Classic Audiobook Collection - Hours of Sorrow by Charlotte Elliott ~ Full Audiobook [religion]

Starting point is 00:00:00 Hours of sorrow, or thoughts in verse, chiefly adapted to seasons of sickness, depression, and bereavement, by Charlotte Elliott. Weep with them that weep, Romans, chapter 12, verse 15. The world's a room of sickness, where each heart knows its own anguish and unrest. The truest wisdom there, and noblest art, is, his whose skills of comfort best. Christian Year, to the reader. Not for the gay and thoughtless do I weave these plaintive strains. They have not learnt to grieve.

Starting point is 00:00:48 Their joyous days, mirth, health, and gladness wing, the laughing hours around them dance and sing. The light within their dwellings is not gone. their cherished plants no worm has fed upon. These are the few in such a world as this. The many scarcely taste the cup of bliss, ere some rude stroke, even while it sweets they sip,

Starting point is 00:01:18 dashes it oft forever from their lip. For such, for such alone, I tune my lay. They feel life's path a rough and thorny way. And, looking sadly round, no longer find those who shed gladness on the track behind, strewed it with flowers, illumined it with their smile and toil, and care and sorrow could beguile. These, as they pass along, depressed, forlorn, suffering from man's neglect, perchance his scorn, feeling the world no balsam can bestow to soothe the aching heart or medicine woe,

Starting point is 00:02:03 may, midst their sorrows, lend a listening ear to strains whose purpose is their grief to cheer, to tell them where another heart found rest, once like their own, disquieted, unblessed, and where, though sought in vain on earthly ground, a balm of sovereign virtue may be found. End of poem. Sonnet to the harp by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Poor, tuneless harp. I'll take thee to my lord. Though all unmeat to offer at his shrine, if he and do my hand with skill divine,

Starting point is 00:02:46 sweet melody shall breathe from every chord. And thou to that high you shall be, restored, which heirs'd in sinless paradise was thine, I lay thee at his feet, no longer mine, the strings all mute till wakened at his word. Though thou wert formed in those unsullied days, when joy, love, innocence, attuned each liar, to blend thy music with celestialase, and even my note shall mingle with that choir if he, the eternal fount of harmony now by his Spirit, deign to breathe on me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Invocation to the Holy Spirit by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. Blessed Spirit,

Starting point is 00:03:40 thou who deignest in each bosom where thou reignest, heavenly thoughts to inspire. Now thy gracious influence lending with my strain its virtue blending, wake my simple liar. Let it breathe some hallowed numbers, ere in death the minstrel slumbers, Who from thee asks skill. Let it soothe some ear that listens, Let it dry some tear that glistens, Ere my heart be still. There are bosoms wrung with anguish, Mourners who in silence languish, Hidden wounds that bleed.

Starting point is 00:04:18 Heavenly comforter of sorrow, Balm for these, if I might, borrow, I were blessed indeed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The minstrel by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Within a darkened room I saw one sit, touching a plaintive liar. Upward she looked, and then her eyes seemed lit with transient fire. But ever and anon I heard her sigh, and ever and anon tears filled her eye. deep thoughts oppressed her and i heard her say oh sad is human life i see dark forms attend the pilgrims way care suffering strife

Starting point is 00:05:15 his toilsome journey is beset with foes and death stands waiting at its awful clothes but hush said she and paused then seemed a while to hear one speak Her dark thoughts vanished, and a peaceful smile played o'er her cheek. Once more, she listened, tuned her lyre again, then soft and low breathed forth a heavenly strain. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain. Address to Sorrow by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. From heavenly minds I borrow the gems to form thy crown. In this poor world, sweetly. sorrow, thy worth is little known. And yet no angel's mission can brighter gifts impart than thou,

Starting point is 00:06:17 man's kind physician, if welcomed by the heart. The fatal mists around him disperse at thy approach. The magic spells that bound him are broken by thy touch. Thou throwest thy mournful shading or urs delusive joy, and then its bright hues fading, nor dazzle, nor decoy. Then, when the world looks dreary, and when, with grave oppressed, the sufferer, faint and weary, seeks out some place of rest. Then, sorrow, thou dost guide him to penitence and faith. These place fair hope beside him to cheer his heavenward path. Sweet thoughts of comfort bringing, peace or his heart they shed. In strains, Sepheric singing, Thou shalt be comforted.

Starting point is 00:07:10 The tree of life disclosing, its odorous balm revealed, Beneath its shade reposing, his every wound is healed. And now thy task completed, thy mission at an end, the weary wanderer greeted by him, the sinner's friend. If still thine aid he borrow, thy gentle hand employ, thy sweet associate sorrow will from that hour be joy end of poem this recording is in the public domain the wanderer by charlotte elliot read by mirianne there was a wanderer once who sought in vain at earthly fountains to assuage her thirst for though they sparkled and seemed sweet at first soon unbated it returned again But he who marks in pity's human pain, whose eye of love seeks out the lost, the worst,

Starting point is 00:08:24 met her, in mercy infinite, as heirsed another wanderer on Samaria's plain. He led her to that living stream which flows from heavenly founts, the pilgrim to restore. And there she quenched her thirst, and learned that those who drink that water thirst again no more, but hasten on through strength divinely given until they reach the fountainhead in heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Contrite Heart by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne.

Starting point is 00:09:08 There is a holy sacrifice which God himself will not despise. Nay, more, Jehovah deigns to prize the contrite heart. That high and lofty one, whose praise inspires the raptor archangels lays, with favorable eyes surveys the contrite heart. The Holy One, the Son of God, his presence there will shed abroad and consecrate as his abode the contrite heart. The blessed spirit from on high will listen to its faintest sigh and heal and cheer and purify the contrite heart. Savior, I make my prayer to thee, such as thou lovest I feign would be, in mercy, Lord, bestow on me a contrite heart. End of poem. This recording is in the

Starting point is 00:10:01 public domain. The Aeolian harp by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. I heard an Aeolian harp when the wings of the soft summer zephyr flew light over the strings, waking sounds like the far-distant curfew that flings echoes broken and faint down the veil. But I heard it again, When the winter's cold blast swept roughly and rudely each cord as it passed, then the strange spirit minstrelie, wakened at last, swelled, fitful and wild in the gale. When summer and sunshine breathe perfume around, and earth by the Christian in Eden is found, the notes of his harp indistinctly resound. Too faintly his praises are given.

Starting point is 00:10:56 But when on his bosom the winter winds beat, When the blast of the desert lays bare his retreat, then the storm which has crushed him wakes concord so sweet. Angels listen and waft them to heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. St. Matthew, Chapter 5, verse 4. By Charlotte Elliott. Read by Marianne.

Starting point is 00:11:30 I stood in spirit on that sacred mount, where he who spoke as man could never speak, with godlike power and majesty, though meek, poured words of life from truth's eternal fount. A few poor men, plain and of no account, were nearest to him. Them his eye would seek, while from its glance love's radiance seemed to break and beam over multitudes too vast to count. I strove as from an oracle divine to catch some words to treasure in my heart, and, though a distant place, alas, was mine, and those dear accents reached me, but in part, one hallowed sentence to my ear was born. The words were these. Blessed are they that mourn. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Retrospection by Charlotte

Starting point is 00:12:33 Elliot, read by Marianne. Oh, how oft, unseen, unknown, Does the soul of feeling muse on friends far off or gone, Memories stores unsealing? Or the track of years gone by pleased the spirit wanders, Breeze o'er many a spa to sigh, many a record ponders. Scenes which long have disappeared from their sleep awaken, sounds by loved, lost friends endeared, joys by them partaken. Funeral tokens rise around

Starting point is 00:13:12 All the heart or powering Urns with many a garland bound Cypress trees embowering Bright and fragrant there appear Flowers of recollection Bathe by many a holy tear nursed by fond affection Oh ye loved

Starting point is 00:13:31 lamented few Once to me united Heaven were by such thoughts of you Be my soul incite End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Valley of Tears by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. When I entered on life and my fancy was gay, when hopes rosy dawning illumined my way, when the paths were all flowery, untrodden and green, and pleasure and novelty gladdened

Starting point is 00:14:09 the scene, the sound was unwelcome and strange to my ears, when they called this fair region a valley of tears. But the days of enchantment flew rapidly past, and the sunshine within and without was or cast. The tints of the morning soon melted away. The buds and sweet blossoms were transient as they, and I owned with a sigh that life sometimes appears a sorrowful path through a valley of tears. Still onward I journeyed, but journeyed alone, for I found that with novelty pleasure had flown. My path grew insipid, I slackened my pace, and longed the fair track I had passed to retrace, for I said, what a different aspect it wears from this, which is really a valley of tears. But while with reluctance I granted it true, my spirit recoiled from so altered of you.

Starting point is 00:15:09 And because disappointment had broken the cup presented by fancy, replenished by hope, She spurned in her bitterness All that still cheers this region of shadows, this valley of tears. I looked on it now as a desolate spot Where a sin linked with sorrow, Wide ruin had wrought, And where ere I discovered some lingering trace

Starting point is 00:15:31 Of its early magnificence, Beauty, and grace, It seemed but to tell me of happier years ere the world was transformed to a valley of tears. My soul grew impatient and weary of life. as a scene of distress, disappointment, and strife, and considered herself and each pilgrim below as victims of suffering, delusion, and woe, all doomed for a period of sorrowful years, to mourn or to toil in the valley of tears. For as yet she discerned not a country more bright than that which so early

Starting point is 00:16:07 had ceased to delight. No sources of pure and more permanent bliss that can spring from a soil, so polluted as this. She felt not the mercy which gladdens and cheers, the Christians abode in the valley of tears. But now, while I keep that fair country in view, with hope and with patience my path I pursue, in sadness and weariness sweet is the thought that my home is not distant, my journey but short, and that when I have passed a few troublesome years, I shall wander no more in the Valley of Tears. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:16:55 The Skylark by Charlotte Elliott, right by Miriam. How sweet is the song of the lark as she springs to welcome the morning with joy on her wings. The higher she rises, the sweeter she sings, and she sings when we hear her no more.

