Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty score!
The more I pay, I owe thee still the more.
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace ;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.
And do I grieve at such an humbling lot?
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought-
Vain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieu!
I have no wish, no memory for you;
The more I feel my misery, I adore
The sacred inmate of my soul the more;
Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride
Spring from the sense of having nought beside.
In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might;
My wanderings prove Thy wisdom infinite;
All that I have I give thee; and then see
All contrarieties unite in thee;
For Thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe,
And pouring out thy bliss on worms below,
By filling with thy grace and love divine
A gulf of evil in this heart of mine.
This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise,
And the hills sink-'tis matching Earth and Skies!
I feel my weakness, thank thee, and deplore
An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more;
The more I love thee, I the more reprove
A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love;
Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd,
I plunge into that sea, and there am lost.
GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD.
1 YE Linnets, let us try, beneath this grove, Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise! In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove,
For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways.
2 That God alone should prop the sinking soul,
Fills them with rage against his empire now:
I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole,
To seek one simple heart, set free from all below.
3 They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, While in their bosoms many an idol lurks ; Their base desires, well satisfied, obey,
Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works.
4 "Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more;
Your fellowship, ye warblers! suits me best:
Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore,
Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest.
5 My God, who form'd you for his praise alone,
Beholds his purpose well fulfill'd in you;
Come, let us join the choir before his throne,
Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true!
6 Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought,
Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice
Preferring love too vast for human thought,
In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice.
7 Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts,
Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine?
If thou approve the zeal thy smile imparts,
How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline?
8 Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire; Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire,
When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise.
9 Self-love dismiss'd-'tis then we live indeedIn her embrace, death, only death is found: Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed,
Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound!
10 Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear, Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone;
Let his unequall'd excellence be dear,
Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own!
11 They hear me not-alas! how fond to rove
In endless chase of folly's specious lure!
'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove,
I taste the sweets of truth-here only am secure.
1 I AM fond of the Swallow-I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love :
How seldom on earth do we see her alight!
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
2 It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended and poised in the regions of air;
"Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows,
It is wing'd like herself 'tis ethereal fare.
3 She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays,
And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun;
So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays,
And the place where he shines not, immediately shun.
4 Our light should be Love, and our nourishment prayer;
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth;
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare ;
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth.
5 'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below,
And only when building a nest for her young; Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow A thought upon anything filthy as dung.
6 Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode),
To bask every moment in infinite Love;
Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road
That leads to the dayspring appearing above.
THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED.
1 AH! reign wherever man is found,
My Spouse, beloved and divine!
Then I am rich, and I abound,
When every human heart is thine.
2 A thousand sorrows pierce my soul,
To think that all are not thine own:
Ah! be adored from pole to pole;
Where is thy zeal? arise; be known!
3 All hearts are cold, in every place,
Yet earthly good with warmth pursue ;
Dissolve them with a flash of grace,
Thaw these of ice, and give us new!
A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THE
PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE
IN BRINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OF SELF-RENUNCIATION AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE.
1 'Twas my purpose, on a day,
To embark, and sail away.
As I climb'd the vessel's side,
Love was sporting in the tide ;
"Come," he said," ascend-make haste,
Launch into the boundless waste."
2 Many mariners were there,
Having each his separate care;
They that row'd us held their eyes
Fix'd upon the starry skies;
Others steer'd, or turn'd the sails,
To receive the shifting gales.
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