yOgaC E' m ' i ,f»„TJ u FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY Section /V^p Efq., M.A. . 98 B. Montgomer'te Ranking, Efq. 102 Mrs. Frederick George Lee . 104 Aubrey de Vere, EJq. . . 10 J Rev. J. S. B. Monfell, LL.D. 108 «r. Nr . . . .in John Charles Earle, EJq., B.A. 114 Folliott Sandford Pierpoint, Efq. 1 1 5 Aubrey de Vere, Efq. . . 1 1 8 "I." . . . .121 Contents. XI In God's Sight Thy Kingdom Come. No. I. . Thy Kingdom Come. No. II. The Two Crowns . Eventide .... Hymn for All Saints' Day The Great Cloud of WitnefTes . Unknown Graves . Manet Sabbatifmus . Compline Hymn Light in the Darknefs For a Young Girl with a Book of Carols Reft All Saints' and All Souls' Days at All Saints', Lambeth, 1877 Aurora ..... My Home .... AUTHOR. PAGE Rev. Edward Cajivall, M.A. 122 Rev. William Edward Green, M.A. . . .124 Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. .126 Folliott Sandford Pierpoint, Efq. 131 Hedley Vicars . . . 1 34 Rev. Gerard Moultrie, M.A . 1 36 Author efs of (l The Departed and other Verfes " . .138 Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. . 141 B. Montgomerie Ranking, Efq. 144 Anonymous . . . .147 Norval Clyne, Efq. . .149 Rev. W. J. Blew, M.A. .153 Anonymous . . . 155 Rev. F. G. Lee, D.C.L. . 159 Rev. R. S. Hawker, M.A. . 162 Mijs Helen Montagu Stuart . 165 u An arid plain, with rocky mountains lit, From time to time, with funfhine, frowning by j — Such was my path. Alone and folitary I took my way. So lone it might have been My laft dread journey into Death's dark vale ; (For each one takes that journey all alone.) Above, black clouds ; around, the wailing wind ; While onward, o'er the level plains of fand, No ftreak of filver heralded the Day. Yet on the wind, when o'er me darkeft night, There came glad words with mufic weird and faint, Lyrics of Light and Life, — angelic {trains Echoed from Home on Earth or Home above, To fpeed a footfore Wanderer on his way." " The Sorrows of Setuallix" B§&a Upttcs of 3Ugt)t and 3Ufe* BELOW AND ABOVE. |OWN below, the wild November whift- ling Through the beech's dome of burning red, And the Autumn fprinkling penitential Duft and afhes on the cheftnut's head. Down below, a pall of airy purple, Darkly hanging from the mountain fide, And the funfet from his eyebrow ftaring O'er the long roll of the leaden tide. Up above, the tree with leaf unfading By the everlafting river's brink, And the fea of glafs, beyond the margin Never yet the fun was known to fink. ?m Below and Above. Down below, the white wings of the fea-bird, Dafh'd acrofs the furrows dark with mould, Flitting with the memories of our childhood Through the trees now waxen pale and old. Down below, imaginations quivering Through our human fpirits like the wind, Thoughts that tofs like leaves about the woodland, Hopes like fea-birds flafh'd acrofs the mind. Up above, the hoft no man can number, In white robes, a palm in every hand ; Each fome work fublime for ever working, In the fpacious tracts of that great land. Up above, the thoughts that know not anguifh, Tender care, fweet love for us below, Noble pity free from anxious terror, Larger love without a touch of woe. Below and Above. Down below, a fad myfterious mufic, Wailing through the woods and on the more, Burdened with a grand majeftic fecret That keeps fweeping from us evermore. Up above, a mufic that entwineth, With eternal threads of golden found, The great poem of this ftrange exiftence, All whofe wondrous meaning hath been found. Down below, the Church to whofe poor window Glory by the autumnal trees is lent, And a knot of worfhippers in mourning, Miffing fome one at the Sacrament. Up above, the burft of Alleluia, And (without the facramental mift Wrapt around us like a funlit halo) The great vifion of the Face of Chrifl. 4 Below and Above. Down below, cold funlight on the tombftones, And the green wet turf with faded flowers ; Winter rofes, once like young hopes burning, Now beneath the ivy dripped with fhowers. And the new-made grave within the churchyard, And the white cap on that young face pale, And the watcher, ever as it dufketh, Rocking to and fro with that long wail. Up above, a crowned and happy fpirit, Like an infant in the eternal years, Who fhall grow in love and light for ever, Ordered in his place among his peers. O the fobbing of the winds of Autumn, And the funfet ftreak of ftormy gold, And the poor heart, thinking in the churchyard, " Night is coming and the grave is cold." Below and Above. O the pale and plafhed and fodden rofes, And the defolate heart that grave above, And the white cap (halting as it darkens Round that fhrine of memory and love. O the reft for ever, and the rapture, And the Hand that wipes the tears away \ And the golden homes beyond the funfet, And the hope that watches o'er the clay ! All Saints 1 Day, 1857. William Alexander, BiJJwp of Derry. MY BIRTHDAY. |ET the fun fummon all his beams to hold Bright pageant in his court, the cloud- paved fky; Earth trim her fields and leaf her copfes cold ; Till the dull month with fummer-fplendour vie. It is my Birthday ; — and I fain would try, Albeit in rude, in heartfelt {trains to praife My God, for He hath fhielded wondroufly From harm and envious error all my ways, And purged my mifty fight, and fixed on heaven my gaze. Not in that mood, in which the infenfate crowd Of wealthy folly hail their natal day, — With riot throng, and feaft, and greetings loud, Chafing all thoughts of God and heaven away. My Birthday. 7 Poor infect ! feebly daring, madly gay, What ! joy becaufe the fulnefs of the year Marks thee for greedy death a riper prey ? Is not the filence of the grave too near ? Vieweft thou the end with glee, meet fcene for harrowing fear ? Go then, infatuate ! where the feftive hall, The curious board, the oblivious wine invite ; Speed with obfequious hafte at Pleafure's call, And with thy revels fcare the far-fpent night. Joy thee, that clearer dawn upon thy fight The gates of death ; — and pride thee in thy fum Of guilty years, and thy increafing white Of locks j in age untimely frolickfome, Make much of thy brief fpan, few years are yet to come ! Yet wifer fuch, than he whom blank defpair And foftered grief's ungainful toil enflave ; 8 My Birthday. Lodged in whofe furrowed brow thrives fretful care, Sour graft of blighted hope ; who, when the wave Of evil rufhes, yields, — yet claims to rave At his own deed, as the ftern will of heaven. In footh againft his Maker idly brave, Whom e'en the creature-world has toffed and driven, Curfing the life he mars, "a boon fo kindly given." 1 He dreams of mifchief; and that brainborn ill Man's open face bears in his jealous view. Fain would he fly his doom ; that doom is ftill His own black thoughts, and they mull: aye purfue. Too proud for merriment, or the pure dew Soft gliftening on the fympathizing cheek ; As fome dark, lonely, evil-natured yew, 1 " Is life a boon fo kindly given? 1 ' &c. — Vide Childe Harold, cant. ii. My Birthday. Whofe poifonous fruit — fo fabling poets fpeak — Beneath the moon's pale gleam the midnight hag doth feek. No ! give to me, Great Lord, the conftant foul, Nor fooled by pleafure nor enflaved by care ; Each rebel-paffion (for Thou canft) controul, And make me know the tempter's every fnare. What, though alone my fober hours I wear, No friend in view, and fadnefs o'er my mind Throws her dark veil? — Thou but accord this prayer, And I will blefs Thee for my birth, and find That ftillnefs breathes fweet tones, and lonelinefs is kind. Each coming year, O grant it to refine All purer motions of this anxious breaft ; Kindle the fteadfaft flame of love divine, And comfort me with holier thoughts poffeil: ; IO My Birthday. Till this worn body flowly fink to reft, This feeble fpirit to the fky afpire, — As fome long-prifon'd dove toward her neft — There to receive the gracious full-toned lyre, Bowed low before the Throne 'mid the bright feraph choir. J. H. Newman. Trinity College, Oxford. February 21, 18 19. A ROSE PLANT IN JERICHO. T morn I plucked a rofe and gave it Thee, A rofe of joy and happy love and peace, A rofe with fcarce a thorn : But in the chillnefs of a fecond morn My rofe-bufh drooped, and all its gay increafe Was but one thorn that wounded me. I plucked the thorn and offered it to Thee ; And for my thorn Thou gaveft love and peace, Not joy this mortal morn : If Thou haft given much treafure for a thorn, Wilt Thou not give me for my rofe increafe Of gladnefs, and all fweets to me ? My thorny rofe, my love and pain, to Thee I offer ; and I fet my heart in peace, 1 2 A Rofe Plant in 'Jericho. And reft upon my thorn : For verily I think to-morrow morn Shall bring me Paradife, my gift's increafe, Yea, give Thy very Self to me. Christina G. Rossetti. W. THE SILVER ARMY. " There is neither fpeech nor language : but their voices are heard among them. 11 UTHLESSLY the bare bright wheel of antique Time goes round, And Middle Age has fet his foot on Youth's enchanted ground ; The port has waxed more ftately, the brow has fterner grown, The Anile is touched with fadnefs, and the man feels more alone. ii. Ah, me ! the golden lovelocks are changing into For God's filver filent army, no man may keep at bay : x 4 The Silver Army. And fince I may not frown you down, nor motion you away — O filver, filent monitors ! what is it ye would fay? in. " Where is ( the purple light of love/ and where the creeds of youth ? The faith in Manhood's honour, the repofe on Woman's truth ? The fummer friendfhip vanifhed when the ftorm began to rave, And falfe Egeria fl umbers calmly in her village grave. IV. " Life's gambler ! thou haft loft thy ftake — and what is left but gloom ? The fairy palace of Romance transformed into a tomb. The Silver Army. *5 Dry is now thy fountain, Numa ! — gone the dreamy grotto life — Where the glamour of the Nymph-land — lo ! the cold decorous wife ! " O filver filent multitude ! Thefe voices are not thine, Thy glittering mail was forged by a Hand that is Divine : Numa has flill a tryfting-place, Life's glory has not flown, For holy wedlock's crowned Queen reigns on Egeria's throne. VI. Still in my creed man's honour and woman's love abide — The phantafy of Boyhood with that village maiden died. i6 The Silver Army. The deep ftrong heart of manhood, the worfhip of a life — The flainlefs fame, the honoured name, thefe, thefe I gave my wife ! VII. The chivalry of labour is toil for others done — By the worker, not the dreamer, are the ftar and mantle won ; Who works for home and country, for him God's angel fings — " O labourer worthy of thy hire — the aureole and the wings." VIII. O mother of my children, the filvery hofts of God Bear in their hands enchanters' wands, and not th' avenging; rod : The Silver Army. J 7 They point unto the land youth deemed fo very far away 1 — But Heaven looks nearer to us when the hair is growing grey. John Purchas. 