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قراءة كتاب The Arm Chair
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 6
evening prayer,
Joined with her morning hymn of glory there.
She felt no agony of parting breath,
Taken in kindness without tasting death!
Melodious singer of heart-thrilling songs,
Of Zion's injuries and Israel's wrongs,
Whose lonely harp still on the willow hung,
Till fresh-felt mercies every chord restrung;
Then touched to praise its tones in sweetness broke,
That in each heart responsive feelings woke!
—Oh, I behold thee, as I last beheld,
When gospel love thy grateful bosom swelled,—
When weeping listeners heard the tale of woe,
Of mental conflicts it was thine to know,—
When as a flood the enemy came in,
Sweeping away the barriers against sin,—
When from a pit of horror burst thy moan,
Illumined by no brightness from the throne,—
When sombre shadows compassed thee around,—
When satan's legions pierced with many a wound,—
When the rank weeds were wrapp'd about thy head,—
When boisterous billows over thee were spread,—
Then He who died and triumphed o'er the grave,
Arose in might thy struggling soul to save;
Bade the waves sunder and temptations fly,
The scattering clouds haste from the brightening sky,
The sun of righteousness with cheering ray,
Shed the full radiance of perfected day.
—Then from thy lips poured forth a joyful song
To thy Redeemer!—yea, it poured along
In most melodious energy of praise,
To God, the Saviour, he of ancient days,
The heart and language rising with the theme,
Till praise gushed forth one living, glowing stream!
Then from thy lips the thrilling language fell,
"Glory to Him who raised my soul from hell!"
—Baptized in tears was many a cheek that day,
As Sarah Cresson told her checquered way.
'T was her last gospel labour here of love,—
Mercy soon gathered her to praise above.
Of Zion's injuries and Israel's wrongs,
Whose lonely harp still on the willow hung,
Till fresh-felt mercies every chord restrung;
Then touched to praise its tones in sweetness broke,
That in each heart responsive feelings woke!
—Oh, I behold thee, as I last beheld,
When gospel love thy grateful bosom swelled,—
When weeping listeners heard the tale of woe,
Of mental conflicts it was thine to know,—
When as a flood the enemy came in,
Sweeping away the barriers against sin,—
When from a pit of horror burst thy moan,
Illumined by no brightness from the throne,—
When sombre shadows compassed thee around,—
When satan's legions pierced with many a wound,—
When the rank weeds were wrapp'd about thy head,—
When boisterous billows over thee were spread,—
Then He who died and triumphed o'er the grave,
Arose in might thy struggling soul to save;
Bade the waves sunder and temptations fly,
The scattering clouds haste from the brightening sky,
The sun of righteousness with cheering ray,
Shed the full radiance of perfected day.
—Then from thy lips poured forth a joyful song
To thy Redeemer!—yea, it poured along
In most melodious energy of praise,
To God, the Saviour, he of ancient days,
The heart and language rising with the theme,
Till praise gushed forth one living, glowing stream!
Then from thy lips the thrilling language fell,
"Glory to Him who raised my soul from hell!"
—Baptized in tears was many a cheek that day,
As Sarah Cresson told her checquered way.
'T was her last gospel labour here of love,—
Mercy soon gathered her to praise above.
Of polished manners and of graceful mien,
Lovely in life, was Mary Morton seen;
Each native talent sanctified by grace,
Was kept, obedient, in its proper place.
Not quick to offer, cautious still to try,
As Gideon did his fleece, both wet and dry.
Like leaven working where no eye could view,
Her spirit wrestled for the heavenly dew;
She dug for water in a weary soil,
Till bubbling life-springs recompensed her toil.
—As gently passed the fleeting breath away,
Retortive memory brought her youthful day,
And one fond look back on the past she flung,
While
Lovely in life, was Mary Morton seen;
Each native talent sanctified by grace,
Was kept, obedient, in its proper place.
Not quick to offer, cautious still to try,
As Gideon did his fleece, both wet and dry.
Like leaven working where no eye could view,
Her spirit wrestled for the heavenly dew;
She dug for water in a weary soil,
Till bubbling life-springs recompensed her toil.
—As gently passed the fleeting breath away,
Retortive memory brought her youthful day,
And one fond look back on the past she flung,
While