Verses on Various Occasions John Henry Newman (ebook reader android txt) đ
- Author: John Henry Newman
Book online «Verses on Various Occasions John Henry Newman (ebook reader android txt) đ». Author John Henry Newman
All blent in one dusk hue.
Why dwell on rich autumnal lights,
Spring-time, or winterâs social ring?
Long days are fire-side nights,
Brown autumn is fresh spring.
Then what this world to thee, my heart?
Its gifts nor feed thee nor can bless.
Thou hast no ownerâs part
In all its fleetingness.
The flame, the storm, the quaking ground,
Earthâs joy, earthâs terror, nought is thine,
Thou must but hear the sound
Of the still voice divine.
O priceless art! O princely state!
Eâen while by sense of change opprest,
Within to antedate
Heavenâs Age of fearless rest.
Highwood. October, 1827.
IX Consolations in BereavementDeath was full urgent with thee, Sister dear,
And startling in his speed;â â
Brief pain, then languor till thy end came nearâ â
Such was the path decreed,
The hurried road
To lead thy soul from earth to thine own Godâs abode.
Death wrought with thee, sweet maid, impatiently:â â
Yet merciful the haste
That baffles sickness;â âdearest, thou didst die,
Thou wast not made to taste
Deathâs bitterness,
Declineâs slow-wasting charm, or feverâs fierce distress.
Death came unheralded:â âbut it was well;
For so thy Saviour bore
Kind witness, thou wast meet at once to dwell
On His eternal shore;
All warning spared,
For none He gives where hearts are for prompt change prepared.
Death wrought in mystery; both complaint and cure
To human skill unknown:â â
God put aside all means, to make us sure
It was His deed alone;
Lest we should lay
Reproach on our poor selves, that thou wast caught away.
Death urged as scant of time:â âlest, Sister dear,
We many a lingering day
Had sickenâd with alternate hope and fear,
The ague of delay;
Watching each spark
Of promise quenchâd in turn, till all our sky was dark.
Death came and went:â âthat so thy image might
Our yearning hearts possess,
Associate with all pleasant thoughts and bright,
With youth and loveliness;
Sorrow can claim,
Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing name.
Joy of sad hearts, and light of downcast eyes!
Dearest thou art enshrined
In all thy fragrance in our memories;
For we must ever find
Bare thought of thee
Freshen this weary life, while weary life shall be.
Oxford. April, 1828.
X A PictureâThe maiden is not dead, but sleepeth.â
She is not gone;â âstill in our sight
That dearest maid shall live,
In form as true, in tints as bright,
As youth and health could give.
Still, still is ours the modest eye;
The smile unwrought by art;
The glance that shot so piercingly
Affectionâs keenest dart;
The thrilling voice, I neâer could hear
But felt a joy and pain;â â
A pride that she was ours, a fear
Ours she might not remain;
Whether the page divine callâd forth
Its clear sweet, tranquil tone,
Or cheerful hymn, or seemly mirth
In sprightlier measure shown;
The meek inquiry of that face,
Musing on wonders found,
As âmid dim paths she sought to trace
The truth on sacred ground;
The thankful sigh that would arise,
When aught her doubts removed,
Full sure the explaining voice to prize,
Admiring while she loved;
The pensive brow, the world might see
When she in crowds was found;
The burst of heart, the oâerflowing glee
When only friends were round;
Hopeâs warmth of promise, prompt to fill
The thoughts with good in store,
Matchâd with contentâs deep stream, which still
Flowâd on, when hope was oâer;
That peace, which, with its own bright day,
Made cheapest sights shine fair;
That purest grace, which trackâd its way
Safe from aught earthly there.
Such was she in the sudden hour
That brought her Makerâs callâ â
Proving her heartâs self-mastering power
Blithely to part with allâ â
All her eye loved, all her hand pressâd
With keen affectionâs glow,
The voice of home, all pleasures best,
All dearest thoughts below.
From friend-lit hearth, from social board,
All duteously she rose;
For faith upon the Masterâs word
Can find a sure repose.
And in her wonder up she sped,
And tried relief in vain;
Then laid her down upon her bed
Of languor and of painâ â
And waited till the solemn spell,
(A lingâring night and day,)
Should fill its numbers, and compel
Her soul to come away.
Such was she then; and such she is,
Shrined in each mournerâs breast;
Such shall she be, and more than this,
In promised glory blest;
When in due lines her Saviour dear
His scatterâd saints shall range,
And knit in love souls parted here,
Where cloud is none, nor change.
Oxford. August, 1828.
XI My Lady Nature and Her DaughtersLadies, well I deem, delight
In comely tire to move;
Soft, and delicate, and bright,
Are the robes they love.
Silks, where hues alternate play,
Shawls, and scarfs, and mantles gay,
Gold, and gems, and crispĂšd hair,
Fling their light oâer lady fair.
âTis not waste, nor sinful pride,
âName them not, nor fault besideâ â
But her very cheerfulness
Prompts and weaves the curious dress;
While her holy5 thoughts still roam
Mid birth-friends and scenes of home.
Pleased to please whose praise is dear,
Glitters she? she glitters there;â â
And she has a pattern found her
In Natureâs glowing world around her.
Nature loves, as lady bright,
In gayest guise to shine,
All forms of grace, all tints of light,
Fringe her robe divine.
Sun-lit heaven, and rain-bow cloud,
Changeful main, and mountain proud,
Branching tree, and meadow green,
All are deckâd in broiderâd sheen.
Not a bird on bough-proppâd tower,
Insect slim, nor tiny flower,
Stone, nor spar, nor shell of sea,
But is fair in its degree.
âTis not pride, this vaunt of beauty;
Well she âquits her trust of duty;
And, amid her gorgeous state,
Bright, and bland, and delicate,
Ever beaming from her face
Praise of a Fatherâs love we trace.
Ladies, shrinking from the view
Of the prying day,
In tranquil diligence pursue
Their heaven-appointed way.
Noiseless duties, silent cares,
Mercies lighting unawares,
Modest influence working good,
Gifts, by the keen heart understood,
Such as viewless spirits might give,
These they love, in these they live.â â
Mighty Nature speeds her through
Her daily toils in silence too:
Calmly rolls her giant spheres,
Sheds by stealth her dewâs kind tears;
Cheating sageâs vexâd pursuit,
Churns the sap, matures the fruit,
And, her deft hand still concealing,
Kindles motion, life, and feeling.
Ladies love to laugh and sing,
To rouse the chordâs full sound,
Or to join the festive ring
Where dancers gather
Comments (0)