1 " They fhall behold the land that is very far off/ 1 — Ifaiah xxxiij. 17. W. THE BASILICA OF ST. MARK, VENICE. STATELY palace of the Triune God, A myftic fanctuary of gloom and gleam, With marbled faints, where twinkling lamps are hung, And joyful bells ring out with filvery tongue, Telling how fwiftly moves on old Time's ftream, And how great races knew th' avenging rod. Nor Occidental rites are here alone, . Nor Oriental forms. Majeftic fongs Of Mary, round Incarnate God's high Throne, Sung by Her children, gathered nigh in throngs Where ftill repofe the relics of Saint Mark. Link of the Eaft and Weft, but One true Ark. Nations ! turn eaftward in thy weftern pride, Eafterns look weftward — Adria is bright ! 77^ Bajilica of St. Mark, Venice. 19 Blue waters fleep around, or, night-ftarred, glide Near fhrines, 'mid Earth's dark defert, of God's Liorht. D In peace, Lord, may thy fervant now depart, My wondering eyes have k^i\ this heavenly fight, And I would choofe henceforth the better part : Grant it, O Chrift, whene'er draws on the Night, After Earth's toil and moil, to where is light, Lord, may thy fervant then in peace depart ! Frederick George Lee. Venice, Nov. 15, 1877. A MAY CAROL. S this, indeed, our ancient earth ? Or have we died in fleep and rifen ? Has Earth, like man, her fecond birth ? Rifes the palace from the prifon ? Hills beyond hills afcend the fkies ; In winding valleys, heaven-fufpended, Huge forefts, rich as funfet's dyes, With rainbow-braided clouds are blended. From melting fnows through coverts dank White torrents rufh to yon blue mere, Flooding its glazed and grafly bank, The mirror of the milk-white fleer. A May Carol 21 What means it ? Glory, fweetnefs, might ? Not thefe, but fomething holier far — Shadows of Him that Light of Light, Whofe prieftly veftment all things are. The veil of fenfe tranfparent grows : God's Face mines out, that veil behind, Like yonder fea-reflecled mows — Here man muft worfhip, or be blind. Aubrey de Vere. FROM THE CLOISTER. A FRAGMENT. [The monk Jerome feated in the cloi/ler.~\ TO have wandered in the days that were, Through the fweet groves of green Academe ! Or (hrouded in the night of olive boughs, Have watched the ftarry clufters overhead Twinkle and quiver in the perfumed breeze — That breeze which, foftly wafted from afar, Mingled with ruftling leaves and fountain's fplafh, The boyifh laughter and the maiden's fong. Or couched among the beds of pale-pink thyme That fringe Cephiffus with his purple pools, Have idly liftened while fweet voices fung Of all thofe ancient victories of love That never weary, and that never die. From the Cloijier. 2 3 Of Sappho's leap, Leander's nightly fwim, Of wandering Echo, and the Trojan maid, For whom all ages fhed their pitying tears : Or that fair legend, deareft of them all, That tells us how the hyacinth was born. Next to have mingled in the eas;er crowd That, queftioning, circled fome philofopher : Young eyes that gliflened, and young cheeks that glowed For love of Truth, the great Indefinite. Truth — beautiful as feem the diftant hills, Veiled in foft purple-crags, whereon is found No tender plant in the uncreviced rock, But clinging lichen, and black mrivelled mofs. — So mould day pafs, till from the fummer fky, Behind the marble mrincs and palaces, The big fun fink, reddening the iEgean Sea. So mould life pafs, as flows the clear brown ftream, And fcarcely flirs the water-lilies' leaves. Life here, methinks, is like to fome canal, 2 4 From the Cloijier. Dull, meafured, muddy, warning flowerlefs banks. funny Athens ! home of life and love ! Free, joyous life that I may never live ! Warm, glowing love, that I may never know. Home of Apollo, god of Poetry ! Dear bright-haired god, in whom I half believe, Come to me, as thou didft come to Semele, Trailing acrofs the hills thy faffron robe, And catch me heavenward wrapped in golden mifls. I weary of this fqualid holinefs ; 1 weary of thefe hot black draperies ; I weary of the incenfe-thickened air, The chiming of the inevitable bells; The chanting too ! — can man be made for this — To hold his tongue all day, and fing all night ? My boyhood, hurried over, but once gone For ever mourned — return for one fhort hour ! Friends of paft days, light up thefe cloifter walls From the Cloijier. 25 With your bright prefences, and ftarry eyes, And make the cold grey vaulting ring again With tinkling laughter — Ah, they come ! come ! I fhut my eyes, and fancy that I hear The funlit ripples kifs the willow boughs. they But I forget myfelf ; I muft confefs All this to-morrow : thoughts — oh, let me fee ! — Of difcontent, and floth, and a diflike To hear the clanging of the bleffed bells ; And fomething elfe. Ah, well ! all lovely things That this vile earth affords — wood, mountain, ftream, The regal faces, and the godlike eyes We fee, the tender voices that we hear, Are but mere fhadows : the reality Is — what ? A fomething up above the clouds. From every carven niche the ftony faints Stretch out their wafted hands in mute reproach ; 26 From the Cloijier. And from the Crucifix, the great wan Chrift Shows me His bleeding wounds and thorny crown. Then, hark ! I hear from many a lonely grave, From blood-ftained fands of amphitheatres, From loathfome dungeon, and from blackened ftake, A cry — the martyrs' cry — " Behold the Man ! " I hate myfelf, I hate this myftery, — The dread neceffity of fuffering. Is there no place in all the univerfe To hide me in ? no little ifland girt With waves to drown the echo of that cry, " Behold the Man, the Man of Calvary " ? [Brother Francis crojjing the cloijier, /tugs.] Sweeteft Jefu, Thou art He To Whom my foul afpires ; Sweeteft Jefu, Thou art He Whom my whole heart defires. From the Cloijier. 27 To love Thee, oh the extafy, The rapture and the joy ! All earthly loves foon pafs away, All earthly pleafures cloy. But whofo loves the Son of God Of love fhall never tire, But through and through fhall burn and glow With Love's undying fire. [He enters the chapel.] Digby Mackworth Dolben. DESECRATION. HOUSE of prayer once confecrate To God's high fervice — defolate ! A ruin where once flood a fhrine, Bright with the Prefence all divine ! Tread foftly here ! 'tis hallowed ground, And faithful hearts ftill find around Traces of things which once were here In days of love and reverent fear. This is no common fpot of earth, No place for idle words or mirth ; Here ftreamed the taper's myftic light, Here flamed the waving cenfers bright, Awhile the Church's ancient fong Lingered thefe ftately aifles among, And high myfterious words were faid Which brought to men the Living Bread. Defecration. 29 O fhame on thofe who will not own The ruined fhrine God's altar throne ! What though long years have come and gone Since the laft rite was duly done, Since the laft Sacrament was given, Since the laft prayer went up to Heaven ! True, men have wrought its fad difgrace, But ftill it is God's Holy Place. O it is eafy work to fay " A purer Faith, a Gofpel day, Put all fuch holy ground afide, And count all Nature fanclified." It is not hard to dogmatize And preach of " fuperftitious lies ;" To mock at " prieftcraft," and to fearch For fome pet text to curfe the Church : But it is hard to bear the jeer, To have the World's cold-hearted fneer, 3° Defecration. The fneer the World for ever flings At holy men and facred things. Courage ! who fight the Crofs beneath Muft fight unto the very death ! Faith, Hope, and Love the World mall win From felf, from facrilege and fin ! W. Chatterton Dix. ON THE BAPTISM OF A CHILD. MORNING. ABE, awake ! the fun is high, See, its beams are in the fky ; Warm it mines 'mid cloudlet torn, On thy bright baptifmal morn. Wake thee ! for the Church to-day Yearns to greet thee on thy way ; Hark ! the bells ring joyfully, Holy welcome, babe, for thee. Child of Adam ! doft thou bear Stain of fin on face fo fair ? Gift of God, oh ! muft we fee Sin's dark heritage in thee ? MmmMmi 32 On the Baptifm of a Child. Wake thee from thy light repofe ! Holy Church would thee enclofe, Thee within her arms would hold, Make thee lamb of Jefu's fold. Evening, ]AB Y fleep ! the fun is low. Evening fhadows come and go ; Sleep, for on thy gentle brow Gleams the Crofs of Jefus now. Calm thou Heft in thy cot, All thy baby woes forgot ; Fair thy drefs, thy face how fair, God's own image thou doft bear. On the Baptifm of a Child. 33 In the ftill baptifmal hour, O'er thee fell the Spirit's power ; In the bleft Thrice-Holy Name, Thou art warned from fin and ihame. Brighteft drops of heavenly dew, Then refrefhed thy foul anew ; Child of God thou art become, Heir of His eternal Home. 'Neath the Crofs His children fight, Boldly they maintain the right ; Thou His banner muft uphold, And in His dear caufe be bold. Sleep thee, babe, beneath His care, Angels to thy cot repair ; Holy Guardians of the night Guide thy tender dreams aright. 