Sung at the Ordination of the Rev. Henry Allen.
We meet to-day as ne’er before,
To greet a pastor of our choice,
Without a single jarring note,
And without one dissenting voice.
Oh thou who art enthroned on high,
Before whom holy angels bow,
Be pleased to hear us when we sing,
Accept the praises offered now.
Let no one present, dare to give,
The service of the lip alone;
Or think if they the heart withhold,
’Twill find acceptance at thy throne.
But with united heart and voice,
A grateful tribute we would raise;
Oh bless us all assembled now,
Help us to pray, and help to praise.
Thou great Immanuel, who didst lead
Thy Israel all the desert through;
Like them we’re weak and helpless quite,
Oh! condescend to lead us too.
And when our Shepherd with his flock
Before thy throne shall re-appear,
May every one acceptance find,
And ceaseless praises offer there.
Sept. 1852.
Margaret's Remembrance of Lightfoot.
My beautiful steed,
’Tis painful indeed
To think we are parted forever;
That on no sunny day,
With light spirits and gay,
Over hills far away,
We shall joyously travel together.
Thy soft glossy mane
I shall ne’er see again,
Nor thy proudly arched neck ’gain behold;
Nor admire that in thee,
Which so seldom we see,
A kind, gentle spirit, yet bold.
Thou wert pleasant indeed
My darling grey steed,
“In my mind’s eye” thou’rt beautiful still;
For when thou wert old
Thy heart grew not cold,
Its warm current time never could chill.
Not a stone marks the spot
Where they laid thee, Lightfoot,
And no fence to enclose thee around;
But what if there’s not,
Deep engraved on my heart
Thy loved image may ever be found.
"The Clouds return after the Rain."
Dark and yet darker my day’s clouded o’er;
Are its bright joys all fled, and its sunshine no more?
I look to the skies for the bright bow in vain,
For constantly “clouds return after the rain.”
Must it always be thus, peace banished forever,
And joy to this sad heart returned again never?
I long for the rest that I cannot obtain,
For the clouds, so much dreaded, return after rain.
Is there not in this wide world one spot that is blessed
With exemption from suffering, where one may find rest;
Where sickness and sorrow no entranpe can gain,
And the clouds do not return after the rain?
Ah! deceive not thyself by a vain hope like this,
Nor expect in this world to enjoy lasting peace:
But bow with submission to God’s holy will,
For the hand that afflicts is thy kind Father’s still.
If my days are dark here, there are brighter above,
In those pure realms of light, peace, joy, and of love;
Where the air is all balm, and the skies ever fair,
And the river of life, clear as crystal flows there.
There also, for healing the nations, are found
The leaves of the tree on which rich fruits abound;
There is no need of candle, for God is their light,
There never is darkness, for “there is no night.”
Oh! may I there find, when this brief life is past,
By my Saviour prepared, a sweet home at last;
Where sin never enters, death, sorrow, nor care,
And clouds are not feared, for it never rains there.
August 19, 1852.
The Nocturnal Visit.
Lo the curtains of night around Palestine fall,
And Jerusalem’s streets into darkness are thrown;
The late-busy hum of men’s voices is hushed,
And the city is clad in dark livery alone.
But see through the dimness that half opened door,
And slowly emerging a figure behold;
A quick, furtive glance he has thrown all around,
For what is he thirsting, for blood, or for gold?
Stealthily, fearfully, onward he moves,
So light are his footsteps you scarce hear their tread;
Yet no midnight robber, no murderer is he,
Then why dread recognition—of man why afraid?
Let us follow his footsteps and learn where he goes;
And now at the door of a house see him stand;
But why wait so long ere admittance he seeks,
In attempting to knock, why trembles that hand?
He has come to the fountain of light and of life,
Before whom ne’er suppliant sued humbly in vain;
He has come for the knowledge that alone maketh rich,
And without which we’re poor, though the whole world we gain.
He has come to learn wisdom of that lowly one,
Who spake as “never man spake” it was said;
And who, though so poor and despised among men,
Is the whole world’s Sustainer, creation’s great Head.
But list to the words of the Saviour of men,
“Verily, verily I say unto thee,
That no man, except he be born again,
Is permitted the kingdom of heaven to see.”
How humbling to pride were these words of our Lord,
What fears in his guest they serve to awaken;
Though a ruler of Jews, he was yet in his sins;
The first step towards heaven he never had taken.
Ah! Nicodemus, how many like thee,
Would perceive all their boasted religion was vain,
Could they meet but his glance who “searcheth the heart,
And trieth the reins of the children of men.”
