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 H i^■^■lii 
 
/'■T' it-t-u / jVV 
 
 ' ''\ 
 
 Lays of the Sanctuary, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
3Cajs of tl)e ^anctuac^. 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 COMPILED AND EDITED 
 
 BY 
 
 G. Stevenson de M. Rutherford. 
 
 '■'■Now the end of the commandment is charity, out of a pure 
 heart, and of a good confcience, and of faith unfeigned^ 
 
 I Tim. i. 5. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 ELIZABETH GOOD, 
 9, CHEPSTOW PLACE, BAYSWATER. 
 
 1861. 
 
lOAN STACK 
 
 LONDON: 
 Printed by]. ^ W. RlDER, 14, Barthohmno Close. 
 

 AS A TRIBUTE OF GRATITUDE 
 
 IS INSCRIBED 
 TO 
 
 JOHN H. GURNEY, ESQ., M.P., 
 
 AND 
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS, 
 WHOSE UNOSTENTATIOUS OFFICES OF 
 
 CIIAJ^ITV 
 
 ARE AN EARNEST OF THEIR ABIDING LOVE IN CHRIST. 
 
 113 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ]V /f RS. Elizabeth Good, for whofe benefit this Work 
 has been pubhfhed, is the aged reli(5l of a pro- 
 feffional gentleman, and the niece of the late Rev. T. 
 Allen, D.D. In times gone by, her family furnifhed 
 members to the clerical and legal profeffions; but its 
 fortune, like all earthly things, has changed with the 
 viciffitudes of time. 
 
 Mrs. Good has attained her feventy-fixth year, but fhe 
 is a marvel for her age. She is brifk, lively, and chatty, 
 as a girl in her teens, and evinces unwonted bodily 
 adlivity in the difcharge of her domeflic duties. Her 
 faculties are hardly impaired : fhe can thread her needle 
 by candlelight, and can walk three or four miles in 
 fuccelTion. Nor have the fnows of feventy winters 
 bleached a hair of her head. Yet, at her age, when 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 the majority of people feek refl, flie eats not the bread 
 of idlenefs, but cheerfully flruggles with feeble hands 
 againfl the difficulties that have befet her path. 
 
 Sixteen years ago Ihe lofl her husband, — a man much 
 beloved for genuine goodnefs by all who knew him, and 
 a few poor retain to this day a grateful recolleclion of 
 his kindnefles ; while fome, whom his generous heart 
 befriended in their poverty, and who have fmce enjoyed 
 profperity, have for former favours returned bafe ingra- 
 titude. At his death Ihe was left in eafy circumftances, 
 occupying a well-furnilhed houfe on Connaught Terrace, 
 furrounded by fmiling friends, who with the firfl fign 
 of adverfity flunk away. By the charity that thinks no 
 wrong — an honefl credence which fome might call eafy 
 credulity — flie too implicitly confided in thofe who, with 
 fair fpeaking and feeming, were cruelly defrauding her ; 
 and at lafl, from the heartlefs duplicity and atrocious 
 villany of one, matchlefs for his audacity in weaving 
 the web of wrong fcathlefs, fhe not only loft her money, 
 but the greater part of her furniture was fold. From 
 comfort ftie was at once reduced to indigence, with the 
 growing incapabilities of age to aggravate the bittemefs 
 of deftitution. And for the laft ten years fhe has been 
 toffed hither and thither on a fea of troubles, — often- 
 times expofed to grievous neceffity, in need of common 
 neceffaries, fo keenly prcffing as almoft to border on the 
 
Preface. vii 
 
 direfl exigencies of poverty. Yet with fortitude flie 
 drained the bitter cup, and with cheerfulnefs fhe bore 
 the uncharitablenefs of the world, — with a flrength and 
 energy beyond her years, which the poffeffion of a good 
 confcience could alone impart, and with a firm rehance 
 on the mercy of God, who in His own time will fet 
 this bewildering fcene of wrong right. True to her 
 early teaching, in the midll of the forrow and adverfity 
 that have darkened and embittered her old age, fhe has 
 fleadfaflly clung to the Rock that faileth not the children 
 of the " houfehold of faith." 
 
 The Poems in this volume are original, and expreffly 
 contributed. The Work itfelf is a noble teftimony of 
 the a6live charities of hfe, — the golden links that bind 
 humanity in bonds of love. To this Compilation I have 
 brought nothing but friendfhip and patience ; indeed, my 
 Ihare of the labour I may well exprefs in the words of 
 Montaigne, — " I have here only made a nofegay of 
 culled flowers, and have brought nothing of my own 
 but the thread that ties them." 
 
 In tendering my grateful thanks to the Contributors 
 for the generous affiftance they have, throughout this 
 " labour that proceedeth of love," afforded me, I cannot 
 but exprefs a hope that we may meet hereafter on a 
 wider field of ufefulnefs. But, whether or not, I fhall 
 ever retain a deep and lively fenfe of their kindnefs to 
 
viii Preface. 
 
 Mrs. Good. How ever forget the difintereflednefs ^vith 
 which they refponded to my appeal, and liberally be- 
 llowed the rich and delicate fabric of the mental loom 
 for her benefit % Not content with the beflowal of thefe 
 tokens of fympathy, nor unmindful of the injuncTlion of 
 Chriflian duty laid on us all to lighten, to the bed of 
 our ability, the burden and forrow of the widow, they 
 have added material gifts too, — fcattering a few flowers 
 of comfort on the path to the tomb. How exprefs her 
 gratitude for thefe offices of love % But, verily, her 
 benefactors will find their bell reward for fuch adls 
 of beneficence in the deep reality of the inward fatis- 
 faction that flows to thofe who give a cup of water in 
 His name ! 
 
 " Thofe deeds of charity which we have done, 
 Shall ftay for ever with us ; and that wealth 
 Which we have fo beftow'd, we only keep." 
 
 With the launch of the Volume, for weal or woe, 
 on the fea of literary adventure, I take cordial leave of 
 the friends of the caufe. Yet not before fervently breath- 
 ing a prayer of eamefl heart, that this fweet offering of 
 the Mufe of Benevolence may prove the forerunner of 
 many bleffings to Mrs. Good. For poverty, which is 
 often vifited as a crime, is at all feafons hard to bear • 
 but how much harder when it falls to the lot of three- 
 
Preface. ix 
 
 fcore and ten, with the infirmities of age to aggravate 
 dillrefs ! Yet, making no appeal to morbid feehngs by 
 parading her woes and her cares, but fimply trufling to 
 our common humanity, I leave the broad outlines of 
 misfortune to fpeak to the heart, and prompt it to a6ls 
 of grace from its own native goodnefs. 
 
 If the Work be fuccefsful, the proceeds will be appro- 
 priated to the purchafe of an annuity, or the leafe of a 
 fmall houfe. In either cafe, the confummation of a plan 
 of relief fo fimple will enfure to her few remaining years 
 a home, or a means of subfiflence, certain and definite. 
 And, no longer a prey to the fharp pangs of poverty and 
 its fore difquietude, this unfortunate and aged lady may 
 end her days in the enjoyment of comparative comfort. 
 
 In recommending this Volume to the tender mercies 
 of the critic, I beg to remind him that it folicits indulgent 
 confideration on the plea that it is an exprefTion of the 
 befl and noblefl feehngs of our nature — the defire to 
 f uccour misfortune and folace the helpleffnefs of age. 
 
*^* As this little Work has been contributed exprejjfly for a 
 charitable purpofe. Pur chafers of it are mofl refpe^fully and 
 earneflly entreated^ if they approve of its objedl, to recommend it 
 to their friends. 
 
LIST OF AUTHORS. 
 
 LAVS OF THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 ABDY, MRS. Pagt 
 
 The Restless Heart 78 
 
 The Orchard 109 
 
 AIDE, HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 Different Paths 142 
 
 ALEXANDER, MRS. 
 
 The Sun of Righteousness 89 
 
 ALEXANDER, REV. W., M.A. 
 
 A Prayer 19 
 
 Christ on the Shore 25 
 
 The Chamber, Peace 36 
 
 Repentance and Faith 62 
 
 ALFORD, THE VERY REV. H., D.D. 
 
 Lines for an Adult Baptism 7 
 
 AUTHOR OF "TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS," &c. 
 
 Truth . .98 
 
xiv Lift of Autlwrs. 
 
 BALFERN, REV. W. P. Pa^ 
 
 Speak THE Truth IN Love ... 151 
 
 BENNETT, W. C. 
 
 Life in De^vth 39 
 
 BLACK, REV. C. L, M.A. 
 
 Christ in Gethsemane 118 
 
 BLACKIE, PROFESSOR. 
 
 John the Baptist 51 
 
 BONAR, REV. HORATIUS, D.D. 
 
 Here AND Yonder 172 
 
 BOYCE, REV. J. C, M.A. 
 
 Sabbath Hours 84 
 
 BRAITHWAITE, REV. G., M.A. 
 
 Resignation 40 
 
 BRAMELD, REV. G. W., M.A. 
 
 Emigrants' Farewell Eucharist . . . .no 
 
 BROCK, REV. W. J., M.A. 
 
 Sorrow's Solace 150 
 
 BRODERIP, FRANCES FREELING. 
 
 Grass upon the Housetop ... . 95 
 
 BROWN, ROWLAND. 
 
 The Best-Beloved i< i 
 
 BUTLER, REV. H. M., M.A. 
 
 Resolve and Uo 49 
 
 The He^vrt 69 
 
 CAPERN, EDWARD. 
 
 Monitions 17 
 
Lijl of A iithors. xv 
 
 CAYLEY, GEORGE J., ESQ. Page 
 
 Time breaks upon Eternity ii 
 
 Faith 87 
 
 CECIL, HENRY, ESQ. 
 
 The Sanctuary of God 73 
 
 COBBOLD, REV. RICHARD, M.A. 
 
 The Christian's Old Age 153 
 
 COLTON, THE LATE REV. W., B.A. 
 
 A Canticle 11 
 
 CRAIG, MISS ISA. 
 
 Servants of All , 8 
 
 In Affliction 157 
 
 Faith the Lamp to the Path 167 
 
 DAYMAN, REV. J., M.A. 
 
 Baptismal Lay 80 
 
 DOBELL, SYDNEY. 
 
 The Harps of Heaven 41 
 
 EMMET, JOHN, ESQ. 
 
 A Litany 2» 
 
 God Blesseth Everywhere 96 
 
 ENGLISH, EMILY. 
 
 TheDewdrops 20 
 
 ESSINGTON, REV. R. W., M.A. 
 
 The King Sin 103 
 
 EVANS, W. R., ESQ. 
 
 Heavenward 165 
 
 FLETCHER, JOHN W., ESQ. 
 
 The Dead 32 
 
 Time, Death, and Love 77 
 
 b 
 
X vi Lijl of A iithors, 
 
 FORD, REV. D. E. Pa^e 
 
 Stars of Glory ....... 50 
 
 Our Light Affliction 124 
 
 GORDON, REV. A., LL.D. 
 
 Help in Trouble 99 
 
 HALL, REV. 'NEWMAN, LL.B. 
 
 Death the Gate of Life 117 
 
 HERVEY, THE LATE T. K., ESQ. 
 
 The Lay of the Lowly 65 
 
 HINDS, THE RIGHT REV. S., D.D. 
 
 Christmas Sunrise 3 
 
 The Dread of Death 102 
 
 HOW, REV. W. W., M.A. 
 
 Christian Philosophy 88 
 
 Blessed are the Poor in Spirit . . . .138 
 
 HOWITT, MARY. 
 
 The Willing Disciple i 
 
 HULL, REV. J. D., B.A. 
 
 The Secret of Happiness 161 
 
 HUNT, MISS CAROLINE. 
 
 The Lamb of God, the Lion of the Tribe of 
 JuDAH 71 
 
 IRENE. 
 
 Evening R2 
 
Lijl of Authors. xvii 
 
 JEWITT, LLEWELLYNN, ESQ. Page 
 
 Home 68 
 
 JOHNSTON, MRS. 
 
 God and Man 60 
 
 The Time of the Singing of Birds . . . .101 
 
 KEBLE, REV. J., M.A. 
 
 Hymn 27 
 
 Matin Hymn 113 
 
 Vesper Hymn 115 
 
 KING, REV. J. MYERS, M.A. 
 
 Consolation 92 
 
 KITTERM ASTER, REV. F. W., M.A. 
 
 Easter-Day 126 
 
 KNOLLIS, REV. F. MINDEN, D.D. 
 
 The One Family 134 
 
 LANGFORD, MRS. J. A. 
 
 Be Thankful 31 
 
 LANGFORD, J. A., ESQ. 
 
 The Burden of Tyre 163 
 
 LAWSON, REV. J., M.A. 
 
 I'll think on God 63 
 
 LEMON, MARK, ESQ. 
 
 My Prayer 107 
 
 MACDONALD, GEORGE, ESQ. 
 
 Marriage Song 18 
 
 MACFARLAN, JAMES. 
 
 God Glorified 45 
 
xviii Lijl of Authors, 
 
 MANT, REV. F. W., B.A. Page 
 
 Ode for the New Year 164 
 
 MATSON, REV. W. TIDD. 
 
 The Mercy of God 169 
 
 MUNBY, ARTHUR J., ESQ., M.A. 
 
 Good Friday 125 
 
 NEALE, \V. R., ESQ. 
 
 The Widow OF Nain 132 
 
 NORTON, THE HON. MRS. 
 
 Rest 24 
 
 Pious Training 7^ 
 
 The Cry OF THE Poor 144 
 
 OXENFORD, JOHN, ESQ. 
 
 My Redeemer Liveth 122 
 
 PARKINSON, REV. W., M.A. 
 
 Heaven our Home 136 
 
 PENNEFATHER, MRS. 
 
 The Harvest-home 158 
 
 POSTLETHWAITE, MRS. 
 
 1 Life Song 94 
 
 2 Life Song 168 
 
 POSTLETHWAITE, M. J. 
 
 Parting 108 
 
 ROLLS, MISS E. H. 
 
 The Sepulchre 120 
 
 The Shadow of Thy Wings . . . . '131 
 
 RUTHERFORD, G. S. DE M., ESQ. 
 
 Trust in God 55 
 
Lijl of Authors. xix 
 
 SALWEY, REV. T., B.D. Page 
 
 The Mourner's Lament 147 
 
 SAWYER, WILLIAM, ESQ. 
 
 Victory and Defeat 46 
 
 Worship 1^3 
 
 SEARS, REV. SEPTIMUS. 
 
 Art THOU in Health ? 58 
 
 SEDGWICK, REV. J., D.D. 
 
 Charity 10 
 
 SIMCOX, EDWIN W., ESQ. 
 
 Abraham and the Fire- Worshipper . . .155 
 
 SIMPSON, MRS. J. C. 
 
 Aspiration 38 
 
 Waiting 66 
 
 SMALL, REV. J. G., M.A. 
 
 Spring Thoughts 75 
 
 STIRLING, WILLIAM, ESQ., M.P. 
 
 The Lament of David over Saul and Jonathan . 152 
 
 SYMINGTON, ANDREW J., ESQ. 
 
 Comfort i 
 
 The Snow 70 
 
 TAYLER, REV. C. B., M.A. 
 
 Mary the Mother of Jesus 4 
 
 THRUPP, REV. J. F., M.A. 
 
 Grace from Prayer 29 
 
 TOUGH, MISS. 
 
 Praise Waiteth . . . . , • . ia8 
 
XX Lifl of Authors. 
 
 WATTS, ALARIC A., ESQ. Paqe 
 
 A Proverb Paraphrased 79 
 
 WHITE, MISS ELLEN E. 
 
 The Israelites at the Red Sea . . . .56 
 
 WHITEHEAD, MRS. TRAFFORD. 
 
 Jephtha's Daughter 47 
 
 WILLIAMS, REV. ROWLAND, D.D. 
 
 The Strife of the Church 139 
 
 WRATISLAW, REV. A. II., M.A. 
 
 Christian Love 130 
 
 Vicissitude 
 
 171 
 
 URBAN THE MONK, 
 BY J. STANYAN BIGG, ESQ. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ADAMS, REV. H. C, M.A. 
 
 Sorrow 2S6 
 
 AIDE, HAMILTON, ESQ. 
 
 Stars i^,^ 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 The Pearls of Time 226 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE ''MEMORIALS OF IIEDLEV 
 VICARS," ETC. 
 
 The Last Day in AN Old Home . . . .319 
 
Lift of Authors. xxi 
 
 AUTHORESS OF "POEMS BY L." Page 
 
 Truths and Fancies 208 
 
 BALLANTINE, JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 The Child-Teacher 244 
 
 BOWRING, EDGAR, ESQ. 
 
 EPif APH ON NiOBE 211 
 
 BRADBURY, S. H. (QUALLON). 
 
 The Praying Maiden .... . 200 
 
 BRAITHWAITE, rev. G., M.A. 
 
 To A Thrush 235 
 
 BUCHANAN, R. W., ESQ. 
 
 Trial 239 
 
 Yearning 291 
 
 BUERGER, FROM THE GERMAN OF. 
 
 Comfort 233 
 
 BURGESS, REV. HENRY, LL.D. 
 
 Song for the New Year 234 
 
 CHESTER, REV. G. J., M.A. 
 
 Good IN Evil 214 
 
 CYPLES, WILLIAM, ESQ. 
 
 The Living Cross 240 
 
 DAVIS, REV. T., M.A. 
 
 The Fall of the Oak ...... 259 
 
 EDMONDSTON, MARY S. 
 
 The Wind's Mission 229 
 
 EMMET, JOHN, ESQ. 
 
 We Cannot Stay 223 
 
 Learning FROM Nature 271 
 
xxii Lijl of Authors. 
 
 EXTON, REV. R. B., M.A. Page 
 
 The Nightingale and the Rose . . . .205 
 
 FOTHERBY, MARIE J. EWEN. 
 
 In A Cathedral :73 
 
 G * » * E. F. 
 
 From the French of Lamartine . . . .202 
 
 HINDS, THE RIGHT REV. S., D.D. 
 
 Let HER Stay 201 
 
 HOOK, THE VERY REV. W. F., D.D. 
 Sonnet 
 
 224 
 
 JACKSON, REV. E. D., B.C.L. 
 
 Evening 210 
 
 The Birkenhead -264 
 
 KING, J. W. 
 
 The Sailor's Bride 255 
 
 LINWOOD, J. SMART, ESQ. 
 
 An Old Man's Reverie 237 
 
 MAGNAY, REV. CLAUDE, M.A. 
 
 Glastonbury Abbey 374 
 
 MARSTON, WESTLAND, ESQ. 
 
 Love : a Woman's Thought 202 
 
 Genius 21;, 
 
 Peace AND War 2.>o 
 
 MASSE Y, GERALD. 
 
 Our Little Child 225 
 
 MULREADY, MRS. R. 
 
 On a Monumentto IIavelock 280 
 
 MUNBY, A. J., ESQ., M.A. 
 
 Through the Veil 236 
 
Lift of Authors. xxiii 
 
 MUNSTER, MRS. ALFRED M. Page 
 
 Three Scenes 215 
 
 PARKINSON, REV. W., M.A. 
 
 An Apricot-Tree's Experience 262 
 
 The Magdalen 281 
 
 POSTLETHWAITE, MRS. 
 
 Life, a Song of Praise 276 
 
 RICKMAN, T., ESQ. 
 
 The Stream of Time 248 
 
 ROBERTS, EDWIN F., ESQ. 
 
 To my Little Louisa 256 
 
 SAWYER, MRS. W. 
 
 Parting 203 
 
 Beauty in Death 246 
 
 SAWYER, WILLIAM, ESQ. 
 
 St. Ouen 227 
 
 SCOTT, PATRICK, ESQ. 
 
 The Two Deaths 231 
 
 SEYTON, MISS MARY. 
 
 Queen Guinivere 253 
 
 SHURT, REV. THEODORE, M.A. 
 
 Thoughts on the Seashore 275 
 
 SLIPPER, REV. R. B., M.A. 
 
 Regret 221 
 
 SMITH, REV. C. LESINGHAM, M.A. 
 
 Mochras 267 
 
 SWAIN, CHARLES, ESQ. 
 
 Who Knows the Heart ? 252 
 
xxiv LiQ. of Authors. 
 
 TENNYSON, F., ESQ. Page 
 
 To THE Redbreast 243 
 
 THORNBURY, WALTER, ESQ. 
 
 The Martyrdom of St. Agnes 247 
 
 The Magnet in the Cloud cj'jo 
 
 TINDAL, MRS. ACTON. 
 
 Vision on the Eve of All Souls . . . « 249 
 
 TOMLINS, REV. R., M.A. 
 
 The Martyr-Boy c:;; 
 
 TOUGH, MISS. 
 
 The Mirage OF Life 212 
 
 TUPPER, MARTIN F., ESQ. 
 
 Sonnets 285 
 
 WALLER, JOHN F., ESQ., LL.D. 
 
 Mutability 218 
 
 WATTS, ALARIC A., ESQ. 
 
 Epitaph ON an Idiot Girl 222 
 
Lays of the SancSluary. 
 
Lays of the San(9:uary. 
 
 THE WILLING DISCIPLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 By MARY HOWITT. 
 
 ^ET me fuffer ; let me drain 
 
 Life's cup, vinegar and gall ; — 
 If Thou only, Lord, remain 
 To uphold my foul through ail, 
 Pain and anguifh cannot be — 
 All is merged, O Lord, in Thee ! 
 
 Let me bear the heaviefl crofs, 
 
 To the world be crucified ; 
 If Thou, Lord, amid all lofs 
 Art but found, whate'er betide, 
 Lofs or injury cannot be — 
 All is overpaid in Thee ! 
 
Comfort. 
 
 Take whate'er I treafure dearefl, 
 Joy of heart, or pride of eye ; 
 Only let me know Thou hearefl, 
 Only feel that thou art nigh — 
 Then 'tis eafy to refign, 
 Knowing all I have is Thine, 
 And that Thou, dear Lord, art mine ! 
 
 COMFORT. 
 
 By a. J. SYMINGTON, Esq. 
 Author of ^^ The Beautiful in Nature^ Art, and Life,^'' ^'c. 
 
 r\R, tot not out the light of God, 
 Within — around — above thee ! 
 Life's darken, lanes have fky o'erhead ; 
 Look up — One there doth love thee ! 
 
 Look up with true and humble heart, 
 
 No felf-trufl can avail thee ; 
 Shall He, who fuffer'd — bore a part 
 
 Of every forrow, fail thee ? 
 
 Beflir thyfelf ! work while 'tis day, 
 
 Blefl, though the World fhould hate thee, 
 
 Fulfilling duty — work and pray, 
 And Gladnefs fliall await thee ! 
 
CHRISTMAS SUNRISE. 
 
 By the Right Rev. S. HINDS, D D. 
 
 Late Bishop of Norwich, 
 
 r\ THAT yon Sun could tell to me 
 
 The fight his luflrous eye did fee 
 In Bethl'em, on that bleffed mom 
 When unto us a Child was born ! 
 
 Bethl'em and Bethl'emite are gone ; 
 Thou filent Witnefs, thou alone 
 Survived — tell thou unto me 
 Thy tale of the Nativity. 
 
 Here to thy dawn I come, to gaze, 
 And hail each ray that faintly flrays 
 Through mifl and cloud, and think how they 
 Thus o'er the fleeping babe might flray, 
 Entwined with rays of glory Ihed 
 From Angels' wings about His bed, — 
 Emblem and fhadow of Light given 
 By that fame Child, the Light of Heaven. 
 
 O Thou who once in childhood's guife 
 Didfl Ihow Thyfelf to mortal eyes, 
 Blefs us, too. Lord ; give us, we pray, 
 The power to fee Thy natal day, 
 By faith, that better fight — to fee 
 And feel the Glorious Myflery. 
 
MARY THE MOTHER OF JESUS. 
 By the Rev. CHARLES B. TAYLER, M.A. 
 
 " Mary kept all thefe things, and pondered them in her heart" 
 
 Luke, iL 19. 
 
 "\TOTHER of that myflerious mortal birth, 
 
 By which the Eternal Son, as Man, was bom, 
 Taking a lowly place on this fad earth, 
 
 To bear its pain and forrow, fliame and fcom — 
 Virgin and Mother mild 
 Of that mofl Holy Child, 
 Thou, of all womankind mofl blelTed, mofl forlorn ! 
 
 Who could portray thy feelings deep and calm, 
 
 When that fair Babe lay cradled on thy breafl ; 
 His cherub form encircled by thine arm. 
 His foft cheek to thy tender bofom prefl ? 
 Ah ! who could read thy mind, 
 Its mufmgs undefined, 
 Its memories fadly fweet, its joys fupremely blcfl? 
 
 Was there no cloud to dim the prospe6l bright, 
 That open'd on thy Child's advancing years 1 
 No thought of coming griefs thy hopes to blight, 
 Of fpecchlefs agonies, and heart-wrung tears '? 
 No vifion of the fword. 
 From aged Simeon's word, 
 To thrill thy loving heart with dark, foreboding fears ? 
 
Mary the Mother ofjefiis. 5 
 
 Or did each dim and gathering Ihade arise, 
 
 Mifl-like, to melt before the morning ray % 
 Did the clear light of that fweet Infant's eyes 
 Chafe every dark and difmal thought away % 
 And childhood's joyous fpring 
 Its bloom and brightnefs bring 
 To banifh from thine heart the diflant wintry day % 
 
 Didfl thou forget the terrors of that night, 
 
 Wlien, dealing forth a little trembling band, 
 To Egypt's fultry plains ye took your flight, 
 Acrofs the defert's drear and fcorching fand? 
 Till there your wearied feet 
 Had found a fafe retreat. 
 Far from the rage of Herod's murderous band. 
 
 Oh ! did no thought of Bethlehem's piteous fcene, 
 
 The infant's cry, the mother's frantic fhriek, 
 Cloud the calm beauty of thy brow ferene, 
 And blanch the rofes of thy fair young cheek % 
 Didil thou not clofer prefs 
 Thy Child, with fond carefs, 
 And love intenfe towards One fo holy, yet fo weak ? 
 
 Or did experience of God's truth awaken 
 
 Calmnefs and flrength within thy thoughtful mind, 
 Bracing thy fpirit meek to faith unfhaken. 
 To perfedl confidence and will refign'd, 
 Till every danger pafl, 
 To Nazareth at laft 
 Brought by thy Heavenly Guide a quiet home to find % 
 
6 Mary the Mother of Jefus. 
 
 Still from that innocent and wondrous Child, 
 
 'Twas thine to learn Faith's leflon high and holy, 
 Whenever He look'd up, and gently fmiled 
 In thy fweet face. His mother pure and lowly ; 
 While His untroubled fleep 
 Taught thee thine heart to keep. 
 Unmoved by earthly Joy, or downcafl Melancholy. 
 
 Oh ! if thou wert, as we may well conceive, 
 
 Of thy fweet fex the lowliefl, meekefl known, 
 Above all others thou wouldfl deeply grieve 
 
 That aught Hke worfhip fhould to thee be Ihown ; 
 The incenfe and the fhrine 
 Would never have been thine — 
 With horror deep difclaim'd, as due to God alone ! 
 
 " For thou wert Woman only, bom in fm," 
 The heir with all alike to that deep taint 
 Of the firfl Adam, and defiled within ; 
 
 Till unto joy was tum'd thy fad complaint, 
 As thou didfl cad thy load 
 On thine Incarnate God, 
 Made by His grace alone a lovely, lowly Saint 
 
 And flill we hear thee in the infpirbd Word, 
 
 Singing thy fong with fweet exultant voice — 
 " My foul doth magnify the living Lord, 
 My fpirit in my Saviour doth rejoice ! " 
 None e'er a Saviour fought 
 But contrite finners, bought 
 By His moR coflly Blood, the objects of His choice. 
 
LINES FOR AN ADULT BAPTISM, 
 By the Very Rev. H. ALFORD, D.D. 
 
 'TpHOU child of man, fall down 
 
 With contrite heart and low — 
 Inheritor by flelhly birth 
 Of exile, death, and woe. 
 
 Thou child of man, rejoice — 
 The Righteous One hath died : 
 
 Behold by faith thy Seals of love, 
 His hands, His feet, His fide. 
 
 Thou child of man, that Blood 
 
 Upon thy door we trace ; 
 The fignal of that mighty Crofs 
 
 We llarap upon thy face. 
 
 Servant of God, go forth, 
 
 Clad in thy Saviour's Name : 
 Like Him, mufl thou endure the crofs ; 
 
 Like Him, defpife the fhame. 
 
 Servant of God, hope on, 
 
 Through tempefls and through tears : 
 The Pillar of His prefence fee, 
 
 Lighting the wafle of years. 
 
Servants of All. 
 
 Servant of God, farewell ! 
 
 Thy bed of death is made : 
 Go, with His glorious Countenance 
 
 To light thee through the fliade. 
 
 Servant of God, all hail ! 
 
 The bright-hair'd army waits ; 
 And greeting Angels round thy path 
 
 Throng from the jafper gates. 
 
 "Servant of God, well done!" 
 The judgment is His own : 
 
 Pafs to the inner Light, and fit 
 With Him upon His throne ! 
 
 SERVANTS OF ALL. 
 By Miss ISA CRAIG. 
 
 /^NE fway'd a mighty fceptre, 
 And wore a lofty crown, 
 And head and hand they weigh'd him 
 
 With a heavy burden down ; 
 To be true King in his Kingdom 
 
 He muR ferve the meanefl clown. 
 
Senmnts of All. 
 
 One was Leader of a nation — 
 Not in name — the man was great ; 
 
 Thinking for its many milHons, 
 Lifting many a burden's weight 
 
 From the peafant at the ploughfhare, 
 From the beggar at the gate. 
 
 One was Mafler of dull thoufands 
 Who ferved him day by day — 
 
 Served him ! he ferved thoufands ! 
 Travailing forer far than they ; 
 
 Wliile their work he gather'd for them 
 From the world's ends where it lay. 
 
 The flrong limbs bear the burden 
 Of our conflict with the clay ; 
 
 And cleaving through the fhadows, 
 Sending back a guiding ray, 
 
 The thinkers clear the darknefs 
 In the world's advancing way. 
 
 Some think to ferve till Kingfhip, 
 
 Till Mafterfhip be won : 
 Higher honour only meaneth 
 
 Greater fervice to be done, 
 Perfedl felf-renunciation — 
 
 The Reward and Work is one. 
 
 For he before whofe fceptre 
 
 The nations rife and fall, 
 Who gives no leaft commandment, 
 
 But come to pafs it fhall, — 
 Said, He who was the greatefl 
 
 Should be Servant unto all 
 
to Charity. 
 
 And in confli<ft with the Evil 
 Which his bright creation mars, 
 
 Laid He not afide that fceptre 
 Which can reach to all the flars ? — 
 
 Of the fervice which He render'd 
 See on His hands the fears ! 
 
 CHARITY, 
 
 PARAPHRASE ON THE COLLECT FOR QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY. 
 
 By THE Rev. J. SEDGWICK, B.D. 
 
 T ORD of Life ! whofe words have taught us 
 
 ^^ How to ferve Thee and obey : 
 
 Lord of Love ! whofe deeds have brought us 
 
 Wond'ring at Thy feet to pray : 
 Fill our hearts with ample meafure 
 
 Of th' abiding Graces three : 
 Mofl of all, with Thy dear treafure, 
 
 Never-failing Charity : — 
 
 Charity, that ever bindeth 
 
 Mortal men with cords of love ; 
 Charity, that flill remindeth 
 
 Earthly fouls of heaven above. 
 Charity, the Spirit's token 
 
 Sinners have received of Thee : 
 He whom Jefus loved hath fpoken — 
 
 " God Himfelf is Charity." 
 
II 
 
 A CANTICLE. 
 By the late Rev. W. COLTON, B.A. 
 
 V^E works of God, on Him alone 
 
 (In earth His footflool, heaven his throne) 
 
 Be all your praife beflow'd ; 
 Whofe hand the beauteous fabric made, 
 Whofe eye the finifh'd work furvey'd, 
 
 And faw that all was good. 
 
 Ye Angels, who, with loud acclaim, 
 Admiring view'd the new-bom frame, 
 
 And hail'd the Eternal King, 
 Again proclaim your Maker's praife. 
 Again your thankful voices raife, 
 
 And touch the tuneful firing. 
 
 Praife Him, ye bright ethereal plains. 
 Where in full majefly He deigns 
 
 To fix His awful throne ; 
 Ye waters, that above them roll 
 From orb to orb, from pole to pole. 
 
 Oh, make His praifes known ! 
 
 Thrones, dominations, virtues, powers, 
 Oh, join your joyful fongs with ours. 
 
 With us your voices raife ! 
 From age to age extend the lay. 
 To heaven's Eternal Monarch pay 
 
 Hymns of eternal praife. 
 
12 A Canticle. 
 
 Celeflial Orb, whofe powerful ray 
 Opes the glad eyelids of the day, 
 
 "Whofe influence all things own ; 
 Praife Him whofe courts effulgent fhine, 
 With light as far excelling thine 
 
 As thine the paler Moon, 
 
 Ye glittering planets of the fky, 
 Whofe beams the abfent Sun fupply, 
 
 With him the fong purfue ; 
 And let himfelf fubmiffive own, 
 He borrows from a brighter Sun 
 
 The light he lends to you. 
 
 Ye fhowers and dews, whofe moiflure (hed 
 Calls into life the opening feed, 
 
 To Him your praifes yield ; 
 Whofe influence wakes the genial birth. 
 Drops fatnefs on the pregnant Earth, 
 
 And crowns the laughing field. 
 
 Ye winds, that oft tempeRuous fweep 
 The ruffled furface of the Deep, 
 
 With us confefs your God ; 
 See through the heavens the King of kings, 
 Up-borne on your extended wings, 
 
 Comes flying all abroad. 
 
 Ye floods of fire, where'er ye flow, 
 Humbly with jufl fubmifllon bow 
 
 To His fuperior power ; — 
 Who flops the tempefl on its way, 
 Or bids the flaming deluge f\ay, 
 
 Or gives it flrength to roar. 
 
A Canticle. 13 
 
 Ye fummer's heat, and winter's cold, 
 By turns in long fucceffion roll'd, 
 
 The drooping world to cheer ; 
 Praife Him who gave the Sun and Moon 
 To lead the various feafons on, 
 
 And guide the circling year. 
 
 Ye frofts, that bind the wateiy plain, 
 Ye filent fhowers of fleecy rain, 
 
 Purfue the heavenly theme ; 
 Praife Him who fheds the driving fnow, 
 Forbids the harden'd waves to flow, 
 
 And flops the rapid flream. 
 
 Ye days and nights, that fwiftly borne, 
 From morn to eve, from eve to morn, 
 
 Alternate glide away ; 
 Praife Him whofe never-varying light, 
 Abfent adds grandeur to the night, 
 
 But prefent gives the day. 
 
 Light, from whofe rays all beauty fprings ; 
 Darknefs, whofe wide expanded wings 
 
 Involve the dufky globe ; 
 Praife Him who, when the heavens He fpread, 
 Thick darknefs His pavilion made, 
 
 And light His regal robe. 
 
 Praife Him, ye lightnings, as ye fly, 
 Wing'd with hot vengeance through the flcy, 
 
 And red with wrath Divine ; 
 Praife Him, ye clouds, that fcatter'd ftray, 
 Or fix'd by Him in clofe array. 
 
 Surround His awful fhrine. 
 
14 A Canticle. 
 
 Exalt, O Earth, thy Heavenly King, 
 Who bids the plants that from thee fpring 
 
 Renew the annual bloom ; 
 \Vhofe frequent drops of kindly rain, 
 ProHfic fwell the rip'ning grain, 
 
 And blefs the fertile womb. 
 
 Ye mountains, that ambitious rife, 
 And lift your fummits to the fkies, 
 
 Revere His a^vful nod ; 
 Think how ye once affrighted fled, 
 While Jordan fought his fountain-head, 
 
 And own'd the approaching God ! 
 
 Ye trees, that fill the rural fcene ; 
 
 Ye flowers, that o'er the enamell'd green 
 
 In native beauty reign ; 
 Oh, praife the Ruler of the fkies, 
 Whofe Hand the genial fap fupplies, 
 
 And clothes the thankful plain. 
 
 Ye fecret fprings, ye gentle rills, 
 That murmuring rife amongft the hills. 
 
 Or fill the humble vale, 
 Praife Him at whofe almighty nod 
 The rugged Rock diilolving flow'd, 
 
 And form'd a fpringing well 
 
 Praife Him, ye floods and feas profound, 
 Whofe waves the fpacious earth furround. 
 
 And roll from fliore to fliore ; 
 Awed by His Voice, ye feas fubfide, 
 Ye floods within your channels glide, 
 
 And tremble and adore. 
 
A Canticle. 15 
 
 Ye whales that ftir the boiling deep, 
 Or in its dark receffes lleep 
 
 Remote from human eye ; 
 Praife Him by whom ye all are fed, 
 Praife Him without whofe heavenly aid 
 
 Ye ficken, faint, and die. 
 
 Ye birds, exalt your Maker's name, 
 Begin and with the important theme 
 
 Your artlefs lays improve ; 
 Wake with your fongs the rifmg day, 
 Soft warbles breathe from every fpray, 
 
 And fill the vocal grove. 
 
 Praife Him, ye beafts that nightly roam, 
 Amidft the folitary gloom, 
 
 Th' expedled prey to feize ; 
 Ye Haves of the laborious plough, 
 Your flubborn necks fubmiffive bow, 
 
 And bend your wearied knees. 
 
 Ye fons of men. His praife difplay, 
 Whofe vital breath informs your clay, 
 
 And gives it power to move ; 
 Ye that in Judah's confines dwell, 
 From age to age fucceffive tell 
 
 The wonders of His love. 
 
 Let Aaron's race the lay prolong. 
 Till Angels liflen to the fong, 
 
 And bend attention down. 
 Let wonder feize the heavenly train, 
 Pleafed while they hear a mortal drain 
 
 So fweet, fo like their own. 
 
1 6 A Canticle. 
 
 And you your thankful voices join, 
 That oft in Salem's facred Shrine 
 
 Before His altar kneel, 
 Where throned in majefly He dwells, 
 And from the myflic cloud reveals 
 
 The dicSlates of His will 
 
 Ye Spirits of the jufl and good, 
 That, eager for the bright abode. 
 
 To heavenly manfions foar ; 
 Oh, let your fongs His praife difplay, 
 Till Heaven itfelf fhall melt away, 
 
 And Time {hall be no more. 
 
 Praife Him, ye meek and humble train, 
 Ye Saints whom His decrees ordain 
 
 The boundlefs bhfs to fhare ; 
 Oh, praife Him till you take your way 
 To regions of Eternal Day, 
 
 And reign for ever there ! 
 
 Let us, who fee the enclofmg fire, 
 Divelled of its rage afpire. 
 
 And innocently blaze ; 
 While thus we triumph in the flame, 
 Rife and our Maker's love proclaim. 
 
 In hymns of endlefs praife. 
 
17 
 
 MONITIONS, 
 By EDWARD CAPERN. 
 
 TTast feen the Rainbow of the flow'ry May 
 
 Stretch through the heavens its many-colour'd band, 
 And crown the Day ; 
 
 A dimpled, fair, and bonny blue-eyed maid, 
 A lily with two violets in a nook, 
 In fmiles array'd ; 
 
 An infant neflling in its mother's arms. 
 Looking into the bright heaven of her eyes, 
 A group of charms ; 
 
 A rofe, rich as a cherry-parted lip, — 
 A dew-pearl, which the little honey-bees 
 - Delight to fip ; 
 
 The Sun walk proudly from his orient gate, 
 The Star of Eve attend the Queenly Moon 
 In regal flate ; 
 
 The Spring, whofe happy duty all day long 
 Is jufl to wafh her robe of gold and green 
 And fmg her fong ; 
 
 The Summer in her heyday of delight % 
 Then hafl thou lofl them as the ftars are lofl 
 Some darkfome night % 
 
 If fo, live for the World that is to be. 
 Where more than all the beauty thou hafl feen 
 Thine eyes (hall fee. 
 
i8 
 
 MARRIAGE SONG. 
 
 By GEORGE MACDONALD, Esq. 
 Autlwr of " Within and Without^' ^c. 
 
 C C 'T^HEY have no more wine," (he faid. 
 
 But they had enough of bread ; 
 And the well befide the door 
 Held for thirfl a plenteous flore ; 
 Yes, enough; but Love Divine 
 Made the water into wine. 
 
 When (hould wine in plenty flow, 
 But when wanderers homeward go % 
 And when foul in foul hath found 
 Refl, in bonds of freedom bound, 
 He hath faid, by act Divine, 
 Water well may turn to wine. 
 
 Good is all the feafling then ; 
 Good the merry words of men ; 
 Good the laughter and the fmiles ; 
 Good the wine that grief beguiles ; — 
 Crowning good, the Word Divine : 
 Jefus made the water wine. 
 
 He befide you, all the years, 
 
 Into laugliter turn your tears ; 
 
 In the earthly tones around 
 
 Make you hear the Heavenly found — 
 
A Prayer. 19 
 
 At your table Love Divine 
 Often make the water wine. 
 
 Earth is Heaven in homelier drefs ; 
 Hope is unfeen joyfulnefs : 
 Walking in the heavenly light, 
 Soon, with eyes of heavenly fight, 
 You (hall know, by vifion fine, .. 
 Earthly water — Heavenly wine. 
 
 A PRAYER, 
 By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. 
 
 /^H, when my hour is come, if fo Thou wilt, 
 
 Let the fweet bloffoms of the bough of Love 
 Hang o'er my bed ! But, howfoe'er it be, 
 Through the night-watches, till the birds awake 
 Their fad importunate mufic, till the morn 
 Pale on the pane, oh, let me wait for God ! 
 Gently, my Saviour ! fland befide the door ; 
 Gently, my Saviour ! through the lattice glide ; 
 Dip my life's leaves, adufl with thought and care, 
 In Sacramental dews, and make them gold. 
 Refl over me in love, O pierced One ! 
 Smile on me fadly through my mifl of fm, 
 Smile on me fweetly from Thy Crown of Thorns. 
 As the Dawn looketh on the great dark hills. 
 As the hills dawn-touch'd on the great dark fea, 
 Dawn on my heart's great darknefs. Prince of Peace. 
 
20 
 
 THE DEWDROPS, 
 By EMILY ENGLISH. 
 
 'TpHE morning Sun with gems lit up the plain, 
 
 Where dewdrops fhone beneath the rifmg ray, 
 As though each little blade of grafs were fain 
 
 A loving tribute to its Lord to pay : 
 I gazed, admiring, on the jewell'd mead, 
 Then afked, " Fair Dewdrops, whither do ye fpeed ? ' 
 The trembling diamonds whifper'd foft and flow, 
 " Led by our God, to yonder rill we go." 
 
 Onward by moor and mountain-fide I fped 
 
 To where, with gladfome voice, the fparkling Rill 
 
 Sang, as it purl'd within its pebbly bed, 
 A fong of praife that echo'd from the hill : 
 
 Then in its filver path I bid it fl.ay, 
 
 To tell me where it took its mazy way ; 
 
 With gufliing laugh the Rivulet replied, 
 
 " I go to fwell yon river's rapid tide." 
 
 In midday fkies the Sun had fet his bow, 
 
 When I befide a rolling river flood, 
 To mark its meafured, deep, myflerious flow, 
 
 And lift the deep-toned voices of the flood : 
 " Tell me," I cried, " ye Waves of rippling foam, 
 What haven waits your wanderings — what home ? " 
 With fullen roar they anfwer me, " We fleep, 
 Rock'd on the bofom of the mighty deep." 
 
Time Breaks upoJi Eternity. 2 1 
 
 'Twas night, — and through the city's flreets I went, 
 Where forrow, need, and fufifering met my fight ; 
 
 But hearts were here on Mercy's meffage bent, 
 And 'mid the gold fhone forth the widow's mite : 
 
 " To gifts fo fmall," methought, " what place is given % " 
 
 " None is too fmall," faid one, " to reach to heaven ; 
 
 We lend them to our Gracious Lord, and He 
 
 In every dewdrop doth an ocean fee." 
 
 TIME BREAKS UPON ETERNITY. 
 By GEORGE J. CAYLEY, Esq. 
 
 'Tpo the Eternal Infinite 
 
 Nothing is mighty — nothing mean : 
 Each ghftening grain, each ftar of night, 
 Diflindl in fpace-pervading light 
 To the All-fearching Eye ferene. 
 