34 On the Baptifm of a Child. We around will kneel and pray That the bleflings wrought this day, May through life fuftain thy foul Till it reach the heavenly goal. Nora Batt. THE DEATH OF ERMENGARDE. A FRAGMENT. [A girl /peaks.) SAD, fweet end — She fat upon the threfhold of her door : A long night's pain had left her living ftill : Her cheek was white -> but trembling round her lips, And dimly o'er her face difFufed, there lay- Something that, held in check by feeblenefs, Yet tended to a fmile. A cloak, tight-drawn, From the cold March-wind fcreened her, fave one hand Stretched on her knee, that reached to where a beam, Thin flip of watery funmine, funfet's laft, Slanted through frofty branches. On that beam (It brightened well that faded hand), methought, Refted her eyes, half-clofed. It was not fo : 36 The Death of Ermengarde. For when I knelt and kiffed that hand ill-warmed, Smiling, fhe faid, " The fmall unwedded maid Has miffed her mark ! You mould have kiffed the ring! Full fifty years upon a widowed hand It holds its own. It takes its lateft funfhine ! " She lived through all that night, and died while dawned Through fnows Saint Jofeph's morn. Aubrey de Vere. INDIA'S DREAM. INDUS. ROTHER! after fet of day 'Neath your weftern ftars I lay, And I looked on other bowers, And I dreamed of dreaming flowers. O how fair the garden-glades ! O how ftrange their central fhades ! In the heart of leaf and bloom, Lo ! a folitary tomb. ANGLUS. I too fee, but not in dream, 'Neath all ftars a garden gleam ; All things fragrant, all things white, There lie buried in the night. 38 India s Dream. Wonder not that one fhould die, One in garden-tomb mould lie, When thou mayft that garden fcan Made a tomb, the foul of man. INDUS. This life's captives break their chain, And to funlight pafs again, This life's captives hope — the grave, Never has fet free its Have. O the vifion of my head ! Empty was that garden-bed, And a voice ftruck on my ear, " He is rifen ! He is not here ! " ANGLUS. I, not lefs, the winter flown, See a vifion like thy own, When, from a dead life unfeen, Wave the fields with living green ; India s Dream. 39 I fhall fee, and thou, and all, At the World's great funeral, A true garden every tomb, Whence the dead fhall fpring and bloom. IXDUS. In the place where flowers blow Gardeners pafs to and fro ; One feemed fet to drefs and keep The fair garden of my fleep. O with wounded feet and hands In the funrife here He ftands, And I own Him, Seed, Sun, Showers, Gardener of all God's flowers ! In the drought men water bring Thirfty flowers watering : I am thirfty ; flood thou me With the Chrift of Calvary. 4 o India s Dream. ANGLUS. In the Name of Father, Son, And of Him, the Holy One, Live — and light the ftarlefs fod ; England owes to Ind her God. A. MlDDLEMORE MORGAN. OUR REST. IGHT falls apace, the {hades grow long Athwart the dewy lawn ; Blithe birds pipe out their evenfong, Flowers clofe till welcome dawn. Behind the hill-tops, finking low, Paffed the great Sun away ; Now paler fpreads fair faffron glow Amid the deepening grey. All feek repofe when night is nigh — The tender doves their neft, The lambs, fafe-folded, fleeping lie, The babe on mother's breaft. 42 Our Reji. So feek we, Lord, in Thee to reft, Who lengtheneft out our days, Meet offerings bring — of prayer our beft, And fweeteft fongs of praife. Care fills our lives — our cares on Thee We caft from day to day : Thy Voice founds gently " Come to Me Who bare your fins away." Weak are our footfteps — Thine the power To raife us when we fall ; Full oft we ftray in evil hour, Do Thou our fouls recall ! What if we lofe Thee ? whence our hope ? Who elfe can fave or cheer ? Dread were our doom unhelped to grope In blank defpair and fear. Our Reft. 43 But Thou art ours — True ftrength and ftay ; At morn our Bread of Life ; Until the clofing of Life's day Our Peace 'mid toil and ft rife. Be with us, Jefus, at the end, When death-fhades round us clofe, Light in our gloom in pity fend, And grant a fweet repofe. E. Louisa Lee. THE SISTER OF MERCY. IHE was his playmate when a child : and, in Life's golden hours, He loved her as he loved the ftars, as he loved the ftarry flowers ; With crown of flowers he dowered her, and all the wealth of May, And fhe was his dream-angel by night and his fairy- queen by day. All day (he was his fairy-queen, her realms of fairy light Were the wild woods beautiful with flowers, and the fun-kifTed mountain height, The Sifter of Mercy. 45 And the heather on the upland, and the fhingle by the fea, And wherever fhe went was fairy -land, and her own true knight was he. All night fhe was his dream-angel ; no crown of flowers was there, But a crown of ftarry glory beamed around her golden hair, And not the funny fmile of day beneath that crofs of light, But a dreamy ftarry fmile, like the fmile of dewy Night. And often when in boyifh glee he prattled faft and wild, A ftrange, weird awe would mingle with his love for that fair child \ 46 The Sifter of Mercy. And he ceafed his childifh talk, and a fhadow on him lay, For fhe feemed as though fhe heard him not, and her heart was far away. He faw her once at eventide : the glorious fun went down, And kiiTed her golden treffes as with an angel's crown, And it lay upon her pale white face, and radiant brow upraifed, And he faw his own dream-angel, and trembled as he gazed. He knew his own dream -an gel : thofe eyes of heavenly love, That dreamy ftarry fmile beneath the kindling ikies above ; The Sifter of Mercy. 47 And it burft upon his heart, like a flafh of awful light, And me was his fairy-queen no more but his dream- angel of Night. ii. HE knelt before the altar in bridal robes of white ; The church was beautiful with flowers, and blazed with ftarry light ; There were flowers above the altar, and flowers wreathed in her hair, And angels gazed upon her brow, and faw a ftar- crown there. She knelt before the altar : the organ pealed on high, They fwelled the wedding hymn of joy up to the liftening fky, 48 The Sifter of Mercy. And angels' harps caught up the ftrain, and pealed it far away, For God Himfelf comes down to claim a fair young bride to-day. He faw his own dream-angel : the glorious funlight came, And kifTed her virgin forehead with a crown of gold and flame ; And it lay upon her fnowy flowers and on her golden hair, But he was kneeling far away in forrow and defpair. Strange ftrength arofe within his foul : he let no teardrop ftart, He checked each wild rebellious fob that trembled at his heart ; The Sifter of Mercy. 49 And he faid : " O God, I loved her more than all the world befide, But now Thy Will, Thy Will be done : I covet not Thy Bride. u I was not worthy of her love, this finful heart of mine, Of that pure virgin heart of hers, where every throb was Thine ; I was not worthy of her love ; and give her up to Thee, And Thou wilt hear her, if perchance fhe prav one prayer for me." The laft fweet hymn has died away : the awful rite is o'er, And fhe is now a Bride of Chrift, His love for evermore : 50 The Sifter of Mercy, And he bore his forrow meekly, but his life had loft its light, And me was his fairy-queen no more, but his dream- angel of night. in. jE lay upon the battle-field .... with faint and gafping breath, Among the dying and the dead, on that grim field of death : And no fweet hymn went up to God to foothe his aching head, But the moaning of the dying and the wailing for the dead. He lay upon the battle-field, and on his fevered brain, A thoufand memories of the paft came rufhing back again ; The Sifter of Mercy. 5 1 His father and his mother, and the cottage by the lea, And the chair where firft he faid his prayers beiide his mother's knee : And then his mother fmiled on him, and tears were in his eye, But he knew not why he wept for her, nor what it was to die ; And the dance of his young life went on with all its joy and pain, But he never faw his mother's fmile, nor felt her kifs again. The wild woods and the leaping brooks, and a little child at play, A little blue-eyed, fair-haired child, with a crown of early A/lay ; Wfo 5 2 The Sifter of Mercy. And her crown became a crown of ftars, and her ftar-croffed brow grew bright, And fhe fmiled a dreamy ftarry fmile, like the fmile of dewy night. An altar bright with lights and flowers, and a fair girl kneeling there, And a breaking heart, and a ftifled moan, and a faintly-whifpered prayer, And the moaning of the dying and the wailing for the dead, And his own dream-angel's gentle arm around his drooping head. He ftarted from his reverie, and kneeling by his fide He faw his own dream-angel, and fo in peace he died ; The Sifter of Mercy, 53 While her prayers for him went up to God beneath the ftars all night, And the Heavenly Bridegroom heard His Bride . . . and now he fleeps in light. FOLLIOTT S. PlERPOINT. THE OTHER SIDE. " And when the even was come, he faid unto them, Let us pafs over unto the other flde. ,, — St. Mark iv. 35. HE day was done : befide the fultry more The cooling fhadows luffed the reftlefs fea, The words of wondrous wifdom now were o'er That make thy waves fo facred, Galilee ! The thronging multitude from far and nigh In eager hafte around His barque had preffed, And, as He fpake, the hours parted ftealthy by, And many a weary heart found peace and reft. And then, as gently fell the evening dew, And the long day, with all its toil, was o'er, The Mafter faith unto His chofen few, " Let us pafs over to the further fhore." The Other Side. 55 So, when our day is ended, and we ftand At even by the marge of Jordan's tide, O may we firmly grafp His pierced Hand, And pais triumphant to the " other fide." Robert H. Baynes. WHITE IS THE COLOUR OF ANGELS. " All glorious hues are in the pure white beam." Keble. HITE is the colour of angels And of innocent virgin fouls ; White is the orbed night-queen In the purple fky that rolls. White is the hue of gladnefs, And of hearts that know not grief ; White is the hue that Sadnefs Aye looks to for relief. Down from the liquid heaven In myftic order laid, The white (tars rain at even White joys that ne'er can fade White is the Colour of Angels. 