diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:23:10 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:23:10 -0700 |
| commit | 64f9e996662392d275c3ec481b5b47489cdde0a3 (patch) | |
| tree | d71dcbd3a8490196d961f507da915ccba22937bb | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-0.txt | 9296 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 124207 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 498401 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-h/4272-h.htm | 8993 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-h/images/coverb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 227175 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-h/images/covers.jpg | bin | 0 -> 46597 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-h/images/tpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 85382 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 4272-h/images/tps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 5618 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/chryr10.txt | 9346 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/chryr10.zip | bin | 0 -> 120055 bytes |
13 files changed, 27651 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4272-0.txt b/4272-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fef7200 --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9296 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Christian Year, by John Keble, Edited by +Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Christian Year + + +Author: John Keble + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: April 23, 2013 [eBook #4272] +[This file was first posted on December 25, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN YEAR*** + + +Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY. + + * * * * * + + + + + + THE + CHRISTIAN YEAR + + + * * * * * + + BY + THE REV. JOHN KEBLE. + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED: + + _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_. + + 1887. + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +JOHN KEBLE, two years older than his friend Dr. Arnold of Rugby, three +years older than Thomas Carlyle, and nine years older than John Henry +Newman, was born in 1792, at Fairford in Gloucestershire. He was born in +his father’s parsonage, and educated at home by his father till he went +to college. His father then entered him at his own college at Oxford, +Corpus Christi. Thoroughly trained, Keble obtained high reputation at +his University for character and scholarship, and became a Fellow of +Oriel. After some years he gave up work in the University, though he +could not divest himself of a large influence there for good, returned +home to his old father, who required help in his ministry, and undertook +for his the duty of two little curacies. The father lived on to the age +of ninety. John Keble’s love for God and his devotion to the Church had +often been expressed in verse. On days which the Church specially +celebrated, he had from time to time written short poems to utter from +the heart his own devout sense of their spiritual use and meaning. As +the number of these poems increased, the desire rose to follow in like +manner the while course of the Christian Year as it was marked for the +people by the sequence of church services, which had been arranged to +bring in due order before the minds of Christian worshippers all the +foundations of their faith, and all the elements of a religious life. A +book of poems, breathing faith and worship at all points, and in all +attitudes of heavenward contemplation, within the circle of the Christian +Year, would, he hoped, restore in many minds to many a benumbed form life +and energy. + +In 1825, while the poems of the Christian Year were gradually being +shaped into a single work, a brother became able to relieve John Keble in +that pious care for which his father had drawn him away from a great +University career, and he then went to a curacy at Hursley, four or five +miles from Winchester. + +In 1827—when its author’s age was thirty-five—“The Christian Year” was +published. Like George Herbert, whose equal he was in piety though not +in power, Keble was joined to the Church in fullest sympathy with all its +ordinances, and desired to quicken worship by putting into each part of +the ritual a life that might pass into and raise the life of man. The +spirit of true religion, with a power beyond that of any earthly feuds +and controversies, binds together those in whom it really lives. Setting +aside all smaller questions of the relative value of different earthly +means to the attainment of a life hidden with Christ in God, Christians +of all forms who are one in spirit have found help from “John Keble’s +Christian Year,” and think of its guileless author with kindly affection. +Within five-and-twenty years of its publication, a hundred thousand +copies had been sold. The book is still diffused so widely, in editions +of all forms, that it may yet go on, until the circle of the years shall +be no more, living and making live. + +Four years after “The Christian Year” appeared, Keble was appointed (in +1831) to the usual five years’ tenure of the Poetry Professorship at +Oxford. Two years after he had been appointed Poetry Professor, he +preached the Assize Sermon, and took for his theme “National Apostasy.” +John Henry Newman, who had obtained his Fellowship at Oriel some years +before the publication of “The Christian Year,” and was twenty-six years +old when it appeared, received from it a strong impulse towards the +endeavour to revive the spirit of the Church by restoring life and soul +to all her ordinances, and even to the minutest detail of her ritual. +The deep respect felt for the author of “The Christian Year” gave power +to the sermon of 1833 upon National Apostasy, and made it the +starting-point of the Oxford movement known as Tractarian, from the issue +of tracts through which its promoters sought to stir life in the clergy +and the people; known also as Puseyite because it received help at the +end of the year 1833 from Dr. Pusey, who was of like age with J. H. +Newman, and then Regius Professor of Hebrew. There was a danger, which +some then foresaw, in the nature of this endeavour to put life into the +Church; but we all now recognise the purity of Christian zeal that +prompted the attempt to make dead forms of ceremonial glow again with +spiritual fire, and serve as aids to the recovery of light and warmth in +our devotions. + +It was in 1833 that Keble, by one earnest sermon, with a pure life at the +back of it, and this book that had prepared the way, gave the direct +impulse to an Oxford movement for the reformation of the Church. The +movement then began. But Keble went back to his curacy at Hursley. Two +years afterwards the curate became vicar, and then Keble married. His +after-life continued innocent and happy. He and his wife died within two +months of each other, in the came year, 1866. He had taken part with his +friends at Oxford by writing five of their Tracts, publishing a few +sermons that laboured towards the same end, and editing a “Library of the +Fathers.” In 1847 he produced another volume of poems, “Lyra +Innocentium,” which associated doctrines of the Church with the lives of +children, whom he loved, though his own marriage was childless. + +The power of Keble’s verse lies in its truth. A faithful and pure +nature, strong in home affections, full of love and reverence for all +that is of heaven in our earthly lot, strives for the full consecration +of man’s life with love and faith. There is no rare gift of genius. +Keble is not in subtlety of thought or of expression another George +Herbert, or another Henry Vaughan. But his voice is not the less in +unison with theirs, for every note is true, and wins us by its purity. +His also are melodies of the everlasting chime. + + “And be ye sure that Love can bless + E’en in this crowded loneliness, + Where ever moving myriads seem to say, + Go—thou art nought to us, nor we to thee—away!” + + “There are in this loud stunning tide + Of human care and crime, + With whom the melodies abide + Of the everlasting chime; + Who carry music in their heart + Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, + Plying their daily task with busier feet, + Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.” + +With a peal, then, of such music let us ring in the New Year for our +Library; and for our lives. + +_January_ 1, 1887. + + H. M. + + + + +DEDICATION. + + + WHEN in my silent solitary walk, + I sought a strain not all unworthy Thee, + My heart, still ringing with wild worldly talk, + Gave forth no note of holier minstrelsy. + + Prayer is the secret, to myself I said, + Strong supplication must call down the charm, + And thus with untuned heart I feebly prayed, + Knocking at Heaven’s gate with earth-palsied arm. + + Fountain of Harmony! Thou Spirit blest, + By whom the troubled waves of earthly sound + Are gathered into order, such as best + Some high-souled bard in his enchanted round + + May compass, Power divine! Oh, spread Thy wing, + Thy dovelike wing that makes confusion fly, + Over my dark, void spirit, summoning + New worlds of music, strains that may not die. + + Oh, happiest who before thine altar wait, + With pure hands ever holding up on high + The guiding Star of all who seek Thy gate, + The undying lamp of heavenly Poesy. + + Too weak, too wavering, for such holy task + Is my frail arm, O Lord; but I would fain + Track to its source the brightness, I would bask + In the clear ray that makes Thy pathway plain. + + I dare not hope with David’s harp to chase + The evil spirit from the troubled breast; + Enough for me if I can find such grace + To listen to the strain, and be at rest. + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. + + + + + + +Morning. + + + His compassions fail not. They are new every morning. + + _Lament_. iii. 22, 23. + + HUES of the rich unfolding morn, + That, ere the glorious sun be born, + By some soft touch invisible + Around his path are taught to swell;— + + Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay, + That dancest forth at opening day, + And brushing by with joyous wing, + Wakenest each little leaf to sing;— + + Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam, + By which deep grove and tangled stream + Pay, for soft rains in season given, + Their tribute to the genial heaven;— + + Why waste your treasures of delight + Upon our thankless, joyless sight; + Who day by day to sin awake, + Seldom of Heaven and you partake? + + Oh, timely happy, timely wise, + Hearts that with rising morn arise! + Eyes that the beam celestial view, + Which evermore makes all things new! + + New every morning is the love + Our wakening and uprising prove; + Through sleep and darkness safely brought, + Restored to life, and power, and thought. + + New mercies, each returning day, + Hover around us while we pray; + New perils past, new sins forgiven, + New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven. + + If on our daily course our mind + Be set to hallow all we find, + New treasures still, of countless price, + God will provide for sacrifice. + + Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be, + As more of Heaven in each we see: + Some softening gleam of love and prayer + Shall dawn on every cross and care. + + As for some dear familiar strain + Untired we ask, and ask again, + Ever, in its melodious store, + Finding a spell unheard before; + + Such is the bliss of souls serene, + When they have sworn, and stedfast mean, + Counting the cost, in all t’ espy + Their God, in all themselves deny. + + Oh, could we learn that sacrifice, + What lights would all around us rise! + How would our hearts with wisdom talk + Along Life’s dullest, dreariest walk! + + We need not bid, for cloistered cell, + Our neighbour and our work farewell, + Nor strive to wind ourselves too high + For sinful man beneath the sky: + + The trivial round, the common task, + Would furnish all we ought to ask; + Room to deny ourselves; a road + To bring us daily nearer God. + + Seek we no more; content with these, + Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease, + As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:— + The secret this of Rest below. + + Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love + Fit us for perfect Rest above; + And help us, this and every day, + To live more nearly as we pray. + + + +Evening. + + + Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far + spent.—_St. Luke_ xxiv. 29. + + ’TIS gone, that bright and orbèd blaze, + Fast fading from our wistful gaze; + You mantling cloud has hid from sight + The last faint pulse of quivering light. + + In darkness and in weariness + The traveller on his way must press, + No gleam to watch on tree or tower, + Whiling away the lonesome hour. + + Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear, + It is not night if Thou be near: + Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise + To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes! + + When round Thy wondrous works below + My searching rapturous glance I throw, + Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love, + In earth or sky, in stream or grove;— + + Or by the light Thy words disclose + Watch Time’s full river as it flows, + Scanning Thy gracious Providence, + Where not too deep for mortal sense:— + + When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, + And all the flowers of life unfold; + Let not my heart within me burn, + Except in all I Thee discern. + + When the soft dews of kindly sleep + My wearied eyelids gently steep, + Be my last thought, how sweet to rest + For ever on my Saviour’s breast. + + Abide with me from morn till eve, + For without Thee I cannot live: + Abide with me when night is nigh, + For without Thee I dare not die. + + Thou Framer of the light and dark, + Steer through the tempest Thine own ark: + Amid the howling wintry sea + We are in port if we have Thee. + + The Rulers of this Christian land, + ’Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand,— + Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright, + Let all do all as in Thy sight. + + Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne + So meekly up the hill of scorn, + Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross + To bear as Thine, nor count it loss! + + If some poor wandering child of Thine + Have spurned to-day the voice divine, + Now, Lord, the gracious work begin; + Let him no more lie down in sin. + + Watch by the sick: enrich the poor + With blessings from Thy boundless store: + Be every mourner’s sleep to-night, + Like infants’ slumbers, pure and light. + + Come near and bless us when we wake, + Ere through the world our way we take; + Till in the ocean of Thy love + We lose ourselves, in Heaven above. + + + +Advent Sunday. + + + Now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our salvation + nearer than when we believed.—_Romans_ xiii 11. + + AWAKE—again the Gospel-trump is blown— + From year to year it swells with louder tone, + From year to year the signs of wrath + Are gathering round the Judge’s path, + Strange words fulfilled, and mighty works achieved, + And truth in all the world both hated and believed. + + Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town, + Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown? + Up from your beds of sloth for shame, + Speed to the eastern mount like flame, + Nor wonder, should ye find your King in tears, + E’en with the loud Hosanna ringing in His ears. + + Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago + They are gone forth to swell Messiah’s show: + With glittering robes and garlands sweet + They strew the ground beneath His feet: + All but your hearts are there—O doomed to prove + The arrows winged in Heaven for Faith that will not love! + + Meanwhile He passes through th’ adoring crowd, + Calm as the march of some majestic cloud, + That o’er wild scenes of ocean-war + Holds its still course in Heaven afar: + E’en so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on, + Thou keepest silent watch from Thy triumphal throne: + + E’en so, the world is thronging round to gaze + On the dread vision of the latter days, + Constrained to own Thee, but in heart + Prepared to take Barabbas’ part: + “Hosanna” now, to-morrow “Crucify,” + The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry. + + Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue + Thy sad eye rests upon Thy faithful few, + Children and childlike souls are there, + Blind Bartimeus’ humble prayer, + And Lazarus wakened from his four days’ sleep, + Enduring life again, that Passover to keep. + + And fast beside the olive-bordered way + Stands the blessed home where Jesus deigned to stay, + The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere + And heavenly Contemplation dear, + Where Martha loved to wait with reverence meet, + And wiser Mary lingered at Thy sacred feet. + + Still through decaying ages as they glide, + Thou lov’st Thy chosen remnant to divide; + Sprinkled along the waste of years + Full many a soft green isle appears: + Pause where we may upon the desert road, + Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode. + + When withering blasts of error swept the sky, + And Love’s last flower seemed fain to droop and die, + How sweet, how lone the ray benign + On sheltered nooks of Palestine! + Then to his early home did Love repair, + And cheered his sickening heart with his own native air. + + Years roll away: again the tide of crime + Has swept Thy footsteps from the favoured clime + Where shall the holy Cross find rest? + On a crowned monarch’s mailèd breast: + Like some bright angel o’er the darkling scene, + Through court and camp he holds his heavenward course serene. + + A fouler vision yet; an age of light, + Light without love, glares on the aching sight: + Oh, who can tell how calm and sweet, + Meek Walton, shows thy green retreat, + When wearied with the tale thy times disclose, + The eye first finds thee out in thy secure repose? + + Thus bad and good their several warnings give + Of His approach, whom none may see and live: + Faith’s ear, with awful still delight, + Counts them like minute-bells at night. + Keeping the heart awake till dawn of morn, + While to her funeral pile this aged world is borne. + + But what are Heaven’s alarms to hearts that cower + In wilful slumber, deepening every hour, + That draw their curtains closer round, + The nearer swells the trumpet’s sound? + Lord, ere our trembling lamps sink down and die, + Touch us with chastening hand, and make us feel Thee nigh. + + + +Second Sunday in Advent. + + + And when these things begin to pass, then look up, and lift up your + heads; for your redemption draweth night. _St. Luke_ xxi. 28. + + NOT till the freezing blast is still, + Till freely leaps the sparkling rill, + And gales sweep soft from summer skies, + As o’er a sleeping infant’s eyes + A mother’s kiss; ere calls like these, + No sunny gleam awakes the trees, + Nor dare the tender flowerets show + Their bosoms to th’ uncertain glow. + + Why then, in sad and wintry time, + Her heavens all dark with doubt and crime, + Why lifts the Church her drooping head, + As though her evil hour were fled? + Is she less wise than leaves of spring, + Or birds that cower with folded wing? + What sees she in this lowering sky + To tempt her meditative eye? + + She has a charm, a word of fire, + A pledge of love that cannot tire; + By tempests, earthquakes, and by wars, + By rushing waves and falling stars, + By every sign her Lord foretold, + She sees the world is waxing old, + And through that last and direst storm + Descries by faith her Saviour’s form. + + Not surer does each tender gem, + Set in the fig-tree’s polish’d stem, + Foreshow the summer season bland, + Than these dread signs Thy mighty hand: + But, oh, frail hearts, and spirits dark! + The season’s flight unwarn’d we mark, + But miss the Judge behind the door, + For all the light of sacred lore: + + Yet is He there; beneath our eaves + Each sound His wakeful ear receives: + Hush, idle words, and thoughts of ill, + Your Lord is listening: peace, be still. + Christ watches by a Christian’s hearth, + Be silent, “vain deluding mirth,” + Till in thine alter’d voice be known + Somewhat of Resignation’s tone. + + But chiefly ye should lift your gaze + Above the world’s uncertain haze, + And look with calm unwavering eye + On the bright fields beyond the sky, + Ye, who your Lord’s commission bear + His way of mercy to prepare: + Angels He calls ye: be your strife + To lead on earth an Angel’s life. + + Think not of rest; though dreams be sweet, + Start up, and ply your heavenward feet. + Is not God’s oath upon your head, + Ne’er to sink back on slothful bed, + Never again your loans untie, + Nor let your torches waste and die, + Till, when the shadows thickest fall, + Ye hear your Master’s midnight call? + + + +Third Sunday in Advent. + + + What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with the + wind? . . . But what went ye out for to see? A prophet? yea, I say + unto you, and more than a prophet. _St. Matthew_ xi. 7, 9. + + WHAT went ye out to see + O’er the rude sandy lea, + Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm, + Or where Gennesaret’s wave + Delights the flowers to lave, + That o’er her western slope breathe airs of balm. + + All through the summer night, + Those blossoms red and bright + Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze, + Like hermits watching still + Around the sacred hill, + Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees. + + The Paschal moon above + Seems like a saint to rove, + Left shining in the world with Christ alone; + Below, the lake’s still face + Sleeps sweetly in th’ embrace + Of mountains terrac’d high with mossy stone. + + Here may we sit, and dream + Over the heavenly theme, + Till to our soul the former days return; + Till on the grassy bed, + Where thousands once He fed, + The world’s incarnate Maker we discern. + + O cross no more the main, + Wandering so will and vain, + To count the reeds that tremble in the wind, + On listless dalliance bound, + Like children gazing round, + Who on God’s works no seal of Godhead find. + + Bask not in courtly bower, + Or sun-bright hall of power, + Pass Babel quick, and seek the holy land— + From robes of Tyrian dye + Turn with undazzled eye + To Bethlehem’s glade, or Carmel’s haunted strand. + + Or choose thee out a cell + In Kedron’s storied dell, + Beside the springs of Love, that never die; + Among the olives kneel + The chill night-blast to feel, + And watch the Moon that saw thy Master’s agony. + + Then rise at dawn of day, + And wind thy thoughtful way, + Where rested once the Temple’s stately shade, + With due feet tracing round + The city’s northern bound, + To th’ other holy garden, where the Lord was laid. + + Who thus alternate see + His death and victory, + Rising and falling as on angel wings, + They, while they seem to roam, + Draw daily nearer home, + Their heart untravell’d still adores the King of kings. + + Or, if at home they stay, + Yet are they, day by day, + In spirit journeying through the glorious land, + Not for light Fancy’s reed, + Nor Honour’s purple meed, + Nor gifted Prophet’s lore, nor Science’ wondrous wand. + + But more than Prophet, more + Than Angels can adore + With face unveiled, is He they go to seek: + Blessèd be God, Whose grace + Shows Him in every place + To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek. + + + +Fourth Sunday in Advent. + + + The eyes of them that see shall not be dim, and the ears of them that + hear shall hearken. _Isaiah_ xxxii. 3 + + OF the bright things in earth and air + How little can the heart embrace! + Soft shades and gleaming lights are there— + I know it well, but cannot trace. + + Mine eye unworthy seems to read + One page of Nature’s beauteous book; + It lies before me, fair outspread— + I only cast a wishful look. + + I cannot paint to Memory’s eye + The scene, the glance, I dearest love— + Unchanged themselves, in me they die, + Or faint or false their shadows prove. + + In vain, with dull and tuneless ear, + I linger by soft Music’s cell, + And in my heart of hearts would hear + What to her own she deigns to tell. + + ’Tis misty all, both sight and sound— + I only know ’tis fair and sweet— + ’Tis wandering on enchanted ground + With dizzy brow and tottering feet. + + But patience! there may come a time + When these dull ears shall scan aright + Strains that outring Earth’s drowsy chime, + As Heaven outshines the taper’s light. + + These eyes, that dazzled now and weak, + At glancing motes in sunshine wink. + Shall see the Kings full glory break, + Nor from the blissful vision shrink: + + In fearless love and hope uncloyed + For ever on that ocean bright + Empowered to gaze; and undestroyed, + Deeper and deeper plunge in light. + + Though scarcely now their laggard glance + Reach to an arrow’s flight, that day + They shall behold, and not in trance, + The region “very far away.” + + If Memory sometimes at our spell + Refuse to speak, or speak amiss, + We shall not need her where we dwell + Ever in sight of all our bliss. + + Meanwhile, if over sea or sky + Some tender lights unnoticed fleet, + Or on loved features dawn and die, + Unread, to us, their lesson sweet; + + Yet are there saddening sights around, + Which Heaven, in mercy, spares us too, + And we see far in holy ground, + If duly purged our mental view. + + The distant landscape draws not nigh + For all our gazing; but the soul, + That upward looks, may still descry + Nearer, each day, the brightening goal. + + And thou, too curious ear, that fain + Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony, + Content thee with one simple strain, + The lowlier, sure, the worthier thee; + + Till thou art duly trained, and taught + The concord sweet of Love divine: + Then, with that inward Music fraught, + For ever rise, and sing, and shine. + + + +Christmas Day. + + + And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the heavenly + host, praising God. _St. Luke_ ii. 13. + + WHAT sudden blaze of song + Spreads o’er th’ expanse of Heaven? + In waves of light it thrills along, + Th’ angelic signal given— + “Glory to God!” from yonder central fire + Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir; + + Like circles widening round + Upon a clear blue river, + Orb after orb, the wondrous sound + Is echoed on for ever: + “Glory to God on high, on earth be peace, + And love towards men of love—salvation and release.” + + Yet stay, before thou dare + To join that festal throng; + Listen and mark what gentle air + First stirred the tide of song; + ’Tis not, “the Saviour born in David’s home, + To Whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:”— + + ’Tis not, “the Christ the Lord:” + With fixed adoring look + The choir of Angels caught the word, + Nor yet their silence broke: + But when they heard the sign where Christ should be, + In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony. + + Wrapped in His swaddling bands, + And in His manger laid, + The Hope and Glory of all lands + Is come to the world’s aid: + No peaceful home upon his cradle smiled, + Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal Child. + + But where Thou dwellest, Lord, + No other thought should be, + Once duly welcomed and adored, + How should I part with Thee? + Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace + The single heart to be Thy sure abiding-place. + + Thee, on the bosom laid + Of a pure virgin mind, + In quiet ever, and in shade, + Shepherd and sage may find; + They, who have bowed untaught to Nature’s sway, + And they, who follow Truth along her star-paved way. + + The pastoral spirits first + Approach Thee, Babe divine, + For they in lowly thoughts are nursed, + Meet for Thy lowly shrine: + Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell, + Angela from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell. + + Still, as the day comes round + For Thee to be revealed, + By wakeful shepherds Thou art found, + Abiding in the field. + All through the wintry heaven and chill night air, + In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer. + + O faint not ye for fear— + What though your wandering sheep, + Reckless of what they see and hear, + Lie lost in wilful sleep? + High Heaven in mercy to your sad annoy + Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy. + + Think on th’ eternal home, + The Saviour left for you; + Think on the Lord most holy, come + To dwell with hearts untrue: + So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways, + And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise. + + + +St. Stephen’s Day. + + + He, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly into heaven, + and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of + God. _Acts_ vii. 55 + + AS rays around the source of light + Stream upward ere he glow in sight, + And watching by his future flight + Set the clear heavens on fire; + So on the King of Martyrs wait + Three chosen bands, in royal state, + And all earth owns, of good and great, + Is gather’d in that choir. + + One presses on, and welcomes death: + One calmly yields his willing breath, + Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith + Content to die or live: + And some, the darlings of their Lord, + Play smiling with the flame and sword, + And, ere they speak, to His sure word + Unconscious witness give. + + Foremost and nearest to His throne, + By perfect robes of triumph known, + And likest Him in look and tone, + The holy Stephen kneels, + With stedfast gaze, as when the sky + Flew open to his fainting eye, + Which, like a fading lamp, flash’d high, + Seeing what death conceals. + + Well might you guess what vision bright + Was present to his raptured sight, + E’en as reflected streams of light + Their solar source betray— + The glory which our God surrounds, + The Son of Man, the atoning wounds— + He sees them all; and earth’s dull bounds + Are melting fast away. + + He sees them all—no other view + Could stamp the Saviour’s likeness true, + Or with His love so deep embrue + Man’s sullen heart and gross— + “Jesus, do Thou my soul receive: + Jesu, do Thou my foes forgive;” + He who would learn that prayer must live + Under the holy Cross. + + He, though he seem on earth to move, + Must glide in air like gentle dove, + From yon unclouded depths above + Must draw his purer breath; + Till men behold his angel face + All radiant with celestial grace, + Martyr all o’er, and meet to trace + The lines of Jesus’ death. + + + +St. John’s Day. + + + Peter seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? + Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is + that to thee? follow thou Me. _St. John_ xxi. 21, 22. + + “LORD, and what shall this man do?” + Ask’st thou, Christian, for thy friend? + If his love for Christ be true, + Christ hath told thee of his end: + This is he whom God approves, + This is he whom Jesus loves. + + Ask not of him more than this, + Leave it in his Saviour’s breast, + Whether, early called to bliss, + He in youth shall find his rest, + Or armèd in his station wait + Till his Lord be at the gate: + + Whether in his lonely course + (Lonely, not forlorn) he stay, + Or with Love’s supporting force + Cheat the toil, and cheer the way: + Leave it all in His high hand, + Who doth hearts as streams command. + + Gales from Heaven, if so He will, + Sweeter melodies can wake + On the lonely mountain rill + Than the meeting waters make. + Who hath the Father and the Son, + May be left, but not alone. + + Sick or healthful, slave or free, + Wealthy, or despised and poor— + What is that to him or thee, + So his love to Christ endure? + When the shore is won at last, + Who will count the billows past? + + Only, since our souls will shrink + At the touch of natural grief, + When our earthly loved ones sink, + Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief; + Patient hearts, their pain to see, + And Thy grace, to follow Thee. + + + +The Holy Innocents. + + + These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God + and to the Lamb. _Rev._ xiv. 4. + + SAY, ye celestial guards, who wait + In Bethlehem, round the Saviour’s palace gate, + Say, who are these on golden wings, + That hover o’er the new-born King of kings, + Their palms and garlands telling plain + That they are of the glorious martyr-train, + Next to yourselves ordained to praise + His Name, and brighten as on Him they gaze? + + But where their spoils and trophies? where + The glorious dint a martyr’s shield should bear? + How chance no cheek among them wears + The deep-worn trace of penitential tears, + But all is bright and smiling love, + As if, fresh-borne from Eden’s happy grove, + They had flown here, their King to see, + Nor ever had been heirs of dark mortality? + + Ask, and some angel will reply, + “These, like yourselves, were born to sin and die, + But ere the poison root was grown, + God set His seal, and marked them for His own. + Baptised its blood for Jesus’ sake, + Now underneath the Cross their bed they make, + Not to be scared from that sure rest + By frightened mother’s shriek, or warrior’s waving crest.” + + Mindful of these, the firstfruits sweet + Borne by this suffering Church her Lord to greet; + Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace + The “innocent brightness” of an infant’s face. + He raised them in His holy arms, + He blessed them from the world and all its harms: + Heirs though they were of sin and shame, + He blessed them in his own and in his Father’s Name. + + Then, as each fond unconscious child + On the everlasting Parent sweetly smiled + (Like infants sporting on the shore, + That tremble not at Ocean’s boundless roar), + Were they not present to Thy thought, + All souls, that in their cradles Thou hast bought? + But chiefly these, who died for Thee, + That Thou might’st live for them a sadder death to see. + + And next to these, Thy gracious word + Was as a pledge of benediction stored + For Christian mothers, while they moan + Their treasured hopes, just born, baptised, and gone. + Oh, joy for Rachel’s broken heart! + She and her babes shall meet no more to part; + So dear to Christ her pious haste + To trust them in His arms for ever safe embraced. + + She dares not grudge to leave them there, + Where to behold them was her heart’s first prayer; + She dares not grieve—but she must weep, + As her pale placid martyr sinks to sleep, + Teaching so well and silently + How at the shepherd’s call the lamb should die: + How happier far than life the end + Of souls that infant-like beneath their burthen bend. + + + +First Sunday after Christmas. + + + So the sun returned ten degrees, by which degrees it was gone down. + _Isaiah_ xxxviii. 8; compare _Josh._ x. 13. + + ’TIS true, of old the unchanging sun + His daily course refused to run, + The pale moon hurrying to the west + Paused at a mortal’s call, to aid + The avenging storm of war, that laid + Seven guilty realms at once on earth’s defiled breast. + + But can it be, one suppliant tear + Should stay the ever-moving sphere? + A sick man’s lowly-breathèd sigh, + When from the world he turns away, + And hides his weary eyes to pray, + Should change your mystic dance, ye wanderers of the sky? + + We too, O Lord, would fain command, + As then, Thy wonder-working hand, + And backward force the waves of Time, + That now so swift and silent bear + Our restless bark from year to year; + Help us to pause and mourn to Thee our tale of crime. + + Bright hopes, that erst the bosom warmed, + And vows, too pure to be performed, + And prayers blown wide by gales of care;— + These, and such faint half-waking dreams, + Like stormy lights on mountain streams, + Wavering and broken all, athwart the conscience glare. + + How shall we ’scape the o’erwhelming Past? + Can spirits broken, joys o’ercast, + And eyes that never more may smile:— + Can these th’ avenging bolt delay, + Or win us back one little day + The bitterness of death to soften and beguile? + + Father and Lover of our souls! + Though darkly round Thine anger rolls, + Thy sunshine smiles beneath the gloom, + Thou seek’st to warn us, not confound, + Thy showers would pierce the hardened ground + And win it to give out its brightness and perfume. + + Thou smil’st on us in wrath, and we, + E’en in remorse, would smile on Thee, + The tears that bathe our offered hearts, + We would not have them stained and dim, + But dropped from wings of seraphim, + All glowing with the light accepted love imparts. + + Time’s waters will not ebb, nor stay; + Power cannot change them, but Love may; + What cannot be, Love counts it done. + Deep in the heart, her searching view + Can read where Faith is fixed and true, + Through shades of setting life can see Heaven’s work begun. + + O Thou, who keep’st the Key of Love, + Open Thy fount, eternal Dove, + And overflow this heart of mine, + Enlarging as it fills with Thee, + Till in one blaze of charity + Care and remorse are lost, like motes in light divine; + + Till as each moment wafts us higher, + By every gush of pure desire, + And high-breathed hope of joys above, + By every secret sigh we heave, + Whole years of folly we outlive, + In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love. + + + +The Circumcision of Christ. + + + In whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made without + hands. _Coloss._ ii. 11. + + THE year begins with Thee, + And Thou beginn’st with woe, + To let the world of sinners see + That blood for sin must flow. + + Thine infant cries, O Lord, + Thy tears upon the breast, + Are not enough—the legal sword + Must do its stern behest. + + Like sacrificial wine + Poured on a victim’s head + Are those few precious drops of Thine, + Now first to offering led. + + They are the pledge and seal + Of Christ’s unswerving faith + Given to His Sire, our souls to heal, + Although it cost His death. + + They to His Church of old, + To each true Jewish heart, + In Gospel graces manifold + Communion blest impart. + + Now of Thy love we deem + As of an ocean vast, + Mounting in tides against the stream + Of ages gone and past. + + Both theirs and ours Thou art, + As we and they are Thine; + Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs—all have part + Along the sacred line. + + By blood and water too + God’s mark is set on Thee, + That in Thee every faithful view + Both covenants might see. + + O bond of union, dear + And strong as is Thy grace! + Saints, parted by a thousand year, + May thus in heart embrace. + + Is there a mourner true, + Who fallen on faithless days, + Sighs for the heart-consoling view + Of those Heaven deigned to praise? + + In spirit may’st thou meet + With faithful Abraham here, + Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet + A nursing Father dear. + + Would’st thou a poet be? + And would thy dull heart fain + Borrow of Israel’s minstrelsy + One high enraptured strain? + + Come here thy soul to tune, + Here set thy feeble chant, + Here, if at all beneath the moon, + Is holy David’s haunt. + + Art thou a child of tears, + Cradled in care and woe? + And seems it hard, thy vernal years + Few vernal joys can show? + + And fall the sounds of mirth + Sad on thy lonely heart, + From all the hopes and charms of earth + Untimely called to part? + + Look here, and hold thy peace: + The Giver of all good + E’en from the womb takes no release + From suffering, tears, and blood. + + If thou would’st reap in love, + First sow in holy fear: + So life a winter’s morn may prove + To a bright endless year. + + + +Second Sunday after Christmas. + + + When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their + tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of + Israel will not forsake them. _Isaiah_, xli. 17. + + AND wilt thou hear the fevered heart + To Thee in silence cry? + And as th’ inconstant wildfires dart + Out of the restless eye, + Wilt thou forgive the wayward though + By kindly woes yet half untaught + A Saviours right, so dearly bought, + That Hope should never die? + + Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer + Has reached Thee from the wild, + Since the lorn mother, wandering there, + Cast down her fainting child, + Then stole apart to weep and die, + Nor knew an angel form was nigh, + To show soft waters gushing by, + And dewy shadows mild. + + Thou wilt—for Thou art Israel’s God, + And Thine unwearied arm + Is ready yet with Moses’ rod, + The hidden rill to charm + Out of the dry unfathomed deep + Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, + Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap + Their waves in rude alarm. + + These moments of wild wrath are Thine— + Thine, too, the drearier hour + When o’er th’ horizon’s silent line + Fond hopeless fancies cower, + And on the traveller’s listless way + Rises and sets th’ unchanging day, + No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, + On earth no sheltering bower. + + Thou wilt be there, and not forsake, + To turn the bitter pool + Into a bright and breezy lake, + This throbbing brow to cool: + Till loft awhile with Thee alone + The wilful heart be fain to own + That He, by whom our bright hours shone, + Our darkness best may rule. + + The scent of water far away + Upon the breeze is flung; + The desert pelican to-day + Securely leaves her young, + Reproving thankless man, who fears + To journey on a few lone years, + Where on the sand Thy step appears, + Thy crown in sight is hung. + + Thou, who did sit on Jacob’s well + The weary hour of noon, + The languid pulses Thou canst tell, + The nerveless spirit tune. + Thou from Whose cross in anguish burst + The cry that owned Thy dying thirst, + To Thee we turn, our Last and First, + Our Sun and soothing Moon. + + From darkness, here, and dreariness + We ask not full repose, + Only be Thou at hand, to bless + Our trial hour of woes. + Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid + By the clear rill and palmy shade? + And see we not, up Earth’s dark glade, + The gate of Heaven unclose? + + + +The Epiphany. + + + And lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till + it came and stood over where the young Child was. When they saw the + star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. _St. Matthew_ ii. 9, + 10. + + STAR of the East, how sweet art Thou, + Seen in life’s early morning sky, + Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow, + While yet we gaze with childish eye; + + When father, mother, nursing friend, + Most dearly loved, and loving best, + First bid us from their arms ascend, + Pointing to Thee, in Thy sure rest. + + Too soon the glare of earthly day + Buries, to us, Thy brightness keen, + And we are left to find our way + By faith and hope in Thee unseen. + + What matter? if the waymarks sure + On every side are round us set, + Soon overleaped, but not obscure? + ’Tis ours to mark them or forget. + + What matter? if in calm old age + Our childhood’s star again arise, + Crowning our lonely pilgrimage + With all that cheers a wanderer’s eyes? + + Ne’er may we lose it from our sight, + Till all our hopes and thoughts are led + To where it stays its lucid flight + Over our Saviour’s lowly bed. + + There, swathed in humblest poverty, + On Chastity’s meek lap enshrined, + With breathless Reverence waiting by, + When we our Sovereign Master find, + + Will not the long-forgotten glow + Of mingled joy and awe return, + When stars above or flowers below + First made our infant spirits burn? + + Look on us, Lord, and take our parts + E’en on Thy throne of purity! + From these our proud yet grovelling hearts + Hide not Thy mild forgiving eye. + + Did not the Gentile Church find grace, + Our mother dear, this favoured day? + With gold and myrrh she sought Thy face; + Nor didst Thou turn Thy face away. + + She too, in earlier, purer days, + Had watched thee gleaming faint and far— + But wandering in self-chosen ways + She lost Thee quite, Thou lovely star. + + Yet had her Father’s finger turned + To Thee her first inquiring glance: + The deeper shame within her burned, + When wakened from her wilful trance. + + Behold, her wisest throng Thy gate, + Their richest, sweetest, purest store, + (Yet owned too worthless and too late,) + They lavish on Thy cottage-floor. + + They give their best—O tenfold shame + On us their fallen progeny, + Who sacrifice the blind and lame— + Who will not wake or fast with Thee! + + + +First Sunday after Epiphany. + + + They shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the water + courses. _Isaiah_ xliv. 4. + + LESSONS sweet of spring returning, + Welcome to the thoughtful heart! + May I call ye sense or learning, + Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art? + Be your title what it may, + Sweet this lengthening April day, + While with you the soul is free, + Ranging wild o’er hill and lea. + + Soft as Memnon’s harp at morning, + To the inward ear devout, + Touched by light, with heavenly warning + Your transporting chords ring out. + Every leaf in every nook, + Every wave in every brook, + Chanting with a solemn voice, + Minds us of our better choice. + + Needs no show of mountain hoary, + Winding shore or deepening glen, + Where the landscape in its glory + Teaches truth to wandering men: + Give true hearts but earth and sky, + And some flowers to bloom and die, + Homely scenes and simple views + Lowly thoughts may best infuse. + + See the soft green willow springing + Where the waters gently pass, + Every way her free arms flinging + O’er the moist and reedy grass. + Long ere winter blasts are fled, + See her tipped with vernal red, + And her kindly flower displayed + Ere her leaf can cast a shade. + + Though the rudest hand assail her, + Patiently she droops awhile, + But when showers and breezes hail her, + Wears again her willing smile. + Thus I learn Contentment’s power + From the slighted willow bower, + Ready to give thanks and live + On the least that Heaven may give. + + If, the quiet brooklet leaving, + Up the stony vale I wind, + Haply half in fancy grieving + For the shades I leave behind, + By the dusty wayside drear, + Nightingales with joyous cheer + Sing, my sadness to reprove, + Gladlier than in cultured grove. + + Where the thickest boughs are twining + Of the greenest darkest tree, + There they plunge, the light declining— + All may hear, but none may see. + Fearless of the passing hoof, + Hardly will they fleet aloof; + So they live in modest ways, + Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. + + + +Second Sunday after Epiphany. + + + Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine: and when men + have well drunk, then that which is worse; but thou hast kept the + good wine until now. _St. John_ ii. 10. + + THE heart of childhood is all mirth: + We frolic to and fro + As free and blithe, as if on earth + Were no such thing as woe. + + But if indeed with reckless faith + We trust the flattering voice, + Which whispers, “Take thy fill ere death, + Indulge thee and rejoice;” + + Too surely, every setting day, + Some lost delight we mourn; + The flowers all die along our way + Till we, too, die forlorn. + + Such is the world’s gay garish feast, + In her first charming bowl + Infusing all that fires the breast, + And cheats the unstable soul. + + And still, as loud the revel swells, + The fevered pulse beats higher, + Till the seared taste from foulest wells + Is fain to slake its fire. + + Unlike the feast of heavenly love + Spread at the Saviour’s word + For souls that hear His call, and prove + Meet for His bridal board. + + Why should we fear, youth’s draught of joy + If pure would sparkle less? + Why should the cup the sooner cloy, + Which God hath deigned to bless? + + For, is it Hope, that thrills so keen + Along each bounding vein, + Still whispering glorious things unseen?— + Faith makes the vision plain. + + The world would kill her soon: but Faith + Her daring dreams will cherish, + Speeding her gaze o’er time and death + To realms where nought can perish. + + Or is it Love, the dear delight + Of hearts that know no guile, + That all around see all things bright + With their own magic smile? + + The silent joy that sinks so deep, + Of confidence and rest, + Lulled in a father’s arms to sleep, + Clasped to a mother’s breast? + + Who, but a Christian, through all life + That blessing may prolong? + Who, through the world’s sad day of strife, + Still chant his morning song? + + Fathers may hate us or forsake, + God’s foundlings then are we: + Mother on child no pity take, + But we shall still have Thee. + + We may look home, and seek in vain + A fond fraternal heart, + But Christ hath given His promise plain + To do a Brother’s part. + + Nor shall dull age, as worldlings say, + The heavenward flame annoy: + The Saviour cannot pass away, + And with Him lives our joy. + + Ever the richest, tenderest glow + Sets round the autumnal sun— + But there sight fails: no heart may know + The bliss when life is done. + + Such is Thy banquet, dearest Lord; + O give us grace, to cast + Our lot with Thine, to trust Thy word, + And keep our best till last. + + + +Third Sunday after Epiphany. + + + When Jesus heard it, He marvelled, and said to them that followed, + Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in + Israel. _St. Matthew_ viii. 10. + + I MARKED a rainbow in the north, + What time the wild autumnal sun + From his dark veil at noon looked forth, + As glorying in his course half done, + Flinging soft radiance far and wide + Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side. + + It was a gleam to Memory dear, + And as I walk and muse apart, + When all seems faithless round and drear, + I would revive it in my heart, + And watch how light can find its way + To regions farthest from the fount of day. + + Light flashes in the gloomiest sky, + And Music in the dullest plain, + For there the lark is soaring high + Over her flat and leafless reign, + And chanting in so blithe a tone, + It shames the weary heart to feel itself alone. + + Brighter than rainbow in the north, + More cheery than the matin lark, + Is the soft gleam of Christian worth, + Which on some holy house we mark; + Dear to the pastor’s aching heart + To think, where’er he looks, such gleam may have a part; + + May dwell, unseen by all but Heaven, + Like diamond blazing in the mine; + For ever, where such grace is given, + It fears in open day to shine, + Lest the deep stain it owns within + Break out, and Faith be shamed by the believer’s sin. + + In silence and afar they wait, + To find a prayer their Lord may hear: + Voice of the poor and desolate, + You best may bring it to His ear; + Your grateful intercessions rise + With more than royal pomp, and pierce the skies. + + Happy the soul whose precious cause + You in the Sovereign Presence plead— + “This is the lover of Thy laws, + The friend of Thine in fear and need,” + For to the poor Thy mercy lends + That solemn style, “Thy nation and Thy friends.” + + He too is blest whose outward eye + The graceful lines of art may trace, + While his free spirit, soaring high, + Discerns the glorious from the base; + Till out of dust his magic raise + A home for prayer and love, and full harmonious praise, + + Where far away and high above, + In maze on maze the trancèd sight + Strays, mindful of that heavenly love + Which knows no end in depth or height, + While the strong breath of Music seems + To waft us ever on, soaring in blissful dreams. + + What though in poor and humble guise + Thou here didst sojourn, cottage-born? + Yet from Thy glory in the skies + Our earthly gold Thou dost not scorn. + For Love delights to bring her best, + And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest. + + Love on the Saviour’s dying head + Her spikenard drops unblamed may pour, + May mount His cross, and wrap Him dead + In spices from the golden shore; + Risen, may embalm His sacred name + With all a Painter’s art, and all a Minstrel’s flame. + + Worthless and lost our offerings seem, + Drops in the ocean of His praise; + But Mercy with her genial beam + Is ripening them to pearly blaze, + To sparkle in His crown above, + Who welcomes here a child’s as there an angel’s love. + + + +Fourth Sunday after Epiphany. + + + When they saw Him, they besought Him that He would depart out of + their coasts. _St. Matthew_ viii. 34. + + THEY know the Almighty’s power, + Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower, + Watch for the fitful breeze + To howl and chafe amid the bending trees, + Watch for the still white gleam + To bathe the landscape in a fiery stream, + Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light + Too rapid and too pure for all but angel sight. + + They know the Almighty’s love, + Who, when the whirlwinds rock the topmost grove, + Stand in the shade, and hear + The tumult with a deep exulting fear, + How, in their fiercest sway, + Curbed by some power unseen, they die away, + Like a bold steed that owns his rider’s arm, + Proud to be checked and soothed by that o’er-mastering chains. + + But there are storms within + That heave the struggling heart with wilder din, + And there is power and love + The maniac’s rushing frenzy to reprove, + And when he takes his seat, + Clothed and in calmness, at his Savour’s feet, + Is not the power as strange, the love as blest, + As when He said, “Be still,” and ocean sank to rest? + + Woe to the wayward heart, + That gladlier turns to eye the shuddering start + Of Passion in her might, + Than marks the silent growth of grace and light;— + Pleased in the cheerless tomb + To linger, while the morning rays illume + Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade, + Shaking their dewy tresses now the storm is laid. + + The storm is laid—and now + In His meek power He climbs the mountain’s brow, + Who bade the waves go sleep, + And lashed the vexed fiends to their yawning deep. + How on a rock they stand, + Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand! + Not half so fixed, amid her vassal hills, + Rises the holy pile that Kedron’s valley fills. + + And wilt thou seek again + Thy howling waste, thy charnel-house and chain, + And with the demons be, + Rather than clasp thine own Deliverer’s knee? + Sure ’tis no Heaven-bred awe + That bids thee from His healing touch withdraw; + The world and He are struggling in thine heart, + And in thy reckless mood thou bidd’st thy Lord depart. + + He, merciful and mild, + As erst, beholding, loves His wayward child; + When souls of highest birth + Waste their impassioned might on dreams of earth, + He opens Nature’s book, + And on His glorious Gospel bids them look, + Till, by such chords as rule the choirs above, + Their lawless cries are tuned to hymns of perfect love. + + + +Fifth Sunday after Epiphany. + + + Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; + neither His ear heavy, that it cannot hear; but your iniquities have + separated between you and your God. _Isaiah_ lix. 1, 2. + + “WAKE, arm Divine! awake, + Eye of the only Wise! + Now for Thy glory’s sake, + Saviour and God, arise, + And may Thine ear, that sealèd seems, + In pity mark our mournful themes!” + + Thus in her lonely hour + Thy Church is fain to cry, + As if Thy love and power + Were vanished from her sky; + Yet God is there, and at His side + He triumphs, who for sinners died. + + Ah! ’tis the world enthralls + The Heaven-betrothèd breast: + The traitor Sense recalls + The soaring soul from rest. + That bitter sigh was all for earth, + For glories gone and vanished mirth. + + Age would to youth return, + Farther from Heaven would be, + To feel the wildfire burn, + On idolising knee + Again to fall, and rob Thy shrine + Of hearts, the right of Love Divine. + + Lord of this erring flock! + Thou whose soft showers distil + On ocean waste or rock, + Free as on Hermon hill, + Do Thou our craven spirits cheer, + And shame away the selfish tear. + + ’Twas silent all and dead + Beside the barren sea, + Where Philip’s steps were led, + Led by a voice from Thee— + He rose and went, nor asked Thee why, + Nor stayed to heave one faithless sigh: + + Upon his lonely way + The high-born traveller came, + Reading a mournful lay + Of “One who bore our shame, + Silent Himself, His name untold, + And yet His glories were of old.” + + To muse what Heaven might mean + His wondering brow he raised, + And met an eye serene + That on him watchful gazed. + No Hermit e’er so welcome crossed + A child’s lone path in woodland lost. + + Now wonder turns to love; + The scrolls of sacred lore + No darksome mazes prove; + The desert tires no more + They bathe where holy waters flow, + Then on their way rejoicing go. + + They part to meet in Heaven; + But of the joy they share, + Absolving and forgiven, + The sweet remembrance bear. + Yes—mark him well, ye cold and proud. + Bewildered in a heartless crowd, + + Starting and turning pale + At Rumour’s angry din— + No storm can now assail + The charm he wears within, + Rejoicing still, and doing good, + And with the thought of God imbued. + + No glare of high estate, + No gloom of woe or want, + The radiance can abate + Where Heaven delights to haunt: + Sin only bides the genial ray, + And, round the Cross, makes night of day. + + Then weep it from thy heart; + So mayst thou duly learn + The intercessor’s part; + Thy prayers and tears may earn + For fallen souls some healing breath, + Era they have died the Apostate’s death. + + + +Sixth Sunday after Epiphany. + + + Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what + we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall be like + Him; for we shall see Him as he is. _St. John_ iii. 2. + + THERE are, who darkling and alone, + Would wish the weary night were gone, + Though dawning morn should only show + The secret of their unknown woe: + Who pray for sharpest throbs of pain + To ease them of doubt’s galling chain: + “Only disperse the cloud,” they cry, + “And if our fate be death, give light and let us die.” + + Unwise I deem them, Lord, unmeet + To profit by Thy chastenings sweet, + For Thou wouldst have us linger still + Upon the verge of good or ill. + That on Thy guiding hand unseen + Our undivided hearts may lean, + And this our frail and foundering bark + Glide in the narrow wake of Thy belovèd ark. + + ’Tis so in war—the champion true + Loves victory more when dim in view + He sees her glories gild afar + The dusky edge of stubborn war, + Than if the untrodden bloodless field + The harvest of her laurels yield; + Let not my bark in calm abide, + But win her fearless way against the chafing tide. + + ’Tis so in love—the faithful heart + From her dim vision would not part, + When first to her fond gaze is given + That purest spot in Fancy’s heaven, + For all the gorgeous sky beside, + Though pledged her own and sure to abide: + Dearer than every past noon-day + That twilight gleam to her, though faint and far away. + + So have I seen some tender flower + Prized above all the vernal bower, + Sheltered beneath the coolest shade, + Embosomed in the greenest glade, + So frail a gem, it scarce may bear + The playful touch of evening air; + When hardier grown we love it less, + And trust it from our sight, not needing our caress. + + And wherefore is the sweet spring-tide + Worth all the changeful year beside? + The last-born babe, why lies its part + Deep in the mother’s inmost heart? + But that the Lord and Source of love + Would have His weakest ever prove + Our tenderest care—and most of all + Our frail immortal souls, His work and Satan’s thrall. + + So be it, Lord; I know it best, + Though not as yet this wayward breast + Beat quite in answer to Thy voice, + Yet surely I have made my choice; + I know not yet the promised bliss, + Know not if I shall win or miss; + So doubting, rather let me die, + Than close with aught beside, to last eternally. + + What is the Heaven we idly dream? + The self-deceiver’s dreary theme, + A cloudless sun that softly shines, + Bright maidens and unfailing vines, + The warrior’s pride, the hunter’s mirth, + Poor fragments all of this low earth: + Such as in sleep would hardly soothe + A soul that once had tasted of immortal Truth. + + What is the Heaven our God bestows? + No Prophet yet, no Angel knows; + Was never yet created eye + Could see across Eternity; + Not seraph’s wing for ever soaring + Can pass the flight of souls adoring, + That nearer still and nearer grow + To the unapproachèd Lord, once made for them so low. + + Unseen, unfelt their earthly growth, + And self-accused of sin and sloth, + They live and die; their names decay, + Their fragrance passes quite away; + Like violets in the freezing blast + No vernal steam around they cast.— + But they shall flourish from the tomb, + The breath of God shall wake them into odorous bloom. + + Then on the incarnate Saviour’s breast, + The fount of sweetness, they shall rest, + Their spirits every hour imbued + More deeply with His precious blood. + But peace—still voice and closèd eye + Suit best with hearts beyond the sky, + Hearts training in their low abode, + Daily to lose themselves in hope to find their God. + + + +Septuagesima Sunday. + + + The invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are + clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. _Romans_ + i. 20. + + THERE is a book, who runs may read, + Which heavenly truth imparts, + And all the lore its scholars need, + Pure eyes and Christian hearts. + + The works of God above, below, + Within us and around, + Are pages in that book, to show + How God Himself is found. + + The glorious sky embracing all + Is like the Maker’s love, + Wherewith encompassed, great and small + In peace and order move. + + The Moon above, the Church below, + A wondrous race they run, + But all their radiance, all their glow, + Each borrows of its Sun. + + The Savour lends the light and heat + That crowns His holy hill; + The saints, like stars, around His seat + Perform their courses still. + + The saints above are stars in heaven— + What are the saints on earth? + Like tress they stand whom God has given, + Our Eden’s happy birth. + + Faith is their fixed unswerving root, + Hope their unfading flower, + Fair deeds of charity their fruit, + The glory of their bower. + + The dew of heaven is like Thy grace, + It steals in silence down; + But where it lights, this favoured place + By richest fruits is known. + + One Name above all glorious names + With its ten thousand tongues + The everlasting sea proclaims. + Echoing angelic songs. + + The raging Fire, the roaring Wind, + Thy boundless power display; + But in the gentler breeze we find + Thy Spirit’s viewless way. + + Two worlds are ours: ’tis only Sin + Forbids us to descry + The mystic heaven and earth within, + Plain as the sea and sky. + + Thou, who hast given me eyes to see + And love this sight so fair, + Give me a heart to find out Thee, + And read Thee everywhere. + + + +Sexagesima Sunday. + + + So He drove out the man; and He placed at the east of the garden of + Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep + the way of the tree of life. _Genesis_ iii. 24; compare chap. vi. + + FOE of mankind! too bold thy race: + Thou runn’st at such a reckless pace, + Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound: + ’Twas but one little drop of sin + We saw this morning enter in, + And lo! at eventide the world is drowned. + + See here the fruit of wandering eyes, + Of worldly longings to be wise, + Of Passion dwelling on forbidden sweets: + Ye lawless glances, freely rove; + Ruin below and wrath above + Are all that now the wildering fancy meets. + + Lord, when in some deep garden glade, + Of Thee and of myself afraid. + From thoughts like these among the bowers I hide, + Nearest and loudest then of all + I seem to hear the Judge’s call:— + “Where art thou, fallen man? come forth, and be thou tried.” + + Trembling before Thee as I stand, + Where’er I gaze on either hand + The sentence is gone forth, the ground is cursed: + Yet mingled with the penal shower + Some drops of balm in every bower + Steal down like April dews, that softest fall and first. + + If filial and maternal love + Memorial of our guilt must prove, + If sinful babes in sorrow must be born, + Yet, to assuage her sharpest throes, + The faithful mother surely knows, + This was the way Thou cam’st to save the world forlorn. + + If blessèd wedlock may not bless + Without some tinge of bitterness + To dash her cup of joy, since Eden lost, + Chaining to earth with strong desire + Hearts that would highest else aspire, + And o’er the tenderer sex usurping ever most; + + Yet by the light of Christian lore + ’Tis blind Idolatry no more, + But a sweet help and pattern of true love, + Showing how best the soul may cling + To her immortal Spouse and King, + How He should rule, and she with full desire approve. + + If niggard Earth her treasures hide, + To all but labouring hands denied, + Lavish of thorns and worthless weeds alone, + The doom is half in mercy given, + To train us in our way to Heaven, + And show our lagging souls how glory must be won. + + If on the sinner’s outward frame + God hath impressed His mark of blame, + And e’en our bodies shrink at touch of light, + Yet mercy hath not left us bare: + The very weeds we daily wear + Are to Faith’s eye a pledge of God’s forgiving might. + + And oh! if yet one arrow more, + The sharpest of the Almighty’s store, + Tremble upon the string—a sinner’s death— + Art Thou not by to soothe and save, + To lay us gently in the grave, + To close the weary eye and hush the parting breath? + + Therefore in sight of man bereft + The happy garden still was left; + The fiery sword that guarded, showed it too; + Turning all ways, the world to teach, + That though as yet beyond our reach, + Still in its place the tree of life and glory grew. + + + +Quinquagesima Sunday. + + + I do set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a + covenant between Me and the earth. _Genesis_ ix. 13. + + SWEET Dove! the softest, steadiest plume, + In all the sunbright sky, + Brightening in ever-changeful bloom + As breezes change on high;— + + Sweet Leaf! the pledge of peace and mirth, + “Long sought, and lately won,” + Blessed increase of reviving Earth, + When first it felt the Sun;— + + Sweet Rainbow! pride of summer days, + High set at Heaven’s command, + Though into drear and dusky haze + Thou melt on either hand;— + + Dear tokens of a pardoning God, + We hail ye, one and all, + As when our fathers walked abroad, + Freed from their twelvemonth’s thrall. + + How joyful from the imprisoning ark + On the green earth they spring! + Not blither, after showers, the lark + Mounts up with glistening wing. + + So home-bound sailors spring to shore, + Two oceans safely past; + So happy souls, when life is o’er, + Plunge in this empyreal vast. + + What wins their first and fondest gaze + In all the blissful field, + And keeps it through a thousand days? + Love face to face revealed: + + Love imaged in that cordial look + Our Lord in Eden bends + On souls that sin and earth forsook + In time to die His friends. + + And what most welcome and serene + Dawns on the Patriarch’s eye, + In all the emerging hills so green, + In all the brightening sky? + + What but the gentle rainbow’s gleam, + Soothing the wearied sight, + That cannot bear the solar beam, + With soft undazzling light? + + Lord, if our fathers turned to Thee + With such adoring gaze, + Wondering frail man Thy light should see + Without Thy scorching blaze; + + Where is our love, and where our hearts, + We who have seen Thy Son, + Have tried Thy Spirit’s winning arts, + And yet we are not won? + + The Son of God in radiance beamed + Too bright for us to scan, + But we may face the rays that streamed + From the mild Son of Man. + + There, parted into rainbow hues, + In sweet harmonious strife + We see celestial love diffuse + Its light o’er Jesus’ life. + + God, by His bow, vouchsafes to write + This truth in Heaven above: + As every lovely hue is Light, + So every grace is Love. + + + +Ash Wednesday. + + + When thou fastest, anoint thine head, and wash thy face; that thou + appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in secret. + _St. Matthew_ vi. 17, 18. + + “YES—deep within and deeper yet + The rankling shaft of conscience hide, + Quick let the swelling eye forget + The tears that in the heart abide. + Calm be the voice, the aspect bold, + No shuddering pass o’er lip or brow, + For why should Innocence be told + The pangs that guilty spirits bow? + + “The loving eye that watches thine + Close as the air that wraps thee round— + Why in thy sorrow should it pine, + Since never of thy sin it found? + And wherefore should the heathen see + What chains of darkness thee enslave, + And mocking say, ‘Lo, this is he + Who owned a God that could not save’?” + + Thus oft the mourner’s wayward heart + Tempts him to hide his grief and die, + Too feeble for Confession’s smart, + Too proud to bear a pitying eye; + How sweet, in that dark hour, to fall + On bosoms waiting to receive + Our sighs, and gently whisper all! + They love us—will not God forgive? + + Else let us keep our fast within, + Till Heaven and we are quite alone, + Then let the grief, the shame, the sin, + Before the mercy-seat be thrown. + Between the porch and altar weep, + Unworthy of the holiest place, + Yet hoping near the shrine to keep + One lowly cell in sight of grace. + + Nor fear lest sympathy should fail— + Hast thou not seen, in night hours drear, + When racking thoughts the heart assail, + The glimmering stars by turns appear, + And from the eternal house above + With silent news of mercy steal? + So Angels pause on tasks of love, + To look where sorrowing sinners kneel. + + Or if no Angel pass that way, + He who in secret sees, perchance + May bid His own heart-warming ray + Toward thee stream with kindlier glance, + As when upon His drooping head + His Father’s light was poured from Heaven, + What time, unsheltered and unfed, + Far in the wild His steps were driven. + + High thoughts were with Him in that hour, + Untold, unspeakable on earth— + And who can stay the soaring power + Of spirits weaned from worldly mirth, + While far beyond the sound of praise + With upward eye they float serene, + And learn to bear their Saviour’s blaze + When Judgment shall undraw the screen? + + + +First Sunday in Lent. + + + Haste thee, escape thither: for I cannot do any thing till thou be + come thither. Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar. + _Genesis_ xix. 22. + + “ANGEL of wrath! why linger in mid-air, + While the devoted city’s cry + Louder and louder swells? and canst thou spare, + Thy full-charged vial standing by?” + Thus, with stern voice, unsparing Justice pleads: + He hears her not—with softened gaze + His eye is following where sweet Mercy leads, + And till she give the sign, his fury stays. + + Guided by her, along the mountain road, + Far through the twilight of the morn, + With hurried footsteps from the accursed abode + He sees the holy household borne; + Angels, or more, on either hand are nigh, + To speed them o’er the tempting plain, + Lingering in heart, and with frail sidelong eye + Seeking how near they may unharmed remain. + + “Ah! wherefore gleam those upland slopes so fair? + And why, through every woodland arch, + Swells yon bright vale, as Eden rich and rare, + Where Jordan winds his stately march; + If all must be forsaken, ruined all, + If God have planted but to burn?— + Surely not yet the avenging shower will fall, + Though to my home for one last look I turn.” + + Thus while they waver, surely long ago + They had provoked the withering blast, + But that the merciful Avengers know + Their frailty well, and hold them fast. + “Haste, for thy life escape, nor look behind”— + Ever in thrilling sounds like these + They check the wandering eye, severely kind, + Nor let the sinner lose his soul at ease. + + And when, o’erwearied with the steep ascent, + We for a nearer refuge crave, + One little spot of ground in mercy lent, + One hour of home before the grave, + Oft in His pity o’er His children weak, + His hand withdraws the penal fire, + And where we fondly cling, forbears to wreak + Full vengeance, till our hearts are weaned entire. + + Thus, by the merits of one righteous man, + The Church, our Zoar, shall abide, + Till she abuse, so sore, her lengthened span, + E’en Mercy’s self her face must hide. + Then, onward yet a step, thou hard-won soul; + Though in the Church thou know thy place, + The mountain farther lies—there seek thy goal, + There breathe at large, o’erpast thy dangerous race. + + Sweet is the smile of home; the mutual look + When hearts are of each other sure; + Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, + The haunt of all affections pure; + Yet in the world e’en these abide, and we + Above the world our calling boast; + Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free: + Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost. + + + +Second Sunday in Lent. + + + And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great + and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me, even me + also, O my father. _Genesis_ xxvii. 34. (Compare _Hebrews_ xii. 17. + He found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with + tears.) + + “AND is there in God’s world so drear a place + Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain? + Where tears of penance come too late for grace, + As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?” + + ’Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of souls + Stores in the dungeon of His boundless realm + Each bolt that o’er the sinner vainly rolls, + With gathered wrath the reprobate to whelm. + + Will the storm hear the sailor’s piteous cry, + Taught so mistrust, too late, the tempting wave, + When all around he sees but sea and sky, + A God in anger, a self-chosen grave? + + Or will the thorns, that strew intemperance’ bed, + Turn with a wish to down? will late remorse + Recall the shaft the murderer’s hand has sped, + Or from the guiltless bosom turn its course? + + Then may the unbodied soul in safety fleet + Through the dark curtains of the world above, + Fresh from the stain of crime; nor fear to meet + The God whom here she would not learn to love; + + Then is there hope for such as die unblest, + That angel wings may waft them to the shore, + Nor need the unready virgin strike her breast, + Nor wait desponding round the bridegroom’s door. + + But where is then the stay of contrite hearts? + Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word, + But with the sinner’s fear their hope departs, + Fast linked as Thy great Name to Thee, O Lord: + + That Name, by which Thy faithful oath is past, + That we should endless be, for joy or woe:— + And if the treasures of Thy wrath could waste, + Thy lovers must their promised Heaven forego. + + But ask of elder days, earth’s vernal hour, + When in familiar talk God’s voice was heard, + When at the Patriarch’s call the fiery shower + Propitious o’er the turf-built shrine appeared. + + Watch by our father Isaac’s pastoral door— + The birthright sold, the blessing lost and won; + Tell, Heaven has wrath that can relent no more; + The Grave, dark deeds that cannot be undone. + + We barter life for pottage; sell true bliss + For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown; + Thus, Esau-like, our Father’s blessing miss, + Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown. + + Our faded crown, despised and flung aside, + Shall on some brother’s brow immortal bloom; + No partial hand the blessing may misguide, + No flattering fancy change our Monarch’s doom: + + His righteous doom, that meek true-hearted Love + The everlasting birthright should receive, + The softest dews drop on her from above, + The richest green her mountain garland weave: + + Her brethren, mightiest, wisest, eldest-born, + Bow to her sway, and move at her behest; + Isaac’s fond blessing may not fall on scorn, + Nor Balaam’s curse on Love, which God hath blest. + + + +Third Sunday in Lent. + + + When a strong man armed keepeth his place, his goods are in peace; + but when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, he + taketh from him all his armour wherein he trusted, and divideth his + spoils. _St. Luke_ xi. 21, 22. + + SEE Lucifer like lightning fall, + Dashed from his throne of pride; + While, answering Thy victorious call, + The Saints his spoils divide; + This world of Thine, by him usurped too long, + Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants’ wrong. + + So when the first-born of Thy foes + Dead in the darkness lay, + When Thy redeemed at midnight rose + And cast their bonds away, + The orphaned realm threw wide her gates, and told + Into freed Israel’s lap her jewels and her gold. + + And when their wondrous march was o’er, + And they had won their homes, + Where Abraham fed his flock of yore, + Among their fathers’ tombs;— + A land that drinks the rain of Heaven at will, + Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill;— + + Oft as they watched, at thoughtful eve, + A gale from bowers of balm + Sweep o’er the billowy corn, and heave + The tresses of the palm, + Just as the lingering Sun had touched with gold, + Far o’er the cedar shade, some tower of giants old; + + It was a fearful joy, I ween, + To trace the Heathen’s toil, + The limpid wells, the orchards green, + Left ready for the spoil, + The household stores untouched, the roses bright + Wreathed o’er the cottage walls in garlands of delight. + + And now another Canaan yields + To Thine all-conquering ark:— + Fly from the “old poetic” fields, + Ye Paynim shadows dark! + Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays, + Lo! here the “unknown God” of thy unconscious praise. + + The olive-wreath, the ivied wand, + “The sword in myrtles drest,” + Each legend of the shadowy strand + Now wakes a vision blest; + As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven, + So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given. + + And these are ours: Thy partial grace + The tempting treasure lends: + These relies of a guilty race + Are forfeit to Thy friends; + What seemed an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee, + Tuned by Faith’s ear to some celestial melody. + + There’s not a strain to Memory dear, + Nor flower in classic grove, + There’s not a sweet note warbled here, + But minds us of Thy Love. + O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, + There is no light but Thine: with Thee all beauty glows. + + + +Fourth Sunday in Lent. + + + Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his brother; and he + sought where to weep, and he entered into his chamber and wept there. + _Genesis_ xliii. 30. + + There stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his + brethren. _Genesis_ xlv. 1. + + WHEN Nature tries her finest touch, + Weaving her vernal wreath, + Mark ye, how close she veils her round, + Not to be traced by sight or sound, + Nor soiled by ruder breath? + + Who ever saw the earliest rose + First open her sweet breast? + Or, when the summer sun goes down, + The first soft star in evening’s crown + Light up her gleaming crest? + + Fondly we seek the dawning bloom + On features wan and fair, + The gazing eye no change can trace, + But look away a little space, + Then turn, and lo! ’tis there. + + But there’s a sweeter flower than e’er + Blushed on the rosy spray— + A brighter star, a richer bloom + Than e’er did western heaven illume + At close of summer day. + + ’Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven; + Love gentle, holy, pure; + But tenderer than a dove’s soft eye, + The searching sun, the open sky, + She never could endure. + + E’en human Love will shrink from sight + Here in the coarse rude earth: + How then should rash intruding glance + Break in upon _her_ sacred trance + Who boasts a heavenly birth? + + So still and secret is her growth, + Ever the truest heart, + Where deepest strikes her kindly root + For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, + Least knows its happy part. + + God only, and good angels, look + Behind the blissful screen— + As when, triumphant o’er His woes, + The Son of God by moonlight rose, + By all but Heaven unseen: + + As when the holy Maid beheld + Her risen Son and Lord: + Thought has not colours half so fair + That she to paint that hour may dare, + In silence best adored. + + The gracious Dove, that brought from Heaven + The earnest of our bliss, + Of many a chosen witness telling, + On many a happy vision dwelling, + Sings not a note of this. + + So, truest image of the Christ, + Old Israel’s long-lost son, + What time, with sweet forgiving cheer, + He called his conscious brethren near, + Would weep with them alone. + + He could not trust his melting soul + But in his Maker’s sight— + Then why should gentle hearts and true + Bare to the rude world’s withering view + Their treasure of delight! + + No—let the dainty rose awhile + Her bashful fragrance hide— + Rend not her silken veil too soon, + But leave her, in her own soft noon, + To flourish and abide. + + + +Fifth Sunday in Lent. + + + And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why + the bush is not burnt. _Exodus_ iii. 3. + + THE historic Muse, from age to age, + Through many a waste heart-sickening page + Hath traced the works of Man: + But a celestial call to-day + Stays her, like Moses, on her way, + The works of God to scan. + + Far seen across the sandy wild, + Where, like a solitary child, + He thoughtless roamed and free, + One towering thorn was wrapt in flame— + Bright without blaze it went and came: + Who would not turn and see? + + Along the mountain ledges green + The scattered sheep at will may glean + The Desert’s spicy stores: + The while, with undivided heart, + The shepherd talks with God apart, + And, as he talks, adores. + + Ye too, who tend Christ’s wildering flock, + Well may ye gather round the rock + That once was Sion’s hill: + To watch the fire upon the mount + Still blazing, like the solar fount, + Yet unconsuming still. + + Caught from that blaze by wrath Divine, + Lost branches of the once-loved vine, + Now withered, spent, and sere, + See Israel’s sons, like glowing brands, + Tossed wildly o’er a thousand lands + For twice a thousand year. + + God will not quench nor slay them quite, + But lifts them like a beacon-light + The apostate Church to scare; + Or like pale ghosts that darkling roam, + Hovering around their ancient home, + But find no refuge there. + + Ye blessèd Angels! if of you + There be, who love the ways to view + Of Kings and Kingdoms here; + (And sure, ’tis worth an Angel’s gaze, + To see, throughout that dreary maze, + God teaching love and fear:) + + Oh say, in all the bleak expanse + Is there a spot to win your glance, + So bright, so dark as this? + A hopeless faith, a homeless race, + Yet seeking the most holy place, + And owning the true bliss! + + Salted with fire they seem, to show + How spirits lost in endless woe + May undecaying live. + Oh, sickening thought! yet hold it fast + Long as this glittering world shall last, + Or sin at heart survive. + + And hark! amid the flashing fire, + Mingling with tones of fear and ire, + Soft Mercy’s undersong— + ’Tis Abraham’s God who speaks so loud, + His people’s cries have pierced the cloud, + He sees, He sees their wrong; + + He is come down to break their chain; + Though nevermore on Sion’s fane + His visible ensign wave; + ’Tis Sion, wheresoe’er they dwell, + Who, with His own true Israel, + Shall own Him strong to save. + + He shall redeem them one by one, + Where’er the world-encircling sun + Shall see them meekly kneel: + All that He asks on Israel’s part, + Is only that the captive heart + Its woe and burthen feel. + + Gentiles! with fixed yet awful eye + Turn ye this page of mystery, + Nor slight the warning sound: + “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet— + The place where man his God shall meet, + Be sure, is holy ground.” + + + +Palm Sunday. + + + And He answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these should + hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out. _St. Luke_ + xix. 40. + + YE whose hearts are beating high + With the pulse of Poesy, + Heirs of more than royal race, + Framed by Heaven’s peculiar grace, + God’s own work to do on earth, + (If the word be not too bold,) + Giving virtue a new birth, + And a life that ne’er grows old— + + Sovereign masters of all hearts! + Know ye, who hath set your parts? + He who gave you breath to sing, + By whose strength ye sweep the string, + He hath chosen you, to lead + His Hosannas here below;— + Mount, and claim your glorious meed; + Linger not with sin and woe. + + But if ye should hold your peace, + Deem not that the song would cease— + Angels round His glory-throne, + Stars, His guiding hand that own, + Flowers, that grow beneath our feet, + Stones in earth’s dark womb that rest, + High and low in choir shall meet, + Ere His Name shall be unblest. + + Lord, by every minstrel tongue + Be Thy praise so duly sung, + That Thine angels’ harps may ne’er + Fail to find fit echoing here: + We the while, of meaner birth, + Who in that divinest spell + Dare not hope to join on earth, + Give us grace to listen well. + + But should thankless silence seal + Lips that might half Heaven reveal, + Should bards in idol-hymns profane + The sacred soul-enthralling strain, + (As in this bad world below + Noblest things find vilest using,) + Then, Thy power and mercy show, + In vile things noble breath infusing; + + Then waken into sound divine + The very pavement of Thy shrine, + Till we, like Heaven’s star-sprinkled floor, + Faintly give back what we adore: + Childlike though the voices be, + And untunable the parts, + Thou wilt own the minstrelsy + If it flow from childlike hearts. + + + +Monday before Easter. + + + Doubtless Thou art our Father, though Abraham be ignorant of us, and + Israel acknowledge us not. _Isaiah_ lxiii. 16. + + “FATHER to me thou art and mother dear, + And brother too, kind husband of my heart”— + So speaks Andromache in boding fear, + Ere from her last embrace her hero part— + So evermore, by Faith’s undying glow, + We own the Crucified in weal or woe. + + Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home, + This fragrance of our old paternal fields + May be forgotten; and the time may come + When the babe’s kiss no sense of pleasure yields + E’en to the doting mother: but Thine own + Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone. + + There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs, + None loves them best—O vain and selfish sigh! + Out of the bosom of His love He spares— + The Father spares the Son, for thee to die: + For thee He died—for thee He lives again: + O’er thee He watches in His boundless reign. + + Thou art as much His care, as if beside + Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth: + Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide + To light up worlds, or wake an insect’s mirth: + They shine and shine with unexhausted store— + Thou art thy Saviour’s darling—seek no more. + + On thee and thine, thy warfare and thine end, + E’en in His hour of agony He thought, + When, ere the final pang His soul should rend, + The ransomed spirits one by one were brought + To His mind’s eye—two silent nights and days + In calmness for His far-seen hour He stays. + + Ye vaulted cells, where martyred seers of old + Far in the rocky walls of Sion sleep, + Green terraces and archèd fountains cold, + Where lies the cypress shade so still and deep, + Dear sacred haunts of glory and of woe, + Help us, one hour, to trace His musings high and low: + + One heart-ennobling hour! It may not be: + The unearthly thoughts have passed from earth away, + And fast as evening sunbeams from the sea + Thy footsteps all in Sion’s deep decay + Were blotted from the holy ground: yet dear + Is every stone of hers; for Thou want surely here. + + There is a spot within this sacred dale + That felt Thee kneeling—touched Thy prostrate brow: + One Angel knows it. O might prayer avail + To win that knowledge! sure each holy vow + Less quickly from the unstable soul would fade, + Offered where Christ in agony was laid. + + Might tear of ours once mingle with the blood + That from His aching brow by moonlight fell, + Over the mournful joy our thoughts would brood, + Till they had framed within a guardian spell + To chase repining fancies, as they rise, + Like birds of evil wing, to mar our sacrifice. + + So dreams the heart self-flattering, fondly dreams;— + Else wherefore, when the bitter waves o’erflow, + Miss we the light, Gethsemane, that streams + From thy dear name, where in His page of woe + It shines, a pale kind star in winter’s sky? + Who vainly reads it there, in vain had seen Him die. + + + +Tuesday before Easter. + + + They gave Him to drink wine mingled with myrrh: but He received in + not. _St. Mark_ xv. 23. + + “FILL high the bowl, and spice it well, and pour + The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp, + The Cross is sharp, and He + Is tenderer than a lamb. + + “He wept by Lazarus’ grave—how will He bear + This bed of anguish? and His pale weak form + Is worn with many a watch + Of sorrow and unrest. + + “His sweat last night was as great drops of blood, + And the sad burthen pressed Him so to earth, + The very torturers paused + To help Him on His way. + + “Fill high the bowl, benumb His aching sense + With medicined sleep.”—O awful in Thy woe! + The parching thirst of death + Is on Thee, and Thou triest + + The slumb’rous potion bland, and wilt not drink: + Not sullen, nor in scorn, like haughty man + With suicidal hand + Putting his solace by: + + But as at first Thine all-pervading look + Saw from Thy Father’s bosom to the abyss + Measuring in calm presage + The infinite descent; + + So to the end, though now of mortal pangs + Made heir, and emptied of Thy glory, awhile, + With unaverted eye + Thou meetest all the storm. + + Thou wilt feel all, that Thou mayst pity all; + And rather wouldst Thou wreathe with strong pain, + Than overcloud Thy soul, + So clear in agony, + + Or lose one glimpse of Heaven before the time + O most entire and perfect sacrifice, + Renewed in every pulse + That on the tedious Cross + + Told the long hours of death, as, one by one, + The life-strings of that tender heart gave way; + E’en sinners, taught by Thee, + Look Sorrow in the face, + + And bid her freely welcome, unbeguiled + By false kind solaces, and spells of earth:— + And yet not all unsoothed; + For when was Joy so dear, + + As the deep calm that breathed, “_Father_, _forgive_,” + Or, “_Be with Me in Paradise to-day_?” + And, though the strife be sore, + Yet in His parting breath + + Love masters Agony; the soul that seemed + Forsaken, feels her present God again, + And in her Father’s arms + Contented dies away. + + + +Wednesday before Easter. + + + Saying, Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cup from Me; + nevertheless not My will, but Thine, be done. _St. Luke_ xxii. 42. + + O LORD my God, do thou Thy holy will— + I will lie still— + I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm, + And break the charm + Which lulls me, clinging to my Father’s breast, + In perfect rest. + + Wild fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile + With thy false smile: + I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways; + Be silent, Praise, + Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all + That hear thy call. + + Come, Self-devotion, high and pure, + Thoughts that in thankfulness endure, + Though dearest hopes are faithless found, + And dearest hearts are bursting round. + Come, Resignation, spirit meek, + And let me kiss thy placid cheek, + And read in thy pale eye serene + Their blessing, who by faith can wean + Their hearts from sense, and learn to love + God only, and the joys above. + + They say, who know the life divine, + And upward gaze with eagle eyne, + That by each golden crown on high, + Rich with celestial jewelry, + Which for our Lord’s redeemed is set, + There hangs a radiant coronet, + All gemmed with pure and living light, + Too dazzling for a sinner’s sight, + Prepared for virgin souls, and them + Who seek the martyr’s diadem. + + Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire, + Must win their way through blood and fire. + The writhings of a wounded heart + Are fiercer than a foeman’s dart. + Oft in Life’s stillest shade reclining, + In Desolation unrepining, + Without a hope on earth to find + A mirror in an answering mind, + Meek souls there are, who little dream + Their daily strife an Angel’s theme, + Or that the rod they take so calm + Shall prove in Heaven a martyr’s palm. + + And there are souls that seem to dwell + Above this earth—so rich a spell + Floats round their steps, where’er they move, + From hopes fulfilled and mutual love. + Such, if on high their thoughts are set, + Nor in the stream the source forget, + If prompt to quit the bliss they know, + Following the Lamb where’er He go, + By purest pleasures unbeguiled + To idolise or wife or child; + Such wedded souls our God shall own + For faultless virgins round His throne. + + Thus everywhere we find our suffering God, + And where He trod + May set our steps: the Cross on Calvary + Uplifted high + Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light + In open fight. + + To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart + He doth impart + The virtue of his midnight agony, + When none was nigh, + Save God and one good angel, to assuage + The tempest’s rage. + + Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find + All to thy mind, + Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend, + Thee to befriend: + So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call, + Thy best, thine all. + + “O Father! not My will, but Thine be done”— + So spake the Son. + Be this our charm, mellowing Earth’s ruder noise + Of griefs and joys: + That we may cling for ever to Thy breast + In perfect rest! + + + +Thursday before Easter. + + + As the beginning of thy supplications the commandment came forth, and + I am come to shew thee; for thou art greatly beloved: therefore + understand the matter, and consider the vision. _Daniel_ ix. 23. + + “O HOLY mountain of my God, + How do thy towers in ruin lie, + How art thou riven and strewn abroad, + Under the rude and wasteful sky!” + ’Twas thus upon his fasting-day + The “Man of Loves” was fain to pray, + His lattice open toward his darling west, + Mourning the ruined home he still must love the best. + + Oh! for a love like Daniel’s now, + To wing to Heaven but one strong prayer + For GOD’S new Israel, sunk as low, + Yet flourishing to sight as fair, + As Sion in her height of pride, + With queens for handmaids at her side, + With kings her nursing-fathers, thronèd high, + And compassed with the world’s too tempting blazonry. + + ’Tis true, nor winter stays thy growth, + Nor torrid summer’s sickly smile; + The flashing billows of the south + Break not upon so lone an isle, + But thou, rich vine, art grafted there, + The fruit of death or life to bear, + Yielding a surer witness every day, + To thine Almighty Author and His steadfast sway. + + Oh! grief to think, that grapes of gall + Should cluster round thine healthiest shoot! + God’s herald prove a heartless thrall, + Who, if he dared, would fain be mute! + E’en such is this bad world we see, + Which self-condemned in owning Thee, + Yet dares not open farewell of Thee take, + For very pride, and her high-boasted Reason’s sake. + + What do we then? if far and wide + Men kneel to CHRIST, the pure and meek, + Yet rage with passion, swell with pride, + Have we not still our faith to seek? + Nay—but in steadfast humbleness + Kneel on to Him, who loves to bless + The prayer that waits for him; and trembling strive + To keep the lingering flame in thine own breast alive. + + Dark frowned the future e’en on him, + The loving and belovèd Seer, + What time he saw, through shadows dim, + The boundary of th’ eternal year; + He only of the sons of men + Named to be heir of glory then. + Else had it bruised too sore his tender heart + To see GOD’S ransomed world in wrath and flame depart + + Then look no more: or closer watch + Thy course in Earth’s bewildering ways, + For every glimpse thine eye can catch + Of what shall be in those dread days: + So when th’ Archangel’s word is spoken, + And Death’s deep trance for ever broken, + In mercy thou mayst feel the heavenly hand, + And in thy lot unharmed before thy Savour stand. + + + +Good Friday. + + + He is despised and rejected of men. _Isaiah_ liii. 3. + + IS it not strange, the darkest hour + That ever dawned on sinful earth + Should touch the heart with softer power + For comfort than an angel’s mirth? + That to the Cross the mourner’s eye should turn + Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn? + + Sooner than where the Easter sun + Shines glorious on yon open grave, + And to and fro the tidings run, + “Who died to heal, is risen to save?” + Sooner than where upon the Saviour’s friends + The very Comforter in light and love descends? + + Yet so it is: for duly there + The bitter herbs of earth are set, + Till tempered by the Saviour’s prayer, + And with the Saviour’s life-blood wet, + They turn to sweetness, and drop holy balm, + Soft as imprisoned martyr’s deathbed calm. + + All turn to sweet—but most of all + That bitterest to the lip of pride, + When hopes presumptuous fade and fall, + Or Friendship scorns us, duly tried, + Or Love, the flower that closes up for fear + When rude and selfish spirits breathe too near. + + Then like a long-forgotten strain + Comes sweeping o’er the heart forlorn + What sunshine hours had taught in vain + Of JESUS suffering shame and scorn, + As in all lowly hearts he suffers still, + While we triumphant ride and have the world at will. + + His piercèd hands in vain would hide + His face from rude reproachful gaze, + His ears are open to abide + The wildest storm the tongue can raise, + He who with one rough word, some early day, + Their idol world and them shall sweep for aye away. + + But we by Fancy may assuage + The festering sore by Fancy made, + Down in some lonely hermitage + Like wounded pilgrims safely laid, + Where gentlest breezes whisper souls distressed, + That Love yet lives, and Patience shall find rest. + + O! shame beyond the bitterest thought + That evil spirit ever framed, + That sinners know what Jesus wrought, + Yet feel their haughty hearts untamed— + That souls in refuge, holding by the Cross, + Should wince and fret at this world’s little loss. + + Lord of my heart, by Thy last cry, + Let not Thy blood on earth be spent— + Lo, at Thy feet I fainting lie, + Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are bent, + Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyes + Wait like the parchèd earth on April skies. + + Wash me, and dry these bitter tears, + O let my heart no further roam, + ’Tis Thine by vows, and hopes, and fears. + Long since—O call Thy wanderer home; + To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side, + Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide. + + + +Easter Eve. + + + As for thee also, by the blood of thy covenant I have sent forth thy + prisoners out of the pit wherein is no water. _Zechariah_ ix. 11. + + AT length the worst is o’er, and Thou art laid + Deep in Thy darksome bed; + All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone + Thy sacred form is gone; + Around those lips where power and mercy hung, + The dews of deaths have clung; + The dull earth o’er Thee, and Thy foes around, + Thou sleep’st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound. + + Sleep’st Thou indeed? or is Thy spirit fled, + At large among the dead? + Whether in Eden bowers Thy welcome voice + Wake Abraham to rejoice, + Or in some drearier scene Thine eye controls + The thronging band of souls; + That, as Thy blood won earth, Thine agony + Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free. + + Where’er Thou roam’st, one happy soul, we know, + Seen at Thy side in woe, + Waits on Thy triumphs—even as all the blest + With him and Thee shall rest. + Each on his cross; by Thee we hang a while, + Watching Thy patient smile, + Till we have learned to say, “’Tis justly done, + Only in glory, LORD, Thy sinful servant own.” + + Soon wilt Thou take us to Thy tranquil bower + To rest one little hour, + Till Thine elect are numbered, and the grave + Call Thee to come and save: + Then on Thy bosom borne shall we descend + Again with earth to blend, + Earth all refined with bright supernal fires, + Tinctured with holy blood, and winged with pure desires. + + Meanwhile with every son and saint of Thine + Along the glorious line, + Sitting by turns beneath Thy sacred feet + We’ll hold communion sweet, + Know them by look and voice, and thank them all + For helping us in thrall, + For words of hope, and bright examples given + To show through moonless skies that there is light in Heaven. + + O come that day, when in this restless heart + Earth shall resign her part, + When in the grave with Thee my limbs shall rest, + My soul with Thee be blest! + But stay, presumptuous—CHRIST with Thee abides + In the rock’s dreary sides: + He from this stone will wring Celestial dew + If but this prisoner’s heart he faithful found and true. + + When tears are spent, and then art left alone + With ghosts of blessings gone, + Think thou art taken from the cross, and laid + In JESUS’ burial shade; + Take Moses’ rod, the rod of prayer, and call + Out of the rocky wall + The fount of holy blood; and lift on high + Thy grovelling soul that feels so desolate and dry. + + Prisoner of Hope thou art—look up and sing + In hope of promised spring. + As in the pit his father’s darling lay + Beside the desert way, + And knew not how, but knew his GOD would save + E’en from that living grave, + So, buried with our LORD, we’ll chose our eyes + To the decaying world, till Angels bid us rise. + + + +Easter Day. + + + And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, + they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is + not here, but is risen. _St. Luke_ xxiv. 5, 6. + + OH! day of days! shall hearts set free + No “minstrel rapture” find for thee? + Thou art this Sun of other days, + They shine by giving back thy rays: + + Enthronèd in thy sovereign sphere, + Thou shedd’st thy light on all the year; + Sundays by thee more glorious break, + An Easter Day in every week: + + And week days, following in their train, + The fulness of thy blessing gain, + Till all, both resting soil employ, + Be one Lord’s day of holy joy. + + Then wake, my soul, to high desires, + And earlier light thine altar fires: + The World some hours is on her way, + Nor thinks on thee, thou blessèd day: + + Or, if she think, it is in scorn: + The vernal light of Easter morn + To her dark gaze no brighter seems + Than Reason’s or the Law’s pale beams. + + “Where is your Lord?” she scornful asks: + “Where is His hire? we know his tasks; + Sons of a King ye boast to be: + Let us your crowns and treasures see.” + + We in the words of Truth reply, + (An angel brought them from this sky,) + “Our crown, our treasure is not here, + ’Tis stored above the highest sphere: + + “Methinks your wisdom guides amiss, + To seek on earth a Christian’s bliss; + We watch not now the lifeless stone; + Our only Lord is risen and gone.” + + Yet e’en the lifeless stone is dear + For thoughts of Him who late lay here; + And the base world, now Christ hath died, + Ennobled is and glorified. + + No more a charnel-house, to fence + The relics of lost innocence, + A vault of ruin and decay; + Th’ imprisoning stone is rolled away: + + ’Tis now a cell, where angels use + To come and go with heavenly news, + And in the ears of mourners say, + “Come, see the place where Jesus lay:” + + ’Tis now a fane, where Love can find + Christ everywhere embalmed and shined: + Aye gathering up memorials sweet, + Where’er she sets her duteous feet. + + Oh! joy to Mary first allowed, + When roused from weeping o’er His shroud, + By His own calm, soul-soothing tone, + Breathing her name, as still His own! + + Joy to the faithful Three renewed, + As their glad errand they pursued! + Happy, who so Christ’s word convey, + That he may meet them on their way! + + So is it still: to holy tears, + In lonely hours, Christ risen appears: + In social hours, who Christ would see + Must turn all tasks to Charity. + + + +Monday in Easter Week. + + + Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: but in + every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh righteousness, is + accepted with Him. _Acts_ x. 34, 35. + + GO up and watch the new-born rill + Just trickling from its mossy bed, + Streaking the heath-clad hill + With a bright emerald thread. + + Canst thou her bold career foretell, + What rocks she shall o’erleap or rend, + How far in Ocean’s swell + Her freshening billows send? + + Perchance that little brook shall flow + The bulwark of some mighty realm, + Bear navies to and fro + With monarchs at their helm. + + Or canst thou guess, how far away + Some sister nymph, beside her urn + Reclining night and day, + ’Mid reeds and mountain fern, + + Nurses her store, with thine to blend + When many a moor and glen are past, + Then in the wide sea end + Their spotless lives at last? + + E’en so, the course of prayer who knows? + It springs in silence where it will, + Springs out of sight, and flows + At first a lonely rill: + + But streams shall meet it by and by + From thousand sympathetic hearts, + Together swelling high + Their chant of many parts. + + Unheard by all but angel ears + The good Cornelius knelt alone, + Nor dreamed his prayers and tears + Would help a world undone. + + The while upon his terraced roof + The loved Apostle to his Lord + In silent thought aloof + For heavenly vision soared. + + Far o’er the glowing western main + His wistful brow was upward raised, + Where, like an angel’s train, + The burnished water blazed. + + The saint beside the ocean prayed, + This soldier in his chosen bower, + Where all his eye surveyed + Seemed sacred in that hour. + + To each unknown his brother’s prayer, + Yet brethren true in dearest love + Were they—and now they share + Fraternal joys above. + + There daily through Christ’s open gate + They see the Gentile spirits press, + Brightening their high estate + With dearer happiness. + + What civic wreath for comrades saved + Shone ever with such deathless gleam, + Or when did perils braved + So sweet to veterans seem? + + + +Tuesday in Easter Week. + + + And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy, + and did run to bring His disciples word. _St. Matthew_ xxviii. 8. + + TO THE SNOWDROP. + + THOU first-born of the year’s delight, + Pride of the dewy glade, + In vernal green and virgin white, + Thy vestal robes, arrayed: + + ’Tis not because thy drooping form + Sinks graceful on its nest, + When chilly shades from gathering storm + Affright thy tender breast; + + Nor for yon river islet wild + Beneath the willow spray, + Where, like the ringlets of a child, + Thou weav’st thy circle gay; + + ’Tis not for these I love thee dear— + Thy shy averted smiles + To Fancy bode a joyous year, + One of Life’s fairy isles. + + They twinkle to the wintry moon, + And cheer th’ ungenial day, + And tell us, all will glisten soon + As green and bright as they. + + Is there a heart that loves the spring, + Their witness can refuse? + Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring + From Heaven their Easter news: + + When holy maids and matrons speak + Of Christ’s forsaken bed, + And voices, that forbid to seek + The hiving ’mid the dead, + + And when they say, “Turn, wandering heart, + Thy Lord is ris’n indeed, + Let Pleasure go, put Care apart, + And to His presence speed;” + + We smile in scorn: and yet we know + They early sought the tomb, + Their hearts, that now so freshly glow, + Lost in desponding gloom. + + They who have sought, nor hope to find, + Wear not so bright a glance: + They, who have won their earthly mind, + Lees reverently advance. + + But where in gentle spirits, fear + And joy so duly meet, + These sure have seen the angels near, + And kissed the Saviour’s feet. + + Nor let the Pastor’s thankful eye + Their faltering tale disdain, + As on their lowly couch they lie, + Prisoners of want and pain. + + O guide us, when our faithless hearts + From Thee would start aloof, + Where Patience her sweet skill imparts + Beneath some cottage roof: + + Revive our dying fires, to burn + High as her anthems soar, + And of our scholars let us learn + Our own forgotten lore. + + + +First Sunday after Easter. + + + Seemeth it but a small thing unto you, that the God of Israel hath + separated you from the congregation of Israel, to bring you near to + Himself? _Numbers_ xvi. 9. + + FIRST Father of the holy seed, + If yet, invoked in hour of need, + Thou count me for Thine own + Not quite an outcast if I prove, + (Thou joy’st in miracles of love), + Hear, from Thy mercy-throne! + + Upon Thine altar’s horn of gold + Help me to lay my trembling hold, + Though stained with Christian gore;— + The blood of souls by Thee redeemed, + But, while I roved or idly dreamed, + Lost to be found no more. + + For oft, when summer leaves were bright, + And every flower was bathed in light, + In sunshine moments past, + My wilful heart would burst away + From where the holy shadow lay, + Where heaven my lot had cast. + + I thought it scorn with Thee to dwell, + A Hermit in a silent cell, + While, gaily sweeping by, + Wild Fancy blew his bugle strain, + And marshalled all his gallant train + In the world’s wondering eye. + + I would have joined him—but as oft + Thy whispered warnings, kind and soft, + My better soul confessed. + “My servant, let the world alone— + Safe on the steps of Jesus’ throne + Be tranquil and be blest.” + + “Seems it to thee a niggard hand + That nearest Heaven has bade thee stand, + The ark to touch and bear, + With incense of pure heart’s desire + To heap the censer’s sacred fire, + The snow-white Ephod wear?” + + Why should we crave the worldling’s wreath, + On whom the Savour deigned to breathe, + To whom His keys were given, + Who lead the choir where angels meet, + With angels’ food our brethren greet, + And pour the drink of Heaven? + + When sorrow all our heart would ask, + We need not shun our daily task, + And hide ourselves for calm; + The herbs we seek to heal our woe + Familiar by our pathway grow, + Our common air is balm. + + Around each pure domestic shrine + Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine, + Our hearths are altars all; + The prayers of hungry souls and poor, + Like armèd angels at the door, + Our unseen foes appal. + + Alms all around and hymns within— + What evil eye can entrance win + Where guards like these abound? + If chance some heedless heart should roam, + Sure, thought of these will lure it home + Ere lost in Folly’s round. + + O joys, that sweetest in decay, + Fall not, like withered leaves, away, + But with the silent breath + Of violets drooping one by one, + Soon as their fragrant task is done, + Are wafted high in death! + + + +Second Sunday after Easter. + + + He hath said, which heard the words of God, and knew the knowledge of + the Most High, which saw the vision of the Almighty, falling into a + trance, but having his eyes open: I shall see Him, but not now; I + shall behold Him, but not nigh; there shall come a Star out at Jacob, + and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite the corners + of Moab, and destroy all the children at Sheth. _Numbers_ xxiv. 16, + 17. + + O FOR a sculptor’s hand, + That thou might’st take thy stand, + Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze, + Thy tranced yet open gaze + Fixed on the desert haze, + As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees. + + In outline dim and vast + Their fearful shadows cast + This giant forms of empires on their way + To ruin: one by one + They tower and they are gone, + Yet in the Prophet’s soul the dreams of avarice stay. + + No sun or star so bright + In all the world of light + That they should draw to Heaven his downward eye: + He hears th’ Almighty’s word, + He sees the angel’s sword, + Yet low upon the earth his heart and treasure lie. + + Lo! from you argent field, + To him and us revealed, + One gentle Star glides down, on earth to dwell. + Chained as they are below + Our eyes may see it glow, + And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well. + + To him it glared afar, + A token of wild war, + The banner of his Lord’s victorious wrath: + But close to us it gleams, + Its soothing lustre streams + Around our home’s green walls, and on our church-way path. + + We in the tents abide + Which he at distance eyed + Like goodly cedars by the waters spread, + While seven red altar-fires + Rose up in wavy spires, + Where on the mount he watched his sorceries dark and dread. + + He watched till morning’s ray + On lake and meadow lay, + And willow-shaded streams that silent sweep + Around the bannered lines, + Where by their several signs + The desert-wearied tribes in sight of Canaan sleep. + + He watched till knowledge came + Upon his soul like flame, + Not of those magic fires at random caught: + But true Prophetic light + Flashed o’er him, high and bright, + Flashed once, and died away, and left his darkened thought. + + And can he choose but fear, + Who feels his GOD so near, + That when he fain would curse, his powerless tongue + In blessing only moves?