I thirst, but earth cannot allay
The fever coursing through my veins,
The healing stream is far away--
It flows through Salem's lovely plains.
The murmurs of its crystal flow
Break ever o'er this world of strife;
My heart is weary, let me go,
To bathe it in the stream of life;
For many worn and weary hearts
Have bathed in this pure healing stream,
And felt their griefs and cares depart,
E'en like some sad forgotten dream.
"The Word is nigh thee, even in thy heart."
Say not, within thy weary heart,
Who shall ascend above,
To bring unto thy fever'd lips
The fount of joy and love.
Nor do thou seek to vainly delve
Where death's pale angels tread,
To hear the murmur of its flow
Around the silent dead.
Within, in thee is one living fount,
Fed from the springs above;
There quench thy thirst till thou shalt bathe
In God's own sea of love.
I'M Tired Of Life
I'm tired, I'm tired of life, brother!
Of all that meets my eye;
And my weary spirit fain would pass
To worlds beyond the sky.
For there is naught on earth, brother,
For which I'd wish to live;
Not all the glittering gauds of wealth
One hour of peace can give.
I'm weary,--sick at heart, brother,
Of heartless pomp and show!
And ever comes some cloud to dim
The little joy I know.
This world is not the world, brother,
It seemed in days agone,
When I viewed it through the rainbow mists
Of childhood's rosy dawn.
I would not pain your heart, brother--
I know you love me well;
And that love is laid upon my soul,
E'en as a holy spell.
But I'm weary of this world, brother,
This world of sin and care;
And my spirit fluttereth to be free,
To mount the upper air!
I know not of the world, brother,
To which I wish to go;
And perhaps my soul may there awake
To know a deeper woe!
They say the pure of earth, brother,
Find there undying bliss;
While all the wicked ones are cast
Into a dark abyss!
I look upon the stars, brother,
That gem the vault of blue;
And when they tell me 'God is love,'
I feel it must be true;
For I see on all around, brother,
The impress of a hand
That blendeth and uniteth all
In one harmonious band.
I am that which I am, brother,
As the Creator made;
To _Him_, all-holy and all-pure,
No fault can e'er be laid.
He knows my weakness well, brother,
And I can trust his love
To bear me safe through Jordan's stream
To brighter worlds above.
Outcast from her home in Syria
In the lonely, dreary wild;
Heavy hearted, sorrow stricken,
Sat a mother and her child.
There was not a voice to cheer her
Not a soul to share her fate;
She was weary, he was fainting,
And life seemed so desolate.
Far away in sunny Egypt
Was lone Hagar's native land;
Where the Nile in kingly bounty
Scatters bread with gracious hand.
In the tents of princely Abram
She for years had found a home;
Till the stern decree of Sarah
Sent her forth the wild to roam.
Hour by hour she journeyed onward
From the shelter of their tent,
Till her footsteps slowly faltered
And the water all was spent;
Then she veiled her face in sorrow,
Feared her child would die of thirst
Till her eyes with tears so holden
Saw a sparkling fountain burst.
Oh! how happy was that mother,
What a soothing of her pain;
When she saw her child reviving,
Life rejoicing through each vein
Does not life repeat this story,
Tell it over day by day ?
Of the fountains of refreshment
Ever springing by our way.
Here is one by which we gather,
On this bright and happy day,
Just to bask beside a fountain
Making gladder life's highway.
Bringing unto hearts now aged
Who have borne life's burdens long,
Such a gift of love and mercy
As deserves our sweetest song.
Such a gift that even heaven
May rejoice with us below,
If the pure and holy angels
Join us in our joy and woe.
May the memory of the giver
In this home where age may rest,
Float like fragrance through the ages,
Ever blessing, ever blest. .
When the gates of pearl are opened
May we there this friend behold,
Drink with him from living fountains,
Walk with him the streets of gold.
When life's shattered cords of music
Shall again be sweetly sung;
Then our hearts with life immortal,
Shall be young, forever young.
Maceo dead! a thrill of sorrow
Through our hearts in sadness ran
When we felt in one sad hour
That the world had lost a man.
He had clasped unto his bosom
The sad fortunes of his land --
Held the cause for which he perished
With a firm, unfaltering hand.
