What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do;
This teach me more than hell to shun,
That more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid when man receives,
To enjoy is to obey.
If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay;
If I am wrong, oh, teach my heart
To find that better way!
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent
At aught Thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught Thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quickened by Thy breath;
Oh, lead me wheresoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
This day be bread and peace my lot,
All else beneath the sun
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not,
And let Thy will be done.
To Thee whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies;
One chorus let all being raise!
All Nature's incense rise!
ALEXANDER POPE, 1688-1744.
REASONS FOR MIRTH.
THE sun is careering in glory and might,
'Mid the deep blue sea and the clouds so bright,
The billow is tossing its foam on high,
And the summer breezes go lightly by:
The air and the water dance, glitter, and play,
And why should not I be as merry as they?
The linnet is singing the wild wood through,
The fawn's bounding footsteps skim over the dew,
The butterfly flits round the blossoming tree,
And the cowslip and blue-bell are bent by the bee;
All the creatures that dwell in the forest are gay,
And why should not I be as merry as they?
MARY RUSSELL MITFORD, 1786-1855.
THE SEA-SHORE WALK.
I LOVED to walk where none had walked before,
About the rocks that run along the shore;
Or far beyond the sight of men to stray,
And take my pleasure when I lost my way;
For then 'twas mine to trace the hilly heath,
And all the mossy moor that lies beneath.
Here had I favourite stations, where I stood
And heard the murmurs of the ocean flood,
With not a sound beside, except when flew
Aloft the lapwing, or the grey curlew,
Who with wild notes my fancied power defied,
And mocked the dreams of solitary pride.
I loved to stop at every creek and bay
Made by the river in its winding way;
Pleasant it was to see the sea-gulls strive
Against the storm, or in the ocean dive
With eager scream, or when they dropping gave
Their closing wings to sail upon the wave;
Then as the winds and waters closed around,
And breaking billows mixed their deafening sound,
They on the rolling deep securely hung,
And calmly rode the restless waves among.
Nor pleased it less around me to behold,
Far up the beach, the yeasty sea-foam rolled;
Or from the shore upborne, to see on high
Its frothy flakes in wild confusion fly;
While the salt spray that clashing billows form,
Gave to the taste a feeling of the storm.
TIME speeds away-away-away;
Another hour, another day,
Another month, another year,
Drop from us like the leaflets sere;
Drop like the life-blood from our hearts,
The rose-bloom from the cheek departs,
The tresses from the temple fall,
The eye grows dim, and strange to all.
Time speeds away-away-away,
Like torrent in a stormy day;
He undermines the stately tower,
Uproots the tree, and snaps the flower;
And sweeps from our distracted breast
The friends that loved, the friends that blessed,
And leaves us weeping on the shore
To which they can return no more.
Time speeds away-away-away;
No eagle through the skies of day,
No wind along the hills can flee
So swiftly or so smooth as he.
Like fiery steed from stage to stage
He bears us on from youth to age;
Then plunges in the fearful sea
Of fathomless eternity.
VICESIMUS KNOX, 1752–1821.
He prayeth best who loveth best ;
All things both great and small
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
SAMUEL COLERIDGE, 1772-1832.
I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;
All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather,
Where the Pilgrim of Nature* lay stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather,
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And oh! was it meet that-no requiemt read o'er him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him—
Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart ?
When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;
With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:
Through the courts, at deep midnight the torches are gleaming;
In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming,
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,
Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall.
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, 'wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
*Pilgrim of Nature-one who wanders in search of beautiful scenes. + Requiem-prayer for the dead,
HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS!
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,
In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.
WALTER SCOTT, 1771-1832.
HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS!
How cheery are the mariners
Those lovers of the sea!
Their hearts are like its yesty waves,
As bounding and as free.
They whistle when the storm-bird wheels
In circles round the mast;
And sing when deep in foam the ship
Ploughs onward to the blast.
What care the mariners for gales ?
There's music in their roar,
When wide the berth along the lee,
And leagues of room before.
Let billows toss to mountain heights,
Or sink to chasms low,
The vessel stout will ride it out,
Nor reel beneath the blow.
With streamers down and canvas furled,
The gallant hull will float
Securely, as on inland lake
A silken-tasselled boat;
And sound asleep some mariners,
And some with watchful eyes,
Will fearless be of dangers dark
That roll along the skies.
God keep those cheery mariners!
And temper all the gales
That sweep against the rocky coast
To their storm-shattered sails;
And men on shore will bless the ship
That could so guided be,
Safe in the hollow of His hand,
To brave the mighty sea!
PARK BENJAMIN, DIED 1864.
*Obsequies funeral rites.
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