XIV. Jehovah-Shammah
(Ezekial, xlviii.35)
As birds their infant brood protect,
And spread their wings to shelter them,
Thus saith the Lord to His elect,
"So will I guard Jerusalem."

And what then is Jerusalem,
This darling object of His cares?
Where is its worth in God's esteem?
Who built it? who inhabits there?

Jehovah founded it in blood,
The blood of His incarnate Son;
There dwell the saints, once foes to God
The sinners whom He calls His own.

There, though besieged on every side,
Yet much beloved and guarded well,
From age to age they have defied
The utmost force of earth and hell.

Let earth repent, and hell despair,
This city has a sure defence;
Her name is call'd, "The Lord is there,"
And who has power to drive him hence?

XV. Praise for the Fountain Opened
(Zechariah, xiii.1)
There is a fountain fill'd with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Wash'd all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing Thy power to save;
When this poor lisping stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!

'Tis strung and tuned for endless years,
And form'd by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but Thine.


XVI. The Sower

XVI. The Sower
(Matthew, xiii.3)
Ye sons of earth prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground;
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.

The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.

The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.

The beaten path and highway side,
Receive the trust in vain;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.

But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy field,
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!

Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same Hand that give me seed
Provide a fruitful place!

XVII. The House of Prayer
(Mark, xi.17)
Thy mansion is the Christian's heart,
O Lord, Thy dwelling place secure!
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.

Devoted as it is to Thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place,
They steal away my hopes from me,
And rob my Saviour of His praise.

There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the World maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase pain.

I know them, and I hate their din;
And weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve Thee as I would.

Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when Thou art there;
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.

And if Thou make Thy temple shine,
Yet self-abased, will I adore;
The gold and silver are not mine;
I give Thee waht was Thine before.

XVIII. Lovest Thou Me?
(John, xxi.16)
Hark my soul! it is the Lord;
'Tis Thy Saviour, hear His word;
Jesus speaks and speaks to thee,
"Say poor sinner, lovst thou me?

"I deliver'd thee when bound,
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turn'd thy darkness into light.

"Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.

"Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.

"Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be;
Say, poor sinner, lovst thou me?"

Lord it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love Thee and adore, --
Oh! for grace to love Thee more!

XIX. Contentment
(Phillipians, iv.11)
Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea,
But calm, content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to Thee.

In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.

Since at His feet my soul has sate,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on Him my care.

"Art thou a sinner, soul?" He said,
"Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!

"If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine!
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.

"'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.

"In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away."

Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.

XX. Old Testament Gospel
(Hebrews, iv.2)
      Israel in ancient days
Not only had a view
      Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which thy saw a Saviour's face.

      The paschal sacrifice
And blood-besprinkled door,
      Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.

      The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,
      Whose blood of matchless worth
Whould be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of His own.

      The scape-goat on his head
The people's trespass bore,
      And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our surety seem'd to say,
"Behold, I bear your sins away."

      Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bird went free;
      The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged,
And by a Saviour's death discharged.

      Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page,
      The footsteps of Thy grace,
The same in every age!
Oh, grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me!
Back to the index.
Forward to the next part.

The Collar

      I STRUCK the board, and cried, No more.
                   I will abroad.
      What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
      Loose as the wind, as large as store.
             Shall I be still in suit?
      Have I no harvest but a thorn
      To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
                   Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn
             Before my tears did drown it.
      Is the year only lost to me?
             Have I no bays to crown it?
No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted?
                   All wasted?
      No so, my heart: but there is fruit,
                   And thou hast hands.
                   Recover all thy sigh-blown age
On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute
Of what is fit, and not forsake thy cage,
                   Thy rope of sands,
Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee
Good cable, to enforce and draw,
                   And be thy law,
While thou didst wink and wouldst not see.
                   Away; take heed:
                   I will abroad.
Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears.
                   He that forbears
              To suit and serve his need,
                   Deserves his load.
But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wild
                   At every word,
Me thoughts I heard one calling, Child:
                   And I reply'd, My Lord.

George Herbert

The Pulley

    WHEN God at first made man,
Having a glass of blesings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
    Contract into a span.

    So strength first made a way;
The beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
    Rest in the bottom lay.

    For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
    So both should losers be.

    Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rish and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
    May toss him to my breast.

George Herbert

The Flower

      HOW fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring;
      To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasures bring.
                   Grief melts away
                   Like snow in May,
      As if there were no such cold thing.

      Who would have thought my shrivl'd heart
Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone
      Quite under ground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
                   Where they together
                   All the hard weather
      Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

      These are thy wonders, Lord of power,
Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell
      And up to heaven in an hour;
Making a chiming of a passing-bell.
                   We say amiss,
                   This or that is:
      Thy word is all, if we could spell.

      O that I once past changing were,
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
      Many a spring I shoot up fair,
Off'ring at heav'n, growing and groaning thither:
                   Nor doth my flower
                   Want a spring-shower,
      My sins and I joining together:

      But while I grow in a straight line,
Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own,
      Thy anger comes, and I decline:
What frost to that? what pole is not the zone,
                   Where all things burn,
                   When thou dost turn,
      And the least frown of thine is shown?

