Poems with Power to Strengthen the Soul

by Unknown

GOD'S PRESENCE

But God is never so far off

As even to be near.

He is within; our spirit is

The home he holds most dear.

To think of him as by our side

Is almost as untrue

As to remove his throne beyond

Those skies of starry blue.

So all the while I thought myself

Homeless, forlorn, and weary,

Missing my joy, I walked the earth,

Myself God's sanctuary.

I come to thee once more, my God!

No longer will I roam;

For I have sought the wide world through

And never found a home.

Though bright and many are the spots

Where I have built a nest—

Yet in the brightest still I pined

For more abiding rest.

For thou hast made this wondrous soul

All for thyself alone;

Ah! send thy sweet transforming grace

To make it more thine own.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

GOD IS MINE

If God is mine then present things

And things to come are mine;

Yea, Christ, his word, and Spirit, too,

And glory all divine.

If he is mine then from his love

He every trouble sends;

All things are working for my good,

And bliss his rod attends.

If he is mine I need not fear

The rage of earth and hell;

He will support my feeble power,

Their utmost force repel.

If he is mine let friends forsake,

Let wealth and honor flee;

Sure he who giveth me himself

Is more than these to me.

If he is mine I'll boldly pass

Through death's tremendous vale;

He is a solid comfort when

All other comforts fail.

Oh! tell me, Lord, that thou art mine;

What can I wish beside?

My soul shall at the fountain live,

When all the streams are dried.

———

A PRESENT SAVIOUR

I have thee every hour,

Most gracious Lord,

That tender voice of thine

Doth peace afford.

I have thee every hour,

Thou stay'st near by;

Temptations lose their power

Since thou art nigh.

I have thee every hour,

In joy and pain;

With me thou dost abide,

And life is gain.

I have thee every hour,

Teach me thy will;

All thy rich promises

Thou dost fulfill.

I have thee every hour,

Most Holy One,

And I am thine indeed,

Thou blessed Son.

—Annie S. Hawks, altered by J. M.

———

THE THOUGHT OF GOD

The thought of God, the thought of thee,

Who liest near my heart,

And yet beyond imagined space

Outstretched and present art—

The thought of thee, above, below,

Around me and within,

Is more to me than health and wealth,

Or love of kith and kin.

The thought of God is like the tree

Beneath whose shade I lie

And watch the fleet of snowy clouds

Sail o'er the silent sky.

'Tis like that soft invading light

Which in all darkness shines,

The thread that through life's somber web

In golden pattern twines.

It is a thought which ever makes

Life's sweetest smiles from tears,

It is a daybreak to our hopes,

A sunset to our fears.

Within a thought so great, our souls

Little and modest grow,

And, by its vastness awed, we learn

The art of walking slow.

The wild flower on the grassy mound

Scarce bends its pliant form

When overhead the autumnal wood

Is thundering like a storm.

So is it with our humbled souls,

Down in the thought of God,

Scarce conscious in their sober peace

Of the wild storms abroad.

To think of thee is almost prayer,

And is outspoken praise;

And pain can even passive thoughts

To actual worship raise.

All murmurs lie inside thy will

Which are to thee addressed;

To suffer for thee is our work,

To think of thee, our rest.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

Let thy sweet presence light my way,

And hallow every cross I bear;

Transmuting duty, conflict, care,

Into love's service day by day.

———

OUR HEAVENLY FATHER

My God, how wonderful thou art,

Thy majesty how bright,

How beautiful thy mercy seat

In depths of burning light!

How dread are thine eternal years,

O everlasting Lord,

By prostrate spirits, day and night,

Incessantly adored.

How beautiful, how beautiful

The sight of thee must be,

Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,

And awful purity!

O how I fear thee, living God!

With deepest, tenderest fears,

And worship thee with trembling hope

And penitential tears.

Yet I may love thee too, O Lord!

Almighty as thou art,

For thou hast stooped to ask of me

The love of this poor heart.