— + Alas! the world he loves + Too close around his heart her tangling veil hath flung. + + Sceptre and Star divine, + Who in Thine inmost shrine + Hash made us worshippers, O claim Thine own; + More than Thy seers we know— + O teach our love to grow + Up to Thy heavenly light, and reap what Thou hast sown. + + + +Third Sunday after Easter. + + + A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is come; + but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth no more + the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world. _St. John_ + xvi. 21. + + WELL may I guess and feel + Why Autumn should be sad; + But vernal airs should sorrow heal, + Spring should be gay and glad: + Yet as along this violet bank I rove, + The languid sweetness seems to choke my breath, + I sit me down beside the hazel grove, + And sigh, and half could wish my weariness were death. + + Like a bright veering cloud + Grey blossoms twinkle there, + Warbles around a busy crowd + Of larks in purest air. + Shame on the heart that dreams of blessings gone, + Or wakes the spectral forms of woe and crime, + When nature sings of joy and hope alone, + Reading her cheerful lesson in her own sweet time. + + Nor let the proud heart say, + In her self-torturing hour, + The travail pangs must have their way, + The aching brow must lower. + To us long since the glorious Child is born + Our throes should be forgot, or only seem + Like a sad vision told for joy at morn, + For joy that we have waked and found it but a dream. + + Mysterious to all thought + A mother’s prime of bliss, + When to her eager lips is brought + Her infant’s thrilling kiss. + O never shall it set, the sacred light + Which dawns that moment on her tender gaze, + In the eternal distance blending bright + Her darling’s hope and hers, for love and joy and praise. + + No need for her to weep + Like Thracian wives of yore, + Save when in rapture still and deep + Her thankful heart runs o’er. + They mourned to trust their treasure on the main, + Sure of the storm, unknowing of their guide: + Welcome to her the peril and the pain, + For well she knows the bonus where they may safely hide. + + She joys that one is born + Into a world forgiven, + Her Father’s household to adorn, + And dwell with her in Heaven. + So have I seen, in Spring’s bewitching hour, + When the glad Earth is offering all her best, + Some gentle maid bend o’er a cherished flower, + And wish it worthier on a Parent’s heart to rest. + + + +Fourth Sunday after Easter. + + + Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I go + away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but + if I depart, I will send Him unto you. _St. John_ xvi 7. + + MY Saviour, can it ever be + That I should gain by losing Thee? + The watchful mother tarries nigh, + Though sleep have closed her infant’s eye; + For should he wake, and find her gone. + She knows she could not bear his moan. + But I am weaker than a child, + And Thou art more than mother dear; + Without Thee Heaven were but a wild; + How can I live without Thee here! + + “’Tis good for you, that I should go, + “You lingering yet awhile below;”— + ’Tis Thine own gracious promise, Lord! + Thy saints have proved the faithful word, + When heaven’s bright boundless avenue + Far opened on their eager view, + And homeward to Thy Father’s throne, + Still lessening, brightening on their sight, + Thy shadowy car went soaring on; + They tracked Thee up th’ abyss of light. + + Thou bidd’st rejoice; they dare not mourn, + But to their home in gladness turn, + Their home and God’s, that favoured place, + Where still He shines on Abraham’s race, + In prayers and blessings there to wait + Like suppliants at their Monarch’s gate, + Who bent with bounty rare to aid + The splendours of His crowning day, + Keeps back awhile His largess, made + More welcome for that brief delay: + + In doubt they wait, but not unblest; + They doubt not of their Master’s rest, + Nor of the gracious will of Heaven— + Who gave His Son, sure all has given— + But in ecstatic awe they muse + What course the genial stream may choose, + And far and wide their fancies rove, + And to their height of wonder strain, + What secret miracle of love + Should make their Saviour’s going gain. + + The days of hope and prayer are past, + The day of comfort dawns at last, + The everlasting gates again + Roll back, and, lo! a royal train— + From the far depth of light once more + The floods of glory earthward pour: + They part like shower-drops in mid air, + But ne’er so soft fell noon-tide shower, + Nor evening rainbow gleamed so fair + To weary swains in parchèd bower. + + Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame + Through cloud and breeze unwavering came, + And darted to its place of rest + On some meek brow of Jesus blest. + Nor fades it yet, that living gleam, + And still those lambent lightnings stream; + Where’er the Lord is, there are they; + In every heart that gives them room, + They light His altar every day, + Zeal to inflame, and vice consume. + + Soft as the plumes of Jesus’ Dove + They nurse the soul to heavenly love; + The struggling spark of good within, + Just smothered in the strife of sin, + They quicken to a timely glow, + The pure flame spreading high and low. + Said I, that prayer and hope were o’er? + Nay, blessèd Spirit! but by Thee + The Church’s prayer finds wings to soar, + The Church’s hope finds eyes to see. + + Then, fainting soul, arise and sing; + Mount, but be sober on the wing; + Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer, + Be sober, for thou art not there; + Till Death the weary spirit free, + Thy God hath said, ’Tis good for thee + To walk by faith and not by sight: + Take it on trust a little while; + Soon shalt thou read the mystery right + In the full sunshine of His smile. + + Or if thou yet more knowledge crave, + Ask thine own heart, that willing slave + To all that works thee woe or harm + Shouldst thou not need some mighty charm + To win thee to thy Saviour’s side, + Though He had deigned with thee to bide? + The Spirit must stir the darkling deep, + The Dove must settle on the Cross, + Else we should all sin on or sleep + With Christ in sight, turning our gain to loss. + + + +Fifth Sunday After Easter. +ROGATION SUNDAY. + + + And the Lord was very angry with Aaron to have destroyed him: and I + prayed for Aaron also the same time. _Deuteronomy_ ix. 20. + + NOW is there solemn pause in earth and heaven; + The Conqueror now + His bonds hath riven, + And Angels wonder why He stays below: + Yet hath not man his lesson learned, + How endless love should be returned. + + Deep is the silence as of summer noon, + When a soft shower + Will trickle soon, + A gracious rain, freshening the weary bower— + O sweetly then far off is heard + The clear note of some lonely bird. + + So let Thy turtle-dove’s sad call arise + In doubt and fear + Through darkening skies, + And pierce, O Lord, Thy justly-sealèd ear, + Where on the house-top, all night long + She trills her widowed, faltering song. + + Teach her to know and love her hour of prayer, + And evermore, + As faith grows rare, + Unlock her heart, and offer all its store + In holier love and humbler vows, + As suits a lost returning spouse. + + Not as at first, but with intenser cry, + Upon the mount + She now must lie, + Till Thy dear love to blot the sad account + Of her rebellious race be won, + Pitying the mother in the son. + + But chiefly (for she knows Thee angered worst + By holiest things + Profaned and curst), + Chiefly for Aaron’s seed she spreads her wings, + If but one leaf she may from Thee + Win of the reconciling tree. + + For what shall heal, when holy water banes! + Or who may guide + O’er desert plains + Thy loved yet sinful people wandering wide, + If Aaron’s hand unshrinking mould + An idol form of earthly gold? + + Therefore her tears are bitter, and as deep + Her boding sigh, + As, while men sleep, + Sad-hearted mothers heave, that wakeful lie, + To muse upon some darling child + Roaming in youth’s uncertain wild. + + Therefore on fearful dreams her inward sight + Is fain to dwell— + What lurid light + Shall the last darkness of the world dispel, + The Mediator in His wrath + Descending down the lightning’s path. + + Yet, yet awhile, offended Saviour, pause, + In act to break + Thine outraged laws, + O spare Thy rebels for Thine own dear sake; + Withdraw Thine hand, nor dash to earth + The covenant of our second birth. + + ’Tis forfeit like the first—we own it all— + Yet for love’s sake + Let it not fall; + But at Thy touch let veilèd hearts awake, + That nearest to Thine altar lie, + Yet least of holy things descry. + + Teacher of teachers! Priest of priests! from Thee + The sweet strong prayer + Must rise, to free + First Levi, then all Israel, from the snare. + Thou art our Moses out of sight— + Speak for us, or we perish quite. + + + +Ascension Day. + + + Why stand ye gazing up into Heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken + up from you into Heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen + Him go into Heaven. _Acts_ i. 11 + + SOFT cloud, that while the breeze of May + Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch, + Draw’st thy bright veil across the heavenly way + Meet pavement for an angel’s glorious march: + + My soul is envious of mine eye, + That it should soar and glide with thee so fast, + The while my grovelling thoughts half buried lie, + Or lawless roam around this earthly waste. + + Chains of my heart, avaunt I say— + I will arise, and in the strength of love + Pursue the bright track ere it fade away, + My Saviour’s pathway to His home above. + + Sure, when I reach the point where earth + Melts into nothing from th’ uncumbered sight, + Heaven will o’ercome th’ attraction of my birth. + And I shall sink in yonder sea of light: + + Till resting by th’ incarnate LORD, + Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake, + I mark Him, how by seraph hosts adored, + He to earth’s lowest cares is still awake. + + The sun and every vassal star, + All space, beyond the soar of angel wings, + Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car + For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings. + + He listens to the silent tear + For all the anthems of the boundless sky— + And shall our dreams of music bar our ear + To His soul-piercing voice for ever nigh? + + Nay, gracious Saviour—but as now + Our thoughts have traced Thee to Thy glory-throne + So help us evermore with thee to bow + Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan. + + We must not stand to gaze too long, + Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend + Where lost behind the bright angelic throng + We see CHRIST’S entering triumph slow ascend. + + No fear but we shall soon behold, + Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive, + When issuing from his cloud of fiery gold + Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live. + + Then shall we see Thee as Thou art, + For ever fixed in no unfruitful gaze, + But such as lifts the new-created heart, + Age after age, in worthier love and praise. + + + +Sunday after Ascension. + + + As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to + another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God. 1 _St. + Peter_ iv. 10. + + THE Earth that in her genial breast + Makes for the down a kindly nest, + Where wafted by the warm south-west + It floats at pleasure, + Yields, thankful, of her very best, + To nurse her treasure: + + True to her trust, tree, herb, or reed, + She renders for each scattered seed, + And to her Lord with duteous heed + Gives large increase: + Thus year by year she works unfeed, + And will not cease. + + Woe worth these barren hearts of ours, + Where Thou hast set celestial flowers, + And watered with more balmy showers + Than e’er distilled + In Eden, on th’ ambrosial bowers— + Yet nought we yield. + + Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord, + Largely Thy gifts should be restored; + Freely Thou givest, and Thy word + Is, “Freely give.” + He only, who forgets to hoard, + Has learned to live. + + Wisely Thou givest—all around + Thine equal rays are resting found, + Yet varying so on various ground + They pierce and strike, + That not two roseate cups are crowned + With drew alike: + + E’en so, in silence, likest Thee, + Steals on soft-handed Charity, + Tempering her gifts, that seem so free, + By time and place, + Till not a woe the bleak world see, + But finds her grace: + + Eyes to the blind, and to the lame + Feet, and to sinners wholesome blame, + To starving bodies food and flame, + By turns she brings; + To humbled souls, that sink for shame, + Lends heaven-ward wings: + + Leads them the way our Saviour went, + And shows Love’s treasure yet unspent; + As when th’ unclouded heavens were rent. + Opening His road, + Nor yet His Holy Spirit sent + To our abode. + + Ten days th’ eternal doors displayed + Were wondering (so th’ Almighty bade) + Whom Love enthroned would send, in aid + Of souls that mourn, + Left orphans in Earth’s dreary shade + As noon as born. + + Open they stand, that prayers in throngs + May rise on high, and holy songs, + Such incense as of right belongs + To the true shrine, + Where stands the Healer of all wrongs + In light divine; + + The golden censer in His hand, + He offers hearts from every land, + Tied to His own by gentlest band + Of silent Love: + About Him wingèd blessings stand + In act to move. + + A little while, and they shall fleet + From Heaven to Earth, attendants meet + On the life-giving Paraclete + Speeding His flight, + With all that sacred is and sweet, + On saints to light. + + Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, all + Shall feel the shower of Mercy fall, + And startling at th’ Almighty’s call, + Give what He gave, + Till their high deeds the world appal, + And sinners save. + + + +Whitsunday. + + + And suddenly there came a sound from Heaven as of a rushing mighty + wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there + appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon + each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost. _Acts_ + ii. 2–4 + + WHEN God of old came down from Heaven, + In power and wrath He came; + Before His feet the clouds were riven, + Half darkness and half flame: + + Around the trembling mountain’s base + The prostrate people lay; + A day of wrath and not of grace; + A dim and dreadful day. + + But when he came the second time, + He came in power and love, + Softer than gale at morning prime + Hovered His holy Dove. + + The fires that rushed on Sinai down + In sudden torrents dread, + Now gently light, a glorious crown, + On every sainted head. + + Like arrows went those lightnings forth + Winged with the sinner’s doom, + But these, like tongues, o’er all the earth + Proclaiming life to come: + + And as on Israel’s awe-struck ear + The voice exceeding loud, + The trump, that angels quake to hear, + Thrilled from the deep, dark cloud; + + So, when the Spirit of our God + Came down His flock to find, + A voice from Heaven was heard abroad, + A rushing, mighty wind. + + Nor doth the outward ear alone + At that high warning start; + Conscience gives back th’ appalling tone; + ’Tis echoed in the heart. + + It fills the Church of God; it fills + The sinful world around; + Only in stubborn hearts and wills + No place for it is found. + + To other strains our souls are set: + A giddy whirl of sin + Fills ear and brain, and will not let + Heaven’s harmonies come in. + + Come Lord, Come Wisdom, Love, and Power, + Open our ears to hear; + Let us not miss th’ accepted hour; + Save, Lord, by Love or Fear. + + + +Monday in Whitsun-week. + + + So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all + the earth; and they left off to build the city. _Genesis_ xi. 8 + + SINCE all that is not Heaven must fade, + Light be the hand of Ruin laid + Upon the home I love: + With lulling spell let soft Decay + Steal on, and spare the giant sway, + The crash of tower and grove. + + Far opening down some woodland deep + In their own quiet glade should sleep + The relics dear to thought, + And wild-flower wreaths from side to side + Their waving tracery hang, to hide + What ruthless Time has wrought. + + Such are the visions green and sweet + That o’er the wistful fancy fleet + In Asia’s sea-like plain, + Where slowly, round his isles of sand, + Euphrates through the lonely land + Winds toward the pearly main. + + Slumber is there, but not of rest; + There her forlorn and weary nest + The famished hawk has found, + The wild dog howls at fall of night, + The serpent’s rustling coils affright + The traveller on his round. + + What shapeless form, half lost on high, + Half seen against the evening sky, + Seems like a ghost to glide, + And watch, from Babel’s crumbling heap, + Where in her shadow, fast asleep, + Lies fallen imperial Pride? + + With half-closed eye a lion there + Is basking in his noontide lair, + Or prowls in twilight gloom. + The golden city’s king he seems, + Such as in old prophetic dreams + Sprang from rough ocean’s womb. + + But where are now his eagle wings, + That sheltered erst a thousand kings, + Hiding the glorious sky + From half the nations, till they own + No holier name, no mightier throne? + That vision is gone by. + + Quenched is the golden statue’s ray, + The breath of heaven has blown away + What toiling earth had piled, + Scattering wise heart and crafty hand, + As breezes strew on ocean’s sand + The fabrics of a child. + + Divided thence through every age + Thy rebels, Lord, their warfare wage, + And hoarse and jarring all + Mount up their heaven-assailing cries + To Thy bright watchmen in the skies + From Babel’s shattered wall. + + Thrice only since, with blended might + The nations on that haughty height + Have met to scale the Heaven: + Thrice only might a Seraph’s look + A moment’s shade of sadness brook— + Such power to guilt was given. + + Now the fierce bear and leopard keen + Are perished as they ne’er had been, + Oblivion is their home: + Ambition’s boldest dream and last + Must melt before the clarion blast + That sounds the dirge of Rome. + + Heroes and kings, obey the charm, + Withdraw the proud high-reaching arm, + There is an oath on high: + That ne’er on brow of mortal birth + Shall blend again the crowns of earth, + Nor in according cry + + Her many voices mingling own + One tyrant Lord, one idol throne: + But to His triumphs soon + _He_ shall descend, who rules above, + And the pure language of His love, + All tongues of men shall tune. + + Nor let Ambition heartless mourn; + When Babel’s very ruins burn, + Her high desires may breathe;— + O’ercome thyself, and thou mayst share + With Christ His Father’s throne, and wear + The world’s imperial wreath. + + + +Tuesday in Whitsun-week. + + + When He putteth forth His own sheep, He goeth before them. + + _St. John_ x. 4. + + (_Addressed to Candidates for Ordination_.) + + “LORD, in Thy field I work all day, + I read, I teach, I warn, I pray, + And yet these wilful wandering sheep + Within Thy fold I cannot keep. + + “I journey, yet no step is won— + Alas! the weary course I run! + Like sailors shipwrecked in their dreams, + All powerless and benighted seems.” + + What? wearied out with half a life? + Scared with this smooth unbloody strife? + Think where thy coward hopes had flown + Had Heaven held out the martyr’s crown. + + How couldst thou hang upon the cross, + To whom a weary hour is loss? + Or how the thorns and scourging brook + Who shrinkest from a scornful look? + + Yet ere thy craven spirit faints, + Hear thine own King, the King of Saints; + Though thou wert toiling in the grave, + ’Tis He can cheer thee, He can save. + + He is th’ eternal mirror bright, + Where Angels view the FATHER’S light, + And yet in Him the simplest swain + May read his homely lesson plain. + + Early to quit His home on earth, + And claim His high celestial birth, + Alone with His true Father found + Within the temple’s solemn round:— + + Yet in meek duty to abide + For many a year at Mary’s side, + Nor heed, though restless spirits ask, + “What, hath the Christ forgot His task?” + + Conscious of Deity within, + To bow before an heir of sin, + With folded arms on humble breast, + By His own servant washed and blest:— + + Then full of Heaven, the mystic Dove + Hovering His gracious brow above, + To shun the voice and eye of praise, + And in the wild His trophies raise:— + + With hymns of angels in His ears, + Back to His task of woe and tears, + Unmurmuring through the world to roam + With not a wish or thought at home:— + + All but Himself to heal and save, + Till ripened for the cross and grave, + He to His Father gently yield + The breath that our redemption sealed:— + + Then to unearthly life arise, + Yet not at once to seek the skies, + But glide awhile from saint to saint, + Lest on our lonely way we faint; + + And through the cloud by glimpses show + How bright, in Heaven, the marks will glow + Of the true cross, imprinted deep + Both on the Shepherd and the sheep:— + + When out of sight, in heart and prayer, + Thy chosen people still to bear, + And from behind Thy glorious veil, + Shed light that cannot change or fail:— + + This is Thy pastoral course, O LORD, + Till we be saved, and Thou adored;— + Thy course and ours—but who are they + Who follow on the narrow way? + + And yet of Thee from year to year + The Church’s solemn chant we hear, + As from Thy cradle to Thy throne + She swells her high heart-cheering tone. + + Listen, ye pure white-robèd souls, + Whom in her list she now enrolls, + And gird ye for your high emprize + By these her thrilling minstrelsies. + + And wheresoe’er in earth’s wide field, + Ye lift, for Him, the red-cross shield, + Be this your song, your joy and pride— + “Our Champion went before and died.” + + + +Trinity Sunday. + + + If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye + believe if I tell you of heavenly things? _St. John_ iii. 12 + + CREATOR, Saviour, strengthening Guide, + Now on Thy mercy’s ocean wide + Far out of sight we seem to glide. + + Help us, each hour, with steadier eye + To search the deepening mystery, + The wonders of Thy sea and sky. + + The blessèd Angels look and long + To praise Thee with a worthier song, + And yet our silence does Thee wrong.— + + Along the Church’s central space + The sacred weeks, with unfelt pace, + Hath borne us on from grace to grace. + + As travellers on some woodland height, + When wintry suns are gleaming bright, + Lose in arched glades their tangled sight;— + + By glimpses such as dreamers love + Through her grey veil the leafless grove + Shows where the distant shadows rove;— + + Such trembling joy the soul o’er-awes + As nearer to Thy shrine she draws:— + And now before the choir we pause. + + The door is closed—but soft and deep + Around the awful arches sweep, + Such airs as soothe a hermit’s sleep. + + From each carved nook and fretted bend + Cornice and gallery seem to send + Tones that with seraphs hymns might blend. + + Three solemn parts together twine + In harmony’s mysterious line; + Three solemn aisles approach the shrine: + + Yet all are One—together all, + In thoughts that awe but not appal, + Teach the adoring heart to fall. + + Within these walls each fluttering guest + Is gently lured to one safe nest— + Without, ’tis moaning and unrest. + + The busy world a thousand ways + Is hurrying by, nor ever stays + To catch a note of Thy dear praise. + + Why tarries not her chariot wheel, + That o’er her with no vain appeal + One gust of heavenly song might steal? + + Alas! for her Thy opening flowers + Unheeded breathe to summer showers, + Unheard the music of Thy bowers. + + What echoes from the sacred dome + The selfish spirit may o’ercome + That will not hear of love or home! + + The heart that scorned a father’s care, + How can it rise in filial prayer? + How an all-seeing Guardian bear? + + Or how shall envious brethren own + A Brother on the eternal throne, + Their Father’s joy, their hops alone? + + How shall Thy Spirit’s gracious wile + The sullen brow of gloom beguile, + That frowns on sweet Affection’s smile? + + Eternal One, Almighty Trine! + (Since Thou art ours, and we are Thine,) + By all Thy love did once resign, + + By all the grace Thy heavens still hide, + We pray Thee, keep us at Thy side, + Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide! + + + +First Sunday after Trinity. + + + So Joshua smote all the country, . . . and all their kings; he left + none remaining. _Joshua_ x. 40. + + WHERE is the land with milk and honey flowing, + The promise of our God, our fancy’s theme? + Here over shattered walls dank weeds are growing, + And blood and fire have run in mingled stream; + Like oaks and cedars all around + The giant corses strew the ground, + And haughty Jericho’s cloud-piercing wall + Lies where it sank at Joshua’s trumpet call. + + These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even, + For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades, + Soft slumbers in the open eye of Heaven, + And all the listless joy of summer shades. + We in the midst of ruins live, + Which every hour dread warning give, + Nor may our household vine or fig-tree hide + The broken arches of old Canaan’s pride. + + Where is the sweet repose of hearts repenting, + The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul, + Now Heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting, + And all the Godhead joins to make us whole. + The triple crown of mercy now + Is ready for the suppliant’s brow, + By the Almighty Three for ever planned, + And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus’ hand. + + “Now, Christians, hold your own—the land before ye + Is open—win your way, and take your rest.” + So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory + By many a cloud is darkened and unblest: + And daily as we downward glide, + Life’s ebbing stream on either side + Shows at each turn some mouldering hope or joy, + The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy. + + Open our eyes, Thou Sun of life and gladness, + That we may see that glorious world of Thine! + It shines for us in vain, while drooping sadness + Enfolds us here like mist: come Power benign, + Touch our chilled hearts with vernal smile, + Our wintry course do Thou beguile, + Nor by the wayside ruins let us mourn, + Who have th’ eternal towers for our appointed bourne. + + + +Second Sunday after Trinity. + + + Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have + passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. 1 _St. + John_ iii. 13, 14. + + THE clouds that wrap the setting sun + When Autumn’s softest gleams are ending, + Where all bright hues together run + In sweet confusion blending:— + Why, as we watch their floating wreath + Seem they the breath of life to breathe? + To Fancy’s eye their motions prove + They mantle round the Sun for love. + + When up some woodland dale we catch + The many-twinkling smile of ocean, + Or with pleased ear bewildered watch + His chime of restless motion; + Still as the surging waves retire + They seem to gasp with strong desire, + Such signs of love old Ocean gives, + We cannot choose but think he lives. + + Wouldst thou the life of souls discern? + Nor human wisdom nor divine + Helps thee by aught beside to learn; + Love is life’s only sign. + The spring of the regenerate heart, + The pulse, the glow of every part, + Is the true love of Christ our Lord, + As man embraced, as God adored. + + But he, whose heart will bound to mark + The full bright burst of summer morn, + Loves too each little dewy spark, + By leaf or flow’ret worn: + Cheap forms, and common hues, ’tis true, + Through the bright shower-drop’ meet his view; + The colouring may be of this earth; + The lustre comes of heavenly birth. + + E’en so, who loves the Lord aright, + No soul of man can worthless find; + All will be precious in his sight, + Since Christ on all hath shined: + But chiefly Christian souls; for they, + Though worn and soiled with sinful clay, + Are yet, to eyes that see them true, + All glistening with baptismal dew. + + Then marvel not, if such as bask + In purest light of innocence, + Hope against mope, in love’s dear task, + Spite of all dark offence. + If they who hate the trespass most, + Yet, when all other love is lost, + Love the poor sinner, marvel not; + Christ’s mark outwears the rankest blot. + + No distance breaks this tie of blood; + Brothers are brothers evermore; + Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, + That magic may o’erpower; + Oft, ere the common source be known, + The kindred drops will claim their own, + And throbbing pulses silently + Move heart towards heart by sympathy. + + So it is with true Christian hearts; + Their mutual share in Jesus’ blood + An everlasting bond imparts + Of holiest brotherhood: + Oh! might we all our lineage prove, + Give and forgive, do good and love, + By soft endearments in kind strife + Lightening the load of daily life. + + There is much need; for not as yet + Are we in shelter or repose, + The holy house is still beset + With leaguer of stern foes; + Wild thoughts within, bad men without, + All evil spirits round about, + Are banded in unblest device, + To spoil Love’s earthly paradise. + + Then draw we nearer day by day, + Each to his brethren, all to God; + Let the world take us as she may, + We must not change our road; + Not wondering, though in grief, to find + The martyr’s foe still keep her mind; + But fixed to hold Love’s banner fast, + And by submission win at last. + + + +Third Sunday after Trinity. + + + There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner + that repenteth. _St. Luke_ xv. 10. + + O HATEFUL spell of Sin! when friends are nigh, + To make stern Memory tell her tale unsought, + And raise accusing shades of hours gone by, + To come between us and all kindly thought! + + Chilled at her touch, the self-reproaching soul + Flies from the heart and home she dearest loves, + To where lone mountains tower, or billows roll, + Or to your endless depth, ye solemn groves. + + In vain: the averted cheek in loneliest dell + Is conscious of a gaze it cannot bear, + The leaves that rustle near us seem to tell + Our heart’s sad secret to the silent air. + + Nor is the dream untrue; for all around + The heavens are watching with their thousand eyes, + We cannot pass our guardian angel’s bound, + Resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs. + + He in the mazes of the budding wood + Is near, and mourns to see our thankless glance + Dwell coldly, where the fresh green earth is strewed + With the first flowers that lead the vernal dance. + + In wasteful bounty showered, they smile unseen, + Unseen by man—but what if purer sprights + By moonlight o’er their dewy bosoms lean + To adore the Father of all gentle lights? + + If such there be, O grief and shame to think + That sight of thee should overcloud their joy, + A new-born soul, just waiting on the brink + Of endless life, yet wrapt in earth’s annoy! + + O turn, and be thou turned! the selfish tear, + In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun, + Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear, + The turbid waters brightening as they run. + + Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart + In penitential drops have ebbed away, + Then fearless turn where Heaven hath set thy part, + Nor shudder at the Eye that saw thee stray. + + O lost and found! all gentle souls below + Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove + Such joy o’er thee, as raptured seraphs know, + Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love. + + + +Fourth Sunday after Trinity. + + + For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the + manifestation of the sons of God. For the creature was made subject + to vanity, not willingly, but by the reason of Him who hath subjected + the same in hope, because the creature itself also shall be delivered + from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the + children of God. For we know that the whole creation groaneth and + travaileth in pain together until now. _Romans_ viii 19–22. + + IT was not then a poet’s dream, + An idle vaunt of song, + Such as beneath the moon’s soft gleam + On vacant fancies throng; + + Which bids us see in heaven and earth, + In all fair things around, + Strong yearnings for a blest new birth + With sinless glories crowned; + + Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause + From care and want and toil, + When dewy eve her curtain draws + Over the day’s turmoil, + + In the low chant of wakeful birds, + In the deep weltering flood, + In whispering leaves, these solemn words— + “God made us all for good.” + + All true, all faultless, all in tune + Creation’s wondrous choir, + Opened in mystic unison + To last till time expire. + + And still it lasts; by day and night, + With one consenting voice, + All hymn Thy glory, Lord, aright, + All worship and rejoice. + + Man only mars the sweet accord + O’erpowering with “harsh din” + The music of Thy works and word, + Ill matched with grief and sin. + + Sin is with man at morning break, + And through the livelong day + Deafens the ear that fain would wake + To Nature’s simple lay. + + But when eve’s silent footfall steals + Along the eastern sky, + And one by one to earth reveals + Those purer fires on high, + + When one by one each human sound + Dies on the awful ear, + Then Nature’s voice no more is drowned, + She speaks, and we must hear. + + Then pours she on the Christian heart + That warning still and deep, + At which high spirits of old would start + E’en from their Pagan sleep. + + Just guessing, through their murky blind + Few, faint, and baffling sight, + Streaks of a brighter heaven behind, + A cloudless depth of light. + + Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, + Through many a dreary age, + Upbore whate’er of good and wise + Yet lived in bard or sage: + + They marked what agonizing throes + Shook the great mother’s womb: + But Reason’s spells might not disclose + The gracious birth to come: + + Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast + God’s secret love and power; + The travail pangs of Earth must last + Till her appointed hour. + + The hour that saw from opening heaven + Redeeming glory stream, + Beyond the summer hues of even, + Beyond the mid-day beam. + + Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, + The meanest thing below, + As with a seraph’s robe of fire + Invested, burn and glow: + + The rod of Heaven has touched them all, + The word from Heaven is spoken: + “Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall; + Are not thy fetters broken? + + “The God Who hallowed thee and blest, + Pronouncing thee all good— + Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, + And all thy bliss renewed? + + “Why mourn’st thou still as one bereft, + Now that th’ eternal Son + His blessèd home in Heaven hath left + To make thee all His own?” + + Thou mourn’st because sin lingers still + In Christ’s new heaven and earth; + Because our rebel works and will + Stain our immortal birth: + + Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, + The Saviour hides His face, + And worldlings blot the temple’s gold + With uses vile and base. + + Hence all thy groans and travail pains, + Hence, till thy God return, + In Wisdom’s ear thy blithest strains, + Oh Nature, seem to mourn. + + + +Fifth Sunday after Trinity. + + + And Simon answering said unto Him, Master, we have toiled all the + night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless at Thy word I will let + down the net. And when they had this done, they inclosed a great + multitude of fishes: and their net brake. _St. Luke_ v. 5, 6. + + “The livelong night we’ve toiled in vain, + But at Thy gracious word + I will let down the net again:— + Do Thou Thy will, O Lord!” + + So spake the weary fisher, spent + With bootless darkling toil, + Yet on his Master’s bidding bent + For love and not for spoil. + + So day by day and week by week, + In sad and weary thought, + They muse, whom God hath set to seek + The souls His Christ hath bought. + + For not upon a tranquil lake + Our pleasant task we ply, + Where all along our glistening wake + The softest moonbeams lie; + + Where rippling wave and dashing oar + Our midnight chant attend, + Or whispering palm-leaves from the shore + With midnight silence blend. + + Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last: + Too soon some ruder sound + Calls us from where ye soar so fast + Back to our earthly round. + + For wildest storms our ocean sweep:— + No anchor but the Cross + Might hold: and oft the thankless deep + Turns all our toil to loss. + + Full many a dreary anxious hour + We watch our nets alone + In drenching spray, and driving shower, + And hear the night-bird’s moan: + + At morn we look, and nought is there; + Sad dawn of cheerless day! + Who then from pining and despair + The sickening heart can stay? + + There is a stay—and we are strong; + Our Master is at hand, + To cheer our solitary song, + And guide us to the strand. + + In His own time; but yet a while + Our bark at sea must ride; + Cast after cast, by force or guile + All waters must be tried: + + By blameless guile or gentle force, + As when He deigned to teach + (The lode-star of our Christian course) + Upon this sacred beach. + + Should e’er thy wonder-working grace + Triumph by our weak arm, + Let not our sinful fancy trace + Aught human in the charm: + + To our own nets ne’er bow we down, + Lest on the eternal shore + The angels, while oar draught they own, + Reject us evermore: + + Or, if for our unworthiness + Toil, prayer, and watching fail, + In disappointment Thou canst bless, + So love at heart prevail. + + + +Sixth Sunday after Trinity. + + + David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the Lord. And Nathan + said unto David, The Lord also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not + die. 2 _Samuel_ xii. 13. + + WHEN bitter thoughts, of conscience born, + With sinners wake at morn, + When from our restless couch we start, + With fevered lips and withered heart, + Where is the spell to charm those mists away, + And make new morning in that darksome day? + One draught of spring’s delicious air, + One steadfast thought, that GOD is there. + + These are Thy wonders, hourly wrought, + Thou Lord of time and thought, + Lifting and lowering souls at will, + Crowding a world of good or ill + Into a moment’s vision; e’en as light + Mounts o’er a cloudy ridge, and all is bright, + From west to east one thrilling ray + Turning a wintry world to May. + + Would’st thou the pangs of guilt assuage? + Lo! here an open page, + Where heavenly mercy shines as free + Written in balm, sad heart, for thee. + Never so fast, in silent April shower, + Flushed into green the dry and leafless bower, + As Israel’s crownèd mourner felt + The dull hard stone within him melt. + + The absolver saw the mighty grief, + And hastened with relief;— + “The Lord forgives; thou shalt not die:” + ’Twas gently spoke, yet heard on high, + And all the band of angels, used to sing + In heaven, accordant to his raptured string, + Who many a month had turned away + With veilèd eyes, nor owned his lay, + + Now spread their wings, and throng around + To the glad mournful sound, + And welcome, with bright open face, + The broken heart to love’s embrace. + The rock is smitten, and to future years + Springs ever fresh the tide of holy tears + And holy music, whispering peace + Till time and sin together cease. + + There drink: and when ye are at rest, + With that free Spirit blest, + Who to the contrite can dispense, + The princely heart of innocence, + If ever, floating from faint earthly lyre, + Was wafted to your soul one high desire, + By all the trembling hope ye feel, + Think on the minstrel as ye kneel: + + Think on the shame, that dreadful hour + When tears shall have no power, + Should his own lay th’ accuser prove, + Cold while he kindled others’ love: + And let your prayer for charity arise, + That his own heart may hear his melodies, + And a true voice to him may cry, + “Thy GOD forgives—thou shalt not die.” + + + +Seventh Sunday after Trinity. + + + From whence can a man satisfy these men with bread here in the + wilderness? _St. Mark_ viii. 4. + + GO not away, thou weary soul: + Heaven has in store a precious dole + Here on Bethsaida’s cold and darksome height, + Where over rocks and sands arise + Proud Sirion in the northern skies, + And Tabor’s lonely peak, ’twixt thee and noonday light. + + And far below, Gennesaret’s main + Spreads many a mile of liquid plain, + (Though all seem gathered in one eager bound,) + Then narrowing cleaves you palmy lea, + Towards that deep sulphureous sea, + Where five proud cities lie, by one dire sentence drowned. + + Landscape of fear! yet, weary heart, + Thou need’st not in thy gloom depart, + Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home: + Sweetly thy sickening throbs are eyed + By the kind Saviour at thy side; + For healing and for balm e’en now thine hour is come. + + No fiery wing is seen to glide, + No cates ambrosial are supplied, + But one poor fisher’s rude and scanty store + Is all He asks (and more than needs) + Who men and angels daily feeds, + And stills the wailing sea-bird on the hungry shore. + + The feast is o’er, the guests are gone, + And over all that upland lone + The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old— + But far unlike the former dreams, + The heart’s sweet moonlight softly gleams + Upon life’s varied view, so joyless erst and cold. + + As mountain travellers in the night, + When heaven by fits is dark and bright, + Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear + Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell, + Then bolder scale the rugged fell, + Conscious the more of One, ne’er seen, yet ever near: + + So when the tones of rapture gay + On the lorn ear, die quite away, + The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven; + Seen daily, yet unmarked before, + Earth’s common paths are strewn all o’er + With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven. + + The low sweet tones of Nature’s lyre + No more on listless ears expire, + Nor vainly smiles along the shady way + The primrose in her vernal nest, + Nor unlamented sink to rest + Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay. + + There’s not a star the heaven can show, + There’s not a cottage-hearth below, + But feeds with solace kind the willing soul— + Men love us, or they need our love; + Freely they own, or heedless prove + The curse of lawless hearts, the joy of self-control. + + Then rouse thee from desponding sleep, + Nor by the wayside lingering weep, + Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild, + Whose love can turn earth’s worst and least + Into a conqueror’s royal feast: + Thou wilt not be untrue, thou shalt not be beguiled. + + + +Eight Sunday after Trinity. + + + It is the man of God, who was disobedient unto the word of the Lord. + 1 _King_ xiii. 26. + + PROPHET of God, arise and take + With thee the words of wrath divine, + The scourge of Heaven, to shake + O’er yon apostate shrine. + + Where Angels down the lucid stair + Came hovering to our sainted sires + Now, in the twilight, glare + The heathen’s wizard fires. + + Go, with thy voice the altar rend, + Scatter the ashes, be the arm, + That idols would befriend, + Shrunk at thy withering charm. + + Then turn thee, for thy time is short, + But trace not o’er the former way, + Lest idol pleasures court + Thy heedless soul astray. + + Thou know’st how hard to hurry by, + Where on the lonely woodland road + Beneath the moonlight sky + The festal warblings flowed; + + Where maidens to the Queen of Heaven + Wove the gay dance round oak or palm, + Or breathed their vows at even + In hymns as soft as balm. + + Or thee, perchance, a darker spell + Enthralls: the smooth stones of the flood, + By mountain grot or fell, + Pollute with infant’s blood; + + The giant altar on the rock, + The cavern whence the timbrel’s call + Affrights the wandering flock:— + Thou long’st to search them all. + + Trust not the dangerous path again— + O forward step and lingering will! + O loved and warned in vain! + And wilt thou perish still? + + Thy message given, thine home in sight, + To the forbidden feast return? + Yield to the false delight + Thy better soul could spurn? + + Alas, my brother! round thy tomb + In sorrow kneeling, and in fear, + We read the Pastor’s doom + Who speaks and will not hear. + + The grey-haired saint may fail at last, + The surest guide a wanderer prove; + Death only binds us fast + To the bright shore of love. + + + +Ninth Sunday after Trinity. + + + And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: + and after the fire a still small voice. 1 _Kings_ xix. 12. + + IN troublous days of anguish and rebuke, + While sadly round them Israel’s children look, + And their eyes fail for waiting on their Lord: + While underneath each awful arch of green, + On every mountain-top, God’s chosen scene, + Of pure heart-worship, Baal is adored: + + ’Tis well, true hearts should for a time retire + To holy ground, in quiet to aspire + Towards promised regions of serener grace; + On Horeb, with Elijah, let us lie, + Where all around on mountain, sand, and sky, + God’s chariot wheels have left distinctest trace; + + There, if in jealousy and strong disdain + We to the sinner’s God of sin complain, + Untimely seeking here the peace of Heaven— + “It is enough. O Lord! now let me die + E’en as my fathers did: for what am I + That I should stand where they have vainly striven?”— + + Perhaps our God may of our conscience ask, + “What doest thou here frail wanderer from thy task? + Where hast thou left those few sheep in the wild?” + Then should we plead our heart’s consuming pain, + At sight of ruined altars, prophets slain, + And God’s own ark with blood of souls defiled; + + He on the rock may bid us stand, and see + The outskirts of His march of mystery, + His endless warfare with man’s wilful heart; + First, His great Power He to the sinner shows + Lo! at His angry blast the rocks unclose, + And to their base the trembling mountains part + + Yet the Lord is not here: ’Tis not by Power + He will be known—but darker tempests lower; + Still, sullen heavings vex the labouring ground: + Perhaps His Presence thro’ all depth and height, + Best of all gems that deck His crown of light, + The haughty eye may dazzle and confound. + + God is not in the earthquake; but behold + From Sinai’s caves are bursting, as of old, + The flames of His consuming jealous ire. + Woe to the sinner should stern Justice prove + His chosen attribute;—but He in love + Hastes to proclaim, “God is not in the fire.” + + The storm is o’er—and hark! a still small voice + Steals on the ear, to say, Jehovah’s choice + Is ever with the soft, meek, tender soul; + By soft, meek, tender ways He loves to draw + The sinner, startled by His ways of awe: + Here is our Lord, and not where thunders roll. + + Back, then, complainer; loath thy life no more, + Nor deem thyself upon a desert shore, + Because the rocks the nearer prospect close. + Yet in fallen Israel are there hearts and eyes + That day by day in prayer like thine arise; + Thou know’st them not, but their Creator knows. + + Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast + Thy bread upon the waters, sure at last + In joy to find it after many days. + The work be thine, the fruit thy children’s part: + Choose to believe, not see: sight tempts the heart + From sober walking in true Gospel ways. + + + +Tenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + And when He was come near, He beheld the city, and wept over it. + _St. Luke_ xix. 41. + + WHY doth my Saviour weep + At sight of Sion’s bowers? + Shows it not fair from yonder steep, + Her gorgeous crown of towers? + Mark well His holy pains: + ’Tis not in pride or scorn, + That Israel’s King with sorrow stains + His own triumphal morn. + + It is not that His soul + Is wandering sadly on, + In thought how soon at death’s dark goal + Their course will all be run, + Who now are shouting round + Hosanna to their chief; + No thought like this in Him is found, + This were a Conquerer’s grief. + + Or doth He feel the Cross + Already in His heart, + The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss? + Feel e’en His God depart? + No: though He knew full well + The grief that then shall be— + The grief that angels cannot tell— + Our God in agony. + + It is not thus He mourns; + Such might be martyr’s tears, + When his last lingering look he turns + On human hopes and fears; + But hero ne’er or saint + The secret load might know, + With which His spirit waxeth faint; + His is a Saviour’s woe. + + “If thou had’st known, e’en thou, + At least in this thy day, + The message of thy peace! but now + ’Tis passed for aye away: + Now foes shall trench thee round, + And lay thee even with earth, + And dash thy children to the ground, + Thy glory and thy mirth.” + + And doth the Saviour weep + Over His people’s sin, + Because we will not let Him keep + The souls He died to win? + Ye hearts, that love the Lord, + If at this, sight ye burn, + See that in thought, in deed, in word, + Ye hate what made Him mourn. + + + +Eleventh Sunday after Trinity. + + + Is it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and + oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and menservants, and + maidservants? 2 _Kings_ v. 26. + + IS this a time to plant and build, + Add house to house, and field to field, + When round our walls the battle lowers, + When mines are hid beneath our towers, + And watchful foes are stealing round + To search and spoil the holy ground? + + Is this a time for moonlight dreams + Of love and home by mazy streams, + For Fancy with her shadowy toys, + Aërial hopes and pensive joys, + While souls are wandering far and wide, + And curses swarm on every side? + + No—rather steel thy melting heart + To act the martyr’s sternest part, + To watch, with firm unshrinking eye, + Thy darling visions as thy die, + Till all bright hopes, and hues of day, + Have faded into twilight gray. + + Yes—let them pass without a sigh, + And if the world seem dull and dry, + If long and sad thy lonely hours, + And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers, + Bethink thee what thou art and where, + A sinner in a life of care. + + The fire of God is soon to fall + (Thou know’st it) on this earthly ball; + Full many a soul, the price of blood, + Marked by th’ Almighty’s hand for good, + To utter death that hour shall sweep— + And will the saints in Heaven dare weep? + + Then in His wrath shall GOD uproot + The trees He set, for lack of fruit, + And drown in rude tempestuous blaze + The towers His hand had deigned to raise; + In silence, ere that storm begin, + Count o’er His mercies and thy sin. + + Pray only that thine aching heart, + From visions vain content to part, + Strong for Love’s sake its woe to hide + May cheerful wait the Cross beside, + Too happy if, that dreadful day, + Thy life be given thee for a prey. + + Snatched sudden from th’ avenging rod, + Safe in the bosom of thy GOD, + How wilt thou then look back, and smile + On thoughts that bitterest seemed erewhile, + And bless the pangs that made thee see + This was no world of rest for thee! + + + +Twelfth Sunday after Trinity. + + + And looking up to heaven, He sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, + that is, Be opened. _St. Mark_ vii. 34. + + THE Son of God in doing good + Was fain to look to Heaven and sigh: + And shall the heirs of sinful blood + Seek joy unmixed in charity? + God will not let Love’s work impart + Full solace, lest it steal the heart; + Be thou content in tears to sow, + Blessing, like Jesus, in thy woe: + + He looked to Heaven, and sadly sighed— + What saw my gracious Saviour there, + “With fear and anguish to divide + The joy of Heaven-accepted prayer? + So o’er the bed where Lazarus slept + He to His Father groaned and wept: + What saw He mournful in that grave, + Knowing Himself so strong to save?” + + O’erwhelming thoughts of pain and grief + Over His sinking spirit sweep;— + What boots it gathering one lost leaf + Out of yon sere and withered heap, + Where souls and bodies, hopes and joys, + All that earth owns or sin destroys, + Under the spurning hoof are cast, + Or tossing in th’ autumnal blast? + + The deaf may hear the Saviour’s voice, + The fettered tongue its chain may break; + But the deaf heart, the dumb by choice, + The laggard soul, that will not wake, + The guilt that scorns to be forgiven;— + These baffle e’en the spells of Heaven; + In thought of these, His brows benign + Not e’en in healing cloudless shine. + + No eye but His might ever bear + To gaze all down that drear abyss, + Because none ever saw so clear + The shore beyond of endless bliss: + The giddy waves so restless hurled, + The vexed pulse of this feverish world, + He views and counts with steady sight, + Used to behold the Infinite. + + But that in such communion high + He hath a fount of strength within, + Sure His meek heart would break and die, + O’erburthened by His brethren’s sin; + Weak eyes on darkness dare not gaze, + It dazzles like the noonday blaze; + But He who sees God’s face may brook + On the true face of Sin to look. + + What then shall wretched sinners do, + When in their last, their hopeless day, + Sin, as it is, shall meet their view, + God turn His face for aye away? + Lord, by Thy sad and earnest eye, + When Thou didst look to Heaven and sigh: + Thy voice, that with a word could chase + The dumb, deaf spirit from his place; + + As Thou hast touched our ears, and taught + Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain, + Quell Thou each thankless godless thought + That would make fast our bonds again. + From worldly strife, from mirth unblest, + Drowning Thy music in the breast, + From foul reproach, from thrilling fears, + Preserve, good Lord, Thy servants’ ears. + + From idle words, that restless throng + And haunt our hearts when we would pray, + From Pride’s false chime, and jarring wrong, + Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way: + For Thou hast sworn, that every ear, + Willing or loth, Thy trump shall hear, + And every tongue unchainèd be + To own no hope, no God, but Thee. + + + +Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + And He turned Him onto His disciples, and said privately, Blessed are + the eyes which see the things that ye see: for I tell you, that many + prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see, and + have not seen them: and to hear those things which ye hear, and have + not heard them. _St. Luke_ x. 23, 24. + + ON Sinai’s top, in prayer and trance, + Full forty nights and forty days + The Prophet watched for one dear glance + Of thee and of Thy ways: + + Fasting he watched and all alone, + Wrapt in a still, dark, solid cloud, + The curtain of the Holy One + Drawn round him like a shroud: + + So, separate from the world, his breast + Might duly take and strongly keep + The print of Heaven, to be expressed + Ere long on Sion’s steep. + + There one by one his spirit saw + Of things divine the shadows bright, + The pageant of God’s perfect law; + Yet felt not full delight. + + Through gold and gems, a dazzling maze, + From veil to veil the vision led, + And ended, where unearthly rays + From o’er the ark were shed. + + Yet not that gorgeous place, nor aught + Of human or angelic frame, + Could half appease his craving thought; + The void was still the same. + + “Show me Thy glory, gracious Lord! + ’Tis Thee,” he cries, “not Thine, I seek.” + Na, start not at so bold a word + From man, frail worm and weak: + + The spark of his first deathless fire + Yet buoys him up, and high above + The holiest creature, dares aspire + To the Creator’s love. + + The eye in smiles may wander round, + Caught by earth’s shadows as they fleet; + But for the soul no help is found, + Save Him who made it, meet. + + Spite of yourselves, ye witness this, + Who blindly self or sense adore; + Else wherefore leaving your own bliss + Still restless ask ye more? + + This witness bore the saints of old + When highest rapt and favoured most, + Still seeking precious things untold, + Not in fruition lost. + + Canaan was theirs; and in it all + The proudest hope of kings dare claim: + Sion was theirs; and at their call + Fire from Jehovah came. + + Yet monarchs walked as pilgrims still + In their own land, earth’s pride and grace: + And seers would mourn on Sion’s hill + Their Lord’s averted face. + + Vainly they tried the deeps to sound + E’en of their own prophetic thought, + When of Christ crucified and crowned + His Spirit in them taught: + + But He their aching gaze repressed, + Which sought behind the veil to see, + For not without us fully blest + Or perfect might they be. + + The rays of the Almighty’s face + No sinner’s eye might then receive; + Only the meekest man found grace + To see His skirts and live. + + But we as in a glass espy + The glory of His countenance, + Not in a whirlwind hurrying by + The too presumptuous glance, + + But with mild radiance every hour, + From our dear Saviour’s face benign + Bent on us with transforming power, + Till we, too, faintly shine. + + Sprinkled with His atoning blood + Safely before our God we stand, + As on the rock the Prophet stood, + Beneath His shadowing hand.— + + Blessed eyes, which see the things we see! + And yet this tree of life hath proved + To many a soul a poison tree, + Beheld, and not beloved. + + So like an angel’s is our bliss + (Oh! thought to comfort and appal) + It needs must bring, if used amiss, + An angel’s hopeless fall. + + + +Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where are + the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to God, + save this stranger. _St. Luke_ xvii. 17, 18. + + TEN cleansed, and only one remain! + Who would have thought our nature’s stain + Was dyed so foul, so deep in grain? + E’en He who reads the heart— + Knows what He gave and what we lost, + Sin’s forfeit, and redemption’s cost,— + By a short pang of wonder crossed + Seems at the sight to start: + + Yet ’twas not wonder, but His love + Our wavering spirits would reprove, + That heavenward seem so free to move + When earth can yield no more + Then from afar on God we cry, + But should the mist of woe roll by, + Not showers across an April sky + Drift, when the storm is o’er, + + Faster than those false drops and few + Fleet from the heart, a worthless dew. + What sadder scene can angels view + Than self-deceiving tears, + Poured idly over some dark page + Of earlier life, though pride or rage, + The record of to-day engage, + A woe for future years? + + Spirits, that round the sick man’s bed + Watched, noting down each prayer he made, + Were your unerring roll displayed, + His pride of health to abase; + Or, when, soft showers in season fall + Answering a famished nation’s call, + Should unseen fingers on the wall + Our vows forgotten trace: + + How should we gaze in trance of fear! + Yet shines the light as thrilling clear + From Heaven upon that scroll severe, + “Ten cleansed and one remain!” + Nor surer would the blessing prove + Of humbled hearts, that own Thy love, + Should choral welcome from above + Visit our senses plain: + + Than by Thy placid voice and brow, + With healing first, with comfort now, + Turned upon him, who hastes to bow + Before Thee, heart and knee; + “Oh! thou, who only wouldst be blest, + On thee alone My blessing rest! + Rise, go thy way in peace, possessed + For evermore of Me.” + + + +Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. _St. Matthew_, vi. + 28. + + SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies, + Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, + What more than magic in you lies, + To fill the heart’s fond view? + In childhood’s sports, companions gay, + In sorrow, on Life’s downward way, + How soothing! in our last decay + Memorials prompt and true. + + Relics ye are of Eden’s bowers, + As pure, as fragrant, and as fair, + As when ye crowned the sunshine hours + Of happy wanderers there. + Fall’n all beside—the world of life, + How is it stained with fear and strife! + In Reason’s world what storms are rife, + What passions range and glare! + + But cheerful and unchanged the while + Your first and perfect form ye show, + The same that won Eve’s matron smile + In the world’s opening glow. + The stars of heaven a course are taught + Too high above our human thought: + Ye may be found if ye are sought, + And as we gaze, we know. + + Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, + Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow, + And guilty man where’er he roams, + Your innocent mirth may borrow. + The birds of air before us fleet, + They cannot brook our shame to meet— + But we may taste your solace sweet + And come again to-morrow. + + Ye fearless in your nests abide— + Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, + Your silent lessons, undescried + By all but lowly eyes: + For ye could draw th’ admiring gaze + Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys: + Your order wild, your fragrant maze, + He taught us how to prize. + + Ye felt your Maker’s smile that hour, + As when He paused and owned you good; + His blessing on earth’s primal bower, + Ye felt it all renewed. + What care ye now, if winter’s storm + Sweep ruthless o’er each silken form? + Christ’s blessing at your heart is warm, + Ye fear no vexing mood. + + Alas! of thousand bosoms kind, + That daily court you and caress, + How few the happy secret find + Of your calm loveliness! + “Live for to-day! to-morrow’s light + To-morrow’s cares shall bring to sight, + Go sleep like closing flowers at night, + And Heaven thy morn will bless.” + + + +Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, which is your + glory. + + _Ephesians_ iii. 13. + + WISH not, dear friends, my pain away— + Wish me a wise and thankful heart, + With GOD, in all my griefs, to stay, + Nor from His loved correction start. + + The dearest offering He can crave + His portion in our souls to prove, + What is it to the gift He gave, + The only Son of His dear love? + + But we, like vexed unquiet sprights, + Will still be hovering o’er the tomb, + Where buried lie our vain delights, + Nor sweetly take a sinner’s doom. + + In Life’s long sickness evermore + Our thoughts are tossing to and fro: + We change our posture o’er and o’er, + But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe. + + Were it not better to lie still, + Let Him strike home and bless the rod, + Never so safe as when our will + Yields undiscerned by all but God? + + Thy precious things, whate’er they be, + That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, + Look to the Cross and thou shalt see + How thou mayst turn them all to gain. + + Lovest thou praise? the Cross is shame: + Or ease? the Cross is bitter grief: + More pangs than tongue or heart can frame + Were suffered there without relief. + + We of that Altar would partake, + But cannot quit the cost—no throne + Is ours, to leave for Thy dear sake— + We cannot do as Thou hast done. + + We cannot part with Heaven for Thee— + Yet guide us in Thy track of love: + Let us gaze on where light should be, + Though not a beam the clouds remove. + + So wanderers ever fond and true + Look homeward through the evening sky, + Without a streak of heaven’s soft blue + To aid Affection’s dreaming eye. + + The wanderer seeks his native bower, + And we will look and long for Thee, + And thank Thee for each trying hour, + Wishing, not struggling, to be free. + + + +Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + Every man of the house of Israel that setteth up his idols in his + heart, and putteth the stumbling-block of his iniquity before his + face, and cometh to the prophet; I the Lord will answer him that + cometh according to the multitude of his idols. _Ezekiel_ xiv. 4. + + STATELY thy walls, and holy are the prayers + Which day and night before thine altars rise: + Not statelier, towering o’er her marble stairs, + Flashed Sion’s gilded dome to summer skies, + Not holier, while around him angels bowed, + From Aaron’s censer steamed the spicy cloud, + + Before the mercy-seat. O Mother dear, + Wilt thou forgive thy son one boding sigh? + Forgive, if round thy towers he walk in fear, + And tell thy jewels o’er with jealous eye? + Mindful of that sad vision, which in thought + From Chebar’s plains the captive prophet brought. + + To see lost Sion’s shame. ’Twas morning prime, + And like a Queen new seated on her throne, + GOD’S crownèd mountain, as in happier time, + Seemed to rejoice in sunshine all her own: + So bright, while all in shade around her lay, + Her northern pinnacles had caught th’ emerging ray. + + The dazzling lines of her majestic roof + Crossed with as free a span the vault of heaven, + As when twelve tribes knelt silently aloof + Ere GOD His answer to their king had given, + Ere yet upon the new-built altar fell + The glory of the LORD, the Lord of Israel. + + All seems the same: but enter in and see + What idol shapes are on the wall portrayed: + And watch their shameless and unholy glee, + Who worship there in Aaron’s robes arrayed: + Hear Judah’s maids the dirge to Thammuz pour, + And mark her chiefs yon orient sun adore. + + Yet turn thee, son of man—for worse than these + Thou must behold: thy loathing were but lost + On dead men’s crimes, and Jews’ idolatries— + Come, learn to tell aright thine own sins’ cost,— + And sure their sin as far from equals thine, + As earthly hopes abused are less than hopes divine. + + What if within His world, His Church, our LORD + Have entered thee, as in some temple gate, + Where, looking round, each glance might thee afford + Some glorious earnest of thine high estate, + And thou, false heart and frail, hast turned from all + To worship pleasure’s shadow on the wall? + + If, when the LORD of Glory was in sight, + Thou turn thy back upon that fountain clear, + To bow before the “little drop of light,” + Which dim-eyed men call praise and glory here; + What dost thou, but adore the sun, and scorn + Him at whose only word both sun and stars were born? + + If, while around thee gales from Eden breathe, + Thou hide thine eyes, to make thy peevish moan + Over some broken reed of earth beneath, + Some darling of blind fancy dead and gone, + As wisely might’st thou in JEHOVAH’S fane + Offer thy love and tears to Thammuz slain. + + Turn thee from these, or dare not to inquire + Of Him whose name is Jealous, lest in wrath + He hear and answer thine unblest desire: + Far better we should cross His lightning’s path + Than be according to our idols beard, + And God should take us at our own vain word. + + Thou who hast deigned the Christian’s heart to call + Thy Church and Shrine; whene’er our rebel will + Would in that chosen home of Thine instal + Belial or Mammon, grant us not the ill + We blindly ask; in very love refuse + Whate’er Thou knowest our weakness would abuse. + + Or rather help us, LORD, to choose the good, + To pray for nought, to seek to none, but Thee, + Nor by “our daily bread” mean common food, + Nor say, “From this world’s evil set us free;” + Teach us to love, with CHRIST, our sole true bliss, + Else, though in CHRIST’S own words, we surely pray amiss. + + + +Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + I will bring you into the wilderness of the people, and there will I + plead with you face to face. Like as pleaded with your fathers in + the wilderness of the land of Egypt, so will I plead with you, saith + the Lord God. _Ezekiel_ xx. 35, 36. + + IT is so—ope thine eyes, and see— + What viewest thou all around? + A desert, where iniquity + And knowledge both abound. + + In the waste howling wilderness + The Church is wandering still, + Because we would not onward press + When close to Sion’s hill. + + Back to the world we faithless turned, + And far along the wild, + With labour lost and sorrow earned, + Our steps have been beguiled. + + Yet full before us, all the while, + The shadowing pillar stays, + The living waters brightly smile, + The eternal turrets blaze, + + Yet Heaven is raining angels’ bread + To be our daily food, + And fresh, as when it first was shed, + Springs forth the SAVIOUR’S blood. + + From every region, race, and speech, + Believing myriads throng, + Till, far as sin and sorrow reach, + Thy grace is spread along; + + Till sweetest nature, brightest art, + Their votive incense bring, + And every voice and every heart + Own Thee their God and King. + + All own; but few, alas! will love; + Too like the recreant band + That with Thy patient spirit strove + Upon the Red-sea strand. + + O Father of long-suffering grace, + Thou who hast sworn to stay + Pleading with sinners face to face + Through all their devious way: + + How shall we speak to Thee, O LORD, + Or how in silence lie? + Look on us, and we are abhorred, + Turn from us, and we die. + + Thy guardian fire, Thy guiding cloud, + Still let them gild our wall, + Nor be our foes and Thine allowed + To see us faint and fall. + + Too oft, within this camp of Thine, + Rebellions murmurs rise; + Sin cannot bear to see Thee shine + So awful to her eyes. + + Fain would our lawless hearts escape, + And with the heathen be, + To worship every monstrous shape + In fancied darkness free. + + Vain thought, that shall not be at all! + Refuse we or obey, + Our ears have heard the Almighty’s call, + We cannot be as they. + + We cannot hope the heathen’s doom + To whom GOD’S Son is given, + Whose eyes have seen beyond the tomb, + Who have the key of Heaven. + + Weak tremblers on the edge of woe, + Yet shrinking from true bliss, + Our rest must be “no rest below,” + And let our prayer be this: + + “LORD, wave again Thy chastening rod, + Till every idol throne + Crumble to dust, and Thou, O GOD, + Reign in our hearts alone. + + “Bring all our wandering fancies home, + For Thou hast every spell, + And ’mid the heathen where they roam, + Thou knowest, LORD, too well. + + “Thou know’st our service sad and hard, + Thou know’st us fond and frail; + Win us to be loved and spared + When all the world shall fail. + + “So when at last our weary days + Are well-nigh wasted here, + And we can trace Thy wondrous ways + In distance calm and clear, + + “When in Thy love and Israel’s sin + We read our story true, + We may not, all too late, begin + To wish our hopes were new. + + “Long loved, long tried, long spared as they, + Unlike in this alone, + That, by Thy grace, our hearts shall stay + For evermore Thine own.” + + + +Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. + + + Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, + and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men + bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the + king, True, O king. He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, + walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form + of the fourth is like the Son of God. _Daniel_ iii. 24, 25. + + WHEN Persecution’s torrent blaze + Wraps the unshrinking Martyr’s head; + When fade all earthly flowers and bays, + When summer friends are gone and fled, + Is he alone in that dark hour + Who owns the Lord of love and power? + + Or waves there not around his brow + A wand no human arm may wield, + Fraught with a spell no angels know, + His steps to guide, his soul to shield? + Thou, Saviour, art his Charmèd Bower, + His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower. + + And when the wicked ones behold + Thy favourites walking in Thy light, + Just as, in fancy triumph bold, + They deemed them lost in deadly night, + Amazed they cry, “What spell is this, + Which turns their sufferings all to bliss? + + “How are they free whom we had bound? + Upright, whom in the gulf we cast? + What wondrous helper have they found + To screen them from the scorching blast? + Three were they—who hath made them four? + And sure a form divine he wore, + + “E’en like the Son of God.” So cried + The Tyrant, when in one fierce flame + The Martyrs lived, the murderers died: + Yet knew he not what angel came + To make the rushing fire-flood seem + Like summer breeze by woodland stream. + + He knew not, but there are who know: + The Matron, who alone hath stood, + When not a prop seemed left below, + The first lorn hour of widowhood, + Yet cheered and cheering all, the while, + With sad but unaffected smile;— + + The Father, who his vigil keeps + By the sad couch whence hope hath flown, + Watching the eye where reason sleeps, + Yet in his heart can mercy own, + Still sweetly yielding to the rod, + Still loving man, still thanking GOD;— + + The Christian Pastor, bowed to earth + With thankless toil, and vile esteemed, + Still travailing in second birth + Of souls that will not be redeemed: + Yet stedfast set to do his part, + And fearing most his own vain heart;— + + These know: on these look long and well, + Cleansing thy sight by prayer and faith, + And thou shalt know what secret spell + Preserves them in their living death: + Through sevenfold flames thine eye shall see + The Saviour walking with His faithful Three. + + + +Twentieth Sunday after Trinity. + + + Hear ye, O mountains, the Lord’s controversy, and ye strong + foundations of the earth. _Micah_ vi. 2. + + WHERE is Thy favoured haunt, eternal Voice, + The region of Thy choice, + Where, undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul + Owns Thy entire control?— + ’Tis on the mountain’s summit dark and high, + When storms are hurrying by: + ’Tis ’mid the strong foundations of the earth, + Where torrents have their birth. + + No sounds of worldly toil ascending there, + Mar the full burst of prayer; + Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe, + And round us and beneath + Are heard her sacred tones: the fitful sweep + Of winds across the steep + Through withered bents—romantic note and clear, + Meet for a hermit’s ear,— + + The wheeling kite’s wild solitary cry, + And, scarcely heard so high, + The dashing waters when the air is still + From many a torrent rill + That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell, + Tracked by the blue mist well: + Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart + For Thought to do her part. + + ’Tis then we hear the voice of GOD within, + Pleading with care and sin: + “Child of My love! how have I wearied thee? + Why wilt thou err from Me? + Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves, + Parted the drowning waves, + And set My saints before thee in the way, + Lest thou shouldst faint or stray? + + “What! was the promise made to thee alone? + Art thou the excepted one? + An heir of glory without grief or pain? + O vision false and vain! + There lies thy cross; beneath it meekly bow; + It fits thy stature now: + Who scornful pass it with averted eye, + ’Twill crush them by-and-by. + + “Raise thy repining eyes, and take true measure + Of thine eternal treasure; + The Father of thy Lord can grudge thee nought, + The world for thee was bought; + And as this landscape broad—earth, sea, and sky,— + All centres in thine eye, + So all God does, if rightly understood, + Shall work thy final good.” + + + +Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity. + + + The vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall + speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it, because it will + surely come, it will not tarry. _Habakkuk_ ii. 3. + + THE morning mist is cleared away, + Yet still the face of Heaven is grey, + Nor yet this autumnal breeze has stirred the grove, + Faded yet full, a paler green + Skirts soberly the tranquil scene, + The red-breast warbles round this leafy cove. + + Sweet messenger of “calm decay,” + Saluting sorrow as you may, + As one still bent to find or make the best, + In thee, and in this quiet mead, + The lesson of sweet peace I read, + Rather in all to be resigned than blest. + + ’Tis a low chant, according well + With the soft solitary knell, + As homeward from some grave beloved we turn, + Or by some holy death-bed dear, + Most welcome to the chastened ear + Of her whom Heaven is teaching how to mourn. + + O cheerful tender strain! the heart + That duly bears with you its part, + Singing so thankful to the dreary blast, + Though gone and spent its joyous prime, + And on the world’s autumnal time, + ’Mid withered hues and sere, its lot be cast: + + That is the heart for thoughtful seer, + Watching, in trance nor dark nor clear, + Th’ appalling Future as it nearer draws: + His spirit calmed the storm to meet, + Feeling the rock beneath his feet, + And tracing through the cloud th’ eternal Cause. + + That is the heart for watchman true + Waiting to see what GOD will do, + As o’er the Church the gathering twilight falls + No more he strains his wistful eye, + If chance the golden hours be nigh, + By youthful Hope seen beaming round her walls. + + Forced from his shadowy paradise, + His thoughts to Heaven the steadier rise: + There seek his answer when the world reproves: + Contented in his darkling round, + If only he be faithful found, + When from the east the eternal morning moves. + +_Note_: The expression, “calm delay,” is borrowed from a friend, by whose +kind permission the following stanzas are here inserted. + + +TO THE RED-BREAST. + + + Unheard in summer’s flaring ray, + Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer, + Wooing the stillness of the autumn day: + Bid it a moment linger, + Nor fly + Too soon from winter’s scowling eye. + + The blackbird’s song at even-tide, + And hers, who gay ascends, + Filling the heavens far and wide, + Are sweet. But none so blends, + As thine, + With calm decay, and peace divine. + + + +Twenty-Second Sunday after Trinity. + + + Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? + _Matthew_ xviii. 21. + + WHAT liberty so glad and gay, + As where the mountain boy, + Reckless of regions far away, + A prisoner lives in joy? + + The dreary sounds of crowded earth, + The cries of camp or town, + Never untuned his lonely mirth, + Nor drew his visions down. + + The snow-clad peaks of rosy light + That meet his morning view, + The thwarting cliffs that bound his sight, + They bound his fancy too. + + Two ways alone his roving eye + For aye may onward go, + Or in the azure deep on high, + Or darksome mere below. + + O blest restraint! more blessèd range! + Too soon the happy child + His nook of homely thought will change + For life’s seducing wild: + + Too soon his altered day-dreams show + This earth a boundless space, + With sun-bright pleasures to and fro + Sporting in joyous race: + + While of his narrowing heart each year, + Heaven less and less will fill, + Less keenly, thorough his grosser ear, + The tones of mercy thrill. + + It must be so: else wherefore falls + The Saviour’s voice unheard, + While from His pard’ning Cross He calls, + “O spare as I have spared?” + + By our own niggard rule we try + The hope to suppliants given! + We mete out love, as if our eye + Saw to the end of Heaven. + + Yes, ransomed sinner! wouldst thou know + How often to forgive, + How dearly to embrace thy foe, + Look where thou hop’st to live;— + + When thou hast told those isles of light, + And fancied all beyond, + Whatever owns, in depth or height, + Creation’s wondrous bond; + + Then in their solemn pageant learn + Sweet mercy’s praise to see: + Their Lord resigned them all, to earn + The bliss of pardoning thee. + + + +Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity. + + + Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto + His glorious body, according to the working whereby He is able even + to subdue all things onto Himself. _Philippians_ iii. 21. + + RED o’er the forest peers the setting sun, + The line of yellow light dies fast away + That crowned the eastern copse: and chill and dun + Falls on the moor the brief November day. + + Now the tired hunter winds a parting note, + And Echo hide good-night from every glade; + Yet wait awhile, and see the calm heaves float + Each to his rest beneath their parent shade. + + How like decaying life they seem to glide! + And yet no second spring have they in store, + But where they fall, forgotten to abide + Is all their portion, and they ask no more. + + Soon o’er their heads blithe April airs shall sing, + A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold, + The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring, + And all be vernal rapture as of old. + + Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie, + In all the world of busy life around + No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky, + No drop, for them, of kindly influence found. + + Man’s portion is to die and rise again— + Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part + With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain, + As his when Eden held his virgin heart. + + And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice + Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life + Only the first renewed—the heathen’s choice, + A round of listless joy and weary strife. + + For dreary were this earth, if earth were all, + Tho’ brightened oft by dear Affection’s kiss;— + Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall? + But catch a gleam beyond it, and ’tis bliss. + + Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart, + Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne + On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart + O’er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn + + Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven, + And fish, living shafts that pierce the main, + And stars that shoot through freezing air at even— + Who but would follow, might he break his chain? + + And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm + Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free + As his transfigured Lord with lightning form + And snowy vest—such grace He won for thee, + + When from the grave He sprang at dawn of morn, + And led through boundless air thy conquering road, + Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born, + Might fearless follow to their blest abode. + + But first, by many a stern and fiery blast + The world’s rude furnace must thy blood refine, + And many a gale of keenest woe be passed, + Till every pulse beat true to airs divine, + + Till every limb obey the mounting soul, + The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given. + He who the stormy heart can so control, + The laggard body soon will waft to Heaven. + + + +Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity. + + + The heart knoweth his own bitterness: and a stranger doth not + intermeddle with his joy. _Proverbs_ xiv. 10. + + WHY should we faint and fear to live alone, + Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die, + Nor e’en the tenderest heart, and next our own, + Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh? + + Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe + Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart, + Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow— + Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart. + + And well it is for us our GOD should feel + Alone our secret throbbings: so our prayer + May readier spring to Heaven, nor spend its zeal + On cloud-born idols of this lower air. + + For if one heart in perfect sympathy + Beat with another, answering love for love, + Weak mortals, all entranced, on earth would lie, + Nor listen for those purer strains above. + + Or what if Heaven for once its searching light + Lent to some partial eye, disclosing all + The rude bad thoughts, that in our bosom’s night + Wander at large, nor heed Love’s gentle thrall? + + Who would not shun the dreary uncouth place? + As if, fond leaning where her infant slept, + A mother’s arm a serpent should embrace: + So might we friendless live, and die unwept. + + Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn, + Thou who canst love us, thro’ Thou read us true; + As on the bosom of th’ aërial lawn + Melts in dim haze each coarse ungentle hue. + + So too may soothing Hope Thy heave enjoy + Sweet visions of long-severed hearts to frame: + Though absence may impair, or cares annoy, + Some constant mind may draw us still the same. + + We in dark dreams are tossing to and fro, + Pine with regret, or sicken with despair, + The while she bathes us in her own chaste glow, + And with our memory wings her own fond prayer. + + O bliss of child-like innocence, and love + Tried to old age! creative power to win, + And raise new worlds, where happy fancies rove, + Forgetting quite this grosser world of sin. + + Bright are their dreams, because their thoughts are clear, + Their memory cheering: but th’ earth-stained spright, + Whose wakeful musings are of guilt and fear, + Must hover nearer earth, and less in light. + + Farewell, for her, th’ ideal scenes so fair— + Yet not farewell her hope, since thou hast deigned, + Creator of all hearts! to own and share + The woe of what Thou mad’st, and we have stained. + + Thou knowst our bitterness—our joys are Thine— + No stranger Thou to all our wanderings wild: + Nor could we bear to think, how every line + Of us, Thy darkened likeness and defiled, + + Stands in full sunshine of Thy piercing eye, + But that Thou call’st us Brethren: sweet repose + Is in that word—the LORD who dwells on high + Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows. + + + +Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity. + + + The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of + righteousness. _Proverbs_ xvi. 31. + + THE bright-haired morn is glowing + O’er emerald meadows gay, + With many a clear gem strewing + The early shepherd’s way. + Ye gentle elves, by Fancy seen + Stealing away with night + To slumber in your leafy screen, + Tread more than airy light. + + And see what joyous greeting + The sun through heaven has shed, + Though fast yon shower be fleeting, + His beams have faster sped. + For lo! above the western haze + High towers the rainbow arch + In solid span of purest rays: + How stately is its march! + + Pride of the dewy morning! + The swain’s experienced eye + From thee takes timely warning, + Nor trusts the gorgeous sky. + For well he knows, such dawnings gay + Bring noons of storm and shower, + And travellers linger on the way + Beside the sheltering bower. + + E’en so, in hope and trembling + Should watchful shepherd view + His little lambs assembling, + With glance both kind and true; + ’Tis not the eye of keenest blaze, + Nor the quick-swelling breast, + That soonest thrills at touch of praise— + These do not please him best. + + But voices low and gentle, + And timid glances shy, + That seem for aid parental + To sue all wistfully, + Still pressing, longing to be right, + Yet fearing to be wrong,— + In these the Pastor dares delight, + A lamb-like, Christ-like throng. + + These in Life’s distant even + Shall shine serenely bright, + As in th’ autumnal heaven + Mild rainbow tints at night, + When the last shower is stealing down, + And ere they sink to rest, + The sun-beams weave a parting crown + For some sweet woodland nest. + + The promise of the morrow + Is glorious on that eve, + Dear as the holy sorrow + When good men cease to live. + When brightening ere it die away + Mounts up their altar flame, + Still tending with intenser ray + To Heaven whence first it came. + + Say not it dies, that glory, + ’Tis caught unquenched on high, + Those saintlike brows so hoary + Shall wear it in the sky. + No smile is like the smile of death, + When all good musings past + Rise wafted with the parting breath, + The sweetest thought the last. + + + +Sunday next before Advent. + + + Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost. _St. + John_ vi. 12. + + WILL God indeed with fragments bear, + Snatched late from the decaying year? + Or can the Saviour’s blood endear + The dregs of a polluted life? + When down th’ o’erwhelming current tossed + Just ere he sink for ever lost, + The sailor’s untried arms are crossed + In agonizing prayer, will Ocean cease her strife? + + Sighs that exhaust but not relieve + Heart-rending sighs, O spare to heave + A bosom freshly taught to grieve + For lavished hours and love misspent! + Now through her round of holy thought + The Church our annual steps has brought, + But we no holy fire have caught— + Back on the gaudy world our wilful eyes were bent. + + Too soon th’ ennobling carols, poured + To hymn the birth-night of the LORD, + Which duteous Memory should have stored + For thankful echoing all the year— + Too soon those airs have passed away; + Nor long within the heart would stay + The silence of CHRIST’S dying day, + Profaned by worldly mirth, or scared by worldly fear. + + Some strain of hope and victory + On Easter wings might lift us high + A little while we sought the sky: + And when the SPIRIT’S beacon fires + On every hill began to blare, + Lightening the world with glad amaze, + Who but must kindle while they gaze? + But faster than she soars, our earth-bound Fancy tires. + + Nor yet for these, nor all the rites, + By which our Mother’s voice invites + Our GOD to bless our home delights, + And sweeten every secret tear:— + The funeral dirge, the marriage vow, + The hollowed font where parents bow, + And now elate and trembling now + To the Redeemer’s feet their new-found treasures bear:— + + Not for this Pastor’s gracious arm + Stretched out to bless—a Christian charm + To dull the shafts of worldly harm:— + Nor, sweetest, holiest, best of all + For the dear feast of JESUS dying, + Upon that altar ever lying, + Where souls with sacred hunger sighing + Are called to sit and eat, while angels prostrate fall:— + + No, not for each and all of these, + Have our frail spirits found their ease. + The gale that stirs the autumnal trees + Seems tuned as truly to our hearts + As when, twelve weary months ago, + ’Twas moaning bleak, so high and low, + You would have thought Remorse and Woe + Had taught the innocent air their sadly thrilling parts. + + Is it, CHRIST’S light is too divine, + We dare not hope like Him to shine? + But see, around His dazzling shrine + Earths gems the fire of Heaven have caught; + Martyrs and saints—each glorious day + Dawning in order on our way— + Remind us, how our darksome clay + May keep th’ ethereal warmth our new Creator brought. + + These we have scorned, O false and frail! + And now once more th’ appalling tale, + How love divine may woo and fail, + Of our lost year in Heaven is told— + What if as far our life were past, + Our weeks all numbered to the last, + With time and hope behind us cast, + And all our work to do with palsied hands and cold? + + O watch and pray ere Advent dawn! + For thinner than the subtlest lawn + ’Twixt thee and death the veil is drawn. + But Love too late can never glow: + The scattered fragments Love can glean + Refine the dregs, and yield us clean + To regions where one thought serene + Breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below. + + + +St. Andrew’s Day + + + He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have + found the Messias . . . And he brought him to Jesus. _St. John_ i. + 41, 42. + + WHEN brothers part for manhood’s race, + What gift may most endearing prove + To keep fond memory its her place, + And certify a brother’s love? + + ’Tis true, bright hours together told, + And blissful dreams in secret shared, + Serene or solemn, gay or bold, + Shall last in fancy unimpaired. + + E’en round the death-bed of the good + Such dear remembrances will hover, + And haunt us with no vexing mood + When all the cares of earth are over. + + But yet our craving spirits feel, + We shall live on, though Fancy die, + And seek a surer pledge—a seal + Of love to last eternally. + + Who art thou, that wouldst grave thy name + Thus deeply in a brother’s heart? + Look on this saint, and learn to frame + Thy love-charm with true Christian art. + + First seek thy Saviour out, and dwell + Beneath this shadow of His roof, + Till thou have scanned His features well, + And known Him for the Christ by proof; + + Such proof as they are sure to find + Who spend with Him their happy days, + Clean hands, and a self-ruling mind + Ever in tune for love and praise. + + Then, potent with the spell of Heaven, + Go, and thine erring brother gain, + Entice him home to be forgiven, + Till he, too, see his Saviour plain. + + Or, if before thee in the race, + Urge him with thine advancing tread, + Till, like twin stars, with even pace, + Each lucid course be duly aped. + + No fading frail memorial give + To soothe his soul when thou art gone, + But wreaths of hope for aye to live, + And thoughts of good together done. + + That so, before the judgment-seat, + Though changed and glorified each face, + Not unremembered ye may meet + For endless ages to embrace. + + + +St. Thomas’ Day. + + + Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed; blessed are + they that have not seen, and yet have believed. _St. John_ xx. 29. + + WE were not by when Jesus came, + But round us, far and near, + We see His trophies, and His name + In choral echoes hear. + In a fair ground our lot is cast, + As in the solemn week that past, + While some might doubt, but all adored, + Ere the whole widowed Church had seen her risen Lord. + + Slowly, as then, His bounteous hand + The golden chain unwinds, + Drawing to Heaven with gentlest band + Wise hearts and loving minds. + Love sought Him first—at dawn of morn + From her sad couch she sprang forlorn, + She sought to weep with Thee alone, + And saw Thine open grave, and knew that thou wert gone. + + Reason and Faith at once set out + To search the SAVIOUR’S tomb; + Faith faster runs, but waits without, + As fearing to presume, + Till Reason enter in, and trace + Christ’s relics round the holy place— + “Here lay His limbs, and here His sacred head, + And who was by, to make His new-forsaken bed?” + + Both wonder, one believes—but while + They muse on all at home, + No thought can tender Love beguile + From Jesus’ grave to roam. + Weeping she stays till He appear— + Her witness first the Church must hear— + All joy to souls that can rejoice + With her at earliest call of His dear gracious voice. + + Joy too to those, who love to talk + In secret how He died, + Though with sealed eyes awhile they walk, + Nor see him at their side: + Most like the faithful pair are they, + Who once to Emmaus took their way, + Half darkling, till their Master shied + His glory on their souls, made known in breaking bread. + + Thus, ever brighter and more bright, + On those He came to save + The Lord of new-created light + Dawned gradual from the grave; + Till passed th’ enquiring day-light hour, + And with closed door in silent bower + The Church in anxious musing sate, + As one who for redemption still had long to wait. + + Then, gliding through th’ unopening door, + Smooth without step or sound, + “Peace to your souls,” He said—no more— + They own Him, kneeling round. + Eye, ear, and hand, and loving heart, + Body and soul in every part, + Successive made His witnesses that hour, + Cease not in all the world to show His saving power. + + Is there, on earth, a spirit frail, + Who fears to take their word, + Scarce daring, through the twilight pale, + To think he sees the Lord? + With eyes too tremblingly awake + To bear with dimness for His sake? + Read and confess the Hand Divine + That drew thy likeness here so true in every line. + + For all thy rankling doubts so sore, + Love thou thy Saviour still, + Him for thy Lord and God adore, + And ever do His will. + Though vexing thoughts may seem to last, + Let not thy soul be quite o’ercast;— + Soon will He show thee all His wounds, and say, + “Long have I known Thy name—know thou My face alway.” + + + +The Conversion of St. Paul. + + + And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, + Saul, why persecutest thou Me? And he said, Who art Thou, Lord? And + the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. _Acts_ ix. 4, 5. + + THE mid-day sun, with fiercest glare, + Broods o’er the hazy twinkling air: + Along the level sand + The palm-tree’s shade unwavering lies, + Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise + To greet you wearied band. + + The leader of that martial crew + Seems bent some mighty deed to do, + So steadily he speeds, + With lips firm closed and fixèd eye, + Like warrior when the fight is night, + Nor talk nor landscape heeds. + + What sudden blaze is round him poured, + As though all Heaven’s refulgent hoard + In one rich glory shone? + One moment—and to earth he falls: + What voice his inmost heart appalls?— + Voice heard by him alone. + + For to the rest both words and form + Seem lost in lightning and in storm, + While Saul, in wakeful trance, + Sees deep within that dazzling field + His persecuted Lord revealed, + With keen yet pitying glance: + + And hears time meek upbraiding call + As gently on his spirit fall, + As if th’ Almighty Son + Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, + Nor had proclaimed His royal birth, + Nor His great power begun. + + “Ah! wherefore persecut’st thou Me?” + He heard and saw, and sought to free + His strained eyes from the sight: + But Heaven’s high magic bound it there, + Still gazing, though untaught to bear + Th’ insufferable light. + + “Who art Thou, Lord?” he falters forth:— + So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth + At the last awful day. + “When did we see Thee suffering nigh, + And passed Thee with unheeding eye? + Great God of judgment, say!” + + Ah! little dream our listless eyes + What glorious presence they despise, + While, in our noon of life, + To power or fame we rudely press.— + Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless, + Christ suffers in our strife. + + And though heaven’s gate long since have closed, + And our dear Lord in bliss reposed, + High above mortal ken, + To every ear in every land + (Thought meek ears only understand) + He speaks as he did then. + + “Ah! wherefore persecute ye Me? + ’Tis hard, ye so in love should be + With your own endless woe. + Know, though at God’s right hand I live, + I feel each wound ye reckless give + To the least saint below. + + “I in your care My brethren left, + Not willing ye should be bereft + Of waiting on your Lord. + The meanest offering ye can make— + A drop of water—for love’s sake, + In Heaven, be sure, is stored.” + + O by those gentle tones and dear, + When thou hast stayed our wild career, + Thou only hope of souls, + Ne’er let us cast one look behind, + But in the thought of Jesus find + What every thought controls. + + As to Thy last Apostle’s heart + Thy lightning glance did then impart + Zeal’s never-dying fire, + So teach us on Thy shrine to lay + Our hearts, and let them day by day + Intenser blaze and higher. + + And as each mild and winning note + (Like pulses that round harp-strings float + When the full strain is o’er) + Left lingering on his inward ear + Music, that taught, as death drew near, + Love’s lesson more and more: + + So, as we walk our earthly round, + Still may the echo of that sound + Be in our memory stored + “Christians! behold your happy state: + Christ is in these, who round you wait; + Make much of your dear Lord!” + + + +The Purification. + + + Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. _St. Matthew_ + v. 8. + + BLESS’D are the pure in heart, + For they shall see our God, + The secret of the Lord is theirs, + Their soul is Christ’s abode. + + Might mortal thought presume + To guess an angel’s lay, + Such are the notes that echo through + The courts of Heaven to-day. + + Such the triumphal hymns + On Sion’s Prince that wait, + In high procession passing on + Towards His temple-gate. + + Give ear, ye kings—bow down, + Ye rulers of the earth— + This, this is He: your Priest by grace, + Your God and King by birth. + + No pomp of earthly guards + Attends with sword and spear, + And all-defying, dauntless look, + Their monarch’s way to clear; + + Yet are there more with Him + Than all that are with you— + The armies of the highest Heaven, + All righteous, good, and true. + + Spotless their robes and pure, + Dipped in the sea of light, + That hides the unapproachèd shrine + From men’s and angels’ sight. + + His throne, thy bosom blest, + O mother undefiled— + That throne, if aught beneath the skies, + Beseems the sinless child. + + Lost in high thoughts, “whose son + The wondrous Babe might prove,” + Her guileless husband walks beside, + Bearing the hallowed dove; + + Meet emblem of His vow, + Who, on this happy day, + His dove-like soul—best sacrifice— + Did on God’s altar lay. + + But who is he, by years + Bowed, but erect in heart, + Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? + “Lord, let me now depart. + + “Now hath Thy servant seen + Thy saving health, O Lord; + ’Tis time that I depart in peace, + According to Thy word.” + + Yet swells this pomp: one more + Comes forth to bless her God; + Full fourscore years, meek widow, she + Her heaven-ward way hath troth. + + She who to earthly joys + So long had given farewell, + Now sees, unlooked for, Heaven on earth, + Christ in His Israel. + + Wide open from that hour + The temple-gates are set, + And still the saints rejoicing there + The holy Child have met. + + Now count His train to-day, + Auth who may meet Him, learn: + Him child-like sires, meek maidens find, + Where pride can nought discern. + + Still to the lowly soul + He doth Himself impart, + And for His cradle and His throne + Chooseth the pure in heart. + + + +St. Matthias’ Day. + + + Wherefore of these men which have companied with us all the time that + the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism + of John, unto the same day that He was taken up from us, must one be + ordained to be a witness with us of His resurrection. _Acts_ i. 21, + 22. + + WHO is God’s chosen priest? + He, who on Christ stands waiting day and night, + Who traceth His holy steps, nor ever ceased, + From Jordan banks to Bethphage height: + + Who hath learned lowliness + From his Lord’s cradle, patience from His Cross; + Whom poor men’s eyes and hearts consent to bless; + To whom, for Christ, the world is loss; + + Who both in agony + Hath seen Him and in glory; and in both + Owned Him divine, and yielded, nothing loth, + Body and soul, to live and die, + + In witness of his Lord, + In humble following of his Saviour dear: + This is the man to wield th’ unearthly sword, + Warring unharmed with sin and fear. + + But who can o’er suffice— + What mortal—for this more than angels’ task, + Winning or losing souls, Thy life-blood’s price? + The gift were too divine to ask. + + But Thou hast made it sure + By Thy dear promise to thy Church and Bride, + That Thou, on earth, wouldst aye with her endure, + Till earth to Heaven be purified. + + Thou art her only spouse, + Whose arm supports her, on Whose faithful breast + Her persecuted head she meekly bows, + Sure pledge of her eternal rest. + + Thou, her unerring guide, + Stayest her fainting steps along the wild; + Thy merit is on the bowers of lust and pride, + That she may pass them undefiled. + + Who then, uncalled by Thee, + Dare touch Thy spouse, Thy very self below? + Or who dare count him summoned worthily, + Except Thine hand and seal he show? + + Where can Thy seal be found, + But on thou chosen seed, from age to age + By thine anointed heralds duly crowned, + As kings and priests Thy war to wage? + + Then fearless walk we forth, + Yet full of trembling, Messengers of God: + Our warrant sure, but doubting of our worth, + By our own shame alike and glory awed. + + Dread Searcher of the hearts, + Thou who didst seal by Thy descending Dove + Thy servant’s choice, O help us in our parts, + Else helpless found, to learn and teach Thy love. + + + +The Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary. + + + And the Angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly + favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. + + _St. Luke_ i. 28. + + OH! Thou who deign’st to sympathise + With all our frail and fleshly ties, + Maker yet Brother dear, + Forgive the too presumptuous thought, + If, calming wayward grief, I sought + To gaze on Thee too near. + + Yet sure ’twas not presumption, Lord, + ’Twas Thine own comfortable word + That made the lesson known: + Of all the dearest bonds we prove, + Thou countest sons and mothers’ love + Most sacred, most Thine own. + + When wandering here a little span, + Thou took’st on Thee to rescue man, + Thou had’st no earthly sire: + That wedded love we prize so dear, + As if our heaven and home were here, + It lit in Thee no fire. + + On no sweet sister’s faithful breast + Wouldst Thou Thine aching forehead rest, + On no kind brother lean: + But who, O perfect filial heart, + E’er did like Thee a true son’s part, + Endearing, firm, serene? + + Thou wept’st, meek maiden, mother mild, + Thou wept’st upon thy sinless Child, + Thy very heart was riven: + And yet, what mourning matron here + Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear + By all on this side Heaven? + + A Son that never did amiss, + That never shamed His Mother’s kiss, + Nor crossed her fondest prayer: + E’en from the tree He deigned to bow, + For her His agonised brow, + Her, His sole earthly care. + + Ave Maria! blessèd Maid! + Lily of Eden’s fragrant shade, + Who can express the love + That nurtured thee so pure and sweet, + Making thy heart a shelter meet + For Jesus’ holy dove? + + Ave Maria! Mother blest, + To whom, caressing and caressed, + Clings the eternal Child; + Favoured beyond Archangels’ dream, + When first on Thee with tenderest gleam + Thy new-born Saviour smiled:— + + Ave Maria! thou whose name + All but adoring love may claim, + Yet may we reach thy shrine; + For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows + To crown all lowly lofty brows + With love and joy like thine. + + Blessed is the womb that bare Him—blessed + The bosom where His lips were pressed, + But rather blessed are they + Who hear His word and keep it well, + The living homes where Christ shall dwell, + And never pass away. + + + +St. Mark’s Day. + + + And the contention was so sharp between them, that they departed + asunder one from the other. _Acts_ xv. 30. + + Compare 2 _Tim._ iv. 11. Take Mark, and bring him with thee: for he + is profitable to me for the ministry. + + OH! who shall dare in this frail scene + On holiest happiest thoughts to lean, + On Friendship, Kindred, or on Love? + Since not Apostles’ hands can clasp + Each other in so firm a grasp + But they shall change and variance prove. + + Yet deem not, on such parting sad + Shall dawn no welcome dear and glad: + Divided in their earthly race, + Together at the glorious goal, + Each leading many a rescued soul, + The faithful champions shall embrace. + + For e’en as those mysterious Four, + Who the bright whirling wheels upbore + By Chebar in the fiery blast. + So, on their tasks of love and praise + This saints of God their several ways + Right onward speed, yet join at last. + + And sometimes e’en beneath the moon + The Saviour gives a gracious boon, + When reconcilèd Christians meet, + And face to face, and heart to heart, + High thoughts of holy love impart + In silence meek, or converse sweet. + + Companion of the Saints! ’twas thine + To taste that drop of peace divine, + When the great soldier of thy Lord + Called thee to take his last farewell, + Teaching the Church with joy to tell + The story of your love restored. + + O then the glory and the bliss, + When all that pained or seemed amiss + Shall melt with earth and sin away! + When saints beneath their Saviour’s eye, + Filled with each other’s company, + Shall spend in love th’ eternal day! + + + +St. Philip and St. James. + + + Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted: but the + rich in that he is made low. _St. James_ i. 9. 10. + + DEAR is the morning gale of spring, + And dear th’ autumnal eve; + But few delights can summer bring + A Poet’s crown to weave. + + Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry, + And ever Fancy’s wing + Speed’s from beneath her cloudless sky + To autumn or to spring. + + Sweet is the infant’s waking smile, + And sweet the old man’s rest— + But middle age by no fond wile, + No soothing calm is blest. + + Still in the world’s hot restless gleam + She plies her weary task, + While vainly for some pleasant dream + Her wandering glances ask.— + + O shame upon thee, listless heart, + So sad a sigh to heave, + As if thy SAVIOUR had no part + In thoughts, that make thee grieve. + + As if along His lonesome way + He had not borne for thee + Sad languors through the summer day, + Storms on the wintry sea. + + Youth’s lightning flash of joy secure + Passed seldom o’er His spright,— + A well of serious thought and pure. + Too deep for earthly light. + + No spring was His—no fairy gleam— + For He by trial knew + How cold and bare what mortals dream, + To worlds where all is true. + + Then grudge not thou the anguish keen + Which makes thee like thy LORD, + And learn to quit with eye serene + Thy youth’s ideal hoard. + + Thy treasured hopes and raptures high— + Unmurmuring let them go, + Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly + Which CHRIST disdained to know. + + Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon; + The pure, calm hope be thine, + Which brightens, like the eastern moon, + As day’s wild lights decline. + + Thus souls, by nature pitched too high, + By sufferings plunged too low, + Meet in the Church’s middle sky, + Half way ’twixt joy and woe, + + To practise there the soothing lay + That sorrow best relieves; + Thankful for all God takes away, + Humbled by all He glass. + + + +St. Barnabas. + + + The sea of consolation, a Levite. _Acts_ iv. 36. + + 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, who skills of comfort best; + Whom by the softest step and gentlest tone + Enfeebled spirits own, + And love to raise the languid eye, + When, like an angel’s wing, they feel him fleeting by:— + + _Feel_ only—for in silence gently gliding + Fain would he shun both ear and sight, + ’Twixt Prayer and watchful Love his heart dividing, + A nursing-father day and night. + Such were the tender arms, where cradled lay, + In her sweet natal day, + The Church of JESUS; such the love + He to His chosen taught for His dear widowed Dove. + + Warmed underneath the Comforter’s safe wing + They spread th’ endearing warmth around: + Mourners, speed here your broken hearts to bring, + Here healing dews and balms abound: + Here are soft hands that cannot bless in vain, + By trial taught your pain: + Here loving hearts, that daily know + The heavenly consolations they on you bestow. + + Sweet thoughts are theirs, that breathe serenest calms, + Of holy offerings timely paid, + Of fire from heaven to bless their votive alms + And passions on GOD’S altar laid. + The world to them is closed, and now they shine + With rays of love divine, + Through darkest nooks of this dull earth + Pouring, in showery times, their glow of “quiet mirth.” + + New hearts before their Saviour’s feet to lay, + This is their first, their dearest joy: + Their next from heart to heart to clear the way + For mutual love without alloy: + Never so blest as when in JESUS’ roll + They write some hero-soul, + More pleased upon his brightening road + To wait, than if their own with all his radiance glowed. + + O happy spirits, marked by God and man + Their messages of love to bear, + What though long since in Heaven your brows began, + The genial amarant wreath to wear, + And in th’ eternal leisure of calm love + Ye banquet there above; + Yet in your sympathetic heart + We and our earthly griefs may ask and hope a part. + + Comfort’s true sons! amid the thoughts of down + That strew your pillow of repose, + Sure ’tis one joy to muse, how ye unknown + By sweet remembrance soothe our woes; + And how the spark ye lit, of heavenly cheer, + Lives in our embers here, + Where’er the cross is borne with smiles, + Or lightened secretly by Love’s endearing wiles: + + Where’er one Levite in the temple keeps + The watch-fire of his midnight prayer, + Or issuing thence, the eyes of mourners steeps + In heavenly balm, fresh gathered there; + Thus saints, that seem to die in earth’s rude strife, + Only win double life: + They have but left our weary ways + To live in memory here, in Heaven by love and praise. + + + +St. John Baptist’s Day. + + + Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the + great and dreadful day of the Lord: and he shall turn the heart of + the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their + fathers. _Malachi_ iv. 5, 6. + + TWICE in her season of decay + The fallen Church hath felt Elijah’s eye + Dart from the wild its piercing ray: + Not keener burns, in the chill morning sky, + The herald star, + Whose torch afar + Shadows and boding night-birds fly. + + Methinks we need him once again, + That favoured seer—but where shall he be found? + By Cherith’s side we seek in vain, + In vain on Carmel’s green and lonely mound: + Angels no more + From Sinai soar, + On his celestial errands bound. + + But wafted to her glorious place + By harmless fire, among the ethereal thrones, + His spirit with a dear embrace + Thee the loved harbinger of Jesus owns, + Well-pleased to view + Her likeness true, + And trace, in thine, her own deep tones. + + Deathless himself, he joys with thee + To commune how a faithful martyr dies, + And in the blest could envy be, + He would behold thy wounds with envious eyes, + Star of our morn, + Who yet unborn + Didst guide our hope, where Christ should rise. + + Now resting from your jealous care + For sinners, such as Eden cannot know, + Ye pour for us your mingled prayer, + No anxious fear to damp Affection’s glow, + Love draws a cloud + From you to shroud + Rebellion’s mystery here below. + + And since we see, and not afar, + The twilight of the great and dreadful day, + Why linger, till Elijah’s car + Stoop from the clouds? Why sheep ye? Rise and pray, + Ye heralds sealed + In camp or field + Your Saviour’s banner to display. + + Where is the lore the Baptist taught, + The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue? + The much-enduring wisdom, sought + By lonely prayer the haunted rocks among? + Who counts it gain + His light should wane, + So the whole world to Jesus throng? + + Thou Spirit, who the Church didst lend + Her eagle wings, to shelter in the wild, + We pray Thee, ere the Judge descend, + With flames like these, all bright and undefiled, + Her watch-fires light, + To guide aright + Our weary souls by earth beguiled. + + So glorious let thy Pastors shine, + That by their speaking lives the world may learn + First filial duty, then divine, + That sons to parents, all to Thee may turn; + And ready prove + In fires of love, + At sight of Thee, for aye to burn. + + + +St. Peter’s Day. + + + When Herod would have brought him forth, the same night Peter was + sleeping. _Acts_ xii. 26. + + THOU thrice denied, yet thrice beloved, + Watch by Thine own forgiven friend; + In sharpest perils faithful proved, + Let his soul love Thee to the end. + + The prayer is heard—else why so deep + His slumber on the eve of death? + And wherefore smiles he in his sleep + As one who drew celestial breath? + + He loves and is beloved again— + Can his soul choose but be at rest? + Sorrow hath fled away, and Pain + Dares not invade the guarded nest. + + He dearly loves, and not alone: + For his winged thoughts are soaring high + Where never yet frail heart was known + To breathe its vain Affection’s sigh. + + He loves and weeps—but more than tears + Have sealed Thy welcome and his love— + One look lives in him, and endears + Crosses and wrongs where’er he rove: + + That gracious chiding look, Thy call + To win him to himself and Thee, + Sweetening the sorrow of his fall + Which else were rued too bitterly. + + E’en through the veil of sheep it shines, + The memory of that kindly glance;— + The Angel watching by, divines + And spares awhile his blissful trance. + + Or haply to his native lake + His vision wafts him back, to talk + With JESUS, ere His flight He take, + As in that solemn evening walk, + + When to the bosom of His friend, + The Shepherd, He whose name is Good. + Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, + Both bought and nourished with His blood: + + Then laid on him th’ inverted tree, + Which firm embraced with heart and arm, + Might cast o’er hope and memory, + O’er life and death, its awful charm. + + With brightening heart he bears it on, + His passport through this eternal gates, + To his sweet home—so nearly won, + He seems, as by the door he waits, + + The unexpressive notes to hear + Of angel song and angel motion, + Rising and falling on the ear + Like waves in Joy’s unbounded ocean.