MY Saviour, can it ever be | |
| That I should gain by losing Thee? | |
| The watchful mother tarries nigh | |
| Though sleep have clos’d her infant’s eye, | |
| For should he wake, and find her gone, | 5 |
| She knows she could not bear his moan. | |
| But I am weaker than a child, | |
| And Thou art more than mother dear; | |
| Without Thee heaven were but a wild: | |
| How can I live without Thee here? | 10 |
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| “’Tis good for you that I should go, | |
| You lingering yet awhile below;”— | |
| ’Tis Thine own gracious promise, Lord! | |
| Thy saints have prov’d the faithful word. | |
| When Heaven’s bright boundless avenue | 15 |
| Far opened on their eager view, | |
| And homeward to Thy Father’s throne, | |
| Still lessening, brightening on their sight, | |
| Thy shadowy car went soaring on; | |
| They track’d Thee up th’ abyss of light. | 20 |
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| Thou bidd’st rejoice; they dare not mourn | |
| But to their home in gladness turn, | |
| Their home and God’s, that favour’d place | |
| Where still He shines on Abraham’s race, | |
| In prayers and blessings there to wait | 25 |
| Like suppliants at their monarch’s gate, | |
| Who, bent with bounty rare to aid | |
| The splendours of his crowning day, | |
| Keeps back awhile his largess, made | |
| More welcome for that brief delay: | 30 |
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| In doubt they wait, but not unblest; | |
| They doubt not of their Master’s rest, | |
| Nor of the gracious will of Heaven— | |
| Who gave His Son, sure all has given— | |
| But in ecstatic awe they muse | 35 |
| What course the genial stream may choose, | |
| And far and wide their fancies rove, | |
| And to their height of wonder strain, | |
| What secret miracle of love | |
| Should make their Saviour’s going gain. | 40 |
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| The days of hope and prayer are past, | |
| The day of comfort dawns at last, | |
| The everlasting gates again | |
| Roll back, and lo! a royal train— | |
| From the far depth of life once more | 45 |
| The floods of glory earthward pour: | |
| They part like shower-drops in mid air, | |
| But ne’er so soft fell noontide shower, | |
| Nor evening rainbow gleam’d so fair | |
| To weary swains in parched bower. | 50 |
| |
| Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame | |
| Through cloud and breeze unwavering came, | |
| And darted to its place of rest | |
| On some meek brow of Jesus blest. | |
| Nor fades it yet, that living gleam, | 55 |
| And still those lambent lightnings stream; | |
| Where’er the Lord is, there are they; | |
| In every heart that gives them room, | |
| They light His altar every day, | |
| Zeal to inflame, and vice to consume. | 60 |
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| Soft as the plumes of Jesus’ Dove | |
| They nurse the soul to heavenly love: | |
| The struggling spark of good within, | |
| Just smother’d in the strife of sin, | |
| They quicken to a timely glow, | 65 |
| The pure flame spreading high and low. | |
| Said I that prayer and hope were o’er? | |
| Nay, blessed Spirit! but by Thee | |
| The Church’s prayer finds wings to soar, | |
| The Church’s hope finds eyes to see. | 70 |
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| Then, fainting soul, arise and sing; | |
| Mount, but be sober on the wing; | |
| Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer, | |
| Be sober, for thou art not there; | |
| Till Death the weary spirit free, | 75 |
| Thy God hath said, ’Tis good for thee | |
| To walk by faith and not by sight: | |
| Take it on trust a little while; | |
| Soon shalt thou read the mystery right | |
| In the full sunshine of His smile. | 80 |
| |
| Or if thou yet more knowledge crave, | |
| Ask thine own heart, that willing slave | |
| To all that works thee woe or harm: | |
| Shouldst thou not need some mighty charm | |
| To win thee to thy Saviour’s side, | 85 |
| Though He had deign’d with thee to bide? | |
| The Spirit must stir the darkling deep, | |
| The Dove must settle on the Cross, | |
| Else we should all sin on or sleep | |
| With Christ in sight, turning our gain to loss. | 90 |
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