Sept. 9, 1852.
Sovereignty of God and Free Agency of Man.
Thou art a perfect Sovereign, oh my God!
And I rejoice to think that thou art so;
That all events are under thy control,
And that thou knowest all I think and do.
But some may ask, “then why am I to blame
Because I sin, if God hath made me thus?”
Stop, stop, my friend, God tempteth not to sin,
Thou dost it of thy own free will and choice.
Though God is Sovereign, we free agents are,
Accountable to him for all we do,
Feel, think, or say; and at the last great day,
A most exact account must render too.
With this conclusion be thou satisfied—
For all who will accept him, Christ hath died.
Sept. 19, 1862.
God is a Sovereign, man free agent too;
How these to reconcile I do not know:
But this I know, if lost, the blame is mine,
If saved, the praise, oh God! be only thine.
Autumn and Sunset.
Hail, sober Autumn! thee I love,
Thy healthful breeze and clear blue sky;
And more than flowers of Spring admire
Thy falling leaves of richer dye.
’Twas even thus when life was young,
I welcomed Autumn with delight;
Although I knew that with it came
The shorter day and lengthened night.
Let others pass October by,
Or dreary call its hours, or chill;
Let poets always sing of Spring,
My praise shall be of Autumn still.
And I have loved the setting sun,
E’en than his rising beams more dear;
’Tis fitting time for serious thought,
It is an hour for solemn prayer.
Before the evening closes in,
Or night’s dark curtains round us fall,
See how o’er tree, and spire, and hill,
That setting sun illumines all.
So when my earthly race is run,
When called to bid this world adieu,
Like yonder cloudless orb I see,
May my sun set in glory too.
Oct 8, 1852.
“My times are in thy hand.”
My times are in thy hand, my God!
And I rejoice that they are so;
My times are in thy hand, my God,
Whether it be for weal or woe.
My times are in thy hand, I know;
And if I’m washed in Jesus’ blood,
Though dark my pathway here below,
It leads directly up to God.
Since all thy children chastening need,
And all so called must feel the rod,
Why for exemption should I plead,
For am I not thy child, my God?
Ah why go mourning all the day,
Or why should I from trials shrink?
Though much of sorrow’s in my cup,
The cup that I am called to drink.
’Tis needful medicine I know,
By the most skilful hand prepared,
Strictly proportioned to my wants,
There’s not a drop that can be spared.
Then why desponding, oh my soul,
Because of trials here below?
They’re all appointed by my God,
My times are in thy hand, I know.
Jan. 18, 1863.
November.
Remember the poor, in the dark chilly day,
When November’s loud winds are fierce blowing;
Remember the poor, at thy plentiful board,
When the fire on thy bright hearth is glowing.
Remember the poor in yon damp dismal shed,
Without food, fire, or clothing to warm them;
And not like the Priest or the Levite pass by,
But Samaritan like stop and cheer them.
Remember the slave, the poor down trodden slave,
And do all in thy power to relieve him;
And when from oppression he strives to be free,
Do thou open thy gate to receive him.
For what saith the Lord is thy duty to such,
“To his master thou shalt not return him,”33. See Deuteronomy, 23:15, 16.
But give him a home near thy own if he likes,
And be sure not to vex or oppress him.
When parents or children or brethren you meet,
In our happy New England and free,
Then remember the slave, the heart broken slave,
For thy brother, thy brother is he.
Remember him also when prayer for thyself,
In affliction’s dark hour doth ascend;
And when crying to God the father of all,
Let his wants with thine own kindly blend.
And at the last day, when the rich and the poor
Shall alike by the Judge be regarded;
When master and slave shall appear before God,
And a sentence impartial awarded,—
The cup of cold water He will not forget,
But with other good acts bring to mind;
“When naked ye clothed me, when hungry ye fed,”
Will be uttered in accents most kind.
But when, blessed Saviour, ah when was the time,
That we fed, clothed, or visited thee?
“Such acts,” He replies, “to my poor brethren done,
I consider as done unto me.”
Nov. 1862.
Winter.
His thundering car
Is heard from afar,
And his trumpet notes sound
All the country around;
Stop your ears as you will,
That loud blast and shrill
Is heard by you still.
Borne along by the gale,
In his frost coat of mail,
Midst snow, sleet, and hail,
He comes without fail,
And drives all before him,
Though men beg and implore him
Just to let them take breath,
Or he’ll drive them to death.
But he comes in great state,
And for none will he wait,
Though he sees their distress
Yet he spares them no less,
For the cold stiff limb
Is nothing to him;
And o’er countless blue noses,
His hard heart he closes.
