Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Volume 2 by Gilfillan, George, 1813-1878

Oh, hear, my God! hear him, whose blood Speaks more and better for my good! Oh, let my cry come to thy throne! My cry not poured with tears alone, (For tears alone are often foul,) But with the blood of all my soul; With spirit-sighs, and earnest groans, Faithful and most repenting moans, With these I cry, and crying pine, Till thou both mend, and make me thine.

MOUNT OF OLIVES.

When first I saw true beauty, and thy joys, Active as light, and calm without all noise, Shined on my soul, I felt through all my powers Such a rich air of sweets, as evening showers, Fanned by a gentle gale, convey, and breathe On some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath; Odours, and myrrh, and balm in one rich flood O'erran my heart, and spirited my blood; My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eye Confessed, 'The world did only paint and lie.' And where before I did no safe course steer, But wandered under tempests all the year; Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, And was blown through by every storm and wind, I am so warmed now by this glance on me, That 'midst all storms I feel a ray of thee. So have I known some beauteous passage rise In sudden flowers and arbours to my eyes, And in the depth and dead of winter bring To my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring.

Thus fed by thee, who dost all beings nourish, My withered leaves again look green and flourish; I shine and shelter underneath thy wing, Where, sick with love, I strive thy name to sing; Thy glorious name! which grant I may so do, That these may be thy praise, and my joy too!

ASCENSION-DAY.