 The rolling waters ebb and flow — 
 The fands are more from tide to tide : 
 
 The flarry fyflems come and go. 
 
 The rolling ages ebb and flow. 
 And moving worlds are multiplied. 
 
 Our Earth is but a grain of fand 
 
 That tumbles in the furging fea ! 
 He holds Creation in His hand. 
 With worlds as countlefs as the fand — 
 Time breaks upon Eternity ! 
 
22 
 
 A LITANY. 
 
 By JOHN EMMETT, Esq. 
 
 T ORD, leave us not to wander lonely 
 
 Through this dark world, unloved by Thee ; 
 All other friends are helplefs only, 
 
 Though full of love as friends may be. 
 Drear are the fondefl homes around us. 
 
 Sad like our hearts when Thou art far ; 
 When Thou hafl fought us, heard us, found us, 
 How fweet Thy Confolations are ! 
 Hear us, cheer us, 
 Lord, and leave us not ! 
 
 Leave us not when pride and anger 
 
 In the heart would dare rebel ; 
 Claim us in our utmoft danger, 
 
 Calm us at the mouth of HelL 
 Leave us not till we inherit 
 
 Charity that works no ill, 
 And we hear Thy gentle Spirit 
 
 Inly whifper, " Peace, be flill ! " 
 Hear us, cheer us, 
 Lord, and leave us not ! 
 
 Leave us not in days of trial, 
 
 Let us adl at Duty's call. 
 Though it lead to felf-denial, 
 
 Though we have to give up all. 
 
A Litany. 23 
 
 Raifed on high, or humbled lowly, 
 
 Praifed or fcorn'd from land to land, 
 Bear us up, our Father Holy, 
 Bear our burdens in Thy Hand. 
 Hear us, cheer us. 
 Lord, and leave us not ! 
 
 Leave us not when all has left us, 
 
 Health and vifion, ftrength and voice ; 
 When of friends Death hath bereft us, 
 
 Let us flill in Thee rejoice : 
 Near us when in doubt, to guide us ; 
 
 Near us when we faint, to cheer ; 
 Near in battle's hour, to hide us ; 
 
 Nearer ever, and more dear. 
 Hear us, cheer us, 
 Lord, and leave us not ! 
 
 Leave us not when foes come nigher, 
 
 Cheer us when the grave looks cold ; 
 Lead us onward, upward, higher, 
 
 Forward to the Gates of gold. 
 Leave us not when ailing, failing, 
 
 Sore deprefs'd, and bending low ; 
 Be Thy love then mofl avaihng, 
 
 Then to aid us be not flow. 
 Hear us, cheer us. 
 Lord, and leave us not ! 
 
 Leave us not till Thou haft brought us 
 
 To the holy, wealthy Place, 
 There to fee Thee who haft bought us, 
 
 Fought our fight, and won our race : 
 
24 ReJI, 
 
 There to hear no more the Hiouting, 
 
 And the thunder of our foes ; 
 Danger pad, and pad all doubting, 
 And the grave's auflere repofe. 
 Hear us, cheer us, 
 Lord, and leave us not ! 
 
 REST, 
 
 By the Hon. Mrs. NORTON. 
 
 r> ECAUSE we toil and fuffer from our birth, 
 
 Since Adam's fentence curfl offending earth ; 
 Therefore, through every change life's pilgrim knows, 
 His watch-word of befl comfort is Repofe. 
 
 ReQ, for the weary heart and weeping eyes, — 
 From carelefs labour, and from careful fighs : 
 Reft even from Joy ; let Joy's wild tumult ceafe, 
 And lull the aching Gladnefs into peace ! 
 
 Yea, when prophetic mufmg foars away, 
 Wing'd like the Dove, to realms of brighter day ; 
 When our flrain'd fenfes, from their dim world driven, 
 Strive to imagine an AU-perfecft Heaven, — 
 
 The heart, flill haunted by that human third, — 
 That baffled wifli, fo long, fo vainly nurd, — 
 Dreams what this Earth denied, at length podcd, 
 And calls the Heavenly joy Eternal Rest. 
 
25 
 
 CHRIST ON THE SHORE. 
 By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. 
 
 TN the filence of the morning, 
 
 Of the morning grey and clouded, 
 Miil-enfhrouded, 
 On the fhore of Gahlee, 
 Like a Shape upon a column, 
 Sad and solemn 
 Chrifl is flanding by the fea, 
 In the filence of the morning. 
 
 On the waters cold and mifly, 
 Like a rock its dark back lifting 
 
 Through the drifting 
 Vapours, heaves the fifher's boat. 
 Still, through grey-fog hood and mantle, 
 That mofl gentle 
 Watcher looketh where they float 
 On the waters cold and mifty. 
 
 Hearts are waiting, eyes are weeping ; 
 Comes a voice, a fufurration ; 
 
 Tribulation 
 Melteth, melteth like the mid ; 
 Yet, like mufic rich and olden 
 Hiding golden 
 Words, that fweet Voice hideth Chrifl 
 From the hearts that wait and weep Him. 
 
26 Chrijl 071 the Shore. 
 
 In another moming-filence, 
 When a greyer fog falls dreary, 
 
 And we weary 
 With the fea's beat evermore, 
 Cometh One, and, pale and wounded, 
 Mifl-furrounded, 
 Looketh from another fhore. 
 In another moming-filence. 
 
 Other waters cold and miHy, 
 
 On the wet fands grandly finging, 
 
 Bear a fwinging 
 Little bark, call'd Life by men ; 
 While the bark is fwinging llowly, 
 That moft Holy 
 Watcher looks : Light filvers then 
 On the waters cold and mi fly. 
 
 Hearts are waiting, eyes are weeping : 
 Falls a voice, O fvveet, but broken ! 
 
 Falls a token 
 Light, bedimm'd with blinding mifl. 
 Take us where there are no Ocean's 
 Wild commotions ; 
 Where we fhall not know, O ChriR ! 
 Weary hearts, or tear- wet eyelids. 
 
27 
 
 HYMN, 
 By the Rev. J. KEBLE, M.A. 
 
 'And He was in the hinder part of the ship, afleep on a pillow." 
 
 Mark, iv. 38. 
 
 T ORD, lift my heart to Thee at morn, 
 
 For thou art very near ; 
 Thy Voice upon the waves is borne, 
 Thee in the winds I hear ; — 
 
 The winds and waves that chime all night, 
 
 Where I am dreaming laid, 
 A tune fo foothing in its might, 
 
 I fcarce can be afraid. 
 
 And yet 'tis awful mufic, fraught 
 
 With memories fcorn'd at home ; 
 And whifpereth many a boding thought 
 
 Of trial-years to come. 
 
 O Love unfeen, we know Thee nigh : 
 
 When Ocean rageth mod. 
 Thou bidd'ft us come to Thee, and cry, 
 
 *• Lord, fave us, we are loft ! " 
 
 Thou feem'fl to fleep, that we may pray ; 
 
 Full deeply Thou doft hide. 
 Forgotten through the calm, clear day, 
 
 Nor own'd at even-tide : 
 
a8 Hymn. 
 
 But when the darkfome gales begin, 
 The rude waves urge their race, 
 
 Man, flartled from his floth and fin, 
 Seeks out Thine hiding-place. 
 
 Well if we pray till Thou awake : 
 One word, one breath of Thee, 
 
 Soft filence in the heart will make, 
 Calm peace upon the fea. 
 
 Lord of our homes and of our graves, 
 
 If ever, while we lay- 
 Beneath Thy {lars, amid Thy waves. 
 
 Our fouls have learn'd to pray ; 
 
 Revive that prayer, mom, night, and noon, 
 
 In city, mine, or dale ; 
 Elfe will the founds of earth too foon 
 
 O'er the Dread Voice prevail : 
 
 Help us to fing Thine ocean fong. 
 
 Each in his home on fhore ; 
 The note thou gav'ft, do Thou prolong 
 
 Through Hfe, and evermore. 
 
29 
 
 GRACE FROM PRAYER, 
 
 By the Rev. J. F. THRUPP, M.A. 
 
 "And in the morning, rifmg up a gi-eat while before day, He 
 went out, and departed into a fohtary place, and there prayed." — 
 Mark, i. 35. 
 
 "puLL, full of toil the ended day, 
 
 Full, full of toil the coming morrow ; 
 And in that toil, ah ! who fhall fay 
 
 What caufe for care, and pain, and forrow % 
 'Tis no light tafk to toil for God, 
 To bear for Him the daily load 
 Of rude reproaches on thee hurl'd, 
 And flill, in faith on Him, to love a thanklefs world. 
 
 Rife, Chriflian, rife, and if aright 
 
 The pattern of thy Lord thou readell, 
 Afk in each early dawning light 
 
 The grace that for the day thou needefl ; 
 Grace that thy gracious work may be 
 From jar of worldly temper free. 
 And thou thyfelf, where'er thou move, 
 A reflex of God's love to other fouls mayfl prove. 
 
 'Tis not enough thy aim be good, 
 
 If evil broiling mar the doing : 
 For holy tafk a holy mood 
 
 Is meeteft, every fault efchewing: 
 
30 Grace from Prayer. 
 
 Frefh oil thou needeil from above, 
 To keep alive the flame of love, 
 'Mid the rude, chilling blafls that blow 
 Athwart thy daily pathway on this earth below. 
 
 Thy wearied frame its flrength renews 
 
 In grateful refls of nightly flumber : 
 Thou'lt to thy fpirit not refufe, 
 
 O'erprefs'd with cares that vex and cumber, 
 That it in peaceful morning prayer 
 May for its daily taflc prepare, 
 And in high communing with Heaven 
 May nurfe the eagle-flrength that all thy work (hall leaven. 
 
 Rife, Chriflian, rife, while yet alone. 
 
 Before the chains of work have bound thee ; 
 
 Rife, while the hours are yet thine own, 
 Before thy fellow-men furround thee ; 
 
 Hold converfe with thy God awhile, 
 
 And then go forth, with radiant fmile, 
 
 His meffenger throughout the day, 
 To all the fons of fm that crofs thee in thy way. 
 
 Thou (halt not feek a heart of (leel, 
 
 That will not grieve in others' grieving ; 
 
 But afl^ a heart all woes to feel. 
 
 In patient love thofe woes relieving ; 
 
 That fo, when from thy Father's feet 
 
 Thou iffue forth the throng to meet, 
 
 In pearly brilliancy may (hine 
 'Mid tears of human fympathy thy fmile of peace divine. 
 
31 
 
 BE THANKFUL. 
 By Mrs. J. A. LANGFORD. 
 
 rpoR funny fields, and fhelt'ring trees 
 
 ^ Whofe green leaves furr to every breeze ; 
 
 For brooklets murm'ring foft and low ; 
 
 For Ocean's deep unceafing flow ; 
 
 For fweet green grafs, and daifies fair \ 
 
 For lilies bright, and rofes rare ; 
 
 For life, and for our power to love, 
 
 Let us give thanks to Him above. 
 
 For Spring's glad promife, Summer's glow, 
 Autumn's rich fruits, and Winter's fnow ; 
 For morning's Eafl-illuming ray; 
 For the calm time of clofmg day ; 
 For fleep with foothing dreams and reft ; 
 For children's merry laugh and jeft ; 
 But moft for thofe dear friends we love, 
 Let us give thanks to Him above. 
 
 For holy peace in grief conceal'd ; 
 
 For knowledge gain'd, and truth reveal'd j 
 
 Religion's afpirations high ; 
 
 For Faith, for Hope, for Charity -, 
 
 For memories of joys long paft ; 
 
 For Time, which brings the right at last; 
 
 For Death, uniting all who love. 
 
 Let us give thanks to Him above. 
 
33 
 
 THE DEAD. 
 
 By JOHN WILLIAM FLETCHER, Esq. 
 Author of " The Battle of the Alma;' " Cloud Shadows;^ &=c. 
 
 *'The damfel is not dead, but fleepeth." 
 
 Mark, v. 39. 
 
 TT THERE are the dead % and are they pad 
 ^ ^ Away for ever Hke a blafl, 
 Or the lail hnes of funfet cafl 
 
 Along the wefl ? 
 Are they fecurely placed in vafl 
 
 Dim realms of reft % 
 
 Are we to think of them as loft, 
 Like fome bright meteor which croft 
 Our earthly bark, when tempeft-toft 
 
 And rudely driven, — 
 That fmiled, then faded off like froft 
 
 In yonder heaven % 
 
 And is their memory but a beam, 
 The ftarlight fhadow of a dream, 
 Whofe glory paft fliall never gleam 
 
 Upon us more, — 
 The filent ftillnefs of a ftream 
 
 Without a fliore ? 
 
The Dead. 33 
 
 The Spirit pall beyond recall, 
 The vacant feat, the darken'd hall, 
 The Ihroud, the bier, the fable pall, 
 
 The hufh of mirth. 
 The gloom, the grave, the rattling fall 
 
 Of Earth to Earth ; 
 
 And is this all? As Clouds forget, 
 When the great Sun they loved has fet, 
 The royal beams that ufed to fret 
 
 Their forms with fire, — 
 Shall we, like them, unworthy let 
 
 Our love expire % 
 
 Ah, no ! the Dead are with us here, 
 As much as when their look did cheer 
 Our eye, their mufic charm our ear. 
 
 Their prefence fill 
 Our foul's horizon, — never fear, 
 
 They love us flill ! 
 
 They love us, though the Sapphire light 
 Of Heaven has gleamed upon their fight ; 
 They love us, though the knell, the night, 
 
 The noife of time, 
 Has pafL into a view more bright 
 
 And more fublime. 
 
 They love us, — they ftill love to keep 
 Guard o'er us while we figh and fleep, 
 And watch and work, and wake and weep ; 
 
 While fmiles and tears. 
 Like clouds and funbeams o'er the Deep, 
 
 Chequer our years. 
 
 D 
 
34 The Dead. 
 
 They love us ! Happy thought, when Care 
 With venom'd vapour loads the air, 
 When Thunders howl and Lightnings glare, 
 
 When Winds fling wide 
 Their banner — like the found of prayer 
 
 At eventide, 
 
 Tlie prefence of the Dead fhall refl 
 Upon the forrovv-burden'd breafl, 
 As the Wind whifpers from the Wefl 
 
 Benignant balm, 
 And bows the billows' foaming crefl. 
 
 To cradled calm. 
 
 Death is no Phantom fierce and fell, 
 Weaving fome wild, myflerious fpell, 
 Whofe fummons is the paffmg bell, — 
 
 Whofe home the grave, — 
 Whofe prey the loft we loved fo well, 
 
 But could not fave. 
 
 Oh, not in wrath doth Death defcend 
 Our hopes to blight, our ties to rend ; 
 He Cometh rather as a friend, 
 
 He whifpers low, 
 He bids the wild life-battle end, 
 
 He bids us go. 
 
 He bringeth refl to thofe who weep, 
 He giveth God's belovbd fleep. 
 He laps them in a calm as deep 
 
 As God's own love, 
 And o'er the flood's tcmpefluous fweep 
 
 He fends the Dove. 
 
The Dead. 35 
 
 He fmooths the ruffled brow of care, 
 
 Removes the load fo hard to bear, 
 
 Which few could fee, and none could fhare : 
 
 To thofe who roam, 
 He brings tiie love, the fenfe, the air, 
 
 The Heaven of Home. 
 
 With thofe we love 'tis hard to part ; 
 The fleih will feel, the foul mufl fmart ; 
 And Grief wrings from the llricken heart 
 
 A mournful cry : 
 And yet our loved ones but depart, 
 
 They do not die ! 
 
 They live, the Beautiful, the Dead, 
 Like ftars of fire above our head ; 
 They truly live who have been led 
 
 To God's right hand, — 
 Have found beyond Earth's doubt and dread 
 
 The better Land. 
 
 There is a windlefs, flormlefs calm ; 
 There is a Heaven-fent, healing balm ; 
 There is a fountain and a palm, 
 
 And Heaven's own dew ; 
 The found as of a chanted pfalm, 
 
 For all who view. 
 
 Above the fighing of the fhroud, 
 Above the thunder low or loud. 
 Above the florm, above the cloud. 
 
 Above the foam, 
 A reft, God-given, God-endow'd, 
 
 Their Father's Home ! 
 
36 
 
 THE CIIA MBER, PEA C E. 
 By THE Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M.A. 
 
 \ SUMMER night that blows, 
 
 '^^ Fragrant with hay and flowers, on copfe and lawn- 
 A Avindow muffled round and round with rofe 
 Fronting the flufli of dawn. 
 
 O Pilgrim ! well is thee 
 Till the day break, and till the fliadows ceafe, 
 Refling the faint heart and the failing knee, 
 
 In that fweet Chamber, Peace. 
 
 The white Moon through the trees 
 Sails — ^but thou fmgefl to a heavenly tune, 
 " Needeth no Sun the land my fpirit fees, 
 
 Neither the filver Moon." 
 
 Before thine eyes half clofmg, 
 Like ink-black plumes their tops the willows fliake ; 
 Through them thou feefl a little boat repofing 
 
 Upon a moonlit lake. 
 
 "And oh," thou fayft, "my foul 
 Was like thofe inky plumes the Night-winds tofs ; 
 But now it hangs, in one great fdver roll, 
 
 Over a hidden crofs. 
 
 " Ever on Life's wild fwell 
 My heart went drifting, drifting on remote ; 
 But now within the Veil 'tis anchor'd well, 
 
 Safe as that little boat." 
 
The Chamber, Peace. 37 
 
 Or if the fhower, that hngers 
 In fleecy clouds of moonhght-tiffued woof, 
 Falls, and the foft rain, with a hundred fingers, 
 
 Taps on the Chamber-roof, — 
 
 " Chrifl," the lone Pilgrim faith, 
 " My Saviour, comes, this heart's poor love to win ; 
 Thy locks are filled with drops," he murmureth, 
 
 " O that Thou wouldfl come in." 
 
 So refls the Pilgrim, ever 
 Hearing at folemn intervals a fwell, 
 Mufic as of a grandly falling river 
 
 On hills dele6lable. 
 
 So refls he, till he knows 
 The morning redden in the Eaflern Ikies, 
 And fronts th' unfolding of Heaven's fiery rofe — 
 
 The beautiful Sunrife. 
 
 Another Chamber yet — 
 Its curtain is of grafs, and clofely drawn j 
 But the pale Pilgrim, in its portal fet, 
 
 Looketh toward the dawn. 
 
 Oft-times red rofes lie 
 On the green curtain of that Chamber low, 
 And blofloms like the deep-blue Summer fky, 
 
 Or like the Winter fnow. 
 
 And when the eves are calmefl. 
 Up in the incenfe-laden aifles of lime 
 Some fweet bird meditateth, like a pfalmifl, 
 
 His poefy fubhme j 
 
38 Afpiration. 
 
 So lay the Pilgrim down — 
 Set thou his feet, and face, and clof^d eyes, 
 Where they may meet the golden-raying crowTi 
 
 Of Chrifl's own great Sunrife. 
 
 So let him reft, unheard 
 Thy faithlefs mourning : let thy murmur ceafe : 
 Tranilate the grave into a gentler word — 
 
 Call it the Chamber, Peace ! 
 
 ASPIRATION. 
 
 By Mrs. J. C. SIMPSON, 
 Authorefs of ''Piety of Daily Life,'' ^c. 
 
 "VJEARER, yet nearer — oh, to be fo near 
 
 The great good Prefence, that, above all fcnx 
 For this fcene or the next, my foul might move 
 Beneath the fhadow of that Perfecfl Love — 
 That Wifdom Infinite — Power firm and faft, 
 Which form'd, upholds, and will difcern at laft ! 
 I know His eye is ever on my heart, — 
 
 Wake I or fleep. His arm is round my way : 
 Oh, why of Him fee I fo fmall a part. 
 
 While me he fearcheth clofely day by day ? 
 1 would be nearer, holier, higher brought 
 
 By earneft aims, untouch'd by earthly leaven : 
 Lord, let the daily fountain of my thought 
 
 Flow ever 'mid the golden fields of Heaven ! 
 
39 
 
 LIFE IN DEATH. 
 By W. C. BENNETT. 
 
 T^EATH ! we fpeak the word and tremble- 
 
 Gazing on this cold fix'd face, 
 Little feems it to refemble 
 
 All life fhow'd late in its place ; 
 
 Here there feems of life no trace, 
 Yet here life does but diffemble. 
 
 Death is life ; what life we know not — 
 What we can but trembling guefs : 
 
 Through the darknefs our eyes go not 
 To the day beyond : no lefs 
 Is it there, the eyes to blefs 
 
 That here fign of being fhow not. 
 
 Lo ! the Spirit has but fhifted 
 Thefe its by-laid robes of Earth 
 
 For thofe wherewith it is gifted 
 In that Life of higher worth ; 
 Where it knows a nobler birth 
 
 In the world to which 'tis lifted. 
 
 Lifted — yes, for our great forrow 
 
 Grows more peaceful in the thought — 
 
 From which love peace well may borrow,— 
 That fo here thy pure foul wrought, 
 It may well, unfearing aught, 
 
 Sleep, to know a bleffed morrow. 
 
40 Refignation, 
 
 Lifted — yes, if Time may train it 
 To a higher world of Light, 
 
 If the tried foul may attain it 
 By a life of truth and right — 
 Lived as ever in God's fight, 
 
 Surely thou, O foul, fhalt gain it ! 
 
 RESIGNATION. 
 
 By the Rev. G. BRAITHWAITE, IM.A. 
 
 r\ God, forgive the impatient thought, 
 ^"^ And Hflen not to me, 
 If, difcontented with my lot, 
 I murmur againfl Thee ! 
 
 My portion and Thy Providence 
 
 Run parallel, I know ; 
 And from that fource alone from whence 
 
 Flow comforts, forrows flow. 
 
 To Thee, repentant, I refign 
 
 My rebel will, content 
 To fuffer for Thee, and as Thine, 
 
 Whatever lot be fent. 
 
 Yet help me, Lord, in Thine own flrergth, 
 
 This purpofe to fulfil ; 
 And onward lead, till I at length 
 
 Stand perfect in Thy Will. 
 
41 
 
 THE HARPS OF HE A VEN. 
 By SYDNEY DOBELL. 
 
 /^N a folemn day 
 
 I clomb the fhming bulwark of the Skies : 
 Not by the beaten way, 
 But climbing by a prayer, 
 
 That, like a golden thread, hung by the giddy flair 
 Fleck'd on the immemorial blue. 
 By the (Irong ftep-flroke of the brave and few, 
 Who flirr'd by echoes of far harmonies, 
 Mufl either lay them down and die of love, 
 Or dare 
 
 Thofe Empyrean walls that mock their ftarward eyes. 
 But midway in the dread emprife 
 The fainter and fainter footlleps ceafe ; 
 And, all my footing gone. 
 Like one who gathers Samphire, I hold on, 
 And in the fwaying air look up and dovv^n : 
 And up and down through anfwering vafts defciy 
 Nor Earth nor Heaven ; 
 Above, 
 
 The fheer eternal precipice ; below, 
 The fheer eternal precipice. 
 Then when I, 
 
 Gigantic with my defperate agony. 
 Felt even 
 
 The knotted grafp of bodily defpair 
 Relaxing to let go, 
 
42 The Harps of Heaven. 
 
 A mighty mufic, like a wind of Light, 
 
 Blew from the imminent height, 
 
 And caught me in its fplendour ; and, as flame 
 
 That flickers and again afpires, 
 
 Rofe in a moment thither whence it came \ 
 
 And I, that thought me loft, 
 
 Paft to the top of all my dear defires 
 
 And ftood among the Everlafting hoft. 
 
 Then turn'd I to a Seraph whofe fwift hands, 
 
 That lived angelic paffion, ftruck his foul 
 
 Upon a harp — a feraph fair and ftrong, 
 
 And faultlefs for his harp and for his throne — 
 
 And yet, among 
 
 The Strength and Beauty of the Heavenly bands, 
 
 No more to be remember'd than fome one 
 
 Poor warrior, when a King of many kings 
 
 Stamps on the fields, and rears his glittering crop 
 
 Of ftanding fteel, and the vex'd Spirit wings 
 
 Above the human harveft, and in vain 
 
 Begins from morn till eve to fum the embattled plain ; 
 
 Or when, 
 
 After a day of peace, fudden and late 
 
 The beacon flaflies and the war-drums roll, 
 
 And through the torches of the city gate, 
 
 All the long Winter night a martial race 
 
 Streams to the nation's gathering-place. 
 
 And, like as waterdrop to waterdrop. 
 
 Pour on in changelefs flood th' innumerable men. 
 
 I turn'd, and as from footing in mid-feas 
 Looking o'er leffening waves thou mayft behold 
 The round horizon of unflmdovv'd gold, 
 I, ftanding on an Amethyft, look'd round 
 
The Harps of Heaven. 43 
 
 The moving Heaven of Harpers throned and crown'd, 
 
 And faid, " Was it from thefe 
 
 I heard the great found ?" And he faid— "What found ?" 
 
 Then I, grown bolder, feeing I had thriven 
 
 To win reply — " This that I hear from thee, 
 
 This that everywhere I hear, 
 
 Rolling a Sea of Choriflry 
 
 Up and down the jewel of Heaven ; 
 
 A fea which from thy feat of light, 
 
 That feems more loud and bright 
 
 Becaufe more near. 
 
 To the white twinkle of yon furthefl portal, 
 
 Swells up thofe cirding fhores of Chryfolite, 
 
 And, Hke an odorous luminous mifl, doth leap th' eternal 
 
 walls, 
 And falls 
 
 In wreaths of melody 
 Adown the azure mountain of the fky ; 
 And round its lower flopes bedew'd 
 Breathes lofl beatitude, 
 And far away, 
 
 Low, low, below the lafl of all its lucent fcarps. 
 Sprinkles bewildering drops of Immortality. 
 O Angel fair, thou know'fl what I would fay — 
 This found of harpers that I hear. 
 This found of harpers harping on their harps." 
 Then he bent his head 
 And fhed a tear 
 And faid, 
 
 " I perceive thou art a mortal." 
 Then I to him—" Not only, O thou bright 
 Seraphic Pity ! to a mortal ear 
 Thefe facred founds are dear. 
 
44 The Harps of Heaven. 
 
 Or why withholdeth not thy ceafelefs hand ? 
 
 And why, 
 
 Far as my dazzled eye 
 
 Can pierce the luflre of the radiant land, 
 
 See I the rapt CeleRial auditory, 
 
 Each, while he bleffed hears, give back his blifs 
 
 With never-tiring touch from golden harps like this ] " 
 
 Then he to me — " Oh, wherefore hall thou trod 
 
 Beyond the limit of thine earthly lot % 
 
 Thefe that we bear 
 
 Within our hands are inflruments of glory, 
 
 Where^vith, day without night. 
 
 We make the glory of immortal light 
 
 In the eyes of God. 
 
 As for the found, we hear it not ; 
 
 Yet, fpeaking to thee. Child of ignorance, 
 
 I do remember that I loved it once, 
 
 In the fweet lower air." — 
 
 Yet he fpake once more, — 
 
 " But thou, return to the remember'd Ihore \ 
 
 Why fliouldfl, thou leave thy nation. 
 
 Thy city, and the houfe of all mofl dear ? 
 
 Do we not all dwell in Eternity % 
 
 For we have been as thou, and thou 
 
 Shalt be as we." 
 
 And he lean'd and kifsbd me. 
 
 Saying, " But now 
 
 Rejoice, O Child, in other joys than mine ; 
 
 Hear the dear mufic of thy mortal ear 
 
 While yet it is the time with thee. 
 
 Nor make haRc to tliine exaltation. 
 
 Though our ilatc be better than thine." 
 
45 
 
 GOD GLORIFIED. 
 
 By JAMES MACFARLAN, 
 
 Author of " City Songs^'' ^^ Ly7'ics of Life, ^'' ^'c. 
 
 *'Praile ye Him, fun and moon : praife Him, all ye stars of light 
 .... ye dragons and all deeps .... stormy wind fulfilling His 
 word." — Psalm cxlviii. 
 
 C C T T7HAT is thy fong, O Sea ? " 
 
 I alk'd the toiling waves that clomb the beach ; 
 When all the Ocean feem'd to gather fpeech : 
 " Mine is the mighty Voice that bears abroad 
 The power and grandeur of the living God, — 
 His wonders, glory, and immenfity ! " 
 
 " What is your fong, ye Spheres 1 " 
 And through the night I turn up queftioning eyes : 
 When lo ! a mightier refponfe fhook the Skies," — 
 " 'Tis ours to chant throughout the myriad years 
 The hymn of Heaven's almighty Myfleries ! " 
 
 " What is thy fong, thou Storm, 
 Blowing the trumpet of Euroclydon, 
 Or, heralded by thunder, leading on 
 The lightnings unto battle ? " Then there broke 
 From out the darknefs of that fearful form 
 A voice fublimely terrible, and fpoke, — 
 " Though from the Earth an awful voice I raife, 
 I do but whifper in Jehovah's praife ! " 
 
46 Viflory and Defeat. 
 
 Then, turning to my foul, 
 " Haft thou no fong T' I cried ; "ftill art thou dumb % 
 Haft thou nor hymn, nor chant, nor offering meet ? 
 This mufic without thine is incomplete : 
 Oh, lift thy voice, until thofe fongs become 
 Together blent, one great harmonious whole ! " 
 
 VICTORY AND DEFEAT. 
 
 By WILLIAiM SAWYER, Esq. 
 
 Author of " Thought and Reverie,^'' &>c, 
 
 TTT'REATHs to him who from the glorious 
 
 Strife of forces comes vi6lorious, 
 Paean and triumphal greeting, — 
 This the meafure of man's meeting. 
 
 All for triumph : nothing heeding 
 Valour fallen, trampled, bleeding, 
 Battle's hotteft brunt fuftaining, 
 Only fhort of vidlory gaining. 
 
 But, O brother ! crufti'd, defeated, 
 Not thus is God's meafure meted ; 
 Stricflly juft, the Father ever 
 Sees the end in the endeavour. 
 
 And between Earth's pure and fainted. 
 And her outcaft foul and tainted. 
 Haply all the gulf extended. 
 In His fight is bridged and ended ! 
 
T 
 
 4 
 
 JEPHTHA'S DAUGHl ER. 
 
 By Mrs. TRAFFORD WHITEHEAD, 
 Author efs of *■'• Gertrude and Emmelijie" and other Poems. 
 
 'TpHE hofls of Israel flood encamp'd 'gainfL Amnion's 
 
 ruthlefs pride, 
 And to the Lord for vi6lory in anguilh Jephtha cried : 
 " Oh, give me but the battle, Lord, and I will vow to 
 
 Thee, 
 Whatever 'from my houfe comes forth to blefs and honour 
 
 me. 
 When back in peace to Mizpeh a conqueror I go ; 
 Lord, let the flag of Ifrael wave when Ammon lieth low !" 
 
 Vidlorious from battle came the flower of Jephtha's hofl. — 
 Jephtha, the chief of Gilead, of Ifrael's power the boaft \ 
 From Aroer to Minnith, and the vineyards of the plain, 
 He hath triumph'd o'er the mighty in fields of blood and 
 flain. 
 
 The din of warfare over, to Judah's lafling fame, 
 Back to his houfe at Mizpeh the mighty Conqueror came ; 
 And when upon a fudden hill the fcene before him fpread, 
 Behold a maiden dancing came, with a timbrel o'er her 
 head ! 
 
 He rein'd his chariot on the hill, his horfes back he drew; 
 But on the maiden came in glee, the ground beneath her 
 flew j 
 
48 
 
 JephthcHs Daughter. 
 
 She waved her fnowy arms on high, Ihe beat the timbrel 
 
 loud, — 
 Clear rang her fong of welcome, then at his feet flie bow'd. 
 
 He flood erect in mute defpair, like a lion in the toils ; 
 What then to him his conquells, their glory and their 
 
 fpoils % 
 He gazed upon the maiden, and the drops flood on his 
 
 brow, — 
 " O God ! it is my daughter, — my daughter is my vow ! " 
 
 Oh, lovely flar of Jephtha, fair flower of filial grace, 
 Too well may Ifrael mourn for thee, lafl. fcion of his race ! 
 The hope of Judah's maidens may never now be thine, 
 But honour for thy father's vow around thy name will 
 
 fhine : — 
 The leffon of the Sacred page lies not in Gilead's flaughter, 
 But in the patient loveUnefs of Jephtha's fated daughter. 
 
49 
 
 RESOL VE AND DO. 
 
 By the Rev. H. M. BUTLER, M.A. 
 
 " Work your work betimes, and in His time He shall give you your 
 reward." — EccLUS. li. 30. 
 
 'npo know the number of my mortal days 
 
 I alk not ; be they many, be they few, 
 Each moment the fad voice of fuff 'ring prays, 
 " Refolve and do." 
 
 The Temple of thy God in ruin {lands : 
 
 Go up and build, and take thy truefl arms ; 
 And grafp the Gofpel-trumpet in thy hands 
 To found alarms. 
 
 Lay firmly every Hone ; long years may be. 
 
 And flormy winds may rend, ere all be done : 
 But lay \h.e first ; thou mayft not live to fee 
 To-morrow's Sun. 
 
 Build for the Future ; let our children fay, 
 
 " His mind was finely toned and deeply fet :" 
 But look around thee, nor be flow to pay 
 The prefent debt. 
 
 The " vifion and the faculty divine " 
 
 Come not by dreaming : he whofe eye is clear 
 To read the prefent, reads the future fign, — 
 The truefl Seer. 
 
 E 
 
50 Stars of Glory. 
 
 God deigns to need thy weaknefs ; heed His call, 
 
 " Unhafling, yet unrefling :" (hort or long 
 The days that wait thee, they are His — yea, all 
 To Him belong. 
 
 STARS OF GLORY, 
 
 By the Rev. D E. FORD, 
 
 Author of '■^ Decapolis" ^* Dama/ctts, dfc. 
 
 •* One star differeth from another star in glorj'." — St. Paui- 
 
 T^iviNELY blell, the infant foul, 
 ^"^ On Angel-pinions borne away, 
 Ere it could feel this world's control, 
 Or find the path that leads aflray ! 
 
 But happier far the veteran faint 
 Who lays his long-worn armour by, 
 
 And quits a life of hard reflraint 
 To (hare the vi6lory on high ! 
 
 His warfare done, he leaves the field. 
 And enters on his Heavenly refl ; 
 
 AVhile fome young warrior grafps that fhield 
 Which erfl. he bore, and wears that crcfL. 
 
 So, when the Prophet's mantle cleft 
 The flream to make Eliflia wa}^, 
 
 Elijah pilgrimage had left 
 
 For realms of everlafling day. 
 
5t 
 
 JOHN THE BAPTIST. 
 
 By professor BLACKIE. 
 
 T T 7H0 is he in hairy raiment 
 ^ ^ Clad, i' the wildernefs 
 Preaching freely without payment 
 
 Truth and righteoufnefs ? 
 Whofo hears, and not defpifes, 
 Him with water he baptizes, 
 
 In the contrite hour : 
 Whofo hears with haughty fcorning, 
 Him he fmites with holy warning, 
 
 And with Prophet's power. 
 
 Swarms the city from its corners, 
 
 Motley bad and good ; 
 Thoughtlefs hearts and hoary mourners 
 
 Hafle to Jordan's flood : 
 Some for fm their fouls abafmg ; 
 Some to feed their eye with gazing ; 
 
 Some to fearch and try 
 With captious craft the fhaggy Preacher, 
 And themfelves to teach the Teacher ; 
 
 Some they know not why. 
 
 Comes the Rabbi, with a flately 
 
 Meafured gravity ; 
 With a folemn air, fedately 
 
 Comes the Pharifee ; 
 
John the Baptijl. 
 
 Wide his robe, and on the border 
 Sacred texts, in well-march'd order, 
 
 Show his purpofe plain — 
 With a nice and fenced exiflence, 
 Far to keep, at holy diflance. 
 
 Every touch profane. 
 
 Came fat Pried, and Pontiff portly. 
 
 With a bloated face ; 
 Came Herodian, fmooth and courtly, 
 
 With a gay grimace. 
 Came the Effene from his flation 
 Of fecluded contemplation ; 
 
 And (llrange fight to fee) 
 With an eye of twinkling keennefs, 
 And a fmile of cold ferenenefs, 
 
 Came the Sadducee. 
 
 Came the Soldier firm and fleady, 
 
 Frolicfome and gay, 
 With his quick hand ever ready 
 
 For the rifing fray. 
 Came the Ufurer, dry and meagre ; 
 Came the Publican, keen and eager 
 
 For great Coefar's penny. 
 With a train of filken pages 
 Comes the rich man ; with fcant wages 
 
 Come the burden'd many. 
 
 What faith he, the wayfide Preacher, 
 
 To this motley crew 1 
 Doth he come a cunning Teacher 
 
 Of lore flrange and new ? 
 
John the Baptift. 
 
 Hath he drawn without omiffion, 
 Point for point, a long confeflion, 
 
 To inform the brain % 
 Piled a fabric theologic, 
 Fenced it round with briftling logic 
 
 And diftinctions vain % 
 
 Hath he wove a girth to meafure 
 
 God, a chain to bind 
 The Infinite, and mapp'd at leifure 
 
 The omnifcient Mind % 
 Hath he trimm'd an old Theogony, 
 Cumbrous rear'd a new Cofmogony, 
 
 To employ the fchools % 
 Not with fpeculation vainefl 
 Preacheth he ;— with wifdom plainefl, 
 
 And with fimplefl rules. 
 
 Thus he fpeaks—" Repent ! Repentance 
 
 Smooths Meffiah's way \ 
 'Tis an old and weighty fentence, 
 
 Weigh it well to-day ; 
 Haft thou nurft a fin ^— confefs it : 
 Haft thou done a wrong ?— redrefs it : 
 
 And with juft defire 
 Aik no more than what is due thee ; 
 Be content, when offer'd to thee, 
 
 With thy lawful hire. 
 
 " Say not, with vain pride elated, 
 
 ' God's own people we,' 
 Tracing high a hoary-dated 
 
 Patriarch pedigree. 
 
54 John the Baptijl. 
 
 Peopled earth is thickly fludded 
 With the children, common-blooded, 
 
 Of the great I AM. 
 From the hard flint, at His pleafurc, 
 God can raife up without meafure 
 
 Sons to Abraham. 
 
 " Hear, whofe barren trunk hath cumber'd 
 
 Now too long the ground, 
 Saith the Lord, your days are number'd ; 
 
 Hark ! with cralhing found, 
 Falls the axe that fells the fruitlefs ! 
 Toils He not with labour bootlefs 
 
 Who now fmites the tree. 
 He my winnow'd wheat fhall garner, 
 But like empty chaff the fcorner 
 
 Burn with fire fhall He." 
 
 Thus he preach'd to great and fmall men, 
 
 Of the human right ; 
 Like the bleffed Sun, on all men 
 
 Shedding fimple light. 
 O ! wife are they who hear fuch preaching, 
 Not too high for common teaching 
 
 In life's common ways ; 
 Not with proud pretence ballooning, 
 Not with gay parade feflooning. 
 
 To catch the vulgar gaze. 
 
 Flap who will the air-borne pinion, 
 
 Sweeping far and free ; 
 Solid Earth be my dominion, 
 
 Baptifl John with thee ! 
 
Sonnet. 
 
 In the plainefl. path of duty, 
 Stamping daily things with beauty, 
 
 I with thee will tread ; 
 Where thy warning finger pointed 
 I would follow, where the anointed 
 
 Saviour lowly led. 
 
 TRUST IN GOD. 
 By G. S. de M. RUTHERFORD, Esq. 
 
 Qtray from Thee ? No ! The fpirit in my breafl, 
 
 ^ That mock'd Thee firfl, will love Thee to the laR ; 
 
 And if my life be wreck'd, all hope o'ercaft. 
 
 Still unto Thee 'twill turn, its Haven of refl. 
 
 Come to Thee % Yes ! For there are links divine, 
 
 That bind me to Thee, Lord, great as Thou art ; 
 
 And when the dying pulfe fhall throb my heart. 
 
 Death will but nearer draw it unto Thine. 
 
 When drifted on the waves without a guide, 
 
 When helplefs borne without a helm or fail, 
 
 When Love's bright eyes grew cold at Danger's fide — 
 
 My faith nail'd to Thy mafl, Thou didft not fail. 
 
 Then, dear Lord, e'er be my abiding Guefl, 
 
 While life, like brooding dove, dwells in my breafl. 
 
56 
 
 THE ISRAELITES AT THE RED SEA. 
 By Miss ELLEN E. WHITE. 
 
 B 
 
 EHiND them lies the defert wafle ; 
 Before, the pathlefs Deep ; 
 And on their track with vengeful hafle 
 
 Egypt's dark fquadrons fweep \ 
 Till in the funfct's lafl. red glow 
 Flafhes the armour of the foe ! 
 
 Then rofe to Heaven a mighty cry ; 
 
 A people's voice was on the air — 
 In every heart, in every eye. 
 
 Rebellion and defpair ; 
 " Why didfl thou thus our fleps beguile 
 Were there no graves befide the Nile ? 
 
 " Where are the pleafant things and fair 
 That grow by Egypt's Rreams 1 
 
 Is this lone wafle, the lion's lair. 
 The Canaan of our dreams ? 
 
 Is this dark Sea, this barren flrand, 
 
 The pathway to the Promifed Land % " 
 
 The word is fpoken ! — o'er the wave 
 Is flretch'd the Leader's myflic rod ; 
 
 And fafely, through the yawning grave 
 Where human foot had never trod, 
 
 They reach at dawn the diRant fhore — 
 
 Theu- buried foes are fcen no more ! 
 
The True Friend. 57 
 
 O Lord ! when, like Thy fons of old, 
 
 We wander through a barren walle, 
 Wliere Hope is faint, and Love is cold, 
 
 And bitter to our earthly tafle 
 The flream that in the defert flows, 
 The daily bread Thy hand beftows, — 
 
 When haunting dreams of pleafant things 
 Make the lone wildernefs more drear, 
 
 Where every hour in paffmg brings 
 
 Some prefent pain, fome threat'ning fear, 
 
 And fb-etch'd before our fhrinking eyes. 
 
 Like a dark fea, the Future lies, — 
 
 Then, Lord, be Thou at hand to guide, 
 Thy Crofs be there our path to mark : 
 
 Though high may fwell the flormy tide, 
 In Heaven is light, though Earth be dark : 
 
 Like thofe who crofs'd that Eaflern fea, 
 
 We shall be fafe who trufl in Thee ! 
 
58 
 
 ART THOU IN HEALTH} 
 
 By the Rev. SEPTIMUS SEARS, 
 Author of '* Sacred Ahi/ings,^^ ^c, 
 
 /^OME, feeble Saint, why lean from day to day ? 
 
 Has thy feeblenefs no caufe 1 
 Come, let me acSl the Surgeon's part, I pray, 
 And try thee by my Mafler's laws. 
 
 Thy pulfe is beating high towards wealth or fame ; 
 
 A worldly fever wafles thy might ; 
 A feeblenefs of beating towards the Saviour's Name 
 
 Is proof thy heart with God's not right, 
 That tongue, film'd o'er with levity and earth, 
 
 Not moifl with earnefl cries to God, 
 Nor wet with godly moans nor godly mirth. 
 
 Nor pleading hard a Saviour's Blood ; — 
 That eye, inflamed with lufl or dim with care, 
 
 Not looking to yon bleeding Crofs, 
 Not wafh'd with godly grief nor raifed in prayer, 
 
 Nor counting all for Chrifl but lofs ; — 
 That cheft, fo little heaving by the Spirit's grace, 
 
 So little breathing at the throne. 
 So feldom panting after Jefu's face. 
 
 And longing after Him alone ; — 
 That fadly crooked walk ; that Hooping gait ; 
 
 That feeblenefs ; the frequent fall ; 
 That flrengthlcffncfs to rife, to fly, to wait, 
 
 And grafp the Saviour as thy All ; 
 
Ah Thou i?i Health ? 59 
 
 That want of appetite for things divine ; 
 
 That lack of hunger for the Living Bread ; 
 That Httle of thirfling for the Heavenly Wine ; 
 
 Thofe few heart-fighs to Chrift, thy Head ; — 
 All prove thy inward health is truly bad, — 
 
 Thy foul with ficknefs droops and faints. 
 But, liflen ! Though thy cafe, indeed, be fad, 
 
 There's One can eafe thy heart's complaints ; 
 Balm in abundance in His love is found ; 
 
 He's tendernefs and fkill combined : 
 Fly to His throne — He'll make His grace abound, 
 
 And heal the ficknefs of thy mind. 
 I'll tell thee why thy foul continues fick, — 
 
 Some idol's harbour'd in thy heart ; 
 Thy hands will always droop, thy knees be weak, 
 
 Till thou and thy dumb god (hall part. 
 
