En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Hope arising from retrospection

Alas! my fond enquiring soul,
Doom'd in suspence to mourn;
Now let thy moments calmly roll,
Now let thy peace return.

Why should'st thou let a doubt disturb
Thy hopes, which daily rise,
And urge thee on to trust his word
Who built and rules the skies?

Look back thro' what intricate ways
He led thy unfriended feet;
Oft mourning in the cheerless maze,
He ne'er forsook thee yet.

When thunder from heav'n's arch did break,
And cleft the sinking ship,
His mercy snatch'd thee from the wreck,
And from the rolling deep:

And when Disease, with threat'ning mein,
Aim'd at thy trembling heart,
Again his mercy interven'd,
And turn'd aside the dart.

When Murder sent her hopeless cries
More dreadful thro' the gloom,
And kindling flames did round thee rise,
Deep harvests to consume;

Who was it led thee thro' the wood
And o'er th' ensanguin'd plain,
Unseen by ambush'd sons of blood,
Who track'd thy steps in vain?

'Twas pitying heav'n that check'd my tears,
And bade my infants play,
To give an opiate to my fears,
And cheer the lonely way.

And in the doubly dreadful night
When my Abella died,
When horror struck---detesting light!
I sunk down by her side:

When wing'd for flight my spirit stood,
With this fond thought beguil'd,
To lead my charmer to her God,
And there to claim my child;

Again his mercy o'er my breast
Effus'd the breath of peace;
Subsiding passions sunk to rest,
He bade the tempest cease.

Oh! let me ever, ever praise
Such undeserved care;
Tho' languid may appear my lays,
At least they are sincere.

I never will distrust thee more,
Tho' hell should aim her dart;
Innoxious is infernal pow'r,
If thou Protector art.

It is my joy that thou art God,
Eternal, and supreme---
Rise Nature! hail the power aloud,
From whom creation came.

poem by Ann Eliza Bleecker from The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Nearer my God to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Tho' like a wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I'll be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

There let the way appear,
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy be given,
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Or if, on joyful wing
Cleavihg the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

poem by Sarah Flower Adams
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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O God! Thou art my God alone;

O God! Thou art my God alone;
Early to Thee my soul shall cry;
A pilgrim in a land unknown,
A thirsty land whose springs are dry.

O that it were as it hath been,
When praying in the holy place,
Thy power and glory I have seen,
And marked the footsteps of thy grace.

Yet through this rough and thorny maze,
I follow hard on Thee, my God:
Thy hand unseen upholds my ways:
I safely tread where Thou hast trod.

Thee, in the watches of the night,
When I remember on my bed,
Thy presence makes the darkness light;
Thy guardian wings are round my head.

Better than life itself thy love,
Dearer than all beside to me;
For whom have I in heaven above,
Or what on earth, compared with Thee?

Praise with my heart, my mind, my voice,
For all thy mercy I will give:
My soul shall still in God rejoice,
My tongue shall bless Thee while I live.

poem by James Montgomery
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Nearer, my God, to Thee.

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me:
Still all my song shall be
Nearer, my God! to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Though, like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Then let the way appear
Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou sendest me
In mercy given:
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Then with my waking thoughts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I'll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upward I fly:
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.

poem by Sarah Flower Adams
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Hymn: Thou Hidden Love of God

Thou hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathom'd no man knows,
I see from far thy beauteous light,
Inly I sigh for thy repose;
My heart is pain'd, nor can it be
At rest, till it finds rest in thee.

Thy secret voice invites me still,
The sweetness of thy yoke to prove:
And fain I would: but tho' my will
Seem fix'd, yet wide my passions rove;
Yet hindrances strew all the way;
I aim at thee, yet from thee stray.

'Tis mercy all, that thou hast brought
My mind to seek her peace in thee;
Yet while I seek, but find thee not,
No peace my wand'ring soul shall see;
O when shall all my wand'rings end,
And all my steps to thee-ward tend!

Is there a thing beneath the sun
That strives with thee my heart to share?
Ah! tear it thence, and reign alone,
The Lord of ev'ry motion there;
Then shall my heart from earth be free,
When it hath found repose in thee.

