The Measurement of Love

Go, count the sands that form the earth,
The drops that make the mighty sea;
Go, count the stars of heavenly birth,
And tell me what their numbers be,
And thou shalt know LOVE'S mystery;

No measurement hath yet been found,
No lines or numbers that can keep
The sum of its eternal round,
The plummet of its endless deep,
Or heights, to which its glories sweep.

Yes, measure LOVE, when thou canst tell
The lands where seraphs have not trod,
The heights of heaven, the depths of hell,
And lay thy finite measuring-rod
On the infinitude of God.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) XIII.

Seeking God's Will

The Life Power of the Blood

He dies, and from His bleeding veins,
The fountain of His life-blood drains
To cleanse the stains of sins;
And nothing less than that dear tide,
Which flow'd from Jesus' bleeding side,
Can make us pure within.

But underneath that fountain lies
A fount, unseen by outward eyes,
Eternal from above;
Of which the blood is but the sign,
Which gives that blood its power divine;
The deeper fount of LOVE.

LOVE flows beneath the purple flood;
LOVE is the life-power of the blood;
LOVE, offering to be slain;
'T is LOVE that to thy heart applies
The emblem of its sacrifice;
And washes out thy stain.

And wouldst thou learn the heavenly art,
To bear about a holy heart,
Let  kindred love be thine;
The same dear love, which ever flows,
In tears and blood, for others' woes,
And makes thy life divine.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) XII.

Thou Giver of the Rising Light

I.
Thou Giver of the rising light,
Thou Author of the morning ray,
At whose command the shades of night
Are changed to bright and sudden day;
Thou too canst rend the clouded heart,
Enveloped in the shades of sin;
And let the light, that dwelt apart,
The glory and the gladness in.

II,
Oh God, our Father and our Friend,
Dark is the cloud, that wraps us now;
But not in vain our prayers ascend,
Nor hopeless at thy feet we bow.
'T is in the dark, distressing hour,
That thou dost hear thy people's cry;
And come and clothe them in thy power,
And hide them in thy majesty.

— American Cottage Life (1850).

Christ, Our Refuge

Dark is the watery way

Of life's tempestuous sea:

And none, Oh Christ, are safe, but they

Who put their trust in Thee,

Loud is the stormy wind;

The seamen are afraid;

But those shall strength and mercy find,

Whose souls on Christ are stayed.

The winds they do not fear,

Nor dread the thunder's noise;

The Savior's cheering voice they hear,

And evermore rejoice.

It  is our Savior's skill,

Our Savior's arm of might,

Which guides the tossing ship at will,

And puts our fears to flight.

Praise  to the Pilot's power,

Praise to the Pilot's hand,

That faithful most in danger's hour,

Shall bring us safe to land.

— American Cottage Life (1850).

The Secret Sign

They know Him by the secret sign,
Which to their souls is given;
'T is written there in light divine,
With characters from heaven.

They may not tell it; but 'tis there,
Forever deep impressed;
Nor grief, nor pain, nor sharp despair,
Shall rend it from their breast.

The child the parent's accent knows,
The accents ever dear;
Unlike the treacherous voice of foes,
That fills his heart with fear.

He runs to meet it; and it falls
In blessings and in joys;
And thus wh'ene'er the Savior calls,
His people know his voice.

They know him by the secret sign,
Which to their souls is given;
'T is written there in light divine,
With characters from heaven.

— American Cottage Life (1850).

A Desire for the Good of All that Exists

We have already said that love necessarily has its object. The object of pure love (and we regard this as an important remark) is existence;  all percipient and sentient existence whatever. So that love, in distinction from every appearance and modification of affection which is not true or pure love, may be defined to be a desire for the good or happiness of everything which exists. And, in accordance with this view, everything which has a being, from the highest to the lowest, whatever its position, whatever its character, the whole infinity of percipient and sentient existence, simply because it has such an existence, is the appropriate object of pure love.

This is a great truth, and one which, it must be admitted, is difficult to be realized by those who have not an instinct of perception and of affirmation in their own purified hearts. Those who are the subjects of this exalted feeling sincerely desire the happiness of all those, whoever or whatever they may be, who are capable of enjoying happiness while, at the same time, it may be so, that they disapprove and perhaps even hate their character; and, accordingly, they love the evil as well as the good, sinners as well as saints.

We  have a striking illustration of the nature of pure love in the case of the Savior. He loved sinners. "He came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." It was not for angels, but for erring men, that he  died. He bowed his head upon the cross for those that persecuted him, reviled him, slew him. He loved men, not because they were good, for such they were not, and certainly not because they were evil, because evil can never be the foundation of love, but because they were existences, — percipient and moral existences. He  saw them created with the elements of an eternal being, but destitute, in their fallen state, of those attributes which would make that being a happy one. He saw them destitute of truth which they might possess, of holiness to which they were strangers, the enemies of God when they might be his friends, the heirs of hell when they might be the heirs of heaven. He loved them, therefore, not because they were good, but because they had a sentient, and especially because they had a moral, existence. It was their existence and not their merit; it was what they were capable of being, and not what they were, which brought him down from heaven.

— edited and adapted from A Treatise on Divine Union (1851) Part 4, Chapter 1.