New England Religious Herald

CONSOLATION.

BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.

When the streamlet is dried up,
Then fly to the fountain!
When the valley is flooded,
Then haste to the mountain!
When the arm thou hast leant on,
Is laid in the dust;
On the arm of thy God
Lean, with faith's cheerful trust.

Earth's gourds! oh how tempting
Their flower and their fruit!
How we love their sweet shadow!
But a worm's at the root!
When thy gourd, that once sheltered,
Is withered away,
Be the shadow of Jesus,
Thy shelter and stay!

How oft have hope's visions
Deceived the fond hearted!
Like the rainbow they shone:
Like the rainbow departed!
When their light that once sparkled
Is darkened and gone;
See! the rainbow that fades not—
It arches God's throne!

How oft have earth's pleasures,
For which our hearts panted;
Like the bright poison-berry
Proved deadly when granted!
When the soul has been sickened,
With earth's poisoned joy;
Look up for pure pleasures—
Their fountain's on high!

As the dove when of old,
From the ark it went forth,
Some green spot to rest on,
To seek through the earth,
When it found that the deluge—
So deep and so dark,
Left no green spot uncovered,
Returned to the ark—

So, when floods of affliction,
Have deluged all round,
And no green spot of gladness—
No Hope-branch is found:
Then flee to the Saviour—
The true ark of rest!
Oh! there's no place of shelter
Like his pitying breast!

When there, thou art sheltered.
Tho' storms wrap the skies,
And higher, and higher
The deep floods arise:
Above the dark waters—
The ark's lifted high,
And bears its blessed inmates,
To God's mount—the sky!

By the scorn and the scoffing,
For thy sake He bore—
By the sharp crown of thorns
For thy sake He wore
By the sweat in the garden—
The death on the tree——
To Him who redeemed thee!
Thou wearied one, flee.

From Him thine own Saviour,
Whate'er may betide thee,
No distance can sever,
No sorrow deride thee:
Earth's friends may forsake—
But He'll forsake—never:
Earth's loved ones must die—
But He lives—for ever.

In love He afflicts thee;
In mercy He chastens:
To wound He is slow—
To bind up—he hastens.
When thy sins call for chastening—
Twill comfort impart—
Though a frown's on his brow,
Yet, there's love in His heart!

Each dear earthly cistern,
By His hand may be broken:
But the stroke, though severe——
Of His love is a token.
He breaks them, that we
By their loss may be led
To drink of true pleasures,
From joy's fountain head

To Him who so loved thee,
Let grief draw thee nearer:
Each dear precious promise,
Let sorrow make dearer—
Then welcome the trial
By which there is given,
To thy soul, more of God!
To thy heart more of Heaven!