytton._

When to the common rest that crowns our days,
Called in the noon of life, the _good_ man goes,
Or full of years, or ripe in wisdom, lays
His silver temples in their last repose;
When, o’er the buds of youth, the death-wind blows,
And blights the fairest; when our bitterest tears
Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close,
We think on what they were, with many fears
Lest _goodness_ die with them, and leave the coming years.
_W. C. Bryant._

Give credit to thy mortal brother’s heart
For all the _good_ that in thine own hath part.
_Mrs. Norton._

Never despair of _goodness_. Men are bad,
But have been worse. The badness shall die out,
The _goodness_, like the thistle-down, shall float,
Bearing a germ beneath its tiny car--
A germ predestined to become a tree,
To fall on fruitful soil, and on its boughs
Bear seed enough to stock the universe.
_Charles Mackay._

GOSPEL.

And He said unto them, Go ye into all the world, and preach the _gospel_ to every creature.--Mark, xvi. 15.

To the poor the _gospel_ is preached.--Luke, vii. 22.

For I am not ashamed of the _gospel_ of Christ; for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth; to the Jew first, and also to the Greek.--Romans, i. 16.

The word of truth, the _gospel_ of your salvation.--Ephesians, i. 13.

If ye continue in the faith grounded and settled, and be not moved away from the hope of the _gospel_, which ye have heard, and which was preached to every creature which is under heaven.--Colossians, i. 23.

And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting _gospel_ to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people.--Revelation, xiv. 6.

O, I have seen, (nor hope perhaps in vain,
Ere life go down, to see such sights again,)
A veteran warrior in the Christian field,
Who never saw the sword he could not wield;
Grave without dulness, learned without pride,
Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed;
A man that would have foiled, at their own play,
A dozen would-be’s of the modern day;
Who, when occasion justified its use,
Had wit as bright, as ready to produce;
Could fetch the records of an earlier age,
Or from philosophy’s enlightened page
His rich materials, and regale your ear
With strains it was a privilege to hear:
Yet, above all, his luxury supreme,
And his chief glory was the _gospel_ theme;
There he was copious as old Greece or Rome,
His happy eloquence seemed there at home,--
Ambitious not to shine, or to excel,
But, to treat justly what he loved so well.
_Cowper._

Behold His life, and learn from Him to live;
In death still greater view thy dying Lord,
And imitate that worth thou canst not reach.
Smooth are His paths, and to conduct thy feet,
The _Gospel’s_ holy light around thee sheds
Its mild effulgence.
_William Bolland._

Gazing ever on the _Gospel_ light,
That endless source of evidence and truth,
Prove every doctrine by that golden rule,
And “try the spirits if they be of God.”
_Mrs. Sigourney._

The _Gospel’s_ glorious hope,
Its rule of purity, its eye of prayer,
Its fort of firmness on temptation’s steep,
Its bark that fails not, ’mid the storm of death,
He spread before them, and with gentlest tone,
Such as a brother to his sister breathes,
His little sister, simple and untaught,
Did urge them to the shelter of that ark
Which rides the wrathful deluge.
_Mrs. Sigourney._

The moon is up! How calm and slow
She wheels above the hill;
The weary winds forget to blow,
And all the world lies still.

The way-worn travellers, with delight,
The rising brightness see,
Revealing all the paths and plains,
And gilding every tree.

It glistens where the hurrying stream
Its little ripple leaves;
It falls upon the forest shade,
And sparkles on the leaves.

So once, on Judah’s evening bills,
The heavenly lustre spread;
The _gospel_ sounded from the blaze,
And shepherds gazed with dread.

And still that light upon the world
Its guiding splendour throws;
Bright in the opening hours of life,
But brighter at the close.

The waning moon in time shall fail
To walk the midnight skies,
But God hath kindled _this_ bright light
With fire that never dies.
_W. B. O. Peabody._

GRACE.

The Lord will give _grace_ and glory; no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.--Psalm lxxxiv. 11.

The law was given by Moses, but _grace_ and truth came by Jesus Christ.--John, i. 17.

We have access by faith into this _grace_ wherein we stand, and rejoice in hope of the glory of God.--Romans, v. 2.

My _grace_ is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.--II. Corinthians, xii. 9.

