English

Belinda's pride's an arrant cheat,
A foolish artifice to blind;
Some honest glance, that scorns deceit,
Does still reveal her native mind.

With look demure, and forc'd disdain,
She idly acts the faint;
We see thro' this disguise as plain
As we distinguish paint.

So have I seen grave fools design
With formal looks to pass for wise;
But Nature is a light will shine,
And break thro' all disguise.

I was just plotting , as the curtain fell,
To hit the general taste , and please ye well :
'Twere a sure way, thought I, their frowns to soften ,
Should I, oft kill'd , and brought to life , as often,
Now , in good earnest , draw oblivion o'er me,
And die — as Tragedy has done, before me .
Troth! it were no untimely resolution ,
Had one a heart dispos'd for — execution :
Since there's a mode in minds , as well as dress ,
'Tis too old fashion'd now to give distress .
When you're resolv'd to laugh , and to be easy ,

I.

Lord, in the chariot of thy work,
Ride forth with pow'r thy name to spread;
Give speed unto thy gospel sword,
Through these dark regions of the dead,

II.

" Lo, saith the Saviour, here I am,
" With all my vesture dip'd in blood;
" The FREE PHYSICIAN is my name,
" Seeking to do the needy good.

III.

" I love to feed the hungry poor,
" To heal the sick and raise the dead;
" I love to see them crowd my door,
" That I my boundless love may spread.

IV.

Priests offer Sheba's incense and sweet cane,
Responding, each to each, " Jehovah lives! "
His car through death the maddened warrior drives,
Raising the cry, " Jehovah lives! " again;
The watchmen at the gate their guard maintain,
" Jehovah lives! " the countersign each gives.
" Jehovah lives! " the monarch cries, and strives
With such a spell his sceptre to sustain!

I.

I choose the Lord for all my joy;
His praise I count my best employ;
His name my constant theme shall be;
Lord I would follow none but thee.

II.

Without my Lord I cannot rest;
There's none but he can make me blest;
In him I find a solid peace,
And in him all my joys increase,

III.

O let me never, never part,
From him the pleasure of my heart;
Dear Jesus, keep me always near,
Till I with thee in heav'n appear.

IV.

O may I once at thy right hand,

Divided in our lives, and yet twin-hearted!
Our sad first parents shared a happier fate;
When, from Love's Eden, dearest, we departed,
'T was ours to sever at the outer gate.

Ah! yet I know, whatever path thou 'rt tracing,
Thy tearful eye is sometimes backward cast;
Thou art not coldly from thy heart effacing
The thrilling story of our blissful past, —

When life was like a sunset's glories blended
With all the waking splendors of the morn,
And when, dear love, if some light showers descended,

Ah, more than my mouth thirsts for your drink!
Up creeps desire, warm through my blood,
Surging into my heart, whence it must sink
And ebb away, until the newer flood
Breaks over me, straining in my distress.
And still we keep us tarrying at the kiss!
My readiness complete do you not guess,
I cannot tell it, cannot ask my bliss —
I cannot ask. With all my will I plead
My lips to speak, and still they hold me dumb —
Dumb, waiting you, who only wait my need!
O wait no longer, love; O love, come! come.

I.

Where, saith the mourner, is this Christ,
That call the hungry to a feast?
Where is that grace proclaim'd so free?
Say, herald, point the way to me.

II.

If, as you say, he spilt his blood,
To bring immortal souls to GOD ;
Then tell me, tell me, where I'll go,
To find if this be true, or no?

III.

" Well, saith the Saviour, hear I be?
" Where is the soul inquiries for me?
" I by my spirit now declare,
" My grace is free, and you may share. "

IV.

This is Goethe, with a forehead
Like the fabled front of Jove;
In its massive lines the tokens
More of majesty than love.

This is Schiller, in whose features,
With their passionate calm regard,
We behold the true ideal
Of the high heroic bard,

Whom the inward world of feeling
And the outward world of sense
To the endless labor summon,
And the endless recompense.

These are they, sublime and silent,
From whose living lips have rung
Words to be remembered ever

I.

Amazing sight, the Saviour stands,
And knocks at every door;
Ten thousand blessing in his hands,
For to supply the poor.

II.

" Behold, saith he, I bleed and die,
" To bring poor souls to rest;
" Hear, sinners, while I'm passing by,
" And be forever blest.

III.