— + + His dream is changed—the Tyrant’s voice + Calls to that last of glorious deeds— + But as he rises to rejoice, + Not Herod but an Angel leads. + + He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright, + Glancing around his prison room— + But ’tis a gleam of heavenly light + That fills up all the ample gloom. + + The flame, that in a few short years + Deep through the chambers of the dead + Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears, + Is waving o’er his dungeon-bed. + + Touched he upstarts—his chains unbind— + Through darksome vault, up massy stair, + His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind + To freedom and cool moonlight air. + + Then all himself, all joy and calm, + Though for a while his hand forego, + Just as it touched, the martyr’s palm, + He turns him to his task below; + + The pastoral staff, the keys of Heaven, + To wield a while in grey-haired might, + Then from his cross to spring forgiven, + And follow JESUS out of sight. + + + +St. James’s Day. + + + Ye shall drink indeed of My cup, and be baptised with the baptism + that I am baptised with: but to sit on My right hand, and on My left, + is not Mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom it is + prepared of My Father. _St. Matthew_ xx. 23. + + SIT down and take thy fill of joy + At God’s right hand, a bidden guest, + Drink of the cup that cannot cloy, + Eat of the bread that cannot waste. + O great Apostle! rightly now + Thou readest all thy Saviour meant, + What time His grave yet gentle brow + In sweet reproof on thee was bent. + + “Seek ye to sit enthroned by me? + Alas! ye know not what ye ask, + The first in shame and agony, + The lowest in the meanest task— + This can ye be? and came ye drink + The cup that I in tears must steep, + Nor from the ’whelming waters shrink + That o’er Me roll so dark and deep?” + + “We can—Thine are we, dearest Lord, + In glory and in agony, + To do and suffer all Thy word; + Only be Thou for ever nigh.”— + “Then be it so—My cup receive, + And of My woes baptismal taste: + But for the crown, that angels weave + For those next Me in glory placed, + + “I give it not by partial love; + But in My Father’s book are writ + What names on earth shall lowliest prove, + That they in Heaven may highest sit.” + Take up the lesson, O my heart; + Thou Lord of meekness, write it there, + Thine own meek self to me impart, + Thy lofty hope, thy lowly prayer. + + If ever on the mount with Thee + I seem to soar in vision bright, + With thoughts of coming agony, + Stay Thou the too presumptuous flight: + Gently along the vale of tears + Lead me from Tabor’s sunbright steep, + Let me not grudge a few short years + With thee t’ward Heaven to walk and weep: + + Too happy, on my silent path, + If now and then allowed, with Thee + Watching some placid holy death, + Thy secret work of love to see; + But, oh! most happy, should Thy call, + Thy welcome call, at last be given— + “Come where thou long hast storeth thy all + Come see thy place prepared in Heaven.” + + + +St. Bartholomew. + + + Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw the + under the fig-tree, believest thou? Thou shalt see greater things + than these. _St. John_ i. 50. + + HOLD up thy mirror to the sun, + And thou shalt need an eagle’s gaze, + So perfectly the polished stone + Gives back the glory of his rays: + + Turn it, and it shall paint as true + The soft green of the vernal earth, + And each small flower of bashful hue, + That closest hides its lowly birth. + + Our mirror is a blessèd book, + Where out from each illumined page + We see one glorious Image look + All eyes to dazzle and engage, + + The Son of God: and that indeed + We see Him as He is, we know, + Since in the same bright glass we read + The very life of things below.— + + Eye of God’s word! where’er we turn + Ever upon us! thy keen gaze + Can all the depths of sin discern, + Unravel every bosom’s maze: + + Who that has felt thy glance of dread + Thrill through his heart’s remotest cells, + About his path, about his bed, + Can doubt what spirit in thee dwells? + + “What word is this? Whence know’st thou me?” + All wondering cries the humbled heart, + To hear thee that deep mystery, + The knowledge of itself, impart. + + The veil is raised; who runs may read, + By its own light the truth is seen, + And soon the Israelite indeed + Bows down t’ adore the Nazarene. + + So did Nathanael, guileless man, + At once, not shame-faced or afraid, + Owning Him God, who so could scan + His musings in the lonely shade; + + In his own pleasant fig-tree’s shade, + Which by his household fountain grew, + Where at noon-day his prayer he made + To know God better than he knew. + + Oh! happy hours of heavenward thought! + How richly crowned! how well improved! + In musing o’er the Law he taught, + In waiting for the Lord he loved. + + We must not mar with earthly praise + What God’s approving word hath sealed: + Enough, if might our feeble lays + Take up the promise He revealed; + + “The child-like faith, that asks not sight, + Waits not for wonder or for sign, + Believes, because it loves, aright— + Shall see things greater, things divine. + + “Heaven to that gaze shall open wide, + And brightest angels to and fro + On messages of love shall glide + ’Twixt God above and Christ below.” + + So still the guileless man is blest, + To him all crooked paths are straight, + Him on his way to endless rest + Fresh, ever-growing strengths await. + + God’s witnesses, a glorious host, + Compass him daily like a cloud; + Martyrs and seers, the saved and lost, + Mercies and judgments cry aloud. + + Yet shall to him the still small voice, + That first into his bosom found + A way, and fixed his wavering choice, + Nearest and dearest ever sound. + + + +St. Matthew. + + + And after these things He went forth, and saw a publican, named Levi, + sitting at the receipt of custom: and He said unto him, Follow Me. + And he left all, rose up, and followed Him. _St. Luke_ v. 27, 28. + + YE hermits blest, ye holy maids, + The nearest Heaven on earth, + Who talk with God in shadowy glades, + Free from rude care and mirth; + To whom some viewless teacher brings + The secret lore of rural things, + The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale, + The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale: + + Say, when in pity ye have gazed + On the wreathed smoke afar, + That o’er some town, like mist upraised, + Hung hiding sun and star, + Then as ye turned your weary eye + To the green earth and open sky, + Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell + Amid that dreary glare, in this world’s citadel? + + But Love’s a flower that will not die + For lack of leafy screen, + And Christian Hope can cheer the eye + That ne’er saw vernal green; + Then be ye sure that Love can bless + E’en in this crowded loneliness, + Where ever-moving myriads seem to say, + Go—thou art naught to us, nor we to thee—away! + + There are in this loud stunning tide + Of human care and crime, + With whom the melodies abide + Of th’ everlasting chime; + Who carry music in their heart + Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, + Plying their daily task with busier feet, + Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. + + How sweet to them, in such brief rest + As thronging cares afford, + In thought to wander, fancy-blest, + To where their gracious Lord, + In vain, to win proud Pharisees, + Spake, and was heard by fell disease— + But not in vain, beside yon breezy lake, + Bade the meek Publican his gainful seat forsake: + + At once he rose, and left his gold; + His treasure and his heart + Transferred, where he shall safe behold + Earth and her idols part; + While he beside his endless store + Shall sit, and floods unceasing pour + Of Christ’s true riches o’er all time and space, + First angel of His Church, first steward of His Grace. + + Nor can ye not delight to think + Where He vouchsafed to eat, + How the Most Holy did not shrink + From touch of sinner’s meat; + What worldly hearts and hearts impure + Went with Him through the rich man’s door, + That we might learn of Him lost souls to love, + And view His least and worst with hope to meet above. + + These gracious lines shed Gospel light + On Mammon’s gloomiest cells, + As on some city’s cheerless night + The tide of sunrise swells, + Till tower, and dome, and bridge-way proud + Are mantled with a golden cloud, + And to wise hearts this certain hope us given; + “No mist that man may raise, shall hide the eye of Heaven.” + + And oh! if e’en on Babel shine + Such gleams of Paradise, + Should not their peace be peace divine, + Who day by day arise + To look on clearer heavens, and scan + The work of God untouch’d by man? + Shame on us, who about us Babel bear, + And live in Paradise, as if God was not there! + + + +St. Michael and All Angels. + + + Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them + who shall be heirs of salvation? _Hebrews_ i. 14. + + YE stars that round the Sun of righteousness + In glorious order roll, + With harps for ever strung, ready to bless + God for each rescued soul, + Ye eagle spirits, that build in light divine, + Oh! think of us to-day, + Faint warblers of this earth, that would combine + Our trembling notes with your accepted lay. + + Your amarant wreaths were earned; and homeward all, + Flush’d with victorious might, + Ye might have sped to keep high festival, + And revel in the light; + But meeting us, weak worldlings, on our way, + Tired ere the fight begun, + Ye turned to help us in th’ unequal fray, + Remembering Whose we were, how dearly won: + + Remembering Bethlehem, and that glorious night + When ye, who used to soar + Diverse along all space in fiery flight, + Came thronging to adore + Your God new-born, and made a sinner’s child; + As if the stars should leave + Their stations in the far ethereal wild, + And round the sun a radiant circle weave. + + Nor less your lay of triumph greeted fair + Our Champion and your King, + In that first strife, whence Satan in despair + Sunk down on scathèd wing: + Abuse He fasted, and alone He fought; + But when His toils were o’er, + Ye to the sacred Hermit duteous brought + Banquet and hymn, your Eden’s festal store. + + Ye too, when lowest in th’ abyss of woe + He plunged to save His sheep, + Were leaning from your golden thrones to know + The secrets of that deep: + But clouds were on His sorrow: one alone + His agonising call + Summoned from Heaven, to still that bitterest groan, + And comfort Him, the Comforter of all. + + Oh! highest favoured of all Spirits create + (If right of thee we deem), + How didst thou glide on brightening wing elate + To meet th’ unclouded beam + Of Jesus from the couch of darkness rising! + How swelled thine anthem’s sound, + With fear and mightier joy weak hearts surprising, + “Your God is risen, and may not here be found!” + + Pass a few days, and this dull darkling globe + Must yield Him from her sight;— + Brighter and brighter streams His glory-robe, + And He is lost in light. + Then, when through yonder everlasting arch, + Ye in innumerous choir + Poured, heralding Messiah’s conquering march, + Lingered around His skirts two forms of fire: + + With us they stayed, high warning to impart; + “The Christ shall come again + E’en as He goes; with the same human heart, + With the same godlike train.”— + Oh! jealous God! how could a sinner dare + Think on that dreadful day, + But that with all Thy wounds Thou wilt be there, + And all our angel friends to bring Thee on Thy way? + + Since to Thy little ones is given such grace, + That they who nearest stand + Alway to God in Heaven, and see His face, + Go forth at His command, + To wait around our path in weal or woe, + As erst upon our King, + Set Thy baptismal seal upon our brow, + And waft us heavenward with enfolding wing: + + Grant. Lord, that when around th’ expiring world + Our seraph guardians wait, + While on her death-bed, ere to ruin hurled, + She owns Thee, all too late, + They to their charge may turn, and thankful see + Thy mark upon us still; + Then all together rise, and reign with Thee, + And all their holy joy o’er contrite hearts fulfil! + + + +St. Luke. + + + Luke, the beloved physician, and Demas, greet you. _Colossians_ iv. + 14. + + Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world . . . Only + Luke is with me. 2 _Timothy_ iv. 10, 11. + + TWO clouds before the summer gale + In equal race fleet o’er the sky: + Two flowers, when wintry blasts assail, + Together pins, together die. + + But two capricious human hearts— + No sage’s rod may track their ways. + No eye pursue their lawless starts + Along their wild self-chosen maze. + + He only, by whose sovereign hand + E’en sinners for the evil day + Were made—who rules the world He planned, + Turning our worst His own good way; + + He only can the cause reveal, + Why, at the same fond bosom fed, + Taught in the self-same lap to kneel + Till the same prayer were duly said, + + Brothers in blood and nurture too, + Aliens in heart so oft should prove; + One lose, the other keep, Heaven’s clue; + One dwell in wrath, and one in love. + + He only knows—for He can read + The mystery of the wicked heart— + Why vainly oft our arrows speed + When aimed with most unerring art; + + While from some rude and powerless arm + A random shaft in season sent + Shall light upon some lurking harm, + And work some wonder little meant. + + Doubt we, how souls so wanton change, + Leaving their own experienced rest? + Need not around the world to range; + One narrow cell may teach us best. + + Look in, and see Christ’s chosen saint + In triumph wear his Christ-like chain; + No fear lest he should swerve or faint; + “His life is Christ, his death is gain.” + + Two converts, watching by his side, + Alike his love and greetings share; + Luke the beloved, the sick soul’s guide, + And Demas, named in faltering prayer. + + Pass a few years—look in once more— + The saint is in his bonds again; + Save that his hopes more boldly soar, + He and his lot unchanged remain. + + But only Luke is with him now: + Alas! that e’en the martyr’s cell, + Heaven’s very gate, should scope allow + For the false world’s seducing spell. + + ’Tis sad—but yet ’tis well, be sure, + We on the sight should muse awhile, + Nor deem our shelter all secure + E’en in the Church’s holiest aisle. + + Vainly before the shrine he bends, + Who knows not the true pilgrim’s part: + The martyr’s cell no safety lends + To him who wants the martyr’s heart. + + But if there be, who follows Paul + As Paul his Lord, in life and death, + Where’er an aching heart may call, + Ready to speed and take no breath; + + Whose joy is, to the wandering sheep + To tell of the great Shepherd’s love; + To learn of mourners while they weep + The music that makes mirth above; + + Who makes the Saviour all his theme, + The Gospel all his pride and praise— + Approach: for thou canst feel the gleam + That round the martyr’s death-bed plays: + + Thou hast an ear for angels’ songs, + A breath the gospel trump to fill, + And taught by thee the Church prolongs + Her hymns of high thanksgiving still. + + Ah! dearest mother, since too oft + The world yet wins some Demas frail + E’en from thine arms, so kind and soft, + May thy tried comforts never fail! + + When faithless ones forsake thy wing, + Be it vouchsafed thee still to see + Thy true, fond nurslings closer cling, + Cling closer to their Lord and thee. + + + +St. Simon and St. Jude. + + + That ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once + delivered unto the saints. _St. Jude_ 3. + + SEEST thou, how tearful and alone, + And drooping like a wounded dove, + The Cross in sight, but Jesus gone, + The widowed Church is fain to rove? + + Who is at hand that loves the Lord? + Make haste, and take her home, and bring + Thine household choir, in true accord + Their soothing hymns for her to sing. + + Soft on her fluttering heart shall breathe + The fragrance of that genial isle, + There she may weave her funeral wreath, + And to her own sad music smile. + + The Spirit of the dying Son + Is there, and fills the holy place + With records sweet of duties done, + Of pardoned foes, and cherished grace. + + And as of old by two and two + His herald saints the Saviour sent + To soften hearts like morning dew, + Where he to shine in mercy meant; + + So evermore He deems His name + Best honoured and his way prepared, + When watching by his altar-flame + He sees His servants duly paired. + + He loves when age and youth are met, + Fervent old age and youth serene, + Their high and low in concord set + For sacred song, Joy’s golden mean. + + He loves when some clear soaring mind + Is drawn by mutual piety + To simple souls and unrefined, + Who in life’s shadiest covert lie. + + Or if perchance a saddened heart + That once was gay and felt the spring, + Cons slowly o’er its altered part, + In sorrow and remorse to sing, + + Thy gracious care will send that way + Some spirit full of glee, yet taught + To bear the sight of dull decay, + And nurse it with all-pitying thought; + + Cheerful as soaring lark, and mild + As evening blackbird’s full-toned lay, + When the relenting sun has smiled + Bright through a whole December day. + + These are the tones to brace and cheer + The lonely watcher of the fold, + When nights are dark, and foeman near, + When visions fade and hearts grow cold. + + How timely then a comrade’s song + Comes floating on the mountain air, + And bids thee yet be bold and strong— + Fancy may die, but Faith is there. + + + +All Saints’ Day. + + + Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have + sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads. _Revelation_ vii. + 3. + + WHY blow’st thou not, thou wintry wind, + Now every leaf is brown and sere, + And idly droops, to thee resigned, + The fading chaplet of the year? + Yet wears the pure aërial sky + Her summer veil, half drawn on high, + Of silvery haze, and dark and still + The shadows sleep on every slanting hill. + + How quiet shows the woodland scene! + Each flower and tree, its duty done, + Reposing in decay serene, + Like weary men when age is won, + Such calm old age as conscience pure + And self-commanding hearts ensure, + Waiting their summons to the sky, + Content to live, but not afraid to die. + + Sure if our eyes were purged to trace + God’s unseen armies hovering round, + We should behold by angels’ grace + The four strong winds of Heaven fast bound, + Their downward sweep a moment stayed + On ocean cove and forest glade, + Till the last flower of autumn shed + Her funeral odours on her dying bed. + + So in Thine awful armoury, Lord, + The lightnings of the judgment-day + Pause yet awhile, in mercy stored, + Till willing hearts wear quite away + Their earthly stains; and spotless shine + On every brow in light divine + The Cross by angel hands impressed, + The seal of glory won and pledge of promised + + Little they dream, those haughty souls + Whom empires own with bended knee, + What lowly fate their own controls, + Together linked by Heaven’s decree;— + As bloodhounds hush their baying wild + To wanton with some fearless child, + So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes, + Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies. + + Think ye the spires that glow so bright + In front of yonder setting sun, + Stand by their own unshaken might? + No—where th’ upholding grace is won, + We dare not ask, nor Heaven would tell, + But sure from many a hidden dell, + From many a rural nook unthought of there, + Rises for that proud world the saints’ prevailing prayer. + + On, Champions blest, in Jesus’ name, + Short be your strife, your triumph full, + Till every heart have caught your flame, + And, lightened of the world’s misrule, + Ye soar those elder saints to meet + Gathered long since at Jesus’ feet, + No world of passions to destroy, + Your prayers and struggles o’er, your task all praise and joy. + + + +Holy Communion. + + + O GOD of Mercy, God of Might, + How should pale sinners bear the sight, + If, as Thy power in surely here, + Thine open glory should appear? + + For now Thy people are allowed + To scale the mount and pierce the cloud, + And Faith may feed her eager view + With wonders Sinai never knew. + + Fresh from th’ atoning sacrifice + The world’s Creator bleeding lies. + That man, His foe, by whom He bled, + May take Him for his daily bread. + + O agony of wavering thought + When sinners first so near are brought! + “It is my Maker—dare I stay? + My Saviour—dare I turn away?” + + Thus while the storm is high within + ’Twixt love of Christ and fear of sin, + Who can express the soothing charm, + To feel Thy kind upholding arm, + + My mother Church? and hear thee tell + Of a world lost, yet loved so well, + That He, by whom the angels live, + His only Son for her would give? + + And doubt we yet? Thou call’st again; + A lower still, a sweeter strain; + A voice from Mercy’s inmost shrine, + This very breath of Love divine. + + Whispering it says to each apart, + “Come unto Me, thou trembling heart;” + And we must hope, so sweet the tone, + The precious words are all our own. + + Hear them, kind Saviour—hear Thy Spouse + Low at Thy feet renew her vows; + Thine own dear promise she would plead + For us her true though fallen seed. + + She pleads by all Thy mercies, told + Thy chosen witnesses of old, + Love’s heralds sent to man forgiven, + One from the Cross, and one from Heaven. + + This, of true penitents the chief, + To the lost spirit brings relief, + Lifting on high th’ adorèd Name:— + “Sinners to save, Christ, Jesus came.” + + That, dearest of Thy bosom Friends, + Into the wavering heart descends:— + “What? fallen again? yet cheerful rise. + Thine Intercessor never dies.” + + The eye of Faith, that waxes bright + Each moment by thine altar’s light, + Sees them e’en now: they still abide + In mystery kneeling at our side: + + And with them every spirit blest, + From realms of triumph or of rest, + From Him who saw creation’s morn, + Of all Thine angels eldest born, + + To the poor babe, who died to-day, + Take part in our thanksgiving lay, + Watching the tearful joy and calm, + While sinners taste Thine heavenly balm. + + Sweet awful hour! the only sound + One gentle footstep gliding round, + Offering by turns on Jesus’ part + The Cross to every hand and heart. + + Refresh us, Lord, to hold it fast; + And when Thy veil is drawn at last, + Let us depart where shadows cease, + With words of blessing and of peace. + + + +Holy Baptism. + + + WHERE is it mothers learn their love?— + In every Church a fountain springs + O’er which th’ Eternal Dove + Hovers out softest wings. + + What sparkles in that lucid flood + Is water, by gross mortals eyed: + But seen by Faith, ’tis blood + Out of a dear Friend’s side. + + A few calm words of faith and prayer, + A few bright drops of holy dew, + Shall work a wonder there + Earth’s charmers never knew. + + O happy arms, where cradled lies, + And ready for the Lord’s embrace, + That precious sacrifice, + The darling of His grace! + + Blest eyes, that see the smiling gleam + Upon the slumbering features glow, + When the life-giving stream + Touches the tender brow! + + Or when the holy cross is signed, + And the young soldier duly sworn, + With true and fearless mind + To serve the Virgin-born. + + But happiest ye, who sealed and blest + Back to your arms your treasure take, + With Jesus’ mark impressed + To nurse for Jesus’ sake: + + To whom—as if in hallowed air + Ye knelt before some awful shrine— + His innocent gestures wear + A meaning half divine: + + By whom Love’s daily touch is seen + In strengthening form and freshening hue, + In the fixed brow serene, + The deep yet eager view.— + + Who taught thy pure and even breath + To come and go with such sweet grace? + Whence thy reposing Faith, + Though in our frail embrace? + + O tender gem, and full of Heaven! + Not in the twilight stars on high, + Not in moist flowers at even + See we our God so nigh. + + Sweet one, make haste and know Him too, + Thine own adopting Father love, + That like thine earliest dew + Thy dying sweets may prove. + + + +Catechism. + + + OH! say not, dream not, heavenly notes + To childish ears are vain, + That the young mind at random floats, + And cannot reach the strain. + + Dim or unheard, the words may fall, + And yet the heaven-taught mind + May learn the sacred air, and all + The harmony unwind. + + Was not our Lord a little child, + Taught by degrees to pray, + By father dear and mother mild + Instructed day by day? + + And loved He not of Heaven to talk + With children in His sight, + To meet them in His daily walk, + And to His arms invite? + + What though around His throne of fire + The everlasting chant + Be wafted from the seraph choir + In glory jubilant? + + Yet stoops He, ever pleased to mark + Our rude essays of love, + Faint as the pipe of wakening lark, + Heard by some twilight grove: + + Yet is He near us, to survey + These bright and ordered files, + Like spring-flowers in their best array, + All silence and all smiles. + + Save that each little voice in turn + Some glorious truth proclaims, + What sages would have died to learn, + Now taught by cottage dames. + + And if some tones be false or low, + What are all prayers beneath + But cries of babes, that cannot know + Half the deep thought they breathe? + + In His own words we Christ adore, + But angels, as we speak, + Higher above our meaning soar + Than we o’er children weak: + + And yet His words mean more than they, + And yet He owns their praise: + Why should we think, He turns away + From infants’ simple lays? + + + +Confirmation. + + + THE shadow of th’ Almighty’s cloud + Calm on this tents of Israel lay, + While drooping paused twelve banners proud, + Till He arise and lead this way. + + Then to the desert breeze unrolled, + Cheerly the waving pennons fly, + Lion or eagle—each bright fold + A lodestar to a warrior’s eye. + + So should Thy champions, ere this strife + By holy hands o’ershadowed kneel, + So, fearless for their charmèd life, + Bear, to this end, Thy Spirit’s seal. + + Steady and pure as stars that beam + In middle heaven, all mist above, + Seen deepest in this frozen stream:— + Such is their high courageous love. + + And soft as pure, and warm as bright, + They brood upon life’s peaceful hour, + As if the Dove that guides their flight + Shook from her plumes a downy shower. + + Spirit of might and sweetness too! + Now leading on the wars of God, + Now to green isles of shade and dew + Turning the waste Thy people trod; + + Draw, Holy Ghost, Thy seven-fold veil + Between us and the fires of youth; + Breathe, Holy Ghost, Thy freshening gale, + Our fevered brow in age to soothe. + + And oft as sin and sorrow tire, + This hallowed hour do Thou renew, + When beckoned up the awful choir + By pastoral hands, toward Thee we drew; + + When trembling at this sacred rail + We hid our eyes and held our breath, + Felt Thee how strong, our hearts how frail, + And longed to own Thee to the death. + + For ever on our souls be traced + That blessing dear, that dove-like hand, + A sheltering rock in Memory’s waste, + O’er-shadowing all the weary land. + + + +Matrimony. + + + THERE is an awe in mortals’ joy, + A deep mysterious fear + Half of the heart will still employ, + As if we drew too near + To Eden’s portal, and those fires + That bicker round in wavy spires, + Forbidding, to our frail desires, + What cost us once so dear. + + We cower before th’ heart-searching eye + In rapture as its pain; + E’en wedded Love, till Thou be nigh, + Dares not believe her gain: + Then in the air she fearless springs, + The breath of Heaven beneath her wings, + And leaves her woodnote wild, and sings + A tuned and measured strain. + + Ill fare the lay, though soft as dew + And free as air it fall, + That, with Thine altar full in view, + Thy votaries would enthrall + To a foul dream, of heathen night, + Lifting her torch in Love’s despite, + And scaring with base wild-fire light + The sacred nuptial hall. + + Far other strains, far other fires, + Our marriage-offering grace; + Welcome, all chaste and kind desires, + With even matron pace + Approaching down this hallowed aisle! + Where should ye seek Love’s perfect smile, + But where your prayers were learned erewhile, + In her own native place? + + Where, but on His benignest brow, + Who waits to bless you here? + Living, he owned no nuptial vow, + No bower to Fancy dear: + Love’s very self—for Him no need + To nurse, on earth, the heavenly seed: + Yet comfort in His eye we read + For bridal joy and fear. + + ’Tis He who clasps the marriage band, + And fits the spousal ring, + Then leaves ye kneeling, hand in hand, + Out of His stores to bring + His Father’s dearest blessing, shed + Of old on Isaac’s nuptial bed, + Now on the board before ye spread + Of our all-bounteous King. + + All blessings of the breast and womb, + Of Heaven and earth beneath, + Of converse high, and sacred home, + Are yours, in life and death. + Only kneel on, nor turn away + From the pure shrine, where Christ to-day + Will store each flower, ye duteous lay, + For an eternal wreath. + + + +Visitation and Communion of the Sick. + + + O YOUTH and Joy, your airy tread + Too lightly springs by Sorrow’s bed, + Your keen eye-glances are too bright, + Too restless for a sick man’s sight. + Farewell; for one short life we part: + I rather woo the soothing art, + Which only souls in sufferings tried + Bear to their suffering brethren’s side. + + Where may we learn that gentle spell? + Mother of Martyrs, thou canst tell! + Thou, who didst watch thy dying Spouse + With piercèd hands and bleeding brows, + Whose tears from age to age are shed + O’er sainted sons untimely dead, + If e’er we charm a soul in pain, + Thine is the key-note of our strain. + + How sweet with thee to lift the latch, + Where Faith has kept her midnight watch, + Smiling on woe: with thee to kneel, + Where fixed, as if one prayer could heal, + She listens, till her pale eye glow + With joy, wild health can never know, + And each calm feature, ere we read, + Speaks, silently, thy glorious Creed. + + Such have I seen: and while they poured + Their hearts in every contrite word, + How have I rather longed to kneel + And ask of them sweet pardon’s seal; + How blessed the heavenly music brought + By thee to aid my faltering thought! + “Peace” ere we kneel, and when we cease + To pray, the farewell word is, “Peace.” + + I came again: the place was bright + “With something of celestial light”— + A simple Altar by the bed + For high Communion meetly spread, + Chalice, and plate, and snowy vest.— + We ate and drank: then calmly blest, + All mourners, one with dying breath, + We sate and talked of Jesus’ death. + + Once more I came: the silent room + Was veiled in sadly-soothing gloom, + And ready for her last abode + The pale form like a lily showed, + By Virgin fingers duly spread, + And prized for love of summer fled. + The light from those soft-smiling eyes + Had fleeted to its parent skies. + + O soothe us, haunt us, night and day, + Ye gentle Spirits far away, + With whom we shared the cup of grace, + Then parted; ye to Christ’s embrace, + We to this lonesome world again, + Yet mindful of th’ unearthly strain + Practised with you at Eden’s door, + To be sung on, where Angels soar, + With blended voices evermore. + + + +Burial of the Dead. + + + And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said unto + her, Weep not. And He came and touched the bier; and they that bare + him stood still. And He said, Young man, I say unto thee, + Arise.—_St. Luke_ vii. 13, 14. + + WHO says, the wan autumnal soon + Beams with too faint a smile + To light up nature’s face again, + And, though the year be on this wane, + With thoughts of spring the heart beguile? + + Waft him, thou soft September breeze, + And gently lay him down + Within some circling woodland wall, + Where bright leaves, reddening ere they fall, + Wave gaily o’er the waters brown. + + And let some graceful arch be there + With wreathèd mullions proud, + With burnished ivy for its screen, + And moss, that glows as fresh and green + As thought beneath an April cloud.— + + Who says the widow’s heart must break, + The childless mother sink?— + A kinder truer voice I hear, + Which e’en beside that mournful bier + Whence parents’ eyes would hopeless shrink, + + Bids weep no more—O heart bereft, + How strange, to thee, that sound! + A widow o’er her only son, + Feeling more bitterly alone + For friends that press officious round. + + Yet is the voice of comfort heard, + For Christ hath touched the bier— + The bearers wait with wondering eye, + The swelling bosom dares not sigh, + But all is still, ’twixt hope and fear. + + E’en such an awful soothing calm + We sometimes see alight + On Christian mourners, while they wait + In silence, by some churchyard gate, + Their summons to this holy rite. + + And such the tones of love, which break + The stillness of that hour, + Quelling th’ embittered spirit’s strife— + “The Resurrection and the Life + Am I: believe, and die no more.” + + Unchanged that voice—and though not yet + The dead sit up and speak, + Answering its call; we gladlier rest + Our darlings on earth’s quiet breast, + And our hearts feel they must not break. + + Far better they should sleep awhile + Within the Church’s shade, + Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth, + Meet for their new immortal birth + For their abiding-place be made, + + Than wander back to life, and lean + On our frail love once more. + ’Tis sweet, as year by year we lose + Friends out of sight, in faith to muse + How grows in Paradise our store. + + Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on, + Through prayer unto the tomb, + Still, as ye watch life’s falling leaf, + Gathering from every loss and grief + Hope of new spring and endless home. + + Then cheerly to your work again + With hearts new-braced and set + To run, untired, love’s blessèd race. + As meet for those, who face to face + Over the grave their Lord have met. + + + +Churching of Women. + + + IS there, in bowers of endless spring, + One known from all the seraph band + By softer voice, by smile and wing + More exquisitely bland! + Here let him speed: to-day this hallowed air + Is fragrant with a mother’s first and fondest prayer. + + Only let Heaven her fire impart, + No richer incense breathes on earth: + “A spouse with all a daughter’s heart,” + Fresh from the perilous birth, + To the great Father lifts her pale glad eye, + Like a reviving flower when storms are hushed on high. + + Oh, what a treasure of sweet thought + Is here! what hope and joy and love + All in one tender bosom brought, + For the all-gracious Dove + To brood o’er silently, and form for Heaven + Each passionate wish and dream to dear affection given. + + Her fluttering heart, too keenly blest, + Would sicken, but she leans on Thee, + Sees Thee by faith on Mary’s breast, + And breathes serene and free. + Slight tremblings only of her veil declare + Soft answers duly whispered to each soothing prayer. + + We are too weak, when Thou dost bless, + To bear the joy—help, Virgin-born! + By Thine own mother’s first caress, + That waked Thy natal morn! + Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made + A Heaven on earth around this couch where Thou wast laid. + + + +Commination. + + + The prayers are o’er: why slumberest thou so long, + Thou voice of sacred song? + Why swell’st thou not, like breeze from mountain cave, + High o’er the echoing nave, + This white-robed priest, as otherwhile, to guide, + Up to the Altar’s northern side?— + A mourner’s tale of shame and sad decay + Keeps back our glorious sacrifice to-day: + + The widow’d Spouse of Christ: with ashes crown’d, + Her Christmas robes unbound, + She lingers in the porch for grief and fear, + Keeping her penance drear,— + Oh, is it nought to you? that idly gay, + Or coldly proud, ye turn away? + But if her warning tears in vain be spent, + Lo, to her altered eye this Law’s stern fires are lent. + + Each awful curse, that on Mount Ebal rang, + Peals with a direr clang + Out of that silver trump, whose tones of old + Forgiveness only told. + And who can blame the mother’s fond affright, + Who sporting on some giddy height + Her infant sees, and springs with hurried hand + To snatch the rover from the dangerous strand? + + But surer than all words the silent spell + (So Grecian legends tell) + When to her bird, too early ’scaped the nest, + She bares her tender breast, + Smiling he turns and spreads his little wing, + There to glide home, there safely cling. + So yearns our mother o’er each truant son, + So softly falls the lay in fear and wrath begun. + + Wayward and spoiled she knows ye: the keen blast, + That braced her youth, is past: + The rod of discipline, the robe of shame— + She bears them in your name: + Only return and love. But ye perchance + Are deeper plunged in sorrow’s trance: + Your God forgives, but ye no comfort take + Till ye have scourged the sins that in your conscience ache. + + Oh, heavy laden soul! kneel down and hear + Thy penance in calm fear: + With thine own lips to sentence all thy sin; + Then, by the judge within + Absolved, in thankful sacrifice to part + For ever with thy sullen heart, + Nor on remorseful thoughts to brood, and stain + This glory of the Cross, forgiven and cheereth in vain. + + + +Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea. + + + When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee. _Isaiah_ + xliii. 2. + + THE shower of moonlight falls as still and clear + Upon this desert main + As where sweet flowers some pastoral garden cheer + With fragrance after rain: + The wild winds rustle in piping shrouds, + As in the quivering trees: + Like summer fields, beneath the shadowy clouds + The yielding waters darken in the breeze. + + Thou too art here with thy soft inland tones, + Mother of our new birth; + The lonely ocean learns thy orisons, + And loves thy sacred mirth: + When storms are high, or when the fires of war + Come lightening round our course, + Thou breath’st a note like music from afar, + Tempering rude hearts with calm angelic force. + + Far, far away, the homesick seaman’s hoard, + Thy fragrant tokens live, + Like flower-leaves in a previous volume stored, + To solace and relieve + Some heart too weary of the restless world; + Or like thy Sabbath Cross, + That o’er this brightening billow streams unfurled, + Whatever gale the labouring vessel toss. + + Oh, kindly soothing in high Victory’s hour, + Or when a comrade dies, + In whose sweet presence Sorrow dares not lower, + Nor Expectation rise + Too high for earth; what mother’s heart could spare + To the cold cheerless deep + Her flower and hope? but Thou art with him there, + Pledge of the untired arm and eye that cannot sleep: + + The eye that watches o’er wild Ocean’s dead, + Each in his coral cave, + Fondly as if the green turf wrapt his head + Fast by his father’s grave,— + One moment, and the seeds of life shall spring + Out of the waste abyss, + And happy warriors triumph with their King + In worlds without a sea, unchanging orbs of bliss. + + + +Gunpowder Treason. + + + A thou hast testified of Me in Jerusalem, so must thou bear witness + also at Rome. _Acts_ xxiii. 11. + + BENEATH the burning eastern sky + The Cross was raised at morn: + The widowed Church to weep stood by, + The world, to hate and scorn. + + Now, journeying westward, evermore + We know the lonely Spouse + By the dear mark her Saviour bore + Traced on her patient brows. + + At Rome she wears it, as of old + Upon th’ accursèd hill: + By monarchs clad in gems and gold, + She goes a mourner still. + + She mourns that tender hearts should bend + Before a meaner shrine, + And upon Saint or Angel spend + The love that should be thine. + + By day and night her sorrows fall + Where miscreant hands and rude + Have stained her pure ethereal pall + With many a martyr’s blood. + + And yearns not her parental heart, + To hear _their_ secret sighs, + Upon whose doubting way apart + Bewildering shadows rise? + + Who to her side in peace would cling, + But fear to wake, and find + What they had deemed her genial wing + Was Error’s soothing blind. + + She treasures up each throbbing prayer: + Come, trembler, come and pour + Into her bosom all thy care, + For she has balm in store. + + Her gentle teaching sweetly blends + With this clear light of Truth + The aërial gleam that Fancy lends + To solemn thoughts in youth.— + + If thou hast loved, in hours of gloom, + To dream the dead are near, + And people all the lonely room + With guardian spirits dear, + + Dream on the soothing dream at will: + The lurid mist is o’er, + That showed the righteous suffering still + Upon th’ eternal shore. + + If with thy heart the strains accord, + That on His altar-throne + Highest exalt thy glorious Lord, + Yet leave Him most thine own; + + Oh, come to our Communion Feast: + There present, in the heart + As in the hands, th’ eternal Priest + Will His true self impart.— + + Thus, should thy soul misgiving turn + Back to the enchanted air, + Solace and warning thou mayst learn + From all that tempts thee there. + + And, oh! by all the pangs and fears + Fraternal spirits know, + When for an elder’s shame the tears + Of wakeful anguish flow, + + Speak gently of our sister’s fall: + Who knows but gentle love + May win her at our patient call + The surer way to prove? + + + +King Charles the Martyr. + + + This is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure grief, + suffering wrongfully. 1 _St. Peter_ ii. 19. + + PRAISE to our pardoning God! though silent now + The thunders of the deep prophetic sky, + Though in our sight no powers of darkness bow + Before th’ Apostles’ glorious company; + + The Martyrs’ noble army still is ours, + Far in the North our fallen days have seen + How in her woe this tenderest spirit towers + For Jesus’ sake in agony serene. + + Praise to our God! not cottage hearths alone, + And shades impervious to the proud world’s glare, + Such witness yield; a monarch from his throne + Springs to his Cross and finds his glory there. + + Yes: whereso’er one trace of thee is found, + As in the Sacred Land, the shadows fall: + With beating hearts we roam the haunted ground, + Lone battle-field, or crumbling prison hall. + + And there are aching solitary breasts, + Whose widowed walk with thought of thee is cheered + Our own, our royal Saint: thy memory rests + On many a prayer, the more for thee endeared. + + True son of our dear Mother, early taught + With her to worship and for her to die, + Nursed in her aisles to more than kingly thought, + Oft in her solemn hours we dream thee nigh. + + For thou didst love to trace her daily lore, + And where we look for comfort or for calm, + Over the self-same lines to bend, and pour + Thy heart with hers in some victorious psalm. + + And well did she thy loyal love repay; + When all forsook, her Angels still were nigh, + Chained and bereft, and on thy funeral way, + Straight to the Cross she turned thy dying eye + + And yearly now, before the Martyrs’ King, + For thee she offers her maternal tears, + Calls us, like thee, to His dear feet to cling, + And bury in His wounds our earthly fears. + + The Angels hear, and there is mirth in Heaven, + Fit prelude of the joy, when spirits won + Like those to patient Faith, shall rise forgiven, + And at their Saviour’s knees thy bright example own. + + + +The Restoration of the Royal Family. + + + And Barzillai said unto the King, How long have I to live, that I + should go up with the King unto Jerusalem? 2 _Samuel_ xix. 34. + + AS when the Paschal week is o’er, + Sleeps in the silent aisles no more + The breath of sacred song, + But by the rising Saviour’s light + Awakened soars in airy flight, + Or deepening rolls along; + + The while round altar, niche, and shrine, + The funeral evergreens entwine, + And a dark brilliance cast, + The brighter for their hues of gloom, + Tokens of Him, who through the tomb + Into high glory passed: + + Such were the lights and such the strains. + When proudly streamed o’er ocean plains + Our own returning Cross; + For with that triumph seemed to float + Far on the breeze one dirge-like note + Of orphanhood and loss. + + Father and King, oh where art thou? + A greener wreath adorns thy brow, + And clearer rays surround; + O, for one hour of prayer like thine, + To plead before th’ all-ruling shrine + For Britain lost and found! + + And he, whose mild persuasive voice + Taught us in trials to rejoice, + Most like a faithful dove, + That by some ruined homestead builds, + And pours to the forsaken fields + His wonted lay of love: + + Why comes he not to bear his part, + To lift and guide th’ exulting heart?— + A hand that cannot spars + Lies heavy on his gentle breast: + We wish him health; he sighs for rest, + And Heaven accepts the prayer. + + Yes, go in peace, dear placid spright, + Ill spared; but would we store aright + Thy serious sweet farewell, + We need not grudge thee to the skies, + Sure after thee in time to rise, + With thee for ever dwell. + + Till then, whene’er with duteous hand, + Year after year, my native Land + Her royal offering brings, + Upon the Altar lays the Crown, + And spreads her robes of old renown + Before the King of kings. + + Be some kind spirit, likest thine, + Ever at hand, with airs divine + The wandering heart to seize; + Whispering, “How long hast thou to live, + That thou should’st Hope or Fancy gave + To flowers or crowns like these?” + + + +The Accession. + + + As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee; I will not fail thee, + nor forsake thee. _Joshua_ i. 5. + + THE voice that from the glory came + To tell how Moses died unseen, + And waken Joshua’s spear of flame + To victory on the mountains green, + Its trumpet tones are sounding still, + When Kings or Parents pass away, + They greet us with a cheering thrill + Of power and comfort in decay. + + Behind thus soft bright summer cloud + That makes such haste to melt and die, + Our wistful gaze is oft allowed + A glimpse of the unchanging sky: + Let storm and darkness do their worst; + For the lost dream the heart may ache, + The heart may ache, but may not burst; + Heaven will not leave thee nor forsake. + + One rock amid the weltering floods, + One torch in a tempestuous night, + One changeless pine in fading woods:— + Such is the thought of Love and Might, + True Might and ever-present Love, + When death is busy near the throne, + Auth Sorrow her keen sting would prove + On Monarchs orphaned and alone. + + In that lorn hour and desolate, + Who could endure a crown? but He, + Who singly bore the world’s sad weight, + Is near, to whisper, “Lean on Me: + Thy days of toil, thy nights of care, + Sad lonely dreams in crowded hall, + Darkness within, while pageants glare + Around—the Cross supports them all.” + + Oh, Promise of undying Love! + While Monarchs seek thee for repose, + Far in the nameless mountain cove + Each pastoral heart thy bounty knows. + Ye, who in place of shepherds true + Come trembling to their awful trust, + Lo here the fountain to imbue + With strength and hope your feeble dust. + + Not upon Kings or Priests alone + The power of that dear word is spent; + It chants to all in softest tone + The lowly lesson of Content: + Heaven’s light is poured on high and low; + To high and low Heaven’s Angel spake; + “Resign thee to thy weal or woe, + I ne’er will leave thee nor forsake.” + + + +Ordination. + + + After this, the congregation shall be desired, secretly in their + prayers, to make their humble supplications to God for all these + things: for the which prayers there shall be silence kept for a + space. + + After which shall be sung or said by the Bishop (the persons to be + ordained Priests all kneeling), “Veni, Creator Spiritus.” _Rubric in + the Office for Ordering of Priests_. + + ’TWAS silence in Thy temple, Lord, + When slowly through the hallowed air + The spreading cloud of incense soared, + Charged with the breath of Israel’s prayer. + + ’Twas silence round Thy throne on high, + When the last wondrous seal unclosed, + And in this portals of the sky + Thine armies awfully reposed. + + And this deep pause, that o’er us now + Is hovering—comes it not of Thee? + Is it not like a mother’s vow + When, with her darling on her knee, + + She weighs and numbers o’er and o’er + Love’s treasure hid in her fond breast, + To cull from that exhaustless store + The dearest blessing and the best? + + And where shall mother’s bosom find, + With all its deep love-learnèd skill, + A prayer so sweetly to her mind, + As, in this sacred hour and still, + + Is wafted from the white-robed choir, + Ere yet the pure high-breathèd lay, + “Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,” + Rise floating on its dove-like way. + + And when it comes, so deep and clear + The strain, so soft the melting fall, + It seems not to th’ entrancèd ear + Less than Thine own heart-cheering call. + + Spirit of Christ—Thine earnest given + That these our prayers are heard, and they, + Who grasp, this hour, the sword of Heaven, + Shall feel Thee on their weary way. + + Oft as at morn or soothing eve + Over the Holy Fount they lean, + Their fading garland freshly weave, + Or fan them with Thine airs serene. + + Spirit of Light and Truth! to Thee + We trust them in that musing hour, + Till they, with open heart and free. + Teach all Thy word in all its power. + + When foemen watch their tents by night, + And mists hang wide o’er moor and fell, + Spirit of Counsel and of Might, + Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well. + + And, oh! when worn and tired they sigh + With that more fearful war within, + When Passion’s storms are loud and high, + And brooding o’er remembered sin + + The heart dies down—oh, mightiest then, + Come ever true, come ever near, + And wake their slumbering love again, + Spirit of God’s most holy Fear! + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN YEAR*** + + +******* This file should be named 4272-0.txt or 4272-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/7/4272 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/4272-0.zip b/4272-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a3727e --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-0.zip diff --git a/4272-h.zip b/4272-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fd9dee0 --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-h.zip diff --git a/4272-h/4272-h.htm b/4272-h/4272-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..df8e65f --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-h/4272-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8993 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Christian Year, by John Keble</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Christian Year, by John Keble, Edited by +Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Christian Year + + +Author: John Keble + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: April 23, 2013 [eBook #4272] +[This file was first posted on December 25, 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN YEAR*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1887 Cassell & Company edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" +src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL’S NATIONAL +LIBRARY.</p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h1><span class="GutSmall">THE</span><br /> +CHRISTIAN YEAR</h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +THE REV. JOHN KEBLE.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL & COMPANY, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span>:</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>LONDON</i>, <i>PARIS</i>, <i>NEW +YORK & MELBOURNE</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1887.</p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">John Keble</span>, two years older than +his friend Dr. Arnold of Rugby, three years older than Thomas +Carlyle, and nine years older than John Henry Newman, was born in +1792, at Fairford in Gloucestershire. He was born in his +father’s parsonage, and educated at home by his father till +he went to college. His father then entered him at his own +college at Oxford, Corpus Christi. Thoroughly trained, +Keble obtained high reputation at his University for character +and scholarship, and became a Fellow of Oriel. After some +years he gave up work in the University, though he could not +divest himself of a large influence there for good, returned home +to his old father, who required help in his ministry, and +undertook for his the duty of two little curacies. The +father lived on to the age of ninety. John Keble’s +love for God and his devotion to the Church had often been +expressed in verse. On days which the Church specially +celebrated, he had from time to time written short poems to utter +from the heart his own devout sense of their spiritual use and +meaning. As the number of these poems increased, the desire +rose to follow in like manner the while course of the Christian +Year as it was marked for the people by the sequence of church +services, which had been arranged to bring in due order before +the minds of Christian worshippers all the foundations of their +faith, and all the elements of a religious life. A book of +poems, breathing faith and worship at all points, and in all +attitudes of heavenward contemplation, within the circle of the +Christian Year, would, he hoped, restore in many minds to many a +benumbed form life and energy.</p> +<p>In 1825, while the poems of the Christian Year were gradually +being shaped into a single work, a brother became able to relieve +John Keble in that pious care for which his father had drawn him +away from a great University career, and he then went to a curacy +at Hursley, four or five miles from Winchester.</p> +<p>In 1827—when its author’s age was +thirty-five—“The Christian Year” was +published. Like George Herbert, whose equal he was in piety +though not in power, Keble was joined to the Church in fullest +sympathy with all its ordinances, and desired to quicken worship +by putting into each part of the ritual a life that might pass +into and raise the life of man. The spirit of true +religion, with a power beyond that of any earthly feuds and +controversies, binds together those in whom it really +lives. Setting aside all smaller questions of the relative +value of different earthly means to the attainment of a life +hidden with Christ in God, Christians of all forms who are one in +spirit have found help from “John Keble’s Christian +Year,” and think of its guileless author with kindly +affection. Within five-and-twenty years of its publication, +a hundred thousand copies had been sold. The book is still +diffused so widely, in editions of all forms, that it may yet go +on, until the circle of the years shall be no more, living and +making live.</p> +<p>Four years after “The Christian Year” appeared, +Keble was appointed (in 1831) to the usual five years’ +tenure of the Poetry Professorship at Oxford. Two years +after he had been appointed Poetry Professor, he preached the +Assize Sermon, and took for his theme “National +Apostasy.” John Henry Newman, who had obtained his +Fellowship at Oriel some years before the publication of +“The Christian Year,” and was twenty-six years old +when it appeared, received from it a strong impulse towards the +endeavour to revive the spirit of the Church by restoring life +and soul to all her ordinances, and even to the minutest detail +of her ritual. The deep respect felt for the author of +“The Christian Year” gave power to the sermon of 1833 +upon National Apostasy, and made it the starting-point of the +Oxford movement known as Tractarian, from the issue of tracts +through which its promoters sought to stir life in the clergy and +the people; known also as Puseyite because it received help at +the end of the year 1833 from Dr. Pusey, who was of like age with +J. H. Newman, and then Regius Professor of Hebrew. There +was a danger, which some then foresaw, in the nature of this +endeavour to put life into the Church; but we all now recognise +the purity of Christian zeal that prompted the attempt to make +dead forms of ceremonial glow again with spiritual fire, and +serve as aids to the recovery of light and warmth in our +devotions.</p> +<p>It was in 1833 that Keble, by one earnest sermon, with a pure +life at the back of it, and this book that had prepared the way, +gave the direct impulse to an Oxford movement for the reformation +of the Church. The movement then began. But Keble +went back to his curacy at Hursley. Two years afterwards +the curate became vicar, and then Keble married. His +after-life continued innocent and happy. He and his wife +died within two months of each other, in the came year, +1866. He had taken part with his friends at Oxford by +writing five of their Tracts, publishing a few sermons that +laboured towards the same end, and editing a “Library of +the Fathers.” In 1847 he produced another volume of +poems, “Lyra Innocentium,” which associated doctrines +of the Church with the lives of children, whom he loved, though +his own marriage was childless.</p> +<p>The power of Keble’s verse lies in its truth. A +faithful and pure nature, strong in home affections, full of love +and reverence for all that is of heaven in our earthly lot, +strives for the full consecration of man’s life with love +and faith. There is no rare gift of genius. Keble is +not in subtlety of thought or of expression another George +Herbert, or another Henry Vaughan. But his voice is not the +less in unison with theirs, for every note is true, and wins us +by its purity. His also are melodies of the everlasting +chime.</p> +<blockquote><p> “And be +ye sure that Love can bless<br /> + E’en in this crowded +loneliness,<br /> +Where ever moving myriads seem to say,<br /> +Go—thou art nought to us, nor we to +thee—away!”</p> +<p>“There are in this loud stunning tide<br /> + Of human care and crime,<br /> +With whom the melodies abide<br /> + Of the everlasting chime;<br /> +Who carry music in their heart<br /> + Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,<br /> +Plying their daily task with busier feet,<br /> + Because their secret souls a holy strain +repeat.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>With a peal, then, of such music let us ring in the New Year +for our Library; and for our lives.</p> +<p><i>January</i> 1, 1887.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p> +<h2>DEDICATION.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> in my silent +solitary walk,<br /> + I sought a strain not all unworthy Thee,<br /> +My heart, still ringing with wild worldly talk,<br /> + Gave forth no note of holier minstrelsy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Prayer is the secret, to myself I said,<br /> + Strong supplication must call down the charm,<br /> +And thus with untuned heart I feebly prayed,<br /> + Knocking at Heaven’s gate with earth-palsied +arm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fountain of Harmony! Thou Spirit +blest,<br /> + By whom the troubled waves of earthly sound<br /> +Are gathered into order, such as best<br /> + Some high-souled bard in his enchanted round</p> +<p class="poetry">May compass, Power divine! Oh, spread Thy +wing,<br /> + Thy dovelike wing that makes confusion fly,<br /> +Over my dark, void spirit, summoning<br /> + New worlds of music, strains that may not die.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, happiest who before thine altar wait,<br /> + With pure hands ever holding up on high<br /> +The guiding Star of all who seek Thy gate,<br /> + The undying lamp of heavenly Poesy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Too weak, too wavering, for such holy task<br +/> + Is my frail arm, O Lord; but I would fain<br /> +Track to its source the brightness, I would bask<br /> + In the clear ray that makes Thy pathway plain.</p> +<p class="poetry">I dare not hope with David’s harp to +chase<br /> + The evil spirit from the troubled breast;<br /> +Enough for me if I can find such grace<br /> + To listen to the strain, and be at rest.</p> +<h2>THE CHRISTIAN YEAR.</h2> +<p class="poetry"> </p> +<h3>Morning.</h3> +<blockquote><p>His compassions fail not. They are new every +morning.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Lament</i>. iii. 22, 23.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hues</span> of the rich +unfolding morn,<br /> +That, ere the glorious sun be born,<br /> +By some soft touch invisible<br /> +Around his path are taught to swell;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay,<br /> +That dancest forth at opening day,<br /> +And brushing by with joyous wing,<br /> +Wakenest each little leaf to sing;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam,<br /> +By which deep grove and tangled stream<br /> +Pay, for soft rains in season given,<br /> +Their tribute to the genial heaven;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Why waste your treasures of delight<br /> +Upon our thankless, joyless sight;<br /> +Who day by day to sin awake,<br /> +Seldom of Heaven and you partake?</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, timely happy, timely wise,<br /> +Hearts that with rising morn arise!<br /> +Eyes that the beam celestial view,<br /> +Which evermore makes all things new!</p> +<p class="poetry">New every morning is the love<br /> +Our wakening and uprising prove;<br /> +Through sleep and darkness safely brought,<br /> +Restored to life, and power, and thought.</p> +<p class="poetry">New mercies, each returning day,<br /> +Hover around us while we pray;<br /> +New perils past, new sins forgiven,<br /> +New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">If on our daily course our mind<br /> +Be set to hallow all we find,<br /> +New treasures still, of countless price,<br /> +God will provide for sacrifice.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be,<br /> +As more of Heaven in each we see:<br /> +Some softening gleam of love and prayer<br /> +Shall dawn on every cross and care.</p> +<p class="poetry">As for some dear familiar strain<br /> +Untired we ask, and ask again,<br /> +Ever, in its melodious store,<br /> +Finding a spell unheard before;</p> +<p class="poetry">Such is the bliss of souls serene,<br /> +When they have sworn, and stedfast mean,<br /> +Counting the cost, in all t’ espy<br /> +Their God, in all themselves deny.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, could we learn that sacrifice,<br /> +What lights would all around us rise!<br /> +How would our hearts with wisdom talk<br /> +Along Life’s dullest, dreariest walk!</p> +<p class="poetry">We need not bid, for cloistered cell,<br /> +Our neighbour and our work farewell,<br /> +Nor strive to wind ourselves too high<br /> +For sinful man beneath the sky:</p> +<p class="poetry">The trivial round, the common task,<br /> +Would furnish all we ought to ask;<br /> +Room to deny ourselves; a road<br /> +To bring us daily nearer God.</p> +<p class="poetry">Seek we no more; content with these,<br /> +Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease,<br /> +As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:—<br /> +The secret this of Rest below.</p> +<p class="poetry">Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love<br /> +Fit us for perfect Rest above;<br /> +And help us, this and every day,<br /> +To live more nearly as we pray.</p> +<h3>Evening.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the +day is far spent.—<i>St. Luke</i> xxiv. 29.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">’<span class="smcap">Tis</span> gone, +that bright and orbèd blaze,<br /> +Fast fading from our wistful gaze;<br /> +You mantling cloud has hid from sight<br /> +The last faint pulse of quivering light.</p> +<p class="poetry">In darkness and in weariness<br /> +The traveller on his way must press,<br /> +No gleam to watch on tree or tower,<br /> +Whiling away the lonesome hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear,<br /> +It is not night if Thou be near:<br /> +Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise<br /> +To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes!</p> +<p class="poetry">When round Thy wondrous works below<br /> +My searching rapturous glance I throw,<br /> +Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love,<br /> +In earth or sky, in stream or grove;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Or by the light Thy words disclose<br /> +Watch Time’s full river as it flows,<br /> +Scanning Thy gracious Providence,<br /> +Where not too deep for mortal sense:—</p> +<p class="poetry">When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,<br /> +And all the flowers of life unfold;<br /> +Let not my heart within me burn,<br /> +Except in all I Thee discern.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the soft dews of kindly sleep<br /> +My wearied eyelids gently steep,<br /> +Be my last thought, how sweet to rest<br /> +For ever on my Saviour’s breast.</p> +<p class="poetry">Abide with me from morn till eve,<br /> +For without Thee I cannot live:<br /> +Abide with me when night is nigh,<br /> +For without Thee I dare not die.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou Framer of the light and dark,<br /> +Steer through the tempest Thine own ark:<br /> +Amid the howling wintry sea<br /> +We are in port if we have Thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Rulers of this Christian land,<br /> +’Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand,—<br /> +Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright,<br /> +Let all do all as in Thy sight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne<br /> +So meekly up the hill of scorn,<br /> +Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross<br /> +To bear as Thine, nor count it loss!</p> +<p class="poetry">If some poor wandering child of Thine<br /> +Have spurned to-day the voice divine,<br /> +Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;<br /> +Let him no more lie down in sin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Watch by the sick: enrich the poor<br /> +With blessings from Thy boundless store:<br /> +Be every mourner’s sleep to-night,<br /> +Like infants’ slumbers, pure and light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come near and bless us when we wake,<br /> +Ere through the world our way we take;<br /> +Till in the ocean of Thy love<br /> +We lose ourselves, in Heaven above.</p> +<h3>Advent Sunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now +is our salvation nearer than when we +believed.—<i>Romans</i> xiii 11.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Awake</span>—again +the Gospel-trump is blown—<br /> +From year to year it swells with louder tone,<br /> + From year to year the signs of wrath<br /> + Are gathering round the Judge’s path,<br /> +Strange words fulfilled, and mighty works achieved,<br /> +And truth in all the world both hated and believed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town,<br /> +Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown?<br /> + Up from your beds of sloth for shame,<br /> + Speed to the eastern mount like flame,<br /> +Nor wonder, should ye find your King in tears,<br /> +E’en with the loud Hosanna ringing in His ears.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago<br /> +They are gone forth to swell Messiah’s show:<br /> + With glittering robes and garlands sweet<br /> + They strew the ground beneath His feet:<br /> +All but your hearts are there—O doomed to prove<br /> +The arrows winged in Heaven for Faith that will not love!</p> +<p class="poetry">Meanwhile He passes through th’ adoring +crowd,<br /> +Calm as the march of some majestic cloud,<br /> + That o’er wild scenes of ocean-war<br /> + Holds its still course in Heaven afar:<br /> +E’en so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on,<br /> +Thou keepest silent watch from Thy triumphal throne:</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en so, the world is thronging round to +gaze<br /> +On the dread vision of the latter days,<br /> + Constrained to own Thee, but in heart<br /> + Prepared to take Barabbas’ part:<br /> +“Hosanna” now, to-morrow “Crucify,”<br /> +The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue<br +/> +Thy sad eye rests upon Thy faithful few,<br /> + Children and childlike souls are there,<br /> + Blind Bartimeus’ humble prayer,<br /> +And Lazarus wakened from his four days’ sleep,<br /> +Enduring life again, that Passover to keep.</p> +<p class="poetry">And fast beside the olive-bordered way<br /> +Stands the blessed home where Jesus deigned to stay,<br /> + The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere<br /> + And heavenly Contemplation dear,<br /> +Where Martha loved to wait with reverence meet,<br /> +And wiser Mary lingered at Thy sacred feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still through decaying ages as they glide,<br +/> +Thou lov’st Thy chosen remnant to divide;<br /> + Sprinkled along the waste of years<br /> + Full many a soft green isle appears:<br /> +Pause where we may upon the desert road,<br /> +Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode.</p> +<p class="poetry">When withering blasts of error swept the +sky,<br /> +And Love’s last flower seemed fain to droop and die,<br /> + How sweet, how lone the ray benign<br /> + On sheltered nooks of Palestine!<br /> +Then to his early home did Love repair,<br /> +And cheered his sickening heart with his own native air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Years roll away: again the tide of crime<br /> +Has swept Thy footsteps from the favoured clime<br /> + Where shall the holy Cross find rest?<br /> + On a crowned monarch’s mailèd +breast:<br /> +Like some bright angel o’er the darkling scene,<br /> +Through court and camp he holds his heavenward course serene.</p> +<p class="poetry">A fouler vision yet; an age of light,<br /> +Light without love, glares on the aching sight:<br /> + Oh, who can tell how calm and sweet,<br /> + Meek Walton, shows thy green retreat,<br /> +When wearied with the tale thy times disclose,<br /> +The eye first finds thee out in thy secure repose?</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus bad and good their several warnings +give<br /> +Of His approach, whom none may see and live:<br /> + Faith’s ear, with awful still delight,<br /> + Counts them like minute-bells at night.<br /> +Keeping the heart awake till dawn of morn,<br /> +While to her funeral pile this aged world is borne.</p> +<p class="poetry">But what are Heaven’s alarms to hearts +that cower<br /> +In wilful slumber, deepening every hour,<br /> + That draw their curtains closer round,<br /> + The nearer swells the trumpet’s sound?<br /> +Lord, ere our trembling lamps sink down and die,<br /> +Touch us with chastening hand, and make us feel Thee nigh.</p> +<h3>Second Sunday in Advent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And when these things begin to pass, then look up, +and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth night. +<i>St. Luke</i> xxi. 28.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Not</span> till the +freezing blast is still,<br /> +Till freely leaps the sparkling rill,<br /> +And gales sweep soft from summer skies,<br /> +As o’er a sleeping infant’s eyes<br /> +A mother’s kiss; ere calls like these,<br /> +No sunny gleam awakes the trees,<br /> +Nor dare the tender flowerets show<br /> +Their bosoms to th’ uncertain glow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why then, in sad and wintry time,<br /> +Her heavens all dark with doubt and crime,<br /> +Why lifts the Church her drooping head,<br /> +As though her evil hour were fled?<br /> +Is she less wise than leaves of spring,<br /> +Or birds that cower with folded wing?<br /> +What sees she in this lowering sky<br /> +To tempt her meditative eye?</p> +<p class="poetry">She has a charm, a word of fire,<br /> +A pledge of love that cannot tire;<br /> +By tempests, earthquakes, and by wars,<br /> +By rushing waves and falling stars,<br /> +By every sign her Lord foretold,<br /> +She sees the world is waxing old,<br /> +And through that last and direst storm<br /> +Descries by faith her Saviour’s form.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not surer does each tender gem,<br /> +Set in the fig-tree’s polish’d stem,<br /> +Foreshow the summer season bland,<br /> +Than these dread signs Thy mighty hand:<br /> +But, oh, frail hearts, and spirits dark!<br /> +The season’s flight unwarn’d we mark,<br /> +But miss the Judge behind the door,<br /> +For all the light of sacred lore:</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet is He there; beneath our eaves<br /> +Each sound His wakeful ear receives:<br /> +Hush, idle words, and thoughts of ill,<br /> +Your Lord is listening: peace, be still.<br /> +Christ watches by a Christian’s hearth,<br /> +Be silent, “vain deluding mirth,”<br /> +Till in thine alter’d voice be known<br /> +Somewhat of Resignation’s tone.</p> +<p class="poetry">But chiefly ye should lift your gaze<br /> +Above the world’s uncertain haze,<br /> +And look with calm unwavering eye<br /> +On the bright fields beyond the sky,<br /> +Ye, who your Lord’s commission bear<br /> +His way of mercy to prepare:<br /> +Angels He calls ye: be your strife<br /> +To lead on earth an Angel’s life.</p> +<p class="poetry">Think not of rest; though dreams be sweet,<br +/> +Start up, and ply your heavenward feet.<br /> +Is not God’s oath upon your head,<br /> +Ne’er to sink back on slothful bed,<br /> +Never again your loans untie,<br /> +Nor let your torches waste and die,<br /> +Till, when the shadows thickest fall,<br /> +Ye hear your Master’s midnight call?</p> +<h3>Third Sunday in Advent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>What went ye out into the wilderness to see? +A reed shaken with the wind? . . . But what went ye out for to +see? A prophet? yea, I say unto you, and more than a +prophet. <i>St. Matthew</i> xi. 7, 9.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">What</span> went ye out to see<br /> + O’er the rude sandy lea,<br /> +Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm,<br /> + Or where Gennesaret’s wave<br /> + Delights the flowers to lave,<br /> +That o’er her western slope breathe airs of balm.</p> +<p class="poetry"> All through the summer +night,<br /> + Those blossoms red and bright<br /> +Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze,<br /> + Like hermits watching still<br /> + Around the sacred hill,<br /> +Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The Paschal moon above<br /> + Seems like a saint to rove,<br /> +Left shining in the world with Christ alone;<br /> + Below, the lake’s still face<br /> + Sleeps sweetly in th’ embrace<br /> +Of mountains terrac’d high with mossy stone.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Here may we sit, and dream<br +/> + Over the heavenly theme,<br /> +Till to our soul the former days return;<br /> + Till on the grassy bed,<br /> + Where thousands once He fed,<br /> +The world’s incarnate Maker we discern.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O cross no more the main,<br +/> + Wandering so will and vain,<br /> +To count the reeds that tremble in the wind,<br /> + On listless dalliance bound,<br /> + Like children gazing round,<br /> +Who on God’s works no seal of Godhead find.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Bask not in courtly bower,<br +/> + Or sun-bright hall of power,<br /> +Pass Babel quick, and seek the holy land—<br /> + From robes of Tyrian dye<br /> + Turn with undazzled eye<br /> +To Bethlehem’s glade, or Carmel’s haunted strand.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Or choose thee out a cell<br +/> + In Kedron’s storied dell,<br /> +Beside the springs of Love, that never die;<br /> + Among the olives kneel<br /> + The chill night-blast to feel,<br /> +And watch the Moon that saw thy Master’s agony.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then rise at dawn of day,<br +/> + And wind thy thoughtful way,<br /> +Where rested once the Temple’s stately shade,<br /> + With due feet tracing round<br /> + The city’s northern bound,<br /> +To th’ other holy garden, where the Lord was laid.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Who thus alternate see<br /> + His death and victory,<br /> +Rising and falling as on angel wings,<br /> + They, while they seem to roam,<br /> + Draw daily nearer home,<br /> +Their heart untravell’d still adores the King of kings.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Or, if at home they stay,<br +/> + Yet are they, day by day,<br /> +In spirit journeying through the glorious land,<br /> + Not for light Fancy’s reed,<br /> + Nor Honour’s purple meed,<br /> +Nor gifted Prophet’s lore, nor Science’ wondrous +wand.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But more than Prophet, +more<br /> + Than Angels can adore<br /> +With face unveiled, is He they go to seek:<br /> + Blessèd be God, Whose grace<br /> + Shows Him in every place<br /> +To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek.</p> +<h3>Fourth Sunday in Advent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>The eyes of them that see shall not be dim, and +the ears of them that hear shall hearken. <i>Isaiah</i> +xxxii. 3</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> the bright things +in earth and air<br /> + How little can the heart embrace!<br /> +Soft shades and gleaming lights are there—<br /> + I know it well, but cannot trace.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mine eye unworthy seems to read<br /> + One page of Nature’s beauteous book;<br /> +It lies before me, fair outspread—<br /> + I only cast a wishful look.</p> +<p class="poetry">I cannot paint to Memory’s eye<br /> + The scene, the glance, I dearest love—<br /> +Unchanged themselves, in me they die,<br /> + Or faint or false their shadows prove.</p> +<p class="poetry">In vain, with dull and tuneless ear,<br /> + I linger by soft Music’s cell,<br /> +And in my heart of hearts would hear<br /> + What to her own she deigns to tell.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis misty all, both sight and +sound—<br /> + I only know ’tis fair and sweet—<br /> +’Tis wandering on enchanted ground<br /> + With dizzy brow and tottering feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">But patience! there may come a time<br /> + When these dull ears shall scan aright<br /> +Strains that outring Earth’s drowsy chime,<br /> + As Heaven outshines the taper’s light.</p> +<p class="poetry">These eyes, that dazzled now and weak,<br /> + At glancing motes in sunshine wink.<br /> +Shall see the Kings full glory break,<br /> + Nor from the blissful vision shrink:</p> +<p class="poetry">In fearless love and hope uncloyed<br /> + For ever on that ocean bright<br /> +Empowered to gaze; and undestroyed,<br /> + Deeper and deeper plunge in light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though scarcely now their laggard glance<br /> + Reach to an arrow’s flight, that day<br /> +They shall behold, and not in trance,<br /> + The region “very far away.”</p> +<p class="poetry">If Memory sometimes at our spell<br /> + Refuse to speak, or speak amiss,<br /> +We shall not need her where we dwell<br /> + Ever in sight of all our bliss.</p> +<p class="poetry">Meanwhile, if over sea or sky<br /> + Some tender lights unnoticed fleet,<br /> +Or on loved features dawn and die,<br /> + Unread, to us, their lesson sweet;</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet are there saddening sights around,<br /> + Which Heaven, in mercy, spares us too,<br /> +And we see far in holy ground,<br /> + If duly purged our mental view.</p> +<p class="poetry">The distant landscape draws not nigh<br /> + For all our gazing; but the soul,<br /> +That upward looks, may still descry<br /> + Nearer, each day, the brightening goal.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thou, too curious ear, that fain<br /> + Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony,<br /> +Content thee with one simple strain,<br /> + The lowlier, sure, the worthier thee;</p> +<p class="poetry">Till thou art duly trained, and taught<br /> + The concord sweet of Love divine:<br /> +Then, with that inward Music fraught,<br /> + For ever rise, and sing, and shine.</p> +<h3>Christmas Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude +of the heavenly host, praising God. <i>St. Luke</i> ii. +13.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">What</span> sudden blaze of song<br /> + Spreads +o’er th’ expanse of Heaven?<br /> + In waves of light it thrills along,<br /> + Th’ +angelic signal given—<br /> + “Glory to God!” from yonder central +fire<br /> +Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir;</p> +<p class="poetry"> Like +circles widening round<br /> + Upon a clear +blue river,<br /> + Orb after orb, the wondrous sound<br /> + Is echoed on for +ever:<br /> + “Glory to God on high, on earth be peace,<br +/> +And love towards men of love—salvation and +release.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet stay, +before thou dare<br /> + To join that +festal throng;<br /> + Listen and mark what gentle air<br /> + First stirred +the tide of song;<br /> + ’Tis not, “the Saviour born in +David’s home,<br /> +To Whom for power and health obedient worlds should +come:”—</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis +not, “the Christ the Lord:”<br /> + With fixed +adoring look<br /> + The choir of Angels caught the word,<br /> + Nor yet their +silence broke:<br /> + But when they heard the sign where Christ should +be,<br /> +In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wrapped in +His swaddling bands,<br /> + And in His +manger laid,<br /> + The Hope and Glory of all lands<br /> + Is come to the +world’s aid:<br /> + No peaceful home upon his cradle smiled,<br /> +Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal Child.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But where +Thou dwellest, Lord,<br /> + No other thought +should be,<br /> + Once duly welcomed and adored,<br /> + How should I +part with Thee?<br /> + Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt +grace<br /> +The single heart to be Thy sure abiding-place.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thee, on +the bosom laid<br /> + Of a pure virgin +mind,<br /> + In quiet ever, and in shade,<br /> + Shepherd and +sage may find;<br /> + They, who have bowed untaught to Nature’s +sway,<br /> +And they, who follow Truth along her star-paved way.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The +pastoral spirits first<br /> + Approach Thee, +Babe divine,<br /> + For they in lowly thoughts are nursed,<br /> + Meet for Thy +lowly shrine:<br /> + Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost +dwell,<br /> +Angela from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Still, as +the day comes round<br /> + For Thee to be +revealed,<br /> + By wakeful shepherds Thou art found,<br /> + Abiding in the +field.<br /> + All through the wintry heaven and chill night +air,<br /> +In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O faint not +ye for fear—<br /> + What though your +wandering sheep,<br /> + Reckless of what they see and hear,<br /> + Lie lost in +wilful sleep?<br /> + High Heaven in mercy to your sad annoy<br /> +Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Think on +th’ eternal home,<br /> + The Saviour left +for you;<br /> + Think on the Lord most holy, come<br /> + To dwell with +hearts untrue:<br /> + So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways,<br /> +And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise.</p> +<h3>St. Stephen’s Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>He, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up +steadfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus +standing on the right hand of God. <i>Acts</i> vii. 55</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> rays around the +source of light<br /> +Stream upward ere he glow in sight,<br /> +And watching by his future flight<br /> + Set the clear heavens on fire;<br /> +So on the King of Martyrs wait<br /> +Three chosen bands, in royal state,<br /> +And all earth owns, of good and great,<br /> + Is gather’d in that choir.</p> +<p class="poetry">One presses on, and welcomes death:<br /> +One calmly yields his willing breath,<br /> +Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith<br /> + Content to die or live:<br /> +And some, the darlings of their Lord,<br /> +Play smiling with the flame and sword,<br /> +And, ere they speak, to His sure word<br /> + Unconscious witness give.</p> +<p class="poetry">Foremost and nearest to His throne,<br /> +By perfect robes of triumph known,<br /> +And likest Him in look and tone,<br /> + The holy Stephen kneels,<br /> +With stedfast gaze, as when the sky<br /> +Flew open to his fainting eye,<br /> +Which, like a fading lamp, flash’d high,<br /> + Seeing what death conceals.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well might you guess what vision bright<br /> +Was present to his raptured sight,<br /> +E’en as reflected streams of light<br /> + Their solar source betray—<br /> +The glory which our God surrounds,<br /> +The Son of Man, the atoning wounds—<br /> +He sees them all; and earth’s dull bounds<br /> + Are melting fast away.</p> +<p class="poetry">He sees them all—no other view<br /> +Could stamp the Saviour’s likeness true,<br /> +Or with His love so deep embrue<br /> + Man’s sullen heart and gross—<br /> +“Jesus, do Thou my soul receive:<br /> +Jesu, do Thou my foes forgive;”<br /> +He who would learn that prayer must live<br /> + Under the holy Cross.</p> +<p class="poetry">He, though he seem on earth to move,<br /> +Must glide in air like gentle dove,<br /> +From yon unclouded depths above<br /> + Must draw his purer breath;<br /> +Till men behold his angel face<br /> +All radiant with celestial grace,<br /> +Martyr all o’er, and meet to trace<br /> + The lines of Jesus’ death.</p> +<h3>St. John’s Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Peter seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, and what +shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he +tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou Me. +<i>St. John</i> xxi. 21, 22.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Lord</span>, and +what shall this man do?”<br /> + Ask’st thou, Christian, for thy friend?<br /> +If his love for Christ be true,<br /> + Christ hath told thee of his end:<br /> +This is he whom God approves,<br /> +This is he whom Jesus loves.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ask not of him more than this,<br /> + Leave it in his Saviour’s breast,<br /> +Whether, early called to bliss,<br /> + He in youth shall find his rest,<br /> +Or armèd in his station wait<br /> +Till his Lord be at the gate:</p> +<p class="poetry">Whether in his lonely course<br /> + (Lonely, not forlorn) he stay,<br /> +Or with Love’s supporting force<br /> + Cheat the toil, and cheer the way:<br /> +Leave it all in His high hand,<br /> +Who doth hearts as streams command.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gales from Heaven, if so He will,<br /> + Sweeter melodies can wake<br /> +On the lonely mountain rill<br /> + Than the meeting waters make.<br /> +Who hath the Father and the Son,<br /> +May be left, but not alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sick or healthful, slave or free,<br /> + Wealthy, or despised and poor—<br /> +What is that to him or thee,<br /> + So his love to Christ endure?<br /> +When the shore is won at last,<br /> +Who will count the billows past?</p> +<p class="poetry">Only, since our souls will shrink<br /> + At the touch of natural grief,<br /> +When our earthly loved ones sink,<br /> + Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief;<br /> +Patient hearts, their pain to see,<br /> +And Thy grace, to follow Thee.</p> +<h3>The Holy Innocents.</h3> +<blockquote><p>These were redeemed from among men, being the +firstfruits unto God and to the Lamb. <i>Rev.</i> xiv. +4.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Say</span>, ye celestial guards, who wait<br /> +In Bethlehem, round the Saviour’s palace gate,<br /> + Say, who are these on golden wings,<br /> +That hover o’er the new-born King of kings,<br /> + Their palms and garlands telling plain<br /> +That they are of the glorious martyr-train,<br /> + Next to yourselves ordained to praise<br /> +His Name, and brighten as on Him they gaze?</p> +<p class="poetry"> But where their spoils and +trophies? where<br /> +The glorious dint a martyr’s shield should bear?<br /> + How chance no cheek among them wears<br /> +The deep-worn trace of penitential tears,<br /> + But all is bright and smiling love,<br /> +As if, fresh-borne from Eden’s happy grove,<br /> + They had flown here, their King to see,<br /> +Nor ever had been heirs of dark mortality?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ask, and some angel will +reply,<br /> +“These, like yourselves, were born to sin and die,<br /> + But ere the poison root was grown,<br /> +God set His seal, and marked them for His own.<br /> + Baptised its blood for Jesus’ sake,<br /> +Now underneath the Cross their bed they make,<br /> + Not to be scared from that sure rest<br /> +By frightened mother’s shriek, or warrior’s waving +crest.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Mindful of these, the +firstfruits sweet<br /> +Borne by this suffering Church her Lord to greet;<br /> + Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace<br /> +The “innocent brightness” of an infant’s +face.<br /> + He raised them in His holy arms,<br /> +He blessed them from the world and all its harms:<br /> + Heirs though they were of sin and shame,<br /> +He blessed them in his own and in his Father’s Name.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then, as each fond +unconscious child<br /> +On the everlasting Parent sweetly smiled<br /> + (Like infants sporting on the shore,<br /> +That tremble not at Ocean’s boundless roar),<br /> + Were they not present to Thy thought,<br /> +All souls, that in their cradles Thou hast bought?<br /> + But chiefly these, who died for Thee,<br /> +That Thou might’st live for them a sadder death to see.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And next to these, Thy +gracious word<br /> +Was as a pledge of benediction stored<br /> + For Christian mothers, while they moan<br /> +Their treasured hopes, just born, baptised, and gone.<br /> + Oh, joy for Rachel’s broken heart!<br /> +She and her babes shall meet no more to part;<br /> + So dear to Christ her pious haste<br /> +To trust them in His arms for ever safe embraced.</p> +<p class="poetry"> She dares not grudge to leave +them there,<br /> +Where to behold them was her heart’s first prayer;<br /> + She dares not grieve—but she must weep,<br /> +As her pale placid martyr sinks to sleep,<br /> + Teaching so well and silently<br /> +How at the shepherd’s call the lamb should die:<br /> + How happier far than life the end<br /> +Of souls that infant-like beneath their burthen bend.</p> +<h3>First Sunday after Christmas.</h3> +<blockquote><p>So the sun returned ten degrees, by which degrees +it was gone down. <i>Isaiah</i> xxxviii. 8; compare +<i>Josh.</i> x. 13.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> ’<span +class="smcap">Tis</span> true, of old the unchanging sun<br /> + His daily course refused to run,<br /> + The pale moon hurrying to the +west<br /> + Paused at a mortal’s call, to aid<br /> + The avenging storm of war, that laid<br /> +Seven guilty realms at once on earth’s defiled breast.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But can it be, one suppliant +tear<br /> + Should stay the ever-moving sphere?<br /> + A sick man’s +lowly-breathèd sigh,<br /> + When from the world he turns away,<br /> + And hides his weary eyes to pray,<br /> +Should change your mystic dance, ye wanderers of the sky?</p> +<p class="poetry"> We too, O Lord, would fain +command,<br /> + As then, Thy wonder-working hand,<br /> + And backward force the waves of +Time,<br /> + That now so swift and silent bear<br /> + Our restless bark from year to year;<br /> +Help us to pause and mourn to Thee our tale of crime.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Bright hopes, that erst the +bosom warmed,<br /> + And vows, too pure to be performed,<br /> + And prayers blown wide by gales of +care;—<br /> + These, and such faint half-waking dreams,<br /> + Like stormy lights on mountain streams,<br /> +Wavering and broken all, athwart the conscience glare.</p> +<p class="poetry"> How shall we ’scape the +o’erwhelming Past?<br /> + Can spirits broken, joys o’ercast,<br /> + And eyes that never more may +smile:—<br /> + Can these th’ avenging bolt delay,<br /> + Or win us back one little day<br /> +The bitterness of death to soften and beguile?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Father and Lover of our +souls!<br /> + Though darkly round Thine anger rolls,<br /> + Thy sunshine smiles beneath the +gloom,<br /> + Thou seek’st to warn us, not confound,<br /> + Thy showers would pierce the hardened ground<br /> +And win it to give out its brightness and perfume.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou smil’st on us in +wrath, and we,<br /> + E’en in remorse, would smile on Thee,<br /> + The tears that bathe our offered +hearts,<br /> + We would not have them stained and dim,<br /> + But dropped from wings of seraphim,<br /> +All glowing with the light accepted love imparts.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Time’s waters will not +ebb, nor stay;<br /> + Power cannot change them, but Love may;<br /> + What cannot be, Love counts it +done.<br /> + Deep in the heart, her searching view<br /> + Can read where Faith is fixed and true,<br /> +Through shades of setting life can see Heaven’s work +begun.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O Thou, who keep’st the +Key of Love,<br /> + Open Thy fount, eternal Dove,<br /> + And overflow this heart of +mine,<br /> + Enlarging as it fills with Thee,<br /> + Till in one blaze of charity<br /> +Care and remorse are lost, like motes in light divine;</p> +<p class="poetry"> Till as each moment wafts us +higher,<br /> + By every gush of pure desire,<br /> + And high-breathed hope of joys +above,<br /> + By every secret sigh we heave,<br /> + Whole years of folly we outlive,<br /> +In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love.</p> +<h3>The Circumcision of Christ.</h3> +<blockquote><p>In whom also ye are circumcised with the +circumcision made without hands. <i>Coloss.</i> ii. 11.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> year begins with Thee,<br /> + And Thou beginn’st with woe,<br /> +To let the world of sinners see<br /> + That blood for sin must flow.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thine infant cries, O +Lord,<br /> + Thy tears upon the breast,<br /> +Are not enough—the legal sword<br /> + Must do its stern behest.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Like sacrificial wine<br /> + Poured on a victim’s head<br /> +Are those few precious drops of Thine,<br /> + Now first to offering led.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They are the pledge and +seal<br /> + Of Christ’s unswerving faith<br /> +Given to His Sire, our souls to heal,<br /> + Although it cost His death.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They to His Church of old,<br +/> + To each true Jewish heart,<br /> +In Gospel graces manifold<br /> + Communion blest impart.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now of Thy love we deem<br /> + As of an ocean vast,<br /> +Mounting in tides against the stream<br /> + Of ages gone and past.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Both theirs and ours Thou +art,<br /> + As we and they are Thine;<br /> +Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs—all have part<br /> + Along the sacred line.</p> +<p class="poetry"> By blood and water too<br /> + God’s mark is set on Thee,<br /> +That in Thee every faithful view<br /> + Both covenants might see.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O bond of union, dear<br /> + And strong as is Thy grace!<br /> +Saints, parted by a thousand year,<br /> + May thus in heart embrace.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Is there a mourner true,<br +/> + Who fallen on faithless days,<br /> +Sighs for the heart-consoling view<br /> + Of those Heaven deigned to praise?</p> +<p class="poetry"> In spirit may’st thou +meet<br /> + With faithful Abraham here,<br /> +Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet<br /> + A nursing Father dear.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Would’st thou a poet +be?<br /> + And would thy dull heart fain<br /> +Borrow of Israel’s minstrelsy<br /> + One high enraptured strain?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Come here thy soul to +tune,<br /> + Here set thy feeble chant,<br /> +Here, if at all beneath the moon,<br /> + Is holy David’s haunt.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Art thou a child of tears,<br +/> + Cradled in care and woe?<br /> +And seems it hard, thy vernal years<br /> + Few vernal joys can show?</p> +<p class="poetry"> And fall the sounds of +mirth<br /> + Sad on thy lonely heart,<br /> +From all the hopes and charms of earth<br /> + Untimely called to part?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Look here, and hold thy +peace:<br /> + The Giver of all good<br /> +E’en from the womb takes no release<br /> + From suffering, tears, and blood.</p> +<p class="poetry"> If thou would’st reap +in love,<br /> + First sow in holy fear:<br /> +So life a winter’s morn may prove<br /> + To a bright endless year.</p> +<h3>Second Sunday after Christmas.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When the poor and needy seek water, and there is +none, and their tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear +them, I the God of Israel will not forsake them. +<i>Isaiah</i>, xli. 17.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">And</span> wilt thou hear +the fevered heart<br /> + To Thee in silence cry?<br /> +And as th’ inconstant wildfires dart<br /> + Out of the restless eye,<br /> +Wilt thou forgive the wayward though<br /> +By kindly woes yet half untaught<br /> +A Saviours right, so dearly bought,<br /> + That Hope should never die?</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer<br /> + Has reached Thee from the wild,<br /> +Since the lorn mother, wandering there,<br /> + Cast down her fainting child,<br /> +Then stole apart to weep and die,<br /> +Nor knew an angel form was nigh,<br /> +To show soft waters gushing by,<br /> + And dewy shadows mild.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou wilt—for Thou art Israel’s +God,<br /> + And Thine unwearied arm<br /> +Is ready yet with Moses’ rod,<br /> + The hidden rill to charm<br /> +Out of the dry unfathomed deep<br /> +Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep,<br /> +Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap<br /> + Their waves in rude alarm.</p> +<p class="poetry">These moments of wild wrath are Thine—<br +/> + Thine, too, the drearier hour<br /> +When o’er th’ horizon’s silent line<br /> + Fond hopeless fancies cower,<br /> +And on the traveller’s listless way<br /> +Rises and sets th’ unchanging day,<br /> +No cloud in heaven to slake its ray,<br /> + On earth no sheltering bower.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou wilt be there, and not forsake,<br /> + To turn the bitter pool<br /> +Into a bright and breezy lake,<br /> + This throbbing brow to cool:<br /> +Till loft awhile with Thee alone<br /> +The wilful heart be fain to own<br /> +That He, by whom our bright hours shone,<br /> + Our darkness best may rule.</p> +<p class="poetry">The scent of water far away<br /> + Upon the breeze is flung;<br /> +The desert pelican to-day<br /> + Securely leaves her young,<br /> +Reproving thankless man, who fears<br /> +To journey on a few lone years,<br /> +Where on the sand Thy step appears,<br /> + Thy crown in sight is hung.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou, who did sit on Jacob’s well<br /> + The weary hour of noon,<br /> +The languid pulses Thou canst tell,<br /> + The nerveless spirit tune.<br /> +Thou from Whose cross in anguish burst<br /> +The cry that owned Thy dying thirst,<br /> +To Thee we turn, our Last and First,<br /> + Our Sun and soothing Moon.</p> +<p class="poetry">From darkness, here, and dreariness<br /> + We ask not full repose,<br /> +Only be Thou at hand, to bless<br /> + Our trial hour of woes.<br /> +Is not the pilgrim’s toil o’erpaid<br /> +By the clear rill and palmy shade?<br /> +And see we not, up Earth’s dark glade,<br /> + The gate of Heaven unclose?</p> +<h3>The Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went +before them, till it came and stood over where the young Child +was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding +great joy. <i>St. Matthew</i> ii. 9, 10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Star</span> of the East, +how sweet art Thou,<br /> + Seen in life’s early morning sky,<br /> +Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow,<br /> + While yet we gaze with childish eye;</p> +<p class="poetry">When father, mother, nursing friend,<br /> + Most dearly loved, and loving best,<br /> +First bid us from their arms ascend,<br /> + Pointing to Thee, in Thy sure rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Too soon the glare of earthly day<br /> + Buries, to us, Thy brightness keen,<br /> +And we are left to find our way<br /> + By faith and hope in Thee unseen.</p> +<p class="poetry">What matter? if the waymarks sure<br /> + On every side are round us set,<br /> +Soon overleaped, but not obscure?<br /> + ’Tis ours to mark them or forget.</p> +<p class="poetry">What matter? if in calm old age<br /> + Our childhood’s star again arise,<br /> +Crowning our lonely pilgrimage<br /> + With all that cheers a wanderer’s eyes?</p> +<p class="poetry">Ne’er may we lose it from our sight,<br +/> + Till all our hopes and thoughts are led<br /> +To where it stays its lucid flight<br /> + Over our Saviour’s lowly bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">There, swathed in humblest poverty,<br /> + On Chastity’s meek lap enshrined,<br /> +With breathless Reverence waiting by,<br /> + When we our Sovereign Master find,</p> +<p class="poetry">Will not the long-forgotten glow<br /> + Of mingled joy and awe return,<br /> +When stars above or flowers below<br /> + First made our infant spirits burn?</p> +<p class="poetry">Look on us, Lord, and take our parts<br /> + E’en on Thy throne of purity!<br /> +From these our proud yet grovelling hearts<br /> + Hide not Thy mild forgiving eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">Did not the Gentile Church find grace,<br /> + Our mother dear, this favoured day?<br /> +With gold and myrrh she sought Thy face;<br /> + Nor didst Thou turn Thy face away.</p> +<p class="poetry">She too, in earlier, purer days,<br /> + Had watched thee gleaming faint and far—<br /> +But wandering in self-chosen ways<br /> + She lost Thee quite, Thou lovely star.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet had her Father’s finger turned<br /> + To Thee her first inquiring glance:<br /> +The deeper shame within her burned,<br /> + When wakened from her wilful trance.</p> +<p class="poetry">Behold, her wisest throng Thy gate,<br /> + Their richest, sweetest, purest store,<br /> +(Yet owned too worthless and too late,)<br /> + They lavish on Thy cottage-floor.</p> +<p class="poetry">They give their best—O tenfold shame<br +/> + On us their fallen progeny,<br /> +Who sacrifice the blind and lame—<br /> + Who will not wake or fast with Thee!</p> +<h3>First Sunday after Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>They shall spring up as among the grass, as +willows by the water courses. <i>Isaiah</i> xliv. 4.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lessons</span> sweet of +spring returning,<br /> + Welcome to the thoughtful heart!<br /> +May I call ye sense or learning,<br /> + Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art?<br /> +Be your title what it may,<br /> +Sweet this lengthening April day,<br /> +While with you the soul is free,<br /> +Ranging wild o’er hill and lea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soft as Memnon’s harp at morning,<br /> + To the inward ear devout,<br /> +Touched by light, with heavenly warning<br /> + Your transporting chords ring out.<br /> +Every leaf in every nook,<br /> +Every wave in every brook,<br /> +Chanting with a solemn voice,<br /> +Minds us of our better choice.</p> +<p class="poetry">Needs no show of mountain hoary,<br /> + Winding shore or deepening glen,<br /> +Where the landscape in its glory<br /> + Teaches truth to wandering men:<br /> +Give true hearts but earth and sky,<br /> +And some flowers to bloom and die,<br /> +Homely scenes and simple views<br /> +Lowly thoughts may best infuse.</p> +<p class="poetry">See the soft green willow springing<br /> + Where the waters gently pass,<br /> +Every way her free arms flinging<br /> + O’er the moist and reedy grass.<br /> +Long ere winter blasts are fled,<br /> +See her tipped with vernal red,<br /> +And her kindly flower displayed<br /> +Ere her leaf can cast a shade.</p> +<p class="poetry">Though the rudest hand assail her,<br /> + Patiently she droops awhile,<br /> +But when showers and breezes hail her,<br /> + Wears again her willing smile.<br /> +Thus I learn Contentment’s power<br /> +From the slighted willow bower,<br /> +Ready to give thanks and live<br /> +On the least that Heaven may give.</p> +<p class="poetry">If, the quiet brooklet leaving,<br /> + Up the stony vale I wind,<br /> +Haply half in fancy grieving<br /> + For the shades I leave behind,<br /> +By the dusty wayside drear,<br /> +Nightingales with joyous cheer<br /> +Sing, my sadness to reprove,<br /> +Gladlier than in cultured grove.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where the thickest boughs are twining<br /> + Of the greenest darkest tree,<br /> +There they plunge, the light declining—<br /> + All may hear, but none may see.<br /> +Fearless of the passing hoof,<br /> +Hardly will they fleet aloof;<br /> +So they live in modest ways,<br /> +Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.</p> +<h3>Second Sunday after Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Every man at the beginning doth set forth good +wine: and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse; but +thou hast kept the good wine until now. <i>St. John</i> ii. +10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> heart of +childhood is all mirth:<br /> + We frolic to and fro<br /> +As free and blithe, as if on earth<br /> + Were no such thing as woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if indeed with reckless faith<br /> + We trust the flattering voice,<br /> +Which whispers, “Take thy fill ere death,<br /> + Indulge thee and rejoice;”</p> +<p class="poetry">Too surely, every setting day,<br /> + Some lost delight we mourn;<br /> +The flowers all die along our way<br /> + Till we, too, die forlorn.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such is the world’s gay garish feast,<br +/> + In her first charming bowl<br /> +Infusing all that fires the breast,<br /> + And cheats the unstable soul.</p> +<p class="poetry">And still, as loud the revel swells,<br /> + The fevered pulse beats higher,<br /> +Till the seared taste from foulest wells<br /> + Is fain to slake its fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unlike the feast of heavenly love<br /> + Spread at the Saviour’s word<br /> +For souls that hear His call, and prove<br /> + Meet for His bridal board.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why should we fear, youth’s draught of +joy<br /> + If pure would sparkle less?<br /> +Why should the cup the sooner cloy,<br /> + Which God hath deigned to bless?</p> +<p class="poetry">For, is it Hope, that thrills so keen<br /> + Along each bounding vein,<br /> +Still whispering glorious things unseen?—<br /> + Faith makes the vision plain.</p> +<p class="poetry">The world would kill her soon: but Faith<br /> + Her daring dreams will cherish,<br /> +Speeding her gaze o’er time and death<br /> + To realms where nought can perish.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or is it Love, the dear delight<br /> + Of hearts that know no guile,<br /> +That all around see all things bright<br /> + With their own magic smile?</p> +<p class="poetry">The silent joy that sinks so deep,<br /> + Of confidence and rest,<br /> +Lulled in a father’s arms to sleep,<br /> + Clasped to a mother’s breast?</p> +<p class="poetry">Who, but a Christian, through all life<br /> + That blessing may prolong?<br /> +Who, through the world’s sad day of strife,<br /> + Still chant his morning song?</p> +<p class="poetry">Fathers may hate us or forsake,<br /> + God’s foundlings then are we:<br /> +Mother on child no pity take,<br /> + But we shall still have Thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">We may look home, and seek in vain<br /> + A fond fraternal heart,<br /> +But Christ hath given His promise plain<br /> + To do a Brother’s part.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor shall dull age, as worldlings say,<br /> + The heavenward flame annoy:<br /> +The Saviour cannot pass away,<br /> + And with Him lives our joy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ever the richest, tenderest glow<br /> + Sets round the autumnal sun—<br /> +But there sight fails: no heart may know<br /> + The bliss when life is done.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such is Thy banquet, dearest Lord;<br /> + O give us grace, to cast<br /> +Our lot with Thine, to trust Thy word,<br /> + And keep our best till last.</p> +<h3>Third Sunday after Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When Jesus heard it, He marvelled, and said to +them that followed, Verily I say unto you, I have not found so +great faith, no, not in Israel. <i>St. Matthew</i> viii. +10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> I <span +class="smcap">marked</span> a rainbow in the north,<br /> + What time the wild autumnal sun<br +/> + From his dark veil at noon looked forth,<br /> + As glorying in his course half +done,<br /> + Flinging soft radiance far and wide<br /> +Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side.</p> +<p class="poetry"> It was a gleam to Memory +dear,<br /> + And as I walk and muse apart,<br +/> + When all seems faithless round and drear,<br /> + I would revive it in my heart,<br +/> + And watch how light can find its way<br /> +To regions farthest from the fount of day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Light flashes in the +gloomiest sky,<br /> + And Music in the dullest plain,<br +/> + For there the lark is soaring high<br /> + Over her flat and leafless +reign,<br /> + And chanting in so blithe a tone,<br /> +It shames the weary heart to feel itself alone.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Brighter than rainbow in the +north,<br /> + More cheery than the matin +lark,<br /> + Is the soft gleam of Christian worth,<br /> + Which on some holy house we +mark;<br /> + Dear to the pastor’s aching heart<br /> +To think, where’er he looks, such gleam may have a +part;</p> +<p class="poetry"> May dwell, unseen by all but +Heaven,<br /> + Like diamond blazing in the +mine;<br /> + For ever, where such grace is given,<br /> + It fears in open day to shine,<br +/> + Lest the deep stain it owns within<br /> +Break out, and Faith be shamed by the believer’s sin.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In silence and afar they +wait,<br /> + To find a prayer their Lord may +hear:<br /> + Voice of the poor and desolate,<br /> + You best may bring it to His +ear;<br /> + Your grateful intercessions rise<br /> +With more than royal pomp, and pierce the skies.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Happy the soul whose precious +cause<br /> + You in the Sovereign Presence +plead—<br /> + “This is the lover of Thy laws,<br /> + The friend of Thine in fear and +need,”<br /> + For to the poor Thy mercy lends<br /> +That solemn style, “Thy nation and Thy friends.