Mother's Dream and Other Poems. Gould Hannah Flagg

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Not to the mount, where fire and smoke

      Jehovah’s face concealed,

      When loud to wandering man he spoke,

      To make his law revealed —

      Not to the awful splendor there

      Can turn my fearful eye:

      To hear its thunderings, and to dare

      Its lightnings, were to die.

      Not on the mount where Moses stood,

      The promised land to see

      Across the waves of Jordan’s flood,

      Is yet the place for me.

      My spirit could not bear to take

      That fair and glorious view,

      Nor dare her wondrous launch to make,

      To try the waters through.

      Not to the mount where Christ appeared

      At once so heavenly bright;

      While they, who heard the Father, feared,

      And fell before the light —

      Not there, my Saviour ever nigh,

      Do I his footsteps trace:

      His closer followers far, than I,

      Attain that higher place.

      But, to the mount without a name,

      Where Jesus sat and taught,

      I daily would assert my claim,

      To share the bread he brought.

      His words before that multitude

      Dropt to his chosen few,

      Are manna for my morning food,

      My soul’s sweet evening dew.

      If to Temptation’s mount I go,

      That mount exceeding high,

      My Lord, again rebuke our foe,

      And bid the tempter fly.

      No kingdom may I seek, but thine;

      And let my glory be

      A light, reflected pure from thine —

      My portion, life with thee!

      Oft to the mount of midnight shade,

      Of solitude and prayer,

      Ascend, my soul, be not afraid

      Thy Guide to follow there.

      The height and stillness of the scene,

      When thou that path hast trod,

      Forbids this world to rush between

      A spirit and her God.

      The mount whereon my Saviour stood,

      And o’er the city wept —

      Where fell his wo-wrung drops of blood,

      While his disciples slept —

      There may I go, yet not to sleep

      Till Jesus be betrayed;

      But, as he went, to pray and weep

      O’er sufferings sin hath made.

      And to the solemn, shuddering mount,

      Where Christ received the cup

      Of death, to offer us a fount

      Of life, must I go up.

      And I must look upon his wo,

      On that empurpled tree,

      To learn how vast a debt I owe,

      By what he paid for me.

      Thence to the mount of Galilee

      May I the way pursue,

      With joy my risen Lord to see,

      Ere he ascends from view.

      For lo! the heavens their gates unfold

      To take their coming King:

      His angels harp on strings of gold,

      And “Hallelujah!” sing.

      Now on Mount Zion may I seek

      My shield – my strong, high tower;

      And thence, though here so dark and weak,

      Be clothed with light and power.

      Then at that holy mountain’s top,

      My soul, no more to roam,

      Unfurl thy wings – thine ashes drop;

      And gain thy glorious home.

      A solemn night is o’er Jerusalem;

      Nature astonished, shrouds herself in gloom;

      For he, who was the babe of Bethlehem,

      Is now a victim slain, and in the tomb!

      The blood, which started with the agony

      That in the garden forced his swelling veins,

      In crimson streams has poured on Calvary;

      A rocky cavern holds his pale remains.

      He walked with men, serene in holiness,

      The meek, the merciful, through taunts and strife;

      The front of pride he met with lowliness,

      And bowed to death to lift his foes to life.

      Fast as their sins grew bold and multiplied,

      His bitter cup was filling to the brim.

      Here doth he lie, the pale, the crucified,

      With damps and shadows gathered over him.

      The dismal night moves on but heavily,

      While they, who came the sepulchre to keep

      With bristling spears, the Roman soldiery,

      Would СКАЧАТЬ