Starting point is 00:17:13 When the storms and dark clouds veil the sun from our sight, she has mountain above them. She shines in his light. there, far from the scenes that disturb and affright, she loves her gay music to pour. It is thus with the Christian. He sees, from afar, the day's spring appearing, the bright morning star. He quits this dark valley of sorrow and care for the land whence the radiance is given. He sings on his way from this cloud-covered spot, the swifter his progress, the sweeter his note.

Starting point is 00:17:47 when we hear it no longer, the song ceases not. It blends with the chorus of heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Moon Over the Sea by Charlotte Elliott. Read by Marianne. Oh, fix on that beautiful planet thine eye. Observe her bright course as she travels on high and bears, like a vestal, her lamp through the sky, arrayed in her garment of light. While pure and exalted her pathway she treads, or the rough sea beneath her, soft radiance she sheds, where'er she approaches, the darkness recedes, till in beauty she glides from our sight. Fair orb, there are some in this world of our own, like thyself, who in light and in silence move on. They walk in white raiment and calmly look down on life's turbulent ocean beneath.

Starting point is 00:18:55 The noise of its waves at a distance they hear, and, shedding soft light from their luminous sphere, this dark world of sin and of sorrow they cheer, and are beautiful, even in depth. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On Sacred Music by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. It is said that the exile who chances to hear in the land of the stranger, his own native tongue, or some strain that in childhood delighted his ear, though he listened with rapture, yet weeps or the song. For then what bright visions appear to his view, what scenes of enchantment rise quickly around, the land were the first breath of freedom he drew, his home, his loved kindred, he seems to have found.

Starting point is 00:19:57 But though sweet the delusion, not long can it last. In a moment the lovely deceptions are flown, with the sounds that produced them too quickly they passed, and the exile still finds himself sad and alone. And is not the Christian an exile on earth? And is not sweet music the language of heaven, of that lamb which the spirit received her high birth, and from whence the bright grant of her freedom was given. And thus, while he listens to anthems of praise, or some soft-stealing melody falls on his ear, those regions of joy he in spirit surveys, and seems the sweet song of the ransomed to hear. Nay, he seems to have entered that haven of rest, to have bidden farewell to temptations and woes, already he joins the bright bands of the blessed, already partakes in

Starting point is 00:20:54 their celestial repose. But the spell is soon broken. The sounds die away. No mandate, as yet, has arrived of release. He mourns to perceive still so distant the day when his sufferings and labors forever shall cease. That day of delight when, an exile no more, his country, his home, his loved friends he regains, tunes his harp to the chorus oft longed for before, where sorrow and sighing ne'er blend with the strains. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the same subject by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam, When music entrances my ear, while I yield to its mystic control, still the sounds so delightful to hear, never reach the dark depths of the soul. She has sighs and complainings and woes,

Starting point is 00:22:03 which melody charms not to rest, and though sweet be the tear as it flows, the lone spirit within is unblessed. But oh, when as born from above, hallowed voices breathe accents of praise, they waft to that region of love the spirit which thrills to their lays. For then their sweet melodies bless that name which is balm for all woe, and the heart, from its inmost recess, echoes back the loved sounds as they flow. And of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Stanzas for a friend in sorrow by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. It must be so. The feeling heart must oft receive a wound, must often be compelled to part from those attwined around. It must be so. Life's shadows still must lengthen or our way, and darkness those bright

Starting point is 00:23:11 places fill where shone joy's sunniest ray. It must be so. The hopes of youth, the schemes, gay fancy wove, the fictions we believed as truth, must all delusive prove, and e'en in manhood's Riper Day, with wisdom for our guide, the prop selected for our stay oft proves a reed when tried. It must be so. Our hours of bliss, like a sweet April gleam, just smile on such a world as this, then vanish like a dream. Hope's Iris, with its beauteous braid, melts in the clouds it rees. Joy's roseate flower begins to fade, in one. while its fragrance breathes. It must be so. The friends beloved, who cheered life's earlier day, by time estranged, by death removed, pass one by one away. Till before half its sands can

Starting point is 00:24:17 fall, we look around and sigh. Friends of my youth, where are they all? Scarce one yet lingers nigh. while o'er the heart these changes come, and man, earth's transient guest, finds here his spirit has no home, no seat of tranquil rest. Then whither turns that eye, now dim with disappointed hope, asks he fair truth to draw for him her heavenly horoscope? Alas, too oft he turns to grief, calls back enjoyments past, Liz or again those moments brief, too blessed, too bright to last, forgets that bitters marred the sweet and thorns the flowers, e'en then,

Starting point is 00:25:02 feels that his son of bliss has set and twilight days remain. Or if from grief he pass away to seek a sterner guide, Philosophy, he courts thy sway, thy loftier code is tried, But reason the firm mind may win and nerve its high resolves, While on its axis, dark within, the restless heart revolves. Tis braced and disciplined, not healed, its wounds are staunched, not cured. These moral anodynes, but yield calm, midst the pain endured. Not this the kind result designed by him who, from above, thus breaks each tie too strongly

Starting point is 00:25:44 twined, that we may seek his love. In as the bird stirs up her nest to make her nurslings fly, he here forbids us to find rest towards heaven to raise our eye. The sunshine is from earth removed that heaven more bright may seem. The heart denied what most it loved, till there he reigns supreme. Then all around a light is shed, which ne'er will fade away. More radiant grows the path we tread, into the perfect day. Each wound is healed, each want supplied, joy is given which leave us never,

Starting point is 00:26:24 the heart's deep longing satisfied and satisfied forever. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain. The Requiem by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. I possessed a sweet flower. It bloomed for a while. its sweetness was wont every care to beguile, but I cherished too fondly the flower. I imagined it one of those blossoms of heaven, to which beauty and fragrance perennial are given, nor thought it could fade in an hour. For it seemed to belong to that region of love,

Starting point is 00:27:08 and reminded me oft of the climate above, where all is refreshing and pure. It was granted to brighten my sojourn on earth, and to raise my poor heart to the land of its birth, but its charms not for me might endure. While I watched or its beauties with anxious delight, it received from some blast an invisible blight, its colors began to decay. At last, when I sought it, I found it no more. It died not, I trust to a happier shore some angel has borne it away. Had I prized it less fondly, it still had been mine, but he who best

Starting point is 00:27:49 it in bounty divine, took it back, not in anger, but love. Its fragrance for me formed in Eden on earth, and I seldom remembered the land of its birth that lovelier Eden above. But the charm is now broken, that danger is oar, life has one joy the less, and one sorrow the more, and my heart, for a season, must mourn. The sweet of the fragrance, the blossom besie, stoes, the brighter the colors, the richer the rose, the sharper the pang of the thorn. Sweet blossom, farewell, I shall treasure each leaf thou hast scattered around me to soften my grief, though compared with thyself they are poor. These pale, faded relics, so sad to my sight, not now will awaken too fond a delight, too sweetly my senses allure. And, oh,

Starting point is 00:28:49 When my path through the desert is oar, may thy sweet living blossoms delight me once more, in that land where the plants never die, where enjoyment with danger no more is combined, where the strongest yet purest attachment will bind, and no parting brings tears to the eye. Till then, sweetest plant, I must bid thee farewell. Long, long will thy charms in my memory dwell. long for thy loss I shall mourn. No plant of the earth shall succeed thee, sweet flower. No blossom be nursed in my desolate bower. I have felt too severely the thorn. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Noah's Dove, a similitude by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, soul of man,

Starting point is 00:29:52 like that poor dove distressed, winging or life's dark waves, thy weary fly. seeking in vain some isle of beauty bright, some spot where thy exhausted wings may rest, fly to the heavenly ark, that haven blessed, where, till a spring shall bloom which knows no blight, thou shalt be safe from storms by day, by night, and peace, sweet peace, shall build thy downy nest. I see one waiting to put forth his hand, and take thee in, poor, weary, fluttering heart, fear not his gentle touch. Though weak thou art, none like himself thy frame can understand. Such life, warmth, comfort, strength, that touch will bring. Thou shalt soon raise thy drooping head and sing. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:30:57 The Vestal by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, who has not paused, as he read, to admire what is told of that ancient, mysterious fire, never suffered on peril of life to expire, everlasting, though kindled below, and viewed the pale vestal, all lonely at night, her eye air fixed on that mystical light, now feeding the flame, lest it ceased to burn bright, now her features illumined by its glow. A task as unceasing, though nobler, is thine, O Christian, the priest of a holier shrine. In thy heart has been kindled by power divine, a flame which eternal must prove. Like the Vestal, watch oar it by night and by day. Let neglect

Starting point is 00:31:47 never cause its pure beam to decay. Thy life is involved in still brightening its ray, till removed to the temple above. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On a spring morning by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Thou, who art ever present, though unseen, amid these beauteous shades I feel thee near, I seem to stand beside thee, and to hear that voice which makes in troubled hearts serene. I love to think thou on this earth hast been, and once in human form did sojourn here, were still thou danest, invisibly, to cheer each fainting spirit that on thee would lean. Oh, while in hill and dale and stream and flower, with tearful joy thy glories I behold,

Starting point is 00:32:46 on me display thy wonder-working power, bid each long-dormant heavenly seed unfold, and while around woods, hills, and valleys sing, within my heart, wake a celestial spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On an early violet by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Scarcely has one bright sunbeam shone, or vernal zephyr waved its wing, yet is thy fragrance round me thrown, sweet child of spring. Mid-leafless shrubs on the cold earth, rises thy soft and beauteous form, familiar even from thy birth, with many a storm.

Starting point is 00:33:36 there blooming in thy lonely bed enfolded in thy mantle green thy solitary sweets were shed unknown unseen yet could the balmiest breath of may to thee one added charm have lent could brighter tints thy leaves in lay or sweeter scent tis often thus the richest flowers that in the soul's fair garden blow are nurtured by rough winds and showers mid scenes of woe While earthly joys lie all entombed, and life looks desolate and drear, the flower of heavenly hope has bloomed the heart to cheer. Nay, thus in sorrow's wintry day, the soul herself, mid-blast and storm, gains beauties which joy's summer ray could never form. Nor shall one blast around her blow, one storm on her fair blossoms beat, but shall a lovelier hue bestow.

