He is the ROSE OF SHARON—fairest flower
That perfume breathed through Eden's hallowed bower
The LILY OF THE VALLEY, pensive, fair,
With heavenly sweetness flooding all the air,—
Thrice sacred symbol, breathing evermore
Of Him whom angels cease not to adore!
Thou man of Science, who, with practised eye
And glance untiring sweep'st the starry sky,
Speeding in thought along those trackless ways,
Where planets burn and constellations blaze,
Leaving uncounted worlds behind thee far,—
Listen—"I am THE BRIGHT AND MORNING STAR!"
He says—and does not thought more gladly stray,
Where the meek herald of the rising day
Sits like a peaceful vestal bearing high
Her radiant urn on the soft eastern sky?—
Thence, rising, seek the Morning Star of Heaven,
Who to Night's myriad suns their light has given,
And, bowing low Light's sacred Fount before,
In wondering, reverential awe adore?
Soul, ever groping through the mists of time,
To find the path which leads to the sublime,
Still heights of God!—weak are thy steps and slow,
Yet there's a path no fowl of heaven doth know,—
No lion's whelp that secret way hath found,—
No eagle marked it from the heights profound,—
No human art, unhelped, discerned the road
That leadeth up to happiness and God!
Yet, anxious Soul! dost thou not hear Him say,
"Cease thy vain groping,—lo, I am the WAY,—
The way to God,—the one unerring Way?
All other paths will lend thy feet astray,
I only, WISDOM, am the path that lies
'Twixt man and God the Sovereign of the skies!"
Seeker of Truth!—long hast thou striven to find
This only boon that satisfies the mind
Through Nature's stores the treasure hast thou sought;
Hast traversed all the boundless fields of thought,
Questioned the lonely night, the laughing day,
The ocean-depths, the founts that ceaseless play,
Old hoary mountains, cliffs, and caverns lone,
Earth's secret depths—mysterious, unknown,
Asked of the past, the present, future, striven
To pierce the mysteries unrevealed of Heaven,
Yet weary and unsatisfied remained,
Longing for Truth, still far off, unattained,—
That truth which satisfies the anxious quest,
And with the attainment, bringeth perfect rest.
"I am the TRUTH!"—saith Christ,—O, wearied one!
Tired of thy fruitless search beneath the sun,
Accept this boon, so sacred, so divine,
In simple trust, and all thou seek'st is thine—
Truth that makes free,—that falsehood cannot dim,—
In full completeness all made thine in Him!
Lover of life! say, what wouldst thou not give,
To know that thou eternally shouldst live?
Is Death a thing from which to shrink with dread?
The dreary valley dost thou fear to tread?
What wouldst thou give to pierce the unknown Dark
That lies before thy feebly tossing bark.
And know what anchor in that unknown sea,
Or wreck disastrous, there awaiteth thee?
Dost trembling cling to this frail thread of life,
Through pain, and doubt, and weariness, and strife,
Rather than trust thy dimly groping hand
Its hold to fasten on that unknown land
Whence none return, its secrets to declare,
And tell what bliss or rum waits thee there?
Well mayst thou cling to Earth, unless thy ear
Opened has been, the voice from Heaven to hear,—
To hear the Christ, amid Earth's wearying strife,
Its toil and tumult, say "I am the LIFE!"
"I am THE LIFE!"—oh, then, undo thy clasp
On this frail-being, and with deathless grasp
Lay hold on Him, in whom, by whom alone,
The bliss of Life Eternal may be known!—
Failing in this, how deep must be the gloom—
The unpierced darkness of the lonely tomb!—
In this succeeding, what exultant day
O'er all thy future pours its blissful ray!
Is light a blessing?—He's the soul's clear LIGHT—
The blessed DAY-STAR, scattering the night!
Is peace the sweetest boon to mortals given?—
Jesus is PEACE made manifest from Heaven!
Is love the bond of life, beneath, above,
In Earth, or Heaven?—His highest name is LOVE!