His own children fear him
And dare not come near him;
E’en his favorite child44. Spring.
Has been known to run wild
At his too near approach,
Her fear of him such,
And to shriek and to howl
And return scowl for scowl.
Indeed few dare him face,
And all shun his embrace;
For though pleasant his smile,
Yet one thinks all the while
Of that terrible frown,
Which the hardiest clown,
Though a stout hearted man,
Will avoid if he can.
And though many maintain
That he gives needless pain,
I confess I admire
This venerable sire.
True his language is harsh,
And his conduct oft rash,
And we know well enough,
That his manners are rough;
Yet still in the main,
We’ve no right to complain,
For if we prepare for him,
And show that we care for him,
We may in him find
A true friend and kind.
With us he will stay
Three months to a day,
So let us prepare
The snug elbow chair,
Which placed by the fire
For the hoary-head sire,
May comfort impart
And cheer his old heart.
Though he seems so unkind,
Yet always you’ll find
That his cold heart will warm,
And he’ll do you no harm
If your own can but feel
For your poor neighbor’s weal;
And with pity o’erflowing,
Your free alms bestowing,
Never closing your door
On the suffering poor;
But clothe, feed, and warm them,
And see that none harm them.
As you’d wish them by you.
Let’s adopt but this plan,
To do good when we can,
And the dark stormy day
Will full quick pass away,
And we never complain
Of cold weather again,
Or of tedious long hours,
That are spent within doors;
For when winter winds blow,
And we’re hedged up by snow,
We shall find full employment,
And lack no enjoyment.
Thus prepared, let him come,
He will find us at home;
Bring wind, hail, or snow,
Blow high, or blow low,
We’re prepared for him now.
Then come winter, come,
You’ll find us at home.
Nov. 5, 1852.
There is within this heart of mine,
An aching void earth ne’er can fill;
I’ve tried its joys, its friendships proved,
But felt that aching void there still.
Thy love alone, my Saviour God,
True satisfaction can impart;
Can fill this aching void I feel,
And give contentment to my heart.
Oh! cheer me by thy presence, Lord,
Increase my faith an hundred fold;
Be thy name on my forehead found,
Mine in thy book of life enrolled.
Dec. 19, 1862.
Forever closed that dark blue eye,
Full and expressive, pensive too;
Thy light brown hair, and face so fair,
And graceful form are hid from view.
Life's Changes.
A fair young girl was to the altar led
By him she loved, the chosen of her heart;
And words of solemn import there were said,
And mutual vows were pledged till death should part.
But life was young, and death a great way off,
At least it seemed so then, on that bright morn;
And they no doubt, expected years of bliss,
And in their path the rose without a thorn.
Cherished from infancy with tenderest care,
A precious only daughter was the bride;
And when that young protector’s arm she took,
She for the first time left her parents’ side.
With all a woman’s tender, trustful heart,
She gave herself away to him she loved;
Why should she not, was he not all her own,
A choice by friends and parents too approved?
How rapidly with him the days now fly,
With him the partner of her future life;
Happy and joyous as a child she’d been,
Happy as daughter, happier still as wife.
But ere eight months in quick succession passed,
One to each human heart a dreaded foe,
Entered her house, and by a single stroke,
Blasted her hopes, and laid her idol low.
Three months of bitter anguish was endured,
But hope again revived, and she was blest,
When pressing to her heart a darling child,
Whose little head she pillowed on her breast.
Not long is she permitted to enjoy,
This sweetest bud of promise to her given;
Short as an angel’s visit was its stay,
When God, who gave it, took it up to heaven.
Ah, what a contrast one short year presents!
Replete with happiness—replete with woe;
In that brief space, a maiden called, and wife,
Widow and mother written—childless too.
Surely my friend, I need not say to thee,
Look not to earth for what it can’t bestow;
’Tis at the best a frail and brittle reed,
Which trusting for support, will pierce thee through.
Then let us look above this fleeting earth,
To heaven and heavenly joys direct our eyes;
No lasting happiness this world affords—
“He builds too low who builds below the skies.”
Weston, Dec. 1, 1852.
Lines.
“They will not frame their doings to turn unto their God. Hosea, 5:4.”
I would frame all my doings to please thee, my God!
’Tis from thee all my mercies proceed;
I would frame all my doings to serve thee, my God!
For thy service is freedom indeed.
I would frame all my doings to please thee, my God!
But how feeble my best efforts are;
Ah! how needful for me is thy chastening rod,
And a proof of thy fatherly care.
