Be present, holiest Spirit, To bless them as they kneel; Oh spread thy pure wing o'er them, To cast their crowns before Thee, Till to the home of gladness, With Christ's own bride they rise: Chapter XX. HYMNS FROM BENEATH THE CLOUD. HE "When gathering clouds around I view, 66 mercy-seat of old was sometimes covered with a mysterious cloud, whose shade graciously qualified the lustre of Divine majesty, and from whose depths were evolved the most cheering tokens of God's favour. From that cloud Aaron had seen the fire of wrath shoot forth to consume his unholy sons, and to him it was now like the shadow of death, the fearful symbol of his bitterest trial as a parent and as a priest. But God, by the mouth of Moses, encouraged him to approach, even to that cloud, with the blood of a sin-offering in his hand, giving him the promise, "I will appear in the cloud upon the mercy-seat." The believing Christian, like Aaron, has access to the mercy-seat of his reconciled God, but sometimes finds a cloud on it. His heavenly Father occasionally permits dark mys terious trials to overshadow his way to the propitiatory; trials which, though they appear inscrutable, are blessings in disguise, dispensations of mercy in the form of mysterious trial. He is assured, however, that while he comes by faith in the sacrifice of Christ, those very trials will afford some of the most satisfactory revelations of God's character and will, “I will appear as a cloud upon the mercy-seat." And when our clouds are around the mercy-seat, in gracious association with the purposes of mercy, and the divine wisdom and power, goodness, holiness, and love, are opened upon the soul from the very clouds which overshadow it, our sorrows are turned into joy, rather than followed by it, and our hearts are comforted with hymns and "songs of deliverance." About forty years ago, Wilson, in his "Noctes Ambrosianæ," says, "Have you seen a little volume entitled 'Tales in Verse, by the Rev. H. F. Lyte,' which seems to have reached a second edition? Now that is the right kind of religious poetry. Mr. Lyte shows how the sins and sorrows of men flow from irreligion, in simple yet strong domestic narrations, told in a style and spirit reminding one sometimes of Goldsmith and sometimes of Crabbe. A volume so humble in its appearance and pretensions runs the risk of being jostled off the highway into by-paths; and, indeed, no harm if it should, for in such retired places it will be pleasant reading-pensive in the shade, and cheerful in the sunshine. Mr. Lyte has reaped The harvest of a quiet eye That broods and sleeps on its own heart, and his Christian tales will be read with interest and instruction by many a fireside. 'The Brothers' is exceedingly beautiful. He ought to give us another volume." The gentle and unpretending man whose volume was so beautiful a reflection of his own character, did "give us another volume," under the title of Poems, Chiefly Religious." Some of his poems were, indeed, hymns from under the cloud. Though comparatively young, he had often found clouds "upon the mercy-seat." But God had appeared to him, inspiring and hallowing his genius, and calling up songs from his heart, that have been peacefully and resignedly sung by many a tried but happy Christian. Here is one springing from "thoughts in weakness," and entitled "Submission " Yet think not, O my soul, to keep By any road less rough and steep We cannot find our home below, No; here we labour, watch, and pray, Was perfected by woe. Thou-Man of Sorrows-Thou didst not The bitter cup decline, Why should I claim a better lot, A smoother path than Thine? |