Oh, then, this worse than worthless heart

In pity deign to take,

And make it love thee for thyself,

And for thy glory's sake.

No earthly father loves like thee,

No mother half so mild

Bears and forbears, as thou hast done

With me, thy sinful child.

Only to sit and think of God,

O what a joy it is!

To think the thought, to breathe the name—

Earth has no higher bliss.

Father of Jesus, love's Reward!

What rapture will it be,

Prostrate before thy throne to lie

And gaze, and gaze on thee!

—Frederick William Faber.

———

RULES FOR DAILY LIFE

Begin the day with God:

Kneel down to him in prayer;

Lift up thy heart to his abode

And seek his love to share.

Open the Book of God,

And read a portion there;

That it may hallow all thy thoughts

And sweeten all thy care.

Go through the day with God,

Whate'er thy work may be;

Where'er thou art—at home, abroad,

He still is near to thee.

Converse in mind with God;

Thy spirit heavenward raise;

Acknowledge every good bestowed,

And offer grateful praise.

Conclude the day with God:

Thy sins to him confess;

Trust in the Lord's atoning blood,

And plead his righteousness.

Lie down at night with God,

Who gives his servants sleep;

And when thou tread'st the vale of death

He will thee guard and keep.

———

HE FILLS ALL

All are but parts of one stupendous whole;

Whose body nature is, and God the soul;

That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;

Great in the earth as in th' ethereal frame;

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,

Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees;

Lives through all life, extends through all extent,

Spreads undivided, operates unspent;

Breathes in our souls, informs our mortal part,

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;

As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,

As the rapt seraph that adores and burns.

To him no high, no low, no great, no small,

He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

* * * * * * *

All nature is but art, unknown to thee;

All chance, direction which thou canst not see;

All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good;

And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,

One truth is clear—whatever is, is right.

—Alexander Pope.

———

THE PRESENCE

I sit within my room and joy to find

That thou who always lov'st art with me here;

That I am never left by thee behind,

But by thyself thou keep'st me ever near.

The fire burns brighter when with thee I look,

And seems a kindlier servant sent to me;

With gladder heart I read thy holy book,

Because thou art the eyes with which I see;

This aged chair, that table, watch, and door

Around in ready service ever wait;

Nor can I ask of thee a menial more

To fill the measure of my large estate;

For thou thyself, with all a Father's care,

Where'er I turn art ever with me there.

—Jones Very.

———

BLESSED THOUGHT OF GOD

One thought I have—my ample creed,

So deep it is and broad,

And equal to my every need—

It is the thought of God.

Each morn unfolds some fresh surprise,

I feast at life's full board;

And rising in my inner skies,

Shines forth the thought of God.

At night my gladness is my prayer;

I drop my daily load,

And every care is pillowed there

Upon the thought of God.

I ask not far before to see,

But take in trust my road;

Life, death, and immortality,

Are in my thought of God.

To this their secret strength they owed

The martyr's path who trod;

The fountains of their patience flowed

From out their thought of God.

Be still the light upon my way,

My pilgrim staff and rod,

My rest by night, my strength by day,

O blessed thought of God.

—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

———

EVENTIDE

At cool of day with God I walk

My garden's grateful shade;

I hear his voice among the trees,

And I am not afraid.

I see his presence in the night—

And though my heart is awed

I do not quail before the sight

Or nearness of my God.

He speaks to me in every wind,

He smiles from every star;

He is not deaf to me, nor blind,

Nor absent, nor afar.

His hand, that shuts the flowers to sleep,

Each in its dewy fold,

Is strong my feeble life to keep,

And competent to hold.

I cannot walk in darkness long,

My light is by my side;

I cannot stumble or go wrong

While following such a guide.

He is my stay and my defense;

How shall I fail or fall?

My helper is Omnipotence!

My ruler ruleth all!

The powers below and powers above

Are subject to his care;

I cannot wander from his love

Who loves me everywhere.

