June 1876.  During a visit to her brother Frank, at Upton Bishop Vicarage, she was much interested in his schools and cottages.  Every day she went about from house to house, reading the Bible and telling in simple words of God’s love in sending Jesus Christ to save sinners.
   In one instance, at a garden party, my sister’s happy face attracted a young stranger, so that she sought conversation with her.  Often have I been told:  “F. R. H. looks so really happy, she must have something we have not.”  (With the utmost skill, no artist or photograph gives a real idea of her lighted up expression.  Is it because soul cannot be represented any more than a sunbeam?)  And my pen fails, too, in giving an idea to strangers of her sunny ways, merrily playing with children, and heartily enjoying all things.  But her deep sympathy with others’ joys and sorrows, and her loyal longings that all should know the “joy unspeakable and full of glory,” were the secret of her influence with others.
   I may mention that her singing from Handel’s “Messiah,” accompanying herself on her brother’s organ, after service on her last Sunday evening at Upton Bishop, will long be remembered by all who heard.  The old parish clerk remarked, “I never heard the like of that before.”

M. V. G. H. (Maria Vernon Graham Havergal, her sister) from MEMORIALS OF FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL

“Rest in (‘Be silent to’) the Lord.”–PSALM 37:7

. . .we may be silent to the Lord.  Just because we know He loves us so really and understands us so thoroughly!  There is no need when very weary, bodily or mentally, or both, to force ourselves to entertain Him, so to speak; to go through a sort of duty-work of a certain amount of uttered words or arranged thoughts.  That might be if He were only to us as a wayfaring man that turneth aside to tarry for a night, but not with the beloved and Gracious One who has come in to abide with us, and is always there!  If this is His relation to us, there is no fear but what there will be, at other times, plenty of intercourse; but now, when we are “so tired,” we may just be silent to Him, instead of speaking to Him.
   This is one of the expressions which are exclusively used concerning the things of God.  There is no such thing as being silent to anyone else.  Silent with a mortal friend, but never silent to any but the Immortal One.  Though it has its earthly analogy, it is not identically the  same.  For none but our Lord can interpret the unseen pulsings of that which to human ken is only silence.  He hears the music they are measuring out before Him.  He takes the confidence of that hush at its full value of golden love.  He sees the soul’s attitude of devotion and faith through the shadows which hide it from itself.
   Sometimes He takes the opportunity of our silence to speak Himself.   He answers it “with good words and comfortable words.”  And do we not know that one such word from Him is more than anything else, worth ten thousand-fold all the weariness or exhaustion of pain which brought us to be silent!
   But sometimes He answers silence with silence.  What then?  Are we to conclude that He is gone away, or is not thinking about us, forgetting to be gracious?  We are judging Him as He would not judge us.  He did not put such an interpretation on our silence; then why should we on His?  Let us take His interpretation of it; surely we should believe that He himself asserts!  “He will be silent in His love” (Zeph. 3:17).  Can any words be more beautiful!  It is as if He, even He, who made man’s mouth, had made no words which could express His exceeding great love, and therefore He could only expand it in the silence which lies above and below and beyond all language.  When we have said, as very likely we have often done, “Why art Thou silent unto me, O Lord?”  why did we not take His own exquisite answer, and trust the love that was veiled in the silence?  For whenever we can say, “Truly my soul waiteth upon (Heb. is silent to) God,” we may rest assured that any apparent waiting on His part is only “that He may be gracious,” yes, “very gracious unto thee.”
   We may be sure He has many things to say to us, when He sees we can bear them.  But till His time to speak is come, let our silence of trust respond to His silence of love.

Frances Ridley Havergal from STARLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS

“Cherisheth it.”–EPHESIANS 5:29

. . .think how “a nurse cherisheth her children” (I Thessalonians 2:7).  That is, a “gentle” and wise one.  How the little ailments are watched and attended to; how the little weary heads are laid on her shoulders and stroked to sleep; how the little meals are regulated and given; never forgotten,–who ever heard of such a thing!  How the little garments are kept clean and comfortable, changed and mended, as need may be.  How the nursery fire is looked after (while all the while the guard is kept on the bars), so that the room should not be too hot or too cold.  How the little bodies are cared for and loved every inch, even the little fingers and toes!  How the little fancies are borne with and entered into, not unheeded or scorned; and the sillly little questions patiently answered, and the baby lessons taught, and the small tempers managed, and checked, and forgiven!  That is cherishing.  Need we trace its close resemblence to the dealings of our infinitely patient and gentle Lord?

