Mrs. J. C. Yule

“ To hear the Christ, amid Earth's wearying strife,
Its toil and tumult, say "I am the LIFE!"
"I am THE LIFE!"—oh, then, undo thy clasp
On this frail-being, and with deathless grasp
Lay hold on Him, in whom, by whom alone,
The bliss of Life Eternal may be known!—
Failing in this, how deep must be the gloom—
The unpierced darkness of the lonely tomb!—
In this succeeding, what exultant day
O'er all thy future pours its blissful ray!
Is light a blessing?—He's the soul's clear LIGHT—
The blessed DAY-STAR, scattering the night! ”

“ Where, in still beauty 'neath our northern sky,
Thy lordly lakes in solemn grandeur lie,—
Where old Niagara's awful voice has given
The flood's deep anthem to the ear of heaven
Through the long ages of the vanished past,
Through Summer's bloom, and Winter's angry blast—
Nature's proud utterance of unwearied song,
Now, as at first, majestic, solemn, strong,
And ne'er to fail, till the archangel's cry
Shall still the million tones of earth and sky,
And send the shout to ocean's farthest shore—
"Be hushed ye voices—time shall be no more!" ”

“ A softer voice has breathed good-night!
Good night!—as steals the cooling dew
Where the young violet lies,
E'en so may slumber steal anew
To weary human eyes,
And softly steep the aching sight
In dewy rest—good night! good night!
OUR COUNTRY; —OR,— A CENTURY OF PROGRESS. Over the waves of the Western sea,
Led by the hand of Hope she came—
The beautiful Angel of Liberty—
When the sky was red with the sunset's flame,—
Came to a rocky and surf-beat shore,
Lone, and wintry, and stern, and wild,
The waves behind her, and wastes before,
And the Angel of Liberty, pausing, smiled. ”

“ Strike the chords softly!—yet no, as we tarry,
Swiftly the morning is gliding away;
Weary ones droop 'neath the burdens they carry,
Toiling ones faint in the heat of the day.
Let us not linger!—Earth's millions are crying
"Come to us, aid us, we grope in the night!
Come to us, aid us, we're perishing, dying—
Give us, oh, give us, the heavenly Light!"
Let us not linger!—our brethren are calling,—
"Aid us, the harvest increases each day;—
Some have grown weary, alas, of their toiling!—
Others have passed from their labors away." ”

“ And weariness and strife,
Soon end our earthly pilgrimage
In new, exultant life.
For you and I, dear, have a home—
A mansion of our own—
Where change and blight can never come,
And sorrow is unknown;
And soon we're going to enter in,
And with our Lord sit down,—
Heirs of His glory and His bliss,
His kingdom and His crown!
Many we love have thither gone,
And soon we'll be there too,—
And, children, you will follow on,
We shall look out for you
Oh, may we, in that blessed throng
Of saved ones robed in white,
Not miss a single dear loved face
That smiles on ours to night! ”

“ For thou hast gained a home unreached by strife,
Undimmed by tears—a home of changeless bliss!
There, in sweet fellowship with angels blessed,
And all the crowned and glorified above,
In thy loved Saviour's longed-for presence rest,
And bask forever in the light of LOVE!
LOVED AND LOST, —OR— THE SKY-LARK AND THE VIOLET. VIOLET'S SONG I. Come down from thy dazzling sphere,
Bird of the gushing song!
Come down where the young leaves whisper low,
While the breeze steals in with a murmurous flow,
And the tender branches wave to and fro
In the soft air all day long! ”

“ Hail, risen Lord, upon whose brow
The crown of victory resteth now,
Unfading as the sun!
Hail, vanquisher of every foe,
Of Sin, dread source of all our woe,
And Death—the last undone!
Hail, risen Lord,—the empty grave
Proclaims aloud thy power to save,—
Thy high, victorious might!
Hail, Lord of life, and peace, and love,
On thy exalted throne above,
In uncreated light!
Hail, risen Lord,—we bend the knee,
And lift the adoring eye to thee,
And yield thee worship meet!—
And, while the angelic hosts on high
Shout their hosannas through the sky,
We breathe them at thy feet ”