Thus dowered, and guarded thus, with him

I walk this peaceful shade,

I hear his voice among the trees,

And I am not afraid.

—Caroline Atherton Mason.

———

From cellar unto attic all is clean:

Nothing there is that need evade the eye;

All the dark places, by the world unseen,

Are as well ordered as what open lie.

Ah! souls are houses; and to keep them well,

Nor, spring and autumn, mourn their wretched plight,

To daily toil must vigilance compel,

Right underneath God's scrutinizing light.

———

SAINTSHIP

To heaven approached a Sufi saint,

From groping in the darkness late,

And, tapping timidly and faint,

Besought admission at God's gate.

Said God, "Who seeks to enter here?"

"'Tis I, dear Friend," the saint replied,

And trembling much with hope and fear.

"If it be thou, without abide."

Sadly to earth the poor saint turned,

To bear the scourging of life's rods;

But aye his heart within him yearned

To mix and lose its love in God's.

He roamed alone through weary years,

By cruel men still scorned and mocked,

Until from faith's pure fires and tears

Again he rose, and modest knocked.

Asked God: "Who now is at the door?"

"It is thyself, beloved Lord,"

Answered the saint, in doubt no more,

But clasped and rapt in his reward.

—From the Persian, tr. by William Rounseville Alger.

———

OPEN THOU OUR EYES

(Luke 24. 15)

And he drew near and talked with them,

But they perceived him not,

And mourned, unconscious of that light,

The gloom, the darkness, and the night

That wrapt his burial spot.

Wearied with doubt, perplexed and sad,

They knew nor help nor guide;

While he who bore the secret key

To open every mystery,

Unknown was by their side.

Thus often when we feel alone,

Nor help nor comfort near,

'Tis only that our eyes are dim,

Doubting and sad we see not him

Who waiteth still to hear.

"The darkness gathers overhead,

The morn will never come."

Did we but raise our downcast eyes,

In the white-flushing eastern skies

Appears the glowing sun.

In all our daily joys and griefs

In daily work and rest,

To those who seek him Christ is near,

Our bliss to calm, to soothe our care,

In leaning on his breast.

Open our eyes, O Lord, we pray,

To see our way, our Guide;

That by the path that here we tread,

We, following on, may still be led

In thy light to abide.

———

MAN

My God, I heard this day

That none doth build a stately habitation

But he that means to dwell therein.

What house more stately hath there been,

Or can be, than is man? to whose creation

All things are in decay.

More servants wait on man

Than he'll take notice of: in every path

He treads down that which doth befriend him,

When sickness makes him pale and wan.

O mighty love! man is one world, and hath

Another to attend him.

For us the winds do blow,

The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow;

Nothing we see but means our good,

As our delight or as our treasure;

The whole is either cupboard of our food,

Or cabinet of pleasure.

The stars have us to bed;

Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;

Music and light attend our head;

All things unto our flesh are kind

In their descent and being; to our mind,

In their ascent and cause.

Since then, my God, thou hast

So brave a palace built, O dwell in it

That it may dwell with thee at last.

Till then, afford us so much wit

That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,

And both thy servants be.

—George Herbert.

———

EVER WITH THEE

I am with thee, my God—

Where I desire to be:

By day, by night, at home, abroad,

I always am with thee.

With thee when dawn comes on

And calls me back to care,

Each day returning to begin

With thee, my God, in prayer.

With thee amid the crowd

That throngs the busy mart;

I hear thy voice, when time's is loud,

Speak softly to my heart.

With thee when day is done

And evening calms the mind;

The setting as the rising sun

With thee my heart shall find.

With thee when darkness brings

The signal of repose;

Calm in the shadow of thy wings

Mine eyelids gently close.

With thee, in thee, by faith

Abiding I shall be;

By day, by night, in life, in death,

I always am with thee.

—James D. Burns, altered by J. M.

———

SELF-EXAMINATION

By all means use sometime to be alone.

Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.

Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own;

And tumble up and down what thou findst there.