 Lord ! wilt Thou take the work in Thine own hands — 
 
 Chafe out the Dagons from my breafl 1 
 They mufl obey Thy high and great commands. 
 
 Who hufli'd the flormy Sea to refl. 
 Lord ! make my heart at length fmcerely fay, 
 
 " What with dumb gods have I to do *? " 
 I'd fmite upon my thigh, repent and pray. 
 
 Bemoan my fms, forfake them too : 
 I'd come with all my heart to Thy dear Crofs, — 
 
 Thy Blood can cure the guilt of fm. 
 Oh, wafh away my flains, and purge my drofs, 
 
 And make me from my idols clean ! 
 Let me through life fhow forth Thy praife, 
 
 Yet fmk to nothing at Thy feet ; 
 A fruitful branch, yet trufling in Thy grace, 
 
 Hide in the dufl, for me fo meet. 
 
Oo God and Man. 
 
 Through grace I'd ferve my generation here, 
 Then lay me do^vn and calmly die ; 
 
 PafTmg the river, free from doubt or fear, 
 I'd foar feraphic to the fky. 
 
 There, while for ever circling years roll on, 
 The victor's palm to Thee I'll wave. 
 
 Shout to the praife of Sov'reign grace alone. 
 And fmg His love who died to fave. 
 
 GOD AND MAN. 
 
 By Mrs. JOHNSTON, 
 Authorefs of '■'■Lays of the Lofl Oftc,''^ &^r. 
 
 f^ OD keepeth watch, with never-fleeping eye. 
 
 Over the fouls of men : 
 Angels, with eamefl. faces, round us fly, 
 
 And upward foar again. 
 
 Man, with a laugh, a jefl, from moon to moon 
 
 Purfues his fliort career ! 
 With, now and then, a thought — forgotten foon- 
 
 Of Death that may be near. 
 
God and Man. ^i 
 
 God thunders, in His juft and holy ire, 
 
 Againfl that vile thing, fm ; 
 And writes upon Heaven's gates, in words of fire, — 
 
 " No finner enters in." 
 
 Man toys with this thing which his Maker hates. 
 
 And fmiles as in a dream ; 
 While thofe great words, that blaze on Heaven's gates, 
 
 To him unreal feem. 
 
 God, with a love fo great that, in amaze. 
 
 All Heaven adoring flands, 
 Comes down to Earth, and bears with human ways, 
 
 And dies by cruel hands. 
 
 Man reads with ferious face, at flated times, 
 
 Of God's great love to men ; 
 But worldly Joys ring out their idle chimes. 
 
 And Ileal his heart again. 
 
 God calls man, from the cradle to the grave, 
 
 While the fhort feafons roll ; 
 All Heaven is (lirr'd with earneft love to fave 
 
 This blood-bought, God-made foul. 
 
 O man ! thou maflerpiece from God's right hand. 
 
 Trifles are not for thee : 
 Awake, and join awhile God's warrior-band ; 
 
 Then reft eternally 1 
 
62 
 
 REPENTANCE AND FAITH. 
 By the Rev. W. ALEXANDER, M. A. 
 Repentance towards God and faith towards our Lord Jefus Christ" 
 
 'TpHERE was a fhip, one eve autumnal, onward 
 
 Steer'd o'er an ocean lake ; 
 Steer'd by fome (Irong hand ever as if funward ; 
 
 Behind an angry wake, 
 Before there flretch'd a fea that grew intenfer, 
 
 With filver-fire far fpread, 
 Up to a hill mifl-gloried, like a cenfer, 
 
 With fmoke encompaffed : 
 It feem'd as if two feas met brink to brink, 
 A filver flood beyond a lake of ink. 
 
 There was a Soul that eve autumnal faihng 
 
 Beyond the Earth's dark bars. 
 Toward the land of funfets never paling, 
 
 Toward Heaven's fea of flars ; 
 Behind there was a wake of billows tofling, 
 
 Before a glory lay. 
 
 happy foul ! with all fail fet, jufl cro fling 
 
 Into the Far-away. 
 The gloom and gleam, the calmnefs and the flrife, 
 Were death before thee, and behind thee life, 
 
 And as that fhip went up the waters flately. 
 Upon her topmafls tall 
 
 1 faw t^vo fails, whereof the one was greatly 
 
 Dark, as a funeral pall. 
 
ni think on God. (>'^ 
 
 But oh ! the next's pure whitenefs who Ihall utter ? 
 
 Like a Ihell-fnovvy flrand, 
 Or when a funbeam falleth through the (hutter 
 
 On a dead baby's hand ; 
 But both ahke acrofs the furging fea 
 Help'd to the haven where the bark would be. 
 
 And as that Soul went onward, fweetly fpeeding 
 
 Unto its home of light, 
 Repentance made it forrowful exceeding, 
 
 Faith made it wondrous bright ; 
 Repentance dark with Ihadowy recoUedlions, 
 
 And longings unfufficed, 
 Faith white and pure with funniefl affections 
 
 Full from the face of Chrift : 
 But both acrofs the fun-befilver'd tide 
 Help'd to the haven where the heart would ride. 
 
 PLL THINK ON GOD. 
 
 By the Rev. J. LAWSON, M.A. 
 "When I am in heavinefs, I will think upon God." — Ps. Ixxvii. 3. 
 
 XT Then Sorrow's flood wells o'er its brim, 
 
 And eyes with weary watch wax dim, 
 Wliilfl frowns To-morrow's vifage grim — 
 I'll think on God ! 
 
64 ril think on God. 
 
 When not old Ocean's fummer blue, 
 Or fkyey mountain's funfct hue, 
 Can my ebb'd fpirit's flow renew — 
 I'll think on God ! 
 
 WTien not the vefper ftrain of thruHi, 
 Or blackbird fcreen'd in neighbouring bufh, 
 Avails mine inward throbs to hufli — 
 I'll think on God ! 
 
 When e'en Earth's flars, her flowers, that vie 
 With thofe that nightly gem the flvy, 
 Unheeded greet my downcafl eye, — 
 I'U think on God ! 
 
 Is not His word of well-proved might 
 To pierce Affliction's deepeft night, 
 Converting darknefs into light ? 
 I'll think on God ! 
 
 Says not His own belovbd Son, — 
 " Take comfort in what I have done, 
 In My Salvation trufl alone " — 
 I'll think on God. 
 
 Whatever clouds obfcure my way, 
 Till earthly fhadows fleet away, 
 And dawns the everlafling day, 
 I'll think on God. 
 
65 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LOWLY, 
 By the late T. K. HERVEY, Esq. 
 
 'VTOT loll are they whofe journey lies 
 
 Along the world's mofl tangled ways ; 
 Nor need they faint if burning fides 
 
 Dry up the wells for many days, — 
 Nor they repine whofe lot commands 
 A life-path through the defert fands. 
 
 For lo ! the Gofpel waters clear 
 
 Are given to their aching eyes, 
 Wherein, though dimm'd by earthly tear, 
 
 They yet may fee the fkies, — 
 Along whofe margin fpreads the flrand 
 That flretches to the Holy Land. 
 
 We may be poor through all our days, 
 
 Yet gather great increafe ; 
 Our lives may lead through rugged ways, 
 
 But all their paths be Peace ; 
 And they on Earth the ferfs of toil 
 Are heirs of an immortal foil 
 
 'Twas thus the Ladder's lowefl round 
 Rofe up where, faint and weary thrown. 
 
 The Patriarch's head no pillow found 
 More gentle than the flone ; 
 
 p 
 
66 JVaitinsr. 
 
 ^' 
 
 Yet i/iere lie caught the meffage bright 
 That founded down the golden fpars, 
 
 And track'd in dreams the Heps of hght 
 That cHmb'd beyond the flars, — 
 
 And knew they were the fhining road 
 
 That took the Angels up to God. 
 
 WAITING. 
 By Mrs. J. C. SIMPSON. 
 
 T AM waiting, O my Mother ! 
 
 Watching, waiting for the day, 
 From this motley fcene fhall take me 
 
 To that better home away : 
 For the thought with fick'ning forrow 
 
 Shadows flill my fpirit o'er, 
 Her who blcfl my earliefl being 
 
 I fhall fee on Earth no more ! 
 
 I am waiting, O my Daughter ! 
 
 Watching, waiting to be free 
 From thefe cold, material fetters, 
 
 That divide my foul from thee : 
 For the memory of thy beauty, 
 
 Sweetly tender in its tone. 
 Haunts me like a dream mofl holy 
 
 Wafted from the Eternal Throne. 
 
Waiting. 67 
 
 I am waiting, O my Children ! 
 
 Sons call'd hence in infant bloom,- 
 Watching, waiting till the Mafler 
 
 Point my paffage to the tomb : 
 For your childHke Spirit feemeth 
 
 Like a mantle dropt from Heaven, 
 Gently o'er my fad heart fallen, 
 
 And my fms are all forgiven. 
 
 I am waiting, O my Saviour ! 
 
 Till Thine Angel ope the door, 
 Through whofe myflic Portals never 
 
 Pilgrim pafl returneth more : 
 For the lovehnefs hath faded 
 
 From the things of fenfe and fight, 
 Loft in that excelling glory 
 
 Of the Land of Love and Light. 
 
 I am waiting, watching, praying, 
 
 For that fure and folemn hour, 
 When the Heaven-appointed Reaper 
 
 Shall cut down the parched flower : 
 Then, oh ! then, to be tranfplanted 
 
 To that Garden's amaranth bed, 
 Where in full perennial glory, 
 
 I ftiall find my fainted dead ! 
 
68 
 
 HOME. 
 
 By LLEWELLYNN JEWITT, Esq., F.S.A. 
 Author of ''Antenna,'' " The Snow-paihy" &^c, 
 
 "OROTHER, — in pain, or fadnefs, or joy, 
 ^ Where, where is thy dearefl Home 1 
 Where wouldfl thou fly from the World's annoy, 
 
 Where in thy trouble come 1 
 Where turn for comfort, and hope, and love, 
 
 Where feek for fympathy ] 
 "WTiere could thy heart, like a fluttering dove, 
 
 Refl from its mifery 1 
 
 Say, where is thy Home — all homes above ! 
 Brother, thy " Home " is a fifler s love. 
 
 Husband, — oh, where is thy dearefl Home, 
 
 Thy folace in pain or grief ? 
 Where from the falfe World's fcoming, 
 
 Canft. thou turn to find relief? 
 Where, when the fpirit within thee finks, 
 
 And thy weary foul is opprefl. 
 Where canfl thou turn for fympathy, 
 
 Where find a haven of refl ? 
 
 Say, where for folace and joy cand thou come? 
 A wife's fond heart is the husband's '• Home." 
 
 Friend, — when in trial and fuff"ering, 
 
 Where dofl thou find thy home ? 
 Where in thy pain canfl. thou feek relief. 
 
 Where in thy forrows come ] 
 
The Heart. 69 
 
 Where from the World's rude conflicfl 
 
 Canfl thou find a calm retreat % 
 Where learn afrelh with courage 
 Thy trials and forrows to meet ? 
 
 Where is thy (hield from Adverfity's dart % 
 Friend, thy " Home " is a loved one's heart. 
 
 Man, — ^when thy heart is torn with grief, 
 
 When thy hopes are for ever gone, 
 When Adverfity's cloud hangs over thy head, 
 
 And Earth's troubles weigh thee down, — 
 When thole whom thou lovefl have turn'd away, 
 
 And cruelly flighted thee, — 
 When thy heart is crufh'd, and thy joys are gone, — 
 
 For flielter, oh ! where canfl thou flee % 
 
 Man, though from comfort on Earth thou'rt driven, 
 Thy '* Home " and thy joy are with God in Heaven. 
 
 THE HEART, 
 
 By the Rev. H. M. BUTLER, M.A. 
 
 'KJo Heart fo low but it hath many mountains, 
 
 Now feal'd in ice, now bathed in fun : 
 I\ro Heart fo fliallow but hath welling fountains," 
 Reveal'd to God alone. 
 
70 
 
 THE SNOW. 
 
 By a. J. SYMINGTON, Esq. 
 
 Author of ** The Beautiful in Nature, Art, and Lije." 
 
 "Hast thou entered into the treafures of the fnow?" 
 
 Job, xxxviii. 
 
 T STOOD gazing, from the window, 
 
 On the fleecy Snow 
 Falling — falling — ever falling, 
 
 Solemnly and flow ; 
 
 And I felt the downy fl^illnefs 
 
 To be more fublime 
 Than the thunder — flakes like ages 
 
 In the lapfe of Time ! 
 
 Bright Sun ! blue fl<ies ! Now the orchard 
 
 Hath no air of gloom, 
 White-clothed, down-weigh'd branches feeming 
 
 Laden with fummer-bloom : 
 
 Not a Ihroud ! an eider mantle 
 
 Shielding Earth from florm, 
 Is the friendly fnow ; it keepeth 
 
 Flower and grafs-blade warm ! 
 
 So with chilly biting Trials, 
 
 Rightly underflood ; 
 God, aye watching thofe that love Kim, 
 
 Worketh all for good. 
 
THE LAMB OF GOD, THE LION OF THE 
 TRIBE OF JUDAH. 
 
 By Miss CAROLINE HUNT, 
 Auihorefs of " The Voice of Many Waters,^"* 
 
 ^VTOT fhame nor infult, mockery, fcourging, death, 
 
 Could wring one bitter word from Him they ilevv 
 In prayers and bleffmgs ebb'd His parting breath ; 
 
 " Father, forgive ! they know not what they do." 
 Yet countlefs legions of the Heavenly Hofl, 
 
 His eye could fee array'd around the Throne, 
 Prepared to fave Him, when He feem'd fo loll, 
 
 Lofl and forfaken ! But He trod alone 
 That deadly wineprefs. Who can realize 
 
 His (Irange temptation % He was human, flill 
 
 Felt more than man each mortal pain and il ; 
 Still in His Soul would human yearnings rife ; 
 
 But meek, fubmiffive to His Father's will, 
 
 Born the Eternal Councils to fulfil. 
 The Lamb of God, felf-immolated, dies, 
 For guilty man an all-atoning Sacrifice. 
 
 Yet was He angry once ; with flafhing eye 
 
 The Lion of the tribe of Judah rofe, 
 Zealous His Father's Houfe to purify ; 
 
 Nerved was that gentle Hand with wrath. His blows 
 Drove the rapacious ufurers away ; — 
 
 The Lord was in His Holy Temple then. 
 
72 The Lamb of God. 
 
 AVho (hall abide His coming in His day 
 Of might and glory, when He comes again 
 
 To judge the World, His Angel-court around ? 
 " The elements fhall melt with fervent heat," 
 And Death and Hell fall crufh'd beneath His feet : 
 
 When all Creation hears the Trumpet-found, 
 When you and I before His Judgment-feat, 
 And they that loved, and they that pierced Him, meet, 
 
 Oh ! where fhall we, Thou Lamb of God, be found. 
 
 Thou Lion of Thy Tribe, unlefs Thy grace abound ? 
 
 For nought impure, unholy, or defiled, 
 
 Enters the regions of Eternal Day. 
 Oh ! let us not, by Earth or Hell beguiled, 
 
 Throw all our precious hopes of Heaven away. 
 To " purify ourfelves as He is pure," 
 
 To follow in the path which Jefus trod, 
 To love, to trufl, to hope, and to endure, 
 
 This is the life acceptable to God. 
 Though Sin within us wages deadly war, 
 
 Yet will He fuccour thofe for whom He died : 
 
 For us the Lord of Life was crucified ; 
 His living Temples flill our bodies are ! 
 
 By His flrong Hand may they be purified, 
 
 In them may He, the Holy Lamb, abide ; 
 And may His glories, beaming from afar, 
 Shine on our darken'd fouls, a " bright and morning Star." 
 
73 
 
 THE SANCTUAR V OF GOD. 
 
 By henry CECIL, Esq. 
 Author of Various Poems, 
 
 "Know ye not that y« are the temple of God, and that the Spirit 
 of God dwelleth in you ? " — i Cor. iiL i6. 
 
 TN the light of lunfet fading, 
 ^ In the furge of the wide Sea, 
 Wave on wave the fhore abrading, 
 Comes a Voice and whifpers me : 
 
 " Man of fongs, to whom is given 
 
 Much to fuffer and to know. 
 Sing us of the fongs of Heaven — 
 
 Zion's fong, if warbled low. 
 
 " There is tarnifh on the earthy : 
 All things Mortal wail the curfe : 
 
 Only Faith's unfeen is worthy 
 Of the honours of great verfe." 
 
 And above the funfet fading. 
 
 Holding me in thrall, I flee ; 
 And above the white invading 
 
 Surge on furge of the wide Sea ; 
 
 Seeking, if I may but find it, 
 Find it truly of God's grace, 
 
7 4 The Sanctuary of God, 
 
 That rent veil, and free behind it 
 The Holy and mod Holy Place. 
 
 From below the morning — hearken ! 
 
 Sweet and low the chant is drawn ; 
 But the Cherubs' faces darken, 
 
 And the glory-cloud is gone. 
 
 Priells no more, with choral veflure, 
 Raife the pfalm on that high road ; 
 
 Kingly feet, with lavifh geflure, 
 Move before the Ark of God. 
 
 In no Cedar Houfe He hngers ; 
 
 Sha\vm and cymbal waxen mute, 
 Struck no more by cunning fingers, 
 
 Crumble at the altar's foot. 
 
 Now His reft, is with the lowly, 
 With the weakeft foul His might ; 
 
 With the finful walks the Holy, 
 In the darknefs dwells the Light 
 
 And amidft the furge's fwelling 
 
 With adoring fear I fee 
 This, God's people are His dwelling. 
 
 His true Temple is in me. 
 
75 
 
 SPRING THOUGHTS. 
 
 By the Rev. J. G. SMALL, M.A. 
 Author of ^^ The Highlands,'''' a7td^^ Hymns for Youthful Voices" &^c. 
 
 /^OME, learn from Nature, ye who mourn 
 Some lovely flower's untimely blight, 
 By Death's rude, wintry tempefls torn, 
 
 And fnatch'd from your afflicted fight. 
 Come, on reviving Nature gaze, — 
 For many a thought thefe fcenes may raife 
 
 To foothe your troubled heart, — 
 To turn your wailing into praife, 
 
 And richell balm impart. 
 
 Ere while, o'er all this living fcene 
 
 A dark funereal pall was fpread ; 
 Gone was the gay and lively green, 
 
 And all the radiant flowers were dead. 
 Yet on the defolation there 
 Ye did not look in blank defpair, 
 
 But, with prophetic view, 
 Descried the time when Spring's foft air 
 
 Should deck the plains anew. 
 
 And (hall ye not as firmly trufl. 
 
 And as rejoicingly beheve. 
 The Word that o'er a loved one's dufl 
 
 Forbids you hopeleffly to grieve ? 
 For furely as the lovely bloom 
 Of Spring fucceeds the wintry gloom, 
 
76 Pioiis Training. 
 
 That late o'erfpread the plain, — 
 So furely from the cheerlefs tomb 
 The Dead fhall rife again. 
 
 Though " in corruption it is fown, 
 
 In incorruption it Ihall rife ; " 
 Now Earth may claim it for its own, 
 
 'Twill then be fitted for the Skies. 
 And as the fairefl flower that blows 
 Excels the feed from whence it rofe, 
 
 Shall that bright form excel 
 The frame, which to its long repofe 
 
 In Death's cold winter fell. 
 
 PIOUS TRAINING. 
 
 By the Hon. Mrs. NORTON. 
 
 WRITTEN IN MY GODCHILD'S BIBLE. 
 
 LEST is the home where childhood's pious training, 
 Like a clear funrife, ufhers in Life's day ; 
 Our noon beholds the fleadfafl light remaining 
 On flowery track or thom-encumber'd way : 
 And when that Orient light had weflward fhifted, 
 
 Serenely flill the tranquil radiance fliines, 
 While to the Eye of Faith, in joy uplifted, 
 
 Heaven (hows more glorious as Earth's day declines ! 
 
 B 
 
77 
 
 TIME, DEATH, AND LOVE, 
 By JOHN WILLIAM FLETCHER, Esq. 
 
 '"piME is a prince whofe refifllefs fway 
 
 Everything earthly mull needs obey : 
 The din of war, and the tyrant's frown, 
 And the fhepherd's crook, and the conqueror's crown, 
 Palaces, pyramids, temples, towers — 
 With the falHng leaves, and the fading flowers. 
 And the funfet's flufli, and the rainbow's ray — 
 At the touch of Time all af e paffmg away. 
 
 And Death, with a paffionlefs, cloudlefs eye, 
 
 And a crown of frofl:, flandeth ever by ; 
 
 He breathes on the brow of the old and the young, 
 
 He flays the heart and he ftills the tongue ; 
 
 From the fetter' d foul he unbinds the chain — 
 
 And the wave of paffion, the pulfe of pain, 
 
 And hope's fitful gleam, and woe's hurried breath, 
 
 Are all lapp'd in the glorious calm of Death ! 
 
 But Love on his fun-bright wings fublime, 
 Floats above the weltering foam of Time ; 
 And the power of his Paradifal breath 
 Flings a flufh of life o'er the frofl of Death. 
 Time fliall pafs like a dewdrop at dawn of day. 
 And Death like a rainbow fhall fade away ; 
 While Love by the Word of God (hall be 
 The Sun of the Heaven of Eternity ! 
 
78 
 
 THE RESTLESS HEART. 
 
 By Mrs. ABDY. 
 
 ' • Thou hast made us for Thyfelf, and our heart is restlefs till it rests 
 on Thee." — St. Augustine, 
 
 O' 
 
 |H, refllefs Heart, uncertain, weak, and changing, 
 Of failing purpose, and of feeble will, 
 O'er fcenes of vanity now idly ranging, 
 Now gloomily intent on coming ill ; 
 Life's varied Fantafies now idly greeting. 
 
 Now longing to the hermit's cell to flee : 
 Wilt Thou not aid me, Lord, to flill its beating ? 
 My Heart is refllefs till it refls on Thee. 
 
 Sometimes it feeks the haunts of proud Ambition, 
 
 Sometimes for grave and fludious leifure fighs ; 
 Exults awhile in Fame's enchanting vifion, 
 
 Or chngs to pure Afledlion's tender ties. 
 Sometimes, abforb'd in prayer and contemplation, 
 
 It feeks, through Faith, a better land to fee ; 
 Alas ! why yields it to the world's temptation 1 
 
 Why fliould that reftless Heart e'er turn from Thee ? 
 
 Lord, Thou hafl made us for Thyfelf, and ever 
 Thy prcfence fliould within my heart be known, 
 
 Could I but profper in the poor endeavour 
 I feebly make, to keep it for Thine own. 
 
A Proverb Paraphrafed. 79 
 
 Lord, I befeech Thee, calm its wild emotion, 
 
 From Earth's delufive idols fet it free, 
 And fill with holy thoughts of meek devotion 
 
 The refllefs Heart that fain would reft on Thee ! 
 
 A PROVERB PARAPHRASED. 
 By ALARIC a. WATTS, Esq. 
 
 /^H ! welcome the forr6w that fingly is' fent ; 
 
 A bleffmg how oft in difguise, — 
 A fign of God's love and His pity, but meant 
 To fafhion the foul for the Skies I 
 
 Oh ! welcome the forrow that fingly arrives, 
 Nor 'gainft Heaven's temper'd fiat rebel ; 
 
 'Tis a merciful blow the fond heart that deprives 
 Of fome idol it loved but too well 1 
 
 Oh ! welcome the grief if God fends you but one, 
 Though the heart's cherilh'd dream it may dim ; — 
 
 And rejoice if repentance, though late, may atone 
 For a lifelong eftrangement from Him ! 
 
 When misfortunes o'ertake us, not feldom they come 
 In " battahons," our hopes to o'erwhelm ; 
 
 Yet the wildeft of ftorms may impel us towards Home, 
 If the Veffel obeys but her helm ! 
 
8o 
 
 BAPTISMAL LA Y. 
 By the Rev. J. DAYMAN, M.A. 
 
 JESUS, while the dews of morning 
 Sparkle on the infant brow, 
 Frefhnefs every glance adorning. 
 
 Write Thy Name, O ^vrite it now ! 
 Thou wilt watch the opening flow'ret, 
 
 Cleanfe from every earthly flain ; 
 Guard, that no vile worm devour it, — 
 Give the firfl and latter rain. 
 
 When the noon-tide heat oppreffes, 
 
 And beneath a burning flcy. 
 While no friendly gardener drefles, 
 
 Flowers of earth mufl droop and die, — 
 Screen'd beneath o'erfhadowing mountain, 
 
 Bid the fickly plant revive ; 
 Bathed in Thine Eternal Fountain, 
 
 Save the bruil^d reed aHve. 
 
 And when Evening's aged fingers 
 
 Wrap the world in fober gray, 
 And the colder night-breeze lingers 
 
 But to grieve o'er fading day, — 
 Jefus, Thou the bloffom gather 
 
 With Thine own Right Hand, to bear 
 To the gardens of Thy Father, 
 
 Cull'd to bloom immortal there. 
 
8i 
 
 THE BEST-BELOVED, 
 
 By ROWLAND BROWN, 
 Author of ^^ Songs of Early Spring^^'* *■'■ Lily Leaves,^"* &^c, 
 
 T LOVE the gems in the crown of Night, 
 
 And I love the pearls of the Sea ; 
 And the violet-breath of the Spring-time bright 
 
 Wakes a fweet delight in me. 
 I love the wild-flowers kifl by the breeze, 
 
 And I love the birds on the bough ; 
 And I love the whifpering leaves of the trees, 
 
 And the dew on the young Morn's brow. 
 I love the voice of the child of fong, 
 
 Of the wave and the waterfall ; 
 But there's One in the glorious world above 
 
 That I love far more than all ! 
 
 I love the fmile of each darHng face 
 
 That lights with its joy my home ; 
 And a Mother's and Sifter's fond embrace, 
 
 That greets me when I come. 
 I love the grafp of an honell hand. 
 
 And a true Friend's kindly word ; 
 And I love the fympathizing band, 
 
 Whofe hearts by a tear are flirr'd. 
 I love the found of my Father's voice. 
 
 And the lips from which bleflings fall ; 
 But there's One in the glorious world above 
 
 That I love far more than all ! 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 E VENING. 
 By IRENE. 
 
 'TpHE weary Sun his weflem bed 
 "*■ Of wa\7 gold once more has found, 
 While blufhing clouds his finking head 
 
 With wreaths of crimfon light have crown'd. 
 
 The meadow co^^^ip and the rofe 
 
 That proudly blooms in Beauty's bower, 
 
 Alike their drowfy petals clofe, 
 
 And own, calm Eve, thy magic power. 
 
 No found, no voice the flillnefs breaks, 
 Save where the flreamlet warbles clear 
 
 Her vefper chaunt, and foftly makes 
 Fit mufic for the thoughtful ear. 
 
 It is the hour when Fancy moves 
 
 Bright fliadows through the poet's brain, 
 
 When phantom-haunted Memory loves 
 Gently to foothe the mourner's pain : 
 
 \Vhen on the fledfafl wings of prayer 
 Towards the Almighty Father rife 
 
 Pure fouls that own His guardian care. 
 Who heavenward gaze with fearlefs eyes. 
 
 It is the hour when trembling man 
 The voice of Heavenly Jullice heard : 
 
Evetiing. 83 
 
 In wrath thofe awful tones began, 
 But clofed in Mercy's whifper'd word. 
 
 The hour when to the death-doom' d plain 
 
 The Herald-Spirits fwiftly fped : 
 But Mercy now began the flrain, 
 
 Ere wrath its fiery florm might fhed. 
 
 It is the hour when wandering flow 
 
 Forth the lone fon of Sarah went, 
 Nor deem'd to cheer his filial woe 
 
 More than a mother's love was lent : 
 
 For fhe draws near, that maid who foon 
 
 Unto his dreary tent fhall prove 
 Bright Sun and fofter beaming Moon, 
 
 Cool honey'd dew and (heltering grove. 
 
 It is the hour, oh, faddeft thought. 
 At once yet hoHefl ! when the tomb 
 
 O'er Him, who man's Salvation wrought, 
 Cafl her dark Ihade of death and gloom. 
 
 Sweet Evening, ever may it be 
 
 My lot beneath thy flar-gemm'd veil 
 
 To walk and meditate with thee, 
 Fann'd by thy hghtly (lirring gale. 
 
 And let no dream of worldly blifs. 
 
 Grave Nymph, invade thy votary's heart ; 
 
 But let thy warning note be this : 
 
 " From Earth and earthly things we part ! " 
 
84 
 
 SABBA TH HO URS. 
 
 By the Rev. J. C. BOYCE, M.A. 
 
 /^H ! pafs not hence fo fweetly, 
 
 Bright Sabbath-hours, we pray \ 
 None other tell fo fweetly 
 
 Of regions far away \ 
 None other half as richly blefs 
 
 Spirits that yearn to prove 
 The flrong bright flame of eamellnefs, 
 
 The melting mood of love — 
 Of fpeaking and unfpoken trufl, 
 
 The long-enduring might ; 
 Or hope, that girdles round the dufl 
 
 Of death with heavenly light. 
 No breath of flowers at eventide, 
 
 When the rain-cloud's flore is fpent ; 
 No cooling airs fo foftly glide 
 
 From the fultry firmament ; 
 No wavelefs calm along the Deep, 
 
 When its fever-pulfe is flill ; 
 No vifitings of dew-like fleep 
 
 To eyelids worn with ill ; 
 No filver tone of dropping rain 
 
 Upon the fparkling pool ; 
 No blending of heart-fires again. 
 
 That abfence could not cool : — 
 Nothing in earth, or air, or fea. 
 Can paint the namelefs witchery. 
 The foothing, hallowing memory 
 
Sabbath Hours. 
 
 Of Sabbath-time ; 
 When man from his fever'd earth-dream wakes 
 To his real, deathlefs life, and aches 
 
 For his Home fublime. 
 
 Why art thou bodilefs, Sabbath-calm % 
 Cannot we grafp thee, breath of balm % 
 Why fhould the altar-flame grow dim 
 
 In the heart that has thrill'd with love % 
 Why fhould it fade, that diflant hymn, 
 
 Caught from the choirs above % 
 Angel-forms, ye do but raife 
 A moment from the fpirit's gaze 
 The damp and mifty veil, clofe drawn, 
 'Tween earthly night and heavenly dawn, — 
 A moment only may the ear 
 Drink in the mufic of your fphere : — 
 A moment only may the brain 
 Be tranced, and all goes dark again, — 
 Dark as thofe mimic landfcapes grow 
 
 (Ifland, and fea, and mountain-height) 
 Traced in the funfet's golden glow 
 
 On fombre draperies of Night. 
 Yet, oh ! as noon-tide funbeams fhed 
 Bright haloes round the mountain's head, 
 So linger near us, and our feet 
 Shall ever from the World retreat. 
 Bom of your prefence, hovering nigh, 
 
 The voice of lip and heart fhall be 
 E'en as the worfhip of the fl<:y, 
 
 Burfls of uncloying melody, 
 Sweet as the river's changelefs tune 
 Beneath the genial warmth of June 
 
86 Sabbath Hours. 
 
 And vigorous as the fky-lark's lay, 
 Bathed in the glories of mid-day. 
 
 Yet hufh ! for o'er us, Holls of Light, 
 Vigil ye keep by day, by night : 
 And fain would feal upon the bread 
 
 Thoughts that more conflant mood fliould win : 
 But the dark wings of Evil reft, 
 
 DiftilHng opiate drops of fm 
 Over each charmed fenfe, to ftill 
 Impatience of committed ill. 
 Too oft, alas ! man's better hour 
 Is refpite only from the pow'r 
 
 Of his worft foe. Too oft a glance, 
 A figh, a momentary pain, 
 
 Juft breaks the dire repofe ; then dance 
 Once more athwart the whirling brain 
 The furies of Defpair, and fteep 
 Their flave in Lethe's poifon'd fleep. 
 O Sin ! O bitter, hateful power. 
 Marring each tranquil Sabbath-hour ! 
 May we not free us from thy fpell % 
 
 May we not quit thy dungeon-gloom % 
 Wilt thou not leave us there to dwell 
 
 At reft, where faireft Graces bloom, 
 Like flow'rets, in the heart's earth-heaven 
 Of hope renew'd, of fms forgiven % — 
 Quicken Thy conquering march, O Lord, 
 
 Of ftainlefs good ; for hearts are faint 
 With yearnings that Thy mightier Sword 
 
 Should rid the Earth of evil-taint : — 
 That each unholy impulfe fliould be flain, 
 And o'er the ranfom'd World one endlefs Sabbath reign. 
 
87 
 
 FAITH. 
 By GEORGE J. CAYLEY, Esq. 
 
 TT7HAT is the Faith that juflifies? 
 ^^ A Light Divine, a kindhng Grace ; 
 The glory of the Saviour's face, 
 Meeting the gaze of hfted eyes ! 
 
 What works fuch Faith fhall manifefl ? 
 A ftrenuous fpirit-flruggle, flill 
 To lead His Life, and do His Will, — 
 
 Sad Ihreds and patches at the befl ! 
 
 Alas ! in weaknefs we are born : 
 Our childhood's innocence, fo fair, 
 Is flimfy frail as woven air. 
 
 Made only to be foil'd and torn. 
 
 But though the Thorn of trial tear, 
 
 And gufli the wounds of bleeding pride, 
 We may not cafl the rags afide. 
 
 Like naked fiends in foul defpair : 
 
 For He, who yearly rifts the rind 
 To fheathe anew the forefl's growth, 
 With His Own Righteoufnefs fhall clothe 
 
 The faithful fouls His Crofs hath fign'd. 
 
 Trial is our great Healer's probe 
 To found the ulcerous depths of fm. 
 Shame's tatters all are fhed within 
 
 The fhelter of the feamlefs robe. 
 
88 
 
 CHRISTIAN PHILOSOPHY. 
 By the Rev. W. W. HOW, M.A. 
 
 '* Solemn before us 
 Veil'd the dark Portal, 
 Goal of all mortal ; 
 Stars filent rest o'er us, 
 Graves under us filent" — Goethe. 
 
 'TpHE Poet fcann'd \\ith mighty awe 
 ^ The MyRery of Man : 
 He fpake the flrange things that he faw, 
 And thus it ran : — 
 
 " The filent Stars are overhead, 
 
 The filent Graves below ; 
 A Dream between — how quickly fled, 
 Is all we know." 
 
 He pointed up, he pointed do^vn, — 
 
 The witneffes were there ; 
 O'er the Between a veil was thrown 
 He could not tear. 
 
 The Preacher faw the hand he raifed, 
 
 And heard the words he fpake : 
 And in his foul, with grief amazed, 
 A fire outbrake. 
 
The Sun of Righteoufnefs. 89 
 
 " Poet," he cried, " the things we fee, 
 
 They are not all we know, — 
 The web of thy Philofophy, 
 I rend it fo :"— 
 
 He pointed with his eager hand 
 
 Behind, and then before ; 
 " And there, and there, for ever (land 
 Two wonders more : 
 
 " The filent Stars fmg out with mirth, 
 
 The Graves with grafs are green ; 
 
 Chrift Cometh twice upon the Earth — 
 
 We live between ! " 
 
 THE SUN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS. 
 
 By Mrs. ALEXANDER, 
 
 Atithorefs of " The Legend of the Golden Prayer" '■^ Moral 
 Songs^"* &>€. 
 
 " But unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of Righteoufnefs 
 arife with healing in his wings." — Mal. iv. 2. 
 
 npHE fick man in his chamber 
 
 Through the long weary night, 
 Tofs'd on his refllefs pillow. 
 How longs he for the light ! 
 
go The Sun of Righteoufncjs. 
 
 He counts the hours that linger, 
 Heavy with clouds and rain, 
 
 And a great weight of darknefs 
 Lies on his fever'd brain. 
 
 He hears the loud clock ticking, 
 And the owl hoot afar ; 
 
 While glimmers the pale night-light. 
 And fades the midnight (lar ; 
 
 Till Eaftward in the heaven 
 He fees at lafl the fign — 
 
 O'er the far purple mountain 
 A fmgle filver line. 
 
 It broadens and it deepens 
 To a fea of red arid gold, 
 
 With clouds of rofy amber 
 Around its glory roll'd. 
 
 Till each pane of his window 
 Is filver'd o'er and o'er, 
 
 And lines of golden arrows 
 Lie on the dufky floor. 
 
 The fick foul lieth weary 
 In the world's foft unreft. 
 
 With clouds of care and forrow 
 And weight of fms oppreft. 
 
 Out of the night fhe crieth, 
 Out of the narrow room : 
 
 O Saviour, gentle Saviour, 
 
 Wilt Thou not pierce the gloom ? 
 
The Sun of Righteouffiejs. 91 
 
 Break on this Night of longing, 
 
 Where hand in hand we grope, 
 Through wafles of vain endeavour, 
 
 'Neath flars of fruitlefs hope. 
 
 O'er the great Hills of Sadnefs 
 
 That hem us darkly in, 
 Rough with our tears and loffes, 
 
 And black with many a fm; — 
 
 Rife, rife above the mountains, 
 
 With healing on Thy wings ; 
 Break, break into the chambers, 
 
 Where pain in fecret flings. 
 
 Come while the morning tarries, 
 
 Our waiting eyes to blefs ; 
 Look through the lowly lattice — 
 
 Bright Sun of Righteoufnefs ! 
 
 Set for the hearts that love Thee 
 
 Thy Token up above — 
 The white rays of Redemption, 
 
 And the red fire of Love. 
 
 Out of our gloom we call Thee, 
 
 Out of our helplefs night ; 
 Sun of the World, fweet Saviour ! 
 
 Show us Thy Perfea Light. 
 
92 
 
 CONSOLATION, 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN VISITING THE SICK. 
 By the Rev. J. MYERS KING M.A. 
 
 TTELP me, my God, in faith to feed 
 ^^ The flock Thy Providence decreed 
 
 Should feek its food from me ! 
 Yet not from me. Oh, be Thy Word, 
 In everlafling accents heard. 
 
 The food that comes from Thee ! 
 
 Is anguifli on yon fufferer's brow, 
 Futurity fore-fhadow'd now, — 
 
 Meet chailifement for fm % 
 Firfl be by Thee the teacher taught. 
 The fhepherd to his Mafler brought, 
 
 Reproach with felf begin. 
 
 Who feels the fore the cure may teach ; 
 Who learns of Chrifl may Jefus preach ; 
 
 Proilrate, may others raife : 
 The fuppliant beft may lead the prayer ; 
 Who lowliefl. proves each daily care, 
 
 Bell llrike the note of praife. 
 
 Poor is his blifs who ne'er hath felt 
 His foul at its tranfgreffions melt 
 In falutary grief : 
 
Cojifolation. 93 
 
 Poor is the wifdom that can own 
 No folly in itfelf alone, 
 Nor owning find reUef. 
 
 Whofe voice would other fmners blame, 
 His own unruly will mufl tame ; 
 
 But he who feeks his God 
 In humble penitence, may fay, 
 " Brother, like thee of fmful clay, 
 
 With thee I kifs the rod." 
 
 One voice fhall then the filence break. 
 One voice to each can pardon fpeak, — 
 
 One voice, and one alone : 
 'Tis His, whofe only Arm can keep 
 From wolves the Ihepherd or the Iheep, — 
 
 The Chriflian foldier crown. 
 
 Saviour adored. Eternal King, 
 
 The meanell mounts on golden wing. 
 
 Whom Love afcending bears : 
 And who through all the World fo bright 
 As he who in unclouded light 
 
 Thy robe all-radiant wears ] 
 
 Then welcome life's inglorious part, 
 Fame only vainer makes the heart ; 
 
 And welcome lowly cares : 
 The Pilgrim bell may forward go, 
 Whofe flaff fupports another's woe. 
 
 He bell his foul prepares, 
 
94 Life Song. 
 
 Who feeks in unobtrufive round 
 His Mafler where on Earth he found 
 
 His merciful employ : 
 The tear on Refignation's cheek, 
 Mute Sorrow, 'mid her fufferings meek, 
 
 Will chide him into joy. 
 
 LIFE SONG. 
 By Mrs. POSTLETHWAITE. 
 
 TTEART, O Heart ! why thus bewailing? — 
 Calmly o'er Life's wave thou'rt failing, 
 Mufic, why art thou all wailing ? 
 
 Voice, O Voice, why drown'd in tears ? 
 O'er the ills all deem lie fleeping, 
 Thou a filent watch art keeping, 
 Outward calm, yet inly weeping 
 
 O'er the flranded wrecks of years. 
 
 Heart, poor Heart ! while thus thou'rt bleeding, 
 Faint and anguifli'd in thy needing, 
 Mercy for thy life is pleading — 
 
 Dews of Pity round thee fliine ; 
 And, as Mercy grace conferring, 
 Leadeth forth to Light the erring, 
 Hope thy laden depths is flirring 
 
 With the might of Faith iJivine : 
 Griefs are gifts from Mercy's flirine, 
 Thou (halt chaunt Aniens for thine. 
 
95 
 
 GI^ASS UPON THE HOUSETOP. 
 
 By FRANCES FREELING BRODERIP, 
 
 Author efs of-^ Wayjide Fancies " &>c. 
 
 "Let them be even as the grafs grovvmg upon the houfetops, 
 which withereth afore it be plucked up. 
 
 "Whereof the mower filleth not his hand, neither he that 
 bindeth up the sheaves his bofom." — Ps. cxxix. 6, 7. 
 
 w 
 
 'HEN frefh'ning breezes cool the air, 
 Where'er the mower's flep doth pafs, 
 Like keel-cut billows lie apart 
 The rippled waves of new-mown grafs. 
 
 When Autumn, now a matron calm, 
 Her crown of perfe6l fruitage wears. 
 
 The fcarlet Poppy-pennons fhine 
 Among a field of golden fpears. 
 
 The grateful Earth that nurft the feed, 
 Gives fevenfold back the gift again ; 
 
 Not mine the fcented flow'ry fwathes, — 
 Not mine the fheaves of golden grain. 
 
 The dufly houfetop gave me birth, 
 
 That knows not rill, nor brook, nor fpring ; 
 
 Fed by the cafual fhower of rain, 
 I wither ere my gathering. 
 
 No fcented blooms entwine me round, 
 No mower fills with me his hand ; 
 
 No reaper's bofom takes me in. 
 
 The while he binds the flieaf in band. 
 
g6 God Blejfcth Everywhere. 
 
 Such, Righteous Lord, Thou haft, decreed, 
 Shall be their doom, or foon or late, 
 
 Who blindly warring 'gainft. Thy Will, 
 Lay Sion's vineyard defolate. 
 
 And as my fate is, fuch is theirs, 
 To whom the warning fent in vain 
 
 Was given in days of old, and fmce 
 Has ft.ill been urged, and fcorn'd again. 
 
 GOD BLESSETH EVERYWHERE. 
 By JOHN EMMET, Esq. 
 
 'TpHERE's joy within the cottage door, 
 
 And joy within the hall ; 
 Joy for the rich, and for the poor, 
 
 For you, and me, and all. 
 God never ft.ints the meed of blife, 
 
 Nor deals too great a (hare ; 
 But loves yon World, yet loveth this — 
 
 God blefleth everywhere. 
 
 Whene'er I fee a cottage rofe 
 
 Around the doonvay creep ; 
 Whene'er I fee the deer-park clofe 
 
 The palace in its fleep, 
 I wonder, do ye weep and figh, 
 
 Or are ye happy there ? 
 And then I fmg, and thus fmg I— 
 
 God blefleth everywhere. 
 
GodBlefjeth Everywhere, 97 
 
 And when I hear a grateful hymn 
 
 Float down the river's tide, 
 Or fee, within the garden trim, 
 
 Friends happy fide by fide, — 
 I thank my loving God for what 
 
 I hear and fee fo fair. 
 And hear and feel with praifes that 
 
 God bleffeth everywhere. 
 
 O tenants of the hall and cot, 
 
 Ye may have raven eyes. 
 Yet figh for blifs that woos ye not. 
 
 Or woo it till it flies ; 
 Or ye may have no cherry cheek. 
 
 And yet defy all care ; 
 God heals the heart— it fhall not break — 
 
 God bleffeth everywhere. 
 
 The birds laugh through the Summer-time 
 
 In pleafure on the trees. 
 And every harebell rings a chime 
 
 Of mufic for the bees ; 
 The honey-bee on humming wing 
 
 Goes roving here and there. 
 And fmgs with every living thing — 
 
 God bleffeth everywhere. 
 
