Pointed Poesy

Comment

Comment by James Robertson on Monday

Litany to the Holy Spirit by Robert Herrick

IN the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drown'd in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the passing bell doth toll,
And the Furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the priest his last hath pray'd,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decay'd,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When, God knows, I'm toss'd about
Either with despair or doubt;
Yet before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the tempter me pursu'th
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

When the Judgment is reveal'd,
And that open'd which was seal'd,
When to Thee I have appeal'd,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me!

Comment by James Robertson on May 15, 2013 at 3:16pm

Psalm 19: Coeli Enarrant by Sir Philip Sidney

The heavenly frame sets forth the fame
Of him that only thunders;
The firmament, so strangely bent,
Shows his handworking wonders.

Day unto day doth it display,
Their course doth it acknowledge,
And night to night succeeding right
In darkness teach clear knowledge.

There is no speech, no language which
Is so of skill bereaved,
But of the skies the teaching cries
They have heard and conceived.

There be no eyen but read the line
From so fair book proceeding,
Their words be set in letters great
For everybody's reading.

Is not he blind that doth not find
The tabernacle builded
There by His Grace for sun's fair face
In beams of beauty gilded?

Who forth doth come, like a bridegroom,
From out his veiling places,
As glad is he, as giants be
To run their mighty races.

His race is even from ends of heaven;
About that vault he goeth;
There be no realms hid from his beams;
His heat to all he throweth.

O law of His, how perfect 'tis
The very soul amending;
God's witness sure for aye doth dure
To simplest wisdom lending.

God's dooms be right, and cheer the sprite,
All His commandments being
So purely wise it gives the eyes
Both light and force of seeing.

Of Him the fear doth cleanness bear
And so endures forever,
His judgments be self verity,
They are unrighteous never.

Then what man would so soon seek gold
Or glittering golden money?
By them is past in sweetest taste,
Honey or comb of honey.

By them is made Thy servants' trade
Most circumspectly guarded,
And who doth frame to keep the same
Shall fully be rewarded.

Who is the man that ever can
His faults know and acknowledge?
O Lord, cleanse me from faults that be
Most secret from all knowledge.

Thy servant keep, lest in him creep
Presumtuous sins' offenses;
Let them not have me for their slave
Nor reign upon my senses.

So shall my sprite be still upright
In thought and conversation,
So shall I bide well purified
From much abomination.

So let words sprung from my weak tongue
And my heart's meditation,
My saving might, Lord, in Thy sight,
Receive good acceptation!

Comment by James Robertson on May 13, 2013 at 4:17pm

Forgiveness by John Greenleaf Whittier

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!

Comment by James Robertson on April 26, 2013 at 10:33am

Faith without Practice

Robert Pricket

ALL sorts can prate, and talke of things divine,
In fewe or none a righteous life doth shine;
What Adam lost, all human race did lose,
And what he kept, that for our part we choose:
Will to do good, that force in Adam died,
Since when that grace was to his seed denied.
So in ourselves since every action staines,
That to do good in us no power remaines,
We are restored by our Redeemer’s hand;
Not of ourselves, but by His grace we stand.
Then let the soules of righteous men expresse,
That in their Christ doth live their righteousness.
Who to good fame by golden steps can mount
Him doth this world for worthiest man accompt;
Let vertue in a poor man cleerly shine,
A guilded gull is counted more divine.
A sattin sute, bedawb’d with silvered lace,
Beyond desert doth vildest clownship grace.
Honest, if poore, he this reward must have,
Hang him—base rogue, proud beggar, impious knave!
Rich let him be, and who can hurt him then?
Knaves wrapt in wealth are counted honest men.

Comment by James Robertson on April 16, 2013 at 2:25pm

Praise for Faith by William Cowper

Of all the gifts Thine hand bestows,
Thou Giver of all good!
Not heaven itself a richer knows
Than my Redeemer's blood.

Faith too, the blood-receiving grace,
From the same hand we gain;
Else, sweetly as it suits our case,
That gift had been in vain.

Till Thou Thy teaching power apply,
Our hearts refuse to see,
And weak, as a distemper'd eye,
Shut out the view of Thee.

Blind to the merits of Thy Son,
What misery we endure!
Yet fly that Hand from which alone
We could expect a cure.