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> He too is blest whose outward +eye<br /> + The graceful lines of art may +trace,<br /> + While his free spirit, soaring high,<br /> + Discerns the glorious from the +base;<br /> + Till out of dust his magic raise<br /> +A home for prayer and love, and full harmonious praise,</p> +<p class="poetry"> Where far away and high +above,<br /> + In maze on maze the trancèd +sight<br /> + Strays, mindful of that heavenly love<br /> + Which knows no end in depth or +height,<br /> + While the strong breath of Music seems<br /> +To waft us ever on, soaring in blissful dreams.</p> +<p class="poetry"> What though in poor and +humble guise<br /> + Thou here didst sojourn, +cottage-born?<br /> + Yet from Thy glory in the skies<br /> + Our earthly gold Thou dost not +scorn.<br /> + For Love delights to bring her best,<br /> +And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Love on the Saviour’s +dying head<br /> + Her spikenard drops unblamed may +pour,<br /> + May mount His cross, and wrap Him dead<br /> + In spices from the golden +shore;<br /> + Risen, may embalm His sacred name<br /> +With all a Painter’s art, and all a Minstrel’s +flame.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Worthless and lost our +offerings seem,<br /> + Drops in the ocean of His +praise;<br /> + But Mercy with her genial beam<br /> + Is ripening them to pearly +blaze,<br /> + To sparkle in His crown above,<br /> +Who welcomes here a child’s as there an angel’s +love.</p> +<h3>Fourth Sunday after Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When they saw Him, they besought Him that He would +depart out of their coasts. <i>St. Matthew</i> viii. +34.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">They</span> know the Almighty’s power,<br /> + Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower,<br /> + Watch for the fitful breeze<br /> + To howl and chafe amid the bending trees,<br /> + Watch for the still white gleam<br +/> + To bathe the landscape in a fiery stream,<br /> + Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light<br /> +Too rapid and too pure for all but angel sight.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They know +the Almighty’s love,<br /> + Who, when the whirlwinds rock the topmost grove,<br +/> + Stand in the shade, and hear<br /> + The tumult with a deep exulting fear,<br /> + How, in their fiercest sway,<br /> + Curbed by some power unseen, they die away,<br /> + Like a bold steed that owns his rider’s +arm,<br /> +Proud to be checked and soothed by that o’er-mastering +chains.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But there +are storms within<br /> + That heave the struggling heart with wilder din,<br +/> + And there is power and love<br /> + The maniac’s rushing frenzy to reprove,<br /> + And when he takes his seat,<br /> + Clothed and in calmness, at his Savour’s +feet,<br /> + Is not the power as strange, the love as blest,<br +/> +As when He said, “Be still,” and ocean sank to +rest?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Woe to the +wayward heart,<br /> + That gladlier turns to eye the shuddering start<br +/> + Of Passion in her might,<br /> + Than marks the silent growth of grace and +light;—<br /> + Pleased in the cheerless tomb<br +/> + To linger, while the morning rays illume<br /> + Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade,<br /> +Shaking their dewy tresses now the storm is laid.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The storm +is laid—and now<br /> + In His meek power He climbs the mountain’s +brow,<br /> + Who bade the waves go sleep,<br /> + And lashed the vexed fiends to their yawning +deep.<br /> + How on a rock they stand,<br /> + Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand!<br /> + Not half so fixed, amid her vassal hills,<br /> +Rises the holy pile that Kedron’s valley fills.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And wilt +thou seek again<br /> + Thy howling waste, thy charnel-house and chain,<br +/> + And with the demons be,<br /> + Rather than clasp thine own Deliverer’s +knee?<br /> + Sure ’tis no Heaven-bred +awe<br /> + That bids thee from His healing touch withdraw;<br +/> + The world and He are struggling in thine heart,<br +/> +And in thy reckless mood thou bidd’st thy Lord depart.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He, +merciful and mild,<br /> + As erst, beholding, loves His wayward child;<br /> + When souls of highest birth<br /> + Waste their impassioned might on dreams of earth,<br +/> + He opens Nature’s book,<br +/> + And on His glorious Gospel bids them look,<br /> + Till, by such chords as rule the choirs above,<br /> +Their lawless cries are tuned to hymns of perfect love.</p> +<h3>Fifth Sunday after Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Behold, the Lord’s hand is not shortened, +that it cannot save; neither His ear heavy, that it cannot hear; +but your iniquities have separated between you and your +God. <i>Isaiah</i> lix. 1, 2.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> “<span +class="smcap">Wake</span>, arm Divine! awake,<br /> + Eye of the only Wise!<br /> + Now for Thy glory’s sake,<br /> + Saviour and God, arise,<br /> +And may Thine ear, that sealèd seems,<br /> +In pity mark our mournful themes!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thus in her lonely hour<br /> + Thy Church is fain to cry,<br /> + As if Thy love and power<br /> + Were vanished from her sky;<br /> +Yet God is there, and at His side<br /> +He triumphs, who for sinners died.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Ah! ’tis the world +enthralls<br /> + The Heaven-betrothèd +breast:<br /> + The traitor Sense recalls<br /> + The soaring soul from rest.<br /> +That bitter sigh was all for earth,<br /> +For glories gone and vanished mirth.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Age would to youth return,<br +/> + Farther from Heaven would be,<br +/> + To feel the wildfire burn,<br /> + On idolising knee<br /> +Again to fall, and rob Thy shrine<br /> +Of hearts, the right of Love Divine.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Lord of this erring flock!<br +/> + Thou whose soft showers distil<br +/> + On ocean waste or rock,<br /> + Free as on Hermon hill,<br /> +Do Thou our craven spirits cheer,<br /> +And shame away the selfish tear.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Twas silent all and +dead<br /> + Beside the barren sea,<br /> + Where Philip’s steps were led,<br /> + Led by a voice from Thee—<br +/> +He rose and went, nor asked Thee why,<br /> +Nor stayed to heave one faithless sigh:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Upon his lonely way<br /> + The high-born traveller came,<br +/> + Reading a mournful lay<br /> + Of “One who bore our +shame,<br /> +Silent Himself, His name untold,<br /> +And yet His glories were of old.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> To muse what Heaven might +mean<br /> + His wondering brow he raised,<br +/> + And met an eye serene<br /> + That on him watchful gazed.<br /> +No Hermit e’er so welcome crossed<br /> +A child’s lone path in woodland lost.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now wonder turns to love;<br +/> + The scrolls of sacred lore<br /> + No darksome mazes prove;<br /> + The desert tires no more<br /> +They bathe where holy waters flow,<br /> +Then on their way rejoicing go.</p> +<p class="poetry"> They part to meet in +Heaven;<br /> + But of the joy they share,<br /> + Absolving and forgiven,<br /> + The sweet remembrance bear.<br /> +Yes—mark him well, ye cold and proud.<br /> +Bewildered in a heartless crowd,</p> +<p class="poetry"> Starting and turning pale<br +/> + At Rumour’s angry +din—<br /> + No storm can now assail<br /> + The charm he wears within,<br /> +Rejoicing still, and doing good,<br /> +And with the thought of God imbued.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No glare of high estate,<br +/> + No gloom of woe or want,<br /> + The radiance can abate<br /> + Where Heaven delights to haunt:<br +/> +Sin only bides the genial ray,<br /> +And, round the Cross, makes night of day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then weep it from thy +heart;<br /> + So mayst thou duly learn<br /> + The intercessor’s part;<br /> + Thy prayers and tears may earn<br +/> +For fallen souls some healing breath,<br /> +Era they have died the Apostate’s death.</p> +<h3>Sixth Sunday after Epiphany.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth +not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall +appear, we shall be like Him; for we shall see Him as he +is. <i>St. John</i> iii. 2.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">There</span> are, who darkling and alone,<br /> + Would wish the weary night were gone,<br /> + Though dawning morn should only show<br /> + The secret of their unknown woe:<br /> + Who pray for sharpest throbs of pain<br /> + To ease them of doubt’s galling chain:<br /> + “Only disperse the cloud,” they cry,<br +/> +“And if our fate be death, give light and let us +die.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Unwise I deem them, Lord, +unmeet<br /> + To profit by Thy chastenings sweet,<br /> + For Thou wouldst have us linger still<br /> + Upon the verge of good or ill.<br /> + That on Thy guiding hand unseen<br /> + Our undivided hearts may lean,<br /> + And this our frail and foundering bark<br /> +Glide in the narrow wake of Thy belovèd ark.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis so in +war—the champion true<br /> + Loves victory more when dim in view<br /> + He sees her glories gild afar<br /> + The dusky edge of stubborn war,<br /> + Than if the untrodden bloodless field<br /> + The harvest of her laurels yield;<br /> + Let not my bark in calm abide,<br /> +But win her fearless way against the chafing tide.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis so in +love—the faithful heart<br /> + From her dim vision would not part,<br /> + When first to her fond gaze is given<br /> + That purest spot in Fancy’s heaven,<br /> + For all the gorgeous sky beside,<br /> + Though pledged her own and sure to abide:<br /> + Dearer than every past noon-day<br /> +That twilight gleam to her, though faint and far away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So have I seen some tender +flower<br /> + Prized above all the vernal bower,<br /> + Sheltered beneath the coolest shade,<br /> + Embosomed in the greenest glade,<br /> + So frail a gem, it scarce may bear<br /> + The playful touch of evening air;<br /> + When hardier grown we love it less,<br /> +And trust it from our sight, not needing our caress.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And wherefore is the sweet +spring-tide<br /> + Worth all the changeful year beside?<br /> + The last-born babe, why lies its part<br /> + Deep in the mother’s inmost heart?<br /> + But that the Lord and Source of love<br /> + Would have His weakest ever prove<br /> + Our tenderest care—and most of all<br /> +Our frail immortal souls, His work and Satan’s thrall.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So be it, Lord; I know it +best,<br /> + Though not as yet this wayward breast<br /> + Beat quite in answer to Thy voice,<br /> + Yet surely I have made my choice;<br /> + I know not yet the promised bliss,<br /> + Know not if I shall win or miss;<br /> + So doubting, rather let me die,<br /> +Than close with aught beside, to last eternally.</p> +<p class="poetry"> What is the Heaven we idly +dream?<br /> + The self-deceiver’s dreary theme,<br /> + A cloudless sun that softly shines,<br /> + Bright maidens and unfailing vines,<br /> + The warrior’s pride, the hunter’s +mirth,<br /> + Poor fragments all of this low earth:<br /> + Such as in sleep would hardly soothe<br /> +A soul that once had tasted of immortal Truth.</p> +<p class="poetry"> What is the Heaven our God +bestows?<br /> + No Prophet yet, no Angel knows;<br /> + Was never yet created eye<br /> + Could see across Eternity;<br /> + Not seraph’s wing for ever soaring<br /> + Can pass the flight of souls adoring,<br /> + That nearer still and nearer grow<br /> +To the unapproachèd Lord, once made for them so low.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Unseen, unfelt their earthly +growth,<br /> + And self-accused of sin and sloth,<br /> + They live and die; their names decay,<br /> + Their fragrance passes quite away;<br /> + Like violets in the freezing blast<br /> + No vernal steam around they cast.—<br /> + But they shall flourish from the tomb,<br /> +The breath of God shall wake them into odorous bloom.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then on the incarnate +Saviour’s breast,<br /> + The fount of sweetness, they shall rest,<br /> + Their spirits every hour imbued<br /> + More deeply with His precious blood.<br /> + But peace—still voice and closèd eye<br +/> + Suit best with hearts beyond the sky,<br /> + Hearts training in their low abode,<br /> +Daily to lose themselves in hope to find their God.</p> +<h3>Septuagesima Sunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>The invisible things of Him from the creation of +the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that +are made. <i>Romans</i> i. 20.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> is a book, who +runs may read,<br /> + Which heavenly truth imparts,<br /> +And all the lore its scholars need,<br /> + Pure eyes and Christian hearts.</p> +<p class="poetry">The works of God above, below,<br /> + Within us and around,<br /> +Are pages in that book, to show<br /> + How God Himself is found.</p> +<p class="poetry">The glorious sky embracing all<br /> + Is like the Maker’s love,<br /> +Wherewith encompassed, great and small<br /> + In peace and order move.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Moon above, the Church below,<br /> + A wondrous race they run,<br /> +But all their radiance, all their glow,<br /> + Each borrows of its Sun.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Savour lends the light and heat<br /> + That crowns His holy hill;<br /> +The saints, like stars, around His seat<br /> + Perform their courses still.</p> +<p class="poetry">The saints above are stars in heaven—<br +/> + What are the saints on earth?<br /> +Like tress they stand whom God has given,<br /> + Our Eden’s happy birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Faith is their fixed unswerving root,<br /> + Hope their unfading flower,<br /> +Fair deeds of charity their fruit,<br /> + The glory of their bower.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dew of heaven is like Thy grace,<br /> + It steals in silence down;<br /> +But where it lights, this favoured place<br /> + By richest fruits is known.</p> +<p class="poetry">One Name above all glorious names<br /> + With its ten thousand tongues<br /> +The everlasting sea proclaims.<br /> + Echoing angelic songs.</p> +<p class="poetry">The raging Fire, the roaring Wind,<br /> + Thy boundless power display;<br /> +But in the gentler breeze we find<br /> + Thy Spirit’s viewless way.</p> +<p class="poetry">Two worlds are ours: ’tis only Sin<br /> + Forbids us to descry<br /> +The mystic heaven and earth within,<br /> + Plain as the sea and sky.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou, who hast given me eyes to see<br /> + And love this sight so fair,<br /> +Give me a heart to find out Thee,<br /> + And read Thee everywhere.</p> +<h3>Sexagesima Sunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>So He drove out the man; and He placed at the east +of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned +every way, to keep the way of the tree of life. +<i>Genesis</i> iii. 24; compare chap. vi.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Foe</span> of mankind! too bold thy race:<br /> + Thou runn’st at such a reckless pace,<br /> +Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound:<br /> + ’Twas but one little drop of sin<br /> + We saw this morning enter in,<br /> +And lo! at eventide the world is drowned.</p> +<p class="poetry"> See here the fruit of +wandering eyes,<br /> + Of worldly longings to be wise,<br /> +Of Passion dwelling on forbidden sweets:<br /> + Ye lawless glances, freely rove;<br /> + Ruin below and wrath above<br /> +Are all that now the wildering fancy meets.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Lord, when in some deep +garden glade,<br /> + Of Thee and of myself afraid.<br /> +From thoughts like these among the bowers I hide,<br /> + Nearest and loudest then of all<br /> + I seem to hear the Judge’s call:—<br /> +“Where art thou, fallen man? come forth, and be thou +tried.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Trembling before Thee as I +stand,<br /> + Where’er I gaze on either hand<br /> +The sentence is gone forth, the ground is cursed:<br /> + Yet mingled with the penal shower<br /> + Some drops of balm in every bower<br /> +Steal down like April dews, that softest fall and first.</p> +<p class="poetry"> If filial and maternal +love<br /> + Memorial of our guilt must prove,<br /> +If sinful babes in sorrow must be born,<br /> + Yet, to assuage her sharpest throes,<br /> + The faithful mother surely knows,<br /> +This was the way Thou cam’st to save the world forlorn.</p> +<p class="poetry"> If blessèd wedlock may +not bless<br /> + Without some tinge of bitterness<br /> +To dash her cup of joy, since Eden lost,<br /> + Chaining to earth with strong desire<br /> + Hearts that would highest else aspire,<br /> +And o’er the tenderer sex usurping ever most;</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet by the light of Christian +lore<br /> + ’Tis blind Idolatry no more,<br /> +But a sweet help and pattern of true love,<br /> + Showing how best the soul may cling<br /> + To her immortal Spouse and King,<br /> +How He should rule, and she with full desire approve.</p> +<p class="poetry"> If niggard Earth her +treasures hide,<br /> + To all but labouring hands denied,<br /> +Lavish of thorns and worthless weeds alone,<br /> + The doom is half in mercy given,<br /> + To train us in our way to Heaven,<br /> +And show our lagging souls how glory must be won.</p> +<p class="poetry"> If on the sinner’s +outward frame<br /> + God hath impressed His mark of blame,<br /> +And e’en our bodies shrink at touch of light,<br /> + Yet mercy hath not left us bare:<br /> + The very weeds we daily wear<br /> +Are to Faith’s eye a pledge of God’s forgiving +might.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And oh! if yet one arrow +more,<br /> + The sharpest of the Almighty’s store,<br /> +Tremble upon the string—a sinner’s death—<br /> + Art Thou not by to soothe and save,<br /> + To lay us gently in the grave,<br /> +To close the weary eye and hush the parting breath?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Therefore in sight of man +bereft<br /> + The happy garden still was left;<br /> +The fiery sword that guarded, showed it too;<br /> + Turning all ways, the world to teach,<br /> + That though as yet beyond our reach,<br /> +Still in its place the tree of life and glory grew.</p> +<h3>Quinquagesima Sunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>I do set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for +a token of a covenant between Me and the earth. +<i>Genesis</i> ix. 13.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span> Dove! the +softest, steadiest plume,<br /> + In all the sunbright sky,<br /> +Brightening in ever-changeful bloom<br /> + As breezes change on high;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet Leaf! the pledge of peace and mirth,<br +/> + “Long sought, and lately won,”<br /> +Blessed increase of reviving Earth,<br /> + When first it felt the Sun;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet Rainbow! pride of summer days,<br /> + High set at Heaven’s command,<br /> +Though into drear and dusky haze<br /> + Thou melt on either hand;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Dear tokens of a pardoning God,<br /> + We hail ye, one and all,<br /> +As when our fathers walked abroad,<br /> + Freed from their twelvemonth’s thrall.</p> +<p class="poetry">How joyful from the imprisoning ark<br /> + On the green earth they spring!<br /> +Not blither, after showers, the lark<br /> + Mounts up with glistening wing.</p> +<p class="poetry">So home-bound sailors spring to shore,<br /> + Two oceans safely past;<br /> +So happy souls, when life is o’er,<br /> + Plunge in this empyreal vast.</p> +<p class="poetry">What wins their first and fondest gaze<br /> + In all the blissful field,<br /> +And keeps it through a thousand days?<br /> + Love face to face revealed:</p> +<p class="poetry">Love imaged in that cordial look<br /> + Our Lord in Eden bends<br /> +On souls that sin and earth forsook<br /> + In time to die His friends.</p> +<p class="poetry">And what most welcome and serene<br /> + Dawns on the Patriarch’s eye,<br /> +In all the emerging hills so green,<br /> + In all the brightening sky?</p> +<p class="poetry">What but the gentle rainbow’s gleam,<br +/> + Soothing the wearied sight,<br /> +That cannot bear the solar beam,<br /> + With soft undazzling light?</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord, if our fathers turned to Thee<br /> + With such adoring gaze,<br /> +Wondering frail man Thy light should see<br /> + Without Thy scorching blaze;</p> +<p class="poetry">Where is our love, and where our hearts,<br /> + We who have seen Thy Son,<br /> +Have tried Thy Spirit’s winning arts,<br /> + And yet we are not won?</p> +<p class="poetry">The Son of God in radiance beamed<br /> + Too bright for us to scan,<br /> +But we may face the rays that streamed<br /> + From the mild Son of Man.</p> +<p class="poetry">There, parted into rainbow hues,<br /> + In sweet harmonious strife<br /> +We see celestial love diffuse<br /> + Its light o’er Jesus’ life.</p> +<p class="poetry">God, by His bow, vouchsafes to write<br /> + This truth in Heaven above:<br /> +As every lovely hue is Light,<br /> + So every grace is Love.</p> +<h3>Ash Wednesday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When thou fastest, anoint thine head, and wash thy +face; that thou appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father +which is in secret. <i>St. Matthew</i> vi. 17, 18.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span +class="smcap">Yes</span>—deep within and deeper yet<br /> + The rankling shaft of conscience hide,<br /> +Quick let the swelling eye forget<br /> + The tears that in the heart abide.<br /> +Calm be the voice, the aspect bold,<br /> + No shuddering pass o’er lip or brow,<br /> +For why should Innocence be told<br /> + The pangs that guilty spirits bow?</p> +<p class="poetry">“The loving eye that watches thine<br /> + Close as the air that wraps thee round—<br /> +Why in thy sorrow should it pine,<br /> + Since never of thy sin it found?<br /> +And wherefore should the heathen see<br /> + What chains of darkness thee enslave,<br /> +And mocking say, ‘Lo, this is he<br /> + Who owned a God that could not +save’?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus oft the mourner’s wayward heart<br +/> + Tempts him to hide his grief and die,<br /> +Too feeble for Confession’s smart,<br /> + Too proud to bear a pitying eye;<br /> +How sweet, in that dark hour, to fall<br /> + On bosoms waiting to receive<br /> +Our sighs, and gently whisper all!<br /> + They love us—will not God forgive?</p> +<p class="poetry">Else let us keep our fast within,<br /> + Till Heaven and we are quite alone,<br /> +Then let the grief, the shame, the sin,<br /> + Before the mercy-seat be thrown.<br /> +Between the porch and altar weep,<br /> + Unworthy of the holiest place,<br /> +Yet hoping near the shrine to keep<br /> + One lowly cell in sight of grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor fear lest sympathy should fail—<br /> + Hast thou not seen, in night hours drear,<br /> +When racking thoughts the heart assail,<br /> + The glimmering stars by turns appear,<br /> +And from the eternal house above<br /> + With silent news of mercy steal?<br /> +So Angels pause on tasks of love,<br /> + To look where sorrowing sinners kneel.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or if no Angel pass that way,<br /> + He who in secret sees, perchance<br /> +May bid His own heart-warming ray<br /> + Toward thee stream with kindlier glance,<br /> +As when upon His drooping head<br /> + His Father’s light was poured from Heaven,<br +/> +What time, unsheltered and unfed,<br /> + Far in the wild His steps were driven.</p> +<p class="poetry">High thoughts were with Him in that hour,<br /> + Untold, unspeakable on earth—<br /> +And who can stay the soaring power<br /> + Of spirits weaned from worldly mirth,<br /> +While far beyond the sound of praise<br /> + With upward eye they float serene,<br /> +And learn to bear their Saviour’s blaze<br /> + When Judgment shall undraw the screen?</p> +<h3>First Sunday in Lent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Haste thee, escape thither: for I cannot do any +thing till thou be come thither. Therefore the name of the +city was called Zoar. <i>Genesis</i> xix. 22.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Angel</span> of +wrath! why linger in mid-air,<br /> + While the devoted city’s cry<br /> +Louder and louder swells? and canst thou spare,<br /> + Thy full-charged vial standing by?”<br /> +Thus, with stern voice, unsparing Justice pleads:<br /> + He hears her not—with softened gaze<br /> +His eye is following where sweet Mercy leads,<br /> +And till she give the sign, his fury stays.</p> +<p class="poetry">Guided by her, along the mountain road,<br /> + Far through the twilight of the morn,<br /> +With hurried footsteps from the accursed abode<br /> + He sees the holy household borne;<br /> +Angels, or more, on either hand are nigh,<br /> + To speed them o’er the tempting plain,<br /> +Lingering in heart, and with frail sidelong eye<br /> +Seeking how near they may unharmed remain.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah! wherefore gleam those upland slopes +so fair?<br /> + And why, through every woodland arch,<br /> +Swells yon bright vale, as Eden rich and rare,<br /> + Where Jordan winds his stately march;<br /> +If all must be forsaken, ruined all,<br /> + If God have planted but to burn?—<br /> +Surely not yet the avenging shower will fall,<br /> +Though to my home for one last look I turn.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus while they waver, surely long ago<br /> + They had provoked the withering blast,<br /> +But that the merciful Avengers know<br /> + Their frailty well, and hold them fast.<br /> +“Haste, for thy life escape, nor look +behind”—<br /> + Ever in thrilling sounds like these<br /> +They check the wandering eye, severely kind,<br /> +Nor let the sinner lose his soul at ease.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when, o’erwearied with the steep +ascent,<br /> + We for a nearer refuge crave,<br /> +One little spot of ground in mercy lent,<br /> + One hour of home before the grave,<br /> +Oft in His pity o’er His children weak,<br /> + His hand withdraws the penal fire,<br /> +And where we fondly cling, forbears to wreak<br /> +Full vengeance, till our hearts are weaned entire.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus, by the merits of one righteous man,<br /> + The Church, our Zoar, shall abide,<br /> +Till she abuse, so sore, her lengthened span,<br /> + E’en Mercy’s self her face must hide.<br +/> +Then, onward yet a step, thou hard-won soul;<br /> + Though in the Church thou know thy place,<br /> +The mountain farther lies—there seek thy goal,<br /> +There breathe at large, o’erpast thy dangerous race.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet is the smile of home; the mutual look<br +/> + When hearts are of each other sure;<br /> +Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook,<br /> + The haunt of all affections pure;<br /> +Yet in the world e’en these abide, and we<br /> + Above the world our calling boast;<br /> +Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free:<br /> +Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost.</p> +<h3>Second Sunday in Lent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And when Esau heard the words of his father, he +cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his +father, Bless me, even me also, O my father. <i>Genesis</i> +xxvii. 34. (Compare <i>Hebrews</i> xii. 17. He +found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with +tears.)</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">And</span> is there +in God’s world so drear a place<br /> + Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain?<br /> +Where tears of penance come too late for grace,<br /> + As on the uprooted flower the genial +rain?”</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of +souls<br /> + Stores in the dungeon of His boundless realm<br /> +Each bolt that o’er the sinner vainly rolls,<br /> + With gathered wrath the reprobate to whelm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Will the storm hear the sailor’s piteous +cry,<br /> + Taught so mistrust, too late, the tempting wave,<br +/> +When all around he sees but sea and sky,<br /> + A God in anger, a self-chosen grave?</p> +<p class="poetry">Or will the thorns, that strew +intemperance’ bed,<br /> + Turn with a wish to down? will late remorse<br /> +Recall the shaft the murderer’s hand has sped,<br /> + Or from the guiltless bosom turn its course?</p> +<p class="poetry">Then may the unbodied soul in safety fleet<br +/> + Through the dark curtains of the world above,<br /> +Fresh from the stain of crime; nor fear to meet<br /> + The God whom here she would not learn to love;</p> +<p class="poetry">Then is there hope for such as die unblest,<br +/> + That angel wings may waft them to the shore,<br /> +Nor need the unready virgin strike her breast,<br /> + Nor wait desponding round the bridegroom’s +door.</p> +<p class="poetry">But where is then the stay of contrite +hearts?<br /> + Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word,<br /> +But with the sinner’s fear their hope departs,<br /> + Fast linked as Thy great Name to Thee, O Lord:</p> +<p class="poetry">That Name, by which Thy faithful oath is +past,<br /> + That we should endless be, for joy or woe:—<br +/> +And if the treasures of Thy wrath could waste,<br /> + Thy lovers must their promised Heaven forego.</p> +<p class="poetry">But ask of elder days, earth’s vernal +hour,<br /> + When in familiar talk God’s voice was +heard,<br /> +When at the Patriarch’s call the fiery shower<br /> + Propitious o’er the turf-built shrine +appeared.</p> +<p class="poetry">Watch by our father Isaac’s pastoral +door—<br /> + The birthright sold, the blessing lost and won;<br +/> +Tell, Heaven has wrath that can relent no more;<br /> + The Grave, dark deeds that cannot be undone.</p> +<p class="poetry">We barter life for pottage; sell true bliss<br +/> + For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown;<br /> +Thus, Esau-like, our Father’s blessing miss,<br /> + Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our faded crown, despised and flung aside,<br +/> + Shall on some brother’s brow immortal +bloom;<br /> +No partial hand the blessing may misguide,<br /> + No flattering fancy change our Monarch’s +doom:</p> +<p class="poetry">His righteous doom, that meek true-hearted +Love<br /> + The everlasting birthright should receive,<br /> +The softest dews drop on her from above,<br /> + The richest green her mountain garland weave:</p> +<p class="poetry">Her brethren, mightiest, wisest, +eldest-born,<br /> + Bow to her sway, and move at her behest;<br /> +Isaac’s fond blessing may not fall on scorn,<br /> + Nor Balaam’s curse on Love, which God hath +blest.</p> +<h3>Third Sunday in Lent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When a strong man armed keepeth his place, his +goods are in peace; but when a stronger than he shall come upon +him, and overcome him, he taketh from him all his armour wherein +he trusted, and divideth his spoils. <i>St. Luke</i> xi. +21, 22.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">See</span> Lucifer like lightning fall,<br /> + Dashed from his +throne of pride;<br /> + While, answering Thy victorious +call,<br /> + The Saints his +spoils divide;<br /> + This world of Thine, by him usurped too long,<br /> +Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants’ wrong.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So when the +first-born of Thy foes<br /> + Dead in the +darkness lay,<br /> + When Thy redeemed at midnight +rose<br /> + And cast their +bonds away,<br /> + The orphaned realm threw wide her gates, and told<br +/> +Into freed Israel’s lap her jewels and her gold.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And when +their wondrous march was o’er,<br /> + And they had won +their homes,<br /> + Where Abraham fed his flock of +yore,<br /> + Among their +fathers’ tombs;—<br /> + A land that drinks the rain of Heaven at will,<br /> +Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill;—</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oft as they +watched, at thoughtful eve,<br /> + A gale from +bowers of balm<br /> + Sweep o’er the billowy corn, +and heave<br /> + The tresses of +the palm,<br /> + Just as the lingering Sun had touched with gold,<br +/> +Far o’er the cedar shade, some tower of giants old;</p> +<p +class="poetry"> It +was a fearful joy, I ween,<br /> + To trace the Heathen’s +toil,<br /> + The limpid +wells, the orchards green,<br /> + Left ready for the spoil,<br /> + The household stores untouched, the roses bright<br +/> +Wreathed o’er the cottage walls in garlands of delight.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And now +another Canaan yields<br /> + To Thine +all-conquering ark:—<br /> + Fly from the “old +poetic” fields,<br /> + Ye Paynim +shadows dark!<br /> + Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays,<br /> +Lo! here the “unknown God” of thy unconscious +praise.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The +olive-wreath, the ivied wand,<br /> + “The sword +in myrtles drest,”<br /> + Each legend of the shadowy +strand<br /> + Now wakes a +vision blest;<br /> + As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven,<br /> +So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were +given.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And these +are ours: Thy partial grace<br /> + The tempting +treasure lends:<br /> + These relies of a guilty race<br +/> + Are forfeit to +Thy friends;<br /> + What seemed an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee,<br +/> +Tuned by Faith’s ear to some celestial melody.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> There’s +not a strain to Memory dear,<br /> + Nor flower in +classic grove,<br /> + There’s not a sweet note +warbled here,<br /> + But minds us of +Thy Love.<br /> + O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes,<br /> +There is no light but Thine: with Thee all beauty glows.</p> +<h3>Fourth Sunday in Lent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon +his brother; and he sought where to weep, and he entered into his +chamber and wept there. <i>Genesis</i> xliii. 30.</p> +<p>There stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known +unto his brethren. <i>Genesis</i> xlv. 1.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Nature tries +her finest touch,<br /> + Weaving her vernal wreath,<br /> +Mark ye, how close she veils her round,<br /> +Not to be traced by sight or sound,<br /> + Nor soiled by ruder breath?</p> +<p class="poetry">Who ever saw the earliest rose<br /> + First open her sweet breast?<br /> +Or, when the summer sun goes down,<br /> +The first soft star in evening’s crown<br /> + Light up her gleaming crest?</p> +<p class="poetry">Fondly we seek the dawning bloom<br /> + On features wan and fair,<br /> +The gazing eye no change can trace,<br /> +But look away a little space,<br /> + Then turn, and lo! ’tis there.</p> +<p class="poetry">But there’s a sweeter flower than +e’er<br /> + Blushed on the rosy spray—<br /> +A brighter star, a richer bloom<br /> +Than e’er did western heaven illume<br /> + At close of summer day.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis Love, the last best gift of +Heaven;<br /> + Love gentle, holy, pure;<br /> +But tenderer than a dove’s soft eye,<br /> +The searching sun, the open sky,<br /> + She never could endure.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en human Love will shrink from sight<br +/> + Here in the coarse rude earth:<br /> +How then should rash intruding glance<br /> +Break in upon <i>her</i> sacred trance<br /> + Who boasts a heavenly birth?</p> +<p class="poetry">So still and secret is her growth,<br /> + Ever the truest heart,<br /> +Where deepest strikes her kindly root<br /> +For hope or joy, for flower or fruit,<br /> + Least knows its happy part.</p> +<p class="poetry">God only, and good angels, look<br /> + Behind the blissful screen—<br /> +As when, triumphant o’er His woes,<br /> +The Son of God by moonlight rose,<br /> + By all but Heaven unseen:</p> +<p class="poetry">As when the holy Maid beheld<br /> + Her risen Son and Lord:<br /> +Thought has not colours half so fair<br /> +That she to paint that hour may dare,<br /> + In silence best adored.</p> +<p class="poetry">The gracious Dove, that brought from Heaven<br +/> + The earnest of our bliss,<br /> +Of many a chosen witness telling,<br /> +On many a happy vision dwelling,<br /> + Sings not a note of this.</p> +<p class="poetry">So, truest image of the Christ,<br /> + Old Israel’s long-lost son,<br /> +What time, with sweet forgiving cheer,<br /> +He called his conscious brethren near,<br /> + Would weep with them alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">He could not trust his melting soul<br /> + But in his Maker’s sight—<br /> +Then why should gentle hearts and true<br /> +Bare to the rude world’s withering view<br /> + Their treasure of delight!</p> +<p class="poetry">No—let the dainty rose awhile<br /> + Her bashful fragrance hide—<br /> +Rend not her silken veil too soon,<br /> +But leave her, in her own soft noon,<br /> + To flourish and abide.</p> +<h3>Fifth Sunday in Lent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see +this great sight, why the bush is not burnt. <i>Exodus</i> +iii. 3.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> historic Muse, +from age to age,<br /> +Through many a waste heart-sickening page<br /> + Hath traced the works of Man:<br /> +But a celestial call to-day<br /> +Stays her, like Moses, on her way,<br /> + The works of God to scan.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far seen across the sandy wild,<br /> +Where, like a solitary child,<br /> + He thoughtless roamed and free,<br /> +One towering thorn was wrapt in flame—<br /> +Bright without blaze it went and came:<br /> + Who would not turn and see?</p> +<p class="poetry">Along the mountain ledges green<br /> +The scattered sheep at will may glean<br /> + The Desert’s spicy stores:<br /> +The while, with undivided heart,<br /> +The shepherd talks with God apart,<br /> + And, as he talks, adores.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye too, who tend Christ’s wildering +flock,<br /> +Well may ye gather round the rock<br /> + That once was Sion’s hill:<br /> +To watch the fire upon the mount<br /> +Still blazing, like the solar fount,<br /> + Yet unconsuming still.</p> +<p class="poetry">Caught from that blaze by wrath Divine,<br /> +Lost branches of the once-loved vine,<br /> + Now withered, spent, and sere,<br /> +See Israel’s sons, like glowing brands,<br /> +Tossed wildly o’er a thousand lands<br /> + For twice a thousand year.</p> +<p class="poetry">God will not quench nor slay them quite,<br /> +But lifts them like a beacon-light<br /> + The apostate Church to scare;<br /> +Or like pale ghosts that darkling roam,<br /> +Hovering around their ancient home,<br /> + But find no refuge there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye blessèd Angels! if of you<br /> +There be, who love the ways to view<br /> + Of Kings and Kingdoms here;<br /> +(And sure, ’tis worth an Angel’s gaze,<br /> +To see, throughout that dreary maze,<br /> + God teaching love and fear:)</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh say, in all the bleak expanse<br /> +Is there a spot to win your glance,<br /> + So bright, so dark as this?<br /> +A hopeless faith, a homeless race,<br /> +Yet seeking the most holy place,<br /> + And owning the true bliss!</p> +<p class="poetry">Salted with fire they seem, to show<br /> +How spirits lost in endless woe<br /> + May undecaying live.<br /> +Oh, sickening thought! yet hold it fast<br /> +Long as this glittering world shall last,<br /> + Or sin at heart survive.</p> +<p class="poetry">And hark! amid the flashing fire,<br /> +Mingling with tones of fear and ire,<br /> + Soft Mercy’s undersong—<br /> +’Tis Abraham’s God who speaks so loud,<br /> +His people’s cries have pierced the cloud,<br /> + He sees, He sees their wrong;</p> +<p class="poetry">He is come down to break their chain;<br /> +Though nevermore on Sion’s fane<br /> + His visible ensign wave;<br /> +’Tis Sion, wheresoe’er they dwell,<br /> +Who, with His own true Israel,<br /> + Shall own Him strong to save.</p> +<p class="poetry">He shall redeem them one by one,<br /> +Where’er the world-encircling sun<br /> + Shall see them meekly kneel:<br /> +All that He asks on Israel’s part,<br /> +Is only that the captive heart<br /> + Its woe and burthen feel.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gentiles! with fixed yet awful eye<br /> +Turn ye this page of mystery,<br /> + Nor slight the warning sound:<br /> +“Put off thy shoes from off thy feet—<br /> +The place where man his God shall meet,<br /> + Be sure, is holy ground.”</p> +<h3>Palm Sunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And He answered and said unto them, I tell you +that, if these should hold their peace, the stones would +immediately cry out. <i>St. Luke</i> xix. 40.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> whose hearts are +beating high<br /> +With the pulse of Poesy,<br /> +Heirs of more than royal race,<br /> +Framed by Heaven’s peculiar grace,<br /> +God’s own work to do on earth,<br /> + (If the word be not too bold,)<br /> +Giving virtue a new birth,<br /> + And a life that ne’er grows old—</p> +<p class="poetry">Sovereign masters of all hearts!<br /> +Know ye, who hath set your parts?<br /> +He who gave you breath to sing,<br /> +By whose strength ye sweep the string,<br /> +He hath chosen you, to lead<br /> + His Hosannas here below;—<br /> +Mount, and claim your glorious meed;<br /> + Linger not with sin and woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if ye should hold your peace,<br /> +Deem not that the song would cease—<br /> +Angels round His glory-throne,<br /> +Stars, His guiding hand that own,<br /> +Flowers, that grow beneath our feet,<br /> + Stones in earth’s dark womb that rest,<br /> +High and low in choir shall meet,<br /> + Ere His Name shall be unblest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lord, by every minstrel tongue<br /> +Be Thy praise so duly sung,<br /> +That Thine angels’ harps may ne’er<br /> +Fail to find fit echoing here:<br /> +We the while, of meaner birth,<br /> + Who in that divinest spell<br /> +Dare not hope to join on earth,<br /> + Give us grace to listen well.</p> +<p class="poetry">But should thankless silence seal<br /> +Lips that might half Heaven reveal,<br /> +Should bards in idol-hymns profane<br /> +The sacred soul-enthralling strain,<br /> +(As in this bad world below<br /> + Noblest things find vilest using,)<br /> +Then, Thy power and mercy show,<br /> + In vile things noble breath infusing;</p> +<p class="poetry">Then waken into sound divine<br /> +The very pavement of Thy shrine,<br /> +Till we, like Heaven’s star-sprinkled floor,<br /> +Faintly give back what we adore:<br /> +Childlike though the voices be,<br /> + And untunable the parts,<br /> +Thou wilt own the minstrelsy<br /> + If it flow from childlike hearts.</p> +<h3>Monday before Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Doubtless Thou art our Father, though Abraham be +ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge us not. +<i>Isaiah</i> lxiii. 16.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Father</span> to me +thou art and mother dear,<br /> + And brother too, kind husband of my +heart”—<br /> +So speaks Andromache in boding fear,<br /> + Ere from her last embrace her hero part—<br /> +So evermore, by Faith’s undying glow,<br /> +We own the Crucified in weal or woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Strange to our ears the church-bells of our +home,<br /> + This fragrance of our old paternal fields<br /> +May be forgotten; and the time may come<br /> + When the babe’s kiss no sense of pleasure +yields<br /> +E’en to the doting mother: but Thine own<br /> +Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">There are who sigh that no fond heart is +theirs,<br /> + None loves them best—O vain and selfish +sigh!<br /> +Out of the bosom of His love He spares—<br /> + The Father spares the Son, for thee to die:<br /> +For thee He died—for thee He lives again:<br /> +O’er thee He watches in His boundless reign.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou art as much His care, as if beside<br /> + Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth:<br /> +Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide<br /> + To light up worlds, or wake an insect’s +mirth:<br /> +They shine and shine with unexhausted store—<br /> +Thou art thy Saviour’s darling—seek no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">On thee and thine, thy warfare and thine +end,<br /> + E’en in His hour of agony He thought,<br /> +When, ere the final pang His soul should rend,<br /> + The ransomed spirits one by one were brought<br /> +To His mind’s eye—two silent nights and days<br /> +In calmness for His far-seen hour He stays.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye vaulted cells, where martyred seers of +old<br /> + Far in the rocky walls of Sion sleep,<br /> +Green terraces and archèd fountains cold,<br /> + Where lies the cypress shade so still and deep,<br +/> +Dear sacred haunts of glory and of woe,<br /> +Help us, one hour, to trace His musings high and low:</p> +<p class="poetry">One heart-ennobling hour! It may not +be:<br /> + The unearthly thoughts have passed from earth +away,<br /> +And fast as evening sunbeams from the sea<br /> + Thy footsteps all in Sion’s deep decay<br /> +Were blotted from the holy ground: yet dear<br /> +Is every stone of hers; for Thou want surely here.</p> +<p class="poetry">There is a spot within this sacred dale<br /> + That felt Thee kneeling—touched Thy prostrate +brow:<br /> +One Angel knows it. O might prayer avail<br /> + To win that knowledge! sure each holy vow<br /> +Less quickly from the unstable soul would fade,<br /> +Offered where Christ in agony was laid.</p> +<p class="poetry">Might tear of ours once mingle with the +blood<br /> + That from His aching brow by moonlight fell,<br /> +Over the mournful joy our thoughts would brood,<br /> + Till they had framed within a guardian spell<br /> +To chase repining fancies, as they rise,<br /> +Like birds of evil wing, to mar our sacrifice.</p> +<p class="poetry">So dreams the heart self-flattering, fondly +dreams;—<br /> + Else wherefore, when the bitter waves +o’erflow,<br /> +Miss we the light, Gethsemane, that streams<br /> + From thy dear name, where in His page of woe<br /> +It shines, a pale kind star in winter’s sky?<br /> +Who vainly reads it there, in vain had seen Him die.</p> +<h3>Tuesday before Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>They gave Him to drink wine mingled with myrrh: +but He received in not. <i>St. Mark</i> xv. 23.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Fill</span> high the +bowl, and spice it well, and pour<br /> +The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp,<br /> + The Cross is sharp, and He<br /> + Is tenderer than a lamb.</p> +<p class="poetry">“He wept by Lazarus’ +grave—how will He bear<br /> +This bed of anguish? and His pale weak form<br /> + Is worn with many a watch<br /> + Of sorrow and unrest.</p> +<p class="poetry">“His sweat last night was as great drops +of blood,<br /> +And the sad burthen pressed Him so to earth,<br /> + The very torturers paused<br /> + To help Him on His way.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fill high the bowl, benumb His aching +sense<br /> +With medicined sleep.”—O awful in Thy woe!<br /> + The parching thirst of death<br /> + Is on Thee, and Thou triest</p> +<p class="poetry">The slumb’rous potion bland, and wilt not +drink:<br /> +Not sullen, nor in scorn, like haughty man<br /> + With suicidal hand<br /> + Putting his solace by:</p> +<p class="poetry">But as at first Thine all-pervading look<br /> +Saw from Thy Father’s bosom to the abyss<br /> + Measuring in calm presage<br /> + The infinite descent;</p> +<p class="poetry">So to the end, though now of mortal pangs<br /> +Made heir, and emptied of Thy glory, awhile,<br /> + With unaverted eye<br /> + Thou meetest all the storm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou wilt feel all, that Thou mayst pity +all;<br /> +And rather wouldst Thou wreathe with strong pain,<br /> + Than overcloud Thy soul,<br /> + So clear in agony,</p> +<p class="poetry">Or lose one glimpse of Heaven before the +time<br /> +O most entire and perfect sacrifice,<br /> + Renewed in every pulse<br /> + That on the tedious Cross</p> +<p class="poetry">Told the long hours of death, as, one by +one,<br /> +The life-strings of that tender heart gave way;<br /> + E’en sinners, taught by Thee,<br /> + Look Sorrow in the face,</p> +<p class="poetry">And bid her freely welcome, unbeguiled<br /> +By false kind solaces, and spells of earth:—<br /> + And yet not all unsoothed;<br /> + For when was Joy so dear,</p> +<p class="poetry">As the deep calm that breathed, +“<i>Father</i>, <i>forgive</i>,”<br /> +Or, “<i>Be with Me in Paradise to-day</i>?”<br /> + And, though the strife be sore,<br /> + Yet in His parting breath</p> +<p class="poetry">Love masters Agony; the soul that seemed<br /> +Forsaken, feels her present God again,<br /> + And in her Father’s arms<br /> + Contented dies away.</p> +<h3>Wednesday before Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Saying, Father, if Thou be willing, remove this +cup from Me; nevertheless not My will, but Thine, be done. +<i>St. Luke</i> xxii. 42.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">Lord</span> my God, do +thou Thy holy will—<br /> + I will lie still—<br /> +I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm,<br /> + And break the charm<br /> +Which lulls me, clinging to my Father’s breast,<br /> + In perfect rest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wild fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile<br +/> + With thy false smile:<br /> +I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways;<br /> + Be silent, Praise,<br /> +Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all<br /> + That hear thy call.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, Self-devotion, high and pure,<br /> +Thoughts that in thankfulness endure,<br /> +Though dearest hopes are faithless found,<br /> +And dearest hearts are bursting round.<br /> +Come, Resignation, spirit meek,<br /> +And let me kiss thy placid cheek,<br /> +And read in thy pale eye serene<br /> +Their blessing, who by faith can wean<br /> +Their hearts from sense, and learn to love<br /> +God only, and the joys above.</p> +<p class="poetry">They say, who know the life divine,<br /> +And upward gaze with eagle eyne,<br /> +That by each golden crown on high,<br /> +Rich with celestial jewelry,<br /> +Which for our Lord’s redeemed is set,<br /> +There hangs a radiant coronet,<br /> +All gemmed with pure and living light,<br /> +Too dazzling for a sinner’s sight,<br /> +Prepared for virgin souls, and them<br /> +Who seek the martyr’s diadem.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire,<br /> +Must win their way through blood and fire.<br /> +The writhings of a wounded heart<br /> +Are fiercer than a foeman’s dart.<br /> +Oft in Life’s stillest shade reclining,<br /> +In Desolation unrepining,<br /> +Without a hope on earth to find<br /> +A mirror in an answering mind,<br /> +Meek souls there are, who little dream<br /> +Their daily strife an Angel’s theme,<br /> +Or that the rod they take so calm<br /> +Shall prove in Heaven a martyr’s palm.</p> +<p class="poetry">And there are souls that seem to dwell<br /> +Above this earth—so rich a spell<br /> +Floats round their steps, where’er they move,<br /> +From hopes fulfilled and mutual love.<br /> +Such, if on high their thoughts are set,<br /> +Nor in the stream the source forget,<br /> +If prompt to quit the bliss they know,<br /> +Following the Lamb where’er He go,<br /> +By purest pleasures unbeguiled<br /> +To idolise or wife or child;<br /> +Such wedded souls our God shall own<br /> +For faultless virgins round His throne.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus everywhere we find our suffering God,<br +/> + And where He trod<br /> +May set our steps: the Cross on Calvary<br /> + Uplifted high<br /> +Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light<br /> + In open fight.</p> +<p class="poetry">To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart<br +/> + He doth impart<br /> +The virtue of his midnight agony,<br /> + When none was nigh,<br /> +Save God and one good angel, to assuage<br /> + The tempest’s rage.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find<br +/> + All to thy mind,<br /> +Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend,<br /> + Thee to befriend:<br /> +So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call,<br /> + Thy best, thine all.</p> +<p class="poetry">“O Father! not My will, but Thine be +done”—<br /> + So spake the Son.<br /> +Be this our charm, mellowing Earth’s ruder noise<br /> + Of griefs and joys:<br /> +That we may cling for ever to Thy breast<br /> + In perfect rest!</p> +<h3>Thursday before Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>As the beginning of thy supplications the +commandment came forth, and I am come to shew thee; for thou art +greatly beloved: therefore understand the matter, and consider +the vision. <i>Daniel</i> ix. 23.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> “O <span +class="smcap">Holy</span> mountain of my God,<br /> + How do thy towers in ruin lie,<br +/> + How art thou riven and strewn abroad,<br /> + Under the rude and wasteful +sky!”<br /> + ’Twas thus upon his fasting-day<br /> + The “Man of Loves” was fain to pray,<br +/> + His lattice open toward his darling west,<br /> +Mourning the ruined home he still must love the best.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh! for a love like +Daniel’s now,<br /> + To wing to Heaven but one strong +prayer<br /> + For <span class="smcap">God’s</span> new +Israel, sunk as low,<br /> + Yet flourishing to sight as +fair,<br /> + As Sion in her height of pride,<br /> + With queens for handmaids at her side,<br /> + With kings her nursing-fathers, thronèd +high,<br /> +And compassed with the world’s too tempting blazonry.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis true, nor winter +stays thy growth,<br /> + Nor torrid summer’s sickly +smile;<br /> + The flashing billows of the south<br /> + Break not upon so lone an isle,<br +/> + But thou, rich vine, art grafted there,<br /> + The fruit of death or life to bear,<br /> + Yielding a surer witness every day,<br /> +To thine Almighty Author and His steadfast sway.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh! grief to think, that +grapes of gall<br /> + Should cluster round thine +healthiest shoot!<br /> + God’s herald prove a heartless thrall,<br /> + Who, if he dared, would fain be +mute!<br /> + E’en such is this bad world we see,<br /> + Which self-condemned in owning Thee,<br /> + Yet dares not open farewell of Thee take,<br /> +For very pride, and her high-boasted Reason’s sake.</p> +<p class="poetry"> What do we then? if far and +wide<br /> + Men kneel to <span +class="smcap">Christ</span>, the pure and meek,<br /> + Yet rage with passion, swell with pride,<br /> + Have we not still our faith to +seek?<br /> + Nay—but in steadfast humbleness<br /> + Kneel on to Him, who loves to bless<br /> + The prayer that waits for him; and trembling +strive<br /> +To keep the lingering flame in thine own breast alive.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Dark frowned the future +e’en on him,<br /> + The loving and belovèd +Seer,<br /> + What time he saw, through shadows dim,<br /> + The boundary of th’ eternal +year;<br /> + He only of the sons of men<br /> + Named to be heir of glory then.<br /> + Else had it bruised too sore his tender heart<br /> +To see <span class="smcap">God’s</span> ransomed world in +wrath and flame depart</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then look no more: or closer +watch<br /> + Thy course in Earth’s +bewildering ways,<br /> + For every glimpse thine eye can catch<br /> + Of what shall be in those dread +days:<br /> + So when th’ Archangel’s word is +spoken,<br /> + And Death’s deep trance for ever broken,<br /> + In mercy thou mayst feel the heavenly hand,<br /> +And in thy lot unharmed before thy Savour stand.</p> +<h3>Good Friday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>He is despised and rejected of men. +<i>Isaiah</i> liii. 3.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">Is</span> +it not strange, the darkest hour<br /> + That ever dawned on sinful +earth<br /> + Should touch the heart with softer power<br /> + For comfort than an angel’s +mirth?<br /> +That to the Cross the mourner’s eye should turn<br /> +Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sooner than where the Easter +sun<br /> + Shines glorious on yon open +grave,<br /> + And to and fro the tidings run,<br /> + “Who died to heal, is risen +to save?”<br /> +Sooner than where upon the Saviour’s friends<br /> +The very Comforter in light and love descends?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet so it is: for duly +there<br /> + The bitter herbs of earth are +set,<br /> + Till tempered by the Saviour’s prayer,<br /> + And with the Saviour’s +life-blood wet,<br /> +They turn to sweetness, and drop holy balm,<br /> +Soft as imprisoned martyr’s deathbed calm.</p> +<p class="poetry"> All turn to sweet—but +most of all<br /> + That bitterest to the lip of +pride,<br /> + When hopes presumptuous fade and fall,<br /> + Or Friendship scorns us, duly +tried,<br /> +Or Love, the flower that closes up for fear<br /> +When rude and selfish spirits breathe too near.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then like a long-forgotten +strain<br /> + Comes sweeping o’er the +heart forlorn<br /> + What sunshine hours had taught in vain<br /> + Of <span +class="smcap">Jesus</span> suffering shame and scorn,<br /> +As in all lowly hearts he suffers still,<br /> +While we triumphant ride and have the world at will.</p> +<p class="poetry"> His piercèd hands in +vain would hide<br /> + His face from rude reproachful +gaze,<br /> + His ears are open to abide<br /> + The wildest storm the tongue can +raise,<br /> +He who with one rough word, some early day,<br /> +Their idol world and them shall sweep for aye away.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But we by Fancy may +assuage<br /> + The festering sore by Fancy +made,<br /> + Down in some lonely hermitage<br /> + Like wounded pilgrims safely +laid,<br /> +Where gentlest breezes whisper souls distressed,<br /> +That Love yet lives, and Patience shall find rest.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O! shame beyond the bitterest +thought<br /> + That evil spirit ever framed,<br +/> + That sinners know what Jesus wrought,<br /> + Yet feel their haughty hearts +untamed—<br /> +That souls in refuge, holding by the Cross,<br /> +Should wince and fret at this world’s little loss.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Lord of my heart, by Thy last +cry,<br /> + Let not Thy blood on earth be +spent—<br /> + Lo, at Thy feet I fainting lie,<br /> + Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are +bent,<br /> +Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyes<br /> +Wait like the parchèd earth on April skies.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wash me, and dry these bitter +tears,<br /> + O let my heart no further roam,<br +/> + ’Tis Thine by vows, and hopes, and fears.<br +/> + Long since—O call Thy +wanderer home;<br /> +To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side,<br /> +Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide.</p> +<h3>Easter Eve.</h3> +<blockquote><p>As for thee also, by the blood of thy covenant I +have sent forth thy prisoners out of the pit wherein is no +water. <i>Zechariah</i> ix. 11.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">At</span> +length the worst is o’er, and Thou art laid<br /> + Deep in Thy darksome bed;<br /> + All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone<br /> + Thy sacred form is gone;<br /> + Around those lips where power and mercy hung,<br /> + The dews of deaths have clung;<br +/> + The dull earth o’er Thee, and Thy foes +around,<br /> +Thou sleep’st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sleep’st Thou indeed? +or is Thy spirit fled,<br /> + At large among the dead?<br /> + Whether in Eden bowers Thy welcome voice<br /> + Wake Abraham to rejoice,<br /> + Or in some drearier scene Thine eye controls<br /> + The thronging band of souls;<br /> + That, as Thy blood won earth, Thine agony<br /> +Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Where’er Thou +roam’st, one happy soul, we know,<br /> + Seen at Thy side in woe,<br /> + Waits on Thy triumphs—even as all the blest<br +/> + With him and Thee shall rest.<br +/> + Each on his cross; by Thee we hang a while,<br /> + Watching Thy patient smile,<br /> + Till we have learned to say, “’Tis +justly done,<br /> +Only in glory, <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, Thy sinful +servant own.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Soon wilt Thou take us to Thy +tranquil bower<br /> + To rest one little hour,<br /> + Till Thine elect are numbered, and the grave<br /> + Call Thee to come and save:<br /> + Then on Thy bosom borne shall we descend<br /> + Again with earth to blend,<br /> + Earth all refined with bright supernal fires,<br /> +Tinctured with holy blood, and winged with pure desires.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Meanwhile with every son and +saint of Thine<br /> + Along the glorious line,<br /> + Sitting by turns beneath Thy sacred feet<br /> + We’ll hold communion +sweet,<br /> + Know them by look and voice, and thank them all<br +/> + For helping us in thrall,<br /> + For words of hope, and bright examples given<br /> +To show through moonless skies that there is light in Heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O come that day, when in this +restless heart<br /> + Earth shall resign her part,<br /> + When in the grave with Thee my limbs shall rest,<br +/> + My soul with Thee be blest!<br /> + But stay, presumptuous—<span +class="smcap">Christ</span> with Thee abides<br /> + In the rock’s dreary +sides:<br /> + He from this stone will wring Celestial dew<br /> +If but this prisoner’s heart he faithful found and +true.</p> +<p class="poetry"> When tears are spent, and +then art left alone<br /> + With ghosts of blessings gone,<br +/> + Think thou art taken from the cross, and laid<br /> + In <span +class="smcap">Jesus</span>’ burial shade;<br /> + Take Moses’ rod, the rod of prayer, and +call<br /> + Out of the rocky wall<br /> + The fount of holy blood; and lift on high<br /> +Thy grovelling soul that feels so desolate and dry.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Prisoner of Hope thou +art—look up and sing<br /> + In hope of promised spring.<br /> + As in the pit his father’s darling lay<br /> + Beside the desert way,<br /> + And knew not how, but knew his <span +class="smcap">God</span> would save<br /> + E’en from that living +grave,<br /> + So, buried with our <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, +we’ll chose our eyes<br /> +To the decaying world, till Angels bid us rise.</p> +<h3>Easter Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And as they were afraid, and bowed down their +faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living +among the dead? He is not here, but is risen. <i>St. +Luke</i> xxiv. 5, 6.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! day of days! +shall hearts set free<br /> +No “minstrel rapture” find for thee?<br /> +Thou art this Sun of other days,<br /> +They shine by giving back thy rays:</p> +<p class="poetry">Enthronèd in thy sovereign sphere,<br /> +Thou shedd’st thy light on all the year;<br /> +Sundays by thee more glorious break,<br /> +An Easter Day in every week:</p> +<p class="poetry">And week days, following in their train,<br /> +The fulness of thy blessing gain,<br /> +Till all, both resting soil employ,<br /> +Be one Lord’s day of holy joy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then wake, my soul, to high desires,<br /> +And earlier light thine altar fires:<br /> +The World some hours is on her way,<br /> +Nor thinks on thee, thou blessèd day:</p> +<p class="poetry">Or, if she think, it is in scorn:<br /> +The vernal light of Easter morn<br /> +To her dark gaze no brighter seems<br /> +Than Reason’s or the Law’s pale beams.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Where is your Lord?” she scornful +asks:<br /> +“Where is His hire? we know his tasks;<br /> +Sons of a King ye boast to be:<br /> +Let us your crowns and treasures see.”</p> +<p class="poetry">We in the words of Truth reply,<br /> +(An angel brought them from this sky,)<br /> +“Our crown, our treasure is not here,<br /> +’Tis stored above the highest sphere:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Methinks your wisdom guides amiss,<br /> +To seek on earth a Christian’s bliss;<br /> +We watch not now the lifeless stone;<br /> +Our only Lord is risen and gone.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet e’en the lifeless stone is dear<br /> +For thoughts of Him who late lay here;<br /> +And the base world, now Christ hath died,<br /> +Ennobled is and glorified.</p> +<p class="poetry">No more a charnel-house, to fence<br /> +The relics of lost innocence,<br /> +A vault of ruin and decay;<br /> +Th’ imprisoning stone is rolled away:</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis now a cell, where angels use<br /> +To come and go with heavenly news,<br /> +And in the ears of mourners say,<br /> +“Come, see the place where Jesus lay:”</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis now a fane, where Love can find<br +/> +Christ everywhere embalmed and shined:<br /> +Aye gathering up memorials sweet,<br /> +Where’er she sets her duteous feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! joy to Mary first allowed,<br /> +When roused from weeping o’er His shroud,<br /> +By His own calm, soul-soothing tone,<br /> +Breathing her name, as still His own!</p> +<p class="poetry">Joy to the faithful Three renewed,<br /> +As their glad errand they pursued!<br /> +Happy, who so Christ’s word convey,<br /> +That he may meet them on their way!</p> +<p class="poetry">So is it still: to holy tears,<br /> +In lonely hours, Christ risen appears:<br /> +In social hours, who Christ would see<br /> +Must turn all tasks to Charity.</p> +<h3>Monday in Easter Week.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of +persons: but in every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh +righteousness, is accepted with Him. <i>Acts</i> x. 34, +35.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Go</span> up and watch the +new-born rill<br /> + Just trickling from its mossy bed,<br /> + Streaking the heath-clad hill<br +/> + With a bright +emerald thread.</p> +<p class="poetry">Canst thou her bold career foretell,<br /> + What rocks she shall o’erleap or rend,<br /> + How far in Ocean’s swell<br +/> + Her freshening +billows send?</p> +<p class="poetry">Perchance that little brook shall flow<br /> + The bulwark of some mighty realm,<br /> + Bear navies to and fro<br /> + With monarchs at +their helm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or canst thou guess, how far away<br /> + Some sister nymph, beside her urn<br /> + Reclining night and day,<br /> + ’Mid reeds +and mountain fern,</p> +<p class="poetry">Nurses her store, with thine to blend<br /> + When many a moor and glen are past,<br /> + Then in the wide sea end<br /> + Their spotless +lives at last?</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en so, the course of prayer who +knows?<br /> + It springs in silence where it will,<br /> + Springs out of sight, and flows<br +/> + At first a +lonely rill:</p> +<p class="poetry">But streams shall meet it by and by<br /> + From thousand sympathetic hearts,<br /> + Together swelling high<br /> + Their chant of +many parts.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unheard by all but angel ears<br /> + The good Cornelius knelt alone,<br /> + Nor dreamed his prayers and +tears<br /> + Would help a +world undone.</p> +<p class="poetry">The while upon his terraced roof<br /> + The loved Apostle to his Lord<br /> + In silent thought aloof<br /> + For heavenly +vision soared.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far o’er the glowing western main<br /> + His wistful brow was upward raised,<br /> + Where, like an angel’s +train,<br /> + The burnished +water blazed.</p> +<p class="poetry">The saint beside the ocean prayed,<br /> + This soldier in his chosen bower,<br /> + Where all his eye surveyed<br /> + Seemed sacred in +that hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">To each unknown his brother’s prayer,<br +/> + Yet brethren true in dearest love<br /> + Were they—and now they +share<br /> + Fraternal joys +above.</p> +<p class="poetry">There daily through Christ’s open gate<br +/> + They see the Gentile spirits press,<br /> + Brightening their high estate<br +/> + With dearer +happiness.</p> +<p class="poetry">What civic wreath for comrades saved<br /> + Shone ever with such deathless gleam,<br /> + Or when did perils braved<br /> + So sweet to +veterans seem?</p> +<h3>Tuesday in Easter Week.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with +fear and great joy, and did run to bring His disciples +word. <i>St. Matthew</i> xxviii. 8.</p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="GutSmall">TO THE SNOWDROP.</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> first-born of +the year’s delight,<br /> + Pride of the dewy glade,<br /> +In vernal green and virgin white,<br /> + Thy vestal robes, arrayed:</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis not because thy drooping form<br /> + Sinks graceful on its nest,<br /> +When chilly shades from gathering storm<br /> + Affright thy tender breast;</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor for yon river islet wild<br /> + Beneath the willow spray,<br /> +Where, like the ringlets of a child,<br /> + Thou weav’st thy circle gay;</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis not for these I love thee +dear—<br /> + Thy shy averted smiles<br /> +To Fancy bode a joyous year,<br /> + One of Life’s fairy isles.</p> +<p class="poetry">They twinkle to the wintry moon,<br /> + And cheer th’ ungenial day,<br /> +And tell us, all will glisten soon<br /> + As green and bright as they.</p> +<p class="poetry">Is there a heart that loves the spring,<br /> + Their witness can refuse?<br /> +Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring<br /> + From Heaven their Easter news:</p> +<p class="poetry">When holy maids and matrons speak<br /> + Of Christ’s forsaken bed,<br /> +And voices, that forbid to seek<br /> + The hiving ’mid the dead,</p> +<p class="poetry">And when they say, “Turn, wandering +heart,<br /> + Thy Lord is ris’n indeed,<br /> +Let Pleasure go, put Care apart,<br /> + And to His presence speed;”</p> +<p class="poetry">We smile in scorn: and yet we know<br /> + They early sought the tomb,<br /> +Their hearts, that now so freshly glow,<br /> + Lost in desponding gloom.</p> +<p class="poetry">They who have sought, nor hope to find,<br /> + Wear not so bright a glance:<br /> +They, who have won their earthly mind,<br /> + Lees reverently advance.</p> +<p class="poetry">But where in gentle spirits, fear<br /> + And joy so duly meet,<br /> +These sure have seen the angels near,<br /> + And kissed the Saviour’s feet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor let the Pastor’s thankful eye<br /> + Their faltering tale disdain,<br /> +As on their lowly couch they lie,<br /> + Prisoners of want and pain.</p> +<p class="poetry">O guide us, when our faithless hearts<br /> + From Thee would start aloof,<br /> +Where Patience her sweet skill imparts<br /> + Beneath some cottage roof:</p> +<p class="poetry">Revive our dying fires, to burn<br /> + High as her anthems soar,<br /> +And of our scholars let us learn<br /> + Our own forgotten lore.</p> +<h3>First Sunday after Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Seemeth it but a small thing unto you, that the +God of Israel hath separated you from the congregation of Israel, +to bring you near to Himself? <i>Numbers</i> xvi. 9.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">First</span> Father of the +holy seed,<br /> +If yet, invoked in hour of need,<br /> + Thou count me for Thine own<br /> +Not quite an outcast if I prove,<br /> +(Thou joy’st in miracles of love),<br /> + Hear, from Thy mercy-throne!</p> +<p class="poetry">Upon Thine altar’s horn of gold<br /> +Help me to lay my trembling hold,<br /> + Though stained with Christian gore;—<br /> +The blood of souls by Thee redeemed,<br /> +But, while I roved or idly dreamed,<br /> + Lost to be found no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">For oft, when summer leaves were bright,<br /> +And every flower was bathed in light,<br /> + In sunshine moments past,<br /> +My wilful heart would burst away<br /> +From where the holy shadow lay,<br /> + Where heaven my lot had cast.</p> +<p class="poetry">I thought it scorn with Thee to dwell,<br /> +A Hermit in a silent cell,<br /> + While, gaily sweeping by,<br /> +Wild Fancy blew his bugle strain,<br /> +And marshalled all his gallant train<br /> + In the world’s wondering eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">I would have joined him—but as oft<br /> +Thy whispered warnings, kind and soft,<br /> + My better soul confessed.<br /> +“My servant, let the world alone—<br /> +Safe on the steps of Jesus’ throne<br /> + Be tranquil and be blest.”</p> +<p class="poetry">“Seems it to thee a niggard hand<br /> +That nearest Heaven has bade thee stand,<br /> + The ark to touch and bear,<br /> +With incense of pure heart’s desire<br /> +To heap the censer’s sacred fire,<br /> + The snow-white Ephod wear?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Why should we crave the worldling’s +wreath,<br /> +On whom the Savour deigned to breathe,<br /> + To whom His keys were given,<br /> +Who lead the choir where angels meet,<br /> +With angels’ food our brethren greet,<br /> + And pour the drink of Heaven?</p> +<p class="poetry">When sorrow all our heart would ask,<br /> +We need not shun our daily task,<br /> + And hide ourselves for calm;<br /> +The herbs we seek to heal our woe<br /> +Familiar by our pathway grow,<br /> + Our common air is balm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Around each pure domestic shrine<br /> +Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine,<br /> + Our hearths are altars all;<br /> +The prayers of hungry souls and poor,<br /> +Like armèd angels at the door,<br /> + Our unseen foes appal.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alms all around and hymns within—<br /> +What evil eye can entrance win<br /> + Where guards like these abound?<br /> +If chance some heedless heart should roam,<br /> +Sure, thought of these will lure it home<br /> + Ere lost in Folly’s round.</p> +<p class="poetry">O joys, that sweetest in decay,<br /> +Fall not, like withered leaves, away,<br /> + But with the silent breath<br /> +Of violets drooping one by one,<br /> +Soon as their fragrant task is done,<br /> + Are wafted high in death!</p> +<h3>Second Sunday after Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>He hath said, which heard the words of God, and +knew the knowledge of the Most High, which saw the vision of the +Almighty, falling into a trance, but having his eyes open: I +shall see Him, but not now; I shall behold Him, but not nigh; +there shall come a Star out at Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise +out of Israel, and shall smite the corners of Moab, and destroy +all the children at Sheth. <i>Numbers</i> xxiv. 16, 17.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> O <span +class="smcap">for</span> a sculptor’s hand,<br /> + That thou might’st take thy stand,<br /> +Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze,<br /> + Thy tranced yet open gaze<br /> + Fixed on the desert haze,<br /> +As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees.</p> +<p class="poetry"> In outline dim and vast<br /> + Their fearful shadows cast<br /> +This giant forms of empires on their way<br /> + To ruin: one by one<br /> + They tower and they are gone,<br /> +Yet in the Prophet’s soul the dreams of avarice stay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No sun or star so bright<br +/> + In all the world of light<br /> +That they should draw to Heaven his downward eye:<br /> + He hears th’ Almighty’s word,<br /> + He sees the angel’s sword,<br /> +Yet low upon the earth his heart and treasure lie.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Lo! from you argent field,<br +/> + To him and us revealed,<br /> +One gentle Star glides down, on earth to dwell.<br /> + Chained as they are below<br /> + Our eyes may see it glow,<br /> +And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well.</p> +<p class="poetry"> To him it glared afar,<br /> + A token of wild war,<br /> +The banner of his Lord’s victorious wrath:<br /> + But close to us it gleams,<br /> + Its soothing lustre streams<br /> +Around our home’s green walls, and on our church-way +path.</p> +<p class="poetry"> We in the tents abide<br /> + Which he at distance eyed<br /> +Like goodly cedars by the waters spread,<br /> + While seven red altar-fires<br /> + Rose up in wavy spires,<br /> +Where on the mount he watched his sorceries dark and dread.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He watched till +morning’s ray<br /> + On lake and meadow lay,<br /> +And willow-shaded streams that silent sweep<br /> + Around the bannered lines,<br /> + Where by their several signs<br /> +The desert-wearied tribes in sight of Canaan sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He watched till knowledge +came<br /> + Upon his soul like flame,<br /> +Not of those magic fires at random caught:<br /> + But true Prophetic light<br /> + Flashed o’er him, high and bright,<br /> +Flashed once, and died away, and left his darkened thought.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And can he choose but +fear,<br /> + Who feels his <span class="smcap">God</span> so +near,<br /> +That when he fain would curse, his powerless tongue<br /> + In blessing only moves?—<br /> + Alas! the world he loves<br /> +Too close around his heart her tangling veil hath flung.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sceptre and Star divine,<br +/> + Who in Thine inmost shrine<br /> +Hash made us worshippers, O claim Thine own;<br /> + More than Thy seers we know—<br /> + O teach our love to grow<br /> +Up to Thy heavenly light, and reap what Thou hast sown.</p> +<h3>Third Sunday after Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, +because her hour is come; but as soon as she is delivered of the +child, she remembereth no more the anguish, for joy that a man is +born into the world. <i>St. John</i> xvi. 21.</p> +</blockquote> +<p +class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Well</span> may I guess and feel<br /> + + +Why Autumn should be sad;<br /> + But vernal airs should sorrow +heal,<br /> + + +Spring should be gay and glad:<br /> + Yet as along this violet bank I rove,<br /> + The languid sweetness seems to +choke my breath,<br /> + I sit me down beside the hazel grove,<br /> +And sigh, and half could wish my weariness were death.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Like +a bright veering cloud<br /> + + +Grey blossoms twinkle there,<br /> + Warbles around a busy crowd<br /> + + +Of larks in purest air.<br /> + Shame on the heart that dreams of blessings gone,<br +/> + Or wakes the spectral forms of woe +and crime,<br /> + When nature sings of joy and hope alone,<br /> +Reading her cheerful lesson in her own sweet time.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Nor +let the proud heart say,<br /> + + +In her self-torturing hour,<br /> + The travail pangs must have their +way,<br /> + + +The aching brow must lower.<br /> + To us long since the glorious Child is born<br /> + Our throes should be forgot, or +only seem<br /> + Like a sad vision told for joy at morn,<br /> +For joy that we have waked and found it but a dream.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> Mysterious +to all thought<br /> + + +A mother’s prime of bliss,<br /> + When to her eager lips is +brought<br /> + + +Her infant’s thrilling kiss.<br /> + O never shall it set, the sacred light<br /> + Which dawns that moment on her +tender gaze,<br /> + In the eternal distance blending bright<br /> +Her darling’s hope and hers, for love and joy and +praise.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> No +need for her to weep<br /> + + +Like Thracian wives of yore,<br /> + Save when in rapture still and +deep<br /> + + +Her thankful heart runs o’er.<br /> + They mourned to trust their treasure on the main,<br +/> + Sure of the storm, unknowing of +their guide:<br /> + Welcome to her the peril and the pain,<br /> +For well she knows the bonus where they may safely hide.</p> +<p +class="poetry"> She +joys that one is born<br /> + + +Into a world forgiven,<br /> + Her Father’s household to +adorn,<br /> + + +And dwell with her in Heaven.<br /> + So have I seen, in Spring’s bewitching +hour,<br /> + When the glad Earth is offering +all her best,<br /> + Some gentle maid bend o’er a cherished +flower,<br /> +And wish it worthier on a Parent’s heart to rest.</p> +<h3>Fourth Sunday after Easter.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient +for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will +not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send Him unto +you. <i>St. John</i> xvi 7.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> Saviour, can it +ever be<br /> +That I should gain by losing Thee?<br /> +The watchful mother tarries nigh,<br /> +Though sleep have closed her infant’s eye;<br /> +For should he wake, and find her gone.<br /> +She knows she could not bear his moan.<br /> +But I am weaker than a child,<br /> + And Thou art more than mother dear;<br /> +Without Thee Heaven were but a wild;<br /> + How can I live without Thee here!</p> +<p class="poetry">“’Tis good for you, that I should +go,<br /> +“You lingering yet awhile below;”—<br /> +’Tis Thine own gracious promise, Lord!<br /> +Thy saints have proved the faithful word,<br /> +When heaven’s bright boundless avenue<br /> +Far opened on their eager view,<br /> +And homeward to Thy Father’s throne,<br /> + Still lessening, brightening on their sight,<br /> +Thy shadowy car went soaring on;<br /> + They tracked Thee up th’ abyss of light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou bidd’st rejoice; they dare not +mourn,<br /> +But to their home in gladness turn,<br /> +Their home and God’s, that favoured place,<br /> +Where still He shines on Abraham’s race,<br /> +In prayers and blessings there to wait<br /> +Like suppliants at their Monarch’s gate,<br /> +Who bent with bounty rare to aid<br /> + The splendours of His crowning day,<br /> +Keeps back awhile His largess, made<br /> + More welcome for that brief delay:</p> +<p class="poetry">In doubt they wait, but not unblest;<br /> +They doubt not of their Master’s rest,<br /> +Nor of the gracious will of Heaven—<br /> +Who gave His Son, sure all has given—<br /> +But in ecstatic awe they muse<br /> +What course the genial stream may choose,<br /> +And far and wide their fancies rove,<br /> + And to their height of wonder strain,<br /> +What secret miracle of love<br /> + Should make their Saviour’s going gain.</p> +<p class="poetry">The days of hope and prayer are past,<br /> +The day of comfort dawns at last,<br /> +The everlasting gates again<br /> +Roll back, and, lo! a royal train—<br /> +From the far depth of light once more<br /> +The floods of glory earthward pour:<br /> +They part like shower-drops in mid air,<br /> + But ne’er so soft fell noon-tide shower,<br /> +Nor evening rainbow gleamed so fair<br /> + To weary swains in parchèd bower.</p> +<p class="poetry">Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame<br /> +Through cloud and breeze unwavering came,<br /> +And darted to its place of rest<br /> +On some meek brow of Jesus blest.<br /> +Nor fades it yet, that living gleam,<br /> +And still those lambent lightnings stream;<br /> +Where’er the Lord is, there are they;<br /> + In every heart that gives them room,<br /> +They light His altar every day,<br /> + Zeal to inflame, and vice consume.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soft as the plumes of Jesus’ Dove<br /> +They nurse the soul to heavenly love;<br /> +The struggling spark of good within,<br /> +Just smothered in the strife of sin,<br /> +They quicken to a timely glow,<br /> +The pure flame spreading high and low.<br /> +Said I, that prayer and hope were o’er?<br /> + Nay, blessèd Spirit! but by Thee<br /> +The Church’s prayer finds wings to soar,<br /> + The Church’s hope finds eyes to see.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, fainting soul, arise and sing;<br /> +Mount, but be sober on the wing;<br /> +Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer,<br /> +Be sober, for thou art not there;<br /> +Till Death the weary spirit free,<br /> +Thy God hath said, ’Tis good for thee<br /> +To walk by faith and not by sight:<br /> + Take it on trust a little while;<br /> +Soon shalt thou read the mystery right<br /> + In the full sunshine of His smile.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or if thou yet more knowledge crave,<br /> +Ask thine own heart, that willing slave<br /> +To all that works thee woe or harm<br /> +Shouldst thou not need some mighty charm<br /> +To win thee to thy Saviour’s side,<br /> +Though He had deigned with thee to bide?<br /> +The Spirit must stir the darkling deep,<br /> + The Dove must settle on the Cross,<br /> +Else we should all sin on or sleep<br /> + With Christ in sight, turning our gain to loss.</p> +<h3>Fifth Sunday After Easter.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ROGATION SUNDAY.</span></h3> +<blockquote><p>And the Lord was very angry with Aaron to have +destroyed him: and I prayed for Aaron also the same time. +<i>Deuteronomy</i> ix. 20.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> is there solemn +pause in earth and heaven;<br /> + The Conqueror now<br /> + His bonds hath riven,<br /> +And Angels wonder why He stays below:<br /> + Yet hath not man his lesson learned,<br /> + How endless love should be returned.</p> +<p class="poetry">Deep is the silence as of summer noon,<br /> + When a soft shower<br /> + Will trickle soon,<br /> +A gracious rain, freshening the weary bower—<br /> + O sweetly then far off is heard<br /> + The clear note of some lonely bird.</p> +<p class="poetry">So let Thy turtle-dove’s sad call +arise<br /> + In doubt and fear<br /> + Through darkening skies,<br /> +And pierce, O Lord, Thy justly-sealèd ear,<br /> + Where on the house-top, all night long<br /> + She trills her widowed, faltering song.</p> +<p class="poetry">Teach her to know and love her hour of +prayer,<br /> + And evermore,<br /> + As faith grows rare,<br /> +Unlock her heart, and offer all its store<br /> + In holier love and humbler vows,<br /> + As suits a lost returning spouse.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not as at first, but with intenser cry,<br /> + Upon the mount<br /> + She now must lie,<br /> +Till Thy dear love to blot the sad account<br /> + Of her rebellious race be won,<br /> + Pitying the mother in the son.</p> +<p class="poetry">But chiefly (for she knows Thee angered +worst<br /> + By holiest things<br /> + Profaned and curst),<br /> +Chiefly for Aaron’s seed she spreads her wings,<br /> + If but one leaf she may from Thee<br /> + Win of the reconciling tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">For what shall heal, when holy water banes!<br +/> + Or who may guide<br /> + O’er desert plains<br /> +Thy loved yet sinful people wandering wide,<br /> + If Aaron’s hand unshrinking mould<br /> + An idol form of earthly gold?</p> +<p class="poetry">Therefore her tears are bitter, and as deep<br +/> + Her boding sigh,<br /> + As, while men sleep,<br /> +Sad-hearted mothers heave, that wakeful lie,<br /> + To muse upon some darling child<br /> + Roaming in youth’s uncertain wild.</p> +<p class="poetry">Therefore on fearful dreams her inward sight<br +/> + Is fain to dwell—<br /> + What lurid light<br /> +Shall the last darkness of the world dispel,<br /> + The Mediator in His wrath<br /> + Descending down the lightning’s path.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet, yet awhile, offended Saviour, pause,<br /> + In act to break<br /> + Thine outraged laws,<br /> +O spare Thy rebels for Thine own dear sake;<br /> + Withdraw Thine hand, nor dash to earth<br /> + The covenant of our second birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis forfeit like the first—we own +it all—<br /> + Yet for love’s sake<br /> + Let it not fall;<br /> +But at Thy touch let veilèd hearts awake,<br /> + That nearest to Thine altar lie,<br /> + Yet least of holy things descry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Teacher of teachers! Priest of priests! +from Thee<br /> + The sweet strong prayer<br /> + Must rise, to free<br /> +First Levi, then all Israel, from the snare.<br /> + Thou art our Moses out of sight—<br /> + Speak for us, or we perish quite.</p> +<h3>Ascension Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Why stand ye gazing up into Heaven? this same +Jesus, which is taken up from you into Heaven, shall so come in +like manner as ye have seen Him go into Heaven. <i>Acts</i> +i. 11</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Soft</span> cloud, that while the breeze of May<br +/> +Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch,<br /> + Draw’st thy bright veil across the heavenly +way<br /> +Meet pavement for an angel’s glorious march:</p> +<p class="poetry"> My soul is +envious of mine eye,<br /> +That it should soar and glide with thee so fast,<br /> + The while my grovelling thoughts half buried lie,<br +/> +Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Chains of +my heart, avaunt I say—<br /> +I will arise, and in the strength of love<br /> + Pursue the bright track ere it fade away,<br /> +My Saviour’s pathway to His home above.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sure, when +I reach the point where earth<br /> +Melts into nothing from th’ uncumbered sight,<br /> + Heaven will o’ercome th’ attraction of +my birth.<br /> +And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Till +resting by th’ incarnate <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /> +Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake,<br /> + I mark Him, how by seraph hosts adored,<br /> +He to earth’s lowest cares is still awake.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The sun and +every vassal star,<br /> +All space, beyond the soar of angel wings,<br /> + Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car<br /> +For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He listens +to the silent tear<br /> +For all the anthems of the boundless sky—<br /> + And shall our dreams of music bar our ear<br /> +To His soul-piercing voice for ever nigh?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Nay, +gracious Saviour—but as now<br /> +Our thoughts have traced Thee to Thy glory-throne<br /> + So help us evermore with thee to bow<br /> +Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.</p> +<p class="poetry"> We must not +stand to gaze too long,<br /> +Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend<br /> + Where lost behind the bright angelic throng<br /> +We see <span class="smcap">Christ’s</span> entering triumph +slow ascend.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No fear but +we shall soon behold,<br /> +Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive,<br /> + When issuing from his cloud of fiery gold<br /> +Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then shall +we see Thee as Thou art,<br /> +For ever fixed in no unfruitful gaze,<br /> + But such as lifts the new-created heart,<br /> +Age after age, in worthier love and praise.</p> +<h3>Sunday after Ascension.</h3> +<blockquote><p>As every man hath received the gift, even so +minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the +manifold grace of God. 1 <i>St. Peter</i> iv. 10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Earth that in +her genial breast<br /> +Makes for the down a kindly nest,<br /> +Where wafted by the warm south-west<br /> + It floats at pleasure,<br /> +Yields, thankful, of her very best,<br /> + To nurse her treasure:</p> +<p class="poetry">True to her trust, tree, herb, or reed,<br /> +She renders for each scattered seed,<br /> +And to her Lord with duteous heed<br /> + Gives large increase:<br /> +Thus year by year she works unfeed,<br /> + And will not cease.</p> +<p class="poetry">Woe worth these barren hearts of ours,<br /> +Where Thou hast set celestial flowers,<br /> +And watered with more balmy showers<br /> + Than e’er distilled<br /> +In Eden, on th’ ambrosial bowers—<br /> + Yet nought we yield.</p> +<p class="poetry">Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord,<br /> +Largely Thy gifts should be restored;<br /> +Freely Thou givest, and Thy word<br /> + Is, “Freely give.”<br /> +He only, who forgets to hoard,<br /> + Has learned to live.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wisely Thou givest—all around<br /> +Thine equal rays are resting found,<br /> +Yet varying so on various ground<br /> + They pierce and strike,<br /> +That not two roseate cups are crowned<br /> + With drew alike:</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en so, in silence, likest Thee,<br /> +Steals on soft-handed Charity,<br /> +Tempering her gifts, that seem so free,<br /> + By time and place,<br /> +Till not a woe the bleak world see,<br /> + But finds her grace:</p> +<p class="poetry">Eyes to the blind, and to the lame<br /> +Feet, and to sinners wholesome blame,<br /> +To starving bodies food and flame,<br /> + By turns she brings;<br /> +To humbled souls, that sink for shame,<br /> + Lends heaven-ward wings:</p> +<p class="poetry">Leads them the way our Saviour went,<br /> +And shows Love’s treasure yet unspent;<br /> +As when th’ unclouded heavens were rent.<br /> + Opening His road,<br /> +Nor yet His Holy Spirit sent<br /> + To our abode.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ten days th’ eternal doors displayed<br +/> +Were wondering (so th’ Almighty bade)<br /> +Whom Love enthroned would send, in aid<br /> + Of souls that mourn,<br /> +Left orphans in Earth’s dreary shade<br /> + As noon as born.</p> +<p class="poetry">Open they stand, that prayers in throngs<br /> +May rise on high, and holy songs,<br /> +Such incense as of right belongs<br /> + To the true shrine,<br /> +Where stands the Healer of all wrongs<br /> + In light divine;</p> +<p class="poetry">The golden censer in His hand,<br /> +He offers hearts from every land,<br /> +Tied to His own by gentlest band<br /> + Of silent Love:<br /> +About Him wingèd blessings stand<br /> + In act to move.</p> +<p class="poetry">A little while, and they shall fleet<br /> +From Heaven to Earth, attendants meet<br /> +On the life-giving Paraclete<br /> + Speeding His flight,<br /> +With all that sacred is and sweet,<br /> + On saints to light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, all<br /> +Shall feel the shower of Mercy fall,<br /> +And startling at th’ Almighty’s call,<br /> + Give what He gave,<br /> +Till their high deeds the world appal,<br /> + And sinners save.</p> +<h3>Whitsunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And suddenly there came a sound from Heaven as of +a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they +were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues +like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they +were all filled with the Holy Ghost. <i>Acts</i> ii. +2–4</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> God of old came +down from Heaven,<br /> + In power and wrath He came;<br /> +Before His feet the clouds were riven,<br /> + Half darkness and half flame:</p> +<p class="poetry">Around the trembling mountain’s base<br +/> + The prostrate people lay;<br /> +A day of wrath and not of grace;<br /> + A dim and dreadful day.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when he came the second time,<br /> + He came in power and love,<br /> +Softer than gale at morning prime<br /> + Hovered His holy Dove.</p> +<p class="poetry">The fires that rushed on Sinai down<br /> + In sudden torrents dread,<br /> +Now gently light, a glorious crown,<br /> + On every sainted head.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like arrows went those lightnings forth<br /> + Winged with the sinner’s doom,<br /> +But these, like tongues, o’er all the earth<br /> + Proclaiming life to come:</p> +<p class="poetry">And as on Israel’s awe-struck ear<br /> + The voice exceeding loud,<br /> +The trump, that angels quake to hear,<br /> + Thrilled from the deep, dark cloud;</p> +<p class="poetry">So, when the Spirit of our God<br /> + Came down His flock to find,<br /> +A voice from Heaven was heard abroad,<br /> + A rushing, mighty wind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor doth the outward ear alone<br /> + At that high warning start;<br /> +Conscience gives back th’ appalling tone;<br /> + ’Tis echoed in the heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">It fills the Church of God; it fills<br /> + The sinful world around;<br /> +Only in stubborn hearts and wills<br /> + No place for it is found.</p> +<p class="poetry">To other strains our souls are set:<br /> + A giddy whirl of sin<br /> +Fills ear and brain, and will not let<br /> + Heaven’s harmonies come in.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come Lord, Come Wisdom, Love, and Power,<br /> + Open our ears to hear;<br /> +Let us not miss th’ accepted hour;<br /> + Save, Lord, by Love or Fear.</p> +<h3>Monday in Whitsun-week.</h3> +<blockquote><p>So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon +the face of all the earth; and they left off to build the +city. <i>Genesis</i> xi. 8</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Since</span> all that is +not Heaven must fade,<br /> +Light be the hand of Ruin laid<br /> + Upon the home I love:<br /> +With lulling spell let soft Decay<br /> +Steal on, and spare the giant sway,<br /> + The crash of tower and grove.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far opening down some woodland deep<br /> +In their own quiet glade should sleep<br /> + The relics dear to thought,<br /> +And wild-flower wreaths from side to side<br /> +Their waving tracery hang, to hide<br /> + What ruthless Time has wrought.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such are the visions green and sweet<br /> +That o’er the wistful fancy fleet<br /> + In Asia’s sea-like plain,<br /> +Where slowly, round his isles of sand,<br /> +Euphrates through the lonely land<br /> + Winds toward the pearly main.</p> +<p class="poetry">Slumber is there, but not of rest;<br /> +There her forlorn and weary nest<br /> + The famished hawk has found,<br /> +The wild dog howls at fall of night,<br /> +The serpent’s rustling coils affright<br /> + The traveller on his round.</p> +<p class="poetry">What shapeless form, half lost on high,<br /> +Half seen against the evening sky,<br /> + Seems like a ghost to glide,<br /> +And watch, from Babel’s crumbling heap,<br /> +Where in her shadow, fast asleep,<br /> + Lies fallen imperial Pride?</p> +<p class="poetry">With half-closed eye a lion there<br /> +Is basking in his noontide lair,<br /> + Or prowls in twilight gloom.<br /> +The golden city’s king he seems,<br /> +Such as in old prophetic dreams<br /> + Sprang from rough ocean’s womb.</p> +<p class="poetry">But where are now his eagle wings,<br /> +That sheltered erst a thousand kings,<br /> + Hiding the glorious sky<br /> +From half the nations, till they own<br /> +No holier name, no mightier throne?<br /> + That vision is gone by.</p> +<p class="poetry">Quenched is the golden statue’s ray,<br +/> +The breath of heaven has blown away<br /> + What toiling earth had piled,<br /> +Scattering wise heart and crafty hand,<br /> +As breezes strew on ocean’s sand<br /> + The fabrics of a child.</p> +<p class="poetry">Divided thence through every age<br /> +Thy rebels, Lord, their warfare wage,<br /> + And hoarse and jarring all<br /> +Mount up their heaven-assailing cries<br /> +To Thy bright watchmen in the skies<br /> + From Babel’s shattered wall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thrice only since, with blended might<br /> +The nations on that haughty height<br /> + Have met to scale the Heaven:<br /> +Thrice only might a Seraph’s look<br /> +A moment’s shade of sadness brook—<br /> + Such power to guilt was given.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the fierce bear and leopard keen<br /> +Are perished as they ne’er had been,<br /> + Oblivion is their home:<br /> +Ambition’s boldest dream and last<br /> +Must melt before the clarion blast<br /> + That sounds the dirge of Rome.</p> +<p class="poetry">Heroes and kings, obey the charm,<br /> +Withdraw the proud high-reaching arm,<br /> + There is an oath on high:<br /> +That ne’er on brow of mortal birth<br /> +Shall blend again the crowns of earth,<br /> + Nor in according cry</p> +<p class="poetry">Her many voices mingling own<br /> +One tyrant Lord, one idol throne:<br /> + But to His triumphs soon<br /> +<i>He</i> shall descend, who rules above,<br /> +And the pure language of His love,<br /> + All tongues of men shall tune.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor let Ambition heartless mourn;<br /> +When Babel’s very ruins burn,<br /> + Her high desires may breathe;—<br /> +O’ercome thyself, and thou mayst share<br /> +With Christ His Father’s throne, and wear<br /> + The world’s imperial wreath.</p> +<h3>Tuesday in Whitsun-week.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When He putteth forth His own sheep, He goeth +before them.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. John</i> x. 4.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Addressed to Candidates for +Ordination</i>.)</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Lord</span>, in Thy +field I work all day,<br /> +I read, I teach, I warn, I pray,<br /> +And yet these wilful wandering sheep<br /> +Within Thy fold I cannot keep.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I journey, yet no step is won—<br +/> +Alas! the weary course I run!<br /> +Like sailors shipwrecked in their dreams,<br /> +All powerless and benighted seems.”</p> +<p class="poetry">What? wearied out with half a life?<br /> +Scared with this smooth unbloody strife?<br /> +Think where thy coward hopes had flown<br /> +Had Heaven held out the martyr’s crown.</p> +<p class="poetry">How couldst thou hang upon the cross,<br /> +To whom a weary hour is loss?<br /> +Or how the thorns and scourging brook<br /> +Who shrinkest from a scornful look?</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet ere thy craven spirit faints,<br /> +Hear thine own King, the King of Saints;<br /> +Though thou wert toiling in the grave,<br /> +’Tis He can cheer thee, He can save.</p> +<p class="poetry">He is th’ eternal mirror bright,<br /> +Where Angels view the <span class="smcap">Father’s</span> +light,<br /> +And yet in Him the simplest swain<br /> +May read his homely lesson plain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Early to quit His home on earth,<br /> +And claim His high celestial birth,<br /> +Alone with His true Father found<br /> +Within the temple’s solemn round:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet in meek duty to abide<br /> +For many a year at Mary’s side,<br /> +Nor heed, though restless spirits ask,<br /> +“What, hath the Christ forgot His task?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Conscious of Deity within,<br /> +To bow before an heir of sin,<br /> +With folded arms on humble breast,<br /> +By His own servant washed and blest:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Then full of Heaven, the mystic Dove<br /> +Hovering His gracious brow above,<br /> +To shun the voice and eye of praise,<br /> +And in the wild His trophies raise:—</p> +<p class="poetry">With hymns of angels in His ears,<br /> +Back to His task of woe and tears,<br /> +Unmurmuring through the world to roam<br /> +With not a wish or thought at home:—</p> +<p class="poetry">All but Himself to heal and save,<br /> +Till ripened for the cross and grave,<br /> +He to His Father gently yield<br /> +The breath that our redemption sealed:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to unearthly life arise,<br /> +Yet not at once to seek the skies,<br /> +But glide awhile from saint to saint,<br /> +Lest on our lonely way we faint;</p> +<p class="poetry">And through the cloud by glimpses show<br /> +How bright, in Heaven, the marks will glow<br /> +Of the true cross, imprinted deep<br /> +Both on the Shepherd and the sheep:—</p> +<p class="poetry">When out of sight, in heart and prayer,<br /> +Thy chosen people still to bear,<br /> +And from behind Thy glorious veil,<br /> +Shed light that cannot change or fail:—</p> +<p class="poetry">This is Thy pastoral course, O <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /> +Till we be saved, and Thou adored;—<br /> +Thy course and ours—but who are they<br /> +Who follow on the narrow way?</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet of Thee from year to year<br /> +The Church’s solemn chant we hear,<br /> +As from Thy cradle to Thy throne<br /> +She swells her high heart-cheering tone.</p> +<p class="poetry">Listen, ye pure white-robèd souls,<br /> +Whom in her list she now enrolls,<br /> +And gird ye for your high emprize<br /> +By these her thrilling minstrelsies.</p> +<p class="poetry">And wheresoe’er in earth’s wide +field,<br /> +Ye lift, for Him, the red-cross shield,<br /> +Be this your song, your joy and pride—<br /> +“Our Champion went before and died.”</p> +<h3>Trinity Sunday.</h3> +<blockquote><p>If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe +not, how shall ye believe if I tell you of heavenly things? +<i>St. John</i> iii. 12</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Creator</span>, Saviour, +strengthening Guide,<br /> +Now on Thy mercy’s ocean wide<br /> +Far out of sight we seem to glide.</p> +<p class="poetry">Help us, each hour, with steadier eye<br /> +To search the deepening mystery,<br /> +The wonders of Thy sea and sky.</p> +<p class="poetry">The blessèd Angels look and long<br /> +To praise Thee with a worthier song,<br /> +And yet our silence does Thee wrong.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Along the Church’s central space<br /> +The sacred weeks, with unfelt pace,<br /> +Hath borne us on from grace to grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">As travellers on some woodland height,<br /> +When wintry suns are gleaming bright,<br /> +Lose in arched glades their tangled sight;—</p> +<p class="poetry">By glimpses such as dreamers love<br /> +Through her grey veil the leafless grove<br /> +Shows where the distant shadows rove;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Such trembling joy the soul o’er-awes<br +/> +As nearer to Thy shrine she draws:—<br /> +And now before the choir we pause.</p> +<p class="poetry">The door is closed—but soft and deep<br +/> +Around the awful arches sweep,<br /> +Such airs as soothe a hermit’s sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">From each carved nook and fretted bend<br /> +Cornice and gallery seem to send<br /> +Tones that with seraphs hymns might blend.</p> +<p class="poetry">Three solemn parts together twine<br /> +In harmony’s mysterious line;<br /> +Three solemn aisles approach the shrine:</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet all are One—together all,<br /> +In thoughts that awe but not appal,<br /> +Teach the adoring heart to fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Within these walls each fluttering guest<br /> +Is gently lured to one safe nest—<br /> +Without, ’tis moaning and unrest.</p> +<p class="poetry">The busy world a thousand ways<br /> +Is hurrying by, nor ever stays<br /> +To catch a note of Thy dear praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">Why tarries not her chariot wheel,<br /> +That o’er her with no vain appeal<br /> +One gust of heavenly song might steal?</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! for her Thy opening flowers<br /> +Unheeded breathe to summer showers,<br /> +Unheard the music of Thy bowers.</p> +<p class="poetry">What echoes from the sacred dome<br /> +The selfish spirit may o’ercome<br /> +That will not hear of love or home!</p> +<p class="poetry">The heart that scorned a father’s +care,<br /> +How can it rise in filial prayer?<br /> +How an all-seeing Guardian bear?</p> +<p class="poetry">Or how shall envious brethren own<br /> +A Brother on the eternal throne,<br /> +Their Father’s joy, their hops alone?</p> +<p class="poetry">How shall Thy Spirit’s gracious wile<br +/> +The sullen brow of gloom beguile,<br /> +That frowns on sweet Affection’s smile?</p> +<p class="poetry">Eternal One, Almighty Trine!<br /> +(Since Thou art ours, and we are Thine,)<br /> +By all Thy love did once resign,</p> +<p class="poetry">By all the grace Thy heavens still hide,<br /> +We pray Thee, keep us at Thy side,<br /> +Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide!</p> +<h3>First Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>So Joshua smote all the country, . . . and all +their kings; he left none remaining. <i>Joshua</i> x. +40.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Where</span> is the land +with milk and honey flowing,<br /> + The promise of our God, our fancy’s theme?<br +/> +Here over shattered walls dank weeds are growing,<br /> + And blood and fire have run in mingled stream;<br /> + Like oaks and cedars all around<br +/> + The giant corses strew the +ground,<br /> +And haughty Jericho’s cloud-piercing wall<br /> +Lies where it sank at Joshua’s trumpet call.</p> +<p class="poetry">These are not scenes for pastoral dance at +even,<br /> + For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades,<br /> +Soft slumbers in the open eye of Heaven,<br /> + And all the listless joy of summer shades.<br /> + We in the midst of ruins live,<br +/> + Which every hour dread warning +give,<br /> +Nor may our household vine or fig-tree hide<br /> +The broken arches of old Canaan’s pride.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where is the sweet repose of hearts +repenting,<br /> + The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul,<br /> +Now Heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting,<br /> + And all the Godhead joins to make us whole.<br /> + The triple crown of mercy now<br +/> + Is ready for the suppliant’s +brow,<br /> +By the Almighty Three for ever planned,<br /> +And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus’ hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Now, Christians, hold your own—the +land before ye<br /> + Is open—win your way, and take your +rest.”<br /> +So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory<br /> + By many a cloud is darkened and unblest:<br /> + And daily as we downward glide,<br +/> + Life’s ebbing stream on +either side<br /> +Shows at each turn some mouldering hope or joy,<br /> +The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy.</p> +<p class="poetry">Open our eyes, Thou Sun of life and +gladness,<br /> + That we may see that glorious world of Thine!<br /> +It shines for us in vain, while drooping sadness<br /> + Enfolds us here like mist: come Power benign,<br /> + Touch our chilled hearts with +vernal smile,<br /> + Our wintry course do Thou +beguile,<br /> +Nor by the wayside ruins let us mourn,<br /> +Who have th’ eternal towers for our appointed bourne.</p> +<h3>Second Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate +you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, +because we love the brethren. 1 <i>St. John</i> iii. 13, +14.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> clouds that wrap +the setting sun<br /> + When Autumn’s softest gleams are ending,<br /> +Where all bright hues together run<br /> + In sweet confusion blending:—<br /> +Why, as we watch their floating wreath<br /> +Seem they the breath of life to breathe?