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Read Ebook: Religious Poems by Stowe Harriet Beecher
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Ebook has 256 lines and 15082 words, and 6 pages
et concert with the Lord,-- One concert vast, sublime.
And through the hymns they sang on earth Sometimes a sweetness falls On those they loved and left below, And softly homeward calls,--
Bells from our own dear fatherland, Borne trembling o'er the sea,-- The narrow sea that they have crossed, The shores where we shall be.
O sing, sing on, beloved souls! Sing cares and griefs to rest; Sing, till entranc?d we arise To join you 'mong the blest.
THE OTHER WORLD.
IT lies around us like a cloud, A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be.
Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; Amid our worldly cares, Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers.
Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between With breathings almost heard.
The silence, awful, sweet, and calm, They have no power to break; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake.
So thin, so soft, so sweet, they glide, So near to press they seem, They lull us gently to our rest, They melt into our dream.
And in the hush of rest they bring 'Tis easy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be;--
To close the eye, and close the ear, Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And, gently drawn in loving arms, To swoon to that--from this,--
Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are, To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care.
Sweet souls around us! watch us still; Press nearer to our side; Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helpings glide.
Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream; Your joy be the reality, Our suffering life the dream.
MARY AT THE CROSS.
"Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."
O WONDROUS mother! since the dawn of time Was ever love, was ever grief, like thine? O highly favored in thy joy's deep flow, And favored, even in this, thy bitterest woe!
Poor was that home in simple Nazareth Where, fairly growing, like some silent flower, Last of a kingly race, unknown and lowly, O desert lily, passed thy childhood's hour.
The world knew not the tender, serious maiden, Who through deep loving years so silent grew, Full of high thought and holy aspiration, Which the o'ershadowing God alone might view.
And then it came, that message from the highest, Such as to woman ne'er before descended, The almighty wings thy prayerful soul o'erspread, And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.
What visions then of future glory filled thee, The chosen mother of that King unknown, Mother fulfiller of all prophecy Which, through dim ages, wondering seers had shown!
Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soul Rise into billows, and thy heart rejoice; Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's song, Tuned with strange burning words thy timid voice.
Then, in dark contrast, came the lowly manger, The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet; Again behold earth's learned and her lowly, Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.
Then to the temple bearing--hark again What strange conflicting tones of prophecy Breathe o'er the child foreshadowing words of joy, High triumph blent with bitter agony!
O, highly favored thou in many an hour Spent in lone musings with thy wondrous Son, When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye, And hold that mighty hand within thine own.
Blest through those thirty years, when in thy dwelling He lived a God disguised with unknown power; And thou his sole adorer, his best love, Trusting, revering, waited for his hour.
Blest in that hour, when called by opening heaven With cloud and voice, and the baptizing flame, Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger, And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.
Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned, He from both hands almighty favors poured, And, though He had not where to lay his head, Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.
Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!" Fast beat thy heart. Now, now the hour draws nigh: Behold the crown, the throne, the nations bend! Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die!
Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station, And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son; Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation, But with high, silent anguish, like his own.
Hail! highly favored, even in this deep passion; Hail! in this bitter anguish thou art blest,-- Blest in the holy power with Him to suffer Those deep death-pangs that lead to higher rest.
All now is darkness; and in that deep stillness The God-man wrestles with that mighty woe; Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending,-- "'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!
THE INNER VOICE.
"Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest awhile; for there were many coming and going, so that they had no time so much as to eat."
'MID the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion, Its jarring discords and poor vanity, Breathing like music over troubled waters, What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?
"Come, come," he saith, "O soul oppressed and weary, Come to the shadows of my desert rest, Come walk with me far from life's babbling discords, And peace shall breathe like music in thy breast.
"Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,-- Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife? Come, leave it all, and seek that solitude Where thou shalt learn of me a purer life.
"When far behind the world's great tumult dieth, Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar; But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream, Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er.
"There shalt thou learn the secret of a power, Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living; To overcome by love, to live by prayer, To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."
ABIDE IN ME, AND I IN YOU.
THE SOUL'S ANSWER.
Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee; From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore; Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed, The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.
Abide in me; o'ershadow by thy love Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin; Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire, And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.
As some rare perfume in a vase of clay Pervades it with a fragrance not its own, So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul, All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.
Abide in me: there have been moments blest When I have heard thy voice and felt thy power; Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed, Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.
These were but seasons, beautiful and rare; Abide in me, and they shall ever be. Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer,-- Come, and abide in me, and I in thee.
THE SECRET.
"Thou shalt keep them in the secret of thy presence from the strife of tongues."
WHEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, And billows wild contend with angry roar, 'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion, That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.
Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth, And silver waves chime ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, Disturbs the sabbath of that deeper sea.
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