Starting point is 00:34:36 A scent more sweet. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The still small voice by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. There is a voice, a still small voice, of love heard from above, but not amid the din of earthly sounds, which here abounds. By those withdrawn apart, it best is heard, and peace, sweet peace, distills from every word.

Starting point is 00:35:12 In the sick chamber, when none else is near, it oft sounds clear. Then o'er the wearied frame, the suffering bed, repose is shed. Its accents fall like balm upon the heart, composure and meek patience to impart. Often on the day of consecrated rest, this unseen guest visits the lonely and sequestered room, dispels its gloom, and pours such sacred melody. round, methinks angelic harps less sweet would sound. Ein in that saddest stillness which prevails where nature fails, and not his heard save the convulsive breath, struggling with death.

Starting point is 00:35:57 Often does its voice of pity gently break the oppressive silence and sweet comfort speak. O blessed is then the sufferer, though he mourn, to whom are born the gracious accents of this heavenly guide. None. None beside can calm the spirit, bend the opposing will, and say with power effectual, peace be still. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To the Nightingale by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Sweet chantress, from every blossoming tree there is wafted a song of rejoicing and glee. Mids the mirth and the music I listen for thee, but thy melody charms not mine ear. When the sun shall descend and the blossoms all close, when the darkness and silence shall usher repose, oh, then, while the night breeze refreshingly blows,

Starting point is 00:37:01 thy song from afar I shall hear. Sweet chantress, a beautiful emblem thou art of the pure and devoted and tranquilized heart, when, from earthly turmoil and intrusion apart, it holds converse with regions above. Beneath that blue concave so peaceful and bright, sweet symphonies break on the stillness of night, while angels bend down with a proving delight to take part in the anthems they love. End a poem. This recording is in the public domain. A search after happiness by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. If happiness be sought aright, she will be found. Though hidden, her doors stand open day and night, and none will be forbidden. Yet thousands seek her still in vain, bewildered, discontented. Fatigued, they roam or hill and plain, in pas she ne'er frequented.

Starting point is 00:38:08 I joined the throng. I sought the prize, t'was long before I found it. Toils, perils fill the enterprise, at last discovery crowned it. I sought her in an emerald dell, where nature's arms delighted. They said she dwelt there once with men, but long those scenes had quitted. I next explored the festive bower, to which gay pleasure wooed me, but quickly found that folly wore her features to delude me. In friendship's sweet abode at last her lovely form I greeted. Oh, with what joy my bosom glowed, the hours like moments fleeted. But death, her mortal foe, appeared, those ties of love to sever. She fled that spot, so much endeared, abandoned it forever. In fancy's flower enameled veil, once more my eye beheld her, but thought was with me,

Starting point is 00:39:07 she turned pale, and vanished ere I held her. Then Science said, his temple fair oft-gathered groups around her, each muse her friendship seemed to share. I sought, but never found her. In superstitions ancient pile, where monks their beads were telling, where, through the dimly lighted aisle, the midnight chant was swelling, e'en there for happiness I sought. I wept and prayed and fasted. I sought her, but I found her not. Prayers, penance, tears were wasted. Hopeless, at last, I raised my eye towards heaven, its guidance seeking, that once a gentle sound stole by, her own sweet voice was speaking. Pilgrim, a gracious ear is lent to thy sad heart's petition. When the heart's cry to heaven

Starting point is 00:40:03 is sent, at once it gains admission. When asked from him whom I obey, thus freely he bestows me, none but the heart which owns his sway obtains or even knows me. On a earth I dwell not now, my name, when there, is called religion, but we are known to be the same in yon celestial region. Above yon bright and starry sphere, with spirits pure and sainted, I breathe a holier atmosphere by sin and woe untainted. Mid those immortal shapes I stand, Jehovah's throne surrounding, who strike their harps at his right hand, angelic sounds resounding. But oft to earth my flight I speed, when his command is given. Joy on the pilgrim's heart to shed, and foretaste sweet of heaven.

Starting point is 00:40:58 When on the Sabbath thou art found his sacred courts attending, I love to tread that holy ground. My voice with thine is blending. And in the hour of humble prayer, those who enjoy his presence will never fail to meet me there, his smile my very essence. Now, through thy life's short pilgrimage, unseen I will be near thee, and in its last, its roughest stage, my voice shall calm and cheer thee. Then will I join the convoy bright, sent down thy bonds to sever, hail thy deliverance with delight, and be thine own forever?

Starting point is 00:41:41 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Hour of Prayer by Charlotte Elliott, read by Mary Ann. My God, is any hour so sweet, from blush of morned even star, as that which calls me to thy feet, the hour of prayer? Blessed is that tranquil hour of morn, and blessed that hour of solemn Eve, when, on the wings of prayer upborne, the world I leave. For then a day's spring shines on me, brighter than morn's ethereal glow, and richer dues descend from thee than earth can know.

Starting point is 00:42:24 Then is my strength by thee renewed, then are my sins by thee forgiven. Then dost thou cheer my solitude with hope of heaven? No words can tell what sweet relief there for my every want I find. What strength for warfare, balm for grief, what peace of mind. Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear. My spirit seems in heaven to stay, and e'en the penitential tear is.

Starting point is 00:42:54 wiped away. Lord, till I reach ye on blissful shore, no privilege so dear shall be, as thus my inmost soul to pour in prayer to thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A prayer at midnight by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Celestial Spirit, now, in this calm hour, vouchsafe with holy thoughts my mind to fill. I commune with my own heart and am still, waiting to feel thy tranquilizing power. Darkness is round me, but like that pale flower which loves its festal fragrance to distill when other flowers are closed on dale and hill, breathed but for him who trained it for his bower.

Starting point is 00:43:53 Even so, O blessed spirit, let it be with this poor heart, thy consecrated shrine. There thou hast deign to place a plant divine, unseen, unknown, unnurtured but by thee. Now be the hidden perfume thou hast given exhaled, like sweet incense, and born to heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Lord turned and looked upon Peter by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. The Lord turned and looked upon Peter, St. Luke, Chapter 22, verse 61. Oh, it is ever thus, that eye benign beams on the soul with tenderness divine,

Starting point is 00:44:50 in ere the wanderer owns that he has strayed, in ere the penitent has wept or prayed, and when the influence of that look is felt, the softened heart and contrite grief will melt, Morn that against such goodness he has striven, and love him much, who has so much forgiven. The Savior changes not, but now sends down, e'en from his glorious mediatorial throne, whence all our wandering footsteps he can trace, the same sweet tokens of forgiving grace. Oh, let the trembling and desponding mind, that broken spirit which he loves to bind, dwell on each proof of tenderness he gave, nor doubt his willingness to heal and save.

Starting point is 00:45:43 Not e'en the fondest love a mother knows, the warmest in a human breast which glows. No loftiest, best conception we can raise, e'en the faint outline of his love portrays. Poor, doubting mourner, yield not to thy fears. Each tear he numbers, and each sigh he hears, and though like Peter

Starting point is 00:46:06 thou hast wronged thy Lord like him thou shalt be pardoned and restored thy saviour's prayer for thee shall yet prevail thy faith in him the weak shall never fail but lead thee in his

Starting point is 00:46:22 strength henceforth to prove through life in death thy gratitude and love and of poem this recording is in the public domain Rest for the Weary by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Has earthly love deceived thee?

Starting point is 00:46:47 Has earthly friendship grieved thee? Has death's strong hand bereaved thee of all most dear below? A love which never changes. A friend no time estranges. A land death shaft near ranges, it may be thine to know. In vain have men asserted, to cheat the weary-hearted that powers by sin-perverted

Starting point is 00:47:13 themselves can calm the breast. One hand alone unfailing. Sin grieves dark root, assailing, or all within prevailing, can give the weary rest. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To one suffering from deafness

Starting point is 00:47:41 by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. What though thine earthly cottage veil some beams that cheer the pilgrims away? The soul's bright senses cannot fail, nor pass away. Thine ear of faith may listen ever to sounds which bid all sorrow cease, which improutine or weary never, but whisper peace. It may be that thine outward ear is closed to earth's turmoil and din, that those blessed sounds more full and clean, clear, be heard within. What though the nether springs run low, which cheered thy pilgrim

Starting point is 00:48:23 path at first, the upper springs unceasing flow to quench thy thirst. If on thy saviour rests thine eye, this loss of sense faith's gain will be, for it will closer draw the tie twixt him and thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public Domain. On a frosty evening by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. When the dark mantle of ores shadowing night wraps in concealment all the world below, with countless orbs yon azure vault doth glow, in silence shining, beautiful, and bright, the midnight wanderer gazes with delight and feels his heart within him overflow. Oh, what, he asks, can days be able to be able to-o?

Starting point is 00:49:21 broad sunshine show to be compared with this all-glorious sight. To sometimes thus, when sorrow's mournful shade darkens our path and veils our prospects here, fair worlds unseen before are then displayed, and in surpassing majesty appear, for then to face uplifted eye tis given to view the glories of a brighter heaven. is in the public domain. On the Forget Me Not by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. I asked the name of an azure-relieved flower, which bloomed in a lonely spot. They said, it was valued in Hall and Bower, and was named, forget-me-not. And what, I asked, do the words intend, and to whom is their import confined? Some answered, a lover, and some, a friend by the flower it was called to mind.

Starting point is 00:50:27 Then I thought, as I looked on the blossom so fair, with its petals of heavenly blue, that it stood as a silent remembrance of there, of the God at whose word it grew. Oh, who could examine thy form, sweetflower, so perfect, without a blot, and not feel thou recordest his love, his power, embittest us, forget him not. He endued with its wonderful virtue thy seed, The form it developed he chose, His crystalline dews on thy leaves are shed, His sunshine thy color bestows.

