The sunbeams, infinitely small,
In numbers numberless,
Reveal, pervade, illumine all
Nature's void wilderness.
But, meeting worlds upon their way,
Wrapt in primeval night,
In language without sound, they say
To each--"God sends you light."
Anon, with beauty, life and love,
Those wandering planets glow,
And shine themselves, as stars above,
On gazers from below.
Oh! could the first Archangel's eye,
In everlasting space,
Through all the mazes of the sky,
A single sunbeam trace!
He might behold the lonely one
Its destiny fulfil,
As punctual as the parent-sun
Performs its Maker's will.
The Sun of Righteousness, with rays
Of uncreated light,
His power and glory thus displays
Through Nature's darkest night.
The night of guilt, remorse, despair,
In which transgressors roam,
Yet, self-bewilder'd everywhere,
Never draw nearer home.
On such, with healing in His wings,
Along their downward path,
Guidance and help His rising brings
And warns to flee from wrath.
Rays from that Sun of Righteousness,
Our humble missiles dart;
Mighty at once to wound and bless,
To break and bind the heart.
Tracts, those swift messengers of peace
For men, with God at strife,
To Satan's slaves proclaim release,
To Death's condemn'd-ones, life.
Not with the excellence of speech,
But by the Spirit of Truth,
The doctrines of the Cross they preach
To manhood, age, and youth.
They flash the terrors of the Lord,
To make the scorner fear,
But speak the Gospel's sweetest word
In the poor sinner's ear.
Oh! could the first Archangel's sight
The least of these pursue,
He might record,--in its brief flight,
Each had a work to do.
A work of grace, a work of power,
But, what that was below,
Time's last, Eternity's first hour
To heaven and earth will show.
O Ye! who send these heralds forth--
By millions bid them fly,--
From east to west, from south to north,
As sunbeams fill the sky.
Sacred Poems and Hymns