The Dawn of God's Sabbath
The dawn of God’s dear Sabbath
Breaks o’er the earth again,
As some sweet summer morning
After a night of pain;
It comes as cooling showers
To some exhausted land,
As shade of clustered palm trees
’Mid weary wastes of sand.
Lord, we would bring for offering
Though marred with earthly soil,
Our week of earnest labor,
Of useful daily toil;
Fair fruits of self denial,
Of strong, deep love to Thee,
Fostered by Thine own Spirit
In our humility.
And, we would bring our burden
Of sinful thought and deed,
In Thy pure presence kneeling,
From bondage to be freed;
Our heart’s most bitter sorrow
For all Thy work undone;
So many talents wasted!
So few bright laurels won!
And with that sorrow mingling,
A steadfast faith, and sure,
And love so deep and fervent,
That tries to make it pure;
In His dear presence finding
The pardon that we need;
And then the peace so lasting,
Celestial peace indeed!
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Lady, The Fates Command
Lady, the fates command, and I must go,---
Leaving the pleasant land so dear to me:
Here my heart suffered many a heavy woe:
But what is left to love, thus leaving thee?
Alas! that cruel land beyond the see!
Why thus dividing many a faithful heart,
Never again from pain and sorrow free,
Never again to meet, when thus they part?
I see not, when thy presence bright I leave,
How wealth, or joy, or peace can be my lot:
Ne'er yet my spirit found such cause to grieve
As now in leaving thee; and if thy thought
Of me in absence should be sorrow-fraught,
Oft will my heart repentant turn to thee,
Dwelling, in fruitless wishes, on this spot,
And all the gracious words here said to me.
O gracious God! to thee I bend my knee,
For thy sake yielding all I love and prize;
And O, how mighty must that influence be,
That steals me thus from all my cherished joys!
Here, ready, then, myself surrendering,
Prepared to serve thee, I submit; and ne'er
To one so faithful could I service bring,
So kind a master, so beloved and dear.
And strong my ties---my grief unspeakable!
Grief, all my choicest treasures to resign;
Yet stronger still the affections that impel
My heart toward Him, the God whose love is mine.
That holy love, how beautiful! how strong!
Even wisdom's favorite sons take refuge there;
'T is the redeeming gem that shines among
Men's darkest thoughts,---for ever bright and fair.
poem by Thibaut de Champagne
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Song
I am wearing away like the snow in the sun,
I am wearing away from the pain in my heart;
But ne'er shall he know, who my peace has undone,
How bitter, how lasting, how deep is my smart.
I know he would pity--so kind is his soul,
To him my affliction would agony be;
But never, while I can my feelings control,
The youth whom I love shall know sorrow through me.
Though longing to weep, in his presence I'll smile,
Call the flush of my cheek the pure crimson of health;
His fears for my peace by my song I'll beguile,
Nor venture to gaze on his eyes but by stealth.
For conscious I am, by my glance is exprest
The passion that faithful as hopeless will be,
And he, whom, alas! I can ne'er render blest,
Shall never, no never, know sorrow through me.
poem by Amelia Opie
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Song.
I am wearing away like the snow in the sun,
I am wearing away from the pain in my heart;
But ne'er shall he know, who my peace has undone,
How bitter, how lasting, how deep is my smart.
I know he would pity-so kind is his soul,
To him my affliction would agony be;
But never, while I can my feelings control,
The youth whom I love shall know sorrow through me.
Though longing to weep, in his presence I'll smile,
Call the flush of my cheek the pure crimson of health;
His fears for my peace by my song I'll beguile,
Nor venture to gaze on his eyes but by stealth.
For conscious I am, by my glance is exprest
The passion that faithful as hopeless will be,
And he, whom, alas! I can ne'er render blest,
Shall never, no never, know sorrow through me.
poem by Amelia Opie
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From The Cantata For N. F. S. Grundtvig
His day was the greatest the Northland has seen,
It one was with the midnight-sun's wonders serene:
The light wherein he sat was the light of God's true peace,
And that has never morning, nor night when it must cease.
In light of God's peace shone the
history
he gave,
The spirit's course on earth that shall conquer the grave.
Might of God's pure peace thus our
fathers'
mighty way
Before us for example and warning open lay.
In light of God's peace he beheld with watchful eye
The people at their work and the spirit's strivings high.
In light of God's pure peace he would have all learning glow,
And where his word is honored the 'Folk-High-Schools' must grow.
In light of God's peace stood 'mid sorrow and care
For Denmark's folk his comfort, a castle strong and fair;
In light of God's pure peace there shall once again be won
And thousand-fold increased, what seems lost now and undone.