      And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
      I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing: O my only light,
                   It cannot be
                   That I am her
      On whom thy tempests fell all night.

      These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
To make us see we are but flowers that glide:
      Which when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.
                   Who would be more,
                   Swelling through store,
      Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.

George Herbert

Wreath

A WREATHED garland of deserved praise,
Of praise deserved, unto thee I give,
I give to thee, who knowest all my ways,
My crooked winding ways, wherein I live,
Wherein I die, not live: for life is straight,
Straight as a line, and ever tends to thee,
To thee, who art more far above deceit,
Than deceit seems above simplicity.
Give me simplicity, that I may live,
So live and like, that I may know thy ways,
Know them and practice them: then I shall give
For this poor wreath, give thee a crown of praise.

Love(III)

LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
                Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack
                From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
                If I lacked anything.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
                Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
                I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
                Who made the eyes but I?

Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame
                Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
                My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
                So I did sit and eat.

George Herbert

Easter Wings

LORD, who createdst man in wealth and store,
    Though foolishly he lost the same,
        Decaying more and more,
              Till he became
                Most poor:
                With thee
              O let me rise
        As larks, harmoniously,
    And sing this day thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My tender age in sorrow did begin:
    And still with sicknesses and shame
        Thou didst so punish sin,
              That I became
                  Most thin.
                  With thee
              Let me combine
        And feel this day thy victory
    For, if I imp my wing on thine,
Affliction shall advance the flight in me.

George Herbert

Sunday

      O DAY most calm, most bright
The fruit of this, the next world's bud,
Th'endorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his blood;
The couch of time; care's balm and bay:
The week were dark, but for thy light:
       Thy torch doth show the way.

       The other days and thou
Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Knocking at heaven with thy brow:
The worky-days are the back-part;
The burden of the week lies there,
Making the whole to stoop and bow,
       Till thy release appear.

       Man had straight forward gone
To endless death: but thou dost pull
And turn us round to look on one,
Whom, if we were not very dull,
We could not choose to look on still;
Since there is no place so alone,
       The which he doth not fill.

       Sundays the pillars are,
On which heav'n's palace arched lies:
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.
They are the fruitful beds and borders
In God's rich garden: that is bare,
       Which parts their ranks and orders.

       The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King.
On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,
       More plentiful than hope.

       This day my Saviour rose,
And did enclose this light for his:
That, as each beast his manger knows,
Man might not of his fodder miss.
Christ hath took in this piece of ground,
And made a garden there for those
       Who want herbs for their wound.

       The rest of our Creation
Our great Redeemer did remove
With the same shake, which at his passion
Did th'earth and all things with it move.
As Samson bore the doors away,
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,
       And did unhinge that day.

       The brightness of that day
We sullied by our foul offence:
Wherefore that robe we cast away,
Having a new at his expense,
Whose drops of bloud paid the full price,
That was requir'd to make us gay,
       And fit for Paradise.

       Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the weekdays trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from sev'n to sev'n,
Till that we both, being toss'd from earth,
       Fly hand in hand to heav'n!

George Herbert

The Eagle

                          1

It was one of those clear,sharp.mustless days
        That summer and man delight in.
Never had Heaven seemed quite so high,
Never had earth seemed quite so green,
Never had the world seemed quite so clean
Or sky so nigh.
        And I heard the Deity's voice in
             The sun's warm rays,
        And the white cloud's intricate maze,
And the blue sky's beautiful sheen.

                          2

I looked to the heavens and saw him there,--
        A black speck downward drifting,
Nearer and nearer he steadily sailed,
Nearer and nearer he slid through space,
In an unending aerial race,
       This sailor who hailed
       From the Clime of the Clouds.--Ever shifting,
             On billows of air
        And the blue sky seemed never so fair,
And the rest of the world kept pace.

                          3

On the white of his head the sun flashed bright;
        And he battled the wind with wide pinions,
Clearer and clearer the gale whistled loud,
Clearer and clearer he came into view,--
Bigger and blacker against the blue.
        Then a dragon of cloud
        Gathering all its minions
             Rushed to the fight,
        And swallowed him up in a bite;
And the sky lay empty clear through.

                          4

Long I watched.   And at last afar
        Caught sight of a speck in the vastness;
Ever smaller,ever decreasing,
Ever drifting,drifting awayInto the endless realms of day;
        Finally ceasing.
        So into Heaven's vast fastness
            Vanished that bar
Of black,as a fluttering star
Goes out while still on its way.

                          5

So I lost him.   But I shall always see
             In my mind
The warm,yellow sun,and the ether free;
The vista's sky,and the white cloud trailing,
        Trailing behind,--
And below the young earth's summer-green arbors,
And on high the eagle,--sailing,sailing
        Into far skies and unknown harbors
e.e. cummings

when life is quite through with

when life is quite through with
and leaves say alas,
much is to do
for the swallow,that closes
a flight in the blue;

when love's had his tears out,
perhaps shall pass
a million years
(while a bee dozes
on the poppies, the dears;

when all's done and said,and
under the grass
lies her head
by oaks and roses
deliberated.)