 The clouds he dreaming on the deep, 
 
 All in a joyous dream ; 
 The merry flars do never fleep, 
 
 So bright with love they feem. 
 'Tis fung by valley, plain, and hill, 
 
 Through ocean, earth, and air, — 
 Ye may be happy if ye will, 
 
 God bleffeth everywhere. 
 
98 
 
 TR UTII. 
 
 By the Author of "Tom Brown's Schooldays," &c 
 
 "Strive for the truth to the death, and the Lord shall fight for 
 thee." — EccLUS. iv. -28. 
 
 " Thou requirest truth in the inward parts." — Ps. IL 6. 
 
 r\ God of Truth, whofe living Word 
 
 Upholds whate'er hath breath, 
 Look down on Thy creation, Lord, 
 EnflaVd by fin and death. 
 
 Set up Thy Standard, Lord ! that we. 
 
 Who claim a heavenly birth, 
 May march with Thee to fmite the lies 
 
 That vex Thy groaning Earth. 
 
 Mount Thy white horfe. Thou Word of God, 
 
 Thy blood-flain'd veflure don ; 
 To the laft Rrife with Death and Hell 
 
 Lead Thy great army on. 
 
 Ah ! would we join that blefl array, 
 
 And follow in the might 
 Of Him, the Faithful and the True, 
 
 In raiment clean and white ! 
 
 We fight for Truth, we fight for God, 
 
 Poor flaves of lies and fm ! 
 He who would fight for Thee on Earth 
 
 Mufl firft. be true within. 
 
Help in Trouble. 99 
 
 Then God of Truth, for whom we long, 
 
 Thou who wilt hear our prayer, 
 Do Thine own battle in our hearts. 
 
 And flay the Falfehood there. 
 
 Thou Sword which goeth from His mouth, 
 
 Smite thefe falfe hearts in twain ! 
 Here burn, thou never-dying fire ! 
 
 Fall on, thou fiery rain ! 
 
 Still fmite ! Hill bum ! till nought is left 
 
 But God's own Truth and Love ; 
 Then, Lord, as morning dew come down, 
 
 Reft on us from above. 
 
 Yea, come ! then, tried as in the fire, 
 
 From every lie fet free. 
 Thy Perfea Truth fliall dwell in us, 
 
 And we fhall Hve in Thee. 
 
 HELP IN TROUBLE, 
 
 By THE Rev. A. GORDON, LL.D. 
 Author of '' Heart-Effufions;' &>€. 
 
 T T THEN dire Misfortune, with her wings outfpread, 
 ^^ Darkens the peaceful, heaven-bedew'd abode ; 
 The jufl, with heart bow'd down, are not afraid. 
 
 But trufl in God, — 
 Whofe meffengers defcend to cheer and aid. 
 
TOO Help in Trouble. 
 
 Firfl Cometh loving-hearted Sympathy, — 
 
 Hallow'd thy footfleps, meffenger benign ! 
 'Tis thine to foothe the bofom, hufli the figh, 
 
 With peace Divine ; 
 O Sympathy, how foft that touch of thine ! 
 
 Then cometh Hope, in Iris-colour dight, 
 
 With afpedl mild that cheers the tearful eye : 
 As the lone Star difpels the Ihades of night, 
 
 Glittering on high, — 
 Hope fills the heart ^^ith vifions of delight 
 
 Then Faith, the child of Piety, all-fair, 
 
 Pours oil of Peace upon the flricken heart, 
 Supplying every want, difpelhng care 
 
 By no falfe art, 
 But by thofe Truths which heavenly peace impart. 
 
 Child of Misfortune, then dry up thy tears, — 
 Thou dofl not fall unfeen, nor fland alone : 
 They who diflrufl our God have caufe for fears, 
 
 But thou hafl none ; 
 Thy God \vdll light the gloom, when Sorrow's cloud 
 appears. 
 
lOI 
 
 THE TIME OF THE SINGING OF BIRDS, 
 
 By Mrs. JOHNSTON, 
 AutJior of ^^ Lays of the Lofl OneJ*^ 
 
 "For, lo ! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the 
 flowers appear on the earth; the time of the finging of birds is 
 come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land." — SONG OF 
 Sol. ii. ii, 12. 
 
 'TpHE Time of the fmging of birds is come 
 
 And Winter is pafl and gone j 
 Dark clouds are melting from Heaven's dome, 
 And larks fpring up from their heather home, 
 To fing to the rifmg Sun. 
 
 Come, with the found of thy mufical wing, 
 
 Thou timid and gentle Dove ! 
 With thy mo deft garb and fnowy ring. 
 Come, mingle thy notes with the voice of Spring, 
 
 In a low, fweet fong of love. 
 
 The Winter is over, the rain is flay'd. 
 
 And flowers on the Earth appear ; 
 From each little grave where the germ was laid, 
 Springs forth in new beauty a frefh green blade, 
 
 To bloom through another year. 
 
 Sun of my foul ! fhall I fear to lay 
 
 This dufl where the Spring flowers lie ? 
 No, Thou wilt remember my fleeping clay 
 (For I \vitnefs Thy Truth to the flowers of May), 
 And raife me, no more to die ! 
 
1 02 The Dread of Death. 
 
 The Time of the fmging of birds will come, 
 
 And the Summer-fun fhine bright ; 
 But a beam more glorious fhall pierce my tomb, 
 And this dufl fhall live in unfading bloom, 
 'Neath the beams of Eternal Light ; 
 
 THE DREAD OF DEATH. 
 
 By the Right Rev. S. HINDS, D.D. 
 
 "Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no 
 evil; for Thou art with me." — Ps. xxiiL 4. 
 
 Tf I could live a thoufand years, 
 
 It would be but to fhed more tears ; 
 Yet life is fweet, I know not why, 
 And it is dreadful (lill to die. 
 
 O Father, draw me unto Thee, 
 That life, this World's dead life, may be 
 No more the thing I cleave to fo. 
 Through all the wearinefs of woe. 
 
 I've walk'd with Thee, yet knew it not ; 
 Have known Thee, and as oft forgot ; 
 Elfe now I had not been afraid 
 With Thee to walk in Death's cold (hade. 
 
 When darknefs terrifies my child. 
 He clafps my hand and is beguiled 
 Of fear — fo I will cling to Thee, 
 O Father, and from fear be free. 
 
103 
 
 THE KING SIN, 
 By the Rev. R. W. ESSINGTON, M.A. 
 
 T 
 
 HE fon of Kifli to battle went, 
 And well his warriors fped ; 
 For by the God of Juflice fent, 
 They bore His Sword of punifliment ; 
 
 And though King Agag fled, 
 His heel at Havilah they fmote ; 
 At Shur their fpears were at his throat, 
 
 Their feet upon his neck ; 
 And as the doom'd, the fpell-bound hare, 
 Which eyes the float, or feels the fnare, 
 Shrieks for its Ufe in wild difmay, 
 So craving mercy, proflrate lay 
 
 The pride of Amalek. 
 
 But, fince to fpare would be to fin, 
 The ruthlefs carnage muft begin ; 
 
 And foon it fwept o'er all, 
 The poor, the powerlefs, the old ; 
 As lions crafhing through the fold. 
 Or eagles with their lordly fweep. 
 Make havoc of the cowering fheep ; 
 
 'Twas Death's grim Carnival. 
 
 But he their Chief— muft Agag's fun 
 Set thus for ever % He had done 
 More ill than all his recklefs band ; 
 Stain'd was his heart, and ftain'd his hand. 
 
104 1^^^^ ^^^S •^^^' 
 
 With that accurfbd thing, 
 Which they who witnefs'd dared not tell ; 
 And now, denounced by Samuel, 
 God's outlaw he ; and yet the fpell, 
 
 Which guards a fceptred King, 
 Preferves that worthlefs life, what time 
 God's dread avengers dog his crime, 
 And fmite each petty villain down, 
 And bum the hut, and fack the town, 
 
 And thrufl, and hack, and hew. 
 " Shame on thee, Saul ! yea, woe and fhame," 
 We cry aloud — Yet ours the fame, 
 
 Both fm and ruin too ; 
 Unlefs we turn with faith and prayer, 
 Ere Hope unripen'd feels the air 
 Of Death's chill winter, and Defpair 
 Springs from that foul decaying fruit. 
 And winding round its parent's root, 
 
 Has gnaw'd it through and through. 
 
 For at the Font we vow to win 
 A triumph o'er thofe foes within, 
 By God and holy Seer accurfl. — 
 Of felf the love, of wealth the thirfl. 
 
 Hate, anger, lufl, and pride ; 
 Yet oft-times, though the Holy One 
 Has granted us His benifon. 
 
 And, fighting on our fide. 
 Has brought within an eafy reach 
 Thofe glories which, furpalling fpecch, 
 
 With faintly hearts abide ; 
 We facrifico nor word, nor thought, 
 
The Kins: Sin. 105 
 
 "6 
 
 Wliich in the killing cofls us aught, 
 But either poor and worthlefs things, 
 Or fuch as tire with buzzing wings, 
 Or guard their honey with their flings ; 
 And having heightened the offence 
 With Pharifaical pretence, 
 And semblance of obedience. 
 
 We vie with recreant Saul ; 
 And, like the king who, while the lance 
 Of Richard glitter'd in advance 
 Of Europe's armies, fail'd for France, 
 End that crufade which fhould have won 
 Jemfalem, at Afcalon, 
 And bid the retribution ceafe. 
 And with the accolade of peace 
 
 Grace that worfl foe of all, 
 Who, with a fallen tyrant's wiles, 
 Wreathes darkefl hate in lacquer'd fmiles. 
 Hides his fork'd tongue, and ferpent's face, 
 Till lovely feems his lithe embrace. 
 
 And fair his venom'd fling ; 
 And cries, " Let war between us end : 
 The braver foe the firmer friend ; 
 For like fhould never war with Uke, 
 The eagles do not eaglets flrike. 
 
 And Kings fhould fpare a King ! " 
 
 Oft hear we now that pleading cry, 
 And grant the pardon, or deny. 
 
 As Faith is weak or flrong ; 
 And for a while none feems to heed 
 If God or Mammon flamp the deed, 
 
io6 The King Sin. 
 
 Or Babel's towering pride to mark, 
 
 Or Faith which builds her landlock'd ark ; 
 
 But 'tis not thus for long — 
 At Death's bleak dawn falfe meteors fade, 
 And they who heard yet difobey'd, 
 Quail at the fate they may not fhun, 
 And are, and know themfelves, undone — 
 While, on the right hand who are they, 
 The children of the glorious Day, 
 Who, mufler'd in God's bright array, 
 
 The Crowns Eternal win ? 
 They are the Hero-Saints — the true 
 Crufaders they, who, bom anew. 
 With fprinklings of the morning dew, 
 Drank from the cloven Rock, and fed 
 At noontide on the Manna-bread, 
 By the free Spirit comforted : 
 And thus, although the World around 
 Deceitful fmiled, or wrathful frown'd. 
 They heeded not, but held their ground. 
 The Sun, declining towards the Well, 
 Might tell of wearinefs and refl, 
 But onward Hill, with panting breafl, 
 They march'd erecfl, nor when the night, 
 Through very penury of light, 
 Had brought the hofls of heaven in fight, 
 
 And mU'd the World's dull din, 
 Fear'd they the (hadows lengthening out. 
 But watching error's headlong rout. 
 They raifed the Victor's joyous (hout, 
 Remembering that, as Sunfet here 
 Is Sunrife in another fphere, 
 
My Prayer. 107 
 
 So Evening mi{ls around the tomb 
 Tell not of Midnight's ghoflly gloom, 
 But of a new and brighter Morn 
 Upon the Eternal Mountains born, 
 For them who braved the heathen's rage, 
 And, fighting for God's heritage, 
 
 Struck down the Anakin. 
 Nor refled then, but clear'd the field 
 Of dwarfifh imps, who feign'd to yield, 
 And, with their dagger-points conceal'd 
 In rofebuds, crept beneath the fhield ; 
 And at the laft, with bended knee. 
 And, arm'd with Faith's bright panoply, 
 They, though the falchion feem'd to go 
 Through their own hearts, yet laid him low — 
 Their own, their Mafler's deadly foe, 
 
 The King, the Agag Sin. 
 
 MY PR A YER. 
 By mark lemon, Esq. 
 
 '"T^HRiCE hath my foeman wrong'd me, Lord, 
 
 And I have let him live ; 
 Still may Thy hand keep back my fword \ 
 
 Lord, teach me to forgive ! 
 For three times three, and thrice again, 
 
 Have I offended Thee, 
 By felfifh deeds, thoughts proud and vain, 
 
 And want of Charity. 
 
io8 
 
 PARTING. 
 By M. J. POSTLETHWAITE. 
 
 T l/'HEN the foft Night, gently ileahng 
 
 O'er our half-unwilHng eyes — 
 Day's pafl good and evil fealing, — 
 
 Dims the light from yon far Ikies ; 
 Round us often vifions feem 
 Of the quiet Pafl to gleam, 
 That murmur aye and ever to the heart, 
 How very bitter 'tis — and yet 'tis life — to part 
 
 Far from thofe we love, who love us. 
 In life's gloom, — what joy to know, 
 There is but one Heaven above us, 
 
 But one Holy Faith below : 
 In our lonely hours and drear, 
 Oh, be this Faith ever near. 
 To teach us how, with all in faintly reft, 
 Earth's griefs and joys are loft, in one communion bleft! 
 
 Ever hold we faft that onenefs, 
 
 Peaceful, teachable, and pure ; 
 So our day can ne'er be funlefs, 
 
 So our Faith and Love endure : 
 Since for us were Twain made One, 
 God and Man — one Love alone 
 Can fill our finking hearts with Heaven's own calm, 
 And foftcn Earth's rude change with its unfailing balm. 
 
109 
 
 THE ORCHARD. 
 
 A LEGEND OF MOUNT CARMEL. 
 
 By Mrs. ABDY. 
 
 TTOW fair is the Orchard ! the wide-fpreading trees 
 
 Are heavy with fruit, fo profufely beflow'd 
 That well may the owner rejoice when he fees 
 The branches bent down by their cluflering load. 
 
 The holy Elijah is paffmg that way, 
 
 And meekly and humbly he proffers his fuit : 
 
 " I thirfl, I am weary, then give me, I pray, 
 A ftiare of your lavilh abundance of fruit." 
 
 But httle the churl for the wayfarer cared ; 
 
 He anfwer'd, in fcoffing and bantering tones, 
 " Old man, it appears that your fight is impair' d, 
 
 The trees in my Orchard bear nothing but flones ! " 
 
 The Prophet departed, worn, feeble, and fpent, 
 Denied the poor boons of refrefliment and reft ; 
 
 And utter'd this farewell remark as he went, 
 
 " True words have been frequently fpoken in jell !" 
 
 Oh, wondrous ! the fruits a flrange afpe6l affume, 
 
 Prefenting a profitlefs outline alone ; 
 Their juices are dried, and their foft, dewy bloom 
 
 Gives place to the dull, rigid hardnefs of flone ! 
 
no Emigrant^ Farewell Eucharijl, 
 
 Paufe, (Iranger, awhile ! Are you felfifli and cold, 
 When fuppliants come for your bounty to plead ? 
 
 Look round you — the wreck of the goods to behold, 
 So harfhly withheld from a brother in need 1 
 
 Forget not the Orchard : with eloquence mute, 
 This forcible moral it feems to impart, — 
 
 That a barren allotment of petrified fruit 
 Is a fitting requital for hardnefs of heart ! 
 
 EMIGRANTS' FAREWELL EUCHARIST. 
 By the Rev. G. W. BRAMELD, M.A. 
 
 I 
 
 T is the folemn time 
 Of Myfleries fublime ; 
 There is deep filence through the Houfe of Prayer ; 
 For, lo ! with reverence high, 
 A little band draw nigh 
 To eat and drink their lafl Communion there. 
 
 'Tis their laft Sabbath-day 
 
 Ere the fwift bark away 
 From their own Native land fhall bear them far ; 
 
 And they no more may come 
 
 To this their Holy Home, 
 With morning's Sun or evening's rifing Star. 
 
Emigrants^ Farewell Eucharijl. 1 1 1 
 
 No more with humble cry 
 
 Of folemn Litany 
 Their voices 'mid the faithful band fhall rife ; 
 
 Nor in the Holy Song, 
 
 Their lips have hymn'd fo long, 
 Afcend with loud thankfgiving to the Skies. 
 
 For o'er the diflant Sea 
 
 Their future home mufl be, 
 'Mid lonefome woods, and rocks, and wilds unknown ; 
 
 Where fhall be none to tell 
 
 Of all they loved fo well, 
 Of houfehold joys and cherifh'd pleafures flown. 
 
 Then fhall their thoughts return 
 
 To their old homes, and yearn 
 For the fweet Sunday-bell of other times : 
 
 But they fhall yearn in vain, 
 
 For them never again 
 Shall found the mufic of thofe Village-chimes. 
 
 Parting from all befide. 
 
 To meet on Life's dark tide 
 They know not what of forrow and of change. 
 
 They fain would lean for refl 
 
 Upon His loving Breafl, 
 Whom from His own no trouble fhall eflrange. 
 
 And therefore 'tis, that now 
 
 They come, with quiv'ring brow 
 And tearful eye, this lall High Feafl to feek : 
 
 Matron and flurdy Sire, 
 
 And Youth's quench'd glance of fire, 
 And Maiden bending low in filence meek. 
 
IT 2 Emigrant^ Farewell Eucharijl. 
 
 O noble Pilgrim band ! 
 
 'Tis better thus to (land, 
 Than girt with brazen helm or gleaming fvvord. 
 
 Yours is the fliield of Faith 
 
 That mocks the darts of Death ; 
 Your falchion is the Spirit of your Lord ! 
 
 Ye bear no gems nor gold 
 
 Forth from your homes of old ; 
 Dark Penury hath forced you hence away : 
 
 But ye, we trufl, have won, 
 
 Through God's Eternal Son, 
 That Crown of Glory which fhall not decay. 
 
 The trials of your lot 
 
 Soon may be all forgot ; 
 Ye fhall pafs onward to the diflant (hore, 
 
 And your remembrance fade, 
 
 Even as the morning fhade ; 
 The place that knew you once Ihall know no more. 
 
 But in your hearts Ihall he 
 
 A fweet glad memory 
 Of this blefl hour, to guide and cheer you on, 
 
 Until at length you come 
 
 To that Eternal Home, 
 Whither your Saviour hath before you gone. 
 
113 
 
 MATIN HYMN, 
 
 FOR EMIGRANTS AT SEA. 
 
 By the Rev. J. KEBLE, M. A. 
 
 " He walked on the water, to go to Jefus." — Matt. xiv. 29. 
 
 Olowly the gleaming flars retire, 
 
 The Eaflern heaven is all on fire ; 
 The waves have felt the unrifen Sun, 
 Their matin fervice is begun. 
 
 Lord of the boundlefs fky and fea, 
 
 In loving fear we kneel to Thee : 
 
 Fain would we grafp the flrong Right Hand 
 
 Reach'd to Thine OAvn by fea and land ; 
 
 The Hand that did Thy Saint uphold, 
 When love had made him over-bold, 
 What time at twilight dawn he flood 
 Half-fmking in the boiflerous flood. 
 
 He cried to Thee, and Thou didfl fave ; 
 So we, Thine ocean-wanderers, crave 
 (Ere the bright flufh of morn be o'er) 
 Thy bleffmg, Lord, for one day more. 
 
 Still onward as to Southern fl<:ies 
 We fpread our fail, new flars arife, 
 New lights upon the glancing tide, 
 Frefh hues where pearl and coral hide. 
 
114 Matin Hymn. 
 
 ^^^^at are they all, but tokens true 
 Of grace for ever frefli and new : 
 True tokens of Thine awful love 
 Around us, Father, and above ? 
 
 And we would daily, nightly draw 
 Nearer to Thee in love and awe, 
 Till in Love's home we paufe at lafl, 
 Our anchor in the deep Heaven cafL 
 
 The while, acrofs the changeful fea 
 Feeling our way, we cling to Thee, 
 Unchanging Lord ! and Thou dofl mark 
 For each his flation in Thine ark. 
 
 Still overhead the faving Sign 
 Streams, and we know that we are Thine : 
 What courfe foe'er our veffel take, 
 The Signal of our King we make. 
 
 It hallows air and wave, — and, lo ! 
 The Heavens a glorious anfwer fliow ; 
 High and more high, through Southern (kies 
 We fee the unmoving Crofs arife. 
 
 The Crofs on board — what need we more ? 
 The Crofs to welcome us afliore : 
 V/hat need we more, if hearts be true ? 
 Our voyage fafe, our port in view. 
 
 " If hearts be true " — ^but, O dear Lord ! 
 Which of us all may fay the word ] 
 Thy Spirit breathe this day, or we 
 Shall lofe, ere night, ourfclves and Thee. 
 
"5 
 
 VESPER HYMN, 
 
 FOR EMIGRANTS AT SEA. 
 
 By the Rev. J. KEBLE, M. A. 
 
 "When thou paffest through the waters, I mil be with thee." 
 ISA. xliii. 2. 
 
 'T^HE twilight hour is fweet at home, 
 
 When founds from brook or woodland come, 
 Or old familiar bells, that bring 
 The memories grave of many a Spring. 
 
 At fuch foft times the genial air 
 Is fragrant with unbidden prayer, 
 And fouls devout their longings pour 
 To Chriflmas hearth or Whitfun bower. 
 
 And now upon the twilight fea 
 How may we choofe but kneel to Thee, 
 While airs of Thine own breathing fleal 
 O'er the hot calm, worn hearts to heal % 
 
 Now fails are moill with unfeen dews, 
 
 Aerial Unes of all bright hues 
 
 Lie on the level Weft afar, 
 
 And here and there one filent flar. 
 
 O Lord, our Peace ! and may we dare, 
 With voices marr'd by fm and care, 
 To break the flillnefs, and upraife 
 The fong of our unworthy praife % 
 
ii6 Vef per Hymn. 
 
 Yea, as of old Thy Saints at eve 
 A blefling did of Thee receive, 
 When o'er the waves they took their way, 
 Thou to the mountain, Lord, to pray; 
 
 So may we trufl that our frail bark, 
 Bearing aloft Thine awful Mark, 
 Ere Ihe began her ocean race, 
 Had portion in that Word of Grace. 
 
 For why ? Thine everlafling Creed 
 Is ours, to fay in hour of need ; 
 We waft THE Naisie from coafl to coafl, 
 Father, and Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 Ours, too. Thy Prayer, according well 
 With Ocean's many-voiced fwell, 
 Which clofe to every ear begins. 
 Its way beyond all hearing wins. 
 
 The furging prow, the flafhing wake, 
 Mufic at hand unwearying make ; 
 Waves upon waves repeat the fong, 
 And through unbounded fpace prolong. 
 
 We fay the Prayer our Saviour taught, 
 As houfehold words with homely thought ; 
 But Angels bear it on and on, 
 In all its meaning, to the Throne. 
 
 The frailefl bark that ploughs the main, 
 The fimplefl child, may raife the drain ; 
 Heaven, earth, air, feas, will hear the call, 
 " Our Father !" harmonizing all 
 
Death the Gate of Life. 117 
 
 But, oh ! that to Thy Prayer and Creed 
 Thine high Commands we join'd, indeed, 
 Written in heart, on hand engraven, — 
 Three Seals in one of Grace and Heaven ! 
 
 All we have been, forgive, O Lord ; 
 Keep Thou to-night our watch and ward : 
 Safe may we llumber on the Sea, 
 Thou at the helm, our hearts with Thee. 
 
 A' 
 
 DEATH THE GATE OF LIFE. 
 
 By THE Rev. NEWMAN HALL, LL.B. 
 
 RE Death's dark emblems fuited for the grave 
 Of him who dwells in Heaven's unclouded Hght ? 
 For fouls array'd in robes of dazzling white 
 
 Shall blackefl palls and plumes funereal wave 1 
 Shall hlies drooping with untimely blight, 
 Torches reverfed whofe flame is quench'd in night, 
 
 And columns fhatter'd, our compaffion crave 
 
 For thofe whom Chrifl by death did fully fave, — 
 Who now, made perfect, serve, and in His fight 
 Drink of the Fountain of fupreme delight % 
 
 Rear high the fhaft, new life thereon engrave ! 
 Turn up the torch, it never burnt fo bright ! 
 
 A richer hue and fcent the lily gives, — 
 
 Not till the Chriftian dies he fully hves ! 
 
ii8 
 
 CHRIST IN GETHSEMANE. 
 By the Rev. C. I. BLACK, M.A. 
 
 A N eamefl Suitor for one final boon, 
 
 Alone He knelt upon the dewy fod ; 
 'Twas midnight ; and the cold round Pafchal Moon 
 
 Shone coldly down upon the weeping God. 
 He faid, " If it be poffible, I pray 
 Take, O My Father, take this cup away." 
 
 A little fpace apart unheeding flept 
 
 His friends, and heard not that thrice-utter'd Prayer ; 
 The riotous City's feflal noifes fwept 
 
 Loud and tumultuous through the illumined air ; 
 And the complaining wind with murmur low 
 Rullled the olive-branches to and fro. 
 
 But there was intent filence up in Heaven — 
 
 An inexpreflive, unexampled calm ; 
 Pale grew the glory of the burning Seven ; 
 
 Hufh'd was each harp ; unutter'd was the pfalm : 
 Then firfl her heavenly flation Sorrow won. 
 When liflening Angels heard — " Thy will be done." 
 
 Then from the midfl of that aflounded throng 
 Rofe one in hafle, obedient to his Lord ; 
 
 Swift through the night, on pinions fwift and flrong. 
 Earthward he fped unto the fuffering Word, 
 
 With power to quell the force of human fears, 
 
 And check the exuberant Fount of thofe enfanguined tears. 
 
Chrijl in GethfcmaJie. 119 
 
 Not for tliofe heedlefs friends — His nation's hate ; 
 
 Or dubious Pilate, bending to the florm ; 
 Or the contempt of His infulted flate ; 
 
 Or the keen fhame of His unclothed form; 
 'Tis not for thefe the drops of fuffering flart, 
 And deathly anguilh fettles on His heart 
 
 That temper'd feeling, that prophetic eye, 
 
 Long had they been familiar made with woe ; 
 
 The torturing Crown, the Crofs uplifted high, 
 And fhaking under each convulfive throe ; 
 
 The hiding of God's face ; the gloom obfcure 
 
 When He mufl render up his Spirit pure. 
 
 But ere the fuccour came, another flood 
 In filent confli6l with Emmanuel there ; 
 
 The ancient Foe, in fond perfuafive mood, 
 The dim, difcrown'd Archangel of Defpair, 
 
 Lifting Him to the pinnacles of pain, 
 
 Thence fhow'd Him His love-toil beflow'd in vain. 
 
 Ages of hatred ; millions who fhould take 
 His Holy Name in vain, or count it vile ; 
 
 Or murder in defence of it, and make 
 His very Crofs a fhelter for their guile ! 
 
 Was it a mocking dream that He had dream'd 
 
 Of hope for Man, if happier unredeem'd ? 
 
 Therefore it was that thus He knelt and pray'd ; 
 
 Nor yet for thefe alone His tears were flied ; 
 How on His own His forrows would be laid, 
 
 And Love to Grief on Earth be ever wed ; 
 And Joy and Hope through time for ever be 
 Flowers fown and water'd in Gethfemane. 
 
I20 T/ie Sepulchre. 
 
 And who of Chrifl's, but oft mufl. fit alone, 
 Sadnefs at hand, and for the Future fear ; 
 
 While that particular burden of his own 
 
 Deepens each figh, and flarts the fitful tear — 
 
 Death, and like changes, and the fallen eflate 
 
 Of fplendid hopes o'erthrown and defolate % 
 
 Moments of awe-flruck feeling, and forlorn, 
 When that which is within us feems to be 
 
 Too confcious of itfelf, too fwiftly borne 
 Afar into its o^\Tl Gethfemane : 
 
 There let the fpirit fad and lonely pray 
 
 To drink the cup Chrifl did not pafs away. 
 
 Then as that Garden knew not, he fhall know 
 The quickening drops of God's myflerious pain ; 
 
 And the death-cancelling Chalice fhall o'erflow 
 With comfort, as the clouds of Spring with rain ; 
 
 And the dear Lord of Sorrow fhall be nigh 
 
 To calm the intemperate grief, and fhare each anxious figh. 
 
 THE SEP UL CHR E. 
 
 By Miss E. H. ROLLS, 
 Author efs of '' Firjl Fruits : Poems by E. II. P." 
 
 "T T 7iTH weeping eyes the Magdalen departed 
 
 To feek her Saviour on the Ealler morn 
 The Refuge of the poor and broken-hearted 
 Had gone away, and left them all forlorn. 
 
The Sepulchre. 121 
 
 With faltering (lep the mourner paffes by 
 
 The rippHng fountains and the peaceful palms ; 
 
 Her only hope, her only wifh, to figh 
 Her foul away in penitential pfalms. 
 
 She feeks the Sepulchre, flill fadly weeping ; 
 
 But, lo ! the grave is full of life and light : 
 Two Angels there a holy watch are keeping, 
 
 Array'd in garments of celeftial white. 
 
 And as (he gazes on the Tomb, fhe hears 
 A well-known word — a fweet, confoling voice 
 
 And, looking up and fmiling through her tears, 
 She turns to meet her Saviour and rejoice. 
 
 So we on Earth are often weak and fainting 
 With dreary memories and hidden fear ; 
 
 And Expe6lation never wearies painting 
 
 The mournful things fhe fancies lurking near ; 
 
 And all the pathway of our life feems fhaded 
 With folemn tints of gloominefs and woe \ 
 
 And not a leaf appears but what is faded, 
 And not a joy but what is foon to go : 
 
 Tis then we feek the graves of the departed, — 
 Departed pleafures and departed friends ; 
 
 But when on Earth we feem mofl broken-hearted, 
 Nearer to God our lonely prayer afcends. 
 
 Though knowing all the forrows of mankind, 
 Our daily crofs with hopefulnefs we bear ; 
 
 When Chriftian mourners feek the grave, they find 
 Not only Angels, but a Saviour, there 1 
 
123 
 
 MV REDEEMER LIVETH. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF PAUL GERHARDT.* 
 By JOHN OXENFORD, Esq. 
 
 T KNOW that my Redeemer lives ; 
 
 In this my faith is fafl ; 
 He hves, and who againfl Him drives 
 
 Is fure to fall at lafl. 
 He lives, the Mighty One, I know, 
 Whofe arm can crufh the (Irongefl foe, 
 
 And Death himfelf has conquer'd. 
 
 Deep joy within my heart I nurfe, 
 
 No fear diflurbs my mind 
 Of him who can my flefh difperfe 
 
 Like chaff before the wind. 
 My bones and fmews he may have 
 To bury in his own dark grave. 
 
 But flill he cannot harm me. 
 
 My Saviour lives ; though dufl may lie 
 
 Upon my mouldering head, 
 Yet will He call me, by-and-by, 
 
 To quit my earthy bed. 
 Then I Ihall waken at His touch, 
 And He will raife me from my couch ; 
 
 My fleep will foon be over. 
 
 • Bom 1606, died 1676. One of the most celebrated writers of 
 "fpiritual fongs" that ever lived; and compared, in this refpedl, 
 with Martin Luther. 
 
My Redeemer Liveth. 123 
 
 And I (hall wear this very Ikin, 
 
 In which I now appear, — 
 Shall be the fame without — within, 
 
 As you behold me here. 
 My parted limbs, with every vein, 
 Together fhall He bind again, 
 
 All in their fitting order. 
 
 Of bone and flefh the frame is made. 
 
 Which now by man is worn ; 
 And when within the grave he's laid, 
 
 'Twill be devour'd and torn 
 By hofLs of hungry worms, and all 
 The hideous things that foully crawl 
 
 'Twill not be fo for ever. 
 
 United fhall we be once more, — 
 This frail, this mouldering frame, 
 
 Will God revive, will God reflore, 
 Its nature flill the fame. 
 
 All that has been corruption's prey, 
 
 All that has perifli'd by decay. 
 Again Ihall be united. 
 
 In this I fhall not be deceived, 
 No ! — firm my faith fhall be 
 
 That Him, who has for ever lived, 
 I in my flefh fhall fee. 
 
 In this my very flefli that dies. 
 
 And deep in dufl and afhes lies, 
 My God fhall I fee clearly. 
 
124 Our Light Afflidmi. 
 
 Myfelf (hall fee Him in the flefli, 
 With all His radiance bright \ 
 
 His prefence will my foul refrelh, 
 His face my heart delight 
 
 Myfelf fhall ever on Him gaze, 
 
 Myfelf {hall ever found His praife — 
 Myfelf, and not another. 
 
 The tempters boldly I defy 
 Who feek my heart to quail ; 
 
 The flrong to Ihake my faith may try, 
 But furely they fhall fail. 
 
 Prate on of terrors as you will, — 
 
 Of death, of graves, of cofhns ; flill 
 I know my Saviour liveth. 
 
 OUR LIGHT AFFLICTION, 
 
 By the Rev. D. E. FORD, 
 
 Author of ' '■ Decapolis^^'' ' * Bainafcm, " dr'r. 
 
 A s the darknefs of night gives a charm to the dawn, 
 "^ As Winter the Summer endears. 
 And the denfer the cloud on which it is drawn, 
 
 The brighter the rainbow appears ; 
 So trials and forrows the Chriflian prepare 
 
 For the Reft, that remaineth above ; 
 In the World tribulation awaits him, but there 
 
 The fmile of unchangeable Love. 
 
125 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY, 
 
 By ARTHUR J. MUNBY, Esq. M«A. 
 
 Author of Various Poems, &'c. 
 
 "Thenfaid Jefus, Father, forgive them-"— Luke, xxiu. 34. 
 
 O AViouR, who died for us to-day, 
 
 Sighing a tender prayer 
 Of love and pardon from the Crofs 
 For thofe who nail'd Thee there ; 
 
 Oh, by that wondrous death of Thine 
 
 May we be taught to Hve, — 
 Be taught how much of Heaven there is 
 
 In that one word, " Forgive !" 
 
 Keep, Lord, our fouls for ever young, 
 
 For ever undefiled. 
 Nor let the gifts of Manhood drown 
 
 The graces of the Child ; 
 
 So, nurft through all our wintry days, 
 Through time, and grief, and ill, 
 
 Thy grafted Lily of the heart 
 Shall bloom within us llilL 
 
 Amen ! And leave, in this Thine hour, — 
 
 Leave with us, while we pray, 
 That deep, unutterable Peace 
 
 Which doth not pafs away. 
 
126 
 
 EASTER-DAY. 
 
 By the Rev. F. W. KITTERM ASTER, M.A. 
 Author of " The Mojlem and the Hindoo,^'' b'c. 
 
 /^OME to the grave to mourn, and weep 
 
 Where Jefus calmly lies ; 
 While lifl'ning Silence, Hill and deep, 
 
 Bids hoUefl thoughts arife. 
 Tread foftly, for among the dead 
 With carelefs llep 'twere wrong to tread ; 
 Or vex with aught the home fo dread, 
 
 Where thoughtlefs laughter dies. 
 
 But, fee ! the morning dawns, and fleals 
 
 Clofe on the track of night ; 
 Earth's glitt'ring dew-veil'd face reveals, 
 
 And Ikies of woven light, 
 As day awakes : — another week 
 Breaks with its cares, while fad we feek 
 The dead ; but, lo ! the living fpeak. 
 
 Clad in pure robes of white. 
 
 " Why feek the Living 'mong the dead ] 
 
 The Saviour did not die 
 To make the difmal tomb His bed, 
 
 Where He for aye mud lie. 
 Heard ye no fliout % the far worlds ring, 
 Angels rejoice around their King, 
 While with triumphant fliout they bring 
 
 Chrift to His throne on high." 
 
Eajler-Day. 127 
 
 Lift up your heads, eternal gates ! 
 
 Admit the King who reigns. 
 The Conqueror comes ! befide Him waits 
 
 Sin, bound in captive chains ; 
 And Death's dark form ; — thefe deadly foes 
 Are powerlefs now : the Saviour rofe 
 And burfl their band, and bore the throes 
 
 Of their acutefl pains. 
 
 This is our day, a Holy Feafl ! — 
 
 With willing hearts obey. 
 Draw near with faith, nor let the leafl 
 
 In hope turn cold away. 
 Here by the Symbols of His love 
 The mind is drawn to things above, 
 And ftrength and grace imparted prove 
 
 We meet the Lord to-day. 
 
 This is our day ! we will rejoice : 
 
 Sin reigns in us no more \ 
 Grace triumphs — let us Hft our voice, 
 
 The Saviour to adore ! 
 He broke the cruel tyrant's fway, — 
 He took the fling from Death away ; 
 Let us with trueft love obey, 
 
 Till this fhort life is o'er. 
 
 And when through Death's dark gate we go 
 
 To happier worlds unknown. 
 Where we myflerious Love Ihall know. 
 
 And ruling Wifdom own, — 
 Divinely taught His praife to fmg. 
 Spontaneous then our thoughts will fpring 
 To Him, our God, Redeemer, King, 
 
 On His eternal Throne. 
 
128 
 
 PRAISE WAITETH. 
 
 By Miss TOUGH, 
 Authorefs of " TJu Offering: Poems." 
 
 T CANNOT praile Thee now, Lord, 
 
 I cannot praife Thee now ; 
 For my heart is forely riven, 
 
 And a cloud is on my brow. 
 But praife is waiting for Thee 
 
 In the glorious future time, 
 Amid the bright revealings, 
 
 When Zion's hill we climb. 
 
 I cannot praife Thee here, Lord, 
 
 I cannot praife Thee here ; 
 For in my foul is forrow, 
 
 And in mine eye a tear : 
 But praife is waiting for Thee, 
 
 When the chequer'd Pafl appears 
 In the funfhine of the Future, 
 
 All fmiling through thofe tears. 
 
 I cannot praife Thee now. Lord, 
 
 I cannot praife Thee now. 
 Though beneath Thy fore chaflifmgs 
 
 I fain would meekly bow. 
 But praife is waiting for Thee 
 
 In the glorious future time, 
 When we read our hidden flory, 
 
 And reach our fpirit's prime. 
 
Praife Waiteth. 129 
 
 I cannot praife Thee here, Lord, 
 
 I cannot praife Thee here ; 
 For my pathway lies through fhadows, 
 
 And my heart is lone and drear. 
 But praife is waiting for Thee, 
 
 When the pilgrimage is pafl, 
 And at our Home in glory 
 
 We gather in at lafl. 
 
 And I will praife Thee there. Lord, 
 
 When Zion's heights I gain ; — 
 But might I not be tuning 
 
 A prelude to the flrain % 
 While praife is waiting for Thee, 
 
 Thou'lt bend a hftening ear 
 To its low and faint rehearfal, 
 
 In faltering accents here. 
 
 Then let me praife Thee now, Lord, 
 
 In the dark and cloudy day, 
 Though fad and fore difquieted 
 
 By reafon of the way. 
 For the praife that's waiting for Thee, 
 
 Good caufe fhall yet appear. 
 And I'll wake the golden harp-firings. 
 
 Beneath the falling tear. 
 
130 
 
 CHRISTIAN LOVE, 
 
 By THE Rev. A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A. 
 
 TranJIator of the *' Queen'' s Court MaiiJtfcript,^^ aiid other 
 Bohemian Poems. 
 
 u 
 
 OVE hath defcended from His throne on high, 
 And taken brotherhood with man below, 
 Suffering for ranfom of His enemy. 
 
 To cleanfe the fmful hands that \vrought His woe. 
 What furer proof could befl affection fhow 
 Than thus to fuffer ? And for us if He, 
 Shall we not for His fake fome fuff ring know, 
 That we, as loved, may alfo loving be. 
 And for Love's fake by Love from fm and (hame fet free \ 
 
 But Love doth not in contemplation dwell, 
 
 Lock'd in the bofom's innermofl. recefs ; 
 Which it doth dill with fighs of longing fwell, 
 
 But never paffeth ; which it may opj^refs 
 By brooding thoughts to utter hopeleffnefs. 
 
 But never eafe by acflion ; forth it goes, 
 And doth itfelf to that high tafk addrcfs, 
 
 Whence only cometh folace to all woes. 
 And which alone the fount of endlcfs gladnefs knowo. 
 
 Love's tafk, it is the talk of man below, 
 
 Fulfilment of the law of God above, 
 The only taflv which doth perfection know, 
 
 And which for its own fake doth merit love, 
 
The Shadow of Thy Wings. 131 
 
 And upon Earth, as not of Earth, doth move : 
 O happy, happy, who Love's tafk fulfil, 
 
 Nor from affedlion's fettled purpofe rove. 
 But their true loving Lord do copy flill, 
 And for Love's fake by Love do execute Love's will ! 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THY WINGS. 
 By Miss E. II. ROLLS, 
 
 \^Y Saviour ! weary pilgrims tell 
 
 Of valleys rich in glorious things ; 
 I heed them not, if I may dwell 
 Beneath the Shadow of Thy Wings. 
 
 I hear them praife each joyful bird, 
 That fwiftly flies and fweetly fmgs ; 
 
 But loveher mufic I have heard 
 
 Beneath the Shadow of Thy Wings ! 
 
 The mountaineer may proudly tell 
 Of cryflal founts and pearly fprings ; 
 
 But I have found a living well 
 
 Beneath the Shadow of Thy Wings. 
 
 On defert-fand or ocean-foam 
 My faith to Thee for ever clings ; 
 
 I have an everlaRing home 
 
 Beneath the Shadow of Thy Wings. 
 
132 
 
 THE WIDOW OF NAIN. 
 By W. R. NEALE, Esq. 
 
 *• And when the Lord faw her, He had compaflion on her, and 
 faid unto her, Weep not." — Luke, vii. 13. 
 
 T?ORTH from the city gate, 
 
 As evening fhadows lengthen o'er the plain, 
 And the hufh'd crowd in reverent filence wait, 
 Pafl out a funeral train. 
 
 Only one Mourner there, 
 Slowly, with feeble fleps, following the dead, 
 In the fad travail of the foul's defpair 
 
 Bow'd down her flricken head. 
 
 For him fhe wept forlorn. 
 Of care the folace, and of age the llay, 
 Whofe filver chord was broken ere the morn 
 
 Had brighten'd into day. 
 
 Thus hath it ever been, — 
 Time the deflroyer fweeps relentlefs by, 
 When hopes are flrong and leaves of promife green, 
 
 And manhood's heart beats high. 
 
 Who comes of flately mien, 
 As one with travel weary, feeking rcfl, — 
 Whofe afpccfl gentle, and wliofe brow fcrene, 
 
 Speak of a million bleR % 
 
The Widow of Nain 133 
 
 'Tis He, with power to fave, 
 Who where defponding Grief his vigil kept, 
 Knowing all human fufferings, at the grave 
 
 Of Lazarus wept. 
 
 Thus fpake He, — " Weep no more ! 
 Be dill, fad heart ! Be dry, ye moiflen'd eyes ! 
 Thus to the living I the dead reflore : 
 
 Sleeper, awake, arife ! " 
 
 Then at His bidding came 
 To thofe cold lips the warm, returning breath \ 
 Then did He kindle hfe's extinguifh'd flame, 
 
 Vi6lor o'er Sin and Death. 
 
 And thus He ever ftands, — 
 Friend of the fallen, wiping all tears away, 
 Wherever Sorrow lifts her fuppliant hands, 
 
 And Faith remains to pray. 
 
 Where'er the wretched flee, 
 From the rude conflidl of this World diflrefl, 
 Confoling words He whifpers, — " Come to Me, 
 
 And I will give you reft !" 
 
 Till at the fecond birth, 
 He bids the woes and wrongs of ages ceafe. 
 And brings to an emancipated Earth, 
 
 Judgment, and truth, and peace ; 
 
 And gathers all His own 
 From the four winds to that eternal fhore, 
 Where Mercy fits upon the great white throne. 
 
 And Death fliall be no more. 
 
134 
 
 THE ONE FAMILY, 
 
 THOUGHTS FOR THE FEAST OF ST. MICHAEL AND ALL 
 
 ANGELS. 
 
 By the Rev. F. MINDEN KNOLLIS, D.D. 
 
 Author of " Wreath for the Altar ^^^ ^c. 
 
 " Who hast ordained and constituted the fervices of Angels and 
 men in a wonderful order," — Collect. 
 