57 For they rain on the folemn fpirit Mufing on things above, On the realms that we inherit White with Eternal Love. White in the Eafter feafon And at Chriftmas' time of joy, Our Mother for loving reafon Ordaineth to employ. White in the lovely May-tide Burfteth from every bum ; White in the face of beauty Frameth a maiden blufh. White is the noon-tide glory Blanching the diftant hills ; White on the ocean hoary The florm-toiTed furges fills. 58 White is the Colour of Angels. White are the fields at even When the frem dew on them lies ; White is the verge of heaven, Ere the fun begins to rife. I loved a white-browed maiden Arched o'er with gold-brown hair, And eyne with brightnefs laden As the brightnefs of fummer air. O colour of white, I love thee ! For ever amid my dreams The fhadow of white-winged angels To guard me with watching feems. George Akers. OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS. HE World is very foul and dark, And fin has marred its outline fair ; But we are taught to look above And fee another image there ! And I will raife my eyes above, Above a World of fin and woe, Where finlefs, grieflefs, near her Son Sits Mary on a Throne of mow. ii. Mankind feems very foul and dark In fome lights that we fee them in ; Lo ! as the tide of life goes by, How many thoufands live in fin ! 6o Our Lady of the Snows. But I will raife my eyes above, Above the World's unthinking flow, To where, fo human, yet fo fair, Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow. in. My heart is very foul and dark, Yes, ftrangely foul fometimes to me Glare up the images of fin, My tempter loves to make me fee. Then may I lift my eyes above, Above thefe paflions vile and low, To where, in pleading contraft bright, Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow. IV. And oft that Throne, fo near our Lord's, To Earth fome of its radiance lends ; And Chriftians learn from her to fhun The path impure, that hell-ward tends : Our Lady of the Snows. 61 For they have learnt to look above, Above the prizes here below, To where, crowned with a ftarry crown, Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow. Bleft be the whitenefs of her Throne That fhines fo purely, grandly there, With fuch a patting glory bright, Where all is bright, and all is fair ! God, make me lift my eyes above, And love its holy radiance fo, That, fome day, I may come where ftill Sits Mary on her Throne of fnow ! B. " LET THE HILLS HEAR THY VOICE." HE fun fhines bright and glorious, and the hill tops are illumed With a more than common light the day Our Lady was affumed -, For her the cloudlefs blaze of noon on the lonely tarn is glowing, And the many-founding torrents chant her praifes in their flowing. For her the golden valleys thick with cornfields laugh and fing, And with voices of innumerous birds the happy woodlands ring ; The air is tremulous with fong, and a preternatural motion Stirs the deep mufic of the waves in funlefs caves of Ocean ; "Let the Hills hear Thy Voice" 63 And the found of many waters with accord of folemn mirth, Like a worfhip without words, goes up inceflant from the earth, The Magnificat of mountain-ftreams, and — fweeteft after fhowers — An odour as of frankincenfe, wafted from myrtle bowers. And fhall we alone, dear Mother, when all around is gay, Stand mute amid the tuneful choir that hails thy triumph day ? Nor heed the fkylark's matin hymn, flooding the heavens with praife, Faint echo of their angel harps who on thy bright- nefs gaze ? Shall thy children raife no anthem, all unaudienced though it be, 64 "Let the Hills hear Thy Voice." With the living rock for temple, and the far- refounding fea, Rolling organ notes of jubilee, refponfive to their fong, For the Mother of the Holy One, the Merciful, the Strong ? What if there were who loved to roam those breezy fern-clad hills, And to dream away the fummer nights befide their tinkling rills ; Who thought to feek the beautiful in Earth's moft beauteous places, While the mountain breath was fraught for them with more than earthly graces ; Who revelled in the warm funfhine on lake and flowery lea, While Nature through her fweet conftraints was drawing them to thee ? — " Let the Hills hear Thy Voice" 65 O fpeed them home, dear Mother-Maid, who linger on the way, Lighten their eyes who cannot fee, and turn the feet that ftray ! Guide thou their weary fteps through days of anguifh and unreft, Through the darknefs that is felt of doubts uncon- quered, unconfeft, To the land beyond the Eaftern hills, lapt in the living ray Of the Uncreated Vifion, where the fhadows flee away ! Henry Nutcombe Oxenham. THE SERVANT OF CHRIST. " He that is called, being free, is ChrirVs fervant." i Cor. vii. 22. |HY Hands have made me ! in foul-faving flood Thy Heart poured forth for me its pre- cious Blood, And Thy fweet Breath gave me its Life Divine ; Therefore, my God and Saviour ! I am Thine ! ii. Thine by the mighty Maker's matchlefs art, Thine by the Paflion of His broken Heart, Marked on my brow with the fin-fearing fign, My God ! my Saviour ! foul and body Thine ! The Servant of Chriji. 67 in. Slave of my paffions, by Thy Love fet free, Bound in eternal fervitude to Thee, Thy right in me yielded with glad accord, The flave of Chrift — the freeman of the Lord. IV. O glorious Love ! that takes that outcaft Name, Once the fad fign of fuffering and of shame, And makes it, when for Chrift man doth it bear, Than Royal titles freer and more fair. v. Therefore, to render up to Thee above, All the deep tender paflion of my love, All the poor fervice that Thou wouldft employ. Is not alone my duty, but my joy ! 68 The Servant of Chrijl. VI. And whatfoe'er I do, Lord ! let it be Done from the heart — with fingle eye to Thee : My pureft motive, and my beft reward, To be Chrift's flave ! — the freeman of the Lord ! John S. B. Monsell. GOLDEN RAYS. : Through Life's long day and death's dark night, O gentle Jefu, be our Light." F. W. Faber. • HEN tempefts ceafe at clofe of day, And evening is ferene, How welcome falls the golden ray O'er paftoral valleys feen — As 'twere a meffage fent to cheer, By miflioned angels lingering near. II. For, if a blinding mift of tears Awhile obfcured our fight, The fadnefs of long-vanifhed years Seems like a dream of Night. jo Golden Rays. When, drawing near to Jordan's tide, Glory illumes the other fide. in. The other fide ? What tongue may tell That orient blufh of Morn Tinging the facred lilies' bell, And rofes without thorn. Oh that we had thy wings, fair dove, To foar and reft in bowers above ! IV. The peace which this World cannot give And cannot take away Is found when faithfully we ftrive God's precepts to obey : Prepared to breaft the awful flood, Supported on the Holy Rood. Golden Rays. 7 1 O wondrous mercy, thus to deign, And offer lading reft, From forrow, wearinefs, and pain, On gentle Jefu's breaft : So may our Alleluias fweet Adore the Bleffed Paraclete ! C. A. M. W. DREAMS. i. [S childhood wanes our dreams become lefs fair — Heaven has gone farther off — the child is dead : When Manhood dawns upon us, it doth fcare God's Mother from her watch befide our bed ; For I believe that o'er an infant's fleep Our Lady doth a gentle vigil keep. II. Thus a child's flumber is a holy thing ; It deems its mother's kifs upon its brow Is the foft glancing of an Angel's wing. — Ah ! I have no fuch graceful fancies now ! Therefore I hold, hearing of one who can Dream like a little child, — Heaven loves that man. John Purchas. "IN HOC SIGNO VINCE." IN the ancient ftory, Once a warrior high Saw a Crofs of glory Flaming in the fky ; While around it reaching, Writ by Hand Divine, Ran the holy teaching, " Conquer by this fign." World and flefh and devil Seek our deadly lofs, We muft fight with evil Strengthened by the Crofs ; Thus our might renewing By the fymbol bleft, " Faint but yet purfuing " Chrift fhall give us reft. 74 In hoc Jigno vince" Sign of our falvation Printed on the brow, Ever frefh relation Of a folemn vow, May we always love thee As our joy and pride, Looking ftill above thee To the Crucified. In the time of forrow Peaceful we mail be, Since from it we borrow LefTons, Lord, of Thee : In the days of gladnefs We mall do Thy will, For Thy Crofs of fadnefs Keeps us humble ftill. Till the cord is broken Of our earthly part, "In hoc Jigno vince" Let us wear the token Near a loving heart : When the eye is glazing With the final ft rife, Still upon it gazing Pafs from death to Life. 75 ANGELUS DOMINI. A PICTURE BY B. FRA ANGELICO. SRESS each on each, fweet wings, and roof me in Some clofed cell to hold my wearinefs — Defired, as from unfhadowed plains, to win The palmy gloaming of the oafis. Soft wings, that floated ere the fun arofe, Down pillared lines of ever-fruited trees, Where through the many-gladed leafage flows The uncreated noon of Paradife. Still wings, in contemplation oftentime Stretched on the ocean-depth that drowns defire, Where lightening tides, in never-falling chime, Ring round the Angel ifles in glafs and fire. Angelus Domini. 