« AnteriorContinuar »
DESPAIR, AND ITS REMEDY.
"Having no hope, and without God in the world."— Ephcsians ii. 12.
"The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. From the sole of the foot even unto the head, there is no soundness in it; but wounds, and bruises, and putrefying sores."—Isaiah i. 5 (3.
"Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there?"—Jeremiah viii. 22.
"Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord; though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool."—Isaiah i. IS.
1' Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."—Matthew xi. 28.
Hope! there is none for me, not one bright ray
Dark is my soul, darker than Egypt's night
My sins like mountains rise, and weigh mo down
His floor. What refuge shall I find, whore shall I fly From the stern gaze of His all-searching eye?
Can the huge mountains hide me in some cave
verge The firm rocks shake, and own their Maker,
Peace, troubled spirit—stay the flowing tears,
whole, In willing love He bowed His head and died;
In glory, now, He still invites thy soul
THE RUFFLED NEST.
"As an eagle stirreth up her nest, fluttereth over her young, spreadeth abroad her wings, taketh them, beareth them on her wings; so the Lord alone did lead him, and there was no strange God with him."— Deut. xxxii. 11, 12.
He hath stirred up thy nest, His chastening
hand Has touched thy pleasant gourds, thy brightest
hopes Of happiness, that in this foreign land Thou mayest not linger by the sunny slopes— The rich and verdant plains, but speed thy way To the bright realms of everlasting day.
He hath stirred up thy nest, to make thee feel
below. Love rules the dealings of thy gracious God, Then faint thou not, but kiss the chastening
rod. What hast thou here? a frail and shattered tent All weather-worn, and rocked by every blast. Loosen'd the tottering stakes, the canvass rent, The cordage rotten—it must fall at last. What hast thou there/ a mansion in the skies, A radiant home, too bright for mortal eyes.
Linger not here, e'en by the murm'ring fount, Or palm tree's pleasant shade, but onward
move, And climb with eager foot the heavenly mount, Dwell in the sheltering rock, the cleft of love,