His thoughts, the city of the immortal King: There, pictured in its solemn pomp, it lay, A glorious country stretching round about, And through its golden gates pass'd in and out Men of all nations, on their heavenly way. On this he mused, and mused the whole day long,

Feeding his feeble faith till it grew strong. George Croley.

508. CONTENTMENT, Contrast of Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings,

But the immensest empire is too narrow for two kings. Oriental.

509. CONTENTMENT, Cultivating.

If we cannot have all we wish upon the earth, Let us try to be happy with less if we can; If wealth be not always the guerdon of worth, Worth, sooner than wealth, makes the happier man.

Is it wise to be anxious for pleasures afarAnd the pleasures around us to slight or decry?

Asking Night for the sun,-asking Day for the star?

Let us conquer such faults, or at least let us try.

If the soil of a garden be worthy our care,

Its culture delightful, though ever so small; Oh then let the heart the same diligence share, And the flowers of affection will rival them all.

There ne'er was delusion more constantly shown,

Than that wealth every charm of existence can buy ;

As long as love, friendship, and truth are life's own,

All hearts may be happy, if all hearts will try! Charles Swain.

510. CONTENTMENT Gained.

My conscience is my crown, contented thoughts my rest,

My heart is happy in itself, my bliss is in my breast.

Enough I reckon wealth: a mean the surest lot,

That lies too high for base contempt, too low for envy's shot.

My wishes are but few, all easy to fulfil, I make the limits of my power the bonds unto my will.

I have no hopes but one, which is of heavenly reign;

Effects attained, or not desired, all lower hopes refrain.

I feel no care of coin, well-doing is my wealth,

My mind to me an empire is, while grace affordeth health. Robert Southwell.

511. CONTENTMENT, Growth of. O years gone down into the past;

What pleasant memories come to me
of your untroubled days of peace,
And hours of almost ecstasy!

Yet would I have no moon stand still,
Where life's most pleasant valleys lie;
Nor wheel the planet of the day

Back on his pathway through the sky.
For though, when youthful pleasures died,
My youth itself went with them, too;
To-day, aye! even this very hour,
Is the best hour I ever knew.

Not that my Father gives to me
More blessings than in days gone by,
Dropping in my uplifted hands
All things for which I blindly cry;
But that His plans and purposes

Have grown to me less strange and dim; And where I cannot understand,

I trust the issues unto Him.

And spite of many broken dreams,

This have I truly learned to sayPrayers which I thought unanswered once Were answered in God's own best way.

And though some hopes I cherished once,
Perished untimely in their birth,

Yet have I been beloved and blest
Beyond the measure of my worth.
Phabe Carey.

512. CONTENTMENT, Profession of.
I weigh not fortune's frown or smile;
I joy not much in earthly joys;
I seek not state, I seek not style;
I am not fond of fancy's toys;
I rest so pleased with what I have,
I wish no more, no more I crave.

I quake not at the thunder's crack;
I tremble not at noise of war;

I swound not at the news of wrack;
I shrink not at a blazing star;

I fear not loss, I hope not gain,
envy none, I none disdain.

I

I see ambition never pleased;

I see some Tantals starved in store; I see gold's dropsy seldom eased; I see e'en Midas gape for more: I neither want, nor yet abound— Enough's a feast, content is crowned. I feign not friendship, where I hate; I fawn not on the great in show; I prize, I praise a mean estateNeither too lofty nor too low: This, this is all my choice, my cheerA mind content, a conscience clear. Joshua Sylvester. 513. CONTENTMENT, Nobility of. Even I-but I can laugh and sing, Though fetter'd and confined,

The learn'd is happy nature to explore,
The fool is happy that he knows no more;
The rich is happy in the plenty given,

The poor contents him with the care of
Heaven.

See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing,
The sot a hero, lunatic a king,

The starving chemist in his golden views
Supremely bless'd, the poet in his muse.
Alexander Pope.
515. CONTENTMENT, Riches of.

In vain do men The heavens of their fortunes' fault accuse, Sith they knew best what is the best of them; For they to each such fortune do diffuse As they do know each can most aptly use. For not that which men covet most is best, Nor that thing worst which men do most refuse;

But fittest is, that all contented rest With that they hold; each hath his fortune in his breast.

It is the mind that maketh good or ill,

That maketh wretch or happy, rich or poor; For some that hath abundance at his will, Hath not enough; but wants in greater store;

And other, that hath little, asks for more, But in that little is both rich and wise;

For wisdom is most riches: fools therefore They are which fortune do by vows devise, Sith each unto himself his life may fortunize. Edmund Spenser.