77 From meadow lands that fleep beyond the ftars, From lilied woods and waves the BlefTed fee, Pafs, bird of God, all pafs the golden bars, And in thy fair companion pity me. O for the garden-city of the Flower, Of jewelled Italy the chofen gem, Where angels and Giotto dreamed a tower In lovelinefs of New Jerufalem. For thefe, when roseate as a winged cloud Upon the faffron of the paling Eaft, A glowing pillar in the Houfe of God, That tower arofe, the very lovelieft : Then making wings and voices there that fang Pafs up and down the chafed jafper wall, And through the cryftal traceries outrang, As when from height to deep the feraphs call. 78 Angelus Domini. for the valley-flopes which Arno cleaves With arrowy heads of gold unceafingly, Parting the twilight of the grey-green leaves, As fhafted sun-gleam on a rain- cloud iky. # For there, more white than mifts of bloom above When funfet kindles Luni's vineyard height, Strange prefences have paced the olive grove, And dazed the cyprefs cloifter into light. But not for me the angel-haunted fouth — I fpread my hands acrofs the unlovely plain, 1 faint for beauty in the daily drouth Of beauty, as the fields for Auguft rain. Yet hope is mine againft fome eaftern dawn, Not in a vifion, but reality, To fee thy wings, and, in thine arms upborne, To reft me in a fairer Italy. Digby Mackworth Dolben. THE CHILD'S OFFERING. WAS feftal day in Heaven, And many a feraph came With many a coftly offering To blefs the Eternal Name. On never-tiring wings Of burning love they flew, Cleaving their eager upward way Through the cerulean blue. Swift as the lightning's ray, Which from the fartheft Eaft Darts forth a beam of radiant flame Unto the fartheft Weft : So, fwiftly from each realm Of wide Creation's bound, The willing vaffals gladly throng The dazzling throne around : 8o The Child's Offering. Each meekly veils his face Beneath the fhadowing wing, Before the awful Majefly Of the Everlafting King : Each bearing to his Lord Some mark of tribute meet ; Some fplendid fervice, to be laid Low at his Sovereign's feet. One brings a virgin world, Whofe habitations fair And finlefs, happy denizens Entrufted to his care, He has preferved from harm — Has trained in holy fear ; And now again refigns his charge, Meet for the Vifion clear. The Child's Offering. 81 One leads in ponderous chains A countlefs hoft of hell Whom he has vanquifhed in the fight With Lucifer who fell. One tells that he has hung In diftant fields of space A galaxy of rolling funs For angels' dwelling-place. One wakes to a new ftrain The mufic of the fpheres ; — Rich harmonies till now unheard E'en by celeftial ears. Then all in chorus join, Raifing a lofty fong ; — A theme of praife which never yet Has fired archangel's tongue. 82 The Child's Offering. Yet, 'mid the mining train Of bending Cherubin, Is one whofe offering prevails A fpecial grace to win : He brings no fpotlefs world, No fpoils of victory ; He leads not with his voice or harp The minftrelfy on high : He bears no royal gift Nor coftly facrifice ; Of paltry worth it would be held If weighed at this World's price : Yet 'tis as rich and rare, In fight of Heaven's King, As all the trophies of fuccefs Which flaming feraphs bring The Child's Offering. 'Tis the firft heavenward throb Of a young heart's young love ; Its frefh, full tide of gratitude To Him Who dwells above. Grateful as Spring's firft flowers, Lovely as earlieft dawn, Precious as in a mother's eyes Her infant eldeft-born ; Pure as the deep blue lake Which, 'neath the fummer fky, Mirrors the azure and the gold, Unruffled by a figh : So dear in Jefus' fight, So beautiful appears The heart which gives itfelf to Him In childhood's opening years. William Edward Green t . A DREAM OF PARADISE. IN the myftic realm of flumber, in the quiet land of reft, Came to me a radiant vifion of the Coun- try of the Bleft ; Angels, through the filvery moonbeams, gliding fwiftly from the fkies, Brought to me from Eden's garden that fair Dream of Paradife. Foremoft in a long proceflion, in her mining raiment dreft, Came the one who, through all ages, bears a name for ever bleft ; Queen of Heaven ! Spotlefs Lily ! walking in re- fplendent light A Dream of Paradife. 85 Which no mortal eyes can fathom, in the boundlefs Infinite ; Bleffed Lady ! Mother Glorious ! dare I hope to fee thy face In the Land where none can enter, fave through the redeeming grace Of the Crofs which gives us accefs into the Moft Holy Place ? Thofe who in her fteps had trodden, followed her, in robes of white ; Palms within their hands were waving, they were crowned with gems of light. They were there, the martyr-maidens, who had con- quered in the ftrife ; They were there, the meek and patient, who had borne the Crofs through life ; Ranfomed from Earth's tribulation — fafe for ever in the Fold ; 86 A Dream of Paradife. Pafling 'neath the pearly gateway, — walking in the ftreets of gold ; And I heard their thrilling anthem floating o'er the cryftal fea — " Unto Him Who hath redeemed us, Glory, Praife, and Honour be ! " But the dazzling vifion faded — it was far too bright to ftay > In the rofy tints of dawning vanifhed the celeftial ray. Earthly chains are ftill around us, mortal prayers we ftill muft pray, Pilgrims in the land of exile — waiting till the perfect day Breaks upon the diftant mountains, and the fhadows flee away. Helen Montagu Stuart. THE BREAD OF LIFE. HEN by Thine altar, Lord, I kneel, And think upon Thy love, O make my heart Thy goodnefs feel, Fix it on things above : My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me ; Oh, how can I affedtion place On anything but Thee ? About to leave this wretched Earth, On man Thy thoughts ftill bent, Thy facred boundlefs love gave birth To this fweet Sacrament : My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me ; Oh, how can I affection place On anything but Thee ? 88 The Bread of Life. O Manna, which my fovereign Lord In pity left for me, Without this majefty adored What would this exile be ? My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me; Oh, how can I affection place On anything but Thee ? A defert land of woe and care, A pilgrimage of ftrife, Who could its griefs and trials bea Without this Bread of Life ? My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me ; Oh, how can I affection place On anything but Thee ? My foul here finds a fovereign balm — A cure for every grief, The Bread of Life. Mid care and pain a heavenly calm, A folace and relief. My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me ; Oh, how can I affection place On anything but Thee ? Supported by this Heavenly Bread, My Lord's laft pledge of Love, With joy the rugged path I'll tread To Horeb's mount above. My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me ; Oh, how can I affection place On anything but Thee ? Strengthened by this, my foul its flight Shall from this exile foar, To dwell in realms of blifs and light For ever — evermore. 9 o The Bread of Life. My deareft Lord, when I retrace Thy wondrous love for me ; Oh, how can I affe&ion place On anything but Thee ? RIVER THOUGHTS. ON RECEIVING FROM AN OLD AND DEAR FRIEND A BEAUTIFUL BOOK ON THE THAMES. TEMPLE, 1 backed with tree and bafed with turf, Crefting the bright blue reach : — an ancient Lock, 2 On whofe worn gates the tiny wavelets knock For entrance, and play round with mimick furf : A Cell, once of religion — then of rakes, 3 And now of pleafure-feaftings underneath 1 The Temple or fummer-houfe on Fawley Ifland below Henley. 2 Hambledon Lock. 3 Medmenham Abbey — and its li Francifcans." 92 River Thoughts. Old Trees, through which the river-breezes breathe, And found of voice and flute fweet mufic makes From fhallop, hafting homeward at grey eve : White cliffs : * broad fall of waters at the Ford, 2 Dove-cote, and Terrace-walk of foft green fward, 3 Then an old Abbey, 4 where a Boy 5 would weave Fancies 6 — afloat and drifting to and fro — Wild fancies — that fhall live while Thames' ftill waters flow. Such is the fong that Memory fings To me of homes and hours gone by; A tale of ne'er-forgotten things ; A record that will never die : 1 Danesfield Cliffs. * Harley-ford, its falls and foot-bridge. 3 Hurley : Dove-cote and waterfide walk, Lady-place. 4 Bifham. 5 Shelley. 6 " The Revolt of Iflam," under its part: name, " Laon and Cythna." River Thoughts. 93 Stirred by thofe feven fweet myftic firings Up, from the inmoft heart, it fprings — The thought — that all Life's bygone brings Back to the eye ; Old hearts, old haunts, old talks, old times, Old Halls, old Towers, and old Church-chimes, Life's melody. William John Blew. PURBROOK, HAMPSHIRE. EASTWARD fpeed in gentle thought, And climb the deep Portfdown, Then the meek rivulet be fought That winds beyond its crown : As weftwards tends the funlight, round On church and hamlet look, And mufe how meetly this fair ground Is named from this Pure Brook. This Brook is like the chriftened fouls Who in fair Purbrook dwell ; The river-wave, the life-wave, rolls Each from a fecret well ; But men may mark the ftreamlet's birth Where wild birds build and fing ; Who may trace back the Church on earth ? Who fhall declare its fpring ? Pur brook, HampJJiire. 95 Wilt trace it to the font's fair gleam, Pure water purified, Pure water from an earthly ftream Loft in a purer tide ? There with the Everlafting Years Is linked the life late given ; There is no eye of fun-lit fpheres Gifted to pierce the Heaven. Glaffing the Sun upon its breaft, Gladdening the neighbour foil, The ftream, fcarce noticed, flows to reft, • 'Twixt the green banks of toil. This is each faithful blood-bought foul, They who ftill heav'nward look To feek their being's Fount and Goal, To lift their own Pure Brook. A. MlDDLEMORE MORGAN. HYMN AFTER HOLY COMMUNION. ^35^iH union wonderful and true ! • IliPi € Oh, Love ! oh, blifs beyond compare ! Jft^B^g What can the heart enraptured do When God Himfelf is there ? After communion what is earth ? Life feems indeed but vanity: Its brightest hours are never worth One moment fpent with Thee. This moment does the work of years, The foul hath drunk a joy fo deep That fhe may bid farewell to tears, Such as Earth's children weep. Jefus ! be Thou my hidden reft, Reign over me fupreme, alone ; The deareft wifh within my breaft Is to be all Thine Own ! Hymn after Holy Communion. 