Then think of the still higher and closer cherishing. . .of the Lord’s love and care and thought for you.  What could He say more?  For even thus the Lord cherisheth you,–He gives you His name to bear as your honour, and His very heart to dwell in as the home of your soul.  He gives you the right of constant access, the right of continual dwelling in His presence.  He makes you partaker of His very nature, joining you unto Himself, not only in a perpetual covenant, but as “one spirit” with Him.  He pays all your debts, and now all your wants lie upon Him, and these wants are each and all forseen and provided for, and supplied with untiring love.  He knows in an instant when you are weary or ailing, whether in body or spirit, and knows how to speak the right word for either, speaking verily to your heart,–knows, too, when to be silent for a little while.  His cherishing goes on night and day. . .this life-long manifestation of love. . .that we may see face to face, and know even as you are known.  His care over you will then be exchanged for perfect joy over you.

     “From glory unto glory.”  Though tribulation fall,
     It cannot touch our treasure when Christ is all in all!
     Whatever lies before us, there can be nought to fear,
     For what are pain and sorrow when Jesus Christ is near?”

Frances Ridley Havergal from STARLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS

‘Come unto Me.’–MATT. 11:28

WHAT kind, sweet words for your pillow to-night!   Jesus says them to you. 
   ‘How am I to know?’ Well, they are for every one that is weary and heavy laden.  Do not you know what it is to be weary and tired sometimes?  Perhaps you know what it is to feel almost tired of trying to be good–weary with wishing you could be better.  So, you see, it is to you that He says ‘Come!’
   And if you have not yet come, you are heavy laden too, even if you do not feel it; because the burden of sin is heavy enough to sink you down into hell, unless Jesus takes it from you.  So it is to you that He says ‘Come!’ 
   And lest you should think He says it to grown-up people only, He said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me.’  Are you a little child?  Then it is to you that He says ‘Come!’ 
   ’If He were here, and if I could see Him, I should like to come.’  He is here, as really and truly as you are.  Suppose your mother and you were in a dark room together, and she said, ‘Come to me!’  you would not stop to say, ’I would come if I could see you.’  You would say, ‘I am coming, mother!’ and you would soon feel your way across the room, and be safe by her side.  Not seeing her would not make any difference.   
   Jesus calls you now, this very night.  He is here, in this very room.  Now, will you say, ‘I am coming, Lord Jesus!’ and ask Him to stretch out His hand and help you to come, and draw you quite close to Himself?
   Yes, to Himself, the blessed, beloved Lord Jesus, who loved you and gave Himself for you, who has waited so patiently for you, who calls you because He wants you to come and be His own little lamb, and be taken up in his arms and blessed.  Will you keep Him waiting any longer?  Will you not ‘come’? 

   ‘Will you not come to Him for life?
      Why will you die, oh why?
   He gave His life for you, for you!
   The gift is free, the word is true!
      Will ye not come?  Oh why will ye die?’