“ All pleasant scenes have dull and tasteless grown,
And shadows lower-shadows, erewhile unknown
Of ever-deepening gloom.
The halls where erst thy happy childhood played,
The pleasant garden by thy fair hands made,
The bower thy sunny presence made so fair,
Are all unchanged,—yet grief is everywhere;—
Dear one, come home!
Come home?—come home?—alas, what have I said?
Beyond the stars, beloved, thy feet have sped!
No more to press these garden paths with mine,
Or walk beside my own at day's decline—
No more—no more to come
To these old summer haunts! But I shall stay
A little while ”

“ Though, the sky's serene to dim,
Lower no storm-cloud dark and grim;
Whom have I in Heaven but thee?—
What beside hath earth for me?—
Thou, the only trust I know,—
Nay, I will not let thee go!
Let thee go?—my Saviour, nay
Thou my night's unfailing day,
Thou my dawning's tenderest gleam,
Thou my noonday's richest beam,—
Night is day if thou art near,
Day without thee, joyless, drear,—
Wanting thee, all bliss were woe,—
Nay, I will not let thee go! ”

“ To thy bower no song-birds return!
Yet a mansion of bliss glory-lighted,
Where anguish and death are unknown,
Where beauty and bloom are unblighted,
Henceforth is forever thine own!
Oh! joy for thee, glorified spirit!
With Jesus forever to be,
And with sinless and sainted companions
The bliss of His Paradise see!
Joy, joy!—for thy warfare is finished,
Thy perilous journeying o'er,
And, above the deep gloom of Earth's shadows,
Thou art dwelling in Light evermore!
AUTUMN AND WINTER. I. Beautiful Autumn is dead and gone—
Weep for her! ”

“ Though fields should be verdureless, wintry, and bare,
The Lord of the harvest hath still in His keeping
Each seed as it falls, and will guard it with care.
Our field is the world!—let us forth to the reaping;
The long day is waning, the eve draweth nigh;
Faint omens of storm up the heavens are creeping,
And the sigh of the tempest is heard in the sky;—
The work-hour is brief, but the rest is forever,
Then stay not for weariness, languor, or pain,
But forth to the harvest with earnest endeavor,
And gather with gladness the sheaves that remain. ”

“ Wherefore seek that troubled sky?
Ah! a hand is o'er thee spread,
To defend thy beauteous head;
Sheltering arms are round thee cast,
'Mid the lightning and the blast;
God doth shield thee, and shall He
Thine, and not my guardian be?
No: He, who guards thy fragile form
Midst the dread, o'erwhelming storm,
Will His kind protection spread
O'er His child's defenceless head,—
Temper every blast severe,—
Mingle hope with every fear,—
Pour into the bleeding heart
Balm for sorrow's keenest smart,
And will gift the feeblest form
With a might to brave each storm! ”

“ Of emerald islands fast asleep
'Neath tranquil skies serene.
I watch the sunshine and the shade,
The sparkle and the gleam,
Till past and present seem to fade,
And life becomes a dream—
A fairy, fancy-tinted dream,
A sun-bright; summer rest,
In which I glide through shade and gleam
Past islands of the blest
How beautiful! "How beautiful!"
The quiet hills reply,
And each responsive cliff gives back
Its answer to the sky;—
"How beautiful!" the waves repeat,
And every cloudlet smiles,
And writes its answer on the green
Of countless summer isles. ”

“ From the dread reck'ning of the Judgment day?—
If resting 'neath the blood for sinners spilt,
Look up!—the judge Himself has borne thy guilt'
Justice and Judgement claim thy life in vain,
Since Christ, thy Passover, Himself is slain!
IMMANUEL!—God with us. With us, O Soul!
Of this brief utt'rance canst thou grasp the whole?—
Nay, comprehend one attribute of God,
The Maker, Sovereign, Him who at a nod
Can hurl all worlds to wreck, and with a breath
Can wake a Universe from night and death,
And clothe in Beauty's robes of richest bloom
Ten thousand worlds snatched from chaotic gloom? ”

“ Lifting, at times, to the topmost wave
Ghastly faces no hand could save,—
And then, far down with his treasures vain,
Burying each in the depths again.
And the merchant looked from his mansion fair,
Over the ocean, with troubled air;
And thought of his treasures, in one short night
Whelmed in the deep by the tempest's might;—
Ah,—I knew by that pale brow's deepening gloom,
That he owned no treasure beyond the tomb.
Day fretted the east with its stormy gold,
Creeping slow through a casement old,
And stealing sadly with faint, cold ray
Into the hut where the old man lay. ”

