There is a pure and tranquil wave,
That rolls around the throne of love,
Whose waters gladden as they lave
The peaceful shores above.
While streams, which on that tide depend,
Steal from those heavenly shores away,
And on this desert world descend
O’er weary lands to stray;
The pilgrim faint, and nigh to sink
Beneath his load of earthly woe,
Refreshed beside their verdant brink,
Rejoices in their flow.
There, O my soul, do thou repair
And hover o’er the hallowed spring,
To drink the crystal wave, and there
To lave thy wearied wing !
There droop that wing, when far it flies
From human care, and toil, and strife,
And feed by those still streams, that rise
Beneath the Tree of Life!
It may be that the breath of love
Some leaves on their pure tide have driven,
Which, passing from the shores above,
Have floated down from heaven.
So shall thy wounds and woes be healed
By the blest virtue that they bring;
So thy parched lips shall be unsealed
Thy Saviour’s praise to sing!
A great man falls this day,
Strong to befriend the slave, to break his chain;
By dint of Pity, strong, to brave the array
Of proud oppression’s reign.
He was the hero true
Who clung to Right unmoved—to whom ’twas given
When Wrong prevail’d, the combat to renew;
Trusting in Truth and Heaven.
The warrior’s blazonry
Fills Earth’s deluded gaze, while angels frown;
But Clarkson’s deeds, of love and peace, to see
Approving Heavens look down.
Tell not of costly shrines,
Or sculptor’s art, chartering his praise to Time,
His record is on high. Be work that shines
Like His, his meed sublime.
A nation’s work of love
Not to consign his matchless deeds to Fame
Alone, but to repeat them and to prove
Herself worthy his name.
A name that scatters light
And teaching on his times—proclaims abroad
How one just man may serve and stablish Right
By faith that works for God!