Frances Ridley Havergal from LITTLE PILLOWS

‘I have loved you, saith the Lord.’–MAL. 1:2

IS not this a sweet pillow to rest upon to-night?  But a pillow is of no use if you only look at it; that does not rest you.  You must lay your head down upon it, and then you rest.  So, do not only think, ‘Yes, that is a very nice text;’  but believe it, and lay your heart down restfully upon it; and say, ‘Yes, He loves me!’
   How different these words are from what we should have expected!  We should have expected God to say, ‘I will love you, if you will love me.’  But no!  He says, ‘I have loved you.’  Yes, He has loved you already, poor little restless heart, that wants to be loved!  He loves you now, and will love you always.
   But you say, ‘I wish I knew whether He loves me!’  Why, He tells you so; and what could He say more?  There it stands–’I have loved you, saith the Lord.’  It is TRUE, and you need only believe it, and be glad of it, and tell Him how glad you are that He loves you.
   But you say, ‘Yes, I know He loves good people; but I am so naughty!’  Then He has a special word for you:  ‘God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’  He says nothing about ‘good people,’ but tells you that He loved you so much, while you were naughty, that He has sent the Lord Jesus, His own dear, dear Son, to die for you.  Could He do more than that?
   He says in the same verse (Mal. 1.2), ‘Yet ye say, Wherein hast Thou loved us?’  Wherein?  O herein!  not that you loved God, but that He loved you, and sent His Son to suffer instead of you. 
   When you lie down, think how many answers you can find to that question, ‘Wherein hast Thou loved us?’  See how man proofs of His love you can count up; and then go to sleep on this soft, safe pillow, ‘I have loved you, saith the Lord!’

   ‘I am so glad that our Father in heaven
   Tells of His love in the book He has given;
   Wonderful things in the Bible I see:
   This is the dearest, that Jesus loves me.

   ‘Oh, if there’s only one song I can sing,
   When in His beauty I see the great King;
   This shall my song in eternity be,
   “Oh, what a wonder, that Jesus loves me!”‘

Frances Ridley Havergal from LITTLE PILLOWS

‘A new heart also will I give you.’–EZEK. 36:26

WHY does God promise this?  Because our old hearts are so evil that they cannot be made any better; and so nothing will do any good but giving us a quite new heart.
   Because we cannot make a new heart for ourselves; the more we try, the more we shall find we cannot do it; so God, in His great pity and kindness, says He will give it us.
   Because unless we have a new heart we cannot enter the kingdom of God, we cannot even see it!  Without this gift we must be left outside in the terrible darkness when ‘the door is shut.’
   What is the difference?  The old heart likes to be naughty in some way or other; either it likes to be idle, or it likes to let out sharp words, or to go on being sulky or fretful instead of clearing up and saying, ‘I am sorry!’  The new heart wants to be good; and is grieved when a temptation comes, and does not wish to yield to it; and would like to be always pleasing the Saviour.
   The old heart is afraid of God, and does not love Him, and would much rather He were not always seeing us.  And it does not care to hear about Jesus, but would rather be just let alone.  The new heart loves God and trusts what He says, and likes to know that He is always watching it.  And it is glad to hear about Jesus, and wants to come closer to Him.
   The old heart is a little slave of Satan, taking his orders, and doing what he wishes.  The new heart is a happy little servant of Christ, listening to His orders, and doing what He wishes.
   Oh, how happy and blessed to have this new heart!  All God’s own children receive it, for He has said, ‘I will give them one heart’;  that is, all the same new heart.  Do you not want to have it too?  Then ‘ask, and you shall receive’; for He hath said, ‘A new heart also will I give you!’

     ‘Oh for a heart to praise my God,
        A heart from sin set free!
     A heart that always feels Thy blood,
        So freely shed for me.

     A heart resigned, submissive, meek,
        My dear Redeemer’s throne;
     Where only Christ is heard to speak,
        Where Jesus reigns alone.’

Frances Ridley Havergal from MORNING BELLS, Fourteenth Day

FAR off upon a western shore,
   Where wildest billows roam,
Beaneath the great grim rocks there stands
   A tiny cabin home;

And in it dwells a little one,
   With eyes of laughing blue,
And lips as red as any rose
   With early sparkling dew.

Her father was a fisher, and
   Went out with every tide,
While Norah sat and watched alone
   By her sick mother’s side.

It was a weary thing to sit
For many a long, long day,
Without a ramble on the beach,
   Or e’en a thought of play;

But Norah did not think it hard,
   She loved her mother so,
And in a thousand ways she tried
   Her earnest love to show.

One day she left the cabin door,
    And walked a long, long way–
Now high upon the breezy cliffs,
   Now close to ocean spray.

She went to seek some remedy
   To ease her mother’s pain,
Though little hope there was that she
   Could e’er be well again.

The ruby clouds have curtained o’er
   The golden glowing west,
Where ‘neath the white-winged wavelets now
   The sun hath gone to rest;

But little Norah comes not yet!
   The mother’s fears arise,
The evening breeze brings nothing save
   The seabird’s mournful cries.

