Yes, yes, this little book is worth
All else to mortals given,
For what are all the joys of Earth
Compared to joys of Heaven?
This is the guide our Father gave
To lead to realms of day-
A star whose lustre gilds the grave-
"The light-the life-the way."
Fraught with bevolence toward our helpless race,
A mediator leaves the court of Heaven;
No angel wisdom fully scans the grace,
Nor asks why such a gift to man is given.
Yet these intelligencies, near the throne,
Their richest, sweetest melodies employ,
Heaven's utmost stretch of mercy to make known
Oh, mortals, catch the theme of rapturous joy;
Mysterious union! Heaven and Earth are joined,
Angels and men, one general anthem raise!
Saved from our sins, we pure enjoyments find,
And should outvie the brightest seraph's lays.
"Neither count I my life dear unto myself."-Apostle Paul.
Be thou like the twelve apostles--
Be thou like heroic Paul;
If a free thought seek expression,
Speak it boldly! speak it all;
Face thine enemies-accusers;
Scorn the prison, rack, or rod!
And, if thou hast TRUTH to utter,
SPEAK! and leave rest to God!-Gallagher.
"We preach Christ crucified."—Apostle Paul.
While some of noble ancestors glory and boast,
In search of wealth others ignobly strive;
Learning's redundant charms other's pursue,
Leaving all joys for those they thence derive.
In worldly pleasures others seek for bliss,
Although experience proves the effort vain,
Make it their glory to pursue the chase
And hope from shadows substance to obtain.
'Tis mine to glory in a Savior's Cross,
Unfurl His banner, and His love proclaim,
Regardless of all earthly gain or loss;
"Tis mine to rear a standard to his fame;
Oh! may the Sacred Spirit's lambient flame,
Prefigured by a touch of hallowing fire-
Refine, illume, and with well-tempered zeal,
And love to precious souls my breast inspire!
No ill shall daunt me; nor shall pleasure lure;
Thus aided I the Gospel will proclaim,
Nor rest inglorious while one soul remain
Unsaved from sin, through His most PRECIOUS NAME.
THE BIBLE THE COMFORT OF THE AFFLICTED.
There is a mourner, and her heart is broken;
She is a widow; she is old and poor;
Her only hope is in that sacred token
Of peaceful happiness when life is o'er;
She asks not wealth nor pleasures-begs no more
Than Heaven's delightful volume, and the sight
Of her Redeemer. Skeptics, would you pour
Your blasting vials on her head, and blight
Sharon's sweet rose, that blooms,
And charms her being's night ?—Percival.
And are there those who at the Bible scoff,
And cast aside this only balm of hope?
Though fortune smile upon their palace gate,
I envy not their lot, nor would exchange
The harnessed African's hard yoke for theirs,
If vile ingratitude to man proclaim
A low and sordid mind;
How must appear the wretch, who lives unmindful of
In whom each name is truly realized,
Of Father!-Benefactor!-Friend!
Lamp of our feet! whose hallowed beam
Deep in our hearts its dwelling hath,
How welcome is the cheering gleam
Thou sheddest o'er our lowly path!
Light of our way! whose rays are flung
In mercy o'er our pilgrim road,
How blessed its dark shades among,
The star that guides us to our God!
Our fathers, in the days gone by,
Read thee in dim and sacred caves,
Or in the deep wood silently,
Met where thick branches o'er them waved,
To seek the hope thy record gave,
When thou wert a forbidden thing,
And the strong chain and bloody grave
Were all on earth thy love could bring.
Our fathers, in the days gone by,
Read thee while peril o'er them hung;
But we, beneath the open sky,
May search thy leaves of truth along;
Fearless, our daily haunts among,
May chant the hallowed lays of old,
Once by the shepherd minstrel sung,
When Israel's hills o'er hung his fold.
In the sweet morning's hour of prime,
Thy blessed words our lips engage,
And round our hearths, at evening time,
Our children spell the holy page;
The waymark through long distant years,
To guide their wandering footsteps on,
Till thy last loveliest beam appears,
Written on the churchyard stone.
Lamp of our feet! which day by day
Are passing to the quiet tomb,
If on it fall thy peaceful ray,
Our last low dwelling hath no gloom.
How beautiful their calm repose
To whom that blessed hope was given,
Whose pilgrimage on earth was closed
By the unfolding gates of Heaven!
THE CHRISTIAN PREACHER'S RESOLUTION.
Plighted, my vows to own Messiah's sway,
Onward to his blessed courts I urge my way,
Regardless of all earthly loss or gain,
This my ambition, to proclaim his reign;
Even to earth's utmost verge should I repair,
Redemption through His blood would publish there,
Till every people, nation, tribe, and tongue
Hears Jesus fills the mediatorial throne.
Oh! name most precious! soul-transforming sound!
Millions have through this name salvation found;
And millions more fettered by sin's dire chain,
Shall hear, believe, obey, and freedom gain.
The Christian Church; ah! tell me where exists the hallowed fane?
Hither I would with speed repair rich proffered bliss to gain, Each precept learn, each law obey, enjoined by the Great Head,
Conduct me to this sacred Dome, I long its courts to tread. Hither, oh, Pilgrim turn thy feet, here is the Church of God, Religion sheds its radiance here, these paths a saint has
Inspired by Heaven, he lived, and died, this house records his fame,
Securely on this basis rest, and here inscribe your name. 'Twas his to search the sacred page, and understand each line,
Instruction from his words receive, they surely are divine. Ah! 'tis the pristine Christian Church, which I so long to find,
No less can fully satisfy my long misguided mind,
Confessions, creeds, and sects, and names most certainly abound,
How shall I find the Church I seek where marks I name are found?
United to one common Lord, immersed into his name, Rejoicing in one faith, one hope, one body they've became, Conformed in all things to his word, they in his image shine,
Hither conduct my willing feet, and make these blessings mine.
|