We praise Thee, and would praise Thee more,
To Thee our all we owe:
The precious Saviour, and the power
That makes Him precious too.

Comment by James Robertson on April 13, 2013 at 1:11pm

The Word
William Walsham How (1832–1897)

O WORD of God incarnate,
O Wisdom from on high,
O Truth unchanged, unchanging,
O Light of our dark sky;
We praise thee for the radiance
That from the hallowed page,
A lantern to our footsteps,
Shines on from age to age.

The Church from thee, her Master,
Received the gift divine;
And still that light she lifteth
O’er all the earth to shine.
It is the golden casket
Where gems of truth are stored;
It is the heaven-drawn picture
Of, thee, the living Word.

It floateth like a banner
Before God’s host unfurled;
It shineth like a beacon
Above the darkling world;
It is the chart and compass
That o’er life’s surging sea,
Mid mists and rocks and quicksands,
Still guide, O Christ, to thee.

Oh, make thy Church, dear Saviour,
A lamp of burnished gold,
To bear before the nations
Thy true light, as of old.
Oh, teach thy wandering pilgrims
By this their path to trace,
Till, clouds and darkness ended,
They see thee face to face.

Comment by James Robertson on April 11, 2013 at 9:21am

Thee, Lord, before the close of day,
Maker of all things, Thee we pray
for Thy dear loving kindness’ sake
to guard and guide us in Thy way.

Banish the dreams that terrify,
and night’s fantastic company;
keep us from Satan’s tyranny;
defend us from unchastity.

Protect us, Father, God ador’d,
Thou, too, coequal Son and Lord,
Thou, Holy Ghost, our Advocate,
whose reign can know nor bound nor date.
St. Ambrose of Milan (Aurelius Ambrosius) (339-397), hymn for compline,

Comment by James Robertson on April 1, 2013 at 8:59am

“And Death Shall Have No Dominion” by Dylan Thomas

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead men naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan’t crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion.

Comment by James Robertson on March 24, 2013 at 10:01am

Hymn CXXXIII.
The word quick and powerful. Hebrews iv. 12, 13.
 (1725–1807)

The word of Christ, our Lord,
With whom we have to do;
Is sharper than a two–edg’d sword,
To pierce the sinner thro’!

Swift as the light’nings blaze
When aweful thunders roll,
It fills the conscience with amaze,
And penetrates the soul.

No heart can he conceal’d
From his all–piercing eyes;
Each thought and purpose stands reveal’d,
Naked, without disguise.

He sees his peoples fears,
He notes their mournful cry;
He counts their sighs and falling tears,
And helps them from on high.

Tho’ feeble is their good,
It has his kind regard;
Yea, all they would do, if they could,
Shall find a sure reward.

He sees the wicked too,
And will repay them soon,
For all the evil deeds they do,
And all they would have done.

Since all our secret ways
Are mark’d and known by thee;
Afford us, Lord, thy light of grace
That we ourselves may see.

—Olney Hymns. Book I: On Select Passages of Scripture.

Comment by James Robertson on March 22, 2013 at 2:03pm

In Evil Long I Took Delight

In Evil long I took delight,

Unawed by shame or fear.

Till a new object struck my sight,

and stopp’d my wild career:

I saw one hanging on a tree

By agonies and blood,

Who fixed His languid eyes on me,

as near His cross I stood.

Sure never till my latest breath,

Can I forget that look:

It seemed to charge me with His death,

Though not a Word I spoke:

My conscience felt and own’d the guilt

and plunged me in despair:

I saw my sins,His blood had spilt,

and helped to nail Him there

Alas I knew not what I did!

But now my tears are vain:

Where shall my trembling soul be hid?

For I the Lord hath slain!

-a second look He gave which said,

“I freely all forgive;

This blood is for my ransom aid:

I die that thou may’st live.”

Thus while His death my sin displays

In all its blackest hue:

Such is the mystery of grace,

It seals my pardon too.

With pleasing grief, and mournful joy,

My spirit now is filled,

That I should such a life destroy,

Yet live by him I killed

By John Newton-(Author of Amazing Grace- former slave owner and slave, a man so depraved even his fellow sailors abhored Him, but saved by the amazing grace of God!)

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