To Thirst For the Living God

"My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?" -- King David

"There is in true grace an infinite circle: a man by thirsting receives, and receiving thirsts for more." -- Thomas Shepard

"O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is." -- King David

"I thirst for thirstiness; I weep for tears." -- Thomas Gataker

"I stretch forth my hands unto thee: my soul thirsteth after thee, as a thirsty land." -- King David

"The Samaritan woman at the well found the Lord thirsting, and by him thirsting, she was filled. She first found him thirsting in order that he might drink from her faith. And when he was on the cross, he said, "I thirst," although they did not give him that for which he was thirsting. For he was thirsting for them." -- Augustine

"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price." -- Isaiah

"We taste Thee, O Thou Living Bread,
And long to feast upon Thee stil:
We drink of Thee, the Fountainhead
And thirst our souls from Thee to fill." -- Bernard of Clairvaux

"Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled." -- The Lord Jesus

"O God, I have tasted Thy goodness, and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more. I am painfully conscious of my need of further grace. I am ashamed of my lack of desire. O God, the Triune God, I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still." -- A.W. Tozer

"But whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life." -- The Lord Jesus

"With meat and drink indeed I'm blest,
Yet feed on hunger, drink on thirst.
My hunger brings a plenteous store,
My plenty makes me hunger more." -- Ralph Erskine

Victory Song For Christ

"On January 1, 1541, during his stay in Worms [Germany], [John] Calvin wrote the poem Epinicion Christo cantatum 'just for fun.' This 'Victory Song for Christ' was a poem with clear allusions to the events in Worms." -- Wulfert de Greef, The Writings of John Calvin, p. 140

This 124-line epic poem is Calvin's only known poetic work, originally written in Latin, and thus far, only translated in full into German and French. Written in 1541, and circulated amongst friends in manuscript form. It was finally published for the first time in Geneva in 1544, after it had already been added to a Catholic index of prohibited works by the inquisitor Vidal de Bécanis.

Calvin later, in a letter to Conrad Hubert, on May 19, 1557, stated: "By nature I was inclined to poetry, but I have bid it farewell, and for twenty-five years I have composed nothing, except at Worms, following the example of Philipp and Sturm, I was led to write for diversion that poem that you read." (Calvini Opera 16, no. 2632, col. 488) 

Jean-Henri Merle d'Aubigné later translated a portion of this poem from the French version into English, from History of the Reformation in the Times of John Calvin, Vol. 7, Chap. 19, which is here reproduced for our readers. "It is the only poem of his that we possess, and it contains some fine lines." It concludes with an eloquent cry of exultation in the victory of Jesus Christ over his enemies at the last day. 

Yes, the victory will be Christ’s, and the year which announces to us the day of triumph is now beginning. Let pious tongues break the thankless silence and cause their joy to burst forth. His enemies will say, What madness is this? Are they triumphing over a nation which is not yet subdued, are they seizing the crown before they have routed the enemy? True, impiety sits haughtily on a lofty throne. There still exists one who by a nod bends to his will the most powerful monarchs, his mouth vomiting a deadly poison and his hands stands with innocent blood. But for Christ death is life and the cross a victory. The breath of his mouth is the weapon with which he fights, and already for five lustra he has brandished his sword with a vigorous hand, not without smiting. The pope, leader of the sacrilegious army, wounded at last, groans under the unlooked for plagues which have just fallen upon him, and the profane multitude is trembling for terror. If it be a great thing to conquer one’s enemies by force, what must it be to overthrow them by a mere sign? Christ casts them down without breaking his own repose: he scatters them while he keeps silence. We are a pitiful band, low in number, without apparel, without arms, sheep in the presence of ravening wolves. But the victory of Christ our king is for that very reason all the more marvelous. Let his head then be crowned with the laurel of victory, let him be seated on the chariot drawn by four coursers abreast, that his glory may shine forth before all.

 Que tous ses ennemis qui lui ont fait la guerre 

Aillent après, captifs, baissant le front en terre:

Eck still flushed with his Bacchic orgies, the incontempent Cochlaeus, Nausea with his wordy productions, Pelargus with his mouth teeming with insolence, -- these are not the chief men, but the shameless multitude have set them for standard-bearers in the fight. Let them learn then to bow their necks under an unaccustomed yoke. And you, O sacred poets, celebrate in magnificent song the glorious Victory of Jesus Christ, and let all the multitude around him shout ‘Io Paean!’

Evening Prayer

"Laurent Drelincourt [(1626-1681)], pastor of the Église Réformée in Niort and author of the Sonnets Chrétiens (first edition 1677) was the last major French Calvinist poet to be published before the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 scattered the Huguenots to the four corners of the earth. His collection of 160 sonnets was immediately and lastingly popular." So says, Jane McKee, "A Passion for the Scriptures: The Biblical Sonnets of Laurent Drelincourt," in Graham Gargett, ed., Heroism and Passion in Literature: Studies in Honour of Moya Longstaffe, p. 67. The son of Charles Drelincourt (1595-1669), French Huguenot divine, Laurent's poetry, while well-regarded among men of letters and men of faith, has only slightly been translated into English. At my request, one of his sonnets (as well as Drelincourt's associated footnotes) has been translated for this blog by the Rev. Thomas G. Reid, Jr., Assistant Professor, Librarian and Registrar at the Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary in Pittsburgh, PA, with his wife also kindly assisting in the translation. The source text is derived from Sonnets chrétiens sur divers sujets (1766 ed.), p. 133:

Evening Prayer

Indeed, concerning work, your Fatherly goodnesses
cause the Light to reign over our earthly sojourn.
And, by your holy laws, the night comes, in its turn,
to bring rest, under the shadow of its wings.