 "The whole family in heaven and earth." — EPH. iii. 15. 
 
 'TpHERE is no night in Heaven : 
 '*■ In that blefl World above 
 Work never can bring wearinefs, 
 For work itfelf is love. 
 
 There is no night in Heaven : 
 
 Yet nightly round each bed 
 Of every Chriflian flumberer, 
 
 Faith hears an Angel tread. 
 
 There is no grief in Heaven : 
 
 There all is " perfe(fl day ;" 
 There tears are 'mid thofe " former things" 
 
 Which all " have part, away." 
 
 There is no grief in Heaven : 
 
 Yet Angels from on high 
 Glide down on golden pinions, 
 
 The Chriflian's tears to dry. 
 
The One Family. 135 
 
 There is no want in Heaven : 
 
 The Lamb of God fuppUes 
 Life's Tree of twelve-fold fruitage — 
 
 Life's Spring which never dries. 
 
 There is no want in Heaven : 
 
 Yet in a defert land 
 The fainting Prophet was fuRain'd, 
 
 E'en by an Angel's hand. 
 
 There is no fin in Heaven, 
 
 Amid that bleffed throng : 
 All-holy is their fpotlefs robe, 
 
 All-holy is their fong. 
 
 There is no fin in Heaven : 
 
 Here who from fm is free % 
 Yet Angels aid us in our flrife 
 
 For Chrifl's own Hberty. 
 
 There is no death in Heaven : 
 
 For they who gain that fhore 
 Have won their immortality, 
 
 And " they can die no more." 
 
 There is no death in Heaven : 
 
 But when the Chriftian dies, 
 (Made thus co-heir with Angels), 
 
 They waft him to the Skies. 
 
136 
 
 HEAVEN OUR HOME. 
 
 By the Rev. WILLIAM PARKINSON, M.A. 
 
 Here we have no continuing city, but we feek one to come." 
 
 Heb. xiii. 14. 
 
 "Q OSY-BRIGHT the Morning 
 
 Shed its early beams 
 Over dewy meadows, 
 
 Over filver flreams ; 
 And the Breezes whifper'd 
 
 MefTages of peace, 
 Through the woodlands crying, 
 
 " Joy fhall never ceafe ;" 
 And the Birds made anfwer, 
 
 In their fweetefl lay, 
 " Pipe to us, ye Breezes, 
 
 We'll rejoice to-day." 
 
 Hoarfely-fweet the torrents 
 
 Murmur'd from the hills ; 
 Through the flowery valleys 
 
 Danced the laughing rills ; 
 And with fights of beauty, 
 
 And with founds of mirth, 
 Spells of power were binding 
 
 All my hopes to Earth. 
 All things full of rapture. 
 
 All things order'd well, — 
 Here, I thought, for ever 
 
 It were good to dwell. 
 
Heaven our Hotne. 137 
 
 But the fky grew darker, 
 
 And with fliriller tone 
 Through the woods the wild wind 
 
 Made a difmal moan ; 
 Faded all the brightnefs 
 
 From the fparkling rills ; 
 Fail'd the torrent-voices 
 
 From the florm-trod hills ; 
 And the birds, that lately 
 
 Such fweet mufic made, 
 Trembled fad and filent 
 
 In the deeped fhade. 
 
 Then, amid the tempell 
 
 Came a flill fmall Voice, 
 Saying, " Lo ! an emblem 
 
 Of thy fooUfli choice. 
 Life is not all funfhine ; 
 
 Should the morn be fair, 
 Noon may bring its temped 
 
 Black with woe or care. 
 This is not thy dwelling ; 
 
 Let whatever come. 
 Thou art but a pilgrim ; 
 
 Make not here thy home. 
 Life has joys to try thee, — 
 
 Falfe-fair lures to prove 
 Whether thou art worthy 
 
 Of a Father's love. 
 Life has florms to warn thee, — 
 
 That this barren fand 
 Is but thy rough paffage 
 
 To a better Land. 
 
138 Blcjfed are the Poor i?i Spirit. 
 
 Forward, Christian pilgrim, 
 
 Fix not here thy tent ; 
 Look not back in envy, 
 
 Doubt, or difcontent : 
 For^vard, ChriRian runner, 
 
 To the mark prefs on. 
 Till of thy high caUing 
 
 Thou the prize hafl won : 
 Fonvard, ChriRian foldier. 
 
 Firm to do or die ; 
 Let no fear defraud thee 
 
 Of thy vi(5lory. 
 Here are pain and forrow. 
 
 Here are grief and care ; 
 To that good Land haRen, 
 
 Only joy is there." 
 
 BLESSED ARE THE POOR IN SPIRIT. 
 By the Rev. W. W. HOW, M.A. 
 
 '"pwo things have (hone with golden light 
 Upon the way where we are fent, — 
 A rich man poor in his own fight, 
 And a poor man rich in his content. 
 
 But a nobler thing than even thefe, 
 And fliining with a light more pure. 
 
 Is a poor man kneeling on his knees. 
 And thanking God that he is poor. 
 
^39 
 
 THE STRIFE OF THE CHURCH. 
 By the Rev. ROWLAND WILLIAMS, D.D. 
 
 "nRiDEGROOM of Zion, and of faints the Lord, 
 ^^ Say, (hall thy chofen fervants flrive for ever % 
 Goodwill and Peace to men — is this a fword 
 
 Thy children's yearning hearts with grief to fever % 
 Pour out Thy Spirit, and Thy kingdom fhow, 
 Where reconciled they dwell who flrove below. 
 
 Thine own Apoflles they, and brothers twain. 
 Whom Jewry and the Gentiles parted here ; 
 
 Thy foldiers fworn, and conquerors of fm. 
 Twin olive-trees, whofe leaves are never fere ; 
 
 Twin lamps, whofe radiant light can never die ; 
 
 Twin ftars, whofe diverfe glory blends on high. 
 
 But on the Earth Thy Spirit came in part, 
 Their Faith fcarce ripen' d into Charity : 
 
 Each knew his own, but not his brother's heart j 
 And as they ran, they flrove for maftery. 
 
 Learn, O my foul, how both their work abides, 
 
 And trull no difcord now their hfe divides. 
 
 We each in twilight fee our little part ; 
 
 God of our parts can make harmonious whole : 
 One drinks of fprings born deep in lonely heart, 
 
 And thou, where choral rivers blending roll ; 
 
1 40 The Strife of the Church. 
 
 He fpeaks of faith, by inward prayer, divine. 
 
 And thou of grace through church and heavenly fign. 
 
 So Bunyan darkhng trod his pilgrim path, 
 
 While Laud for wifdom fearch'd primaeval fliore ; 
 
 So Milton wreak'd on fhrines his giant wrath, 
 Where Taylor's equal genius floop'd t' adore ; 
 
 So Baxter left, for chains, the rite unfaid. 
 
 Where Hammond's foul found peace and Heavenly Bread. 
 
 Where was Thy Spirit, Lord, in that fad hour. 
 
 When all Thy pidlured fhrines were rent and torn, 
 
 And tempefl wrack'd the nation : poet's bower, 
 And paflor's Home of Prayer, alike forlorn ? 
 
 Where was Thy love, when Zeal gave red right hand 
 
 To Wrath and Crime, and raven'd o'er the land % 
 
 Hall thou not balm, O thou all-healing Time, 
 In all thy flore, to heal that ancient wound ? 
 
 Saith not thy floried page, how Truth fublime, 
 Half loofed by each, by each in turn was bound ? 
 
 God of all flefh, fhall ne'er Thy children learn 
 
 That which Thine eyes through every change difcem ? 
 
 Ah ! flow our hearts to learn, while, erring fl.ill, 
 Each flrives for part, and both the whole difclaim 
 
 Champion of Eld ! full well on Zion's hill 
 
 Thou feefl, not built of man, our City's frame ; 
 
 Yet his, though blamed, is deeper truth, who knows 
 
 By what indwelling Life the Temple rofe. 
 
 How near thofe two, by worldlings deem'd " extreme " — 
 How near thofe two, afunder far, agree ! 
 
The Strife of the Church. 141 
 
 Both know our Life of Faith no idle dream ; 
 
 Both on the Rock would build, not fandy fea ; 
 Alien to both, cold fneer, and wealthy frown, 
 And on the might of both the World looks down. 
 
 Go back, ye howling waters, which the florm, 
 Raifed by the Prince of air, has lafh'd between ; 
 
 And ye more perilous, in fmoother form 
 
 Of moderate art, with grace of rippling fheen ; 
 
 Waves of that Sea of Death, which ne'er for weal 
 
 The Angel ftirs, to wake the powers which heal. 
 
 But Thou, O quickening Spirit, not of man. 
 By Thee fmce Peter watched the infant Fold, 
 
 Thy breath in Paul's o'erpowering accents ran, 
 
 Thy touch makes pure the young, and warm the old — 
 
 Spirit of comfort Thou, and chaflening fear, 
 
 Teach us, how thofe afar, in Thee, are near. 
 
 Purge Thou our glance to gaze where flrife is o'er ; 
 
 Teach us, how Faith is lefs than Charity : 
 Thy kingdom come, where Error is no more. 
 
 Nor Death, nor Mourning, nor Captivity ; 
 But on the Earth, Lord, grant us at Thy fhrine 
 War with the World, but peace with Thee and Thine 
 
142 
 
 DIFFEREN7 PATHS, 
 By HAMILTON AIDE, Esq. 
 
 T LATELY talk'd with one who flrove 
 "*• To fliow that all my faith is dim, 
 That his alone the road to Heaven ; 
 And thus it was I anfwer'd him : — 
 
 " The ftaff I hold ftrike not away, 
 
 You cannot give me yours, dear friend; 
 
 Up the fleep hill our paths are fet 
 In different wife, to one fure end. 
 
 " What though, with eagle-glance upfixt 
 On heights beyond our mortal ken. 
 
 You tread the broad fure flones of Faith 
 More firmly than do weaker men ; 
 
 " Snatch not away the glimmering light 
 The father holds, the fon rejecfls, 
 
 Nor thrufl your candle in their eyes, 
 And blind them — into narrow fecfls, 
 
 " To each according to his flrength : 
 But as we leave the plains below, 
 
 Let us carve out a wider flair, 
 
 A broader pathway through the fnow. 
 
 " And when upon the golden crefl 
 We fland at lafl together, freed 
 
 From miRs that gather round the bafe, 
 And clouds that but obfcure our creed, 
 
WorJJiip. 143 
 
 " We (hall perceive that though our fteps 
 Have wander'd wide apart, dear friend, 
 
 No pathway can be wholly wrong 
 That leads unto one perfect end." 
 
 WORSHIP. 
 
 By WILLIAM SAWYER, Esq. 
 
 Author of " Thought and Reverie,^'' and other Poems. 
 
 T T That need of words in prayer or praife, 
 
 Or tinkling rhyme or rounded phrafe,- 
 Why lift the hat, or bend the knee ; 
 Since God the inner heart can fee, 
 The thought can as the language read, 
 And in the purpofe fee the deed % 
 
 A feeming truth ; and yet beware, 
 Only the half-truth may be there : 
 The man is not of Soul alone, 
 But Soul and Body knit in one ; 
 And will the Maker look for lefs 
 Than the whole being's earneflnefs % 
 
144 
 
 THE CRY OF THE POOR. 
 By the Hon. Mrs. NORTON. 
 
 •'Becaufe of the deep fighing of the Poor, I will up, faith the Lord." 
 
 Ps. xii. 5, 6. 
 
 A WAIL hath gone over the Earth, 
 "^■^ Sad, hollow, and difmally drear ; 
 Like the Storm in the hour of its birth, 
 
 Or the wind at the fall of the year. 
 It hath fwept pafl the hovel and hut, 
 
 And Dives hath faflen'd his door; 
 But it howls where his portals are fhut — 
 
 'Tis the cry of the famifhing poor ! 
 
 The child in the arms of its nurfe 
 
 Shall flart as it fwells on the air ; 
 For that found is the found of a curfe, 
 
 And that voice is the voice of defpair ! 
 Lo ! laughter and reveliy's fhout. 
 
 And warmth, and indulgence, and fm : 
 There is death and flarvation without — 
 
 There is mufic and dancing within. 
 
 But thy deathbed, O Dives ! draws near : 
 
 Thus levell'd with commoner men. 
 The cry thou refufefl to hear. 
 
 Shall found terribly loud to thee then ; 
 The whifpers of doctors and friends, 
 
 Yea, fobs from the loving and loved. 
 Shall be lofl, as that echo afcends 
 
 Which once found thee hard and unmoved 
 
The Cry of the Poor. 1 45 
 
 In vain from all parts of the Globe 
 
 Shall thy couch with rich comforts be fpread ; 
 Thy heart, 'neath its miniver'd robe, 
 
 Shall freeze with a pitiful dread. 
 The pendulum, heavy and dull, 
 
 As it fwings to and fro in the gloom, 
 Shall flart thee, when opiates would lull, 
 
 As if flriking the knell of thy doom. 
 
 Then — ^naked returning to God 
 
 (Who fent thee, frail periihing worm, 
 To creep awhile over this clod, 
 
 The tafk of thy life to perform), 
 The Earth thy remains fliall enfold, 
 
 And thy corpfe in a bed be inurn'd 
 As narrow, as dark, and as cold 
 
 As the grave of the wretch thou haft fpurn'd. 
 
 But thy foul " cannot flumber in duft ; " 
 
 Thee its fhuddering wings mufl upbear 
 To the Throne of the Holy and Juft, 
 
 For a fiat of hope or defpair. 
 There ftand, O thou fpirit of woe, 
 
 And anfwer to Father and Son, 
 For the good which thou failedfl to do, 
 
 As well as the ill thou hafl done. 
 
 Repeat (what on Earth would not ceafe) 
 
 All the fophiflries hollow and vain, 
 Why thy lot fhould be plenty and peace. 
 
 And thy fellow's privation and pain. 
 
146 The Cry of the Poor. 
 
 Mock God with fome blafphemous text, 
 Pointing out with a Scriptural hand, 
 
 How in this World, if not in the next, 
 " The poor cannot ceafe from the land." 
 
 Make that which was written to urge 
 
 A brotherly pity of heart. 
 Seem meant as a fentence and fcourge 
 
 To fet life's conditions apart ; 
 Prove, prove that thy conducft was right, 
 
 When the famifhing clamour'd for bread, 
 While the huge waxen torches (hone bright 
 
 On the meats at thy feflivals fpread ; 
 
 Prove, prove that thy heart was not cold, 
 
 But that fear to encourage the bafe 
 Was the motive that bade thee withhold 
 
 The alms that were begg'd as a grace ! 
 Ay ! prove it, — while, throng after throng, 
 
 Good Angels re-echo the cry, 
 " How long wilt Thou fuffer, how long ? 
 
 O Lord of the Earth and the Sky ! " 
 
 As the voice of the drowning is lofl 
 
 In the flrife of the winds and the waves, 
 Or the florm-beaten wanderer's crofl 
 
 By the forefl-trees crafliing like Haves ; 
 So thou, in the hour of thy need, 
 
 Heaven's mercy fhalt vainly implore ; 
 Unrefcucd, unheard, (halt thou plead, — 
 
 Becaufe of the Cry of the Poor ! 
 
147 
 
 THE MOURNERS LAMENT. 
 
 From the French of Vinet, on the Death of his Daughter. 
 By the Rev. T. SALWEY, B.D. 
 
 T T THY doll Thou take from me, 
 ^^ O God of Charity, 
 The crown of joy from off my brow ? 
 
 Or if my blell eflate 
 
 Mufl have fo (hort a date, 
 Then why that bhfs didft thou bellow % 
 Speak, Saviour, for Thy works are great, 
 
 Whilll I am bhnd and flow. 
 
 My health, alas ! is gone ; 
 
 My heart is chill' d to llone ; 
 Each day takes fomewhat of delight : 
 
 My weary life complains, 
 
 Stripp'd by the wind and rains 
 Of leaves and fruit that made it bright ; 
 My flcy is dark, and nought remains 
 
 But latenefs, cold, and night 
 
 Beneath my roof's dark (hade 
 
 Grew up a humble maid ; 
 Love had its dwelling in her breaft : 
 
 I faw with fmiling eyes. 
 
 Her early dawn arife. 
 When my own Sun was in the Weft 
 She's gone, and Thou alone canfl check my fighs, 
 
 And fay where' s now her reft 
 
148 The Mourfiet^s La?7ient. 
 
 "Wliy dofl Thou take from me, 
 
 O God of Charity, 
 The crown of joy from off my brow % 
 
 Or if my blefl eflate 
 
 Mufl have fo fhort a date, 
 Then why that bUfs didR Thou beftow ? 
 Speak, Saviour, for Thy works are great, 
 
 "Whilfl I am blind and flow. 
 
 Thy voice did fpeak the word, 
 And hke a fharpen'd fword 
 Through all my heart did penetrate ; 
 And now my foul can fay. 
 It knows the truths that lay 
 'Neath what did rigour feem, or hate : 
 It is, O God, Thy love's true way 
 New bleflings to create. 
 
 *Tis ever thus the fame ; 
 
 No harvefl ever came 
 But fuch as from the feed mufl grow ; 
 
 Be it profperity. 
 
 Or be it poverty. 
 They both from love alone can flow : 
 Tis thus Thy juft-ice quicken'd me 
 
 Who, under grace, was flow. 
 
 O God of my delight, 
 Dire(fl my path aright 
 
 To Eden, or fome defert fcene; 
 For if I love, and call 
 Thee my chief good, no fall 
 
 Or lofs fliafl hurt, but all things fcreen ; 
 
 E'en in the wiklcrncfs fliall all 
 
 Be flowery, frefli, and green. 
 
The Mourner's Lament. 149 
 
 The only Saint complete, 
 
 Of faith the example meet, 
 Jefus, hath died the death foretold : 
 
 To die is to be born, 
 
 To rife to a new mom, 
 And garments new to take for old ; 
 With Jefus blefl, from evil torn. 
 
 Death gives me Chrift to hold. 
 
 To vain philofophy. 
 
 And wifdom, which in Thee 
 No root polTefs, I wifh to die ; 
 
 Nay, e'en to everything 
 
 I would be dead, O King, 
 Which does Thy Majefly deny ; 
 And through the life which Faith does bring 
 
 Efcape my agony. 
 
 Father, fpare me not 
 From any painful lot 
 
 To make me faithful, loving, true ; 
 That, in Thy furnace tried, 
 
 1 may be purified. 
 
 And as pure gold come forth to view j 
 And graven by Thine art abide. 
 In glory clothed anew. 
 
 Then Thou mayfl take from me, 
 
 God of Charity, 
 
 The crown of joy from off my brow ; 
 
 And that my blefl eflate 
 
 Should have fo fhort a date. 
 Why Thou didfl give that blifs I know ; 
 The fecret of Thy works fo great 
 
 1 fee, though blind and (low. 
 
I50 
 
 SORROW'S SOLACE. 
 
 By the Rev. W. J. BROCK, M. A. 
 Author of*''' Wayfide Verfes^^'' and other Poems, 
 
 "For we have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with the 
 feeling of our infirmities ; but was in all points tempted like as we 
 are."— Heb. iv. 15. 
 
 \ ND doll thou weep in forrow, brother ? 
 -^■^ Think not thou hafl a lonely lot ; 
 The very pang now thine, another 
 Endured for thee, and murmur'd not. 
 
 To confecrate the Path of Sorrow, 
 
 He left the glory of the Skies ; 
 And deign'd our fuffering flelh to borrow, 
 
 That He with grief might fympathize. 
 
 Dofl mourn beneath the fierce temptation ? 
 
 On Him the Tempter's fhafts were cafl. 
 Are thine the waves of tribulation % 
 
 Oft o'er His foul thofe waters pad. 
 
 Each fuffering that enthoms thy pillow 
 Is felt within thy Saviour's heart ; 
 
 His hand will hold thee o'er each billow, 
 For He hath felt thy every fmart. 
 
 He who flood by the fiflers weeping. 
 Their brother raifed, and dropt the tear, 
 
 Marks all thy tears with eye unfleeping, 
 When grief bends o'er the recent bier. 
 
speak the Truth in Love. 151 
 
 Though far removed from mortal vifion, 
 
 His heart flill beats with fympathy; 
 The fufferings of His earthly miffion 
 
 Have left deep fears which plead for thee. 
 
 And oft 'mid pangs of fuffering grievous, 
 AVhen faith grows weak and droops the foul, 
 
 He fends bright Angels to relieve us, 
 
 And check the whelming waves which roll 
 
 In all thy fufferings think not, brother, 
 
 Thine is a lone, unfriended lot ; 
 Look up, and feel there is Another, 
 
 In fympathy who ceafeth not 
 
 SPEAK THE TRUTH IN LOVE. 
 
 By the Rev. W. P. BALFERN. 
 
 QPEAK kindly to the broken heart; 
 •^ Wrath ne'er the will can bend. 
 And gentle words have ever proved 
 
 To Virtue's caufe a friend. 
 The heavy rain that loudly falls, 
 
 Makes Nature droop her head ; 
 The gentle dew bids her look up. 
 
 And fmile as from the dead. 
 A fkilful hand he needs muft have 
 
 Who plays with broken chords ; 
 He who would heal the llricken heart 
 
 Chrifl's love mull rule his words. 
 
152 
 
 THE LAMENT OF DAVID OVER SAUL 
 AND JONATHAN, 
 
 By WILLIAM STIRLING, Esq. of Keir. 
 
 npHE beauty of our land lies flain on wild Gilboa's fide, 
 Our mighty ones are fallen in their valour and their 
 pride : 
 Tell not in Gath nor Afkelon that they are lying low, 
 Left fierce Philiftia's mocking maids be joyous in our woe. 
 
 Ye mountains of Gilboa, be never more on you 
 
 The (howers and promise of the Spring, nor Summer's 
 
 gentle dew ! 
 For on your fteeps the royal (hield was vilely caft away, 
 And dead among the countlefs flain the anointed monarch 
 
 lay. 
 
 Foremoft in fight the matchlefs bow of Jonathan was 
 
 bent, 
 Foremoft in fight the fiery fword of Saul deftro>ing went; 
 Like eagles f\vift, like lions ftrong, their lovely lives were 
 
 one, 
 And now, unparted in the grave, they flumber, fire and 
 
 fon. 
 
 Daughters of Ifrael, weep for them whofe vahant hearts 
 
 are cold, 
 Who gave you fcarlet robes ye wear, and wreatlied your 
 
 locks with gold ; 
 
The Chrijliaiis Old Age. 153 
 
 O Jonathan ! full fore I weep for thee, fweet brother 
 
 mine, 
 For pafling woman's love to me was that dear love of 
 
 thine ! 
 
 How are the mighty fallen on high Gilboa's fide, 
 
 In the thickefl of the battle, in their glory and their 
 
 pride ! 
 How are the mighty fallen, on the red accurfed field, 
 With bow and blade befide them laid, and broken fpear 
 
 and Ihield ! 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN'S OLD AGE. 
 
 By the Rev. RICHARD COBBOLD, M.A. 
 Author of ^^ Margaret Catc/ipole,''^ &>c. 
 
 "KTow age hath filver'd o'er my brow, 
 
 And all my friends are gone, 
 Let me with refignation bow — 
 Thy will, O Lord, be done. 
 
 Though oft and oft my heart and mind 
 Have wander'd here and there, 
 
 I fought for Thee, and now I find 
 My conflant hope in prayer. 
 
154 The Chrijliatis Old Age. 
 
 Yes, prayer for all — for every one — 
 
 Or friend or foe to me ; 
 Oh, let me harbour ill to none, 
 
 But fix my heart on Thee ! 
 
 Though old my years, I'm young in heart ; 
 
 Hope has not fled away; 
 For, if my foul fhould now depart, 
 
 'Twill fee a happier day. 
 
 I do not murmur nor complain, 
 Patience has made me flrong : 
 
 Thank God who eafes all my pain, — 
 My God can do no wrong. 
 
 Yet hear me. Lord ! Oh, hear my prayer,- 
 
 The prayer of cheerful age : 
 On Thee, my God, I caft my care,— 
 
 Thou dofl all grief affuage. 
 
 Then keep me now as moments wane, 
 
 And time has almofl fped : 
 Let none Thy Holy Name profane 
 
 Who hope to rife when dead. 
 
155 
 
 ABRAHAM AND THE FIRE-WORSHIPPER. 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 By EDWIN W. SIMCOX, Esq. 
 Author of ^^Alzim, or the Way to Happinefs^^"^ ^'c. 
 
 'TpHE dews of eve were falling fafl o'er bright Judea's 
 
 plain j 
 The camel, calmly browfmg then, forgot the noontide's 
 
 pain; 
 The winds of eve were whifpering foft the (lately palms 
 
 among, 
 Which, waving high their feathery tops, unto the night- 
 wind fung 
 Day's fweet yet melancholy dirge. At this flill hour of 
 
 eafe. 
 To bathe his high and faintly brow in evening's cooler 
 
 breeze, 
 The Father of the Faithful fat before his tent's dark fold, 
 And watch' d, with mild, delighted eye, the funfet's fading 
 
 gold. 
 
 Jufl then, an ancient toil-worn man, his faltering footfleps 
 
 bent 
 Towards Abraham's feat, and craved that night the 
 
 fhelter of his tent. 
 Right fwarthy was the flranger's brow, mark'd with the 
 
 furrows deep 
 Of evil pafTions fofler'd long, though now they feem'd to 
 
 lleep ; 
 
156 Abraham a?id the Fire-worJJiipper. 
 
 Right evil was that flranger's eye — its envious look 
 
 afkance 
 Shone balcfully, as if it threw a curfe ^vith every 
 
 glance : — 
 But now fatigue has dimm'd its pride, and that fell 
 
 wanderer lone 
 For aid his fuppUcation pours, in lowly, humble tone. 
 
 Swift fprang the Patriarch from his place when that 
 requefl, he heard, 
 
 And fwift, with hofpitable hand, the evening meal pre- 
 pared : 
 
 The miniflering damfels foon pour water for the feet, 
 
 And change of veflure gladly bring, for wayworn pilgrim 
 
 meet. 
 Wafh'd and arra/d, he takes his place all welcome at the 
 
 board ; 
 But, ere they tafle, good Abraham faid, " Come, let us 
 
 thanks afford 
 To Him who all thefe bleffings fair to us hath freely 
 
 given. 
 The Great Creator of the Earth, who dwelleth in the 
 
 Heaven." 
 
 Sour fmiled the (Iranger, and he fpake, " Servant of Fire 
 
 am I — 
 I will not thank, nor bow before, thy viewlefs Deity ! " 
 Wrath bum'd in holy Abraham's breail, and flufli'd his 
 
 honed cheek 
 With indignation, as he heard the bold blafphemer fpeak : 
 To thrull that Rranger from his tent, his flronuous hand 
 
 was rear'd ; 
 
In AffliBion. 157 
 
 But ere it could defcend, a calm yet awful Voice was 
 
 heard — 
 The Patriarch trembled as it fpoke, and thus that Voice 
 
 did fay : 
 "I've borne with this man threefcore years, and canfl 
 
 not thou a day % " 
 
 IN AFFLICTION, 
 By Miss ISA CRAIG. 
 
 /^H, fpare the rod ! 
 
 ^"^ Thy wrath remove, 
 And vifit me in love, 
 My Father-God ! 
 
 Thou art all-wife ! 
 Erring I've been, 
 And Thou haft feen 
 
 Need to chaftife. 
 
 But now I fay, 
 "Thy will be done!" 
 My will with Thine make one, 
 
 Father, I pray ! 
 
 Yet, fpare the rod ! 
 Thy wrath remove, 
 And vifit me in love. 
 
 My Father-God. 
 
158 
 
 THE HARVEST-HOME. 
 By Mrs. PENNEFATHER. 
 
 '•And he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto 
 life eternal : that both he that foweth and he that reapeth may 
 rejoice together." — ^JOHN, iv. 36. 
 
 rpROM the far-off fields of earthly toil, 
 
 A goodly hofl they come, 
 And founds of mufic are on the air, — 
 
 'Tis the Song of the Harvefl-home. 
 The wearinefs and the weeping, 
 
 The darknefs has all pafl by, 
 And a glorious Sun has rifen, 
 
 The Sun of Eternity. 
 
 We've feen thofe faces in days of yore, 
 
 When the dufl was on their brow, 
 And the fcalding tear upon their cheek — 
 
 Let us look at the labourers now ! 
 We think of the life-long forrow, 
 
 And the wildernefs-days of care ; 
 We try to trace the teardrops, 
 
 But no furrows of grief are there. 
 
 There's a myftery of foul-chaften'd joy. 
 
 Lit up with funlight hues ; 
 Like morning flowers, mofl beautiful 
 
 When wet with midnight dews. 
 There are depths of earnefl meaning 
 
 In each true and truRful gaze, 
 
The Harvejl-Home. 159 
 
 Telling of wondrous leffons 
 Learnt in their pilgrim-days. 
 
 And a confcious confidence of blifs, 
 
 That fhall never again remove, — 
 All the faith and hope of journeying years 
 
 Gather'd up in that look of love. 
 The long waiting days are over, 
 
 They've received their wages now ; 
 For they've gazed upon their Mafler, 
 
 And His Name is on their brow. 
 
 They've feen the fafely-gamer'd fheaves, 
 
 And the fong has been paffmg fweet 
 Which welcomed the lafl incoming-one, 
 
 Laid down at the Saviour's feet. 
 Oh ! well does His heart remember, 
 
 As thofe notes of praife fweep by. 
 The yearning plaintive mufic 
 
 Of Earth's fadder minflrelfy. 
 
 And well does he know each chequer'd tale, 
 
 As He looks on the joyous band, — 
 All the lights and fhadows that crofl their path 
 
 In the diilant pilgrim-land ; 
 The heart's unfpoken anguifh, 
 
 The bitter fighs and tears, 
 The long, long hours of watching, 
 
 The changeful hopes and fears ! 
 
 One had climb'd the rugged mountain-fide, 
 
 'Twas a bleak and wintry day, 
 The tempefl had fcattered his precious feed, 
 
 And he wept as he turn'd away. 
 
i6o The Hafvel-Home, 
 
 But a flranger-hand had water'd 
 
 That feed on a diflant Ihore, 
 And the labourers now are meeting 
 
 Who had never met before. 
 
 And one, he had toil'd amid burning fands, 
 
 When the fcorching Sun was high ; 
 He had grafp'd the plough with a fever'd hand, 
 
 And then laid him down to die : 
 But another, and yet another, 
 
 Had fill'd that deferted field, 
 Nor vainly the feed they fcatter'd 
 
 Where a brother's care had till'd. 
 
 Some ^^^th eager flep went boldly forth, 
 
 Broad-cafling o'er the land ; 
 Some water'd the fcarcely budding blade, 
 
 With a tender, gentle hand. 
 There's one — ^her young life was blighted 
 
 By the withering touch of woe ; 
 Her days were fad and weary. 
 
 And fhe never went forth to fow : 
 
 But there rofe from her lonely couch of pain 
 
 The fervent, pleading prayer ; 
 She looks on many a radiant brow, 
 
 And reads the anfwers there ! 
 Yes ! fowers and reapers are meeting ; 
 
 A rejoicing hoft they come ! 
 Will you join that echoing chorus % — 
 
 *Tis the Song of the Harveft-home 1 
 
i6i 
 
 THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 By the Rev. J. D. HULL, B.A. 
 Author of " The Rural Parfonage^^^ and other Poems. 
 
 /^H, what a bleffednefs fublime, 
 
 True life to realize : 
 To walk, amid the things of Time, 
 In commerce with the Skies ! 
 
 To inhale, in this domain of Death, 
 
 The atmofphere of Heaven ; 
 Like thofe who dive the Sea beneath, 
 
 Frefh air each moment given : 
 
 To know our debts to juflice paid 
 
 By a Redeemer's blood ; 
 And thus, were Earth in ruins laid. 
 
 We Ihould be fafe in God ! 
 
 To live with the Almighty join'd, 
 
 Pavilion'd in His light ; 
 And recognize th' Eternal Mind 
 
 In all that's rare and bright. 
 
 The World can nothing equal fhow, — 
 
 All parallel it bars : 
 A being with his feet below, 
 
 His head above the flars ! 
 
 Befide the illuflrious flate of him, 
 Thus flamp'd with the Divine, 
 
 All human dignities grow dim, — 
 Yea, fceptres ceafe to fhine. 
 
1 6 2 The Secret of Happmefs. 
 
 When gloom the minds of others Ihrouds, 
 
 His, in a chme ferene, 
 Towers above the roUing clouds, 
 
 That wrap the lower fcene. 
 
 Or, Ihould dark fhades around him clofe, 
 
 He hails the day anon, 
 Like loftier Alps, the lall to lofe. 
 
 The firfl to catch, the Sun. 
 
 On a Protestor, flrong to keep, 
 
 Securely he relies ; 
 While o'er Afflidlion's flormy deep 
 
 Fair lands, celeflial, rife. 
 
 To Christ, as to the central Light, 
 
 Lifted by faith, his foul 
 Around her fees — entrancing fight ! — 
 
 Truth's mighty fyflem roll ! 
 
 Then Nature, in th' enlivening hue 
 
 Religion on it throws, 
 Wears to his eye an afpect new, 
 
 And with expreffion glows. 
 
 Creation's beamy face, fo rich 
 
 In varied beauty, feems 
 A window finely flain'd, through which 
 
 The Maker s glory flreams. 
 
 Thus unto him the primal curfe 
 
 Is partially repeal' d ; 
 A renovated Univerfe 
 
 Already half-reveal'd. 
 
The Burden of Tyre. 163 
 
 Ah ! they who heaven-touch'd minds poflefs, 
 
 Of mortals they alone 
 The fecret have of happinefs, 
 
 If under Heaven 'tis known. 
 
 THE BURDEN OF TYRE. 
 
 By J. A. LANGFORD, Esq. 
 Author of " The Lamp oj Life" ^c. 
 
 'npHE burden of Tyre : though over the waters, 
 
 In triumph and fplendour her argofies ride ; 
 Though proud be her fons, and far prouder her daughters, 
 She fhall fall, faith the Lord, fhe fhall fall in her pride ! 
 
 Her wealth and her glory fhall nothing avail, 
 
 Her merchants and traders, though princes they be ; 
 
 I will rafe every fortrefs, and rend every fail 
 
 Of this Lord of the land, of this Queen of the fea. 
 
 Her palace and mart I will level to earth. 
 The flrength of her arm I will wholly deflroy ; 
 
 Her daughters' wild weeping fhall follow their mirth. 
 And the low wail of forrow fucceed to their joy. 
 
 She is doom'd ! Ihe is doom'd ! Where her children have fed 
 Shall the wolf and the raven find fhelter and food ; 
 
 O'er her pride and her glory My wrath will I fhed. 
 And her name fhall be fhrouded in darknefs and blood. 
 
164 
 
 ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR. 
 
 By the Rev. F. W. MANT, B.A. 
 Author of ''^Historical Ballads and Lays,'*^ and other Poems. 
 
 JOY to the New Year, health to the New Year ! 
 May it be better than years that are gone ! 
 Vifions of gladnefs, and triumph, and fadnefs, 
 Float in dim fhadows its furface upon. 
 Ring out the merry peals 
 Till the tall fleeple reels, 
 Whilfl on his chariot wheels 
 Time preffes on. 
 And health to the New Year, and joy to the New Year ! 
 May it be better than years that are gone ! 
 
 Long to look fonvard on, fliort to look back upon. 
 
 So flit the years of our lifetime along : 
 Ever offending, repenting, contending, 
 
 Choofmg the right, and yet following the wrong ; 
 Flufh'd with frefli energies, 
 Sad for deficiencies ; 
 So, amidfl. fmiles and fighs, 
 Life paffes on. 
 Then health to the New Year, joy to the New Year ! 
 May it be better than years that are gone ! 
 
 See how Time's finger, conflraining to linger, 
 Points to the fins of the year that is pad — 
 
 See how it beckons us backward, and reckons 
 Every dark blot on its hiflory cafl. 
 
CommtmioJi. 
 
 165 
 
 Yet not in fcorning 
 Receive we the warning, 
 Nor hopeleflly mourning 
 Pafl frailties upon : 
 But pray for the New Year, and hope for the New Year, 
 That it may be better than years that are gone. 
 
 What though denial, and forrow, and trial 
 
 Mix in the diflance, as night does with day — 
 Through the glad tiffue of morning fhall iffue 
 Hope's glorious promife to brighten our way : 
 God's mercy o'er us. 
 And Chrifl's blood fhed for us, 
 And Heaven's joys before us, 
 Still urging us on. 
 Then may not the New Year, and fhall not the New Year 
 Be better, far better, than thofe that are gone % 
 
i66 
 
 FAITH THE LAMP TO THE PATH. 
 
 By Miss ISA CRAIG. 
 
 "There arifeth light in darknefs." — Ps. cxii. 4. 
 
 'npHERE was no funfet on the day 
 
 The mifl fwept upward from the Sea, 
 And (hrouded all things drearily; 
 The Sun went down without a ray, 
 And the night mingled with the mifl. 
 And there was darknefs ere we will. 
 
 And as we went upon our way, 
 
 We could not fee each other's face ; 
 
 The homeward path we could not trace, 
 
 Though flraight before our feet it lay. 
 
 It feem'd — things grew fo flrange and vafl — ■ 
 
 An unknown land through which we pafl. 
 
 Yet flill we flep by flep did fare ; 
 And though I could not fee thy fmile. 
 Yet, looking down on me the while. 
 Thy tender fmile I knew was there ; 
 And in the light of home anon, 
 Into my gladden'd heart it fhone. 
 
 Even fo the mills of fear and doubt 
 Come fweeping upward from the Sea 
 Of fathomlefs Eternity, 
 Blotting the waning Prefent out. 
 And, mingling with the night of Death, 
 Darken our vifion with their breath. 
 
Life Song. 167 
 
 And from us fades the face of love, 
 
 And home-lights fhine not through the gloom ; 
 
 Around us giant-fhadows loom, 
 
 And darknefs falleth from above ; 
 
 Yet flep by flep in Faith we fare, 
 
 The Light we fee not ftill is there. 
 
 LIFE SONG. 
 By Mrs. POSTLETHWAITE. 
 
 T T 7HEN the full Heart, yearning, 
 
 To its lofl ones turning, 
 Faints, yet nought difcerning. 
 
 In the mifls around, 
 Faith alone relieving 
 Stays the fpirit-grieving. 
 Faith her forrows leaving 
 
 For the Pearl refound. 
 
 Far apart from weeping. 
 Angel-guards are keeping. 
 For our lofl ones fleeping. 
 
 Safe an Eden blefl. 
 There, where Joys are beaming. 
 Faith and Hope are gleaming — 
 There, where Love redeeming 
 
 Hath prepared reft. 
 
1 68 
 
 THE MERCY OF GOD. 
 By the Rev. W. TIDD MATSON. 
 
 "Thy mercy, O God, is from everlasting to everlasting, upon all 
 them that fear Thy Name." 
 
 '"pHOUGH clouds be dark and tempeils brood around, 
 Though faired hopes betray, and dreams deceive, 
 The mercy of our God is ever fure ; 
 Time cannot bound it, nor can earth confine. 
 Nor death deflroy, nor the cold grave entomb \ 
 But 'twill furvive the feverance of all ties, 
 When Time and Time's dominion are no more. 
 
 The thrones and palaces of earth decay, 
 The high-imagined works of genius fade, 
 The bright creations of the artifl's thought — 
 The glory, and the grandeur, and the dream, 
 Mufl all be fwallow'd in the night of years. 
 The fweetefl of affecflions here have end. 
 The tenderefl links of love are reft in twain. 
 The loved is fever'd from the loving one. 
 And of the heart's emotions the warm tide 
 Is at the grave's mouth frozen. 
 
 Here, I know, 
 I am a pilgrim in a place of tombs. 
 And all things round me have a voice to tell 
 I do but move amid a fleeting fliow. 
 
The Mercy of God. 169 
 
 Flowers wither, Nature's greennefs fades ; whate'er 
 
 Of life or lovelinefs on earth I view 
 
 Is paffing fwift away. I join the throng, 
 
 I mingle with the bufy tribes of men, — 
 
 With them engage in the concerns of life, 
 
 And hold communion with my kind ; but they, 
 
 Or loved, defpifed, or fear'd, from off the flage 
 
 Are paffing fwift away. The folid Earth 
 
 On which I tread, — the mountains and the meads,— 
 
 The feas and flreams, — the azure Firmament, 
 
 With all its vafl array of funs and fpheres. 
 
 Have each a death-like whifpering voice that they 
 
 Are paffing fwift away. 
 
 Paffing away ! 
 And I am paffing, too. A little while. 
 And the big fwelling waves of grief will lie 
 In this breafl hufh'd for ever. O'er my head 
 Long plumes of grafs will flutter in the breeze. 
 While I fhall refl unheeding in the grave. 
 
 But joy ! amid this universal change, 
 One thing ne'er changes : 'midfl the ebb and furge 
 Of Time's wild-rocking billows, like a light 
 It bums, and lamps a dying univerfe 
 As with the radiance of immortal day. 
 And whifpers to my fpirit, as I go 
 Down into the dull charnel, of the joy 
 And endlefs rapture of the blifs to be. 
 It is the loving-kindnefs of my God, — 
 O glorious pledge, feal'd with the Saviour's blood ! 
 With His dear promife to affure my foul. 
 
17° ViciJJltiide. 
 
 I will take heart upon my pilgrim way, 
 Infcribing on the battle-flag of life, 
 As the heraldic motto of my trufl, 
 " Thy mercy is for ever and for ever, 
 O God ! on all that fear Thy Name." 
 
 VICISSITUDE. 
 By THE Rev. A. H. WRATISLAW, M.A. 
 
 5'Tpis but too oft we turn our joy to woe, 
 
 'Tis but too oft abufe each good doth mar ; 
 'Tis well that man from change his flate fhould know. 
 And dwell on Earth beneath a varying flar. 
 
 'Tis not by joy alone, 'tis not by forrow, 
 
 That mofl are fitted for Eternity; 
 There are who know but One, — to whom to-morrow 
 
 Appears but as to-day unvaryingly. 
 
 But thefe are few : more oft a changeful fate 
 Doth with rewards and punifliments inftrucft. 
 
 As annual feafons fruits by varying flate 
 Of weather to maturity conducfl. 
 
 Lord, be it mine from evil good to draw, — 
 Good to more good unceafing to apply; 
 
 That, in the end, of change th' unchanging law 
 May ripen blifs, that by no change fliall die I 
 
T7I 
 
 HERE AND YONDER. 
 By THE Rev. HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. 
 
 BITS of forrow and of gladnefs, 
 Strangely crofl and interlaid ; 
 Shreds of cloud-belt and of rainbow, 
 
 In alternate llripe and braid ; 
 Bits of llorm when winds are warring ; 
 Bits of calm, when blafls are flaid ; 
 Bits of filence and of uproar, 
 
 Bits of funlight and of fhade ; 
 Bits of forell-fmother'd hollow, 
 
 Bits of open funny glade ; 
 Bits of garden and of moorland, 
 Heath and rofe together laid ; 
 Serefl leaf of brown Oaober, 
 
 April's earUell, greenefl blade ;— 
 Thefe are the mingled feeds, 
 Some flowers, fome idle weeds. 
 Some crowded, fome alone, 
 With which man's field is fo\vn ; 
 And from which fprings the one 
 Great harveft of a life, that can 
 Be lived but once by man ! 
 With thefe the threads of hope and fear. 
 Of ill and good, thou weavell here, 
 O dweller in this fallen chme. 
 Thy portion of the web of Time ! 
 
^72 Here and Yonder. 
 
 Thefe are the (lones \vith which, O man, 
 Thou build'fl., too oft without a plan, 
 Life's lordly hall or lowly cot, 
 The Babel or the Salem of thy lot. 
 
 Bits of day-fpring and of funfet, 
 
 Of the midnight, of the noon ; 
 Snow and ice of pale December, 
 
 Living flufh of crimfon June ; 
 Tinfel-patchwork, jewell'd fplendour. 
 
 All the little and the great ; 
 True and falfe together mingled, 
 
 Now the crooked, now the straight ; 
 Broken fhafts of Tyrian columns, 
 
 Roll'd and worn by wave and time ; 
 Miles of colonnade and grandeur, 
 
 Luxor's flill majeflic prime ; 
 Now the garland, now the coffin ; 
 
 Now the wedding, now the tomb ; 
 Now the feflal fhout of thoufands, 
 
 Now the churchyard's lonely gloom ; 
 Now the fong amid the living. 
 
