'Tis best the beaten path to keep, The ancient faith to hold;To pasture with thy fellow-sheep, And lie within the fold.
"Cling to the earth, poor grovelling worm;'Tis not for thee to soar Against the fury of the storm, Amid the thunder's roar!
There's glory in that daring strife Unknown, undreamt by thee;There's speechless rapture in the life Of those who follow me.
Yes, I have seen thy votaries oft, Upheld by thee their guide, In strength and courage mount aloft The steepy mountain-side;I've seen them stand against the sky, And gazing from below, Beheld thy lightning in their eye Thy triumph on their brow.
Oh, I have felt what glory then, What transport must be theirs!
So far above their fellow-men, Above their toils and cares;Inhaling Nature's purest breath, Her riches round them spread, The wide expanse of earth beneath, Heaven's glories overhead!
But I have seen them helpless, dash'd Down to a bloody grave, And still thy ruthless eye has flash'd, Thy strong hand did not save;I've seen some o'er the mountain's brow Sustain'd awhile by thee, O'er rocks of ice and hills of snow Bound fearless, wild, and free.
Bold and exultant was their mien, While thou didst cheer them on;But evening fell,--and then, I ween, Their faithless guide was gone.
Alas! how fared thy favourites then,--
Lone, helpless, weary, cold?
Did ever wanderer find again The path he left of old?
Where is their glory, where the pride That swelled their hearts before?
Where now the courage that defied The mightiest tempest's roar?
What shall they do when night grows black, When angry storms arise?
Who now will lead them to the track Thou taught'st them to despise?
Spirit of Pride, it needs not this To make me shun thy wiles, Renounce thy triumph and thy bliss, Thy honours and thy smiles!
Bright as thou art, and bold, and strong, That fierce glance wins not me, And I abhor thy scoffing tongue--
I will not follow thee!
Spirit of Faith! be thou my guide, O clasp my hand in thine, And let me never quit thy side;Thy comforts are divine!
Earth calls thee blind, misguided one,--
But who can shew like thee Forgotten things that have been done, And things that are to be?
Secrets conceal'd from Nature's ken, Who like thee can declare?
Or who like thee to erring men God's holy will can bear?
Pride scorns thee for thy lowly mien,--
But who like thee can rise Above this toilsome, sordid scene, Beyond the holy skies?
Meek is thine eye and soft thy voice, But wondrous is thy might, To make the wretched soul rejoice, To give the simple light!
And still to all that seek thy way This magic power is given,--
E'en while their footsteps press the clay, Their souls ascend to heaven.
Danger surrounds them,--pain and woe Their portion here must be, But only they that trust thee know What comfort dwells with thee;Strength to sustain their drooping pow'rs, And vigour to defend,--
Thou pole-star of my darkest hours Affliction's firmest friend!
Day does not always mark our way, Night's shadows oft appal, But lead me, and I cannot stray,--
Hold me, I shall not fall;Sustain me, I shall never faint, How rough soe'er may be My upward road,--nor moan, nor plaint Shall mar my trust in thee.
Narrow the path by which we go, And oft it turns aside From pleasant meads where roses blow, And peaceful waters glide;Where flowery turf lies green and soft, And gentle gales are sweet, To where dark mountains frown aloft, Hard rocks distress the feet,--
Deserts beyond lie bleak and bare, And keen winds round us blow;But if thy hand conducts me there, The way is right, I know.
I have no wish to turn away;My spirit does not quail,--
How can it while I hear thee say, "Press forward and prevail!"
Even above the tempest's swell I hear thy voice of love,--
Of hope and peace, I hear thee tell, And that blest home above;Through pain and death I can rejoice.
If but thy strength be mine,--
Earth hath no music like thy voice, Life owns no joy like thine!
Spirit of Faith, I'll go with thee!
Thou, if I hold thee fast, Wilt guide, defend, and strengthen me, And bear me home at last;By thy help all things I can do, In thy strength all things bear,--
Teach me, for thou art just and true, Smile on me, thou art fair!
I have given the last memento of my sister Emily; this is the last of my sister Anne:--
I hoped, that with the brave and strong, My portioned task might lie;To toil amid the busy throng, With purpose pure and high.
But God has fixed another part, And He has fixed it well;I said so with my bleeding heart, When first the anguish fell.
Thou, God, hast taken our delight, Our treasured hope away:
Thou bid'st us now weep through the night And sorrow through the day.
These weary hours will not be lost, These days of misery, These nights of darkness, anguish-tost, Can I but turn to Thee.
With secret labour to sustain In humble patience every blow;To gather fortitude from pain, And hope and holiness from woe.
Thus let me serve Thee from my heart, Whate'er may be my written fate:
Whether thus early to depart, Or yet a while to wait.
If Thou shouldst bring me back to life, More humbled I should be;More wise--more strengthened for the strife--
More apt to lean on Thee.
Should death be standing at the gate, Thus should I keep my vow:
But, Lord! whatever be my fate, Oh, let me serve Thee now!
These lines written, the desk was closed, the pen laid aside-- for ever.
