God's spirit falls on me as dew drops on a rose,If I but like a rose my heart to him unclose.The soul wherein God dwells—what Church can holier be?Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.Lo! in the silent night a child to God is born,And all is brought again that ere was lost or lorn.Could but thy soul, O man, become a silent nightGod would be born in thee and set all things aright.Ye know God but as Lord, hence Lord his name with ye,I feel him but as love, and Love his name with me.Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,If he's not born in thee thy soul is all forlorn.The cross on Golgotha will never save thy soul,The cross in thine own heart alone can make thee whole.Christ rose not from the dead, Christ still is in the graveIf thou for whom he died art still of sin the slave.In all eternity no tone can be so sweetAs where man's heart with God in unison doth beat.Whate'er thou lovest, man, that, too, become thou must;God, if thou lovest God, dust, if thou lovest dust.Ah, would thy heart but be a manger for the birth,God would once more become a child on earth.Immeasurable is the highest; who but knows it?And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it.—Johannes Scheffler.
God's spirit falls on me as dew drops on a rose,If I but like a rose my heart to him unclose.
God's spirit falls on me as dew drops on a rose,
If I but like a rose my heart to him unclose.
The soul wherein God dwells—what Church can holier be?Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.
The soul wherein God dwells—what Church can holier be?
Becomes a walking tent of heavenly majesty.
Lo! in the silent night a child to God is born,And all is brought again that ere was lost or lorn.
Lo! in the silent night a child to God is born,
And all is brought again that ere was lost or lorn.
Could but thy soul, O man, become a silent nightGod would be born in thee and set all things aright.
Could but thy soul, O man, become a silent night
God would be born in thee and set all things aright.
Ye know God but as Lord, hence Lord his name with ye,I feel him but as love, and Love his name with me.
Ye know God but as Lord, hence Lord his name with ye,
I feel him but as love, and Love his name with me.
Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,If he's not born in thee thy soul is all forlorn.
Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born,
If he's not born in thee thy soul is all forlorn.
The cross on Golgotha will never save thy soul,The cross in thine own heart alone can make thee whole.
The cross on Golgotha will never save thy soul,
The cross in thine own heart alone can make thee whole.
Christ rose not from the dead, Christ still is in the graveIf thou for whom he died art still of sin the slave.
Christ rose not from the dead, Christ still is in the grave
If thou for whom he died art still of sin the slave.
In all eternity no tone can be so sweetAs where man's heart with God in unison doth beat.
In all eternity no tone can be so sweet
As where man's heart with God in unison doth beat.
Whate'er thou lovest, man, that, too, become thou must;God, if thou lovest God, dust, if thou lovest dust.
Whate'er thou lovest, man, that, too, become thou must;
God, if thou lovest God, dust, if thou lovest dust.
Ah, would thy heart but be a manger for the birth,God would once more become a child on earth.
Ah, would thy heart but be a manger for the birth,
God would once more become a child on earth.
Immeasurable is the highest; who but knows it?And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it.
Immeasurable is the highest; who but knows it?
And yet a human heart can perfectly enclose it.
—Johannes Scheffler.
—Johannes Scheffler.
———
In buds upon some Aaron's rodThe childlike ancient saw his God;Less credulous, more believing, weRead in the grass—Divinity.From Horeb's bush the Presence spokeTo earlier faiths and simpler folk;But now each bush that sweeps our fenceFlames with the Awful Immanence!To old Zacchæus in his treeWhat mattered leaves and botany?His sycamore was but a seatWhence he could watch that hallowed street.But now to us each elm and pineIs vibrant with the Voice divine,Not only from but in the boughOur larger creed beholds him now.To the true faith, bark, sap, and stemAre wonderful as Bethlehem;No hill nor brook nor field nor herdBut mangers the Incarnate Word!Far be it from our lips to castContempt upon the holy past—Whate'er the Finger writes we scanIn manger, prophecy, or man.Again we touch the healing hemIn Nazareth or Jerusalem;We trace again those faultless years;The cross commands our wondering tears.Yet if to us the Spirit writesOn Morning's manuscript and Night's,In gospels of the growing grain,Epistles of the pond and plain,In stars, in atoms, as they roll,Each tireless round its occult pole,In wing and worm and fin and fleece,In the wise soil's surpassing peace—Thrice ingrate he whose only lookIs backward focussed on the Book,Neglectful what the Presence saith,Though he be near as blood and breath!The only atheist is oneWho hears no Voice in wind or sun,Believer in some primal curse,Deaf in God's loving universe!—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.
In buds upon some Aaron's rodThe childlike ancient saw his God;Less credulous, more believing, weRead in the grass—Divinity.
In buds upon some Aaron's rod
The childlike ancient saw his God;
Less credulous, more believing, we
Read in the grass—Divinity.
From Horeb's bush the Presence spokeTo earlier faiths and simpler folk;But now each bush that sweeps our fenceFlames with the Awful Immanence!
From Horeb's bush the Presence spoke
To earlier faiths and simpler folk;
But now each bush that sweeps our fence
Flames with the Awful Immanence!
To old Zacchæus in his treeWhat mattered leaves and botany?His sycamore was but a seatWhence he could watch that hallowed street.
To old Zacchæus in his tree
What mattered leaves and botany?
His sycamore was but a seat
Whence he could watch that hallowed street.
But now to us each elm and pineIs vibrant with the Voice divine,Not only from but in the boughOur larger creed beholds him now.
But now to us each elm and pine
Is vibrant with the Voice divine,
Not only from but in the bough
Our larger creed beholds him now.
To the true faith, bark, sap, and stemAre wonderful as Bethlehem;No hill nor brook nor field nor herdBut mangers the Incarnate Word!
To the true faith, bark, sap, and stem
Are wonderful as Bethlehem;
No hill nor brook nor field nor herd
But mangers the Incarnate Word!
Far be it from our lips to castContempt upon the holy past—Whate'er the Finger writes we scanIn manger, prophecy, or man.
Far be it from our lips to cast
Contempt upon the holy past—
Whate'er the Finger writes we scan
In manger, prophecy, or man.
Again we touch the healing hemIn Nazareth or Jerusalem;We trace again those faultless years;The cross commands our wondering tears.
Again we touch the healing hem
In Nazareth or Jerusalem;
We trace again those faultless years;
The cross commands our wondering tears.
Yet if to us the Spirit writesOn Morning's manuscript and Night's,In gospels of the growing grain,Epistles of the pond and plain,
Yet if to us the Spirit writes
On Morning's manuscript and Night's,
In gospels of the growing grain,
Epistles of the pond and plain,
In stars, in atoms, as they roll,Each tireless round its occult pole,In wing and worm and fin and fleece,In the wise soil's surpassing peace—
In stars, in atoms, as they roll,
Each tireless round its occult pole,
In wing and worm and fin and fleece,
In the wise soil's surpassing peace—
Thrice ingrate he whose only lookIs backward focussed on the Book,Neglectful what the Presence saith,Though he be near as blood and breath!
Thrice ingrate he whose only look
Is backward focussed on the Book,
Neglectful what the Presence saith,
Though he be near as blood and breath!
The only atheist is oneWho hears no Voice in wind or sun,Believer in some primal curse,Deaf in God's loving universe!
