THE PRAYER OF THE WIDOW.

O, thou Almighty God, the widow’s friend!Where lonely ones are weeping, comfort send!Thou never wilt refuse thy tender aid,Where thine own hand the crushing weight has laid.When, sick at heart, and sad, and desolate,The widow comes to weep her mournful fate,And comes to THEE—thy Spirit, holy Dove!Flies swiftly from the Heaven of purest love;And O, blest Comforter! thy wings are spread,To shield from every storm her fainting head;And, brooding o’er the darkness of her soul,Where, swelling high, the waves of anguish roll,Thy sov’reign power from its chaos bringsPure peaceful joy, and ever-healing springs.Then may the solitary sing for joy;For hours like these taste not of earth’s alloy;Affliction’s fire the gold has purified,And blest are they whose hopes may thus be tried.O, God! while tears unbidden freely start,Here would I lay my crush’d and bleeding heart;I bless thee that thine own soft hands are here,To staunch the wounds, and still each throbbing fear.The human heart, sore wounded oft in vain,Grows callous, and insensible to pain,All cicatrized, it hardens with the blowWhich lays its fairest hopes and prospects low;But softer grows the heart whose wounds are heal’dBy Gilead’s balm, sweet cure from Heaven reveal’d.If purest joys must from affliction spring,Then welcome grief, and lonely sorrowing!A few brief years at most shall pass, beforeSorrow shall cease, and grief shall be no more.I would not always live this dying life,Where joys and sorrows keep perpetual strife;But if I must a toil-worn pilgrim be,O, Savior! give me tears—then rest with thee!For if life’s path were only strew’d with flowers,I should forget my own immortal powers,And stoop to gather roses all my way,And lose in trifling pleasures life’s short day.The thorns that pierce my weary wand’ring feet,But spur me onward to thy blissful seat,And bring me sooner to my blood-bought home,Where tearful ones must surely joy to come.The bitter cup mix’d by my Father’s love,A salutary medicinemustprove;Not nectar nor ambrosia has so sweetAn after taste, the longing soul to greet.And, holy Father! I will ne’er refuseTo drink the portion thou for me shalt choose;Whate’er betides, thy blessed will be done,And thou shalt judge for me, Almighty One!Trials are mercy’s faithful harbingers;Each stroke from God’s own hand a token bears;O, let me heed the kind paternal blow,Afflicted heart!thy Fatherlays thee low.There is a rock, raised high above the stormsWhich lash life’s ocean; not the thousand formsOr horrid shapes of woe can e’er ascend,Where Jesus lives his fav’rites to defend.Low at its base the raging billows dash,And clouds grow dark, and angry lightning flash,But firm the rock of ages ever stands,Securely planted by almighty hands;No gath’ring clouds can shade its precincts fair,For everlasting sunshine settles there.O, Sun of Righteousness! do thou impartTo the deep secret places of my heart,Pure living rays, and bright effulgent beams,To shed their light on life’s fast flowing streams.My aspirations are to thee, bright Heaven!Nor can I, will I from these flights be driven;Fain would my wounded spirit soar away,And lose all darkness in celestial day!

O, thou Almighty God, the widow’s friend!

Where lonely ones are weeping, comfort send!

Thou never wilt refuse thy tender aid,

Where thine own hand the crushing weight has laid.

When, sick at heart, and sad, and desolate,

The widow comes to weep her mournful fate,

And comes to THEE—thy Spirit, holy Dove!

Flies swiftly from the Heaven of purest love;

And O, blest Comforter! thy wings are spread,

To shield from every storm her fainting head;

And, brooding o’er the darkness of her soul,

Where, swelling high, the waves of anguish roll,

Thy sov’reign power from its chaos brings

Pure peaceful joy, and ever-healing springs.

Then may the solitary sing for joy;For hours like these taste not of earth’s alloy;Affliction’s fire the gold has purified,And blest are they whose hopes may thus be tried.O, God! while tears unbidden freely start,Here would I lay my crush’d and bleeding heart;I bless thee that thine own soft hands are here,To staunch the wounds, and still each throbbing fear.

Then may the solitary sing for joy;

For hours like these taste not of earth’s alloy;

Affliction’s fire the gold has purified,

And blest are they whose hopes may thus be tried.

O, God! while tears unbidden freely start,

Here would I lay my crush’d and bleeding heart;

I bless thee that thine own soft hands are here,

To staunch the wounds, and still each throbbing fear.