97 And now, if to my daily ftrife I muft return, and bear my part ; Do Thou, my Lord, my Light, my Life, Keep to Thyfelf my heart ! Hold it, that it may never ftray, Loft in a World of fin and care, Fix it in the unerring way Of difcipline and prayer. Give me Thy blefling, Lord, again ; And I will fight beneath Thine Eye, And win, perchance, through days of pain, A glorious victory. SALVE MI ANGELICE. A HYMN FOR THE COMMEMORATION OF GUARDIAN ANGELS. IjjAIL ! my guardian fpirit, hail ! Angel ever bleffed, Who of light within the veil Throughly art poffeffed ; Thou of God Almighty haft Beatific vifion, Sweet for ever to the tafte, Unalloyed fruition. When the fpirits proud were caft Into death undying, Thee did God eftablifh faft, Heavenly grace fupplying : Salve mi Angelice. 99 In His paths preferved thee, Spirit true and tender, And commiflioned thee to be My weak foul's defender. Therefore I with bended knee Bow myfelf before thee, And upraifing fuppliantly Heart and hands, implore thee, That, with ever- watchful art, Thou to-day wouldft aid me, Left the adverfary's dart Subtly mould invade me. May my body from diftrefs Be by thee protected, Be all thoughts of wickednels From my mind rejected : 100 Salve mi Angelice. Everywhere and always fpeed From the foe to hide me, And in thought and word and deed Be at hand to guide me. Cleanfe all paft and prefent faults From my mind's intention, And, when evil next affaults, Grant thy intervention. O confole and care for me, Cherifh me in trouble, Purge, enlighten perfectly, And my zeal redouble. Pray that I remiflion find Of the Judge's fentence, So to fhare my joy of mind On my true repentance ; Salve mi Angelice, 101 Living as fhall pleafe Him beft Unto my life's clofing, All my longings aye at reft, All on Him repofing. In the hour of death, beftow Thy true confolation ; Shield me from the watchful foe, Bid me take my ftation, Where the hofts of heaven among In God's courts attending, I may join the praifes fung To His Name unending. Amen. H. W. Mozley. A LEGEND OF THE WEEPING WILLOW. HITE were the ftairs of marble ftone, But whiter were His Feet, Flecked with the Blood that muft atone For the apple fickly-fweet ; As He came down, Each mocking clown Arofe the King to greet. It was not yet the time of figs, But trees were budding fair, They ftripped the lithe long willow-twigs, — All things the crime muft fhare ! — With rod and fcourge Their guilt to purge Whofe fins the Sinlefs bare. A Legend of the Weeping Willow. 103 And red ftains mar the marble ftone, And on the long green leaves Are blood-drops, as the willow lone Still hangs its head and grieves By pool and flood, Where the pale blue bud The wreath of Memory weaves. B. MONTGOMERIE RANKING. THE HOLY SOULS. " The Souls of the righteous are in the Hands of God." ORD of the living and the dead, Thy children leek Thine aid For Souls who, in Thy Juftice dread, Suffer for debts unpaid. Shut out from Thee their one fole Love, They alway languifh fore For cooling ftreams of blifs above, And Heaven's wide-opened door. In twilight gloom they patient wait, Crofs-bearers of their Lord ; Stricken, until the prifon-gate Be opened at Thy word. The Holy Souls. 105 Not yet fo cleanfed and purified That they may fee Thy Face : Not yet made meet, by fuffering tried, For Thine all-pure embrace. Yet Thou doft love them, and Thy love Is blifs amid their woe, And for Thy fake the joys above They readily forego. O then make hafte, good Chrift ! and hear Our De -profundi s cry ; Releafe the Souls, to Thee fo dear, Who patient waiting lie. Refrefh them parched, with gracious rains- They long and thirft for Thee ; — Unloofe their bonds, remit their pains, And fet Thy captives free. io6 The Holy Souls. Low at Thine altars here we bow, With tears Thy Paflion plead, The fpotlefs Vi&im lifted now We offer for their need. Soon give them welcome up above In Home of blifsful reft, Fruition of Eternal Love, And fight of Vifion bleft. E. Louisa Lee. THE TROUVERE. 1 MAKE not fongs, but only find : — Love, following ftill the circling fun, His carols caft on every wind, And other finger is there none ! I follow Love, though far he flies : I fing his fong, at random found, Like plume fome bird of Paradife Drops, pafling, on our dufky bound. In fome, methinks, at times there glows The paffion of a heavenlier fphere : Thefe, too, I fing: — but fweeter thofe I dare not fing, and faintly hear. Aubrey de Vere. 1 The Greeks called the poet " the Maker." In the middle ages, fome of the beft poets took a more modeft title — that of " the Finder." HYMN OF PRAISE. (Pfalm cxlviij.) RAISE, O praife the Lord of Heaven, Praife Him, praife Him in the height ; Sun and moon, for ever praife Him, Praife Him, all ye ftars and light. Praife Him, praife Him, all His angels, Praife Him, praife Him, all His hoft Praife the God of our Salvation, Father, Son, and Holy Ghoft ! Praife Him, praife Him, all ye Heavens, And ye waters, that above, From your everlafting fountains, Rife in light and fall in love. Hymn of Praife. 109 Praife Him, all ye deeps and dragons Upon earth, praife ye the Lord ; Fire and hail and mow and vapour, Wind and ftorm, fulfil His Word. Praife Him, all ye hills and mountains, Cedars fair and fruitful trees, Beafts and cattle, birds and infects, Morning's light and evening's breeze. Let them praife His Name Moft Holy, For He fpake and they were made, Laws which never mall be broken, Deep in their foundations laid. Kings below and all the people, Princes, judges of the earth, Young and old men, maidens, children, Praife His Name of matchlefs worth. I IO Hymn of Praife. For that Name, all names excelling, From His people's hearts mail raife To His own eternal dwelling Endlefs fongs of love and praife. Praife, O praife the Lord of Heaven, Praife Him, praife Him in the height ; Sun and moon, for ever praife Him, Praife Him, all ye ftars and light ! Praife Him, praife Him, all His angels, Praife Him, praife Him, all His hoft : Praife the God of our falvation, Father, Son, and Holy Ghoft. John S. B. Moxsell. THE SHIP IN THE STORM. ; The fhip was now in the midft of the fea, toffed with waves."' 1 SAW " the waves of this troublefome world," raging and dark and cold, — Oh, who will guide in the ftormy tide to reft in the city of gold ? The Lord has been to our realms of fin, and bought us in Heaven a fhare, But He is gone back on the angel's track, and how fhall we reach Him there ? Then a glance I caft through the long, long part ; (its vifta was nearly dark,) And, through the haze of vanifhed days, difcerned a noble barque Which the " Carpenter's Son," that fearlefs One, had built with His own right hand, And in her thofe dear to His Heart while here, embarked for their Fatherland. 112 The Ship in the Storm. The Workman is gone, yet crowds prefs on to that fruit of His toil unpriced ; All bear the fign of Love Divine, the holy Crofs of Chrift. The fame fweet Light through ftorm and night is guiding all to reft, And, hand-in-hand, to toil for land, they mould be furely bleft. But fome cannot view the lantern true, and to them all days are dark ; Some proudly rear, and think as clear, their candle's little fpark. Some try to wile the brief fummer's fmile for ever there to roam, — Alas ! to fuch is the voyage much, and little worth their home. Some look for light with aching fight, and tremble day by day, Left, though they ftrive to fafe arrive, they mould be caft away. The Ship in the Storm. 1 1 3 Some leave the reft, and boldly breaft alone the open wave, And many die from far and nigh, and find an ocean grave ; Like drops of rain on the ftormy main, their place is known no more, — O death and life ! O toil and ftrife ! when will this fcene be o'er ? Y.N. CORPORATE REUNION. LORD, we know that all who love Thy Name Are one in Thee ; Thy Spirit's quick- ening fire Has wrapt their torpid nature into flame, And given them onenefs of intenfe defire To mount towards Thee higher ftill and higher. Yet are they widely fevered to their fhame In outward worfhip : difcord in the choir Brings on their glorious Faith the fceptic's blame. O turn we, therefore, fchifm-torn to Thee, And afk that Thou wouldft make us whole again, Not only in the Spirit's unity, But in a vifible communion ; — then The Holy Catholic Church indeed will be Thy home, Thy tabernacle among men. John Charles Earle. Vifitation of B. V. Mary, 1878. SUPER FLUMINA. HE vefper bell is pealing foft, And I know that, far away, The vefper hymn goes up aloft, To lull the dying day -> And a gentle Child on bended knee Is pouring forth a prayer for me. Pray, gentle fpirit, far away, By that fweet fouthern fea; I have need enough that day by day Some prayer mould rife for me, Some incenfe to the eternal fhrine, From heart and lips as pure as thine. I fcarce could pray an hour ago, A weight was on my heart, n6 Super Flumina. But now it melts like morning fnow, And I can weep apart, For thou art praying for me now, And God will liften to thy vow. Pray, gentle fpirit ; prayer of mine Is llained and flecked with earth, But every fnow-white prayer of thine Is rich with Angel's worth ; And mingling in the ftarry zone, Thofe prayers fhall purify mine own. Sweet is the Ave-Mary bell, In Mary's land of love, And fweet the vefper hymns that fwell To Her dear Throne above ; And fweet to me far, far away, The hour when Mary's children pray. Adieu, fweet Child, adieu to-night ! Chrift keep thee fafe from ill ! Super Flumina. 117 Thy dreams be fweet, thy deep be light, Good Angels guard thee ftill : And God the Father from above Smile on thee with a Father's love. FOLLIOTT S. PlERPOINT. IMMACULATA. OULD fhe, that Deftined one, could fhe On whom His gaze was fixed for aye, Tranfgrefs like Eve, partake that Tree, In turn the Serpent's dupe and prey ? Had He no Pythian fhaft that hour, Her Son — her God — to pierce the Foe That ftrove her greatnefs to devour, Eclipfe her glories ? Deem not fo ! O Mary ! in that Firft Decree He faw the aflailer, fent the aid : — Filial it was, His love for thee Ere thou wert born ; ere worlds were made. Immaculata. 