The only atheist is one
Who hears no Voice in wind or sun,
Believer in some primal curse,
Deaf in God's loving universe!
—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.
—Frederic Lawrence Knowles.
———
Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh,When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee.Alone with thee amid the mystic shadows,The solemn hush of nature newly born;Alone with thee in breathless adoration,In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.As in the dawning o'er the waveless oceanThe image of the morning-star doth rest,So in this stillness thou beholdest onlyThine image in the waters of my breast.Still, still with thee! as to each new born morningA fresh and solemn splendor still is given,So does this blessèd consciousness awakingBreathe each day nearness unto thee and heaven.When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,Its closing eyes look up to thee in prayer;Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,But sweeter still, to wake and find thee there.So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,Shall rise the glorious thought—I am with thee.—Harriet Beecher Stowe.
Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh,When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee.
Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee.
Alone with thee amid the mystic shadows,The solemn hush of nature newly born;Alone with thee in breathless adoration,In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
Alone with thee amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with thee in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
As in the dawning o'er the waveless oceanThe image of the morning-star doth rest,So in this stillness thou beholdest onlyThine image in the waters of my breast.
As in the dawning o'er the waveless ocean
The image of the morning-star doth rest,
So in this stillness thou beholdest only
Thine image in the waters of my breast.
Still, still with thee! as to each new born morningA fresh and solemn splendor still is given,So does this blessèd consciousness awakingBreathe each day nearness unto thee and heaven.
Still, still with thee! as to each new born morning
A fresh and solemn splendor still is given,
So does this blessèd consciousness awaking
Breathe each day nearness unto thee and heaven.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,Its closing eyes look up to thee in prayer;Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,But sweeter still, to wake and find thee there.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eyes look up to thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,
But sweeter still, to wake and find thee there.
So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,Shall rise the glorious thought—I am with thee.
So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;
O in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought—I am with thee.
—Harriet Beecher Stowe.
—Harriet Beecher Stowe.
———
There lives and works a soul in all things,And that soul is God.—William Cowper.
There lives and works a soul in all things,And that soul is God.
There lives and works a soul in all things,
And that soul is God.
—William Cowper.
—William Cowper.
———
Teach me, my God and King,In all things thee to see,And what I do, in anything,To do it as for thee.A man that looks on glassOn it may stay his eye,Or, if he pleaseth, through it passAnd then to heaven espy.All may of thee partake.Nothing can be so meanWhich with this tincture (for thy sake)Will not grow bright and clean.A servant with this clauseMakes drudgery divine.Who sweeps a room as for thy lawsMakes that and th' action fine.This is the famous stoneThat turneth all to gold;For that which God doth touch and ownCannot for less be told.—George Herbert.
Teach me, my God and King,In all things thee to see,And what I do, in anything,To do it as for thee.
Teach me, my God and King,
In all things thee to see,
And what I do, in anything,
To do it as for thee.
A man that looks on glassOn it may stay his eye,Or, if he pleaseth, through it passAnd then to heaven espy.
A man that looks on glass
On it may stay his eye,
Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass
And then to heaven espy.
All may of thee partake.Nothing can be so meanWhich with this tincture (for thy sake)Will not grow bright and clean.
All may of thee partake.
Nothing can be so mean
Which with this tincture (for thy sake)
Will not grow bright and clean.
A servant with this clauseMakes drudgery divine.Who sweeps a room as for thy lawsMakes that and th' action fine.
A servant with this clause
Makes drudgery divine.
Who sweeps a room as for thy laws
Makes that and th' action fine.
This is the famous stoneThat turneth all to gold;For that which God doth touch and ownCannot for less be told.
This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold;
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.
—George Herbert.
—George Herbert.
———
But God is never so far offAs even to be near.He is within; our spirit isThe home he holds most dear.To think of him as by our sideIs almost as untrueAs to remove his throne beyondThose skies of starry blue.So all the while I thought myselfHomeless, forlorn, and weary,Missing my joy, I walked the earth,Myself God's sanctuary.I come to thee once more, my God!No longer will I roam;For I have sought the wide world throughAnd never found a home.Though bright and many are the spotsWhere I have built a nest—Yet in the brightest still I pinedFor more abiding rest.For thou hast made this wondrous soulAll for thyself alone;Ah! send thy sweet transforming graceTo make it more thine own.—Frederick William Faber.
But God is never so far offAs even to be near.He is within; our spirit isThe home he holds most dear.
But God is never so far off
As even to be near.
He is within; our spirit is
The home he holds most dear.
To think of him as by our sideIs almost as untrueAs to remove his throne beyondThose skies of starry blue.
To think of him as by our side
Is almost as untrue
As to remove his throne beyond
Those skies of starry blue.
So all the while I thought myselfHomeless, forlorn, and weary,Missing my joy, I walked the earth,Myself God's sanctuary.
So all the while I thought myself
Homeless, forlorn, and weary,
Missing my joy, I walked the earth,
Myself God's sanctuary.
I come to thee once more, my God!No longer will I roam;For I have sought the wide world throughAnd never found a home.
I come to thee once more, my God!
No longer will I roam;
For I have sought the wide world through
And never found a home.
Though bright and many are the spotsWhere I have built a nest—Yet in the brightest still I pinedFor more abiding rest.
Though bright and many are the spots
Where I have built a nest—
Yet in the brightest still I pined
For more abiding rest.
For thou hast made this wondrous soulAll for thyself alone;Ah! send thy sweet transforming graceTo make it more thine own.
For thou hast made this wondrous soul
All for thyself alone;
Ah! send thy sweet transforming grace
To make it more thine own.
—Frederick William Faber.
—Frederick William Faber.
———
If God is mine then present thingsAnd things to come are mine;Yea, Christ, his word, and Spirit, too,And glory all divine.If he is mine then from his loveHe every trouble sends;All things are working for my good,And bliss his rod attends.If he is mine I need not fearThe rage of earth and hell;He will support my feeble power,Their utmost force repel.If he is mine let friends forsake,Let wealth and honor flee;Sure he who giveth me himselfIs more than these to me.If he is mine I'll boldly passThrough death's tremendous vale;He is a solid comfort whenAll other comforts fail.Oh! tell me, Lord, that thou art mine;What can I wish beside?My soul shall at the fountain live,When all the streams are dried.
If God is mine then present thingsAnd things to come are mine;Yea, Christ, his word, and Spirit, too,And glory all divine.
If God is mine then present things
And things to come are mine;
Yea, Christ, his word, and Spirit, too,
And glory all divine.
If he is mine then from his loveHe every trouble sends;All things are working for my good,And bliss his rod attends.
If he is mine then from his love
He every trouble sends;
All things are working for my good,
And bliss his rod attends.
If he is mine I need not fearThe rage of earth and hell;He will support my feeble power,Their utmost force repel.
If he is mine I need not fear
The rage of earth and hell;
He will support my feeble power,
Their utmost force repel.
If he is mine let friends forsake,Let wealth and honor flee;Sure he who giveth me himselfIs more than these to me.
If he is mine let friends forsake,
Let wealth and honor flee;
Sure he who giveth me himself
Is more than these to me.
If he is mine I'll boldly passThrough death's tremendous vale;He is a solid comfort whenAll other comforts fail.
If he is mine I'll boldly pass
Through death's tremendous vale;
He is a solid comfort when
All other comforts fail.