 Now the chaunt above the dead ; 
 The fmooth cheek of infant beauty, 
 
 Age's wan and furrow'd head ; 
 Days of fever and of fretting, 
 
 Hours of kind and bleffed calm ; 
 Boughs of cedar and of cyprefs, 
 
 Wreaths of olive and of palm ; 
 Noons of mufing, nights of dreaming, 
 
 Words of love and ways of llrifc ; 
 Tears of i)arting, fmiles of meeting ; 
 
 Paths of fmooth and rugged life j 
 
Here mid Yonder. i73 
 
 Moods of fmking, when the fpirit, 
 
 Overflrain'd, is downward borne ; 
 Moods of foaring, when the fpirit 
 
 Springs elaflic to the mom ; 
 Sands of Egypt, fields of Sharon, 
 
 Rufh of Jordan, fweep of Nile ; 
 Wells of Marah, fhades of EHm, 
 
 Sinai's frown and Carmel's fmile ; 
 Depths of valley, peaks of mountain, 
 
 Stretch of verdure-loving plain, 
 With the croffing and recroffmg, 
 
 And the croffing o'er again j 
 Notes of mufic, jars of difcord. 
 
 Voice of trumpet and of lute j 
 The thunder-fhower's loud lafhing, 
 
 And the dew-fall foft and mute \ 
 All the doing and undoing. 
 
 And the doing o'er again ; 
 All the faflening and the loofmg 
 
 Of the many-linkbd chain ; 
 Bits of brightening and of darkening, 
 
 Bits of wearinefs and reft j 
 All the hoping and defpairing 
 
 Of the full or hollow breaft ; 
 Bits of flumb'ring and of waking, 
 
 Weary toffing to and fro ; 
 Bits of living and of dying, 
 
 Being's daily ebb and flow ; — 
 With thefe is life begun and clofed, 
 Of thefe its fi:range mofaic is compofed. 
 Such are our annals upon Earth, 
 Our tale from very hour of birth, 
 
174 Here and Yonder. 
 
 Each foul's time-hiflory ; 
 Yet of fuch changes is made up 
 
 The changelefs Myflery, 
 Now hidden from our view, 
 
 Of man's Eternity. 
 Eternity ! 
 The fum of Time's brief numbers here, 
 
 Thyfelf unnumber'd flill ; 
 The iffue of all mortal change, thyfelf 
 
 Unchanged, unchangeable ; 
 The fruit of what we daily feel and see, 
 
 Thyfelf unfeen, invifible ; 
 Form'd out of many hues, 
 
 Or dark or bright, 
 Thyfelf uncolour'd and unmix'd, 
 
 All dark or light. 
 
 O wondrous Day ! 
 God's day, not man's, as heretofore ; 
 Chrifl's day, not Satan's more ; 
 When Right fhall all be might, 
 And Might fhall all be right ; 
 And Truth, for ages forely tried, 
 By Error mock'd, reviled, defied. 
 No longer on the lofing fide. 
 Shall celebrate its vidlory. 
 And wave its ancient palm on high ; 
 When good and ill, unmix'd, 
 
 Flow on for ever, 
 Each in its diflant channel fix'd, 
 
 An everlafling river ; 
 When grief and joy disjoin'd. 
 The true and falfe untwined. 
 
Here and Yonder, i75 
 
 Each to its feparate place 
 
 At the flern fentence gone, 
 
 Shall dwell alone, 
 Each on its far-off (hore, 
 And fee each other's face 
 No more ! 
 
 O wondrous Day ! 
 When things that are fhall pafs away ; 
 Earth's (kies take on their evening gloom, 
 And the great Sunset come ; 
 When, with far-echoing fwell, 
 Like monarch's funeral knell, 
 The World's great vefper-bell 
 (Deeper than that by far, 
 Which, 'neath St. Saba's evening flar. 
 Sounds over Sodom's fullen fea. 
 From the grey peaks of Engedi, 
 Or from red Sinai's fiery flope. 
 Like wail of Earth's expiring hope. 
 Swung out in wild, flow-pealing llrain 
 Acrofs Er-Rahah's fandy plain). 
 Shall found o'er Earth, and tell 
 That the great Judge has come, 
 
 Long waiting at the door, — 
 Come, too, the Day of Doom, 
 
 So long for man in flore. 
 
176 
 
 HEAVENWARD. 
 
 By W. R. EVANS, 
 Author 0/ ^^ A Century of Fables in Viersc,^* (Sr'C. 
 
 "Hehold from day to day within a room 
 The potted plants upon a window-fill, 
 
 And mark them turn as by a fleady will 
 Out fairly ever from the inner gloom, 
 Extending every fhoot and leaf and bloom 
 
 To greet the cheering light of Heaven ; until 
 
 Perchance reverfed ; then, lightward flriving Hill, 
 A new pofition all the parts affume. 
 
 So fhould the human heart for ever yearn 
 To the unfetting Sun of truth and grace ; 
 
 So fhould the mind for ever Godward turn, 
 And drink the light that beameth from His face ; 
 
 So fhould the foul afpire, and ever fpum 
 The gloom of evil in this darkfome place. 
 
Urban the Monk, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. STANYAN BIGG, Esq. 
 
TO 
 
 THE RT. HON. THE COUNTESS OF ABINGDON, 
 
 IN SINCERE ADMIRATION OF HER SYMPATHY AND 
 
 CHARITY, THE FLOW OF WHICH 
 
 DISTANCE NEITHER WEAKENS NOR CONTRACTS, 
 
 THIS POEM, 
 
 WITH KIND PERMISSION, 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 
 
 \ 
 
Urban the Monk. 
 
 THE LIBRARY. 
 
 34r«^ouNG Urban keeps the burnifh'd keys 
 ^TX ^^ ^^^ fcriptorium ; and he fits 
 WT^ Through funny noons in dreamful eafe, 
 it22>s Reading or copying by fits ; 
 Or adding quaint and golden tints, 
 
 Or plufhy purples to the page 
 Of Mafs-book, or of Breviary, 
 
 Of holy father, bard, or fage. 
 Till all the fuU-lored vellums fwim 
 In crimfons and in purples dim, 
 And common words in foft array 
 Prance down the page, like palfreys gay 
 Trapp'd all in gold to bear away 
 The faery form of princefs prim : — 
 
 And whether round the abbey blow 
 
 The foft South-winds, with overflow 
 
1 82 Urban the Monk. 
 
 Of balm and honey, or the fnow 
 Lies white upon the ground below, 
 And tempefls round the belfry go, 
 'Tis all the fame to him ! 
 All through the fultry fummer noon, 
 When lilies over wallflowers fwoon, 
 And, in the hone/d heart of June, 
 
 The bee on rofes feeds, — 
 He pores, amid the fhadiefl nooks, 
 Over the gold-illumined books. 
 With earnefl face and eager looks, 
 BeUeving all he reads. 
 
 Legends of faints fill up the gloom 
 
 Of winter nights and drizzlmg days ; 
 He fees them fwim along his room, 
 And then wind upward in a bloom 
 Of rofy wings, with rich perfume, 
 
 Wrapp'd in a trembling haze 
 Of cloudy fplendour, bulging low. 
 Billows of fire as white as fnow 
 Roll with pale crimfons down below 
 Their fandall'd feet ; with motion flow, 
 And round about their bare heads go 
 Haloes like funfet rays ! 
 
 Of holy martyrs, too, he reads, — 
 Of blefs'd Blandina, Appian, 
 Quinta the pure, and Ulpian, 
 Metra, and blamelefs Adrian, — 
 
 Until his young heart pants and bleeds 
 For thofe who for the true Faith died ; 
 
The Library. 183 
 
 How fome were torn by wild beafls, fome 
 Flung into boiling pitch, and fome, 
 Tormented in the murderous hum 
 
 Of Rome, were crucified ; 
 How mangled Porphyry dauntlefs flood, 
 With fla/d ribs flowly dripping blood, 
 
 Daring the tyrant's ire ; 
 How Polycarp, with garments riven. 
 Went with a holy fhout to Heaven 
 
 On trembling wings of fire ! 
 
 Mingled with thefe were legends old 
 Of wondrous knights and ladies gay : — 
 
 The Cid, Sir Roland, Triflram bold, 
 
 Stream'd in rich trappings, jingling gold, 
 
 Over the crimfon funfet wold, 
 Adown the finking day ; 
 
 And ladies, with a filken fwim, 
 
 Flutter'd along the moffy brim 
 
 Of meres, by deep woods hufh'd and dim. 
 On to the bright tournay. 
 
 But chief he loved the myflic flory 
 
 Of faintly knights, with faces pale, 
 Who fpurned the Earth, and earthly glory, 
 
 And went in quefl of Holy-Grail : 
 He follow'd them on by land and flood, — 
 
 Sir Parzival, brave and holy knight. 
 And bold Sir Galahad, the good ; 
 
 He heard them clanging through the night 
 
 Over the pavements flill and white. 
 
184 Urban the Monk. 
 
 Their (ludded bridles jingling light, 
 
 Flafliing amid the foft moonlight ; 
 And faw them (kim along the wood, 
 
 Up alleys of moonbeams trembling-pale, 
 Pad church and city and lordly tower, 
 And abbey and hall and lady's bower, 
 All in the hiifh of the midnight hour, 
 
 In quefl of Holy-Grail ! 
 
 Titurel's temple o'er him rofe, 
 
 Blufhing with gems and gorgeous glows 
 
 Of golden domes and twinkling fpires ; 
 
 Rofes of rubies, and pale fires 
 
 Of clufler'd diamonds, fhook about 
 
 The wondrous fabric, in and out ; 
 
 And in the central Sanctuary, 
 
 On a thick flab of porphyry, 
 
 Wrapp'd in white famite flood the Grail, 
 
 Out-fhimmering like a cloudy Moon, — 
 
 And o'er it fwell'd a mimic noon 
 
 Of topaz and of jafper bright. 
 
 Hung in the fapphire ceiling light ; 
 
 Outfide, the dome bulged up red gold, 
 
 With blue enamel fretted o'er ; 
 And banners, with unruffled fold. 
 
 Hung filken out at every door ; 
 And round about the Holy-Grail 
 Rofe two-and-feventy chapels, pale 
 With pearl and diamonds, — every two 
 Shot up a tower into the blue 
 Like fudden flame ; and over thofe 
 
Douhtiiig Cajlle. 
 
 Shook cryflal croffes in the Hght, 
 Clutch'd from above, within the claws 
 
 Of gold fpread-eagles, day and night ; 
 And o'er the central dome there rofe 
 A huge carbuncle with red glows 
 And fullen fplendour, like a fun 
 Lighting the cyprefs-forefl dun, 
 That round about the temple flood, 
 Filling its fhadowy heart with blood ; 
 And none might tread that myflic height 
 Of hufh'd Montfalvage, fave the knight 
 
 Chofen of Him of Holy-Rood ! 
 
 And flill he turns the gilded leaves. 
 And, rich in faith, the monk beheves 
 
 Farther than logic e'er hath got ; 
 His creed foars higher than his fight, 
 Reafon is not his only light, — 
 Still through the hot, bewilder'd night, 
 Angels go heavenward, clad in white, — 
 
 And fo he reads, — and doubteth not ! 
 
 DOUBTING CASTLE, 
 
 \ LAS the day ! Alas the hour ! 
 '^^ The fullen clouds, with downward roll 
 And heart of hidden thunders, lower 
 Over the brightnefs of his foul ! 
 
1 86 Urban the Monk. 
 
 He fits in fadnefs in his room, 
 
 Wrapp'd in the old Tartarean gloom, 
 
 Murmuring in dire perplexity, 
 
 " This is a fearful Myflery, — 
 
 I cannot think how this may be !" 
 
 It is the holy Sabbath-day : 
 
 The Bible refls upon his knee ; 
 
 He cannot read, — he cannot pray; 
 
 Although his lips the words may fay 
 
 With fhuddering effort, yet the " Nay" 
 Is in his heart ; and piteoufly 
 He murmurs low, " A Myflery, — 
 I cannot think how this may be !" 
 
 Ye confcious Heavens, help him now, 
 And take the cloud from off his brow. 
 And draw the fang from out his fmart 
 Into the garden of his heart 
 The florm hath gone, with cruel cry, 
 And all is dead from fward to fky. 
 
 For he has read how unto Him 
 Who ruleth all things with a nod. 
 Time is as naught — how unto God 
 A thoufand years are as a day. 
 
 Or as a night-watch, and he feels 
 His heart rock in the flormy "Nay!" 
 That will be heard both night and day. 
 Although he flruggles hard to pray. 
 And cannot, though he kneels. 
 
 At church he feems a guilty thing ; 
 He hears the full-choir'd Anthems ring 
 With roll and furge and golden fwing 
 
Doubting Cajlle. 187 
 
 The banner'd aifles about ; 
 But they have lofl the air divine — 
 Seems all a blank and idiot-fign, 
 
 The bright foul fhaken out ! 
 
 Through the Eafl window fhines the Sun 
 With mellow fplendour, warm and dun, — 
 Through violet tints, and gorgeous ftreams 
 Of falling robes, and foftefl creams 
 Of rapt faints' haloes — flafhing gleams 
 Of rofes darkling, mingled beams 
 
 Rich as the filks of Trebizond 
 He marks the funlight as it paints 
 That gorgeous cloud of holy faints, 
 Until his fhuddering fpirit faints ; 
 For though he fees that heaven of faints. 
 
 There is no other Heaven beyond ! 
 
 He hears the golden gufl and rufh 
 
 Of rich and mellow organ-thunder. 
 Now winding heavenward in a gufh 
 
 Of fwelling praife and holy wonder. 
 Now falling with a foft rebound. 
 Rolling deep baffes round and round ; 
 
 Till fluted notes again afpire 
 
 With upward flutterings higher and higher. 
 
 In lark-like dartings. From the choir 
 
 One note, rich-throbbing in defire, 
 
 Goes giddy in a whirl of fire 
 Up fhuddering folitudes of found ; 
 And then returning 
 Earthward yearning. 
 
1 88 Urban the Monk. 
 
 Lo ! the luted mufic falls 
 Soft as water down the walls 
 Of fparry grottoes under ground ! 
 Then like fword-blades glancing brightly, 
 Plunge the fudden notes out lightly, 
 Till the treble fwerves and (kips. 
 
 And the muffled thunder low, 
 Rolling inward, heaves and dips 
 
 Like a midnight fea-fwell — lo ! 
 
 Clarion bugles feem to blow. 
 And all the loofen'd grandeurs go 
 Rocking richly to and fro 
 In a fumptuous overflow, 
 And throbbing harmonies kifs like lips. 
 Still amid the golden blare 
 RolHng thunders through the air 
 
 The banner'd aifles about. 
 Like a curfe flung into prayer 
 
 Hears he hiffmg his wild doubt, — 
 And he feels the holy chapel 
 
 HoHer were, were he without. 
 
 THE LITTLE BIRD. 
 
 /^UT from the books and flifling room, 
 Out of the fliadows and the gloom. 
 Into the cloifler garden bright, 
 Into the fummer air and light ! 
 
The Little Bird. 189 
 
 He wanders in the humming breeze, 
 Amid the fhadows of the trees, 
 Himfelf a Ihadow, ill at eafe. 
 
 When, lo ! from out a neighbouring copfe, 
 With richefl plumage funny bright, 
 Making a wheel of colour'd light, 
 A little bird a-flutter drops 
 Down upon the pear-tree tops, 
 Hopping lightly, 
 Glancing brightly, 
 'Mid the twilled fhadowy boughs, 
 Raining lightnings round his browG. 
 
 A glory and a wonder are 
 
 Its crefted colours to the fight ; 
 It (hakes with mufic, as a liar 
 
 Trembles with excefs of light. 
 Round about its throat affemble 
 
 Blufhes of the damafk rofe. 
 
 And a deepening violet goes 
 Sleeking down its back a-trerable ; 
 
 Rich and hazy flutterings 
 
 Glow about its yellow wings. 
 
 Dancing golden in the light ; — 
 
 Like a crowd of fmging funbeams 
 
 Gleams the little vifion bright 
 
 Tame it feems, too, as a bird 
 
 Bom amid the Tropics hufh'd, 
 
 Where no flower is ever crufli'd, 
 And no voice of man is heard — 
 Nothing but a gorgeous noon 
 
1 90 Urban the Monk. 
 
 And a foft and filken river 
 And an endlefs, endlefs June 
 Sinking down into a fwoon, 
 Or a low and bulging Moon, 
 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 Up among the twigs it ran, 
 
 Hopping, wheeling, full of graces, — 
 'Mid the apples, with the tan 
 
 Summering all their jocund faces ; 
 When the monk, advancing near it, 
 
 Strove to touch it with his finger. 
 Scarcely feem'd the bird to fear it, 
 
 Only, with a fidelong linger, 
 Hopp'd it on a twig or two. 
 
 All its purples in a fhiver. 
 
 Shaking like a gloffy river. 
 In the florm of notes it blew. 
 
 All along the garden alleys, 
 Pafl the dial on the lawn, 
 
 Follow'd he the happy fallies 
 Of this creature of the dawn, — 
 
 Out, into the fohtude 
 
 Of the fummer-haunted wood. 
 
 Out, amid the flirlefs hufli 
 
 Of the twilight fhadows dun, 
 Glancing on from bufh to bufli. 
 Glowing like a burning blufh, 
 Follow'd he with check a-flufh, 
 
 This gleaming creature of the Sun : 
 
The Return. ipi 
 
 On about three hundred paces 
 
 From the cloifler garden door, 
 Join'd he in the wheeHng races, 
 Through the copfe and open fpaces— 
 Sudden fummer on their faces 
 
 As the branches backward bore, — 
 Jufl about three hundred paces 
 From the Httle Gothic door, 
 Juft three hundred and no more. 
 
 When, behold ! a Hope of funbeams 
 
 Smote athwart the inner gloom, 
 Steeping all the fluttering plumage 
 
 In a ruddier golden bloom : 
 And the Httle bird went winging. 
 
 Showering mufic down like rain. 
 Up the flope of funbeams, fmging, — 
 
 And he faw it not again ! 
 
 THE RETURN. 
 
 'W'OUNG Urban, mufmg flill, retum'd ; 
 His pious foul within him yearn'd 
 As in the days of old to pray : 
 But flill he clutch'd his mifery : 
 " A thoufand long-drawn years ! " quoth he, 
 " I cannot, though I wifh it, fee 
 
1 92 Urban the Monk. 
 
 How centuries can roll away, 
 Muffled in filent myflery, 
 Jufl as a night-watch hufh'd ; or be, 
 
 Even to God, but as a day." 
 
 Wonder of wonders ! as he fpoke, 
 A vifion on his fenfes broke, — 
 A mighty abbey met his eyes, 
 Jufl like his own, but thrice its fizc ; 
 And where, not half an hour before, 
 
 The little cloifler garden flood, 
 The garden with the Gothic door 
 
 That open'd out upon the wood, 
 A huge cathedral rofe on high, 
 
 Three-fleepled — every vaned fpire 
 Flung up into the fummer fky 
 
 Great fhining fpokes of fledfafl fire ! 
 
 About the abbey all was hufh'd, 
 
 Jufl as it was an hour before ; 
 The corbels in the funlight fluih'd, 
 The great Eafl. window glow'd and blufli'd, — 
 
 He could not find the Gothic door ; 
 And where the fun-dial erfl was feen 
 
 Rofe a new wing above the wood, 
 And where the Abbot's houfe had been 
 
 A grand refe6lory bulging flood ; 
 
 And where the apples were, a flood 
 Of painted windows glimmer'd keen ; — 
 And all the flrange and myflic fcene 
 
 Fill'd him with wonder where he flood. 
 All in amaze he fought the door, 
 
The Return. 193 
 
 And as he flretch'd his hand to knock, 
 Behold, a purfy facriflan 
 (Whom he had never feen before), 
 Defcending from the fteeple-clock, 
 No fooner faw him, than he ran 
 Pale with affright — his flarting eyes 
 Both wide a-goggle, twice their fize. 
 He heard the noife of banging doors, 
 Sounding up long corridors, 
 "■^Deo gratias'^' quoth the porter. 
 
 As he drew the bolt afide : 
 "Bene'' — but, ere it was utter'd, 
 On white lips the blefling died. 
 
 He fought the llately chapter-hall, 
 Where the brethren were affembled, 
 
 And he whifper'd — " Strangers all ! — 
 What a change an hour may make !" 
 
 As he bent his figure tall, 
 
 Every limb among them trembled, 
 Every eye was feen to quake. 
 Every hand was feen to fhake ; 
 
 And he unfolded his brief tale 
 
 Unto lifteners hulh'd and pale ! 
 
 But ere the narrative was told. 
 
 Through both his ears llrange noifes rung. 
 He felt his limbs were growing cold, 
 He fhook with palfy like the old. 
 He faw his filver beard had roll'd 
 Down to his girdle fold on fold, — 
 
 The girdle where the keys were hung, — 
 
 o 
 
194 Urban the Monk. 
 
 And all the keys, though almofl new, 
 Look'd red with rufl, and worn out too. 
 
 When, lo ! from out the grated cafe. 
 With tottering flep and blanched face, 
 A monk a written parchment bore, 
 Illumined all, and bright with g(^ld 
 And cofl-ly crimfon ; and it told 
 
 How, jufl three hundred years before. 
 The young Monk Urban firfl was miff'd. 
 
 And never had been heard of more. 
 Deep filence was there as he read. 
 Silence, and wonder, and great dread ; 
 Quoth the Monk Urban, young no more, 
 Sighing deeply, " Oh, I fee, 
 Forefl bird that fung to me 
 In the wondrous days of yore, 
 Myflic ages roll'd away 
 As I watch'd thy happy play, 
 And the little Gothic door 
 Open'd on Eternity! 
 All my faith I owe to thee, 
 And, adoring God, I fee 
 How a thoufand years may be 
 Even as a fmgle day!" 
 Then he bow'd his reverend head, — 
 All the fathers gathering near, 
 Hufh'd their very breath to hear 
 Every word that might be faid : — 
 Quotli the Abbot fliortly, " Brethren, 
 Back to prayers — he is dead !" 
 
Mifcellaneous Poems. 
 
TO 
 
 THE HON. GEORGINA IRBY, 
 
 AS A GRATEFUL BUT INADEQUATE ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF 
 
 HER SYMPATHIZING KINDNESS TO AN AGED 
 
 AND IMPOVERISHED 
 
 WIDOW, 
 
 THESE POEMS ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. 
 
Mifcellaneous Poems. 
 
 STARS. 
 By HAMILTON AIDE, Esq. 
 
 ■HE ftars flioot from us as we gaze, and bear 
 
 Their little lights from our dark world away; 
 p T^- , The many twinkling pleafures of the day 
 ^^ Fade into night, and leave us all unblefl ; 
 But the great Planets burn unchanging there, 
 And the true Glories of our life we wear, 
 Like Jewels in our breafl. 
 
 Nothing can rob us of them ; ours they are 
 
 When God hath faid, " Let there be light" within ; 
 And while our earth-lamps fail us, and the din 
 Of this dark world grows diflant in our ears, 
 We are led onward by our Jewel-flar, 
 As fhepherds once were guided from afar 
 To the low-cradled Promife of pafl years. 
 
200 
 
 THE PRAYING MAIDEN. 
 By S. H. BRADBURY (Quallon). 
 
 Qhe kneels befide her humble couch, 
 
 And there alone Uke marble feems ; 
 Calm as a flatue in the night, 
 
 Whofe bofom white as fnow-flake beams ! 
 She prays, her hands together prefl, 
 
 In attitude of fvveetefl grace ; 
 And brings to mind the glorious thought 
 
 Of Angel in an earthly place. 
 
 Her hands are white as lily-leaves, 
 
 Her arms of mofl exquifite mould ; 
 Half-hidden by her auburn curls, 
 
 Like ivory funn'd with rays of gold ! 
 Her voice is low, but with a tone. 
 
 That mufic's magic cannot aid ; 
 Sweet as the murmur of a rill 
 
 Whofe flream the blufhing woodbines fliade. 
 
 There's eloquence in every word, 
 
 The fimple charm alHed to prayer ; 
 As though fome chord from Heaven had reach'd 
 
 Her heart, and lightly trembled there ! 
 A heart as tender as the flower, 
 
 That clofes when the dayhght dies ; 
 And treafures beauty as a Rrcam 
 
 The whiten'd cloud that o'er it lies I 
 
Let her Stay. 201 
 
 She rifes gently from her prayer, 
 
 And reads fome poet's fimple rhymes ; 
 And feels that Eden yet might bloom, 
 
 And hide the World's uncounted crimes. 
 So fair {he looks, fo fair Ihe Hves, 
 
 A pidlure of what Earth might be ; 
 Then take the leffon, World, for I 
 
 Would have its moral learnt by thee ! 
 
 LET HER STA V. 
 
 By the Right Rev. S. HINDS, D.D. 
 
 T ET her llay — oh, thofe moments are fweeter 
 Than all her young days yet have given ; 
 For he whofe fmile brightens to meet her, 
 Shall meet her no more but in Heaven. 
 
 Let her flill clafp that pale, wafled hand. 
 
 She once thought was with hers to be join'd : 
 
 By her fide never bridegroom fhall ftand. 
 When to God (he that hand has refign'd. 
 
 Let her flay, — her heart's dream is not ended ; 
 
 While it lafls let its vifions be cherifh'd ; 
 And may hope with thofe vifions be blended, 
 
 When all that is earthly has perifh'd ! 
 
 One dark, defolate, life-long to-morrow 
 Will begin when her lafl look is taken ; 
 
 Let her watch by the dear couch of forrow. 
 Till love's fmile his cold lips has forfaken. 
 
202 
 
 LOVE: A WOMAISrS THOUGHT. 
 By WESTLAND MARSTON, Esq. 
 
 Qhall I fet any blefllng this fide Heaven 
 
 Againfl thy love for me — the light that (liows 
 All other joy, the light whereby it grows % 
 Yes, one boon richer than thy love is given — 
 The right to love thee ! If thy flrength of wing 
 Can bear me with thee on thy luminous track 
 Of duty, take me ; but I would not chng 
 With an encumbering clafp to keep thee back. 
 'Tis dear to think thee of myfelf a part ; 
 Dearer, though lofl, to know thee what thou art : 
 And if, being fuch, thou vanifh from mine eyes, 
 I, nurfmg thoughts of thee, will wait the day 
 When at my fide a Shado^vy Friend fhall fay, — 
 " Thou, too, haft pinions ; follow him and rife !" 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF LAMARTINE. 
 By E. F. G. 
 
 '"pHE Volume of Exiftence is a book, that men 
 
 Can neither open at their will, nor clofe again 
 We read but once the paffage that we moft adore, 
 Then of its own accord the fatal leaf turns o'er : 
 We feek again the page before fo fondly read, 
 But 'neath our finger find the page of Death inftead. 
 
203 
 
 PARTING. 
 
 By Mrs. W. SAWYER, 
 Author efs of " The Quiet Horn-" &'c, 
 
 \ ND now farewell ! If part indeed we muft, 
 
 I give into thy hands a facred trufl ; 
 A fmgle, fimple word comprifes all, 
 It is " Thyfelf." Whatever fhall befall 
 Of power, wealth, in all remember this : 
 Thou art alone thine own defpair or blifs. 
 Fate is a fallacy : whate'er was meant, 
 Error was never the Divine intent. 
 
 Remember, though I am not by to fee. 
 Thou art refponfible in thought to me. 
 I dSk no vow : what Love cannot fulfil 
 By Love alone, by oaths it never will. 
 There is a dignity of confcience, known 
 Unto the pure and true of heart alone. 
 Which may be thine, all loffes thus regain'd, — 
 So keep thine honour, as thy love, unflain'd. 
 
 Remember, that if falfe to Love and me, 
 
 Still falfer to thyfelf it is to be ; 
 
 Falfe to thy reafon, flave unto thy foe, — 
 
 And that is Impulfe. Sweeter far to know 
 
 One danger pafl, than countlefs dangers dare ; 
 
 One joy efcape, than perilous joys to fhare. 
 
 Thy heart is peaceful now 1 Oh, keep that peace, 
 
 A precious gain that time will but increafe. 
 
204 Parting. 
 
 If from fome pleafures thou fhalt be debarr'd. 
 For thy fidehty I give reward : 
 What fealty a fubject owes a King 
 Who is no tyrant, fuch my love will bring ; 
 A love that is a weaknefs, yet is flrong 
 To bear all trials that to Love belong ; 
 Child-like in trufl, yet powerful above 
 All mortal forces, — a true woman's love. 
 
 If for a time we part, or here Love ends, 
 
 Remember, on thyfelf alone depends. 
 
 Give me thy hand — 'tis mine : no vows can bind 
 
 A clofer tie than in our love we find. 
 
 If that dark Shadow, unfeen now, fhould crofs 
 
 Our feparate paths, to me no greater lofs 
 
 Should even that certain agony appal ; 
 
 For lofs of Love is death-in-life to all ! 
 
 Farewell, beloved ! With dry eyes we part ; 
 A heavier grief than tears is at my heart, — 
 Something I fain would hide beneath control : 
 But do not fpeak, — no words can now confole. 
 What ! " If we fliould not meet 1, " Oh, yes ! be fure 
 Love is not over-tafk'd ; though we endure 
 This abfence, dear one, we fhall live to tell 
 Sweet memories of conflancy. Farewell ! 
 
205 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE ROSE. 
 
 By the Rev. R. B. EXTON, M.A. 
 
 ttear'st thou that flrain of mingled melody'? — 
 
 Too wildly fweet for Echo's mimic fkill, 
 It floateth on the night-breeze light and free, 
 
 And, blent with murmurs of the bafhful rill, 
 Mounts in rich undulations to the fky, 
 A welcome tribute to the raptured fpheres on high. 
 
 The wondering flars in filence earthward peer, 
 Unconfcious whence the Hquid harmonies, 
 
 Thus calmly ftealing on celeftial ear 
 
 From 'neath their own pure dwelHng-place, arife ; 
 
 Yet pleafed that forms of fublunary mould, 
 
 Congenial powers of kindred eloquence unfold. 
 
 For of their theme no ear attuned in Heaven, 
 
 Or on the teeming Earth, or in mid air, 
 If right attuned, but hath the power given 
 
 The foul-entrancing fympathy to fhare : — 
 From central fhades to Thrones of Light above. 
 Through all Creation thrills the full warm pulfe of Love. 
 
 Thus, hidden in his bower of eglantine, 
 
 Whereon the moonbeam weaves a filvery crefl. 
 
 The enamour'd Minflrel from his leafy flirine 
 Breathes the pure incenfe of his paflionate breall, 
 
2o6 The Night i?i gale and the Rofe. 
 
 Watching the while beneath their verdant fcreen. 
 The charmed flumbers of his young betrothed Queen. 
 
 To Earth his joyous homage, peal'd around, 
 Sings of her foft maternal bofom bared, 
 
 At whofe Hfe-giving fprings his loved one found, 
 Among the myriads that her nurture Ihared, 
 
 The boon of being — while to her alone, 
 
 And high above the refl, Earth cedes the Floral throne. 
 
 Nor you, ye Zephyrs, doth fweet Philomel 
 
 Forget, as he inhales the odorous fighs, 
 Borne on your wing from that fecluded dell 
 
 Where lleeps the Queen of flowers in beauty's guife ; 
 But grateful cheers your wanderings through the night, 
 And with his dulcet notes doth harmonize your flight. 
 
 And, for her fleeplefs care of that dear fpot, 
 Trills his mild benifons towards Cynthia's car; 
 
 Nor fcant of praife, as flie remember'd not 
 (Borrowing awhile from each attendant flar) 
 
 With Beauty's coronal of dew-wrought gems 
 
 To deck her morning fmile — brightefl. of diadems ! 
 
 But chief, Hyperion, to thine Orient beam. 
 Lighting the pure tints on his miflrefs' brow, 
 
 That fluflies from its lair her tranquil dream. 
 Kindling her graces to intenfer glow ; 
 
 Chiefly to thee his lengthen'd ferenade, 
 
 By duteous adoration prompted, is fondly paid. 
 
 For then, upfpringing from their mofl^y beds, 
 In cindlures clad of every vernal hue. 
 
The Nightingale and the Roje. 207 
 
 And fcattering perfumes from their beauteous heads, 
 
 To greet their Sovereign with obeifance due, 
 He heard the bright-eyed children of the Spring, 
 On the frefh gale their whifper'd gratulations fling : 
 
 The while his well-beloved meekly bent 
 
 Her graceful brow amid th' admiring throng ; 
 
 And ever and anon her glances fent 
 
 Upward to him, the Fount of that clear fong ; 
 
 At each fond glance flill quickening more and more 
 
 The tuneful fpirit of her amorous Troubadour. 
 
 Thus through the glowing mom he pour'd his flrains 
 Of rapturous blifs. The winged Hours, attent, 
 
 Wafted his mufic o'er the far-off plains. 
 Till, with all melodies of Nature blent. 
 
 The choral fwell, piercing the clouds above, 
 
 From earth to fky proclaim'd the empery of Love ! 
 
 But ah ! the lover's quick inflindlive dread. 
 As through mid-ether fhot the noontide ray, 
 
 Saw on its fervid fmile infidious fped 
 The harbinger of beauty's fvvift decay — 
 
 Saw Death's terrific frown in ambufh lower 
 
 Impatient o'er the form of his now drooping Flower ! 
 
 And thence in querulous and fitful mood 
 
 His broken plaints are heard defpondent ; then 
 
 Flits he in fhades impervious, far to brood 
 In widow'd filence from the haunts of men. 
 
 O Love ! thy dwelling is with all things fair ; 
 
 Yet with the lovely and beloved Death is there ! 
 
208 
 
 TRUTHS AND FANCIES. 
 By the Authoress of "Poems by L." 
 
 'T~'RUTHs are verities eternal, 
 
 Changelefs, that can never die : 
 Fancies are the idle dreamings 
 We relinquilh with a figh. 
 
 Truths, according to our vifion, 
 Now or dark or light appear, — 
 
 They themfelves the fame remaining 
 Evermore from year to year. 
 
 Like the palace in the Northland — 
 Like the phantom-fliip at fea — 
 
 Like the mirage in the defert, 
 Oft our cherilh'd fancies be ; 
 
 Refembling the bafelefs fabric 
 Of the clouds that float in air, — 
 
 Strive to grafp them, and they vanifli- 
 Vanifli, mocking our defpair 1 
 
 Every heavenly Truth we gamer 
 In our hearts is golden ore, 
 
 That as fwiftly Time advanceth 
 Shineth ever more and more. 
 
Truths and Fancies. 209 
 
 And will (hine until the glory 
 
 Rifeth of the perfect day, 
 When the ftiadows of the Earthland 
 
 Shall for ever pafs away. 
 
 Oft celeflial Truths we banifn — 
 
 Banifh, while for them we yearn ; 
 Truths that we at lafl through anguifli 
 
 And experience mufl learn ; 
 
 Learn dejedled, broken-hearted, — 
 Learn in forrow, learn in fadnefs ; 
 
 Learn, perchance, while no kind fpirit 
 Whifpereth of peace and gladnefs. 
 
 But refplendent is the jewel 
 
 That the foul at lafl hath won, 
 When our warfare is accomplifh'd, 
 
 When our pilgrimage is run ; 
 
 Radiating bright effulgence 
 
 O'er life's pathway, erfl fo drear, 
 Till for us commenceth furely 
 
 In that light " The Heavenly Year." 
 
210 
 
 EVENING. 
 
 By the Rev. E. D. JACKSON, B.C.L. 
 Author of ^^ Lays of Ancient Palestine," and other Pcerm, 
 
 'T^HE funbeams are dying 
 
 Along the pale fea, 
 The night-winds are fighing 
 
 Lone vefpers to me ; 
 The young dews are weeping 
 
 On Nature's fond breafl. 
 The tired world is lleeping, 
 
 And labour is bleft. 
 
 Woodland flreamlets are moaning 
 
 Strange tales to the trees, 
 And the flowers are all owning 
 
 Their loves to the breeze; 
 Drowfy fongflers, repining, 
 
 Sing plaintive farewells 
 To the pale glow-worms fhining 
 
 Along the green dells. 
 
 Now darkncfs is reigning, 
 
 Now triumphs the gloom, — 
 Sweet Day, why complaining 
 
 Sink down to the tomb ] 
 Refurredlion awaiting, 
 
 Go, calmly recline ; 
 Frcfli cmi)ires creating, 
 
 To-morrow is thine ! 
 
Epitaph on Niohe. 211 
 
 The flars are all waking 
 
 To ravifh the night, 
 The darknefs is breaking 
 
 And flumber grows light ; 
 Broken fpirits are turning 
 
 Their wet eyes above, 
 Like weary doves yearning 
 
 For flielter and love. 
 
 My fad heart too, foaring, 
 
 Would climb the blue pole, 
 Yonder ether exploring, — 
 
 True Home of the foul ! 
 Orbs of beauty ! afcending, 
 
 My flight I'd purfue, 
 Till lofl, fweetly blending 
 
 For ever with you ! 
 
 EPITAPH ON NIOBE. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK OF AGATHIAS. 
 
 By EDGAR BOWRING, Esq. 
 
 T T riTHiN this tomb no corpfe was ever laid ; 
 ^^ To hold this corpfe no tomb was ever made 
 But tomb and corpfe in one are here difplay'd. 
 
212 
 
 THE MIR A GE OF LIFE. 
 
 By Miss TOUGH, 
 Authorefs of *' The Offering : Poems.'** 
 
 TT^VER and ever it floateth on, — 
 
 That airy nothing, that phantom form ! 
 Years upon years have come and gone, 
 
 With their hours of funfhine and days of dorm. 
 And flill it floateth, that wandering gleam, 
 Like the (hadowy brightnefs of a dream ; 
 Like the flickering moonbeam on the river, 
 Luring me onward — ever ! ever ! 
 
 I know thou hafl mock'd me many a time, 
 
 As I followed the track of thy painted wing, 
 Pointing away to fome happier clime 
 
 Frefh with the bloom of immortal Spring. — 
 Nay, charge me not thus, 'tis thy eager hafle 
 For Eden's fruits in this wilding wafl.e, — 
 Stretching impatient hands too foon : 
 I could not give thee fo poor a boon. 
 
 Thou fayefl I mock thee with vifions of light, 
 
 That from following footfleps ever recede, — 
 With the gleam of waters, fo cool and bright, 
 
 All vanifli'd and dried in thine hour of need. 
 I lure thee on, for thou fain wouldfl. flay 
 To fport with the flowers that bloom on thy way : 
 " Arife ! dei)art ! this is not thy refl. ! " 
 Is the fong 1 waft thee from Ifles of the Blefl.. 
 
Genius. 213 
 
 I am not a creature of Earth at all ; 
 
 In my robes of light I come from afar, — 
 I come at thy yearning fpirit's call, 
 
 To fhine on thy path like a guiding Har. 
 I know thou art weary, and fick, and fad, 
 And I come from the Homes where all are glad, 
 To whifper that Earth has no Eden for thee, — 
 Then gird up thy garments, and flill follow me ! 
 
 GENIUS. 
 By WESTLAND MARSTON, Esq. 
 
 TN its deep effence, Genius means but worth ; 
 For who would paint the various qualities 
 Of Man and Nature, trace their growth and birth, 
 
 Mud make their being his by fympathies, 
 Whofe root is love. Thus, Genius in the bad 
 
 Is flill the reflex of a better hfe 
 There Hngering, though with fplendour (horn and fad. 
 
 Love draws the circle of imagination. 
 And in the heart's full day the wide Creation 
 
 Lies clear, in beauty garb'd, with meaning rife ; 
 And as love's Sun declines, fo Fancy's ken 
 
 Contradls, and the mean will doth only crave 
 Light for itfelf, forgets the world and men. 
 
 And on its dim path flumbles to the grave ! 
 
214 
 
 GOOD IN EVIL. 
 By the Rev. GREVILLE J. CHESTER, M.A. 
 
 Tn thorny thickets blow the fweetefl rofes ; 
 
 Lilies in damp woods droop their fnow-white bells ; 
 The yellow primrofe 'neath the brier repofes ; 
 The purefl water fprings from deepefl wells. 
 
 From common clay are form'd the fairefl velTels ; 
 
 The diamond glitters in the darkfome mine ; 
 The golden wren in her fnug dwelling nellies, 
 
 Slung from the branches of the gloomy pine. 
 
 The fcarlet feaweeds wave their trembling trefles 
 In the deep ocean caves by man unfeen ; 
 
 And rocks, all black and bleak, the fea-fern drelTes 
 With fpiny tufts of gliflening evergreen. 
 
 And fo from out the gloom and fmoke of cities 
 Deeds of deep love and meek endurance fhine ; 
 
 In fqualid lanes is found the heart that pities, 
 The foul that hungers after things Divine. 
 
 In foetid courts the fleadfafl love of woman 
 
 Makes oftentimes the houfe of toil feem bright ; 
 
 And princely hearts, which beat 'neath garments common, 
 In midll of wrong are ruled by Truth and Right. 
 
 Not men of high degree alone in flory, 
 
 In human hearts, and hiRories, are enfhrined ; 
 
 The poor and humble have their meed of glory, — 
 Some wreaths of laurel poor men's foreheads bind. 
 
215 
 
 THREE SCENES. 
 By Mrs. ALFRED M. MUNSTER (MARY C. F. MONCK). 
 
 I. 
 
 "pvAWN, on a golden river, the dawn of a bright May- 
 day,— 
 
 Bathed in the laughing funfhine water and woodland lay : 
 
 Birds in the green boughs caroll'd, wild bees fail'd hum- 
 ming by, 
 
 And cloudlets of filvery whitenefs dappled the morning 
 fky. 
 
 One on the bank lay dreaming, youth on his broad, fair 
 
 brow, — 
 Life hath no fweeter vifions than float o'er his fancy 
 
 now ; 
 Wealth on his path hath fcatter'd all that flie hath to 
 
 give, 
 Pleafure and Love aye murmur, " Sweet 'tis for iis to 
 
 live!" 
 
 Was there no voice to whifper, " Put not thy trufl in 
 
 them, 
 Frofl-blight fhall mar the bloffoms wreathing their 
 
 diadem, — 
 Theirs are no flowers immortal, fearlefs of all decay, — 
 All they can give is earthly, paffmg with Earth away." 
 
2i5 Three Scenes. 
 
 None ! — but the World's gay welcome greeted its willing 
 
 Have ; 
 Fame fhower'd triumphs on him, Beauty her guerdon 
 
 gave ; 
 Wildly the dizzy vi61im drain'd the fweet poifon dry, 
 Thoughtlefs that earth-bom Gladnefs ever mufl fade and 
 
 die. 
 
 IL 
 
 Grey fell the wintry twilight over a city flreet, 
 
 Sullied and dark the fnovv-drifts muffled men's hurrying 
 
 feet; 
 Cold was the cloudy Heaven, colder the frozen Earth, 
 But colder the friendlefs being that crouch'd by a firelefs 
 
 hearth. 
 
 Hoarfely the wind came wailing, freighted with fleet and 
 
 fnow. 
 Waking the old man's heavy heart to dreams of the long 
 
 ago; 
 Feebly his thin voice mutter'd of fcenes that had pad 
 
 away. 
 As confcience, awaken'd, pi6lured the deeds of a bygone 
 
 day: — 
 
 " Faithlefs among the faithlefs, how was my talent placed ? 
 Goodly was once my portion, how hath it run to wafle ? 
 Oh, for the deeds of mercy might have been mine 
 
 to do ! 
 Oh, for the fins and forrows that thick in my pathway 
 
 grew ! 
 
Three Scenes. 217 
 
 "Proud in my day of triumph, Father, I turn'd from Thee ! 
 Many and fore were the flripes I bore, ere I boVd the 
 
 llubbom knee ; 
 Darknefs was denfe around me, friends one by one had 
 
 flown, 
 Ere I bent to the heahng fountain that flows from Thine 
 
 awful throne. 
 
 " Hopelefs, fave in Thy mercy. Father, to Thee I come ! 
 Long did my fmful heart rebel, — long did my footfleps 
 
 roam: 
 Yet wilt Thou heed the forrow breathed in the contrite 
 
 ^ figh,- 
 Yet will Thy loving-kindnefs hearken the fmner's cry." 
 
 III. 
 
 Drearily broke the morning over the filent town, 
 
 On many a homelefs outcafl the fhimmering light look'd 
 
 down ; 
 Into one difmal chamber it fl.ole with a mournful gleam, 
 And there lay the old man fleeping the flumber that 
 
 knows no dream. 
 
