Poems

4 articles

Joy in Martyrdom by Madame Guyon 2018-03-30

Sweet tenants of this grove! Who sing without design, A song of artless love, In unison with mine: These echoing shades return Full many a note of ours, That wise ones cannot learn, With all their boasted powers.

O thou! whose sacred charms These hearts so seldom love, Although thy beauty warms And blesses all above; How slow are human things, To choose their happiest lot! All–glorious King of kings, Say why we love thee not?

This heart, that cannot rest, Shall thine for ever prove; Though bleeding and distressed, Yet joyful in thy love: ‘Tis happy though it breaks Beneath thy chastening hand; And speechless, yet it speaks, What thou canst understand.

The Perfect Sacrifice by Madame Guyon 2018-06-09

I place an offering at thy shrine, From taint and blemish clear, Simple and pure in its design, Of all that I hold dear.

I yield thee back thy gifts again, Thy gifts which most I prize; Desirous only to retain The notice of thine eyes.

But if, by thine adored decree, That blessing be denied; Resigned and unreluctant, see My every wish subside.

Thy will in all things I approve, Exalted or cast down; Thy will in every state I love, And even in thy frown.

The Triumph of Heavenly Love Desired by Madame Guyon 2018-06-19

Ah! reign, wherever man is found!

My spouse, beloved and divine!

Then I am rich, and I abound,

When every human heart is thine.

A thousand sorrows pierce my soul,

To think that all are not thine own:

Ah! be adored from pole to pole;

Where is thy zeal? arise; be known!

All hearts are cold, in every place,

Yet earthly good with warmth pursue;

Dissolve them with a flash of grace,

Thaw these of ice, and give us new!

The Young Christian by Margaret Mauro 2021-10-16

I cannot give it up,

The little world I know!

The innocent delights of youth,

The things I cherish so!

’Tis true, I love my Lord

And want to do His will,

And O, I may enjoy the world

And be a Christian still!

I love the hour of prayer,

I love the hymns of praise,

I love the blessed word that tells

Of God’s redeeming grace,

But I am human still;

And while I dwell on earth

God surely will not grudge the hours

I spend in harmless mirth.

These things belong to youth,

And are its natural right—

My dress, my pastimes, and my friends,

The merry and the bright.

My Father’s heart is kind;

He will not count it ill

That my small corner of the world

Should please and hold me still.

And yet, “outside the camp”,

’Twas there my Saviour died!

It was the world that cast Him forth,

And saw Him crucified.

Can I take part with those

Who nailed Him to the tree?

And where His name is never praised

Is there the place for me?

Nay, world! I turn away,

Though thou seem’st fair and good;

That friendly outstretched hand of thine

Is stained with Jesus’ blood.

If in thy least device

I stoop to take a part,

All unaware, thine influence steals

God’s presence from my heart.

I miss my Saviour’s smile

Whene’er I walk thy ways;

Thy laughter drowns the Spirit’s voice

And chokes the springs of praise.

If e’er I turn aside

To join thee for an hour,

The face of Christ grows blurred and dim

And prayer has lost its power!

Farewell! Henceforth my place

Is with the Lamb who died.

My Sovereign! While I have Thy love,

What can I want beside?

Thyself, dear Lord, art now

My free and loving choice,

In whom, though now I see Thee not,

Believing, I rejoice!

Shame on me that I sought

Another joy than this,

Or dreamt a heart at rest with Thee

Could crave for earthly bliss!

These vain and worthless things,

I put them all aside;

His goodness fills my longing soul,

And I am satisfied.

Lord Jesus! let me dwell

“Outside the camp”, with Thee.

Since Thou art there, then there alone

Is peace and home for me.

Thy dear reproach to bear

I’ll count my highest gain,

Till Thou return, my banished King,

To take Thy power, and reign!

‹ Phoebe Palmer Letter P Poems Translationed from the French of Madame de la Mothe Guion ›