Oh! tell me, Lord, that thou art mine;What can I wish beside?My soul shall at the fountain live,When all the streams are dried.
Oh! tell me, Lord, that thou art mine;
What can I wish beside?
My soul shall at the fountain live,
When all the streams are dried.
———
I have thee every hour,Most gracious Lord,That tender voice of thineDoth peace afford.I have thee every hour,Thou stay'st near by;Temptations lose their powerSince thou art nigh.I have thee every hour,In joy and pain;With me thou dost abide,And life is gain.I have thee every hour,Teach me thy will;All thy rich promisesThou dost fulfill.I have thee every hour,Most Holy One,And I am thine indeed,Thou blessed Son.—Annie S. Hawks, altered by J. M.
I have thee every hour,Most gracious Lord,That tender voice of thineDoth peace afford.
I have thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord,
That tender voice of thine
Doth peace afford.
I have thee every hour,Thou stay'st near by;Temptations lose their powerSince thou art nigh.
I have thee every hour,
Thou stay'st near by;
Temptations lose their power
Since thou art nigh.
I have thee every hour,In joy and pain;With me thou dost abide,And life is gain.
I have thee every hour,
In joy and pain;
With me thou dost abide,
And life is gain.
I have thee every hour,Teach me thy will;All thy rich promisesThou dost fulfill.
I have thee every hour,
Teach me thy will;
All thy rich promises
Thou dost fulfill.
I have thee every hour,Most Holy One,And I am thine indeed,Thou blessed Son.
I have thee every hour,
Most Holy One,
And I am thine indeed,
Thou blessed Son.
—Annie S. Hawks, altered by J. M.
—Annie S. Hawks, altered by J. M.
———
The thought of God, the thought of thee,Who liest near my heart,And yet beyond imagined spaceOutstretched and present art—The thought of thee, above, below,Around me and within,Is more to me than health and wealth,Or love of kith and kin.The thought of God is like the treeBeneath whose shade I lieAnd watch the fleet of snowy cloudsSail o'er the silent sky.'Tis like that soft invading lightWhich in all darkness shines,The thread that through life's somber webIn golden pattern twines.It is a thought which ever makesLife's sweetest smiles from tears,It is a daybreak to our hopes,A sunset to our fears.Within a thought so great, our soulsLittle and modest grow,And, by its vastness awed, we learnThe art of walking slow.The wild flower on the grassy moundScarce bends its pliant formWhen overhead the autumnal woodIs thundering like a storm.So is it with our humbled souls,Down in the thought of God,Scarce conscious in their sober peaceOf the wild storms abroad.To think of thee is almost prayer,And is outspoken praise;And pain can even passive thoughtsTo actual worship raise.All murmurs lie inside thy willWhich are to thee addressed;To suffer for thee is our work,To think of thee, our rest.—Frederick William Faber.
The thought of God, the thought of thee,Who liest near my heart,And yet beyond imagined spaceOutstretched and present art—
The thought of God, the thought of thee,
Who liest near my heart,
And yet beyond imagined space
Outstretched and present art—
The thought of thee, above, below,Around me and within,Is more to me than health and wealth,Or love of kith and kin.
The thought of thee, above, below,
Around me and within,
Is more to me than health and wealth,
Or love of kith and kin.
The thought of God is like the treeBeneath whose shade I lieAnd watch the fleet of snowy cloudsSail o'er the silent sky.
The thought of God is like the tree
Beneath whose shade I lie
And watch the fleet of snowy clouds
Sail o'er the silent sky.
'Tis like that soft invading lightWhich in all darkness shines,The thread that through life's somber webIn golden pattern twines.
'Tis like that soft invading light
Which in all darkness shines,
The thread that through life's somber web
In golden pattern twines.
It is a thought which ever makesLife's sweetest smiles from tears,It is a daybreak to our hopes,A sunset to our fears.
It is a thought which ever makes
Life's sweetest smiles from tears,
It is a daybreak to our hopes,
A sunset to our fears.
Within a thought so great, our soulsLittle and modest grow,And, by its vastness awed, we learnThe art of walking slow.
Within a thought so great, our souls
Little and modest grow,
And, by its vastness awed, we learn
The art of walking slow.
The wild flower on the grassy moundScarce bends its pliant formWhen overhead the autumnal woodIs thundering like a storm.
The wild flower on the grassy mound
Scarce bends its pliant form
When overhead the autumnal wood
Is thundering like a storm.
So is it with our humbled souls,Down in the thought of God,Scarce conscious in their sober peaceOf the wild storms abroad.
So is it with our humbled souls,
Down in the thought of God,
Scarce conscious in their sober peace
Of the wild storms abroad.
To think of thee is almost prayer,And is outspoken praise;And pain can even passive thoughtsTo actual worship raise.
To think of thee is almost prayer,
And is outspoken praise;
And pain can even passive thoughts
To actual worship raise.
All murmurs lie inside thy willWhich are to thee addressed;To suffer for thee is our work,To think of thee, our rest.
All murmurs lie inside thy will
Which are to thee addressed;
To suffer for thee is our work,
To think of thee, our rest.
—Frederick William Faber.
—Frederick William Faber.
———
Let thy sweet presence light my way,And hallow every cross I bear;Transmuting duty, conflict, care,Into love's service day by day.
Let thy sweet presence light my way,And hallow every cross I bear;Transmuting duty, conflict, care,Into love's service day by day.
Let thy sweet presence light my way,
And hallow every cross I bear;
Transmuting duty, conflict, care,
Into love's service day by day.
———
My God, how wonderful thou art,Thy majesty how bright,How beautiful thy mercy seatIn depths of burning light!How dread are thine eternal years,O everlasting Lord,By prostrate spirits, day and night,Incessantly adored.How beautiful, how beautifulThe sight of thee must be,Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,And awful purity!O how I fear thee, living God!With deepest, tenderest fears,And worship thee with trembling hopeAnd penitential tears.Yet I may love thee too, O Lord!Almighty as thou art,For thou hast stooped to ask of meThe love of this poor heart.Oh, then, this worse than worthless heartIn pity deign to take,And make it love thee for thyself,And for thy glory's sake.No earthly father loves like thee,No mother half so mildBears and forbears, as thou hast doneWith me, thy sinful child.Only to sit and think of God,O what a joy it is!To think the thought, to breathe the name—Earth has no higher bliss.Father of Jesus, love's Reward!What rapture will it be,Prostrate before thy throne to lieAnd gaze, and gaze on thee!—Frederick William Faber.
My God, how wonderful thou art,Thy majesty how bright,How beautiful thy mercy seatIn depths of burning light!
My God, how wonderful thou art,
Thy majesty how bright,
How beautiful thy mercy seat
In depths of burning light!
How dread are thine eternal years,O everlasting Lord,By prostrate spirits, day and night,Incessantly adored.
How dread are thine eternal years,
O everlasting Lord,
By prostrate spirits, day and night,
Incessantly adored.
How beautiful, how beautifulThe sight of thee must be,Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,And awful purity!
How beautiful, how beautiful
The sight of thee must be,
Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,
And awful purity!
O how I fear thee, living God!With deepest, tenderest fears,And worship thee with trembling hopeAnd penitential tears.
O how I fear thee, living God!
