Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell Part 15

The thirsty rivers drink their store, And bear it rolling to the sh.o.r.e, But still the ocean craves for more.

'Tis endless labour everywhere!

Sound cannot satisfy the ear,

Light cannot fill the craving eye, Nor riches half our wants supply, Pleasure but doubles future pain, And joy brings sorrow in her train;

Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth-- What does she in this weary earth?

Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ, Death comes, our labour to destroy;

To s.n.a.t.c.h the untasted cup away, For which we toiled so many a day.

What, then, remains for wretched man?

To use life's comforts while he can,

Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows, a.s.sist his friends, forgive his foes; Trust G.o.d, and keep His statutes still, Upright and firm, through good and ill;

Thankful for all that G.o.d has given, Fixing his firmest hopes on Heaven; Knowing that earthly joys decay, But hoping through the darkest day.

THE PENITENT.

I mourn with thee, and yet rejoice That thou shouldst sorrow so; With angel choirs I join my voice To bless the sinner's woe.

Though friends and kindred turn away, And laugh thy grief to scorn; I hear the great Redeemer say, "Blessed are ye that mourn."

Hold on thy course, nor deem it strange That earthly cords are riven: Man may lament the wondrous change, But "there is joy in heaven!"

MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING.

Music I love--but never strain Could kindle raptures so divine, So grief a.s.suage, so conquer pain, And rouse this pensive heart of mine-- As that we hear on Christmas morn, Upon the wintry breezes borne.

Though Darkness still her empire keep, And hours must pa.s.s, ere morning break; From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep, That music KINDLY bids us wake: It calls us, with an angel's voice, To wake, and worship, and rejoice;

To greet with joy the glorious morn, Which angels welcomed long ago, When our redeeming Lord was born, To bring the light of Heaven below; The Powers of Darkness to dispel, And rescue Earth from Death and h.e.l.l.

While listening to that sacred strain, My raptured spirit soars on high; I seem to hear those songs again Resounding through the open sky, That kindled such divine delight, In those who watched their flocks by night.

With them I celebrate His birth-- Glory to G.o.d, in highest Heaven, Good-will to men, and peace on earth, To us a Saviour-king is given; Our G.o.d is come to claim His own, And Satan's power is overthrown!

A sinless G.o.d, for sinful men, Descends to suffer and to bleed; h.e.l.l MUST renounce its empire then; The price is paid, the world is freed, And Satan's self must now confess That Christ has earned a RIGHT to bless:

Now holy Peace may smile from heaven, And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring: The captive's galling bonds are riven, For our Redeemer is our king; And He that gave his blood for men Will lead us home to G.o.d again.

STANZAS.

Oh, weep not, love! each tear that springs In those dear eyes of thine, To me a keener suffering brings Than if they flowed from mine.

And do not droop! however drear The fate awaiting thee; For MY sake combat pain and care, And cherish life for me!

I do not fear thy love will fail; Thy faith is true, I know; But, oh, my love! thy strength is frail For such a life of woe.

Were 't not for this, I well could trace (Though banished long from thee) Life's rugged path, and boldly face The storms that threaten me.

Fear not for me--I've steeled my mind Sorrow and strife to greet; Joy with my love I leave behind, Care with my friends I meet.

A mother's sad reproachful eye, A father's scowling brow-- But he may frown and she may sigh: I will not break my vow!

I love my mother, I revere My sire, but fear not me-- Believe that Death alone can tear This faithful heart from thee.

IF THIS BE ALL.

O G.o.d! if this indeed be all That Life can show to me; If on my aching brow may fall No freshening dew from Thee;

If with no brighter light than this The lamp of hope may glow, And I may only dream of bliss, And wake to weary woe;

If friendship's solace must decay, When other joys are gone, And love must keep so far away, While I go wandering on,--

Wandering and toiling without gain, The slave of others' will, With constant care, and frequent pain, Despised, forgotten still;

Grieving to look on vice and sin, Yet powerless to quell The silent current from within, The outward torrent's swell

While all the good I would impart, The feelings I would share, Are driven backward to my heart, And turned to wormwood there;

If clouds must EVER keep from sight The glories of the Sun, And I must suffer Winter's blight, Ere Summer is begun;

If Life must be so full of care, Then call me soon to thee; Or give me strength enough to bear My load of misery.

MEMORY.

Brightly the sun of summer shone Green fields and waving woods upon, And soft winds wandered by; Above, a sky of purest blue, Around, bright flowers of loveliest hue, Allured the gazer's eye.

But what were all these charms to me, When one sweet breath of memory Came gently wafting by?

I closed my eyes against the day, And called my willing soul away, From earth, and air, and sky;

That I might simply fancy there One little flower--a primrose fair, Just opening into sight; As in the days of infancy, An opening primrose seemed to me A source of strange delight.