For the _grace_ of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men.--Titus, ii. 11.

Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of _grace_, that we may obtain mercy, and find _grace_ to help in time of need.--Hebrews, iv. 16.

Pray for the health of all that are diseased,
Confession unto all that are convicted,
And patience unto all that are displeased,
And comfort unto all that are afflicted,
And mercy unto all that have offended,
And _grace_ to all, that all may be amended.
_Nicholas Breton._

The flesh being proud, Desire doth fight with _Grace_,
And there it revels, and when that decays,
The guilty rebel for remission prays.
_Shakspere._

That word, _Grace_,
In an un_gracious_ mouth, is but profane.
_Shakspere._

Who God doth late and early pray,
More of His _grace_ than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;--
This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
_Henry Wotton._

Prevenient _grace_ descending had removed
The stony from their hearts.
_Milton._

But _grace_, abused, brings forth the foulest deeds,
As richest soil, the most luxuriant weeds.
_Cowper._

My stock lies dead, and no increase,
Doth my dull husbandry improve;
O let thy _grace_ still without cease,
Drop from above!

The dew doth every morning fall,
And shall the dew outstrip thy dove,
The dew for which grass cannot call?
Drop from above!

Death is still working like a mole,
And digs my grave at each remove;
Let _grace_ work too, and on my soul
Drop from above!

Sin is still hammering my heart
Unto a hardness void of love;
Let suppling _grace_, to cross his art,
Drop from above!

O come! for Thou dost know the way,
Or if to me thou wilt not move,
Remove me when I need, and say--
Drop from above!
_George Herbert._

I want that _grace_ which springs from Thee,
Which quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me
Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose.
_Cowper._

All-powerful _Grace_, exert thy gentle sway,
And teach my rebel passions to obey;
Lest lurking folly, with insidious art,
Regain my volatile, inconstant heart!
_Mrs. Carter._

O God! how beautiful the thought,
How merciful the bless’d decree,
That _Grace_ can e’er be found, when sought,
And nought shut out the soul from Thee.
The cell may cramp, the fetters gall,
The flame may scorch, the rack may tear;
But torture, stake, or prison-wall,
Can be endured with faith and prayer.
_Eliza Cook._

This _grace_ is ours: who asks in Thy great name,
May ask for all; and with assurance claim
The purchased pardon to believers given,
The seal of mercy, and the hope of heaven.
_Perronet._

Every act
Which shunned the trifling plaudit of mankind,
Shall here to wondering millions be displayed,
A monument of _grace_.
_C. P. Layard._

_Faith!_ anchor of the soul amid the storms
Which vex and toss the ocean deep, which forms
The pathway to that land of light and love,
Which waits the ransom’d in the world above;
While this life lasts, I fain would stay on thee;
I shall not need thee in eternity.
_Hope!_ be thou mine, while here on earth I rove,
But only till I reach my home above:
But _Charity!_ of christian _graces_ best,
Ever increasing, blessing still and blest,
Thou shalt remain when Faith and Hope shall cease,
The source and fulness e’en of Heaven’s bliss!
No period circumscribes my prayer for thee;
Be mine on earth, and through eternity!
_Mary Milner._

_Grace!_ ’tis a charming sound,
Harmonious to my ear;
Heaven with the echo shall resound,
And all the earth shall hear.

_Grace_ first contrived a way
To save rebellious man;
And all the steps that _grace_ display
Which drew the wondrous plan.

_Grace_ taught my wand’ring feet
To tread the heavenly road;
And new supplies each hour I meet,
While pressing on to God.

_Grace_ all the work shall crown,
Through everlasting days;
It lays in heaven the topmost stone,
And well deserves the praise.
_Doddridge._

GRAVE--TOMB.

The Lord killeth, and maketh alive: he bringeth down to the _grave_, and bringeth up.--I. Samuel, ii. 6.

God will redeem my soul from the power of the _grave_: for he shall receive me.--Psalm xlix. 15.

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the _grave_, whither thou goest.--Ecclesiastes, ix. 10.

I will ransom them from the power of the _grave_: I will redeem them from death: O death, I will be thy plagues; O _grave_, I will be thy destruction.--Hosea, xiii. 14.