In light of God's peace stands his patriarch-worth,
The sum and the amen of a manful life on earth.
In light of God's pure peace how his face shone, lifted up,
When white-haired at the altar he held th' atoning cup.
In light of God's peace came his word o'er the wave,
In light of God's pure peace sound the sweet psalms he gave.
In light of God's pure peace, as its sunbeam curtains fall
To hide him from us, stands now his memory for all.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Desiring to Be Given up to God
That my heart was right with thee,
And lov'd thee with a perfect love!
O that my Lord would dwell in me,
And never from his seat remove!
Jesus, remove th' impending load,
And set my soul on fire for God!
Thou seest I dwell in awful night
Until thou in my heart appear;
Kindle the flame, O Lord, and light
Thine everlasting candle there:
Thy presence puts the shadows by;
If thou art gone, how dark am I!
Ah! Lord, how should thy servant see,
Unless thou give me seeing eyes?
Well may I fall, if out of thee;
If out of thee, how should I rise?
I wander, Lord, without thy aid,
And lose my way in midnight's shade.
Thy bright, unerring light afford,
A light that gives the sinner hope;
And from the house of bondage, Lord,
O bring the weary captive up,
Thine hand alone can set me free
And reach my pardon out to me.
O let my prayer acceptance find,
And bring the mighty blessing down;
With eye-salve, Lord, anoint the blind,
And seal me thine adopted son:
A fallen, helpless creature take,
And heir of thy salvation make.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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The storms of Life
Sometimes sad things happen in our life
they flare up suddenly and cause us strife.
The barriers that we put up against the flow
break down in floods of tears and sorrow.
Troubles fall like raindrops pelting down
welling into a flood in which we might drown.
We do our utmost to cope with the strain
but so many hurts cause our soul much pain.
Like in storms the raindrops seem really huge
and they gather into an irresistible deluge.
They test the fortitude of our minds defence
and when they burst through the pain's intense.
As we lay in bed in the early hours of the day
we cannot withstand them to our dismay.
They come crashing in like a forceful torrent
causing tears to flow out of us as we lament.
We cry out in anguish great sobs of sorrow
at the pain that comes as we work them through.
Our hearts despair at the turmoil that they bring
overwhelmed, we feel unable to do anything.
We become less resistant as the years go by
unable to withstand them and we wonder why
our human frailty is being tested to this extent
straining under the weight of our predicament.
We feel the deep hurt and the pain they bring
and would rather live in a world of no suffering.
They add to the burden of each passing day
and we would that they were banished away.
Sorrows well up from deep within our soul
as the anguish and suffering takes it toll.
It reminds us of the great 'Man of Sorrows'
who feels all our heartache, pains and woes.
'Come to me Oh weary one' Jesus said
'lay down your burdens at my feet instead.
For my yoke is easy and my burden is light
you'll find rest for you soul, it will be alright.'
We rise up from our bed of pain and gloom
and find our way to that blessed upper room.
There we sit at the feet of the Lord and cry out
wondering what these sufferings are all about.
We lay our burdens down at His feet there
knowing He understands, we rest in His care.
Then we pour out our soul and to Him reveal
the deep sorrow and the sadness that we feel.
The storm subsides and the sorrows cease
as He brings to our soul that heavenly peace
and the healing balm that only He can bring
permeates into the depths of our inner being.
We feel Him lifting us out of our despair
as we rest in the sanctity of His presence there.
We look up and gaze into His wonderful face
and feel deep healing of our soul taking place.
His arms enfold us in His love and we can sense
the preciousness of His wonderful presence.
We rest awhile held in His loving embrace
as peace returns and deep healing takes place.
The sorrows of the world will always be here
they dog our steps and will not just disappear.
But with the Lord these troubles do not defeat
because we can lay them there at His blessed feet.
But this earthly life we live will not always be
and a time will come when our soul is set free.
And in that heavenly kingdom where Christ reigns
God Himself will remove our tears and pains.
No death, no sorrow and no pain shall endure
and these earthly sorrows will plaque us no more.
They will be replaced by heavenly joy and love
as we stand in the presence of our Lord above.
A Child's Death
God the Lord has taken
Though He has given too;
For in your times of sorrow
God shows His love for you.
God's love will bring you joy
God's joy will never cease
'cause when you know the love of God
You then know inward peace.
These words I speak to you dear friends
To quieten all your fears;
For by God's Spirit your sorrow I share
I've prayed for you with tears.
And as I prayed God's Spirit groaned
Within my troubled breast,
God told me it was 'by His love
that he would give you rest.'
