AT A TIME OF DEEP PROVING.
Poor throbbing heart! the battle wave of life
Beats strong against thee, yet thou strugglest on,
Breasting the mighty billows, though no kind, well-known voice,
When the great mountain wave threatens to o’erwhelm,
Whispers the soul-reviving words, “Be of good cheer,
The port is nearing fast!” Instead of this
Is heard the mournful moan of the discourager,
Portending peril, shipwreck, loss of all.
But ah! poor struggling heart!
An eye is over thee, a Father’s eye,
Of tender love and pity. There is One
Whose voice is mightier than the noise
Of many waters, who sitteth on the flood
And reigneth King forever.
He sees thee breast the wave, upheld alone
By childlike trust and confidence in Him,
And through the storm is heard His gentle tone,
“Daughter, be comforted,—thy faith hath saved thee.”
12th mo., 1850. E. P. G.
The Lord’s portion is his people, Jacob is the lot of his inheritance. He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness. He led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye. 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. 32: 9-12.
T. E.’s Sermon.
When the eagle finds her brood is fledged,
She stirreth up the nest;
Gently she fluttereth over it,
And breaketh up their rest.
She taketh them, she beareth them,
She spreadeth abroad her wings,
Then soars aloft to a purer air
Above terrestrial things.
Thus, when the heart with the cares of time
Is burdened and oppressed,
’Tis only the parent hand of love
That is stirring up the nest.
He found us in the wilderness
When no strange god was nigh,
He instructed us, He kept us
As “the apple of His eye.”
Now His wing is fluttering over us
And stirring up the nest,
For the Lord alone is leading us
To His bright and glorious rest.
The shining host of ransomed ones
There worship and adore;
Fulness of joy their portion is,
Pleasure forever more.
Then be glad when the Father teaches us
That this is not our rest,
And bless the hand of sparing love
That stirreth up the nest.
For those who know no chastisement
Are not the sons of God;
He chooseth His adopted ones
Beneath the chastening rod.
Thus, when the fond heart reareth up
A little ark of rest,
How soon the fluttering wing is heard
That stirreth up the nest!
But ah! He spreadeth it abroad,
And teacheth us to soar
To the realms of cloudless blessedness,
Where change is known no more.
1850. E. P. G.