Then turn thee, for thy time is short, Thy heedless soul astray. Thou know'st how hard to hurry by, Where maidens to the Queen of Heaven Or thee perchance a darker spell Enthralls the smooth stones of the flood", : By mountain grot or fell, Pollute with infant's blood; The giant altar on the rock, The cavern whence the timbrel's call h Isaiah lvii. 6. Among the smooth stones of the stream is thy portion, they, they are thy lot. Affrights the wandering flock :— Trust not the dangerous path again- And wilt thou perish still? Thy message given, thine home in sight, To the forbidden feast return? Yield to the false delight Thy better soul could spurn? Alas, my brother! round thy tomb In sorrow kneeling, and in fear, We read the Pastor's doom Who speaks and will not hear. The grey-hair'd saint may fail at last, To the bright shore of love. NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire, a still small voice. I Kings xix. 12. IN troublous days of anguish and rebuke, And their eyes fail for waiting on their Lord: While underneath each awful arch of green, On every mountain top, God's chosen scene "Tis well, true hearts should for a time retire To holy ground, in quiet to aspire Towards promis'd regions of serener grace; On Horeb, with Elijah, let us lie, Where all around on mountain, sand, and sky, God's chariot-wheels have left distinctest trace: There, if in jealousy and strong disdain Untimely seeking here the peace of heaven"It is enough, O Lord! now let me die "Even as my fathers did for what am I "That I should stand, where they have vainly "striven ?"_ Perhaps our God may of our conscience ask, "What doest thou here, frail wanderer from thy task? "Where hast thou left those few sheep in the wild'?" Then should we plead our heart's consuming pain, At sight of ruin'd altars, prophets slain, And God's own ark with blood of souls defil'd; He on the rock may bid us stand, and see His endless warfare with man's wilful heart; First, His great Power He to the sinner shews, Lo! at His angry blast the rocks unclose, And to their base the trembling mountains part : Yet the Lord is not here: 'tis not by Power a 1 Sam. xvii. 28. Still, sullen heavings vex the labouring ground: Perhaps His Presence thro' all depth and height, Best of all gems, that deck his crown of light, The haughty eye may dazzle and confound. God is not in the earthquake; but behold The flames of His consuming jealous ire. Hastes to proclaim, "God is not in the fire." The storm is o'er-and hark! a still small voice Steals on the ear, to say, Jehovah's choice Is ever with the soft, meek, tender soul: By soft, meek, tender ways He loves to draw The sinner, startled by his ways of awe : Here is our Lord, and not where thunders roll. Back then, complainer; loath thy life no more, Because the rocks the nearer prospect close. Thou know'st them not, but their Creator knows. P |