“ Will the sunshine come ever again?—
Will the clouds, that are weeping in sorrow,
Their glorious beauty regain?
Will the forest stand forth in its greenness?—
The meadows smile sweet as before?—
And the sky, in its placid sereneness,
Bend lovingly o'er us once more?
Will the birds sing again as we heard them,
Ere the tempest their gentle notes hushed?—
Will the breeze float again in its freedom,
Where lately its melody gushed?
Will the beautiful angel of sunset
Drape the heavens in crimson and gold,
As the day-king serenely retireth,
'Mid grandeur and glory untold? ”

“ At length thro' the gloom He will shine!
THE DRUNKARD'S CHILD A little child stood moaning
At the hour of midnight lone,
And no human ear was list'ning
To the feebly wailing tone;
The cold, keen blast of winter
With funeral wail swept by,
And the blinding snow fell darkly
Through the murky, wintry sky.
Ah! desolate and wretched
Was the drunkard's outcast child,
Driven forth; amidst the horrors
Of that night of tempests wild.
The babe so fondly cherished
Once 'neath a parent's eye,
Now laid her down in anguish
Midst the drifting snows to die! ”

“ NOT YET "Go thy way, and when I have a more convenient season I will call for thee."
* * * * *
"The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved."
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour,
Although thou callest me
In life's unclouded morning
Why should I follow thee?
The world and all its pleasures
Outspread before me lie,
When I have grasped its treasures
I'll hear thee, by and by.
Not yet, not yet, O Saviour!—
True, thou hast called me long,
Yet, almost more than ever,
I love the world's glad song! ”

“ Boundless is the field and fertile,
Let the ploughshare deep be driven;
So, at length, the plenteous harvest
Shall look smiling up to heaven!
Sow the seed at early morning,
Nor at evening stay thy hand;
Precious fruits, the earth adorning,
Shall at length around thee stand
Be in earnest, Christian toilers,
Life is not the summer-dream
Of the careless child that gathers
Daisies in the noontide beam!
Life hath conflict, toil, and danger,—
It hath sorrow, pain, and strife,—
Yet the weak alone will falter
In the battle-field of life! ”

“ Through storm and gloom, through strife and tears.
Still Faith points upward to the sun
Whose glories brighten with the years—
Whose steady light and heat at length
Shall scatter every cloud away,
And Truth, majestic in her strength,
Shall stand complete in perfect day.
BRETHREN, GO! A VALEDICTION. Brethren, go! the day is bright'ning
As the sultry noon steals on,
And the fields, already whit'ning,
Tell of labor to be done.
There are toilsome days before you,
Burdens that you may not shun,
Clouds will gather darkly o'er you,
Reeds will fail you one by one. ”

“ Christian!—the sullen, tempest-darkened sky
Grows lurid with the elemental wrath,—
Say, whither wilt thou fly?
God is my Refuge!—let the tempests come,
They will but speed me sooner to my home!
II. Night lowers in sullen gloom,
Christian!—a long, dark night awaiteth thee,
Dreary as Egypt's night of fear and doom,—
Where will thy hiding be?
God is my refuge!—in the dreary night
In Him I dwell, and have abundant light!
III. Thine is a lonely way,
Christian!—and dangers all thy path infest ”

“ To know that thou eternally shouldst live?
Is Death a thing from which to shrink with dread?
The dreary valley dost thou fear to tread?
What wouldst thou give to pierce the unknown Dark
That lies before thy feebly tossing bark.
And know what anchor in that unknown sea,
Or wreck disastrous, there awaiteth thee?
Dost trembling cling to this frail thread of life,
Through pain, and doubt, and weariness, and strife,
Rather than trust thy dimly groping hand
Its hold to fasten on that unknown land
Whence none return, its secrets to declare,
And tell what bliss or rum waits thee there? ”

“ And 'neath His rays 'tis Summer everywhere.
Is yonder vine a pleasant, goodly thing,
As upward still its laden branches spring,
As its ripe clusters woo the longing sight
To linger still with ever new delight?
"I'm the TRUE VINE," saith Christ, "the branches ye,—
The living Vine, abide ye still in me;
Thus shall my life to every branch be given,
Thus shall each branch bring forth the fruit of Heaven!"
See, yonder traveller in a desert land,
Toils day by day o'er tracks of burning sand,
A lurid sky above—beneath, around,
The dreary desert spreads its wastes profound. ”