When self-esteem, or other’s adulation,
Would cunningly persuade us we are something
Above the common level of our kind;
The _grave_ gainsays the smooth-complexion’d flatt’ry,
And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are.
_Blair._

Dull _grave_! thou spoil’st the dance of youthful blood,
Strik’st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth,
And every smirking feature from the face;
Branding out laughter with the name of madness.
_Blair._

All at rest now--all dust!--wave flows on wave,
But the sea dries not! What to us the _grave_?
It brings no real homily; we sigh,
Pause for awhile, and murmur “all must die;”
Then rush to pleasure, action, sin, once more,
Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore.
_Sir E. B. Lytton._

Oh! for a heart that seeks the sacred gloom
That hovers round the precincts of the _tomb_!
While fancy, musing there, sees visions bright,--
In death discovering life, in darkness, light.

What though the chilling blasts of winter’s day
Forbid the garden longer to be gay?
Of winter yet I’ll not refuse to sing,
Thus to be followed by eternal spring.
_Leigh Richmond._

What is the _Grave_ of Pride? Is it to lie
’Neath sculptured marble, where the night-winds sigh
Through solemn arches, and ’mid pillars tall,
The while the pallid moonbeams coldly fall
On shrine, and urn, and “animated bust,”
The vain memorials all of “dust to dust?”
Is it to lie with hands uprear’d in prayer,
As many a warrior rests in sculpture rare;
His banner floating o’er the chisell’d stone,
’Neath which, long ages since, he laid him down,
To fear no battle-cry, nor trumpet call,
Till on his startled ear the peal shall fall,
That from the storied _tomb_, or daisied sod,
Death’s sleepers shall awake to meet their God?
Then will it seek not, if in minster-pile,
While music roll’d through each time-honour’d aisle,
And choral hymnings swell the flood of sound,
That rose and fell through all the vaults around;
Or if beneath some village yew-tree’s shade,
The child of earth to his long rest were laid.
The marble _tomb_ must yield its treasured trust,
The grass-grown _grave_ give up the sleeping dust.
_Mary Milner._

I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground, God’s Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each _grave_ within its walls,
And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust.

Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the Archangel’s blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
_Longfellow._

’Tis a blessing to live, but a greater to die,
And the best of the world, is its path to the sky,--
Be it gloomy or bright, for the life that He gave
Let us thank Him--but blessed be God for the _grave_!
’Tis the end of our toil, ’tis the crown of our bliss,
’Tis the portal of happiness--aye, but for this,
How hopeless were sorrow, how narrow were love,
If they looked not from earth to the rapture above!
_J. K. Mitchell._

Come unto the churchyard near:
Where the gentle, whispering breeze
Softly rustleth through the trees;
Where the moonbeam pure and white,
Falls in floods of cloudless light,
Bathing many a turfy heap
Where the lowlier slumberers sleep;
And the graceful willow waves,
Banner-like, o’er nameless _graves_:
Here hath prayer arisen like dew,--
Here the earth is holy, too,
Lightly press each grassy mound:
Surely this is hallowed ground.
_M. A. Browne._

Through these branched walks will contemplation wind,
And grave wise Nature’s teachings on his mind;
As the white _grave_-stones glimmer to his eye,
A solemn voice will thrill him, “_Thou_ must die!”
When autumn’s tints are glittering in the air,
That voice will whisper to his soul “Prepare!”
When winter’s snows are spread o’er hill and dell,
“Oh, this is death!” that solemn voice will swell;
But when with spring, streams leap, and blossoms wave,
“Hope, Christian, hope,” ’twill say, “there’s life beyond the
_grave_.”
_Alfred B. Street._

The voice of prayer at the sable bier!
A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer.
It commends the spirit to God who gave;
It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark _grave_;
It points to the glory where He shall reign
Who whispered, “Thy brother shall rise again!”
_Henry Ware, Jun._

Yes! it is a certain sleep,
Where dreams of woe can ne’er intrude;
Ah! if no earthly passion creep
Into its solemn solitude.

If there at length we cease to feel
Each pang, which living rends the breast;
Who would not from this vain world steal
Into the silent _grave_ to rest?
_Arthur Brook._

GREATNESS.

Ascribe ye _greatness_ unto our God.--Deuteronomy, xxxii. 3.

