God, whose love and joy are present everywhere

God, whose love and joy are present everywhere,
Can't come to visit you unless you aren't there.

English version by Gabriel Rosenstock
Original Language German

by Angelus Silesius.

The Remembrance Of The Good

THE remembrance of the Good
Keep us ever glad in mood.

The remembrance of the Fair
Makes a mortal rapture share.

The remembrance of one's Love
Blest Is, if it constant prove.

The remembrance of the One
Is the greatest joy that's known.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

The Joy Of Childhood

Down the dimpled green-sward dancing
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy,
Bud-lipt boys and girls advancing
Love's irregular little levy.

Rows of liquid eyes in laughter,
How they glimmer, how they quiver!
Sparkling one another after,
Like bright ripples on a river.

Tipsy band of rubious faces,
Flushed with joy's etheral spirit,
Make your mocks and sly grimaces
At Love's self, and do not fear it!

by George Darley.

A DRAGON-FLY with beauteous wing
Is hov'ring o'er a silv'ry spring;
I watch its motions with delight,--
Now dark its colours seem, now bright;
Chameleon-like appear, now blue,
Now red, and now of greenish hue.
Would it would come still nearer me,
That I its tints might better see

It hovers, flutters, resting ne'er!

But hush! it settles on the mead.
I have it safe now, I declare!

And when its form I closely view,

'Tis of a sad and dingy blue--
Such, Joy-Dissector, is thy case indeed

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

'Tis well you think me truly one of those,
Whose sense discerns the loveliness of things;
For surely as I feel the bird that sings
Behind the leaves, or dawn as it up grows,
Or the rich bee rejoicing as he goes,
Or the glad issue of emerging springs,
Or overhead the glide of a dove's wings,
Or turf, or trees, or, midst of all, repose.
And surely as I feel things lovelier still,
The human look, and the harmonious form
Containing woman, and the smile in ill,
And such a heart as Charles's, wise and warm,--
As surely as all this, I see, ev'n now,
Young Keats, a flowering laurel on your brow.

by James Henry Leigh Hunt.

The Thrush's Nest

Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush
That overhung a molehill large and round,
I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush
Sing hymns to sunrise, and I drank the sound
With joy; and often, an intruding guest,
I watched her secret toil from day to day -
How true she warped the moss to form a nest,
And modelled it within with wood and clay;
And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew,
There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers,
Ink-spotted over shells of greeny blue;
And there I witnessed, in the sunny hours,
A brood of nature's minstrels chirp and fly,
Glad as the sunshine and the laughing sky.

by John Clare.

Sonnet To A Friend

Friend of my earliest years and childish days,
My joys, my sorrows, thou with me hast shared,
Companion dear, and we alike have fared
(Poor pilgrims we) through life's unequal ways;
It were unwisely done, should we refuse
To cheer our path as featly as we may,
Our lonely path to cheer, as travellers use,
With merry song, quaint tale, or roundelay;
And we will sometimes talk past troubles o'er,
Of mercies shown, and all our sickness healed,
And in his judgments God remembering love;
And we will learn to praise God evermore
For those glad tidings of great joy revealed
By that sooth messenger sent from above.

by Charles Lamb.

IF to her eyes' bright lustre I were blind,
No longer would they serve my life to gild.
The will of destiny must be fulfilid,--
This knowing, I withdrew with sadden'd mind.
No further happiness I now could find:
The former longings of my heart were still'd;
I sought her looks alone, whereon to build
My joy in life,--all else was left behind.
Wine's genial glow, the festal banquet gay,
Ease, sleep, and friends, all wonted pleasures glad
I spurn'd, till little there remain'd to prove.
Now calmly through the world I wend my way:
That which I crave may everywhere be had,
With me I bring the one thing needful--love.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

To The Grasshopper And The Cricket

Green little vaulter in the sunny grass,
Catching your heart up at the feel of June,
Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon,
When even the bees lag at the summoning brass;
And you, warm little housekeeper, who class
With those who think the candles come too soon,
Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune
Nick the glad silent moments as they pass;
Oh sweet and tiny cousins, that belong
One to the fields, the other to the hearth,
Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong
At your clear hearts; and both were sent on earth
To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song:
Indoors and out, summer and winter,--Mirth.

by James Henry Leigh Hunt.