With deepest, tenderest fears,
And worship thee with trembling hope
And penitential tears.
Yet I may love thee too, O Lord!Almighty as thou art,For thou hast stooped to ask of meThe love of this poor heart.
Yet I may love thee too, O Lord!
Almighty as thou art,
For thou hast stooped to ask of me
The love of this poor heart.
Oh, then, this worse than worthless heartIn pity deign to take,And make it love thee for thyself,And for thy glory's sake.
Oh, then, this worse than worthless heart
In pity deign to take,
And make it love thee for thyself,
And for thy glory's sake.
No earthly father loves like thee,No mother half so mildBears and forbears, as thou hast doneWith me, thy sinful child.
No earthly father loves like thee,
No mother half so mild
Bears and forbears, as thou hast done
With me, thy sinful child.
Only to sit and think of God,O what a joy it is!To think the thought, to breathe the name—Earth has no higher bliss.
Only to sit and think of God,
O what a joy it is!
To think the thought, to breathe the name—
Earth has no higher bliss.
Father of Jesus, love's Reward!What rapture will it be,Prostrate before thy throne to lieAnd gaze, and gaze on thee!
Father of Jesus, love's Reward!
What rapture will it be,
Prostrate before thy throne to lie
And gaze, and gaze on thee!
—Frederick William Faber.
—Frederick William Faber.
———
Begin the day with God:Kneel down to him in prayer;Lift up thy heart to his abodeAnd seek his love to share.Open the Book of God,And read a portion there;That it may hallow all thy thoughtsAnd sweeten all thy care.Go through the day with God,Whate'er thy work may be;Where'er thou art—at home, abroad,He still is near to thee.Converse in mind with God;Thy spirit heavenward raise;Acknowledge every good bestowed,And offer grateful praise.Conclude the day with God:Thy sins to him confess;Trust in the Lord's atoning blood,And plead his righteousness.Lie down at night with God,Who gives his servants sleep;And when thou tread'st the vale of deathHe will thee guard and keep.
Begin the day with God:Kneel down to him in prayer;Lift up thy heart to his abodeAnd seek his love to share.
Begin the day with God:
Kneel down to him in prayer;
Lift up thy heart to his abode
And seek his love to share.
Open the Book of God,And read a portion there;That it may hallow all thy thoughtsAnd sweeten all thy care.
Open the Book of God,
And read a portion there;
That it may hallow all thy thoughts
And sweeten all thy care.
Go through the day with God,Whate'er thy work may be;Where'er thou art—at home, abroad,He still is near to thee.
Go through the day with God,
Whate'er thy work may be;
Where'er thou art—at home, abroad,
He still is near to thee.
Converse in mind with God;Thy spirit heavenward raise;Acknowledge every good bestowed,And offer grateful praise.
Converse in mind with God;
Thy spirit heavenward raise;
Acknowledge every good bestowed,
And offer grateful praise.
Conclude the day with God:Thy sins to him confess;Trust in the Lord's atoning blood,And plead his righteousness.
Conclude the day with God:
Thy sins to him confess;
Trust in the Lord's atoning blood,
And plead his righteousness.
Lie down at night with God,Who gives his servants sleep;And when thou tread'st the vale of deathHe will thee guard and keep.
Lie down at night with God,
Who gives his servants sleep;
And when thou tread'st the vale of death
He will thee guard and keep.
———
All are but parts of one stupendous whole;Whose body nature is, and God the soul;That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;Great in the earth as in th' ethereal frame;Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees;Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our souls, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns.To him no high, no low, no great, no small,He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.* * * * * * *All nature is but art, unknown to thee;All chance, direction which thou canst not see;All discord, harmony not understood;All partial evil, universal good;And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,One truth is clear—whatever is, is right.—Alexander Pope.
All are but parts of one stupendous whole;Whose body nature is, and God the soul;That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;Great in the earth as in th' ethereal frame;Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees;Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our souls, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns.To him no high, no low, no great, no small,He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
All are but parts of one stupendous whole;
Whose body nature is, and God the soul;
That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;
Great in the earth as in th' ethereal frame;
Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees;
Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
Spreads undivided, operates unspent;
Breathes in our souls, informs our mortal part,
As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;
As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
As the rapt seraph that adores and burns.
To him no high, no low, no great, no small,
He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;All chance, direction which thou canst not see;All discord, harmony not understood;All partial evil, universal good;And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,One truth is clear—whatever is, is right.
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good;
And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear—whatever is, is right.
—Alexander Pope.
—Alexander Pope.
———
I sit within my room and joy to findThat thou who always lov'st art with me here;That I am never left by thee behind,But by thyself thou keep'st me ever near.The fire burns brighter when with thee I look,And seems a kindlier servant sent to me;With gladder heart I read thy holy book,Because thou art the eyes with which I see;This aged chair, that table, watch, and doorAround in ready service ever wait;Nor can I ask of thee a menial moreTo fill the measure of my large estate;For thou thyself, with all a Father's care,Where'er I turn art ever with me there.—Jones Very.
I sit within my room and joy to findThat thou who always lov'st art with me here;That I am never left by thee behind,But by thyself thou keep'st me ever near.The fire burns brighter when with thee I look,And seems a kindlier servant sent to me;With gladder heart I read thy holy book,Because thou art the eyes with which I see;This aged chair, that table, watch, and doorAround in ready service ever wait;Nor can I ask of thee a menial moreTo fill the measure of my large estate;For thou thyself, with all a Father's care,Where'er I turn art ever with me there.
I sit within my room and joy to find
That thou who always lov'st art with me here;
That I am never left by thee behind,
But by thyself thou keep'st me ever near.
The fire burns brighter when with thee I look,
And seems a kindlier servant sent to me;
With gladder heart I read thy holy book,
Because thou art the eyes with which I see;
This aged chair, that table, watch, and door
Around in ready service ever wait;
Nor can I ask of thee a menial more
To fill the measure of my large estate;
For thou thyself, with all a Father's care,
Where'er I turn art ever with me there.
—Jones Very.
—Jones Very.
———
One thought I have—my ample creed,So deep it is and broad,And equal to my every need—It is the thought of God.Each morn unfolds some fresh surprise,I feast at life's full board;And rising in my inner skies,Shines forth the thought of God.At night my gladness is my prayer;I drop my daily load,And every care is pillowed thereUpon the thought of God.I ask not far before to see,But take in trust my road;Life, death, and immortality,Are in my thought of God.To this their secret strength they owedThe martyr's path who trod;The fountains of their patience flowedFrom out their thought of God.Be still the light upon my way,My pilgrim staff and rod,My rest by night, my strength by day,O blessed thought of God.—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
One thought I have—my ample creed,So deep it is and broad,And equal to my every need—It is the thought of God.
One thought I have—my ample creed,
So deep it is and broad,
And equal to my every need—
It is the thought of God.
Each morn unfolds some fresh surprise,I feast at life's full board;And rising in my inner skies,Shines forth the thought of God.
Each morn unfolds some fresh surprise,
I feast at life's full board;
And rising in my inner skies,
Shines forth the thought of God.
At night my gladness is my prayer;I drop my daily load,And every care is pillowed thereUpon the thought of God.
At night my gladness is my prayer;
I drop my daily load,
And every care is pillowed there
Upon the thought of God.
