Like dark and savage men, that dwell In soul-benighted lands, That blindly worship things of hell, The work of their own hands.
For hideous shapes, instead of dread, They fierce devotion feel, And the more hideous they are made, The greater is their zeal.
Ye sinners that to Idols bow, Let light illume your heart, Leave earth-born things to earth below, And seek the better part.
Come to the fountain free to all, Drink of the living spring; Before the cross of Jesus fall, And own Him for your King.
Come from your dark unwholesome holes, With hateful things within, Come and seek comfort to your souls, And walk no more in sin.
If self still claims the foremost place, Where Christ should reign alone, Self is the Idol that, through grace, Must quite be overthrown.
The lust and vanity of life, All pomp and pride of mind, Are but the source of grief and strife, And leave no joy behind:
Jesus alone is Sovereign King, In Earth and Heaven above; And why should we to Idols cling, When we have Him to love?
IT is not in the heart of thought, Nor in the breast of care; That truth its dwelling-place has sought, For all is sterile there:
Nor is it in the mind, where gay Delusive visions throng, That chastening truth can find a way Its glittering dreams among:
Yet as within the desert far, There are reflections given Of light, so in the heart there are Remembrances of Heaven.
ON Sabbath morn, one feels Exalted 'bove the world, and longs to go Forth to the house of God; and, as the slow And solemn church-chime on him steals,
He seems to tread the height Of Heaven, rise with his risen Lord, and there Pour out his soul in never-ceasing prayer, And worship with the saints in light.
And peace, and joy, and faith Are his, and all things that the earth contains, And all above, through the Redeemer's pains, And groans, and victory o'er death!
Glory to Him who willed That man should live, not die! to Him who made The Sabbath for our comfort, and who said The soul on Christ its hopes should build!
ON Sabbath eve, how sad, Yet sweet, the thoughts that come into the mind, Unbid, but not unwelcome, and which find Communion there, and to its solace add.
The world seems bright no more; Its witching charms are gone, its voice is dumb: Vainly its pleasures to the soul say "Come!" The wish for their enjoyment now is o'er.