But, when black sleep must cover my eyelids, 5
open upon me, my God, the eyes of Your love,
dismiss my sins, be my star and my day,
and let your holy angels be my faithful protectors.

The day, constantly swallowed up by the night,
Incessantly instructs me about the end of my life, 10
and I must, day and night, accept it in holiness.

May death, for me, not be anything but a sweet sleep,
where I, my soul between your arms, and my body in the dust,
await the reviving of the eternal morning.

5. “Sleep is the state between life and death” (Aristotle).
7. “By sin, we are shadows, and sin rings in our souls at night, which keeps us from seeing God,” St. Augustine says.
12. “Pagans call sleep the brother of death. And ancient Christians term death ‘sleep,’ in the peace of God and His Christ."
14. “Death is the night, and the resurrection will be the morning” (St. Augustine).

Calvin on Astronomy

John Calvin expressed on more than one occasion his appreciation for the glory of the heavens and the science of astronomy. Following are some select examples of his remarks on the celestial heavens.

Commentary on Gen. 1.16:

For astronomy is not only pleasant, but also very useful to be known: it cannot be denied that this art unfolds the admirable wisdom of God.

Commentary on Ps. 19.1:

When we behold the heavens, we cannot but be elevated, by the contemplation of them, to Him to who is their great Creator; and the beautiful arrangement and wonderful variety which distinguish the courses and station of the heavenly bodies, together with the beauty and splendour which are manifest in them, cannot but furnish us with an evident proof of his providence.

Sermons on Job 9:

Job's intent here is to teach us to be astronomers.

Commentary on Isa. 40.26:

Men see every day the heavens and the stars; but who is there that thinks about their Author? By nature men are formed in such a manner as to make it evident that they were born to contemplate the heavens, and thus to learn their Author; for while God formed other animals to look downwards for pasture, he made man alone erect, and bade him look at what may be regarded as his own habitation.

This is also beautifully described by a poet [Ovid, Metamorphoses 1.85]. "While other animals look downwards towards the earth, he gave to man a lofty face, and bade him look at heaven, and lift up his countenance erect towards the stars." The Prophet [Isaiah] therefore points out the wickedness of men who do not acknowledge what is openly placed before their eyes concerning God, but, like cattle, fix their snout in the earth; for, whenever we raise our eyes upwards, with any degree of attention, it is impossible for our senses not to be struck with the majesty of God.

Commentary on Jeremiah 10.1:

There is no doubt but that the Egyptians and the Chaldeans were true [astronomers], and understood the art, which in itself is praiseworthy; for to observe the stars, what else is it, but to contemplate that wonderful workmanship, in which the power, as well as the wisdom and goodness of God, shines forth? And, indeed, [astronomy] may justly be called the alphabet of theology; for no one can with a right mind come to the contemplation of the celestial framework, without being enraptured with admiration at the display of God's wisdom, as well as of his power and goodness.

Institutes 1.5.2:

In attestation of his wondrous wisdom, both the heavens and the earth present us with innumerable proofs not only those more recondite proofs which astronomy, medicine, and all the natural sciences, are designed to illustrate, but proofs which force themselves on the notice of the most illiterate peasant, who cannot open his eyes without beholding them. It is true, indeed, that those who are more or less intimately acquainted with those liberal studies are thereby assisted and enabled to obtain a deeper insight into the secret workings of divine wisdom. No man, however, though he be ignorant of these, is incapacitated for discerning such proofs of creative wisdom as may well cause him to break forth in admiration of the Creator. To investigate the motions of the heavenly bodies, to determine their positions, measure their distances, and ascertain their properties, demands skill, and a more careful examination; and where these are so employed, as the Providence of God is thereby more fully unfolded, so it is reasonable to suppose that the mind takes a loftier flight, and obtains brighter views of his glory.

Insights Into the Olney Hymns

George M. Ella, William Cowper: Poet of Paradise, pp. 193-195:

The use of hymns in worship

There were still many Evangelicals in the eighteenth century, however, who not only did not approve of using artistic musical measures in worship, but saw little point in using man-made hymns at all. William Romaine (1714-1795), for instance, a man with great backing amongst Evangelicals, saw hymn-singing as a substitute for true worship and a grave departure from the scriptural norm. Wherever there was a lack of 'vital religion', he thought, people left off praying, singing the Psalms and hearing the Word and descended into singing [Isaac] Watts' 'flights of fancy', along with other flippant pastimes. The words of man had become more important to a backsliding church than the Word of God. Romaine thus argued that sung worship dropped to the level of entertainment when hymns were used. He was especially against church choirs who 'sing to be admired for their fine voices' and force the congregation into passivity. To counteract this trend Romaine published his own collection of biblical Psalms to be sung and provided each psalm with a short introduction and devotional application.

