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Had they who watched and waited there
Been conscious who was passing by, With what unceasing, anxious care,
Would they have sought his pitying eye, And craved with fervency of soul, His power
divine to make them whole! But habit and tradition swayed
Their minds to trust to sense alone; They only hoped the angel's aid;
While in their presence stood unknown A greater, mightier far than he, With power from every pain to free.
Bethesda's pool has lost its power!
No angel, by his glad descent, Dispenses that diviner dower
Which with its healing waters went, But He, whose word surpassed its wave, Is still Omnipotent to save.
And what that fountain once was found,
Religion's outward forms remainWith living virtue only crowned
While their first freshness they retain ; Only replete with power to cure When, spirit-stirred, their source is pure!
Yet are there who this truth confess,
Who know how little forms avail, But whose protracted helplessness
Confirms the impotent's sad tale; Who, day by day, and year by year, As emblems of his lot
They hear the sounds of life and love,
Which tell the visitant is nigh; They see the troubled waters move,
Whose touch alone might health supply ;
But weak of faith, infirm of will,
As when that healing word was spoke;
Dwells power to burst the strongest yoke.
TIME'S TAKINGS AND LEAVINGS.
take Bloom from the cheek, and lustre from the eye;
The spirits light and gay,
What do years steal away?
Friendship, whose calmer sway
What must with Time decay ?
Life's evening sky grows gray,
But not for such we mourn !
Our spirits are forlorn,
What do years leave behind ?
Distrusts and thoughts unkind,
For these, for these we grieve ;
But what he deigns to leave,
It ought not thus to be;
Her votary's eye could see
Faith, in the heart enshrined,
And all it left behind,
God is not great because omnipotent !
But because power in Him is understood And felt, and proved to be benevolent,
And wise, and holy ;-thus it ever should !
For what He wills we know is pure and good, And has in view the happiness of all :
Hence love and adoration :-never could
Because its proper object is to bless;
The highest even monarchs can possess,
Displays alone their “ less than littleness," Unless it seek the happiness of man
And glory of the Highest ;-nothing less Than such a use of power one moment can Make its possessor great, on wisdom's Godlike plan. HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
This Christian poet was born at Nottingham, in 1785. He was apprenticed to a hosier, and afterwards articled to a lawyer. But neither of these callings was congenial to his feelings and talents ; and, by the kindness of some friends, he was enabled to enter himself of St. John's College, Cambridge, to study for the Church. Here he obtained several prizes at the public examinations, but they were dearly purchased; incessant study brought him to the grave, in 1807, in the twenty-second year of his age. The writings of Kirke White show that he possessed in an eminent degree the poetical faculties, and his religious and social character endeared him to all his acquaintances. His works, with the interesting memoir of his life and genius by Dr. Southey, have passed through many editions in this country.
Through sorrow's night, and danger's path,
Amid the deepening gloom,
Are marching to the tomb.
There, when the turmoil is no more,
And all our powers decay,
Shall sleep the years away.
Our labors done, securely laid
In this our last retreat,
The storms of life shall beat.
Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane,
The vital spark shall lie ;
To see its kindred sky.
These ashes too, this little dust,
Our Father's care shall keep, Till the last angel rise and break
The long and dreary sleep.
Sball shed its mildest rays,
With shouts of endless praise.
AWAKE, sweet harp of Judah, wake,