Thy fingers make early flowers

Thy fingers make early flowers
of all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings,saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.

thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says;singing
(though love be a day)
for which girl art thou flowers bringing?

To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,it shall not stop kissing).

All in green my love went riding

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the merry deer ran before.

Fleeter be they than dappled dreams
the swift sweet deer
the red rare deer.

Horn at hip went my love riding
riding the echo down
into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the level meadows ran before.

Softer be they than slippered sleep
the lean lithe deer
the fleet flown deer.

Four fleet does at a gold valley
the famished arrows sang before.

Bow at belt went my love riding
riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
the sheer peaks ran before.

Paler be they than daunting death
the sleek slim deer
the tall tense deer.

Four tall stags at a green mountain
the lucky hunter sang before.

All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.

four lean hounds crouched low and smiling
my heart fell dead before.

Where's Madge then,

Where's Madge then,
Madge and her men?
buried with
Alice in her hair,
(but if you ask the rain
he'll not tell where.)

beauty makes terms
with time and his worms,
when loveliness
says sweetly Yes
to wind and cold;
and how much earth
is Madge worth?
Inquire of the flower that sways in the autumn
she will never guess.
but i know

my heart fell dead before.

Memory

MY mind lets go a thousand things,
Like dates of wars and deaths of kings,
And yet recalls the very hour--
'Twas noon by yonder village tower,
And on the last blue noon in May--
The wind came briskly up this way,
Crisping the brook beside the road;
Then, pausing here, set down its load
Of pine-scents, and shook listlessly
Two petals from that wild-rose tree.

Miracles

SICK of myself and all that keeps the light
Of the blue skies away from me and mine,
I climb this ledge, and by this wind-swept pine
Lingering, watch the coming of the night.
'T is ever a new wonder to my sight.
Men look to God for some mysterious sign,
For other stars than those that nightly shine,
For some unnatural symbol of His might:--
Wouldst see a miracle as grand as those
The prophets wrought of old in Palestine?
Come watch with me the shaft of fire that glows
In yonder West; the fair, frail palaces,
The fading alps and archipelagoes,
And great cloud-continents of sunset-seas.

g work

kOoLeSt1:

Wedding Prayer (Apache)

Now you will feel no rain,
For each of you will be shelter to the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
For each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there is no more loneliness,
For each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two bodies,
But there is only one life before you.
Go now to your dwelling place
To enter into the days of your togetherness
And may your days be good and long upon the earth.

The Song of the Lenape Warriors Going Against the Enemy (Delaware)

O poor me!
Who am going out to fight the enemy,
And know not whether I shall return again,
To enjoy the embraces of my children
And my wife.
O poor creature!
Whose life is not in his own hands,
Who has no power over his own body,
But tries to do his duty
For the welfare of his nation.
O! thou Great Spirit above!
Take pity on my children
And on my wife!
Prevent their mourning on my account!
Grant that I may be successful in this attempt-
That I may slay my enemy,
And bring home the trophies of war
To my dear family and friends,
That we may rejoice together.
O! take pity on me!
Give me strength and courage to meet my enemy,
Suffer me to return again to my children,
To my wife
And to my relations!
Take pity on me and preserve my life
And I will make to thee a sacrifice.

Medicine Song of an Indian Lover (Ojibwa)

I.

Who, maiden, makes this river flow?
The Spirit-he makes its ripples glow-
But I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal o'er the wave to thy lover here.

II.

Who, maiden, makes this river flow?
The Spirit-he makes its ripples glow-
Yet every blush that my love would hide,
Is mirror'd for me in the tell-tale tide.

III.

And though thou shouldst sleep on the farthest isle,
Round which these dimpling waters smile-
Yet I have a charm that can make thee, dear,
Steal over the wave to thy lover here.

The Loon Upon the Lake (Ojibwa)

I looked across the water,
I bent o'er it and listened,
I thought it was my lover,
My true lover's paddle glistened.
Joyous thus his light canoe would the silver ripples wake.-

But no!-it is the loon alone-
The loon upon the lake.
Ah me! it is the loon alone-
The loon upon the lake.

I see the fallen maple
Where he stood, his red scarf waving,
Though waters nearly bury
Boughs they then were newly laving.
I hear his last farewell, as it echoed from the brake.-

But no, it is the loon alone-
The loon upon the lake,
Ah me! it is the loon alone-
The loon upon the lake.

Dream Song (Ojibwa)

It is I who travel in the winds,
It is I who whisper in the breeze,
I shake the trees,
I shake the earth,
I trouble the waters on every land.

Prophetic Powers (Ojibwa)

1.

At the place of light-
At the end of the sky-
I,the Great Spirit,
Come and hang
Bright sign.

2.

Lo! with the sound of my voice,
The prophet's voice,
I make my sacred lodge to shake-
By unseen hands my lodge to shake,
My sacred lodge.

3.

Haih! the white bird of omen,
He flies around the clouds and skies-
He sees,-unuttered sight!
Around the clouds and skies-
By his bright eyes I see-I see-I know