Cowper's and [John] Newton's hymn compositions were an attempt to carry the view of church worship fostered by Romaine further than Romaine was prepared to go. Rather than merely supplying their congregation with the Psalms of David with an introduction and commentary, as did Romaine, the Olney friends strove to provide their parishioners with sermon texts from all parts of the Bible in verse form. Romaine compiled his psalm-book to be used in the sung liturgy, whereas Cowper and Newton wrote their hymns for personal edification and instruction rather than for the more formal gathered church worshi

Neither author planned originally to have his hymns sung. Cowper's earlier hymns were composed as poems and Newton's diary entries over a period of years show that his hymns were written for exposition only. Singing hymns is rarely mentioned by Cowper and Newton except at their homes in small devotional circles and in cottage meetings. Indeed, even when the two friends do refer to singing, they often use the word in the old classical sense of reciting.5

Indeed if John Newton and William Cowper were to take part in many a late twentieth-century evangelical Sunday service, the main difference they would notice and, indeed, be shocked at, would be the vast percentage of time devoted to chorus and hymn-singing and musical interludes and the relatively short amount of time taken up by the sermon and spoken exhortations. It would be no use shaking one's head at the two friends' amazement and telling them that 'Times have changed,' and for 'times', in this sense, have not changed in any way. All these Sunday worship 'trimmings' were coming into vogue in the middle of the eighteenth century amongst certain religious groups and, although both Newton and Cowper were fond of singing, and were such good hymn-writers that their hymns are still sung all over the world today, they had an entirely different view of what a hymn was and how a hymn should be sung. Newton criticized the misuse of music and singing in church services in numerous sermons and this topic was often the subject under discussion in the two friends' weekly correspondence with each other when Newton left Olney.

Cowper and Newton were particularly against singing hymns in the main Sunday services as the unconverted present could not possibly join in. They argued that only the redeemed could partake in joint worship. If people sang of Christ's redemption who had not experienced it, what futile bluff! If the congregation sang of God's wrath to unsaved sinners and did not believe it, what folly!

Their chief criticism, however, was of the music rather than the texts. This is one reason why the Olney Hymns were published without any music or any instrumentalization. Up to the latter part of the seventeenth century there was no instrumental accompaniment in church services apart from the larger cathedrals, which had been highly influenced by German court music. There was no organ in the Olney Church and Newton would not have one. When Newton left for a parish in London, some Olney citizens campaigned to have an organ installed in the parish church. They approached Cowper for assistance in their venture, thinking that a hymn-writer would be the very man to head a campaign for an organ. Cowper told them clearly and unmistakably that he would have nothing to do with such folly.

He had already playfully poured scorn on the modern jingle-jangles of church music used with the new versions of the Psalms in an essay in The Connoisseur. In this article he was also probably taking a dig at his cousin Martin Madan and John Wesley, who were responsible for introducing some of these 'new-fashioned' tunes such as Winchester New into church services.

The good old practice of psalm-singing is, indeed, wonderfully improved in many country churches since the days of Sternhold and Hopkins; and there is scarce a parish-clerk, who has so little taste as not to pick his staves out of the New Version. This has occasioned great complaints in some places, where the clerk has been forced to bawl by himself because the rest of the congregation cannot find the psalm at the end of their prayer-books; while others are highly disgusted at the innovation, and stick as obstinately to the Old Version as to the Old Stile. The tunes themselves have also been new-set to jiggish measures; and the sober drawl, which used to accompany the two first staves of the hundredth psalm with the gloria partri, is now split into as many quavers as an Italian air. For this purpose there is in every county an itinerant band of vocal musicians, who make it their business to go round to all the churches in their turns, and, after a prelude with a pitchpipe, astonish the audience with hymns set to the new Winchester measure and anthems of their own composing. 

It might be argued that Cowper wrote the above as an unconverted man and he would have changed his mind as a Christian taking part in communal worship. This is not the case at all. In his poem 'Table Talk', published in 1782, Cowper claims that one simple psalm of Sternhold and Hopkins is better than all the endeavours of later, wittier, more skilled and more polished versifiers.

5. Thus Cowper starts his longest poem, Task, with the words 'I sing the Sofa'.

William Cowper, "Table Talk," in The Complete Poetical Works of William Cowper,  p. 24:

A.  Hail, Sternhold, then! and, Hopkins, hail!—
                B.  Amen.
If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen;
If acrimony, slander, and abuse,
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;
Though Butler’s wit, Pope’s numbers, Prior’s ease,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adorn the polish’d periods as they fall,
One madrigal of theirs is worth them all.
        A.  ‘Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe,
To dash the pen through all that you proscribe.
        B.  No matter—we could shift when they were not;
And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.

God's Prism

While thunder booms, lightning cracks, wind blows and rain pours
Serenely his eye looks westward assured
That this storm too shall pass though heaven opens all doors
And that a token looked for has endured

For in the "unaccustomed light" that will follow
When glittering droplets begem the sky
Painting more vivid colors than any Van Gogh
God's prism keeps faith His vow to you and I.

