Imágenes de página
PDF

Who is that mother mild, that infant fair,

Rich in his dimpled charms, and clustering hair?

Behold thy Maker in that feeble frame!

Shrined in a human form the God-head came:

From Satan's slavish chains to set us free,

To rescue man from guilt and misery.

Gaze on! and know the deep, the matchless love,

That brought the Lord of glory from above.

Love plumed his wings, and sped his downward flight

From those bright scenes of joy and heavenly light;

Love moved His gracious heart to veil His face,

And pour His life-blood for a guilty race.

Gaze on! and ponder on the life of woe

That waits that stranger infant here below.

Think of the pride and seorn, the taunting

sneer, The hellish enmity, the savage leer, The bitter hatred of the zealous Jew, The wavering weakness of His chosen few; Foxes have holes, birds of the air a nest, But their Creator hath not where to rest. Cradled within a manger, left to share With the brute beasts a place of shelter

there As years advanced, so care and sorrow prest, Dimmed His meek eye, and filled His holy

breast; Despised, rejected He, and full of grief, No hand, no loving heart to give relief: Yet not His own, but other's sins He mourned, To cleanse their crimson stains His Spirit

burned— To ease the heavy laden, and to feel Each mourner's woe, each stricken heart to heal. From every pore oozed the dark drops of

blood, In that lone garden, when the fearful flood Of all His Father's wrath o'erwhelmed His

soul, As o'er His head the raging billows roll. Sinner, come hither—know thy heavy guilt, Crushed that bowed head, that willing lifeblood spilt; Forced from His quiv'ring lips the bitter cry Of utter woe, and writhing agony, (When in deep anguish hanging on the tree) "My God, my God, hast Thou forsaken me t" Sinner, still gaze, and cast a look of faith On that slain Lamb, (who with His dying

breath Prayed for His murderers,) lay thy load of sin Upon thy loving Saviour, and begin Meekly to follow Him, and bear the cross, Counting all else but worthless dung and dross; Seeling to do His will, to know His love, Longing to dwell, to reign with Him above; So shall His Spirit's unetion breathe on thee, And fill thy soul with heavenly sanctity.

TO A SLUMBERING CHRISTIAN.

"Ye are all the children of light, and the children of the day: we are not of the night, nor of darkness. Therefore, let us not sleep, as do others, but let us watch and be sober."—1 These, v. 5, 6.

Fond, busy dreamer, cease to weave

A web of fancied joy,
Nor o'er its fragile texture grieve,

'Tis but an empty toy.

This world can have no rest for thee,

No happiness below;
Life is a sad reality

Of trouble, care, and woe.

Say, can the fighting soldier sleep

Upon the battle-field?
Or, 'midst the din of combat, keep
His slumbering eyelids sealed t

Then cease to sorrow o'er the past,

The future leave with God; With thy loins girded, follow fast

The path which Christ hath trod.

Oh! watch and pray, thou ransomed one,

Nor lay thy weapons down,
Till fought the fight, the victory won,

Christ shall bestow the crown.

« AnteriorContinuar »