Starting point is 00:51:09 Then, whene'er thy bright blossom adorns my way, Towards heaven may it waft my thought, May he give thee a still small voice to say, In his name, forget me not. End of poem. recording is in the public domain. To an aged Christian on his birthday, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Now, Pilgrim, on thy journey home but one short stage remains, and, brightening through the

Starting point is 00:51:47 evening's gloom across the distant plains, methinks thine eye may catch a sight of that sweet shore of rest, where friends are waiting, robed in white, to hail the expected guest, where every hope, yet incomplete, each unfulfilled desire, shall instant full fruition meet till bliss can rise no higher. Oh, did our hearts indeed believe, filled with these thoughts sublime, the Christian would rejoice, not grieve, to mark the lapse of time. Nature may weep or life's short span when forms we love decay. Faith views the immortal inwards. man, and wipes the tear away. And when we feel we cannot now shelter one heart we prize, for many a conflict, many a woe, or hush its secret sighs, then, as we see them onward-borne

Starting point is 00:52:46 by time's resistless flow, to that bright shore where none can mourn, where glory crowns each brow, should we not hail their nearer bliss, when days like these are given, What means advancing age, but this, their drawing near to heaven? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the anniversary of a child's death by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne, This was thy heavenly birthday, much-loved boy. Dost thou not wonder at thy parents' tears,

Starting point is 00:53:30 and question why so sad that day appears, which crowned their darling with unfading joy? why do they now their mournful thoughts employ in fondly dwelling on thy few short years for memory while she thus the past endears blends with the sweet her bitterest alloy oh if the birth-day of a life like ours in this dark world of trouble and unrest be hailed with gratulations gifts and flowers should not thine entrance on a life so blouse blessed, in as a sacred jubilee be kept, and not a tear but tears of joy be wept, and a poem. This recording is in the public domain. To a widowed friend by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Why dost thou haste so swiftly on thy way, like one whose company before is gone?

Starting point is 00:54:38 What is that steadfast eye so fixed upon, which beams, me think, almost with heavenly ray. Alas, that morning veil, that dark array, tell me it is from grief that thou hast won a disentangled heart, no longer prone to make terrestrial things thy staff and stay. What though thy cheek be paler, lone thy path, what though at times said memory tears will shed. Thou now wilt realize the life of faith,

Starting point is 00:55:11 till thou shalt meet again thy path. holy dead. Oh, if by grief such blessings here are given, what weight of glory will be thine in heaven? And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. She goeth unto the grave to weep there, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, go not to his grave to weep, bathe not with tears his early tomb. Angels that precious seed will keep, till thence the immortal flowers shall bloom. Oh, go not to his grave to mourn that he was once so fair, so bright, a form far lovelier shall be born from that low bed, to bless thy sight. Oh, go not to his grave to sigh, because his transient date is or, that which we hear miscall, to die, but means to live. To live. To live. To live. And,

Starting point is 00:56:16 live forevermore. Go to his grave that light to hail which oar it now from Calvary streams, which shines through death's once mournful veil, and on thy slumbering infant beams. Go to his grave, that God to bless, who to his happy soul has given more than thine utmost tenderness could supplicate, a home in heaven. Go to his grave, to offer there, as laid on thy Redeemer's shrine, thy loveliest flower, thy first-born fair, and say, He was not ours, but thine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:57:06 From a dying child by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Cease, my mother, to deplore me. Cease to ask my longer stay. Angel forms are bending o'er me, hark, they call my soul. away. Wipe those tears so sadly falling. Upward turn thy weeping eyes. Heavenly messengers are calling me, thy child, to paradise. Hearst thou not those sweetest numbers? Here'st thou not that softest strain, sent to bless my dying slumbers, sent to soothe my dying pain. Soon these pangs of struggling nature shall my prison doors unclose. Soon each car. Soon each

Starting point is 00:57:52 calm and tranquil feature where a smile of sweet repose. But when this poor frame is sleeping cold within the silent tomb, wilt thou still be fondly weeping o'er thy babes untimely doom? Wilt thou mourn the blissful sentence which invites me to my rest? Wilt thou mourn my early entrance on the glories of the blest? Wilt thou mourn my warfare ended? Morn the prize too quickly gained? Life has long enough extended when its purpose is attained. Hark again those notes are swelling. Happy Spirit, take thy flight, quit that frail terrestrial dwelling, wing thy way to realms of light.

Starting point is 00:58:38 Oh, what scenes arise before me? Lovely or far than aught beneath. Cease, my mother, to deplore me. Sweeter far than life is death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To the Evening Star by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Lovely Star, serenely shining on my heavy, tearful eyes,

Starting point is 00:59:11 Thou shalt check these thoughts repining, and repress these mournful sighs. Let thy way be dark, or bright, still thou shett's thy silvery light. Still thy heavenly track pursuing, rapidly thou hastenest all. on, from that pure region viewing this dark world thou shinest on, passing o'er it but to lend light to gladden and befriend. Thus, when clouds are passing o'er us, grief our spirits may subdue, but a race is set before us, which, though faint, we must pursue. Lovely star, our model B, may we shine through clouds like thee, and like thee, while freely lending light to all within our sphere, to our unseen centre tending, swift as bright we may appear, then, when thy brief course is o'er,

Starting point is 01:00:06 we shall rise to set no more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Christian Near His Home, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. I see an aged man. man, climbing the hill's steep side. Long has he trod the pilgrim's way, and now the sun's declining ray homeward his steps will guide. A seat of rest, among the blessed, he now awaits in heaven the dear expected guest. His path is rough and steep, more toilsome near its close. The sky looks dark, the winds blow keen, the shadows lengthen o'er the scene, and scarce a flower it blows, the pilgrim's eye, still fixed on high, sees brighter worlds appear beyond the darkening sky. At times, indeed, he grieves for earlier days more blessed, when on the wings of joy he soared,

Starting point is 01:01:11 and, with an eagle strength, explored the land of promised rest, but faith still shoots its downward roots, the blossoms pass away, but riper grow the fruits. ill could he once have borne his present toilsome path. He feels no joy, yet murmurs not. This hushes each repining thought, While here I walk by faith. He still can trace a Savior's grace, Though he appear far off, and seem to hide his face.

Starting point is 01:01:44 The heavenly prize he views, and still maintains his ground, The steep ascent is hard to win, and many a foe, without, within, strives to inflict a wound. Though closely pressed, hope cheers his breast, for soon the strife will cease, the weary be at rest. Pilgrim, the end is near, though faint yet still pursue. When thou shalt gain the mountain's brow, a scene beyond conception now shall burst upon thy view. celestial air shall fan thee there, and thou shalt bid adieu to toil and pain and care. Then, as thou fallest asleep, angels that wait around shall waft thee to that blissful shore

Starting point is 01:02:32 seem dimly from afar before, where golden harps resound, where souls set free that Savior see, whose smile is heaven itself, that smile will beam on thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To one restless and unhappy by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, it was ne'er intended a spirit like thine, immortal in nature, of birthright divine, should take up her home in a region like this, or rest short a perfection in virtue and bliss. I regret not that oft thou art weary, depressed, in the midst of the midst of you,

Starting point is 01:03:21 of heaven's bountiful blessings unblessed, for the weary, the heavy laden, are those whom a voice others hear not invites to repose. Though nature and affluence and taste have combined to surround thee with charms and enjoyments refined, on them all looks of sadness or languor are thrown, and why, the true riches not yet are thine own. Arts, studies, accomplishments, friends, vainly still the void in thy bosom endeavor to fill, for the smile on thy lip can but faintly disguise a heart that in secret for happiness sighs. There is a bright talisman, which, when possessed, can teach thee to fill the dark void in thy breast, can work a miraculous change in thy heart, and the lustre of joy to thy features impart. There is a blessed volume. Each page it contains

Starting point is 01:04:18 the nature and worth of this treasure explains, Oh, study that volume, the guidance there given will lead not to happiness only, but to heaven. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. My son, give me thy heart by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. My son, give me thy heart, from Proverbs. Fills thou disquiet,

Starting point is 01:04:53 care, unrest, scarce knowing why so sad thou art? In God alone can man find rest. Give him thy heart. Deems thou thy bosom's secret woes peculiar from all else apart, thy case he intimately knows, give him thy heart. Often does the painful thought arise, that slighted, misconceived thou art? God knows thee, loves, will not despise, give him thy heart. Sails thou alone or life's rough sea, without a home, a friend, a chart, thy friend, guide, haven, God will be, give him thy heart. Does thou some hopeless sorrow feel, some wound from death's unpitying dart, thy God will bind it up and heal. Give him thy heart.

Starting point is 01:05:56 Are there some griefs thou canst not tell, not e'en to dearest friends in part? Thy God will understand them well. Give him thy heart. Oh, when without reserve tis given, to him given wholly every part, there shines within the dawn of heaven. Give him thy heart. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To a friend setting out on a journey by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. May heavenly guides attend thee.

Starting point is 01:06:38 May heavenly guards defend thee. May heavenly influence send thee sweet themes of holy thought. Those shades of night enfold thee, that I will still behold thee, that I which slumbers not. No evil shall befall thee, No enemy appall thee, Bright messengers shall call thee Throughout the silent night

Starting point is 01:07:01 To share their high communion, Sweet pledge of future union With sainted airs of light, No human voice may cheer thee, No earthly listener hear thee, But, oh, one friend is near thee, The kindest and the best, Whose smile can banish sadness,

Starting point is 01:07:21 whose presence fill with gladness the solitary breast. Thy God will go before thee, all day and night watch o'er thee, and safe at length restore thee to a loved home of peace. His care shall not diminish till life's long journey finish, and toils and dangers cease. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To one bereaved of many relatives.

Starting point is 01:07:56 by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Thou hast laid up so many treasures there, where there is no more sorrow, no more pain, that I esteem thee rich in heavenly gain, eam by the loss of those who dearest were. Oh, while thy deepest, tenderest thoughts they share, when, sad and desolate, thou sighest in vain their voice to hear, their smile to meet again, pour out thy heart. pour out thy griefs in prayer. That blessed employ will reunite thy soul with those whose adorations never cease, that hallowed intercourse each grief control, and o'er thy bosom shed celestial peace. Though powerless human sympathy may be, sweet converse with thy God can comfort thee.

Starting point is 01:08:51 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Deathbed of a Christian by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. And now the closing scene drew on. The tide of life was ebbing fast. Yet the firm hope she lent upon sustained her, cheered her to the last. The hectic flush had left her cheek, the fever's brilliancy her eye. Yet calm she smiled, though faint and weak, as if she felt it sweet to die. All on a sudden she began.