<br /> +To Fancy’s eye their motions prove<br /> +They mantle round the Sun for love.</p> +<p class="poetry">When up some woodland dale we catch<br /> + The many-twinkling smile of ocean,<br /> +Or with pleased ear bewildered watch<br /> + His chime of restless motion;<br /> +Still as the surging waves retire<br /> +They seem to gasp with strong desire,<br /> +Such signs of love old Ocean gives,<br /> +We cannot choose but think he lives.</p> +<p class="poetry">Wouldst thou the life of souls discern?<br /> + Nor human wisdom nor divine<br /> +Helps thee by aught beside to learn;<br /> + Love is life’s only sign.<br /> +The spring of the regenerate heart,<br /> +The pulse, the glow of every part,<br /> +Is the true love of Christ our Lord,<br /> +As man embraced, as God adored.</p> +<p class="poetry">But he, whose heart will bound to mark<br /> + The full bright burst of summer morn,<br /> +Loves too each little dewy spark,<br /> + By leaf or flow’ret worn:<br /> +Cheap forms, and common hues, ’tis true,<br /> +Through the bright shower-drop’ meet his view;<br /> +The colouring may be of this earth;<br /> +The lustre comes of heavenly birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en so, who loves the Lord aright,<br /> + No soul of man can worthless find;<br /> +All will be precious in his sight,<br /> + Since Christ on all hath shined:<br /> +But chiefly Christian souls; for they,<br /> +Though worn and soiled with sinful clay,<br /> +Are yet, to eyes that see them true,<br /> +All glistening with baptismal dew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then marvel not, if such as bask<br /> + In purest light of innocence,<br /> +Hope against mope, in love’s dear task,<br /> + Spite of all dark offence.<br /> +If they who hate the trespass most,<br /> +Yet, when all other love is lost,<br /> +Love the poor sinner, marvel not;<br /> +Christ’s mark outwears the rankest blot.</p> +<p class="poetry">No distance breaks this tie of blood;<br /> + Brothers are brothers evermore;<br /> +Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood,<br /> + That magic may o’erpower;<br /> +Oft, ere the common source be known,<br /> +The kindred drops will claim their own,<br /> +And throbbing pulses silently<br /> +Move heart towards heart by sympathy.</p> +<p class="poetry">So it is with true Christian hearts;<br /> + Their mutual share in Jesus’ blood<br /> +An everlasting bond imparts<br /> + Of holiest brotherhood:<br /> +Oh! might we all our lineage prove,<br /> +Give and forgive, do good and love,<br /> +By soft endearments in kind strife<br /> +Lightening the load of daily life.</p> +<p class="poetry">There is much need; for not as yet<br /> + Are we in shelter or repose,<br /> +The holy house is still beset<br /> + With leaguer of stern foes;<br /> +Wild thoughts within, bad men without,<br /> +All evil spirits round about,<br /> +Are banded in unblest device,<br /> +To spoil Love’s earthly paradise.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then draw we nearer day by day,<br /> + Each to his brethren, all to God;<br /> +Let the world take us as she may,<br /> + We must not change our road;<br /> +Not wondering, though in grief, to find<br /> +The martyr’s foe still keep her mind;<br /> +But fixed to hold Love’s banner fast,<br /> +And by submission win at last.</p> +<h3>Third Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>There is joy in the presence of the angels of God +over one sinner that repenteth. <i>St. Luke</i> xv. 10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">hateful</span> spell of +Sin! when friends are nigh,<br /> + To make stern Memory tell her tale unsought,<br /> +And raise accusing shades of hours gone by,<br /> + To come between us and all kindly thought!</p> +<p class="poetry">Chilled at her touch, the self-reproaching +soul<br /> + Flies from the heart and home she dearest loves,<br +/> +To where lone mountains tower, or billows roll,<br /> + Or to your endless depth, ye solemn groves.</p> +<p class="poetry">In vain: the averted cheek in loneliest dell<br +/> + Is conscious of a gaze it cannot bear,<br /> +The leaves that rustle near us seem to tell<br /> + Our heart’s sad secret to the silent air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor is the dream untrue; for all around<br /> + The heavens are watching with their thousand +eyes,<br /> +We cannot pass our guardian angel’s bound,<br /> + Resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs.</p> +<p class="poetry">He in the mazes of the budding wood<br /> + Is near, and mourns to see our thankless glance<br +/> +Dwell coldly, where the fresh green earth is strewed<br /> + With the first flowers that lead the vernal +dance.</p> +<p class="poetry">In wasteful bounty showered, they smile +unseen,<br /> + Unseen by man—but what if purer sprights<br /> +By moonlight o’er their dewy bosoms lean<br /> + To adore the Father of all gentle lights?</p> +<p class="poetry">If such there be, O grief and shame to think<br +/> + That sight of thee should overcloud their joy,<br /> +A new-born soul, just waiting on the brink<br /> + Of endless life, yet wrapt in earth’s +annoy!</p> +<p class="poetry">O turn, and be thou turned! the selfish +tear,<br /> + In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun,<br /> +Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear,<br /> + The turbid waters brightening as they run.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart<br +/> + In penitential drops have ebbed away,<br /> +Then fearless turn where Heaven hath set thy part,<br /> + Nor shudder at the Eye that saw thee stray.</p> +<p class="poetry">O lost and found! all gentle souls below<br /> + Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove<br /> +Such joy o’er thee, as raptured seraphs know,<br /> + Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love.</p> +<h3>Fourth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>For the earnest expectation of the creature +waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God. For the +creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by the +reason of Him who hath subjected the same in hope, because the +creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of +corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of +God. For we know that the whole creation groaneth and +travaileth in pain together until now. <i>Romans</i> viii +19–22.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> was not then a +poet’s dream,<br /> + An idle vaunt of song,<br /> +Such as beneath the moon’s soft gleam<br /> + On vacant fancies throng;</p> +<p class="poetry">Which bids us see in heaven and earth,<br /> + In all fair things around,<br /> +Strong yearnings for a blest new birth<br /> + With sinless glories crowned;</p> +<p class="poetry">Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause<br /> + From care and want and toil,<br /> +When dewy eve her curtain draws<br /> + Over the day’s turmoil,</p> +<p class="poetry">In the low chant of wakeful birds,<br /> + In the deep weltering flood,<br /> +In whispering leaves, these solemn words—<br /> + “God made us all for good.”</p> +<p class="poetry">All true, all faultless, all in tune<br /> + Creation’s wondrous choir,<br /> +Opened in mystic unison<br /> + To last till time expire.</p> +<p class="poetry">And still it lasts; by day and night,<br /> + With one consenting voice,<br /> +All hymn Thy glory, Lord, aright,<br /> + All worship and rejoice.</p> +<p class="poetry">Man only mars the sweet accord<br /> + O’erpowering with “harsh din”<br +/> +The music of Thy works and word,<br /> + Ill matched with grief and sin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sin is with man at morning break,<br /> + And through the livelong day<br /> +Deafens the ear that fain would wake<br /> + To Nature’s simple lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when eve’s silent footfall steals<br +/> + Along the eastern sky,<br /> +And one by one to earth reveals<br /> + Those purer fires on high,</p> +<p class="poetry">When one by one each human sound<br /> + Dies on the awful ear,<br /> +Then Nature’s voice no more is drowned,<br /> + She speaks, and we must hear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then pours she on the Christian heart<br /> + That warning still and deep,<br /> +At which high spirits of old would start<br /> + E’en from their Pagan sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">Just guessing, through their murky blind<br /> + Few, faint, and baffling sight,<br /> +Streaks of a brighter heaven behind,<br /> + A cloudless depth of light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise,<br /> + Through many a dreary age,<br /> +Upbore whate’er of good and wise<br /> + Yet lived in bard or sage:</p> +<p class="poetry">They marked what agonizing throes<br /> + Shook the great mother’s womb:<br /> +But Reason’s spells might not disclose<br /> + The gracious birth to come:</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast<br /> + God’s secret love and power;<br /> +The travail pangs of Earth must last<br /> + Till her appointed hour.</p> +<p class="poetry">The hour that saw from opening heaven<br /> + Redeeming glory stream,<br /> +Beyond the summer hues of even,<br /> + Beyond the mid-day beam.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire,<br /> + The meanest thing below,<br /> +As with a seraph’s robe of fire<br /> + Invested, burn and glow:</p> +<p class="poetry">The rod of Heaven has touched them all,<br /> + The word from Heaven is spoken:<br /> +“Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall;<br /> + Are not thy fetters broken?</p> +<p class="poetry">“The God Who hallowed thee and blest,<br +/> + Pronouncing thee all good—<br /> +Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest,<br /> + And all thy bliss renewed?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Why mourn’st thou still as one +bereft,<br /> + Now that th’ eternal Son<br /> +His blessèd home in Heaven hath left<br /> + To make thee all His own?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou mourn’st because sin lingers +still<br /> + In Christ’s new heaven and earth;<br /> +Because our rebel works and will<br /> + Stain our immortal birth:</p> +<p class="poetry">Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold,<br /> + The Saviour hides His face,<br /> +And worldlings blot the temple’s gold<br /> + With uses vile and base.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hence all thy groans and travail pains,<br /> + Hence, till thy God return,<br /> +In Wisdom’s ear thy blithest strains,<br /> + Oh Nature, seem to mourn.</p> +<h3>Fifth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And Simon answering said unto Him, Master, we have +toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless at Thy +word I will let down the net. And when they had this done, +they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net +brake. <i>St. Luke</i> v. 5, 6.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“The livelong night we’ve toiled in +vain,<br /> + But at Thy gracious word<br /> +I will let down the net again:—<br /> + Do Thou Thy will, O Lord!”</p> +<p class="poetry">So spake the weary fisher, spent<br /> + With bootless darkling toil,<br /> +Yet on his Master’s bidding bent<br /> + For love and not for spoil.</p> +<p class="poetry">So day by day and week by week,<br /> + In sad and weary thought,<br /> +They muse, whom God hath set to seek<br /> + The souls His Christ hath bought.</p> +<p class="poetry">For not upon a tranquil lake<br /> + Our pleasant task we ply,<br /> +Where all along our glistening wake<br /> + The softest moonbeams lie;</p> +<p class="poetry">Where rippling wave and dashing oar<br /> + Our midnight chant attend,<br /> +Or whispering palm-leaves from the shore<br /> + With midnight silence blend.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last:<br /> + Too soon some ruder sound<br /> +Calls us from where ye soar so fast<br /> + Back to our earthly round.</p> +<p class="poetry">For wildest storms our ocean sweep:—<br +/> + No anchor but the Cross<br /> +Might hold: and oft the thankless deep<br /> + Turns all our toil to loss.</p> +<p class="poetry">Full many a dreary anxious hour<br /> + We watch our nets alone<br /> +In drenching spray, and driving shower,<br /> + And hear the night-bird’s moan:</p> +<p class="poetry">At morn we look, and nought is there;<br /> + Sad dawn of cheerless day!<br /> +Who then from pining and despair<br /> + The sickening heart can stay?</p> +<p class="poetry">There is a stay—and we are strong;<br /> + Our Master is at hand,<br /> +To cheer our solitary song,<br /> + And guide us to the strand.</p> +<p class="poetry">In His own time; but yet a while<br /> + Our bark at sea must ride;<br /> +Cast after cast, by force or guile<br /> + All waters must be tried:</p> +<p class="poetry">By blameless guile or gentle force,<br /> + As when He deigned to teach<br /> +(The lode-star of our Christian course)<br /> + Upon this sacred beach.</p> +<p class="poetry">Should e’er thy wonder-working grace<br +/> + Triumph by our weak arm,<br /> +Let not our sinful fancy trace<br /> + Aught human in the charm:</p> +<p class="poetry">To our own nets ne’er bow we down,<br /> + Lest on the eternal shore<br /> +The angels, while oar draught they own,<br /> + Reject us evermore:</p> +<p class="poetry">Or, if for our unworthiness<br /> + Toil, prayer, and watching fail,<br /> +In disappointment Thou canst bless,<br /> + So love at heart prevail.</p> +<h3>Sixth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the +Lord. And Nathan said unto David, The Lord also hath put +away thy sin; thou shalt not die. 2 <i>Samuel</i> xii. +13.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">When</span> bitter thoughts, of conscience born,<br +/> + With sinners wake at morn,<br /> + When from our restless couch we start,<br /> + With fevered lips and withered heart,<br /> +Where is the spell to charm those mists away,<br /> +And make new morning in that darksome day?<br /> + One draught of spring’s delicious air,<br /> + One steadfast thought, that <span +class="smcap">God</span> is there.</p> +<p class="poetry"> These are Thy wonders, hourly +wrought,<br /> + Thou Lord of time and thought,<br +/> + Lifting and lowering souls at will,<br /> + Crowding a world of good or ill<br /> +Into a moment’s vision; e’en as light<br /> +Mounts o’er a cloudy ridge, and all is bright,<br /> + From west to east one thrilling ray<br /> + Turning a wintry world to May.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Would’st thou the pangs +of guilt assuage?<br /> + Lo! here an open page,<br /> + Where heavenly mercy shines as free<br /> + Written in balm, sad heart, for thee.<br /> +Never so fast, in silent April shower,<br /> +Flushed into green the dry and leafless bower,<br /> + As Israel’s crownèd mourner felt<br /> + The dull hard stone within him melt.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The absolver saw the mighty +grief,<br /> + And hastened with +relief;—<br /> + “The Lord forgives; thou shalt not +die:”<br /> + ’Twas gently spoke, yet heard on high,<br /> +And all the band of angels, used to sing<br /> +In heaven, accordant to his raptured string,<br /> + Who many a month had turned away<br /> + With veilèd eyes, nor owned his lay,</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now spread their wings, and +throng around<br /> + To the glad mournful sound,<br /> + And welcome, with bright open face,<br /> + The broken heart to love’s embrace.<br /> +The rock is smitten, and to future years<br /> +Springs ever fresh the tide of holy tears<br /> + And holy music, whispering peace<br /> + Till time and sin together cease.</p> +<p class="poetry"> There drink: and when ye are +at rest,<br /> + With that free Spirit blest,<br /> + Who to the contrite can dispense,<br /> + The princely heart of innocence,<br /> +If ever, floating from faint earthly lyre,<br /> +Was wafted to your soul one high desire,<br /> + By all the trembling hope ye feel,<br /> + Think on the minstrel as ye kneel:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Think on the shame, that +dreadful hour<br /> + When tears shall have no power,<br +/> + Should his own lay th’ accuser prove,<br /> + Cold while he kindled others’ love:<br /> +And let your prayer for charity arise,<br /> +That his own heart may hear his melodies,<br /> + And a true voice to him may cry,<br /> + “Thy <span class="smcap">God</span> +forgives—thou shalt not die.”</p> +<h3>Seventh Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>From whence can a man satisfy these men with bread +here in the wilderness? <i>St. Mark</i> viii. 4.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">Go</span> +not away, thou weary soul:<br /> + Heaven has in store a precious dole<br /> +Here on Bethsaida’s cold and darksome height,<br /> + Where over rocks and sands arise<br /> + Proud Sirion in the northern skies,<br /> +And Tabor’s lonely peak, ’twixt thee and noonday +light.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And far below, +Gennesaret’s main<br /> + Spreads many a mile of liquid plain,<br /> +(Though all seem gathered in one eager bound,)<br /> + Then narrowing cleaves you palmy lea,<br /> + Towards that deep sulphureous sea,<br /> +Where five proud cities lie, by one dire sentence drowned.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Landscape of fear! yet, weary +heart,<br /> + Thou need’st not in thy gloom depart,<br /> +Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home:<br /> + Sweetly thy sickening throbs are eyed<br /> + By the kind Saviour at thy side;<br /> +For healing and for balm e’en now thine hour is come.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No fiery wing is seen to +glide,<br /> + No cates ambrosial are supplied,<br /> +But one poor fisher’s rude and scanty store<br /> + Is all He asks (and more than needs)<br /> + Who men and angels daily feeds,<br /> +And stills the wailing sea-bird on the hungry shore.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The feast is o’er, the +guests are gone,<br /> + And over all that upland lone<br /> +The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old—<br /> + But far unlike the former dreams,<br /> + The heart’s sweet moonlight softly gleams<br +/> +Upon life’s varied view, so joyless erst and cold.</p> +<p class="poetry"> As mountain travellers in the +night,<br /> + When heaven by fits is dark and bright,<br /> +Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear<br /> + Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell,<br /> + Then bolder scale the rugged fell,<br /> +Conscious the more of One, ne’er seen, yet ever near:</p> +<p class="poetry"> So when the tones of rapture +gay<br /> + On the lorn ear, die quite away,<br /> +The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven;<br /> + Seen daily, yet unmarked before,<br /> + Earth’s common paths are strewn all +o’er<br /> +With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven.</p> +<p class="poetry"> The low sweet tones of +Nature’s lyre<br /> + No more on listless ears expire,<br /> +Nor vainly smiles along the shady way<br /> + The primrose in her vernal nest,<br /> + Nor unlamented sink to rest<br /> +Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> There’s not a star the +heaven can show,<br /> + There’s not a cottage-hearth below,<br /> +But feeds with solace kind the willing soul—<br /> + Men love us, or they need our love;<br /> + Freely they own, or heedless prove<br /> +The curse of lawless hearts, the joy of self-control.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then rouse thee from +desponding sleep,<br /> + Nor by the wayside lingering weep,<br /> +Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild,<br /> + Whose love can turn earth’s worst and least<br +/> + Into a conqueror’s royal feast:<br /> +Thou wilt not be untrue, thou shalt not be beguiled.</p> +<h3>Eight Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>It is the man of God, who was disobedient unto the +word of the Lord. 1 <i>King</i> xiii. 26.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Prophet</span> of God, +arise and take<br /> +With thee the words of wrath divine,<br /> + The scourge of Heaven, to shake<br /> + O’er yon apostate shrine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where Angels down the lucid stair<br /> +Came hovering to our sainted sires<br /> + Now, in the twilight, glare<br /> + The heathen’s wizard fires.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go, with thy voice the altar rend,<br /> +Scatter the ashes, be the arm,<br /> + That idols would befriend,<br /> + Shrunk at thy withering charm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then turn thee, for thy time is short,<br /> +But trace not o’er the former way,<br /> + Lest idol pleasures court<br /> + Thy heedless soul astray.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou know’st how hard to hurry by,<br /> +Where on the lonely woodland road<br /> + Beneath the moonlight sky<br /> + The festal warblings flowed;</p> +<p class="poetry">Where maidens to the Queen of Heaven<br /> +Wove the gay dance round oak or palm,<br /> + Or breathed their vows at even<br /> + In hymns as soft as balm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or thee, perchance, a darker spell<br /> +Enthralls: the smooth stones of the flood,<br /> + By mountain grot or fell,<br /> + Pollute with infant’s blood;</p> +<p class="poetry">The giant altar on the rock,<br /> +The cavern whence the timbrel’s call<br /> + Affrights the wandering flock:—<br /> + Thou long’st to search them all.</p> +<p class="poetry">Trust not the dangerous path again—<br /> +O forward step and lingering will!<br /> + O loved and warned in vain!<br /> + And wilt thou perish still?</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy message given, thine home in sight,<br /> +To the forbidden feast return?<br /> + Yield to the false delight<br /> + Thy better soul could spurn?</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas, my brother! round thy tomb<br /> +In sorrow kneeling, and in fear,<br /> + We read the Pastor’s doom<br /> + Who speaks and will not hear.</p> +<p class="poetry">The grey-haired saint may fail at last,<br /> +The surest guide a wanderer prove;<br /> + Death only binds us fast<br /> + To the bright shore of love.</p> +<h3>Ninth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was +not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice. 1 +<i>Kings</i> xix. 12.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> troublous days of +anguish and rebuke,<br /> +While sadly round them Israel’s children look,<br /> + And their eyes fail for waiting on their Lord:<br /> +While underneath each awful arch of green,<br /> +On every mountain-top, God’s chosen scene,<br /> + Of pure heart-worship, Baal is adored:</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis well, true hearts should for a time +retire<br /> +To holy ground, in quiet to aspire<br /> + Towards promised regions of serener grace;<br /> +On Horeb, with Elijah, let us lie,<br /> +Where all around on mountain, sand, and sky,<br /> + God’s chariot wheels have left distinctest +trace;</p> +<p class="poetry">There, if in jealousy and strong disdain<br /> +We to the sinner’s God of sin complain,<br /> + Untimely seeking here the peace of Heaven—<br +/> +“It is enough. O Lord! now let me die<br /> +E’en as my fathers did: for what am I<br /> + That I should stand where they have vainly +striven?”—</p> +<p class="poetry">Perhaps our God may of our conscience ask,<br +/> +“What doest thou here frail wanderer from thy task?<br /> + Where hast thou left those few sheep in the +wild?”<br /> +Then should we plead our heart’s consuming pain,<br /> +At sight of ruined altars, prophets slain,<br /> + And God’s own ark with blood of souls +defiled;</p> +<p class="poetry">He on the rock may bid us stand, and see<br /> +The outskirts of His march of mystery,<br /> + His endless warfare with man’s wilful +heart;<br /> +First, His great Power He to the sinner shows<br /> +Lo! at His angry blast the rocks unclose,<br /> + And to their base the trembling mountains part</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet the Lord is not here: ’Tis not by +Power<br /> +He will be known—but darker tempests lower;<br /> + Still, sullen heavings vex the labouring ground:<br +/> +Perhaps His Presence thro’ all depth and height,<br /> +Best of all gems that deck His crown of light,<br /> + The haughty eye may dazzle and confound.</p> +<p class="poetry">God is not in the earthquake; but behold<br /> +From Sinai’s caves are bursting, as of old,<br /> + The flames of His consuming jealous ire.<br /> +Woe to the sinner should stern Justice prove<br /> +His chosen attribute;—but He in love<br /> + Hastes to proclaim, “God is not in the +fire.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The storm is o’er—and hark! a still +small voice<br /> +Steals on the ear, to say, Jehovah’s choice<br /> + Is ever with the soft, meek, tender soul;<br /> +By soft, meek, tender ways He loves to draw<br /> +The sinner, startled by His ways of awe:<br /> + Here is our Lord, and not where thunders roll.</p> +<p class="poetry">Back, then, complainer; loath thy life no +more,<br /> +Nor deem thyself upon a desert shore,<br /> + Because the rocks the nearer prospect close.<br /> +Yet in fallen Israel are there hearts and eyes<br /> +That day by day in prayer like thine arise;<br /> + Thou know’st them not, but their Creator +knows.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast<br /> +Thy bread upon the waters, sure at last<br /> + In joy to find it after many days.<br /> +The work be thine, the fruit thy children’s part:<br /> +Choose to believe, not see: sight tempts the heart<br /> + From sober walking in true Gospel ways.</p> +<h3>Tenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And when He was come near, He beheld the city, and +wept over it. <i>St. Luke</i> xix. 41.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> doth my Saviour +weep<br /> + At sight of Sion’s bowers?<br /> +Shows it not fair from yonder steep,<br /> + Her gorgeous crown of towers?<br /> +Mark well His holy pains:<br /> + ’Tis not in pride or scorn,<br /> +That Israel’s King with sorrow stains<br /> + His own triumphal morn.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is not that His soul<br /> + Is wandering sadly on,<br /> +In thought how soon at death’s dark goal<br /> + Their course will all be run,<br /> +Who now are shouting round<br /> + Hosanna to their chief;<br /> +No thought like this in Him is found,<br /> + This were a Conquerer’s grief.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or doth He feel the Cross<br /> + Already in His heart,<br /> +The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss?<br /> + Feel e’en His God depart?<br /> +No: though He knew full well<br /> + The grief that then shall be—<br /> +The grief that angels cannot tell—<br /> + Our God in agony.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is not thus He mourns;<br /> + Such might be martyr’s tears,<br /> +When his last lingering look he turns<br /> + On human hopes and fears;<br /> +But hero ne’er or saint<br /> + The secret load might know,<br /> +With which His spirit waxeth faint;<br /> + His is a Saviour’s woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">“If thou had’st known, e’en +thou,<br /> + At least in this thy day,<br /> +The message of thy peace! but now<br /> + ’Tis passed for aye away:<br /> +Now foes shall trench thee round,<br /> + And lay thee even with earth,<br /> +And dash thy children to the ground,<br /> + Thy glory and thy mirth.”</p> +<p class="poetry">And doth the Saviour weep<br /> + Over His people’s sin,<br /> +Because we will not let Him keep<br /> + The souls He died to win?<br /> +Ye hearts, that love the Lord,<br /> + If at this, sight ye burn,<br /> +See that in thought, in deed, in word,<br /> + Ye hate what made Him mourn.</p> +<h3>Eleventh Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Is it a time to receive money, and to receive +garments, and oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and +menservants, and maidservants? 2 <i>Kings</i> v. 26.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Is</span> this a time to +plant and build,<br /> +Add house to house, and field to field,<br /> +When round our walls the battle lowers,<br /> +When mines are hid beneath our towers,<br /> +And watchful foes are stealing round<br /> +To search and spoil the holy ground?</p> +<p class="poetry">Is this a time for moonlight dreams<br /> +Of love and home by mazy streams,<br /> +For Fancy with her shadowy toys,<br /> +Aërial hopes and pensive joys,<br /> +While souls are wandering far and wide,<br /> +And curses swarm on every side?</p> +<p class="poetry">No—rather steel thy melting heart<br /> +To act the martyr’s sternest part,<br /> +To watch, with firm unshrinking eye,<br /> +Thy darling visions as thy die,<br /> +Till all bright hopes, and hues of day,<br /> +Have faded into twilight gray.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes—let them pass without a sigh,<br /> +And if the world seem dull and dry,<br /> +If long and sad thy lonely hours,<br /> +And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers,<br /> +Bethink thee what thou art and where,<br /> +A sinner in a life of care.</p> +<p class="poetry">The fire of God is soon to fall<br /> +(Thou know’st it) on this earthly ball;<br /> +Full many a soul, the price of blood,<br /> +Marked by th’ Almighty’s hand for good,<br /> +To utter death that hour shall sweep—<br /> +And will the saints in Heaven dare weep?</p> +<p class="poetry">Then in His wrath shall <span +class="smcap">God</span> uproot<br /> +The trees He set, for lack of fruit,<br /> +And drown in rude tempestuous blaze<br /> +The towers His hand had deigned to raise;<br /> +In silence, ere that storm begin,<br /> +Count o’er His mercies and thy sin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pray only that thine aching heart,<br /> +From visions vain content to part,<br /> +Strong for Love’s sake its woe to hide<br /> +May cheerful wait the Cross beside,<br /> +Too happy if, that dreadful day,<br /> +Thy life be given thee for a prey.</p> +<p class="poetry">Snatched sudden from th’ avenging rod,<br +/> +Safe in the bosom of thy <span class="smcap">God</span>,<br /> +How wilt thou then look back, and smile<br /> +On thoughts that bitterest seemed erewhile,<br /> +And bless the pangs that made thee see<br /> +This was no world of rest for thee!</p> +<h3>Twelfth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And looking up to heaven, He sighed, and saith +unto him, Ephphatha, that is, Be opened. <i>St. Mark</i> +vii. 34.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Son of God in +doing good<br /> + Was fain to look to Heaven and sigh:<br /> +And shall the heirs of sinful blood<br /> + Seek joy unmixed in charity?<br /> +God will not let Love’s work impart<br /> +Full solace, lest it steal the heart;<br /> +Be thou content in tears to sow,<br /> +Blessing, like Jesus, in thy woe:</p> +<p class="poetry">He looked to Heaven, and sadly sighed—<br +/> + What saw my gracious Saviour there,<br /> +“With fear and anguish to divide<br /> + The joy of Heaven-accepted prayer?<br /> +So o’er the bed where Lazarus slept<br /> +He to His Father groaned and wept:<br /> +What saw He mournful in that grave,<br /> +Knowing Himself so strong to save?”</p> +<p class="poetry">O’erwhelming thoughts of pain and +grief<br /> + Over His sinking spirit sweep;—<br /> +What boots it gathering one lost leaf<br /> + Out of yon sere and withered heap,<br /> +Where souls and bodies, hopes and joys,<br /> +All that earth owns or sin destroys,<br /> +Under the spurning hoof are cast,<br /> +Or tossing in th’ autumnal blast?</p> +<p class="poetry">The deaf may hear the Saviour’s voice,<br +/> + The fettered tongue its chain may break;<br /> +But the deaf heart, the dumb by choice,<br /> + The laggard soul, that will not wake,<br /> +The guilt that scorns to be forgiven;—<br /> +These baffle e’en the spells of Heaven;<br /> +In thought of these, His brows benign<br /> +Not e’en in healing cloudless shine.</p> +<p class="poetry">No eye but His might ever bear<br /> + To gaze all down that drear abyss,<br /> +Because none ever saw so clear<br /> + The shore beyond of endless bliss:<br /> +The giddy waves so restless hurled,<br /> +The vexed pulse of this feverish world,<br /> +He views and counts with steady sight,<br /> +Used to behold the Infinite.</p> +<p class="poetry">But that in such communion high<br /> + He hath a fount of strength within,<br /> +Sure His meek heart would break and die,<br /> + O’erburthened by His brethren’s sin;<br +/> +Weak eyes on darkness dare not gaze,<br /> +It dazzles like the noonday blaze;<br /> +But He who sees God’s face may brook<br /> +On the true face of Sin to look.</p> +<p class="poetry">What then shall wretched sinners do,<br /> + When in their last, their hopeless day,<br /> +Sin, as it is, shall meet their view,<br /> + God turn His face for aye away?<br /> +Lord, by Thy sad and earnest eye,<br /> +When Thou didst look to Heaven and sigh:<br /> +Thy voice, that with a word could chase<br /> +The dumb, deaf spirit from his place;</p> +<p class="poetry">As Thou hast touched our ears, and taught<br /> + Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain,<br /> +Quell Thou each thankless godless thought<br /> + That would make fast our bonds again.<br /> +From worldly strife, from mirth unblest,<br /> +Drowning Thy music in the breast,<br /> +From foul reproach, from thrilling fears,<br /> +Preserve, good Lord, Thy servants’ ears.</p> +<p class="poetry">From idle words, that restless throng<br /> + And haunt our hearts when we would pray,<br /> +From Pride’s false chime, and jarring wrong,<br /> + Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way:<br /> +For Thou hast sworn, that every ear,<br /> +Willing or loth, Thy trump shall hear,<br /> +And every tongue unchainèd be<br /> +To own no hope, no God, but Thee.</p> +<h3>Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And He turned Him onto His disciples, and said +privately, Blessed are the eyes which see the things that ye see: +for I tell you, that many prophets and kings have desired to see +those things which ye see, and have not seen them: and to hear +those things which ye hear, and have not heard them. <i>St. +Luke</i> x. 23, 24.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> Sinai’s +top, in prayer and trance,<br /> + Full forty nights and forty days<br /> +The Prophet watched for one dear glance<br /> + Of thee and of Thy ways:</p> +<p class="poetry">Fasting he watched and all alone,<br /> + Wrapt in a still, dark, solid cloud,<br /> +The curtain of the Holy One<br /> + Drawn round him like a shroud:</p> +<p class="poetry">So, separate from the world, his breast<br /> + Might duly take and strongly keep<br /> +The print of Heaven, to be expressed<br /> + Ere long on Sion’s steep.</p> +<p class="poetry">There one by one his spirit saw<br /> + Of things divine the shadows bright,<br /> +The pageant of God’s perfect law;<br /> + Yet felt not full delight.</p> +<p class="poetry">Through gold and gems, a dazzling maze,<br /> + From veil to veil the vision led,<br /> +And ended, where unearthly rays<br /> + From o’er the ark were shed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet not that gorgeous place, nor aught<br /> + Of human or angelic frame,<br /> +Could half appease his craving thought;<br /> + The void was still the same.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Show me Thy glory, gracious Lord!<br /> + ’Tis Thee,” he cries, “not Thine, +I seek.”<br /> +Na, start not at so bold a word<br /> + From man, frail worm and weak:</p> +<p class="poetry">The spark of his first deathless fire<br /> + Yet buoys him up, and high above<br /> +The holiest creature, dares aspire<br /> + To the Creator’s love.</p> +<p class="poetry">The eye in smiles may wander round,<br /> + Caught by earth’s shadows as they fleet;<br /> +But for the soul no help is found,<br /> + Save Him who made it, meet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Spite of yourselves, ye witness this,<br /> + Who blindly self or sense adore;<br /> +Else wherefore leaving your own bliss<br /> + Still restless ask ye more?</p> +<p class="poetry">This witness bore the saints of old<br /> + When highest rapt and favoured most,<br /> +Still seeking precious things untold,<br /> + Not in fruition lost.</p> +<p class="poetry">Canaan was theirs; and in it all<br /> + The proudest hope of kings dare claim:<br /> +Sion was theirs; and at their call<br /> + Fire from Jehovah came.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet monarchs walked as pilgrims still<br /> + In their own land, earth’s pride and grace:<br +/> +And seers would mourn on Sion’s hill<br /> + Their Lord’s averted face.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vainly they tried the deeps to sound<br /> + E’en of their own prophetic thought,<br /> +When of Christ crucified and crowned<br /> + His Spirit in them taught:</p> +<p class="poetry">But He their aching gaze repressed,<br /> + Which sought behind the veil to see,<br /> +For not without us fully blest<br /> + Or perfect might they be.</p> +<p class="poetry">The rays of the Almighty’s face<br /> + No sinner’s eye might then receive;<br /> +Only the meekest man found grace<br /> + To see His skirts and live.</p> +<p class="poetry">But we as in a glass espy<br /> + The glory of His countenance,<br /> +Not in a whirlwind hurrying by<br /> + The too presumptuous glance,</p> +<p class="poetry">But with mild radiance every hour,<br /> + From our dear Saviour’s face benign<br /> +Bent on us with transforming power,<br /> + Till we, too, faintly shine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sprinkled with His atoning blood<br /> + Safely before our God we stand,<br /> +As on the rock the Prophet stood,<br /> + Beneath His shadowing hand.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Blessed eyes, which see the things we see!<br +/> + And yet this tree of life hath proved<br /> +To many a soul a poison tree,<br /> + Beheld, and not beloved.</p> +<p class="poetry">So like an angel’s is our bliss<br /> + (Oh! thought to comfort and appal)<br /> +It needs must bring, if used amiss,<br /> + An angel’s hopeless fall.</p> +<h3>Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten +cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not found that +returned to give glory to God, save this stranger. <i>St. +Luke</i> xvii. 17, 18.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ten</span> cleansed, and +only one remain!<br /> +Who would have thought our nature’s stain<br /> +Was dyed so foul, so deep in grain?<br /> + E’en He who reads the heart—<br /> +Knows what He gave and what we lost,<br /> +Sin’s forfeit, and redemption’s cost,—<br /> +By a short pang of wonder crossed<br /> + Seems at the sight to start:</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet ’twas not wonder, but His love<br /> +Our wavering spirits would reprove,<br /> +That heavenward seem so free to move<br /> + When earth can yield no more<br /> +Then from afar on God we cry,<br /> +But should the mist of woe roll by,<br /> +Not showers across an April sky<br /> + Drift, when the storm is o’er,</p> +<p class="poetry">Faster than those false drops and few<br /> +Fleet from the heart, a worthless dew.<br /> +What sadder scene can angels view<br /> + Than self-deceiving tears,<br /> +Poured idly over some dark page<br /> +Of earlier life, though pride or rage,<br /> +The record of to-day engage,<br /> + A woe for future years?</p> +<p class="poetry">Spirits, that round the sick man’s bed<br +/> +Watched, noting down each prayer he made,<br /> +Were your unerring roll displayed,<br /> + His pride of health to abase;<br /> +Or, when, soft showers in season fall<br /> +Answering a famished nation’s call,<br /> +Should unseen fingers on the wall<br /> + Our vows forgotten trace:</p> +<p class="poetry">How should we gaze in trance of fear!<br /> +Yet shines the light as thrilling clear<br /> +From Heaven upon that scroll severe,<br /> + “Ten cleansed and one remain!”<br /> +Nor surer would the blessing prove<br /> +Of humbled hearts, that own Thy love,<br /> +Should choral welcome from above<br /> + Visit our senses plain:</p> +<p class="poetry">Than by Thy placid voice and brow,<br /> +With healing first, with comfort now,<br /> +Turned upon him, who hastes to bow<br /> + Before Thee, heart and knee;<br /> +“Oh! thou, who only wouldst be blest,<br /> +On thee alone My blessing rest!<br /> +Rise, go thy way in peace, possessed<br /> + For evermore of Me.”</p> +<h3>Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Consider the lilies of the field, how they +grow. <i>St. Matthew</i>, vi. 28.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span> nurslings of +the vernal skies,<br /> + Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,<br /> +What more than magic in you lies,<br /> + To fill the heart’s fond view?<br /> +In childhood’s sports, companions gay,<br /> +In sorrow, on Life’s downward way,<br /> +How soothing! in our last decay<br /> + Memorials prompt and true.</p> +<p class="poetry">Relics ye are of Eden’s bowers,<br /> + As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,<br /> +As when ye crowned the sunshine hours<br /> + Of happy wanderers there.<br /> +Fall’n all beside—the world of life,<br /> +How is it stained with fear and strife!<br /> +In Reason’s world what storms are rife,<br /> + What passions range and glare!</p> +<p class="poetry">But cheerful and unchanged the while<br /> + Your first and perfect form ye show,<br /> +The same that won Eve’s matron smile<br /> + In the world’s opening glow.<br /> +The stars of heaven a course are taught<br /> +Too high above our human thought:<br /> +Ye may be found if ye are sought,<br /> + And as we gaze, we know.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,<br /> + Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,<br /> +And guilty man where’er he roams,<br /> + Your innocent mirth may borrow.<br /> +The birds of air before us fleet,<br /> +They cannot brook our shame to meet—<br /> +But we may taste your solace sweet<br /> + And come again to-morrow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye fearless in your nests abide—<br /> + Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise,<br /> +Your silent lessons, undescried<br /> + By all but lowly eyes:<br /> +For ye could draw th’ admiring gaze<br /> +Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys:<br /> +Your order wild, your fragrant maze,<br /> + He taught us how to prize.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye felt your Maker’s smile that hour,<br +/> + As when He paused and owned you good;<br /> +His blessing on earth’s primal bower,<br /> + Ye felt it all renewed.<br /> +What care ye now, if winter’s storm<br /> +Sweep ruthless o’er each silken form?<br /> +Christ’s blessing at your heart is warm,<br /> + Ye fear no vexing mood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! of thousand bosoms kind,<br /> + That daily court you and caress,<br /> +How few the happy secret find<br /> + Of your calm loveliness!<br /> +“Live for to-day! to-morrow’s light<br /> +To-morrow’s cares shall bring to sight,<br /> +Go sleep like closing flowers at night,<br /> + And Heaven thy morn will bless.”</p> +<h3>Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for +you, which is your glory.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Ephesians</i> iii. 13.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wish</span> not, dear +friends, my pain away—<br /> + Wish me a wise and thankful heart,<br /> +With <span class="smcap">God</span>, in all my griefs, to +stay,<br /> + Nor from His loved correction start.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dearest offering He can crave<br /> + His portion in our souls to prove,<br /> +What is it to the gift He gave,<br /> + The only Son of His dear love?</p> +<p class="poetry">But we, like vexed unquiet sprights,<br /> + Will still be hovering o’er the tomb,<br /> +Where buried lie our vain delights,<br /> + Nor sweetly take a sinner’s doom.</p> +<p class="poetry">In Life’s long sickness evermore<br /> + Our thoughts are tossing to and fro:<br /> +We change our posture o’er and o’er,<br /> + But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Were it not better to lie still,<br /> + Let Him strike home and bless the rod,<br /> +Never so safe as when our will<br /> + Yields undiscerned by all but God?</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy precious things, whate’er they be,<br +/> + That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain,<br /> +Look to the Cross and thou shalt see<br /> + How thou mayst turn them all to gain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lovest thou praise? the Cross is shame:<br /> + Or ease? the Cross is bitter grief:<br /> +More pangs than tongue or heart can frame<br /> + Were suffered there without relief.</p> +<p class="poetry">We of that Altar would partake,<br /> + But cannot quit the cost—no throne<br /> +Is ours, to leave for Thy dear sake—<br /> + We cannot do as Thou hast done.</p> +<p class="poetry">We cannot part with Heaven for Thee—<br +/> + Yet guide us in Thy track of love:<br /> +Let us gaze on where light should be,<br /> + Though not a beam the clouds remove.</p> +<p class="poetry">So wanderers ever fond and true<br /> + Look homeward through the evening sky,<br /> +Without a streak of heaven’s soft blue<br /> + To aid Affection’s dreaming eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wanderer seeks his native bower,<br /> + And we will look and long for Thee,<br /> +And thank Thee for each trying hour,<br /> + Wishing, not struggling, to be free.</p> +<h3>Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Every man of the house of Israel that setteth up +his idols in his heart, and putteth the stumbling-block of his +iniquity before his face, and cometh to the prophet; I the Lord +will answer him that cometh according to the multitude of his +idols. <i>Ezekiel</i> xiv. 4.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Stately</span> thy walls, +and holy are the prayers<br /> + Which day and night before thine altars rise:<br /> +Not statelier, towering o’er her marble stairs,<br /> + Flashed Sion’s gilded dome to summer skies,<br +/> +Not holier, while around him angels bowed,<br /> +From Aaron’s censer steamed the spicy cloud,</p> +<p class="poetry">Before the mercy-seat. O Mother dear,<br +/> + Wilt thou forgive thy son one boding sigh?<br /> +Forgive, if round thy towers he walk in fear,<br /> + And tell thy jewels o’er with jealous eye?<br +/> +Mindful of that sad vision, which in thought<br /> +From Chebar’s plains the captive prophet brought.</p> +<p class="poetry">To see lost Sion’s shame. +’Twas morning prime,<br /> + And like a Queen new seated on her throne,<br /> +<span class="smcap">God’s</span> crownèd mountain, +as in happier time,<br /> + Seemed to rejoice in sunshine all her own:<br /> +So bright, while all in shade around her lay,<br /> +Her northern pinnacles had caught th’ emerging ray.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dazzling lines of her majestic roof<br /> + Crossed with as free a span the vault of heaven,<br +/> +As when twelve tribes knelt silently aloof<br /> + Ere <span class="smcap">God</span> His answer to +their king had given,<br /> +Ere yet upon the new-built altar fell<br /> +The glory of the <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, the Lord of +Israel.</p> +<p class="poetry">All seems the same: but enter in and see<br /> + What idol shapes are on the wall portrayed:<br /> +And watch their shameless and unholy glee,<br /> + Who worship there in Aaron’s robes arrayed:<br +/> +Hear Judah’s maids the dirge to Thammuz pour,<br /> +And mark her chiefs yon orient sun adore.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet turn thee, son of man—for worse than +these<br /> + Thou must behold: thy loathing were but lost<br /> +On dead men’s crimes, and Jews’ idolatries—<br +/> + Come, learn to tell aright thine own sins’ +cost,—<br /> +And sure their sin as far from equals thine,<br /> +As earthly hopes abused are less than hopes divine.</p> +<p class="poetry">What if within His world, His Church, our <span +class="smcap">Lord</span><br /> + Have entered thee, as in some temple gate,<br /> +Where, looking round, each glance might thee afford<br /> + Some glorious earnest of thine high estate,<br /> +And thou, false heart and frail, hast turned from all<br /> +To worship pleasure’s shadow on the wall?</p> +<p class="poetry">If, when the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> of +Glory was in sight,<br /> + Thou turn thy back upon that fountain clear,<br /> +To bow before the “little drop of light,”<br /> + Which dim-eyed men call praise and glory here;<br /> +What dost thou, but adore the sun, and scorn<br /> +Him at whose only word both sun and stars were born?</p> +<p class="poetry">If, while around thee gales from Eden +breathe,<br /> + Thou hide thine eyes, to make thy peevish moan<br /> +Over some broken reed of earth beneath,<br /> + Some darling of blind fancy dead and gone,<br /> +As wisely might’st thou in <span +class="smcap">Jehovah’s</span> fane<br /> +Offer thy love and tears to Thammuz slain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Turn thee from these, or dare not to inquire<br +/> + Of Him whose name is Jealous, lest in wrath<br /> +He hear and answer thine unblest desire:<br /> + Far better we should cross His lightning’s +path<br /> +Than be according to our idols beard,<br /> +And God should take us at our own vain word.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou who hast deigned the Christian’s +heart to call<br /> + Thy Church and Shrine; whene’er our rebel +will<br /> +Would in that chosen home of Thine instal<br /> + Belial or Mammon, grant us not the ill<br /> +We blindly ask; in very love refuse<br /> +Whate’er Thou knowest our weakness would abuse.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or rather help us, <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>, to choose the good,<br /> + To pray for nought, to seek to none, but Thee,<br /> +Nor by “our daily bread” mean common food,<br /> + Nor say, “From this world’s evil set us +free;”<br /> +Teach us to love, with <span class="smcap">Christ</span>, our +sole true bliss,<br /> +Else, though in <span class="smcap">Christ’s</span> own +words, we surely pray amiss.</p> +<h3>Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>I will bring you into the wilderness of the +people, and there will I plead with you face to face. Like +as pleaded with your fathers in the wilderness of the land of +Egypt, so will I plead with you, saith the Lord God. +<i>Ezekiel</i> xx. 35, 36.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> is so—ope +thine eyes, and see—<br /> + What viewest thou all around?<br /> +A desert, where iniquity<br /> + And knowledge both abound.</p> +<p class="poetry">In the waste howling wilderness<br /> + The Church is wandering still,<br /> +Because we would not onward press<br /> + When close to Sion’s hill.</p> +<p class="poetry">Back to the world we faithless turned,<br /> + And far along the wild,<br /> +With labour lost and sorrow earned,<br /> + Our steps have been beguiled.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet full before us, all the while,<br /> + The shadowing pillar stays,<br /> +The living waters brightly smile,<br /> + The eternal turrets blaze,</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet Heaven is raining angels’ bread<br /> + To be our daily food,<br /> +And fresh, as when it first was shed,<br /> + Springs forth the <span +class="smcap">Saviour’s</span> blood.</p> +<p class="poetry">From every region, race, and speech,<br /> + Believing myriads throng,<br /> +Till, far as sin and sorrow reach,<br /> + Thy grace is spread along;</p> +<p class="poetry">Till sweetest nature, brightest art,<br /> + Their votive incense bring,<br /> +And every voice and every heart<br /> + Own Thee their God and King.</p> +<p class="poetry">All own; but few, alas! will love;<br /> + Too like the recreant band<br /> +That with Thy patient spirit strove<br /> + Upon the Red-sea strand.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Father of long-suffering grace,<br /> + Thou who hast sworn to stay<br /> +Pleading with sinners face to face<br /> + Through all their devious way:</p> +<p class="poetry">How shall we speak to Thee, O <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /> + Or how in silence lie?<br /> +Look on us, and we are abhorred,<br /> + Turn from us, and we die.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy guardian fire, Thy guiding cloud,<br /> + Still let them gild our wall,<br /> +Nor be our foes and Thine allowed<br /> + To see us faint and fall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Too oft, within this camp of Thine,<br /> + Rebellions murmurs rise;<br /> +Sin cannot bear to see Thee shine<br /> + So awful to her eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fain would our lawless hearts escape,<br /> + And with the heathen be,<br /> +To worship every monstrous shape<br /> + In fancied darkness free.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vain thought, that shall not be at all!<br /> + Refuse we or obey,<br /> +Our ears have heard the Almighty’s call,<br /> + We cannot be as they.</p> +<p class="poetry">We cannot hope the heathen’s doom<br /> + To whom <span class="smcap">God’s</span> Son +is given,<br /> +Whose eyes have seen beyond the tomb,<br /> + Who have the key of Heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">Weak tremblers on the edge of woe,<br /> + Yet shrinking from true bliss,<br /> +Our rest must be “no rest below,”<br /> + And let our prayer be this:</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Lord</span>, wave +again Thy chastening rod,<br /> + Till every idol throne<br /> +Crumble to dust, and Thou, O <span class="smcap">God</span>,<br +/> + Reign in our hearts alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Bring all our wandering fancies home,<br +/> + For Thou hast every spell,<br /> +And ’mid the heathen where they roam,<br /> + Thou knowest, <span class="smcap">Lord</span>, too +well.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Thou know’st our service sad and +hard,<br /> + Thou know’st us fond and frail;<br /> +Win us to be loved and spared<br /> + When all the world shall fail.</p> +<p class="poetry">“So when at last our weary days<br /> + Are well-nigh wasted here,<br /> +And we can trace Thy wondrous ways<br /> + In distance calm and clear,</p> +<p class="poetry">“When in Thy love and Israel’s +sin<br /> + We read our story true,<br /> +We may not, all too late, begin<br /> + To wish our hopes were new.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Long loved, long tried, long spared as +they,<br /> + Unlike in this alone,<br /> +That, by Thy grace, our hearts shall stay<br /> + For evermore Thine own.”</p> +<h3>Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and +rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did +not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire? +They answered and said unto the king, True, O king. He +answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst +of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is +like the Son of God. <i>Daniel</i> iii. 24, 25.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> +Persecution’s torrent blaze<br /> + Wraps the unshrinking Martyr’s head;<br /> +When fade all earthly flowers and bays,<br /> + When summer friends are gone and fled,<br /> +Is he alone in that dark hour<br /> +Who owns the Lord of love and power?</p> +<p class="poetry">Or waves there not around his brow<br /> + A wand no human arm may wield,<br /> +Fraught with a spell no angels know,<br /> + His steps to guide, his soul to shield?<br /> +Thou, Saviour, art his Charmèd Bower,<br /> +His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when the wicked ones behold<br /> + Thy favourites walking in Thy light,<br /> +Just as, in fancy triumph bold,<br /> + They deemed them lost in deadly night,<br /> +Amazed they cry, “What spell is this,<br /> +Which turns their sufferings all to bliss?</p> +<p class="poetry">“How are they free whom we had bound?<br +/> + Upright, whom in the gulf we cast?<br /> +What wondrous helper have they found<br /> + To screen them from the scorching blast?<br /> +Three were they—who hath made them four?<br /> +And sure a form divine he wore,</p> +<p class="poetry">“E’en like the Son of +God.” So cried<br /> + The Tyrant, when in one fierce flame<br /> +The Martyrs lived, the murderers died:<br /> + Yet knew he not what angel came<br /> +To make the rushing fire-flood seem<br /> +Like summer breeze by woodland stream.</p> +<p class="poetry">He knew not, but there are who know:<br /> + The Matron, who alone hath stood,<br /> +When not a prop seemed left below,<br /> + The first lorn hour of widowhood,<br /> +Yet cheered and cheering all, the while,<br /> +With sad but unaffected smile;—</p> +<p class="poetry">The Father, who his vigil keeps<br /> + By the sad couch whence hope hath flown,<br /> +Watching the eye where reason sleeps,<br /> + Yet in his heart can mercy own,<br /> +Still sweetly yielding to the rod,<br /> +Still loving man, still thanking <span +class="smcap">God</span>;—</p> +<p class="poetry">The Christian Pastor, bowed to earth<br /> + With thankless toil, and vile esteemed,<br /> +Still travailing in second birth<br /> + Of souls that will not be redeemed:<br /> +Yet stedfast set to do his part,<br /> +And fearing most his own vain heart;—</p> +<p class="poetry">These know: on these look long and well,<br /> + Cleansing thy sight by prayer and faith,<br /> +And thou shalt know what secret spell<br /> + Preserves them in their living death:<br /> +Through sevenfold flames thine eye shall see<br /> +The Saviour walking with His faithful Three.</p> +<h3>Twentieth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Hear ye, O mountains, the Lord’s +controversy, and ye strong foundations of the earth. +<i>Micah</i> vi. 2.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Where</span> is Thy +favoured haunt, eternal Voice,<br /> + The region of Thy choice,<br /> +Where, undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul<br /> + Owns Thy entire control?—<br /> +’Tis on the mountain’s summit dark and high,<br /> + When storms are hurrying by:<br /> +’Tis ’mid the strong foundations of the earth,<br /> + Where torrents have their birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">No sounds of worldly toil ascending there,<br +/> + Mar the full burst of prayer;<br /> +Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe,<br /> + And round us and beneath<br /> +Are heard her sacred tones: the fitful sweep<br /> + Of winds across the steep<br /> +Through withered bents—romantic note and clear,<br /> + Meet for a hermit’s ear,—</p> +<p class="poetry">The wheeling kite’s wild solitary cry,<br +/> + And, scarcely heard so high,<br /> +The dashing waters when the air is still<br /> + From many a torrent rill<br /> +That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell,<br /> + Tracked by the blue mist well:<br /> +Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart<br /> + For Thought to do her part.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis then we hear the voice of <span +class="smcap">God</span> within,<br /> + Pleading with care and sin:<br /> +“Child of My love! how have I wearied thee?<br /> + Why wilt thou err from Me?<br /> +Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves,<br /> + Parted the drowning waves,<br /> +And set My saints before thee in the way,<br /> + Lest thou shouldst faint or stray?</p> +<p class="poetry">“What! was the promise made to thee +alone?<br /> + Art thou the excepted one?<br /> +An heir of glory without grief or pain?<br /> + O vision false and vain!<br /> +There lies thy cross; beneath it meekly bow;<br /> + It fits thy stature now:<br /> +Who scornful pass it with averted eye,<br /> + ’Twill crush them by-and-by.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Raise thy repining eyes, and take true +measure<br /> + Of thine eternal treasure;<br /> +The Father of thy Lord can grudge thee nought,<br /> + The world for thee was bought;<br /> +And as this landscape broad—earth, sea, and sky,—<br +/> + All centres in thine eye,<br /> +So all God does, if rightly understood,<br /> + Shall work thy final good.”</p> +<h3>Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>The vision is yet for an appointed time, but at +the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for +it, because it will surely come, it will not tarry. +<i>Habakkuk</i> ii. 3.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> morning mist is cleared away,<br /> + Yet still the face of Heaven is grey,<br /> +Nor yet this autumnal breeze has stirred the grove,<br /> + Faded yet full, a paler green<br /> + Skirts soberly the tranquil scene,<br /> +The red-breast warbles round this leafy cove.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sweet messenger of +“calm decay,”<br /> + Saluting sorrow as you may,<br /> +As one still bent to find or make the best,<br /> + In thee, and in this quiet mead,<br /> + The lesson of sweet peace I read,<br /> +Rather in all to be resigned than blest.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ’Tis a low chant, +according well<br /> + With the soft solitary knell,<br /> +As homeward from some grave beloved we turn,<br /> + Or by some holy death-bed dear,<br /> + Most welcome to the chastened ear<br /> +Of her whom Heaven is teaching how to mourn.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O cheerful tender strain! the +heart<br /> + That duly bears with you its part,<br /> +Singing so thankful to the dreary blast,<br /> + Though gone and spent its joyous prime,<br /> + And on the world’s autumnal time,<br /> +’Mid withered hues and sere, its lot be cast:</p> +<p class="poetry"> That is the heart for +thoughtful seer,<br /> + Watching, in trance nor dark nor clear,<br /> +Th’ appalling Future as it nearer draws:<br /> + His spirit calmed the storm to meet,<br /> + Feeling the rock beneath his feet,<br /> +And tracing through the cloud th’ eternal Cause.</p> +<p class="poetry"> That is the heart for +watchman true<br /> + Waiting to see what <span class="smcap">God</span> +will do,<br /> +As o’er the Church the gathering twilight falls<br /> + No more he strains his wistful eye,<br /> + If chance the golden hours be nigh,<br /> +By youthful Hope seen beaming round her walls.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Forced from his shadowy +paradise,<br /> + His thoughts to Heaven the steadier rise:<br /> +There seek his answer when the world reproves:<br /> + Contented in his darkling round,<br /> + If only he be faithful found,<br /> +When from the east the eternal morning moves.</p> +<p><i>Note</i>: The expression, “calm delay,” is +borrowed from a friend, by whose kind permission the following +stanzas are here inserted.</p> +<h4>TO THE RED-BREAST.</h4> +<p class="poetry">Unheard in summer’s flaring ray,<br /> + Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer,<br /> +Wooing the stillness of the autumn day:<br /> + Bid it a moment linger,<br /> + Nor fly<br /> +Too soon from winter’s scowling eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">The blackbird’s song at even-tide,<br /> + And hers, who gay ascends,<br /> +Filling the heavens far and wide,<br /> + Are sweet. But none so blends,<br /> + As thine,<br /> +With calm decay, and peace divine.</p> +<h3>Twenty-Second Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and +I forgive him? <i>Matthew</i> xviii. 21.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> liberty so glad +and gay,<br /> + As where the mountain boy,<br /> +Reckless of regions far away,<br /> + A prisoner lives in joy?</p> +<p class="poetry">The dreary sounds of crowded earth,<br /> + The cries of camp or town,<br /> +Never untuned his lonely mirth,<br /> + Nor drew his visions down.</p> +<p class="poetry">The snow-clad peaks of rosy light<br /> + That meet his morning view,<br /> +The thwarting cliffs that bound his sight,<br /> + They bound his fancy too.</p> +<p class="poetry">Two ways alone his roving eye<br /> + For aye may onward go,<br /> +Or in the azure deep on high,<br /> + Or darksome mere below.</p> +<p class="poetry">O blest restraint! more blessèd +range!<br /> + Too soon the happy child<br /> +His nook of homely thought will change<br /> + For life’s seducing wild:</p> +<p class="poetry">Too soon his altered day-dreams show<br /> + This earth a boundless space,<br /> +With sun-bright pleasures to and fro<br /> + Sporting in joyous race:</p> +<p class="poetry">While of his narrowing heart each year,<br /> + Heaven less and less will fill,<br /> +Less keenly, thorough his grosser ear,<br /> + The tones of mercy thrill.</p> +<p class="poetry">It must be so: else wherefore falls<br /> + The Saviour’s voice unheard,<br /> +While from His pard’ning Cross He calls,<br /> + “O spare as I have spared?”</p> +<p class="poetry">By our own niggard rule we try<br /> + The hope to suppliants given!<br /> +We mete out love, as if our eye<br /> + Saw to the end of Heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, ransomed sinner! wouldst thou know<br /> + How often to forgive,<br /> +How dearly to embrace thy foe,<br /> + Look where thou hop’st to live;—</p> +<p class="poetry">When thou hast told those isles of light,<br /> + And fancied all beyond,<br /> +Whatever owns, in depth or height,<br /> + Creation’s wondrous bond;</p> +<p class="poetry">Then in their solemn pageant learn<br /> + Sweet mercy’s praise to see:<br /> +Their Lord resigned them all, to earn<br /> + The bliss of pardoning thee.</p> +<h3>Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Who shall change our vile body, that it may be +fashioned like unto His glorious body, according to the working +whereby He is able even to subdue all things onto Himself. +<i>Philippians</i> iii. 21.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Red</span> o’er the +forest peers the setting sun,<br /> + The line of yellow light dies fast away<br /> +That crowned the eastern copse: and chill and dun<br /> + Falls on the moor the brief November day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,<br +/> + And Echo hide good-night from every glade;<br /> +Yet wait awhile, and see the calm heaves float<br /> + Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.</p> +<p class="poetry">How like decaying life they seem to glide!<br +/> + And yet no second spring have they in store,<br /> +But where they fall, forgotten to abide<br /> + Is all their portion, and they ask no more.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon o’er their heads blithe April airs +shall sing,<br /> + A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold,<br +/> +The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,<br /> + And all be vernal rapture as of old.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,<br /> + In all the world of busy life around<br /> +No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky,<br /> + No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.</p> +<p class="poetry">Man’s portion is to die and rise +again—<br /> + Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part<br /> +With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain,<br /> + As his when Eden held his virgin heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice<br +/> + Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life<br +/> +Only the first renewed—the heathen’s choice,<br /> + A round of listless joy and weary strife.</p> +<p class="poetry">For dreary were this earth, if earth were +all,<br /> + Tho’ brightened oft by dear Affection’s +kiss;—<br /> +Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall?<br /> + But catch a gleam beyond it, and ’tis +bliss.</p> +<p class="poetry">Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and +heart,<br /> + Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne<br /> +On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart<br /> + O’er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to +scorn</p> +<p class="poetry">Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in +heaven,<br /> + And fish, living shafts that pierce the main,<br /> +And stars that shoot through freezing air at even—<br /> + Who but would follow, might he break his chain?</p> +<p class="poetry">And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling +worm<br /> + Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free<br +/> +As his transfigured Lord with lightning form<br /> + And snowy vest—such grace He won for thee,</p> +<p class="poetry">When from the grave He sprang at dawn of +morn,<br /> + And led through boundless air thy conquering +road,<br /> +Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born,<br /> + Might fearless follow to their blest abode.</p> +<p class="poetry">But first, by many a stern and fiery blast<br +/> + The world’s rude furnace must thy blood +refine,<br /> +And many a gale of keenest woe be passed,<br /> + Till every pulse beat true to airs divine,</p> +<p class="poetry">Till every limb obey the mounting soul,<br /> + The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given.<br /> +He who the stormy heart can so control,<br /> + The laggard body soon will waft to Heaven.</p> +<h3>Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>The heart knoweth his own bitterness: and a +stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy. <i>Proverbs</i> +xiv. 10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Why</span> should we faint +and fear to live alone,<br /> + Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die,<br /> +Nor e’en the tenderest heart, and next our own,<br /> + Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh?</p> +<p class="poetry">Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe<br /> + Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart,<br /> +Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow—<br /> + Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the +heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">And well it is for us our <span +class="smcap">God</span> should feel<br /> + Alone our secret throbbings: so our prayer<br /> +May readier spring to Heaven, nor spend its zeal<br /> + On cloud-born idols of this lower air.</p> +<p class="poetry">For if one heart in perfect sympathy<br /> + Beat with another, answering love for love,<br /> +Weak mortals, all entranced, on earth would lie,<br /> + Nor listen for those purer strains above.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or what if Heaven for once its searching +light<br /> + Lent to some partial eye, disclosing all<br /> +The rude bad thoughts, that in our bosom’s night<br /> + Wander at large, nor heed Love’s gentle +thrall?</p> +<p class="poetry">Who would not shun the dreary uncouth place?<br +/> + As if, fond leaning where her infant slept,<br /> +A mother’s arm a serpent should embrace:<br /> + So might we friendless live, and die unwept.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn,<br +/> + Thou who canst love us, thro’ Thou read us +true;<br /> +As on the bosom of th’ aërial lawn<br /> + Melts in dim haze each coarse ungentle hue.</p> +<p class="poetry">So too may soothing Hope Thy heave enjoy<br /> + Sweet visions of long-severed hearts to frame:<br /> +Though absence may impair, or cares annoy,<br /> + Some constant mind may draw us still the same.</p> +<p class="poetry">We in dark dreams are tossing to and fro,<br /> + Pine with regret, or sicken with despair,<br /> +The while she bathes us in her own chaste glow,<br /> + And with our memory wings her own fond prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">O bliss of child-like innocence, and love<br /> + Tried to old age! creative power to win,<br /> +And raise new worlds, where happy fancies rove,<br /> + Forgetting quite this grosser world of sin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Bright are their dreams, because their thoughts +are clear,<br /> + Their memory cheering: but th’ earth-stained +spright,<br /> +Whose wakeful musings are of guilt and fear,<br /> + Must hover nearer earth, and less in light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Farewell, for her, th’ ideal scenes so +fair—<br /> + Yet not farewell her hope, since thou hast +deigned,<br /> +Creator of all hearts! to own and share<br /> + The woe of what Thou mad’st, and we have +stained.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou knowst our bitterness—our joys are +Thine—<br /> + No stranger Thou to all our wanderings wild:<br /> +Nor could we bear to think, how every line<br /> + Of us, Thy darkened likeness and defiled,</p> +<p class="poetry">Stands in full sunshine of Thy piercing eye,<br +/> + But that Thou call’st us Brethren: sweet +repose<br /> +Is in that word—the <span class="smcap">Lord</span> who +dwells on high<br /> + Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows.</p> +<h3>Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity.</h3> +<blockquote><p>The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found +in the way of righteousness. <i>Proverbs</i> xvi. 31.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> bright-haired +morn is glowing<br /> + O’er emerald meadows gay,<br /> +With many a clear gem strewing<br /> + The early shepherd’s way.<br /> +Ye gentle elves, by Fancy seen<br /> + Stealing away with night<br /> +To slumber in your leafy screen,<br /> + Tread more than airy light.</p> +<p class="poetry">And see what joyous greeting<br /> + The sun through heaven has shed,<br /> +Though fast yon shower be fleeting,<br /> + His beams have faster sped.<br /> +For lo! above the western haze<br /> + High towers the rainbow arch<br /> +In solid span of purest rays:<br /> + How stately is its march!</p> +<p class="poetry">Pride of the dewy morning!<br /> + The swain’s experienced eye<br /> +From thee takes timely warning,<br /> + Nor trusts the gorgeous sky.<br /> +For well he knows, such dawnings gay<br /> + Bring noons of storm and shower,<br /> +And travellers linger on the way<br /> + Beside the sheltering bower.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en so, in hope and trembling<br /> + Should watchful shepherd view<br /> +His little lambs assembling,<br /> + With glance both kind and true;<br /> +’Tis not the eye of keenest blaze,<br /> + Nor the quick-swelling breast,<br /> +That soonest thrills at touch of praise—<br /> + These do not please him best.</p> +<p class="poetry">But voices low and gentle,<br /> + And timid glances shy,<br /> +That seem for aid parental<br /> + To sue all wistfully,<br /> +Still pressing, longing to be right,<br /> + Yet fearing to be wrong,—<br /> +In these the Pastor dares delight,<br /> + A lamb-like, Christ-like throng.</p> +<p class="poetry">These in Life’s distant even<br /> + Shall shine serenely bright,<br /> +As in th’ autumnal heaven<br /> + Mild rainbow tints at night,<br /> +When the last shower is stealing down,<br /> + And ere they sink to rest,<br /> +The sun-beams weave a parting crown<br /> + For some sweet woodland nest.</p> +<p class="poetry">The promise of the morrow<br /> + Is glorious on that eve,<br /> +Dear as the holy sorrow<br /> + When good men cease to live.<br /> +When brightening ere it die away<br /> + Mounts up their altar flame,<br /> +Still tending with intenser ray<br /> + To Heaven whence first it came.</p> +<p class="poetry">Say not it dies, that glory,<br /> + ’Tis caught unquenched on high,<br /> +Those saintlike brows so hoary<br /> + Shall wear it in the sky.<br /> +No smile is like the smile of death,<br /> + When all good musings past<br /> +Rise wafted with the parting breath,<br /> + The sweetest thought the last.</p> +<h3>Sunday next before Advent.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing +be lost. <i>St. John</i> vi. 12.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Will</span> God indeed with fragments bear,<br /> + Snatched late from the decaying year?<br /> + Or can the Saviour’s blood endear<br /> + The dregs of a polluted life?<br +/> + When down th’ o’erwhelming current +tossed<br /> + Just ere he sink for ever lost,<br /> + The sailor’s untried arms are crossed<br /> +In agonizing prayer, will Ocean cease her strife?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sighs that exhaust but not +relieve<br /> + Heart-rending sighs, O spare to heave<br /> + A bosom freshly taught to grieve<br /> + For lavished hours and love +misspent!<br /> + Now through her round of holy thought<br /> + The Church our annual steps has brought,<br /> + But we no holy fire have caught—<br /> +Back on the gaudy world our wilful eyes were bent.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Too soon th’ ennobling +carols, poured<br /> + To hymn the birth-night of the <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /> + Which duteous Memory should have stored<br /> + For thankful echoing all the +year—<br /> + Too soon those airs have passed away;<br /> + Nor long within the heart would stay<br /> + The silence of <span +class="smcap">Christ’s</span> dying day,<br /> +Profaned by worldly mirth, or scared by worldly fear.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Some strain of hope and +victory<br /> + On Easter wings might lift us high<br /> + A little while we sought the sky:<br /> + And when the <span +class="smcap">Spirit’s</span> beacon fires<br /> + On every hill began to blare,<br /> + Lightening the world with glad amaze,<br /> + Who but must kindle while they gaze?<br /> +But faster than she soars, our earth-bound Fancy tires.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Nor yet for these, nor all +the rites,<br /> + By which our Mother’s voice invites<br /> + Our <span class="smcap">God</span> to bless our home +delights,<br /> + And sweeten every secret +tear:—<br /> + The funeral dirge, the marriage vow,<br /> + The hollowed font where parents bow,<br /> + And now elate and trembling now<br /> +To the Redeemer’s feet their new-found treasures +bear:—</p> +<p class="poetry"> Not for this Pastor’s +gracious arm<br /> + Stretched out to bless—a Christian charm<br /> + To dull the shafts of worldly harm:—<br /> + Nor, sweetest, holiest, best of +all<br /> + For the dear feast of <span +class="smcap">Jesus</span> dying,<br /> + Upon that altar ever lying,<br /> + Where souls with sacred hunger sighing<br /> +Are called to sit and eat, while angels prostrate +fall:—</p> +<p class="poetry"> No, not for each and all of +these,<br /> + Have our frail spirits found their ease.<br /> + The gale that stirs the autumnal trees<br /> + Seems tuned as truly to our +hearts<br /> + As when, twelve weary months ago,<br /> + ’Twas moaning bleak, so high and low,<br /> + You would have thought Remorse and Woe<br /> +Had taught the innocent air their sadly thrilling parts.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Is it, <span +class="smcap">Christ’s</span> light is too divine,<br /> + We dare not hope like Him to shine?<br /> + But see, around His dazzling shrine<br /> + Earths gems the fire of Heaven +have caught;<br /> + Martyrs and saints—each glorious day<br /> + Dawning in order on our way—<br /> + Remind us, how our darksome clay<br /> +May keep th’ ethereal warmth our new Creator brought.</p> +<p class="poetry"> These we have scorned, O +false and frail!<br /> + And now once more th’ appalling tale,<br /> + How love divine may woo and fail,<br /> + Of our lost year in Heaven is +told—<br /> + What if as far our life were past,<br /> + Our weeks all numbered to the last,<br /> + With time and hope behind us cast,<br /> +And all our work to do with palsied hands and cold?</p> +<p class="poetry"> O watch and pray ere Advent +dawn!<br /> + For thinner than the subtlest lawn<br /> + ’Twixt thee and death the veil is drawn.<br /> + But Love too late can never +glow:<br /> + The scattered fragments Love can glean<br /> + Refine the dregs, and yield us clean<br /> + To regions where one thought serene<br /> +Breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below.</p> +<h3>St. Andrew’s Day</h3> +<blockquote><p>He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith +unto him, We have found the Messias . . . And he brought him to +Jesus. <i>St. John</i> i. 41, 42.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> brothers part +for manhood’s race,<br /> + What gift may most endearing prove<br /> +To keep fond memory its her place,<br /> + And certify a brother’s love?</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis true, bright hours together told,<br +/> + And blissful dreams in secret shared,<br /> +Serene or solemn, gay or bold,<br /> + Shall last in fancy unimpaired.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en round the death-bed of the good<br +/> + Such dear remembrances will hover,<br /> +And haunt us with no vexing mood<br /> + When all the cares of earth are over.</p> +<p class="poetry">But yet our craving spirits feel,<br /> + We shall live on, though Fancy die,<br /> +And seek a surer pledge—a seal<br /> + Of love to last eternally.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who art thou, that wouldst grave thy name<br /> + Thus deeply in a brother’s heart?<br /> +Look on this saint, and learn to frame<br /> + Thy love-charm with true Christian art.</p> +<p class="poetry">First seek thy Saviour out, and dwell<br /> + Beneath this shadow of His roof,<br /> +Till thou have scanned His features well,<br /> + And known Him for the Christ by proof;</p> +<p class="poetry">Such proof as they are sure to find<br /> + Who spend with Him their happy days,<br /> +Clean hands, and a self-ruling mind<br /> + Ever in tune for love and praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, potent with the spell of Heaven,<br /> + Go, and thine erring brother gain,<br /> +Entice him home to be forgiven,<br /> + Till he, too, see his Saviour plain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or, if before thee in the race,<br /> + Urge him with thine advancing tread,<br /> +Till, like twin stars, with even pace,<br /> + Each lucid course be duly aped.</p> +<p class="poetry">No fading frail memorial give<br /> + To soothe his soul when thou art gone,<br /> +But wreaths of hope for aye to live,<br /> + And thoughts of good together done.</p> +<p class="poetry">That so, before the judgment-seat,<br /> + Though changed and glorified each face,<br /> +Not unremembered ye may meet<br /> + For endless ages to embrace.</p> +<h3>St. Thomas’ Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, thou hast +believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have +believed. <i>St. John</i> xx. 29.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">We</span> +were not by when Jesus came,<br /> + But round us, far and near,<br /> + We see His trophies, and His name<br /> + In choral echoes hear.<br /> + In a fair ground our lot is cast,<br /> + As in the solemn week that past,<br /> + While some might doubt, but all adored,<br /> +Ere the whole widowed Church had seen her risen Lord.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Slowly, as then, His +bounteous hand<br /> + The golden chain unwinds,<br /> + Drawing to Heaven with gentlest band<br /> + Wise hearts and loving minds.<br +/> + Love sought Him first—at dawn of morn<br /> + From her sad couch she sprang forlorn,<br /> + She sought to weep with Thee alone,<br /> +And saw Thine open grave, and knew that thou wert gone.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Reason and Faith at once set +out<br /> + To search the <span +class="smcap">Saviour’s</span> tomb;<br /> + Faith faster runs, but waits without,<br /> + As fearing to presume,<br /> + Till Reason enter in, and trace<br /> + Christ’s relics round the holy place—<br +/> + “Here lay His limbs, and here His sacred +head,<br /> +And who was by, to make His new-forsaken bed?”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Both wonder, one +believes—but while<br /> + They muse on all at home,<br /> + No thought can tender Love beguile<br /> + From Jesus’ grave to +roam.<br /> + Weeping she stays till He appear—<br /> + Her witness first the Church must hear—<br /> + All joy to souls that can rejoice<br /> +With her at earliest call of His dear gracious voice.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Joy too to those, who love to +talk<br /> + In secret how He died,<br /> + Though with sealed eyes awhile they walk,<br /> + Nor see him at their side:<br /> + Most like the faithful pair are they,<br /> + Who once to Emmaus took their way,<br /> + Half darkling, till their Master shied<br /> +His glory on their souls, made known in breaking bread.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thus, ever brighter and more +bright,<br /> + On those He came to save<br /> + The Lord of new-created light<br /> + Dawned gradual from the grave;<br +/> + Till passed th’ enquiring day-light hour,<br +/> + And with closed door in silent bower<br /> + The Church in anxious musing sate,<br /> +As one who for redemption still had long to wait.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then, gliding through +th’ unopening door,<br /> + Smooth without step or sound,<br +/> + “Peace to your souls,” He said—no +more—<br /> + They own Him, kneeling round.<br +/> + Eye, ear, and hand, and loving heart,<br /> + Body and soul in every part,<br /> + Successive made His witnesses that hour,<br /> +Cease not in all the world to show His saving power.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Is there, on earth, a spirit +frail,<br /> + Who fears to take their word,<br +/> + Scarce daring, through the twilight pale,<br /> + To think he sees the Lord?<br /> + With eyes too tremblingly awake<br /> + To bear with dimness for His sake?<br /> + Read and confess the Hand Divine<br /> +That drew thy likeness here so true in every line.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For all thy rankling doubts +so sore,<br /> + Love thou thy Saviour still,<br /> + Him for thy Lord and God adore,<br /> + And ever do His will.<br /> + Though vexing thoughts may seem to last,<br /> + Let not thy soul be quite o’ercast;—<br +/> + Soon will He show thee all His wounds, and say,<br +/> +“Long have I known Thy name—know thou My face +alway.”</p> +<h3>The Conversion of St. Paul.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying +unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me? And he said, +Who art Thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou +persecutest. <i>Acts</i> ix. 4, 5.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> mid-day sun, +with fiercest glare,<br /> +Broods o’er the hazy twinkling air:<br /> + Along the level sand<br /> +The palm-tree’s shade unwavering lies,<br /> +Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise<br /> + To greet you wearied band.</p> +<p class="poetry">The leader of that martial crew<br /> +Seems bent some mighty deed to do,<br /> + So steadily he speeds,<br /> +With lips firm closed and fixèd eye,<br /> +Like warrior when the fight is night,<br /> + Nor talk nor landscape heeds.</p> +<p class="poetry">What sudden blaze is round him poured,<br /> +As though all Heaven’s refulgent hoard<br /> + In one rich glory shone?<br /> +One moment—and to earth he falls:<br /> +What voice his inmost heart appalls?—<br /> + Voice heard by him alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">For to the rest both words and form<br /> +Seem lost in lightning and in storm,<br /> + While Saul, in wakeful trance,<br /> +Sees deep within that dazzling field<br /> +His persecuted Lord revealed,<br /> + With keen yet pitying glance:</p> +<p class="poetry">And hears time meek upbraiding call<br /> +As gently on his spirit fall,<br /> + As if th’ Almighty Son<br /> +Were prisoner yet in this dark earth,<br /> +Nor had proclaimed His royal birth,<br /> + Nor His great power begun.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah! wherefore persecut’st thou +Me?”<br /> +He heard and saw, and sought to free<br /> + His strained eyes from the sight:<br /> +But Heaven’s high magic bound it there,<br /> +Still gazing, though untaught to bear<br /> + Th’ insufferable light.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Who art Thou, Lord?” he falters +forth:—<br /> +So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth<br /> + At the last awful day.<br /> +“When did we see Thee suffering nigh,<br /> +And passed Thee with unheeding eye?<br /> + Great God of judgment, say!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! little dream our listless eyes<br /> +What glorious presence they despise,<br /> + While, in our noon of life,<br /> +To power or fame we rudely press.—<br /> +Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless,<br /> + Christ suffers in our strife.</p> +<p class="poetry">And though heaven’s gate long since have +closed,<br /> +And our dear Lord in bliss reposed,<br /> + High above mortal ken,<br /> +To every ear in every land<br /> +(Thought meek ears only understand)<br /> + He speaks as he did then.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah! wherefore persecute ye Me?<br /> +’Tis hard, ye so in love should be<br /> + With your own endless woe.<br /> +Know, though at God’s right hand I live,<br /> +I feel each wound ye reckless give<br /> + To the least saint below.</p> +<p class="poetry">“I in your care My brethren left,<br /> +Not willing ye should be bereft<br /> + Of waiting on your Lord.<br /> +The meanest offering ye can make—<br /> +A drop of water—for love’s sake,<br /> + In Heaven, be sure, is stored.”</p> +<p class="poetry">O by those gentle tones and dear,<br /> +When thou hast stayed our wild career,<br /> + Thou only hope of souls,<br /> +Ne’er let us cast one look behind,<br /> +But in the thought of Jesus find<br /> + What every thought controls.</p> +<p class="poetry">As to Thy last Apostle’s heart<br /> +Thy lightning glance did then impart<br /> + Zeal’s never-dying fire,<br /> +So teach us on Thy shrine to lay<br /> +Our hearts, and let them day by day<br /> + Intenser blaze and higher.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as each mild and winning note<br /> +(Like pulses that round harp-strings float<br /> + When the full strain is o’er)<br /> +Left lingering on his inward ear<br /> +Music, that taught, as death drew near,<br /> + Love’s lesson more and more:</p> +<p class="poetry">So, as we walk our earthly round,<br /> +Still may the echo of that sound<br /> + Be in our memory stored<br /> +“Christians! behold your happy state:<br /> +Christ is in these, who round you wait;<br /> + Make much of your dear Lord!”</p> +<h3>The Purification.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see +God. <i>St. Matthew</i> v. 8.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Bless’d</span> are the pure in heart,<br /> + For they shall see our God,<br /> +The secret of the Lord is theirs,<br /> + Their soul is Christ’s abode.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Might mortal thought +presume<br /> + To guess an angel’s lay,<br /> +Such are the notes that echo through<br /> + The courts of Heaven to-day.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Such the triumphal hymns<br +/> + On Sion’s Prince that wait,<br /> +In high procession passing on<br /> + Towards His temple-gate.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Give ear, ye kings—bow +down,<br /> + Ye rulers of the earth—<br /> +This, this is He: your Priest by grace,<br /> + Your God and King by birth.</p> +<p class="poetry"> No pomp of earthly guards<br +/> + Attends with sword and spear,<br /> +And all-defying, dauntless look,<br /> + Their monarch’s way to clear;</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet are there more with +Him<br /> + Than all that are with you—<br /> +The armies of the highest Heaven,<br /> + All righteous, good, and true.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Spotless their robes and +pure,<br /> + Dipped in the sea of light,<br /> +That hides the unapproachèd shrine<br /> + From men’s and angels’ sight.</p> +<p class="poetry"> His throne, thy bosom +blest,<br /> + O mother undefiled—<br /> +That throne, if aught beneath the skies,<br /> + Beseems the sinless child.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Lost in high thoughts, +“whose son<br /> + The wondrous Babe might prove,”<br /> +Her guileless husband walks beside,<br /> + Bearing the hallowed dove;</p> +<p class="poetry"> Meet emblem of His vow,<br /> + Who, on this happy day,<br /> +His dove-like soul—best sacrifice—<br /> + Did on God’s altar lay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But who is he, by years<br /> + Bowed, but erect in heart,<br /> +Whose prayers are struggling with his tears?<br /> + “Lord, let me now depart.</p> +<p class="poetry"> “Now hath Thy servant +seen<br /> + Thy saving health, O Lord;<br /> +’Tis time that I depart in peace,<br /> + According to Thy word.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> Yet swells this pomp: one +more<br /> + Comes forth to bless her God;<br /> +Full fourscore years, meek widow, she<br /> + Her heaven-ward way hath troth.</p> +<p class="poetry"> She who to earthly joys<br /> + So long had given farewell,<br /> +Now sees, unlooked for, Heaven on earth,<br /> + Christ in His Israel.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wide open from that hour<br +/> + The temple-gates are set,<br /> +And still the saints rejoicing there<br /> + The holy Child have met.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now count His train +to-day,<br /> + Auth who may meet Him, learn:<br /> +Him child-like sires, meek maidens find,<br /> + Where pride can nought discern.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Still to the lowly soul<br /> + He doth Himself impart,<br /> +And for His cradle and His throne<br /> + Chooseth the pure in heart.</p> +<h3>St. Matthias’ Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Wherefore of these men which have companied with +us all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, +beginning from the baptism of John, unto the same day that He was +taken up from us, must one be ordained to be a witness with us of +His resurrection. <i>Acts</i> i. 21, 22.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Who</span> is God’s chosen priest?<br /> +He, who on Christ stands waiting day and night,<br /> +Who traceth His holy steps, nor ever ceased,<br /> + From Jordan banks to Bethphage height:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Who hath +learned lowliness<br /> +From his Lord’s cradle, patience from His Cross;<br /> +Whom poor men’s eyes and hearts consent to bless;<br /> + To whom, for Christ, the world is loss;</p> +<p class="poetry"> Who both in +agony<br /> +Hath seen Him and in glory; and in both<br /> +Owned Him divine, and yielded, nothing loth,<br /> + Body and soul, to live and die,</p> +<p class="poetry"> In witness +of his Lord,<br /> +In humble following of his Saviour dear:<br /> +This is the man to wield th’ unearthly sword,<br /> + Warring unharmed with sin and fear.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But who can +o’er suffice—<br /> +What mortal—for this more than angels’ task,<br /> +Winning or losing souls, Thy life-blood’s price?<br /> + The gift were too divine to ask.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But Thou +hast made it sure<br /> +By Thy dear promise to thy Church and Bride,<br /> +That Thou, on earth, wouldst aye with her endure,<br /> + Till earth to Heaven be purified.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou art +her only spouse,<br /> +Whose arm supports her, on Whose faithful breast<br /> +Her persecuted head she meekly bows,<br /> + Sure pledge of her eternal rest.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou, her +unerring guide,<br /> +Stayest her fainting steps along the wild;<br /> +Thy merit is on the bowers of lust and pride,<br /> + That she may pass them undefiled.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Who then, +uncalled by Thee,<br /> +Dare touch Thy spouse, Thy very self below?<br /> +Or who dare count him summoned worthily,<br /> + Except Thine hand and seal he show?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Where can +Thy seal be found,<br /> +But on thou chosen seed, from age to age<br /> +By thine anointed heralds duly crowned,<br /> + As kings and priests Thy war to wage?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Then +fearless walk we forth,<br /> +Yet full of trembling, Messengers of God:<br /> +Our warrant sure, but doubting of our worth,<br /> + By our own shame alike and glory awed.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Dread +Searcher of the hearts,<br /> +Thou who didst seal by Thy descending Dove<br /> +Thy servant’s choice, O help us in our parts,<br /> + Else helpless found, to learn and teach Thy +love.</p> +<h3>The Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And the Angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, +thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art +thou among women.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>St. Luke</i> i. 28.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! Thou who +deign’st to sympathise<br /> +With all our frail and fleshly ties,<br /> + Maker yet Brother dear,<br /> +Forgive the too presumptuous thought,<br /> +If, calming wayward grief, I sought<br /> + To gaze on Thee too near.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet sure ’twas not presumption, Lord,<br +/> +’Twas Thine own comfortable word<br /> + That made the lesson known:<br /> +Of all the dearest bonds we prove,<br /> +Thou countest sons and mothers’ love<br /> + Most sacred, most Thine own.</p> +<p class="poetry">When wandering here a little span,<br /> +Thou took’st on Thee to rescue man,<br /> + Thou had’st no earthly sire:<br /> +That wedded love we prize so dear,<br /> +As if our heaven and home were here,<br /> + It lit in Thee no fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">On no sweet sister’s faithful breast<br +/> +Wouldst Thou Thine aching forehead rest,<br /> + On no kind brother lean:<br /> +But who, O perfect filial heart,<br /> +E’er did like Thee a true son’s part,<br /> + Endearing, firm, serene?</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou wept’st, meek maiden, mother +mild,<br /> +Thou wept’st upon thy sinless Child,<br /> + Thy very heart was riven:<br /> +And yet, what mourning matron here<br /> +Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear<br /> + By all on this side Heaven?</p> +<p class="poetry">A Son that never did amiss,<br /> +That never shamed His Mother’s kiss,<br /> + Nor crossed her fondest prayer:<br /> +E’en from the tree He deigned to bow,<br /> +For her His agonised brow,<br /> + Her, His sole earthly care.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ave Maria! blessèd Maid!<br /> +Lily of Eden’s fragrant shade,<br /> + Who can express the love<br /> +That nurtured thee so pure and sweet,<br /> +Making thy heart a shelter meet<br /> + For Jesus’ holy dove?</p> +<p class="poetry">Ave Maria! Mother blest,<br /> +To whom, caressing and caressed,<br /> + Clings the eternal Child;<br /> +Favoured beyond Archangels’ dream,<br /> +When first on Thee with tenderest gleam<br /> + Thy new-born Saviour smiled:—</p> +<p class="poetry">Ave Maria! thou whose name<br /> +All but adoring love may claim,<br /> + Yet may we reach thy shrine;<br /> +For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows<br /> +To crown all lowly lofty brows<br /> + With love and joy like thine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Blessed is the womb that bare +Him—blessed<br /> +The bosom where His lips were pressed,<br /> + But rather blessed are they<br /> +Who hear His word and keep it well,<br /> +The living homes where Christ shall dwell,<br /> + And never pass away.</p> +<h3>St. Mark’s Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And the contention was so sharp between them, that +they departed asunder one from the other. <i>Acts</i> xv. +30.</p> +<p>Compare 2 <i>Tim.</i> iv. 11. Take Mark, and bring him +with thee: for he is profitable to me for the ministry.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! who shall dare +in this frail scene<br /> +On holiest happiest thoughts to lean,<br /> + On Friendship, Kindred, or on Love?<br /> +Since not Apostles’ hands can clasp<br /> +Each other in so firm a grasp<br /> + But they shall change and variance prove.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet deem not, on such parting sad<br /> +Shall dawn no welcome dear and glad:<br /> + Divided in their earthly race,<br /> +Together at the glorious goal,<br /> +Each leading many a rescued soul,<br /> + The faithful champions shall embrace.</p> +<p class="poetry">For e’en as those mysterious Four,<br /> +Who the bright whirling wheels upbore<br /> + By Chebar in the fiery blast.<br /> +So, on their tasks of love and praise<br /> +This saints of God their several ways<br /> + Right onward speed, yet join at last.</p> +<p class="poetry">And sometimes e’en beneath the moon<br /> +The Saviour gives a gracious boon,<br /> + When reconcilèd Christians meet,<br /> +And face to face, and heart to heart,<br /> +High thoughts of holy love impart<br /> + In silence meek, or converse sweet.</p> +<p class="poetry">Companion of the Saints! ’twas thine<br +/> +To taste that drop of peace divine,<br /> + When the great soldier of thy Lord<br /> +Called thee to take his last farewell,<br /> +Teaching the Church with joy to tell<br /> + The story of your love restored.</p> +<p class="poetry">O then the glory and the bliss,<br /> +When all that pained or seemed amiss<br /> + Shall melt with earth and sin away!<br /> +When saints beneath their Saviour’s eye,<br /> +Filled with each other’s company,<br /> + Shall spend in love th’ eternal day!</p> +<h3>St. Philip and St. James.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he +is exalted: but the rich in that he is made low. <i>St. +James</i> i. 9. 10.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> is the morning +gale of spring,<br /> + And dear th’ autumnal eve;<br /> +But few delights can summer bring<br /> + A Poet’s crown to weave.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,<br /> + And ever Fancy’s wing<br /> +Speed’s from beneath her cloudless sky<br /> + To autumn or to spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet is the infant’s waking smile,<br /> + And sweet the old man’s rest—<br /> +But middle age by no fond wile,<br /> + No soothing calm is blest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still in the world’s hot restless +gleam<br /> + She plies her weary task,<br /> +While vainly for some pleasant dream<br /> + Her wandering glances ask.—</p> +<p class="poetry">O shame upon thee, listless heart,<br /> + So sad a sigh to heave,<br /> +As if thy <span class="smcap">Saviour</span> had no part<br /> + In thoughts, that make thee grieve.</p> +<p class="poetry">As if along His lonesome way<br /> + He had not borne for thee<br /> +Sad languors through the summer day,<br /> + Storms on the wintry sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Youth’s lightning flash of joy secure<br +/> + Passed seldom o’er His spright,—<br /> +A well of serious thought and pure.<br /> + Too deep for earthly light.</p> +<p class="poetry">No spring was His—no fairy +gleam—<br /> + For He by trial knew<br /> +How cold and bare what mortals dream,<br /> + To worlds where all is true.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then grudge not thou the anguish keen<br /> + Which makes thee like thy <span +class="smcap">Lord</span>,<br /> +And learn to quit with eye serene<br /> + Thy youth’s ideal hoard.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy treasured hopes and raptures high—<br +/> + Unmurmuring let them go,<br /> +Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly<br /> + Which <span class="smcap">Christ</span> disdained to +know.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;<br /> + The pure, calm hope be thine,<br /> +Which brightens, like the eastern moon,<br /> + As day’s wild lights decline.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus souls, by nature pitched too high,<br /> + By sufferings plunged too low,<br /> +Meet in the Church’s middle sky,<br /> + Half way ’twixt joy and woe,</p> +<p class="poetry">To practise there the soothing lay<br /> + That sorrow best relieves;<br /> +Thankful for all God takes away,<br /> + Humbled by all He glass.</p> +<h3>St. Barnabas.</h3> +<blockquote><p>The sea of consolation, a Levite. +<i>Acts</i> iv. 36.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> world’s a room of sickness, where +each heart<br /> + Knows its own anguish and +unrest;<br /> + The truest wisdom there, and noblest art,<br /> + Is his, who skills of comfort +best;<br /> + Whom by the softest step and gentlest tone<br /> + Enfeebled +spirits own,<br /> + And love to raise the languid +eye,<br /> +When, like an angel’s wing, they feel him fleeting +by:—</p> +<p class="poetry"> <i>Feel</i> only—for in +silence gently gliding<br /> + Fain would he shun both ear and +sight,<br /> + ’Twixt Prayer and watchful Love his heart +dividing,<br /> + A nursing-father day and night.<br +/> + Such were the tender arms, where cradled lay,<br /> + In her sweet +natal day,<br /> + The Church of <span +class="smcap">Jesus</span>; such the love<br /> +He to His chosen taught for His dear widowed Dove.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Warmed underneath the +Comforter’s safe wing<br /> + They spread th’ endearing +warmth around:<br /> + Mourners, speed here your broken hearts to bring,<br +/> + Here healing dews and balms +abound:<br /> + Here are soft hands that cannot bless in vain,<br /> + By trial taught +your pain:<br /> + Here loving hearts, that daily +know<br /> +The heavenly consolations they on you bestow.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sweet thoughts are theirs, +that breathe serenest calms,<br /> + Of holy offerings timely paid,<br +/> + Of fire from heaven to bless their votive alms<br /> + And passions on <span +class="smcap">God’s</span> altar laid.<br /> + The world to them is closed, and now they shine<br +/> + With rays of +love divine,<br /> + Through darkest nooks of this dull +earth<br /> +Pouring, in showery times, their glow of “quiet +mirth.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> New hearts before their +Saviour’s feet to lay,<br /> + This is their first, their dearest +joy:<br /> + Their next from heart to heart to clear the way<br +/> + For mutual love without alloy:<br +/> + Never so blest as when in <span +class="smcap">Jesus</span>’ roll<br /> + They write some +hero-soul,<br /> + More pleased upon his brightening +road<br /> +To wait, than if their own with all his radiance glowed.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O happy spirits, marked by +God and man<br /> + Their messages of love to bear,<br +/> + What though long since in Heaven your brows +began,<br /> + The genial amarant wreath to +wear,<br /> + And in th’ eternal leisure of calm love<br /> + Ye banquet there +above;<br /> + Yet in your sympathetic heart<br +/> +We and our earthly griefs may ask and hope a part.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Comfort’s true sons! +amid the thoughts of down<br /> + That strew your pillow of +repose,<br /> + Sure ’tis one joy to muse, how ye unknown<br +/> + By sweet remembrance soothe our +woes;<br /> + And how the spark ye lit, of heavenly cheer,<br /> + Lives in our +embers here,<br /> + Where’er the cross is borne +with smiles,<br /> +Or lightened secretly by Love’s endearing wiles:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Where’er one Levite in +the temple keeps<br /> + The watch-fire of his midnight +prayer,<br /> + Or issuing thence, the eyes of mourners steeps<br /> + In heavenly balm, fresh gathered +there;<br /> + Thus saints, that seem to die in earth’s rude +strife,<br /> + Only win double +life:<br /> + They have but left our weary +ways<br /> +To live in memory here, in Heaven by love and praise.</p> +<h3>St. John Baptist’s Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before +the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord: and he +shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the +heart of the children to their fathers. <i>Malachi</i> iv. +5, 6.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Twice</span> in her season of decay<br /> +The fallen Church hath felt Elijah’s eye<br /> + Dart from the wild its piercing +ray:<br /> +Not keener burns, in the chill morning sky,<br /> + The herald +star,<br /> + Whose torch +afar<br /> + Shadows and boding night-birds fly.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Methinks we +need him once again,<br /> +That favoured seer—but where shall he be found?<br /> + By Cherith’s side we seek in +vain,<br /> +In vain on Carmel’s green and lonely mound:<br /> + Angels no +more<br /> + From Sinai +soar,<br /> + On his celestial errands bound.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But wafted +to her glorious place<br /> +By harmless fire, among the ethereal thrones,<br /> + His spirit with a dear embrace<br +/> +Thee the loved harbinger of Jesus owns,<br /> + Well-pleased to +view<br /> + Her likeness +true,<br /> + And trace, in thine, her own deep tones.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Deathless +himself, he joys with thee<br /> +To commune how a faithful martyr dies,<br /> + And in the blest could envy be,<br +/> +He would behold thy wounds with envious eyes,<br /> + Star of our +morn,<br /> + Who yet +unborn<br /> + Didst guide our hope, where Christ should rise.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now resting +from your jealous care<br /> +For sinners, such as Eden cannot know,<br /> + Ye pour for us your mingled +prayer,<br /> +No anxious fear to damp Affection’s glow,<br /> + Love draws a +cloud<br /> + From you to +shroud<br /> + Rebellion’s mystery here below.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And since +we see, and not afar,<br /> +The twilight of the great and dreadful day,<br /> + Why linger, till Elijah’s +car<br /> +Stoop from the clouds? Why sheep ye? Rise and +pray,<br /> + Ye heralds +sealed<br /> + In camp or +field<br /> + Your Saviour’s banner to display.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Where is +the lore the Baptist taught,<br /> +The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue?<br /> + The much-enduring wisdom, +sought<br /> +By lonely prayer the haunted rocks among?<br /> + Who counts it +gain<br /> + His light should +wane,<br /> + So the whole world to Jesus throng?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou +Spirit, who the Church didst lend<br /> +Her eagle wings, to shelter in the wild,<br /> + We pray Thee, ere the Judge +descend,<br /> +With flames like these, all bright and undefiled,<br /> + Her watch-fires +light,<br /> + To guide +aright<br /> + Our weary souls by earth beguiled.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So glorious +let thy Pastors shine,<br /> +That by their speaking lives the world may learn<br /> + First filial duty, then divine,<br +/> +That sons to parents, all to Thee may turn;<br /> + And ready +prove<br /> + In fires of +love,<br /> + At sight of Thee, for aye to burn.</p> +<h3>St. Peter’s Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>When Herod would have brought him forth, the same +night Peter was sleeping. <i>Acts</i> xii. 26.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> thrice denied, +yet thrice beloved,<br /> + Watch by Thine own forgiven friend;<br /> +In sharpest perils faithful proved,<br /> + Let his soul love Thee to the end.</p> +<p class="poetry">The prayer is heard—else why so deep<br +/> + His slumber on the eve of death?<br /> +And wherefore smiles he in his sleep<br /> + As one who drew celestial breath?</p> +<p class="poetry">He loves and is beloved again—<br /> + Can his soul choose but be at rest?<br /> +Sorrow hath fled away, and Pain<br /> + Dares not invade the guarded nest.</p> +<p class="poetry">He dearly loves, and not alone:<br /> + For his winged thoughts are soaring high<br /> +Where never yet frail heart was known<br /> + To breathe its vain Affection’s sigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">He loves and weeps—but more than tears<br +/> + Have sealed Thy welcome and his love—<br /> +One look lives in him, and endears<br /> + Crosses and wrongs where’er he rove:</p> +<p class="poetry">That gracious chiding look, Thy call<br /> + To win him to himself and Thee,<br /> +Sweetening the sorrow of his fall<br /> + Which else were rued too bitterly.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en through the veil of sheep it +shines,<br /> + The memory of that kindly glance;—<br /> +The Angel watching by, divines<br /> + And spares awhile his blissful trance.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or haply to his native lake<br /> + His vision wafts him back, to talk<br /> +With <span class="smcap">Jesus</span>, ere His flight He take,<br +/> + As in that solemn evening walk,</p> +<p class="poetry">When to the bosom of His friend,<br /> + The Shepherd, He whose name is Good.<br /> +Did His dear lambs and sheep commend,<br /> + Both bought and nourished with His blood:</p> +<p class="poetry">Then laid on him th’ inverted tree,<br /> + Which firm embraced with heart and arm,<br /> +Might cast o’er hope and memory,<br /> + O’er life and death, its awful charm.