THE Sky-lark, when the dews of morn
Hang tremulous on flower and thorn,
And violets round his nest exhale
Their fragrance on the early gale,
To the first sunbeam spreads his wings,
Buoyant with joy, and soars, and sings.

He rests not on the leafy spray,
To warble his exulting lay,
But high above the morning cloud
Mounts in triumphant freedom proud,
And swells, when nearest to the sky,
His notes of sweetest ecstacy.

Thus, my Creator! thus the more
My spirit's wing to Thee can soar,
The more she triumphs to behold
Thy love in all thy works unfold,
And bids her hymns of rapture be
Most glad, when rising most to Thee!

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans.

Hymn Vii. Messiah! At Thy Glad Approach

Messiah! at thy glad approach
The howling winds are still!
Thy praises fill the lonely waste,
And breathe from every hill.

The hidden fountains, at thy call,
Their sacred stores unlock;
Loud in the desert, sudden streams
Burst living from the rock.

The incense of the spring ascends
Upon the morning gale:
Red o'er the hill the roses bloom,
The lilies in the vale.

Renew'd, the earth a robe of light,
A robe of beauty wears;
And in new heavens a brighter sun
Leads on the promised years.

The kingdom of Messiah come
Appointed times disclose;
And fairer in Emmanuel's Land
The new creation glows.

Let Israel to the Prince of Peace
The loud Hosannah sing!
With Hallelujahs and with hymns,
O Zion, hail thy King!

by John Logan.

When Jesus Left His Father's Throne

When Jesus left His Father’s throne,
He chose a humble birth;
Like us, unhonored and unknown,
He came to dwell on earth.
Like Him may we be found below,
In wisdom’s path of peace;
Like Him in grace and knowledge grow,
As years and strength increase.

Sweet were His words and kind His look,
When mothers round Him pressed;
Their infants in His arms He took,
And on His bosom blessed.
Safe from the world’s alluring harms,
Beneath His watchful eye,
Thus in the circle of His arms
May we forever lie.

When Jesus into Zion rode,
The children sang around;
For joy they plucked the palms and strewed
Their garments on the ground.
Hosanna our glad voices raise,
Hosanna to our King!
Should we forget our Savior’s praise,
The stones themselves would sing.

by James Montgomery.

The Joy Of The Lord Is Your Strength

Joy is a fruit that will not grow
In nature's barren foil;
All we can boast, till Christ we know,
Is vanity and toil.

But where the Lord has planted grace;
And made his glories known;
There fruits of heavenly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.

A bleeding Saviour seen by faith,
A sense of pard'ning love;
A hope that triumphs over death,
Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse within the veil,
To know that God is mine;
Are springs of joy that never fail,
Unspeakably divine!

These are the joys which satisfy,
And sanctify the mind;
Which make the spirit mount on high,
And leave the world behind.

No more, believers, mourn your lot,
But if you are the Lord's
Resign to them that know him not,
Such joys as earth affords.

by John Newton.

It was the spring-time of the year,
When flowers were budding new,
And smiled like fond and trembling hopes,
Through morning's shining dew!
Yet fairer was the blushing cheek,
The blue eye brighter far,
That won the love of many a heart,
That sighed for Ellen Mar.

'Why joins not Ellen in the dance,
The village maiden's trip,
With rapture sparkling in her eye,
And smiling on her lip?'
A seeming stranger question'd thus,
All weary from the war,
'Ah! no, till Ronald Graeme return,
No joy for Ellen Mar.'

Down drops the cloak that wrapp'd his breast,
The cap that veiled his brow,
Rejoice thee, Ellen, for thou art
A happy maiden now.
The morning sun beheld them meet,
And evening's dewy star
Saw Ronald Graeme plight lasting truth
And love to Ellen Mar!

by John Imlah.

Almighty Spirit, Now Behold

Almighty Spirit, now behold
A world by sin destroyed:
Creating Spirit, as of old,
Move on the formless void,
Move on the formless void.

Give Thou the Word: that healing sound
Shall quell the deadly strife;
And earth again, like Eden crowned,
Bring forth the tree of life,
Bring forth the tree of life.