Your sorrow will be turned to joy
You shall find peace I know
'cause when you seek the risen Christ
His love constrains you so.
Let us praise God for His giving
And for His taking too;
For in your times of sorrow -
God makes known His love for you.
2 Samuel 12: 19-23; Luke 4: 18,19
(written for a couple whose infant died)
poem by Richard Merrell
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Hymn to the Night
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night
Like some old poet's rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,--
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more.
Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Fasting
'Tis morning now, yet silently I stand,
Uplift the curtain with a weary hand,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
Calm peace is frighted with my mood to-night,
Nor visits my dull chamber with her light,
To guide my senses into her sweet rest
And leave me blest.
Long hours since the city rocked and sung
Itself to slumber: only the stars swung
Aloft their torches in the midnight skies
With watchful eyes.
No sound awakes; I, even, breathe no sigh,
Nor hear a single footstep passing by;
Yet I am not alone, for now I feel
A presence steal
Within my chamber walls; I turn to see
The sweetest guest that courts humanity;
With subtle, slow enchantment draws she near,
And Sleep is here.
What care I for the olive branch of Peace?
Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release,
Nepenthes, that alone her mystic hand
Can understand.
And so she bends, this welcome sorceress,
To crown my fasting with her light caress.
Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss
Of her warm kiss.
But still my duty lies in self-denial;
I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial
Will reawaken all my depth of pain.
So once again
I lift the curtain with a weary hand,
With more than sorrow, silently I stand,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
"Go, Sleep," I say, "before the darkness die,
To one who needs you even more than I,
For I can bear my part alone, but he
Has need of thee.
"His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief,
His heart more tired still, with all its grief;
His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim,
Go thou to him.
"When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings,
And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings
That in his soul with fret and fever burn,
To me return."
She goes. The air within the quiet street
Reverberates to the passing of her feet;
I watch her take her passage through the gloom
To your dear home.
Beloved, would you knew how sweet to me
Is this denial, and how fervently
I pray that Sleep may lift you to her breast,
And give you rest--
A privilege that she alone can claim.
Would that my heart could comfort you the same,
But in the censer Sleep is swinging high,
All sorrows die.
She comes not back, yet all my miseries
Wane at the thought of your calm sleeping eyes--
Wane, as I hear the early matin bell
The dawn foretell.
And so, dear heart, still silently I stand,
Uplift the curtain with a weary hand,
The long, long night has bitter been and lone,
But now 'tis gone.
Dawn lights her candles in the East once more,
And darkness flees her chariot before;
The Lenten morning breaks with holy ray,
And it is day!
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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St. Philip And St. James
Dear is the morning gale of spring,
And dear th' autumnal eve;
But few delights can summer bring
A Poet's crown to weave.
Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,
And ever Fancy's wing
Speed's from beneath her cloudless sky
To autumn or to spring.
Sweet is the infant's waking smile,
And sweet the old man's rest -
But middle age by no fond wile,
No soothing calm is blest.
Still in the world's hot restless gleam
She plies her weary task,
While vainly for some pleasant dream
Her wandering glances ask. -
O shame upon thee, listless heart,
So sad a sigh to heave,
As if thy SAVIOUR had no part
In thoughts, that make thee grieve.
As if along His lonesome way
He had not borne for thee
Sad languors through the summer day,
Storms on the wintry sea.
Youth's lightning flash of joy secure
Passed seldom o'er His spright, -
A well of serious thought and pure.
Too deep for earthly light.
No spring was His--no fairy gleam -
For He by trial knew
How cold and bare what mortals dream,
To worlds where all is true.
Then grudge not thou the anguish keen
Which makes thee like thy LORD,
And learn to quit with eye serene
Thy youth's ideal hoard.
Thy treasured hopes and raptures high -
Unmurmuring let them go,
Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly
Which CHRIST disdained to know.
Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;
The pure, calm hope be thine,
Which brightens, like the eastern moon,
As day's wild lights decline.
Thus souls, by nature pitched too high,
By sufferings plunged too low,
Meet in the Church's middle sky,
Half way 'twixt joy and woe,
To practise there the soothing lay
That sorrow best relieves;
Thankful for all God takes away,
Humbled by all He glass.
poem by John Keble
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Voices Of The Night : Hymn To The Night
Aspasie, trillistos.
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o'er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night,
Like some old poet's rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, -
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more.
Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Holy Communion
Father, for Jesus' sake,
Low at the footstool of Thy throne, I pray
That Thou, into Thine arms of love, to-day
My trembling soul wilt take.
Thine eyes can see, I know,
How many a dark and fearful spot of sin
Stains the white garment Thou didst clothe it in,
Once undefiled as snow.
