JOY.
Reading edition
Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore.—Psalm xvi. 11.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.—Psalm xxx. 5.
And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.—John, xvi. 22.
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, The soul’s calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy. Pope.
A Deity believed, is joy begun; A Deity adored, is joy advanced; A Deity beloved, is joy matured. Each branch of piety delight inspires. Young.
Words of eternal truth proclaim All mortal joys are vain; A diamond pen engraves the theme Upon a mortal pane. Watts.
When on some balmy-breathing night of spring The happy child to whom the world is new, Pursues the evening moth of mealy wing, Or from the heath-bell shakes the sparkling dew, He sees before his inexperienced eyes, The brilliant glow-worm like a meteor shine On the turf-bank, surprised, and pleased, he cries “Star of the dewy grass! I make thee mine.” Then, ere he sleeps, collects the moistened flower, And bids soft leaves his glittering prize unfold, And dreams that fairy lamps illume his bower; But in the morning shudders to behold His shining treasure viewless as the dust; So fade the world’s bright joys to cold and blank disgust. Charlotte Smith.
I see a forest, dark, dim, deep, and dread, Whose solemn shades no human foot or eye Can penetrate; but now, oh see! a veil Falls from my strengthened eyes; and now Even in its deepest centre I behold A spot more beautiful than human heart Can comprehend; it is the home of Joy, And there the blessed spirit broods for ever, Making her dwelling-place a heaven: there The skies are pure as crystal, and the eye Looks through their clear expanse direct to God. No sun is there; the air itself is light And life; a rainbow spans it like a crown Of tearless glory, and the forest trees Sweep round it in a belt of living green. Colour, that wayward sprite of changeful mien, Is here subdued to an intensity Of burning lustre. Sound has but one voice, And that joyous song; sight but one object, And that is happiness; mine eyes are strained To catch the lineaments of the bright queen, Whose dwelling-place I see; but ’tis in vain; Nowhere distinct, yet felt in all, she glides, A shape of light and colour through the air, Making its pure transparency to thrill With the soft music of her viewless step. C. L. Reddel.
Christ had His joys—but they were not The joys the son of pleasure boasts— O, no! ’twas when His Spirit sought Thy will, Thy glory, God of hosts! Christ had His joys—and so hath he, Who feels His Spirit in his heart; Who yields, O God, his all to Thee, And loves Thy name, for what thou art! Anon.
Joy dwells not in external things, It hath an inner birth; The sweetest bird in darkness sings, And fairest flowers oft nurture stings,— Such is our life on earth. Then measure not by outward show The depth of real joy; The heart can o’er the darkest woe A stream of sunlight softly throw, Or purest bliss destroy. W. J. Brock.