ISAIAH 55: 1.
On, there are many tears and sighs
In this vain, sin-stained earth,-
Sad hearts, and deepest agonies
'Midst all its shouts of mirth:
Their festive scenes are gay, and loud
With music's swelling tone;
But when they 've left the laughing crowd,
What are they "all alone"?
How many a gaily-painted vest,
And robe of costly pride,
Is worn upon an aching breast,
Its inward woe to hide!
How many a song of revelry
Sounds bravely on the ear,
From those whose couch of misery
Is wet with many a tear!
The smiling lip, the laughing eye,
The careless, jaunting air,
Are masks, in which men proudly try
To hide their dark despair;
Like famous Moslem piles, that rise
Superb in eastern zones,-
Outside, so fair to human eyes,
Within, but dead men's bones.
A voice is heard, a voice of love,-
To each, to all, it cries,-
From One who came from joys above;
He calls, He weeps, He dies:
The Son of God has man become,
The prodigal to win;
And bring him to his Father's home,
From vanity and sin.
Oh, nothing does the Father spare,
His erring child to save;
All does the Son delight to bear,-
The curse, the cross, the grave:
To make salvation free and sure,
All does the Father give;
All does the Father's Son endure,
That we might come, and live.
Ye wearied ones, ye desolate,
Ye mourning souls, attend;
Be sins or sorrows e'er so great,
Come to the sinner's friend I
Seek not your guilt, orwoes, to hide,-
Ye need not from His eyes!
The Holy One will not in pride
A broken heart despise.
The smitten Rock, thou thirsty soul,
Gives forth its living streams;
Thou, sick one, He can make Thee whole;
Dark one, behold His beams!
No more, ye starving, labor spend
For that which is not bread;
To Jesus' gracious call attend,
And ye shall all be fed.
Savior, Thy voice I have obeyed,
And found each promise true:
And though my foolish feet have strayed,
Oftimes since Thee I knew;
With a full, thankful, joyful heart,
At Thy dear feet I fall,
Confessing all I need THOU art,
Yea, Thou art all in all.
TO THE WANDERERS.
YE think us sad and woeful,
Ye children of the earth;
Ye think we must be doleful,
Because we shun your mirth:
Have we not tried your pleasures,
Your revels, and your songs?
Have we not found the measures
Of what to you belongs?
Your mirth, 't is like the meteor
That flashes through the sky;
Your laughter passes fleeter
Than flowers that bloom and die:
Your gold and silver canker,
Your gaudy vests decay:
Where will your souls find anchor
When comes the stormy day?
Ye carry on right gladly
While calm and sunshine last;
The heavens ye brave right madly
Till skies grow overcast:
But if ye think of dying,
Of judgment-when alone
-On beds of sickness lying,
Where is your mirth all flown?
Ye tell us of our crosses,
Our sorrows and our pains;
Ye only see our losses,
Ye cannot count our gains.
'T is true the world opposes
Those who the world despise
And seek by faith, like Moses,
Their portion in the skies.
But oh, we 've joys and pleasures,
That ne'er shall pass away;
We 're rich with countless treasures,
That never can decay:
We 've feasts of love abounding
With dainties all divine,
And light our path surrounding
Which makes our faces shine.
Our sins are all forgiven;
We've sunshine in our breast,
Bright foretastes now of heaven
And our eternal rest:
We've promises to cheer us,
Almighty strength to guard;
Our Savior ever near us,
His love our sure reward.