I dare not come alone
Into Thy presence for that sin to plead;
But there is One who waits to intercede—
Whose merits will atone.
Into the holy place
He takes the incense of our common prayer,
Which, mingling with His own, ascendeth there
Up to Thy throne of grace.
All too unclean it is,
Too cold and weak, above this earth to rise,
Save He, in love eternal, sanctifies
And hallows it with His.
Therefore accept from me,
Through His hands, now, my weak and wavering will;
And deign my heart's deep longing to fulfil,
As it seems best to Thee.
Pour down Thy healing light
Into the dark depths of my soul this day;
Dissolve the mists and shadows—oh, I pray,
Let it no more be night!
Spirit of love, reveal
All hidden sins against Thy blessed name,
That I may weep for them in utter shame
As in Thy, church I kneel.
And now, oh cleanse them out!
Make fair again Thine olden dwelling-place;
And let the fruitful streams of love and grace
Compass it round about.
Lord, with repentance, give
Faith, deep and strong, that naught may undermine
Of all that's evil in this world of Thine—
Faith that shall breathe and live.
Pour from the hallow'd cup
Our dear Lord's stainless life into mine own;
Put it to my soul's lips—so thirsty grown—
And let them drink it up.
poem by Ada Cambridge
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Blest are the pure in heart
Blest are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs;
Their soul is Christ’s abode.
The Lord, Who left the heavens
Our life and peace to bring,
To dwell in lowliness with men
Their Pattern and their King.
Still to the lowly soul
He doth Himself impart;
And for His dwelling and His throne
Chooseth the pure in heart.
Lord, we Thy presence seek;
May ours this blessing be;
Give us a pure and lowly heart,
A temple meet for Thee.
poem by John Keble
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Benedicite
God's love and peace be with thee, where
Soe'er this soft autumnal air
Lifts the dark tresses of thy hair.
Whether through city casements comes
Its kiss to thee, in crowded rooms,
Or, out among the woodland blooms,
It freshens o'er thy thoughtful face,
Imparting, in its glad embrace,
Beauty to beauty, grace to grace!
Fair Nature's book together read,
The old wood-paths that knew our tread,
The maple shadows overhead,--
The hills we climbed, the river seen
By gleams along its deep ravine,--
All keep thy memory fresh and green.
Where'er I look, where'er I stray,
Thy thought goes with me on my way,
And hence the prayer I breathe to-day;
O'er lapse of time and change of scene,
The weary waste which lies between
Thyself and me, my heart I lean.
Thou lack'st not Friendship's spell-word, nor
The half-unconscious power to draw
All hearts to thine by Love's sweet law.
With these good gifts of God is cast
Thy lot, and many a charm thou hast
To hold the blessed angels fast.
If, then, a fervent wish for thee
The gracious heavens will heed from me,
What should, dear heart, its burden be?
The sighing of a shaken reed,--
What can I more than meekly plead
The greatness of our common need?
God's love,--unchanging, pure, and true,--
The Paraclete white-shining through
His peace,--the fall of Hermon's dew!
With such a prayer, on this sweet day,
As thou mayst hear and I may say,
I greet thee, dearest, far away!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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One That Completes
Bring me that love,
My Dear Father.
Bring that love to me.
Bring me that love,
My Dear Father...
That love that is true as can be.
When I awaken from my sleep,
I'd like that love near by,
I want to share deep feelings and cares.
With one who will come,
To rescue this from inside me.
Like no one has ever done.
Bring me that love,
My Dear Father.
Bring that love to me.
Bring me the kind of love, My Dear Father
The kind that sets mine and other hearts free.
If You allow this to happen,
With Your blessings I'll receive.
I'll do the best to be better than I've been...
And not to take that love for granted
As I did when my needs grew selfishly.
And in sorrow those needs came to an end.
Helping me to realize,
No love would stand by true love in disguise.
Those are scars I no longer visit.
No longer catching me by surprise.
Bring me that love,
My Dear Father.
Bring that love to me.
Bring me that love,
My Dear Father...
That love that is true as can be.
I want You to bring
That kind of love I seek...
My Father.
Bring that one that completes,
And sets my feelings free!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sabbath, My Love
greet my love with wine and gladsome lay;
Welcome, thrice welcome, joyous Seventh Day!
Six slaves the weekdays are; I share
With them a round of toil and care,
Yet light the burdens seem, I bear
For your sweet sake, Sabbath, my love!
On the First-day to the accustomed task
I go content, nor reward ask,
Save in your smile, at length, to bask --
Day blessed of God, Sabbath, my love!
Is the Second-day dull, the Third-day unbright?
