FIRST
SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
So
Joshua smote all the country, and all their kings; he left none remaining. Joshua
x. 40.
WHERE
is the land with milk and honey flowing,
The promise of our God, our fancyÕs theme?
Here over shatterÕd walls dank weeds are growing,
And blood and fire have run in mingled stream;
Like oaks and cedars all around
The giant corses strew the ground,
And haughty JerichoÕs cloud-piercing wall
Lies where it sank at JoshuaÕs trumpet call.
These
are not scenes for pastoral dance at even,
For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades,
Soft
slumbers in the open eye of heaven,
And all the listless joy of summer shades.
We in the midst of ruins live,
Which every hour dread warning give,
Nor may our household vine or figtree hide
The broken arches of old CanaanÕs pride.
Where
is the sweet repose of hearts repenting,
The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul,
Now heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting,
And all the Godhead joins to make us whole?
The triple crown of mercy now
Is ready for the suppliantÕs brow,
By the Almighty Three for ever plannÕd,
And from behind the cloud held out by JesusÕ hand.
ÒNow,
Christians, hold your ownÑthe land before ye
ÒIs openÑwin your way, and take your rest.Ó
So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory
By many a cloud is darkenÕd and unblest:
And daily as we downward glide,
LifeÕs ebbing stream on either side
Shews at each turn some mouldering hope or joy,
The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy.
Open
our eyes, thou Sun of life and gladness,
That we may see that glorious world of thine!
It shines for us in vain, while drooping sadness
Enfolds us here like mist: come powÕr benign,
Touch our chillÕd hearts with vernal smile,
Our wintry course do Thou beguile,
Nor by the wayside ruins let us mourn,
Who have thÕeternal towers
for our appointed bourne.