I ask not far before to see,But take in trust my road;Life, death, and immortality,Are in my thought of God.
I ask not far before to see,
But take in trust my road;
Life, death, and immortality,
Are in my thought of God.
To this their secret strength they owedThe martyr's path who trod;The fountains of their patience flowedFrom out their thought of God.
To this their secret strength they owed
The martyr's path who trod;
The fountains of their patience flowed
From out their thought of God.
Be still the light upon my way,My pilgrim staff and rod,My rest by night, my strength by day,O blessed thought of God.
Be still the light upon my way,
My pilgrim staff and rod,
My rest by night, my strength by day,
O blessed thought of God.
—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.
———
At cool of day with God I walkMy garden's grateful shade;I hear his voice among the trees,And I am not afraid.I see his presence in the night—And though my heart is awedI do not quail before the sightOr nearness of my God.He speaks to me in every wind,He smiles from every star;He is not deaf to me, nor blind,Nor absent, nor afar.His hand, that shuts the flowers to sleep,Each in its dewy fold,Is strong my feeble life to keep,And competent to hold.I cannot walk in darkness long,My light is by my side;I cannot stumble or go wrongWhile following such a guide.He is my stay and my defense;How shall I fail or fall?My helper is Omnipotence!My ruler ruleth all!The powers below and powers aboveAre subject to his care;I cannot wander from his loveWho loves me everywhere.Thus dowered, and guarded thus, with himI walk this peaceful shade,I hear his voice among the trees,And I am not afraid.—Caroline Atherton Mason.
At cool of day with God I walkMy garden's grateful shade;I hear his voice among the trees,And I am not afraid.
At cool of day with God I walk
My garden's grateful shade;
I hear his voice among the trees,
And I am not afraid.
I see his presence in the night—And though my heart is awedI do not quail before the sightOr nearness of my God.
I see his presence in the night—
And though my heart is awed
I do not quail before the sight
Or nearness of my God.
He speaks to me in every wind,He smiles from every star;He is not deaf to me, nor blind,Nor absent, nor afar.
He speaks to me in every wind,
He smiles from every star;
He is not deaf to me, nor blind,
Nor absent, nor afar.
His hand, that shuts the flowers to sleep,Each in its dewy fold,Is strong my feeble life to keep,And competent to hold.
His hand, that shuts the flowers to sleep,
Each in its dewy fold,
Is strong my feeble life to keep,
And competent to hold.
I cannot walk in darkness long,My light is by my side;I cannot stumble or go wrongWhile following such a guide.
I cannot walk in darkness long,
My light is by my side;
I cannot stumble or go wrong
While following such a guide.
He is my stay and my defense;How shall I fail or fall?My helper is Omnipotence!My ruler ruleth all!
He is my stay and my defense;
How shall I fail or fall?
My helper is Omnipotence!
My ruler ruleth all!
The powers below and powers aboveAre subject to his care;I cannot wander from his loveWho loves me everywhere.
The powers below and powers above
Are subject to his care;
I cannot wander from his love
Who loves me everywhere.
Thus dowered, and guarded thus, with himI walk this peaceful shade,I hear his voice among the trees,And I am not afraid.
Thus dowered, and guarded thus, with him
I walk this peaceful shade,
I hear his voice among the trees,
And I am not afraid.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
—Caroline Atherton Mason.
———
From cellar unto attic all is clean:Nothing there is that need evade the eye;All the dark places, by the world unseen,Are as well ordered as what open lie.Ah! souls are houses; and to keep them well,Nor, spring and autumn, mourn their wretched plight,To daily toil must vigilance compel,Right underneath God's scrutinizing light.
From cellar unto attic all is clean:Nothing there is that need evade the eye;All the dark places, by the world unseen,Are as well ordered as what open lie.
From cellar unto attic all is clean:
Nothing there is that need evade the eye;
All the dark places, by the world unseen,
Are as well ordered as what open lie.
Ah! souls are houses; and to keep them well,Nor, spring and autumn, mourn their wretched plight,To daily toil must vigilance compel,Right underneath God's scrutinizing light.
Ah! souls are houses; and to keep them well,
Nor, spring and autumn, mourn their wretched plight,
To daily toil must vigilance compel,
Right underneath God's scrutinizing light.
———
To heaven approached a Sufi saint,From groping in the darkness late,And, tapping timidly and faint,Besought admission at God's gate.Said God, "Who seeks to enter here?""'Tis I, dear Friend," the saint replied,And trembling much with hope and fear."If it bethou, without abide."Sadly to earth the poor saint turned,To bear the scourging of life's rods;But aye his heart within him yearnedTo mix and lose its love in God's.He roamed alone through weary years,By cruel men still scorned and mocked,Until from faith's pure fires and tearsAgain he rose, and modest knocked.Asked God: "Who now is at the door?""It is thyself, beloved Lord,"Answered the saint, in doubt no more,But clasped and rapt in his reward.—From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.
To heaven approached a Sufi saint,From groping in the darkness late,And, tapping timidly and faint,Besought admission at God's gate.
To heaven approached a Sufi saint,
From groping in the darkness late,
And, tapping timidly and faint,
Besought admission at God's gate.
Said God, "Who seeks to enter here?""'Tis I, dear Friend," the saint replied,And trembling much with hope and fear."If it bethou, without abide."
Said God, "Who seeks to enter here?"
"'Tis I, dear Friend," the saint replied,
And trembling much with hope and fear.
"If it bethou, without abide."
Sadly to earth the poor saint turned,To bear the scourging of life's rods;But aye his heart within him yearnedTo mix and lose its love in God's.
Sadly to earth the poor saint turned,
To bear the scourging of life's rods;
But aye his heart within him yearned
To mix and lose its love in God's.
He roamed alone through weary years,By cruel men still scorned and mocked,Until from faith's pure fires and tearsAgain he rose, and modest knocked.
He roamed alone through weary years,
By cruel men still scorned and mocked,
Until from faith's pure fires and tears
Again he rose, and modest knocked.
Asked God: "Who now is at the door?""It is thyself, beloved Lord,"Answered the saint, in doubt no more,But clasped and rapt in his reward.
Asked God: "Who now is at the door?"
"It is thyself, beloved Lord,"
Answered the saint, in doubt no more,
But clasped and rapt in his reward.
—From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.
—From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.
———
And he drew near and talked with them,But they perceived him not,And mourned, unconscious of that light,The gloom, the darkness, and the nightThat wrapt his burial spot.Wearied with doubt, perplexed and sad,They knew nor help nor guide;While he who bore the secret keyTo open every mystery,Unknown was by their side.Thus often when we feel alone,Nor help nor comfort near,'Tis only that our eyes are dim,Doubting and sad we see not himWho waiteth still to hear."The darkness gathers overhead,The morn will never come."Did we but raise our downcast eyes,In the white-flushing eastern skiesAppears the glowing sun.In all our daily joys and griefsIn daily work and rest,To those who seek him Christ is near,Our bliss to calm, to soothe our care,In leaning on his breast.Open our eyes, O Lord, we pray,To see our way, our Guide;That by the path that here we tread,We, following on, may still be ledIn thy light to abide.
And he drew near and talked with them,But they perceived him not,And mourned, unconscious of that light,The gloom, the darkness, and the nightThat wrapt his burial spot.