119 One Innocence on earth remained By Grace divine, not Nature's worth, And welcomed — through His Blood, unftained — Redeeming Sanctity to earth. Aubrey de Vere. ANOTHER FLEETING DAY IS GONE. NOTHER fleeting day is gone, — Slow o'er the Weft the fhadows rife ; Swiftly foft ftealing hours have flown, And Night's dark mantle veils the fkies. Another fleeting day is gone, — Swept from the records of the year, And ftill with each fucceflive fun Life's fading vifions difappear. Another fleeting day is gone, — When all who in God's care confide As their appointed work is done, Reft in His love at eventide. Another fleeting day is gone, — But foon a fairer day fhall rife, Another fleeting Day is gone, i 2 1 A day whofe never-fetting fun Shall pour its light o'er cloudlefs fkies. Another fleeting day is gone, — All praife to God, as is mod meet, To God the Father, God the Son, And God th' all-holy Paraclete. Amen. I. IN GOD'S SIGHT. HY fhould we vex our foolifh minds So much from day to day, With what concerning us an idle World May think or fay ? Do we not know there fits a Judge, Before Whofe fearching eyes Our inmoft hidden being cleft in twain And open lies ? O my Omnifcient Lord and God ! Enough, enough for me, That Thou the evil in me and the good Doft wholly fee. Let others in their fancies deem of me, Or fay, whate'er they will, Such as I am before Thy judgment-throne So am I ftill. In God's Sight. 123 Praife they my good beyond defert, And all my bad ignore •> — That am I which in Thy pure fight I am, No lefs, no more ! Decry they all my good, and blame My evil in excefs ; — That am I which in Thy pure fight I am, No more, no lefs ! Edward Caswall. "THY KINGDOM COME.' No. I. OW long, O Saviour, wilt Thou ftay ? — How long Thy fure return delay ? While ftill Thy waiting Church doth pray "Thy kingdom come." Didft not Thou teach the prayer, O Lord ? Haft Thou not paffed the faithful word ? Oh ! gird Thee with Thy conquering fword " Thy kingdom come." Are not the realms of Earth Thine own ? Come, then, and ftablifh here Thy throne : In all the World reign Thou alone : " Thy kingdom come." "Thy Kingdom come." 125 Jefu ! defcend again from high ; And while Thine armies fill the fky Let Earth refound, and Heaven reply : " Thy kingdom come." Why lingereth Thy chariot ftill ? When wilt Thou all the nations fill With the glad praife of Sion's hill ? " Thy kingdom come." Till then, oh ! keep us in the way Which leadeth to Eternal Day ; And grant us grace in faith to fay : "Thy kingdom come." William Edward Greex. "THY KINGDOM COME." No. II. AY not that hours are lonelier now and darker *Fhan days were dark of yore, Say not that wild winds moan old days' departure, For funfhine lights the floor : Yes, golden funfhine creeps through pane and portal Up the dim wall, Whence pictured faces look with fmiling feature, And voices feem to call : Sunfhine of Earth, bright type of heavenly glory, Where come nor lofs nor fears, — Sunfhine of Earth, flecked ever with dark fhadows, In this fad vale of tears. " Thy Kingdom come." 1 27 Round us fuch fhades have deepened, paled the gloaming, Now Summer joys have fled, Yet even in Winter come familiar greetings And memories of the dead. Until we pafs, in Spring, Life's June, or Winter, From this ftrange varying fcene, Bind us to thofe we loved, by living prayer-bonds, Lord, keep their memories green : Grey hairs and deep-veined fingers, cold and death- ftruck, With De profundis fung, Faces fo white and calm, the ftruggle over, When chimes of hope were rung : While round the death-biers little children fearful Gathered with fmile and tear, 128 " Thy Kingdom come." And little palms were joined in interceffion For thofe fo loved and dear. Paft all the woes and fufferings, o'er the ftruggle, No more the trumpet-call : Paft all the toil and all the ftrong temptation, No weaknefs now, no fall. As pants the hart for cool refrefhing brooklets, When heated in the chafe, So long the fouls, O Lord, of our departed To look upon Thy Face. Patient and waiting for glad ftreaks of funlight To fcare dark mifts away, Patient and waiting through the long night-watches For God's all-peaceful day. There bonds long-fevered, with fad feparations, By His divine decree, " Thy Kingdom come" I 29 Shall be new-linked in that true home celeftial Before the cryftal fea. So when bright fpring-flowers gild the glad green meadows, And birds rejoicing fing, Pray for the Refurrection-morning's beauty — Look for the Church's King. Or here, when Autumn's reddening touch fo changeth Leaf, floweret-bloom, and lea, Afk we to tread the good God's garden homewards, And eat of Life's rich Tree. We ftill mifs friends, and grieve o'er their departure, Hands cold and voices dumb, — Join us anew where feparations are not, O Lord, Thy Kingdom come ! 130 " Thy Kingdom come" So, as at fleeping-place, poor pilgrim-ftrangers, Thine Own loved Prayer we pray, We look back from the empty tomb of Eafter, On to the breaking Day. Frederick George Lee. THE TWO CROWNS. MADE myfelf a myrtle crown ; I crowned myfelf with leaves and flowers ; All day I lay in rofy bowers, All day till the fweet fun went down. The myrtle withered on my head, My crown became a crown of pain, I could not pluck it off again, With thofe dead leaves my heart feemed dead. All night, all night, without relief, I wandered, while the ftars were bright, I wandered all that weary night, And all my foul was fick with grief. 3 2 The Two Crowns. But when then morning broke once more, And all the hills were rofy fair, I found a ruined chapel there, I parted the little chancel door : The Holy Altar glittered cold, Altar and Crofs were broken all, The mofs was thick upon the wall, The day-fpring tinged its tufts with gold. I knelt before the broken fhrine, I could not fpeak for fobs and tears, I could not pray for wildering fears, The ruin of that fane was mine. Long, long I knelt in my defpair, But when the fun in heaven was high, A glory feemed to hover by, I felt a Healing Prefence there. The Two Crowns. J 33 So, when my grief was calmer grown, I faid, " My heart was dark within ; God, I finned a deadly fin, I finned, to wear the myrtle crown." I faw a Form of Beauty there, A Form of Beauty heavenly bright, A glorious Form of awful light, A Form of Beauty faireft-fair. I wept, and clafped His facred Feet, 1 wept and kifTed them, as I lay : He took my crown of pain away : I wept, and all my tears were fweet. Another crown I wear ev'n now, A fweeter crown than in thofe bowers, And part are Amaranthine flowers, And part are thorns from His dear Brow. FOLLIOTT S. PlERPOINT. EVENTIDE. 3HISPER the angel voices foft and kind, More gentle than the fummer even's wind That murmurs playful o'er the deep, — " Sleep, child of earth," they fay, " now take thy reft; The twilight darkens in the glowing weft, Spirits around thee watch mall keep." Come floating on the breath of balmy air, Sweet dreams of heaven, and of our loved ones there, For ever in their Father's keep. And whilft ftill Night ftole on with filent tread, Around me hovering, holy Angels faid, " He giveth His beloved fleep." And comes anon, from yonder wooded hill, The diftant murmur of fome hidden rill Eventide. J 35 That ripples down its ftony bed. And yet again I hear the angels' fong, By evening's dying breezes borne along, " Sleep, fleep, ftill darknefs reigns o'erhead. " Reft, reft," I ftill hear wafted on the breeze, That, fighing fadly through the fhadowy trees, Makes mufic always low and deep — And comes once more the oft-repeated ftrain, Re-echoed gently from yon darkening main, " He giveth His beloved fleep." Hedley Vicars. HYMN FOR ALL SAINTS' DAY. E give Thee thanks, O Lord our God, For all the Saints Thy path who trod — The path of pain, the path of death, The path of Him Who triumpheth. For they have braved the hour of fhame, The crofs, the rack, the cord, the flame, The dagger and the cup of woe, If only Jefus they might know. All this they counted not for lofs, For they were foldiers of the Crofs : They recked not of the grief or pain, If only Jefus they might gain. He is their Saviour, He their Lord, He their exceeding great reward ; Hymn for All Saints' Day. 1 37 Though loft be all that, fills our cares, If Him they have, then all is theirs. From us their forms have patted away — Mere viewlefs fpirits, mouldering clay — Some live upon the life of fame, Some leave no veftige but a name. But when fhall found the trump of doom, To call the tenants of the tomb, A mighty army they fhall ftand, Arrayed in white at God's Right Hand. A mighty hoft, to man unknown, In glory ranged around the Throne ; He knows His own Who ruled the ftrife — Their names are in the Book of Life. Gerard Moultrie. THE GREAT CLOUD OF WITNESSES. " CompafTed about with fo great a cloud of witnefTes. 11 — St. Paul. " I believe in the Communion of Saints.' 1 — Apoftles* Creed, [ONE for them the time of forrow, pafTed for ever toil and pain, Weeping eyes and weary fpirits, {tumbling feet, or moil or ftain \ No more death nor fin can touch them, they are fafely folded now, Great the guerdon of their patience, bright the crowns upon their brow. Once, like us, they knew of weaknefs, of temptation's power, and fhame, But their God was near to help them, for they trufted in His Name ; So vi£iorioufly they triumphed, though, like us, in war they ftrove, i£k The Great Cloud of Witnejfes. 