If sang the morning stars for joy,
When nature rose to view,
What strains will angel harps employ,
When Thou shalt all renew,
When Thou shalt all renew!

And if the sons of God rejoice
To hear a Savior’s Name,
How will the ransomed raise their voice
To whom that Savior came,
To whom that Savior came!

Lo, every kindred, every tribe,
Assembling round the throne,
The new creation shall ascribe
To sovereign love alone,
To sovereign love alone!

by James Montgomery.

Dear Harp Of My Country

Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of Silence had hung o'er thee long.
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song.
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy livliest thrill,
But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That even in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.

Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine!
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.

by Thomas Moore.

The Home-Sick Heart



How fondly loves the home-sick heart
To ponder o'er the past,
And pines for scenes then far apart,
To dwell- to die at last;
Though richer vales, and balmier gales,
May tempt the wanderer's stay,
His heart will long to be among
Some scenes far, far away!

O! memory ne'er can charm us so
As when it bids appear
The fields and friends of long ago,
The distant and the dear!
Though clime and care may waste and wear
The frame to dull decay,
They never will through change and chill
The love, far, far away!

Yet there for joy to come relies
the heart when faint and low,
to have some green vale glad our eyes,
Its breeze upon our brow!
Again beneath the sky to breathe,
Where dawn'd life's chequer'd day,
What thoughts will burn- what feelings yearn,
When home is far away!

by John Imlah.

As a fisher-boy I fared

To the black rock in the sea,
And, while false gifts I prepared.

Listen'd and sang merrily,
Down descended the decoy,

Soon a fish attack'd the bait;
One exultant shout of joy,--

And the fish was captured straight.

Ah! on shore, and to the wood

Past the cliffs, o'er stock and stone,
One foot's traces I pursued,

And the maiden was alone.
Lips were silent, eyes downcast

As a clasp-knife snaps the bait,
With her snare she seized me fast,

And the boy was captured straight.

Heav'n knows who's the happy swain

That she rambles with anew!
I must dare the sea again,

Spite of wind and weather too.
When the great and little fish

Wail and flounder in my net,
Straight returns my eager wish

In her arms to revel yet!

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Joy Of My Life While Left Me Here!

Joy of my life while left me here!
And still my love!
How in thy absence thou dost steer
Me from above!
A life well led
This truth commends,
With quick or dead
It never ends.

Stars are of mighty use; the night
Is dark, and long;
The road foul; and where one goes right,
Six may go wrong.
One twinkling ray,
Shot o'er some cloud,
May clear much away,
And guide a crowd.

God's saints are shining lights: who stays
Here long must pass
O'er dark hills, swift streams, and steep ways
As smooth as glass;
But these all night,
Like candles, shed
Their beams, and light
Us into bed.

They are, indeed, our pillar-fires,
Seen as we go;
They are that city's shining spires
We travel to:
A swordlike gleam
Kept man for sin
First
out
; this beam
Will guide them
in.

by Henry Vaughan.

As Spring The Winter Doth Succeed

May 13, 1657.
As spring the winter doth succeed,
And leaues the naked Trees doe dresse,
The earth all black is cloth'd in green;
At svn-shine each their joy expresse.
My Svns returned with healing wings.
My Soul and Body doth rejoice;
My heart exvlts, and praises sings
To him that heard my wailing Voice.
My winters past, my stormes are gone,
And former clowdes seem now all fled;
But, if they mvst eclipse again,
I'le rvn where I was succoured.
I haue a shelter from the storm,
A shadow from the fainting heat;
I haue accesse vnto his Throne,
Who is a God so wondrous great.
O hast thou made my Pilgrimage
Thvs pleasant, fair, and good;
Bless'd me in Youth and elder Age,
My Baca made a springing flood?
I studiovs am what I shall doe,
To show my Duty with delight;
All I can giue is but thine own,
And at the most a simple mite.

by Anne Bradstreet.

ACT I.

CLARA winds a skein, and sings with Brackenburg.

THE drum gives the signal!

Loud rings the shrill fife!
My love leads his troops on

Full arm'd for the strife,
While his hand grasps his lance
As they proudly advance.

My bosom pants wildly!
My blood hotly flows!
Oh had I a doublet,
A helmet, and hose!

