God's glory is a wondrous thing, Most strange in all its ways, And, of all things on earth, least like What men agree to praise.
As he can endless glory weave From what men reckon shame, In His own world He is content To play a losing game.
Muse on His justice, downcast some! Muse and take better heart; Back with thine angel to the field, And bravely do thy part.
God's justice is a bed, where we Our anxious hearts may lay, And, weary with ourselves, may sleep Our discontent away.
But right is right, since God is God; And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin!
"Jesu, plena caritate Manus tuæ perfortæ Laxent mea crimina; Latus tuum lanceatum, Caput spinis coronatum, Hæc sint medicamina"--OLD HYMN.
I lay my sins on Jesus, The spotless Lamb of God; He bears them all and free us From the accursed load. I bring my guilt to Jesus, To wash my crimson stains White in his blood most precious, Till not a stain remains.
I lay my wants on Jesus; All fullness dwells in Him. He heals all my diseases, He doth my soul redeem. I lay my griefs on Jesus, My burdens and my cares; He from them all releases, He all my sorrows shares.
I rest my soul on Jesus, This weary soul of mine; His right hand me embraces, I on his breast recline. I love the name of Jesus, Immanuel, Christ, the Lord; Like fragrance on the breezes, His name abroad is poured.
I long to be like Jesus, Meek, loving, lowly, mild, I long to be like Jesus, The Father's holy child. I long to be with Jesus Amid the heavenly throng, To sing with saints his praises, To learn the angel's song.
She stood before her father's gorgeous tent, To listen for his coming. Her loose hair Was resting on her shoulders, like a cloud Floating around a statue, and the wind, Just swaying her light robe, reveal'd a shape Praxiteles might worship. She had clasp'd Her hands upon her bosom, and had raised Her beautiful, dark, Jewish eyes to heaven, Till the long lashes lay upon her brow. Her lip was slightly parted, like the cleft Of a pomegranate blossom; and her neck, Just where the cheek was melting to its curve With the unearthly beauty sometimes there, Was shaded, as if light had fallen off, Its surface was so polish'd. She was stilling Her light, quick breath, to hear; and the white rose Scarce moved upon her bosom, as it swell'd, Like nothing but a lovely wave of light, To meet the arching of her queenly neck. Her countenance was radiant with love. She look'd like one to die for it--a being Whose whole existence was the pouring out Of rich and deep affections. I have thought A brother's and a sister's love were much; I know a brother's is--for I have been A sister's idol--and I know how full The heart may be of tenderness to her! But the affection of a delicate child For a fond father, gushing, as it does, With the sweet springs of life, and pouring on Through all earth's changes, like a river's course-- Chasten'd with reverence, and made more pure By the world's discipline of light and shade-- 'Tis deeper--holier.