-- R. Andrew Myers, July 2013

Roll Upon the Lord

Jonathan Edwards, "Miscellaneous Remarks Concerning Faith," in The Works of Jonathan Edwards, Vol. 2, p. 587:

Sec. 63. Rolling oneself, or burden, on the Lord, is an expression used as equivalent to trusting. Psal. xxii. 8. "he trusted in the Lord, that he would deliver him:" in the original, "He rolled himself on the Lord." Psal. xxxvii.5. "Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass." In the Hebrew, Roll thy way upon the Lord. Prov. xvi.3. "Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established." In the Hebrew, Roll thy works.

John Winthrop, March 18, 1627 Letter to His Son, in Robert C. Winthrop, Life and Letters of John Winthrop, p. 250:

But such as will roll their ways upon the Lord, do find him always as good as his word.

John Cotton, An Exposition of First John, p. 536:

How then can this be called believing on Christ, when the heart is not grounded in him nor rests in him? I answer, there is a faith in Christ when the heart does not rest on Christ but is only grounded on him, or rolls itself on him, which may be done while the heart is yet in motion. Sometimes it rolls one way, sometimes another; yet such a man believes on Christ, for he is rolling toward him so that he may lie on him. "Commit your ways to the Lord" (Ps. 37:5); in the original, "roll your ways upon the Lord"; lean your soul that way; roll toward him so that you might rest upon him. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not to your own understanding" (Prov. 3:6); a man may be said to lean upon the Lord, when he is not yet settled upon him.

Ps. 22.8, Bay Psalm Book:

Vpon the Lord he rold himselfe,
let him now rid him quite:
let him deliver him, because
in him he doth delight.

Anne Bradstreet, "In my Solitary houres in my dear husband his Absence," Robert Hutchinson, ed., The Poems of Anne Bradstreet, p. 74:

O stay my heart on thee, my God,
Uphold my fainting Soul!
And, when I know not what to doe,
I'll on thy mercyes roll.

Edward Taylor, "God's Determinations," in Thomas H. Johnson, ed., The Poetical Works of Edward Taylor, p. 91 (Lines 1625-1627):

And thus he doth involve the doubting Soule
In dismall doubts and makes it fear to rowle
Himselfe on Christ for fear it should presume.

Cowper's Riddles

The great English poet, William Cowper (in his day, it was pronounced "Cooper"), used to apply his creative mind to inventing riddles for his friends. I have assembled some here, along with the answers, for those who may also share his interest.

William Hayley, The Life and Letters of William Cowper, Esq., p. 86 (Letter LXI to the Rev. John Newton, July 30, 1780):

I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told,
I am lawful, unlawful -- a duty, a fault,
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought,
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,
And yielded with pleasure -- when taken by force.
[Alike the delight of the poor and rich,
Tho' the vulgar is apt to present me his breech.]

An Answer was penned by "J.T." in the Gentleman's Magazine, Vol. LXXVI, p. 1224 (1806):

A RIDDLE by Cowper
Made me swear like a trooper;
But my anger, alas! was in vain;
For, remembering the bliss
Of beauty's soft Kiss,
I now long for such riddles again.

T.S. Grimshawe, ed., William Cowper: His Life, Letters, and Poems, p. 90 (Letter to John Newton, April 8, 1781):

I send you a cucumber, not of my own raising, and yet raised by me.

Solve this enigma, dark enough
To puzzle any brains
That are not downright puzzle-proof,
And eat it for your pains.

Cowper provided a solution to his "enigma" to his friend a fortnight later (ibid, p. 90, Letter to John Newton, April 23, 1781):

It is worth while to send you a riddle, you make such a variety of guesses, and turn and tumble it about with such an industrious curiosity. The solution of that in question is -- let me see; it requires some consideration to explain it, even though I made it. I raised the seed that produced the plant that produced the fruit I sent you. This latter seed I gave to the gardener of Tyringham, who brought me the cucumber you mention. Thus you see I raised it -- that is to say, I raised it virtually by having raised its progenitor; and yet I did not raise it, because the identical seed from which it grew was raised at a distance. You observe I did not speak rashly when I spoke of it as dark enough to pose an OEdipus, and have no need to call your own sagacity in question for falling short of the discovery.

Upon receiving the news that his friend Samuel Rose was to be married, he wrote the following (William Hayley, The Life and Letters of William Cowper, Esq., p. 86, Letter CCCXXI to Samuel Rose, June 8, 1790)::

Samson, at his marriage, proposed a riddle to a Philistine. I am no Samson, neither are you a Philistine. Yet expound to me the following if you can:

What are they which stand at a distance from each other, and meet without ever moving?

Should you be so fortunate as to guess it, you may propose it to the company, when you celebrate your nuptials; and, if you can win thirty changes of raiment by it, as Samson did by his, let me tell you, they will be no contemptible acquisition to a young beginner.

He added later in a postscript (ibid, p. 406, Letter CCCXXIX to Samuel Rose, Sept. 13, 1790):

The trees of a colonnade will solve my riddle.

Cowper also once translated a Latin poem by his old tutor, Vincent Bourne, An AEnigma (ibid, p. 625):

A needle, small as small can be,
In bulk and use surpasses me,
Nor is my purchase dear;
For little, and almost for nought,
As many of my kind are bought
As days are in the year.