516. CONTRITION, Late.

If, gracious God, in life's green, ardent year, A thousand times Thy patient love I tried; With reckless heart, with conscience hard

and sere,

My future path do Thou in mercy trace;

So cause my soul with pious zeal to burn, That all the trust which in Thy name I place Frail as I am, may not prove wholly vain. Pietro Bembo.

517. CONTRITION, Power of.

All powerful is the penitential sigh
Of true contrition; like the placid wreaths
Of incense, wafted from the righteous shrine
Where Abel ministered, to the blest seat
Of Mercy, an accepted sacrifice,
Humiliation's conscious plaint ascends.
Samuel Hayes.

518. CONTRITION, Prayer in.
Wretched, helpless, and distressed,
Ah! whither shall I fly?
Ever panting after rest,

I cannot find it nigh:
Naked, sick, and poor, and blind,
Bound in sin and misery,

Friend of sinners, let me find
My help, my all in Thee!
In the wilderness I stray,

My foolish heart is blind;
Nothing do I know; the way
Of peace I cannot find;
Jesus, Lord, restore my sight,
Take, oh, take the veil away;
Turn my darkness into light,
My midnight into day.
Naked of Thine image, Lord,
Forsaken, and alone,
Unrenewed and unrestored,
I have not Thee put on;
Over me Thy mantle spread,

Send Thy likeness from above;
Let thy goodness be displayed,
And wrap me in Thy love.
Poor, alas! Thou knowest. I am,
And would be poorer still;
See my nakedness and shame,
And all my vileness feel;
No good thing in me resides,
All my soul an aching void,
Till Thy Spirit there abides,

And I am filled with God.
Jesus, full of truth and grace,
In Thee is all I want;
Be the wanderer's resting-place,
A cordial to the faint;
Make me rich, for I am poor;
In Thee may I Eden find;
To the dying health restore,

And eyesight to the blind!
Clothe me with Thy holiness,
Thy meek humility;
Put on me Thy glorious dress,
Endue my soul with Thee;
Let Thine image be restored,

Let me now Thy nature prove;
With Thy fulness fill me, Lord,
And perfect me in love.

Charles Wesley.

519. CONTRITION, Response to. All night the lonely suppliant prayed, All night his earnest crying made; Till, standing by his side at morn, The tempter said, in bitter scorn, "Oh! peace, what profit do you gain From empty words and babblings vain? 'Come, Lord-oh, come!' you cry alway; You pour your heart out night and day; Yet still no murmur of reply

No voice that answers, 'Here am I.'"
Then sank that stricken heart in dust,
That word had withered all its trust;
No strength retained it now to pray,
For faith and hope had fled away;
And ill that mourner now had fared,
Thus by the Tempter's art ensnared,
But that at length beside his bed
His sorrowing angel stood and said,
"Doth it repent thee of thy love,
That never now is heard above
Thy prayer, that now not any more
It knocks at heaven's gate as before?"
"I am cast out, I find no place,
No hearing at the throne of grace;
'Come, Lord, oh, come!' I cry alway;
I pour my heart out night and day,
Yet never until now have won
The answer, 'Here am I, my son."

999

Oh, dull of heart! enclosed doth lie
In each "Come, Lord," a "Here am I."
Thy love, thy longing are not thine,
Reflections of a love divine.
Thy very prayer to thee was given,
Itself a messenger from heaven.
Whom God rejects they are not so;
Strong bands are round them in their woe;
Their hearts are bound with bands of brass,
That sighs or crying cannot pass.
All treasures did the Lord impart
To Pharaoh, såve a contrite heart;
All other gifts unto His foes

He freely gives, nor grudging knows;
But love's sweet smart and costly pain
A treasure for His friends remain.

Oriental, tr. by R. C. Trench.

520. CONTRITION, Tears of.
Drop, drop, slow tears,

And bathe those beauteous feet
Which brought from heaven

The news and Prince of Peace!
Cease not, wet eyes,

His mercies to entreat!

To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease;

In your deep floods

Drown all my faults and fears;
Nor let His eye

See sin, but through my tears.
P. Fletcher.

521. CONTRITION, True.

My sins, my sins, my SAVIOUR!
They take such hold on me,

I am not able to look up,

Save only, CHRIST, to Thee;

In Thee is all forgiveness,
In Thee abundant grace,
My shadow and my sunshine
The brightness of Thy face.

