The Reformed Church ReviewPublication Board of the Reformed Church, 1914 |
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Страница 34 - Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for ! my flesh, that I seek "In the Godhead! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be "A Face like my face that receives thee; a Man like to me, "Thou shalt love and be loved by, for ever: a Hand like this hand "Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ stand!
Страница 164 - At length the freshening western blast Aside the shroud of battle cast ; And, first, the ridge of mingled spears Above the brightening cloud appears ; And in the smoke the pennons flew, As in the storm the white sea-mew. Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far, The broken billows of the war, And plumed crests of chieftains brave, Floating like foam upon the wave...
Страница 157 - When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonished lands, The cloudy pillar glided slow ; By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands Returned the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answered keen, And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between.
Страница 164 - Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, Unbroken was the ring ; The stubborn spearmen still made good Their dark impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood, The instant that he- fell.
Страница 170 - The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet; The westland wind is hush and still — The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; Though evening, with her richest dye, Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. " With listless look along the plain I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower,...
Страница 315 - Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death And Love can never lose its own...
Страница 157 - With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone : Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own.
Страница 33 - The very God! think, Abib; dost thou think? So, the All-Great, were the All-Loving too — So, through the thunder comes a human voice Saying, "O heart I made, a heart beats here!
Страница 157 - And oh, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night, Be THOU long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning, and a shining light. Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest ; the gentile's scorn ; No censer round our altar beams, And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn.
Страница 34 - Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all.