Hide sun and stars from the Fourth-day's sight?
What need I care, who have your light,
Orb of my life, Sabbath, my love!
The Fifth-day, joyful tidings ring:
"The morrow shall your freedom bring!"
At dawn a slave, at eve a king --
God's table waits, Sabbath, my love!
On the Sixth-day does my cup overflow,
What blissful rest the night shall know,
When, in your arms, my toil and woe
Are all forgotten, Sabbath, my love!
Now it's dusk. With sudden light distilled
From one sweet face, the world is filled;
The tumult of my heart is stilled --
For you have arrived, Sabbath, my love!
Bring fruits and wine, and sing a cheerful lay,
Chant: "Come in peace, O blissful Seventh Day!"
poem by Yehudah HaLevi
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Let There Be...
Let there be peace, in those, that are pure of heart.
Let there be peace among men of difference.
Let there be peace on a hard winters day.
Let there be peace, before there is anger.
Let there be peace, in the valley of stress.
Let there be peace, among those we love.
Let there be peace, between all our faiths.
Let there be peace, when our day is done.
Let there be peace, in the universal message of man.
Let there be peace, in the canyons, of displacement.
Let there be peace, with the sick and the poor.
Let the rifles' be quieted and let there be peace.
Let men at war, replace confrontation, with peace.
Let political forces join together, and bring us peace.
Let men of all colors and religions, join in peace.
Let more money be spent on peace, than on war.
Let wasted billions, bring peace, to those less fortunate.
It matters not, what your religion, or
who you pray to...may you find peace.
Let There Be Peace
Let there be peace, in those, that are pure of heart.
Let there be peace among men of difference.
Let there be peace on a hard winters day.
Let there be peace, before there is anger.
Let there be peace, in the valley of stress.
Let there be peace, among those we love.
Let there be peace, between all our faiths.
Let there be peace, when our day is done.
Let there be peace, in the universal message of man.
Let there be peace, in the canyons, of displacement.
Let there be peace, with the sick and the poor.
Let the rifles' be quieted and let there be peace.
Let men at war, replace confrontation, with peace.
Let political forces join together, and bring us peace.
Let men of all colors and religions, join in peace.
Let more money be spent on peace, than on war.
Let wasted billions, bring peace, to those less fortunate.
It matters not, what your religion, or who you
pray to...may you find peace.
Life At Its Best
Jesus came as Prince of Peace, offering a life that will not cease.
There’s a peace He came to give, to all on earth who chose to live,
Life on this earth at its very best, until this weary body’s laid to rest.
Helping us to live this earthly life, while dealing with the daily strife.
For this peace we must lay on Him, every burden and anxious whim.
Satan may place a trial in our way, to fill our heart with utter dismay,
But with the presence of The Lord, help and grace can be implored,
If as Believer’s we would only dare, cast to Christ every single care.
God The Father calls upon all of us, to in His Son place all our trust.
All cares and burdens of this life, are to be cast to the feet of Christ.
The Lord Jesus Christ is over all, and knows all needs, big and small,
When we trust Him with all our days, God fills life with joy and praise.
It’s not an option as some suggest, or from Christ a passing request,
For it is a command to cast to Him, all our burden lest to turns to sin,
As the sins of worry and of unbelief, is what the enemy tries to seed.
To take our mind off Jesus Christ; and fill our heart with undue strife.
God’s inner peace is the essence, of living daily in Christ’s presence,
For when a trial causes one grief, His omnipresence brings him relief.
All that I need, I have through Grace, that helps me any time or place,
Grace from God that will not cease, that gives me Everlasting Peace.
(04/2007)
Hymn For The House Of Worship At Georgetown, Erected In Memory Of A Mother
Thou dwellest not, O Lord of all
In temples which thy children raise;
Our work to thine is mean and small,
And brief to thy eternal days.
Forgive the weakness and the pride,
If marred thereby our gift may be,
For love, at least, has sanctified
The altar that we rear to thee.
The heart and not the hand has wrought
From sunken base to tower above
The image of a tender thought,
The memory of a deathless love!
And though should never sound of speech
Or organ echo from its wall,
Its stones would pious lessons teach,
Its shade in benedictions fall.
Here should the dove of peace be found,
And blessings and not curses given;
Nor strife profane, nor hatred wound,
The mingled loves of earth and heaven.
Thou, who didst soothe with dying breath
The dear one watching by Thy cross,
Forgetful of the pains of death
In sorrow for her mighty loss,
In memory of that tender claim,
O Mother-born, the offering take,
And make it worthy of Thy name,
And bless it for a mother's sake!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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