A lake of still water encompass’d by hills,
In secret sustain’d by their nourishing rills,
Reflecting the skies on its motionless breast,
Oh! what a pure picture of calmness and rest.
How like to the soul that’s abiding in Christ,
The conscience made clean, and the bosom sufficed,
Reposing by faith in the arms of His love,
And proving the peace of His presence above.
How graceful the ripples which zephyrs awake,
As softly they breathe o’er the peace-loving lake;
So calm in its depths, and so pure in its springs,
It smiles with delight, and with melody sings.
And so with the saint who knows Christ as his peace,
His joy in the Lord doth abound and increase,
Not loud and protesting, but full and profound,
Sustaining the heart, though subdued in its sound.
But soon may the lake be arous’d by a storm,
And boisterous billows its beauty deform,
The skies, which it mirror’d, reflecting no more,
Its calmness exchang’d for tempestuous roar.
Alas, too, how quickly may passions arise,
The heart, off its guard, in a moment surprise;
Oh! then, what a tempest is stirr’d in the soul,
As wild and o’erwhelming as billows that roll.
But He, who the waves could subdue with a word,
As some on the Lake of Tiberias heard,
The tumults which rage in the bosom can still,
And with peace in Himself that same bosom refill.
T.