Starting point is 01:09:32 held a form unknown approach her bed, whose hand a drooping garland held, where faded flowers their leaves had shed. Gently the mantle he withdrew, that first his countenance concealed, and to the dying sufferer's view a sweet though pallid face revealed. Then in soft accents he exclaimed, O happy one, be not dismayed, thy hour of freedom is proclaimed, the summons given, the ransom paid. I see thee smile and stretch thy hand as if to bid me draw more near, but wouldst thou not my touch withstand, if my true name had met thine ear? I am that last

Starting point is 01:10:16 resistless foe who fills with dread the human breast, whom fear and ignorance love to show in visionary terrors dressed. But what's the phantom feared so much, in from thy childhood feared by thee, but what a stroke, a voice, a touch, that sets the imprisoned spirit free. My name the guilty may appall, because I seal their fearful doom, but the believer loves the call that bids him seek his heavenly home. Oh, hasten then to lay aside these earthly weeds which clothe thee now, a fairer robe will be supplied, a brighter beauty deck thy brow. Look on this pale and faded wreath, These flowers that once sweet fragrance shed,

Starting point is 01:11:06 Chilled by the icy hand of death, Their tints are gone, their charms have fled. Thus at my touch, thou too shalt fade, Thy breast shall cease, thy life be gone, And that loved form be darkly laid In its last resting place alone. Yet fear me not, with gentlest hand I will unloose thy bonds of clay, then shall thy happy soul expand her wings of joy, and soar away.

Starting point is 01:11:37 Soon wilt thou pass my shadowy veil, beneath the heavenly hills it lies, nor shall thine outstretched pinions fail till the bright city meet thine eyes. Then to the glorious mansions there, rejoicing saints will welcome thee. I must resign thee to their care, those go golden gates are closed to me. He ceased. The listener sweetly smiled, and seemed some vision to behold. With joy her parting soul was filled,

Starting point is 01:12:11 her heavenward eye of rapture told. Then faintly, brokenly was heard, A day where no more night shall be, Entrance to me is ministered, abundantly, abundantly. Then there was silence, not a word uttered the grief of those who wept ere long a quiet sigh was heard and she in jesus sweetly slept and a poem this recording is in the public domain a dream by charlotte elliot read by mirianne i walked upon an unknown shore a deep dark ocean rolled beside thousands were wafted swiftly over that silent and mysterious tide. Strange was the solemn scene, and knew, my spirit sunk with inward dread. No voice proclaimed it,

Starting point is 01:13:16 but I knew those were the regions of the dead. It was no earthly light that shone, casting a shadowy gleam around. Near midst an earthly throng was known stillness so awful, so profound. The only sound which met the ear, and sadly, heavily it felt, was the dark billow rolling near, with measured melancholy swell. I sought with anxious eye to trace among the crowd that thronged the coast, the features of one well-known face, fondly beloved and lately lost. The twilight gleam sufficed to show full many a face that once was fair, now marked with characters of woe, the sad, sad impress of despair.

Starting point is 01:14:05 fair. No words were needed to express whose tears of anguish fell too late. The dark-fixed look of mute distress declared too legibly their fate. As some had been lovely once on earth, caressed, applauded, loved, admired, endowed with riches, talents, birth, possessing all their hearts desired. These hearts, alas for them, were given to earthly pleasures, cares and toys. They found not time to think of heaven, to seek imperishable joys. Slowly I turned, with many a sigh, from this sad spectacle of woe, and soon I saw the beaming eye of her so fondly loved below. She had but just been called away from husband, parents, children, friends, yet in that eye there shone a ray of joy with which no sadness

Starting point is 01:15:01 blends. A bright companion at her side looked on her with celestial love, delighting her glad steps to guide towards the bright home prepared above. Unseen, I followed. It was sweet, oh, passing sweet, her voice to hear, no earthly language could repeat the sounds that then entranced my ear. Swiftly we passed that gloomy shore, darkness and clouds were all withdrawn, and then a light not known before began upon our path to dawn. With growing strength, I saw her tread her upward, brightening, heavenward road. With joy she lifted up her head to hail the city of her God. As near to that world we drew, immortal fragrance filled the air. But soon the increasing radiance grew too bright for mortal scents to bear. I only caught a distant glance of glories

Starting point is 01:15:58 never to be told. I saw a beauteous band advance. I heard them strike their harps of gold. And then I lost her. A faint and dead I sank beneath the eternal beam. The sights, the sounds, the glories fled. I woke and found it was a dream. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A vision composed during a thunderstorm in the night by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marian. Me thought, as I silently lay on death's cold, narrow bed, I heard the archangel's trumpet sound, the voice that wakes the dead. I woke as from a long, long sleep, and blissful was the hour, that mortal frame and weakness sown was raised indeed in power. I woke with such a sense of

Starting point is 01:16:58 bliss as seemed the dawn of heaven, with nobler faculties endued than air on earth were given, Restored to consciousness and thought, some whisper seemed to say, The lamb, whose blood thy ransom bought, now summons thee away. Scarce had the welcomed sounds been heard, Scarce had my heart replied, When o'er my head the earth was rent, my prison doors flew wide. A great and mighty earthquake shook the agitated world. The mountain huge, the solid rock, from its firm base was her.

Starting point is 01:17:35 It was all unlike the peaceful scene which met my closing eyes on that last eve when autumn's sun purpled the glowing skies. The sun was darkened now in heaven, quenched where its golden rays. A fearful conflagration's glare began far off to blaze. Then thundering such as ne'er were heard and lightnings filled the sky. Expiring nature seemed convulsed with mortal agony. The greatest of the world. The great were rent, the dead arose, the sea gave up her own, and all were summoned, small and great, before the eternal throne. Amidst the ruin and dismay, a voice was heard on high, ye saints, with joy, lift up your heads, for your redemptions nigh. Then I looked up, I looked around, my soul was strong and calm, I knew in whom I had believed, and felt secure

Starting point is 01:18:32 from harm. I recognized on every side those I had loved below, all clothed in white and glorified, joy was on every brow. Oh, there was higher, pure bliss in that one glance of love, which then we silently exchanged than souls on earth can prove. But soon one uncreated form, glorious in majesty, fair than all the sons of men, fixed each adoring eye. It was the savior, loved unseen, so full of truth and grace, now faith obtained her great reward to see him face to face. Circled by myriads of the blessed, to judge the world he came, to be admired in all his saints, his purchased flock to claim. All prostrate fell, and, in that hour, were filled with joy so vast as would have richly overpaid ages in suffering past.

Starting point is 01:19:32 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the death of two infants by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, could I pierce that deep abyss which parts the unseen world from this, I would behold your seats in bliss, sweet babes. Would view your souls without a stain in God's own image bright again, and feel that death for you was gain, sweet babes. And I would hear that matchless song, swelled by the bright celestial throng, and catch your notes in the choir among, sweet babes. Thrice happy travelers, how soon your task is o'er, your work is done, how short a race your prize has won, sweet babes. No toil nor care need you bestow to make the flowers of virtue blow, spontaneous in that climb they grow, sweet babes. There, a sown incongenician,

Starting point is 01:20:37 bed, each heavenly blossom rears its head, their blooms, and there is perfected, sweet babes. And can we mourn that God, in love, saw fit so early to remove your spirits to his courts above, sweet babes? In this dark world with dangers fraught, what snares your footsteps might have caught, what woe and ruin sin have wrought, sweet babes. There was a heavenly friend who knew what perils would your path bestrew, and in his arms he sheltered you, sweet babes. From earth's polluted region far, he bade you breathe a pure air. How pure, when God himself is there, sweet babes. Could those who now their couch but do with bitter tears, your glory view, ne'er would they weep again for you, sweet babes. But feel love's earthly tie was

Starting point is 01:21:30 driven only to be forever given a golden link twixt earth and heaven. Sweet babes. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Anticipations by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. We gaily said that when the spring her opening buds and flowers should bring, and happy birds begin to sing, we three would meet. We planned full many a golden hour of bliss within our favorite bower, and never thought a cloud would lower that bliss to o'er-shade. While thus we framed our fairy schemes, adorned with hopes enchanting beams, and smiled at fancy's lovely dreams, and thought them truth. Death saw the visions hope portrayed, the joys on fancy's eye that played, and cast her all the chilling shade of his dark wing. And now the

Starting point is 01:22:32 seen so bright before, for us can never brighten more, hopes fond illusions all are o'er, and fancies dreams. And if we meet in that loved bower, no festive mirth will wing the hour, for every plant and every flower will wake our tears. We'll tell of her who loved to view each varied leaf, each beauteous hue, whose smile such sweet enchantment through or all the scene. When last we lingered late and long, those boonlit woods and bowers among to woo the nightingale sweet song, she shared our joy. Little we thought that when again that bird should pour its plaintive strain, for her its melody in vain, would charm the sense. Little we thought when next the spring sweet flowers and happy birds should bring, those flowers would bloom, those birds would sing around her

Starting point is 01:23:30 grave. But hush, ye sad repinings, cease. Her life was blessed, her death was peace, and now her joys will still increase through endless years. Hers is a fairer world than ours. She walks among unfading bowers, and higher joys and nobler powers to her are given. Indulge no more that rising sigh, turn not again thy tearful eye to that sad spot, where moldering her loved remains. They do but slumber in the dust, while angels guard their sacred trust, till all the bodies of the just in glory rise. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the words uttered by a dying child, speaking of Jesus, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. Sweet child, and was thy savior nigh, and did he close thy dying eye,

Starting point is 01:24:34 and teach that soothing sweet reply, He comforts me? And was thy weary aching head On thy redeemer's bosom laid And sates thou on thy dying bed, He comforts me? Oh, now that thou hast gained that shore Where sin and death have lost their power,

Starting point is 01:24:54 Thou wilt have cause to say no more, He comforts me. The bitterness of death is past. Thy dying anguish was thy last. and then the God whose child thou wast did comfort thee. It is for those who, a sunken woe, lie almost crushed beneath the blow, to seek thy peace thy words bestow, he comforts me. These dying words will prove a balm, thy father's rising grief to calm,

Starting point is 01:25:24 he'll say each sorrow to disarm, he comforts me. Thy mother's woe will be beguiled, she will recall her angel child, and answer in his accents mild, he comforts me. Oh, when they weep upon thy grave and mourn the hopes thy blossom gave, may he who chasens but to save their comfort be. And when their last hour draws nigh, like thee, sweet infant, may they die,

Starting point is 01:25:54 and say with their last fleeting sigh, he comforts me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. on a young friend's illness by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. She does not feel the morning breeze, so sweetly every sense pervading, touched by the blight of wan disease. Her bloom is fading. I see not now that face so dear, that soft blue eye that beam so brightly, nor that young graceful form appear tripping

Starting point is 01:26:31 so lightly. Sweet counsel we were wont to take, forever now on earth suspended, soon, though many hearts will ache, all will be ended. They say that lovely to the last are all her looks, though silent teachers, care, anger, grief no shade have cast over her sweet features. But though so gentle and serene, hers was a thoughtful look, revealing that oft behind this transient scene her mind was stealing. We often feared her earthly date would ne'er be long, Her heart was lowly, and she seemed ready for that state where all is holy. The lily was her emblem flower, so modest, fair and unassuming, concealed within its leafy bower, its home perfuming.