I would frame all my doings to serve thee, my God!
But my goodness extends not to thee;
And when on well doing I’m fully intent,
Alas! evil is present with me.
My Creator, Preserver, Redeemer and King,
I would tax all my powers to obey;
But to Him let me look for the help that I need,
Who is the life, the light, and the way.
Weston, Jan. 21, 1853.
“Take no thought for the morrow.”
Take no thought for the morrow, the Saviour hath said,
And he spake as ne’er man spake before;
“He carried our sorrows,” “was acquainted with grief,”
And knew well what the heart could endure.
Let the morrow take care for the things of itself,
And not by its weight crush thee down;
Sufficient to-day is the evil thereof,
Let the ills of to-morrow alone.
Neither boast of to-morrow, for what is thy life,
But a vapor that floateth away;
Like a tale quickly told, or a dream of the night,
That departs at the breaking of day.
Be not like the man who once said in his heart,
“I have goods that are laid by for years;”
But scarce had he planned how they best might be stored,
When he dies and leaves all to his heirs.
Neither dread then, nor boast of to-morrow, my soul,
But make most of the time that’s now given;
Be the ground well prepared, with good seed sown thereon,
And ’twill yield a rich harvest in heaven.
Jan. 24, 1853.
Reminiscences of the Departed.
His mission soon accomplished,
His race on earth soon run,
He passed to realms of glory,
Above the rising sun.
So beautiful that infant,
When in death’s arms he lay;
It seemed like peaceful slumber,
That morn might chase away.
But morning light was powerless,
Those eyelids to unclose;
And sunshine saw and left him,
In undisturbed repose.
The light of those blue orbs
That drank the sunbeams in,
Now yields to night, and darkness
Holds undisputed reign.
That little form so graceful,
The light brown chestnut hair;
Those half formed words when uttered,
That face so sweet and fair;
All, all his ways so winning,
Were impotent to save
His life, when called to yield it
By Him that life who gave.
So soon his voyage ended,
The passage home so short,
Before he knew of evil,
He entered safe the port.
Since thee, my child, I saw,
Long years have passed away;
Thy mother’s hair then brown,
Now’s intermixed with gray.
Another link’s been broken,
By death’s relentless hand;
A daughter has been taken,
The eldest of the band.
Thy little lamp of life,
Was put out in a day;
But hers was years expiring,
By slow yet sure decay.
But one short year of life,
Was all allotted thee;
But she, thy eldest sister,
Was many years spared me.
And though long since we parted,
On earth to meet no more;
I’d think of thee as children
“Not lost, but gone before.”
Feb. 20, 1853.
“Let me die the death of the righteous.”
By the river Euphrates the prophet abode,
To whom Balak his messengers sent,
Entreating his presence and curses on those
Who on Moab’s destruction were bent.
By hundreds of thousands they’re marching along,
And by Moses, God’s servant, they’re led;
The rock for their thirst, cooling water supplies,
And with bread from the skies are they fed.
They are felling the nations like trees on their way,
And their power there is none can resist;
“Come, curse me this people, oh! Balaam, I pray,
For he whom thou cursest is curst.”
With rich bribes in their hands have these messengers come,
Both from Moab and Midian are they;
Desiring the Prophet with them would return,
And this without any delay.
But the men are requested to stop over night,
That the will of the Lord he may learn;
And then if by Him he’s permitted to go,
He’ll accompany them on their return.
Now when earth her dark mantle of night had put on,
And men’s eyes in deep slumber were sealed;
In that solemn hour was the voice of God heard,
And his will to the Prophet revealed.
“Thou shalt not go with them!” distinctly was said,
“Nor to curse the Lord’s people presume;”
So the Princes of Moab returned as they came,
And left Balaam reluctant at home.
Again unto Balaam were messages sent,
More in number, in rank higher still,
With the promise if Balak’s request he would grant,
He may ask and receive what he will.
But Balaam declared that if Balak would give
Him his house full of silver and gold,
The word of the Lord he could not go beyond,
To do more or do less than he’s told.
Still the bait was quite tempting, and Balaam was weak,
And wicked he certainly proved;
E’en the Ass that he rode, that man’s conduct condemned,
Who the gains of unrighteousness loved.
In the country of Moab at length he arrives,
And King Balak hath met face to face,
Who requests that with him a high hill he’d ascend,
And the Israelites curse from that place.
Three times seven altars were raised to the Lord,
And three times was the sacrifice made;
But the curse was withheld, for whom God pronounced blest,
Even Balaam to curse was afraid.
