The Highest Homage

The soul in the state of true peace or rest, is the kingdom of God, because it constantly renders him the highest homage. And it does so, because its state of peace or rest is the result, and may be said to be the completion, of every other state. It is not necessary for a soul, in such a state, to make costly sacrifices, to go to distant places, or to bow in temples, as if the true homage of the heart could be rendered only or chiefly by outward acts. Wherever it is, provided it is where God in his providence requires it to be, it is itself the highest worship and homage of God. The Infinite Mind delights in it, as a soul continually offering to himself the highest reverence and praise. The state of holy peace is more than that of penitence, because, although penitence implies a sorrow for sin, it does not necessarily imply a conquest over sin. It is more than good desire, because such desires are not acceptable in the sight of God without faith attending them. It is more than faith, because it is the end, of which faith is the means or instrument. It is more than gratitude, because it includes gratitude, as a whole includes a part. It is the result, the expression, the completion of the whole. It is man, harmonizing with God. It is God, dwelling and living in man.

He, therefore, who is in true peace of spirit, is a continual worshiper. He is himself his temple, and his heart is his altar. The fire is always burning; the incense always ascends.

— edited from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 8, Chapter 12.

Jehovah, Sov'reign of My Heart

Jehovah, sov'reign of my heart!

My joy by night and day!

From Thee, oh may I never part,

From thee, ne'er go astray.

Whene'er allurements round me stand,

And tempt me from my choice;

Oh,  let me find thy gracious hand,

Oh,  let me hear thy voice.

This vain and feeble heart, I know,

To worldly ways is prone;

But penitential tears shall show,

There's joy in Thee alone.

With God all darkness turns to day;

With Him all sorrows flee;

Thou art the true and living way,

And I will walk in Thee.

— Religious Maxims (1846).

The Inward and Outward Christ

The CHRIST WITHIN by works is known,
In deeds of truth and goodness shown;
The Inward life, He outward lives,
And all He hath, to others gives.

Above all thoughts of coward fear,
He goes where pestilence is near;
When griefs assail, when lov'd ones die,
He cheers the heart, He wipes the eye.

His hand doth ope the prison door;
He feeds the hungry, starving poor;
He loves to heal their wounds, and bind
The broken, penitential mind.

He knows no clime, no sect, no name;
All tribes and sect; to Him the same;
The Greek, the Jew, the bond, the free,
Alike receive His sympathy.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) XXVI.

Sensitiveness to Sin

The man, who is troubled at great sins, particularly such as involve a degree of notoriety, but finds himself slightly affected and troubled in the commission of small or hidden ones, has but little claim to the grace of sanctification. One of the surest marks of sanctification is  an increased sensitiveness to sin in all its degrees. The slightest sin is a source of unspeakable misery to the sanctified heart; and gives the soul no rest, till it is washed out in overflowing tears of penitence.

— Religious Maxims L.

Jehovah, Sov'reign of my Heart

Jehovah, sov'reign of my heart!
My joy by night and day!
From Thee, oh may I never part,
From Thee ne'er go astray.

Whene'er allurements round me stand,
And tempt me from my choice;
Oh, let me find thy gracious hand,
Oh, let me hear thy voice.

This vain and feeble heart, I know,
To worldly ways is prone;
But penitential tears shall show,
There's joy in Thee alone.

With God all darkness turns to day;
With Him all sorrows flee;
Thou art the true and living way,
And I will walk in Thee.

— American Cottage Life (1850).

Pentitence

Oh, say when errors oft and black
Have deeply stained the inmost soul,
Who then shall call the wanderer back,
Who make the broken spirit whole?
Who give the tortured and depressed
The grateful balm, that soothes to rest?

When storms are driven across the sky,
The rainbow decks the troubled clouds,
And there is one, whose love is nigh,
Where grief annoys and darkness shrouds;
He'll stretch abroad his bow of peace,
And bid the storm and tempest cease.

Then go, vain world, 'tis time to part,
Too long and darkly hast thou twined
Around this frail, corrupted heart,
And poisoned the immortal mind;
Oh, I have known the pangs that spring
From pleasure's beak and folly's sting.

Hail, Prince of heaven! Hail, Bow of rest!
Oh, downward scatter mercy's ray,
And all the darkness of my breast
Shall quickly turn to golden day.
With Thee is peace; no griefs annoy;
And tears are grateful gems of joy.

— American Cottage Life (1850).