139 Now they gaze upon His beauty, Who, like them, we ftrive to love. But, though rapt in ceafelefs worfhip, round the Lamb's high throne in light, Though impaffible exultant, bathed in fathomlefs delight ; Still from out the golden bulwarks, where the angels throng around, Mark they well our faltering footfteps as we march through hoftile ground. Mindful are they of our victories when from fin we turn away, When, our burdens laid afide, we walk as children of the day : Yes, they yearn with love for finners, long to greet thofe exiles dear, And to fhare with them the laurels when the fight is ended here. 1 40 "The Great Cloud of Witnejfes. Afk we then their prayers to aid us — know they not the gifts we need ? Who on earth being ftrong to battle, ftill are ftrong to intercede : Filled while here with love's compafiion, pity now for each they know ; Seek we then their willing fuccour, help to triumph o'er the foe. He will hear them, Who has promifed, " What ye afk ye mail receive ;" And His grace mail flow upon us who in His fure word believe ; Bound and bonded in communion with each other and the Trine, Where the light is ever luftrous, and the peace is all divine. The Author efs 0/*"The Departed AND OTHER VERSES." SM& UNKNOWN GRAVES. HE grafs is rank, the fhades are deep, Where the unknown their flumber keep, The early funlight, faffron-new, Scarce fmites the grafs or gilds the dew ; — Unprayed for, tended not, they wait, Thofe Holy Souls, outfide God's Gate. Beyond the Church's northern wall Only day's noon-tide glories fall, Here — dawn and morn, foft eve, dark night Above — no change, unfading light ; Yet round glide angel-guardians nigh To hear a plaint and heed a figh. No croffes mark thofe northern graves, No flowers adorn, no yew-tree waves ; 142 Unknown Graves. Unknown, uncared for, there they lie, Under the chill of wintry fky, Or, under light of July's fun, Lorn and forgotten every one. Pafs no lone namelefs fleeper's bed, For once on fuch Heaven's dew was fhed : By fudden death, by wafting pain, God called them to Himfelf again : Pray then for Souls who longing wait To enter Sion's golden gate. The grafs is rank, deep fhadows lie Under charged cloud or golden fky ; Not by the Church's fouthern plot Where rofe blooms with forget-me-not, But for all Souls whofe bodies reft Under the northern churchyard's breaft. When chimes for mafs ring out at morn O'er fnow-clothed vales or ripening corn, sH -s Unknown Graves. H3 Gather within the open door God's dews of mercy to implore For Souls unknown, in Chrift new-born, Waiting, unprayed for, lone and lorn. Frederick George Lee. Littlemore, September, 1874. MANET SABBATISMUS. HEN man abode in Paradife, There was in gardens once A perfe£t. reft defying price ; But man, fo eager to be wife, Hath proved himfelf a dunce, That toileth ftill and ftraineth : And yet a reft remaineth. The ferpent dwelt in Paradife, A good beaft and a kindly, But Satan coming, tempter-wife, Filled all the poor beaft's mouth with lies, And Eve fhe liftened blindly ; And living-kind complaineth : And yet a reft remaineth. Manet Sabbat if /mis. H5 By wells of water, where the trees Bow down to kifs the flowers That, anchored, rock in morning breeze, And fpread their filver chalices To catch the morning mowers, No final reft man gaineth : And yet a reft remaineth. In tender voice, in fong of bird, In pfaltery's foft rhyming, — So fweet becaufe more felt than heard, — In found of kiiTes, timing The hours that afk no chiming, There is no reft : earth waneth : Only the reft remaineth : Remaineth in a g-ard en- ground Where groweth Rofe and Lily, Remaineth where the waters found, 146 Manet Sabbatifmus. Where never winds blow chilly, Nor harfh voice echoes fhrilly, Where the Rofe-lily reigneth, There the true reft remaineth ! A little while, a little heat, A little lonelinefs,— And endlefs time that grows more fweet, And warmth with no diftrefs, And fellowfhip to blefs His reft who reft obtaineth : The final reft remaineth. B. MONTGOMERIE RANKING. COMPLINE HYMN. |OME, bleft Redeemer of the Earth, Shew to the World a Virgin-Birth, Let all the wondering ages know Which birth befeems our God below. Not of the feed of mortal race, By myftic Breath of heavenly grace, The Word of God, in flefh arrayed, True offspring blooms of Mother-maid. The Virgin bears the Burthen pure, And Ever-virgin doth endure ; Like pennon bright her graces fhine, And God is in His hallowed fhrine. The Bridegroom from His chamber fprings, Meet palace of the King of kings, True God, true Man, in Perfon One, Like Plant Mad His courfe to run. i 4 8 Compline Hymn. From Sire in Heaven He goeth forth, To live in Heaven returns from Earth, Defcending e'en to Hell's abode, Afcending to the Throne of God. Eternal Sire's co-equal Son, Thy flefhly girdle gird Thee on, The frailty of our mortal plight To ftrengthen with immortal might. Full brightly (bines Thy manger-bed, And Night herfelf new light doth fhed, A Light on which no night mall clofe, Aye bright to Faith as when it rofe. To God the Father in the height, And to the Son, True Light of Light, And Holy Ghoft all glory be, Now and through all eternity. Arnen. LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. iHE blafts of chill December found The farewell of the Year, And Night's fwift fhadows gathering round O'ercloud the foul with fear ; But reft you well, good Chriftian men, Nor be of heart forlorn : December's darknefs brings again The light of Chriftmas morn. The welcome fnow at Chriftmas-tyde Falls mining from the fkies : On village paths and uplands wide All holy-white it lies ; 150 Light in the Darknefs. It crowns with pearl the oaks and pines, And glitters on the thorn ; But purer is the Light that mines On gladfome Chriftmas morn. At Chriftmas-tyde the gracious moon Keeps vigil while we fleep, And fheds abroad her light's fweet boon On vale and mountain-fteep : O'er all the Numbering land defcends Her radiancy unfhorn ; But brighter is the Light, good friends, That mines on Chriftmas morn. 'Twas when the World was waxing old, And Night on Bethlehem lay, The Shepherds faw the heavens unfold A light beyond the day ; m Light in the Darknefs. 151 Such glory ne'er had vifited A World with fin outworn ; But yet more glorious light is fhed, On happy Chriftmas morn. Thofe fhepherds poor, how bleft were they The angels' fong to hear ! In manger cradle as He lay, To greet their Lord fo dear ! The Lord of Heaven's Eternal height For us a Child was born \ And He, the very Light of Light, Shone forth that Chriftmas morn ! Before His infant fmile afar, Were driven the hofts of hell ; And ftill in fouls that childlike are His guardian love fhall dwell : 152 Light in the Darknefs. O then rejoice, good Chriftian men, Nor be of heart forlorn ; December's darknefs brings again The Light of Chriflmas morn. Norval Clyne. FOR A YOUNG GIRL WITH A BOOK OF CAROLS. IAROL while yet thy life is in its fpring, For fpring-tide is the time for carolling : Sing while the dews are frefh, the day is young ; Sweet fongs found fweeteft in the morning fung, Ere yet the fummer-noon, the winter-night Harden the heart-fprings, and the fong-flowers blight ; And airs of youth and Carols " light as air " Seem but the echoes of the things that were. Up ! the fons of God are finging To the children of the plain ; Up ! the bells of Earth are ringing Back to Heaven their glad refrain : Up ! the day-ftar forth is flinging Lines of golden light, and ftringing 154 With a Book of Carols. Beads of dew thereon, to deck With Love's necklace Morning's neck : Up ! then, and on Mufic's ftring Thread the pearls of fong, and fing — In a lone bower far away There is born a Babe to-day ! William John Blew. REST. ; There remaineth, therefore, a reft for the people of God." TOILERS in Life's vineyard, Who figh for perfect Reft, Whofe dim eyes, peering upward, With weight of years opprefTed, Look for the blifsful flumber God gives to His beloved ; Wait till the day is over, And He the tafk has moved. Here, where the long long morning Melts into bufy noon, The hours are all unreftful, But Evening cometh foon : 156 Reft. Lo on the lofty mountain The firft faint fhadow lies, And God will draw His curtains Over the far-off fkies. Short flumbers has the pilgrim, His ready ftaff in hand, The foldier may but linger Till the foe is in the land : The child muft haften homeward O'er hill and field and dell ; And the golden gates are open Where they each in reft fhall dwell. O weary heart, take courage ! O feet, march on awhile ! O bufy hands, ftill labour ! Tired eyes fhall fee Him fmile Who has within His keeping, Still waiting for your claim, The perfect Reft of Heaven — The gladnefs of His Name. No ftorm difturbs the waters, No wind makes that repofe ; No trumpet calls to battle, Nor triumph then the foes : Though feafon follows feafon, And year fades into year, That reft is (till remaining — That Heaven fhall ftill appear. Take up the burden, Chriftian, Bear thou, and labour on, A little furrow only And the kingdom fhall be won: i 5 8 Reft. Only a few more footfteps, And then the tranquil Reft \ Only a few more longings, And then the fheltering Breaft. ALL SAINTS' AND ALL SOULS' DAYS AT ALL SAINTS', LAMBETH, 1877. [USING over friends departed, loved ones known and miffed and gone, As November's fun was fmiling fpeaking fummer to the morn, Autumn-blooms were fweet and odorous in their lateft parting breath, — Yet gazing upon Beauty I could only dream of Death. Golden fhower-clouds drifting purpled up between the Earth and fky, Seemed to paufe, as though thanks giving, ere like tears they fell to die ; Yet Earth in all its fplendour was the goal where both were borne, 160 All Saints' and All Souls' Days For I looked not fo far onward as the Refurrection- morn. As All Saints' Night went gliding by, fhe wreathed the facred hours With glory from her coronal of everlafting flowers : There came, but not from Earth, a Voice that whifpered of the Bleft, An echo from that far-off* land in which the wan- derers reft. The World had fobbed itfelf to fleep, all-filent after ftrife 5 The fhades of Death had vanifhed in the rays of endlefs Life ; While that Voice Divine thrilled fweeter from the Home where angels foar, As It whifpered " Saints are mining as the ftars for evermore." At All Saints', Lambeth, 1%JJ. 1 61 While the Holy Souls are thirfting for our Eucharifts and prayer — Chrift have pity ! Lady help them ! Mount they foon the golden ftair ! And may all at laft God's mercy know, when finking on Earth's breaft,