Yet though but little use we boast,
And are procured at little cost,
The labour is not light;
Nor few artificers it asks,
All skilful in their sev'ral tasks,
To fashion us aright.

One fuses metal o'er the fire,
A second draws it into wire,
The sheers another plies,
Who clips in lengths the brazen thread
For him, who chafing every shred,
Gives all an equal size.

A fifth prepares, exact and round,
The knob with which it must be crown'd;
His follower makes it fast:
And with his mallet and his file
To shape the point, employs awhile
The seventh and the last.

Now, therefore, OEdipus! declare
What creature, wonderful and rare,
A process, that obtains
Its purpose with so much ado,
At last produces? -- tell me true,
And take me for your pains!

Other riddles are scattered throughout Cowper's writings here and there. Perhaps the most profound enigma which sums up the poet's wisdom (Prov. 1.5-6: "A wise man will hear, and will increase learning; and a man of understanding shall attain unto wise counsels: To understand a proverb, and the interpretation; the words of the wise, and their dark sayings.") more than any other, is found in these lines from The Olney Hymns:

H.S. Milford, ed., The Complete Poetical Works of William Cowper, XXXV. Light Shining Out of Darkness, p. 455:

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence,
He hides a smiling face.

The Day Is Done

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "The Day is Done":

The day is done, and the darkness

      Falls from the wings of Night,

As a feather is wafted downward

      From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village

      Gleam through the rain and the mist,

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me

      That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,

      That is not akin to pain,

And resembles sorrow only

      As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,

      Some simple and heartfelt lay,

That shall soothe this restless feeling,

      And banish the thoughts of day.

Not from the grand old masters,

      Not from the bards sublime,

Whose distant footsteps echo

      Through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,

      Their mighty thoughts suggest

Life's endless toil and endeavor;

      And to-night I long for rest.

Read from some humbler poet,

      Whose songs gushed from his heart,

As showers from the clouds of summer,

      Or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,

      And nights devoid of ease,

Still heard in his soul the music

      Of wonderful melodies.

Such songs have power to quiet

      The restless pulse of care,

And come like the benediction

      That follows after prayer.

Then read from the treasured volume

      The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet

      The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music,

      And the cares, that infest the day,

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,

      And as silently steal away.

Floweret

Jeremias de Dekker, in John Bowring and Harry S. Van Dyk, eds., Batavian Anthology (1825), pp. 168-170:

The Too-Early-Opening Flower

Teer bloemeken, sie wat ghij doet.

Not yet, frail flower! thy charms unclose;
Too soon thou venturist forth again;
For April has its winter-rain,
And tempest-clouds, and nipping snows.
Too quickly thou uprear'st thy head;
The northern wind may reach thee still,
And injure -- nay, for ever kill
Thy charming white and lovely red.
And thou perchance too late wilt sigh,
That at the first approach of spring
Thou mad'st thy bud unfold its wing,
And show its blush to every eye;
For March a faithless smile discloses.
If thou wouldst bloom securely here,
Let Phoebus first o'ertake the steer:
Thou'rt like the seaman, who reposes
On one fair day -- one favouring wind,
Weighs anchor, and the future braves:
But sighs, when on the ocean waves,
For that calm port he leaves behind,
As with an anxious eye he sees
His shatter'd hull and shiver'd sail
Borne at the mercy of the gale
Wherever winds and waters please;
And deems, as he is sinking fast
The sands and brine and foam beneath,
That every wave contains a death,
That every plunge will be his last.
Thou'rt like the courtier, who, elate
When greeted first by favour's ray,
Begins to make a grand display: --
But, ah! it is a fickle state.
A court is like a garden-shade;
The courtiers and the flowers that rise
Too suddenly, 'neath changeful skies,
Oft sink into the dust and fade.
In short, we all like thy flower,
And ever, both in weal and woe,
With strange perverseness, we bestow
Our thoughts on time's swift-fleeting hour.
And 'tis the same with those who pine,
And deem that grief will never flee,
And those who, bred in luxury,
Think the gay sun will always shine.
For every joy brings sorrow too,
And even grief may herald mirth;
And God has mingled life on earth
With bitterness and honey-dew.
Thus winter follows summer's bloom,
And verdant summer winter's blight;
Thus reigns by turns the day and night; --
Change is the universal doom.
Then, floweret! when thy charms have fled,
All wither'd by a fate unkind,
Call wisdom's proverb to thy mind --
Soon green, soon gray -- soon ripe, soon dead.

On the Sight of a Shooting Star

On March 27, 2013, at 11:37 pm, while driving south in central Virginia, I saw a fireball in the southwestern sky. It arced from south to west and lasted several seconds, getting brighter and more colorful (white, blue, green) before disappearing. It was reported by other witnesses but it did not seem to make the news. Yet as brief as the moment lasted, its memory has stayed with me. Seeing this shooting star reminded me of a meditation by Joseph Hall, "On the Sight of a Gliding Star." I thought to post his meditation here, but it did not seem to capture what I felt. So instead I wrote my own.