Through the gate with bold footstep

I after him hied,--
Each province, each country

Explored by his side.
The coward foe trembled
Then rattled our shot:
What bliss e'er resembled

A soldier's glad lot!

ACT III.

CLARA sings.


Gladness

And sadness
And pensiveness blending

Yearning

And burning
In torment ne'er ending;

Sad unto death,
Proudly soaring above;

Happy alone
Is the soul that doth love!

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Upon The Skilfull Player Of An Instrument

He that can play well on an instrument,
Will take the ear, and captivate the mind
With mirth or sadness; for that it is bent
Thereto, as music in it place doth find.
But if one hears that hath therein no skill,
(As often music lights of such a chance)
Of its brave notes they soon be weary will:
And there are some can neither sing nor dance.

Comparison.

Unto him that thus skilfully doth play,
God doth compare a gospel-minister,
That rightly preacheth, and doth godly pray,
Applying truly what doth thence infer.
This man, whether of wrath or grace he preach,
So skilfully doth handle every word;
And by his saying doth the heart so reach,
That it doth joy or sigh before the Lord.
But some there be, which, as the brute, doth lie
Under the Word, without the least advance
Godward; such do despise the ministry;
They weep not at it, neither to it dance.

by John Bunyan.

Mischievous Joy

AS a butterfly renew'd,

When in life I breath'd my last,

To the spots my flight I wing,

Scenes of heav'nly rapture past,

Over meadows, to the spring,
Round the hill, and through the wood.

Soon a tender pair I spy,

And I look down from my seat

On the beauteous maiden's head--

When embodied there I meet

All I lost as soon as dead,
Happy as before am I.

Him she clasps with silent smile,

And his mouth the hour improves,

Sent by kindly Deities;

First from breast to mouth it roves,

Then from mouth to hands it flies,
And I round him sport the while.

And she sees me hov'ring near;

Trembling at her lovers rapture,

Up she springs--I fly away,

"Dearest! let's the insect capture

Come! I long to make my prey
Yonder pretty little dear!"

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

A Farewell To Abbotsford

HOME of the gifted! fare thee well,
And a blessing on thee rest;
While the heather waves its purple bell
O'er moor and mountain crest;
While stream to stream around thee calls,
And braes with broom are drest,
Glad be the harping in thy halls-
A blessing on thee rest.

While the high voice from thee sent forth
Bids rock and cairn reply,
Wakening the spirits of the North,
Like a chieftan's gathering cry;
While its deep master-tones hold sway
As a king's o'er every breast,
Home of the Legend and the Lay!
A blessing on thee rest!

Joy to thy hearth, and board, and bower!
Long honours to thy line!
And hearts of proof, and hands of power,
And bright names worthy thine!
By the merry step of childhood, still
May thy free sward be prest!
-While one proud pulse in the land can thrill,
A blessing on thee rest!

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans.

The Shepherds Calendar - December

While snow the window-panes bedim,
The fire curls up a sunny charm,
Where, creaming o'er the pitcher's rim,
The flowering ale is set to warm;
Mirth, full of joy as summer bees,
Sits there, its pleasures to impart,
And children, 'tween their parent's knees,
Sing scraps of carols o'er by heart.

And some, to view the winter weathers,
Climb up the window-seat with glee,
Likening the snow to falling feathers,
In fancy infant ecstasy;
Laughing, with superstitious love,
O'er visions wild that youth supplies,
Of people pulling geese above,
And keeping Christmas in the skies.

As tho' the homestead trees were drest,
In lieu of snow, with dancing leaves,
As tho' the sun-dried martin's nest,
Instead of ickles, hung the eaves,
The children hail the happy day -
As if the snow were April's grass,
And pleas'd, as 'neath the warmth of May,
Sport o'er the water froze as glass.

by John Clare.

To sea! to sea! and give the gale,
My jovial freres, the bending sail,
And shape our course through foam and spray,
To other shores- away! away!
The soft, the parting hour is past,
Then crowd the canvas on the mast,
The breeze comes fresh, our bark goes free,
My gallant mates! to sea! to sea!

