Affrights the wandering flock :- Trust not the dangerous path again— O forward step and lingering will! O lov'd and warn'd in vain! And wilt thou perish still? Thy message given, thine home in sight, To the forbidden feast return? Yield to the false delight Thy better soul could spurn? Alas, my brother! round thy tomb We read the Pastor's doom Who speaks and will not hear. The grey-hair'd saint may fail at last, To the bright shore of love. P NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire, a still small voice. 1 Kings xix. 12. IN troublous days of anguish and rebuke, And their eyes fail for waiting on their Lord: 'Tis well, true hearts should for a time retire To holy ground, in quiet to aspire Towards promis'd regions of serener grace; On Horeb, with Elijah, let us lie, Where all around on mountain, sand, and sky, God's chariot-wheels have left distinctest trace: There, if in jealousy and strong disdain We to the sinner's God of sin complain, Untimely seeking here the peace of heaven"It is enough, O Lord! now let me die "Even as my fathers did for what am I "That I should stand, where they have vainly "striven?" Perhaps our God may of our conscience ask, "What doest thou here, frail wanderer from thy task? "Where hast thou left those few sheep in the wild"?” Then should we plead our heart's consuming pain, At sight of ruin'd altars, prophets slain, And God's own ark with blood of souls defil'd; He on the rock may bid us stand, and see His endless warfare with man's wilful heart; And to their base the trembling mountains part: Yet the Lord is not here: 'tis not by Power a I Sam. xvii. 28. Still, sullen heavings vex the labouring ground: Perhaps His Presence thro' all depth and height, Best of all gems, that deck his crown of light, The haughty eye may dazzle and confound. God is not in the earthquake; but behold The flames of His consuming jealous ire. Hastes to proclaim, "God is not in the fire." The storm is o'er-and hark! a still small voice Is ever with the soft, meek, tender soul: Here is our Lord, and not where thunders roll. Back then, complainer; loath thy life no more, Because the rocks the nearer prospect close. Thou know'st them not, but their Creator knows. Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast In joy to find it after many days. The work be thine, the fruit thy children's part: TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. And when He was come near, He beheld the city, and wept over it. St. Luke xix. 41. WHY doth my Saviour weep At sight of Sion's bowers? Shows it not fair from yonder steep, Her gorgeous crown of towers? Mark well his holy pains: 'Tis not in pride or scorn, That Israel's King with sorrow stains His own triumphal morn. b Eccles. xi. 1. |