_Great_ is the Lord, and _greatly_ to be praised; and His _greatness_ is unsearchable.--Psalm cxlv. 3.

Then there arose a reasoning among them, which of them should be _greatest_.

And Jesus perceiving the thought of their heart, took a child, and set him by him,

And said unto them, Whosoever shall receive this child in my name receiveth me; and whosoever shall receive me receiveth him that sent me: for he that is least among you all, the same shall be _great_.--Luke, ix. 46, 47, 48.

O happy man, saith he, that lo I see
Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields,
If he but knew his good. How blessed he
That feels not what affliction _greatness_ yields!
Other than what he is who would not be,
Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields.
Thine, thine is that true life; that is to live,
To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve.
_Samuel Daniel._

The good alone are _great_!
When winds the mountain oak assail,
And lay its glories waste,
Content may slumber in the vale,
Unconscious of the blast.
Through scenes of tumult while we roam,
The heart, alas! is ne’er at home;
It hopes in time to roam no more.
The mariner, not vainly brave,
Combats the storm, and rides the wave,
To rest at last on shore.

Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,
How vain your mask of state;
The good alone have joy sincere,
The good alone are _great_!
_Great_, when amid the vale of peace,
They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,
And hear the voice of artless praise;
As when along the trophied plain
Sublime they lead the victor train,
While shouting nations gaze.
_Beattie._

The wretched tumults that confound
The soul, nor wealth can tell, nor kingly state;
And stubborn are the cares that hover round
The vaulted ceilings of the _great_.
_Horace._

To meet life’s ills with soul serene,
Treading the path our Saviour trod:
To live as seeing things unseen,
To walk and commune with our God;
This is true _greatness_! worth divine!
Giv’n by the Spirit and the Word
To man! Thus grows that living shrine,
Formed, hallowed, dwelt in by the Lord!
_Rev. W. M. Hetherington._

What though the _great_,
With costly pomp, and aromatic sweets,
Embalmed his poor remains; or through the dome
A thousand tapers shed their gloomy light,
While solemn organs to his parting soul
Chaunted slow orisons; say, by what mark
Dost thou discern him from the lowly swain,
Whose mouldering bones beneath the thorn-bound turf,
Long lay neglected.
_Glynn._

The truly _great_ are those who make least noise,
And walk with humble looks upon the earth;
They nor affect a swelling part, nor speak
Big words, that make their hearers stand aside
In silent awe, and clear an ample space,
Like Liliputians for some Gulliver.
_Greatness_ consists not in such empty gauds
As dazzle and attract the public eye;
It rests not on the breath of multitudes,
For soothly hath the poet said--“The world
Knows nothing of its _greatest_ men.” There went
A _great_ man once about the daily paths
Of life, and few there were that recognised
The _greatness_ that in goodness dwelt; and still
Small is the number unto whom this truth
Is made apparent.
_Egone._

GRIEF.

He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with _grief_: and we hid as it were our faces from Him: He was despised, and we esteemed Him not.

Surely He hath borne our _griefs_, and carried our sorrows; yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.--Isaiah, liii. 3, 4.

For the Lord will not cast off for ever:

For though He cause _grief_, yet will He have compassion according to the multitude of His mercies.

For He doth not afflict willingly, nor _grieve_ the children of men.--Lamentations, iii. 31, 32, 33.

For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure _grief_, suffering wrongfully.--I. Peter, ii. 19.

When _grief_ that well might humble, swells our pride,
And pride increasing, aggravates our _grief_,
The tempest must prevail till we are lost.
_Lillo._

Every _grief_ we feel
Shortens the destined number; every pulse
Beats a short moment of the pain away,
And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees
Time sweeps us off, and soon we shall arrive
At life’s sweet period. Celestial point
That ends this mortal story.
_Watts._

We _grieve_ to think our eyes no more
That form, those features loved, shall trace.
But sweet it is from memory’s store
To call each fondly-cherished grace,
And fold them in the heart’s embrace.
No bliss ’mid worldly crowds is bred,
Like musing on the sainted dead.

