John Bowring Poems

Happy is he who knows not solitude!
The hour when to the world he seems alone
Is spent with God!-All cares, all passions lost
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Close the sabbath-day in joy,
Close the sabbath-day in praise;
O how lovely the employ,
Anthems in God's name to raise!
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Happy is he who knows not solitude!
The hour when to the world he seems alone
Is spent with God!-All cares, all passions lost
...

In the Cross of Christ I glory,
Tow'ring o'er the wrecks of time,
All the light of sacred story
Gathers round its head sublime.
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O the world is full of woe!
When will it pass away?
These heavings to and fro
Till the dawning of the day,
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In the apocalypse sublime
The new created world shall see
Eternity embracing time,
Space swallowed in infinity;
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Mark the virtuous man, and see
Peace and joy his steps attend;
All his path is purity-
Happy is his end.
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To Sir John Bowring.

What is the future of mankind,
Its progress or its light to me,
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Passing Berytus' ancient strand,
I journeyed in the Holy Land,
And made my way to Sychar's wall;
And there, within his princely hall,
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There is no terror in the grave
For him who, in its gloominess,
Perceives Thy hand, outstretched to save,
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