Years ago in Eisenach, for an audience of one,
a clavichord concert orchestrated by Bach,
gave me a sense of wonder and awe
feeble, clapping hands could not convey.

Tonight it was as if his finger traced across the night sky
among thousands of pinpoints, in crystal clear cold,
and with a flourish sparkled a firework display
for an audience of one. It was over before
I could catch my breath, but the moment lives still. 

When one beholds beauty, one must share,
one must praise. Thank you Lord, for eyes to see,
ears to hear, a tongue to speak, feeble hands with which to write,
and a heart to love. 

Petra

In the news:

March 23, 2013 (Reuters) - President Barack Obama marveled at the sights of Jordan's ancient city of Petra on Saturday as he wrapped up a four-day Middle East tour by setting aside weighty diplomatic matters and playing tourist for a day.
...
In full sightseeing mode, Obama flew by helicopter to Petra for a two-hour walking tour of the restored ruins of a city more than 2,000 years old some of which is carved into sandstone cliffs.

John William Burgon, Petra, A Poem: To Which a Few Short Poems are Now Added, pp. 23-24:

O passing beautiful -- in this wild spot
Temples, and tombs, and dwellings, -- all forgot!
One sea of sunlight far around them spread,
And skies of sapphire mantling overhead.
They seem no work of man's creative hand,
Where Labour wrought as wayward Fancy plann'd;
But from the rock as if by magic grown,
Eternal -- silent -- beautiful -- alone!
Not virgin white -- like that old Doric shrine
Where once Athena held her rites divine:
Not saintly grey -- like many a minster fane
That crowns the hill, or sanctifies the plain:
But rosy-red, -- as if the blush of dawn
Which first beheld them were not yet withdrawn:
The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
Which men call'd old two thousand years ago!
Match me such marvel, save in Eastern clime, --
A rose-red city -- 'half as old as Time!'
And this is Petra -- this the lofty boast
Of Edom's once unconquerable coast!

Spring

John L. Girardeau, in George Blackburn, Life Work and Sermons of John L. Girardeau, pp. 346-347:

Spring

'Tis Spring, and Nature's form is seen
Attired in robes of fairest hue;
Her mantle green, how bright its sheen,
And gemmed with drops of pearly dew.
Her voice of love -- her voice of love,
How soft it streams from every hill!
How sweet the note that seems to float
From every murmuring, weeping rill!
There's not a flower in rosy bower
That lifts its modest, blushing head,
And steals a kiss of dewy bliss
From Morning's lip of glowing red --
There's not a lovely saffron tint
That paints the couch of dying Day --
There's not a star that beams afar,
And lights retiring Eve away --
There's not a tone by Seraphs blown
To which the ear of Fancy listens --
There's not a bead of early dew
That on the fragrant myrtle glistens --
There's not a breeze that through the trees
Low sighs the requiem of day --
But worship brings, and praises sings
To Nature's God in Nature's way.
Her voice of love is heard above
Though mortal eye may not descry
The native charms of her sweet face;
Her Maker's eye is ever nigh,
To note each beauty and each grace.

A Song of May in November

Wilhelmus à Brakel, The Christian's Reasonable Service, Vol. 3, p. 287:

...there is joy in love, and heart of man is inclined toward joy. There is no joy in the world for you. That which is most delightful grieves you when Jesus has departed. You will have to acquiesce in a song I once made about the month of May:

How sweet is the time of songs and flowers,

in which animal and man rejoice!

Yet it is nothing but sorrow to me

as long as I miss the love of Jesus.

But if He would but speak to my soul,

"Thou art mine and I am Thine eternally,"

And cause my sinful life to disappear -- 

then it is for me the time of songs and flowers!

Pedantic Literalist

Marianne Moore (1887-1972), granddaughter of a Presbyterian minister, is not usually thought of as a Presbyterian poet, yet her religious background and familiarity with Puritan literature is apparent in such works as "Pedantic Literalist," a 1916 poem that first appeared in The Egoist.

Pedantic Literalist

Prince Rupert's drop, paper muslin ghost,
White torch - "with power to say unkind
Things with kindness, and the most
Irritating things in the midst of love and
Tears," you invite destruction.

You are like the meditative man
With the perfunctory heart; its
Carved cordiality ran
To and fro at first like an inlaid and royal
Immutable production;

Then afterward "neglected to be
Painful, deluding him with
Loitering formality,"
"Doing its duty as if it did not,"
Presenting an obstruction

To the motive that it served. What stood
Erect in you has withered. A
Little "palm tree of turned wood"
Informs your once spontaneous core in its
Immutable production.

Moore's note concerning this poem in Observations (1924) ascribes all four quotes -- which comprise eight of the 20 lines of text -- in the poem to Richard Baxter's The Saints' Everlasting Rest. Upon closer examination, however, only two are actually attributable to Baxter. As the poem is a critique of one who is a stickler for the letter of the law rather than its spirit, and because the use of direct quotes in poetry is rather remarkable, the sources and context of the original quotes (where they are known) are a valuable insight to those interested both in the meaning of the poem, and the poet herself.

