Ye unbelieving! learn a wiser part, Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart; There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame Not so will I requite thee, gentle Love! Of heart and soul and spirit, all are thine. Spring from the sense of having nought beside. In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might; My wanderings prove Thy wisdom infinite; All that I have I give thee; and then see All contrarieties unite in thee; For Thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe, And the hills sink,-'tis matching Earth and Skies! An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more; A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love; I plunge into that sea, and there am lost. GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY THE WORLD. YE Linnets, let us try, beneath this grove, In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove, For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways. That God alone should prop the sinking soul, I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole, To seek one simple heart, set free from all below. They speak of love, yet little feel its sway, While in their bosoms many an idol lurks; Their base desires, well satisfied, obey, Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works. 'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more; purpose Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought, Tune to the praise of Love my ceaseless voice; Preferring Love too vast for human thought, In spite of erring men, who cavil at my choice. Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, Lord of my soul! that they might all be thine? If thou approve, the zeal thy smile imparts, How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline? Love pure and holy, is a deathless fire; Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze: Eternal love a God must needs inspire, When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise. Self-love dismiss'd,-'tis then we live indeed,— In her embrace, death, only death is found: Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed, Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is bound! Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear, Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all your own! They hear me not.-Alas! how fond to rove I taste the sweets of truth,-here only am secure. THE SWALLOW. I AM fond of the swallow ;—I learn from her flight, How seldom on earth do we see her alight! It is on the wing that she takes her repose, Suspended and poised in the regions of air; 'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows, It is wing'd like herself, 'tis ethereal fare. She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays, And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun;— So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays, And the place where he shines not, immediately shun. Our light should be Love, and our nourishment prayer; In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below, And only when building a nest for her young; Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow A thought upon any thing filthy as dung. Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode,) THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED. AH! reign, wherever man is found, My Spouse, beloved and divine! Then I am rich, and I abound, When every human heart is thine. A thousand sorrows pierce my soul, All hearts are cold, in every place, Thaw these of ice, and give us new! |