JORDAN.
And Lot lifted up his eyes and beheld all the plain of Jordan, that it was well watered every where.—Genesis, xiii. 10.
If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses? and if in the land of peace wherein thou trustedst, they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan.—Jeremiah, xii. 5.
Then went out to him Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region round about Jordan.
And were baptized of him in Jordan confessing their sins.—Matthew, iii. 5, 6.
The waters slept. Night’s silvery veil hung low
On Jordan’s bosom, and the eddies curled
Their glassy rings beneath it, like the still,
Unbroken beatings of the sleeper’s pulse.
The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves,
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide,
Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems,
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse,
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way
And leaned in graceful attitudes, to rest.
How strikingly the course of nature tells
By its light heed of human suffering
That it was fashioned for a happier world.
N. P. Willis.
Christian, behold the typic shade
Of that dim path prepared for thee—
Behold, in Jordan’s tide displayed,
Death’s overflowing sea.
But if thou still hast kept the Ark
Of God before thee as a mark,
Fear not the troubled waters dark,
Howe’er they rage, and chafe, and roar;
On that mysterious voyage embark,
And God will guide thee o’er.
J. H. Clinch.
When I tread the banks of Jordan
May my soul no tremblings know;
Be my Saviour near to guide me,
And uphold me as I go
Through the waters,
Fearing not their overflow.
Egone.
[JOY.]
Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.—Psalm xvi. 11.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.—Psalm xxx. 5.
And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.—John, xvi. 22.
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The soul’s calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.
Pope.
A Deity believed, is joy begun;
A Deity adored, is joy advanced;
A Deity beloved, is joy matured.
Each branch of piety delight inspires.
Young.
Words of eternal truth proclaim
All mortal joys are vain;
A diamond pen engraves the theme
Upon a mortal pane.
Watts.
When on some balmy-breathing night of spring
The happy child to whom the world is new,
Pursues the evening moth of mealy wing,
Or from the heath-bell shakes the sparkling dew,
He sees before his inexperienced eyes,
The brilliant glow-worm like a meteor shine
On the turf-bank, surprised, and pleased, he cries
“Star of the dewy grass! I make thee mine.”
Then, ere he sleeps, collects the moistened flower,
And bids soft leaves his glittering prize unfold,
And dreams that fairy lamps illume his bower;
But in the morning shudders to behold
His shining treasure viewless as the dust;
So fade the world’s bright joys to cold and blank disgust.
Charlotte Smith.
I see a forest, dark, dim, deep, and dread,
Whose solemn shades no human foot or eye
Can penetrate; but now, oh see! a veil
Falls from my strengthened eyes; and now
Even in its deepest centre I behold
A spot more beautiful than human heart
Can comprehend; it is the home of Joy,
And there the blessed spirit broods for ever,
Making her dwelling-place a heaven: there
The skies are pure as crystal, and the eye
Looks through their clear expanse direct to God.
No sun is there; the air itself is light
And life; a rainbow spans it like a crown
Of tearless glory, and the forest trees
Sweep round it in a belt of living green.
Colour, that wayward sprite of changeful mien,
Is here subdued to an intensity
Of burning lustre. Sound has but one voice,
And that joyous song; sight but one object,
And that is happiness; mine eyes are strained
To catch the lineaments of the bright queen,
Whose dwelling-place I see; but ’tis in vain;
Nowhere distinct, yet felt in all, she glides,
A shape of light and colour through the air,
Making its pure transparency to thrill
With the soft music of her viewless step.
C. L. Reddel.
Christ had His joys—but they were not
The joys the son of pleasure boasts—
O, no! ’twas when His Spirit sought
Thy will, Thy glory, God of hosts!
Christ had His joys—and so hath he,
Who feels His Spirit in his heart;
Who yields, O God, his all to Thee,
And loves Thy name, for what thou art!
Anon.
Joy dwells not in external things,
It hath an inner birth;
The sweetest bird in darkness sings,
And fairest flowers oft nurture stings,—
Such is our life on earth.
Then measure not by outward show
The depth of real joy;
The heart can o’er the darkest woe
A stream of sunlight softly throw,
Or purest bliss destroy.
W. J. Brock.