Starting point is 01:27:22 Oh, could I shield it from the cold, and see it bloom a little longer, and watch its silken buds unfold, its stem grow stronger? Alas, the wintry wind so keen has o'er it swept, its leaves are withered, yet safely, by a hand unseen, they will be gathered. Weep not, to heaven's fair climb removed, where wintry winds can reach it never, follow and see this flower beloved blooming forever. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:27:55 This recording is in the public domain. On a restless night in illness by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. My savior, what a bright beam is shed around my dark and suffering bed, though downy slumbers thence have fled, it is thy peace. When the sad fear of future ills my trembling heart with sorrow fills, what balm sweet quietude instills, it is thy peace. When awful thoughts of death's dark hour, like gathering clouds around me lower,

Starting point is 01:28:35 What to dispel them all has power, It is thy peace. When weary night and lonesome day cast mournful shadows o'er my way, what then becomes my staff, my stay, it is thy peace. If suffering be my lot below, Lord, till my tears shall cease to flow, in life, in death, one boon bestow. It is thy peace. And of poem, this recording is in the public domain. On hearing a canary bird sing in London by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne.

Starting point is 01:29:17 I heard a bird singing who's notes were so sweet that I sought to discover its tuneful retreat, a cage hanging near me, I found, was the cell whence the melody rose which had pleased me so well. I looked at the songster, his feathers of gold, the tale of misfortune and banishment told. The orient hue of that plumage so bright belonged to some island of splendor and light. Then I thought of the palm groves, the myrtles, the vines, where the stream ever sparkles, the sun ever shines, where the plantains broad leaves their rich verdure display, and the tufts of the coconut shine in its ray. I pictured the charms of those tropical skies, where the night with the day in

Starting point is 01:30:03 magnificence vies, where new constellations so vividly glow, and the firefly emits its wild flashes below. I pictured the colors far brighter than ours, which adorned the gay insects, the birds and the flowers. And I thought this poor captive, those beauties among, first woke to existence, first warbled his song. Mid the deep shady woods he delighted to sing. On the orange, the tulip tree rested his wing, or soared with bright songsters the morning to hail, where no miss the cerulean firmament veil. Poor chorister, sadly thy lot has been changed, from climate and home and companions estranged, emerged to a surreuthers. Emerd to a city forbid to take wing oh what can induce thee so sweetly to sing not a tree nor fair blossom

Starting point is 01:30:53 refreshes thy sight the dark gloomy buildings obscure the sun's light each sound is discordant around thee and yet thou can't sing even as if thou hadst not to regret which thou teach me the lesson that man may be blessed though lonely his chamber though exiled oppressed if he thankfully cherish the comforts still left, nor grieve for their loss, though of many bereft. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On an infant who lived only a few months by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, there is much to soothe our grief in such a life and death as thine, so pure, so beautiful,

Starting point is 01:31:48 though brief, so free from sin. Or all thine infant features fare there was diffused a heavenly charm. T'was like the look that angels wear, so sweet, so calm. Thou wert not long enough on earth to lose the smile of tranquil love, brought from the country of thy birth, the realms above. Nor could thy transient sufferings here cast o'er thy soul a shade of gloom. She knew the dawn of bliss was near, her heavenly home. and if for a few fleeting days twas thine to feel distress and pain they will but teach thee now to raise a sweeter strain thine earthly life was surely given that thine might be the sweetest claim a mortal's claim to sing in heaven worthy the lamb

Starting point is 01:32:40 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. From a mother to her departed babe, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. Thou art not gone. Thou hast but risen to fairer worlds and left thy prison. Unfettered art thou now, and free, e'en as the thought that follows thee. Thou art not gone, thy form of light still lingers near me veiled from sight, oft with a youthful cherub's love, for me thou leavest thy home above. We cannot part, my soul with thine is linked in such a bond divine, as time can never render weak, as death itself can never break.

Starting point is 01:33:33 Thou art not gone, but when below I differed from thee less than now, my knowledge then exceeded thine, how much thine now surpasses mine. Thou art not gone. thou very near me. Thy angel pity longs to cheer me, methinks I hear thy whisper sweet, ere long my mother we shall meet. Soon, very soon, the clay-built wall which now encircles thee shall fall, then thou shalt see me by thy side, thy happy spirit's angel guide. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Epiteth by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miryan.

Starting point is 01:34:22 The lamb is gathered into that blessed full, where dangers cannot enter, nor alarms. Led by her shepherd, carried in his arms, she passed through earth, scarce tearing to behold the water still, which near her gently rolled on the green pastures decked with flowery charms. But though we thought her sheltered from all harms, this damp terrestrial climate proved too cold. Her shepherd watched her drooping, and meanwhile the everlasting arms were underneath. Cheered by his voice, encouraged by his smile, she reached the dark, unfathomable gulf of death. He hushed its waves. Then to his fold above, wafted its safe o'er the object of his love. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To a bereaved Christian friend

Starting point is 01:35:23 by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Mourner, is thy heart still grieving, secret tears, sad traces leaving, frequent sighs thy bosom heaving. Why dost thou weep? Does thou mourn those gone before thee? Lost is not the love they bore thee. They may now be watching o'er thee. Why dost thou weep? Though thy path on earth be shaded, has not death left uninvaded worlds of bliss and joys unfated? Why dost thou weep? Has not Christ thy sins remitted, will not thy glad soul, when fitted, into heaven be soon admitted? Why dost thou weep? Should the ills of life distress thee? Grief, care, loneliness, depress thee, with the Savior near to bless thee? Why dost thou weep? Ever near to walk beside thee,

Starting point is 01:36:25 near to counsel, guard, and guide thee, say, can any ill be tied thee? Why does that? Why Thou weep. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Written after hearing The Infant Lira by Charlotte Elliott, Ripa Mirian. Where didst thou learn thy science,

Starting point is 01:36:50 wondrous child? Harts thou the morning stars before thy birth? Or, by the music of the spheres, beguiled, lingered thy spirit on her way to earth? Or wert thou, while an infant,

Starting point is 01:37:03 snatched away, by viewless beings, to Titania's land, where fairy concerts neath the moonlight ray awoke the magic of thy tuneful hand. Those tiny notes which suit thy age so well, those soft aerial cadences so sweet, didst thou not learn them in the charmed dell, attuned to fairy songs and fairy feet?

Starting point is 01:37:27 T'was not for thee with patient toil to climb the ascent by slow degrees, which others gain, thy sportive fingers snatched from hoary time the golden key which opes the muses vain. To thee, of right, the poet's lays belong. The star of genius glitters on thy breast, the sons of science, and the sons of song, thy brow with mingled laurels should invest. Thy country's jewel, and thy parents' pride, in each admirer thou must meet a friend. In envy lays his poisonous shafts aside, a nation's flattering smiles thy chorus attend. yet even while thy music charmed my ear, I looked with anxious thoughts, sweet child, on thee.

Starting point is 01:38:13 Thou breathes a heated, dangerous atmosphere, and full of snares thy flowery path must be. Me thought, though now the scene appear so gay, and listening crowds admire thy tuneful skill, ere long life's pageant will have passed away, thy heart be silent, and thy hand be still, then what will it avail thee to have won the brilliant prize of transitory fame unless a nobler treasure be thine own, unless a brighter record bear thy name? Who gave the graceful form, the gifted mind, the glow of health thy blooming features wear, that strength of memory, and that ear refined, all tokens of celestial love and care? One who has larger bounties to bestow.

Starting point is 01:38:59 joys powers untasted in a world like this powers thou mayest gain and joys thy soul may know in worlds of perfect harmony and bliss if thy heart kindle with that saviour's love all hail the mysteries heavenly truth displays then shall thy golden harp in realms above be ever tuned to thy redeemer's praise End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Prayer for the consecration of talent by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. Omniscient Savior. Glorious power. Who daintest on man rich gifts to shower.

Starting point is 01:39:45 May art and science grateful bring to thee each various offering. May genius lay his starry crown before thy footstool humbly down, and every high-born faculty be stamped with holiness to thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Pilgrim by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. I am a passing stranger here, a traveler hastening on through scenes which quickly disappear. Even while I gaze, they're gone.

Starting point is 01:40:23 This gay and busy world would strive my footsteps to detain, but the poor pleasures she can give are transient all and vain. Oh, there's a different world above, on which I fix my eye, a world of happiness and love, of truth and purity. Admitted there I fain would be, thither my steps I turn, Eden now, far off, its light I see, its glories I discern. In now I almost seem to hear the voice of many a friend once loved on earth, rejoicing there, who o'er me fondly bend. And thus, With one accord, they cry, O, linger not below,

Starting point is 01:41:06 Turn from that world thine heart, thine eye. Then thou our bliss shalt know. Then once again, vain world, to thee I bid a long farewell. In heart a pilgrim I will be, till there with them I dwell. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To a mother, on the death of a child of great promise by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne.