O hide this self from me, that I
No more, but Christ in me may live;
My vile affections crucify,
Nor let one darling lust survive;
In all things nothing may I see,
Nothing desire or seek but thee.

O Love, thy sov'reign aid impart,
To save me from low-thoughted care:
Chase this self-will thro' all my heart,
Thro' all its latent mazes there:
Make me thy duteous child, that I
Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry!

Ah no! ne'er will I backward turn:
Thine wholly, thine alone I am!
Thrice happy he who views with scorn
Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame;
O help that I may never move
From the blest footsteps of thy love!

Each moment draw from earth away
My heart that lowly waits thy call:
Speak to my inmost soul, and say,
I am thy love, thy God, thy all!
To feel thy power, to hear thy voice,
To taste thy love, be all my choice.

poem by John Wesley
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A Love Song

Ah, love, my love is like a cry in the night,
A long, loud cry to the empty sky,
The cry of a man alone in the desert,
With hands uplifted, with parching lips,

Oh, rescue me, rescue me,
Thy form to mine arms,
The dew of thy lips to my mouth,
Dost thou hear me?--my call thro' the night?

Darling, I hear thee and answer,
Thy fountain am I,
All of the love of my soul will I bring to thee,
All of the pains of my being shall wring to thee,
Deep and forever the song of my loving shall sing to thee,
Ever and ever thro' day and thro' night shall I cling to thee.
Hearest thou the answer?
Darling, I come, I come.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Hymn, Imitated from The French

I.
CALM all the tumults that invade
Our souls, and lend Thy pow'rful aid.
O Source of Mercy! soothe our pains,
And break, O break our cruel chains!
To Thee the captive pours his cry,
To Thee the mourner loves to fly;
The incense of our tears receive,
'Tis all the incense we can give.

II.

Eternal Power, our cause defend,
O God! of innocence the friend!
Near Thee for ever she resides,
In Thee for ever she confides;
Thou know'st the secrets of the breast,
Thou know'st th' oppressor and th' opprest;
Do Thou our wrongs with pity see,
Avert a doom offending Thee!

III.

But should the murd'rer's arm prevail,
Should tyranny our lives assail,
Unmov'd, triumphant, scorning death,
We'll bless Thee with our latest breath!-
The hour, the glorious hour will come,
That consecrates the patriot's tomb;
And, with the pang our mem'ry claims,
Our country will avenge our names.

poem by Helen Maria Williams
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Eternal Time, That Wastest Without Waste

Eternal Time, that wastest without waste,
That art and art not, diest, and livest still;
Most slow of all, and yet of greatest haste;
Both ill and good, and neither good nor ill:
How can I justly praise thee, or dispraise?
Dark are thy nights, but bright and clear thy days.

Both free and scarce, thou giv'st and tak'st again;
Thy womb that all doth breed, is tomb to all;
What so by thee hath life, by thee is slain;
From thee do all things rise, by thee they fall:
Constant, inconstant, moving, standing still;
Was, Is, Shall be, do thee both breed and kill.

I lose thee, while I seek to find thee out;
The farther off, the more I follow thee;
The faster hold, the greater cause of doubt;
Was, Is, I know; but Shall, I cannot see.
All things by thee are measur'd; thou, by none:
All are in thee; thou, in thyself alone.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Psalm 86

