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A practical rebuker of vain strife,
A beautiful consecration to the Truth.
Virtue, neglected long, and trampled down,
Grew stronger in the echo of his name; And, shrinking self-condemned beneath his frown,
The cheek of harlotry grew red with shame.
Serene with conscious peace, he strewed his way
With sweet humanities, the growth of love ; Shaping to right his actions, day by day,
Faithful to this world and to that above.
The ghosts of blind belief and hideous crime,
Of spirit-broken loves, and hopes betrayed, That flit
the broken walls of Time, Are by the True Man's exorcisms laid. Blest is his life, who to himself is true, And blest his death—for memory, when he
dies, Comes, with a lover's eloquence, to renew
Our faith in manhood's upward tendencies. Weep for the self-abased, and for the slave, And for God's children darkened with the
smoke Of the red altar--not for him whose grave greener than the mistletoe of the oak.
Bright Lamp of God.
Swoln hatred, and consuming envy spring
sling, And send men's groaning ghosts to lower
shade Of horrid hell. This the wide world doth bring
To devastation, makes mankind to fade:
But true religion, sprung from God above,
But grasping all in her vast active spriteBright lamp of God, that men would joy in thy pure light!
Blest that Home where God is felt. 'TWAS early day—and sun-light streamed
Soft through a quiet room,
Still, but with nought but gloom :
For there, secure in happy age,
Whose hope is from above,
Of Heaven's recorded love.
Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright,
On his grey holy hair,
As if its shrine were there;
With something lovelier far-
Caụght not from sun or star.
Some word of life e'en then had met
His calm benignant eye;
Of quenchless faith survives;
And silent stood his children by,
Hushing their very breath Before the solemn sanctity
Of thoughts o'ersweeping death :
With love and reverence melt?
Believe, thou dark lost Pilgrim, still !
Secure, thy part in Christ to claim ;
fires the soul. Nature will raise up all her strife, Foe to the flesh-abasing life, Loth in a Saviour's death to share, Her daily cross compelled to bear; But grace omnipotent at length Shall arm the saint with saving strength; Through the sharp war with aids attend, And his long conflict sweetly end. Act but the infant's gentle part, Give up to love thy willing heart; No fondest parent's tender breast Yearns like thy God's to make thee blest; Taught its dear mother soon to know, The simplest babe its love can show : Bid bashful, servile fear retire, The task no labour will require.
The sovereign Father, good and kind,
Shake from thy soul, o'erwhelmed, deprest,