Starting point is 01:41:38 He cometh up and is cut down like a flower. Like a flower, she rose to view, sweet in fragrance, fair in hue, not as yet unfolded quite, therefore lovelier to the sight. Like a flower, she graced the spot where was cast her early lot, and wherever she appeared, smiles were wakened, hearts were cheered. Like a flower, she blossomed, sweet in a sheltered, loved retreat, twas a bank of mossy green, where a thorn was scarcely seen. Like a flower, she nothing knew of the world in which she grew, but the blessings it bestows, shielded from its cares and woes. Like a flower cut down at noon, she has faded. Ah, how soon. And the place she decked before, knows her now, alas, no more. Like a flower, can

Starting point is 01:42:35 concealed a while, till perennial summer smile, that fair germ which sleeps below an immortal flower shall blow. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To a mother, bereaved of her only daughter, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne, she is gone, and thou art left through a lonely life to sigh. But though stricken, crushed, bereft, turn to what is bright thine eye. All her transient day of life in unselly bliss went by, free from sorrow, care, and strife, turn to what is bright thine eye. Peace and gladness at her side, piety, sweet guardian, nigh, playmates she had none beside, turn to what is bright thine eye. In the blossom was transplanted, T'was prepared to bloom on high,

Starting point is 01:43:41 Could a lot more blessed be granted? Turn to what is bright thine eye. Or the past thy mind may rove, Even as bees or flowery beds fly, Fragrant every thought will prove, Turn to what is bright thine eye. Nair will now her future lot, Anxious cares or fears supply,

Starting point is 01:44:03 Blessed beyond thine utmost thought, Turn to what is bright thine eye. I. Scarce could more on earth be given. What in heaven will God deny? View, oh, view thy child in heaven. Turn to what is bright, thine eye. And of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To Faith, written in illness by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Come, Holy Faith. Beside me stand, with look inspired, with eye serene. Unfold the bright celestial land, the world unseen. Pleasant was once the earth's pure air,

Starting point is 01:44:52 with rapture on its scenes I gazed, yet not to him who made them fair my heart was raised. Even by the beauty of his works, that heart too oft was led astray. Such danger unsuspected lurks in pleasure's way. But now those charms no more delight. Earth's beauty's face is hid from me. Still, holy faith, in thy pure light much I may see.

Starting point is 01:45:21 I shall not sigh to breathe the gale, perfumed with buds and flowers of spring, if thy pure ray heaven's scenes unveil, and near me bring. A brighter sun will cheer my sky, and make in this dark chamber sweet, than air in crimsoned canopy has risen or set, and sounds more blessed than song of bird, or rills and whispering bows in part, shall in the silent room be heard and cheer my heart. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:45:52 This recording is in the public domain. Have I not remembered thee on my bed? By Charlotte Elliott, Ripa Mirian. There are refreshments sweeter far than sleep, though its soft power might gladly close, the vigils I now keep from hour to hour, and hush these vain imaginings to rest, which silence in my heart its dearest guest. Oh, I have heard his voice, his voice of love,

Starting point is 01:46:29 in the still night, sweet as the songs from seraph harps above, tranced in delight. It haunts my memory, lives within my heart, and makes me long, yea, languished to depart. those who have heard it once can therefore get that voice divine. With it compared earth's accents are not sweet. My God, I pine an inmate in those palaces to be where I shall hear it through eternity. Then I shall ne'er be harassed by the din of earthly thought. All will be holy and serene within. My spirit fraught with deepest reverence, with intense desire, will listen to the that voice and never tire. End of poem. This recording's in the public domain. To one whose mind was disordered by grief, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Mirrienne. Mourner, Thy spirit was too finely

Starting point is 01:47:34 strung for the rude climate of a world like this, and while it breathed its notes of love and bliss on which the listener's ear delighted hung, and deemed that such to heavenly harps are sung, too suddenly did that sweet music cease. Some angry blast the slender chords had rung and changed its notes to murmurs of distress. Mourner, that dulcid instrument was framed to breathe its music in a happier climb. There shall its heaven-taught language be reclaimed,

Starting point is 01:48:07 though broken now and tuneless for a time. Strings of new power and sweetness shall be lent, where no rough blast can o'er its chords be seen. sent. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Widowed Heart by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Is thine a widowed heart?

Starting point is 01:48:35 Has life lost all its zest? Fills thou there is not a hope for thee, but following swiftly, silently, to share thy loved one's rest? All, all alone, thy griefs unknown, dost thou almost lament that light on on thee ere shone? Poor, bleeding, widowed heart, thy wound is deep indeed. Through the wide world no search can find balm for that wound, nor power to bind. Still must it throb and bleed. Friends pitying mourn, then sadly turn to hide their fruitless tears and looks that o'er the yearn. Alas, poor widowed heart, what sorrows press on thee?

Starting point is 01:49:22 Each object that now meets thine eye, Each hour that wearily goes by, Remembrancers will be of joys all fled, And smiles that shed bliss or that rifled heart, Where all but grief seems dead. Eden if thou widowed heart, Joy should approach thee now, If midst the waist so dark and drear,

Starting point is 01:49:46 One yet unblighted flower appear, One smile illumine thy brow, Who will behold that smile, or fold thy now neglected form, its sheltering arms are cold. Alas, poor widowed heart, no grief dost thou express, no human eye beholds thy tears, no ear thy sob of anguish hears, in utter loneliness, calm, nay serene, midst anguish keen, thy bosom's hidden wound by God alone is seen. Alas, poor widowed heart, the charms of infant, glee, thy little one's unconscious smiles, their prattled words and artless wiles, wake only grief in

Starting point is 01:50:29 thee. The eye they blessed, the lips they pressed, on them no longer beams, by them is not caressed. Alas, poor widowed heart, what now will be thy stay? The staff thou long hast lent upon, thy guide, thy counsellor, is gone, forever torn away, each link unbound. which clasped thee round. No helpmeet now for thee, left desolate, is found. For thee, poor widowed heart, in vain sweet spring returns, the charm of vernal songs and flowers, the joys reviving nature showers, touch not the heart that mourns, or touch it so, as wakes fresh woe for one all darkly laid that blooming earth below. Yet still, poor widowed heart, though desolate and sad, the thought thy loved one ne'er can know thine own unutterable woe almost might make thee glad. The blessed deplore

Starting point is 01:51:33 earth's griefs no more, and though thy joys are fled, thy loved one's griefs are o'er. Poor, broken, widowed heart, no longer hide thy pain. Earth yields no cure. Earth yields no cure. but heaven has given a balm for hearts bereft and riven, a balm near tried in vain, that volume bright, where beams of light, illumine eternal words, reveals it to thy sight. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Thy will be done by Charlotte Elliott, right by Marianne. My God and Father, while I stray far from my home, in life's rough way, O, teach me from my heart to say,

Starting point is 01:52:25 Thy will be done. Though dark my path and sad my lot, let me be still and murmur not. Or breathe the prayer divinely taught, Thy will be done. What though in lonely grief I sigh, For friends beloved, no longer nigh, submissive still would I reply,

Starting point is 01:52:45 Thy will be done. Thou hast called me to resign what most I prized, it ne'er was mine. I have but yielded what was thine. Thy will be done. Should grief or sickness waste away my life in premature decay, my father, still I'll strive to say, thy will be done. Let but my fainting heart be blessed, with thy sweet spirit for its guest. My God, to thee I leave the rest. Thy will be done. renew my will from day to day, blend it with thine, and take away all that now makes it hard to say, Thy will be done.

Starting point is 01:53:27 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Prayer to the Savior by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. O Holy Savior, friend unseen. The faint, the weak on thee may lean. Help me throughout life's varying scene by a hymn. faith to cling to thee. Blessed with communion so divine, take what thou wilt, I'll ne'er repine, e'en as the branches to the vine my soul would cling to thee. Far from her home, fatigued, oppressed.

Starting point is 01:54:08 Here she has found a place of rest, an exile still, yet not unblessed, while she can cling to thee. Without a murmur I dismiss my former dreams of earthly bliss. My joy, my consolation, this, each hour to cling to thee. What though the world deceitful prove, and earthly friends and joys remove, with patient, uncomplaining love, still would I cling to thee. Often when I seem to tread alone some barren waste with thorns or groan, a voice of love in gentlest tone whispers, still cling to me. Though faith and hope a while be tried, I ask not, need not aught beside. How safe, how calm, how satisfied the soul that clings to thee. They fear not life's rough storms to brave, since thou art near and strong to save, nor shudder in at death's dark wave

Starting point is 01:55:04 because they cling to thee. Blessed is my lot whate'er befall, what can disturb me, who appal, while, as my strength, my rock, my all, saviour, I cling to thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the midnight preceding Good Friday by Charlotte Eliot, read by Marianne. Oh, my Redeemer, can I sleep with heart at ease, with spirit's light, when thou for me such watch didst keep on this sad night? Shall I not watch with thee one hour, and strive by impotuning prayer through faith and love's constraining power thy griefs to share? This night there fell on thee the shock, by thine omniscience long foreseen, of treachery midst thy little flock, yet thou serene, with words of holiest tenderness,

Starting point is 01:56:06 didst only strive their grief to calm, their fainting hearts to soothe and bless with heavenly balm. Oh, what a Passover they shared. Nor them alone didst thou include, for us that feast was then prepared, face mystic food. The rich refreshments then bestowed, Endowed with undecaying power, Have nourished the whole Church of God into this hour. Thence would I follow thee, in thought, to that lone spot so dark for thee. For us with light and gladness fraught, Gassimony. Thy unknown anguish suffered there, thy soul's dismay, the wrath of God,

Starting point is 01:56:49 all were endured that we might share thy bright abode. How can I choose but weep and wake, when such a night my God was thine? Thou all the penalty didst take. The guilt was mine. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Ark by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. When the waters rose high o'er the earth and prevailed.

Starting point is 01:57:23 When the hills were all buried, the mountaintops veiled, the ark, born on high, in tranquillity sailed, unhurt midst the terrible scene. The Avengers dread wrath in dark majesty frowned or the wreck of the world as it floated around. Of its beauty, its glory, no vestige was found, but the ark remained safe and serene. There are those or whom such a deluge has passed, as at once laid the scene at their happiness waste, till at length, or the wreck, which alone could be traced, desolation frowned dark and severe. But a vessel was seen riding high o'er the wave, where a refuge was found the poor outcast to save.

Starting point is 01:58:10 Now the tempests may gather, the ocean may rave, to that ark comes no danger nor fear. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Be not faithless, but believing. By Charlotte Elliott. Read by Miriam. O, faint and feeble-hearted, why thus cast down with fear? Fresh aid shall be imparted.

