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MARY AT THE CROSS
"Now there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother."
O wondrous mother! Since the dawn of timeWas ever joy, was ever grief like thine?O, highly favored in thy joy's deep flow,And favored e'en in this, thy bitterest woe!Poor was that home in simple Nazareth,Where thou, fair growing, like some silent flower,Last of a kingly line, – unknown and lowly,O desert lily, – passed thy childhood's hour.The world knew not the tender, serious maiden,Who, through deep loving years so silent grew,Filled with high thoughts and holy aspirations,Which, save thy Father, God's, no eye might view.And then it came, that message from the Highest,Such as to woman ne'er before descended;Th' almighty shadowing wings thy soul o'erspread,And with thy life the Life of worlds was blended.What visions, then, of future glory filled thee,Mother of King and kingdom yet unknown —Mother, fulfiller of all prophecy,Which through dim ages wondering seers had shown!Well did thy dark eye kindle, thy deep soulRise into billows, and thy heart rejoice;Then woke the poet's fire, the prophet's songTuned with strange, burning words thy timid voice.Then in dark contrast came the lowly manger,The outcast shed, the tramp of brutal feet;Again, behold earth's learned, and her lowly,Sages and shepherds, prostrate at thy feet.Then to the temple bearing, hark! againWhat strange, conflicting tones of prophecyBreathe o'er the Child, foreshadowing words of joy,High triumph, and yet bitter agony.O, highly favored thou, in many an hourSpent in lone musing with thy wondrous Son,When thou didst gaze into that glorious eye,And hold that mighty hand within thy own.Blessed through those thirty years, when in thy dwellingHe lived a God disguised, with unknown power,And thou, his sole adorer, – his best love, —Trusting, revering, waitedst for his hour.Blessed in that hour, when called by opening heavenWith cloud, and voice, and the baptizing flame,Up from the Jordan walked th' acknowledged stranger,And awe-struck crowds grew silent as he came.Blessed, when full of grace, with glory crowned,He from both hands almighty favors poured,And, though he had not where to lay his head,Brought to his feet alike the slave and lord.Crowds followed; thousands shouted, "Lo, our King!"Fast beat thy heart; now, now the hour draws nigh:Behold the crown – the throne! the nations bend.Ah, no! fond mother, no! behold him die.Now by that cross thou tak'st thy final station,And shar'st the last dark trial of thy Son;Not with weak tears or woman's lamentation,But with high, silent anguish, like his own.Hail, highly favored, even in this deep passion,Hail, in this bitter anguish – thou art blest —Blest in the holy power with him to sufferThose deep death pangs that lead to higher rest.All now is darkness; and in that deep stillnessThe God-man wrestles with that mighty woe;Hark to that cry, the rock of ages rending —"'Tis finished!" Mother, all is glory now!By sufferings mighty as his mighty soulHath the Jehovah risen – forever blest;And through all ages must his heart-belovedThrough the same baptism enter the same rest.CHRISTIAN PEACE
"Thou shalt hide them in the secret of thy presence from the pride of man; thou shalt keep them secretly as in a pavilion from the strife of tongues."
When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,And billows wild contend with angry roar,'Tis said, far down beneath the wild commotion,That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth,And silver waves chime ever peacefully,And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.So to the heart that knows thy love, O Purest,There is a temple, sacred evermore,And all the babble of life's angry voicesDie in hushed stillness at its peaceful door.Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth,And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully,And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth,Disturbs the soul that dwells, O Lord, in thee.O, rest of rests! O, peace serene, eternal!Thou ever livest; and thou changest never;And in the secret of thy presence dwellethFulness of joy – forever and forever.ABIDE IN ME AND I IN YOU
THE SOUL'S ANSWERThat mystic word of thine, O sovereign Lord,Is all too pure, too high, too deep for me;Weary of striving, and with longing faint,I breathe it back again in prayer to thee.Abide in me, I pray, and I in thee;From this good hour, O, leave me nevermore;Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed,The lifelong bleeding of the soul be o'er.Abide in me – o'ershadow by thy loveEach half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin;Quench, e'er it rise, each selfish, low desire,And keep my soul as thine, calm and divine.As some rare perfume in a vase of clayPervades it with a fragrance not its own,So, when thou dwellest in a mortal soul,All heaven's own sweetness seems around it thrown.The soul alone, like a neglected harp,Grows out of tune, and needs a hand divine;Dwell thou within it, tune, and touch the chords,Till every note and string shall answer thine.Abide in me; there have been moments pureWhen I have seen thy face and felt thy power;Then evil lost its grasp, and passion, hushed,Owned the divine enchantment of the hour.These were but seasons beautiful and rare;"Abide in me," – and they shall ever be;Fulfil at once thy precept and my prayer —Come and abide in me, and I in thee.WHEN I AWAKE I AM STILL WITH THEE
Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh,When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with thee!Alone with thee, amid the mystic shadows,The solemn hush of nature newly born;Alone with thee in breathless adoration,In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.As in the dawning o'er the waveless oceanThe image of the morning star doth rest,So in this stillness thou beholdest onlyThine image in the waters of my breast.Still, still with thee! as to each new-born morningA fresh and solemn splendor still is given,So doth this blessed consciousness, awaking,Breathe, each day, nearness unto thee and heaven.When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,Its closing eye looks up to thee in prayer,Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading,But sweeter still to wake and find thee there.So shall it be at last, in that bright morningWhen the soul waketh and life's shadows flee;O, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with thee!CHRIST'S VOICE IN THE SOUL
"Come ye yourselves into a desert place and rest a while; for there were many coming and going, so that they had no time so much as to eat."
'Mid the mad whirl of life, its dim confusion,Its jarring discords and poor vanity,Breathing like music over troubled waters,What gentle voice, O Christian, speaks to thee?It is a stranger – not of earth or earthly;By the serene, deep fulness of that eye, —By the calm, pitying smile, the gesture lowly, —It is thy Savior as he passeth by."Come, come," he saith, "into a desert place,Thou who art weary of life's lower sphere;Leave its low strifes, forget its babbling noise;Come thou with me – all shall be bright and clear."Art thou bewildered by contesting voices,Sick to thy soul of party noise and strife?Come, leave it all, and seek that solitudeWhere thou shalt learn of me a purer life."When far behind the world's great tumult dieth,Thou shalt look back and wonder at its roar;But its far voice shall seem to thee a dream,Its power to vex thy holier life be o'er."There shalt thou learn the secret of a power,Mine to bestow, which heals the ills of living;To overcome by love, to live by prayer,To conquer man's worst evils by forgiving."THE END1
Those particulars the writer heard stated personally as a part of the experience of one of the most devoted ministers of Ohio.