</p> +<p class="poetry">With brightening heart he bears it on,<br /> + His passport through this eternal gates,<br /> +To his sweet home—so nearly won,<br /> + He seems, as by the door he waits,</p> +<p class="poetry">The unexpressive notes to hear<br /> + Of angel song and angel motion,<br /> +Rising and falling on the ear<br /> + Like waves in Joy’s unbounded +ocean.—</p> +<p class="poetry">His dream is changed—the Tyrant’s +voice<br /> + Calls to that last of glorious deeds—<br /> +But as he rises to rejoice,<br /> + Not Herod but an Angel leads.</p> +<p class="poetry">He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright,<br /> + Glancing around his prison room—<br /> +But ’tis a gleam of heavenly light<br /> + That fills up all the ample gloom.</p> +<p class="poetry">The flame, that in a few short years<br /> + Deep through the chambers of the dead<br /> +Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears,<br /> + Is waving o’er his dungeon-bed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Touched he upstarts—his chains +unbind—<br /> + Through darksome vault, up massy stair,<br /> +His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind<br /> + To freedom and cool moonlight air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then all himself, all joy and calm,<br /> + Though for a while his hand forego,<br /> +Just as it touched, the martyr’s palm,<br /> + He turns him to his task below;</p> +<p class="poetry">The pastoral staff, the keys of Heaven,<br /> + To wield a while in grey-haired might,<br /> +Then from his cross to spring forgiven,<br /> + And follow <span class="smcap">Jesus</span> out of +sight.</p> +<h3>St. James’s Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Ye shall drink indeed of My cup, and be baptised +with the baptism that I am baptised with: but to sit on My right +hand, and on My left, is not Mine to give, but it shall be given +to them for whom it is prepared of My Father. <i>St. +Matthew</i> xx. 23.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sit</span> down and take +thy fill of joy<br /> + At God’s right hand, a bidden guest,<br /> +Drink of the cup that cannot cloy,<br /> + Eat of the bread that cannot waste.<br /> +O great Apostle! rightly now<br /> + Thou readest all thy Saviour meant,<br /> +What time His grave yet gentle brow<br /> + In sweet reproof on thee was bent.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Seek ye to sit enthroned by me?<br /> + Alas! ye know not what ye ask,<br /> +The first in shame and agony,<br /> + The lowest in the meanest task—<br /> +This can ye be? and came ye drink<br /> + The cup that I in tears must steep,<br /> +Nor from the ’whelming waters shrink<br /> + That o’er Me roll so dark and deep?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“We can—Thine are we, dearest +Lord,<br /> + In glory and in agony,<br /> +To do and suffer all Thy word;<br /> + Only be Thou for ever nigh.”—<br /> +“Then be it so—My cup receive,<br /> + And of My woes baptismal taste:<br /> +But for the crown, that angels weave<br /> + For those next Me in glory placed,</p> +<p class="poetry">“I give it not by partial love;<br /> + But in My Father’s book are writ<br /> +What names on earth shall lowliest prove,<br /> + That they in Heaven may highest sit.”<br /> +Take up the lesson, O my heart;<br /> + Thou Lord of meekness, write it there,<br /> +Thine own meek self to me impart,<br /> + Thy lofty hope, thy lowly prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">If ever on the mount with Thee<br /> + I seem to soar in vision bright,<br /> +With thoughts of coming agony,<br /> + Stay Thou the too presumptuous flight:<br /> +Gently along the vale of tears<br /> + Lead me from Tabor’s sunbright steep,<br /> +Let me not grudge a few short years<br /> + With thee t’ward Heaven to walk and weep:</p> +<p class="poetry">Too happy, on my silent path,<br /> + If now and then allowed, with Thee<br /> +Watching some placid holy death,<br /> + Thy secret work of love to see;<br /> +But, oh! most happy, should Thy call,<br /> + Thy welcome call, at last be given—<br /> +“Come where thou long hast storeth thy all<br /> + Come see thy place prepared in Heaven.”</p> +<h3>St. Bartholomew.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said +unto thee, I saw the under the fig-tree, believest thou? +Thou shalt see greater things than these. <i>St. John</i> +i. 50.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hold</span> up thy mirror +to the sun,<br /> + And thou shalt need an eagle’s gaze,<br /> +So perfectly the polished stone<br /> + Gives back the glory of his rays:</p> +<p class="poetry">Turn it, and it shall paint as true<br /> + The soft green of the vernal earth,<br /> +And each small flower of bashful hue,<br /> + That closest hides its lowly birth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our mirror is a blessèd book,<br /> + Where out from each illumined page<br /> +We see one glorious Image look<br /> + All eyes to dazzle and engage,</p> +<p class="poetry">The Son of God: and that indeed<br /> + We see Him as He is, we know,<br /> +Since in the same bright glass we read<br /> + The very life of things below.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Eye of God’s word! where’er we +turn<br /> + Ever upon us! thy keen gaze<br /> +Can all the depths of sin discern,<br /> + Unravel every bosom’s maze:</p> +<p class="poetry">Who that has felt thy glance of dread<br /> + Thrill through his heart’s remotest cells,<br +/> +About his path, about his bed,<br /> + Can doubt what spirit in thee dwells?</p> +<p class="poetry">“What word is this? Whence +know’st thou me?”<br /> + All wondering cries the humbled heart,<br /> +To hear thee that deep mystery,<br /> + The knowledge of itself, impart.</p> +<p class="poetry">The veil is raised; who runs may read,<br /> + By its own light the truth is seen,<br /> +And soon the Israelite indeed<br /> + Bows down t’ adore the Nazarene.</p> +<p class="poetry">So did Nathanael, guileless man,<br /> + At once, not shame-faced or afraid,<br /> +Owning Him God, who so could scan<br /> + His musings in the lonely shade;</p> +<p class="poetry">In his own pleasant fig-tree’s shade,<br +/> + Which by his household fountain grew,<br /> +Where at noon-day his prayer he made<br /> + To know God better than he knew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! happy hours of heavenward thought!<br /> + How richly crowned! how well improved!<br /> +In musing o’er the Law he taught,<br /> + In waiting for the Lord he loved.</p> +<p class="poetry">We must not mar with earthly praise<br /> + What God’s approving word hath sealed:<br /> +Enough, if might our feeble lays<br /> + Take up the promise He revealed;</p> +<p class="poetry">“The child-like faith, that asks not +sight,<br /> + Waits not for wonder or for sign,<br /> +Believes, because it loves, aright—<br /> + Shall see things greater, things divine.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Heaven to that gaze shall open wide,<br +/> + And brightest angels to and fro<br /> +On messages of love shall glide<br /> + ’Twixt God above and Christ below.”</p> +<p class="poetry">So still the guileless man is blest,<br /> + To him all crooked paths are straight,<br /> +Him on his way to endless rest<br /> + Fresh, ever-growing strengths await.</p> +<p class="poetry">God’s witnesses, a glorious host,<br /> + Compass him daily like a cloud;<br /> +Martyrs and seers, the saved and lost,<br /> + Mercies and judgments cry aloud.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet shall to him the still small voice,<br /> + That first into his bosom found<br /> +A way, and fixed his wavering choice,<br /> + Nearest and dearest ever sound.</p> +<h3>St. Matthew.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And after these things He went forth, and saw a +publican, named Levi, sitting at the receipt of custom: and He +said unto him, Follow Me. And he left all, rose up, and +followed Him. <i>St. Luke</i> v. 27, 28.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Ye</span> hermits blest, ye holy maids,<br /> + The nearest +Heaven on earth,<br /> + Who talk with God in shadowy +glades,<br /> + Free from rude +care and mirth;<br /> + To whom some viewless teacher +brings<br /> + The secret lore of rural +things,<br /> + The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,<br /> +The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale:</p> +<p class="poetry"> Say, when +in pity ye have gazed<br /> + On the wreathed +smoke afar,<br /> + That o’er some town, like +mist upraised,<br /> + Hung hiding sun +and star,<br /> + Then as ye turned your weary +eye<br /> + To the green earth and open +sky,<br /> + Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell<br +/> +Amid that dreary glare, in this world’s citadel?</p> +<p class="poetry"> But +Love’s a flower that will not die<br /> + For lack of +leafy screen,<br /> + And Christian Hope can cheer the +eye<br /> + That ne’er +saw vernal green;<br /> + Then be ye sure that Love can +bless<br /> + E’en in this crowded +loneliness,<br /> + Where ever-moving myriads seem to say,<br /> +Go—thou art naught to us, nor we to thee—away!</p> +<p class="poetry"> There are +in this loud stunning tide<br /> + Of human care +and crime,<br /> + With whom the melodies abide<br /> + Of th’ +everlasting chime;<br /> + Who carry music in their heart<br +/> + Through dusky lane and wrangling +mart,<br /> + Plying their daily task with busier feet,<br /> +Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.</p> +<p class="poetry"> How sweet +to them, in such brief rest<br /> + As thronging +cares afford,<br /> + In thought to wander, +fancy-blest,<br /> + To where their +gracious Lord,<br /> + In vain, to win proud +Pharisees,<br /> + Spake, and was heard by fell +disease—<br /> + But not in vain, beside yon breezy lake,<br /> +Bade the meek Publican his gainful seat forsake:</p> +<p class="poetry"> At once he +rose, and left his gold;<br /> + His treasure and +his heart<br /> + Transferred, where he shall safe +behold<br /> + Earth and her +idols part;<br /> + While he beside his endless +store<br /> + Shall sit, and floods unceasing +pour<br /> + Of Christ’s true riches o’er all time +and space,<br /> +First angel of His Church, first steward of His Grace.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Nor can ye +not delight to think<br /> + Where He +vouchsafed to eat,<br /> + How the Most Holy did not +shrink<br /> + From touch of +sinner’s meat;<br /> + What worldly hearts and hearts +impure<br /> + Went with Him through the rich +man’s door,<br /> + That we might learn of Him lost souls to love,<br /> +And view His least and worst with hope to meet above.</p> +<p class="poetry"> These +gracious lines shed Gospel light<br /> + On +Mammon’s gloomiest cells,<br /> + As on some city’s cheerless +night<br /> + The tide of +sunrise swells,<br /> + Till tower, and dome, and +bridge-way proud<br /> + Are mantled with a golden +cloud,<br /> + And to wise hearts this certain hope us given;<br /> +“No mist that man may raise, shall hide the eye of +Heaven.”</p> +<p class="poetry"> And oh! if +e’en on Babel shine<br /> + Such gleams of +Paradise,<br /> + Should not their peace be peace +divine,<br /> + Who day by day +arise<br /> + To look on clearer heavens, and +scan<br /> + The work of God untouch’d by +man?<br /> + Shame on us, who about us Babel bear,<br /> +And live in Paradise, as if God was not there!</p> +<h3>St. Michael and All Angels.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth +to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation? +<i>Hebrews</i> i. 14.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> stars that round +the Sun of righteousness<br /> + In glorious order roll,<br /> +With harps for ever strung, ready to bless<br /> + God for each rescued soul,<br /> +Ye eagle spirits, that build in light divine,<br /> + Oh! think of us to-day,<br /> +Faint warblers of this earth, that would combine<br /> +Our trembling notes with your accepted lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your amarant wreaths were earned; and homeward +all,<br /> + Flush’d with victorious might,<br /> +Ye might have sped to keep high festival,<br /> + And revel in the light;<br /> +But meeting us, weak worldlings, on our way,<br /> + Tired ere the fight begun,<br /> +Ye turned to help us in th’ unequal fray,<br /> +Remembering Whose we were, how dearly won:</p> +<p class="poetry">Remembering Bethlehem, and that glorious +night<br /> + When ye, who used to soar<br /> +Diverse along all space in fiery flight,<br /> + Came thronging to adore<br /> +Your God new-born, and made a sinner’s child;<br /> + As if the stars should leave<br /> +Their stations in the far ethereal wild,<br /> +And round the sun a radiant circle weave.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor less your lay of triumph greeted fair<br /> + Our Champion and your King,<br /> +In that first strife, whence Satan in despair<br /> + Sunk down on scathèd wing:<br /> +Abuse He fasted, and alone He fought;<br /> + But when His toils were o’er,<br /> +Ye to the sacred Hermit duteous brought<br /> +Banquet and hymn, your Eden’s festal store.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye too, when lowest in th’ abyss of +woe<br /> + He plunged to save His sheep,<br /> +Were leaning from your golden thrones to know<br /> + The secrets of that deep:<br /> +But clouds were on His sorrow: one alone<br /> + His agonising call<br /> +Summoned from Heaven, to still that bitterest groan,<br /> +And comfort Him, the Comforter of all.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! highest favoured of all Spirits create<br +/> + (If right of thee we deem),<br /> +How didst thou glide on brightening wing elate<br /> + To meet th’ unclouded beam<br /> +Of Jesus from the couch of darkness rising!<br /> + How swelled thine anthem’s sound,<br /> +With fear and mightier joy weak hearts surprising,<br /> +“Your God is risen, and may not here be found!”</p> +<p class="poetry">Pass a few days, and this dull darkling +globe<br /> + Must yield Him from her sight;—<br /> +Brighter and brighter streams His glory-robe,<br /> + And He is lost in light.<br /> +Then, when through yonder everlasting arch,<br /> + Ye in innumerous choir<br /> +Poured, heralding Messiah’s conquering march,<br /> +Lingered around His skirts two forms of fire:</p> +<p class="poetry">With us they stayed, high warning to impart;<br +/> + “The Christ shall come again<br /> +E’en as He goes; with the same human heart,<br /> + With the same godlike train.”—<br /> +Oh! jealous God! how could a sinner dare<br /> + Think on that dreadful day,<br /> +But that with all Thy wounds Thou wilt be there,<br /> +And all our angel friends to bring Thee on Thy way?</p> +<p class="poetry">Since to Thy little ones is given such +grace,<br /> + That they who nearest stand<br /> +Alway to God in Heaven, and see His face,<br /> + Go forth at His command,<br /> +To wait around our path in weal or woe,<br /> + As erst upon our King,<br /> +Set Thy baptismal seal upon our brow,<br /> +And waft us heavenward with enfolding wing:</p> +<p class="poetry">Grant. Lord, that when around th’ +expiring world<br /> + Our seraph guardians wait,<br /> +While on her death-bed, ere to ruin hurled,<br /> + She owns Thee, all too late,<br /> +They to their charge may turn, and thankful see<br /> + Thy mark upon us still;<br /> +Then all together rise, and reign with Thee,<br /> +And all their holy joy o’er contrite hearts fulfil!</p> +<h3>St. Luke.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Luke, the beloved physician, and Demas, greet +you. <i>Colossians</i> iv. 14.</p> +<p>Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world . . . +Only Luke is with me. 2 <i>Timothy</i> iv. 10, 11.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Two</span> clouds before +the summer gale<br /> + In equal race fleet o’er the sky:<br /> +Two flowers, when wintry blasts assail,<br /> + Together pins, together die.</p> +<p class="poetry">But two capricious human hearts—<br /> + No sage’s rod may track their ways.<br /> +No eye pursue their lawless starts<br /> + Along their wild self-chosen maze.</p> +<p class="poetry">He only, by whose sovereign hand<br /> + E’en sinners for the evil day<br /> +Were made—who rules the world He planned,<br /> + Turning our worst His own good way;</p> +<p class="poetry">He only can the cause reveal,<br /> + Why, at the same fond bosom fed,<br /> +Taught in the self-same lap to kneel<br /> + Till the same prayer were duly said,</p> +<p class="poetry">Brothers in blood and nurture too,<br /> + Aliens in heart so oft should prove;<br /> +One lose, the other keep, Heaven’s clue;<br /> + One dwell in wrath, and one in love.</p> +<p class="poetry">He only knows—for He can read<br /> + The mystery of the wicked heart—<br /> +Why vainly oft our arrows speed<br /> + When aimed with most unerring art;</p> +<p class="poetry">While from some rude and powerless arm<br /> + A random shaft in season sent<br /> +Shall light upon some lurking harm,<br /> + And work some wonder little meant.</p> +<p class="poetry">Doubt we, how souls so wanton change,<br /> + Leaving their own experienced rest?<br /> +Need not around the world to range;<br /> + One narrow cell may teach us best.</p> +<p class="poetry">Look in, and see Christ’s chosen saint<br +/> + In triumph wear his Christ-like chain;<br /> +No fear lest he should swerve or faint;<br /> + “His life is Christ, his death is +gain.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Two converts, watching by his side,<br /> + Alike his love and greetings share;<br /> +Luke the beloved, the sick soul’s guide,<br /> + And Demas, named in faltering prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pass a few years—look in once +more—<br /> + The saint is in his bonds again;<br /> +Save that his hopes more boldly soar,<br /> + He and his lot unchanged remain.</p> +<p class="poetry">But only Luke is with him now:<br /> + Alas! that e’en the martyr’s cell,<br /> +Heaven’s very gate, should scope allow<br /> + For the false world’s seducing spell.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis sad—but yet ’tis well, +be sure,<br /> + We on the sight should muse awhile,<br /> +Nor deem our shelter all secure<br /> + E’en in the Church’s holiest aisle.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vainly before the shrine he bends,<br /> + Who knows not the true pilgrim’s part:<br /> +The martyr’s cell no safety lends<br /> + To him who wants the martyr’s heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">But if there be, who follows Paul<br /> + As Paul his Lord, in life and death,<br /> +Where’er an aching heart may call,<br /> + Ready to speed and take no breath;</p> +<p class="poetry">Whose joy is, to the wandering sheep<br /> + To tell of the great Shepherd’s love;<br /> +To learn of mourners while they weep<br /> + The music that makes mirth above;</p> +<p class="poetry">Who makes the Saviour all his theme,<br /> + The Gospel all his pride and praise—<br /> +Approach: for thou canst feel the gleam<br /> + That round the martyr’s death-bed plays:</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou hast an ear for angels’ songs,<br /> + A breath the gospel trump to fill,<br /> +And taught by thee the Church prolongs<br /> + Her hymns of high thanksgiving still.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! dearest mother, since too oft<br /> + The world yet wins some Demas frail<br /> +E’en from thine arms, so kind and soft,<br /> + May thy tried comforts never fail!</p> +<p class="poetry">When faithless ones forsake thy wing,<br /> + Be it vouchsafed thee still to see<br /> +Thy true, fond nurslings closer cling,<br /> + Cling closer to their Lord and thee.</p> +<h3>St. Simon and St. Jude.</h3> +<blockquote><p>That ye should earnestly contend for the faith +which was once delivered unto the saints. <i>St. Jude</i> +3.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Seest</span> thou, how +tearful and alone,<br /> + And drooping like a wounded dove,<br /> +The Cross in sight, but Jesus gone,<br /> + The widowed Church is fain to rove?</p> +<p class="poetry">Who is at hand that loves the Lord?<br /> + Make haste, and take her home, and bring<br /> +Thine household choir, in true accord<br /> + Their soothing hymns for her to sing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soft on her fluttering heart shall breathe<br +/> + The fragrance of that genial isle,<br /> +There she may weave her funeral wreath,<br /> + And to her own sad music smile.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Spirit of the dying Son<br /> + Is there, and fills the holy place<br /> +With records sweet of duties done,<br /> + Of pardoned foes, and cherished grace.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as of old by two and two<br /> + His herald saints the Saviour sent<br /> +To soften hearts like morning dew,<br /> + Where he to shine in mercy meant;</p> +<p class="poetry">So evermore He deems His name<br /> + Best honoured and his way prepared,<br /> +When watching by his altar-flame<br /> + He sees His servants duly paired.</p> +<p class="poetry">He loves when age and youth are met,<br /> + Fervent old age and youth serene,<br /> +Their high and low in concord set<br /> + For sacred song, Joy’s golden mean.</p> +<p class="poetry">He loves when some clear soaring mind<br /> + Is drawn by mutual piety<br /> +To simple souls and unrefined,<br /> + Who in life’s shadiest covert lie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Or if perchance a saddened heart<br /> + That once was gay and felt the spring,<br /> +Cons slowly o’er its altered part,<br /> + In sorrow and remorse to sing,</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy gracious care will send that way<br /> + Some spirit full of glee, yet taught<br /> +To bear the sight of dull decay,<br /> + And nurse it with all-pitying thought;</p> +<p class="poetry">Cheerful as soaring lark, and mild<br /> + As evening blackbird’s full-toned lay,<br /> +When the relenting sun has smiled<br /> + Bright through a whole December day.</p> +<p class="poetry">These are the tones to brace and cheer<br /> + The lonely watcher of the fold,<br /> +When nights are dark, and foeman near,<br /> + When visions fade and hearts grow cold.</p> +<p class="poetry">How timely then a comrade’s song<br /> + Comes floating on the mountain air,<br /> +And bids thee yet be bold and strong—<br /> + Fancy may die, but Faith is there.</p> +<h3>All Saints’ Day.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the +trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in their +foreheads. <i>Revelation</i> vii. 3.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Why</span> blow’st thou not, thou wintry +wind,<br /> + Now every leaf is brown and +sere,<br /> + And idly droops, to thee resigned,<br /> + The fading chaplet of the year?<br +/> + Yet wears the pure aërial sky<br /> + Her summer veil, half drawn on high,<br /> + Of silvery haze, and dark and still<br /> +The shadows sleep on every slanting hill.</p> +<p class="poetry"> How quiet shows the woodland +scene!<br /> + Each flower and tree, its duty +done,<br /> + Reposing in decay serene,<br /> + Like weary men when age is won,<br +/> + Such calm old age as conscience pure<br /> + And self-commanding hearts ensure,<br /> + Waiting their summons to the sky,<br /> +Content to live, but not afraid to die.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sure if our eyes were purged +to trace<br /> + God’s unseen armies hovering +round,<br /> + We should behold by angels’ grace<br /> + The four strong winds of Heaven +fast bound,<br /> + Their downward sweep a moment stayed<br /> + On ocean cove and forest glade,<br /> + Till the last flower of autumn shed<br /> +Her funeral odours on her dying bed.</p> +<p class="poetry"> So in Thine awful armoury, +Lord,<br /> + The lightnings of the +judgment-day<br /> + Pause yet awhile, in mercy stored,<br /> + Till willing hearts wear quite +away<br /> + Their earthly stains; and spotless shine<br /> + On every brow in light divine<br /> + The Cross by angel hands impressed,<br /> +The seal of glory won and pledge of promised</p> +<p class="poetry"> Little they dream, those +haughty souls<br /> + Whom empires own with bended +knee,<br /> + What lowly fate their own controls,<br /> + Together linked by Heaven’s +decree;—<br /> + As bloodhounds hush their baying wild<br /> + To wanton with some fearless child,<br /> + So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes,<br /> +Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Think ye the spires that glow +so bright<br /> + In front of yonder setting sun,<br +/> + Stand by their own unshaken might?<br /> + No—where th’ upholding +grace is won,<br /> + We dare not ask, nor Heaven would tell,<br /> + But sure from many a hidden dell,<br /> + From many a rural nook unthought of there,<br /> +Rises for that proud world the saints’ prevailing +prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry"> On, Champions blest, in +Jesus’ name,<br /> + Short be your strife, your triumph +full,<br /> + Till every heart have caught your flame,<br /> + And, lightened of the +world’s misrule,<br /> + Ye soar those elder saints to meet<br /> + Gathered long since at Jesus’ feet,<br /> + No world of passions to destroy,<br /> +Your prayers and struggles o’er, your task all praise and +joy.</p> +<h3>Holy Communion.</h3> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">God</span> of Mercy, God +of Might,<br /> +How should pale sinners bear the sight,<br /> +If, as Thy power in surely here,<br /> +Thine open glory should appear?</p> +<p class="poetry">For now Thy people are allowed<br /> +To scale the mount and pierce the cloud,<br /> +And Faith may feed her eager view<br /> +With wonders Sinai never knew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fresh from th’ atoning sacrifice<br /> +The world’s Creator bleeding lies.<br /> +That man, His foe, by whom He bled,<br /> +May take Him for his daily bread.</p> +<p class="poetry">O agony of wavering thought<br /> +When sinners first so near are brought!<br /> +“It is my Maker—dare I stay?<br /> +My Saviour—dare I turn away?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus while the storm is high within<br /> +’Twixt love of Christ and fear of sin,<br /> +Who can express the soothing charm,<br /> +To feel Thy kind upholding arm,</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother Church? and hear thee tell<br /> +Of a world lost, yet loved so well,<br /> +That He, by whom the angels live,<br /> +His only Son for her would give?</p> +<p class="poetry">And doubt we yet? Thou call’st +again;<br /> +A lower still, a sweeter strain;<br /> +A voice from Mercy’s inmost shrine,<br /> +This very breath of Love divine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whispering it says to each apart,<br /> +“Come unto Me, thou trembling heart;”<br /> +And we must hope, so sweet the tone,<br /> +The precious words are all our own.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hear them, kind Saviour—hear Thy +Spouse<br /> +Low at Thy feet renew her vows;<br /> +Thine own dear promise she would plead<br /> +For us her true though fallen seed.</p> +<p class="poetry">She pleads by all Thy mercies, told<br /> +Thy chosen witnesses of old,<br /> +Love’s heralds sent to man forgiven,<br /> +One from the Cross, and one from Heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">This, of true penitents the chief,<br /> +To the lost spirit brings relief,<br /> +Lifting on high th’ adorèd Name:—<br /> +“Sinners to save, Christ, Jesus came.”</p> +<p class="poetry">That, dearest of Thy bosom Friends,<br /> +Into the wavering heart descends:—<br /> +“What? fallen again? yet cheerful rise.<br /> +Thine Intercessor never dies.”</p> +<p class="poetry">The eye of Faith, that waxes bright<br /> +Each moment by thine altar’s light,<br /> +Sees them e’en now: they still abide<br /> +In mystery kneeling at our side:</p> +<p class="poetry">And with them every spirit blest,<br /> +From realms of triumph or of rest,<br /> +From Him who saw creation’s morn,<br /> +Of all Thine angels eldest born,</p> +<p class="poetry">To the poor babe, who died to-day,<br /> +Take part in our thanksgiving lay,<br /> +Watching the tearful joy and calm,<br /> +While sinners taste Thine heavenly balm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet awful hour! the only sound<br /> +One gentle footstep gliding round,<br /> +Offering by turns on Jesus’ part<br /> +The Cross to every hand and heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">Refresh us, Lord, to hold it fast;<br /> +And when Thy veil is drawn at last,<br /> +Let us depart where shadows cease,<br /> +With words of blessing and of peace.</p> +<h3>Holy Baptism.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Where</span> is it mothers +learn their love?—<br /> + In every Church a fountain springs<br /> + O’er which th’ Eternal +Dove<br /> + Hovers out +softest wings.</p> +<p class="poetry">What sparkles in that lucid flood<br /> + Is water, by gross mortals eyed:<br /> + But seen by Faith, ’tis +blood<br /> + Out of a dear +Friend’s side.</p> +<p class="poetry">A few calm words of faith and prayer,<br /> + A few bright drops of holy dew,<br /> + Shall work a wonder there<br /> + Earth’s +charmers never knew.</p> +<p class="poetry">O happy arms, where cradled lies,<br /> + And ready for the Lord’s embrace,<br /> + That precious sacrifice,<br /> + The darling of +His grace!</p> +<p class="poetry">Blest eyes, that see the smiling gleam<br /> + Upon the slumbering features glow,<br /> + When the life-giving stream<br /> + Touches the +tender brow!</p> +<p class="poetry">Or when the holy cross is signed,<br /> + And the young soldier duly sworn,<br /> + With true and fearless mind<br /> + To serve the +Virgin-born.</p> +<p class="poetry">But happiest ye, who sealed and blest<br /> + Back to your arms your treasure take,<br /> + With Jesus’ mark +impressed<br /> + To nurse for +Jesus’ sake:</p> +<p class="poetry">To whom—as if in hallowed air<br /> + Ye knelt before some awful shrine—<br /> + His innocent gestures wear<br /> + A meaning half +divine:</p> +<p class="poetry">By whom Love’s daily touch is seen<br /> + In strengthening form and freshening hue,<br /> + In the fixed brow serene,<br /> + The deep yet +eager view.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Who taught thy pure and even breath<br /> + To come and go with such sweet grace?<br /> + Whence thy reposing Faith,<br /> + Though in our +frail embrace?</p> +<p class="poetry">O tender gem, and full of Heaven!<br /> + Not in the twilight stars on high,<br /> + Not in moist flowers at even<br /> + See we our God +so nigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">Sweet one, make haste and know Him too,<br /> + Thine own adopting Father love,<br /> + That like thine earliest dew<br /> + Thy dying sweets +may prove.</p> +<h3>Catechism.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! say not, dream +not, heavenly notes<br /> + To childish ears are vain,<br /> +That the young mind at random floats,<br /> + And cannot reach the strain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dim or unheard, the words may fall,<br /> + And yet the heaven-taught mind<br /> +May learn the sacred air, and all<br /> + The harmony unwind.</p> +<p class="poetry">Was not our Lord a little child,<br /> + Taught by degrees to pray,<br /> +By father dear and mother mild<br /> + Instructed day by day?</p> +<p class="poetry">And loved He not of Heaven to talk<br /> + With children in His sight,<br /> +To meet them in His daily walk,<br /> + And to His arms invite?</p> +<p class="poetry">What though around His throne of fire<br /> + The everlasting chant<br /> +Be wafted from the seraph choir<br /> + In glory jubilant?</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet stoops He, ever pleased to mark<br /> + Our rude essays of love,<br /> +Faint as the pipe of wakening lark,<br /> + Heard by some twilight grove:</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet is He near us, to survey<br /> + These bright and ordered files,<br /> +Like spring-flowers in their best array,<br /> + All silence and all smiles.</p> +<p class="poetry">Save that each little voice in turn<br /> + Some glorious truth proclaims,<br /> +What sages would have died to learn,<br /> + Now taught by cottage dames.</p> +<p class="poetry">And if some tones be false or low,<br /> + What are all prayers beneath<br /> +But cries of babes, that cannot know<br /> + Half the deep thought they breathe?</p> +<p class="poetry">In His own words we Christ adore,<br /> + But angels, as we speak,<br /> +Higher above our meaning soar<br /> + Than we o’er children weak:</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet His words mean more than they,<br /> + And yet He owns their praise:<br /> +Why should we think, He turns away<br /> + From infants’ simple lays?</p> +<h3>Confirmation.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> shadow of +th’ Almighty’s cloud<br /> + Calm on this tents of Israel lay,<br /> +While drooping paused twelve banners proud,<br /> + Till He arise and lead this way.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then to the desert breeze unrolled,<br /> + Cheerly the waving pennons fly,<br /> +Lion or eagle—each bright fold<br /> + A lodestar to a warrior’s eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">So should Thy champions, ere this strife<br /> + By holy hands o’ershadowed kneel,<br /> +So, fearless for their charmèd life,<br /> + Bear, to this end, Thy Spirit’s seal.</p> +<p class="poetry">Steady and pure as stars that beam<br /> + In middle heaven, all mist above,<br /> +Seen deepest in this frozen stream:—<br /> + Such is their high courageous love.</p> +<p class="poetry">And soft as pure, and warm as bright,<br /> + They brood upon life’s peaceful hour,<br /> +As if the Dove that guides their flight<br /> + Shook from her plumes a downy shower.</p> +<p class="poetry">Spirit of might and sweetness too!<br /> + Now leading on the wars of God,<br /> +Now to green isles of shade and dew<br /> + Turning the waste Thy people trod;</p> +<p class="poetry">Draw, Holy Ghost, Thy seven-fold veil<br /> + Between us and the fires of youth;<br /> +Breathe, Holy Ghost, Thy freshening gale,<br /> + Our fevered brow in age to soothe.</p> +<p class="poetry">And oft as sin and sorrow tire,<br /> + This hallowed hour do Thou renew,<br /> +When beckoned up the awful choir<br /> + By pastoral hands, toward Thee we drew;</p> +<p class="poetry">When trembling at this sacred rail<br /> + We hid our eyes and held our breath,<br /> +Felt Thee how strong, our hearts how frail,<br /> + And longed to own Thee to the death.</p> +<p class="poetry">For ever on our souls be traced<br /> + That blessing dear, that dove-like hand,<br /> +A sheltering rock in Memory’s waste,<br /> + O’er-shadowing all the weary land.</p> +<h3>Matrimony.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> is an awe in +mortals’ joy,<br /> + A deep mysterious fear<br /> +Half of the heart will still employ,<br /> + As if we drew too near<br /> +To Eden’s portal, and those fires<br /> +That bicker round in wavy spires,<br /> +Forbidding, to our frail desires,<br /> + What cost us once so dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">We cower before th’ heart-searching +eye<br /> + In rapture as its pain;<br /> +E’en wedded Love, till Thou be nigh,<br /> + Dares not believe her gain:<br /> +Then in the air she fearless springs,<br /> +The breath of Heaven beneath her wings,<br /> +And leaves her woodnote wild, and sings<br /> + A tuned and measured strain.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ill fare the lay, though soft as dew<br /> + And free as air it fall,<br /> +That, with Thine altar full in view,<br /> + Thy votaries would enthrall<br /> +To a foul dream, of heathen night,<br /> +Lifting her torch in Love’s despite,<br /> +And scaring with base wild-fire light<br /> + The sacred nuptial hall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far other strains, far other fires,<br /> + Our marriage-offering grace;<br /> +Welcome, all chaste and kind desires,<br /> + With even matron pace<br /> +Approaching down this hallowed aisle!<br /> +Where should ye seek Love’s perfect smile,<br /> +But where your prayers were learned erewhile,<br /> + In her own native place?</p> +<p class="poetry">Where, but on His benignest brow,<br /> + Who waits to bless you here?<br /> +Living, he owned no nuptial vow,<br /> + No bower to Fancy dear:<br /> +Love’s very self—for Him no need<br /> +To nurse, on earth, the heavenly seed:<br /> +Yet comfort in His eye we read<br /> + For bridal joy and fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis He who clasps the marriage band,<br +/> + And fits the spousal ring,<br /> +Then leaves ye kneeling, hand in hand,<br /> + Out of His stores to bring<br /> +His Father’s dearest blessing, shed<br /> +Of old on Isaac’s nuptial bed,<br /> +Now on the board before ye spread<br /> + Of our all-bounteous King.</p> +<p class="poetry">All blessings of the breast and womb,<br /> + Of Heaven and earth beneath,<br /> +Of converse high, and sacred home,<br /> + Are yours, in life and death.<br /> +Only kneel on, nor turn away<br /> +From the pure shrine, where Christ to-day<br /> +Will store each flower, ye duteous lay,<br /> + For an eternal wreath.</p> +<h3>Visitation and Communion of the Sick.</h3> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">Youth</span> and Joy, +your airy tread<br /> +Too lightly springs by Sorrow’s bed,<br /> +Your keen eye-glances are too bright,<br /> +Too restless for a sick man’s sight.<br /> +Farewell; for one short life we part:<br /> +I rather woo the soothing art,<br /> +Which only souls in sufferings tried<br /> +Bear to their suffering brethren’s side.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where may we learn that gentle spell?<br /> +Mother of Martyrs, thou canst tell!<br /> +Thou, who didst watch thy dying Spouse<br /> +With piercèd hands and bleeding brows,<br /> +Whose tears from age to age are shed<br /> +O’er sainted sons untimely dead,<br /> +If e’er we charm a soul in pain,<br /> +Thine is the key-note of our strain.</p> +<p class="poetry">How sweet with thee to lift the latch,<br /> +Where Faith has kept her midnight watch,<br /> +Smiling on woe: with thee to kneel,<br /> +Where fixed, as if one prayer could heal,<br /> +She listens, till her pale eye glow<br /> +With joy, wild health can never know,<br /> +And each calm feature, ere we read,<br /> +Speaks, silently, thy glorious Creed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Such have I seen: and while they poured<br /> +Their hearts in every contrite word,<br /> +How have I rather longed to kneel<br /> +And ask of them sweet pardon’s seal;<br /> +How blessed the heavenly music brought<br /> +By thee to aid my faltering thought!<br /> +“Peace” ere we kneel, and when we cease<br /> +To pray, the farewell word is, “Peace.”</p> +<p class="poetry">I came again: the place was bright<br /> +“With something of celestial light”—<br /> +A simple Altar by the bed<br /> +For high Communion meetly spread,<br /> +Chalice, and plate, and snowy vest.—<br /> +We ate and drank: then calmly blest,<br /> +All mourners, one with dying breath,<br /> +We sate and talked of Jesus’ death.</p> +<p class="poetry">Once more I came: the silent room<br /> +Was veiled in sadly-soothing gloom,<br /> +And ready for her last abode<br /> +The pale form like a lily showed,<br /> +By Virgin fingers duly spread,<br /> +And prized for love of summer fled.<br /> +The light from those soft-smiling eyes<br /> +Had fleeted to its parent skies.</p> +<p class="poetry">O soothe us, haunt us, night and day,<br /> +Ye gentle Spirits far away,<br /> +With whom we shared the cup of grace,<br /> +Then parted; ye to Christ’s embrace,<br /> +We to this lonesome world again,<br /> +Yet mindful of th’ unearthly strain<br /> +Practised with you at Eden’s door,<br /> +To be sung on, where Angels soar,<br /> +With blended voices evermore.</p> +<h3>Burial of the Dead.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on +her, and said unto her, Weep not. And He came and touched +the bier; and they that bare him stood still. And He +said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise.—<i>St. Luke</i> +vii. 13, 14.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Who</span> says, the wan +autumnal soon<br /> + Beams with too faint a smile<br /> +To light up nature’s face again,<br /> +And, though the year be on this wane,<br /> + With thoughts of spring the heart beguile?</p> +<p class="poetry">Waft him, thou soft September breeze,<br /> + And gently lay him down<br /> +Within some circling woodland wall,<br /> +Where bright leaves, reddening ere they fall,<br /> + Wave gaily o’er the waters brown.</p> +<p class="poetry">And let some graceful arch be there<br /> + With wreathèd mullions proud,<br /> +With burnished ivy for its screen,<br /> +And moss, that glows as fresh and green<br /> + As thought beneath an April cloud.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Who says the widow’s heart must break,<br +/> + The childless mother sink?—<br /> +A kinder truer voice I hear,<br /> +Which e’en beside that mournful bier<br /> + Whence parents’ eyes would hopeless +shrink,</p> +<p class="poetry">Bids weep no more—O heart bereft,<br /> + How strange, to thee, that sound!<br /> +A widow o’er her only son,<br /> +Feeling more bitterly alone<br /> + For friends that press officious round.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet is the voice of comfort heard,<br /> + For Christ hath touched the bier—<br /> +The bearers wait with wondering eye,<br /> +The swelling bosom dares not sigh,<br /> + But all is still, ’twixt hope and fear.</p> +<p class="poetry">E’en such an awful soothing calm<br /> + We sometimes see alight<br /> +On Christian mourners, while they wait<br /> +In silence, by some churchyard gate,<br /> + Their summons to this holy rite.</p> +<p class="poetry">And such the tones of love, which break<br /> + The stillness of that hour,<br /> +Quelling th’ embittered spirit’s strife—<br /> +“The Resurrection and the Life<br /> + Am I: believe, and die no more.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Unchanged that voice—and though not +yet<br /> + The dead sit up and speak,<br /> +Answering its call; we gladlier rest<br /> +Our darlings on earth’s quiet breast,<br /> + And our hearts feel they must not break.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far better they should sleep awhile<br /> + Within the Church’s shade,<br /> +Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth,<br /> +Meet for their new immortal birth<br /> + For their abiding-place be made,</p> +<p class="poetry">Than wander back to life, and lean<br /> + On our frail love once more.<br /> +’Tis sweet, as year by year we lose<br /> +Friends out of sight, in faith to muse<br /> + How grows in Paradise our store.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on,<br /> + Through prayer unto the tomb,<br /> +Still, as ye watch life’s falling leaf,<br /> +Gathering from every loss and grief<br /> + Hope of new spring and endless home.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then cheerly to your work again<br /> + With hearts new-braced and set<br /> +To run, untired, love’s blessèd race.<br /> +As meet for those, who face to face<br /> + Over the grave their Lord have met.</p> +<h3>Churching of Women.</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Is</span> there, in bowers of endless spring,<br /> + One known from +all the seraph band<br /> + By softer voice, by smile and +wing<br /> + + +More exquisitely bland!<br /> + Here let him speed: to-day this hallowed air<br /> +Is fragrant with a mother’s first and fondest prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Only let +Heaven her fire impart,<br /> + No richer +incense breathes on earth:<br /> + “A spouse with all a +daughter’s heart,”<br /> + + +Fresh from the perilous birth,<br /> + To the great Father lifts her pale glad eye,<br /> +Like a reviving flower when storms are hushed on high.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, what a +treasure of sweet thought<br /> + Is here! what +hope and joy and love<br /> + All in one tender bosom +brought,<br /> + + +For the all-gracious Dove<br /> + To brood o’er silently, and form for Heaven<br +/> +Each passionate wish and dream to dear affection given.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Her +fluttering heart, too keenly blest,<br /> + Would sicken, +but she leans on Thee,<br /> + Sees Thee by faith on Mary’s +breast,<br /> + + +And breathes serene and free.<br /> + Slight tremblings only of her veil declare<br /> +Soft answers duly whispered to each soothing prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry"> We are too +weak, when Thou dost bless,<br /> + To bear the +joy—help, Virgin-born!<br /> + By Thine own mother’s first +caress,<br /> + + +That waked Thy natal morn!<br /> + Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made<br /> +A Heaven on earth around this couch where Thou wast laid.</p> +<h3>Commination.</h3> +<p class="poetry"> The prayers +are o’er: why slumberest thou so long,<br /> + Thou voice of +sacred song?<br /> + Why swell’st thou not, like +breeze from mountain cave,<br /> + High o’er +the echoing nave,<br /> + This white-robed priest, as +otherwhile, to guide,<br /> + Up to the +Altar’s northern side?—<br /> + A mourner’s tale of shame and sad decay<br /> +Keeps back our glorious sacrifice to-day:</p> +<p class="poetry"> The +widow’d Spouse of Christ: with ashes crown’d,<br /> + Her Christmas +robes unbound,<br /> + She lingers in the porch for grief +and fear,<br /> + Keeping her +penance drear,—<br /> + Oh, is it nought to you? that idly +gay,<br /> + Or coldly proud, +ye turn away?<br /> + But if her warning tears in vain be spent,<br /> +Lo, to her altered eye this Law’s stern fires are lent.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Each awful +curse, that on Mount Ebal rang,<br /> + Peals with a +direr clang<br /> + Out of that silver trump, whose +tones of old<br /> + Forgiveness only +told.<br /> + And who can blame the +mother’s fond affright,<br /> + Who sporting on +some giddy height<br /> + Her infant sees, and springs with hurried hand<br /> +To snatch the rover from the dangerous strand?</p> +<p class="poetry"> But surer +than all words the silent spell<br /> + (So Grecian +legends tell)<br /> + When to her bird, too early +’scaped the nest,<br /> + She bares her +tender breast,<br /> + Smiling he turns and spreads his +little wing,<br /> + There to glide +home, there safely cling.<br /> + So yearns our mother o’er each truant son,<br +/> +So softly falls the lay in fear and wrath begun.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wayward and +spoiled she knows ye: the keen blast,<br /> + That braced her +youth, is past:<br /> + The rod of discipline, the robe of +shame—<br /> + She bears them +in your name:<br /> + Only return and love. But ye +perchance<br /> + Are deeper +plunged in sorrow’s trance:<br /> + Your God forgives, but ye no comfort take<br /> +Till ye have scourged the sins that in your conscience ache.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Oh, heavy +laden soul! kneel down and hear<br /> + Thy penance in +calm fear:<br /> + With thine own lips to sentence +all thy sin;<br /> + Then, by the +judge within<br /> + Absolved, in thankful sacrifice to +part<br /> + For ever with +thy sullen heart,<br /> + Nor on remorseful thoughts to brood, and stain<br /> +This glory of the Cross, forgiven and cheereth in vain.</p> +<h3>Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea.</h3> +<p class="poetry">When thou passest through the waters, I will be +with thee. <i>Isaiah</i> xliii. 2.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> shower of +moonlight falls as still and clear<br /> + Upon this desert main<br /> +As where sweet flowers some pastoral garden cheer<br /> + With fragrance after rain:<br /> +The wild winds rustle in piping shrouds,<br /> + As in the quivering trees:<br /> +Like summer fields, beneath the shadowy clouds<br /> + The yielding waters darken in the breeze.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou too art here with thy soft inland +tones,<br /> + Mother of our new birth;<br /> +The lonely ocean learns thy orisons,<br /> + And loves thy sacred mirth:<br /> +When storms are high, or when the fires of war<br /> + Come lightening round our +course,<br /> +Thou breath’st a note like music from afar,<br /> + Tempering rude hearts with calm angelic force.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far, far away, the homesick seaman’s +hoard,<br /> + Thy fragrant tokens live,<br /> +Like flower-leaves in a previous volume stored,<br /> + To solace and relieve<br /> +Some heart too weary of the restless world;<br /> + Or like thy Sabbath Cross,<br /> +That o’er this brightening billow streams unfurled,<br /> + Whatever gale the labouring vessel toss.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, kindly soothing in high Victory’s +hour,<br /> + Or when a comrade dies,<br /> +In whose sweet presence Sorrow dares not lower,<br /> + Nor Expectation rise<br /> +Too high for earth; what mother’s heart could spare<br /> + To the cold cheerless deep<br /> +Her flower and hope? but Thou art with him there,<br /> + Pledge of the untired arm and eye that cannot +sleep:</p> +<p class="poetry">The eye that watches o’er wild +Ocean’s dead,<br /> + Each in his coral cave,<br /> +Fondly as if the green turf wrapt his head<br /> + Fast by his father’s +grave,—<br /> +One moment, and the seeds of life shall spring<br /> + Out of the waste abyss,<br /> +And happy warriors triumph with their King<br /> + In worlds without a sea, unchanging orbs of +bliss.</p> +<h3>Gunpowder Treason.</h3> +<blockquote><p>A thou hast testified of Me in Jerusalem, so must +thou bear witness also at Rome. <i>Acts</i> xxiii. +11.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Beneath</span> the burning +eastern sky<br /> + The Cross was raised at morn:<br /> +The widowed Church to weep stood by,<br /> + The world, to hate and scorn.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, journeying westward, evermore<br /> + We know the lonely Spouse<br /> +By the dear mark her Saviour bore<br /> + Traced on her patient brows.</p> +<p class="poetry">At Rome she wears it, as of old<br /> + Upon th’ accursèd hill:<br /> +By monarchs clad in gems and gold,<br /> + She goes a mourner still.</p> +<p class="poetry">She mourns that tender hearts should bend<br /> + Before a meaner shrine,<br /> +And upon Saint or Angel spend<br /> + The love that should be thine.</p> +<p class="poetry">By day and night her sorrows fall<br /> + Where miscreant hands and rude<br /> +Have stained her pure ethereal pall<br /> + With many a martyr’s blood.</p> +<p class="poetry">And yearns not her parental heart,<br /> + To hear <i>their</i> secret sighs,<br /> +Upon whose doubting way apart<br /> + Bewildering shadows rise?</p> +<p class="poetry">Who to her side in peace would cling,<br /> + But fear to wake, and find<br /> +What they had deemed her genial wing<br /> + Was Error’s soothing blind.</p> +<p class="poetry">She treasures up each throbbing prayer:<br /> + Come, trembler, come and pour<br /> +Into her bosom all thy care,<br /> + For she has balm in store.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her gentle teaching sweetly blends<br /> + With this clear light of Truth<br /> +The aërial gleam that Fancy lends<br /> + To solemn thoughts in youth.—</p> +<p class="poetry">If thou hast loved, in hours of gloom,<br /> + To dream the dead are near,<br /> +And people all the lonely room<br /> + With guardian spirits dear,</p> +<p class="poetry">Dream on the soothing dream at will:<br /> + The lurid mist is o’er,<br /> +That showed the righteous suffering still<br /> + Upon th’ eternal shore.</p> +<p class="poetry">If with thy heart the strains accord,<br /> + That on His altar-throne<br /> +Highest exalt thy glorious Lord,<br /> + Yet leave Him most thine own;</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, come to our Communion Feast:<br /> + There present, in the heart<br /> +As in the hands, th’ eternal Priest<br /> + Will His true self impart.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus, should thy soul misgiving turn<br /> + Back to the enchanted air,<br /> +Solace and warning thou mayst learn<br /> + From all that tempts thee there.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, oh! by all the pangs and fears<br /> + Fraternal spirits know,<br /> +When for an elder’s shame the tears<br /> + Of wakeful anguish flow,</p> +<p class="poetry">Speak gently of our sister’s fall:<br /> + Who knows but gentle love<br /> +May win her at our patient call<br /> + The surer way to prove?</p> +<h3>King Charles the Martyr.</h3> +<blockquote><p>This is thankworthy, if a man for conscience +toward God endure grief, suffering wrongfully. 1 <i>St. +Peter</i> ii. 19.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Praise</span> to our +pardoning God! though silent now<br /> + The thunders of the deep prophetic sky,<br /> +Though in our sight no powers of darkness bow<br /> + Before th’ Apostles’ glorious +company;</p> +<p class="poetry">The Martyrs’ noble army still is ours,<br +/> + Far in the North our fallen days have seen<br /> +How in her woe this tenderest spirit towers<br /> + For Jesus’ sake in agony serene.</p> +<p class="poetry">Praise to our God! not cottage hearths +alone,<br /> + And shades impervious to the proud world’s +glare,<br /> +Such witness yield; a monarch from his throne<br /> + Springs to his Cross and finds his glory there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes: whereso’er one trace of thee is +found,<br /> + As in the Sacred Land, the shadows fall:<br /> +With beating hearts we roam the haunted ground,<br /> + Lone battle-field, or crumbling prison hall.</p> +<p class="poetry">And there are aching solitary breasts,<br /> + Whose widowed walk with thought of thee is +cheered<br /> +Our own, our royal Saint: thy memory rests<br /> + On many a prayer, the more for thee endeared.</p> +<p class="poetry">True son of our dear Mother, early taught<br /> + With her to worship and for her to die,<br /> +Nursed in her aisles to more than kingly thought,<br /> + Oft in her solemn hours we dream thee nigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">For thou didst love to trace her daily lore,<br +/> + And where we look for comfort or for calm,<br /> +Over the self-same lines to bend, and pour<br /> + Thy heart with hers in some victorious psalm.</p> +<p class="poetry">And well did she thy loyal love repay;<br /> + When all forsook, her Angels still were nigh,<br /> +Chained and bereft, and on thy funeral way,<br /> + Straight to the Cross she turned thy dying eye</p> +<p class="poetry">And yearly now, before the Martyrs’ +King,<br /> + For thee she offers her maternal tears,<br /> +Calls us, like thee, to His dear feet to cling,<br /> + And bury in His wounds our earthly fears.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Angels hear, and there is mirth in +Heaven,<br /> + Fit prelude of the joy, when spirits won<br /> +Like those to patient Faith, shall rise forgiven,<br /> + And at their Saviour’s knees thy bright +example own.</p> +<h3>The Restoration of the Royal Family.</h3> +<blockquote><p>And Barzillai said unto the King, How long have I +to live, that I should go up with the King unto Jerusalem? +2 <i>Samuel</i> xix. 34.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> when the Paschal +week is o’er,<br /> +Sleeps in the silent aisles no more<br /> + The breath of sacred song,<br /> +But by the rising Saviour’s light<br /> +Awakened soars in airy flight,<br /> + Or deepening rolls along;</p> +<p class="poetry">The while round altar, niche, and shrine,<br /> +The funeral evergreens entwine,<br /> + And a dark brilliance cast,<br /> +The brighter for their hues of gloom,<br /> +Tokens of Him, who through the tomb<br /> + Into high glory passed:</p> +<p class="poetry">Such were the lights and such the strains.<br +/> +When proudly streamed o’er ocean plains<br /> + Our own returning Cross;<br /> +For with that triumph seemed to float<br /> +Far on the breeze one dirge-like note<br /> + Of orphanhood and loss.</p> +<p class="poetry">Father and King, oh where art thou?<br /> +A greener wreath adorns thy brow,<br /> + And clearer rays surround;<br /> +O, for one hour of prayer like thine,<br /> +To plead before th’ all-ruling shrine<br /> + For Britain lost and found!</p> +<p class="poetry">And he, whose mild persuasive voice<br /> +Taught us in trials to rejoice,<br /> + Most like a faithful dove,<br /> +That by some ruined homestead builds,<br /> +And pours to the forsaken fields<br /> + His wonted lay of love:</p> +<p class="poetry">Why comes he not to bear his part,<br /> +To lift and guide th’ exulting heart?—<br /> + A hand that cannot spars<br /> +Lies heavy on his gentle breast:<br /> +We wish him health; he sighs for rest,<br /> + And Heaven accepts the prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, go in peace, dear placid spright,<br /> +Ill spared; but would we store aright<br /> + Thy serious sweet farewell,<br /> +We need not grudge thee to the skies,<br /> +Sure after thee in time to rise,<br /> + With thee for ever dwell.</p> +<p class="poetry">Till then, whene’er with duteous hand,<br +/> +Year after year, my native Land<br /> + Her royal offering brings,<br /> +Upon the Altar lays the Crown,<br /> +And spreads her robes of old renown<br /> + Before the King of kings.</p> +<p class="poetry">Be some kind spirit, likest thine,<br /> +Ever at hand, with airs divine<br /> + The wandering heart to seize;<br /> +Whispering, “How long hast thou to live,<br /> +That thou should’st Hope or Fancy gave<br /> + To flowers or crowns like these?”</p> +<h3>The Accession.</h3> +<blockquote><p>As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee; I +will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. <i>Joshua</i> i. +5.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> voice that from +the glory came<br /> + To tell how Moses died unseen,<br /> +And waken Joshua’s spear of flame<br /> + To victory on the mountains green,<br /> +Its trumpet tones are sounding still,<br /> + When Kings or Parents pass away,<br /> +They greet us with a cheering thrill<br /> + Of power and comfort in decay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Behind thus soft bright summer cloud<br /> + That makes such haste to melt and die,<br /> +Our wistful gaze is oft allowed<br /> + A glimpse of the unchanging sky:<br /> +Let storm and darkness do their worst;<br /> + For the lost dream the heart may ache,<br /> +The heart may ache, but may not burst;<br /> + Heaven will not leave thee nor forsake.</p> +<p class="poetry">One rock amid the weltering floods,<br /> + One torch in a tempestuous night,<br /> +One changeless pine in fading woods:—<br /> + Such is the thought of Love and Might,<br /> +True Might and ever-present Love,<br /> + When death is busy near the throne,<br /> +Auth Sorrow her keen sting would prove<br /> + On Monarchs orphaned and alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">In that lorn hour and desolate,<br /> + Who could endure a crown? but He,<br /> +Who singly bore the world’s sad weight,<br /> + Is near, to whisper, “Lean on Me:<br /> +Thy days of toil, thy nights of care,<br /> + Sad lonely dreams in crowded hall,<br /> +Darkness within, while pageants glare<br /> + Around—the Cross supports them all.”</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, Promise of undying Love!<br /> + While Monarchs seek thee for repose,<br /> +Far in the nameless mountain cove<br /> + Each pastoral heart thy bounty knows.<br /> +Ye, who in place of shepherds true<br /> + Come trembling to their awful trust,<br /> +Lo here the fountain to imbue<br /> + With strength and hope your feeble dust.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not upon Kings or Priests alone<br /> + The power of that dear word is spent;<br /> +It chants to all in softest tone<br /> + The lowly lesson of Content:<br /> +Heaven’s light is poured on high and low;<br /> + To high and low Heaven’s Angel spake;<br /> +“Resign thee to thy weal or woe,<br /> + I ne’er will leave thee nor +forsake.”</p> +<h3>Ordination.</h3> +<blockquote><p>After this, the congregation shall be desired, +secretly in their prayers, to make their humble supplications to +God for all these things: for the which prayers there shall be +silence kept for a space.</p> +<p>After which shall be sung or said by the Bishop (the persons +to be ordained Priests all kneeling), “Veni, Creator +Spiritus.” <i>Rubric in the Office for Ordering of +Priests</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">’<span class="smcap">Twas</span> silence +in Thy temple, Lord,<br /> + When slowly through the hallowed air<br /> +The spreading cloud of incense soared,<br /> + Charged with the breath of Israel’s +prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas silence round Thy throne on +high,<br /> + When the last wondrous seal unclosed,<br /> +And in this portals of the sky<br /> + Thine armies awfully reposed.</p> +<p class="poetry">And this deep pause, that o’er us now<br +/> + Is hovering—comes it not of Thee?<br /> +Is it not like a mother’s vow<br /> + When, with her darling on her knee,</p> +<p class="poetry">She weighs and numbers o’er and +o’er<br /> + Love’s treasure hid in her fond breast,<br /> +To cull from that exhaustless store<br /> + The dearest blessing and the best?</p> +<p class="poetry">And where shall mother’s bosom find,<br +/> + With all its deep love-learnèd skill,<br /> +A prayer so sweetly to her mind,<br /> + As, in this sacred hour and still,</p> +<p class="poetry">Is wafted from the white-robed choir,<br /> + Ere yet the pure high-breathèd lay,<br /> +“Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,”<br /> + Rise floating on its dove-like way.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when it comes, so deep and clear<br /> + The strain, so soft the melting fall,<br /> +It seems not to th’ entrancèd ear<br /> + Less than Thine own heart-cheering call.</p> +<p class="poetry">Spirit of Christ—Thine earnest given<br +/> + That these our prayers are heard, and they,<br /> +Who grasp, this hour, the sword of Heaven,<br /> + Shall feel Thee on their weary way.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oft as at morn or soothing eve<br /> + Over the Holy Fount they lean,<br /> +Their fading garland freshly weave,<br /> + Or fan them with Thine airs serene.</p> +<p class="poetry">Spirit of Light and Truth! to Thee<br /> + We trust them in that musing hour,<br /> +Till they, with open heart and free.<br /> + Teach all Thy word in all its power.</p> +<p class="poetry">When foemen watch their tents by night,<br /> + And mists hang wide o’er moor and fell,<br /> +Spirit of Counsel and of Might,<br /> + Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, oh! when worn and tired they sigh<br /> + With that more fearful war within,<br /> +When Passion’s storms are loud and high,<br /> + And brooding o’er remembered sin</p> +<p class="poetry">The heart dies down—oh, mightiest +then,<br /> + Come ever true, come ever near,<br /> +And wake their slumbering love again,<br /> + Spirit of God’s most holy Fear!</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN YEAR***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 4272-h.htm or 4272-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/7/4272 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/4272-h/images/coverb.jpg b/4272-h/images/coverb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c08b46b --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-h/images/coverb.jpg diff --git a/4272-h/images/covers.jpg b/4272-h/images/covers.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3faaacd --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-h/images/covers.jpg diff --git a/4272-h/images/tpb.jpg b/4272-h/images/tpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f9edd4 --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-h/images/tpb.jpg diff --git a/4272-h/images/tps.jpg b/4272-h/images/tps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..28f60e8 --- /dev/null +++ b/4272-h/images/tps.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..24fc5c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #4272 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4272) diff --git a/old/chryr10.txt b/old/chryr10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2ab2b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/chryr10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9346 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Christian Year +by Rev. John Keble + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. Do not change or edit it without written permission. +The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the +information they need to understand what they may and may not +do with the etext. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and +further information, is included below. We need your donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 + + + +Title: The Christian Year + +Author: Rev. John Keble + +Release Date: July, 2003 [Etext #4272] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on December 25, 2001] +[Most recently updated: December 25, 2001] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Christian Year +by Rev. John Keble +******This file should be named chryr10.txt or chryr10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, chryr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, chryr10a.txt + +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. From +the 1887 Cassell & Company edition. + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2001 as we release over 50 new Etext +files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 4000+ +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts. We need +funding, as well as continued efforts by volunteers, to maintain +or increase our production and reach our goals. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of November, 2001, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Delaware, +Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, +Louisiana, Maine, Michigan, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Oklahoma, Oregon, +Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, Tennessee, +Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, Wisconsin, +and Wyoming. + +*In Progress + +We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +All donations should be made to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fundraising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fundraising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + +THE CHRISTIAN YEAR + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + + +John Keble, two years older than his friend Dr. Arnold of Rugby, +three years older than Thomas Carlyle, and nine years older than +John Henry Newman, was born in 1792, at Fairford in Gloucestershire. +He was born in his father's parsonage, and educated at home by his +father till he went to college. His father then entered him at his +own college at Oxford, Corpus Christi. Thoroughly trained, Keble +obtained high reputation at his University for character and +scholarship, and became a Fellow of Oriel. After some years he gave +up work in the University, though he could not divest himself of a +large influence there for good, returned home to his old father, who +required help in his ministry, and undertook for his the duty of two +little curacies. The father lived on to the age of ninety. John +Keble's love for God and his devotion to the Church had often been +expressed in verse. On days which the Church specially celebrated, +he had from time to time written short poems to utter from the heart +his own devout sense of their spiritual use and meaning. As the +number of these poems increased, the desire rose to follow in like +manner the while course of the Christian Year as it was marked for +the people by the sequence of church services, which had been +arranged to bring in due order before the minds of Christian +worshippers all the foundations of their faith, and all the elements +of a religious life. A book of poems, breathing faith and worship +at all points, and in all attitudes of heavenward contemplation, +within the circle of the Christian Year, would, he hoped, restore in +many minds to many a benumbed form life and energy. + +In 1825, while the poems of the Christian Year were gradually being +shaped into a single work, a brother became able to relieve John +Keble in that pious care for which his father had drawn him away +from a great University career, and he then went to a curacy at +Hursley, four or five miles from Winchester. + +In 1827--when its author's age was thirty-five--"The Christian Year" +was published. Like George Herbert, whose equal he was in piety +though not in power, Keble was joined to the Church in fullest +sympathy with all its ordinances, and desired to quicken worship by +putting into each part of the ritual a life that might pass into and +raise the life of man. The spirit of true religion, with a power +beyond that of any earthly feuds and controversies, binds together +those in whom it really lives. Setting aside all smaller questions +of the relative value of different earthly means to the attainment +of a life hidden with Christ in God, Christians of all forms who are +one in spirit have found help from "John Keble's Christian Year, and +think of its guileless author with kindly affection. Within five- +and-twenty years of its publication, a hundred thousand copies had +been sold. The book is still diffused so widely, in editions of all +forms, that it may yet go on, until the circle of the years shall be +no more, living and making live. + +Four years after "The Christian Year appeared, Keble was appointed +(in 1831) to the usual five years' tenure of the Poetry +Professorship at Oxford. Two years after he had been appointed +Poetry Professor, he preached the Assize Sermon, and took for his +theme "National Apostasy." John Henry Newman, who had obtained his +Fellowship at Oriel some years before the publication of "The +Christian Year," and was twenty-six years old when it appeared, +received from it a strong impulse towards the endeavour to revive +the spirit of the Church by restoring life and soul to all her +ordinances, and even to the minutest detail of her ritual. The deep +respect felt for the author of "The Christian Year" gave power to +the sermon of 1833 upon National Apostasy, and made it the starting- +point of the Oxford movement known as Tractarian, from the issue of +tracts through which its promoters sought to stir life in the clergy +and the people; known also as Puseyite because it received help at +the end of the year 1833 from Dr. Pusey, who was of like age with J. +H. Newman, and then Regius Professor of Hebrew. There was a danger, +which some then foresaw, in the nature of this endeavour to put life +into the Church; but we all now recognise the purity of Christian +zeal that prompted the attempt to make dead forms of ceremonial glow +again with spiritual fire, and serve as aids to the recovery of +light and warmth in our devotions. + +It was in 1833 that Keble, by one earnest sermon, with a pure life +at the back of it, and this book that had prepared the way, gave the +direct impulse to an Oxford movement for the reformation of the +Church. The movement then began. But Keble went back to his curacy +at Hursley. Two years afterwards the curate became vicar, and then +Keble married. His after-life continued innocent and happy. He and +his wife died within two months of each other, in the came year, +1866. He had taken part with his friends at Oxford by writing five +of their Tracts, publishing a few sermons that laboured towards the +same end, and editing a "Library of the Fathers." In 1847 he +produced another volume of poems, "Lyra Innocentium," which +associated doctrines of the Church with the lives of children, whom +he loved, though his own marriage was childless. + +The power of Keble's verse lies in its truth. A faithful and pure +nature, strong in home affections, full of love and reverence for +all that is of heaven in our earthly lot, strives for the full +consecration of man's life with love and faith. There is no rare +gift of genius. Keble is not in subtlety of thought or of +expression another George Herbert, or another Henry Vaughan. But +his voice is not the less in unison with theirs, for every note is +true, and wins us by its purity. His also are melodies of the +everlasting chime. + + + "And be ye sure that Love can bless + E'en in this crowded loneliness, +Where ever moving myriads seem to say, +Go--thou art nought to us, nor we to thee--away!" + +"There are in this loud stunning tide + Of human care and crime, +With whom the melodies abide + Of the everlasting chime; +Who carry music in their heart + Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, +Plying their daily task with busier feet, + Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat." + +With a peal, then, of such music let us ring in the New Year for our +Library; and for our lives. + +January 1, 1887. H. M. + + + +DEDICATION. + + + +When in my silent solitary walk, + I sought a strain not all unworthy Thee, +My heart, still ringing with wild worldly talk, + Gave forth no note of holier minstrelsy. + +Prayer is the secret, to myself I said, + Strong supplication must call down the charm, +And thus with untuned heart I feebly prayed, + Knocking at Heaven's gate with earth-palsied arm. + +Fountain of Harmony! Thou Spirit blest, + By whom the troubled waves of earthly sound +Are gathered into order, such as best + Some high-souled bard in his enchanted round + +May compass, Power divine! Oh, spread Thy wing, + Thy dovelike wing that makes confusion fly, +Over my dark, void spirit, summoning + New worlds of music, strains that may not die. + +Oh, happiest who before thine altar wait, + With pure hands ever holding up on high +The guiding Star of all who seek Thy gate, + The undying lamp of heavenly Poesy. + +Too weak, too wavering, for such holy task + Is my frail arm, O Lord; but I would fain +Track to its source the brightness, I would bask + In the clear ray that makes Thy pathway plain. + +I dare not hope with David's harp to chase + The evil spirit from the troubled breast; +Enough for me if I can find such grace + To listen to the strain, and be at rest. + + + +THE CHRISTIAN YEAR. + + + +MORNING + +His compassions fail not. They are new every morning. Lament. +iii. 22, 23. + +Hues of the rich unfolding morn, +That, ere the glorious sun be born, +By some soft touch invisible +Around his path are taught to swell; - + +Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay, +That dancest forth at opening day, +And brushing by with joyous wing, +Wakenest each little leaf to sing; - + +Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam, +By which deep grove and tangled stream +Pay, for soft rains in season given, +Their tribute to the genial heaven; - + +Why waste your treasures of delight +Upon our thankless, joyless sight; +Who day by day to sin awake, +Seldom of Heaven and you partake? + +Oh, timely happy, timely wise, +Hearts that with rising morn arise! +Eyes that the beam celestial view, +Which evermore makes all things new! + +New every morning is the love +Our wakening and uprising prove; +Through sleep and darkness safely brought, +Restored to life, and power, and thought. + +New mercies, each returning day, +Hover around us while we pray; +New perils past, new sins forgiven, +New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven. + +If on our daily course our mind +Be set to hallow all we find, +New treasures still, of countless price, +God will provide for sacrifice. + +Old friends, old scenes will lovelier be, +As more of Heaven in each we see: +Some softening gleam of love and prayer +Shall dawn on every cross and care. + +As for some dear familiar strain +Untired we ask, and ask again, +Ever, in its melodious store, +Finding a spell unheard before; + +Such is the bliss of souls serene, +When they have sworn, and stedfast mean, +Counting the cost, in all t' espy +Their God, in all themselves deny. + +Oh, could we learn that sacrifice, +What lights would all around us rise! +How would our hearts with wisdom talk +Along Life's dullest, dreariest walk! + +We need not bid, for cloistered cell, +Our neighbour and our work farewell, +Nor strive to wind ourselves too high +For sinful man beneath the sky: + +The trivial round, the common task, +Would furnish all we ought to ask; +Room to deny ourselves; a road +To bring us daily nearer God. + +Seek we no more; content with these, +Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease, +As Heaven shall bid them, come and go:- +The secret this of Rest below. + +Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love +Fit us for perfect Rest above; +And help us, this and every day, +To live more nearly as we pray. + + + +EVENING + + + +Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far +spent.--St. Luke xxiv. 29. + +'Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze, +Fast fading from our wistful gaze; +You mantling cloud has hid from sight +The last faint pulse of quivering light. + +In darkness and in weariness +The traveller on his way must press, +No gleam to watch on tree or tower, +Whiling away the lonesome hour. + +Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear, +It is not night if Thou be near: +Oh, may no earth-born cloud arise +To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes! + +When round Thy wondrous works below +My searching rapturous glance I throw, +Tracing out Wisdom, Power and Love, +In earth or sky, in stream or grove; - + +Or by the light Thy words disclose +Watch Time's full river as it flows, +Scanning Thy gracious Providence, +Where not too deep for mortal sense:- + +When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, +And all the flowers of life unfold; +Let not my heart within me burn, +Except in all I Thee discern. + +When the soft dews of kindly sleep +My wearied eyelids gently steep, +Be my last thought, how sweet to rest +For ever on my Saviour's breast. + +Abide with me from morn till eve, +For without Thee I cannot live: +Abide with me when night is nigh, +For without Thee I dare not die. + +Thou Framer of the light and dark, +Steer through the tempest Thine own ark: +Amid the howling wintry sea +We are in port if we have Thee. + +The Rulers of this Christian land, +'Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand, - +Guide Thou their course, O Lord, aright, +Let all do all as in Thy sight. + +Oh! by Thine own sad burthen, borne +So meekly up the hill of scorn, +Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross +To bear as Thine, nor count it loss! + +If some poor wandering child of Thine +Have spurned to-day the voice divine, +Now, Lord, the gracious work begin; +Let him no more lie down in sin. + +Watch by the sick: enrich the poor +With blessings from Thy boundless store: +Be every mourner's sleep to-night, +Like infants' slumbers, pure and light. + +Come near and bless us when we wake, +Ere through the world our way we take; +Till in the ocean of Thy love +We lose ourselves, in Heaven above. + + + +ADVENT SUNDAY + + + +Now it is high time to awake out of sleep: for now is our +salvation nearer than when we believed.--Romans xiii 11. + +Awake--again the Gospel-trump is blown - +From year to year it swells with louder tone, + From year to year the signs of wrath + Are gathering round the Judge's path, +Strange words fulfilled, and mighty works achieved, +And truth in all the world both hated and believed. + +Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town, +Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown? + Up from your beds of sloth for shame, + Speed to the eastern mount like flame, +Nor wonder, should ye find your King in tears, +E'en with the loud Hosanna ringing in His ears. + +Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago +They are gone forth to swell Messiah's show: + With glittering robes and garlands sweet + They strew the ground beneath His feet: +All but your hearts are there--O doomed to prove +The arrows winged in Heaven for Faith that will not love! + +Meanwhile He passes through th' adoring crowd, +Calm as the march of some majestic cloud, + That o'er wild scenes of ocean-war + Holds its still course in Heaven afar: +E'en so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on, +Thou keepest silent watch from Thy triumphal throne: + +E'en so, the world is thronging round to gaze +On the dread vision of the latter days, + Constrained to own Thee, but in heart + Prepared to take Barabbas' part: +"Hosanna" now, to-morrow "Crucify," +The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry. + +Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue +Thy sad eye rests upon Thy faithful few, + Children and childlike souls are there, + Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer, +And Lazarus wakened from his four days' sleep, +Enduring life again, that Passover to keep. + +And fast beside the olive-bordered way +Stands the blessed home where Jesus deigned to stay, + The peaceful home, to Zeal sincere + And heavenly Contemplation dear, +Where Martha loved to wait with reverence meet, +And wiser Mary lingered at Thy sacred feet. + +Still through decaying ages as they glide, +Thou lov'st Thy chosen remnant to divide; + Sprinkled along the waste of years + Full many a soft green isle appears: +Pause where we may upon the desert road, +Some shelter is in sight, some sacred safe abode. + +When withering blasts of error swept the sky, +And Love's last flower seemed fain to droop and die, + How sweet, how lone the ray benign + On sheltered nooks of Palestine! +Then to his early home did Love repair, +And cheered his sickening heart with his own native air. + +Years roll away: again the tide of crime +Has swept Thy footsteps from the favoured clime + Where shall the holy Cross find rest? + On a crowned monarch's mailed breast: +Like some bright angel o'er the darkling scene, +Through court and camp he holds his heavenward course serene. + +A fouler vision yet; an age of light, +Light without love, glares on the aching sight: + Oh, who can tell how calm and sweet, + Meek Walton, shows thy green retreat, +When wearied with the tale thy times disclose, +The eye first finds thee out in thy secure repose? + +Thus bad and good their several warnings give +Of His approach, whom none may see and live: + Faith's ear, with awful still delight, + Counts them like minute-bells at night. +Keeping the heart awake till dawn of morn, +While to her funeral pile this aged world is borne. + +But what are Heaven's alarms to hearts that cower +In wilful slumber, deepening every hour, + That draw their curtains closer round, + The nearer swells the trumpet's sound? +Lord, ere our trembling lamps sink down and die, +Touch us with chastening hand, and make us feel Thee nigh. + + + +SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT + + + +And when these things begin to pass, then look up, and lift up your +heads; for your redemption draweth night. St. Luke xxi. 28. + +Not till the freezing blast is still, +Till freely leaps the sparkling rill, +And gales sweep soft from summer skies, +As o'er a sleeping infant's eyes +A mother's kiss; ere calls like these, +No sunny gleam awakes the trees, +Nor dare the tender flowerets show +Their bosoms to th' uncertain glow. + +Why then, in sad and wintry time, +Her heavens all dark with doubt and crime, +Why lifts the Church her drooping head, +As though her evil hour were fled? +Is she less wise than leaves of spring, +Or birds that cower with folded wing? +What sees she in this lowering sky +To tempt her meditative eye? + +She has a charm, a word of fire, +A pledge of love that cannot tire; +By tempests, earthquakes, and by wars, +By rushing waves and falling stars, +By every sign her Lord foretold, +She sees the world is waxing old, +And through that last and direst storm +Descries by faith her Saviour's form. + +Not surer does each tender gem, +Set in the fig-tree's polish'd stem, +Foreshow the summer season bland, +Than these dread signs Thy mighty hand: +But, oh, frail hearts, and spirits dark! +The season's flight unwarn'd we mark, +But miss the Judge behind the door, +For all the light of sacred lore: + +Yet is He there; beneath our eaves +Each sound His wakeful ear receives: +Hush, idle words, and thoughts of ill, +Your Lord is listening: peace, be still. +Christ watches by a Christian's hearth, +Be silent, "vain deluding mirth," +Till in thine alter'd voice be known +Somewhat of Resignation's tone. + +But chiefly ye should lift your gaze +Above the world's uncertain haze, +And look with calm unwavering eye +On the bright fields beyond the sky, +Ye, who your Lord's commission bear +His way of mercy to prepare: +Angels He calls ye: be your strife +To lead on earth an Angel's life. + +Think not of rest; though dreams be sweet, +Start up, and ply your heavenward feet. +Is not God's oath upon your head, +Ne'er to sink back on slothful bed, +Never again your loans untie, +Nor let your torches waste and die, +Till, when the shadows thickest fall, +Ye hear your Master's midnight call? + + + +THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT + + + +What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with +the wind? . . . But what went ye out for to see? A prophet? yea, I +say unto you, and more than a prophet. St. Matthew xi. 7, 9. + + What went ye out to see + O'er the rude sandy lea, +Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm, + Or where Gennesaret's wave + Delights the flowers to lave, +That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm. + + All through the summer night, + Those blossoms red and bright +Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze, + Like hermits watching still + Around the sacred hill, +Where erst our Saviour watched upon His knees. + + The Paschal moon above + Seems like a saint to rove, +Left shining in the world with Christ alone; + Below, the lake's still face + Sleeps sweetly in th' embrace +Of mountains terrac'd high with mossy stone. + + Here may we sit, and dream + Over the heavenly theme, +Till to our soul the former days return; + Till on the grassy bed, + Where thousands once He fed, +The world's incarnate Maker we discern. + + O cross no more the main, + Wandering so will and vain, +To count the reeds that tremble in the wind, + On listless dalliance bound, + Like children gazing round, +Who on God's works no seal of Godhead find. + + Bask not in courtly bower, + Or sun-bright hall of power, +Pass Babel quick, and seek the holy land - + From robes of Tyrian dye + Turn with undazzled eye +To Bethlehem's glade, or Carmel's haunted strand. + + Or choose thee out a cell + In Kedron's storied dell, +Beside the springs of Love, that never die; + Among the olives kneel + The chill night-blast to feel, +And watch the Moon that saw thy Master's agony. + + Then rise at dawn of day, + And wind thy thoughtful way, +Where rested once the Temple's stately shade, + With due feet tracing round + The city's northern bound, +To th' other holy garden, where the Lord was laid. + + Who thus alternate see + His death and victory, +Rising and falling as on angel wings, + They, while they seem to roam, + Draw daily nearer home, +Their heart untravell'd still adores the King of kings. + + Or, if at home they stay, + Yet are they, day by day, +In spirit journeying through the glorious land, + Not for light Fancy's reed, + Nor Honour's purple meed, +Nor gifted Prophet's lore, nor Science' wondrous wand. + + But more than Prophet, more + Than Angels can adore +With face unveiled, is He they go to seek: + Blessed be God, Whose grace + Shows Him in every place +To homeliest hearts of pilgrims pure and meek. + + + +FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT + + + +The eyes of them that see shall not be dim, and the ears of them +that hear shall hearken. Isaiah xxxii. 3 + +Of the bright things in earth and air + How little can the heart embrace! +Soft shades and gleaming lights are there - + I know it well, but cannot trace. + +Mine eye unworthy seems to read + One page of Nature's beauteous book; +It lies before me, fair outspread - + I only cast a wishful look. + +I cannot paint to Memory's eye + The scene, the glance, I dearest love - +Unchanged themselves, in me they die, + Or faint or false their shadows prove. + +In vain, with dull and tuneless ear, + I linger by soft Music's cell, +And in my heart of hearts would hear + What to her own she deigns to tell. + +'Tis misty all, both sight and sound - + I only know 'tis fair and sweet - +'Tis wandering on enchanted ground + With dizzy brow and tottering feet. + +But patience! there may come a time + When these dull ears shall scan aright +Strains that outring Earth's drowsy chime, + As Heaven outshines the taper's light. + +These eyes, that dazzled now and weak, + At glancing motes in sunshine wink. +Shall see the Kings full glory break, + Nor from the blissful vision shrink: + +In fearless love and hope uncloyed + For ever on that ocean bright +Empowered to gaze; and undestroyed, + Deeper and deeper plunge in light. + +Though scarcely now their laggard glance + Reach to an arrow's flight, that day +They shall behold, and not in trance, + The region "very far away." + +If Memory sometimes at our spell + Refuse to speak, or speak amiss, +We shall not need her where we dwell + Ever in sight of all our bliss. + +Meanwhile, if over sea or sky + Some tender lights unnoticed fleet, +Or on loved features dawn and die, + Unread, to us, their lesson sweet; + +Yet are there saddening sights around, + Which Heaven, in mercy, spares us too, +And we see far in holy ground, + If duly purged our mental view. + +The distant landscape draws not nigh + For all our gazing; but the soul, +That upward looks, may still descry + Nearer, each day, the brightening goal. + +And thou, too curious ear, that fain + Wouldst thread the maze of Harmony, +Content thee with one simple strain, + The lowlier, sure, the worthier thee; + +Till thou art duly trained, and taught + The concord sweet of Love divine: +Then, with that inward Music fraught, + For ever rise, and sing, and shine. + + + +CHRISTMAS DAY + + + +And suddenly there was with the Angel a multitude of the heavenly +host, praising God. St. Luke ii. 13. + + What sudden blaze of song + Spreads o'er th' expanse of Heaven? + In waves of light it thrills along, + Th' angelic signal given - + "Glory to God!" from yonder central fire +Flows out the echoing lay beyond the starry choir; + + Like circles widening round + Upon a clear blue river, + Orb after orb, the wondrous sound + Is echoed on for ever: + "Glory to God on high, on earth be peace, +And love towards men of love--salvation and release." + + Yet stay, before thou dare + To join that festal throng; + Listen and mark what gentle air + First stirred the tide of song; + 'Tis not, "the Saviour born in David's home, +To Whom for power and health obedient worlds should come:" - + + 'Tis not, "the Christ the Lord:" + With fixed adoring look + The choir of Angels caught the word, + Nor yet their silence broke: + But when they heard the sign where Christ should be, +In sudden light they shone and heavenly harmony. + + Wrapped in His swaddling bands, + And in His manger laid, + The Hope and Glory of all lands + Is come to the world's aid: + No peaceful home upon his cradle smiled, +Guests rudely went and came, where slept the royal Child. + + But where Thou dwellest, Lord, + No other thought should be, + Once duly welcomed and adored, + How should I part with Thee? + Bethlehem must lose Thee soon, but Thou wilt grace +The single heart to be Thy sure abiding-place. + + Thee, on the bosom laid + Of a pure virgin mind, + In quiet ever, and in shade, + Shepherd and sage may find; + They, who have bowed untaught to Nature's sway, +And they, who follow Truth along her star-paved way. + + The pastoral spirits first + Approach Thee, Babe divine, + For they in lowly thoughts are nursed, + Meet for Thy lowly shrine: + Sooner than they should miss where Thou dost dwell, +Angela from Heaven will stoop to guide them to Thy cell. + + Still, as the day comes round + For Thee to be revealed, + By wakeful shepherds Thou art found, + Abiding in the field. + All through the wintry heaven and chill night air, +In music and in light Thou dawnest on their prayer. + + O faint not ye for fear - + What though your wandering sheep, + Reckless of what they see and hear, + Lie lost in wilful sleep? + High Heaven in mercy to your sad annoy +Still greets you with glad tidings of immortal joy. + + Think on th' eternal home, + The Saviour left for you; + Think on the Lord most holy, come + To dwell with hearts untrue: + So shall ye tread untired His pastoral ways, +And in the darkness sing your carol of high praise. + + + +ST. STEPHEN'S DAY + + + +He, being full of the Holy Ghost, looked up steadfastly into +heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right +hand of God. Acts vii. 55 + +As rays around the source of light +Stream upward ere he glow in sight, +And watching by his future flight + Set the clear heavens on fire; +So on the King of Martyrs wait +Three chosen bands, in royal state, +And all earth owns, of good and great, + Is gather'd in that choir. + +One presses on, and welcomes death: +One calmly yields his willing breath, +Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith + Content to die or live: +And some, the darlings of their Lord, +Play smiling with the flame and sword, +And, ere they speak, to His sure word + Unconscious witness give. + +Foremost and nearest to His throne, +By perfect robes of triumph known, +And likest Him in look and tone, + The holy Stephen kneels, +With stedfast gaze, as when the sky +Flew open to his fainting eye, +Which, like a fading lamp, flash'd high, + Seeing what death conceals. + +Well might you guess what vision bright +Was present to his raptured sight, +E'en as reflected streams of light + Their solar source betray - +The glory which our God surrounds, +The Son of Man, the atoning wounds - +He sees them all; and earth's dull bounds + Are melting fast away. + +He sees them all--no other view +Could stamp the Saviour's likeness true, +Or with His love so deep embrue + Man's sullen heart and gross - +"Jesus, do Thou my soul receive: +Jesu, do Thou my foes forgive;" +He who would learn that prayer must live + Under the holy Cross. + +He, though he seem on earth to move, +Must glide in air like gentle dove, +From yon unclouded depths above + Must draw his purer breath; +Till men behold his angel face +All radiant with celestial grace, +Martyr all o'er, and meet to trace + The lines of Jesus' death. + + + +ST. JOHN'S DAY + + + +Peter seeing him, saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? +Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is +that to thee? follow thou Me. St. John xxi. 21, 22. + +"Lord, and what shall this man do?" + Ask'st thou, Christian, for thy friend? +If his love for Christ be true, + Christ hath told thee of his end: +This is he whom God approves, +This is he whom Jesus loves. + +Ask not of him more than this, + Leave it in his Saviour's breast, +Whether, early called to bliss, + He in youth shall find his rest, +Or armed in his station wait +Till his Lord be at the gate: + +Whether in his lonely course + (Lonely, not forlorn) he stay, +Or with Love's supporting force + Cheat the toil, and cheer the way: +Leave it all in His high hand, +Who doth hearts as streams command. + +Gales from Heaven, if so He will, + Sweeter melodies can wake +On the lonely mountain rill + Than the meeting waters make. +Who hath the Father and the Son, +May be left, but not alone. + +Sick or healthful, slave or free, + Wealthy, or despised and poor - +What is that to him or thee, + So his love to Christ endure? +When the shore is won at last, +Who will count the billows past? + +Only, since our souls will shrink + At the touch of natural grief, +When our earthly loved ones sink, + Lend us, Lord, Thy sure relief; +Patient hearts, their pain to see, +And Thy grace, to follow Thee. + + + +THE HOLY INNOCENTS + + + +These were redeemed from among men, being the firstfruits unto God +and to the Lamb. Rev. xiv. 4. + + Say, ye celestial guards, who wait +In Bethlehem, round the Saviour's palace gate, + Say, who are these on golden wings, +That hover o'er the new-born King of kings, + Their palms and garlands telling plain +That they are of the glorious martyr-train, + Next to yourselves ordained to praise +His Name, and brighten as on Him they gaze? + + But where their spoils and trophies? where +The glorious dint a martyr's shield should bear? + How chance no cheek among them wears +The deep-worn trace of penitential tears, + But all is bright and smiling love, +As if, fresh-borne from Eden's happy grove, + They had flown here, their King to see, +Nor ever had been heirs of dark mortality? + + Ask, and some angel will reply, +"These, like yourselves, were born to sin and die, + But ere the poison root was grown, +God set His seal, and marked them for His own. + Baptised its blood for Jesus' sake, +Now underneath the Cross their bed they make, + Not to be scared from that sure rest +By frightened mother's shriek, or warrior's waving crest." + + Mindful of these, the firstfruits sweet +Borne by this suffering Church her Lord to greet; + Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace +The "innocent brightness" of an infant's face. + He raised them in His holy arms, +He blessed them from the world and all its harms: + Heirs though they were of sin and shame, +He blessed them in his own and in his Father's Name. + + Then, as each fond unconscious child + On the everlasting Parent sweetly smiled + (Like infants sporting on the shore, +That tremble not at Ocean's boundless roar), + Were they not present to Thy thought, +All souls, that in their cradles Thou hast bought? + But chiefly these, who died for Thee, +That Thou might'st live for them a sadder death to see. + + And next to these, Thy gracious word +Was as a pledge of benediction stored + For Christian mothers, while they moan +Their treasured hopes, just born, baptised, and gone. + Oh, joy for Rachel's broken heart! +She and her babes shall meet no more to part; + So dear to Christ her pious haste +To trust them in His arms for ever safe embraced. + + She dares not grudge to leave them there, +Where to behold them was her heart's first prayer; + She dares not grieve--but she must weep, +As her pale placid martyr sinks to sleep, + Teaching so well and silently +How at the shepherd's call the lamb should die: + How happier far than life the end +Of souls that infant-like beneath their burthen bend. + + + +FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS + + + +So the sun returned ten degrees, by which degrees it was gone down. +Isaiah xxxviii. 8; compare Josh. x. 13. + + 'Tis true, of old the unchanging sun + His daily course refused to run, + The pale moon hurrying to the west + Paused at a mortal's call, to aid + The avenging storm of war, that laid +Seven guilty realms at once on earth's defiled breast. + + But can it be, one suppliant tear + Should stay the ever-moving sphere? + A sick man's lowly-breathed sigh, + When from the world he turns away, + And hides his weary eyes to pray, +Should change your mystic dance, ye wanderers of the sky? + + We too, O Lord, would fain command, + As then, Thy wonder-working hand, + And backward force the waves of Time, + That now so swift and silent bear + Our restless bark from year to year; +Help us to pause and mourn to Thee our tale of crime. + + Bright hopes, that erst the bosom warmed, + And vows, too pure to be performed, + And prayers blown wide by gales of care; - + These, and such faint half-waking dreams, + Like stormy lights on mountain streams, +Wavering and broken all, athwart the conscience glare. + + How shall we 'scape the o'erwhelming Past? + Can spirits broken, joys o'ercast, + And eyes that never more may smile: - + Can these th' avenging bolt delay, + Or win us back one little day +The bitterness of death to soften and beguile? + + Father and Lover of our souls! + Though darkly round Thine anger rolls, + Thy sunshine smiles beneath the gloom, + Thou seek'st to warn us, not confound, + Thy showers would pierce the hardened ground +And win it to give out its brightness and perfume. + + Thou smil'st on us in wrath, and we, + E'en in remorse, would smile on Thee, + The tears that bathe our offered hearts, + We would not have them stained and dim, + But dropped from wings of seraphim, +All glowing with the light accepted love imparts. + + Time's waters will not ebb, nor stay; + Power cannot change them, but Love may; + What cannot be, Love counts it done. + Deep in the heart, her searching view + Can read where Faith is fixed and true, +Through shades of setting life can see Heaven's work begun. + + O Thou, who keep'st the Key of Love, + Open Thy fount, eternal Dove, + And overflow this heart of mine, + Enlarging as it fills with Thee, + Till in one blaze of charity +Care and remorse are lost, like motes in light divine; + + Till as each moment wafts us higher, + By every gush of pure desire, + And high-breathed hope of joys above, + By every secret sigh we heave, + Whole years of folly we outlive, +In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love. + + + +THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST + + + +In whom also ye are circumcised with the circumcision made without +hands. Coloss. ii. 11. + + The year begins with Thee, + And Thou beginn'st with woe, +To let the world of sinners see + That blood for sin must flow. + + Thine infant cries, O Lord, + Thy tears upon the breast, +Are not enough--the legal sword + Must do its stern behest. + + Like sacrificial wine + Poured on a victim's head +Are those few precious drops of Thine, + Now first to offering led. + + They are the pledge and seal + Of Christ's unswerving faith +Given to His Sire, our souls to heal, + Although it cost His death. + + They to His Church of old, + To each true Jewish heart, +In Gospel graces manifold + Communion blest impart. + + Now of Thy love we deem + As of an ocean vast, +Mounting in tides against the stream + Of ages gone and past. + + Both theirs and ours Thou art, + As we and they are Thine; +Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs--all have part + Along the sacred line. + + By blood and water too + God's mark is set on Thee, +That in Thee every faithful view + Both covenants might see. + + O bond of union, dear + And strong as is Thy grace! +Saints, parted by a thousand year, + May thus in heart embrace. + + Is there a mourner true, + Who fallen on faithless days, +Sighs for the heart-consoling view + Of those Heaven deigned to praise? + + In spirit may'st thou meet + With faithful Abraham here, +Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet + A nursing Father dear. + + Would'st thou a poet be? + And would thy dull heart fain +Borrow of Israel's minstrelsy + One high enraptured strain? + + Come here thy soul to tune, + Here set thy feeble chant, +Here, if at all beneath the moon, + Is holy David's haunt. + + Art thou a child of tears, + Cradled in care and woe? +And seems it hard, thy vernal years + Few vernal joys can show? + + And fall the sounds of mirth + Sad on thy lonely heart, +From all the hopes and charms of earth + Untimely called to part? + + Look here, and hold thy peace: + The Giver of all good +E'en from the womb takes no release + From suffering, tears, and blood. + + If thou would'st reap in love, + First sow in holy fear: +So life a winter's morn may prove + To a bright endless year. + + + +SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS + + + +When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their +tongue faileth for thirst, I the Lord will hear them, I the God of +Israel will not forsake them. Isaiah, xli. 17. + +And wilt thou hear the fevered heart + To Thee in silence cry? +And as th' inconstant wildfires dart + Out of the restless eye, +Wilt thou forgive the wayward though +By kindly woes yet half untaught +A Saviours right, so dearly bought, + That Hope should never die? + +Thou wilt: for many a languid prayer + Has reached Thee from the wild, +Since the lorn mother, wandering there, + Cast down her fainting child, +Then stole apart to weep and die, +Nor knew an angel form was nigh, +To show soft waters gushing by, + And dewy shadows mild. + +Thou wilt--for Thou art Israel's God, + And Thine unwearied arm +Is ready yet with Moses' rod, + The hidden rill to charm +Out of the dry unfathomed deep +Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, +Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap + Their waves in rude alarm. + +These moments of wild wrath are Thine - + Thine, too, the drearier hour +When o'er th' horizon's silent line + Fond hopeless fancies cower, +And on the traveller's listless way +Rises and sets th' unchanging day, +No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, + On earth no sheltering bower. + +Thou wilt be there, and not forsake, + To turn the bitter pool +Into a bright and breezy lake, + This throbbing brow to cool: +Till loft awhile with Thee alone +The wilful heart be fain to own +That He, by whom our bright hours shone, + Our darkness best may rule. + +The scent of water far away + Upon the breeze is flung; +The desert pelican to-day + Securely leaves her young, +Reproving thankless man, who fears +To journey on a few lone years, +Where on the sand Thy step appears, + Thy crown in sight is hung. + +Thou, who did sit on Jacob's well + The weary hour of noon, +The languid pulses Thou canst tell, + The nerveless spirit tune. +Thou from Whose cross in anguish burst +The cry that owned Thy dying thirst, +To Thee we turn, our Last and First, + Our Sun and soothing Moon. + +From darkness, here, and dreariness + We ask not full repose, +Only be Thou at hand, to bless + Our trial hour of woes. +Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid +By the clear rill and palmy shade? +And see we not, up Earth's dark glade, + The gate of Heaven unclose? + + + +THE EPIPHANY + + + +And lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, +till it came and stood over where the young Child was. When they +saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. St. Matthew +ii. 9, 10. + +Star of the East, how sweet art Thou, + Seen in life's early morning sky, +Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow, + While yet we gaze with childish eye; + +When father, mother, nursing friend, + Most dearly loved, and loving best, +First bid us from their arms ascend, + Pointing to Thee, in Thy sure rest. + +Too soon the glare of earthly day + Buries, to us, Thy brightness keen, +And we are left to find our way + By faith and hope in Thee unseen. + +What matter? if the waymarks sure + On every side are round us set, +Soon overleaped, but not obscure? + 'Tis ours to mark them or forget. + +What matter? if in calm old age + Our childhood's star again arise, +Crowning our lonely pilgrimage + With all that cheers a wanderer's eyes? + +Ne'er may we lose it from our sight, + Till all our hopes and thoughts are led +To where it stays its lucid flight + Over our Saviour's lowly bed. + +There, swathed in humblest poverty, + On Chastity's meek lap enshrined, +With breathless Reverence waiting by, + When we our Sovereign Master find, + +Will not the long-forgotten glow + Of mingled joy and awe return, +When stars above or flowers below + First made our infant spirits burn? + +Look on us, Lord, and take our parts + E'en on Thy throne of purity! +From these our proud yet grovelling hearts + Hide not Thy mild forgiving eye. + +Did not the Gentile Church find grace, + Our mother dear, this favoured day? +With gold and myrrh she sought Thy face; + Nor didst Thou turn Thy face away. + +She too, in earlier, purer days, + Had watched thee gleaming faint and far - +But wandering in self-chosen ways + She lost Thee quite, Thou lovely star. + +Yet had her Father's finger turned + To Thee her first inquiring glance: +The deeper shame within her burned, + When wakened from her wilful trance. + +Behold, her wisest throng Thy gate, + Their richest, sweetest, purest store, +(Yet owned too worthless and too late,) + They lavish on Thy cottage-floor. + +They give their best--O tenfold shame + On us their fallen progeny, +Who sacrifice the blind and lame - + Who will not wake or fast with Thee! + + + +FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY + + + +They shall spring up as among the grass, as willows by the water +courses. Isaiah xliv. 4. + +Lessons sweet of spring returning, + Welcome to the thoughtful heart! +May I call ye sense or learning, + Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art? +Be your title what it may, +Sweet this lengthening April day, +While with you the soul is free, +Ranging wild o'er hill and lea. + +Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, + To the inward ear devout, +Touched by light, with heavenly warning + Your transporting chords ring out. +Every leaf in every nook, +Every wave in every brook, +Chanting with a solemn voice, +Minds us of our better choice. + +Needs no show of mountain hoary, + Winding shore or deepening glen, +Where the landscape in its glory + Teaches truth to wandering men: +Give true hearts but earth and sky, +And some flowers to bloom and die, +Homely scenes and simple views +Lowly thoughts may best infuse. + +See the soft green willow springing + Where the waters gently pass, +Every way her free arms flinging + O'er the moist and reedy grass. +Long ere winter blasts are fled, +See her tipped with vernal red, +And her kindly flower displayed +Ere her leaf can cast a shade. + +Though the rudest hand assail her, + Patiently she droops awhile, +But when showers and breezes hail her, + Wears again her willing smile. +Thus I learn Contentment's power +From the slighted willow bower, +Ready to give thanks and live +On the least that Heaven may give. + +If, the quiet brooklet leaving, + Up the stony vale I wind, +Haply half in fancy grieving + For the shades I leave behind, +By the dusty wayside drear, +Nightingales with joyous cheer +Sing, my sadness to reprove, +Gladlier than in cultured grove. + +Where the thickest boughs are twining + Of the greenest darkest tree, +There they plunge, the light declining - + All may hear, but none may see. +Fearless of the passing hoof, +Hardly will they fleet aloof; +So they live in modest ways, +Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. + + + +SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY + + + +Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine: and when men +have well drunk, then that which is worse; but thou hast kept the +good wine until now. St. John ii. 10. + +The heart of childhood is all mirth: + We frolic to and fro +As free and blithe, as if on earth + Were no such thing as woe. + +But if indeed with reckless faith + We trust the flattering voice, +Which whispers, "Take thy fill ere death, + Indulge thee and rejoice;" + +Too surely, every setting day, + Some lost delight we mourn; +The flowers all die along our way + Till we, too, die forlorn. + +Such is the world's gay garish feast, + In her first charming bowl +Infusing all that fires the breast, + And cheats the unstable soul. + +And still, as loud the revel swells, + The fevered pulse beats higher, +Till the seared taste from foulest wells + Is fain to slake its fire. + +Unlike the feast of heavenly love + Spread at the Saviour's word +For souls that hear His call, and prove + Meet for His bridal board. + +Why should we fear, youth's draught of joy + If pure would sparkle less? +Why should the cup the sooner cloy, + Which God hath deigned to bless? + +For, is it Hope, that thrills so keen + Along each bounding vein, +Still whispering glorious things unseen? - + Faith makes the vision plain. + +The world would kill her soon: but Faith + Her daring dreams will cherish, +Speeding her gaze o'er time and death + To realms where nought can perish. + +Or is it Love, the dear delight + Of hearts that know no guile, +That all around see all things bright + With their own magic smile? + +The silent joy that sinks so deep, + Of confidence and rest, +Lulled in a father's arms to sleep, + Clasped to a mother's breast? + +Who, but a Christian, through all life + That blessing may prolong? +Who, through the world's sad day of strife, + Still chant his morning song? + +Fathers may hate us or forsake, + God's foundlings then are we: +Mother on child no pity take, + But we shall still have Thee. + +We may look home, and seek in vain + A fond fraternal heart, +But Christ hath given His promise plain + To do a Brother's part. + +Nor shall dull age, as worldlings say, + The heavenward flame annoy: +The Saviour cannot pass away, + And with Him lives our joy. + +Ever the richest, tenderest glow + Sets round the autumnal sun - +But there sight fails: no heart may know + The bliss when life is done. + +Such is Thy banquet, dearest Lord; + O give us grace, to cast +Our lot with Thine, to trust Thy word, + And keep our best till last. + + + +THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY + + + +When Jesus heard it, He marvelled, and said to them that followed, +Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in +Israel. St. Matthew viii. 10. + + I marked a rainbow in the north, + What time the wild autumnal sun + From his dark veil at noon looked forth, + As glorying in his course half done, + Flinging soft radiance far and wide +Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side. + + It was a gleam to Memory dear, + And as I walk and muse apart, + When all seems faithless round and drear, + I would revive it in my heart, + And watch how light can find its way +To regions farthest from the fount of day. + + Light flashes in the gloomiest sky, + And Music in the dullest plain, + For there the lark is soaring high + Over her flat and leafless reign, + And chanting in so blithe a tone, +It shames the weary heart to feel itself alone. + + Brighter than rainbow in the north, + More cheery than the matin lark, + Is the soft gleam of Christian worth, + Which on some holy house we mark; + Dear to the pastor's aching heart +To think, where'er he looks, such gleam may have a part; + + May dwell, unseen by all but Heaven, + Like diamond blazing in the mine; + For ever, where such grace is given, + It fears in open day to shine, + Lest the deep stain it owns within +Break out, and Faith be shamed by the believer's sin. + + In silence and afar they wait, + To find a prayer their Lord may hear: + Voice of the poor and desolate, + You best may bring it to His ear; + Your grateful intercessions rise +With more than royal pomp, and pierce the skies. + + Happy the soul whose precious cause + You in the Sovereign Presence plead - + "This is the lover of Thy laws, + The friend of Thine in fear and need," + For to the poor Thy mercy lends +That solemn style, "Thy nation and Thy friends." + + He too is blest whose outward eye + The graceful lines of art may trace, + While his free spirit, soaring high, + Discerns the glorious from the base; + Till out of dust his magic raise +A home for prayer and love, and full harmonious praise, + + Where far away and high above, + In maze on maze the tranced sight + Strays, mindful of that heavenly love + Which knows no end in depth or height, + While the strong breath of Music seems +To waft us ever on, soaring in blissful dreams. + + What though in poor and humble guise + Thou here didst sojourn, cottage-born? + Yet from Thy glory in the skies + Our earthly gold Thou dost not scorn. + For Love delights to bring her best, +And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest. + + Love on the Saviour's dying head + Her spikenard drops unblamed may pour, + May mount His cross, and wrap Him dead + In spices from the golden shore; + Risen, may embalm His sacred name +With all a Painter's art, and all a Minstrel's flame. + + Worthless and lost our offerings seem, + Drops in the ocean of His praise; + But Mercy with her genial beam + Is ripening them to pearly blaze, + To sparkle in His crown above, +Who welcomes here a child's as there an angel's love. + + + +FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY + + + +When they saw Him, they besought Him that He would depart out of +their coasts. St. Matthew viii. 34. + + They know the Almighty's power, + Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower, + Watch for the fitful breeze + To howl and chafe amid the bending trees, + Watch for the still white gleam + To bathe the landscape in a fiery stream, + Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light +Too rapid and too pure for all but angel sight. + + They know the Almighty's love, + Who, when the whirlwinds rock the topmost grove, + Stand in the shade, and hear + The tumult with a deep exulting fear, + How, in their fiercest sway, + Curbed by some power unseen, they die away, + Like a bold steed that owns his rider's arm, +Proud to be checked and soothed by that o'er-mastering chains. + + But there are storms within + That heave the struggling heart with wilder din, + And there is power and love + The maniac's rushing frenzy to reprove, + And when he takes his seat, + Clothed and in calmness, at his Savour's feet, + Is not the power as strange, the love as blest, +As when He said, "Be still," and ocean sank to rest? + + Woe to the wayward heart, + That gladlier turns to eye the shuddering start + Of Passion in her might, + Than marks the silent growth of grace and light; - + Pleased in the cheerless tomb + To linger, while the morning rays illume + Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade, +Shaking their dewy tresses now the storm is laid. + + The storm is laid--and now + In His meek power He climbs the mountain's brow, + Who bade the waves go sleep, + And lashed the vexed fiends to their yawning deep. + How on a rock they stand, + Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand! + Not half so fixed, amid her vassal hills, +Rises the holy pile that Kedron's valley fills. + + And wilt thou seek again + Thy howling waste, thy charnel-house and chain, + And with the demons be, + Rather than clasp thine own Deliverer's knee? + Sure 'tis no Heaven-bred awe + That bids thee from His healing touch withdraw; + The world and He are struggling in thine heart, +And in thy reckless mood thou bidd'st thy Lord depart. + + He, merciful and mild, + As erst, beholding, loves His wayward child; + When souls of highest birth + Waste their impassioned might on dreams of earth, + He opens Nature's book, + And on His glorious Gospel bids them look, + Till, by such chords as rule the choirs above, +Their lawless cries are tuned to hymns of perfect love. + + + +FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY + + + +Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save; +neither His ear heavy, that it cannot hear; but your iniquities +have separated between you and your God. Isaiah lix. 1, 2. + + "Wake, arm Divine! awake, + Eye of the only Wise! + Now for Thy glory's sake, + Saviour and God, arise, +And may Thine ear, that sealed seems, +In pity mark our mournful themes!" + + Thus in her lonely hour + Thy Church is fain to cry, + As if Thy love and power + Were vanished from her sky; +Yet God is there, and at His side +He triumphs, who for sinners died. + + Ah! 