Imágenes de páginas


HEAR me, O God!
A broken heart
Is my best part:
Use still Thy rod,
That I may prove
Therein Thy love.

If Thou hadst not

Been stern to me,

But left me free,
I had forgot

Myself and Thee.

For sin 's so sweet,

As minds ill-bent

Rarely repent,
Until they meet

Their punishment .

Ben Jonson



GOD moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up His bright designs,

And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning Providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

W. Cowper


WHERE the remote Bermudas
In ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along,
The listening winds received their song.

"What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own.

"Where He the huge sea-monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs;
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storm's and tyrant's rage.

"He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels everything,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.

"He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night, (
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.

"O, let our voice his praise exalt
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay."

Thus sang they in the English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note,
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

A. Marvell



BLEST be Thy love, dear Lord,
That taught us this sweet way
Only to love Thee for Thyself,
And for that love obey.

O Thou, our soul's chief hope!
We to thy mercy fly;
Where'er we are, Thou canst protect,
Whate'er we need, supply.

Whether we sleep or wake,
To Thee we both resign;
By night we see, as well as day,
If Thy light on us shine.

Whether we live, or die,
Both we submit to Thee;
In death we live, as well as life,
If Thine in death we be.

J. Austin



OTHOU that driest the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,
If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown;

And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt heal the broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw

Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes, or cheers,

And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,

Is dimmed and vanished too!

O, who could bear life's stormy doom,

Did not Thy wing of love
Come brightly wafting through the gloom,

One peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow touched by Thee grows bright

With more than rapture's ray;
As darkness shows us worlds of light

We could not see by day.

T. Moore

« AnteriorContinuar »