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Thus holy, wrestling thus, and all for him!
Nor did he not: for oft-times Providence,
With unexpected joy the fervent prayer
Of faith surprised :-returned from long delay,
With glory crowned of righteous actions won,
The sacred thorn to memory dear, first sought
The youth, and found it at the happy hour,
Just when the damsel kneeled herself to pray.
Wrapt in devotion, pleading with her God,
She saw him not, heard not his foot approach.
All holy images seemed too impure
To emblem her he saw. A seraph kaneeled,
Beseeching for his ward, before the throne,
Seemed fittest, pleased him best. Sweet was the thought,
But sweeter still the kind remembrance came,
That she was flesh, and blood, formed for himself,
The plighted partner of his future life.
And as they met, embraced, and sat embowered
In woody chambers of the starry night ;-
Spirits of love about them ministered,
And God approving, blessed the holy joy.
And canst thou, Mother, for a moment think,
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head, Could from our best of duties ever shrink? Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink
Than we ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,
Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink :
Banish the thought !—where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home ;
While duty bids us all thy grief assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.-
H. K. White.
Parting soul! the flood awaits thee,
And the billows round thee roar ;
Yet look on—the crystal city
Stands on yon celestial shore !
There are crowns and thrones of glory,
There the living waters glide,
There the just in shining raiment,
Wander by Emmanuel's side.
Linger not the stream is narrow,
Though its cold dark waters rise ;
He who passed the flood before thee,
Guides thy path to yonder skies :
Hark! the sound of Angels hymning,
Rolls harmonious o'er thine ear ;
See! the walls and golden portals
Through the mist of death appear.
Soul adieu-this gloomy sojourn
Holds thy captive feet no more ;
Flesh is dropt, and sin forsaken,
Sorrow done, and weeping o'er.
Thro' the tears thy friends are shedding,
Smiles of hope serenely shine ;
Not a friend remains behind thee,
But would change his lot for thine.
Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Unuttered or expressed ; The motion of a hidden fire,
That trembles in the breast.
Prayer is the burthen of a sigh,
The falling of a tear ;
The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.
Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try : Prayer the sublimest strains that reach
The Majesty on high.
Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,
The Christian's native air; His watchword at the gates of death ;
He enters heaven by prayer.
Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways;
While Angels in their songs rejoice,
And say, “ Behold, he prays !"
The saints in prayer appear as one
In word, and deed, and mind,
When with the Father and his Son
Their fellowship they find,
prayer is made on earth alone,
The Holy Spirit pleads ;
And Jesus on the eternal throne
For sinners intercedes.
O thou by whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way;.
The path of prayer thyself bath trode;
Lord teach us how to pray.
Pale and cold is the cheek that my kisses oft pressed,
And quenched is the beam of that bright sparkling eye