Divine Protection

Oh troubled soul, why thus complain?
Why thus great Providence arraign?
Poor, feeble heart! Thy troubles still.
And hide thyself in God's great will.

I know, it is thy trying hour;
Temptations throng with threatening power;
And many are the griefs that shroud
Thy pathway with their mid-night cloud.

But Jesus, dear and honored name.
Endured the toil, the cross, the shame;
And God, who guarded Him, shall be,
At last, the arm of strength to thee.

'Tis true, He now thy strength doth try.
Like birds that teach their young to fly;
But when thou sinkest, He will bring,
Beneath thy fall, his own great wing.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) LXXXII.

Confidence in God in Bereavements

"A  voice was beard in Ramah, lamentation, and bitter weeping; Rachel weeping  for  her children, refused to be comforted for her children because they were not." — Jer. 31.15.

Why has my child, my darling child departed?
Why has my God in wrath that lov'd one taken?
Leaving me desolate and broken-hearted,
0'erwhelmed and prostrate, hopeless and forsaken.
And is it all in wrath that I am smitten,
And pressed with burdens heavy to be borne?
Hope yet, my soul, in God, for he hath written
With his own finger,  bless'd are they who mourn.
Perhaps I loved my child more than my God,
Neglecting and forgetting every other,
And He in mercy sent the chastening rod,
And took away the child to save the mother.
Farewell, then, earth! Why should I look below?
I too will take my staff; and weeping heavenward go.

— The Religious Offering Scripture Sonnets XV.

He Standeth at the Door

"My head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night." — Cant. 5.2.

The stars are shining from the depths of blue,
And one is standing at the door and knocks;
He knocks to enter in. His raven locks
Are heavy with the midnight's glittering dew.
He is our FRIEND; and great his griefs have been,
The thorns, the cross, the garden's deep distress,
Which he hath  suff'ered  for our happiness;
And shall we not arise, and let him in?
All hail, thou chosen one, thou source of bliss!
Come with thy bleeding feet, thy wounded side;
Alas, for us Thou hast endured all this;
Enter our doors, and at our hearth abide!
Chill are the midnight dews, the midnight air;
Come to our hearts and homes, and make thy dwelling there.

— from The Religious Offering (1835) Scripture Sonnets XIV.

The Blessed Name of Christ

"If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye; for the Spirit of glory and of God resteth on you. On their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified." — 1 Peter 4.14.

Whate'er our griefs in life, whate'er in death,
If doomed perchance to feel the martyr's flame,
Still, with our last and agonizing breath,
In joy will we repeat Christ's precious name:
Oh! there's a magic in that glorious word;
No other has such power; the mighty voice,
From senatorial lips and patriots heard,
Can ne'er like this enkindle, rouse, rejoice.
For Christ's dear name the saints, without a groan,
In times of old met death upon their knees;
For Christ's dear name the lonely Piedmontese
Down headlong o'er the crimson rocks were thrown.
That blessed name gives hope and strength and zeal,
That sets at nought alike the flood, the fire, the steel.

— The Religious Offering (1835) Scripture Sonnets IX.