Stanza 1: "with power to say unkind
Things with kindness, and the most
Irritating things in the midst of love and
Tears," -- source: William Blake, "Milton a Poem," Book the First, p. 10, lines 29-34:

...I form'd the Serpent
...
To do unkind things in kindness! with power arm'd, to say
The most irritating things in the midst of tears and love
These are the stings of the Serpent!

Stanza 3: "neglected to be
Painful, deluding him with
Loitering formality,"
"Doing its duty as if it did not," -- source: Richard Baxter, The Saints' Everlasting Rest, Part IV, chap. XII ("How to Manage and Watch Over the Heart Through the Whole Work"), sect. 2:

When thou hast got thy heart to the work, beware lest delude thee by a loitering formality; lest it say, I go, and go not; lest it trifle out the time, while it should be effectually meditating. Certainly, the heart is as likely to betray thee in this, as in any one particular about the duty; when thou hast perhaps but an hour's time for thy meditation, the time will be spent before thy heart will be serious. This doing of duty as if we did it not, doth undo as many as the flat omission of it. To rub out the hour in a bare, lazy thinking of heaven, is but to lose that hour, and delude thyself.

Stanza 4: "palm tree of turned wood" -- source: unknown. While the phrase seems to allude to the cross of Christ, this last quote does not appear to be from the hand of Richard Baxter.

The identifiable quotes, which are so essential to the poem, even if paraphrased, make clear that the heart and the spirit must be invested in the outward good works of man, without which he is but a cold shell, a whitewashed wall, a Pharisee, a formalist, or a pedantic literalist. As the Apostle Paul wrote, "the letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life" (2 Cor. 3.6); and in the words of our Lord Jesus, "Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone" (Matt. 23.3; see also Luke 11.42).

Bibliography:

Jenkins, Daniel T., "Marianne Moore: a Presbyterian Poet?", Theology Today, Vol. 41, No. 1 (April 1984), 34-41

Moore, Marianne; ed. Schulze, Robin G., Becoming Marianne Moore: The Early Poems, 1907-1924 (2002)

Rainey, Lawrence S., Modernism: An Anthology (2005)

The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk

William Cowper, The Poetical Works of William Cowper, pp. 207-209:

Verses
Supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his
solitary abode in the island of Juan Fernandez.

I am monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.

Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford,
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there;
But alas! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the seafowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.

Gratefulness

George Herbert, The Complete English Poems, pp. 115-116:

Gratefulness

You that have giv'n so much to me,

Give one thing more, a grateful heart.

See how your beggar works on thee

By art.

He makes your gifts occasion more,

And says, If he in this be crossed,

All you have giv'n him heretofore

Is lost.

But you did reckon, when at first

Your word our hearts and hands did crave,

What it would come to at the worst

To save.

Perpetual knockings at your door,

Tears sullying your transparent rooms,

Gift upon gift, much would have more,

And comes.

This notwithstanding, you still went on,

And did allow us all our noise:

Nay, you have made a sigh and groan

Your joys.

Not that you have not still above

Much better tunes, than groans can make;

But that these country-airs your love

Did take.

Wherefore I cry, and cry again;

And in no quiet can you be,

Till I a thankful heart obtain

Of thee:

Not thankful, when it pleases me;

As if your blessings had spare days:

But such a heart, whose pulse may be

Your praise.

Evensong

Janet Adam Smith, ed., The Collected Poems of Robert Louis Stevenson, p. 284:

Evensong

The embers of the day are red
Beyond the murky hill.
The kitchen smokes: the bed
In the darkling house is spread:
The great sky darkens overhead,
And the great woods are shrill.
So far have I been led,
Lord, by Thy will:
So far I have followed, Lord, and
wondered still.

The breeze from the embalmed land
Blows sudden toward the shore,
And claps my cottage door.
I hear the signal, Lord -- I understand.
The night at Thy command
Comes. I will eat and sleep and will not
question more.

On Affliction

John Bradford, "On Affliction," in The Writings of John Bradford, Vol. 2, p. 368:

On Affliction

In the midst of my misery
To God will I make my moan,
And patiently abide
Till he shall hear my groan.

And therefore thou enemy
Rejoice not at my fall:
For, through the goodness of my God,
Get up again I shall.

Though now for God's good time
In darkness I do sit,
Yet doubtless will his mercy great
Restore me to his light.

In the meanwhile will I
Myself patiently sustain,
His anger and displeasure eke,
Though it be to my pain:

For I have sinned sore
Against his goodness oft.
Howbeit I know he will eftsoons
Set my poor soul aloft,

To see his light to my comfort
And gladding of my heart,
When without means shall fall
Death his grievous dart.

