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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. 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