I love thee so, I know not how Oh, wonderful that thou shouldst let Love thee with such a love as this, For thou to me art all in all, My honor and my wealth, My heart's desire, my body's strength, My soul's eternal health. Burn, burn, O love! within my heart Burn fiercely night and day, O Light in darkness, Joy in grief, O Jesus! Jesus! sweetest Lord! Each hour brings joys before unknown, What limit is there to thee, love? Thy flight where wilt thou stay? O Love of Jesus! blessed love! Time cannot hold thy wondrous growth, FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. 1840. JESUS, MY GOD AND MY ALL. FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER was born at Durham, England, June 28, 1814, and after graduation at Oxford became a tutor and fellow of that university. In 1846 he became a Roman Catholic, and in 1849 went to London and organized a brotherhood. He had established his reputation as a poet in 1840. The complete edition of his hymns, published in 1862, comprises one hundred and fifty pieces, many of them of great beauty, and some have been taken to enrich the collections of those who do not agree with the author's religious views. Dr. Faber died Sept. 26, 1863. The " "heavenly homesickness," as it has been called, of some of Faber's hymns is deficient in hopefulness. O JESUS! Jesus! dearest Lord, For very love, thy sacred name A thousand times a day. MERCY BESOUGHT. CORNELIUS ELVEN, pastor of a Baptist church in Bury St. Edmunds, Suffolk, England, was born in 1797. The hymn here given was written to be used with revival sermons preached to his people. WITH broken heart and contrite sigh, I smite upon my troubled breast, O God, be merciful to me! 1852. JUST AS I AM. Far off I stand with tearful eyes, Nor dare uplift them to the skies; But thou dost all my anguish see, O God, be merciful to me! Nor alms, nor deeds that I have done, And when redeemed from sin and hell, CORNELIUS ELVEN. ALLEZ A CHRIST. APPEL D'UNE VOIX ÉTRANGÈRE. 637 "Je ne mettrai point dehors celui qui viendra à Moi." JEAN vi. 37. "A foreign lady in mourning, passing through Geneva, Switzerland, (in September, 1957), where she knew no one, wished to call upon a Christian, whose name she was acquainted with and not finding h`m, left at his house eighty francs, in part to print and distribute the following hymn, and in part for a work of charity; not wishing to pass through that city, she said, without leaving there a mark of affection." Tel que je suis - sans aucune défense, N'espérant qu'en ton sang versé pour mon offense, Vaincu par tes appels, qui font mon assurance, Agneau de Dieu, je viens! Tel que je suis me sentant incapable Tel que je suis-ballotté dans ma route Agneau de Dieu, je viens! Tel que je suis - aveugle et misérable, Tel que je suis ne cache point ta face, efface, Seigneur, n'ai-je pas cru ta promesse de grâce? Agneau de Dieu, je viens! Tel que je suis par ton amour immense, CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT. Translator unknown. A PRAYER TO CHRIST. CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT, widely known as author of the hymn "Just as I am," was grand daughter of the ce ebrated Rev. John Venn. She was born in 1789, and died in 1871. She was a contributor to the "Invalid's Hymn-Book," and published several volumes of poems, some of the pieces in which became very popular. She wrote with the purpose of doing good O THOU, the contrite sinners' Friend, That thou wilt plead for me! EMMANUEL'S LAND. COME, we who love the Lord, Be banished from this place! Who never knew our God; And thunders when he please, This awful God is ours, Our Father and our love; He shall send down his heavenly powers, To carry us above. There we shall see his face, And never, never sin ; And from the rivers of his grace Yea, and before we rise To that immortal state, The men of grace have found Glory begun below; Celestial fruits, on earthly ground, From faith and hope may grow. The hill of Zion yields A thousand sacred sweets Before we reach the heavenly fields, Or walk the golden streets. Then let our songs abound, And every tear be dry; A son is light and fruit, a fruitful flame So in one word our Lord's humility We turn upon him in a sense most true; We're marching through Emmanuel's ground We him in glory call, the Son of man. To fairer worlds on high. GEORGE HERBERT. MRS. GRACE WEBSTER HINSDALE, daughter of the late Prof. Charles B. Haddock, of Dartmouth College, and granddaughter of Abigail Webster (sister of Daniel Webster), was born at Hanover, N. H., in 1832. Her husband is Theodore Hinsdale, and her home is in Brooklyn, L. I. Mrs. Hinsdale is a frequent contributor of religious poetry to the periodical press. JESUS! the rays divine, Which from thy presence shine, And lead me on! The love within thine eye Yes, Lord, in hours of gloom, When pain breathes forth its groans, Oh! will it always be Jesus, thou art my life! REMEMBER ME! O THOU, from whom all goodness flows, In all my sorrows, conflicts, woes, When groaning on my burdened heart 1792. My pardon speak, new peace impart, Temptations sore obstruct my way, Oh, give me strength, Lord, as my day; Distrest in pain, disease, and grief, Grant patience, rest, and kind relief; If on my face, for thy dear name, All hail reproach, and welcome shame, The hour is near; consigned to death, "Saviour!" with my last parting breath, PEACE. THOMAS HAWEIS. Is this the peace of God, this strange sweet calm? The weary day is at its zenith still, Yet 't is as if beside some cool, clear rill, Through shadowy stillness rose an evening psalm, And all the noise of life were hushed away, It was not so just now. I turned aside Around me cares and griefs in crushing crowd, That rushing flood I had no power to meet, Nor power to flee: my present, future, past, Myself, my sorrow, and my sin I cast In utter helplessness at Jesu's feet: Then bent me to the storm, if such his will. He saw the winds and waves, and whispered, "Peace, be still!" And there was calm! O Saviour, I have proved That thou to help and save art really near: How else this quiet rest from grief and fear And all distress? The cross is not removed, I must go forth to bear it as before, But, leaning on thine arm, I dread its weight The seed, before it flourish, Must low in darkness lie; But those like thee, bereaved, My people," saith the Lord; The harvest-day is hasting, The rest from toil and pain, When those who sleep in Jesus Shall come with him again. And, more than all the treasures That morning shall restore, Then rest, sad heart, in patience, "Lord, all these vacant places With thine own fulness fill!" Translated from the German of META HEUSSER SCHWEIZER, 1837, by JANE BORTHWICK, 1863 FAITH'S QUESTION. To whom, O Saviour, shall we go To whom, O Saviour, shall we go? |