(FROM THE FRENCH OF FRED. CHAVANNES.) "Tu m'as aimé, seigneur, avant que la lumiere."
O Lord, thou lovèdst me, ere shone the light Upon the worlds thy voice had called to be;
Ere yet the sun, rejoicing in his might,
Shed life in floods athwart their orbits bright; My God, thou lovèdst me.
Thou lovèdst me, when hung the lifeless frame Of Jesus Christ upon th' accursèd tree;
When to redeem me from th' eternal flame
Thy holy Son endured my sin and blame; My God, thou lovèdst me.
Thou lovèdst me, when fires of love divine, Lit in my heart by Thy good Spirit free;
Opened new heavens upon my soul to shine;
When peaceful fruits of righteousness were mine; My God, thou lovèdst me.
And thou wilt love me, — whom thy love hath crowned Nor sin, nor earth, nor hell shall pluck from thee;
Where sin abounded, grace doth more abound;
Only my love to thine be answering found, O thou, who lovèdst me!
II.
((FROM THE FRENCH OF PIERRE CORNEILLE,
CALLED LE GRAND CORNEILLE.)) "O Dieu de vérité pour qui seul je soupire."
O God of truth, for whom alone I sigh, Knit thou my heart by strong sweet cords to thee:
I tire of hearing; books my patience try. Untired to thee I cry: Thyself my all shalt be.
Speak thou alone! — For me nor human lore Nor human sage shall now expound thy word;
Let creatures hold their peace, and thee adore; Let voice of man no more, But only thine, be heard!
Lord, be thou near, and cheer my lonely way, With thy sweet peace my aching bosom fill;
Scatter my cares and fears; my griefs allay; And be it mine each day To love and please thee still.
My God! Thou nearest me; but clouds obscure
Ev'n yet thy perfect radiance, Truth divine!
O for the stainless skies, the splendors pure, The joys that aye endure, Where thine own glories shine!
Love, give me one of thy dear hands to hold, Take thou my tired head upon thy breast;
Then sing me that sweet song we loved of old, The dear, soft song about our little nest.
We knew the song before the nest was ours; We sang the song when first the nest we found ;
We loved the song in happy after-hours, When peace came to us, and content profound.
Then sing that olden song to me to-night, While I, redlining on thy faithful breast,
See happy visions in the fair firelight, And my whole soul is satisfied with rest.
Better than all our bygone dreams of bliss,
Are deep content and rest secure as this.
What though we missed love's golden summer time, His autumn fruits were ripe when we had leave
To enter joy's wide vineyard in our prime, Good guerdon for our waiting to receive.
Love gave us no frail pledge of summer flowers, But side by side we reaped the harvest-field;
Now side by side we pass the winter hours, And day by day new blessings are revealed.
The heyday of our youth, its roseate glow, Its high desires and cravings manifold,
The raptures and delights of long ago, Have passed; but we have truer joys to hold.
Sing me the dear, old song about the nest,
Our blessed home, our little ark of rest.
All The Year Round.
CHURCH MUSIC.
Soft, through the rich illumined panes,
All down the aisle the sunlight rains,
And sets in red and purple stains.
And mid this glory from the skies,
We hear the organ-voice arise.
Its wings the waking spirit tries:
It flutters, but it cannot soar.
Oh! heavenly music, let us pour
Our woes, our joys, in thee once more.
All wilt thou take. Thou mak'st no choice.
Hearts that complain, hearts that rejoice,
Find thee their all-revealing voice.
All, all the soul's unuttered things
Thou bearest on thy mighty wings
Up, up until the arched roof rings:
Now soft — as when, for Israel's king,
Young David swept his sweet harpstring;
Now loud — as angels antheming.
Oh! tell what myriad heads are bent.
Oh! tell what myriad hearts repent.
He will look down: He will relent.
It dies. The last low strain departs.
With deep "Amen" the warm tear starts.
The peace of Eden fills our hearts.