The twilight hour is passing fast,
   In weariness and pain;
She waits and listens for her child,
   As yet she waits in vain.

Hark, hark!  a bounding step is heard
   Along the pebbly shore,
And now a tiny hand is laid
   Upon the cabin door.

“Oh, mother, darling mother, I
   Have such good news to tell;
Far more than medicine I have brought
   To make you glad and well.”

More brightly gleamed her joyous eye,
   And rosier grew her cheeks,
While forth she poured the happy words
   As fast as tongue could speak.

“I brought the medicine, mother dear,
   And turned to come away,
When by me stood a kind grave man,
   And gently bade me stay;

“And then he spoke sweet words to me,
   About the Saviour’s love,
And of the glorious home where all
   His children meet above.

“He told me Jesus loved us so
   That He came down to die,
And suffered all instead of us;–
   And then it made me cry;

“He said His blood was quite enough
   To wash our sins away,
And make us fit for heaven at once
   If we should die to-day.

“So, mother dear, we shall not need
   To purgatory go;
If Jesus has forgiven all,
   That is enough, you know!”

The rosy glow had rested on
   The mother’s whitening cheek;
‘Twas fading now, and Norah ceased–
   Then came a long wild shriek,–

“Oh, mother, speak to me once more,–
   Oh, is she really dead?”
‘Twas even so, the hand was cold,
   And stilled the throbbing head;

Yes, even while those blessed words
   Like angel music fell,
Her weary spirit passed away;
   But whither!  who may tell?

Oh, bitter were the tears that fell
   From little Norah’s eye,
And many a day and night had passed
   Ere they again were dry.

But bitterest were they when she thought
   “Oh I can never tell
If with that blessed Saviour now,
   Sweet mother, thou dost dwell!

“Ah!  had I only sooner known
   What I have heard to-day,
I would have told her more of Him
   Before she went away;

“For perhaps she did not hear me then,
   So she could never know
The way that Jesus Christ has made
   To His bright home to go.

“I love Him, yes, I’m sure I do;
   Then He will take me home
To be with Him for evermore,
   Where sorrow cannot come;

“But oh, I cannot bear to think,
   When I His glory see,
And rest within the Saviour’s arms–
   Where will my mother be?”

Dear children, you have learnt the way
   To that bright home above,
You have been told of Jesus and
   His deep and tender love;

In Ireland there are little ones
   Whose hearts are very sad;
Oh, won’t you try and send to them
   Sweet words to make them glad?
Dec. 1856.

   “THE GOING IN OF THY WORDS GIVETH LIGHT, GIVING UNDERSTANDING TO THE GUIDELESS.”–Ps. 119:130  (Irish rendering.)

*Also published by J. and R. Parlane, Paidley.   Profits for the “Havergal Hall,” Limerick, and the Bruey Branch.

Frances Ridley Havergal from BEN BRIGHTBOOTS

IN God’s great field of labour
   All work is not the same;
He hath a service for each one
   Who loves His holy name.
And you, to whom the secrets
    Of all sweet sounds are known,
Rise up!  for He hath called you
   To a mission of your own.
And, rightly to fulfil it,
   His grace can make you strong,
Who to your charge hath given
   The Ministry of Song.

Sing to the little children,
   And they will listen well;
Sing grand and holy music,
   For they can feel its spell.
Tell them the tale of Jephthah;
   Then sing them what he said,–
‘Deeper and deeper still,’ and watch
   How the little cheek grows red,
And the litttle breath comes quicker:
   They will ne’er forget the tale,
Which the song has fastened surely,
   As with a golden nail.

I remember, late one evening,
   How the music stopped, for, hark!
Charlie’s nursery door was open,
   He was calling in the dark,–
‘Oh no! I am not frightened,
   And I do not want a light;
But I cannot sleep for thinking
   Of the song you sang last night.
Something about a “valley,”
   And “make rough places plain,”
And “Comfort ye;” so beautiful!
   Oh, sing it me again!’