Thy gracious ear, O Lord, encline,
O hear me I thee pray,
For I am poor, and almost pine
With need, and sad decay.
Preserve my soul, for *I have trod Heb. I am good, loving,
Thy waies, and love the just, a doer of good and
Save thou thy servant O my God holy things
Who still in thee doth trust.
Pity me Lord for daily thee
I call; 4 O make rejoyce
Thy Servants Soul; for Lord to thee
I lift my soul and voice,
For thou art good, thou Lord art prone
To pardon, thou to all
Art full of mercy, thou alone
To them that on thee call.
Unto my supplication Lord
Give ear, and to the crie
Of my incessant praiers afford
Thy hearing graciously.
I in the day of my distress
Will call on thee for aid;
For thou wilt grant me free access
And answer, what I pray'd.
Like thee among the gods is none
O Lord, nor any works
Of all that other Gods have done
Like to thy glorious works.
The Nations all whom thou hast made
Shall come, and all shall frame
To bow them low before thee Lord,
And glorifie thy name.
For great thou art, and wonders great
By thy strong hand are done,
Thou in thy everlasting Seat
Remainest God alone.
Teach me O Lord thy way most right,
I in thy truth will hide,
To fear thy name my heart unite
So shall it never slide.
Thee will I praise O Lord my God
Thee honour, and adore
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad
Thy name for ever more.
For great thy mercy is toward me,
And thou hast free'd my Soul
Eev'n from the lowest Hell set free
From deepest darkness foul.
O God the proud against me rise
And violent men are met
To seek my life, and in their eyes
No fear of thee have set.
But thou Lord art the God most mild
Readiest thy grace to shew,
Slow to be angry, and art stil'd
Most mercifull, most true.
O turn to me thy face at length,
And me have mercy on,
Unto thy servant give thy strength,
And save thy hand-maids Son.
Some sign of good to me afford,
And let my foes then see
And be asham'd, because thou Lord
Do'st help and comfort me.

poem by John Milton
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My Spectre around me night and day

My Spectre around me night and day
Like a Wild beast guards my way
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my Sin

A Fathomless and boundless deep
There we wander there we weep
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind

He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go
Thro the wintry hail and rain
When wilt thou return again

Dost thou not in Pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears

Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereaved of their life
Their marble tombs I built with tearst
And with cold and shuddering fears

Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright

And seven more Loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful headt
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small

When wilt thou return and view
My loves and them to life renew
When wilt thou return and live
When wilt thou pity as I forgivet

Never Never I return t
Still for Victory I burn
Living thee alone Ill have
And when dead Ill be thy Grave

Thro the Heavn and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never never quell
I will fly and thou pursue
Night and Morn the flight renew

Till I turn from Female Lovet
And root up the Infernal Grovet
I shall never worthy bet
To Step into Eternity

And to end thy cruel mockst
Annihilate thee on the rockst
And another form create
To be subservient to my Fate

Let us agree to give up Love
And root up the infernal grove
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity

And Throughout all Eternityt
I forgive you you forgive me
As our dear Redeemer said
This the Wine and this the Bread

poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Thee, God, I Come from

Thee, God, I come from, to thee go,
All day long I like fountain flow
From thy hand out, swayed about
Mote-like in thy mighty glow.

What I know of thee I bless,
As acknowledging thy stress
On my being and as seeing
Something of thy holiness.

Once I turned from thee and hid,
Bound on what thou hadst forbid;
Sow the wind I would; I sinned:
I repent of what I did.

Bad I am, but yet thy child.
Father, be thou reconciled.
Spare thou me, since I see
With thy might that thou art mild.

I have life before me still
And thy purpose to fulfil;
Yea a debt to pay thee yet:
Help me, sir, and so I will.

But thou bidst, and just thou art,
Me shew mercy from my heart
Towards my brother, every other
Man my mate and counterpart.
. . . . . . . .

poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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My Spirit on Thy Care

My spirit on Thy care,
Blest Savior, I recline;
Thou wilt not leave me to despair,
For Thou art Love divine.

In Thee I place my trust,
On Thee I calmly rest;
I know Thee good, I know Thee just,
And count Thy choice the best.

Whate’er events betide,
Thy will they all perform;
Safe in Thy breast my head I hide,
Nor fear the coming storm.

Let good or ill befall,
It must be good for me;
Secure of having Thee in all,
Of having all in Thee.

poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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Despised And Rejected

My sun has set, I dwell
In darkness as a dead man out of sight;
And none remains, not one, that I should tell
To him mine evil plight
This bitter night.
I will make fast my door
That hollow friends may trouble me no more.