We _grieve_ to see expired the race
They ran, intent on works of love;
But sweet to think no mixture base,
With which their better nature strove,
Shall rear their virtuous deeds above.
Sin o’er their soul has lost its hold,
And left them with their earthly mould.
_Bishop Mant._

This is the curse of time. Alas!
In _grief_ I am not all unlearned;
Once thro’ mine own doors death did pass--
One went who never hath returned.

* * * * *

Let _grief_ be her own mistress still,
She loveth her own anguish deep,
More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done--to weep or not to weep.

Words weaker than your _grief_, would make
_Grief_ more. ’Twere better I should cease;
Altho’ myself could almost take
The place of him that sleeps in peace.
_Tennyson._

We overstate the ills of life, and take
Imagination, given us to bring down
The choirs of singing angels, overshone
By God’s clear glory,--down our earth, to rake
The dismal snows instead; flake following flake,
To cover all the corn. We walk upon
The shadow of hills, across a level thrown,
And pant like climbers. Near the alder-brake
We sigh so loud, the Nightingale within
Refuses to sing loud, as else she would.
O, brothers! let us leave the shame and sin
Of taking vainly, in a plaintive mood,
The holy name of _Grief_!--holy herein,
That by the _grief_ of One, came all our good.
_Miss Barrett._

Warm, soft, motionless,
As flowers in stillest noon before the sun,
They lie three paces from him: such they lie
As when he left them sleeping side by side,
A mother’s arm round each, a mother’s cheeks
Between them, flusht with happiness and love.
He was more changed than they were, doomed to show,
Thee and the stranger, how defaced and scarr’d
_Grief_ hunts us down the precipice of years,
And whom the faithless prey upon the last.
_W. S. Landor._

GUIDANCE.

For this God is our God for ever and ever: he will be our _guide_ even unto death.--Psalm xlviii. 14.

The Lord shall _guide_ thee continually.--Isaiah, lviii. 11.

Will thou not from this time cry unto me, My father, thou art the _guide_ of my youth?--Jeremiah, iii. 4.

That man
May safely venture to go on his way,
That is so _guided_, that he cannot stray.
_Marmyon._

Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And _guide_ me through the dreadful shade.
_Addison._

Difference of good and ill for men to know
Was needless sure, while, with the fearless eye
Of an obedient son, he might look up
To the Almighty Father of his race,
And claim his _guidance_.
_John Hey._

Whither midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler’s eye
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,
Thy figure floats along.

Thou’rt gone, th’ abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet in my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone
_Guides_ through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.
_Bryant._

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro,
Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know,
I would be treated as a child,
And _guided_ where to go.
_L. A. Waring._

Here, where all climes their offerings send,
Here, where all arts their tribute lay,
Before thy presence, Lord, we bend,
And for thy smile and blessing pray.

For Thou dost sway the tides of thought,
And hold the issues in thy hand,
Of all that human toil has wrought,
And all that human skill has plann’d.

Thou lead’st the restless Power of Mind
O’er destiny’s untrodden field,
And _guid’st_ him wandering bold but blind,
To mighty ends not yet revealed.
_Anon._

_Guide_ me, O Thou great Jehovah,
Pilgrim through this barren land!
I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
Hold me with Thy powerful hand!
Bread of heaven,
Feed me till I want no more.

Open Thou the crystal fountain,
Whence the healing waters flow!
Let the fiery cloudy pillar
Lead me all my journey through!
Strong Deliv’rer!
Be Thou still my strength and shield!

When I tread the verge of Jordan,
Bid my anxious fears subside;
Death of death, and hell’s destruction,
Land me safe on Canaan’s side!
Songs of praises
I will ever give to Thee.
_Oliver._

GUILT.

The Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth.

Keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression, and sin, and that will by no means clear the _guilty_.--Exodus, xxxiv. 6, 7.

The Lord will not hold him _guiltless_ that taketh His name in vain.--Deuteronomy, v. 11.

Deliver me from blood-_guiltiness_, O God, thou God of my salvation: and my tongue shall sing aloud of Thy righteousness.--Psalm li. 14.

For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is _guilty_ of all.--James, ii. 10.