Poor Balaam, thy case is a hard one indeed;
Like a house that’s divided thou art;
Both thy Maker and Mammon thou gladly would’st serve,
But the former requires thy whole heart.
“Let me die the death of the righteous,” say’st thou,
“And my last end like his let it be;”
But if like the righteous unwilling to live,
Never hope like the righteous to die.
March 24, 1853.
Though life is young, and spirits gay,
And hope thy fond heart cheers;
Though friends are kind, and health is firm,
And death far off appears,
Yet think not happiness like this,
Is destined long to last;
For ere to-morrow morn, perhaps,
Thy sky may be o’ercast.
Ah! let not pleasure blind thy eyes,
Or flattery lure thy heart;
But in the morning of thy life,
Secure the better part.
March 29, 1853.
The Great Physician.
“And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.
“That whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life.”
St. John, 3:14, 15.
What means that cry of anguish,
That strikes the distant ear;
The loud and piercing wailing,
In desert wilds we hear?
From Israel’s camp it cometh,
For Israel hath rebelled;
And these are cries of anguish,
By wrath of God impelled.
It is no common sorrow,
Extorts that bitter groan;
’Tis from the broken hearted,
And caused by sin alone.
Lo! in the far off desert,
Upon that tented ground,
Are many hundred thousands
Of weary travellers found.
In desert of Arabia,
Near forty years they roam;
And soon they are to enter
“Canaan their happy home.”
But come with me and visit
A people so distressed;
They are the seed that Jacob
When dying pronounced blessed.
We’ll draw aside the curtain
Of tent that’s nearest by;
Ah! what a mournful picture
For stranger’s curious eye.
See on that couch reclining,
A young and lovely girl,
With brow and neck half shaded.
By many a clustering curl.
She was an only daughter,
Nurtured with tenderest care;
The idol of her parents,
And fairest of the fair.
In bloom of youth and beauty,
But yesterday she shone;
And her fond parents thought her
A mine of wealth unknown.
She seems like one that sleepeth,
But there’s no sign of breath;
And coil’d ’neath her arm a serpent,
Whose bite is certain death.
Yet not alone the mourners
In this sad tent are found;
Shriek after shriek is echoed
For many miles around.
The mother, too, is bitten,
With infant in her arms;
And sire, in strength of manhood;
And bride, with all her charms.
But see on pole suspended,
A serpent now appears;
And hark! what blissful tidings
Salute the mourner’s ears.
For every one that’s bitten,
A remedy is found;
However bad the case is,
However deep the wound.
If but one spark remaineth
Of life in any soul,
Just look upon this serpent,
That look will make thee whole.
But there’s a wound that’s deeper
Than fiery serpent gave;
And bite that’s doubly fatal,
It kills beyond the grave.
And there’s a great physician,
That e’en this wound may cure;
And those to him applying,
May life and health secure.
The broken heart he healeth,
He cures the sin-sick soul;
And all who will behold him,
May look and be made whole.
“I am the way!” he crieth;
“And all who will may come,
I’ll pardon their transgression,
And safe conduct them home.
“To cleanse from all pollution,
My blood doth freely flow;
And sins, though red as scarlet,
Shall be as white as snow.
“Thy ransom to pay for thee,
E’en my own life it cost;
And he such love that slighteth,
Forever shall be lost.”
April 14, 1853.
To my Niece, Mrs. M.A. Caldwell.
When days are dark and spirits low,
And hope desponding stands,
What comfort these few words bestow,
“My times are in thy hands.”
That thought should every fear allay,
And every cloud dispel;
For we are in the hands of One
Who “doeth all things well.”
He clothes the lily of the field,
Paints the gay tulip’s leaf,
Hears the young ravens when they cry,
And hastes to their relief.
That little sparrow in thy path,
He noticed when it fell;
Numbereth the hairs upon thy head,
And “doeth all things well.”
Then say not when with cares oppressed,
He hath forsaken me;
For had thy father loved thee less,
Would he so chasten thee?
A friend he takes, a Husband too,
A Child, with him to dwell;
Selects the day, the place, the hour—
“He doeth all things well.”
His power is heard when thunders roll,
Felt when the cold wind blows,
Seen in the vivid lightning’s flash,
And in the blushing rose.
He cares for monarch on his throne,
For hermit in his cell,
For sailor on the mighty deep—
“He doeth all things well.”
He raiseth one to high estate,
He brings another low;
This year an empire doth create
The next may overthrow.
What he may plan for you or me,
While here on earth we dwell,
We know not—but of this I’m sure,
“He doeth all things well.”
Weston, April 18, 1853.