 Strange were the hands that bore him on to his long, lafl 
 
 reft; 
 Carelefs they piled the frozen clay on the planks above 
 
 his breaft : 
 But He, in whofe fight all creatures are worthy of equal 
 
 care, 
 Hath welcomed the pauper's fpirit, borne up on the wings 
 
 of prayer. 
 
2l8 
 
 MUTABILITY. 
 
 By JOHN FRANCIS WALLER, Esq. LL.D. 
 
 T sail'd on the midnight Ocean, 
 
 Beneath a fair fummer fky, 
 And, luU'd by the languid motion, 
 
 I thought how Hfe flows by. 
 The Wind, with mournful greeting, 
 
 Still told its ancient tale : 
 " All earthly things are fleeting 
 
 As breath of fummer gale." 
 
 The Waves, as they murmuring bore me, 
 
 Still chanted the fame old flrain 
 They fang to the age before me : 
 
 " No earthly things remain." 
 The Ship, with heaving motion, 
 
 Proclaim'd again the tale, 
 Rock'd on the treacherous Ocean : 
 
 " All earthly things are frail" 
 
 The Stars, in their folcmn glory, 
 
 That cluRer'd the peaceful fl^y. 
 Still utter'd the fame grand flory 
 
 To age on age gone by, — 
 That tale profound repeating. 
 
 In light ferene and pure : 
 " All earthly things are fleeting. 
 
 All heavenly things endure." 
 
219 
 
 THE LAST DA Y IN AN OLD HOME. 
 
 1840. 
 
 By the Author of " T7ie Memorials of Hedley Vicar s^^'' 6^c. 
 
 A ND can it be, in this loved home 
 For the lall time I fland, 
 Where ten years fmce we had jufl come 
 
 A glad, unbroken band, 
 To twine our love round every tree, 
 And fun the fpot with our own glee % 
 
 And, oh ! what tones and fmiles of mirth 
 
 Have rung and fparkled here. 
 When we have gather'd round one hearth 
 
 With all we held mofl dear ! 
 What words of fondnefs have been breathed, 
 What parting bleffings here bequeathed ! 
 
 Shell-like, it keeps the murmuring found 
 
 Of Joy's far-ebbing fea, 
 And every haunt my flep has found 
 
 Hath flill its memory. 
 My own fweet Mother, 'tis of thee 
 Each fpot is eloquent to me. 
 
 I linger on the hallow'd ground, 
 Where once thy feet have been ; 
 
 A fpell hath my fad fpirit bound 
 Where lafl thy fmile was feen ! 
 
 And every flower and tree is fraught 
 
 With themes for grave and holy thought. 
 
220 The Lajl Day in an Old Home. 
 
 And I, while looking thus my laft, 
 Pour out my heart in tears, 
 
 Where once in three dark days we pafl 
 A life of hopes and fears ; 
 
 And kneel where lafl I knelt by thee 
 
 In thofe long hours of mifery. 
 
 They tell me there are other ties 
 
 As tender and as true -, 
 That life has flill its fympathies, 
 
 As fweet and faithful too : 
 But well I know no love like thine 
 Can blefs this yearning heart of mine. 
 
 And yet, for all its pricelefs worth, 
 We would not wifh thee back, 
 
 To wander with us on this Earth, 
 And tread our weary track : 
 
 We know it was a Father's love 
 
 Which caird our precious one above. 
 
 Thou art gone Home, to calmer reft 
 Than aught that here hath part ; 
 
 A holier than a mother's breaft, 
 A furer than her heart : 
 
 O may we fliare that Home with thee. 
 
 Beloved, through Eternity ! 
 
221 
 
 REGRET, 
 
 By the Rev. R. B. SLIPPER, M.A. 
 
 Author of '* The Country Parish : A Poem.''* 
 
 \ WAY with vain regret ! Who can recall 
 "^ The joyous Pafl, or bring back youth again? 
 Ah, no ! though tears from every eye fhould fall, 
 And every tongue lament, 'twere all in vain. 
 
 Fair is the mom ; forth from the Eaflern Ikies 
 The rifmg Sun its boundlefs light imparts ; 
 
 Moves on its glorious courfe amid the fighs, 
 The countlefs tears, of fad and bleeding hearts. 
 
 The noontide comes : fainting beneath the heat, 
 
 The heavy burden of the fultry ray, 
 They yearn for evening breezes cool and fweet, 
 
 And the long fhadows of declining day. 
 
 Wouldfl thou recall the morning, ere the night 
 Gave to the filent Earth its needful reft ; 
 
 Call man again to labour by its light, 
 
 His powers by fleep unfoothed and unrefrefh'd 1 
 
 Would any blefs thee % Man and beaft united 
 With curfes deep thy hated name would load — 
 
 With frames o'er-worn and hearts with care benighted, 
 Deteft a gift fo deftitute of good. 
 
222 Epitaph on an Idiot Girl. 
 
 So though to thee it might feem beautiful, 
 To hurl old Time upon a backward courfe, 
 
 And to renovate the hues of life grown dull, 
 
 With rainbow colours from their primal fource — 
 
 Yet if thou couldfl not renovate the mind, 
 
 Nor quench that knowledge which the World affords- 
 
 Thy heart in youthful flrength no charm could find, 
 Nor laughter light be thine, nor joyous words. 
 
 If this were done, 'twere but to live again ; 
 
 To mourn again o'er blighted hopes for years ; 
 To run the felf-fame race of grief and pain, 
 
 Now dark with doubt, now chequer'd o'er with fears. 
 
 Be wife and be content ; the Pafl is gone, 
 For ever gone : the prefent hour employ ; 
 
 So fhalt thou backward look when life is done, 
 Nor vain regret thy peace of mind deflroy. 
 
 EPITAPH ON AN IDIOT GIRL. 
 
 By ALARIC a. WATTS, Esq. 
 
 Tf the innocent are favourites of Heaven, 
 
 And God but little afks where little's given, 
 Thy jufl Creator hath for thee in flore 
 Eternal joys ! — Can wifefl men have more ? 
 
223 
 
 WE CANNOT STAY. 
 By JOHN EMMET, Esq. 
 
 T T Te cannot flay, laid the winter Stars ; 
 
 We fliall fet to-night, to-morrow to rife 
 Upon other worlds and other eyes : 
 
 Gaze fondly and well on our glorious light. 
 For our filver lamps mufl go out to-night : 
 
 We cannot flay. 
 
 We are hurrying on from our mother hills, 
 Said the little Springs ; we fhall foon be gone : 
 Drink a long draught as we hurry on ; 
 
 With the falling eve we fhall join the river, 
 
 To-morrow be lofl in the Sea for ever : 
 
 We cannot Ray. 
 
 We cannot flay, faid my petted Flowers ; 
 
 Gay tendrils next year fhall cover your door. 
 
 But we fhall have fled to bloom no more : 
 Go, gather fome leaves to keep for our fake, 
 For next year there fhall be no leaves to take ] 
 
 We cannot flay. 
 
 I follow thofe flars, faid a dying child ; 
 And all my hopes, faid I, follow thofe waves. 
 And they lleep like thofe flowers in perfumed graves ; 
 And I heard them fmg, as I faw them flee, 
 There's a brighter World for us, and for thee : 
 
 We cannot flay. 
 
2 24 Sonnet. 
 
 Changing friends of a changing world, 
 Keep heart ! — we may love what we have loved bed 
 In a changelefs World, where all are blefl. ; 
 ^Vhere only the forrows that make us mourn, 
 And only our fighs fhall figh in their turn ; 
 
 We cannot (lay. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 WRITTEN AT LAUSANNE. 
 
 By the Very Rev. W. F. HOOK, D.D. 
 
 A MID the vineyards of ferene Laufanne, 
 '^^ Serene I walk, or in her rofeate bowers 
 I while away the foftly gliding hours, 
 'Mid foothing fights and founds, and all that can 
 Becalm yet elevate the foul of man : 
 Yet there, where in the diflance Nature cowers 
 Beneath the Avalanche, and the florm lowers 
 Upon a fea of ice, — e'en there I fcan 
 The Alpine path I late with labour trod : 
 And thus the foul, in the calm eve of life, 
 Amazed at dangers it found grace to fliun, 
 And foothed by the eternal peace of God, 
 Looks back upon a courfe of duty nm. 
 Retired ferencly from a world of llrife. 
 
w 
 
 225 
 
 OUR LITTLE CHILD. 
 By GERALD MASSEY. 
 
 ^ITH feeking hearts we flill grope on 
 Where dropt our jewel in the duU : 
 The looking crowd have long fmce gone, 
 And flill we feek, with lonely trufl, 
 Our little Child with radiant eyes ! 
 
 In all our heartach we are drawn 
 Unweeting to your little grave ; 
 
 There, on the heavenly fhores of dawn, 
 Breaks gentlier Sorrow's fobbing wave, 
 O little Child with radiant eyes ! 
 
 Dark underneath the brightening fod, 
 The fweetefl hfe of all our years 
 
 Is crowded in ae gift to God : 
 
 We (land without the gate in tears ! — 
 O Uttle Cliild with radiant eyes ! 
 
 Heart-empty as the acorn-cup, 
 
 That only fills with wintry (howers, 
 
 The breaking cloud but brimmeth up 
 With tears this pleading life of ours, 
 O little Child with radiant eyes ! 
 
 We think of you, our Angel-kith, 
 
 Till life grows hght \vith flarry leaven ; 
 We never forget you, darling, with 
 
 The golden hair waving high in Heaven- 
 Our httle Child \vith radiant eyes ! 
 
 Q 
 
2 26 The Pearls of Time. 
 
 Your white wings grown, you will conquer Death ; 
 
 You are coming through our dreams e'en now, 
 With two blue peeps of Heaven beneath 
 
 The arching glory of your brow, — 
 Our little Child with radiant eyes ! 
 
 We cannot pierce the dark, but oft 
 
 You fee us with looks of pitying balm — 
 
 A hint of Heaven, a touch more foft 
 Than kiffes. All the trouble is calm, 
 O little Child with radiant eyes ! 
 
 Think of us wearied in the llrife ; 
 
 And when we fit by Sorrow's flreams, 
 Shake down upon our drooping hfe 
 
 The dew that brings immortal dreams, 
 O little Child with radiant eyes ! 
 
 THE PEARLS OF TIME. 
 
 'TpHE flood of Time throws out upon the ftrand. 
 Its many-colour'd Hones, with fhells and fand 
 
 But genuine Pearls among them lie : 
 Mankind, upon the margin where they're thrown. 
 
 Like children picking up the pebbles, cry — 
 "Another Rone, another precious flone !" 
 
 And pafs the Pearls unheeded by. 
 
227 
 
 SAINT OUEN. 
 By WILLIAM SAWYER, Esq. 
 
 'npHROUGH the market-place of Rouen 
 
 Pafl St. Ouen on a day; 
 Clamorous difeafe and fqualor 
 Throng'd about him on his way. 
 
 On his heart, fo pure and fainted, 
 Smote thefe horrors like a pain, — • 
 
 With a fickening fenfe of loathing 
 Clofe he grafp'd his purple train : — 
 
 Grafp'd it clofe and hurried onward, 
 
 Paffmg leper, cripple, on, — 
 In his ears wild curfes ringing, 
 
 Like a Devil's benifon. 
 
 Onward yet, till on a fudden 
 Started he, — as men will flart 
 
 Hearing the fmall voice of confcience 
 Speaking in the guilty heart 
 
 Not the curfmg, not the loathing 
 From his cheek the blood beguiled ; 
 
 It was but the piteous wailing 
 Of a feeble, outcall child. 
 
 Hideous, filthy, red with fever, 
 
 He beheld it at his feet, — 
 " Pardon, Lord," he cried, " the horror 
 
 In this bofom all unmeet I 
 
228 Saint Ouen. 
 
 "As to me the foulefl creature — 
 So am I to Thee, the Pure — 
 
 And as Thou with me endured, 
 Shall I not with thefe endure % 
 
 "Pardon ! pardon !" In his bofom, 
 Neflled clofe, the child he bore, 
 
 Onward to the great Cathedral, 
 Inward through the lowly door. 
 
 To Our Lady's fhrine he bore it 
 (Seven tapers burning there), 
 
 Then before the loathfome burden 
 FalUng, clafp'd his brow in prayer. 
 
 " Pardon, Jefu, my difdaining 
 
 Aught that Thou doft not difdain ; 
 
 This my penance, for Thy fervice 
 This poor babe to rear and train." 
 
 Glow'd the father's wafled fingers 
 Crimfon'd to his fliaded fight ; 
 
 Starting, he beheld the chapel 
 Radiant with a wondrous light ; 
 
 Felt the air perfumed with incenfe, 
 As from unfeen cenfers thrown ; 
 
 Saw a fmile celeflial playing 
 
 Round the Virgin's lips of flone ; 
 
 Saw no child before the altar, 
 Saw above the tapers feven, 
 
 Where no longer child, but Seraph, 
 It went fliining up to Heaven. 
 
229 
 
 THE WINDS MISSION. 
 By MARY SANDERSON EDMONDSTON. 
 
 T HAVE fwept over defert, city, and plain, — 
 
 Ye may track my flep on the mighty main : 
 Yon noble fhip, that in triumph bore 
 A thouland hearts to their native fhore, 
 I met in my mad career of joy, 
 And fhatter'd her as an infant's toy; 
 Bravely fhe toil'd, but I laugh'd in fcom, — 
 Her drowning wail on my blafl is borne. 
 
 To the icy North, on my viewlefs wing, 
 I have carried tidings of early Spring ; 
 In the funny land where the orange grows, 
 I have fipt the dewdrop from the rofe ; 
 They chain'd me awhile in a laughing bower, 
 Where I flole the fcent from many a flower ; 
 And I fang a lullaby foft and low, 
 As I rock'd a cradle to and fro. 
 Where an Indian mother had laid to reft 
 Her babe, like a bird, in its leafy nefl ; 
 I have preft my finger, hot and dry, 
 On the burning hds of a traveller's eye, 
 Who laid him down in the defert to die. 
 
 I have fann'd the dying maiden's cheek, — 
 How pure fhe feem'd, how faintly meek ! 
 And I kifl her forrowing lover's brow. 
 As I bore through her cafement his lafl fond vow. 
 
 I have hung over groves of fpices rare — 
 In the jungle fwept o'er the tiger's lair ; 
 
230 Peace and War. 
 
 I have moan'd a dirge o'er the lowly bed 
 Where the hope of a widow'd heart was laid ; 
 I have hurl'd the Avalanche from mountains deep, 
 And I've flept in caves of Ocean deep. 
 
 I have wafted the found of a Sabbath-bell ; 
 As it rofe from the depths of a fhady dell, 
 On an erring heart its fummons fell : 
 Then I bore on my pinions light to Heaven 
 The Anthem of praife from that foul forgiven. 
 
 PEACE AND WAR. 
 By WESTLAND MARSTON, Esq. 
 
 TV /fAN is God's living Temple, and the hand 
 
 Is impious that, for conquefl, gain, or hate. 
 The hallow'd walls of flefh would defecrate 
 With bloody violence. For ever bann'd 
 Be they that joy in war ! But fmce no fane 
 Exifl-s but for a worfhip, and our Lord, 
 Being Lord of Juflice, flill is Lord of Hofls, 
 When 'neath the oppreflbr's yoke the lands complain, 
 Or thought and freedom fly the invaded coafls, — 
 Deem it religion then to bear the fword ! 
 The fortrefs is a temple in that hour, 
 A pried the chief who fights for Right with Power. 
 Strike down even man for what makes man divine. 
 Nor difobey the God to fave the flirine ! 
 
231 
 
 THE TWO DEATHS. 
 
 By PATRICK SCOTT, Esq. 
 Author of-^ Footpaths between Two Worlds,'''' dr'c. 
 
 T>ENEATH an Indian Sun, 
 
 His young limbs bound and bent 
 To the rough plain, a foldier kneels. 
 And calmly looks on Earth, and feels 
 He has no Future there, content 
 With duty done. 
 
 Strong-arm'd in faith, he feems more like 
 A conqueror than a captive. " Strike ! " 
 He cries, impatient, as the foe 
 O'er his white neck fufpends the blow : 
 " Live !" they exclaim, — " life, all we give ; 
 But, Chriflian, curfe thy God, and live ! " 
 
 To them he deigns no words, 
 But turns his naked head where near 
 A fellow-captive flands in fear 
 
 Of the fharp heathen fwords. 
 Older he was in years, but flill 
 
 Lefs grown in fpirit than the firfl. 
 
 With bread more fitted for the burfl 
 Of battle, with the chance to kill. 
 Than thus before his hated foes 
 
 To fland, without the power to ward 
 The coward death defcending down : 
 
 He felt the martyr's fate was hard. 
 Nor clear enough before him rofe 
 The vifion of its crown. 
 
232 The Two Deaihs. 
 
 To him the younger Warrior cries, 
 
 " Turn from thefe murderers, — turn 
 To our good Heaven your eyes, 
 
 // fends thefe trials to difcem 
 The traitor from the true ; 
 
 Short is whate'er their rage can do. 
 By a falfe foe's fair words enticed, 
 
 Stoop not, ignobly fafe, to live ; 
 Nor barter the Eternal Chrifl 
 
 For aught that Time can give ! " 
 Alas ! though low in fight of men, 
 
 Red-gafh'd the youthful hero lies ; 
 
 When fouls are fummon'd to the Skies, 
 Death but ennobles then. 
 
 Once in a ChriRian land there lay, 
 
 Far from the bruit of battle-fray, 
 
 A flricken Noble. Wealth was fpent. 
 
 And (kill was tafk'd in vain, to cheer 
 That filent room, where Death had fent 
 
 To fay that he was near : 
 Friends watch'd befide the fick man's bed. 
 While menials troop'd with noifelefs tread, 
 And artful Luxury drove to (leal 
 The fling from wounds it could not heal. 
 
 On coronet and purple veil — 
 The brazen ferpents of his rank — 
 
 He might have gazed to foothe his foul ; 
 
 Or bound the flar upon his bread 
 To dill its heavings, as he drank 
 His drugs from golden bowL 
 
Comfott 233 
 
 He could have look'd upon the Pafl, — 
 
 Upon an ancient hne — his fires ; 
 And on a life of vice — his own : 
 How placidly, if birth alone 
 Could make the prefent pageant lafl, 
 
 Or quench the Future and its fires ! 
 But he look'd forward, and afraid 
 To meet the view, fhriek'd out for aid, — 
 Yet not to Heaven, and not in prayer, 
 But flruggling feebly with the air, 
 
 As if in the laft mortal flrife ; 
 And thefe his laft of mortal founds, — 
 " Oh Hell ! I'll give a thoufand pounds 
 
 For one more hour of life ! " 
 
 The rude grave for the rudely flain. 
 Or marble tomb and funeral train ; 
 Do thefe, when bodies part from breath. 
 Make up for fouls the whole of Death ? 
 
 COMFORT. 
 
 FROM THE GER^IAN OF BUERGER. 
 
 'HEN Slander's tongue is wounding thee, 
 Then let this thought thy comfort be 
 The worft of apples are not they 
 Seledled by the wafps for prey. 
 
 W 
 
234 
 
 SONG FOR THE NEW YEAR. 
 By the Rev. HENRY BURGESS, LL.D., Ph.D. 
 
 '"pOLL the bell ! old Time has jufl departed ; 
 
 Ring the chimes ; a New Year now advances. 
 We loved the dead, yet are not broken-hearted ; 
 
 Young Time fucceeds, and joy is in his glances : 
 We'll twine a wreath of mingled light and gloom, 
 Bright flowers for life, dark cyprefs for the tomb. 
 
 Toll the bell ! the Pafl feems made of fighs ; 
 
 Ring the chimes ; the Future may be gladnefs. 
 For days to come hope pleafures Hill fupplies ; 
 
 To dwell on vanifh'd things, it were but madnefs ; 
 We'll clofe the ear againfl that pafTmg bell. 
 Which is of Time for ever gone the knell. 
 
 Toll the bell ! 'tis memory hears its wailing ; 
 
 Ring the chimes ! 'tis hope their found enhances. 
 Alas ! the Pafl. will ever be prevailing, 
 
 The Future is to man a thing of chances. 
 A folemn note the Pafl, may fitly borrow ; 
 Will joyous peals fo well befeem the morrow ? 
 
 Toll the bell ! with notes ferenely fad ; 
 
 Ring the chimes ! and make their mufic fvveet : 
 The Future may be hail'd with feelings glad, 
 
 When o'er the Pafl we bend with reverence meet. 
 Thus hope and memory ever fliould combine, 
 And let the cyprefs with Spring flowers entwine. 
 
To a Thi'uJJi fmging in December. 235 
 
 Toll the bell ! with utterance deep and clear ; 
 
 Ring the chimes ! each merry note definini^. 
 A harmony proceeds to wifdom dear, 
 
 The melody of Earth and Heaven combining. 
 Then hail ! ye founds of days of coming gladnefs, 
 Thus mellovv'd, not o'erpower'd, by notes of fadnefs. 
 
 TO A THRUSH SINGING IN DECEMBER. 
 
 By the Rev. G. BRAITHWAITE, M.A. 
 
 'npo Winter thou art telHng Spring-tide tales, 
 
 Dear Bird, that warblefl in yon funny tree ; 
 Thou wouldfl withdraw me into budding vales, 
 With love attuning Nature's minflrelfy. 
 
 'Tis fweet — ^yet flill forbear to antedate 
 The balmy breezes and the vernal fkies ; 
 
 Thy notes are all too gay — it is too late — 
 
 Lift, lift thofe founds, the Old Year's lateft fighs. 
 
 So have I feen in fome fequefter'd nook, 
 
 The carelefs dear one, of fome two years' fpan, 
 
 Conning the pidlures of an infant's book. 
 And making all the merriment fhe can ; 
 
 Unwitting of the tears that fteep meanwhile 
 The fading cheek fhe dearly loves to kifs \ 
 
 Unwitting that the mournful, cheerful fmile 
 To-morrow morning flie may wake and mifs. 
 
236 
 
 THROUGH THE VEIL. 
 By a. J. MUNBY, Esq., M.A. 
 
 pAiR leaf, fo crifp and curl'd, and yet fo fair, 
 -*■ Whofe veined purples (hading into bronze 
 
 Make Autumn lovely — is it hard for once 
 To fall thus gently through the filent air 
 
 And die % 
 
 Fair bird, uprifmg from the flartled brake 
 On wings that only bear thee into death — 
 Is it fuch pain, to leave thy haunt beneath 
 
 The hazels, and of wounds that man can make 
 
 To die ■? 
 
 Fair rofe, yet hngering where the topmoft fpray 
 Climbs through the trellis o'er the garden wall — 
 Is it fuch grief, to fee thy petals fall 
 
 So fafl, and having watch' d them fall away, 
 
 To die? 
 
 Thus while I fit and murmur, half in dreams, 
 
 Acrofs the valley like a parted foul 
 
 Shoots the white fleam of travel : though its goal 
 Be far, it dips into the Earth, and feems 
 
 To die : 
 
 " Ah, then ! " I faid, " if Death be only this— 
 Through the dark hills a channel lliort and wide 
 That leads to funfhine on the other fide — 
 
 Then better than the bed of hfe it is 
 
 To die." 
 
237 
 
 AN OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 
 
 By J. SMART LINWOOD, Esq. 
 Author of " The Dream of Freedom^' and other Poems. 
 
 T 
 
 HE ftrife is paft ; the life is fpent ; 
 The heat of fight is o'er ; 
 I'll lay me down befide my bride 
 
 Who long fmce went before. 
 I'll lay me down befide the tomb 
 That hides her winfome form ; 
 The calm grows fweet, I love no more 
 The turmoil of the florm. 
 
 The fpe6lres of long-buried hours 
 
 Throng round me thick and fafl, 
 The might-have-been of life is lofl 
 
 In the unreturning Pafl ; 
 And I fland alone, amid the wrecks 
 
 Of hopes that once loom'd warm 
 Through dreams of tranquil joys, unvex'd 
 
 By dread of coming florm. 
 
 The beacon-light of Fame that Ihines 
 
 From Labour's lofty hill 
 Is ever within reach of toil, 
 
 And energy, and will ; 
 But, oh ! the heart that would afpire 
 
 Mufl love no earthly form, 
 Or bid a long farewell to calm. 
 
 And brave the bitter florm. 
 
238 ^;! Old Maris Reverie. 
 
 Ambition thirfls for human life, 
 
 And ever claims her prey : 
 And thofe who feek her arms mufl cafl 
 
 All other love away. 
 She was my jealous paramour — 
 
 Her touch laid low the form 
 That elfe had neflled to my heart 
 
 In funfhine or in (lorm. 
 
 And from that hour, a mournful man, 
 
 The fmile of Fame I woo'd ; 
 A long and cheerlefs way I walk'd, 
 
 Yet not in folitude; 
 For ever by my fide there Hood 
 
 A radiant Angel form, 
 That foothed my fpirit when I met 
 
 And fiercely braved the florm. 
 
 The goal is reach'd, and now I feel 
 
 How barren my defire \ 
 We live for dut}-, and in vain 
 
 Seek Fame's confuming fire. 
 I'll lay me how befide the tomb 
 
 That hides my lofl love's form t 
 Sweet calm comes down ; farewell for aye 
 
 The turmoil of the florm. 
 
239 
 
 TRIAL. 
 
 By ROBERT W. BUCHANAN, Esq. 
 
 Author of '•''Mary : and other Poems.'''' 
 
 T T THEN folding up my Sorrow I have hidden it 
 
 Beyond the reach of eyes, 
 I think of that flrange time when firfl, unbidden, it 
 Leapt from the memory in which it hes, 
 And breathed its flrong foul on my deflinies. 
 
 Adling my part upon the flage of this 
 
 Mortality, I think 
 That there is lefs of beautiful in blifs, 
 Than in fuch tearful peace as on the brink 
 Of trial we may fafhion, link by Hnk. 
 
 One touch of natural w^oe, and I coUedl 
 
 The aw^ul calm that mufl 
 Lie even in defpair, and fland ere6l ; 
 So, fprinkUng pious tears upon her dufl, 
 I grafp my folemn agony, and trufl. 
 
 The feeble calm that I have filch' d from pride, — 
 
 All un6lion I have dared 
 To flatter mifery with, are cafl afide ; 
 And by the phantom of my wrongs unfcared, 
 I {land erect with brow and bofom bared. 
 
24© 
 
 THE LIVING CROSS. 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 By WILLIAM CYPLES, Esq. 
 Author of ''Satan Re^ored,'^ and other Poems. 
 
 5'T^is but a gnarl'd old haw-thorn bufh, 
 
 '*■ Set in the rooflefs, windy leas ; 
 Still, when its boughs make whifpering hufh, 
 
 Whoever hears mufl bend his knees : 
 It feems to pray, as there it Hands, 
 Nor ceafes, whether fun or rain, 
 But holds aloft its thorny hands. 
 And trembles as in blefl^d pain ! 
 
 Patience, my heart, be flill ; 
 
 Calm thee, dear heart ! 
 
 Weird fancies do not kill, — 
 
 Hufh ! why this flart % 
 
 How it had chanced I cannot tell. 
 
 No more I know than what I faw, — 
 Yea, heard ! for founds as of a bell 
 
 Came faintly in a windy flaw : 
 The birds upon it ne'er alight. 
 
 But often when the wind blows Weft, 
 They feem as taken with a fright. 
 And each one hurries to its neft. 
 
 Patience, my heart, be ftill ; 
 Calm thee, brave heart ! 
 Weird fancies do not kill, — 
 HuQi ! why this ftart ? 
 
The Living Crofs. 241 
 
 About its feet the grafs grows tall, 
 And lingers till it withers dead, 
 For diflant as its brown leaves fall, 
 The roaming oxen never tread ; 
 But I have feen them oft at noon 
 
 Gaze at the bufli with fixed look, — 
 Sad, motionlefs, as in a fwoon. 
 
 While to and fro its branches fhook. 
 Patience, my heart, be flill ; 
 
 Calm thee, dear heart ! 
 
 Weird fancies do not kill, — 
 
 Hulh! why this flart ? 
 
 Once and again, a boy or maid. 
 
 As homeward through the fields they hied, 
 Have with the folemn feeling play'd, 
 
 And pulh'd the whifpering boughs afide ! 
 Then, ftarting, on their knees they funk, 
 
 Stiff, as the ftatue you may fix ; 
 For, flrange to tell, the gnarl'd old trunk 
 Had grown into a Crucifix ! 
 
 Patience, my heart, be flill ; 
 Calm thee, brave heart ; 
 Weird fancies do not kill, — 
 Hulh ! why this Hart ? 
 
 Perfect it was, a living Crofs, 
 
 And, on it, femblance of a form ; — 
 
 True, as you gazed, you faw 'twas mofs, 
 And traces of the winter florm. 
 
 R 
 
The Living Crofs. 
 
 Yet, dill, you could not loCe the fear, 
 
 It feem'd fo fad, fo wild, forlorn ; 
 And, perhaps, a ring of flowering brier 
 
 Twined near the head, like Crown of thoni ! 
 Patience, my heart, be flill ; 
 
 Calm thee, dear heart I 
 
 Weird fancies do not kill, — 
 
 Hufli ! why this dart l 
 
 Once, I a winter pilgrim went 
 
 To gaze upon the wondrous tree. 
 And in the boughs, with fnow wide bent, 
 
 The fight more perfecl yet did fee ! 
 Around the head, and hands, and feet. 
 
 There hung — I worfliipp'd as I flood — 
 The ha^^1:horn berries, clean and fweet, 
 Glowing like falling drops of blood ! 
 Patience, my heart, be flill ; 
 
 Calm thee, brave heart ! 
 Weird fancies do not kill, — 
 Hufli ! why this dart ? 
 
243 
 
 TO THE REDBREAST. 
 
 By F. TENNYSON, Esq. 
 
 T ONE Bird, that fliefl from the flarved wood, 
 
 Thy homelefs mifery fcoming to complain, 
 That fpeaking eye is not to be withflood, 
 
 Thy patience pleads not to my heart in vain. 
 The wind is whirling and the fnows defcend ; 
 Friend, come to me, and I will be thy friend. 
 
 Lone Bird, — although thou hafl no fongs of joy 
 To glad me when the nightingales are dumb, 
 
 No golden plumage to enchant mine eye, — 
 Thou comeft to me when no others come. 
 
 'Tis hope that makes thee on my cafement fland ; 
 
 'Tis faith that bids thee fly unto my hand. 
 
 Thou lookefl in my face with eyes of cheer. 
 That win me in afflicSlion not to weep ; 
 
 A voice in thy mute fympathy I hear, 
 
 " Hope is not dead, though Joy be fall'n afleep." 
 
 Ah ! would to Heaven that in my days of ill 
 
 My winged heart, like thine, were fearlefs Hill ! 
 
 It faith, " Though friends forfake thee, there is One 
 Though penury cling unto thee, do not fear ; 
 
 Though days be darkling, they mufl be outrun ; 
 And thou and I will fee another year." 
 
 Thou hafl my heart, kind Bird ; oh ! give me thine, 
 
 That I may neither forrow nor repine ! 
 
244 "^^^^ Child-Teacher. 
 
 It faith, " \Vhen glories from the World depart. 
 And youth is pafl, oh ! linger not alone." 
 
 It faith, "When (hadows thicken round thy heart. 
 Fly forth, and look on ills beyond thine own ; 
 
 And Age fliall not behold his thin grey hairs, 
 
 And Sorrow fhall forget his daily cares." 
 
 It faith, " When days are burning to their end, 
 And the mind flutters, and the limbs are chill, 
 
 There is an inner thought that cannot bend 
 Before the dread reality of ill." 
 
 Natures great foul is (Jiadow'd forth in thee — 
 
 Life under afhes of Mortality. 
 
 THE CHILD-TEACHER, 
 By JAMES BALLANTINE, Esq. 
 
 QQ TT THERE are the pretty flowers, Mamma, 
 
 ^ That in the Summer-day 
 Sprang up fo tall and bloom'd fo fair, 
 
 On yonder grafly brae ? 
 Beneath that fno^v}^ coverlet 
 
 Are they all hufli'd afleep : 
 Or are they dead, like brother James, 
 
 For whom fo oft you weep % " 
 
The Child-Teacher. 245 
 
 " Thofe tall, bright flowers are dead, my Child \ 
 
 They ne'er can bloom again ; 
 Yet others may their place fupply. 
 
 When Summer clothes the plain ; 
 But James is dead, and none can e'er 
 
 To me his place fupply ; 
 So I muil mourn his lofs, until 
 
 I meet him in the Sky." 
 
 " Why fhould you pine and grieve, l^.Iamma, 
 
 And fhed thofe tears in vain \ 
 Since he you loved hath gone to Heaven, 
 
 Our lofs to him is gain, 
 I fain would kifs away that tear — 
 
 Fain in your heart replace 
 My brother James, until we meet 
 
 In God's good time and grace." 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, my Child ; thofe words to me 
 
 Seem to have come from Heaven, 
 And chide me for negledl of thee, — 
 
 Oh, may I be forgiven ! 
 Nor murmur at His high decrees 
 
 Who gives and takes away, 
 But, grateful for His mercies pafl, 
 
 Prize thofe He gives to-day." 
 
246 
 
 BEAUTY IN DEATH. 
 By Mrs. W. SAWYER. 
 
 TTER life had been tempefluous, but now 
 
 She lay in fplendid filence, grandly calm. 
 About her was a folemn hufh, — an awe, 
 Such as furrounds the meaneil at the lafl. 
 Not crowned head, nor fceptred hand, could ren 
 More regally, more abfolutely great ; 
 She bore her honours with a placid pride, — 
 A look magnificent, yet humble too. 
 Not yet within the portals of the tomb 
 The Myflery was mafler'd, one might know, 
 By the enraptured brow, the happy fmile, 
 The hp that might have told it, changed to flonc. 
 Oh, glorious fight ! a lovely woman dead 
 In the full fplendour of her lovelinefs ! 
 No fculptur'd flatue purer to the eye. 
 And fhe was pure, — ay, do not doubt of it I — 
 Her life a vindication of her fex 
 From flavifh ufages ; her acflions great, 
 Her purpofe noble, yet the poifon'd breath 
 Of Slander blighted all her good intents, 
 Diflorting beauty to a branding curfe ! 
 So it was blifs to fee her lying there, 
 Death's peaceful dignity upon her brow ; 
 Never to feel proud looks, nor hear harfli words, 
 Never to prove deceit, or know again 
 The pang of trufling love with treachery met. 
 
The Martyrdom of St Agnes. 247 
 
 The glory of her countenance was fuch 
 Death feem'd a hoUer hfe, and to our eyes 
 The marvel was, that flie with mortals dwelt, 
 And they could doubt of Immortality ! 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF SAINT AGNES, 
 By WALTER THORNBURY, Esq. 
 
 T> Y Venus ! had you only feen her, 
 
 ^ Watch'd her brow and mark'd her cheelc, 
 
 As they led her through the Forum, — 
 
 She fo gentle, dovelike, meek ! 
 Silent, fhe won hearts by dozens : 
 
 Bacchus ! — if fhe'd chofe to fpeak ! 
 
 Head of Caefar ! fmihng went fhe, 
 
 Kiffing the rude lidlor's axe ; 
 Had it been mere fcorch or branding, 
 
 I had gladly paid the tax : 
 But thofe curfed ropes and pulleys, 
 
 And thofe bloody flraining racks ! — 
 
 Bread of Juno ! what a halo 
 
 Lit her brow as (he knelt down ; 
 Chriflians in the mob were crying, 
 
 " Lo ! the Angels bring a crown." 
 All I know is, that a funbeam 
 
 Seem'd to guide her through the town. 
 
248 
 
 THE STREAM OF TIME. 
 By the late THOMAS RICKMAN, Es'^. 
 
 'TpHERE is an ancient River, 
 And it rufheth ever on. 
 Since from the mighty Giver 
 
 It learnt its courfe and fong : 
 And flill the fong it fmgeth 
 
 Is a fong of many a ftrain ; 
 Bright joy to fome it bringeth. 
 
 To fome it bringeth pain : 
 On its deep waters failing, 
 
 Pafs by each Age and Clime, 
 Some laughing, fome bewailing : 
 
 That River's name is Time. 
 
 And there is many a flreamlet, 
 
 In many a quiet wood, 
 Still paffmg on with flow and fong 
 
 To join that mighty Flood. 
 Bright are thofe flreamlet waters, 
 
 And fair as fair may be ; 
 But they pafs away with fmall delay 
 
 Through that River to the fea ; 
 And they have names full cherifli'd. 
 
 Though fvvift they pafs away, 
 Till all in time have perifli'd : 
 
 Youth, Hope, and Joy, are they. 
 
249 
 
 VISION ON THE EVE OF ALL SOULS. 
 
 THE INFANTICIDE. 
 By Mrs. ACTON TINDAL. 
 
 ' ' Never more, 
 Never more," 
 Say the billows on the shore, 
 "Unto me. 
 Unto me, 
 Never more eternally ! — 
 Never more shalt thou be blest ! 
 Weary one, whofe fins have bound thee, 
 Trembling one, whofe shame is round thee, 
 Never more shalt thou have rest ! " — 
 
 Chauncy Hare Townsiiend. 
 
 "p> RIFTED on the chill night air, 
 
 Like the fea-weed on the Sea, 
 Unconnned her amber hair, 
 
 And her light veft floated free ; 
 Like the white dove by the blafl 
 
 O'er the raging billows borne, 
 Driven upward, downward cafl, 
 
 With her foft breafl flain'd and torn, 
 Buffeted and beaten back. 
 Yet returning on her track : — 
 So that poor foul through the night 
 Wander'd over plain and height ; 
 As the Spirit-bands pafl by, 
 Hailing them with anxious cry : 
 " Have ye heard upon the wild, 
 Wailing low, my little Child 1 
 
2 JO Vifion oil the Eve of All Souls. 
 
 On the green (lones by the river, 
 
 In the ruflies tall he fits, 
 And he makes them nod and quiver ; 
 
 ' Mother !' calling loud by fits, 
 As he finites, with dimpled hand, 
 Slimy weed and blacken'd fand ; 
 Near the ofiers on the bank, 
 Willow herb and mallow rank, 
 Pitying Spirits feek him there. 
 He is helplefs, he is fair, 
 And with me, alas ! he died, 
 In the moonlit wintry tide ! 
 Foundling ! no one cared to blefs : 
 
 What hearth held a feat for thee % 
 Who in ficknefs would carefs — 
 
 Give thee place in heart or knee ? 
 To a wayward, childifh mood, 
 
 Gentle patience who would lend ? 
 Beggar for thy daily food, 
 
 Fatherlefs, without a friend I 
 So I took the life I gave thee, 
 From the ills of hfe to fave thee. 
 Ah ! 'twas moonlight on the river, 
 And I faw the waters (hiver. 
 
 As the Eaft wind o'er them fwept ; 
 E'en my very heart felt cold 
 *Neath my garments' threadbare fold, 
 
 When I look'd on thee and wept : 
 While the maze of flreets that night 
 Seem'd a lab'rinth flarr'd with light ; 
 For the myriad lamps burnt bright. 
 
Vifion on the Eve of All Souls. 251 
 
 And I heard afar the din 
 Of the hfe that flow'd within. 
 But who thought for me and thee, 
 Outcaft in our mifery, 
 Now, when Hke a wan white flower, 
 Stain'd and beaten by the fhower, 
 Want and forrow from my face 
 Faded all the bloom and grace % 
 Pain and madnefs fill'd the Pad, 
 
 Hope was o'er and love was flown ; 
 To my heart I held thee fafl ; 
 
 In the waters deep and lone 
 
 Died our lafl faint, fobbing moan. 
 Child I would not leave behind me ! 
 Since, I've vainly fought to find thee ; 
 Though I felt thy foft, warm breath, 
 In the coldnefs of my death ; 
 Thine ! whom I had fenfe to clafp 
 In that long, convulfive gafp. 
 But we never more may meet ; 
 
 For I know the Saints have ta'en thee — 
 Borne thee to the Saviour's feet ; 
 
 On the heart of Love they've lain thee. 
 Spirits ! not befide the river 
 
 Will ye find my little Child ; 
 He will no more moan and fhiver. 
 
 When the wind blows keen and wild. 
 Sorrow-driven, paffion-toft. 
 Only I am loll,— ah ! loa." 
 
WHO KNOWS THE HEART? 
 By CHxVRLES SWAIN, Esq. 
 
 TTTho knows the Heart ? Young lover, is it thou, 
 
 Whifp'ring thy pafTion to each wandering liar ; 
 Or watching fome dim hght with anxious brow, 
 
 Some taper's beam that fpeaks of one afar ? 
 Time yet may fhow thee rocks on Paflion's chart, 
 And thou too foon mayfl fay, " Who knows the Heart i " 
 
 Who knows the Heart ? Is't thou, dear friend and true. 
 
 Generous as Summer, open as the day ; 
 Who doubts not Hke return, nor fears, v/hen due, 
 
 The debt of friendfhip, Friendfhip will repay ? 
 Hope on, brave foul ; yet thou, perchance, mayfl flart, 
 To find how litde thou didft. know the Heart ! 
 
 Who knows the Heart ? Thou, mother, folding foft 
 That infant cheek upon thy loving breafl, 
 
 Whofe future life is in thy prayer fo oft, 
 
 Whofe fmallefl ficknefs robs thee of thy reft. ? 
 
 Can it e'er be that thou fhalt fee depart 
 
 This love fo dear, — and figh, " Who knows the Heart ? *' 
 
 Who knows the Heart ? Who liveth, but hath fpoken 
 Words fuch as thefe, when left to weep alone ; 
 
 To think, with aching mind and fpirit broken, 
 How falfe the idols we had call'd our own ! 
 
 Town, village, city, camp, and bufy mart. 
 
 Repeat thcfc hopclels words, — " IV/io knows t/ti Heart /" 
 
Queen Guinivei'e. 
 
 'Od 
 
 And hear, O men, if ye would have God blefs 
 Your days with peace, or future bUfs decree, 
 
 Never forget a mother's firft carefs, 
 
 Nor flight one hand that hath befriended ye ! 
 
 So fliall ye find, as year by year departs, 
 
 God is your friend — a Friend that knows all Hearts I 
 
 QUEEN GUINIVERE, 
 By Miss MARY SEYTON. 
 
 T WEAR a crown of gems upon my brow, 
 
 Bright gems drop down upon my yellow hair, 
 And none can tell, beneath their grandeur, how 
 My brain is rack'd with care ; 
 
 How wicked love my lofl foul is enchaining : 
 As fmful men are chain' d to torture's wheel, 
 So I, the prifoner of my griefs remaining. 
 My own dark doom do feal. 
 
 There is a figure that I (hould not fafhion, 
 
 Whofe form I fliape from every changing fliade ; 
 The fhadow of my wild and wicked paffion, 
 I meet in grove and glade. 
 
 There is a voice, whofe mufic, ever changing, 
 
 I hear in every murmur of the fea. 
 In every wind o'er moor and mountain ranging. 
 In every ruflling tree. 
 
254 Queen Guinwere. 
 
 There is a face, I fee in mournful fplendour, 
 
 In each flar-jevvel of the crown of night, 
 Whofe hneaments all Nature's beauties render, 
 In fliadow and in light 
 
 There is a dream that I fhould perifli dreaming, 
 
 A dream that haunts me flill by night and day ; 
 But yet fo fubtle am I in fair feeming, 
 None dare my fame gainfay. 
 
 And thus I murmur, O my Launcelot ! 
 
 Firfl of all warriors breathing Heaven's breath ; 
 I pray to die, that thou mayfl be forgot — 
 If we forget in death. 
 
 my loft foul ! O my loved Launcelot ! 
 
 My broken faith ! Thofe deep and dreaming eyes, 
 
 1 cannot hide me where thou comefl not, 
 
 To fhut me from the Skies. 
 
 O weary Earth without my Launcelot ! 
 
 O dreary life bereft of end or aim ! 
 Save to feek out fome folitary fpot 
 Wherein to hide my fliame. 
 
 O fatal paffion that abforbs my life ! 
 
 O dreadful madnefs that confumes my foul ] 
 A Queen ! ay, worfe, O mifery, a wife ! 
 God give me fclf-control. 
 
 God give me flrength to bear and filencc keep ; 
 
 Angels, once women, pity woman's pain, 
 
 And hufli me to that llumber calm and deep, 
 
 From which none wake again ! 
 
'OJ 
 
 THE SAILOR'S BRIDE. 
 
