THE DISTRICT VISIT.
I entered the humble homes of those,
Whose lot is to struggle with toils and woes;
And care, and want, and sorrow, and sin
Are the fearful inmates that dwell therein;
With a deathless hope, though with trembling feet,
I entered, those awful guests to meet!
Whose lot is to struggle with toils and woes;
And care, and want, and sorrow, and sin
Are the fearful inmates that dwell therein;
With a deathless hope, though with trembling feet,
I entered, those awful guests to meet!
I entered, firm in the blissful faith,
That love is stronger than sin or death;
That accents breathed in a kindly voice
Can make the coldest hearts rejoice;
And the fountains of human hope gush forth,
And the spirit arise from the chains of earth.
That love is stronger than sin or death;
That accents breathed in a kindly voice
Can make the coldest hearts rejoice;
And the fountains of human hope gush forth,
And the spirit arise from the chains of earth.
I entered—the pale cheek grew more bright,
As I spoke of a purer and better light;
The mother hushed her babe to rest,
Once more, on the cradle of her breast;
And the father, who had repulsed his child,
Called the little weeper, with accents mild.
As I spoke of a purer and better light;
The mother hushed her babe to rest,
Once more, on the cradle of her breast;
And the father, who had repulsed his child,
Called the little weeper, with accents mild.
I spake of the Saviour, whose tender voice
Caused the infants around him to rejoice;
Who took them in his arms, and blest,
And held them to his pitying breast;
As I spoke,the mother's tears flowed free,
And the boy was on his father's knee.
Caused the infants around him to rejoice;
Who took them in his arms, and blest,
And held them to his pitying breast;
As I spoke,the mother's tears flowed free,
And the boy was on his father's knee.
I spoke of a holier and better clime,
Of the high results of our mortal time,—
Of the trust in immortal spirits given,
To lead them to virtue, and to heaven;
And I saw another young boy stand,
With the Bible clasped in a willing hand.
Of the high results of our mortal time,—
Of the trust in immortal spirits given,
To lead them to virtue, and to heaven;
And I saw another young boy stand,
With the Bible clasped in a willing hand.
And I wished my lips had been touched with fire,
Or with music like that from Isaiah's lyre,
To win the souls of those who turned
To me, as their own within them burned;
And a deep and a fervent prayer was mine,—
Father! grant that these too be thine!
Or with music like that from Isaiah's lyre,
To win the souls of those who turned
To me, as their own within them burned;
And a deep and a fervent prayer was mine,—
Father! grant that these too be thine!
A sigh from a distant comer rose,
Where stretched for rest, but not repose,
With the hectic glow upon his cheek,
Which leaned on a wasted arm and weak,
Lay a dying boy; for me he cried,
And I sat down gently at his side.
Where stretched for rest, but not repose,
With the hectic glow upon his cheek,
Which leaned on a wasted arm and weak,
Lay a dying boy; for me he cried,
And I sat down gently at his side.
He spake, with blushes, and with tears,
Of the thoughtless guilt of his former years;
He told me all his bosom's woe,
And asked if peace I could bestow—
If hope there could be for such as him,
With Ms faith so dark, and his light so dim.
Of the thoughtless guilt of his former years;
He told me all his bosom's woe,
And asked if peace I could bestow—
If hope there could be for such as him,
With Ms faith so dark, and his light so dim.
I bade him view the skies above,
And I told him that our God was love;
That not so dear the babe to her,
Whom now he saw caressing there,
As was the smallest earthly thing
That lived beneath His guardian wing,
And I told him that our God was love;
That not so dear the babe to her,
Whom now he saw caressing there,
As was the smallest earthly thing
That lived beneath His guardian wing,
To Him who kept us in His care;
I softly calmed away despair,
And I read the wandering son's return,
Till I saw his spirit within him burn,
And a sweet expression of almost bliss,
As I spoke of the Father's pardoning lass.
I softly calmed away despair,
And I read the wandering son's return,
Till I saw his spirit within him burn,
And a sweet expression of almost bliss,
As I spoke of the Father's pardoning lass.
So soothed, he gently dropped to sleep,
And his pallid cheeks forgot to weep;
And grateful, I felt that my task was done,
That the meed was given, the prize was won;
Enough for me that day to know,
I had lived to succour some human woe!
And his pallid cheeks forgot to weep;
And grateful, I felt that my task was done,
That the meed was given, the prize was won;
Enough for me that day to know,
I had lived to succour some human woe!