Amidst the royal race, see Nathan stand:
Fervent he seems to speak, and lifts his hand;
His looks the emotion of his soul disclose,
And eloquence from every gesture flows.
Such, and so stern he came, ordained to bring
The ungrateful mandate to the _guilty_ king:
When, at his dreadful voice, a sudden smart
Shot through the trembling monarch’s conscious heart,
From his own lips condemned, severe decree,
Had his God proved as stern a Judge as he.
_Bishop Lowth._

O, happy pair,
Lords of fair Eden’s blooming range, where earth,
Benignant parent, from her verdant lap
Spontaneous pour’d immortal sweets, and gave
Whate’er could minister delight! Too soon,
Alas, this scene was closed: behold them now,
So lately rich in happiness, and blessed
With converse of the Living God, o’erwhelmed
In misery, and tortured by the stings
Of conscious _guilt_.
_Samuel Hayes._

_Guilt_ is a timorous thing, ere perpetration:
Despair alone makes _guilty_ men be bold.
_Coleridge._

And oh, that pang, where more than madness lies!
The worm that will not sleep, and never dies;
Thought of the gloomy day, and ghastly night,
That dreads the darkness, and yet loathes the light:
That winds around, and tears the quivering heart,
Ah! wherefore not consume it and depart!
_Byron._

Skeptic, whoe’er thou art, tell, if thou knowest,
Why every nation, every clime, though all
In laws, in rites, in manners disagree,
With one consent expect another world
Where wickedness shall weep? Why in each breast
Is placed a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends,
Or joy on secret good? Why Conscience acts
With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain
Stands tottering on the precipice of death?
Or why such horror gnaws the _guilty_ soul
Of dying sinners, while the good man sleeps
Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires?
_Glynn._

Come and see a sad example!
Look on my unquiet shade;
Start not, sure ’tis nought uncommon,
When the bones in dust are laid,
That the lonely restless spirit,
Whom a sense of _guilt_ doth fill,
Walks the earth with ceaseless labour,
Seeking to undo the ill.

I was fond of place and power,
Grasped the wealth that was not mine,
Seized the friendless stranger’s dwelling,
Left him in despair to pine.
Now, O where are all my riches!
Come, the sad reverse behold,
For this gain my soul is bartered;
Can a spirit’s loss be told?
_Lopez de Mendoza_ (_Spanish_).

Oppress’d with _guilt_, a painful load,
O come, and spread your woes abroad!
Divine compassion, mighty love,
Will all the painful load remove.

Here mercy’s boundless ocean flows
To cleanse your _guilt_, and heal your woes;
Pardon, and life, and endless peace;
How rich the gift! how free the grace!
_Steele._

HAPPINESS.

As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.

_Happy_ is the man that hath his quiver full of them: they shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate.--Psalm cxxvii. 4, 5.

Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways.

For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: _happy_ shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee.--Psalm cxxviii. 1, 2.

Behold we count them _happy_ which endure.--James, v. 11.

How _happy_ is he born or taught,
That serveth not another’s will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill;

Whose passions not his masters are;
Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Not ty’d unto the world with care
Of princes’ ear, or vulgar breath;

Who hath his life from rumours freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are giv’n with praise,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a chosen book, or friend.

This man is free from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
_Sir Henry Wotton._

He is a _happy_ man whose life, e’en now,
Shows somewhat of that _happier_ life to come;
Who, doomed to an obscure, but tranquil state,
Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose,
Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Prepare for _happiness_; bespeak him one
Content indeed to sojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home.
The world o’erlooks him in her busy search
Of objects more illustrious in her view;
And, occupied as earnestly as she,
Though more sublimely, he o’erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain.
_Cowper._

_Happiness_ depends, as Nature shows,
Less on exterior things than most suppose.
Vigilant over all that He has made,
Kind Providence attends with gracious aid;
Bids equity throughout His works prevail,
And weighs the nations in an even scale.
_Cowper._

Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o’er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a _happier_ seat,
Counts death kind nature’s signal of retreat;
These goods for man, the laws of Heaven ordain,
These goods He grants, who grants the power to gain;
With these, celestial wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the _happiness_ she does not find.
_Dr. Johnson._

Ambition searches all its sphere
Of pomp and state, to meet me there.
Increasing avarice would find
Thy presence on its gold enshrined.
The bold adventurer ploughs his way
Through rocks, amidst the foaming sea,
To gain thy love; and then perceives,
Thou art not in the rocks and waves.