 By J. W. KING, 
 
 Author of '■'■Ernest the Pilgrim : a Focm,''^ &=>c. 
 
 A SOUND came over the booming Deep, 
 The heaving Deep, 
 Where the dark waves leap ; 
 It came with a wildering, wailful glee, 
 Which told of a giant agony, 
 
 Made flrong men ftart, made flout hearts weep. 
 
 A cry came up from the defolate fhore, 
 The florm-rent fhore, 
 'Mid the breakers' roar ; 
 A rifted bark, with a fhuddering crafh, 
 Whirl'd down, deep down, in the lightning s flafli. 
 To rife no more, to rife no more ! 
 
 To the wreck-flrewn beach flew a womanly form, 
 A flirinking form. 
 With a bofom warm ; 
 Wrung her pale hands, and clutch'd her hair, 
 Shriek'd through the dark in a wild defpair. 
 And plunged in the florm, the pitilefs florm.. 
 
 By the ghoflly Moon they fearch'd for men, 
 For drowning men, 
 In the Storm-fiend's den ; 
 Their fliouts rang out o'er the tempefl hoarfe. 
 As they fnatch'd from the furf a cold, cold corfe, 
 Then fearch'd again, and fearch'd again. , 
 
256 To my Little Lou if a. 
 
 ]\Iorn fwept the Deep : — The death-liowl fled, 
 The wild waves fled, 
 The fierce ^\^nds fped ; 
 Cafl. on the fl.rand all bleak and bare, 
 A gentle form, fo young and fair, 
 
 Lay dead and cold, lay cold and dead. 
 
 Seeking her love poor Mary died. 
 So lonely died 
 By the fevering tide : — 
 'Mid the bittern's fliriek and the tempefl's roar, 
 A weird wail haunts the defolate fhore : 
 " The Sailor's Bride !— the Sailor's Bride ! " 
 
 TO MY LITTLE LOUISA. 
 
 WHO LIES IN ST. GILES'S CHURCHYARD, CAMBERWELL. 
 
 By EDWIN F. ROBERTS, Esq. 
 Author of '■*■ Athanafe : a Dramatic Poemy^ ^'c. 
 
 r\ii ! my darling little Louie, thou art lying very flill, 
 In thy wintry grave fo warmly, in the bofom of the 
 
 hill; 
 Pale is the pretty mouth, and clofed, I loved fo oft to kifs. 
 And flill that tongue whofe prattle was to me unfpeaking 
 
 blifs. 
 
 Still are the tiny feet I oft heard pattering up the flairs, 
 When in thy frolic moments thou wouldll catch me 
 unjjwarcs ; 
 
To my Little Lonifa. 257 
 
 And flill the merry laughter, that was raufic, whofe deep 
 
 glee 
 Stirr'd up an echo in my heart, divine as minflrelfy. 
 
 For thy tiny voice was mufic, but, ah me ! 'tis now at refl — 
 Still, oh ! fo flill, my Louie, that its echo in my breaft, 
 But to think upon and love fo well, yet makes my fad 
 
 eyes glifLen ; 
 The voice which once hfp'd forth thofe prayers, the Angels 
 
 love to liften. 
 
 And flill the limbs that gamboll'd in the garden o'er the 
 
 grafs — 
 And oft in thought I fee thee, when the well-known fpot 
 
 I pafs ; 
 I hear thy voice, I know each tone, I fee thee fkip and 
 
 play; 
 But, 'tis only memory, darling, — thou art very far av/ay ! 
 
 Thou'rt dill as death, my Louie ! thou'rt lying 'mong the 
 
 dead, 
 And I fometimes would be with thee, and lay there my 
 
 aching head ; 
 For thy fweet brown eyes they haunt me : would to kifs 
 
 thee it were given ! 
 But the great wings of Our Father "fold thee in His 
 
 radiant Heaven ! " 
 
 Cold thy once warm lips, my darling ; they are rofy now 
 
 no longer ; 
 Never more, love, fhall I kifs them, with a love that grew 
 
 the flronger, 
 
 s 
 
258 To my Little Louifa. 
 
 As they cried " Papa ! " in accents that oft made my 
 heartflrings thrill — 
 
 They are cold now, my fweet Louie, as a frozen winter- 
 rill 
 
 And thofe dimpled hands are folded, palm to palm, upon 
 
 thy chefl — 
 How I figh and yearn to fee thee, in my moments of 
 
 unrefl ! 
 Like an Angel's \vas thy coming ; like an Angel's, lliort 
 
 thy flay, 
 Leaving us to live and mifs thee — thou wert on thy flar- 
 
 ward way. 
 
 Now and then thy loving mother turns thy baby-clothes 
 all o'er ; 
 
 Cherifh'd treafures, prized memorials, unforgotten ever- 
 more. 
 
 And I fee her in a tremble, her lips quiv'ring, her hands 
 preft, 
 
 As though again fhe held the loved one fo often neflling 
 in her breafl. 
 
 God hath taken thee, and bled thee ; thou art happy 
 
 now, my love — 
 Thou art dwelling with the Seraphs and the Hierarchs 
 
 above. 
 Though we both have often figh'd, dear, for the lofs 
 
 which is thy gain. 
 May God be good, and grant that we meet our Louie 
 
 once again. 
 
259 
 
 THE FALL OF THE OAK. 
 
 By the Rev. T. DAVIS, M.A. 
 
 AiUJior of ^^ Devotional Verfefor a Month,^'' ^c. 
 
 npHE Woodman lifts his axe on high, 
 
 And {Irikes the giant Oak ; 
 While Echo, as fhe watcheth nigh, 
 Laughs at the puny flroke. 
 
 The lifted axe defcends again ; 
 
 Again, in rocky cell, 
 The merry maiden laughs, and then 
 
 Flies laughing through the delL 
 
 And flill, as every blow defcends, 
 
 Her joyous note is heard. 
 And fweetly with the warbling blend j 
 
 Of ilreamlet and of bird. 
 
 Ah ! wherefore laughs the maiden fo ? 
 
 She deems the Woodman's llroke 
 Is idle as an infant's blow 
 
 Againfl the giant Oak. 
 
 For that old Oak hath borne the florm 
 Through many changeful years, 
 
 And flill his venerable form 
 In fleadfafl might uprears. 
 
2 60 The Fall of the Oak. 
 
 He feemeth, too, with fullen pride 
 To bear the Woodman's blow ; 
 
 And as his arms, outflretching wide, 
 Could crulh the feeble foe. 
 
 But wider, deeper, grows the wound 
 The flrokes refounding make ; 
 
 And white it gleams the trunk around, 
 And the hght branches fhake. 
 
 Then on one gaping fide alone, 
 The certain axe defcends ; 
 
 Until the Woodman, weary grown. 
 His pitilefs work fufpends. 
 
 Awhile he flands and fetches breath, 
 And wipes his de\vy brow ; 
 
 And Echo, too, is flill as death ; 
 She feems appalled now. 
 
 The little birds have hufh'd their fong 
 Around the folemn fcene ; 
 
 And, hidden the green brakes among. 
 Do marvel much, I ween. 
 
 All, all is ftill ! the breeze that figh'd 
 
 But now hath pafl away. 
 Or in the old trees funk and died, 
 
 Where once it loved to play. 
 
 Then bent upon his ruthlefs work. 
 
 An upward gazing eye 
 The Woodman turns, wherein doth lurk 
 
 The i)ridc of victory. 
 
The Fall of the Oak. 261 
 
 He looks that he may judge aright, 
 
 Where next the blows Ihould be, 
 That from his arm of gathering might 
 
 Shall fell the doomed tree. 
 
 'Tis done : the fwift flrokes fall again 
 
 Deep in the wound around : 
 The leaf-crown'd Monarch leans — and then 
 
 Falls crafhing to the ground. 
 
 Ah ! dread the found, and fad the fight ! 
 
 And yet, crufh'd, broken tree. 
 One thought fhall cheer : no child of night 
 
 Shall make a God from thee. 
 
 No ; go to ferve far nobler ufe : 
 
 While dies thy hidden root, 
 In human hearts for Heaven produce 
 
 Earth's fairell living fruit. 
 
 Teach man to blefs the Love that yields 
 
 Earth, fea, and azure dome ; 
 And thee through life to adorn his fields ; 
 
 Then build, grace, cheer his home. 
 
262 
 
 AN APRICOT TREES EXPERIENCE. 
 
 Ev THE Rev. W. PARKINSON, M.A. 
 "Tongues in trees." — As ymi Like it. 
 
 '"T^HE nights were damp, the winds were cold, 
 
 And mifls and vapours gather'd roulid, 
 The Sun in narrower orbit roll'd, 
 
 The fall'n leaves rotted on the ground ; 
 
 And through my veins, now fhrunk and dry, 
 
 A paralyzing numbnefs crept. 
 That in a long, long lethargy 
 
 Prifon'd my fenfes, and I (lept. 
 
 What pafl in that long interval, 
 
 What frofl. or florm the air perplext, 
 
 I know not ; nor can I recall 
 
 My dreams, if dreams my flumber vext ; 
 
 Until a foft, delicious fenfe 
 
 Over my fluggifh nature dole, 
 Of warmth and rapture too intenfe 
 
 For fleep to flifle or control ; 
 
 And life as from a hidden fpring 
 
 Gufh'd forth, and emuloufly fill'd 
 Each little channel, miniR'ring 
 
 To the fvvcct want that in it thrill'd \ 
 
An Apricot Tree's Experience. 263 
 
 Till, overflowing with excefs 
 
 Of its exuberant delight, 
 Out of its dull unconfcioufnefs 
 
 It burft and bloffom'd into light. 
 
 Then peering forth with myriad eyes 
 
 I faw the young grafs bright with dew, 
 I faw the glory of the fkies, 
 
 I faw the bees their toil renew. 
 
 And now it was a bird's blithe lay, 
 
 And now an infe(5l flitting by, 
 And now the calm of clofmg day. 
 
 And now the South wind's balmy flgh, 
 
 That blotted out the dreary Pafl:, 
 
 And, left the Future fhould appal, 
 A veil over the Future cafl^ 
 
 And made the Prefent all in all 
 
 Ah ! treach'rous wannth ! Ah ! falfe, foft breath ! 
 
 That woo'd the Earth with wanton wing, 
 And foVd my tender boughs with death : 
 
 Unreal mockery of Spring ! 
 
 For from the biting Eafl. a blafl 
 
 Suddenly, like an icy hand. 
 Over my glowing bloffom pafl, 
 
 And changed my golden hope to fand. 
 
 But when, in grief's firfl bittemefs, 
 
 I curfl. th' inconflancy of Spring, 
 Out of the depths of my diflrefs 
 
 This Voice feem'd in my ear to ring : 
 
264 The Birkenhead. 
 
 "The fault is all thine own, if pride, 
 Too fonvard grown, has had a fall 
 
 There is a hope which will abide : 
 Temptation is the lot of all. 
 
 " Let not a few falfe gleams of light 
 Lure thee to think thy day is come. 
 
 Left in a profitlefs delight 
 
 Thou lofe the promife of thy bloom. 
 
 " Be ftill, and in the throbbing vein 
 Bid the loud feverifh pulfe be mute : 
 
 Time's prefent lofs is future gain, 
 The flower's delay its perfect fruit." 
 
 THE BIRKENHEAD. 
 
 By the Rev. E. D. JACKSON, B.C.L. 
 
 Aiithor of '•'■Lays of Ancient Palefiine,'''' 6-v. 
 
 "There was a Regiment on board when the Vefiel \\-ent down : 
 the men folded their arms, and funk in the waters, as cahnly as 
 Heroes going to a Feast after a great vidory." — Narrative of the 
 Lofs of the '■'Birkenhead Transport-S/iip.^* 
 
 VIT'EEP for the true and brave, 
 
 Under the dark, dark waters lying ! 
 Over them rolls the ftormy wave, 
 
 And the ftartled fea-birds flirill are crying; 
 The boaftful tempefts howl with angry breath, 
 And the hoarfe thunder peals the Hymn of Death. 
 
TJie Birkefihead. 265 
 
 Peace ! peace ! tumultuous furge ! 
 
 And ye, O winds ! more gently blow; 
 Indite fome pleafmg, tuneful dirge, 
 And let your faddefl numbers flow. 
 O arched roofs ! and myflic caves profound ! 
 Re-echo foft the plaintive, folemn found. 
 
 We a(k no pageant : no, 
 
 Nor awful plumes, nor blazon'd hearfe : 
 Let no mock tears of forrow flow, 
 Nor pomp of monitory verfe ! 
 Truce, truce to chifell'd fLone, or facred fod ; 
 Leave them, O leave them, only with their God. 
 
 Why fhould ye idly weep ? 
 
 Without a figh, and unappall'd, 
 They eyed the grimly yawning Deep, 
 By honour's voice and duty calfd ; 
 Down to thofe gulfs ye faw them calm depart, 
 God and his country written on each heart. 
 
 In cluftering rank and file 
 
 They calmly watch'd their doom. 
 And, almofl with a fmile 
 They flepp'd into the tomb. 
 Down with the finking fhip they fleadfafl went, 
 And fcorn'd to fear the greedy element. 
 
 There peal'd no trumpet's cry. 
 
 No roufing fife, no thundering drum ; 
 
 And yet fo brightly flafh'd their eye, 
 As if the foe were come, 
 
266 ' The Birkenhead. 
 
 And thrill'd once more the fpirit-flirring call, 
 *'For England conquer, or for England fall !" 
 
 There is for him no death 
 
 Who lives for virtue, truth alone. 
 The rufhing of a little breath, 
 
 A few fliarp pangs, a parting groan, 
 And then, oh, then, beatitude for ever, 
 Where florms are hufh'd, and wrongs and flrifes are never. 
 
 Ve Spirits of the billow. 
 
 Who watchful guard the good man's reft, 
 Smooth down, I pray, their lonely pillow, 
 By all our prayers and wifhes bleft ; 
 Let no rude current's voice, nor whirlwind's throes, 
 Break the long rapture of their deep repofe. 
 
 And oft when funs are dying. 
 
 And fummer twilight paints the feas, 
 When golden waters low are fighing 
 Refponfive to the vefper breeze, 
 We'll fit and wiftful eye the dimpling wave. 
 And breathe a blelTmg o'er the foldier's grave. 
 
 Brave hearts, farewell ! fleep on in peace ! 
 
 Not long (hall tyrant-ocean reign, — 
 Soon will thy throes. Creation ! ceafe. 
 And all be Liberty again. 
 Rife, then, O loft ! for ever nobly found ! 
 Arife, immortal ones ! and be ye crown'd ! 
 
267 
 
 MOCHRAS. 
 
 A SHELL-STREWN BEACH NEAR HARLECH, NORTH WALES. 
 
 By the Rev. C. LESINGHAM SMITH, M. A. 
 
 TTow fweet a paflime 'tis to wander, 
 
 Mochras, on thy lonely (hore, 
 And o'er thy many treafures ponder, 
 Lill'ning to th' Atlantic roar ! 
 
 Every tide, and every billow, 
 Bears to thee fome lovely prey, 
 
 And flrands it on the pebbly pillow, 
 Glitt'ring from the ocean fpray. 
 
 The Cockles lie in rich profufion, 
 
 Buffeted by furge and florm ; 
 And ftill, unbroken, fweet delufion ! 
 
 Mimic human hearts in form. 
 
 How beauteoufly the Pecten fparkles, 
 
 Fan-like, on the fandy bed ! 
 With purple tint at times it darkles. 
 
 Gleams with white, or glows with red. 
 
 The Limpet, like a fmall umbrella, 
 
 Multiplies beneath the feet : 
 In equal crowds the Turritella 
 
 Shows a fpire prolong'd and neat. 
 
2 68 Mochras. 
 
 Oh ! pafs not by the fwoln Dofina,^ 
 
 Nor the Tellen, light" or flout f 
 Nor elegantly fhaped Cyprina, 
 
 Cream within and filk without 
 
 Obferve the Solen, like a fabre/ 
 
 Near the fhorten'd Mya* lie, 
 And with them many a graceful neighbour, 
 
 Riveting the vagrant eye. 
 
 The magic Trochus,® half enfhrouded 
 
 'Mid the heap, adorns the bank, 
 Its fnowy white with crimfon clouded, 
 
 Painted pearl of noblefl rank. 
 
 lanthinas, though frail, are fcatter'd, 
 
 After feas have raged anew, 
 At times along the beach, unfhatter'd. 
 
 Of a rainbow violet hue. 
 
 The waves have oft in their incurfion 
 - Strewn the Echinus on the weed, 
 Mocking the turban of the Perfian 
 With its rows of pearl and bead. 
 
 Nor do thefe lifelefs obje6ls only 
 
 Looks of admiration crave ; 
 For countlefs birds in crowds, or lonely, 
 
 Haunt the fliore, or dare the wave. 
 
 • Dofina turgida. - Tcllina tenuis. ^ Tcllina craffa. 
 
 * Solen enfis. * Mya truncata. '' Trochus luagus. 
 
Mochras, 269 
 
 The Gull is now with gentle motion 
 
 Pacing on the dripping fand ; 
 And, arrow-like, now Ikims the Ocean, 
 
 Where the waves are white and grand. 
 
 Here pretty Sandpipers are racing 
 
 O'er the beach, a nimble flock ; 
 And there each other are they chafmg 
 
 Sportfully from rock to rock. 
 
 The Gannet overhead is sailing, 
 
 Where her eggs unguarded lie 
 Amid the fhells, and loud is wailing 
 
 When fhe deems the danger nigh. 
 
 And o'er the zones of weed flill dripping, 
 
 Limit of each tidal fea, 
 Myriads of little Shrimps are fkipping 
 
 Luftily, with wondrous glee. 
 
 Nor fcom to mark the vegetation. 
 
 Humbly though its beauties woo. 
 Which He who framed the whole Creation 
 
 Spreads for thoughtful eyes to view. 
 
 The Fucus, with its beaded bladder, 
 
 Covers all the rocks around ; 
 But when the flormy waves are madder, 
 
 Larger plants are driv'n aground. 
 
 The Strap-weed, glofly and gigantic, 
 
 Deck'd with neatly-plaited frill, 
 Is rifted from the far Atlantic, 
 
 Where it once grew dark and flill. 
 
270 Mochras. 
 
 In quiet pools, or deep or Ihallow, 
 Co^-allines difplay their charms, 
 
 And white or purple, red or yelloT", 
 Spread their nicely- jointed arms. 
 
 Anemones are here adhering 
 To the rock with lully power ; 
 
 Now like a jellied mafs appearing, 
 Now expanded like a flower. 
 
 Thefe are Thy glorious works, Eternal ! 
 
 All things which we hear or fee, 
 Beneath, around us, or fupernal, 
 
 Have their being but from Thee. 
 
 Thy whole Creation fpread before us 
 Breathes to Thee one hymn of love ; 
 
 And hark ! Thine Angels fwell the chorus. 
 Chanting from the Skies above ! 
 
 And, oh : if Earth is now unfolding 
 Scenes thus lovely to our view, 
 
 What rapture will be our's beholding 
 Earth and Heav'n alike made nt^w ! 
 
27r 
 
 LEARNING FROM NATURE. 
 By JOHN EMMET, Esq. 
 
 ^RiNK of the Alpine flream, 
 Eat of the garner'd com ; 
 Go, lie on the fummer fward and dream, 
 And fetch new light from the violet beam 
 That brings the mom. 
 
 Sit in the moonlit tower, 
 
 Sit where the night-bird fmgs, 
 And watch the bat to its breezy bower, 
 And the moth, as it folds in the folding flower. 
 Its amber wings. 
 
 Rife with the moorland bee, 
 
 Sing with the mountain breeze, 
 And gather flrength from the healthy fea, 
 And bring love and peace from the hawthorn lea 
 And folemn trees. 
 
 Weep with the drops of dew. 
 Laugh with the golden flar. 
 Open your foul as wide as the blue. 
 And with granite old headlands climb, and viev/ 
 The lands afar. 
 
 Toil with the crater's glow. 
 
 Play with the wild flower's crefl, 
 Be firm and bold as the rocks below, 
 And as kind and calm as the arching bow 
 On the Storm-god's breafl. 
 
-'/-' 
 
 Lea? 7iing from Nature. 
 
 Search in the jewell'd mines, 
 Stray on the coral flrand, 
 Grow rich by the fapphire cloud that lines 
 The couch of the Sun, when the monarch (hines 
 Adieu to land. 
 
 Love with the gentle birds, 
 
 Praife with the hoar cafcade, 
 And utter joy with the lambkin herds, 
 That bleat to their dams their mufical words. 
 In the pine-wood's Ihade. 
 
 Dive into hidden caves 
 
 Like the merman in the fea, 
 Swim with the nautilus over the waves. 
 And mufe with the owlet among the graves, 
 
 Where dead men be. 
 
 Think with a hearty brain, 
 
 Breathe with a joyous breath, 
 Let the fnow bleach each innocent flain, 
 And the wild heart warm with a holy flrain 
 
 That knows not deatli. 
 
 Feel with the fmallefl worm. 
 
 Learn from the lowefl clod, 
 Get truth in the flafh of the lambent florm, 
 And beauty and good from every form 
 That tells of God. 
 
273 
 
 IN A CATHEDRAL, 
 By marie J. EWEN FOTHERBY. 
 
 TTere let me reft. Through pidlured pane aflant, 
 Enrich'd and foften'd, funfet-fplendours fall ; 
 No flep 'mid thefe fair aides, no voice of chant, 
 But a mofl rev'rent filence over all. 
 
 In this great calm there is deep harmony, 
 A dream, a prefence, and a power of love : 
 
 In trembling rapture and high thought mufl be 
 The fong to which alone the foul can move. 
 
 With healing power, foft fanning airs are borne 
 From Heaven athwart my foul. I feel this place, 
 
 In truth, is holy. When the heart is torn, , 
 Beneath calm brows none read the forrow's trace ; 
 
 But not the lefs 'tis there. Then, oh, to dwell 
 
 Beneath the fhadow of fuch fohtude, 
 AVhere no vain World can break the hallow'd fpell, 
 
 And on the peace of God no florms intrude ! 
 
 And while I watch, the deep'ning funfet throws 
 Unearthly fplendours o'er the diflant flirine ; 
 
 The veined pavement Iris-colour'd glows. 
 And all is wrapp'd in lovelinefs divine. 
 
 Pure marble figures with their clafped hands. 
 And brows that funlight hath with glory crown' d, 
 
 With heavenward glance each like a fpirit flands 
 As it were waiting for the trumpet-found. 
 
 T 
 
174 Glajlonbury Abbey. 
 
 Soft breeze of incenfe from the heavenly fliore. 
 Without the cenfer, floats 'mid arches fair ; 
 
 And the carved faints in prayer for evermore 
 Gaze with fuch fmiles as bleffbd Angels wear. 
 
 Here let me refl alone : move gently, World, 
 That no rude tumult break the deep repole ; 
 
 •' Banner of love" is over all unfurl'd, 
 And in a voicelefs pfalm the foul o'erflows. 
 
 GLASTONBURY ABBEY. 
 By the Rev. CLAUDE MAGNA Y, M.A. 
 
 Qee now where Order rifes from the tomb, 
 
 And Ruin finds a glory and a home. 
 No fretted ceiling holds the tuneful choir — 
 To Heaven's high arch the tuneful fongs afpire. 
 No clattering pavement, echoing to the tread, 
 Diflurbs the awe which breathes above the dead 
 'Tis garden all — a living temple, free 
 To earth, air, flvy, to nature, and to me. 
 Should Fancy flrive to reconflruct the fane, 
 Soon Fancy, giddy, falls to earth again ; 
 And, lofl in wonder, is content to fing — 
 "A fitting rcfl. for Virtue and a King." 
 
275 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE SEASHORE. 
 By the Rev. THEODORE SPIURT, M.A. 
 
 T STOOD upon the fhore, and gazed alone 
 
 Upon the refllefs wave, and heard it moan : 
 It was an emblem of this turbid life — 
 This paffage to Eternity through flrife : 
 And much I thought upon the ceafelefs cares 
 That chequer life, and compafs it with fnares. 
 Mem'ry and fancy both were bufy then. 
 And told me of the heartleffnefs of men ; 
 How rarely love prevails — how few have trod 
 The path directed by the Son of God. 
 Nature inanimate, incellant groans 
 O'er man's fad ruin — e'en the very ftones 
 On this lone feafhore fhow the flamp of pain, 
 And bear the mark of Sin and Satan's reign. 
 But man goes forward, nor will deign to paufe, 
 Nor think one moment of himfelf, the caufe 
 Of all this mifery — this fallen World, 
 In one vafl univerfal ruin hurl'd. 
 Spirit ! that eril upon the deep didfl brood, 
 And curb the chaos of the primal flood, 
 Oh ! fhine once more, Thy vital beams impart, 
 And drive the gloom from man's benighted heart ! 
 O'er the fad ruin fhed Thy heavenly love ; 
 Pour fire celeflial from Thy throne above ; 
 Where Hell once reign'd let Heaven itfelf arife ; 
 Save the lofl foul, and bid him fcale the Skies ! 
 
276 
 
 LIFE, A SONG OF PRAISE. 
 By Mrs. POSTLETHWAITE. 
 
 T IFE is a pleafant tale childhood is telling 
 
 In its pure Eden of finlefs delight, — 
 Thought that of ill hath nought, faith all excelling, 
 Bleffed in day-dreams, and dreamlefs in night 
 
 Life is an antique fane beauty hath hallow'd ; 
 Youth hand in hand tread the pathways of old, 
 And its fond memories linger, time-mellow'd. 
 Lighting true hearts till the hfe-flream be cold. 
 
 Life is a mountain-height brave hearts are climbing, 
 On its far headlands the blue Heavens reft; 
 Hark ! ere they gain the fleep, vefpers are chiming. 
 Dim in the mifl. Ues the Realm of the Blefl. 
 
 Life is an idle dream, dreamers are dreaming. 
 Dawning in phantom, light fading in gloom ; 
 Life is a Sibyl's leaf, lofl in the reading, 
 Life is a myflery hid in the tomb. 
 
 Life is but death to which mortals are clinging, 
 To life's true portal 'tis Death leads the way; 
 Life is a fong of praife Angels are hymning 
 On through eternal days, ever and aye. 
 
■11 
 
 THE MARTYR-BOY. 
 
 A TRUE NARRATIVE. 
 
 By the Rev. R. TOMLINS, M.A. 
 
 \ YOUNG child's heart ! — of all weak things 
 ^^ The weakeft to the proud World's eye j 
 To Faith's intenfe imaginings 
 A field where unfeen armies vie. 
 
 Oh, there are times when to our fight, 
 E'en on this fide the grave, is given 
 
 A glimpfe reveahng in full light 
 
 The triumphs gain'd on earth by Heaven ! 
 
 We fee on earth the Bethlehem Child, 
 Turning to flight the lion dread ; 
 
 We fee the Virgin's Offspring mild 
 Stamping in dufl the ferpent's head. 
 
 In Him our little ones are great, 
 In Him our feeble folk are flrong ; 
 
 And childhood fits in high eflate 
 Amid the martyrs' noble throng. 
 
 One of thefe little ones ere now, 
 A brother of th' Almighty Child, 
 
 Hath made the hoary finner bow 
 In fear, or rage in frenzy wild. 
 
278 The Martyr-Boy. 
 
 The wide Atlantic knows one place 
 
 (It was but as the other day), 
 Where childhood's (Irong Baptifmal Grace 
 
 Kept man, and more than man, at bay. 
 
 'Tis a fad tale, — but grief is full 
 
 Of joy in refignation's cup ; 
 And churchyard-mounds look beautiful 
 
 When funfet glory lights them up. 
 
 'Tis of a twinkling flar, whofe name 
 
 In Heaven was written clear and bright, 
 
 And a fierce buril of hellifli flame, 
 Fafl crackhng down to endlefs night 
 
 That, — a bright, blue-eyed, holy thing. 
 
 An orphan in a foreign clime ; 
 Eight times — no more — the buds of Spring 
 
 Had fweetly hail'd his vernal prime. 
 
 This, — a man's form, whofe human heart 
 To fome fierce bead's had yielded place — 
 
 If haply beafl might own a part 
 In one fo like to Satan's race. 
 
 The child had feen that tyrant fin, 
 
 And heard unmoved each bribe and threat ; 
 
 Nor might could force, nor fraud could win, 
 The willing memory to forget. 
 
 'Twas night : the lad had clofed his prayer, 
 The monfler flood jufl where he knelt, 
 
 Luring with fafcinating glare 
 
 The gaze himfeif lefs faw than felt. 
 
The Martyr-Boy. 279 
 
 " Now, in this inflant, make thy choice, 
 
 Unfay thy word, or feel my rod ! " 
 He chofe, with no uncertain voice, 
 
 The flripes of man, the hand of God. 
 
 The fcourge grew weary of its tafk ; 
 
 Many the blows, the words were few, 
 Save when the tempter paufed to afk, 
 
 " Now wilt thou own thy word untrue % " 
 
 Tavo long, long hours, that little child 
 Quiver'd beneath the oft-changed whip, 
 
 Then, upward gazing, faintly fmiled. 
 And faintly fpoke with trembling lip : 
 
 "Cold ! oh, how cold ! " — the word fcarce fpoke 11, 
 
 He fank upon the tyrant's bread ; 
 In fleep, by fcourge ne'er to be broken. 
 
 The martyr-boy lay down to refl. 
 
 Beneath the rude and pelting florm 
 Of blows — fweet-fmelling facrifice ! — 
 
 Slow fank that frail and fhatter'd form, 
 As the bruifed flower in fragrance dies. 
 
 And afk we, whence the potent word. 
 Whence the myflerious charm was given, 
 
 To make e'en Satan's hand afford 
 
 A lafh to urge the foul toward Heaven % 
 
 The Bound, the Scourged, He gave that fhare 
 
 Of Sacramental agony, 
 The School'd by bonds and fcourge to bear 
 
 The nails that fix'd Him to the Tree. 
 
28o On a Mor.ufricJit to Havelock. 
 
 And He who led that child to fip 
 Of His own cup of pain and woe, 
 
 Shall flreams fupply to his glad lip 
 That never late, and ever flow. 
 
 ON A MONUMENT TO HAVE LOCK. 
 By Mrs. ROBINSON MULREADY. 
 
 Y\ ear'd to the memory of the brave, 
 
 ■^"^ Who made a Nation's heart his grave. 
 
 Is yon heroic pile ; 
 \Vhofe fculpture greets the Granger's eye, 
 Bearing a name that cannot die, 
 
 In our Imperial Ifle ! 
 
 That pile for ages fhall command 
 The reverence of the Britifh land. 
 
 As record of his fame : 
 Till Time himfelf has pafl. a^vay, 
 That marble cannot know decay. 
 
 Which bears great Havelock^s name ! 
 
 Memorial proud of gallant deeds, 
 Where young Ambition glowing reads. 
 
 In chara6lcrs of light, 
 Unclouded by the mifls of time, 
 A narrative the mod fublime 
 
 Of Britons' martial might 1 
 
28l 
 
 THE MAGDALEN. 
 By the Rev. W. PARKINSON, M.A. 
 
 *' The Son of Man is come to fave that which was lost."- 
 Matt. xviii. II. 
 
 \ LONE in the drear wildernefs ! 
 "^^ Where rocks and trees a hidden fear 
 Suggefl, and on the heart imprefs 
 The fenfe of danger lurking near ; 
 
 Alone with Nature ! where each found 
 Of flirring leaf or crackling bough 
 
 Makes the pulfe leap with fudden bound, 
 And the warm blood more fwiftly flow ; 
 
 Alone upon the wide, wide Sea ! 
 
 With the unpitying Skies above, 
 While all around capricioufly 
 
 The hoUow-fmiling waters move. 
 
 Well might the foul, of hope bereft, 
 
 In bitterness its lot bemoan, 
 With only memory's shadow left 
 
 Of joys that are for ever gone. 
 
 Yet is there lonelinefs more drear^ 
 When in the city's crowded flreets 
 
 Thought reafferts its fpell of fear, 
 And confcience leffons old repeats ; 
 
 T 2 
 
282 The Magdalen. 
 
 When former clays of innocence 
 Over the foul's remorfeful gloom, 
 
 Spring like a rainbow, and the fenfe 
 Of fhame with tearful rays illume. 
 
 Oh, then, how vafl the folitude ! 
 
 How manifold the forms of dread 
 That on the trembling heart intrude ! 
 
 "What echoes mock the doubtful tread ! 
 
 How memory, traveling o'er the Pafl, 
 Beholds once more a peaceful home, — 
 
 A funny fcene, on which was cafl 
 No fliadow from the days to come ; 
 
 Where a fweet child among the flowers 
 Danced like a funbeam bright and free, 
 
 Making the fummer-woven bowers 
 Ring with the mufic of her glee ; 
 
 Where every day, with new delight. 
 Amply the feafon's wafle repaid ; 
 
 And nothing mark'd Time's ceafelefs flight 
 But richer funlight, deeper ftiade ; 
 
 And like a fountain-mirror pure 
 
 Her inmofl heart to Heaven was bare. 
 
 And, in its innocence fecure, 
 
 Dream'd not that Earth had fm or fnare. 
 
 But days, and months, and years had flown, 
 And flill that peaceful fccne was fair, 
 
The Magdalen. 283 
 
 But the fweet child, a woman grown, 
 Wore on her cheek the hue of care ; 
 
 For Love had o'er the mirror cafl 
 
 Its {hadow, and the heart in vain 
 Recall'd the calm, unconfcious Pafl, 
 
 Whofe light might ne'er return again ; 
 
 But in its flead were joys and fears, 
 
 With more tumultous interchange, 
 And brighter fmiles and fadder tears, 
 
 And afpirations wild and llrange. 
 
 But, ah ! a darker hour fucceeds, 
 And, llung by difappointment keen, 
 
 The wounded heart in filence bleeds, 
 Without a {lay whereon to lean ; 
 
 Till on th' unpitying ear of Night 
 
 This melancholy murmur falls, 
 " What gloom has quench'd my morning light, 
 
 And girt me round with prifon walls 1 
 
 " I know that here is fm and (hame, 
 And anguifh more than I can bear, 
 
 And at my heart, with fangs of flame. 
 Gnaws the fierce tooth of wild Defpair. 
 
 " And though I loathe the life I lead, 
 Its fubtle web I cannot break, 
 
 For I have fo^vn the baneful feed, 
 And mufl the bitter harveil take. 
 
284 The Magdalen. 
 
 " There is no hope for one Hke me, 
 Whom all the good diflruft or fcom — 
 
 An outcafl from fociety ! 
 
 O would that I had not been born ! 
 
 " I loathe to live, yet fear to die. 
 For death might be a heavier doom. 
 
 Whither, oh, whither, fhall I fly ? — 
 There is no reft, no peace, no home." 
 
 Let thofe who no tranfgreflion own, 
 Sinlefs in thought, and word, and deed, 
 
 Firft caft the unforgiving ftone. 
 
 And make the wounded fpirit bleed : 
 
 But let all thofe, whofe earneft cry 
 Is ftill for pardon, ponder o'er 
 
 That Gracious Voice, " Neither do I 
 Condemn thee ; go, and fm no more." 
 
 Let love its Angel's hand extend 
 To thofe who linger in the plain, 
 
 With gentle care their fteps befriend. 
 Till Zoar's fafe refuge they attain. 
 
285 
 
 SONNETS. 
 By martin F. TUPPER, Esq. 
 
 /^UR Emprefs Queen ! — Vicfloria's name of glory 
 
 Added as England's grace to Hindoflan ! 
 Oh, climax to this age's wondrous flory, 
 Full of new hope to India, and to man 
 In heathendom's dark places ! For the light 
 Of our Jerufalem fhall now fhine there 
 Brighter than ever fmce the World began. 
 Yet, by a way chaotic, drear and gory, 
 Travell'd this bleffmg ; as a maiiyr might, 
 WreflHng to Heaven through tortures unaware. 
 Our Emprefs Queen ! for thee thy people's prayer 
 All round the globe to God afcends united, 
 That He may ftrengthen thee no guilt to fpare, 
 Nor leave one a6l of goodnefs unrequited. 
 
 A 
 
 DREAM of empire, — and a waking thought 
 Patriot in wifdom, and of loyal worth. 
 Which placemen will not cherifh as they ought, 
 Becaufe with fuch there ever was a dearth 
 Of generous feeUng in this frigid Earth : 
 I faw our Queen an Emprefs ; and her rule, 
 Not forced by mercantile or office clerks, 
 Nor mifprefented by fome party tool, 
 But perfonal, and full of gracious works, 
 Rejoicing every colony : I faw 
 An Alfred, and all India profpering 
 Under his fceptre, fway'd by England's law, — 
 Auftralia, under Arthur triumphing. 
 And Duncan, Scottifh Canada's young king. 
 
i86 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 By the Rev. H. C. ADAMS, M.A. 
 Author of the '"'■ Twelve Foundations^'' a Poem. 
 
 T>ESIDE a fpring, whofe waters flow'd 
 
 Deep in an ancient forefl dell ; 
 Three holy men of old abode, 
 
 Each feparate in his narrow cell. 
 Apart from morn to eve they dwelt : 
 Apart in forabre worfhip knelL 
 And, fpite the gloom of that lone place, 
 None ever faw his fellow's face. 
 Save only in the Summer's height ; 
 When fometimes, ere the fall of night, 
 Eefide the fpring they would repair, 
 And fit in gloomy filence there. 
 
 It chanced, that at the clofe of day, 
 A hoary traveller pafl that way. 
 He bent, the cooling wave to drink ; 
 Then paufed, and refled on the brink. 
 He mark'd the fhrouded forms fedate, 
 Mute as the (lones whereon they fate : 
 In courteous accents then he broke 
 The fullen fpell, and thus he fpoke : 
 
 " Oh, reverend hermits, I would fain 
 Of your fair grace a boon obtain. 
 Say, wherefore do ye choofe to dwell 
 Deep in this rugged forefl dell — 
 
Sorrow. ^^7 
 
 And what unkindly barrier parts 
 Yours from all other human hearts 1 " 
 
 The fira replied : " There was a maid 
 I loved, and deem'd my love repaid. 
 But when my paffion's tale I told, 
 She anfwefd with indifference cold. 
 The pangs I bore were not in vain ; 
 I will not chance fuch grief again." 
 
 The fecond fpake : " I gave my heart 
 To one who play'd the traitor's part. 
 He lured my bride to depth of fhame, 
 Flung fcorn upon my ancient name ; 
 And when we met in deadly fight. 
 His flcill prevail'd againR the right. 
 The World of men is not for me, 
 Where falfehood thrives, and guilt is free." 
 
 The third purfued : " Beyond the reft 
 Of human-kind my lot was blefL 
 Fair was the wife I clafp'd, and true ; 
 Sweet faces round my table grew. 
 Wealth heap'd my barns, and fwell'd my fails, 
 Stored in my halls unnumber'd bales. 
 There came o'er Fortune's face a frown ; 
 At fea my argofies went down ; 
 My vaffals burft their feudal chain, 
 Leveird my callles with the plain ; 
 And, fadder lofs than all I knew, 
 The loved ones of my heart they flew ; 
 The World had much I counted dear— 
 'Tis loR, 'tis gone— and I am here 1" 
 
288 Sorrow. 
 
 The old man heard them each difclofe 
 The hiflory of his hidden woes. 
 Then anfwer made : " Your tales are fad, 
 Nor deem me cold if I fhould add, 
 My own experience can recall 
 A flory fadder than them all ! 
 In manhood, when thefe veins were fill'd, 
 With the warm blood that age has chill'd, 
 There came acrofs my daily way 
 A maid, as fair as Summer's day, — 
 So fair, my feventy years, I ween, 
 Nor face nor form like hers have feen. 
 I loved her, and my love, confefl, 
 Found echo in her gentle breaft : 
 The months of patient waiting paft, 
 I clafp'd my lovely bride at lafl. 
 But on our very Nuptial day, 
 When homeward failing o'er the bay, 
 A fudden temped llruck the fail, 
 Sunk in the furge our veffel frail : 
 My fliffened form the billows bore 
 Senfelefs, but breathing, to the fhore ; 
 But for my bride — the fearch was vain, 
 Nor have I ever loved again ! 
 
 " To calm the pangs of that long grief, 
 In court and camp I fought relief : 
 My dauntlefs fword and loyal pen 
 Grew famous on the lips of men. 
 There was a noble of the land, 
 High in her counfels and command, 
 Whole fecret treafon, long conceal'd, 
 A fudden chance to me reveal'd. 
 
Sorrow. 289 
 
 By coflly bribes he firfl effay'd 
 To buy my filence or my aid. 
 Foil'd in that hope, a dark defign 
 To make his falfehood feem as mine, 
 The traitor wove ; — his poifon'd fhaft 
 Was aim'd and launch'd with fubtleft craft. 
 My fimple word and honeft heart 
 Could nought avail againfl his art ; 
 Convidled, fentenced, and difgraced, 
 My fpurs hewn off, my fhield effaced, 
 Renounced by kin, an outlaw bann'd, 
 I left for aye my native land. 
 The title I fo proudly bore 
 Will found on human lips no more ; 
 My wrong fhall in that day be fhown, 
 When men fhall know as they are known ! " 
 
 He ceafed : and, as with one accord, 
 The hermits three took up the Avord. 
 "Oh, come," they cried, "for we allow 
 We have not borne fuch grief as thou ! 
 Come, build befide this fount thy cell, 
 Here in our filent forefl dwell ; 
 For in thefe folitudes alone 
 Sorrow and falfehood are not known." 
 
 " Not fo," the aged man replied, 
 " I may not dwell your fount befide. 
 Though deep the lofs I did fuflain, 
 It hath but proved my greater gain ; 
 For they who fuffer yet believe, 
 Do tenfold of their Lord receive. 
 For houfe and lands, He doth beflow 
 A home within His Church below ; 
 
2 0O The Afa^met in the Cloiui. 
 
 &' 
 
 In place of kin Himfclf He gives, 
 The Brother of each foul that lives ; 
 Not His the falfehood that betrays, 
 Or love with cold return repays. 
 In yonder city's crowded Rreet 
 My heart's true Brother I fhall meet 
 Nor hath this Earth fo lone a fpot, 
 Save haply this, where He is not. 
 Adieu !" The traveller rofe, and then, 
 
 With a mute gefl-ure of farewell, 
 To feek once more his fellow-men, 
 
 Pafl flowly through the forefl dell. 
 
 THE MAGNET IN THE CLOUD. 
 By WALTER THORNBURY, Esq. 
 
 T T T'HAT filent force of voicelefs love 
 
 Draws up into the cloud 
 The lark, that, fummon'd from above 
 By fome unfeen, angelic love. 
 Grows not a whit more proud ? 
 
 Yes ! fome divine magnetic love 
 Allures him to the flcies; 
 
 Some gentle violence of love, 
 Propell'd from angel-eyes, 
 Com])els him from his nefl to rife, 
 
 Drawing him upward by a fpcll 
 
 In fome bright morning cloud to dwell 
 
291 
 
 YEARNING. 
 
 By ROBERT W. BUCHANAN, Esq. 
 Author of *^ Mary : and other Poems. ''^ 
 
 TToPE, wliofe filent eyes 
 
 Seek my image in Thy breaP., 
 Singeth me to refl 
 
 Oft with her tears ; 
 But fhe turns her filent eyes, 
 While I llumber, to the fpheres, 
 And fhe lends her fecret fighs 
 To the fkies. 
 
 Oftentimes fhe brings 
 From the bofom of the night, 
 Feelings and fancies, white 
 As her defuse : 
 The Cherubim fhe brings 
 Will liflen to her lyre, 
 
 Making morning with their wing^ 
 As fhe fmgs. 
 
 And the Angels feem to own 
 That Hope, the angel mild. 
 And Faith, her little child, 
 Though placed apart, 
 Are dear, all Angels own. 
 To the mofl Immortal's heart, 
 As the fingers that are fowii 
 Round the Throne. 
 
292 Yearning. 
 
 So Hope, whofe azure eyes 
 Seek my image in Thy bread, 
 Fans my fear to reft 
 With angel-wings ; 
 And the dreams are in her eyes, 
 And the fancies, while Hie fmgs, 
 That Faith, the feraph wife, 
 Makes me prize. 
 
 Singing fhe grows more fair, 
 Till the mifls of fleep uproll — 
 When looking through Thy foul, 
 Hid in my breafl, 
 I see thofe vifions fair, — 
 Hope and the people blefl, 
 Of the Earth and of the Air. 
 Singing there ! 
 
 Printed by J. and \Y. Rider, 14, Bartliolomew Clofe. 
 
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