MHCC 50: Inspiration for Charles Wesley

Thomas Jackson, The Life of Charles Wesley, Vol. 2, pp. 200-202:

Few persons would think of going to the verbose Commentary of Matthew Henry for the elements of poetry; but the genius of Charles Wesley, like the fabled philosopher's stone, could turn everything to gold. Some of his eminently beautiful hymns, strange as it may appear, are poetic versions of Henry's expository notes. One specimen may be given. The Commentator, explaining the name of God, as it was given to Moses, and recorded in Exodus xxxiv. 6, 7, says, --

"(1.) He is merciful. This bespeaks his tender compassion, like that of a father to his children. This is put first, because it is the first wheel in all the instances of God's good-will to fallen man, whose misery makes him an object of pity, Judg. x. 16; Isa. lxiii. 9. Let us not then have either hard thoughts of God or hard hearts towards our brethren. (2.) He is gracious. This bespeaks both freeness and kindness; it intimates not only that he has a compassion to his creatures, but a complacency in them and in doing good to them, and this of his own good-will, and not for the sake of any thing in them. His mercy is grace, free grace; this teaches us to be not only pitiful, but courteous, 1 Pet. iii. 8. (3.) He is long-suffering. This is a branch of God's goodness which the wickedness of sinners gives occasion for; that of Israel had done so: they had tried his patience, and experienced it. He is long-suffering, that is, he is slow to anger, and delays the execution of his justice; he waits to be gracious, and lengthens out the offers of his mercy. (4.) He is abundant in goodness and truth. This bespeaks plentiful goodness, goodness abounding above our deserts, above our conception and expression. The springs of mercy are always full, the streams of mercy always flowing; there is mercy enough in God, enough for all, enough for each, enough for ever. It bespeaks promised goodness, goodness and truth put together, goodness engaged by promise, and his faithfulness pledged for the security of it. He not only does good, but by his promise he raises our expectation of it, and even binds himself to show mercy. (5.) He keepeth mercy for thousands. This denotes, [1.] Mercy extended to thousands of persons. When he gives to some, still he keeps for others, and is never exhausted; he has mercy enough for all the thousands of Israel, when they shall multiply as the sand. [2.] Mercy entailed upon thousands of generations, even those upon whom the ends of the world have come; nay, the line of it is drawn parallel with that of eternity itself. (6.) He for giveth iniquity, transgression, and sin. Pardoning mercy is specified, because in this divine grace is most magnified, and because in this divine grace is most magnified, and because it is this which opens the door to all other gifts of his divine grace, and because of this he had lately given a very pregnant proof. He forgives offences of all sorts—iniquity, transgression, and sin, multiplies his pardons; and with him is plenteous redemption."

The valuable sentiments thus expressed in humble prose Mr. Charles Wesley embodies in elegant and energetic verse. He sings in the full exercise of faith, and of adoring gratitude; and millions of hearts and voices still unite in the same hallowed strain: --

Merciful God, thyself proclaim
In this polluted breast;
Mercy is thy distinguish'd name,
Which suits a sinner best:
Our misery doth for pity call,
Our sin implores thy grace;
And thou art merciful to all
Our lost, apostate race.

Thy causeless, unexhausted love,
Unmerited and free,
Delights our evil to remove,
And help our misery:
Thou waitest to be gracious still,
Thou dost with sinners bear,
That saved we may thy goodness feel,
And all thy grace declare.

Thy goodness and thy truth to me,
To every soul, abound,
A vast, unfathomable sea,
Where all our thoughts are drown'd:
Its streams the whole creation reach,
So plenteous is the store,
Enough for all, enough for each,
Enough for evermore.

Faithful, O Lord, thy mercies are,
A rock that cannot move;
A thousand promises declare
Thy constancy of love:
Throughout the universe it reigns,
Unalterably sure;
And while the truth of God remains,
The goodness must endure.

Reserves of unexhausted grace
Are treasured up in thee,
For myriads of the fallen race,
For all mankind, and me.
The flowing stream continues full,
Till time its course hath run;
And while eternal ages roll
Thy mercy shall flow on.

Merciful God, long-suffering, kind,
To me thy name is show'd;
But sinners most exult to find,
Thou art a pardoning God.
Our sins in deed, and word, and thought,
Thou freely dost forgive;
For us thou by thy blood hast bought,
And died that I might live.

Erik Routley & Paul Akers Richardson, A Panorama of Christian Hymnody, p. 69:

71 A Charge to Keep I Have

A charge to keep I have,
a God to glorify,
a never-dying soul to save
and fit it for the sky;
to serve the present age,
my calling to fulfill:
O may it all my powers engage
to do my Master's will.

Arm me with jealous care
as in thy sight to live,
and O! thy servant, Lord, prepare
a strict account to give.
Help me to watch and pray,
and on thyself rely,
assured, if I my trust betray,
I shall for ever die.

Charles Wesley
Short Hymns on Select Passages of Scripture, 1762
based on Matthew Henry's Commentary, 1700, Leviticus 8:35:

We have every one of us a charge to keep, an eternal God to glorify, an immortal soul to provide for, needful duty to be done, our generation to serve; and it must be our daily care to keep this charge, for it is the charge of the Lord our Master, who will shortly call us to account about it, and it is at our utmost peril if we neglect it. Keep it, "that ye die not"; it is death, eternal death, to betray the truth we are charged with.

Charles Wesley, Preface to Short Hymns on Select Passages of Scripture:

God, having graciously laid His hand upon my body, and disabled me for the principal work o fthe ministry, has thereby given me an unexpected occasion of writing the following hymns. Many of the thoughts are borrowed from Mr. Henry's Comment, Dr. [Robert] Gell on the Pentateuch, and Bengelius [Johann Albrecht Bengel] on the New Testament.