And he drew near and talked with them,
But they perceived him not,
And mourned, unconscious of that light,
The gloom, the darkness, and the night
That wrapt his burial spot.
Wearied with doubt, perplexed and sad,They knew nor help nor guide;While he who bore the secret keyTo open every mystery,Unknown was by their side.
Wearied with doubt, perplexed and sad,
They knew nor help nor guide;
While he who bore the secret key
To open every mystery,
Unknown was by their side.
Thus often when we feel alone,Nor help nor comfort near,'Tis only that our eyes are dim,Doubting and sad we see not himWho waiteth still to hear.
Thus often when we feel alone,
Nor help nor comfort near,
'Tis only that our eyes are dim,
Doubting and sad we see not him
Who waiteth still to hear.
"The darkness gathers overhead,The morn will never come."Did we but raise our downcast eyes,In the white-flushing eastern skiesAppears the glowing sun.
"The darkness gathers overhead,
The morn will never come."
Did we but raise our downcast eyes,
In the white-flushing eastern skies
Appears the glowing sun.
In all our daily joys and griefsIn daily work and rest,To those who seek him Christ is near,Our bliss to calm, to soothe our care,In leaning on his breast.
In all our daily joys and griefs
In daily work and rest,
To those who seek him Christ is near,
Our bliss to calm, to soothe our care,
In leaning on his breast.
Open our eyes, O Lord, we pray,To see our way, our Guide;That by the path that here we tread,We, following on, may still be ledIn thy light to abide.
Open our eyes, O Lord, we pray,
To see our way, our Guide;
That by the path that here we tread,
We, following on, may still be led
In thy light to abide.
———
My God, I heard this dayThat none doth build a stately habitationBut he that means to dwell therein.What house more stately hath there been,Or can be, than is man? to whose creationAll things are in decay.More servants wait on manThan he'll take notice of: in every pathHe treads down that which doth befriend him,When sickness makes him pale and wan.O mighty love! man is one world, and hathAnother to attend him.For us the winds do blow,The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow;Nothing we see but means our good,As our delight or as our treasure;The whole is either cupboard of our food,Or cabinet of pleasure.The stars have us to bed;Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;Music and light attend our head;All things unto our flesh are kindIn their descent and being; to our mind,In their ascent and cause.Since then, my God, thou hastSo brave a palace built, O dwell in itThat it may dwell with thee at last.Till then, afford us so much witThat, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,And both thy servants be.—George Herbert.
My God, I heard this dayThat none doth build a stately habitationBut he that means to dwell therein.What house more stately hath there been,Or can be, than is man? to whose creationAll things are in decay.
My God, I heard this day
That none doth build a stately habitation
But he that means to dwell therein.
What house more stately hath there been,
Or can be, than is man? to whose creation
All things are in decay.
More servants wait on manThan he'll take notice of: in every pathHe treads down that which doth befriend him,When sickness makes him pale and wan.O mighty love! man is one world, and hathAnother to attend him.
More servants wait on man
Than he'll take notice of: in every path
He treads down that which doth befriend him,
When sickness makes him pale and wan.
O mighty love! man is one world, and hath
Another to attend him.
For us the winds do blow,The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow;Nothing we see but means our good,As our delight or as our treasure;The whole is either cupboard of our food,Or cabinet of pleasure.
For us the winds do blow,
The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow;
Nothing we see but means our good,
As our delight or as our treasure;
The whole is either cupboard of our food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.
The stars have us to bed;Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;Music and light attend our head;All things unto our flesh are kindIn their descent and being; to our mind,In their ascent and cause.
The stars have us to bed;
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;
Music and light attend our head;
All things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being; to our mind,
In their ascent and cause.
Since then, my God, thou hastSo brave a palace built, O dwell in itThat it may dwell with thee at last.Till then, afford us so much witThat, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,And both thy servants be.
Since then, my God, thou hast
So brave a palace built, O dwell in it
That it may dwell with thee at last.
Till then, afford us so much wit
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,
And both thy servants be.
—George Herbert.
—George Herbert.
———
I am with thee, my God—Where I desire to be:By day, by night, at home, abroad,I always am with thee.With thee when dawn comes onAnd calls me back to care,Each day returning to beginWith thee, my God, in prayer.With thee amid the crowdThat throngs the busy mart;I hear thy voice, when time's is loud,Speak softly to my heart.With thee when day is doneAnd evening calms the mind;The setting as the rising sunWith thee my heart shall find.With thee when darkness bringsThe signal of repose;Calm in the shadow of thy wingsMine eyelids gently close.With thee, in thee, by faithAbiding I shall be;By day, by night, in life, in death,I always am with thee.—James D. Burns, altered by J. M.
I am with thee, my God—Where I desire to be:By day, by night, at home, abroad,I always am with thee.
I am with thee, my God—
Where I desire to be:
By day, by night, at home, abroad,
I always am with thee.
With thee when dawn comes onAnd calls me back to care,Each day returning to beginWith thee, my God, in prayer.
With thee when dawn comes on
And calls me back to care,
Each day returning to begin
With thee, my God, in prayer.
With thee amid the crowdThat throngs the busy mart;I hear thy voice, when time's is loud,Speak softly to my heart.
With thee amid the crowd
That throngs the busy mart;
I hear thy voice, when time's is loud,
Speak softly to my heart.
With thee when day is doneAnd evening calms the mind;The setting as the rising sunWith thee my heart shall find.
With thee when day is done
And evening calms the mind;
The setting as the rising sun
With thee my heart shall find.
With thee when darkness bringsThe signal of repose;Calm in the shadow of thy wingsMine eyelids gently close.
With thee when darkness brings
The signal of repose;
Calm in the shadow of thy wings
Mine eyelids gently close.
With thee, in thee, by faithAbiding I shall be;By day, by night, in life, in death,I always am with thee.
With thee, in thee, by faith
Abiding I shall be;
By day, by night, in life, in death,
I always am with thee.
—James D. Burns, altered by J. M.
—James D. Burns, altered by J. M.
———
By all means use sometime to be alone.Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own;And tumble up and down what thou findst there.Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,He breaks up homes, turns out of doors his mind.Sum up by night what thou hast done by day;And in the morning, what thou hast to do.Dress and undress thy soul; mark the decayAnd growth of it; if, with thy watch, that tooBe down, then wind up both; since we shall beMost surely judged, make thy accounts agree.—George Herbert.
By all means use sometime to be alone.Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own;And tumble up and down what thou findst there.Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,He breaks up homes, turns out of doors his mind.
By all means use sometime to be alone.
Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.
Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own;
And tumble up and down what thou findst there.
Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,
He breaks up homes, turns out of doors his mind.
Sum up by night what thou hast done by day;And in the morning, what thou hast to do.Dress and undress thy soul; mark the decayAnd growth of it; if, with thy watch, that tooBe down, then wind up both; since we shall beMost surely judged, make thy accounts agree.
Sum up by night what thou hast done by day;
And in the morning, what thou hast to do.
Dress and undress thy soul; mark the decay
And growth of it; if, with thy watch, that too
Be down, then wind up both; since we shall be
Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.
—George Herbert.
—George Herbert.