Sing at the cottage bedside;
   They have no music there,
And the voice of praise is silent
   After the voice of prayer.
Sing of the gentle Saviour
    In the simplest hymns you know,
And the pain-dimmed eye will brighten
    As the soothing verses flow
Better than loudest plaudits
   The murmured thanks of such,
For the King will stoop to crown them
   With His gracious ‘Inasmuch.’

Sing, where the full-toned organ
   Resounds through aisle and nave,
And the choral praise ascendeth
    In concord sweet and grave.
Sing, where the village voices
   Fall harshly on your ear;
And, while more earnestly you join,
   Less discord you will hear.
The noblest and the humblest
   Alike are ‘common praise,’
And not for human ear alone
   The psalm and hymn we raise.

Sing in the deepening twilight,
   When the shadow of eve is nigh.
And her purple and golden pinions
   Fold o’er the western sky.
Sing in the silver silence,
   While the first moonbeams fall;
So shall your power be greater
   Over the hearts of all.
Sing till you bear them with you
   Into a holy calm,
And the sacred tones have scattered
   Manna, and myrrh, and balm.

Sing!  that your song may gladden;
   Sing like the happy rills,
Leaping in sparkling blessing
   Fresh from the breezy hills.
Sing!  that your song may silence
   The folly and the jest,
And the ‘idle word’ be banished
   As an unwelcome guest.
Sing!  that your song may echo
   After the strain is past,
A link of the love-wrought cable
   That holds some vessel fast.

Sing to the tired and anxious;
   It is yours to fling a ray,
Passing indeed, but cheering,
   Across the rugged way.
Sing to God’s holy servants,
   Weary with loving toil,
Spent with their faithful labour
   On oft ungrateful soil.
The chalice of your music
   All reverently bear,
For with the bless`ed angels
   Such ministry you share.

When you long to bear the Message
   Home to some troubled breast,
Then sing with loving fervour,
   ‘Come unto Him, and rest.’
Or would you whisper comfort,
   Where words bring no relief,
Sing how ‘He was despis`ed,
   Acquainted with our grief.’
And, aided by His blessing,
   The song may win its way
While speech had no admittance,
   And change the night to day.

Sing, when His mighty mercies
   And marvellous love you feel,
And the deep joy of gratitude
   Springs freshly as you kneel;
When words, like morning starlight,
   Melt powerless,–rise and sing!
And bring your sweetest music
   To Him, your gracious King.
Pour out your song before Him
   To whom our best is due;
Remember, He who hears our prayer
   Will hear your praises too.

Sing on in grateful gladness!
   Rejoice in this good thing
Which the Lord thy God hath given thee,
   The happy power to sing.
But yield to Him, the Sovereign,
   To whom all gifts belong,
In fullest consecration,
   Your Ministry of Song.
Until His mercy grant you,
   That resurrection voice,
Whose only ministry shall be,
   To praise Him and rejoice.
  
Frances Ridley Havergal from THE MINISTRY OF SONG

‘At evening time it shall be light.’  –ZECH. 14:7

DEAR Lord, Thy good and precious Book seems written
     all for me;
Wherever I may open it, I find a word from Thee.
My eyes are dim, but this one verse is pillow for the
      night,
Thy promise that  ‘At Evening Time it shall be’ surely
     ‘light.’

It was not always light with me; for many a sinful year
I walked in darkness, far from Thee; but Thou hast
     brought me near,
And washed me in Thy precious blood, and taught me by
     Thy grace,
And lifted up on my poor soul the brightness of Thy
      face.

My Saviour died in darkness that I might live in light,
He closed His eyes in death that mine might have the
     heavenly sight;
He gave up all His glory to bring it down to me,
And took the sinner’s place that He the sinner’s Friend
     might be.

His Spirit shines upon His Word, and makes it sweet
     indeed,
Just like a shining lamp held up beside me as I read;
And brings it to my mind again alone upon my bed,
Till all abroad within my heart the love of God is shed.

I’ve nearly passed the shadows and the sorrows here
     below;
A little while–a little while, and He will come, I know,
And take me to the glory that I think is very near,
Where I shall see Him face to face and His kind welcome
     hear.

And now my loving Jesus is my Light at Eventide,
The welcome Guest that enters in for ever to abide;
He never leaves me in the dark, but leads me all the way,–
So it is light at Evening Time, and soon it will be Day!