* * * * *

No real _happiness_ is found
In trailing purple o’er the ground.
_Parnell._

How long, ye miserably blind,
Shall idle dreams engage your mind;
How long the passions make their flight
At empty shadows of delight?
No more in paths of error stray,
The Lord, thy Jesus, is the Way,
The Spring of _happiness_, and where
Should men seek _happiness_, but there?
_Parnell._

Consider man in every sphere,
Then tell me is your lot severe?
’Tis murmur, discontent, distrust,
That makes you wretched: God is just:
We’re born a restless, needy crew;
Show me a _happier_ man than you?
_Gay._

When are we _happiest_ then? O, when resigned
To whatsoe’er our cup of life may brim;
When we can know ourselves but weak and blind
Creatures of earth; and trust alone in Him
Who giveth, in his mercy, joy or pain;
Oh! we are _happiest_ then.
_M. A. Brown._

Object of my first desire,
Jesus, crucified for me!
All to _happiness_ aspire,
Only to be found in thee;
Thee to praise, and Thee to know,
Constitute our bliss below!
Thee to see, and Thee to love,
Constitute our bliss above.
_Toplady._

True _happiness_ is not the growth of earth,
The toil is fruitless if you seek it here;
’Tis an exotic of celestial birth,
And never blooms but in celestial air.

Sweet plant of Paradise! thy seeds are sown
In here and there a mind of heavenly mould;
It rises slow and blooms, but ne’er was known
To ripen here--the climate it is too cold.
_Anon._

One morning in the month of May,
I wandered o’er the hill;
Though nature all around was gay,
My heart was heavy still.

Can God, I thought, the good, the great,
These meaner creatures bless;
And yet deny our human state
The boon of _happiness_?

Tell me, ye woods, ye smiling plains,
Ye blessed birds around,
Where, in creation’s wide domains,
Can perfect bliss be found?

The birds wild carolled overhead,
The breeze around me blew,
And nature’s awful chorus said,
No bliss for man she knew.

I questioned Love, whose early day
So heavenly bright appears;
And Love in answer seemed to say
His light was dimmed by tears.

I questioned Friendship;--Friendship moaned,
And thus her answer gave;
The friends whom fortune has not turned,
Were vanished in the grave.

I asked if Vice could bliss bestow;
Vice boasted loud and well;
But fading from her pallid brow,
The venomed roses fell.

I questioned Virtue;--Virtue sighed,
No boon could she dispense;
Nor Virtue was her name she cried,
But humble Penitence.

I questioned Death; the grisly shade
Relaxed his brow severe;
And, “I am _Happiness_,” he said
“If Virtue guides thee here!”
_Bishop Heber._

HARVEST.

The _harvest_ is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.--Jeremiah, viii. 20.

Then saith he unto his disciples, The _harvest_ truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few;

Pray ye therefore the Lord of the _harvest_, that he will send forth labourers into his _harvest_.--Matthew, ix. 37, 38.

The _harvest_ is the end of the world; and the reapers are the angels.--Matthew, xiii. 39.

Life hath its seasons:
And time, on a chariot of hours,
Rolls to eternity’s gate
Adown a dim valley, where flowers,
Bereft of their beauty,
Lie, withered and scattered by fate.

Hearts have their _harvests_:
And sorrow goes after the reapers
To mildew the yellowing grain;
While pity, in tears,
Stands watching the labouring weepers
Go reaping a _harvest_ of pain.

Youth is the seed-time:
The season of sunshine and showers,
That nurtures the delicate germ
Which, in life’s autumn,
Will bring to our bosom sweet flowers,
Or thorns and a cankering worm.

God is the _harvest_:
Whose sickle by mercy is wielded
Among the ripe grain and the tares:
Unto his garner
The sheaves of the gleaner are yielded
With _harvest_-home anthem and prayers.
_Anon._

Then glory to the steel
That shines in the reaper’s hand;
And thanks to God, who has bless’d the sod,
And crowns the _harvest_ land!
_Eliza Cook._

HATRED.

Let God arise, let his enemies be scattered: let them also that _hate_ him flee before him.--Psalm lxviii. 1.