———
Show me thy face—One transient gleamOf loveliness divineAnd I shall never think or dreamOf other love save thine.All lesser light will darken quite,All lower glories wane;The beautiful of earth will scarceSeem beautiful again!Show me thy face—My faith and loveShall henceforth fixèd be,And nothing here have power to moveMy soul's serenity.My life shall seem a trance, a dream,And all I feel and seeIllusive, visionary—thouThe one reality.Show me thy face—I shall forgetThe weary days of yore;The fretting ghosts of vain regretShall haunt my soul no more;All doubts and fears for future yearsIn quiet rest subside,And naught but blest content and calmWithin my breast reside.Show me thy face—The heaviest crossWill then seem light to bear;There will be gain in every loss,And peace with every care.With such light feetThe years will fleet,Life seem as brief as blest,Till I have laid my burden downAnd entered into rest.Show me thy face—And I shall beIn heart and mind renewed;With wisdom, grace, and energyTo work thy work endued.Shine clear, though pale,Behind the veilUntil, the veil removed,In perfect glory I beholdThe Face that I have loved!
Show me thy face—One transient gleamOf loveliness divineAnd I shall never think or dreamOf other love save thine.All lesser light will darken quite,All lower glories wane;The beautiful of earth will scarceSeem beautiful again!
Show me thy face—
One transient gleam
Of loveliness divine
And I shall never think or dream
Of other love save thine.
All lesser light will darken quite,
All lower glories wane;
The beautiful of earth will scarce
Seem beautiful again!
Show me thy face—My faith and loveShall henceforth fixèd be,And nothing here have power to moveMy soul's serenity.My life shall seem a trance, a dream,And all I feel and seeIllusive, visionary—thouThe one reality.
Show me thy face—
My faith and love
Shall henceforth fixèd be,
And nothing here have power to move
My soul's serenity.
My life shall seem a trance, a dream,
And all I feel and see
Illusive, visionary—thou
The one reality.
Show me thy face—I shall forgetThe weary days of yore;The fretting ghosts of vain regretShall haunt my soul no more;All doubts and fears for future yearsIn quiet rest subside,And naught but blest content and calmWithin my breast reside.
Show me thy face—
I shall forget
The weary days of yore;
The fretting ghosts of vain regret
Shall haunt my soul no more;
All doubts and fears for future years
In quiet rest subside,
And naught but blest content and calm
Within my breast reside.
Show me thy face—The heaviest crossWill then seem light to bear;There will be gain in every loss,And peace with every care.With such light feetThe years will fleet,Life seem as brief as blest,Till I have laid my burden downAnd entered into rest.
Show me thy face—
The heaviest cross
Will then seem light to bear;
There will be gain in every loss,
And peace with every care.
With such light feet
The years will fleet,
Life seem as brief as blest,
Till I have laid my burden down
And entered into rest.
Show me thy face—And I shall beIn heart and mind renewed;With wisdom, grace, and energyTo work thy work endued.Shine clear, though pale,Behind the veilUntil, the veil removed,In perfect glory I beholdThe Face that I have loved!
Show me thy face—
And I shall be
In heart and mind renewed;
With wisdom, grace, and energy
To work thy work endued.
Shine clear, though pale,
Behind the veil
Until, the veil removed,
In perfect glory I behold
The Face that I have loved!
———
I stand in the great Forever,All things to me are divine;I eat of the heavenly manna,I drink of the heavenly wine.
I stand in the great Forever,All things to me are divine;I eat of the heavenly manna,I drink of the heavenly wine.
I stand in the great Forever,
All things to me are divine;
I eat of the heavenly manna,
I drink of the heavenly wine.
———
I hear it often in the dark,I hear it in the light:Whereisthe voice that calls to meWith such a quiet might?It seems but echo to my thought,And yet beyond the stars;It seems a heart-beat in a hush,And yet the planet jars.O may it be that, far withinMy inmost soul, there liesA spirit-sky that opens withThose voices of surprise?And can it be, by night and day,That firmament sereneIs just the heaven where God himself,The Father, dwells unseen?O God within, so close to meThat every thought is plain,Be judge, be friend, be Father still,And in thy heaven reign!Thy heaven is mine, my very soul!Thy words are sweet and strong;They fill my inward silencesWith music and with song.They send me challenges to right,And loud rebuke my ill;They ring my bells of victory,They breathe my "Peace, be still!"They even seem to say: "My child,Why seek me so all day?Now journey inward to thyself,And listen by the way."—William C. Gannett.
I hear it often in the dark,I hear it in the light:Whereisthe voice that calls to meWith such a quiet might?It seems but echo to my thought,And yet beyond the stars;It seems a heart-beat in a hush,And yet the planet jars.
I hear it often in the dark,
I hear it in the light:
Whereisthe voice that calls to me
With such a quiet might?
It seems but echo to my thought,
And yet beyond the stars;
It seems a heart-beat in a hush,
And yet the planet jars.
O may it be that, far withinMy inmost soul, there liesA spirit-sky that opens withThose voices of surprise?And can it be, by night and day,That firmament sereneIs just the heaven where God himself,The Father, dwells unseen?
O may it be that, far within
My inmost soul, there lies
A spirit-sky that opens with
Those voices of surprise?
And can it be, by night and day,
That firmament serene
Is just the heaven where God himself,
The Father, dwells unseen?
O God within, so close to meThat every thought is plain,Be judge, be friend, be Father still,And in thy heaven reign!Thy heaven is mine, my very soul!Thy words are sweet and strong;They fill my inward silencesWith music and with song.
O God within, so close to me
That every thought is plain,
Be judge, be friend, be Father still,
And in thy heaven reign!
Thy heaven is mine, my very soul!
Thy words are sweet and strong;
They fill my inward silences
With music and with song.
They send me challenges to right,And loud rebuke my ill;They ring my bells of victory,They breathe my "Peace, be still!"They even seem to say: "My child,Why seek me so all day?Now journey inward to thyself,And listen by the way."
They send me challenges to right,
And loud rebuke my ill;
They ring my bells of victory,
They breathe my "Peace, be still!"
They even seem to say: "My child,
Why seek me so all day?
Now journey inward to thyself,
And listen by the way."
—William C. Gannett.
—William C. Gannett.
———
Nanac the faithful, pausing once to pray,From holy Mecca turned his face away;A Moslem priest who chanced to see him there,Forgetful of the attitude in prayer,Cried "Infidel, how durst thou turn thy feetToward Allah's house—the sacred temple seat?"To whom the pious Nanac thus replied:"Knowest thou God's house is, as the world is, wide?Then, turn thee, if thou canst, toward any spotWhere mighty Allah's awful house is not."—Frank Dempster Sherman.
Nanac the faithful, pausing once to pray,From holy Mecca turned his face away;A Moslem priest who chanced to see him there,Forgetful of the attitude in prayer,Cried "Infidel, how durst thou turn thy feetToward Allah's house—the sacred temple seat?"To whom the pious Nanac thus replied:"Knowest thou God's house is, as the world is, wide?Then, turn thee, if thou canst, toward any spotWhere mighty Allah's awful house is not."
Nanac the faithful, pausing once to pray,
From holy Mecca turned his face away;
A Moslem priest who chanced to see him there,
Forgetful of the attitude in prayer,
Cried "Infidel, how durst thou turn thy feet
Toward Allah's house—the sacred temple seat?"