As Arab scours the waste, we sweep
The trackless desert of the deep.
Now hark! the glad wind harps aloud
Its fitful strain on sheet and shroud;
Now mark the billows leap along
Rejoicing in the joyous song
The seaman trolls with boundless glee-
Bear on my bark! to sea! to sea!

Who turns to trace, with tearful eye,
The land that fades 'tween sea and sky?
Dash off the drop that starts to streak,
With maudlin stain, a seaman's cheek!
To all we love and leave behind
Farewell! and welcome wave and wind!
Good speed with them, and speed with thee,
My gallant ship! to sea! to sea!

by John Imlah.

Hymn Viii. When Jesus, By The Virgin Brought

When Jesus, by the Virgin brought,
So runs the law of Heaven,
Was offer'd holy to the Lord,
And at the altar given;

Simeon the Just and the Devout,
Who, frequent in the fane,
Had for the Saviour waited long,
But waited still in vain.

Come, Heaven, directed, at the hour
When Mary held her Son;
He stretched forth his aged arms,
While tears of gladness run.

With holy joy upon his face
The good old father smiled,
While fondly in his wither'd arms
He clasped the promised Child.

And then he lifted up to Heaven
An earnest asking eye;
My joy is full, my hour is come,
Lord, let thy servant die.

At last my arms embrace my Lord,
Now let their vigour cease;
At last my eyes my Saviour see,
Now let them close in peace!

The star and glory of the land
Hath now begun to shine;
The morning that shall gild the globe
Breaks on these eyes of mine!

by John Logan.

As once for Jonah, so the Lord
To soothe and cheer my mournful hours,
Prepared for me a pleasing gourd,
Cool was its shade, and sweet its flow'rs.

To prize his gift was surely right;
But through the folly of my heart,
It hid the Giver from my sight,
And soon my joy was changed to smart.

While I admired its beauteous form,
Its pleasant shade and graceful fruit;
The Lord, displeased, sent forth a worm,
Unseen, to prey upon the root.

I trembled when I saw it fade,
But guilt restrained the murm'ring word;
My folly I confessed, and prayed,
Forgive my sin, and spare my gourd.

His wondrous love can ne'er be told,
He heard me and relieved my pain;
His word the threat'ning worm controlled,
And bid my gourd revive again.

Now, Lord, my gourd is mine no more,
'Tis thine, who only couldst it raise;
The idol of my heart before,
Henceforth shall flourish to thy praise.

by John Newton.

The Believer's Danger, Safety, And Duty

Simon, beware! the Saviour said,
Satan, your subtle foe,
Already has his measures laid
Your soul to overthrow.

He wants to sift you all, as wheat,
And thinks his vict'ry sure;
But I his malice will defeat,
My prayer shall faith secure.

Believers, tremble and rejoice,
Your help and danger view;
This warning has to you a voice,
This promise speaks to you.

Satan beholds, with jealous eye,
Your privilege and joy;
He's always watchful, always nigh,
To tear and to destroy.

But Jesus lives to intercede,
That faith may still prevail,
He will support in time of need,
And Satan's arts shall fail.

Yet, let us not the warning slight,
But watchful still be found;
Though faith cannot be slain in fight,
It may receive a wound.

While Satan watches, dare we sleep?
We must our guard maintain;
But, Lord, do thou the city keep,
Or else we watch in vain.

by John Newton.

The Happy Bird’s Nest

When on my cottage falls the placid shower,
When ev'ning calls the labourer home to rest,
When glad the bee deserts the humid flower,
O then the bird assumes her peaceful nest.

When sable shadows grow unshapely tall,
And Sol's resplendent wheel descends the west,
The knell of respiration tolls for all,
And Hesper smiles upon the linnet's nest.

When o'er the mountain bounds the fair gazell,
The night bird tells her day-departing jest,
She gladly leaves her melancholy dell,
And spreads her pinions o'er the linnet's nest.

Then harmless Dian spreads her lucid sail,
And glides through ether with her silver crest,
Bidding the watchful bird still pour her tale,
And cheer the happy linnet on her nest.

Thus may some guardian angel bear her light,
And o'er thy tomb, departed genius, rest,
Whilst thou shalt take thy long eternal flight,
And leave some faithful bird to guard thy nest.

by George Moses Horton.

