John Bowring Poems

Pure and undefiled religion,
In our God and Father's sight,
Is, to pour on helpless orphans
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O there are hours so dark and dull,
That nought of earthly light can cheer;
Hours full of fear-and sorrowful-
When the worn spirit has no ear
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The earth, and all the earth contains,
Are Thine, O Lord! Upon the seas
Thou reared'st the world, and it remains
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Grandest of heritages, to be taught
To embrace the immeasurable realms of thought,
Beyond the lofty firmament to soar,
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'Come, ye blessed of my Father,
Enter in your place of rest,
Round the throne of mercy gather'-
Thus shall Jesus hail the blest,
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Within my infant breast paternal care
The living seed of young devotion planted,
And watched and watered it-and prayed and panted,
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Not with terror do we meet
At the board by Jesus spread;
Not in mystery, drink and eat
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Kind Father of the human race,
From whom we come, in whom we live,
Hear us in heaven, thy dwelling-place,
And when Thou hearest, O! forgive.
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Look to Jesus-sufferings gather
Round Him, piercing through and through:
Hear Him-'O forgive them, Father,
For they know not what they do!'
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'Clay to clay, and dust to dust!'
Let them mingle-for they must!
Give to earth the earthly clod,
For the spirit's fled to God.
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