Starting point is 01:58:40 Thy God unseen is near. His eye can never slumber. He marks thy cruel foes, observes their strength, their number, and all thy weakness knows. Though heavy clouds of sorrow make dark thy path to-day, there may shine forth to-morrow once more a cheering ray. doubts, griefs, and foes assailing, conceal heaven's fair abode, yet now face power prevailing, should stay thy mind on God. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:59:14 This recording is in the public domain. Written for one not likely to recover. Leaning on her beloved. By Charlotte Elliott. Read by Marianne. Leaning on thee, my guide, my friend, my gracious savior, I am blessed. though weary, thou dost condescend to be my rest. Leaning on thee, this darkened room is cheered by a celestial ray. Thy pitying smile dispels the gloom, turns night to day. Leaning on thee,

Starting point is 01:59:52 my soul retires from earthly thoughts and earthly things. On thee concentrates her desires, to thee she clings. Leaning on thee, with childlike faith, to thee the future I confide, each step of life's untrodden path thy love will guide. Leaning on thee, I breathe no moan, though faint with languor, parched with heat. Thy will has now become my own. That will is sweet. Leaning on thee, midstorturing pain, with patience thou my soul thus fill, thou whisperest, what did I sustain? Then I am still. Leaning on thee, I do not dread the havoc, slow disease may make, thou, who for me thy blood

Starting point is 02:00:39 has shed, wilt ne'er forsake. Leaning on thee, though faint and weak, too weak another voice to hear, the heavenly accents comfort speak, be of good cheer. Leaning on thee, no fear alarms, calmly I stand on death's dark brink, I feel the everlasting arms, I cannot sink. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To one deprived of hearing at church by deafness, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam.

Starting point is 02:01:19 O Christian, though thine outward man decay, and silence guard the ears once echoing cell, yet thou canst calmly feel that all is well, and chase desponding murmuring thoughts away, for, kindled in thy soul, there shines that ray which care and fear and sadness can dispel, and she, serene, though poorly lodged, can dwell renewed and perfected from day to day. What though on this the Sabbath's holy rest, the external ear insensible may be, let not the sigh of sorrow heave thy breast, since God, thy God, in

Starting point is 02:01:58 communing with thee, asks less the listening ear than listening heart, and there his sweetest comforts will impart. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Return unto thy rest, O my soul, by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Oh, when the exile views his home,

Starting point is 02:02:26 the banished child his father's face, the traveler long condemned to Rome, his native fields, his resting place, what sweet emotions fill the mind, what joy, what blessedness they feel. My God, these joys are all combined when at the mercy seat I kneel. Thou art my dwelling place, my rest, my father, in whose smile I live, all I desire to make me blessed, that smile alone can amply give.

Starting point is 02:02:57 No longer now my thoughts I waste on earthly things once loved by me, far sweeter, pure joys I taste, my God, in communing with thee. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the anniversary of a friend's death by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. The slow and melancholy year at length brings back the mournful day, which called thee to yon upper sphere and took thee from our arms away. It could not take thee from my heart, no, there are bonds too firmly tied to yield to death's relentless dart, even though it sever all beside. And I have followed thee in thought from month to month,

Starting point is 02:03:48 from day to day, while fond imagination sought to track the soul's untravelled way. My heart has often returned to thee since thou hast gained thy home above, then e'en when thou wert want to be the object of my earthly love. Perchance I should not know thee now, clothed in thy angel robes of light, but still my thoughts, though poor and low, picture thee often to my sight. I know not what thy joys have been, through the long months I've wept for thee, what thou hast heard and felt and seen

Starting point is 02:04:25 the wonders of eternity. But this I know, thou art fully blessed. Thy frame is glorious and divine. God's holy image is impressed, his beatific vision thine. Then, till the few infleeting years which now divide us shall be o'er, these thoughts shall check myself,

Starting point is 02:04:45 tears, and bid me weep for thee no more. And a poem, this recording is in the public domain. All things are become new by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. O heavenly traveller, hastening from scenes where naught is lasting, its glimmering lamps all wasting, earth darkens on thy view, while now the world forsaking, the pilgrim's path thou art taking, what light around the breaking makes every object new. When earthly joys have faded and when, by grief invaded,

Starting point is 02:05:28 those spots are all o'er shaded, once bright in life's fair morn, then beams from heaven descending, with each dark shadow blending, a lovely or radiance lending, the Christian's path adorn. Nor fear to lose their shining, like earth's poor stars declining. No, more. yet more refining this light will bless thy way, or hill and valley streaming, or dust-dark river beaming, the dawn, progressive seeming of heaven's eternal day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To one who had lost an only sister,

Starting point is 02:06:14 by Charlotte Elliott, read by Miriam. She is in heaven. That thought alone should chase the grief which clouds thy brow, twas said from her Redeemer's throne, Into my joy now enter thou. She is in heaven, how sweet the phrase, yet it's high import who can tell. Here like a glimmering beam it plays, of light, of joy ineffable. She is in heaven, lest earthly love so sweet, so strong as hers and thine, to both might too attractive prove, stealing the place of love divine. She is in heaven, to form a link between thy heart and worlds unseen, that there, where nature's powers must sink, face holier virtue may be seen. She is in heaven, that thou mayest waste no thought, no care on earthly things, but travel with an angel's haste and soar as on an angel's

Starting point is 02:07:13 wings. She is in heaven, that thou, like her, mayest shine with pure and steadfast light, attract their eye whose footsteps air and guide their wandering feet aright. She is in heaven, but still unseen, with hers thy notes of praise may blend, on the same rock thy soul may lean to the same center hourly tend. She is in heaven, that thou mayest prove how blessed the Christian's darkest lot. Earth's joys may fail, earth props remove, but God, thy portion changes not. She is in heaven. When thou art faint and wouldst thy weary race were run, think that the voice of that loved saint whispers, the prize will soon be won. She is in heaven, has crossed, ere noon,

Starting point is 02:08:04 the stream which bounds the eternal land. And wilt thou not rejoin her soon? Yes, though till eve thou wading stand. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Him for a Dying Bed By Charlotte Elliott Read by Marianne While ceaseless love and ceaseless care By all are fondly shoon A voice within me cries

Starting point is 02:08:35 Beware, for thou must die alone That solemn hour is come for me Though I their sweetness own When human ties resigned must be For I must die alone Trust your converse now is o'er My work on earth is done and I must tread the eternal shore, and I must die alone. But, oh, I view not now with dread that

Starting point is 02:09:00 shadowy veil unknown. I see a light within it shed. I shall not die alone. One will be with me there, whose voice I long have loved and known. To die is now my wish, my choice. I shall not die alone. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Prayer for a departing spirit by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. Father, when thy child is dying, on the bed of anguish lying, then my every want supplying, to me thy love display. Let me willingly surrender life to thee, its gracious lender. Can I find a friend more tender? Why should I wish to stay? Ere my pulse has ceased its beating, ere my son has reached

Starting point is 02:09:57 its setting, let me, some blessed truth repeating, shed round one parting ray. Ere my soul her bonds have broken, grant some bright and cheering token, that for me the words are spoken, thy sins are washed away. If the powers of hell surround me, let not their assaults confound me, all for which thy law once bound me, thyself has deigned to pay. When, though tender friends are near me, they are cut. Kind pity cannot cheer me, and they strive in vain to hear me, turn not thy face away. When each well-known face concealing, death's dark shade or awe is stealing, then thy gracious smile revealing, unfold eternal day.

Starting point is 02:10:44 When the lips are mute which blessed me, and withdrawn the hand that pressed me, then let sweeter sounds arrest me, calling my soul away. When, in silent awe suspended, those who long my couch have tended, weeping, wished that all were ended, O hear them when they pray. When the last sharp pangs oppress me, or benumbing chills distress me, let a quiet sigh release me from this poor house of clay. When my soul no path discovering, or my lifeless form is hovering, then, with wings of mercy covering, be thou thyself my way.

Starting point is 02:11:27 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Hymn of the Emancipated Soul by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne. O wondrous glories. Beatific change. Is this the hour of which, through groundless terrors, fancies strange, I feared the power? Had I then seen what death alone brings nigh? my dread had been to live and not to die. Tis well the imprisoned soul can ne'er conceive the boundless

Starting point is 02:12:06 bliss, beyond what hope could picture, faith believe, of life like this. Earth's accents falter, thoughts within me burn to tell which heaven's own language I must learn. That wall opaque, forever broken down, veiled from my sight forms, beauties, glories, mysteries unknown, scenes of delight which now entrance me, while my quickened soul, all eye, ear, feeling, sense, can grasp the whole. Ye radiant spirits, while with smiles of love ye share my joy, is it to welcome me to realms above, ye deign to employ harps which breathe round such thrilling melody, to hear them only once, twere well to die?

Starting point is 02:12:55 oft while I wandered in yon earthly veil, and upward gazed, I longed your forms, your golden harps, to hail, but now amazed, I feel no mortal fabric could sustain such sights, such sounds, to die indeed is gain. Yet this is but the dawn of heaven's bright day. What will it be, there where his glory shines with cloudless ray, that God to see, who pours through all my soul this gushing tide of joy unspeakable and glorified. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Closing Sonnet by Charlotte Elliott, read by Marianne.

Starting point is 02:13:48 Thou who all seasons rulest, and canst bless dark sorrows winter and joys summer bright, whose smile preserves our life's sweet flowers from blight, and gives its richest bloom to happiness. that smile sheds radiance in or distress, and if it beam those winter flowers to bless, and make their hues refreshing to the sight of those whom this world's flowers no more delight, the gatherer's heart will glow with thankfulness. I place them on thy shrine to bloom or fade, as it may please thee, worthless at the best. Still by this offering love may be expressed,

Starting point is 02:14:31 which thinks on griefs it vainly longs to aid. Oh, should they cheer one sufferer, one alone, thine be the glory, all the praise thine own. The end. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. And end of hours of sorrow, or thoughts in verse, chiefly adapted to seasons of sickness, depression, and bereavement,

Starting point is 02:15:00 by Charlotte Elliott

Classic Audiobook Collection - Hours of Sorrow by Charlotte Elliott ~ Full Audiobook [religion]

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