Deeps unto deeps enraged call, When thy dark spouts of waters fall, And dreadful tempest raves: For all thy floods upon me burst, But yet by day the Lord will charge His ready mercy to enlarge My soul, surprised with cares; He gives my songs their argument; God of my life, I will present By night to thee my prayers. And say, my God, my rock, oh, why By foes reduced to dust? Their words, like weapons, pierce my bones, While still they echo to my groans, Where is the Lord, thy trust? My soul, why art thou so deprest? Oh, why so troubled in my breast, Sunk underneath thy load? With constant hope on God await, For I his name shall celebrate, My Saviour and my God. GEORGE SANDYS. MAN FRAIL AND GOD ETERNAL. PSALM XC. OUR God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come; Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home: Under the shadow of thy throne Thy saints have dwelt secure ; Sufficient is thine arm alone, And our defence is sure. Before the hills in order stood, Or earth received her frame, From everlasting thou art God, To endless years the same. A thousand ages, in thy sight, The busy tribes of flesh and blood, Rest beneath the Almighty's shade, Dwell, and never be dismayed: From the sword, at noonday wasting, God shall be thy sure defence: When a thousand feel the blow; Mercy shall thy soul deliver, Though ten thousand be laid low. Only with thine eye the anguish Of the wicked thou shalt see, When by slow disease they languish, When they perish suddenly: Thee, though winds and waves be swelling, He shall charge his angel legions On his young, thy foot shall tread ; Thou shalt bruise the serpent's head. VERSION OF PSALM CXXX. PHINEAS FLETCHER was an English poet, a cousin of the dramatist John Fletcher who wrote with Beaumont. He was born about 1584, was educated at Cambridge, became a clergyman, and died at Hilgay, Norfolk, where he was rector, about 1660. He wrote the "Purple Island; or, the Isle of Man." FROM the deeps of grief and fear, Can see thy bliss? But with thee sweet mercy stands, Or tongue affords, As a watchman waits for day, So look, so wait, So long mine eyes, To see my Lord, My Sun, arise. Wait, ye saints, wait on our Lord: His Israel From sin and wrath, From death and hell. PHINEAS FLETCHER. PSALM CXXXIX. O LORD, in me there lieth nought But to thy search revealed lies; For when I sit Thou markest it; No less thou notest when I rise: Yea, closest closet of my thought Hath open windows to thine eyes. Thou walkest with me when I walk: When to my bed for rest I go, I find thee there, And everywhere: Not youngest thought in me doth grow, No, not one word I cast to talk But, yet unuttered, thou dost know. If forth I march, thou goest before; Thy guard I lack; But never reach with earthy mind. To shun thy notice, leave thine eye, Thy throne is there. To dead men's undelightsome stay? There is thy walk, and there to lie Unknown, in vain I should assay. O sun, whom light nor flight can match! Suppose thy lightful, flightful wings Thou lend to me, And I could flee As far as thee the evening brings: Ev'n led to west he would me catch, Nor should I lurk with western things. Do thou thy best, O secret night, In sable veil to cover me: Thy sable veil Shall vainly fail: With day unmasked my night shall be; For night is day, and darkness light, O Father of all lights, to thee. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. PSALM CXXXIX. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, son of the second President of the United States, and himself President, was born in the present town of Quincy, July 11, 1767, and died at Washington, Feb. 23. 1848. He found time in the midst of his many public duties to court the muses, and prepared a metrical version of the whole of the Psalms of David He wrote also hymns which are now in use, besides secular pieces. O LORD, thy all-discerning eyes My inmost purpose see; My deeds, my words, my thoughts, arise Alike disclosed to thee! My sitting down, my rising up, Broad noon and deepest night, My path, my pillow, and my cup, Are open to thy sight. Before, behind, I meet thine eye, And feel thy heavy hand; Such knowledge is for me too high If I ascend to heaven on high, JOHN QUINCY ADAMS. 1841. AN HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. HEAR me, O God! That I may prove If thou hadst not Been stern to me, But left me free, I had forgot Myself and thee. For sin's so sweet, As minds ill bent Rarely repent Until they meet Their punishment. Who more can crave First made of nought, Sin, death, and hell His glorious name Quite overcame; Yet I rebel, And slight the same. But I'll come in Before my loss Me further toss, As sure to win Under his cross. BEN JONSON. He the boundless heavens has spread, Music that the heart of Jove The evening bell that bringeth Not even the lark that springeth Then see I God beside me, The sheltering trees that hide me, The mountains that divide me From the sea, All prove how kind a Father Beneath the sweet moon shining Soundeth sad; All feel the present Godhead, With mute unvoiced confessings, I kneel, and with caressings Press the sod, And thank my Lord and father, And my God! DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. A PRAYER OF AFFECTION. Father of mercies! round his precious head! Father! I pray thee not For earthly treasures to that most beloved, Fame, fortune, power; - oh, be his spirit proved By these, or by their absence, at thy will! Let such a sense of thee, Thy watching presence, thy sustaining love, His bosom guest inalienably be, That whereso'er he move, A heavenly light serene May sit undimmed! a gladness rest his own, Remembered faintly, gleams, Faintly remembered, and too swiftly flown! |