Who cannot rest till he good fellows find,

He breaks up homes, turns out of doors his mind.

Sum up by night what thou hast done by day;

And in the morning, what thou hast to do.

Dress and undress thy soul; mark the decay

And growth of it; if, with thy watch, that too

Be down, then wind up both; since we shall be

Most surely judged, make thy accounts agree.

—George Herbert.

———

"SHOW ME THY FACE"

Show me thy face—

One transient gleam

Of loveliness divine

And I shall never think or dream

Of other love save thine.

All lesser light will darken quite,

All lower glories wane;

The beautiful of earth will scarce

Seem beautiful again!

Show me thy face—

My faith and love

Shall henceforth fixèd be,

And nothing here have power to move

My soul's serenity.

My life shall seem a trance, a dream,

And all I feel and see

Illusive, visionary—thou

The one reality.

Show me thy face—

I shall forget

The weary days of yore;

The fretting ghosts of vain regret

Shall haunt my soul no more;

All doubts and fears for future years

In quiet rest subside,

And naught but blest content and calm

Within my breast reside.

Show me thy face—

The heaviest cross

Will then seem light to bear;

There will be gain in every loss,

And peace with every care.

With such light feet

The years will fleet,

Life seem as brief as blest,

Till I have laid my burden down

And entered into rest.

Show me thy face—

And I shall be

In heart and mind renewed;

With wisdom, grace, and energy

To work thy work endued.

Shine clear, though pale,

Behind the veil

Until, the veil removed,

In perfect glory I behold

The Face that I have loved!

———

I stand in the great Forever,

All things to me are divine;

I eat of the heavenly manna,

I drink of the heavenly wine.

———

LISTENING FOR GOD

I hear it often in the dark,

I hear it in the light:

Where is the voice that calls to me

With such a quiet might?

It seems but echo to my thought,

And yet beyond the stars;

It seems a heart-beat in a hush,

And yet the planet jars.

O may it be that, far within

My inmost soul, there lies

A spirit-sky that opens with

Those voices of surprise?

And can it be, by night and day,

That firmament serene

Is just the heaven where God himself,

The Father, dwells unseen?

O God within, so close to me

That every thought is plain,

Be judge, be friend, be Father still,

And in thy heaven reign!

Thy heaven is mine, my very soul!

Thy words are sweet and strong;

They fill my inward silences

With music and with song.

They send me challenges to right,

And loud rebuke my ill;

They ring my bells of victory,

They breathe my "Peace, be still!"

They even seem to say: "My child,

Why seek me so all day?

Now journey inward to thyself,

And listen by the way."

—William C. Gannett.

———

ALLAH'S HOUSE

Nanac the faithful, pausing once to pray,

From holy Mecca turned his face away;

A Moslem priest who chanced to see him there,

Forgetful of the attitude in prayer,

Cried "Infidel, how durst thou turn thy feet

Toward Allah's house—the sacred temple seat?"

To whom the pious Nanac thus replied:

"Knowest thou God's house is, as the world is, wide?

Then, turn thee, if thou canst, toward any spot

Where mighty Allah's awful house is not."

—Frank Dempster Sherman.

———

IF THE LORD SHOULD COME

If the Lord should come in the morning,

As I went about my work—

The little things and the quiet things

That a servant cannot shirk,

Though nobody ever sees them,

And only the dear Lord cares

That they always are done in the light of the sun—

Would he take me unawares?

If my Lord should come at noonday—

The time of the dust and heat,

When the glare is white and the air is still

And the hoof-beats sound in the street;

If my dear Lord came at noonday,

And smiled in my tired eyes,

Would it not be sweet his look to meet?

Would he take me by surprise?

If my Lord came hither at evening,

In the fragrant dew and dusk,

When the world drops off its mantle

Of daylight, like a husk,

And flowers, in wonderful beauty,

And we fold our hands in rest,

Would his touch of my hand, his low command,

Bring me unhoped-for zest?