*Written to acompany an engraving:–An old man, worn, but peaceful, sitting at his cottage door in evening sunlight, with The Book on his knee.

Frances Ridley Havergal from THE POETICAL WORKS

   IV.  Grass, in its withered state, is an emblem of two things: 
   1.  Of the sorrow and faintness of an afflicted heart.  This is most pathetically and touchingly set forth in Psalm 102.  That psalm is called “A prayer of the afflicted, when he is overwhelmed, and poureth out his complaint before the Lord.”  After a lengthened description of his sorrowful state, and the use of many similes to illustrate it, among which is that of withered grass, the Psalmist closes the whole by repeating that one similitude, “My soul is withered like grass.”  (Compare Psalm 102:1-12.)  How many a sorrowful spirit realises all that is here described!  And how often have individuals, now present, had to say in secret, “My heart is smitten, and withered like grass.”  Their comforts seem dried up; and that, which was once flourishing within them, appears sapless and parched.  “Withered grass” is the very thing which represents the state in which they feel themselves to be.  And no marvel, for it was the state of him who was the afflicted One, and whom Psalm 102 prophetically described.  For us and for our consolation, was the tender heart of the Saviour “smitten and withered like grass.”  The sharp blast of Almighty wrath fell upon him, and he was dried up like a potsherd, and withered like a tuft of tender grass which the lightning has scorched.
   His spiritually minded people must expect similar tribulation.  He often tries them as himself was tried, to constrain them to see that they have nothing in themselves, and that all grace, comfort, and help, must be sought from him.  Other persons cannot understand these things.  “They are foolishness unto them.”  But they are truthful realities, and wise experiences with those who are destined to survive all witherings, and to flourish for ever in the field above.
   2.  Grass in its withered state is an emblem also of the frailty of human life, and the suddeness with which it is liable to be cut off.  “The voice said, Cry.  And he said, What shall I cry?  All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness there of is as the flower of the field.”   “The grass withereth, the flower fadeth; but the word of our God shall stand forever.”  (Isaiah 40:6,8.)  The picture here drawn is vivid and complete.  Look on the pleasant meadow.  See the health, strength, and beauty of its crop, as the wind gently waves its surface.  But think how the next frost can nip it, or the next blast level it, or how certainly, if it reaches to ripeness, the mower will one day cut it down.  And then bring away your eye from that scene, and let it gaze on the great company of mankind, on this city, this parish, this congregation, on yourselves.   Like grass we perish, for “surely the people is grass.”  Yes, let no one take refuge in generalities, but let each one say to himself or herself, “I am but as a blade of grass, and shall and must as certainly die, as all grass withereth, and every flower fadeth.”
   They and they alone, who have wisdom and faith to say this, and to act consistently therewith, will be prepared for the comfort of a closing thought or two.

   1.  Though the grass withereth, “the word of the Lord endureth for ever.”  This was Isaiah’s consolation.  St. Peter took it up, and by inspiration added to it, saying, “And this is the word, which by the gospel is preached unto you.”  Not one syllable of all that God stands pledged to perform shall fail or perish.  His gospel is yours for ever.
   2.  That which resembles grass, in the visible church, may be withered and cut down, but the living grass of the living church, “shall never perish.”  “And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth:  and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power.  And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree, but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads.”  (Revelation 9:3,4.)
   In coming times, the Son of man will clear out of his field only that which offends.  The false professor, as well as the profligate,–all who bear not the stamp of godliness, will be clean cut down.  But, the godly, the green, the living grass of the true field, shall not be hurt:  they shall abide for ever.
   3.  The wonders of the world’s first week will never cease to be admired by those whom God creates anew in Christ Jesus.
   And, if grass be a wonder, how wonderful must that parent mind be, which saw, from the beginning, all that it was to teach us until the end!  Then let us say, “Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory, and honour, and power; for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”  (Revelation 4:11.)

William Henry Havergal from Sermons, Chiefly on Historical Subjects from the Old and New Testaments:  Volume I

Frances Ridley Havergal from Memorials, Letters and Biographical Works