_Hatred_ stirreth up strifes: but love covereth all sins.--Proverbs, x. 12.

He that _hateth_ dissembleth with his lips, and layeth up deceit within him.--Proverbs, xxvi. 24.

_Hate_ the evil, and love the good, and establish judgment in the gate.--Amos, v. 15.

He that _hateth_ me _hateth_ my Father also.--John, xv. 23.

I tell thee not the burning thunderbolt,
When its fierce brow is lit in blasting flames,
Stooping from its red chariot to sweep
The earth, its angry voice is pealing o’er,
Is half so deadly, or so sure as _hate_.
Promethean _hate_! that can make cowards bold;
Where he pursues it is in vain to flee;
Where his form comes, a blight is on the earth;
Where his hand strikes, life passeth, or is cursed;
Where his eye glances, there despair comes down;
Where his breath falls, all mercy vanisheth.
_Constantia L. Reddell._

Blunted unto goodness is the heart which anger never stirreth,
But that which _hatred_ swelleth, is keen to carve out evil.
Anger is a noble infirmity, the generous failing of the just,
The one degree that riseth above zeal, asserting the prerogatives
of virtue;
But _hatred_ is a slow continuing crime, a fire in the bad
man’s breast,
A dull and hungry flame, for ever craving insatiate.
_Hatred_ would harm another; anger would indulge itself;
_Hatred_ is a simmering poison; anger, the opening of the
valve;
_Hatred_ destroyeth as the upas-tree; anger smiteth as a staff;
_Hatred_ is the atmosphere of hell, but anger is known in
heaven.
_Martin F. Tupper._

HEAD.

The hoary _head_ is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness.--Proverbs, xvi. 31.

Even to your old age I am he; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you.--Isaiah, xlvi. 4.

The very hairs of your _head_ are all numbered.--Matthew, x. 30.

These hairs of age are messengers,
Which bid me fast, repent, and pray;
They be of death the harbingers,
That doth prepare and dress the way;
Wherefore, I joy that you may see
Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.

They be the lines that lead the length
How far my race was for to run;
They say my youth is fled with strength,
And how old age is well begun;
The which I feel, and you may see
Such lines upon my _head_ to be.

They be the strings of sober sound,
Whose music is harmonical;
Their tunes declare a time from ground
I came, and bow thereto I shall;
Wherefore I love, that you may see
Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.

God grant to those that white hairs have,
No worse them take than I have meant;
That after they be laid in grave,
Their souls may joy, their lives well spent;
God grant, likewise, that you may see
Upon my _head_ such hairs to be.
_Lord Vaux._

_Head_ of the church triumphant,
We joyfully adore thee!
Till thou appear, Thy members here,
Shall sing like those in glory.
We lift our hands and voices,
With blest anticipation,
And cry aloud, and give to God
The praise of our salvation.
_De Courcey._

HEALING.

_Heal_ me, O Lord, and I shall be _healed_: save me, and I shall be saved: for Thou art my praise.--Jeremiah, xvii. 14.

But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of righteousness arise with _healing_ in his wings; and ye shall go forth, and grow up as calves of the stall.--Malachi, iv. 2.

And when Jesus was entered into Capernaum, there came unto Him a centurian, beseeching Him,

And saying, Lord, my servant lieth at home sick of the palsy, grievously tormented.

And Jesus saith unto him, I will come and _heal_ him.--Matthew, viii. 5, 6, 7.

Now there is at Jerusalem by the sheep-market a pool, which is called in the Hebrew tongue Bethesda, having five porches.

In these lay a great multitude of impotent folk, of blind, halt, withered, waiting for the moving of the water.

For an angel went down at a certain season into the pool, and troubled the water: whosoever then first after the troubling of the water stepped in, was made whole of whatsoever disease he had.--John, v. 2, 3, 4.

Around Bethesda’s _healing_ wave,
Waiting to hear the rustling wing
Which spoke the angel nigh, who gave
Its virtues to the holy spring,--
With earnest, fixed solicitude,
Were seen the afflicted multitude.

Among them there was one whose eye
Had often seen the waters stirred;
Whose heart had often heaved the sigh--
The bitter sigh of hope deferred;
Beholding, while he suffered on,
The _healing_ virtue giv’n and gone;