Before The Lord We Bow

Before the Lord we bow, the God Who reigns above,
And rules the world below, boundless in power and love.
Our thanks we bring in joy and praise, our hearts we raise
To Heaven's high King.

The nation Thou hast blest may well Thy love declare,
From foes and fears at rest, protected by Thy care.
For this fair land, for this bright day, our thanks we pay,
Gifts of Thy hand.

May every mountain height, each vale and forest green,
Shine in Thy Word's pure light, and its rich fruits be seen!
May every tongue be tuned to praise, and join to raise
A grateful song.

Earth, hear thy Maker's voice, thy great Redeemer own;
Believe, obey, rejoice, and worship Him alone.
Cast down thy pride, thy sin deplore and bow before
The Crucified.

And when in power He comes, O may our native land,
From all its rending tombs, send forth a glorious band.
A countless throng, ever to sing to Heaven's high King
Salvation's song.

by Francis Scott Key.

The Gladness Of Nature

Is this a time to be cloudy and sad,
When our mother Nature laughs around;
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,
And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground?

There are notes of joy from the hang-bird and wren,
And the gossip of swallows through all the sky;
The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den,
And the wilding bee hums merrily by.

The clouds are at play in the azure space,
And their shadows at play on the bright green vale,
And here they stretch to the frolic chase,
And there they roll on the easy gale.

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower,
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree,
There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower,
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea.

And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles
On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;
Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.

by William Cullen Bryant.

Fly not yet, 'tis just the hour,
When pleasure, like the midnight flower
That scorns the eye of vulgar light,
Begins to bloom for sons of night,
And maids who love the moon.
'Twas but to bless these hours of shade
That beauty and the moon were made;
'Tis then their soft attractions glowing
Set the tides and goblets flowing.
Oh! stay, -- Oh! stay, --
Joy so seldom weaves a chain
Like this to-night, that oh, 'tis pain
To break its links so soon.

Fly not yet, the fount that play'd
In times of old through Ammon's shade,
Though icy cold by day it ran,
Yet still, like souls of mirth, began
To burn when night was near.
And thus, should woman's heart and looks
At noon be cold as winter brooks,
Nor kindle till the night, returning,
Brings their genial hour for burning.
Oh! stay, -- Oh! stay, --
When did morning ever break,
And find such beaming eyes awake
As those that sparkle here?

by Thomas Moore.

The Northern Spring

WHEN the soft breath of Spring goes forth
Far o'er the mountains of the North,
How soon those wastes of dazzling snow
With life, and bloom, and beauty glow.

Then bursts the verdure of the plains,
Then break the streams from icy chains;
And the glad rein-deer seeks no more
Amidst deep snows his mossy store.

Then the dark pine-wood's boughs are seen
Arrayed in tints of living green;
And roses, in their brightest dyes,
By Lapland's founts and streams arise.

Thus, in a moment, from the gloom
And the cold fetters of the tomb,
Thus shall the blest Redeemer's voice
Call forth his servants to rejoice.

For He, whose word is truth, hath said,
His power to life shall wake the dead,
And summon those he loves, on high,
To 'put on immortality!'

Then, all its transient sufferings o'er,
On wings of light, the soul shall soar,
Exulting, to that blest abode,
Where tears of sorrow never flowed.

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans.

How fair doth Nature

Appear again!
How bright the sunbeams!

How smiles the plain!

The flow'rs are bursting

From ev'ry bough,
And thousand voices

Each bush yields now.

And joy and gladness

Fill ev'ry breast!
Oh earth!--oh sunlight!

Oh rapture blest!

Oh love! oh loved one!

As golden bright,
As clouds of morning

On yonder height!

Thou blessest gladly

The smiling field,--
The world in fragrant

Vapour conceal'd.

Oh maiden, maiden,

How love I thee!
Thine eye, how gleams it!

How lov'st thou me!

The blithe lark loveth

Sweet song and air,
The morning flow'ret

Heav'n's incense fair,

As I now love thee

With fond desire,
For thou dost give me

Youth, joy, and fire,

For new-born dances

And minstrelsy.
Be ever happy,

As thou lov'st me!