To whom the pious Nanac thus replied:
"Knowest thou God's house is, as the world is, wide?
Then, turn thee, if thou canst, toward any spot
Where mighty Allah's awful house is not."
—Frank Dempster Sherman.
—Frank Dempster Sherman.
———
If the Lord should come in the morning,As I went about my work—The little things and the quiet thingsThat a servant cannot shirk,Though nobody ever sees them,And only the dear Lord caresThat they always are done in the light of the sun—Would he take me unawares?If my Lord should come at noonday—The time of the dust and heat,When the glare is white and the air is stillAnd the hoof-beats sound in the street;If my dear Lord came at noonday,And smiled in my tired eyes,Would it not be sweet his look to meet?Would he take me by surprise?If my Lord came hither at evening,In the fragrant dew and dusk,When the world drops off its mantleOf daylight, like a husk,And flowers, in wonderful beauty,And we fold our hands in rest,Would his touch of my hand, his low command,Bring me unhoped-for zest?Why do I ask and question?He is ever coming to me,Morning and noon and evening,If I have but eyes to see.And the daily load grows lighter,The daily cares grow sweet,For the Master is near, the Master is here,I have only to sit at his feet.—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
If the Lord should come in the morning,As I went about my work—The little things and the quiet thingsThat a servant cannot shirk,Though nobody ever sees them,And only the dear Lord caresThat they always are done in the light of the sun—Would he take me unawares?
If the Lord should come in the morning,
As I went about my work—
The little things and the quiet things
That a servant cannot shirk,
Though nobody ever sees them,
And only the dear Lord cares
That they always are done in the light of the sun—
Would he take me unawares?
If my Lord should come at noonday—The time of the dust and heat,When the glare is white and the air is stillAnd the hoof-beats sound in the street;If my dear Lord came at noonday,And smiled in my tired eyes,Would it not be sweet his look to meet?Would he take me by surprise?
If my Lord should come at noonday—
The time of the dust and heat,
When the glare is white and the air is still
And the hoof-beats sound in the street;
If my dear Lord came at noonday,
And smiled in my tired eyes,
Would it not be sweet his look to meet?
Would he take me by surprise?
If my Lord came hither at evening,In the fragrant dew and dusk,When the world drops off its mantleOf daylight, like a husk,And flowers, in wonderful beauty,And we fold our hands in rest,Would his touch of my hand, his low command,Bring me unhoped-for zest?
If my Lord came hither at evening,
In the fragrant dew and dusk,
When the world drops off its mantle
Of daylight, like a husk,
And flowers, in wonderful beauty,
And we fold our hands in rest,
Would his touch of my hand, his low command,
Bring me unhoped-for zest?
Why do I ask and question?He is ever coming to me,Morning and noon and evening,If I have but eyes to see.And the daily load grows lighter,The daily cares grow sweet,For the Master is near, the Master is here,I have only to sit at his feet.
Why do I ask and question?
He is ever coming to me,
Morning and noon and evening,
If I have but eyes to see.
And the daily load grows lighter,
The daily cares grow sweet,
For the Master is near, the Master is here,
I have only to sit at his feet.
—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.
———
The day is long and the day is hard;We are tired of the march and of keeping guard;Tired of the sense of a fight to be won,Of days to live through, and of work to be done;Tired of ourselves and of being alone.And all the while, did we only see,We walk in the Lord's own company;We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm;He turns the arrows which else might harm,And out of the storm he brings a calm.—Susan Coolidge.
The day is long and the day is hard;We are tired of the march and of keeping guard;Tired of the sense of a fight to be won,Of days to live through, and of work to be done;Tired of ourselves and of being alone.
The day is long and the day is hard;
We are tired of the march and of keeping guard;
Tired of the sense of a fight to be won,
Of days to live through, and of work to be done;
Tired of ourselves and of being alone.
And all the while, did we only see,We walk in the Lord's own company;We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm;He turns the arrows which else might harm,And out of the storm he brings a calm.
And all the while, did we only see,
We walk in the Lord's own company;
We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm;
He turns the arrows which else might harm,
And out of the storm he brings a calm.
—Susan Coolidge.
—Susan Coolidge.
———
Come to me, come to me, O my God;Come to me everywhere.Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,And the water and the air.For thou art so far that I often doubt,As on every side I stare,Searching within and looking without,If thou canst be anywhere.How did men find thee in days of old?How did they grow so sure?They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold,They suffered and kept themselves pure.But now they say—neither above the sphereNor down in the heart of man,But only in fancy, ambition, and fear,The thought of thee began.If only that perfect tale were trueWhich ages have not made old,Of the endless many makes one anew,And simplicity manifold!But he taught that they who did his word,The truth of it sure would know;I will try to do it—if he be LordAgain the old faith will glow.Again the old spirit-wind will blowThat he promised to their prayer;And obeying the Son, I too shall knowHis Father everywhere.—George Macdonald.
Come to me, come to me, O my God;Come to me everywhere.Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,And the water and the air.
Come to me, come to me, O my God;
Come to me everywhere.
Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,
And the water and the air.
For thou art so far that I often doubt,As on every side I stare,Searching within and looking without,If thou canst be anywhere.
For thou art so far that I often doubt,
As on every side I stare,
Searching within and looking without,
If thou canst be anywhere.
How did men find thee in days of old?How did they grow so sure?They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold,They suffered and kept themselves pure.
How did men find thee in days of old?
How did they grow so sure?
They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold,
They suffered and kept themselves pure.
But now they say—neither above the sphereNor down in the heart of man,But only in fancy, ambition, and fear,The thought of thee began.
But now they say—neither above the sphere
Nor down in the heart of man,
But only in fancy, ambition, and fear,
The thought of thee began.
If only that perfect tale were trueWhich ages have not made old,Of the endless many makes one anew,And simplicity manifold!
If only that perfect tale were true
Which ages have not made old,
Of the endless many makes one anew,
And simplicity manifold!
But he taught that they who did his word,The truth of it sure would know;I will try to do it—if he be LordAgain the old faith will glow.
But he taught that they who did his word,
The truth of it sure would know;
I will try to do it—if he be Lord
Again the old faith will glow.
Again the old spirit-wind will blowThat he promised to their prayer;And obeying the Son, I too shall knowHis Father everywhere.
Again the old spirit-wind will blow
That he promised to their prayer;
And obeying the Son, I too shall know
His Father everywhere.
—George Macdonald.
—George Macdonald.
———
Out of the hardness of heart and of willOut of the longings which nothing could fill;Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife,Out of myself and all I called life,Into the having of all things with Him!Into an ecstacy full to the brim!Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup!Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up!Wonderful patience, enduring and strong!Wonderful glory to which I belong!
Out of the hardness of heart and of willOut of the longings which nothing could fill;Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife,Out of myself and all I called life,Into the having of all things with Him!Into an ecstacy full to the brim!Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup!Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up!Wonderful patience, enduring and strong!Wonderful glory to which I belong!
Out of the hardness of heart and of will
Out of the longings which nothing could fill;
Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife,
Out of myself and all I called life,
Into the having of all things with Him!
Into an ecstacy full to the brim!
Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup!
Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up!
Wonderful patience, enduring and strong!
Wonderful glory to which I belong!
———