“Therefore I hated life: because the work that is wrought under the sun is grievous unto me: for all is vanity and vexation of spirit."
“Thou hast healed me."
O FANCY one, some lonely wanderer, cast
On a far island in the cheerless main,
Whose heart and memory sicken o'er the past,
Who looks forever to the deep in vain,
With hopes that cheat him, 'till he loves despair,
Content, because he must, to perish there.
Such was I once—and such are all who feel
This earth a desert, and who seek in vain
Some cure (alas! they know not what) to heal,
E'en for an hour, that fix'd corroding pain,
Which flies from sympathy, and scorns her art,
That deep, deep malady—a broken heart.
Hope fain around me—from within—above;
Affection wither'd, and I wander'd on,
With a sear'd heart, that languish'd still to love
Those cherish'd once-but oh! its power was
gone!
This, this was anguish, such a depth of woe,
As souls who ne'er have loved can never know.
Then with these sorrows too, at times would blend
Some dark forebodings at the thought of sin,
The withering fear that God was not my friend;
Void of his love, 'twas all a waste within,
Unblest and cheerless, where the serpent's breath
Shed naught around it but despair and death.
Sad child of grief! ah, why that smile of pride?
The fruitless wish to mask the deep despair
That lurks within?—from me thou canst not hide
The hopes that die, the soul that withers there;
Through years of suffering I have learn'd to tell
What is a breaking heart-I know it well.
Yes, for my heart was such-'till he who knew
Its tale of grief, the gentle Lamb who died
On Calvary once, with tenderest pity drew
The sting from thence, and all his power applied—
All the sweet energy of love divine—
To heal and renovate this heart of mine.
One touch, one blessed touch, and lo! 'twas whole!
The gift of health was in his gracious hand:
"Live! live!" he cried, and my awak'ning soul
Broke forth in praise-I felt it all expand
With holy sympathies unknown before,
And, though I mourn'd for sin, despair'd no more.
Sweet time of love! the tide of passing years
Rolls harmless o'er its memory.-Oh! I cling
To the dear hour, when hopeless sorrow's tears
First ceased to flow, joy's soft and balmy spring,
When first on me a loving Father smiled,
And, with a look of pity, called me "CHILD.”
Alas for thee! poor hapless child of sin!
Dead to his love, thy soul knows naught of this;
No gentle retrospect of joy within,
No gladd'ning prospect of eternal bliss,
No ray of hope to chase the deep despair
That broods o'er all—for JESUS dwells not there.
Oh ! could I hear one sigh of pure desire,
One breath of prayer, one note of rapture swell,
Fresh from thine heart, that like a broken lyre,
Lies silent now, a seraph's tongue might tell
How all my soul with holy joy would hail
The welcome sound—but oh! my own would
He, only he, can tune each silent string
That slumbers there, can bid that heart of thine,
Touch'd by his hand, with notes of gladness ring,
With the sweet melody of love divine;
Come, then, to him,-his quick'ning mercy prove,
Come, seek him now: come, share with all above
That gem of richest worth, a dying Savior's love.