My sins, my sins, my SAVIOUR!
How sad on Thee they fall,
Seen through thy gentle patience,
I tenfold feel them all;
I know they are forgiven;
But still their pain to me
Is all the grief and anguish
They laid, my Lord, on Thee!
My sins, my sins, my SAVIOUR!
Their guilt I never knew
Till, with Thee in the desert

I near Thy Passion drew;
Till, with Thee, in the garden
I heard Thy pleading prayer,
And saw the sweat-drops bloody,
That told Thy sorrow there.
Therefore my songs, my SAVIOUR,
E'en in this time of woe,
Shall tell of all Thy goodness,
To suffering man below;
Thy goodness and Thy favor,
Whose presence from above
Rejoice those hearts, my SAVIOUR,
That live in Thee and love.
John S. B. Monsell.

522. CONVERSATION, Charm of.

And we talk'd-oh, how we talk'd! her voice so cadenc'd in the talking

Made another singing of the soul! a music without bars

While the leafy sounds of woodlands, humming round where we were walking, Brought interposition worthy, sweet,-as skies about the stars.

And she spake such good thoughts natural, as if she always thought them— And had sympathies so rapid, open, free as bird on branch,

Just as ready to fly east as west, which ever way besought them,

In the birchen-wood a chirrup, or a cock-crow in the grange.

In her utmost rightness there is truth-and often she speaks lightly,

Has a grace in being gay, which even mournful souls approve,

For the root of some grave, earnest thought is under-struck so rightly,

As to justify the foliage and the waving flowers above.

And she talked on-we talked, rather! upon all things-substance-shadowOf the sheep that browsed the grasses—of the reapers in the corn;

Of the little children from the schools, seen winding through the meadow,

Of the poor rich world beyond them, still kept poorer by its scorn.

So of men, and so of letters-books are men of higher stature,

And the only men that speak aloud for future

times to hear;

So, of mankind in the abstract, which grows slowly into nature,

Yet will lift the cry of "progress," as it trod from sphere to sphere.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

523. CONVERSATION, Rules for.

In thy discourse, if thou desire to please; All such is courteous, useful, new, or witty:

Usefulness comes by labor, wit by ease;

Courtesy grows in court; news in the city. Get a good stock of these, then draw the card; That suits him best, of whom thy speech is heard.

Entice all neatly to what they know best; For so thou dost thyself and him a pleasure; (But a proud ignorance will lose his rest, Rather than show his cards;) steal from

his treasure

What to ask farther. Doubts well raised do lock

The speaker to thee, and preserve thy stock.

If thou be master-gunner, spend not all That thou canst speak, at once; but husband it,

And give men turns of speech; do not fore

stall

By lavishness, thine own and others' wit, As if thou madest thy will. A civil guest Will no more talk all than eat all the feast. George Herbert.

524. CONVERSION, Corruption after.
When first, to make my heart His own,
The Lord revealed His mighty grace,
Self reigned, like Dagon, on the throne,
But could not long maintain its place.
It fell, and owned the power divine

(Grace can with ease the victory gain); But soon this wretched heart of mine Contrived to set it up again.

Again the Lord His name proclaimed, And brought the hateful idol low; Then Self, like Dagon, broken, maimed, Seemed to receive a mortal blow.

Yet Self is not of life bereft,

Nor ceases to oppose His will: Though but a maimèd stump be left, 'Tis Dagon-'tis an idol still.

Lord, must I always guilty prove,
And idols in my heart have room?
O let the fire of heavenly love
The very stump of self consume!
John Newton.

525. CONVERSION, Effect of

Creator! let thy Spirit shine
The darkness of our souls within,

And lead us by Thy grace divine
From the forbidden paths of sin;
And may that voice which bade the earth
From chaos and the realms of night,
From doubt and darkness call us forth,
To God's own liberty and light!

Thus made partakers of Thy love,
The baptism of the Spirit ours,
Our grateful hearts shall rise above,
Renewed in purposes and powers;
And songs of joy again shall ring
Triumphant through the arch of heaven,
The glorious songs which angels sing,
Exulting over souls forgiven!
W. H. Burleigh.