The human heart, sore wounded oft in vain,Grows callous, and insensible to pain,All cicatrized, it hardens with the blowWhich lays its fairest hopes and prospects low;But softer grows the heart whose wounds are heal’dBy Gilead’s balm, sweet cure from Heaven reveal’d.

The human heart, sore wounded oft in vain,

Grows callous, and insensible to pain,

All cicatrized, it hardens with the blow

Which lays its fairest hopes and prospects low;

But softer grows the heart whose wounds are heal’d

By Gilead’s balm, sweet cure from Heaven reveal’d.

If purest joys must from affliction spring,Then welcome grief, and lonely sorrowing!A few brief years at most shall pass, beforeSorrow shall cease, and grief shall be no more.I would not always live this dying life,Where joys and sorrows keep perpetual strife;But if I must a toil-worn pilgrim be,O, Savior! give me tears—then rest with thee!For if life’s path were only strew’d with flowers,I should forget my own immortal powers,And stoop to gather roses all my way,And lose in trifling pleasures life’s short day.The thorns that pierce my weary wand’ring feet,But spur me onward to thy blissful seat,And bring me sooner to my blood-bought home,Where tearful ones must surely joy to come.

If purest joys must from affliction spring,

Then welcome grief, and lonely sorrowing!

A few brief years at most shall pass, before

Sorrow shall cease, and grief shall be no more.

I would not always live this dying life,

Where joys and sorrows keep perpetual strife;

But if I must a toil-worn pilgrim be,

O, Savior! give me tears—then rest with thee!

For if life’s path were only strew’d with flowers,

I should forget my own immortal powers,

And stoop to gather roses all my way,

And lose in trifling pleasures life’s short day.

The thorns that pierce my weary wand’ring feet,

But spur me onward to thy blissful seat,

And bring me sooner to my blood-bought home,

Where tearful ones must surely joy to come.

The bitter cup mix’d by my Father’s love,A salutary medicinemustprove;Not nectar nor ambrosia has so sweetAn after taste, the longing soul to greet.And, holy Father! I will ne’er refuseTo drink the portion thou for me shalt choose;Whate’er betides, thy blessed will be done,And thou shalt judge for me, Almighty One!Trials are mercy’s faithful harbingers;Each stroke from God’s own hand a token bears;O, let me heed the kind paternal blow,Afflicted heart!thy Fatherlays thee low.

The bitter cup mix’d by my Father’s love,

A salutary medicinemustprove;

Not nectar nor ambrosia has so sweet

An after taste, the longing soul to greet.

And, holy Father! I will ne’er refuse

To drink the portion thou for me shalt choose;

Whate’er betides, thy blessed will be done,

And thou shalt judge for me, Almighty One!

Trials are mercy’s faithful harbingers;

Each stroke from God’s own hand a token bears;

O, let me heed the kind paternal blow,

Afflicted heart!thy Fatherlays thee low.

There is a rock, raised high above the stormsWhich lash life’s ocean; not the thousand formsOr horrid shapes of woe can e’er ascend,Where Jesus lives his fav’rites to defend.Low at its base the raging billows dash,And clouds grow dark, and angry lightning flash,But firm the rock of ages ever stands,Securely planted by almighty hands;No gath’ring clouds can shade its precincts fair,For everlasting sunshine settles there.

There is a rock, raised high above the storms

Which lash life’s ocean; not the thousand forms

Or horrid shapes of woe can e’er ascend,

Where Jesus lives his fav’rites to defend.

Low at its base the raging billows dash,

And clouds grow dark, and angry lightning flash,

But firm the rock of ages ever stands,

Securely planted by almighty hands;

No gath’ring clouds can shade its precincts fair,

For everlasting sunshine settles there.

O, Sun of Righteousness! do thou impartTo the deep secret places of my heart,Pure living rays, and bright effulgent beams,To shed their light on life’s fast flowing streams.My aspirations are to thee, bright Heaven!Nor can I, will I from these flights be driven;Fain would my wounded spirit soar away,And lose all darkness in celestial day!

O, Sun of Righteousness! do thou impart

To the deep secret places of my heart,

Pure living rays, and bright effulgent beams,

To shed their light on life’s fast flowing streams.

My aspirations are to thee, bright Heaven!

Nor can I, will I from these flights be driven;

Fain would my wounded spirit soar away,

And lose all darkness in celestial day!

New York,August 13, 1840.

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