'Friend, open to Me.'—Who is this that calls?
Nay, I am deaf as are my walls:
Cease crying, for I will not hear
Thy cry of hope or fear.
Others were dear,
Others forsook me: what art thou indeed
That I should heed
Thy lamentable need?
Hungry should feed,
Or stranger lodge thee here?

'Friend, My Feet bleed.
Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.'
I will not open, trouble me no more.
Go on thy way footsore,
I will not rise and open unto thee.

'Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see
Who stands to plead with thee.
Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou
One day entreat My Face
And howl for grace,
And I be deaf as thou art now.
Open to Me.'

Then I cried out upon him: Cease,
Leave me in peace:
Fear not that I should crave
Aught thou mayst have.
Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more,
Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.
What, shall I not be let
Alone, that thou dost vex me yet?

But all night long that voice spake urgently:
'Open to Me.'
Still harping in mine ears:
'Rise, let Me in.'
Pleading with tears:
'Open to Me that I may come to thee.'
While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were cold:
'My Feet bleed, see My Face,
See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace,
My Heart doth bleed for thee,
Open to Me.'

So till the break of day:
Then died away
That voice, in silence as of sorrow;
Then footsteps echoing like a sigh
Passed me by,
Lingering footsteps slow to pass.
On the morrow
I saw upon the grass
Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door
The mark of blood for evermore.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Sweet Is The Solace Of Thy Love

I, even I, am He that comforteth you. Isaiah 2:12

Sweet is the solace of Thy love,
My Heavenly Friend, to me,
While through the hidden way of faith
I journey home with Thee,
Learning by quiet thankfulness
As a dear child to be.

Though from the shadow of Thy peace
My feet would often stray,
Thy mercy follows all my steps,
And will not turn away;
Yea, thou wilt comfort me at last,
As none beneath Thee may.

Oft in a dark and lonely place,
I hush my hastened breath,
To hear the comfortable words
Thy loving Spirit saith;
And feel my safety in Thy hand
From every kind of death.

O there is nothing in the world
To weigh against Thy will;
Even the dark times I dread the most
Thy covenant filfil;
And when the pleasant morning dawns
I find Thee with me still.

Then in the secret of my soul,
Though hosts my peace invade,
Though through a waste and weary land
My lonely way he made,
Thou, even Thou, wilt comfort me
I need not be afraid.

Still in the solitary place
I would awhile abide,
Till with the solace of Thy love
My heart is satisfied;
And all my hopes of happiness
Stay calmly at Thy side.

poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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The Great Mercy

Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was mercy sought and mercy found.

Yea, in the twinkling of an eye,
He cried; and Thou hast heard his cry.

Between the bullet and its mark
Thy face made morning in his dark.

And while the shell sang on its path
Thou hast run, Thou hast run, preventing death.

Thou hast run before and reached the goal,
Gathered to Thee the unhoused soul.

Thou art not bound by Time or Space:
So fast Death runs : Thou hast won the race.

Thou hast said to beaten Death: Go tell
Of victories thou once hadst. All's well!

Death, here none die but thee and Sin
Now the great days of Life begin.

And to the Soul: This day I rise
And thee with Me to Paradise.

Betwixt the saddle and the ground
Was Mercy sought and Mercy found.

poem by Katharine Tynan
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Love's Infinity

Dear lowly flower that liftest up
Among the grass thy golden cup,
I take thee from thy earthly bed
And plant thee in my heart instead.
Ye ocean waves that mount on high
As emulous of the lofty sky,
'Tis in my breast ye onward sweep
Which as the sea is wide and deep.
Great sun, from thy supernal height
On flower and wave who pourest light,
My soul doth clasp thee in the skies,
And thou in me dost set and rise.
O thou I love, thy lips of fire
Have waked an infinite desire,
And unto all things as to thee
Flames out the love that burns in me.

poem by William Gay
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In My Solitary Hours in My Dear Husband his Absence

O Lord, Thou hear'st my daily moan
And see'st my dropping tears.
My troubles all are Thee before,
My longings and my fears.

Thou hitherto hast been my God;
Thy help my soul hath found.
Though loss and sickness me assailed,
Through Thee I've kept my ground.