Why do I ask and question?

He is ever coming to me,

Morning and noon and evening,

If I have but eyes to see.

And the daily load grows lighter,

The daily cares grow sweet,

For the Master is near, the Master is here,

I have only to sit at his feet.

—Margaret Elizabeth Sangster.

———

The day is long and the day is hard;

We are tired of the march and of keeping guard;

Tired of the sense of a fight to be won,

Of days to live through, and of work to be done;

Tired of ourselves and of being alone.

And all the while, did we only see,

We walk in the Lord's own company;

We fight, but 'tis he who nerves our arm;

He turns the arrows which else might harm,

And out of the storm he brings a calm.

—Susan Coolidge.

———

COME TO ME

Come to me, come to me, O my God;

Come to me everywhere.

Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,

And the water and the air.

For thou art so far that I often doubt,

As on every side I stare,

Searching within and looking without,

If thou canst be anywhere.

How did men find thee in days of old?

How did they grow so sure?

They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold,

They suffered and kept themselves pure.

But now they say—neither above the sphere

Nor down in the heart of man,

But only in fancy, ambition, and fear,

The thought of thee began.

If only that perfect tale were true

Which ages have not made old,

Of the endless many makes one anew,

And simplicity manifold!

But he taught that they who did his word,

The truth of it sure would know;

I will try to do it—if he be Lord

Again the old faith will glow.

Again the old spirit-wind will blow

That he promised to their prayer;

And obeying the Son, I too shall know

His Father everywhere.

—George Macdonald.

———

Out of the hardness of heart and of will

Out of the longings which nothing could fill;

Out of the bitterness, madness, and strife,

Out of myself and all I called life,

Into the having of all things with Him!

Into an ecstacy full to the brim!

Wonderful loveliness, draining my cup!

Wonderful purpose that ne'er gave me up!

Wonderful patience, enduring and strong!

Wonderful glory to which I belong!

———

IF I HIM BUT HAVE

If I Him but have,

If he be but mine—

If my heart, hence to the grave,

Ne'er forgets his love divine—

Know I naught of sadness,

Feel I naught but worship, love, and gladness.

If I Him but have,

Glad with all I part;

Follow on my pilgrim staff,

My Lord, only, with true heart;

Leave them, nothing saying,

On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying.

If I Him but have,

Glad I fall asleep;

Aye the flood that his heart gave

Strength within my heart shall keep;

And with soft compelling

Make it tender, through and through it swelling.

If I Him but have,

Mine the world I hail!

Glad as cherub smiling, grave,

Holding back the Virgin's veil.

Sunk and lost in seeing,

Earthly cares have died from all my being.

Where I have but Him

Is my Fatherland,

And all gifts and graces come

Heritage into my hand;

Brothers long deplored

I in his disciples find restored.

—George Macdonald.

———

Quiet from God! How beautiful to keep

This treasure the All-merciful hath given;

To feel, when we awake or when we sleep,

Its incense round us like a breath from heaven.

To sojourn in the world, and yet apart;

To dwell with God, and still with man to feel;

To bear about forever in the heart

The gladness which his spirit doth reveal.

—Sarah J. Williams.

———

HIS CHOSEN ONES

Some souls there are, beloved of God,

Who, following where the saints have trod,

Learn such surrender of the will

They seem insensible of ill.

Yet, finely strung and sensitive,

They live far more than others live,

And grief's and pain's experience

Must be to them far more intense.

O mystery—that such can know

A life impregnable to woe!

O paradox that God alone

In secret proveth to his own!

It must be that supremest grace

So nerves them for the heavenly race

Their litanies are turned to psalms,

Their crosses, even here, to palms.

—Harriet McEwen Kimball.

———

When, courting slumber,

The hours I number,

And sad cares cumber

My weary mind,

This thought shall cheer me:

That thou art near me,

Whose ear to hear me

Is still inclined.

