A PASSAGE FROM ST. AUGUSTIN.
WERT thou a wanderer on a foreign strand,
Who yet could'st only in thy native land
Find peace, or joy, or any blessed thing, -
And thy long woes unto an end to bring,
Should'st there at length determine to return,
Since in all other places doomed to mourn, -
But, having need of carriages for this,
To bring thee to thy country and true bliss,
What if the pleasant motion which they made,
With the fair prospects on each side displayed,
Should so attract thee, thou at last wert fain
The things for use lent only, to retain ;
So taken with their passing, slight delight,
That, from thy country alienated quite,
And its true joys whereto thou first didst tend,
And loathing to approach thy journey's end,
Thou should'st be now a pilgrim with the fear
Lest thy long pilgrimage's close was near:
If it were this way with thee, we might say,
Thou didst man's life unto the life portray.
I THINK We are too ready with complaint
In this fair world of God's. Had we no hope
Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope
Of yon gray blank of sky, we might be faint
To muse upon eternity's constraint
Round our aspirant souls. But since the scope
Must widen early, is it well to droop,
For a few days consumed in loss and taint?
O pusillanimous heart, be comforted,
And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road, Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread Be bitter in thine inn, and thou unshod To meet the flints? At least it may be said, "Because the way is short, I thank thee, God!"
To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest Angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet, in tenderest love, our dear
And Heavenly Father sends him here.
There's quiet in that Angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance !
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm ;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded grief to still,
And make our own our Father's will!
The Angel of Patience.
O thou who mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day,
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"
THROUGH night to light! And though to mor
Creation's face a pall of horror wear,
Good cheer! good cheer! The gloom of midnight flies;
Then shall a sunrise follow, mild and fair.
Through storm to calm! And though his
The rumbling tempest drive through earth and sky,
Good cheer! good cheer! The elemental war Tells that a blessed, healing hour is nigh.
Through frost to spring! And though the biting blast
Of Eurus stiffen nature's juicy veins,
Good cheer! good
wrath is past,
Soft-murmuring spring breathes sweetly o'er
|