'tis the world enthralls + The Heaven-betrothed breast: + The traitor Sense recalls + The soaring soul from rest. +That bitter sigh was all for earth, +For glories gone and vanished mirth. + + Age would to youth return, + Farther from Heaven would be, + To feel the wildfire burn, + On idolising knee +Again to fall, and rob Thy shrine +Of hearts, the right of Love Divine. + + Lord of this erring flock! + Thou whose soft showers distil + On ocean waste or rock, + Free as on Hermon hill, +Do Thou our craven spirits cheer, +And shame away the selfish tear. + + 'Twas silent all and dead + Beside the barren sea, + Where Philip's steps were led, + Led by a voice from Thee - +He rose and went, nor asked Thee why, +Nor stayed to heave one faithless sigh: + + Upon his lonely way + The high-born traveller came, + Reading a mournful lay + Of "One who bore our shame, +Silent Himself, His name untold, +And yet His glories were of old." + + To muse what Heaven might mean + His wondering brow he raised, + And met an eye serene + That on him watchful gazed. +No Hermit e'er so welcome crossed +A child's lone path in woodland lost. + + Now wonder turns to love; + The scrolls of sacred lore + No darksome mazes prove; + The desert tires no more +They bathe where holy waters flow, +Then on their way rejoicing go. + + They part to meet in Heaven; + But of the joy they share, + Absolving and forgiven, + The sweet remembrance bear. +Yes--mark him well, ye cold and proud. +Bewildered in a heartless crowd, + + Starting and turning pale + At Rumour's angry din - + No storm can now assail + The charm he wears within, +Rejoicing still, and doing good, +And with the thought of God imbued. + + No glare of high estate, + No gloom of woe or want, + The radiance can abate + Where Heaven delights to haunt: +Sin only bides the genial ray, +And, round the Cross, makes night of day. + + Then weep it from thy heart; + So mayst thou duly learn + The intercessor's part; + Thy prayers and tears may earn +For fallen souls some healing breath, +Era they have died the Apostate's death. + + + +SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY + + + +Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear +what we shall be: but we know that, when He shall appear, we shall +be like Him; for we shall see Him as he is. St. John iii. 2. + + There are, who darkling and alone, + Would wish the weary night were gone, + Though dawning morn should only show + The secret of their unknown woe: + Who pray for sharpest throbs of pain + To ease them of doubt's galling chain: + "Only disperse the cloud," they cry, +"And if our fate be death, give light and let us die." + + Unwise I deem them, Lord, unmeet + To profit by Thy chastenings sweet, + For Thou wouldst have us linger still + Upon the verge of good or ill. + That on Thy guiding hand unseen + Our undivided hearts may lean, + And this our frail and foundering bark +Glide in the narrow wake of Thy beloved ark. + + 'Tis so in war--the champion true + Loves victory more when dim in view + He sees her glories gild afar + The dusky edge of stubborn war, + Than if the untrodden bloodless field + The harvest of her laurels yield; + Let not my bark in calm abide, +But win her fearless way against the chafing tide. + + 'Tis so in love--the faithful heart + From her dim vision would not part, + When first to her fond gaze is given + That purest spot in Fancy's heaven, + For all the gorgeous sky beside, + Though pledged her own and sure to abide: + Dearer than every past noon-day +That twilight gleam to her, though faint and far away. + + So have I seen some tender flower + Prized above all the vernal bower, + Sheltered beneath the coolest shade, + Embosomed in the greenest glade, + So frail a gem, it scarce may bear + The playful touch of evening air; + When hardier grown we love it less, +And trust it from our sight, not needing our caress. + + And wherefore is the sweet spring-tide + Worth all the changeful year beside? + The last-born babe, why lies its part + Deep in the mother's inmost heart? + But that the Lord and Source of love + Would have His weakest ever prove + Our tenderest care--and most of all +Our frail immortal souls, His work and Satan's thrall. + + So be it, Lord; I know it best, + Though not as yet this wayward breast + Beat quite in answer to Thy voice, + Yet surely I have made my choice; + I know not yet the promised bliss, + Know not if I shall win or miss; + So doubting, rather let me die, +Than close with aught beside, to last eternally. + + What is the Heaven we idly dream? + The self-deceiver's dreary theme, + A cloudless sun that softly shines, + Bright maidens and unfailing vines, + The warrior's pride, the hunter's mirth, + Poor fragments all of this low earth: + Such as in sleep would hardly soothe +A soul that once had tasted of immortal Truth. + + What is the Heaven our God bestows? + No Prophet yet, no Angel knows; + Was never yet created eye + Could see across Eternity; + Not seraph's wing for ever soaring + Can pass the flight of souls adoring, + That nearer still and nearer grow +To the unapproached Lord, once made for them so low. + + Unseen, unfelt their earthly growth, + And self-accused of sin and sloth, + They live and die; their names decay, + Their fragrance passes quite away; + Like violets in the freezing blast + No vernal steam around they cast. - + But they shall flourish from the tomb, +The breath of God shall wake them into odorous bloom. + + Then on the incarnate Saviour's breast, + The fount of sweetness, they shall rest, + Their spirits every hour imbued + More deeply with His precious blood. + But peace--still voice and closed eye + Suit best with hearts beyond the sky, + Hearts training in their low abode, +Daily to lose themselves in hope to find their God. + + + +SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY + + + +The invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are +clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. Romans +i. 20. + +There is a book, who runs may read, + Which heavenly truth imparts, +And all the lore its scholars need, + Pure eyes and Christian hearts. + +The works of God above, below, + Within us and around, +Are pages in that book, to show + How God Himself is found. + +The glorious sky embracing all + Is like the Maker's love, +Wherewith encompassed, great and small + In peace and order move. + +The Moon above, the Church below, + A wondrous race they run, +But all their radiance, all their glow, + Each borrows of its Sun. + +The Savour lends the light and heat + That crowns His holy hill; +The saints, like stars, around His seat + Perform their courses still. + +The saints above are stars in heaven - + What are the saints on earth? +Like tress they stand whom God has given, + Our Eden's happy birth. + +Faith is their fixed unswerving root, + Hope their unfading flower, +Fair deeds of charity their fruit, + The glory of their bower. + +The dew of heaven is like Thy grace, + It steals in silence down; +But where it lights, this favoured place + By richest fruits is known. + +One Name above all glorious names + With its ten thousand tongues +The everlasting sea proclaims. + Echoing angelic songs. + +The raging Fire, the roaring Wind, + Thy boundless power display; +But in the gentler breeze we find + Thy Spirit's viewless way. + +Two worlds are ours: 'tis only Sin + Forbids us to descry +The mystic heaven and earth within, + Plain as the sea and sky. + +Thou, who hast given me eyes to see + And love this sight so fair, +Give me a heart to find out Thee, + And read Thee everywhere. + + + +SEXAGESIMA SUNDAY + + + +So He drove out the man; and He placed at the east of the garden of +Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep +the way of the tree of life. Genesis iii. 24; compare chap. vi. + + Foe of mankind! too bold thy race: + Thou runn'st at such a reckless pace, +Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound: + 'Twas but one little drop of sin + We saw this morning enter in, +And lo! at eventide the world is drowned. + + See here the fruit of wandering eyes, + Of worldly longings to be wise, +Of Passion dwelling on forbidden sweets: + Ye lawless glances, freely rove; + Ruin below and wrath above +Are all that now the wildering fancy meets. + + Lord, when in some deep garden glade, + Of Thee and of myself afraid. +From thoughts like these among the bowers I hide, + Nearest and loudest then of all + I seem to hear the Judge's call:- +"Where art thou, fallen man? come forth, and be thou tried." + + Trembling before Thee as I stand, + Where'er I gaze on either hand +The sentence is gone forth, the ground is cursed: + Yet mingled with the penal shower + Some drops of balm in every bower +Steal down like April dews, that softest fall and first. + + If filial and maternal love + Memorial of our guilt must prove, +If sinful babes in sorrow must be born, + Yet, to assuage her sharpest throes, + The faithful mother surely knows, +This was the way Thou cam'st to save the world forlorn. + + If blessed wedlock may not bless + Without some tinge of bitterness +To dash her cup of joy, since Eden lost, + Chaining to earth with strong desire + Hearts that would highest else aspire, +And o'er the tenderer sex usurping ever most; + + Yet by the light of Christian lore + 'Tis blind Idolatry no more, +But a sweet help and pattern of true love, + Showing how best the soul may cling + To her immortal Spouse and King, +How He should rule, and she with full desire approve. + + If niggard Earth her treasures hide, + To all but labouring hands denied, +Lavish of thorns and worthless weeds alone, + The doom is half in mercy given, + To train us in our way to Heaven, +And show our lagging souls how glory must be won. + + If on the sinner's outward frame + God hath impressed His mark of blame, +And e'en our bodies shrink at touch of light, + Yet mercy hath not left us bare: + The very weeds we daily wear +Are to Faith's eye a pledge of God's forgiving might. + + And oh! if yet one arrow more, + The sharpest of the Almighty's store, +Tremble upon the string--a sinner's death - + Art Thou not by to soothe and save, + To lay us gently in the grave, +To close the weary eye and hush the parting breath? + + Therefore in sight of man bereft + The happy garden still was left; +The fiery sword that guarded, showed it too; + Turning all ways, the world to teach, + That though as yet beyond our reach, +Still in its place the tree of life and glory grew. + + + +QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY + + + +I do set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a +covenant between Me and the earth. Genesis ix. 13. + +Sweet Dove! the softest, steadiest plume, + In all the sunbright sky, +Brightening in ever-changeful bloom + As breezes change on high; - + +Sweet Leaf! the pledge of peace and mirth, + "Long sought, and lately won," +Blessed increase of reviving Earth, + When first it felt the Sun; - + +Sweet Rainbow! pride of summer days, + High set at Heaven's command, +Though into drear and dusky haze + Thou melt on either hand; - + +Dear tokens of a pardoning God, + We hail ye, one and all, +As when our fathers walked abroad, + Freed from their twelvemonth's thrall. + +How joyful from the imprisoning ark + On the green earth they spring! +Not blither, after showers, the lark + Mounts up with glistening wing. + +So home-bound sailors spring to shore, + Two oceans safely past; +So happy souls, when life is o'er, + Plunge in this empyreal vast. + +What wins their first and fondest gaze + In all the blissful field, +And keeps it through a thousand days? + Love face to face revealed: + +Love imaged in that cordial look + Our Lord in Eden bends +On souls that sin and earth forsook + In time to die His friends. + +And what most welcome and serene + Dawns on the Patriarch's eye, +In all the emerging hills so green, + In all the brightening sky? + +What but the gentle rainbow's gleam, + Soothing the wearied sight, +That cannot bear the solar beam, + With soft undazzling light? + +Lord, if our fathers turned to Thee + With such adoring gaze, +Wondering frail man Thy light should see + Without Thy scorching blaze; + +Where is our love, and where our hearts, + We who have seen Thy Son, +Have tried Thy Spirit's winning arts, + And yet we are not won? + +The Son of God in radiance beamed + Too bright for us to scan, +But we may face the rays that streamed + From the mild Son of Man. + +There, parted into rainbow hues, + In sweet harmonious strife +We see celestial love diffuse + Its light o'er Jesus' life. + +God, by His bow, vouchsafes to write + This truth in Heaven above: +As every lovely hue is Light, + So every grace is Love. + + + +ASH WEDNESDAY + + + +When thou fastest, anoint thine head, and wash thy face; that thou +appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in +secret. St. Matthew vi. 17, 18. + +"Yes--deep within and deeper yet + The rankling shaft of conscience hide, +Quick let the swelling eye forget + The tears that in the heart abide. +Calm be the voice, the aspect bold, + No shuddering pass o'er lip or brow, +For why should Innocence be told + The pangs that guilty spirits bow? + +"The loving eye that watches thine + Close as the air that wraps thee round - +Why in thy sorrow should it pine, + Since never of thy sin it found? +And wherefore should the heathen see + What chains of darkness thee enslave, +And mocking say, 'Lo, this is he + Who owned a God that could not save'?" + +Thus oft the mourner's wayward heart + Tempts him to hide his grief and die, +Too feeble for Confession's smart, + Too proud to bear a pitying eye; +How sweet, in that dark hour, to fall + On bosoms waiting to receive +Our sighs, and gently whisper all! + They love us--will not God forgive? + +Else let us keep our fast within, + Till Heaven and we are quite alone, +Then let the grief, the shame, the sin, + Before the mercy-seat be thrown. +Between the porch and altar weep, + Unworthy of the holiest place, +Yet hoping near the shrine to keep + One lowly cell in sight of grace. + +Nor fear lest sympathy should fail - + Hast thou not seen, in night hours drear, +When racking thoughts the heart assail, + The glimmering stars by turns appear, +And from the eternal house above + With silent news of mercy steal? +So Angels pause on tasks of love, + To look where sorrowing sinners kneel. + +Or if no Angel pass that way, + He who in secret sees, perchance +May bid His own heart-warming ray + Toward thee stream with kindlier glance, +As when upon His drooping head + His Father's light was poured from Heaven, +What time, unsheltered and unfed, + Far in the wild His steps were driven. + +High thoughts were with Him in that hour, + Untold, unspeakable on earth - +And who can stay the soaring power + Of spirits weaned from worldly mirth, +While far beyond the sound of praise + With upward eye they float serene, +And learn to bear their Saviour's blaze + When Judgment shall undraw the screen? + + + +FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT. + + + +Haste thee, escape thither: for I cannot do any thing till thou be +come thither. Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar. +Genesis xix. 22. + +"Angel of wrath! why linger in mid-air, + While the devoted city's cry +Louder and louder swells? and canst thou spare, + Thy full-charged vial standing by?" +Thus, with stern voice, unsparing Justice pleads: + He hears her not--with softened gaze +His eye is following where sweet Mercy leads, +And till she give the sign, his fury stays. + +Guided by her, along the mountain road, + Far through the twilight of the morn, +With hurried footsteps from the accursed abode + He sees the holy household borne; +Angels, or more, on either hand are nigh, + To speed them o'er the tempting plain, +Lingering in heart, and with frail sidelong eye +Seeking how near they may unharmed remain. + +"Ah! wherefore gleam those upland slopes so fair? + And why, through every woodland arch, +Swells yon bright vale, as Eden rich and rare, + Where Jordan winds his stately march; +If all must be forsaken, ruined all, + If God have planted but to burn? - +Surely not yet the avenging shower will fall, +Though to my home for one last look I turn." + +Thus while they waver, surely long ago + They had provoked the withering blast, +But that the merciful Avengers know + Their frailty well, and hold them fast. +"Haste, for thy life escape, nor look behind" - + Ever in thrilling sounds like these +They check the wandering eye, severely kind, +Nor let the sinner lose his soul at ease. + +And when, o'erwearied with the steep ascent, + We for a nearer refuge crave, +One little spot of ground in mercy lent, + One hour of home before the grave, +Oft in His pity o'er His children weak, + His hand withdraws the penal fire, +And where we fondly cling, forbears to wreak +Full vengeance, till our hearts are weaned entire. + +Thus, by the merits of one righteous man, + The Church, our Zoar, shall abide, +Till she abuse, so sore, her lengthened span, + E'en Mercy's self her face must hide. +Then, onward yet a step, thou hard-won soul; + Though in the Church thou know thy place, +The mountain farther lies--there seek thy goal, +There breathe at large, o'erpast thy dangerous race. + +Sweet is the smile of home; the mutual look + When hearts are of each other sure; +Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, + The haunt of all affections pure; +Yet in the world e'en these abide, and we + Above the world our calling boast; +Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free: +Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost. + + + +SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT + + + +And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great +and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me, even +me also, O my father. Genesis xxvii. 34. (Compare Hebrew xii. 17. +He found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with +tears.) + +"And is there in God's world so drear a place + Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain? +Where tears of penance come too late for grace, + As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?" + +'Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of souls + Stores in the dungeon of His boundless realm +Each bolt that o'er the sinner vainly rolls, + With gathered wrath the reprobate to whelm. + +Will the storm hear the sailor's piteous cry, + Taught so mistrust, too late, the tempting wave, +When all around he sees but sea and sky, + A God in anger, a self-chosen grave? + +Or will the thorns, that strew intemperance' bed, + Turn with a wish to down? will late remorse +Recall the shaft the murderer's hand has sped, + Or from the guiltless bosom turn its course? + +Then may the unbodied soul in safety fleet + Through the dark curtains of the world above, +Fresh from the stain of crime; nor fear to meet + The God whom here she would not learn to love; + +Then is there hope for such as die unblest, + That angel wings may waft them to the shore, +Nor need the unready virgin strike her breast, + Nor wait desponding round the bridegroom's door. + +But where is then the stay of contrite hearts? + Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word, +But with the sinner's fear their hope departs, + Fast linked as Thy great Name to Thee, O Lord: + +That Name, by which Thy faithful oath is past, + That we should endless be, for joy or woe:- +And if the treasures of Thy wrath could waste, + Thy lovers must their promised Heaven forego. + +But ask of elder days, earth's vernal hour, + When in familiar talk God's voice was heard, +When at the Patriarch's call the fiery shower + Propitious o'er the turf-built shrine appeared. + +Watch by our father Isaac's pastoral door - + The birthright sold, the blessing lost and won; +Tell, Heaven has wrath that can relent no more; + The Grave, dark deeds that cannot be undone. + +We barter life for pottage; sell true bliss + For wealth or power, for pleasure or renown; +Thus, Esau-like, our Father's blessing miss, + Then wash with fruitless tears our faded crown. + +Our faded crown, despised and flung aside, + Shall on some brother's brow immortal bloom; +No partial hand the blessing may misguide, + No flattering fancy change our Monarch's doom: + +His righteous doom, that meek true-hearted + Love + The everlasting birthright should receive, +The softest dews drop on her from above, + The richest green her mountain garland weave: + +Her brethren, mightiest, wisest, eldest-born, + Bow to her sway, and move at her behest; +Isaac's fond blessing may not fall on scorn, + Nor Balaam's curse on Love, which God hath blest. + + + +THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT + + + +When a strong man armed keepeth his place, his goods are in peace; +but when a stronger than he shall come upon him, and overcome him, +he taketh from him all his armour wherein he trusted, and divideth +his spoils. St. Luke xi. 21, 22. + + See Lucifer like lightning fall, + Dashed from his throne of pride; + While, answering Thy victorious call, + The Saints his spoils divide; + This world of Thine, by him usurped too long, +Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants' wrong. + + So when the first-born of Thy foes + Dead in the darkness lay, + When Thy redeemed at midnight rose + And cast their bonds away, + The orphaned realm threw wide her gates, and told +Into freed Israel's lap her jewels and her gold. + + And when their wondrous march was o'er, + And they had won their homes, + Where Abraham fed his flock of yore, + Among their fathers' tombs; - + A land that drinks the rain of Heaven at will, +Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill; - + + Oft as they watched, at thoughtful eve, + A gale from bowers of balm + Sweep o'er the billowy corn, and heave + The tresses of the palm, + Just as the lingering Sun had touched with gold, +Far o'er the cedar shade, some tower of giants old; + + It was a fearful joy, I ween, + To trace the Heathen's toil, + The limpid wells, the orchards green, + Left ready for the spoil, + The household stores untouched, the roses bright +Wreathed o'er the cottage walls in garlands of delight. + + And now another Canaan yields + To Thine all-conquering ark: - + Fly from the "old poetic" fields, + Ye Paynim shadows dark! + Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays, +Lo! here the "unknown God" of thy unconscious praise. + + The olive-wreath, the ivied wand, + "The sword in myrtles drest," + Each legend of the shadowy strand + Now wakes a vision blest; + As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven, +So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given. + + And these are ours: Thy partial grace + The tempting treasure lends: + These relies of a guilty race + Are forfeit to Thy friends; + What seemed an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee, +Tuned by Faith's ear to some celestial melody. + + There's not a strain to Memory dear, + Nor flower in classic grove, + There's not a sweet note warbled here, + But minds us of Thy Love. + O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, +There is no light but Thine: with Thee all beauty glows. + + + +FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT + + + +Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his brother; and +he sought where to weep, and he entered into his chamber and wept +there. Genesis xliii. 30. + +There stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto +his brethren. Genesis xlv. 1. + +When Nature tries her finest touch, + Weaving her vernal wreath, +Mark ye, how close she veils her round, +Not to be traced by sight or sound, + Nor soiled by ruder breath? + +Who ever saw the earliest rose + First open her sweet breast? +Or, when the summer sun goes down, +The first soft star in evening's crown + Light up her gleaming crest? + +Fondly we seek the dawning bloom + On features wan and fair, +The gazing eye no change can trace, +But look away a little space, + Then turn, and lo! 'tis there. + +But there's a sweeter flower than e'er + Blushed on the rosy spray - +A brighter star, a richer bloom +Than e'er did western heaven illume + At close of summer day. + +'Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven; + Love gentle, holy, pure; +But tenderer than a dove's soft eye, +The searching sun, the open sky, + She never could endure. + +E'en human Love will shrink from sight + Here in the coarse rude earth: +How then should rash intruding glance +Break in upon HER sacred trance + Who boasts a heavenly birth? + +So still and secret is her growth, + Ever the truest heart, +Where deepest strikes her kindly root +For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, + Least knows its happy part. + +God only, and good angels, look + Behind the blissful screen - +As when, triumphant o'er His woes, +The Son of God by moonlight rose, + By all but Heaven unseen: + +As when the holy Maid beheld + Her risen Son and Lord: +Thought has not colours half so fair +That she to paint that hour may dare, + In silence best adored. + +The gracious Dove, that brought from Heaven + The earnest of our bliss, +Of many a chosen witness telling, +On many a happy vision dwelling, + Sings not a note of this. + +So, truest image of the Christ, + Old Israel's long-lost son, +What time, with sweet forgiving cheer, +He called his conscious brethren near, + Would weep with them alone. + +He could not trust his melting soul + But in his Maker's sight - +Then why should gentle hearts and true +Bare to the rude world's withering view + Their treasure of delight! + +No--let the dainty rose awhile + Her bashful fragrance hide - +Rend not her silken veil too soon, +But leave her, in her own soft noon, + To flourish and abide. + + + +FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT + + + +And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, +why the bush is not burnt. Exodus iii. 3. + +The historic Muse, from age to age, +Through many a waste heart-sickening page + Hath traced the works of Man: +But a celestial call to-day +Stays her, like Moses, on her way, + The works of God to scan. + +Far seen across the sandy wild, +Where, like a solitary child, + He thoughtless roamed and free, +One towering thorn was wrapt in flame - +Bright without blaze it went and came: + Who would not turn and see? + +Along the mountain ledges green +The scattered sheep at will may glean + The Desert's spicy stores: +The while, with undivided heart, +The shepherd talks with God apart, + And, as he talks, adores. + +Ye too, who tend Christ's wildering flock, +Well may ye gather round the rock + That once was Sion's hill: +To watch the fire upon the mount +Still blazing, like the solar fount, + Yet unconsuming still. + +Caught from that blaze by wrath Divine, +Lost branches of the once-loved vine, + Now withered, spent, and sere, +See Israel's sons, like glowing brands, +Tossed wildly o'er a thousand lands + For twice a thousand year. + +God will not quench nor slay them quite, +But lifts them like a beacon-light + The apostate Church to scare; +Or like pale ghosts that darkling roam, +Hovering around their ancient home, + But find no refuge there. + +Ye blessed Angels! if of you +There be, who love the ways to view + Of Kings and Kingdoms here; +(And sure, 'tis worth an Angel's gaze, +To see, throughout that dreary maze, + God teaching love and fear:) + +Oh say, in all the bleak expanse +Is there a spot to win your glance, + So bright, so dark as this? +A hopeless faith, a homeless race, +Yet seeking the most holy place, + And owning the true bliss! + +Salted with fire they seem, to show +How spirits lost in endless woe + May undecaying live. +Oh, sickening thought! yet hold it fast +Long as this glittering world shall last, + Or sin at heart survive. + +And hark! amid the flashing fire, +Mingling with tones of fear and ire, + Soft Mercy's undersong - +'Tis Abraham's God who speaks so loud, +His people's cries have pierced the cloud, + He sees, He sees their wrong; + +He is come down to break their chain; +Though nevermore on Sion's fane + His visible ensign wave; +'Tis Sion, wheresoe'er they dwell, +Who, with His own true Israel, + Shall own Him strong to save. + +He shall redeem them one by one, +Where'er the world-encircling sun + Shall see them meekly kneel: +All that He asks on Israel's part, +Is only that the captive heart + Its woe and burthen feel. + +Gentiles! with fixed yet awful eye +Turn ye this page of mystery, + Nor slight the warning sound: +"Put off thy shoes from off thy feet - +The place where man his God shall meet, + Be sure, is holy ground." + + + +PALM SUNDAY + + + +And He answered and said unto them, I tell you that, if these +should hold their peace, the stones would immediately cry out. St. +Luke xix. 40. + +Ye whose hearts are beating high +With the pulse of Poesy, +Heirs of more than royal race, +Framed by Heaven's peculiar grace, +God's own work to do on earth, + (If the word be not too bold,) +Giving virtue a new birth, + And a life that ne'er grows old - + +Sovereign masters of all hearts! +Know ye, who hath set your parts? +He who gave you breath to sing, +By whose strength ye sweep the string, +He hath chosen you, to lead + His Hosannas here below; - +Mount, and claim your glorious meed; + Linger not with sin and woe. + +But if ye should hold your peace, +Deem not that the song would cease - +Angels round His glory-throne, +Stars, His guiding hand that own, +Flowers, that grow beneath our feet, + Stones in earth's dark womb that rest, +High and low in choir shall meet, + Ere His Name shall be unblest. + +Lord, by every minstrel tongue +Be Thy praise so duly sung, +That Thine angels' harps may ne'er +Fail to find fit echoing here: +We the while, of meaner birth, + Who in that divinest spell +Dare not hope to join on earth, + Give us grace to listen well. + +But should thankless silence seal +Lips that might half Heaven reveal, +Should bards in idol-hymns profane +The sacred soul-enthralling strain, +(As in this bad world below + Noblest things find vilest using,) +Then, Thy power and mercy show, + In vile things noble breath infusing; + +Then waken into sound divine +The very pavement of Thy shrine, +Till we, like Heaven's star-sprinkled floor, +Faintly give back what we adore: +Childlike though the voices be, + And untunable the parts, +Thou wilt own the minstrelsy + If it flow from childlike hearts. + + + +MONDAY BEFORE EASTER + + + +Doubtless Thou art our Father, though Abraham be ignorant of us, +and Israel acknowledge us not. Isaiah lxiii. 16. + +"Father to me thou art and mother dear, + And brother too, kind husband of my heart - +So speaks Andromache in boding fear, + Ere from her last embrace her hero part - +So evermore, by Faith's undying glow, +We own the Crucified in weal or woe. + +Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home, + This fragrance of our old paternal fields +May be forgotten; and the time may come + When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields +E'en to the doting mother: but Thine own +Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone. + +There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs, + None loves them best--O vain and selfish sigh! +Out of the bosom of His love He spares - + The Father spares the Son, for thee to die: +For thee He died--for thee He lives again: +O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign. + +Thou art as much His care, as if beside + Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth: +Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide + To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth: +They shine and shine with unexhausted store - +Thou art thy Saviour's darling--seek no more. + +On thee and thine, thy warfare and thine end, + E'en in His hour of agony He thought, +When, ere the final pang His soul should rend, + The ransomed spirits one by one were brought +To His mind's eye--two silent nights and days +In calmness for His far-seen hour He stays. + +Ye vaulted cells, where martyred seers of old + Far in the rocky walls of Sion sleep, +Green terraces and arched fountains cold, + Where lies the cypress shade so still and deep, +Dear sacred haunts of glory and of woe, +Help us, one hour, to trace His musings high and low: + +One heart-ennobling hour! It may not be: + The unearthly thoughts have passed from earth away, +And fast as evening sunbeams from the sea + Thy footsteps all in Sion's deep decay +Were blotted from the holy ground: yet dear +Is every stone of hers; for Thou want surely here. + +There is a spot within this sacred dale + That felt Thee kneeling--touched Thy prostrate brow: +One Angel knows it. O might prayer avail + To win that knowledge! sure each holy vow +Less quickly from the unstable soul would fade, +Offered where Christ in agony was laid. + +Might tear of ours once mingle with the blood + That from His aching brow by moonlight fell, +Over the mournful joy our thoughts would brood, + Till they had framed within a guardian spell +To chase repining fancies, as they rise, +Like birds of evil wing, to mar our sacrifice. + +So dreams the heart self-flattering, fondly dreams; - + Else wherefore, when the bitter waves o'erflow, +Miss we the light, Gethsemane, that streams + From thy dear name, where in His page of woe +It shines, a pale kind star in winter's sky? +Who vainly reads it there, in vain had seen Him die. + + + +TUESDAY BEFORE EASTER + + + +They gave Him to drink wine mingled with myrrh: but He received in +not. St. Mark xv. 23. + +"Fill high the bowl, and spice it well, and pour +The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp, + The Cross is sharp, and He + Is tenderer than a lamb. + +"He wept by Lazarus' grave--how will He bear +This bed of anguish? and His pale weak form + Is worn with many a watch + Of sorrow and unrest. + +"His sweat last night was as great drops of blood, +And the sad burthen pressed Him so to earth, + The very torturers paused + To help Him on His way. + +"Fill high the bowl, benumb His aching sense +With medicined sleep."--O awful in Thy woe! + The parching thirst of death + Is on Thee, and Thou triest + +The slumb'rous potion bland, and wilt not drink: +Not sullen, nor in scorn, like haughty man + With suicidal hand + Putting his solace by: + +But as at first Thine all-pervading look +Saw from Thy Father's bosom to the abyss + Measuring in calm presage + The infinite descent; + +So to the end, though now of mortal pangs +Made heir, and emptied of Thy glory, awhile, + With unaverted eye + Thou meetest all the storm. + +Thou wilt feel all, that Thou mayst pity all; +And rather wouldst Thou wreathe with strong pain, + Than overcloud Thy soul, + So clear in agony, + +Or lose one glimpse of Heaven before the time +O most entire and perfect sacrifice, + Renewed in every pulse + That on the tedious Cross + +Told the long hours of death, as, one by one, +The life-strings of that tender heart gave way; + E'en sinners, taught by Thee, + Look Sorrow in the face, + +And bid her freely welcome, unbeguiled +By false kind solaces, and spells of earth:- + And yet not all unsoothed; + For when was Joy so dear, + +As the deep calm that breathed, "Father, forgive," +Or, "Be with Me in Paradise to-day?" + And, though the strife be sore, + Yet in His parting breath + +Love masters Agony; the soul that seemed +Forsaken, feels her present God again, + And in her Father's arms + Contented dies away. + + + +WEDNESDAY BEFORE EASTER + + + +Saying, Father, if Thou be willing, remove this cup from Me; +nevertheless not My will, but Thine, be done. St. Luke xxii. 42. + +O Lord my God, do thou Thy holy will - + I will lie still - +I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm, + And break the charm +Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast, + In perfect rest. + +Wild fancy, peace! thou must not me beguile + With thy false smile: +I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways; + Be silent, Praise, +Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all + That hear thy call. + +Come, Self-devotion, high and pure, +Thoughts that in thankfulness endure, +Though dearest hopes are faithless found, +And dearest hearts are bursting round. +Come, Resignation, spirit meek, +And let me kiss thy placid cheek, +And read in thy pale eye serene +Their blessing, who by faith can wean +Their hearts from sense, and learn to love +God only, and the joys above. + +They say, who know the life divine, +And upward gaze with eagle eyne, +That by each golden crown on high, +Rich with celestial jewelry, +Which for our Lord's redeemed is set, +There hangs a radiant coronet, +All gemmed with pure and living light, +Too dazzling for a sinner's sight, +Prepared for virgin souls, and them +Who seek the martyr's diadem. + +Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire, +Must win their way through blood and fire. +The writhings of a wounded heart +Are fiercer than a foeman's dart. +Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, +In Desolation unrepining, +Without a hope on earth to find +A mirror in an answering mind, +Meek souls there are, who little dream +Their daily strife an Angel's theme, +Or that the rod they take so calm +Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm. + +And there are souls that seem to dwell +Above this earth--so rich a spell +Floats round their steps, where'er they move, +From hopes fulfilled and mutual love. +Such, if on high their thoughts are set, +Nor in the stream the source forget, +If prompt to quit the bliss they know, +Following the Lamb where'er He go, +By purest pleasures unbeguiled +To idolise or wife or child; +Such wedded souls our God shall own +For faultless virgins round His throne. + +Thus everywhere we find our suffering God, + And where He trod +May set our steps: the Cross on Calvary + Uplifted high +Beams on the martyr host, a beacon light + In open fight. + +To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart + He doth impart +The virtue of his midnight agony, + When none was nigh, +Save God and one good angel, to assuage + The tempest's rage. + +Mortal! if life smile on thee, and thou find + All to thy mind, +Think, who did once from Heaven to Hell descend, + Thee to befriend: +So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear call, + Thy best, thine all. + +"O Father! not My will, but Thine be done" - + So spake the Son. +Be this our charm, mellowing Earth's ruder noise + Of griefs and joys: +That we may cling for ever to Thy breast + In perfect rest! + + + +THURSDAY BEFORE EASTER + + + +As the beginning of thy supplications the commandment came forth, +and I am come to shew thee; for thou art greatly beloved: +therefore understand the matter, and consider the vision. Daniel +ix. 23. + + "O Holy mountain of my God, + How do thy towers in ruin lie, + How art thou riven and strewn abroad, + Under the rude and wasteful sky!" + 'Twas thus upon his fasting-day + The "Man of Loves" was fain to pray, + His lattice open toward his darling west, +Mourning the ruined home he still must love the best. + + Oh! for a love like Daniel's now, + To wing to Heaven but one strong prayer + For GOD'S new Israel, sunk as low, + Yet flourishing to sight as fair, + As Sion in her height of pride, + With queens for handmaids at her side, + With kings her nursing-fathers, throned high, +And compassed with the world's too tempting blazonry. + + 'Tis true, nor winter stays thy growth, + Nor torrid summer's sickly smile; + The flashing billows of the south + Break not upon so lone an isle, + But thou, rich vine, art grafted there, + The fruit of death or life to bear, + Yielding a surer witness every day, +To thine Almighty Author and His steadfast sway. + + Oh! grief to think, that grapes of gall + Should cluster round thine healthiest shoot! + God's herald prove a heartless thrall, + Who, if he dared, would fain be mute! + E'en such is this bad world we see, + Which self-condemned in owning Thee, + Yet dares not open farewell of Thee take, +For very pride, and her high-boasted Reason's sake. + + What do we then? if far and wide + Men kneel to CHRIST, the pure and meek, + Yet rage with passion, swell with pride, + Have we not still our faith to seek? + Nay--but in steadfast humbleness + Kneel on to Him, who loves to bless + The prayer that waits for him; and trembling strive +To keep the lingering flame in thine own breast alive. + + Dark frowned the future e'en on him, + The loving and beloved Seer, + What time he saw, through shadows dim, + The boundary of th' eternal year; + He only of the sons of men + Named to be heir of glory then. + Else had it bruised too sore his tender heart +To see GOD'S ransomed world in wrath and flame depart + + Then look no more: or closer watch + Thy course in Earth's bewildering ways, + For every glimpse thine eye can catch + Of what shall be in those dread days: + So when th' Archangel's word is spoken, + And Death's deep trance for ever broken, + In mercy thou mayst feel the heavenly hand, +And in thy lot unharmed before thy Savour stand. + + + +GOOD FRIDAY + + + +He is despised and rejected of men. Isaiah liii. 3. + + Is it not strange, the darkest hour + That ever dawned on sinful earth + Should touch the heart with softer power + For comfort than an angel's mirth? +That to the Cross the mourner's eye should turn +Sooner than where the stars of Christmas burn? + + Sooner than where the Easter sun + Shines glorious on yon open grave, + And to and fro the tidings run, + "Who died to heal, is risen to save?" +Sooner than where upon the Saviour's friends +The very Comforter in light and love descends? + + Yet so it is: for duly there + The bitter herbs of earth are set, + Till tempered by the Saviour's prayer, + And with the Saviour's life-blood wet, +They turn to sweetness, and drop holy balm, +Soft as imprisoned martyr's deathbed calm. + + All turn to sweet--but most of all + That bitterest to the lip of pride, + When hopes presumptuous fade and fall, + Or Friendship scorns us, duly tried, +Or Love, the flower that closes up for fear +When rude and selfish spirits breathe too near. + + Then like a long-forgotten strain + Comes sweeping o'er the heart forlorn + What sunshine hours had taught in vain + Of JESUS suffering shame and scorn, +As in all lowly hearts he suffers still, +While we triumphant ride and have the world at will. + + His pierced hands in vain would hide + His face from rude reproachful gaze, + His ears are open to abide + The wildest storm the tongue can raise, +He who with one rough word, some early day, +Their idol world and them shall sweep for aye away. + + But we by Fancy may assuage + The festering sore by Fancy made, + Down in some lonely hermitage + Like wounded pilgrims safely laid, +Where gentlest breezes whisper souls distressed, +That Love yet lives, and Patience shall find rest. + + O! shame beyond the bitterest thought + That evil spirit ever framed, + That sinners know what Jesus wrought, + Yet feel their haughty hearts untamed - +That souls in refuge, holding by the Cross, +Should wince and fret at this world's little loss. + + Lord of my heart, by Thy last cry, + Let not Thy blood on earth be spent - + Lo, at Thy feet I fainting lie, + Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are bent, +Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyes +Wait like the parched earth on April skies. + + Wash me, and dry these bitter tears, + O let my heart no further roam, + 'Tis Thine by vows, and hopes, and fears. + Long since--O call Thy wanderer home; +To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side, +Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide. + + + +EASTER EVE. + + + +As for thee also, by the blood of thy covenant I have sent forth +thy prisoners out of the pit wherein is no water. Zechariah ix. +11. + + At length the worst is o'er, and Thou art laid + Deep in Thy darksome bed; + All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone + Thy sacred form is gone; + Around those lips where power and mercy hung, + The dews of deaths have clung; + The dull earth o'er Thee, and Thy foes around, +Thou sleep'st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound. + + Sleep'st Thou indeed? or is Thy spirit fled, + At large among the dead? + Whether in Eden bowers Thy welcome voice + Wake Abraham to rejoice, + Or in some drearier scene Thine eye controls + The thronging band of souls; + That, as Thy blood won earth, Thine agony +Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free. + + Where'er Thou roam'st, one happy soul, we know, + Seen at Thy side in woe, + Waits on Thy triumphs--even as all the blest + With him and Thee shall rest. + Each on his cross; by Thee we hang a while, + Watching Thy patient smile, + Till we have learned to say, "'Tis justly done, +Only in glory, LORD, Thy sinful servant own." + + Soon wilt Thou take us to Thy tranquil bower + To rest one little hour, + Till Thine elect are numbered, and the grave + Call Thee to come and save: + Then on Thy bosom borne shall we descend + Again with earth to blend, + Earth all refined with bright supernal fires, +Tinctured with holy blood, and winged with pure desires. + + Meanwhile with every son and saint of Thine + Along the glorious line, + Sitting by turns beneath Thy sacred feet + We'll hold communion sweet, + Know them by look and voice, and thank them all + For helping us in thrall, + For words of hope, and bright examples given +To show through moonless skies that there is light in Heaven. + + O come that day, when in this restless heart + Earth shall resign her part, + When in the grave with Thee my limbs shall rest, + My soul with Thee be blest! + But stay, presumptuous--CHRIST with Thee abides + In the rock's dreary sides: + He from this stone will wring Celestial dew +If but this prisoner's heart he faithful found and true. + + When tears are spent, and then art left alone + With ghosts of blessings gone, + Think thou art taken from the cross, and laid + In JESUS' burial shade; + Take Moses' rod, the rod of prayer, and call + Out of the rocky wall + The fount of holy blood; and lift on high +Thy grovelling soul that feels so desolate and dry. + + Prisoner of Hope thou art--look up and sing + In hope of promised spring. + As in the pit his father's darling lay + Beside the desert way, + And knew not how, but knew his GOD would save + E'en from that living grave, + So, buried with our LORD, we'll chose our eyes +To the decaying world, till Angels bid us rise. + + + +EASTER DAY + + + +And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, +they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is +not here, but is risen. St. Luke xxiv. 5, 6. + +Oh! day of days! shall hearts set free +No "minstrel rapture" find for thee? +Thou art this Sun of other days, +They shine by giving back thy rays: + +Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere, +Thou shedd'st thy light on all the year; +Sundays by thee more glorious break, +An Easter Day in every week: + +And week days, following in their train, +The fulness of thy blessing gain, +Till all, both resting soil employ, +Be one Lord's day of holy joy. + +Then wake, my soul, to high desires, +And earlier light thine altar fires: +The World some hours is on her way, +Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day: + +Or, if she think, it is in scorn: +The vernal light of Easter morn +To her dark gaze no brighter seems +Than Reason's or the Law's pale beams. + +"Where is your Lord?" she scornful asks: +"Where is His hire? we know his tasks; +Sons of a King ye boast to be: +Let us your crowns and treasures see." + +We in the words of Truth reply, +(An angel brought them from this sky,) +"Our crown, our treasure is not here, +'Tis stored above the highest sphere: + +"Methinks your wisdom guides amiss, +To seek on earth a Christian's bliss; +We watch not now the lifeless stone; +Our only Lord is risen and gone." + +Yet e'en the lifeless stone is dear +For thoughts of Him who late lay here; +And the base world, now Christ hath died, +Ennobled is and glorified. + +No more a charnel-house, to fence +The relics of lost innocence, +A vault of ruin and decay; +Th' imprisoning stone is rolled away: + +'Tis now a cell, where angels use +To come and go with heavenly news, +And in the ears of mourners say, +"Come, see the place where Jesus lay:" + +'Tis now a fane, where Love can find +Christ everywhere embalmed and shined: +Aye gathering up memorials sweet, +Where'er she sets her duteous feet. + +Oh! joy to Mary first allowed, +When roused from weeping o'er His shroud, +By His own calm, soul-soothing tone, +Breathing her name, as still His own! + +Joy to the faithful Three renewed, +As their glad errand they pursued! +Happy, who so Christ's word convey, +That he may meet them on their way! + +So is it still: to holy tears, +In lonely hours, Christ risen appears: +In social hours, who Christ would see +Must turn all tasks to Charity. + + + +MONDAY IN EASTER WEEK + + + +Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: but in +every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh righteousness, is +accepted with Him. Acts x. 34, 35. + +Go up and watch the new-born rill + Just trickling from its mossy bed, + Streaking the heath-clad hill + With a bright emerald thread. + +Canst thou her bold career foretell, + What rocks she shall o'erleap or rend, + How far in Ocean's swell + Her freshening billows send? + +Perchance that little brook shall flow + The bulwark of some mighty realm, + Bear navies to and fro + With monarchs at their helm. + +Or canst thou guess, how far away + Some sister nymph, beside her urn + Reclining night and day, + 'Mid reeds and mountain fern, + +Nurses her store, with thine to blend + When many a moor and glen are past, + Then in the wide sea end + Their spotless lives at last? + +E'en so, the course of prayer who knows? + It springs in silence where it will, + Springs out of sight, and flows + At first a lonely rill: + +But streams shall meet it by and by + From thousand sympathetic hearts, + Together swelling high + Their chant of many parts. + +Unheard by all but angel ears + The good Cornelius knelt alone, + Nor dreamed his prayers and tears + Would help a world undone. + +The while upon his terraced roof + The loved Apostle to his Lord + In silent thought aloof + For heavenly vision soared. + +Far o'er the glowing western main + His wistful brow was upward raised, + Where, like an angel's train, + The burnished water blazed. + +The saint beside the ocean prayed, + This soldier in his chosen bower, + Where all his eye surveyed + Seemed sacred in that hour. + +To each unknown his brother's prayer, + Yet brethren true in dearest love + Were they--and now they share + Fraternal joys above. + +There daily through Christ's open gate + They see the Gentile spirits press, + Brightening their high estate + With dearer happiness. + +What civic wreath for comrades saved + Shone ever with such deathless gleam, + Or when did perils braved + So sweet to veterans seem? + + + +TUESDAY IN EASTER WEEK + + + +And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great +joy, and did run to bring His disciples word. St. Matthew xxviii. +8. + +TO THE SNOWDROP. + +Thou first-born of the year's delight, + Pride of the dewy glade, +In vernal green and virgin white, + Thy vestal robes, arrayed: + +'Tis not because thy drooping form + Sinks graceful on its nest, +When chilly shades from gathering storm + Affright thy tender breast; + +Nor for yon river islet wild + Beneath the willow spray, +Where, like the ringlets of a child, + Thou weav'st thy circle gay; + +'Tis not for these I love thee dear - + Thy shy averted smiles +To Fancy bode a joyous year, + One of Life's fairy isles. + +They twinkle to the wintry moon, + And cheer th' ungenial day, +And tell us, all will glisten soon + As green and bright as they. + +Is there a heart that loves the spring, + Their witness can refuse? +Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring + From Heaven their Easter news: + +When holy maids and matrons speak + Of Christ's forsaken bed, +And voices, that forbid to seek + The hiving 'mid the dead, + +And when they say, "Turn, wandering heart, + Thy Lord is ris'n indeed, +Let Pleasure go, put Care apart, + And to His presence speed;" + +We smile in scorn: and yet we know + They early sought the tomb, +Their hearts, that now so freshly glow, + Lost in desponding gloom. + +They who have sought, nor hope to find, + Wear not so bright a glance: +They, who have won their earthly mind, + Lees reverently advance. + +But where in gentle spirits, fear + And joy so duly meet, +These sure have seen the angels near, + And kissed the Saviour's feet. + +Nor let the Pastor's thankful eye + Their faltering tale disdain, +As on their lowly couch they lie, + Prisoners of want and pain. + +O guide us, when our faithless hearts + From Thee would start aloof, +Where Patience her sweet skill imparts + Beneath some cottage roof: + +Revive our dying fires, to burn + High as her anthems soar, +And of our scholars let us learn + Our own forgotten lore. + + + +FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER + + + +Seemeth it but a small thing unto you, that the God of Israel hath +separated you from the congregation of Israel, to bring you near to +Himself? Numbers xvi. 9. + +First Father of the holy seed, +If yet, invoked in hour of need, + Thou count me for Thine own +Not quite an outcast if I prove, +(Thou joy'st in miracles of love), + Hear, from Thy mercy-throne! + +Upon Thine altar's horn of gold +Help me to lay my trembling hold, + Though stained with Christian gore; - +The blood of souls by Thee redeemed, +But, while I roved or idly dreamed, + Lost to be found no more. + +For oft, when summer leaves were bright, +And every flower was bathed in light, + In sunshine moments past, +My wilful heart would burst away +From where the holy shadow lay, + Where heaven my lot had cast. + +I thought it scorn with Thee to dwell, +A Hermit in a silent cell, + While, gaily sweeping by, +Wild Fancy blew his bugle strain, +And marshalled all his gallant train + In the world's wondering eye. + +I would have joined him--but as oft +Thy whispered warnings, kind and soft, + My better soul confessed. +"My servant, let the world alone - +Safe on the steps of Jesus' throne + Be tranquil and be blest." + +"Seems it to thee a niggard hand +That nearest Heaven has bade thee stand, + The ark to touch and bear, +With incense of pure heart's desire +To heap the censer's sacred fire, + The snow-white Ephod wear?" + +Why should we crave the worldling's wreath, +On whom the Savour deigned to breathe, + To whom His keys were given, +Who lead the choir where angels meet, +With angels' food our brethren greet, + And pour the drink of Heaven? + +When sorrow all our heart would ask, +We need not shun our daily task, + And hide ourselves for calm; +The herbs we seek to heal our woe +Familiar by our pathway grow, + Our common air is balm. + +Around each pure domestic shrine +Bright flowers of Eden bloom and twine, + Our hearths are altars all; +The prayers of hungry souls and poor, +Like armed angels at the door, + Our unseen foes appal. + +Alms all around and hymns within - +What evil eye can entrance win + Where guards like these abound? +If chance some heedless heart should roam, +Sure, thought of these will lure it home + Ere lost in Folly's round. + +O joys, that sweetest in decay, +Fall not, like withered leaves, away, + But with the silent breath +Of violets drooping one by one, +Soon as their fragrant task is done, + Are wafted high in death! + + + +SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER + + + +He hath said, which heard the words of God, and knew the knowledge +of the Most High, which saw the vision of the Almighty, falling +into a trance, but having his eyes open: I shall see Him, but not +now; I shall behold Him, but not nigh; there shall come a Star out +at Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel, and shall smite +the corners of Moab, and destroy all the children at Sheth. +Numbers xxiv. 16, 17. + + O for a sculptor's hand, + That thou might'st take thy stand, +Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze, + Thy tranced yet open gaze + Fixed on the desert haze, +As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees. + + In outline dim and vast + Their fearful shadows cast +This giant forms of empires on their way + To ruin: one by one + They tower and they are gone, +Yet in the Prophet's soul the dreams of avarice stay. + + No sun or star so bright + In all the world of light +That they should draw to Heaven his downward eye: + He hears th' Almighty's word, + He sees the angel's sword, +Yet low upon the earth his heart and treasure lie. + + Lo! from you argent field, + To him and us revealed, +One gentle Star glides down, on earth to dwell. + Chained as they are below + Our eyes may see it glow, +And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well. + + To him it glared afar, + A token of wild war, +The banner of his Lord's victorious wrath: + But close to us it gleams, + Its soothing lustre streams +Around our home's green walls, and on our church-way path. + + We in the tents abide + Which he at distance eyed +Like goodly cedars by the waters spread, + While seven red altar-fires + Rose up in wavy spires, +Where on the mount he watched his sorceries dark and dread. + + He watched till morning's ray + On lake and meadow lay, +And willow-shaded streams that silent sweep + Around the bannered lines, + Where by their several signs +The desert-wearied tribes in sight of Canaan sleep. + + He watched till knowledge came + Upon his soul like flame, +Not of those magic fires at random caught: + But true Prophetic light + Flashed o'er him, high and bright, +Flashed once, and died away, and left his darkened thought. + + And can he choose but fear, + Who feels his GOD so near, +That when he fain would curse, his powerless tongue + In blessing only moves? - + Alas! the world he loves +Too close around his heart her tangling veil hath flung. + + Sceptre and Star divine, + Who in Thine inmost shrine +Hash made us worshippers, O claim Thine own; + More than Thy seers we know - + O teach our love to grow +Up to Thy heavenly light, and reap what Thou hast sown. + + + +THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER + + + +A woman when she is in travail hath sorrow, because her hour is +come; but as soon as she is delivered of the child, she remembereth +no more the anguish, for joy that a man is born into the world. +St. John xvi. 21. + + Well may I guess and feel + Why Autumn should be sad; + But vernal airs should sorrow heal, + Spring should be gay and glad: + Yet as along this violet bank I rove, + The languid sweetness seems to choke my breath, + I sit me down beside the hazel grove, +And sigh, and half could wish my weariness were death. + + Like a bright veering cloud + Grey blossoms twinkle there, + Warbles around a busy crowd + Of larks in purest air. + Shame on the heart that dreams of blessings gone, + Or wakes the spectral forms of woe and crime, + When nature sings of joy and hope alone, +Reading her cheerful lesson in her own sweet time. + + Nor let the proud heart say, + In her self-torturing hour, + The travail pangs must have their way, + The aching brow must lower. + To us long since the glorious Child is born + Our throes should be forgot, or only seem + Like a sad vision told for joy at morn, +For joy that we have waked and found it but a dream. + + Mysterious to all thought + A mother's prime of bliss, + When to her eager lips is brought + Her infant's thrilling kiss. + O never shall it set, the sacred light + Which dawns that moment on her tender gaze, + In the eternal distance blending bright +Her darling's hope and hers, for love and joy and praise. + + No need for her to weep + Like Thracian wives of yore, + Save when in rapture still and deep + Her thankful heart runs o'er. + They mourned to trust their treasure on the main, + Sure of the storm, unknowing of their guide: + Welcome to her the peril and the pain, +For well she knows the bonus where they may safely hide. + + She joys that one is born + Into a world forgiven, + Her Father's household to adorn, + And dwell with her in Heaven. + So have I seen, in Spring's bewitching hour, + When the glad Earth is offering all her best, + Some gentle maid bend o'er a cherished flower, +And wish it worthier on a Parent's heart to rest. + + + +FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER + + + +Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I +go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto +you; but if I depart, I will send Him unto you. St. John xvi 7. + +My Saviour, can it ever be +That I should gain by losing Thee? +The watchful mother tarries nigh, +Though sleep have closed her infant's eye; +For should he wake, and find her gone. +She knows she could not bear his moan. +But I am weaker than a child, + And Thou art more than mother dear; +Without Thee Heaven were but a wild; + How can I live without Thee here! + +"'Tis good for you, that I should go, +"You lingering yet awhile below;" - +'Tis Thine own gracious promise, Lord! +Thy saints have proved the faithful word, +When heaven's bright boundless avenue +Far opened on their eager view, +And homeward to Thy Father's throne, + Still lessening, brightening on their sight, +Thy shadowy car went soaring on; + They tracked Thee up th' abyss of light. + +Thou bidd'st rejoice; they dare not mourn, +But to their home in gladness turn, +Their home and God's, that favoured place, +Where still He shines on Abraham's race, +In prayers and blessings there to wait +Like suppliants at their Monarch's gate, +Who bent with bounty rare to aid + The splendours of His crowning day, +Keeps back awhile His largess, made + More welcome for that brief delay: + +In doubt they wait, but not unblest; +They doubt not of their Master's rest, +Nor of the gracious will of Heaven - +Who gave His Son, sure all has given - +But in ecstatic awe they muse +What course the genial stream may choose, +And far and wide their fancies rove, + And to their height of wonder strain, +What secret miracle of love + Should make their Saviour's going gain. + +The days of hope and prayer are past, +The day of comfort dawns at last, +The everlasting gates again +Roll back, and, lo! a royal train - +From the far depth of light once more +The floods of glory earthward pour: +They part like shower-drops in mid air, + But ne'er so soft fell noon-tide shower, +Nor evening rainbow gleamed so fair + To weary swains in parched bower. + +Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame +Through cloud and breeze unwavering came, +And darted to its place of rest +On some meek brow of Jesus blest. +Nor fades it yet, that living gleam, +And still those lambent lightnings stream; +Where'er the Lord is, there are they; + In every heart that gives them room, +They light His altar every day, + Zeal to inflame, and vice consume. + +Soft as the plumes of Jesus' Dove +They nurse the soul to heavenly love; +The struggling spark of good within, +Just smothered in the strife of sin, +They quicken to a timely glow, +The pure flame spreading high and low. +Said I, that prayer and hope were o'er? + Nay, blessed Spirit! but by Thee +The Church's prayer finds wings to soar, + The Church's hope finds eyes to see. + +Then, fainting soul, arise and sing; +Mount, but be sober on the wing; +Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer, +Be sober, for thou art not there; +Till Death the weary spirit free, +Thy God hath said, 'Tis good for thee +To walk by faith and not by sight: + Take it on trust a little while; +Soon shalt thou read the mystery right + In the full sunshine of His smile. + +Or if thou yet more knowledge crave, +Ask thine own heart, that willing slave +To all that works thee woe or harm +Shouldst thou not need some mighty charm +To win thee to thy Saviour's side, +Though He had deigned with thee to bide? +The Spirit must stir the darkling deep, + The Dove must settle on the Cross, +Else we should all sin on or sleep + With Christ in sight, turning our gain to loss. + + + +FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER--ROGATION SUNDAY + + + +And the Lord was very angry with Aaron to have destroyed him: and +I prayed for Aaron also the same time. Deuteronomy ix. 20. + +Now is there solemn pause in earth and heaven; + The Conqueror now + His bonds hath riven, +And Angels wonder why He stays below: + Yet hath not man his lesson learned, + How endless love should be returned. + +Deep is the silence as of summer noon, + When a soft shower + Will trickle soon, +A gracious rain, freshening the weary bower - + O sweetly then far off is heard + The clear note of some lonely bird. + +So let Thy turtle-dove's sad call arise + In doubt and fear + Through darkening skies, +And pierce, O Lord, Thy justly-sealed ear, + Where on the house-top, all night long + She trills her widowed, faltering song. + +Teach her to know and love her hour of prayer, + And evermore, + As faith grows rare, +Unlock her heart, and offer all its store + In holier love and humbler vows, + As suits a lost returning spouse. + +Not as at first, but with intenser cry, + Upon the mount + She now must lie, +Till Thy dear love to blot the sad account + Of her rebellious race be won, + Pitying the mother in the son. + +But chiefly (for she knows Thee angered worst + By holiest things + Profaned and curst), +Chiefly for Aaron's seed she spreads her wings, + If but one leaf she may from Thee + Win of the reconciling tree. + +For what shall heal, when holy water banes! + Or who may guide + O'er desert plains +Thy loved yet sinful people wandering wide, + If Aaron's hand unshrinking mould + An idol form of earthly gold? + +Therefore her tears are bitter, and as deep + Her boding sigh, + As, while men sleep, +Sad-hearted mothers heave, that wakeful lie, + To muse upon some darling child + Roaming in youth's uncertain wild. + +Therefore on fearful dreams her inward sight + Is fain to dwell - + What lurid light +Shall the last darkness of the world dispel, + The Mediator in His wrath + Descending down the lightning's path. + +Yet, yet awhile, offended Saviour, pause, + In act to break + Thine outraged laws, +O spare Thy rebels for Thine own dear sake; + Withdraw Thine hand, nor dash to earth + The covenant of our second birth. + +'Tis forfeit like the first--we own it all - + Yet for love's sake + Let it not fall; +But at Thy touch let veiled hearts awake, + That nearest to Thine altar lie, + Yet least of holy things descry. + +Teacher of teachers! Priest of priests! from Thee + The sweet strong prayer + Must rise, to free +First Levi, then all Israel, from the snare. + Thou art our Moses out of sight - + Speak for us, or we perish quite. + + + +ASCENSION DAY + + + +Why stand ye gazing up into Heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken +up from you into Heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have +seen Him go into Heaven. Acts i. 11 + + Soft cloud, that while the breeze of May +Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch, + Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way +Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march: + + My soul is envious of mine eye, +That it should soar and glide with thee so fast, + The while my grovelling thoughts half buried lie, +Or lawless roam around this earthly waste. + + Chains of my heart, avaunt I say - +I will arise, and in the strength of love + Pursue the bright track ere it fade away, +My Saviour's pathway to His home above. + + Sure, when I reach the point where earth +Melts into nothing from th' uncumbered sight, + Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth. +And I shall sink in yonder sea of light: + + Till resting by th' incarnate LORD, +Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake, + I mark Him, how by seraph hosts adored, +He to earth's lowest cares is still awake. + + The sun and every vassal star, +All space, beyond the soar of angel wings, + Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car +For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings. + + He listens to the silent tear +For all the anthems of the boundless sky - + And shall our dreams of music bar our ear +To His soul-piercing voice for ever nigh? + + Nay, gracious Saviour--but as now +Our thoughts have traced Thee to Thy glory-throne + So help us evermore with thee to bow +Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan. + + We must not stand to gaze too long, +Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend + Where lost behind the bright angelic throng +We see CHRIST'S entering triumph slow ascend. + + No fear but we shall soon behold, +Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive, + When issuing from his cloud of fiery gold +Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live. + + Then shall we see Thee as Thou art, +For ever fixed in no unfruitful gaze, + But such as lifts the new-created heart, +Age after age, in worthier love and praise. + + + +SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION + + + +As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one +to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God. 1 St. +Peter iv. 10. + +The Earth that in her genial breast +Makes for the down a kindly nest, +Where wafted by the warm south-west + It floats at pleasure, +Yields, thankful, of her very best, + To nurse her treasure: + +True to her trust, tree, herb, or reed, +She renders for each scattered seed, +And to her Lord with duteous heed + Gives large increase: +Thus year by year she works unfeed, + And will not cease. + +Woe worth these barren hearts of ours, +Where Thou hast set celestial flowers, +And watered with more balmy showers + Than e'er distilled +In Eden, on th' ambrosial bowers - + Yet nought we yield. + +Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord, +Largely Thy gifts should be restored; +Freely Thou givest, and Thy word + Is, "Freely give." +He only, who forgets to hoard, + Has learned to live. + +Wisely Thou givest--all around +Thine equal rays are resting found, +Yet varying so on various ground + They pierce and strike, +That not two roseate cups are crowned + With drew alike: + +E'en so, in silence, likest Thee, +Steals on soft-handed Charity, +Tempering her gifts, that seem so free, + By time and place, +Till not a woe the bleak world see, + But finds her grace: + +Eyes to the blind, and to the lame +Feet, and to sinners wholesome blame, +To starving bodies food and flame, + By turns she brings; +To humbled souls, that sink for shame, + Lends heaven-ward wings: + +Leads them the way our Saviour went, +And shows Love's treasure yet unspent; +As when th' unclouded heavens were rent. + Opening His road, +Nor yet His Holy Spirit sent + To our abode. + +Ten days th' eternal doors displayed +Were wondering (so th' Almighty bade) +Whom Love enthroned would send, in aid + Of souls that mourn, +Left orphans in Earth's dreary shade + As noon as born. + +Open they stand, that prayers in throngs +May rise on high, and holy songs, +Such incense as of right belongs + To the true shrine, +Where stands the Healer of all wrongs + In light divine; + +The golden censer in His hand, +He offers hearts from every land, +Tied to His own by gentlest band + Of silent Love: +About Him winged blessings stand + In act to move. + +A little while, and they shall fleet +From Heaven to Earth, attendants meet +On the life-giving Paraclete + Speeding His flight, +With all that sacred is and sweet, + On saints to light. + +Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, all +Shall feel the shower of Mercy fall, +And startling at th' Almighty's call, + Give what He gave, +Till their high deeds the world appal, + And sinners save. + + + +WHITSUNDAY + + + +And suddenly there came a sound from Heaven as of a rushing mighty +wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And +there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat +upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost. +Acts ii. 2-4 + +When God of old came down from Heaven, + In power and wrath He came; +Before His feet the clouds were riven, + Half darkness and half flame: + +Around the trembling mountain's base + The prostrate people lay; +A day of wrath and not of grace; + A dim and dreadful day. + +But when he came the second time, + He came in power and love, +Softer than gale at morning prime + Hovered His holy Dove. + +The fires that rushed on Sinai down + In sudden torrents dread, +Now gently light, a glorious crown, + On every sainted head. + +Like arrows went those lightnings forth + Winged with the sinner's doom, +But these, like tongues, o'er all the earth + Proclaiming life to come: + +And as on Israel's awe-struck ear + The voice exceeding loud, +The trump, that angels quake to hear, + Thrilled from the deep, dark cloud; + +So, when the Spirit of our God + Came down His flock to find, +A voice from Heaven was heard abroad, + A rushing, mighty wind. + +Nor doth the outward ear alone + At that high warning start; +Conscience gives back th' appalling tone; + 'Tis echoed in the heart. + +It fills the Church of God; it fills + The sinful world around; +Only in stubborn hearts and wills + No place for it is found. + +To other strains our souls are set: + A giddy whirl of sin +Fills ear and brain, and will not let + Heaven's harmonies come in. + +Come Lord, Come Wisdom, Love, and Power, + Open our ears to hear; +Let us not miss th' accepted hour; + Save, Lord, by Love or Fear. + + + +MONDAY IN WHITSUN-WEEK + + + +So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all +the earth; and they left off to build the city. Genesis xi. 8 + +Since all that is not Heaven must fade, +Light be the hand of Ruin laid + Upon the home I love: +With lulling spell let soft Decay +Steal on, and spare the giant sway, + The crash of tower and grove. + +Far opening down some woodland deep +In their own quiet glade should sleep + The relics dear to thought, +And wild-flower wreaths from side to side +Their waving tracery hang, to hide + What ruthless Time has wrought. + +Such are the visions green and sweet +That o'er the wistful fancy fleet + In Asia's sea-like plain, +Where slowly, round his isles of sand, +Euphrates through the lonely land + Winds toward the pearly main. + +Slumber is there, but not of rest; +There her forlorn and weary nest + The famished hawk has found, +The wild dog howls at fall of night, +The serpent's rustling coils affright + The traveller on his round. + +What shapeless form, half lost on high, +Half seen against the evening sky, + Seems like a ghost to glide, +And watch, from Babel's crumbling heap, +Where in her shadow, fast asleep, + Lies fallen imperial Pride? + +With half-closed eye a lion there +Is basking in his noontide lair, + Or prowls in twilight gloom. +The golden city's king he seems, +Such as in old prophetic dreams + Sprang from rough ocean's womb. + +But where are now his eagle wings, +That sheltered erst a thousand kings, + Hiding the glorious sky +From half the nations, till they own +No holier name, no mightier throne? + That vision is gone by. + +Quenched is the golden statue's ray, +The breath of heaven has blown away + What toiling earth had piled, +Scattering wise heart and crafty hand, +As breezes strew on ocean's sand + The fabrics of a child. + +Divided thence through every age +Thy rebels, Lord, their warfare wage, + And hoarse and jarring all +Mount up their heaven-assailing cries +To Thy bright watchmen in the skies + From Babel's shattered wall. + +Thrice only since, with blended might +The nations on that haughty height + Have met to scale the Heaven: +Thrice only might a Seraph's look +A moment's shade of sadness brook - + Such power to guilt was given. + +Now the fierce bear and leopard keen +Are perished as they ne'er had been, + Oblivion is their home: +Ambition's boldest dream and last +Must melt before the clarion blast + That sounds the dirge of Rome. + +Heroes and kings, obey the charm, +Withdraw the proud high-reaching arm, + There is an oath on high: +That ne'er on brow of mortal birth +Shall blend again the crowns of earth, + Nor in according cry + +Her many voices mingling own +One tyrant Lord, one idol throne: + But to His triumphs soon +HE shall descend, who rules above, +And the pure language of His love, + All tongues of men shall tune. + +Nor let Ambition heartless mourn; +When Babel's very ruins burn, + Her high desires may breathe; - +O'ercome thyself, and thou mayst share +With Christ His Father's throne, and wear + The world's imperial wreath. + + + +TUESDAY IN WHITSUN-WEEK + + + +When He putteth forth His own sheep, He goeth before them. St. +John x. 4. +(Addressed to Candidates for Ordination.) + +"Lord, in Thy field I work all day, +I read, I teach, I warn, I pray, +And yet these wilful wandering sheep +Within Thy fold I cannot keep. + +"I journey, yet no step is won - +Alas! the weary course I run! +Like sailors shipwrecked in their dreams, +All powerless and benighted seems." + +What? wearied out with half a life? +Scared with this smooth unbloody strife? +Think where thy coward hopes had flown +Had Heaven held out the martyr's crown. + +How couldst thou hang upon the cross, +To whom a weary hour is loss? +Or how the thorns and scourging brook +Who shrinkest from a scornful look? + +Yet ere thy craven spirit faints, +Hear thine own King, the King of Saints; +Though thou wert toiling in the grave, +'Tis He can cheer thee, He can save. + +He is th' eternal mirror bright, +Where Angels view the FATHER'S light, +And yet in Him the simplest swain +May read his homely lesson plain. + +Early to quit His home on earth, +And claim His high celestial birth, +Alone with His true Father found +Within the temple's solemn round:- + +Yet in meek duty to abide +For many a year at Mary's side, +Nor heed, though restless spirits ask, +"What, hath the Christ forgot His task?" + +Conscious of Deity within, +To bow before an heir of sin, +With folded arms on humble breast, +By His own servant washed and blest:- + +Then full of Heaven, the mystic Dove +Hovering His gracious brow above, +To shun the voice and eye of praise, +And in the wild His trophies raise:- + +With hymns of angels in His ears, +Back to His task of woe and tears, +Unmurmuring through the world to roam +With not a wish or thought at home:- + +All but Himself to heal and save, +Till ripened for the cross and grave, +He to His Father gently yield +The breath that our redemption sealed:- + +Then to unearthly life arise, +Yet not at once to seek the skies, +But glide awhile from saint to saint, +Lest on our lonely way we faint; + +And through the cloud by glimpses show +How bright, in Heaven, the marks will glow +Of the true cross, imprinted deep +Both on the Shepherd and the sheep:- + +When out of sight, in heart and prayer, +Thy chosen people still to bear, +And from behind Thy glorious veil, +Shed light that cannot change or fail:- + +This is Thy pastoral course, O LORD, +Till we be saved, and Thou adored; - +Thy course and ours--but who are they +Who follow on the narrow way? + +And yet of Thee from year to year +The Church's solemn chant we hear, +As from Thy cradle to Thy throne +She swells her high heart-cheering tone. + +Listen, ye pure white-robed souls, +Whom in her list she now enrolls, +And gird ye for your high emprize +By these her thrilling minstrelsies. + +And wheresoe'er in earth's wide field, +Ye lift, for Him, the red-cross shield, +Be this your song, your joy and pride - +"Our Champion went before and died." + + + +TRINITY SUNDAY + + + +If I have told you earthly things, and ye believe not, how shall ye +believe if I tell you of heavenly things? St. John iii. 12 + +Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide, +Now on Thy mercy's ocean wide +Far out of sight we seem to glide. + +Help us, each hour, with steadier eye +To search the deepening mystery, +The wonders of Thy sea and sky. + +The blessed Angels look and long +To praise Thee with a worthier song, +And yet our silence does Thee wrong. - + +Along the Church's central space +The sacred weeks, with unfelt pace, +Hath borne us on from grace to grace. + +As travellers on some woodland height, +When wintry suns are gleaming bright, +Lose in arched glades their tangled sight; - + +By glimpses such as dreamers love +Through her grey veil the leafless grove +Shows where the distant shadows rove; - + +Such trembling joy the soul o'er-awes +As nearer to Thy shrine she draws:- +And now before the choir we pause. + +The door is closed--but soft and deep +Around the awful arches sweep, +Such airs as soothe a hermit's sleep. + +From each carved nook and fretted bend +Cornice and gallery seem to send +Tones that with seraphs hymns might blend. + +Three solemn parts together twine +In harmony's mysterious line; +Three solemn aisles approach the shrine: + +Yet all are One--together all, +In thoughts that awe but not appal, +Teach the adoring heart to fall. + +Within these walls each fluttering guest +Is gently lured to one safe nest - +Without, 'tis moaning and unrest. + +The busy world a thousand ways +Is hurrying by, nor ever stays +To catch a note of Thy dear praise. + +Why tarries not her chariot wheel, +That o'er her with no vain appeal +One gust of heavenly song might steal? + +Alas! for her Thy opening flowers +Unheeded breathe to summer showers, +Unheard the music of Thy bowers. + +What echoes from the sacred dome +The selfish spirit may o'ercome +That will not hear of love or home! + +The heart that scorned a father's care, +How can it rise in filial prayer? +How an all-seeing Guardian bear? + +Or how shall envious brethren own +A Brother on the eternal throne, +Their Father's joy, their hops alone? + +How shall Thy Spirit's gracious wile +The sullen brow of gloom beguile, +That frowns on sweet Affection's smile? + +Eternal One, Almighty Trine! +(Since Thou art ours, and we are Thine,) +By all Thy love did once resign, + +By all the grace Thy heavens still hide, +We pray Thee, keep us at Thy side, +Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide! + + + +FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +So Joshua smote all the country, . . . and all their kings; he left +none remaining. Joshua x. 40. + +Where is the land with milk and honey flowing, + The promise of our God, our fancy's theme? +Here over shattered walls dank weeds are growing, + And blood and fire have run in mingled stream; + Like oaks and cedars all around + The giant corses strew the ground, +And haughty Jericho's cloud-piercing wall +Lies where it sank at Joshua's trumpet call. + +These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even, + For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades, +Soft slumbers in the open eye of Heaven, + And all the listless joy of summer shades. + We in the midst of ruins live, + Which every hour dread warning give, +Nor may our household vine or fig-tree hide +The broken arches of old Canaan's pride. + +Where is the sweet repose of hearts repenting, + The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul, +Now Heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting, + And all the Godhead joins to make us whole. + The triple crown of mercy now + Is ready for the suppliant's brow, +By the Almighty Three for ever planned, +And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus' hand. + +"Now, Christians, hold your own--the land before ye + Is open--win your way, and take your rest." +So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory + By many a cloud is darkened and unblest: + And daily as we downward glide, + Life's ebbing stream on either side +Shows at each turn some mouldering hope or joy, +The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy. + +Open our eyes, Thou Sun of life and gladness, + That we may see that glorious world of Thine! +It shines for us in vain, while drooping sadness + Enfolds us here like mist: come Power benign, + Touch our chilled hearts with vernal smile, + Our wintry course do Thou beguile, +Nor by the wayside ruins let us mourn, +Who have th' eternal towers for our appointed bourne. + + + +SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we +have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. 1 +St. John iii. 13, 14. + +The clouds that wrap the setting sun + When Autumn's softest gleams are ending, +Where all bright hues together run + In sweet confusion blending: - +Why, as we watch their floating wreath +Seem they the breath of life to breathe? +To Fancy's eye their motions prove +They mantle round the Sun for love. + +When up some woodland dale we catch + The many-twinkling smile of ocean, +Or with pleased ear bewildered watch + His chime of restless motion; +Still as the surging waves retire +They seem to gasp with strong desire, +Such signs of love old Ocean gives, +We cannot choose but think he lives. + +Wouldst thou the life of souls discern? + Nor human wisdom nor divine +Helps thee by aught beside to learn; + Love is life's only sign. +The spring of the regenerate heart, +The pulse, the glow of every part, +Is the true love of Christ our Lord, +As man embraced, as God adored. + +But he, whose heart will bound to mark + The full bright burst of summer morn, +Loves too each little dewy spark, + By leaf or flow'ret worn: +Cheap forms, and common hues, 'tis true, +Through the bright shower-drop' meet his view; +The colouring may be of this earth; +The lustre comes of heavenly birth. + +E'en so, who loves the Lord aright, + No soul of man can worthless find; +All will be precious in his sight, + Since Christ on all hath shined: +But chiefly Christian souls; for they, +Though worn and soiled with sinful clay, +Are yet, to eyes that see them true, +All glistening with baptismal dew. + +Then marvel not, if such as bask + In purest light of innocence, +Hope against mope, in love's dear task, + Spite of all dark offence. +If they who hate the trespass most, +Yet, when all other love is lost, +Love the poor sinner, marvel not; +Christ's mark outwears the rankest blot. + +No distance breaks this tie of blood; + Brothers are brothers evermore; +Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, + That magic may o'erpower; +Oft, ere the common source be known, +The kindred drops will claim their own, +And throbbing pulses silently +Move heart towards heart by sympathy. + +So it is with true Christian hearts; + Their mutual share in Jesus' blood +An everlasting bond imparts + Of holiest brotherhood: +Oh! might we all our lineage prove, +Give and forgive, do good and love, +By soft endearments in kind strife +Lightening the load of daily life. + +There is much need; for not as yet + Are we in shelter or repose, +The holy house is still beset + With leaguer of stern foes; +Wild thoughts within, bad men without, +All evil spirits round about, +Are banded in unblest device, +To spoil Love's earthly paradise. + +Then draw we nearer day by day, + Each to his brethren, all to God; +Let the world take us as she may, + We must not change our road; +Not wondering, though in grief, to find +The martyr's foe still keep her mind; +But fixed to hold Love's banner fast, +And by submission win at last. + + + +THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner +that repenteth. St. Luke xv. 10. + +O hateful spell of Sin! when friends are nigh, + To make stern Memory tell her tale unsought, +And raise accusing shades of hours gone by, + To come between us and all kindly thought! + +Chilled at her touch, the self-reproaching soul + Flies from the heart and home she dearest loves, +To where lone mountains tower, or billows roll, + Or to your endless depth, ye solemn groves. + +In vain: the averted cheek in loneliest dell + Is conscious of a gaze it cannot bear, +The leaves that rustle near us seem to tell + Our heart's sad secret to the silent air. + +Nor is the dream untrue; for all around + The heavens are watching with their thousand eyes, +We cannot pass our guardian angel's bound, + Resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs. + +He in the mazes of the budding wood + Is near, and mourns to see our thankless glance +Dwell coldly, where the fresh green earth is strewed + With the first flowers that lead the vernal dance. + +In wasteful bounty showered, they smile unseen, + Unseen by man--but what if purer sprights +By moonlight o'er their dewy bosoms lean + To adore the Father of all gentle lights? + +If such there be, O grief and shame to think + That sight of thee should overcloud their joy, +A new-born soul, just waiting on the brink + Of endless life, yet wrapt in earth's annoy! + +O turn, and be thou turned! the selfish tear, + In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun, +Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear, + The turbid waters brightening as they run. + +Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart + In penitential drops have ebbed away, +Then fearless turn where Heaven hath set thy part, + Nor shudder at the Eye that saw thee stray. + +O lost and found! all gentle souls below + Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove +Such joy o'er thee, as raptured seraphs know, + Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love. + + + +FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the +manifestation of the sons of God. For the creature was made +subject to vanity, not willingly, but by the reason of Him who hath +subjected the same in hope, because the creature itself also shall +be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious +liberty of the children of God. For we know that the whole +creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. +Romans viii 19-22. + +It was not then a poet's dream, + An idle vaunt of song, +Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam + On vacant fancies throng; + +Which bids us see in heaven and earth, + In all fair things around, +Strong yearnings for a blest new birth + With sinless glories crowned; + +Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause + From care and want and toil, +When dewy eve her curtain draws + Over the day's turmoil, + +In the low chant of wakeful birds, + In the deep weltering flood, +In whispering leaves, these solemn words - + "God made us all for good." + +All true, all faultless, all in tune + Creation's wondrous choir, +Opened in mystic unison + To last till time expire. + +And still it lasts; by day and night, + With one consenting voice, +All hymn Thy glory, Lord, aright, + All worship and rejoice. + +Man only mars the sweet accord + O'erpowering with "harsh din" +The music of Thy works and word, + Ill matched with grief and sin. + +Sin is with man at morning break, + And through the livelong day +Deafens the ear that fain would wake + To Nature's simple lay. + +But when eve's silent footfall steals + Along the eastern sky, +And one by one to earth reveals + Those purer fires on high, + +When one by one each human sound + Dies on the awful ear, +Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, + She speaks, and we must hear. + +Then pours she on the Christian heart + That warning still and deep, +At which high spirits of old would start + E'en from their Pagan sleep. + +Just guessing, through their murky blind + Few, faint, and baffling sight, +Streaks of a brighter heaven behind, + A cloudless depth of light. + +Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, + Through many a dreary age, +Upbore whate'er of good and wise + Yet lived in bard or sage: + +They marked what agonizing throes + Shook the great mother's womb: +But Reason's spells might not disclose + The gracious birth to come: + +Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast + God's secret love and power; +The travail pangs of Earth must last + Till her appointed hour. + +The hour that saw from opening heaven + Redeeming glory stream, +Beyond the summer hues of even, + Beyond the mid-day beam. + +Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, + The meanest thing below, +As with a seraph's robe of fire + Invested, burn and glow: + +The rod of Heaven has touched them all, + The word from Heaven is spoken: +"Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall; + Are not thy fetters broken? + +"The God Who hallowed thee and blest, + Pronouncing thee all good - +Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, + And all thy bliss renewed? + +"Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, + Now that th' eternal Son +His blessed home in Heaven hath left + To make thee all His own?" + +Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still + In Christ's new heaven and earth; +Because our rebel works and will + Stain our immortal birth: + +Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, + The Saviour hides His face, +And worldlings blot the temple's gold + With uses vile and base. + +Hence all thy groans and travail pains, + Hence, till thy God return, +In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains, + Oh Nature, seem to mourn. + + + +FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +And Simon answering said unto Him, Master, we have toiled all the +night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless at Thy word I will let +down the net. And when they had this done, they inclosed a great +multitude of fishes: and their net brake. St. Luke v. 5, 6. + +"The livelong night we've toiled in vain, + But at Thy gracious word +I will let down the net again:- + Do Thou Thy will, O Lord!" + +So spake the weary fisher, spent + With bootless darkling toil, +Yet on his Master's bidding bent + For love and not for spoil. + +So day by day and week by week, + In sad and weary thought, +They muse, whom God hath set to seek + The souls His Christ hath bought. + +For not upon a tranquil lake + Our pleasant task we ply, +Where all along our glistening wake + The softest moonbeams lie; + +Where rippling wave and dashing oar + Our midnight chant attend, +Or whispering palm-leaves from the shore + With midnight silence blend. + +Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last: + Too soon some ruder sound +Calls us from where ye soar so fast + Back to our earthly round. + +For wildest storms our ocean sweep:- + No anchor but the Cross +Might hold: and oft the thankless deep + Turns all our toil to loss. + +Full many a dreary anxious hour + We watch our nets alone +In drenching spray, and driving shower, + And hear the night-bird's moan: + +At morn we look, and nought is there; + Sad dawn of cheerless day! +Who then from pining and despair + The sickening heart can stay? + +There is a stay--and we are strong; + Our Master is at hand, +To cheer our solitary song, + And guide us to the strand. + +In His own time; but yet a while + Our bark at sea must ride; +Cast after cast, by force or guile + All waters must be tried: + +By blameless guile or gentle force, + As when He deigned to teach +(The lode-star of our Christian course) + Upon this sacred beach. + +Should e'er thy wonder-working grace + Triumph by our weak arm, +Let not our sinful fancy trace + Aught human in the charm: + +To our own nets ne'er bow we down, + Lest on the eternal shore +The angels, while oar draught they own, + Reject us evermore: + +Or, if for our unworthiness + Toil, prayer, and watching fail, +In disappointment Thou canst bless, + So love at heart prevail. + + + +SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the Lord. And Nathan +said unto David, The Lord also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt +not die. 2 Samuel xii. 13. + + When bitter thoughts, of conscience born, + With sinners wake at morn, + When from our restless couch we start, + With fevered lips and withered heart, +Where is the spell to charm those mists away, +And make new morning in that darksome day? + One draught of spring's delicious air, + One steadfast thought, that GOD is there. + + These are Thy wonders, hourly wrought, + Thou Lord of time and thought, + Lifting and lowering souls at will, + Crowding a world of good or ill +Into a moment's vision; e'en as light +Mounts o'er a cloudy ridge, and all is bright, + From west to east one thrilling ray + Turning a wintry world to May. + + Would'st thou the pangs of guilt assuage? + Lo! here an open page, + Where heavenly mercy shines as free + Written in balm, sad heart, for thee. +Never so fast, in silent April shower, +Flushed into green the dry and leafless bower, + As Israel's crowned mourner felt + The dull hard stone within him melt. + + The absolver saw the mighty grief, + And hastened with relief; - + "The Lord forgives; thou shalt not die:" + 'Twas gently spoke, yet heard on high, +And all the band of angels, used to sing +In heaven, accordant to his raptured string, + Who many a month had turned away + With veiled eyes, nor owned his lay, + + Now spread their wings, and throng around + To the glad mournful sound, + And welcome, with bright open face, + The broken heart to love's embrace. +The rock is smitten, and to future years +Springs ever fresh the tide of holy tears + And holy music, whispering peace + Till time and sin together cease. + + There drink: and when ye are at rest, + With that free Spirit blest, + Who to the contrite can dispense, + The princely heart of innocence, +If ever, floating from faint earthly lyre, +Was wafted to your soul one high desire, + By all the trembling hope ye feel, + Think on the minstrel as ye kneel: + + Think on the shame, that dreadful hour + When tears shall have no power, + Should his own lay th' accuser prove, + Cold while he kindled others' love: +And let your prayer for charity arise, +That his own heart may hear his melodies, + And a true voice to him may cry, + "Thy GOD forgives--thou shalt not die." + + + +SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +From whence can a man satisfy these men with bread here in the +wilderness? St. Mark viii. 4. + + Go not away, thou weary soul: + Heaven has in store a precious dole +Here on Bethsaida's cold and darksome height, + Where over rocks and sands arise + Proud Sirion in the northern skies, +And Tabor's lonely peak, 'twixt thee and noonday light. + + And far below, Gennesaret's main + Spreads many a mile of liquid plain, +(Though all seem gathered in one eager bound,) + Then narrowing cleaves you palmy lea, + Towards that deep sulphureous sea, +Where five proud cities lie, by one dire sentence drowned. + + Landscape of fear! yet, weary heart, + Thou need'st not in thy gloom depart, +Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home: + Sweetly thy sickening throbs are eyed + By the kind Saviour at thy side; +For healing and for balm e'en now thine hour is come. + + No fiery wing is seen to glide, + No cates ambrosial are supplied, +But one poor fisher's rude and scanty store + Is all He asks (and more than needs) + Who men and angels daily feeds, +And stills the wailing sea-bird on the hungry shore. + + The feast is o'er, the guests are gone, + And over all that upland lone +The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old - + But far unlike the former dreams, + The heart's sweet moonlight softly gleams +Upon life's varied view, so joyless erst and cold. + + As mountain travellers in the night, + When heaven by fits is dark and bright, +Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear + Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell, + Then bolder scale the rugged fell, +Conscious the more of One, ne'er seen, yet ever near: + + So when the tones of rapture gay + On the lorn ear, die quite away, +The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven; + Seen daily, yet unmarked before, + Earth's common paths are strewn all o'er +With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven. + + The low sweet tones of Nature's lyre + No more on listless ears expire, +Nor vainly smiles along the shady way + The primrose in her vernal nest, + Nor unlamented sink to rest +Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay. + + There's not a star the heaven can show, + There's not a cottage-hearth below, +But feeds with solace kind the willing soul - + Men love us, or they need our love; + Freely they own, or heedless prove +The curse of lawless hearts, the joy of self-control. + + Then rouse thee from desponding sleep, + Nor by the wayside lingering weep, +Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild, + Whose love can turn earth's worst and least + Into a conqueror's royal feast: +Thou wilt not be untrue, thou shalt not be beguiled. + + + +EIGHT SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +It is the man of God, who was disobedient unto the word of the +Lord. 1 King xiii. 26. + +Prophet of God, arise and take +With thee the words of wrath divine, + The scourge of Heaven, to shake + O'er yon apostate shrine. + +Where Angels down the lucid stair +Came hovering to our sainted sires + Now, in the twilight, glare + The heathen's wizard fires. + +Go, with thy voice the altar rend, +Scatter the ashes, be the arm, + That idols would befriend, + Shrunk at thy withering charm. + +Then turn thee, for thy time is short, +But trace not o'er the former way, + Lest idol pleasures court + Thy heedless soul astray. + +Thou know'st how hard to hurry by, +Where on the lonely woodland road + Beneath the moonlight sky + The festal warblings flowed; + +Where maidens to the Queen of Heaven +Wove the gay dance round oak or palm, + Or breathed their vows at even + In hymns as soft as balm. + +Or thee, perchance, a darker spell +Enthralls: the smooth stones of the flood, + By mountain grot or fell, + Pollute with infant's blood; + +The giant altar on the rock, +The cavern whence the timbrel's call + Affrights the wandering flock:- + Thou long'st to search them all. + +Trust not the dangerous path again - +O forward step and lingering will! + O loved and warned in vain! + And wilt thou perish still? + +Thy message given, thine home in sight, +To the forbidden feast return? + Yield to the false delight + Thy better soul could spurn? + +Alas, my brother! round thy tomb +In sorrow kneeling, and in fear, + We read the Pastor's doom + Who speaks and will not hear. + +The grey-haired saint may fail at last, +The surest guide a wanderer prove; + Death only binds us fast + To the bright shore of love. + + + +NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: +and after the fire a still small voice. 1 Kings xix. 12. + +In troublous days of anguish and rebuke, +While sadly round them Israel's children look, + And their eyes fail for waiting on their Lord: +While underneath each awful arch of green, +On every mountain-top, God's chosen scene, + Of pure heart-worship, Baal is adored: + +'Tis well, true hearts should for a time retire +To holy ground, in quiet to aspire + Towards promised regions of serener grace; +On Horeb, with Elijah, let us lie, +Where all around on mountain, sand, and sky, + God's chariot wheels have left distinctest trace; + +There, if in jealousy and strong disdain +We to the sinner's God of sin complain, + Untimely seeking here the peace of Heaven - +"It is enough. O Lord! now let me die +E'en as my fathers did: for what am I + That I should stand where they have vainly striven?" - + +Perhaps our God may of our conscience ask, +"What doest thou here frail wanderer from thy task? + Where hast thou left those few sheep in the wild?" +Then should we plead our heart's consuming pain, +At sight of ruined altars, prophets slain, + And God's own ark with blood of souls defiled; + +He on the rock may bid us stand, and see +The outskirts of His march of mystery, + His endless warfare with man's wilful heart; +First, His great Power He to the sinner shows +Lo! at His angry blast the rocks unclose, + And to their base the trembling mountains part + +Yet the Lord is not here: 'Tis not by Power +He will be known--but darker tempests lower; + Still, sullen heavings vex the labouring ground: +Perhaps His Presence thro' all depth and height, +Best of all gems that deck His crown of light, + The haughty eye may dazzle and confound. + +God is not in the earthquake; but behold +From Sinai's caves are bursting, as of old, + The flames of His consuming jealous ire. +Woe to the sinner should stern Justice prove +His chosen attribute;--but He in love + Hastes to proclaim, "God is not in the fire." + +The storm is o'er--and hark! a still small voice +Steals on the ear, to say, Jehovah's choice + Is ever with the soft, meek, tender soul; +By soft, meek, tender ways He loves to draw +The sinner, startled by His ways of awe: + Here is our Lord, and not where thunders roll. + +Back, then, complainer; loath thy life no more, +Nor deem thyself upon a desert shore, + Because the rocks the nearer prospect close. +Yet in fallen Israel are there hearts and eyes +That day by day in prayer like thine arise; + Thou know'st them not, but their Creator knows. + +Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast +Thy bread upon the waters, sure at last + In joy to find it after many days. +The work be thine, the fruit thy children's part: +Choose to believe, not see: sight tempts the heart + From sober walking in true Gospel ways. + + + +TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +And when He was come near, He beheld the city, and wept over it. +St. Luke xix. 41. + +Why doth my Saviour weep + At sight of Sion's bowers? +Shows it not fair from yonder steep, + Her gorgeous crown of towers? +Mark well His holy pains: + 'Tis not in pride or scorn, +That Israel's King with sorrow stains + His own triumphal morn. + +It is not that His soul + Is wandering sadly on, +In thought how soon at death's dark goal + Their course will all be run, +Who now are shouting round + Hosanna to their chief; +No thought like this in Him is found, + This were a Conquerer's grief. + +Or doth He feel the Cross + Already in His heart, +The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss? + Feel e'en His God depart? +No: though He knew full well + The grief that then shall be - +The grief that angels cannot tell - + Our God in agony. + +It is not thus He mourns; + Such might be martyr's tears, +When his last lingering look he turns + On human hopes and fears; +But hero ne'er or saint + The secret load might know, +With which His spirit waxeth faint; + His is a Saviour's woe. + +"If thou had'st known, e'en thou, + At least in this thy day, +The message of thy peace! but now + 'Tis passed for aye away: +Now foes shall trench thee round, + And lay thee even with earth, +And dash thy children to the ground, + Thy glory and thy mirth." + +And doth the Saviour weep + Over His people's sin, +Because we will not let Him keep + The souls He died to win? +Ye hearts, that love the Lord, + If at this, sight ye burn, +See that in thought, in deed, in word, + Ye hate what made Him mourn. + + + +ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Is it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and +oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and menservants, +and maidservants? 