George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903. COMPLIMENTS OF BARTLEBY.COM Truth By Eliza Scudder (1821–1896) THOU long disowned, reviled, opprest, Strange friend of human kind, Seeking through weary years a rest Within our heart to find. How late thy bright and awful brow 5 Breaks through these clouds of sin! Hail, Truth Divine! we know thee now, Angel of God, come in! Come, though with purifying fire And desolating sword, 10 Thou of all nations the desire, Earth waits Thy cleansing word. Struck by the lightning of Thy glance Let old oppressions die! Before Thy cloudless countenance 15 Let fear and falsehood fly! Anoint our eyes with healing grace To see as ne’er before Our Father, in our brother’s face, Our Master, in his poor. 20 Flood our dark life with golden day! Convince, subdue, enthrall! Then to a mightier yield Thy sway, And Love be all in all! The Love of God By Eliza Scudder (1821–1896) THOU Grace Divine, encircling all, A soundless, shoreless sea Wherein at last our souls must fall!— O Love of God most free! When over dizzy heights we go, 5 One soft hand blinds our eyes, The other leads us, safe and slow,— O Love of God most wise! And though we turn us from Thy face, And wander wide and long, 10 Thou hold’st us still in Thine embrace,— O Love of God most strong! The saddened heart, the restless soul, The toil-worn frame and mind, Alike confess Thy sweet control,— 15 O Love of God most kind! But not alone Thy care we claim, Our wayward steps to win: We know Thee by a dearer name,— O Love of God within! 20 And filled and quickened by Thy breath, Our souls are strong and free To rise o’er sin and fear and death, O Love of God, to Thee! No More Sea By Eliza Scudder (1821–1896) LIFE of our life, and Light of all our seeing, How shall we rest on any hope but Thee? What time our souls, to Thee for refuge fleeing, Long for the home where there is no more sea? For still this sea of life, with endless wailing, 5 Dashes above our heads its blinding spray, And vanquished hearts, sick with remorse and failing, Moan like the waves at set of autumn day. And ever round us swells the insatiate ocean Of sin and doubt that lures us to our grave; 10 When its wild billows, with their mad commotion, Would sweep us down—then only Thou canst save. And deep and dark the fearful gloom unlighted Of that untried and all-surrounding sea, On whose bleak shore arriving lone, benighted, 15 We fall and lose ourselves at last—in Thee. Yea! in Thy life our little lives are ended, Into Thy depths our trembling spirits fall; In Thee enfolded, gathered, comprehended, As holds the sea her waves—Thou hold’st us all! Whom but Thee By Eliza Scudder (1821–1896) FROM past regret and present faithlessness, From the deep shadow of foreseen distress, And from the nameless weariness that grows As life’s long day seems wearing to its close; Thou Life within my life, than self more near! 5 Thou veilèd Presence infinitely clear! From all illusive shows of sense I flee To find my centre and my rest in Thee. Below all depths Thy saving mercy lies, Through thickest glooms I see Thy Light arise; 10 Above the highest heavens Thou art not found More surely than within this earthly round. Take part with me against these doubts that rise And seek to throne Thee far in distant skies! Take part with me against this self that dares 15 Assume the burden of these sins and cares! How shall I call Thee who art always here, How shall I praise Thee who art still most dear, What may I give Thee save what Thou hast given, And whom but Thee have I in earth or heaven?
Posted on: Wed, 03 Dec 2014 16:35:55 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015