And Thy abode Thou'st made with me;
With Thee my soul can talk;
In secret places Thee I find
Where I do kneel or walk.

Though husband dear be from me gone,
Whom I do love so well,
I have a more beloved one
Whose comforts far excel.

O stay my heart on Thee. my God,
Uphold my fainting soul.
And when I know not what to do,
I'll on Thy mercies roll.

My weakness. Thou dost know full well
Of body and of mind;
I in this world no comfort have,
But what from Thee I find.

Though children Thou has given me,
And friends I have also,
Yet if I see Thee not through them
They are no joy, but woe.

O shine upon me, blessed Lord,
Ev'n for my Saviour's sake;
In Thee alone is more than all,
And there content I'll take.

O hear me, Lord, in this request
As Thou before hast done,
Bring back my husband, I beseech,
As Thou didst once my son.

So shall I celebrate Thy praise
Ev'n while my days shall last
And talk to my beloved one
Of all Thy goodness past.

So both of us Thy kindness, Lord,
With praises shall recount
And serve Thee better than before
Whose blessings thus surmount.

But give me, Lord, a better heart,
Then better shall I be,
To pay the vows which I do owe
Forever unto Thee.

Unless Thou help, what can I do
But still my frailty show?
If Thou assist me, Lord,
I shall Return Thee what I owe.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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None Other Lamb

None other Lamb, none other Name,
None other hope in Heav’n or earth or sea,
None other hiding place from guilt and shame,
None beside Thee!

My faith burns low, my hope burns low;
Only my heart’s desire cries out in me
By the deep thunder of its want and woe,
Cries out to Thee.

Lord, Thou art Life, though I be dead;
Love’s fire Thou art, however cold I be:
Nor Heav’n have I, nor place to lay my head,
Nor home, but Thee.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Robert Gould Shaw

Why was it that the thunder voice of Fate
Should call thee, studious, from the classic groves,
Where calm-eyed Pallas with still footsteps roves,
And charge thee seek the turmoil of the State?
What bade thee hear the voice and rise elate,
Leave home and kindred and thy spicy loaves,
To lead th' unlettered and despised droves
To manhood's home and thunder at the gate?

Far better the slow blaze of Learning's light,
The cool and quiet of her dearer fane,
Than this hot terror of a hopeless fight,
This cold endurance of the final pain,-
Since thou and those who with thee died for right
Have died, the Present teaches, but in vain!

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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To Mary

If I had thought thou couldst have died,
I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot, when by thy side,
That thou couldst mortal be:
It never through my mind had past
The time would e'er be o'er,
And I on thee should look my last,
And thou shouldst smile no more!

And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again;
And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain.
But when I speak—thou dost not say
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid;
And now I feel, as well I may,
Sweet Mary, thou art dead!

If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene—
I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been.
While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still mine own;
But there—I lay thee in thy grave,
And I am now alone!

I do not think, where'er thou art,
Thou hast forgotten me;
And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking too of thee:
Yet there was round thee such a dawn
Of light ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore!

poem by Charles Wolfe
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Broken Love

MY Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.

‘A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.

‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro’ the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?

’Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?

‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereavèd of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears,
And with cold and shuddering fears.

‘Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.

‘And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small.

‘When wilt thou return and view
My loves, and them to life renew?
When wilt thou return and live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’

‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O’er my sins thou sit and weep,
And lull thy own sins fast asleep.

‘What transgressions I commit
Are for thy transgressions fit.
They thy harlots, thou their slave;
And my bed becomes their grave.

‘Never, never, I return:
Still for victory I burn.
Living, thee alone I’ll have;
And when dead I’ll be thy grave.

‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never, quell:
I will fly and thou pursue:
Night and morn the flight renew.’

‘Poor, pale, pitiable form
That I follow in a storm;
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my aching head.

‘Till I turn from Female love
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be
To step into Eternity.

‘And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my fate.

‘Let us agree to give up love,
And root up the Infernal Grove;
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity.

‘And throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
“This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’

poem by William Blake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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