2 Kings v. 26. + +Is this a time to plant and build, +Add house to house, and field to field, +When round our walls the battle lowers, +When mines are hid beneath our towers, +And watchful foes are stealing round +To search and spoil the holy ground? + +Is this a time for moonlight dreams +Of love and home by mazy streams, +For Fancy with her shadowy toys, +Aerial hopes and pensive joys, +While souls are wandering far and wide, +And curses swarm on every side? + +No--rather steel thy melting heart +To act the martyr's sternest part, +To watch, with firm unshrinking eye, +Thy darling visions as thy die, +Till all bright hopes, and hues of day, +Have faded into twilight gray. + +Yes--let them pass without a sigh, +And if the world seem dull and dry, +If long and sad thy lonely hours, +And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers, +Bethink thee what thou art and where, +A sinner in a life of care. + +The fire of God is soon to fall +(Thou know'st it) on this earthly ball; +Full many a soul, the price of blood, +Marked by th' Almighty's hand for good, +To utter death that hour shall sweep - +And will the saints in Heaven dare weep? + +Then in His wrath shall GOD uproot +The trees He set, for lack of fruit, +And drown in rude tempestuous blaze +The towers His hand had deigned to raise; +In silence, ere that storm begin, +Count o'er His mercies and thy sin. + +Pray only that thine aching heart, +From visions vain content to part, +Strong for Love's sake its woe to hide +May cheerful wait the Cross beside, +Too happy if, that dreadful day, +Thy life be given thee for a prey. + +Snatched sudden from th' avenging rod, +Safe in the bosom of thy GOD, +How wilt thou then look back, and smile +On thoughts that bitterest seemed erewhile, +And bless the pangs that made thee see +This was no world of rest for thee! + + + +TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +And looking up to heaven, He sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, +that is, Be opened. St. Mark vii. 34. + +The Son of God in doing good + Was fain to look to Heaven and sigh: +And shall the heirs of sinful blood + Seek joy unmixed in charity? +God will not let Love's work impart +Full solace, lest it steal the heart; +Be thou content in tears to sow, +Blessing, like Jesus, in thy woe: + +He looked to Heaven, and sadly sighed - + What saw my gracious Saviour there, +"With fear and anguish to divide + The joy of Heaven-accepted prayer? +So o'er the bed where Lazarus slept +He to His Father groaned and wept: +What saw He mournful in that grave, +Knowing Himself so strong to save?" + +O'erwhelming thoughts of pain and grief + Over His sinking spirit sweep; - +What boots it gathering one lost leaf + Out of yon sere and withered heap, +Where souls and bodies, hopes and joys, +All that earth owns or sin destroys, +Under the spurning hoof are cast, +Or tossing in th' autumnal blast? + +The deaf may hear the Saviour's voice, + The fettered tongue its chain may break; +But the deaf heart, the dumb by choice, + The laggard soul, that will not wake, +The guilt that scorns to be forgiven; - +These baffle e'en the spells of Heaven; +In thought of these, His brows benign +Not e'en in healing cloudless shine. + +No eye but His might ever bear + To gaze all down that drear abyss, +Because none ever saw so clear + The shore beyond of endless bliss: +The giddy waves so restless hurled, +The vexed pulse of this feverish world, +He views and counts with steady sight, +Used to behold the Infinite. + +But that in such communion high + He hath a fount of strength within, +Sure His meek heart would break and die, + O'erburthened by His brethren's sin; +Weak eyes on darkness dare not gaze, +It dazzles like the noonday blaze; +But He who sees God's face may brook +On the true face of Sin to look. + +What then shall wretched sinners do, + When in their last, their hopeless day, +Sin, as it is, shall meet their view, + God turn His face for aye away? +Lord, by Thy sad and earnest eye, +When Thou didst look to Heaven and sigh: +Thy voice, that with a word could chase +The dumb, deaf spirit from his place; + +As Thou hast touched our ears, and taught + Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain, +Quell Thou each thankless godless thought + That would make fast our bonds again. +From worldly strife, from mirth unblest, +Drowning Thy music in the breast, +From foul reproach, from thrilling fears, +Preserve, good Lord, Thy servants' ears. + +From idle words, that restless throng + And haunt our hearts when we would pray, +From Pride's false chime, and jarring wrong, + Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way: +For Thou hast sworn, that every ear, +Willing or loth, Thy trump shall hear, +And every tongue unchained be +To own no hope, no God, but Thee. + + + +THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +And He turned Him onto His disciples, and said privately, Blessed +are the eyes which see the things that ye see: for I tell you, +that many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which +ye see, and have not seen them: and to hear those things which ye +hear, and have not heard them. St. Luke x. 23, 24. + +On Sinai's top, in prayer and trance, + Full forty nights and forty days +The Prophet watched for one dear glance + Of thee and of Thy ways: + +Fasting he watched and all alone, + Wrapt in a still, dark, solid cloud, +The curtain of the Holy One + Drawn round him like a shroud: + +So, separate from the world, his breast + Might duly take and strongly keep +The print of Heaven, to be expressed + Ere long on Sion's steep. + +There one by one his spirit saw + Of things divine the shadows bright, +The pageant of God's perfect law; + Yet felt not full delight. + +Through gold and gems, a dazzling maze, + From veil to veil the vision led, +And ended, where unearthly rays + From o'er the ark were shed. + +Yet not that gorgeous place, nor aught + Of human or angelic frame, +Could half appease his craving thought; + The void was still the same. + +"Show me Thy glory, gracious Lord! + 'Tis Thee," he cries, "not Thine, I seek." +Na, start not at so bold a word + From man, frail worm and weak: + +The spark of his first deathless fire + Yet buoys him up, and high above +The holiest creature, dares aspire + To the Creator's love. + +The eye in smiles may wander round, + Caught by earth's shadows as they fleet; +But for the soul no help is found, + Save Him who made it, meet. + +Spite of yourselves, ye witness this, + Who blindly self or sense adore; +Else wherefore leaving your own bliss + Still restless ask ye more? + +This witness bore the saints of old + When highest rapt and favoured most, +Still seeking precious things untold, + Not in fruition lost. + +Canaan was theirs; and in it all + The proudest hope of kings dare claim: +Sion was theirs; and at their call + Fire from Jehovah came. + +Yet monarchs walked as pilgrims still + In their own land, earth's pride and grace: +And seers would mourn on Sion's hill + Their Lord's averted face. + +Vainly they tried the deeps to sound + E'en of their own prophetic thought, +When of Christ crucified and crowned + His Spirit in them taught: + +But He their aching gaze repressed, + Which sought behind the veil to see, +For not without us fully blest + Or perfect might they be. + +The rays of the Almighty's face + No sinner's eye might then receive; +Only the meekest man found grace + To see His skirts and live. + +But we as in a glass espy + The glory of His countenance, +Not in a whirlwind hurrying by + The too presumptuous glance, + +But with mild radiance every hour, + From our dear Saviour's face benign +Bent on us with transforming power, + Till we, too, faintly shine. + +Sprinkled with His atoning blood + Safely before our God we stand, +As on the rock the Prophet stood, + Beneath His shadowing hand. - + +Blessed eyes, which see the things we see! + And yet this tree of life hath proved +To many a soul a poison tree, + Beheld, and not beloved. + +So like an angel's is our bliss + (Oh! thought to comfort and appal) +It needs must bring, if used amiss, + An angel's hopeless fall. + + + +FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where +are the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to +God, save this stranger. St. Luke xvii. 17, 18. + +Ten cleansed, and only one remain! +Who would have thought our nature's stain +Was dyed so foul, so deep in grain? + E'en He who reads the heart - +Knows what He gave and what we lost, +Sin's forfeit, and redemption's cost, - +By a short pang of wonder crossed + Seems at the sight to start: + +Yet 'twas not wonder, but His love +Our wavering spirits would reprove, +That heavenward seem so free to move + When earth can yield no more +Then from afar on God we cry, +But should the mist of woe roll by, +Not showers across an April sky + Drift, when the storm is o'er, + +Faster than those false drops and few +Fleet from the heart, a worthless dew. +What sadder scene can angels view + Than self-deceiving tears, +Poured idly over some dark page +Of earlier life, though pride or rage, +The record of to-day engage, + A woe for future years? + +Spirits, that round the sick man's bed +Watched, noting down each prayer he made, +Were your unerring roll displayed, + His pride of health to abase; +Or, when, soft showers in season fall +Answering a famished nation's call, +Should unseen fingers on the wall + Our vows forgotten trace: + +How should we gaze in trance of fear! +Yet shines the light as thrilling clear +From Heaven upon that scroll severe, + "Ten cleansed and one remain!" +Nor surer would the blessing prove +Of humbled hearts, that own Thy love, +Should choral welcome from above + Visit our senses plain: + +Than by Thy placid voice and brow, +With healing first, with comfort now, +Turned upon him, who hastes to bow + Before Thee, heart and knee; +"Oh! thou, who only wouldst be blest, +On thee alone My blessing rest! +Rise, go thy way in peace, possessed + For evermore of Me." + + + +FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. St. Matthew, vi. +28. + +Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies, + Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, +What more than magic in you lies, + To fill the heart's fond view? +In childhood's sports, companions gay, +In sorrow, on Life's downward way, +How soothing! in our last decay + Memorials prompt and true. + +Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, + As pure, as fragrant, and as fair, +As when ye crowned the sunshine hours + Of happy wanderers there. +Fall'n all beside--the world of life, +How is it stained with fear and strife! +In Reason's world what storms are rife, + What passions range and glare! + +But cheerful and unchanged the while + Your first and perfect form ye show, +The same that won Eve's matron smile + In the world's opening glow. +The stars of heaven a course are taught +Too high above our human thought: +Ye may be found if ye are sought, + And as we gaze, we know. + +Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, + Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow, +And guilty man where'er he roams, + Your innocent mirth may borrow. +The birds of air before us fleet, +They cannot brook our shame to meet - +But we may taste your solace sweet + And come again to-morrow. + +Ye fearless in your nests abide - + Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, +Your silent lessons, undescried + By all but lowly eyes: +For ye could draw th' admiring gaze +Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys: +Your order wild, your fragrant maze, + He taught us how to prize. + +Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour, + As when He paused and owned you good; +His blessing on earth's primal bower, + Ye felt it all renewed. +What care ye now, if winter's storm +Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form? +Christ's blessing at your heart is warm, + Ye fear no vexing mood. + +Alas! of thousand bosoms kind, + That daily court you and caress, +How few the happy secret find + Of your calm loveliness! +"Live for to-day! to-morrow's light +To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight, +Go sleep like closing flowers at night, + And Heaven thy morn will bless." + + + +SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, which is +your glory. Ephesians iii. 13. + +Wish not, dear friends, my pain away - + Wish me a wise and thankful heart, +With GOD, in all my griefs, to stay, + Nor from His loved correction start. + +The dearest offering He can crave + His portion in our souls to prove, +What is it to the gift He gave, + The only Son of His dear love? + +But we, like vexed unquiet sprights, + Will still be hovering o'er the tomb, +Where buried lie our vain delights, + Nor sweetly take a sinner's doom. + +In Life's long sickness evermore + Our thoughts are tossing to and fro: +We change our posture o'er and o'er, + But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe. + +Were it not better to lie still, + Let Him strike home and bless the rod, +Never so safe as when our will + Yields undiscerned by all but God? + +Thy precious things, whate'er they be, + That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, +Look to the Cross and thou shalt see + How thou mayst turn them all to gain. + +Lovest thou praise? the Cross is shame: + Or ease? the Cross is bitter grief: +More pangs than tongue or heart can frame + Were suffered there without relief. + +We of that Altar would partake, + But cannot quit the cost--no throne +Is ours, to leave for Thy dear sake - + We cannot do as Thou hast done. + +We cannot part with Heaven for Thee - + Yet guide us in Thy track of love: +Let us gaze on where light should be, + Though not a beam the clouds remove. + +So wanderers ever fond and true + Look homeward through the evening sky, +Without a streak of heaven's soft blue + To aid Affection's dreaming eye. + +The wanderer seeks his native bower, + And we will look and long for Thee, +And thank Thee for each trying hour, + Wishing, not struggling, to be free. + + + +SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Every man of the house of Israel that setteth up his idols in his +heart, and putteth the stumbling-block of his iniquity before his +face, and cometh to the prophet; I the Lord will answer him that +cometh according to the multitude of his idols. Ezekiel xiv. 4. + +Stately thy walls, and holy are the prayers + Which day and night before thine altars rise: +Not statelier, towering o'er her marble stairs, + Flashed Sion's gilded dome to summer skies, +Not holier, while around him angels bowed, +From Aaron's censer steamed the spicy cloud, + +Before the mercy-seat. O Mother dear, + Wilt thou forgive thy son one boding sigh? +Forgive, if round thy towers he walk in fear, + And tell thy jewels o'er with jealous eye? +Mindful of that sad vision, which in thought +From Chebar's plains the captive prophet brought. + +To see lost Sion's shame. 'Twas morning prime, + And like a Queen new seated on her throne, +GOD'S crowned mountain, as in happier time, + Seemed to rejoice in sunshine all her own: +So bright, while all in shade around her lay, +Her northern pinnacles had caught th' emerging ray. + +The dazzling lines of her majestic roof + Crossed with as free a span the vault of heaven, +As when twelve tribes knelt silently aloof + Ere GOD His answer to their king had given, +Ere yet upon the new-built altar fell +The glory of the LORD, the Lord of Israel. + +All seems the same: but enter in and see + What idol shapes are on the wall portrayed: +And watch their shameless and unholy glee, + Who worship there in Aaron's robes arrayed: +Hear Judah's maids the dirge to Thammuz pour, +And mark her chiefs yon orient sun adore. + +Yet turn thee, son of man--for worse than these + Thou must behold: thy loathing were but lost +On dead men's crimes, and Jews' idolatries - + Come, learn to tell aright thine own sins' cost, - +And sure their sin as far from equals thine, +As earthly hopes abused are less than hopes divine. + +What if within His world, His Church, our LORD + Have entered thee, as in some temple gate, +Where, looking round, each glance might thee afford + Some glorious earnest of thine high estate, +And thou, false heart and frail, hast turned from all +To worship pleasure's shadow on the wall? + +If, when the LORD of Glory was in sight, + Thou turn thy back upon that fountain clear, +To bow before the "little drop of light," + Which dim-eyed men call praise and glory here; +What dost thou, but adore the sun, and scorn +Him at whose only word both sun and stars were born? + +If, while around thee gales from Eden breathe, + Thou hide thine eyes, to make thy peevish moan +Over some broken reed of earth beneath, + Some darling of blind fancy dead and gone, +As wisely might'st thou in JEHOVAH'S fane +Offer thy love and tears to Thammuz slain. + +Turn thee from these, or dare not to inquire + Of Him whose name is Jealous, lest in wrath +He hear and answer thine unblest desire: + Far better we should cross His lightning's path +Than be according to our idols beard, +And God should take us at our own vain word. + +Thou who hast deigned the Christian's heart to call + Thy Church and Shrine; whene'er our rebel will +Would in that chosen home of Thine instal + Belial or Mammon, grant us not the ill +We blindly ask; in very love refuse +Whate'er Thou knowest our weakness would abuse. + +Or rather help us, LORD, to choose the good, + To pray for nought, to seek to none, but Thee, +Nor by "our daily bread" mean common food, + Nor say, "From this world's evil set us free;" +Teach us to love, with CHRIST, our sole true bliss, +Else, though in CHRIST'S own words, we surely pray amiss. + + + +EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +I will bring you into the wilderness of the people, and there will +I plead with you face to face. Like as pleaded with your fathers +in the wilderness of the land of Egypt, so will I plead with you, +saith the Lord God. Ezekiel xx. 35, 36. + +It is so--ope thine eyes, and see - + What viewest thou all around? +A desert, where iniquity + And knowledge both abound. + +In the waste howling wilderness + The Church is wandering still, +Because we would not onward press + When close to Sion's hill. + +Back to the world we faithless turned, + And far along the wild, +With labour lost and sorrow earned, + Our steps have been beguiled. + +Yet full before us, all the while, + The shadowing pillar stays, +The living waters brightly smile, + The eternal turrets blaze, + +Yet Heaven is raining angels' bread + To be our daily food, +And fresh, as when it first was shed, + Springs forth the SAVIOUR'S blood. + +From every region, race, and speech, + Believing myriads throng, +Till, far as sin and sorrow reach, + Thy grace is spread along; + +Till sweetest nature, brightest art, + Their votive incense bring, +And every voice and every heart + Own Thee their God and King. + +All own; but few, alas! will love; + Too like the recreant band +That with Thy patient spirit strove + Upon the Red-sea strand. + +O Father of long-suffering grace, + Thou who hast sworn to stay +Pleading with sinners face to face + Through all their devious way: + +How shall we speak to Thee, O LORD, + Or how in silence lie? +Look on us, and we are abhorred, + Turn from us, and we die. + +Thy guardian fire, Thy guiding cloud, + Still let them gild our wall, +Nor be our foes and Thine allowed + To see us faint and fall. + +Too oft, within this camp of Thine, + Rebellions murmurs rise; +Sin cannot bear to see Thee shine + So awful to her eyes. + +Fain would our lawless hearts escape, + And with the heathen be, +To worship every monstrous shape + In fancied darkness free. + +Vain thought, that shall not be at all! + Refuse we or obey, +Our ears have heard the Almighty's call, + We cannot be as they. + +We cannot hope the heathen's doom + To whom GOD'S Son is given, +Whose eyes have seen beyond the tomb, + Who have the key of Heaven. + +Weak tremblers on the edge of woe, + Yet shrinking from true bliss, +Our rest must be "no rest below," + And let our prayer be this: + +"LORD, wave again Thy chastening rod, + Till every idol throne +Crumble to dust, and Thou, O GOD, + Reign in our hearts alone. + +"Bring all our wandering fancies home, + For Thou hast every spell, +And 'mid the heathen where they roam, + Thou knowest, LORD, too well. + +"Thou know'st our service sad and hard, + Thou know'st us fond and frail; +Win us to be loved and spared + When all the world shall fail. + +"So when at last our weary days + Are well-nigh wasted here, +And we can trace Thy wondrous ways + In distance calm and clear, + +"When in Thy love and Israel's sin + We read our story true, +We may not, all too late, begin + To wish our hopes were new. + +"Long loved, long tried, long spared as they, + Unlike in this alone, +That, by Thy grace, our hearts shall stay + For evermore Thine own." + + + +NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, +and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men +bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the +king, True, O king. He answered and said, Lo, I see four men +loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and +the form of the fourth is like the Son of God. Daniel iii. 24, 25. + +When Persecution's torrent blaze + Wraps the unshrinking Martyr's head; +When fade all earthly flowers and bays, + When summer friends are gone and fled, +Is he alone in that dark hour +Who owns the Lord of love and power? + +Or waves there not around his brow + A wand no human arm may wield, +Fraught with a spell no angels know, + His steps to guide, his soul to shield? +Thou, Saviour, art his Charmed Bower, +His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower. + +And when the wicked ones behold + Thy favourites walking in Thy light, +Just as, in fancy triumph bold, + They deemed them lost in deadly night, +Amazed they cry, "What spell is this, +Which turns their sufferings all to bliss? + +"How are they free whom we had bound? + Upright, whom in the gulf we cast? +What wondrous helper have they found + To screen them from the scorching blast? +Three were they--who hath made them four? +And sure a form divine he wore, + +"E'en like the Son of God." So cried + The Tyrant, when in one fierce flame +The Martyrs lived, the murderers died: + Yet knew he not what angel came +To make the rushing fire-flood seem +Like summer breeze by woodland stream. + +He knew not, but there are who know: + The Matron, who alone hath stood, +When not a prop seemed left below, + The first lorn hour of widowhood, +Yet cheered and cheering all, the while, +With sad but unaffected smile; - + +The Father, who his vigil keeps + By the sad couch whence hope hath flown, +Watching the eye where reason sleeps, + Yet in his heart can mercy own, +Still sweetly yielding to the rod, +Still loving man, still thanking GOD; - + +The Christian Pastor, bowed to earth + With thankless toil, and vile esteemed, +Still travailing in second birth + Of souls that will not be redeemed: +Yet stedfast set to do his part, +And fearing most his own vain heart; - + +These know: on these look long and well, + Cleansing thy sight by prayer and faith, +And thou shalt know what secret spell + Preserves them in their living death: +Through sevenfold flames thine eye shall see +The Saviour walking with His faithful Three. + + + +TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Hear ye, O mountains, the Lord's controversy, and ye strong +foundations of the earth. Micah vi. 2. + +Where is Thy favoured haunt, eternal Voice, + The region of Thy choice, +Where, undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul + Owns Thy entire control? - +'Tis on the mountain's summit dark and high, + When storms are hurrying by: +'Tis 'mid the strong foundations of the earth, + Where torrents have their birth. + +No sounds of worldly toil ascending there, + Mar the full burst of prayer; +Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe, + And round us and beneath +Are heard her sacred tones: the fitful sweep + Of winds across the steep +Through withered bents--romantic note and clear, + Meet for a hermit's ear, - + +The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry, + And, scarcely heard so high, +The dashing waters when the air is still + From many a torrent rill +That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell, + Tracked by the blue mist well: +Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart + For Thought to do her part. + +'Tis then we hear the voice of GOD within, + Pleading with care and sin: +"Child of My love! how have I wearied thee? + Why wilt thou err from Me? +Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves, + Parted the drowning waves, +And set My saints before thee in the way, + Lest thou shouldst faint or stray? + +"What! was the promise made to thee alone? + Art thou the excepted one? +An heir of glory without grief or pain? + O vision false and vain! +There lies thy cross; beneath it meekly bow; + It fits thy stature now: +Who scornful pass it with averted eye, + 'Twill crush them by-and-by. + +"Raise thy repining eyes, and take true measure + Of thine eternal treasure; +The Father of thy Lord can grudge thee nought, + The world for thee was bought; +And as this landscape broad--earth, sea, and sky, - + All centres in thine eye, +So all God does, if rightly understood, + Shall work thy final good." + + + +TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +The vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall +speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it, because it will +surely come, it will not tarry. Habakkuk ii. 3. + + The morning mist is cleared away, + Yet still the face of Heaven is grey, +Nor yet this autumnal breeze has stirred the grove, + Faded yet full, a paler green + Skirts soberly the tranquil scene, +The red-breast warbles round this leafy cove. + + Sweet messenger of "calm decay," + Saluting sorrow as you may, +As one still bent to find or make the best, + In thee, and in this quiet mead, + The lesson of sweet peace I read, +Rather in all to be resigned than blest. + + 'Tis a low chant, according well + With the soft solitary knell, +As homeward from some grave beloved we turn, + Or by some holy death-bed dear, + Most welcome to the chastened ear +Of her whom Heaven is teaching how to mourn. + + O cheerful tender strain! the heart + That duly bears with you its part, +Singing so thankful to the dreary blast, + Though gone and spent its joyous prime, + And on the world's autumnal time, +'Mid withered hues and sere, its lot be cast: + + That is the heart for thoughtful seer, + Watching, in trance nor dark nor clear, +Th' appalling Future as it nearer draws: + His spirit calmed the storm to meet, + Feeling the rock beneath his feet, +And tracing through the cloud th' eternal Cause. + + That is the heart for watchman true + Waiting to see what GOD will do, +As o'er the Church the gathering twilight falls + No more he strains his wistful eye, + If chance the golden hours be nigh, +By youthful Hope seen beaming round her walls. + + Forced from his shadowy paradise, + His thoughts to Heaven the steadier rise: +There seek his answer when the world reproves: + Contented in his darkling round, + If only he be faithful found, +When from the east the eternal morning moves. + +Note: The expression, "calm delay," is borrowed from a friend, by +whose kind permission the following stanzas are here inserted. + +TO THE RED-BREAST. + +Unheard in summer's flaring ray, + Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer, +Wooing the stillness of the autumn day: + Bid it a moment linger, + Nor fly +Too soon from winter's scowling eye. + +The blackbird's song at even-tide, + And hers, who gay ascends, +Filling the heavens far and wide, + Are sweet. But none so blends, + As thine, +With calm decay, and peace divine. + + + +TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? +Matthew xviii. 21. + +What liberty so glad and gay, + As where the mountain boy, +Reckless of regions far away, + A prisoner lives in joy? + +The dreary sounds of crowded earth, + The cries of camp or town, +Never untuned his lonely mirth, + Nor drew his visions down. + +The snow-clad peaks of rosy light + That meet his morning view, +The thwarting cliffs that bound his sight, + They bound his fancy too. + +Two ways alone his roving eye + For aye may onward go, +Or in the azure deep on high, + Or darksome mere below. + +O blest restraint! more blessed range! + Too soon the happy child +His nook of homely thought will change + For life's seducing wild: + +Too soon his altered day-dreams show + This earth a boundless space, +With sun-bright pleasures to and fro + Sporting in joyous race: + +While of his narrowing heart each year, + Heaven less and less will fill, +Less keenly, thorough his grosser ear, + The tones of mercy thrill. + +It must be so: else wherefore falls + The Saviour's voice unheard, +While from His pard'ning Cross He calls, + "O spare as I have spared?" + +By our own niggard rule we try + The hope to suppliants given! +We mete out love, as if our eye + Saw to the end of Heaven. + +Yes, ransomed sinner! wouldst thou know + How often to forgive, +How dearly to embrace thy foe, + Look where thou hop'st to live; - + +When thou hast told those isles of light, + And fancied all beyond, +Whatever owns, in depth or height, + Creation's wondrous bond; + +Then in their solemn pageant learn + Sweet mercy's praise to see: +Their Lord resigned them all, to earn + The bliss of pardoning thee. + + + +TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto +His glorious body, according to the working whereby He is able even +to subdue all things onto Himself. Philippians iii. 21. + +Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun, + The line of yellow light dies fast away +That crowned the eastern copse: and chill and dun + Falls on the moor the brief November day. + +Now the tired hunter winds a parting note, + And Echo hide good-night from every glade; +Yet wait awhile, and see the calm heaves float + Each to his rest beneath their parent shade. + +How like decaying life they seem to glide! + And yet no second spring have they in store, +But where they fall, forgotten to abide + Is all their portion, and they ask no more. + +Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing, + A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold, +The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring, + And all be vernal rapture as of old. + +Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie, + In all the world of busy life around +No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky, + No drop, for them, of kindly influence found. + +Man's portion is to die and rise again - + Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part +With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain, + As his when Eden held his virgin heart. + +And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice + Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life +Only the first renewed--the heathen's choice, + A round of listless joy and weary strife. + +For dreary were this earth, if earth were all, + Tho' brightened oft by dear Affection's kiss; - +Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall? + But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss. + +Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart, + Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne +On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart + O'er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn + +Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven, + And fish, living shafts that pierce the main, +And stars that shoot through freezing air at even - + Who but would follow, might he break his chain? + +And thou shalt break it soon; the grovelling worm + Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free +As his transfigured Lord with lightning form + And snowy vest--such grace He won for thee, + +When from the grave He sprang at dawn of morn, + And led through boundless air thy conquering road, +Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born, + Might fearless follow to their blest abode. + +But first, by many a stern and fiery blast + The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine, +And many a gale of keenest woe be passed, + Till every pulse beat true to airs divine, + +Till every limb obey the mounting soul, + The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given. +He who the stormy heart can so control, + The laggard body soon will waft to Heaven. + + + +TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +The heart knoweth his own bitterness: and a stranger doth not +intermeddle with his joy. Proverbs xiv. 10. + +Why should we faint and fear to live alone, + Since all alone, so Heaven has willed, we die, +Nor e'en the tenderest heart, and next our own, + Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh? + +Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe + Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart, +Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow - + Hues of their own, fresh borrowed from the heart. + +And well it is for us our GOD should feel + Alone our secret throbbings: so our prayer +May readier spring to Heaven, nor spend its zeal + On cloud-born idols of this lower air. + +For if one heart in perfect sympathy + Beat with another, answering love for love, +Weak mortals, all entranced, on earth would lie, + Nor listen for those purer strains above. + +Or what if Heaven for once its searching light + Lent to some partial eye, disclosing all +The rude bad thoughts, that in our bosom's night + Wander at large, nor heed Love's gentle thrall? + +Who would not shun the dreary uncouth place? + As if, fond leaning where her infant slept, +A mother's arm a serpent should embrace: + So might we friendless live, and die unwept. + +Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn, + Thou who canst love us, thro' Thou read us true; +As on the bosom of th' aerial lawn + Melts in dim haze each coarse ungentle hue. + +So too may soothing Hope Thy heave enjoy + Sweet visions of long-severed hearts to frame: +Though absence may impair, or cares annoy, + Some constant mind may draw us still the same. + +We in dark dreams are tossing to and fro, + Pine with regret, or sicken with despair, +The while she bathes us in her own chaste glow, + And with our memory wings her own fond prayer. + +O bliss of child-like innocence, and love + Tried to old age! creative power to win, +And raise new worlds, where happy fancies rove, + Forgetting quite this grosser world of sin. + +Bright are their dreams, because their thoughts are clear, + Their memory cheering: but th' earth-stained spright, +Whose wakeful musings are of guilt and fear, + Must hover nearer earth, and less in light. + +Farewell, for her, th' ideal scenes so fair - + Yet not farewell her hope, since thou hast deigned, +Creator of all hearts! to own and share + The woe of what Thou mad'st, and we have stained. + +Thou knowst our bitterness--our joys are Thine - + No stranger Thou to all our wanderings wild: +Nor could we bear to think, how every line + Of us, Thy darkened likeness and defiled, + +Stands in full sunshine of Thy piercing eye, + But that Thou call'st us Brethren: sweet repose +Is in that word--the LORD who dwells on high + Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows. + + + +TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY + + + +The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of +righteousness. Proverbs xvi. 31. + +The bright-haired morn is glowing + O'er emerald meadows gay, +With many a clear gem strewing + The early shepherd's way. +Ye gentle elves, by Fancy seen + Stealing away with night +To slumber in your leafy screen, + Tread more than airy light. + +And see what joyous greeting + The sun through heaven has shed, +Though fast yon shower be fleeting, + His beams have faster sped. +For lo! above the western haze + High towers the rainbow arch +In solid span of purest rays: + How stately is its march! + +Pride of the dewy morning! + The swain's experienced eye +From thee takes timely warning, + Nor trusts the gorgeous sky. +For well he knows, such dawnings gay + Bring noons of storm and shower, +And travellers linger on the way + Beside the sheltering bower. + +E'en so, in hope and trembling + Should watchful shepherd view +His little lambs assembling, + With glance both kind and true; +'Tis not the eye of keenest blaze, + Nor the quick-swelling breast, +That soonest thrills at touch of praise - + These do not please him best. + +But voices low and gentle, + And timid glances shy, +That seem for aid parental + To sue all wistfully, +Still pressing, longing to be right, + Yet fearing to be wrong, - +In these the Pastor dares delight, + A lamb-like, Christ-like throng. + +These in Life's distant even + Shall shine serenely bright, +As in th' autumnal heaven + Mild rainbow tints at night, +When the last shower is stealing down, + And ere they sink to rest, +The sun-beams weave a parting crown + For some sweet woodland nest. + +The promise of the morrow + Is glorious on that eve, +Dear as the holy sorrow + When good men cease to live. +When brightening ere it die away + Mounts up their altar flame, +Still tending with intenser ray + To Heaven whence first it came. + +Say not it dies, that glory, + 'Tis caught unquenched on high, +Those saintlike brows so hoary + Shall wear it in the sky. +No smile is like the smile of death, + When all good musings past +Rise wafted with the parting breath, + The sweetest thought the last. + + + +SUNDAY NEXT BEFORE ADVENT + + + +Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost. St. +John vi. 12. + + Will God indeed with fragments bear, + Snatched late from the decaying year? + Or can the Saviour's blood endear + The dregs of a polluted life? + When down th' o'erwhelming current tossed + Just ere he sink for ever lost, + The sailor's untried arms are crossed +In agonizing prayer, will Ocean cease her strife? + + Sighs that exhaust but not relieve + Heart-rending sighs, O spare to heave + A bosom freshly taught to grieve + For lavished hours and love misspent! + Now through her round of holy thought + The Church our annual steps has brought, + But we no holy fire have caught - +Back on the gaudy world our wilful eyes were bent. + + Too soon th' ennobling carols, poured + To hymn the birth-night of the LORD, + Which duteous Memory should have stored + For thankful echoing all the year - + Too soon those airs have passed away; + Nor long within the heart would stay + The silence of CHRIST'S dying day, +Profaned by worldly mirth, or scared by worldly fear. + + Some strain of hope and victory + On Easter wings might lift us high + A little while we sought the sky: + And when the SPIRIT'S beacon fires + On every hill began to blare, + Lightening the world with glad amaze, + Who but must kindle while they gaze? +But faster than she soars, our earth-bound Fancy tires. + + Nor yet for these, nor all the rites, + By which our Mother's voice invites + Our GOD to bless our home delights, + And sweeten every secret tear:- + The funeral dirge, the marriage vow, + The hollowed font where parents bow, + And now elate and trembling now +To the Redeemer's feet their new-found treasures bear:- + + Not for this Pastor's gracious arm + Stretched out to bless--a Christian charm + To dull the shafts of worldly harm:- + Nor, sweetest, holiest, best of all + For the dear feast of JESUS dying, + Upon that altar ever lying, + Where souls with sacred hunger sighing +Are called to sit and eat, while angels prostrate fall:- + + No, not for each and all of these, + Have our frail spirits found their ease. + The gale that stirs the autumnal trees + Seems tuned as truly to our hearts + As when, twelve weary months ago, + 'Twas moaning bleak, so high and low, + You would have thought Remorse and Woe +Had taught the innocent air their sadly thrilling parts. + + Is it, CHRIST'S light is too divine, + We dare not hope like Him to shine? + But see, around His dazzling shrine + Earths gems the fire of Heaven have caught; + Martyrs and saints--each glorious day + Dawning in order on our way - + Remind us, how our darksome clay +May keep th' ethereal warmth our new Creator brought. + + These we have scorned, O false and frail! + And now once more th' appalling tale, + How love divine may woo and fail, + Of our lost year in Heaven is told - + What if as far our life were past, + Our weeks all numbered to the last, + With time and hope behind us cast, +And all our work to do with palsied hands and cold? + + O watch and pray ere Advent dawn! + For thinner than the subtlest lawn + 'Twixt thee and death the veil is drawn. + But Love too late can never glow: + The scattered fragments Love can glean + Refine the dregs, and yield us clean + To regions where one thought serene +Breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below. + + + +ST. ANDREW'S DAY + + + +He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have +found the Messias . . . And he brought him to Jesus. St. John i. +41, 42. + +When brothers part for manhood's race, + What gift may most endearing prove +To keep fond memory its her place, + And certify a brother's love? + +'Tis true, bright hours together told, + And blissful dreams in secret shared, +Serene or solemn, gay or bold, + Shall last in fancy unimpaired. + +E'en round the death-bed of the good + Such dear remembrances will hover, +And haunt us with no vexing mood + When all the cares of earth are over. + +But yet our craving spirits feel, + We shall live on, though Fancy die, +And seek a surer pledge--a seal + Of love to last eternally. + +Who art thou, that wouldst grave thy name + Thus deeply in a brother's heart? +Look on this saint, and learn to frame + Thy love-charm with true Christian art. + +First seek thy Saviour out, and dwell + Beneath this shadow of His roof, +Till thou have scanned His features well, + And known Him for the Christ by proof; + +Such proof as they are sure to find + Who spend with Him their happy days, +Clean hands, and a self-ruling mind + Ever in tune for love and praise. + +Then, potent with the spell of Heaven, + Go, and thine erring brother gain, +Entice him home to be forgiven, + Till he, too, see his Saviour plain. + +Or, if before thee in the race, + Urge him with thine advancing tread, +Till, like twin stars, with even pace, + Each lucid course be duly aped. + +No fading frail memorial give + To soothe his soul when thou art gone, +But wreaths of hope for aye to live, + And thoughts of good together done. + +That so, before the judgment-seat, + Though changed and glorified each face, +Not unremembered ye may meet + For endless ages to embrace. + + + +ST. THOMAS' DAY + + + +Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed; blessed are +they that have not seen, and yet have believed. St. John xx. 29. + + We were not by when Jesus came, + But round us, far and near, + We see His trophies, and His name + In choral echoes hear. + In a fair ground our lot is cast, + As in the solemn week that past, + While some might doubt, but all adored, +Ere the whole widowed Church had seen her risen Lord. + + Slowly, as then, His bounteous hand + The golden chain unwinds, + Drawing to Heaven with gentlest band + Wise hearts and loving minds. + Love sought Him first--at dawn of morn + From her sad couch she sprang forlorn, + She sought to weep with Thee alone, +And saw Thine open grave, and knew that thou wert gone. + + Reason and Faith at once set out + To search the SAVIOUR'S tomb; + Faith faster runs, but waits without, + As fearing to presume, + Till Reason enter in, and trace + Christ's relics round the holy place - + "Here lay His limbs, and here His sacred head, +And who was by, to make His new-forsaken bed?" + + Both wonder, one believes--but while + They muse on all at home, + No thought can tender Love beguile + From Jesus' grave to roam. + Weeping she stays till He appear - + Her witness first the Church must hear - + All joy to souls that can rejoice +With her at earliest call of His dear gracious voice. + + Joy too to those, who love to talk + In secret how He died, + Though with sealed eyes awhile they walk, + Nor see him at their side: + Most like the faithful pair are they, + Who once to Emmaus took their way, + Half darkling, till their Master shied +His glory on their souls, made known in breaking bread. + + Thus, ever brighter and more bright, + On those He came to save + The Lord of new-created light + Dawned gradual from the grave; + Till passed th' enquiring day-light hour, + And with closed door in silent bower + The Church in anxious musing sate, +As one who for redemption still had long to wait. + + Then, gliding through th' unopening door, + Smooth without step or sound, + "Peace to your souls," He said--no more - + They own Him, kneeling round. + Eye, ear, and hand, and loving heart, + Body and soul in every part, + Successive made His witnesses that hour, +Cease not in all the world to show His saving power. + + Is there, on earth, a spirit frail, + Who fears to take their word, + Scarce daring, through the twilight pale, + To think he sees the Lord? + With eyes too tremblingly awake + To bear with dimness for His sake? + Read and confess the Hand Divine +That drew thy likeness here so true in every line. + + For all thy rankling doubts so sore, + Love thou thy Saviour still, + Him for thy Lord and God adore, + And ever do His will. + Though vexing thoughts may seem to last, + Let not thy soul be quite o'ercast; - + Soon will He show thee all His wounds, and say, +"Long have I known Thy name--know thou My face alway." + + + +THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL + + + +And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, +Saul, why persecutest thou Me? And he said, Who art Thou, Lord? +And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. Acts ix. 4, +5. + +The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare, +Broods o'er the hazy twinkling air: + Along the level sand +The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies, +Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise + To greet you wearied band. + +The leader of that martial crew +Seems bent some mighty deed to do, + So steadily he speeds, +With lips firm closed and fixed eye, +Like warrior when the fight is night, + Nor talk nor landscape heeds. + +What sudden blaze is round him poured, +As though all Heaven's refulgent hoard + In one rich glory shone? +One moment--and to earth he falls: +What voice his inmost heart appalls? - + Voice heard by him alone. + +For to the rest both words and form +Seem lost in lightning and in storm, + While Saul, in wakeful trance, +Sees deep within that dazzling field +His persecuted Lord revealed, + With keen yet pitying glance: + +And hears time meek upbraiding call +As gently on his spirit fall, + As if th' Almighty Son +Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, +Nor had proclaimed His royal birth, + Nor His great power begun. + +"Ah! wherefore persecut'st thou Me?" +He heard and saw, and sought to free + His strained eyes from the sight: +But Heaven's high magic bound it there, +Still gazing, though untaught to bear + Th' insufferable light. + +"Who art Thou, Lord?" he falters forth:- +So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth + At the last awful day. +"When did we see Thee suffering nigh, +And passed Thee with unheeding eye? + Great God of judgment, say!" + +Ah! little dream our listless eyes +What glorious presence they despise, + While, in our noon of life, +To power or fame we rudely press. - +Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless, + Christ suffers in our strife. + +And though heaven's gate long since have closed, +And our dear Lord in bliss reposed, + High above mortal ken, +To every ear in every land +(Thought meek ears only understand) + He speaks as he did then. + +"Ah! wherefore persecute ye Me? +'Tis hard, ye so in love should be + With your own endless woe. +Know, though at God's right hand I live, +I feel each wound ye reckless give + To the least saint below. + +"I in your care My brethren left, +Not willing ye should be bereft + Of waiting on your Lord. +The meanest offering ye can make - +A drop of water--for love's sake, + In Heaven, be sure, is stored." + +O by those gentle tones and dear, +When thou hast stayed our wild career, + Thou only hope of souls, +Ne'er let us cast one look behind, +But in the thought of Jesus find + What every thought controls. + +As to Thy last Apostle's heart +Thy lightning glance did then impart + Zeal's never-dying fire, +So teach us on Thy shrine to lay +Our hearts, and let them day by day + Intenser blaze and higher. + +And as each mild and winning note +(Like pulses that round harp-strings float + When the full strain is o'er) +Left lingering on his inward ear +Music, that taught, as death drew near, + Love's lesson more and more: + +So, as we walk our earthly round, +Still may the echo of that sound + Be in our memory stored +"Christians! behold your happy state: +Christ is in these, who round you wait; + Make much of your dear Lord!" + + + +THE PURIFICATION + + + +Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. St. +Matthew v. 8. + + Bless'd are the pure in heart, + For they shall see our God, +The secret of the Lord is theirs, + Their soul is Christ's abode. + + Might mortal thought presume + To guess an angel's lay, +Such are the notes that echo through + The courts of Heaven to-day. + + Such the triumphal hymns + On Sion's Prince that wait, +In high procession passing on + Towards His temple-gate. + + Give ear, ye kings--bow down, + Ye rulers of the earth - +This, this is He: your Priest by grace, + Your God and King by birth. + + No pomp of earthly guards + Attends with sword and spear, +And all-defying, dauntless look, + Their monarch's way to clear; + + Yet are there more with Him + Than all that are with you - +The armies of the highest Heaven, + All righteous, good, and true. + + Spotless their robes and pure, + Dipped in the sea of light, +That hides the unapproached shrine + From men's and angels' sight. + + His throne, thy bosom blest, + O mother undefiled - +That throne, if aught beneath the skies, + Beseems the sinless child. + + Lost in high thoughts, "whose son + The wondrous Babe might prove," +Her guileless husband walks beside, + Bearing the hallowed dove; + + Meet emblem of His vow, + Who, on this happy day, +His dove-like soul--best sacrifice - + Did on God's altar lay. + + But who is he, by years + Bowed, but erect in heart, +Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? + "Lord, let me now depart. + + "Now hath Thy servant seen + Thy saving health, O Lord; +'Tis time that I depart in peace, + According to Thy word." + + Yet swells this pomp: one more + Comes forth to bless her God; +Full fourscore years, meek widow, she + Her heaven-ward way hath troth. + + She who to earthly joys + So long had given farewell, +Now sees, unlooked for, Heaven on earth, + Christ in His Israel. + + Wide open from that hour + The temple-gates are set, +And still the saints rejoicing there + The holy Child have met. + + Now count His train to-day, + Auth who may meet Him, learn: +Him child-like sires, meek maidens find, + Where pride can nought discern. + + Still to the lowly soul + He doth Himself impart, +And for His cradle and His throne + Chooseth the pure in heart. + + + +ST. MATTHIAS' DAY + + + +Wherefore of these men which have companied with us all the time +that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the +baptism of John, unto the same day that He was taken up from us, +must one be ordained to be a witness with us of His resurrection. +Acts i. 21, 22. + + Who is God's chosen priest? +He, who on Christ stands waiting day and night, +Who traceth His holy steps, nor ever ceased, + From Jordan banks to Bethphage height: + + Who hath learned lowliness +From his Lord's cradle, patience from His Cross; +Whom poor men's eyes and hearts consent to bless; + To whom, for Christ, the world is loss; + + Who both in agony +Hath seen Him and in glory; and in both +Owned Him divine, and yielded, nothing loth, + Body and soul, to live and die, + + In witness of his Lord, +In humble following of his Saviour dear: +This is the man to wield th' unearthly sword, + Warring unharmed with sin and fear. + + But who can o'er suffice - +What mortal--for this more than angels' task, +Winning or losing souls, Thy life-blood's price? + The gift were too divine to ask. + + But Thou hast made it sure +By Thy dear promise to thy Church and Bride, +That Thou, on earth, wouldst aye with her endure, + Till earth to Heaven be purified. + + Thou art her only spouse, +Whose arm supports her, on Whose faithful breast +Her persecuted head she meekly bows, + Sure pledge of her eternal rest. + + Thou, her unerring guide, +Stayest her fainting steps along the wild; +Thy merit is on the bowers of lust and pride, + That she may pass them undefiled. + + Who then, uncalled by Thee, +Dare touch Thy spouse, Thy very self below? +Or who dare count him summoned worthily, + Except Thine hand and seal he show? + + Where can Thy seal be found, +But on thou chosen seed, from age to age +By thine anointed heralds duly crowned, + As kings and priests Thy war to wage? + + Then fearless walk we forth, +Yet full of trembling, Messengers of God: +Our warrant sure, but doubting of our worth, + By our own shame alike and glory awed. + + Dread Searcher of the hearts, +Thou who didst seal by Thy descending Dove +Thy servant's choice, O help us in our parts, + Else helpless found, to learn and teach Thy love. + + + +THE ANNUNCIATION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY + + + +And the Angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art +highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among +women. St. Luke i. 28. + +Oh! Thou who deign'st to sympathise +With all our frail and fleshly ties, + Maker yet Brother dear, +Forgive the too presumptuous thought, +If, calming wayward grief, I sought + To gaze on Thee too near. + +Yet sure 'twas not presumption, Lord, +'Twas Thine own comfortable word + That made the lesson known: +Of all the dearest bonds we prove, +Thou countest sons and mothers' love + Most sacred, most Thine own. + +When wandering here a little span, +Thou took'st on Thee to rescue man, + Thou had'st no earthly sire: +That wedded love we prize so dear, +As if our heaven and home were here, + It lit in Thee no fire. + +On no sweet sister's faithful breast +Wouldst Thou Thine aching forehead rest, + On no kind brother lean: +But who, O perfect filial heart, +E'er did like Thee a true son's part, + Endearing, firm, serene? + +Thou wept'st, meek maiden, mother mild, +Thou wept'st upon thy sinless Child, + Thy very heart was riven: +And yet, what mourning matron here +Would deem thy sorrows bought too dear + By all on this side Heaven? + +A Son that never did amiss, +That never shamed His Mother's kiss, + Nor crossed her fondest prayer: +E'en from the tree He deigned to bow, +For her His agonised brow, + Her, His sole earthly care. + +Ave Maria! blessed Maid! +Lily of Eden's fragrant shade, + Who can express the love +That nurtured thee so pure and sweet, +Making thy heart a shelter meet + For Jesus' holy dove? + +Ave Maria! Mother blest, +To whom, caressing and caressed, + Clings the eternal Child; +Favoured beyond Archangels' dream, +When first on Thee with tenderest gleam + Thy new-born Saviour smiled:- + +Ave Maria! thou whose name +All but adoring love may claim, + Yet may we reach thy shrine; +For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows +To crown all lowly lofty brows + With love and joy like thine. + +Blessed is the womb that bare Him--blessed +The bosom where His lips were pressed, + But rather blessed are they +Who hear His word and keep it well, +The living homes where Christ shall dwell, + And never pass away. + + + +ST. MARK'S DAY + + + +And the contention was so sharp between them, that they departed +asunder one from the other. Acts xv. 30. +Compare 2 Tim. iv. 11. Take Mark, and bring him with thee: for he +is profitable to me for the ministry. + +Oh! who shall dare in this frail scene +On holiest happiest thoughts to lean, + On Friendship, Kindred, or on Love? +Since not Apostles' hands can clasp +Each other in so firm a grasp + But they shall change and variance prove. + +Yet deem not, on such parting sad +Shall dawn no welcome dear and glad: + Divided in their earthly race, +Together at the glorious goal, +Each leading many a rescued soul, + The faithful champions shall embrace. + +For e'en as those mysterious Four, +Who the bright whirling wheels upbore + By Chebar in the fiery blast. +So, on their tasks of love and praise +This saints of God their several ways + Right onward speed, yet join at last. + +And sometimes e'en beneath the moon +The Saviour gives a gracious boon, + When reconciled Christians meet, +And face to face, and heart to heart, +High thoughts of holy love impart + In silence meek, or converse sweet. + +Companion of the Saints! 'twas thine +To taste that drop of peace divine, + When the great soldier of thy Lord +Called thee to take his last farewell, +Teaching the Church with joy to tell + The story of your love restored. + +O then the glory and the bliss, +When all that pained or seemed amiss + Shall melt with earth and sin away! +When saints beneath their Saviour's eye, +Filled with each other's company, + Shall spend in love th' eternal day! + + + +ST. PHILIP AND ST. JAMES. + + + +Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted: but +the rich in that he is made low. St. James i. 9. 10. + +Dear is the morning gale of spring, + And dear th' autumnal eve; +But few delights can summer bring + A Poet's crown to weave. + +Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry, + And ever Fancy's wing +Speed's from beneath her cloudless sky + To autumn or to spring. + +Sweet is the infant's waking smile, + And sweet the old man's rest - +But middle age by no fond wile, + No soothing calm is blest. + +Still in the world's hot restless gleam + She plies her weary task, +While vainly for some pleasant dream + Her wandering glances ask. - + +O shame upon thee, listless heart, + So sad a sigh to heave, +As if thy SAVIOUR had no part + In thoughts, that make thee grieve. + +As if along His lonesome way + He had not borne for thee +Sad languors through the summer day, + Storms on the wintry sea. + +Youth's lightning flash of joy secure + Passed seldom o'er His spright, - +A well of serious thought and pure. + Too deep for earthly light. + +No spring was His--no fairy gleam - + For He by trial knew +How cold and bare what mortals dream, + To worlds where all is true. + +Then grudge not thou the anguish keen + Which makes thee like thy LORD, +And learn to quit with eye serene + Thy youth's ideal hoard. + +Thy treasured hopes and raptures high - + Unmurmuring let them go, +Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly + Which CHRIST disdained to know. + +Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon; + The pure, calm hope be thine, +Which brightens, like the eastern moon, + As day's wild lights decline. + +Thus souls, by nature pitched too high, + By sufferings plunged too low, +Meet in the Church's middle sky, + Half way 'twixt joy and woe, + +To practise there the soothing lay + That sorrow best relieves; +Thankful for all God takes away, + Humbled by all He glass. + + + +ST. BARNABAS. + + + +The sea of consolation, a Levite. Acts iv. 36. + + 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, who skills of comfort best; + Whom by the softest step and gentlest tone + Enfeebled spirits own, + And love to raise the languid eye, +When, like an angel's wing, they feel him fleeting by:- + + FEEL only--for in silence gently gliding + Fain would he shun both ear and sight, + 'Twixt Prayer and watchful Love his heart dividing, + A nursing-father day and night. + Such were the tender arms, where cradled lay, + In her sweet natal day, + The Church of JESUS; such the love +He to His chosen taught for His dear widowed Dove. + + Warmed underneath the Comforter's safe wing + They spread th' endearing warmth around: + Mourners, speed here your broken hearts to bring, + Here healing dews and balms abound: + Here are soft hands that cannot bless in vain, + By trial taught your pain: + Here loving hearts, that daily know +The heavenly consolations they on you bestow. + + Sweet thoughts are theirs, that breathe serenest calms, + Of holy offerings timely paid, + Of fire from heaven to bless their votive alms + And passions on GOD'S altar laid. + The world to them is closed, and now they shine + With rays of love divine, + Through darkest nooks of this dull earth +Pouring, in showery times, their glow of "quiet mirth." + + New hearts before their Saviour's feet to lay, + This is their first, their dearest joy: + Their next from heart to heart to clear the way + For mutual love without alloy: + Never so blest as when in JESUS' roll + They write some hero-soul, + More pleased upon his brightening road +To wait, than if their own with all his radiance glowed. + + O happy spirits, marked by God and man + Their messages of love to bear, + What though long since in Heaven your brows began, + The genial amarant wreath to wear, + And in th' eternal leisure of calm love + Ye banquet there above; + Yet in your sympathetic heart +We and our earthly griefs may ask and hope a part. + + Comfort's true sons! amid the thoughts of down + That strew your pillow of repose, + Sure 'tis one joy to muse, how ye unknown + By sweet remembrance soothe our woes; + And how the spark ye lit, of heavenly cheer, + Lives in our embers here, + Where'er the cross is borne with smiles, +Or lightened secretly by Love's endearing wiles: + + Where'er one Levite in the temple keeps + The watch-fire of his midnight prayer, + Or issuing thence, the eyes of mourners steeps + In heavenly balm, fresh gathered there; + Thus saints, that seem to die in earth's rude strife, + Only win double life: + They have but left our weary ways +To live in memory here, in Heaven by love and praise. + + + +ST. JOHN BAPTIST'S DAY + + + +Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the +great and dreadful day of the Lord: and he shall turn the heart of +the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their +fathers. Malachi iv. 5, 6. + + Twice in her season of decay +The fallen Church hath felt Elijah's eye + Dart from the wild its piercing ray: +Not keener burns, in the chill morning sky, + The herald star, + Whose torch afar + Shadows and boding night-birds fly. + + Methinks we need him once again, +That favoured seer--but where shall he be found? + By Cherith's side we seek in vain, +In vain on Carmel's green and lonely mound: + Angels no more + From Sinai soar, + On his celestial errands bound. + + But wafted to her glorious place +By harmless fire, among the ethereal thrones, + His spirit with a dear embrace +Thee the loved harbinger of Jesus owns, + Well-pleased to view + Her likeness true, + And trace, in thine, her own deep tones. + + Deathless himself, he joys with thee +To commune how a faithful martyr dies, + And in the blest could envy be, +He would behold thy wounds with envious eyes, + Star of our morn, + Who yet unborn + Didst guide our hope, where Christ should rise. + + Now resting from your jealous care +For sinners, such as Eden cannot know, + Ye pour for us your mingled prayer, +No anxious fear to damp Affection's glow, + Love draws a cloud + From you to shroud + Rebellion's mystery here below. + + And since we see, and not afar, +The twilight of the great and dreadful day, + Why linger, till Elijah's car +Stoop from the clouds? Why sheep ye? Rise and pray, + Ye heralds sealed + In camp or field + Your Saviour's banner to display. + + Where is the lore the Baptist taught, +The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue? + The much-enduring wisdom, sought +By lonely prayer the haunted rocks among? + Who counts it gain + His light should wane, + So the whole world to Jesus throng? + + Thou Spirit, who the Church didst lend +Her eagle wings, to shelter in the wild, + We pray Thee, ere the Judge descend, +With flames like these, all bright and undefiled, + Her watch-fires light, + To guide aright + Our weary souls by earth beguiled. + + So glorious let thy Pastors shine, +That by their speaking lives the world may learn + First filial duty, then divine, +That sons to parents, all to Thee may turn; + And ready prove + In fires of love, + At sight of Thee, for aye to burn. + + + +ST. PETER'S DAY + + + +When Herod would have brought him forth, the same night Peter was +sleeping. Acts xii. 26. + +Thou thrice denied, yet thrice beloved, + Watch by Thine own forgiven friend; +In sharpest perils faithful proved, + Let his soul love Thee to the end. + +The prayer is heard--else why so deep + His slumber on the eve of death? +And wherefore smiles he in his sleep + As one who drew celestial breath? + +He loves and is beloved again - + Can his soul choose but be at rest? +Sorrow hath fled away, and Pain + Dares not invade the guarded nest. + +He dearly loves, and not alone: + For his winged thoughts are soaring high +Where never yet frail heart was known + To breathe its vain Affection's sigh. + +He loves and weeps--but more than tears + Have sealed Thy welcome and his love - +One look lives in him, and endears + Crosses and wrongs where'er he rove: + +That gracious chiding look, Thy call + To win him to himself and Thee, +Sweetening the sorrow of his fall + Which else were rued too bitterly. + +E'en through the veil of sheep it shines, + The memory of that kindly glance; - +The Angel watching by, divines + And spares awhile his blissful trance. + +Or haply to his native lake + His vision wafts him back, to talk +With JESUS, ere His flight He take, + As in that solemn evening walk, + +When to the bosom of His friend, + The Shepherd, He whose name is Good. +Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, + Both bought and nourished with His blood: + +Then laid on him th' inverted tree, + Which firm embraced with heart and arm, +Might cast o'er hope and memory, + O'er life and death, its awful charm. + +With brightening heart he bears it on, + His passport through this eternal gates, +To his sweet home--so nearly won, + He seems, as by the door he waits, + +The unexpressive notes to hear + Of angel song and angel motion, +Rising and falling on the ear + Like waves in Joy's unbounded ocean. - + +His dream is changed--the Tyrant's voice + Calls to that last of glorious deeds - +But as he rises to rejoice, + Not Herod but an Angel leads. + +He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright, + Glancing around his prison room - +But 'tis a gleam of heavenly light + That fills up all the ample gloom. + +The flame, that in a few short years + Deep through the chambers of the dead +Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears, + Is waving o'er his dungeon-bed. + +Touched he upstarts--his chains unbind - + Through darksome vault, up massy stair, +His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind + To freedom and cool moonlight air. + +Then all himself, all joy and calm, + Though for a while his hand forego, +Just as it touched, the martyr's palm, + He turns him to his task below; + +The pastoral staff, the keys of Heaven, + To wield a while in grey-haired might, +Then from his cross to spring forgiven, + And follow JESUS out of sight. + + + +ST. JAMES'S DAY + + + +Ye shall drink indeed of My cup, and be baptised with the baptism +that I am baptised with: but to sit on My right hand, and on My +left, is not Mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom +it is prepared of My Father. St. Matthew xx. 23. + +Sit down and take thy fill of joy + At God's right hand, a bidden guest, +Drink of the cup that cannot cloy, + Eat of the bread that cannot waste. +O great Apostle! rightly now + Thou readest all thy Saviour meant, +What time His grave yet gentle brow + In sweet reproof on thee was bent. + +"Seek ye to sit enthroned by me? + Alas! ye know not what ye ask, +The first in shame and agony, + The lowest in the meanest task - +This can ye be? and came ye drink + The cup that I in tears must steep, +Nor from the 'whelming waters shrink + That o'er Me roll so dark and deep?" + +"We can--Thine are we, dearest Lord, + In glory and in agony, +To do and suffer all Thy word; + Only be Thou for ever nigh." - +"Then be it so--My cup receive, + And of My woes baptismal taste: +But for the crown, that angels weave + For those next Me in glory placed, + +"I give it not by partial love; + But in My Father's book are writ +What names on earth shall lowliest prove, + That they in Heaven may highest sit." +Take up the lesson, O my heart; + Thou Lord of meekness, write it there, +Thine own meek self to me impart, + Thy lofty hope, thy lowly prayer. + +If ever on the mount with Thee + I seem to soar in vision bright, +With thoughts of coming agony, + Stay Thou the too presumptuous flight: +Gently along the vale of tears + Lead me from Tabor's sunbright steep, +Let me not grudge a few short years + With thee t'ward Heaven to walk and weep: + +Too happy, on my silent path, + If now and then allowed, with Thee +Watching some placid holy death, + Thy secret work of love to see; +But, oh! most happy, should Thy call, + Thy welcome call, at last be given - +"Come where thou long hast storeth thy all + Come see thy place prepared in Heaven." + + + +ST. BARTHOLOMEW + + + +Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw +the under the fig-tree, believest thou? Thou shalt see greater +things than these. St. John i. 50. + +Hold up thy mirror to the sun, + And thou shalt need an eagle's gaze, +So perfectly the polished stone + Gives back the glory of his rays: + +Turn it, and it shall paint as true + The soft green of the vernal earth, +And each small flower of bashful hue, + That closest hides its lowly birth. + +Our mirror is a blessed book, + Where out from each illumined page +We see one glorious Image look + All eyes to dazzle and engage, + +The Son of God: and that indeed + We see Him as He is, we know, +Since in the same bright glass we read + The very life of things below. - + +Eye of God's word! where'er we turn + Ever upon us! thy keen gaze +Can all the depths of sin discern, + Unravel every bosom's maze: + +Who that has felt thy glance of dread + Thrill through his heart's remotest cells, +About his path, about his bed, + Can doubt what spirit in thee dwells? + +"What word is this? Whence know'st thou me?" + All wondering cries the humbled heart, +To hear thee that deep mystery, + The knowledge of itself, impart. + +The veil is raised; who runs may read, + By its own light the truth is seen, +And soon the Israelite indeed + Bows down t' adore the Nazarene. + +So did Nathanael, guileless man, + At once, not shame-faced or afraid, +Owning Him God, who so could scan + His musings in the lonely shade; + +In his own pleasant fig-tree's shade, + Which by his household fountain grew, +Where at noon-day his prayer he made + To know God better than he knew. + +Oh! happy hours of heavenward thought! + How richly crowned! how well improved! +In musing o'er the Law he taught, + In waiting for the Lord he loved. + +We must not mar with earthly praise + What God's approving word hath sealed: +Enough, if might our feeble lays + Take up the promise He revealed; + +"The child-like faith, that asks not sight, + Waits not for wonder or for sign, +Believes, because it loves, aright - + Shall see things greater, things divine. + +"Heaven to that gaze shall open wide, + And brightest angels to and fro +On messages of love shall glide + 'Twixt God above and Christ below." + +So still the guileless man is blest, + To him all crooked paths are straight, +Him on his way to endless rest + Fresh, ever-growing strengths await. + +God's witnesses, a glorious host, + Compass him daily like a cloud; +Martyrs and seers, the saved and lost, + Mercies and judgments cry aloud. + +Yet shall to him the still small voice, + That first into his bosom found +A way, and fixed his wavering choice, + Nearest and dearest ever sound. + + + +ST. MATTHEW + + + +And after these things He went forth, and saw a publican, named +Levi, sitting at the receipt of custom: and He said unto him, +Follow Me. And he left all, rose up, and followed Him. St. Luke +v. 27, 28. + + Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids, + The nearest Heaven on earth, + Who talk with God in shadowy glades, + Free from rude care and mirth; + To whom some viewless teacher brings + The secret lore of rural things, + The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale, +The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale: + + Say, when in pity ye have gazed + On the wreathed smoke afar, + That o'er some town, like mist upraised, + Hung hiding sun and star, + Then as ye turned your weary eye + To the green earth and open sky, + Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell +Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel? + + But Love's a flower that will not die + For lack of leafy screen, + And Christian Hope can cheer the eye + That ne'er saw vernal green; + Then be ye sure that Love can bless + E'en in this crowded loneliness, + Where ever-moving myriads seem to say, +Go--thou art naught to us, nor we to thee--away! + + There are in this loud stunning tide + Of human care and crime, + With whom the melodies abide + Of th' everlasting chime; + Who carry music in their heart + Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, + Plying their daily task with busier feet, +Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat. + + How sweet to them, in such brief rest + As thronging cares afford, + In thought to wander, fancy-blest, + To where their gracious Lord, + In vain, to win proud Pharisees, + Spake, and was heard by fell disease - + But not in vain, beside yon breezy lake, +Bade the meek Publican his gainful seat forsake: + + At once he rose, and left his gold; + His treasure and his heart + Transferred, where he shall safe behold + Earth and her idols part; + While he beside his endless store + Shall sit, and floods unceasing pour + Of Christ's true riches o'er all time and space, +First angel of His Church, first steward of His Grace. + + Nor can ye not delight to think + Where He vouchsafed to eat, + How the Most Holy did not shrink + From touch of sinner's meat; + What worldly hearts and hearts impure + Went with Him through the rich man's door, + That we might learn of Him lost souls to love, +And view His least and worst with hope to meet above. + + These gracious lines shed Gospel light + On Mammon's gloomiest cells, + As on some city's cheerless night + The tide of sunrise swells, + Till tower, and dome, and bridge-way proud + Are mantled with a golden cloud, + And to wise hearts this certain hope us given; +"No mist that man may raise, shall hide the eye of Heaven." + + And oh! if e'en on Babel shine + Such gleams of Paradise, + Should not their peace be peace divine, + Who day by day arise + To look on clearer heavens, and scan + The work of God untouch'd by man? + Shame on us, who about us Babel bear, +And live in Paradise, as if God was not there! + + + +ST. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS. + + + +Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for +them who shall be heirs of salvation? Hebrews i. 14. + +Ye stars that round the Sun of righteousness + In glorious order roll, +With harps for ever strung, ready to bless + God for each rescued soul, +Ye eagle spirits, that build in light divine, + Oh! think of us to-day, +Faint warblers of this earth, that would combine +Our trembling notes with your accepted lay. + +Your amarant wreaths were earned; and homeward all, + Flush'd with victorious might, +Ye might have sped to keep high festival, + And revel in the light; +But meeting us, weak worldlings, on our way, + Tired ere the fight begun, +Ye turned to help us in th' unequal fray, +Remembering Whose we were, how dearly won: + +Remembering Bethlehem, and that glorious night + When ye, who used to soar +Diverse along all space in fiery flight, + Came thronging to adore +Your God new-born, and made a sinner's child; + As if the stars should leave +Their stations in the far ethereal wild, +And round the sun a radiant circle weave. + +Nor less your lay of triumph greeted fair + Our Champion and your King, +In that first strife, whence Satan in despair + Sunk down on scathed wing: +Abuse He fasted, and alone He fought; + But when His toils were o'er, +Ye to the sacred Hermit duteous brought +Banquet and hymn, your Eden's festal store. + +Ye too, when lowest in th' abyss of woe + He plunged to save His sheep, +Were leaning from your golden thrones to know + The secrets of that deep: +But clouds were on His sorrow: one alone + His agonising call +Summoned from Heaven, to still that bitterest groan, +And comfort Him, the Comforter of all. + +Oh! highest favoured of all Spirits create + (If right of thee we deem), +How didst thou glide on brightening wing elate + To meet th' unclouded beam +Of Jesus from the couch of darkness rising! + How swelled thine anthem's sound, +With fear and mightier joy weak hearts surprising, +"Your God is risen, and may not here be found!" + +Pass a few days, and this dull darkling globe + Must yield Him from her sight; - +Brighter and brighter streams His glory-robe, + And He is lost in light. +Then, when through yonder everlasting arch, + Ye in innumerous choir +Poured, heralding Messiah's conquering march, +Lingered around His skirts two forms of fire: + +With us they stayed, high warning to impart; + "The Christ shall come again +E'en as He goes; with the same human heart, + With the same godlike train." - +Oh! jealous God! how could a sinner dare + Think on that dreadful day, +But that with all Thy wounds Thou wilt be there, +And all our angel friends to bring Thee on Thy way? + +Since to Thy little ones is given such grace, + That they who nearest stand +Alway to God in Heaven, and see His face, + Go forth at His command, +To wait around our path in weal or woe, + As erst upon our King, +Set Thy baptismal seal upon our brow, +And waft us heavenward with enfolding wing: + +Grant. Lord, that when around th' expiring world + Our seraph guardians wait, +While on her death-bed, ere to ruin hurled, + She owns Thee, all too late, +They to their charge may turn, and thankful see + Thy mark upon us still; +Then all together rise, and reign with Thee, +And all their holy joy o'er contrite hearts fulfil! + + + +ST. LUKE + + + +Luke, the beloved physician, and Demas, greet you. Colossians iv. +14. +Demas hath forsaken me, having loved this present world . . . Only +Luke is with me. 2 Timothy iv. 10, 11. + +Two clouds before the summer gale + In equal race fleet o'er the sky: +Two flowers, when wintry blasts assail, + Together pins, together die. + +But two capricious human hearts - + No sage's rod may track their ways. +No eye pursue their lawless starts + Along their wild self-chosen maze. + +He only, by whose sovereign hand + E'en sinners for the evil day +Were made--who rules the world He planned, + Turning our worst His own good way; + +He only can the cause reveal, + Why, at the same fond bosom fed, +Taught in the self-same lap to kneel + Till the same prayer were duly said, + +Brothers in blood and nurture too, + Aliens in heart so oft should prove; +One lose, the other keep, Heaven's clue; + One dwell in wrath, and one in love. + +He only knows--for He can read + The mystery of the wicked heart - +Why vainly oft our arrows speed + When aimed with most unerring art; + +While from some rude and powerless arm + A random shaft in season sent +Shall light upon some lurking harm, + And work some wonder little meant. + +Doubt we, how souls so wanton change, + Leaving their own experienced rest? +Need not around the world to range; + One narrow cell may teach us best. + +Look in, and see Christ's chosen saint + In triumph wear his Christ-like chain; +No fear lest he should swerve or faint; + "His life is Christ, his death is gain." + +Two converts, watching by his side, + Alike his love and greetings share; +Luke the beloved, the sick soul's guide, + And Demas, named in faltering prayer. + +Pass a few years--look in once more - + The saint is in his bonds again; +Save that his hopes more boldly soar, + He and his lot unchanged remain. + +But only Luke is with him now: + Alas! that e'en the martyr's cell, +Heaven's very gate, should scope allow + For the false world's seducing spell. + +'Tis sad--but yet 'tis well, be sure, + We on the sight should muse awhile, +Nor deem our shelter all secure + E'en in the Church's holiest aisle. + +Vainly before the shrine he bends, + Who knows not the true pilgrim's part: +The martyr's cell no safety lends + To him who wants the martyr's heart. + +But if there be, who follows Paul + As Paul his Lord, in life and death, +Where'er an aching heart may call, + Ready to speed and take no breath; + +Whose joy is, to the wandering sheep + To tell of the great Shepherd's love; +To learn of mourners while they weep + The music that makes mirth above; + +Who makes the Saviour all his theme, + The Gospel all his pride and praise - +Approach: for thou canst feel the gleam + That round the martyr's death-bed plays: + +Thou hast an ear for angels' songs, + A breath the gospel trump to fill, +And taught by thee the Church prolongs + Her hymns of high thanksgiving still. + +Ah! dearest mother, since too oft + The world yet wins some Demas frail +E'en from thine arms, so kind and soft, + May thy tried comforts never fail! + +When faithless ones forsake thy wing, + Be it vouchsafed thee still to see +Thy true, fond nurslings closer cling, + Cling closer to their Lord and thee. + + + +ST. SIMON AND ST. JUDE + + + +That ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once +delivered unto the saints. St. Jude 3. + +Seest thou, how tearful and alone, + And drooping like a wounded dove, +The Cross in sight, but Jesus gone, + The widowed Church is fain to rove? + +Who is at hand that loves the Lord? + Make haste, and take her home, and bring +Thine household choir, in true accord + Their soothing hymns for her to sing. + +Soft on her fluttering heart shall breathe + The fragrance of that genial isle, +There she may weave her funeral wreath, + And to her own sad music smile. + +The Spirit of the dying Son + Is there, and fills the holy place +With records sweet of duties done, + Of pardoned foes, and cherished grace. + +And as of old by two and two + His herald saints the Saviour sent +To soften hearts like morning dew, + Where he to shine in mercy meant; + +So evermore He deems His name + Best honoured and his way prepared, +When watching by his altar-flame + He sees His servants duly paired. + +He loves when age and youth are met, + Fervent old age and youth serene, +Their high and low in concord set + For sacred song, Joy's golden mean. + +He loves when some clear soaring mind + Is drawn by mutual piety +To simple souls and unrefined, + Who in life's shadiest covert lie. + +Or if perchance a saddened heart + That once was gay and felt the spring, +Cons slowly o'er its altered part, + In sorrow and remorse to sing, + +Thy gracious care will send that way + Some spirit full of glee, yet taught +To bear the sight of dull decay, + And nurse it with all-pitying thought; + +Cheerful as soaring lark, and mild + As evening blackbird's full-toned lay, +When the relenting sun has smiled + Bright through a whole December day. + +These are the tones to brace and cheer + The lonely watcher of the fold, +When nights are dark, and foeman near, + When visions fade and hearts grow cold. + +How timely then a comrade's song + Comes floating on the mountain air, +And bids thee yet be bold and strong - + Fancy may die, but Faith is there. + + + +ALL SAINTS' DAY. + + + +Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have +sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads. Revelation vii. +3. + + Why blow'st thou not, thou wintry wind, + Now every leaf is brown and sere, + And idly droops, to thee resigned, + The fading chaplet of the year? + Yet wears the pure aerial sky + Her summer veil, half drawn on high, + Of silvery haze, and dark and still +The shadows sleep on every slanting hill. + + How quiet shows the woodland scene! + Each flower and tree, its duty done, + Reposing in decay serene, + Like weary men when age is won, + Such calm old age as conscience pure + And self-commanding hearts ensure, + Waiting their summons to the sky, +Content to live, but not afraid to die. + + Sure if our eyes were purged to trace + God's unseen armies hovering round, + We should behold by angels' grace + The four strong winds of Heaven fast bound, + Their downward sweep a moment stayed + On ocean cove and forest glade, + Till the last flower of autumn shed +Her funeral odours on her dying bed. + + So in Thine awful armoury, Lord, + The lightnings of the judgment-day + Pause yet awhile, in mercy stored, + Till willing hearts wear quite away + Their earthly stains; and spotless shine + On every brow in light divine + The Cross by angel hands impressed, +The seal of glory won and pledge of promised + + Little they dream, those haughty souls + Whom empires own with bended knee, + What lowly fate their own controls, + Together linked by Heaven's decree; - + As bloodhounds hush their baying wild + To wanton with some fearless child, + So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes, +Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies. + + Think ye the spires that glow so bright + In front of yonder setting sun, + Stand by their own unshaken might? + No--where th' upholding grace is won, + We dare not ask, nor Heaven would tell, + But sure from many a hidden dell, + From many a rural nook unthought of there, +Rises for that proud world the saints' prevailing prayer. + + On, Champions blest, in Jesus' name, + Short be your strife, your triumph full, + Till every heart have caught your flame, + And, lightened of the world's misrule, + Ye soar those elder saints to meet + Gathered long since at Jesus' feet, + No world of passions to destroy, +Your prayers and struggles o'er, your task all praise and joy. + + + +HOLY COMMUNION + + + +O God of Mercy, God of Might, +How should pale sinners bear the sight, +If, as Thy power in surely here, +Thine open glory should appear? + +For now Thy people are allowed +To scale the mount and pierce the cloud, +And Faith may feed her eager view +With wonders Sinai never knew. + +Fresh from th' atoning sacrifice +The world's Creator bleeding lies. +That man, His foe, by whom He bled, +May take Him for his daily bread. + +O agony of wavering thought +When sinners first so near are brought! +"It is my Maker--dare I stay? +My Saviour--dare I turn away?" + +Thus while the storm is high within +'Twixt love of Christ and fear of sin, +Who can express the soothing charm, +To feel Thy kind upholding arm, + +My mother Church? and hear thee tell +Of a world lost, yet loved so well, +That He, by whom the angels live, +His only Son for her would give? + +And doubt we yet? Thou call'st again; +A lower still, a sweeter strain; +A voice from Mercy's inmost shrine, +This very breath of Love divine. + +Whispering it says to each apart, +"Come unto Me, thou trembling heart;" +And we must hope, so sweet the tone, +The precious words are all our own. + +Hear them, kind Saviour--hear Thy Spouse +Low at Thy feet renew her vows; +Thine own dear promise she would plead +For us her true though fallen seed. + +She pleads by all Thy mercies, told +Thy chosen witnesses of old, +Love's heralds sent to man forgiven, +One from the Cross, and one from Heaven. + +This, of true penitents the chief, +To the lost spirit brings relief, +Lifting on high th' adored Name:- +"Sinners to save, Christ, Jesus came." + +That, dearest of Thy bosom Friends, +Into the wavering heart descends:- +"What? fallen again? yet cheerful rise. +Thine Intercessor never dies." + +The eye of Faith, that waxes bright +Each moment by thine altar's light, +Sees them e'en now: they still abide +In mystery kneeling at our side: + +And with them every spirit blest, +From realms of triumph or of rest, +From Him who saw creation's morn, +Of all Thine angels eldest born, + +To the poor babe, who died to-day, +Take part in our thanksgiving lay, +Watching the tearful joy and calm, +While sinners taste Thine heavenly balm. + +Sweet awful hour! the only sound +One gentle footstep gliding round, +Offering by turns on Jesus' part +The Cross to every hand and heart. + +Refresh us, Lord, to hold it fast; +And when Thy veil is drawn at last, +Let us depart where shadows cease, +With words of blessing and of peace. + + + +HOLY BAPTISM + + + +Where is it mothers learn their love? - + In every Church a fountain springs + O'er which th' Eternal Dove + Hovers out softest wings. + +What sparkles in that lucid flood + Is water, by gross mortals eyed: + But seen by Faith, 'tis blood + Out of a dear Friend's side. + +A few calm words of faith and prayer, + A few bright drops of holy dew, + Shall work a wonder there + Earth's charmers never knew. + +O happy arms, where cradled lies, + And ready for the Lord's embrace, + That precious sacrifice, + The darling of His grace! + +Blest eyes, that see the smiling gleam + Upon the slumbering features glow, + When the life-giving stream + Touches the tender brow! + +Or when the holy cross is signed, + And the young soldier duly sworn, + With true and fearless mind + To serve the Virgin-born. + +But happiest ye, who sealed and blest + Back to your arms your treasure take, + With Jesus' mark impressed + To nurse for Jesus' sake: + +To whom--as if in hallowed air + Ye knelt before some awful shrine - + His innocent gestures wear + A meaning half divine: + +By whom Love's daily touch is seen + In strengthening form and freshening hue, + In the fixed brow serene, + The deep yet eager view. - + +Who taught thy pure and even breath + To come and go with such sweet grace? + Whence thy reposing Faith, + Though in our frail embrace? + +O tender gem, and full of Heaven! + Not in the twilight stars on high, + Not in moist flowers at even + See we our God so nigh. + +Sweet one, make haste and know Him too, + Thine own adopting Father love, + That like thine earliest dew + Thy dying sweets may prove. + + + +CATECHISM. + + + +Oh! say not, dream not, heavenly notes + To childish ears are vain, +That the young mind at random floats, + And cannot reach the strain. + +Dim or unheard, the words may fall, + And yet the heaven-taught mind +May learn the sacred air, and all + The harmony unwind. + +Was not our Lord a little child, + Taught by degrees to pray, +By father dear and mother mild + Instructed day by day? + +And loved He not of Heaven to talk + With children in His sight, +To meet them in His daily walk, + And to His arms invite? + +What though around His throne of fire + The everlasting chant +Be wafted from the seraph choir + In glory jubilant? + +Yet stoops He, ever pleased to mark + Our rude essays of love, +Faint as the pipe of wakening lark, + Heard by some twilight grove: + +Yet is He near us, to survey + These bright and ordered files, +Like spring-flowers in their best array, + All silence and all smiles. + +Save that each little voice in turn + Some glorious truth proclaims, +What sages would have died to learn, + Now taught by cottage dames. + +And if some tones be false or low, + What are all prayers beneath +But cries of babes, that cannot know + Half the deep thought they breathe? + +In His own words we Christ adore, + But angels, as we speak, +Higher above our meaning soar + Than we o'er children weak: + +And yet His words mean more than they, + And yet He owns their praise: +Why should we think, He turns away + From infants' simple lays? + + + +CONFIRMATION + + + +The shadow of th' Almighty's cloud + Calm on this tents of Israel lay, +While drooping paused twelve banners proud, + Till He arise and lead this way. + +Then to the desert breeze unrolled, + Cheerly the waving pennons fly, +Lion or eagle--each bright fold + A lodestar to a warrior's eye. + +So should Thy champions, ere this strife + By holy hands o'ershadowed kneel, +So, fearless for their charmed life, + Bear, to this end, Thy Spirit's seal. + +Steady and pure as stars that beam + In middle heaven, all mist above, +Seen deepest in this frozen stream:- + Such is their high courageous love. + +And soft as pure, and warm as bright, + They brood upon life's peaceful hour, +As if the Dove that guides their flight + Shook from her plumes a downy shower. + +Spirit of might and sweetness too! + Now leading on the wars of God, +Now to green isles of shade and dew + Turning the waste Thy people trod; + +Draw, Holy Ghost, Thy seven-fold veil + Between us and the fires of youth; +Breathe, Holy Ghost, Thy freshening gale, + Our fevered brow in age to soothe. + +And oft as sin and sorrow tire, + This hallowed hour do Thou renew, +When beckoned up the awful choir + By pastoral hands, toward Thee we drew; + +When trembling at this sacred rail + We hid our eyes and held our breath, +Felt Thee how strong, our hearts how frail, + And longed to own Thee to the death. + +For ever on our souls be traced + That blessing dear, that dove-like hand, +A sheltering rock in Memory's waste, + O'er-shadowing all the weary land. + + + +MATRIMONY + + + +There is an awe in mortals' joy, + A deep mysterious fear +Half of the heart will still employ, + As if we drew too near +To Eden's portal, and those fires +That bicker round in wavy spires, +Forbidding, to our frail desires, + What cost us once so dear. + +We cower before th' heart-searching eye + In rapture as its pain; +E'en wedded Love, till Thou be nigh, + Dares not believe her gain: +Then in the air she fearless springs, +The breath of Heaven beneath her wings, +And leaves her woodnote wild, and sings + A tuned and measured strain. + +Ill fare the lay, though soft as dew + And free as air it fall, +That, with Thine altar full in view, + Thy votaries would enthrall +To a foul dream, of heathen night, +Lifting her torch in Love's despite, +And scaring with base wild-fire light + The sacred nuptial hall. + +Far other strains, far other fires, + Our marriage-offering grace; +Welcome, all chaste and kind desires, + With even matron pace +Approaching down this hallowed aisle! +Where should ye seek Love's perfect smile, +But where your prayers were learned erewhile, + In her own native place? + +Where, but on His benignest brow, + Who waits to bless you here? +Living, he owned no nuptial vow, + No bower to Fancy dear: +Love's very self--for Him no need +To nurse, on earth, the heavenly seed: +Yet comfort in His eye we read + For bridal joy and fear. + +'Tis He who clasps the marriage band, + And fits the spousal ring, +Then leaves ye kneeling, hand in hand, + Out of His stores to bring +His Father's dearest blessing, shed +Of old on Isaac's nuptial bed, +Now on the board before ye spread + Of our all-bounteous King. + +All blessings of the breast and womb, + Of Heaven and earth beneath, +Of converse high, and sacred home, + Are yours, in life and death. +Only kneel on, nor turn away +From the pure shrine, where Christ to-day +Will store each flower, ye duteous lay, + For an eternal wreath. + + + +VISITATION AND COMMUNION OF THE SICK + + + +O Youth and Joy, your airy tread +Too lightly springs by Sorrow's bed, +Your keen eye-glances are too bright, +Too restless for a sick man's sight. +Farewell; for one short life we part: +I rather woo the soothing art, +Which only souls in sufferings tried +Bear to their suffering brethren's side. + +Where may we learn that gentle spell? +Mother of Martyrs, thou canst tell! +Thou, who didst watch thy dying Spouse +With pierced hands and bleeding brows, +Whose tears from age to age are shed +O'er sainted sons untimely dead, +If e'er we charm a soul in pain, +Thine is the key-note of our strain. + +How sweet with thee to lift the latch, +Where Faith has kept her midnight watch, +Smiling on woe: with thee to kneel, +Where fixed, as if one prayer could heal, +She listens, till her pale eye glow +With joy, wild health can never know, +And each calm feature, ere we read, +Speaks, silently, thy glorious Creed. + +Such have I seen: and while they poured +Their hearts in every contrite word, +How have I rather longed to kneel +And ask of them sweet pardon's seal; +How blessed the heavenly music brought +By thee to aid my faltering thought! +"Peace" ere we kneel, and when we cease +To pray, the farewell word is, "Peace." + +I came again: the place was bright +"With something of celestial light" - +A simple Altar by the bed +For high Communion meetly spread, +Chalice, and plate, and snowy vest. - +We ate and drank: then calmly blest, +All mourners, one with dying breath, +We sate and talked of Jesus' death. + +Once more I came: the silent room +Was veiled in sadly-soothing gloom, +And ready for her last abode +The pale form like a lily showed, +By Virgin fingers duly spread, +And prized for love of summer fled. +The light from those soft-smiling eyes +Had fleeted to its parent skies. + +O soothe us, haunt us, night and day, +Ye gentle Spirits far away, +With whom we shared the cup of grace, +Then parted; ye to Christ's embrace, +We to this lonesome world again, +Yet mindful of th' unearthly strain +Practised with you at Eden's door, +To be sung on, where Angels soar, +With blended voices evermore. + + + +BURIAL OF THE DEAD + + + +And when the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her, and said unto +her, Weep not. And He came and touched the bier; and they that +bare him stood still. And He said, Young man, I say unto thee, +Arise.--St. Luke vii. 13, 14. + +Who says, the wan autumnal soon + Beams with too faint a smile +To light up nature's face again, +And, though the year be on this wane, + With thoughts of spring the heart beguile? + +Waft him, thou soft September breeze, + And gently lay him down +Within some circling woodland wall, +Where bright leaves, reddening ere they fall, + Wave gaily o'er the waters brown. + +And let some graceful arch be there + With wreathed mullions proud, +With burnished ivy for its screen, +And moss, that glows as fresh and green + As thought beneath an April cloud. - + +Who says the widow's heart must break, + The childless mother sink? - +A kinder truer voice I hear, +Which e'en beside that mournful bier + Whence parents' eyes would hopeless shrink, + +Bids weep no more--O heart bereft, + How strange, to thee, that sound! +A widow o'er her only son, +Feeling more bitterly alone + For friends that press officious round. + +Yet is the voice of comfort heard, + For Christ hath touched the bier - +The bearers wait with wondering eye, +The swelling bosom dares not sigh, + But all is still, 'twixt hope and fear. + +E'en such an awful soothing calm + We sometimes see alight +On Christian mourners, while they wait +In silence, by some churchyard gate, + Their summons to this holy rite. + +And such the tones of love, which break + The stillness of that hour, +Quelling th' embittered spirit's strife - +"The Resurrection and the Life + Am I: believe, and die no more." + +Unchanged that voice--and though not yet + The dead sit up and speak, +Answering its call; we gladlier rest +Our darlings on earth's quiet breast, + And our hearts feel they must not break. + +Far better they should sleep awhile + Within the Church's shade, +Nor wake, until new heaven, new earth, +Meet for their new immortal birth + For their abiding-place be made, + +Than wander back to life, and lean + On our frail love once more. +'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose +Friends out of sight, in faith to muse + How grows in Paradise our store. + +Then pass, ye mourners, cheerly on, + Through prayer unto the tomb, +Still, as ye watch life's falling leaf, +Gathering from every loss and grief + Hope of new spring and endless home. + +Then cheerly to your work again + With hearts new-braced and set +To run, untired, love's blessed race. +As meet for those, who face to face + Over the grave their Lord have met. + + + +CHURCHING OF WOMEN + + + + Is there, in bowers of endless spring, + One known from all the seraph band + By softer voice, by smile and wing + More exquisitely bland! + Here let him speed: to-day this hallowed air +Is fragrant with a mother's first and fondest prayer. + + Only let Heaven her fire impart, + No richer incense breathes on earth: + "A spouse with all a daughter's heart," + Fresh from the perilous birth, + To the great Father lifts her pale glad eye, +Like a reviving flower when storms are hushed on high. + + Oh, what a treasure of sweet thought + Is here! what hope and joy and love + All in one tender bosom brought, + For the all-gracious Dove + To brood o'er silently, and form for Heaven +Each passionate wish and dream to dear affection given. + + Her fluttering heart, too keenly blest, + Would sicken, but she leans on Thee, + Sees Thee by faith on Mary's breast, + And breathes serene and free. + Slight tremblings only of her veil declare +Soft answers duly whispered to each soothing prayer. + + We are too weak, when Thou dost bless, + To bear the joy--help, Virgin-born! + By Thine own mother's first caress, + That waked Thy natal morn! + Help, by the unexpressive smile, that made +A Heaven on earth around this couch where Thou wast laid. + + + +COMMINATION + + + + The prayers are o'er: why slumberest thou so long, + Thou voice of sacred song? + Why swell'st thou not, like breeze from mountain cave, + High o'er the echoing nave, + This white-robed priest, as otherwhile, to guide, + Up to the Altar's northern side? - + A mourner's tale of shame and sad decay +Keeps back our glorious sacrifice to-day: + + The widow'd Spouse of Christ: with ashes crown'd, + Her Christmas robes unbound, + She lingers in the porch for grief and fear, + Keeping her penance drear, - + Oh, is it nought to you? that idly gay, + Or coldly proud, ye turn away? + But if her warning tears in vain be spent, +Lo, to her altered eye this Law's stern fires are lent. + + Each awful curse, that on Mount Ebal rang, + Peals with a direr clang + Out of that silver trump, whose tones of old + Forgiveness only told. + And who can blame the mother's fond affright, + Who sporting on some giddy height + Her infant sees, and springs with hurried hand +To snatch the rover from the dangerous strand? + + But surer than all words the silent spell + (So Grecian legends tell) + When to her bird, too early 'scaped the nest, + She bares her tender breast, + Smiling he turns and spreads his little wing, + There to glide home, there safely cling. + So yearns our mother o'er each truant son, +So softly falls the lay in fear and wrath begun. + + Wayward and spoiled she knows ye: the keen blast, + That braced her youth, is past: + The rod of discipline, the robe of shame - + She bears them in your name: + Only return and love. But ye perchance + Are deeper plunged in sorrow's trance: + Your God forgives, but ye no comfort take +Till ye have scourged the sins that in your conscience ache. + + Oh, heavy laden soul! kneel down and hear + Thy penance in calm fear: + With thine own lips to sentence all thy sin; + Then, by the judge within + Absolved, in thankful sacrifice to part + For ever with thy sullen heart, + Nor on remorseful thoughts to brood, and stain +This glory of the Cross, forgiven and cheereth in vain. + + + +FORMS OF PRAYER TO BE USED AT SEA + + + +When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee. Isaiah +xliii. 2. + +The shower of moonlight falls as still and clear + Upon this desert main +As where sweet flowers some pastoral garden cheer + With fragrance after rain: +The wild winds rustle in piping shrouds, + As in the quivering trees: +Like summer fields, beneath the shadowy clouds + The yielding waters darken in the breeze. + +Thou too art here with thy soft inland tones, + Mother of our new birth; +The lonely ocean learns thy orisons, + And loves thy sacred mirth: +When storms are high, or when the fires of war + Come lightening round our course, +Thou breath'st a note like music from afar, + Tempering rude hearts with calm angelic force. + +Far, far away, the homesick seaman's hoard, + Thy fragrant tokens live, +Like flower-leaves in a previous volume stored, + To solace and relieve +Some heart too weary of the restless world; + Or like thy Sabbath Cross, +That o'er this brightening billow streams unfurled, + Whatever gale the labouring vessel toss. + +Oh, kindly soothing in high Victory's hour, + Or when a comrade dies, +In whose sweet presence Sorrow dares not lower, + Nor Expectation rise +Too high for earth; what mother's heart could spare + To the cold cheerless deep +Her flower and hope? but Thou art with him there, + Pledge of the untired arm and eye that cannot sleep: + +The eye that watches o'er wild Ocean's dead, + Each in his coral cave, +Fondly as if the green turf wrapt his head + Fast by his father's grave, - +One moment, and the seeds of life shall spring + Out of the waste abyss, +And happy warriors triumph with their King + In worlds without a sea, unchanging orbs of bliss. + + + +GUNPOWDER TREASON + + + +A thou hast testified of Me in Jerusalem, so must thou bear witness +also at Rome. Acts xxiii. 11. + +Beneath the burning eastern sky + The Cross was raised at morn: +The widowed Church to weep stood by, + The world, to hate and scorn. + +Now, journeying westward, evermore + We know the lonely Spouse +By the dear mark her Saviour bore + Traced on her patient brows. + +At Rome she wears it, as of old + Upon th' accursed hill: +By monarchs clad in gems and gold, + She goes a mourner still. + +She mourns that tender hearts should bend + Before a meaner shrine, +And upon Saint or Angel spend + The love that should be thine. + +By day and night her sorrows fall + Where miscreant hands and rude +Have stained her pure ethereal pall + With many a martyr's blood. + +And yearns not her parental heart, + To hear THEIR secret sighs, +Upon whose doubting way apart + Bewildering shadows rise? + +Who to her side in peace would cling, + But fear to wake, and find +What they had deemed her genial wing + Was Error's soothing blind. + +She treasures up each throbbing prayer: + Come, trembler, come and pour +Into her bosom all thy care, + For she has balm in store. + +Her gentle teaching sweetly blends + With this clear light of Truth +The aerial gleam that Fancy lends + To solemn thoughts in youth. - + +If thou hast loved, in hours of gloom, + To dream the dead are near, +And people all the lonely room + With guardian spirits dear, + +Dream on the soothing dream at will: + The lurid mist is o'er, +That showed the righteous suffering still + Upon th' eternal shore. + +If with thy heart the strains accord, + That on His altar-throne +Highest exalt thy glorious Lord, + Yet leave Him most thine own; + +Oh, come to our Communion Feast: + There present, in the heart +As in the hands, th' eternal Priest + Will His true self impart. - + +Thus, should thy soul misgiving turn + Back to the enchanted air, +Solace and warning thou mayst learn + From all that tempts thee there. + +And, oh! by all the pangs and fears + Fraternal spirits know, +When for an elder's shame the tears + Of wakeful anguish flow, + +Speak gently of our sister's fall: + Who knows but gentle love +May win her at our patient call + The surer way to prove? + + + +KING CHARLES THE MARTYR + + + +This is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure +grief, suffering wrongfully. 1 St. Peter ii. 19. + +Praise to our pardoning God! though silent now + The thunders of the deep prophetic sky, +Though in our sight no powers of darkness bow + Before th' Apostles' glorious company; + +The Martyrs' noble army still is ours, + Far in the North our fallen days have seen +How in her woe this tenderest spirit towers + For Jesus' sake in agony serene. + +Praise to our God! not cottage hearths alone, + And shades impervious to the proud world's glare, +Such witness yield; a monarch from his throne + Springs to his Cross and finds his glory there. + +Yes: whereso'er one trace of thee is found, + As in the Sacred Land, the shadows fall: +With beating hearts we roam the haunted ground, + Lone battle-field, or crumbling prison hall. + +And there are aching solitary breasts, + Whose widowed walk with thought of thee is cheered +Our own, our royal Saint: thy memory rests + On many a prayer, the more for thee endeared. + +True son of our dear Mother, early taught + With her to worship and for her to die, +Nursed in her aisles to more than kingly thought, + Oft in her solemn hours we dream thee nigh. + +For thou didst love to trace her daily lore, + And where we look for comfort or for calm, +Over the self-same lines to bend, and pour + Thy heart with hers in some victorious psalm. + +And well did she thy loyal love repay; + When all forsook, her Angels still were nigh, +Chained and bereft, and on thy funeral way, + Straight to the Cross she turned thy dying eye + +And yearly now, before the Martyrs' King, + For thee she offers her maternal tears, +Calls us, like thee, to His dear feet to cling, + And bury in His wounds our earthly fears. + +The Angels hear, and there is mirth in Heaven, + Fit prelude of the joy, when spirits won +Like those to patient Faith, shall rise forgiven, + And at their Saviour's knees thy bright example own. + + + +THE RESTORATION OF THE ROYAL FAMILY + + + +And Barzillai said unto the King, How long have I to live, that I +should go up with the King unto Jerusalem? 2 Samuel xix. 34. + +As when the Paschal week is o'er, +Sleeps in the silent aisles no more + The breath of sacred song, +But by the rising Saviour's light +Awakened soars in airy flight, + Or deepening rolls along; + +The while round altar, niche, and shrine, +The funeral evergreens entwine, + And a dark brilliance cast, +The brighter for their hues of gloom, +Tokens of Him, who through the tomb + Into high glory passed: + +Such were the lights and such the strains. +When proudly streamed o'er ocean plains + Our own returning Cross; +For with that triumph seemed to float +Far on the breeze one dirge-like note + Of orphanhood and loss. + +Father and King, oh where art thou? +A greener wreath adorns thy brow, + And clearer rays surround; +O, for one hour of prayer like thine, +To plead before th' all-ruling shrine + For Britain lost and found! + +And he, whose mild persuasive voice +Taught us in trials to rejoice, + Most like a faithful dove, +That by some ruined homestead builds, +And pours to the forsaken fields + His wonted lay of love: + +Why comes he not to bear his part, +To lift and guide th' exulting heart? - + A hand that cannot spars +Lies heavy on his gentle breast: +We wish him health; he sighs for rest, + And Heaven accepts the prayer. + +Yes, go in peace, dear placid spright, +Ill spared; but would we store aright + Thy serious sweet farewell, +We need not grudge thee to the skies, +Sure after thee in time to rise, + With thee for ever dwell. + +Till then, whene'er with duteous hand, +Year after year, my native Land + Her royal offering brings, +Upon the Altar lays the Crown, +And spreads her robes of old renown + Before the King of kings. + +Be some kind spirit, likest thine, +Ever at hand, with airs divine + The wandering heart to seize; +Whispering, "How long hast thou to live, +That thou should'st Hope or Fancy gave + To flowers or crowns like these?" + + + +THE ACCESSION + + + +As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee; I will not fail thee, +nor forsake thee. Joshua i. 5. + +The voice that from the glory came + To tell how Moses died unseen, +And waken Joshua's spear of flame + To victory on the mountains green, +Its trumpet tones are sounding still, + When Kings or Parents pass away, +They greet us with a cheering thrill + Of power and comfort in decay. + +Behind thus soft bright summer cloud + That makes such haste to melt and die, +Our wistful gaze is oft allowed + A glimpse of the unchanging sky: +Let storm and darkness do their worst; + For the lost dream the heart may ache, +The heart may ache, but may not burst; + Heaven will not leave thee nor forsake. + +One rock amid the weltering floods, + One torch in a tempestuous night, +One changeless pine in fading woods:- + Such is the thought of Love and Might, +True Might and ever-present Love, + When death is busy near the throne, +Auth Sorrow her keen sting would prove + On Monarchs orphaned and alone. + +In that lorn hour and desolate, + Who could endure a crown? but He, +Who singly bore the world's sad weight, + Is near, to whisper, "Lean on Me: +Thy days of toil, thy nights of care, + Sad lonely dreams in crowded hall, +Darkness within, while pageants glare + Around--the Cross supports them all." + +Oh, Promise of undying Love! + While Monarchs seek thee for repose, +Far in the nameless mountain cove + Each pastoral heart thy bounty knows. +Ye, who in place of shepherds true + Come trembling to their awful trust, +Lo here the fountain to imbue + With strength and hope your feeble dust. + +Not upon Kings or Priests alone + The power of that dear word is spent; +It chants to all in softest tone + The lowly lesson of Content: +Heaven's light is poured on high and low; + To high and low Heaven's Angel spake; +"Resign thee to thy weal or woe, + I ne'er will leave thee nor forsake." + + + +ORDINATION + + + +After this, the congregation shall be desired, secretly in their +prayers, to make their humble supplications to God for all these +things: for the which prayers there shall be silence kept for a +space. + +After which shall be sung or said by the Bishop (the persons to be +ordained Priests all kneeling), "Veni, Creator Spiritus." Rubric +in the Office for Ordering of Priests. + +'Twas silence in Thy temple, Lord, + When slowly through the hallowed air +The spreading cloud of incense soared, + Charged with the breath of Israel's prayer. + +'Twas silence round Thy throne on high, + When the last wondrous seal unclosed, +And in this portals of the sky + Thine armies awfully reposed. + +And this deep pause, that o'er us now + Is hovering--comes it not of Thee? +Is it not like a mother's vow + When, with her darling on her knee, + +She weighs and numbers o'er and o'er + Love's treasure hid in her fond breast, +To cull from that exhaustless store + The dearest blessing and the best? + +And where shall mother's bosom find, + With all its deep love-learned skill, +A prayer so sweetly to her mind, + As, in this sacred hour and still, + +Is wafted from the white-robed choir, + Ere yet the pure high-breathed lay, +"Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire," + Rise floating on its dove-like way. + +And when it comes, so deep and clear + The strain, so soft the melting fall, +It seems not to th' entranced ear + Less than Thine own heart-cheering call. + +Spirit of Christ--Thine earnest given + That these our prayers are heard, and they, +Who grasp, this hour, the sword of Heaven, + Shall feel Thee on their weary way. + +Oft as at morn or soothing eve + Over the Holy Fount they lean, +Their fading garland freshly weave, + Or fan them with Thine airs serene. + +Spirit of Light and Truth! to Thee + We trust them in that musing hour, +Till they, with open heart and free. + Teach all Thy word in all its power. + +When foemen watch their tents by night, + And mists hang wide o'er moor and fell, +Spirit of Counsel and of Might, + Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well. + +And, oh! when worn and tired they sigh + With that more fearful war within, +When Passion's storms are loud and high, + And brooding o'er remembered sin + +The heart dies down--oh, mightiest then, + Come ever true, come ever near, +And wake their slumbering love again, + Spirit of God's most holy Fear! + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Christian Year +by Rev. John Keble + diff --git a/old/chryr10.zip b/old/chryr10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..882d08f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/chryr10.zip |