My soul thou keepest,

Who never sleepest;

'Mid gloom the deepest

There's light above;

Thine eyes behold me,

Thine arms enfold me;

Thy word has told me

That God is love.

———

We are not angels, but we may

Down in earth's corners kneel,

And multiply sweet acts of love,

And murmur what we feel.

—Frederick William Faber.

———

Through thee, meseems, the very rose is red,

From thee the violet steals its breath in May,

From thee draw life all things that grow not gray,

And by thy force the happy stars are sped.

—James Russell Lowell.

———

COME TO US, LORD

Come to us, Lord, as the daylight comes

When the darkling night has gone,

And the quickened East is tremulous

With the thrill of the wakened dawn.

Come to us, Lord, as the tide comes on

With the waves from the distant sea;

Come, till our desert places smile,

And our souls are filled with thee.

———

There are in this loud, stunning tide

Of human care and crime,

With whom the melodies abide

Of th' everlasting chime!

Who carry music in their heart

Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,

Plying their daily task with busier feet

Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.

—John Keble.

———

Earth's crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God;

But only he who sees takes off his shoes.

The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries,

And daub their natural faces unaware

More and more from the first similitude.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

———

O Name all other names above,

What art thou not to me,

Now I have learned to trust thy love

And cast my care on thee!

The thought of thee all sorrow calms;

Our anxious burdens fall;

His crosses turn to triumph palms

Who finds in God his all.

—Frederick Lucian Hosmer.

———

Far off thou art, but ever nigh,

I have thee still, and I rejoice,

I prosper circled with thy voice;

I shall not lose thee though I die.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Let the Loved One but smile on this poor heart of mine,

I will sell the two worlds for one drop of his wine.

—From the Persian.

———

CONFIDENCE

Thy presence, Lord, the place doth fill,

My heart is now thy throne,

Thy holy, just and perfect will

Now in my flesh is done.

My steadfast soul, from falling free,

Doth now no longer rove,

For Christ is all the world to me

And all my heart is love.

—Charles Wesley, altered by J. M.

———

Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sin

Forbids us to descry

The mystic heaven and earth within

Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou who hast given me eyes to see

And love this sight so fair,

Give me a heart to find out thee,

And read thee everywhere.

—John Keble.

———

Speak to him, thou, for he hears,

And spirit with spirit can meet;

Closer is he than breathing,

And nearer than hands and feet.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Heaven above is softer blue,

Earth around is sweeter green,

Something lives in every hue

Christless eyes have never seen.

Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,

Flowers with deeper beauties shine;

Since I knew, as now I know,

I am his and he is mine.

———

Unheard, because our ears are dull,

Unseen, because our eyes are dim,

He walks the earth, the Wonderful,

And all good deeds are done to him.

—John Greenleaf Whittier.

———

Where'er I look one Face alone I see,

With every attribute of beauty in it blent;

Still, still the Godhead's face entrances me,

Yielding transcendency of all that can be spent.

—From the Persian.

———

IMMANENCE

Not only in the cataract and the thunder

Or in the deeps of man's uncharted soul,

But in the dew-star dwells alike the wonder

And in the whirling dust-mite the control.

—Charles G. D. Roberts.

———

'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours

And ask them what report they bore to heaven.

—Edward Young.

———

A governed heart, thinking no thought but good,

Makes crowded houses holy solitude.

—Edwin Arnold.

———

But where will God be absent; in his face

Is light, and in his shadow healing, too.

—Robert Browning.

———

And good may ever conquer ill,

Health walk where pain has trod;

"As a man thinketh, so is he";

Rise, then, and think with God.

———

God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice,

For, if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet his voice.

—Alfred Tennyson.

———

Whatever road I take, it joins the street

Which leadeth all who walk it thee to meet.

———

O work thy works in God.

He can rejoice in naught

Save only in himself

And what himself hath wrought.

———

To live, to live, is life's great joy; to feel

The living God within—to look abroad,

And, in the beauty that all things reveal,

Still meet the living God.

—Robert Leighton.

---