On his lips the name of freedom
Fainted with his latest breath.
Cuba Libre was his watchword
Passing through the gates of death.
With the light of God around us,
Why this agony and strife?
With the cross of Christ before us,
Why this fearful waste of life?
Must the pathway unto freedom
Ever mark a crimson line,
And the eyes of wayward mortals
Always close to light divine?
Must the hearts of fearless valor
Fail 'mid crime and cruel wrong,
When the world has read of heroes
Brave and earnest, true and strong?
Men to stay the floods of sorrow
Sweeping round each war-crushed heart;
Men to say to strife and carnage --
From our world henceforth depart.
God of peace and God of nations,
Haste! oh, haste the glorious day
When the reign of our Redeemer
O'er the world shall have its sway.
When the swords now blood encrusted,
Spears that reap the battle field,
Shall be changed to higher service,
Helping earth rich harvests yield.
Where the widow weeps in anguish,
And the orphan bows his head,
Grant that peace and joy and gladness
May like holy angels tread.
Pity, oh, our God the sorrow
Of thy world from thee astray,
Lead us from the paths of madness
Unto Christ the living way.
Year by year the world grows weary
'Neath its weight of sin and strife,
Though the hands once pierced and bleeding
Offer more abundant life.
May the choral song of angels
Heard upon Judea's plain
Sound throughout the earth the tidings
Of that old and sweet refrain.
Till our world, so sad and weary,
Finds the balmy rest of peace --
Peace to silence all her discords --
Peace till war and crime shall cease.
Peace to fall like gentle showers,
Or on parchéd flowers dew,
Till our hearts proclaim with gladness:
Lo, He maketh all things new.
Moses: A Story Of The Nile (Extract)
Moses sought again the presence of the king:
And Pharaoh's brow grew dark with wrath,
And rising up in angry haste, he said
Defiantly, 'If thy God be great, show
Us some sign or token of his power.'
Then Moses threw his rod upon the floor,
And it trembled with a sign of life;
The dark wood glowed, then changed into a thing
Of glistening scales and golden rings, and green
And brown and purple stripes; a hissing, hateful
Thing, that glared its fiery eye, and darting forth
From Moses' side, lay coiled and panting
At the monarch's feet. With wonder open-eyed
The king gazed on the changed rod, then called
For his magicians — wily men, well versed
In sinful lore — and bade them do the same.
And they, leagued with the powers of night, did
Also change their rods to serpents; then Moses'
Serpent darted forth, and with a startling hiss
And angry gulp, he swallowed the living things
That coiled along his path. And thus did Moses
Show that Israel's God had greater power
Than those dark sons of night.
But not by this alone
Did God his mighty power reveal: He changed
Their waters; every fountain, well and pool
Was red with blood, and lips, all parched with thirst,
Shrank back in horror from the crimson draughts.
And then the worshiped Nile grew full of life:
Millions of frogs swarmed from the stream — they clogged
The pathway of the priests and filled the sacred
Fanes, and crowded into Pharaoh's bed, and hopped
Into his trays of bread, and slumbered in his
Ovens and his pans.
There came another plague, of loathsome vermin;
They were gray and creeping things, that made
Their very clothes alive with dark and sombre
Spots — things of loathsome in the land, they did
Suspend the service of the temple; for no priest
Dared to lift his hand to any god with one
Of those upon him. And then the sky grew
Dark, as if a cloud were passing o'er its
Changeless blue; a buzzing sound broke o'er
The city, and the land was swarmed with flies.
The Murrain laid their cattle low; the hail
Cut off the first fruits of the Nile; the locusts
With their hungry jaws, destroyed the later crops,
And left the ground as brown and bare as if a fire
Had scorched it through.
Then angry blains
And fiery boils did blur the flesh of man
And beast; and then for three long days, nor saffron
Tint, nor crimson flush, nor soft and silvery light
Divided day from morn, nor told the passage
Of the hours; men rose not from their seats, but sat
In silent awe. That lengthened night lay like a burden
On the air, — a darkness one might almost gather
In his hand, it was so gross and thick. Then came
The last dread plague — the death of the first born.