526. CONVERSION, Figure of.

A Lord I had; To Him I brought a dish of fruit one day, And in the middle placed my heart. But He (I sigh to say) Look'd on a servant, who did know His eye Better than you know me, or (which is one) Than I myself. The servant instantly, And threw it in a font, wherein did-fall Quitting the fruit, seized on my heart alone, A stream of blood, which issued from the side

Of a great rock. I well remember all, There it was dipt And have good cause. and dyed, And wash'd, and wrung: the very wringing yet Enforceth tears. "Your heart was foul, I

fear." Indeed 'tis true. I did and do commit Many a fault more than my lease will bear; Yet still ask'd pardon, and was not denied. George Herbert.

527. CONVERSION, Gate of.

I stood outside the gate,

A poor, wayfaring child;
Within my heart there beat
A tempest, loud and wild.
A fear oppressed my soul,

That I might be too late;
And oh! I trembled sore,
And prayed outside the gate.
"Mercy!" I loudly cried:
"Oh! give me rest from sin!
"I will," a voice replied:
And Mercy let me in.
She bound my bleeding wounds:
She soothed my aching head;
She eased my burdened soul,
And bore the load instead.

In Mercy's guise, I knew

The Saviour long abused;
Who often sought my heart,
And wept when I refused.
Oh! what a blest return
For ignorance and sin!
I stood outside the gate,
And Jesus let me in!

Josephine Pollard.

528. CONVERSION Needed.

I need a cleansing change within :
My life must once again begin;
New hope I need, and youth renewed,
And more than human fortitude;
New faith, new love, and strength to cast
Away the fetters of the past.

Hartley Coleridge.

529. CONVERT, An Aged.

Faint, and worn, and aged,

One stands knocking at the gate; Though no light shines in the casement, Knocking though so late.

It has struck eleven

In the courts of heaven,

Yet he still doth knock and wait.

While no answer cometh

From the heavenly hill,
Blessed angels wonder
At his earnest will.
Hope and fear but quicken,
While the shadows thicken;

He is knocking, knocking still.

Grim the gate unopened
Stands with bar and lock;
Yet within the unseen porter
Hearkens to the knock,

Doing and undoing,

Faint and yet pursuing,

This man's feet are on the Rock.

With a cry unceasing,
Knocketh, prayeth he:

"Lord, have mercy on me,
When I cry to Thee!"

With a knock unceasing,
And a cry increasing,

O my Lord, remember me!"

Still the porter standeth,

Love-constrained he standeth near,

While the cry increaseth

Of that love and fear:
"Jesus, look upon me—
Christ, hast thou foregone me?
If I perish, I perish here!"

Faint the knocking ceaseth,
Faint the cry and call;
Is he lost, indeed, forever,
Shut without the wall?
Mighty arms uphold him—
Tender arms surround him,

Held, withheld, and borne through all.

O celestial mansion,

Open wide the door;
Crown and robe of whiteness,
Stone-inscribed before,
Flocking angels bear them,
Stretch thy hand and wear them;
Sit thou down forevermore.
530. CONVERT, Happiness of the.
O how happy are they,

Who the Saviour obey,

And have laid up their treasure above!
Tongue can never express

The sweet comfort and peace
Of a soul in its earliest love.

That sweet comfort was mine,
When the favor divine

I received through the blood of the Lamb;
When my heart first believed,
What a joy I received-

What a heaven in Jesus's name!

'Twas a heaven below,

My Redeemer to know,

And the angels could do nothing more, Than to fall at His feet,

And the story repeat,

And the Lover of sinners adore.

Jesus all the day long

Was my joy and my song:

Oh that all His salvation might see!
He hath loved me, I cried,

He hath suffer'd and died,

To redeem even rebels like me.

On the wings of His love

I was carried above

All sin and temptation and pain;
I could not believe

That I ever should grieve,

That I ever should suffer again.

I rode on the sky,

Freely justified I!

Nor envied Elijah his seat

;

My soul mounted higher,

In a chariot of fire,

And the moon it was under my feet.

Oh, the rapturous height

Of that holy delight

Which I felt in the life-giving blood!

Of my Saviour possess'd,

I was perfectly blest,

As if fill'd with the fulness of God.

531. CONVICTION Resisted.

In the silent midnight watches, List,-thy bosom door!

C. Wesley.

How it knocketh, knocketh, knocketh,
Knocketh evermore!

Say not 'tis thy pulse is beating:

'Tis thy heart of sin:

'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth, Rise, and let Me in!

Death comes down, with reckless footstep,
To the hall and hut:

Think you Death will stand a-knocking
Where the door is shut?

Jesus waiteth, waiteth, waiteth;
But thy door is fast!

Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth:
Death breaks in at last.

Then 'tis thine to stand entreating
Christ to let thee in;