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Never sleeping, still awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak;
The delight of old and young,
Though I speak without a tongue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
Many voices joining round me;
Then I fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labourers of Babel.
Now I am a dog, or cow,
I can bark, or I can low;
I can bleat, or I can sing,
Like the warblers of the spring.
Let the lovesick bard complain,
And I mourn the cruel pain;
Let the happy swain rejoice,
And I join my helping voice:
Both are welcome, grief or joy,
I with either sport and toy.
Though a lady, I am stout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out:
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I'm vext, can't keep me under;
Yet so tender is my ear,
That the lowest voice I fear;
Much I dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit's out of date,
For I hate a silent breath,
And a whisper is my death.

by Jonathan Swift.

Songs Of Praise The Angels Sang

Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heav’n with alleluias rang,
When creation was begun,
When God spoke and it was done.

Songs of praise awoke the morn
When the Prince of Peace was born;
Songs of praise arose when He
Captive led Captivity.

Heav’n and earth must pass away!
Songs of praise shall crown that day!
God will make new heav’ns and earth;
Songs of praise shall hail their birth.

And can man alone be dumb,
Till that glorious kingdom come?
No: the church delights to raise
Psalms, and hymns, and songs of praise.

Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice,
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.

Borne upon their latest breath,
Songs of praise shall conquer death;
Then amidst eternal joy,
Songs of praise their powers employ.

Hymns of glory, songs of praise,
Father, unto Thee we raise;
Jesus, glory unto Thee,
With the Spirit, ever be.

by James Montgomery.

Joy And Peace In Believing

Sometimes a light surprises
The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord who rises
With healing in his wings:
When comforts are declining,
He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining,
To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation,
We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,
And find it ever new:
Set free from present sorrow,
We cheerfully can say,
E'en let th' unknown to-morrow
Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing
But he will bear us through;
Who gives the lilies clothing,
Will clothe his people too:
Beneath the spreading heavens,
No creature but is fed;
And he who feeds the ravens,
Will give his children bread.

Though vine nor fig-tree neither
Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Though all the field should wither,
Nor flocks nor herds be there:
Yet God the same abiding,
His praise shall tune my voice;
For while in him confiding,
I cannot but rejoice.

by John Newton.

Book Of Suleika - The Sublime Type

THE sun, whom Grecians Helms call,

His heavenly path with pride doth tread,
And, to subdue the world's wide all,

Looks round, beneath him, high o'er head.

He sees the fairest goddess pine,

Heaven's child, the daughter of the clouds,--
For her alone he seems to shine;

In trembling grief his form he shrouds,

Careless for all the realms of bliss,--

Her streaming tears more swiftly flow:
For every pearl he gives a kiss,

And changeth into joy her woe.

She gazeth upward fixedly,

And deeply feels his glance of might,
While, stamped with his own effigy,

Each pearl would range itself aright.

Thus wreath'd with bows, with hues thus grac'd,

With gladness beams her face so fair,
While he, to meet her, maketh haste,

And yet, alas! can reach her ne'er.

So, by the harsh decree of Fate,

Thou modest from me, dearest one;
And were I Helms e'en, the Great,

What would avail his chariot-throne?

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

To The New-Born

A BLESSING on thy head, thou child of many hopes and fears!
A rainbow-welcome thine hath been, of mingled smiles and tears.
Thy father greets thee unto life, with a full and chasten'd heart,
For a solemn gift from God thou com'st, all precious as thou art!

I see thee not asleep, fair boy, upon thy mother's breast,
Yet well I know how guarded there shall be thy rosy rest;
And how her soul with love, and prayer, and gladness, will o'erflow,
While bending o'er thy soft-seal'd eyes, thou dear one, well I know!

A blessing on thy gentle head! and bless'd thou art in truth,
For a home where God is felt, awaits thy childhood and thy youth:
Around thee pure and holy thoughts shall dwell as light and air,
And steal unto thine heart, and wake the germs now folded there.

Smile on thy mother! while she feels that unto her is given,
In that young day-spring glance the pledge of a soul to rear for heaven!
Smile! and sweet peace be o'er thy sleep, joy o'er thy wakening shed!
Blessings and blessings evermore, fair boy! upon thy head.

by Felicia Dorothea Hemans.