Without thy presence, wealth is bags of care; Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet sadness; Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness. Without Thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have their being when compared with Thee. In having all things and not Thee, what have I? Not having Thee, what have my labours got? Let me enjoy but Thee, what further crave I? And having Thee alone, what have I not? I wish not sea nor land; nor would I be Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of Thee. FRANCIS QUArles. Wisdom. "LOVE God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy;" These were the words first uttered in the ear The aim and sole intent was happiness. But, erring from the heaven-appointed path, Strange tracks indeed they took through barren wastes, And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled, Which pining lay beneath the curse of God, As if he saw some verdant spot, where grew Though Wisdom's eye no vestige could discern, Wisdom was right, for still the terms remained Unchanged, unchangeable-the terms on which True peace was given to man, unchanged as God, Who, in His own essential nature, binds Eternally to virtue happiness, Nor lets them part through all His universe. ROBERT POLLOK. Where Two or Three are Gathered together. T is the Sabbath bell, which calls to prayer, IT Even to the House of God, the hallowed dome, Where He who claims it bids his people come To bow before his throne, and serve Him there With prayers, and thanks, and praises. Some there are Who hold it meet to linger now at home, And some o'er fields and the wide hills to roam, And worship in the temple of the air! For me, not heedless of the lone address, Nor slack to greet my Maker on the height, By wood, or living stream; yet not the less Seek I his presence in each social rite Of his own temple: that He deigns to bless, There still he dwells, and there is his delight. BISHOP MANT. Where art Thou, Mighty One? WHAT art Thou, mighty One? and where thy seat? Thou broodest on the calm that cheers the lands, And thou dost bear within thy awful hands The rolling thunders and the lightnings fleet; Stern on thy dark-wrought car of cloud and wind Thou guid'st the northern storm at night's dread noon, Or on the red wing of the fierce monsoon Dost Thou repose? or in the solitude Hears nightly howl the tiger's hungry brood? Vain thought! the confines of his throne to trace, Who glows through all the fields of boundless space. HENRY KIRKE WHITE. Watching for the Son of Man. VEN thus, amid thy pride and luxury, EVEN O earth! shall that last coming burst on thee, That secret coming of the Son of Man, When all the cherub-thronging clouds shall shine Irradiate with his bright advancing sign: When that great Husbandman shall wave his fan, Sweeping like chaff, thy wealth and pomp away: Still to the noontide of that nightless day, Shalt thou thy wonted dissolute course maintain. Along the busy mart and crowded street, The hundred-gated cities then, The towers and temples named of men The gilded summer-palaces, The courtly bowers of love and ease, Where still the bird of pleasure sings; Ask ye the destiny of them? Go, gaze on fallen Jerusalem! Yea, mightier names are in the fatal roll, 'Gainst earth and heaven God's standard is unfurled, The skies are shrivelled like a burning scroll, And the vast common doom ensepulchres the world. Oh! who shall then survive? Oh! who shall stand and live? In the sky's azure canopy; When all the breathing earth and sparkling sea, Lord of all power, when Thou art there alone, That in its high meridian noon Needs not the perished sun nor moon: When Thou art there in Thy presiding state, Wide-sceptered monarch o'er the realm of doom, When from the sea-depths, from earth's darkest womb, The dead of all the ages round Thee wait; Like forest leaves in the autumn of Thine ire: Faithful and true! Thou still wilt save Thine own! The saints shall dwell within th' unharming fire, |