.K,---]]: .-,..A A\ \v ;\. .„ :-\„.^ // ..:?/^.il5) 18&7 THE THOUGHTS IN VERSE FOR THE SUNDA YS AND HOLYDAYS THROUGHOUT THE YEAR %\iz %m. i0lm %tyiZy W^*%^ *''' In quietness atid in confidence shall be your strenotky- ISAIAH XXX. 15. ^z'm gorft WHITE, STOKES, & ALLEN 1887 PK483^ •fy ^^ Xti^)im'9 Bag, He, being full of the Holy Ghost ^ looked up steadfastly into heaven^ and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of God. — ACTS vii. 55. As rays around the source of light Stream upward ere he glow in sight. And watching by his future flight Set the clear heavens on fire ; So on the King of Martyrs wait Three chosen bands, in royal state, * And all earth owns, of good and great, Is gathered in that choir. * Wheatly on the Common Prayer, c. v. sect. iv. 2. " As there are three kinds of martyrdom, the first both in will and deed, which is the highest ; the second in will but not in deed ; the third in deed but not in will ; so the Church commemorates these martyrs in the same order : S. Stephen first, who suffered death both in will and deed ; S. John the Evangelist next, who suffered martyr- dom in will but not in deed ; the holy Innocents last, who suffer- ed in deed but not in will." i8 ^. STEPHEN'S DA V. One presses on, and welcomes death : One calmly yields his willing breath. Nor slow, nor hurrying, but in faith Content to die or live : And some, the darlings of their Lord, Play smiling with the flame and sword. And ere they speak, to His sure word Unconscious witness give. Foremost and nearest to His throne, By perfect robes of triumph known. And likest Him in look and tone, The holy Stephen kneels. With steadfast gaze, as when the sky Flew open to his fainting eye, Which, like a fading lamp, flashed high. Seeing what death conceals. Well might you guess what vision bright Was present to his raptured sight. Even as reflected streams of light Their solar source betray — The glory which our GOD surrounds, The Son of Man, the atoning wounds- He sees them all ; and earth's dull bounds Are melting fast away. He sees them all — no other view Could stamp the Saviour's likeness true. Or with His love so deep embrue Man's sullen heart and gross — " Jesu, do Thou my soul receive : Jesu, do Thou my foes forgive : " He who would learn that prayer, must live Under the holy Cross. He, though he seem on earth to move, Must glide in air like gentle dove, S. JOHN THE EVANGELIST'S DAY. 19 From yon unclouded depths above Must draw his purer breath ; Till men behold his angel face All radiant with celestial grace,* Martyr all o'er, and meet to trace The lines of Jesus' death. S. Sol)« t$^ 25bangelist»» Bag* Peter seeing him saith to jesus, Lord^ and what shall this 7nan do ? yesus saith utito him^ If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee ? follow thou me. — S. John xxL 21, 22. " Lord, and what shall this man do ?" Askest thou. Christian, for thy friend ? If his love for Christ be true, Christ hath told thee of his end : This is he whom God approves, This is he whom Jesus loves. Ask not of Him more than this. Leave it in his Saviour's breast. Whether, early called to bliss. He in youth shall find his rest. Or armed in his station wait Till his Lord be at the gate : "Whether in his lonely course (Lonely, not forlorn) he stay, Or with Love's supporting force Cheat the toil and cheer the way : Leave it all in His high hand, Who doth hearts as streams command.f ♦And all that sat in the council, looking steadfastly on him, saw his face as it had been the face of an angel. — Acts vi. 15. t The king's heart is in the hand of the Lord, as the rivers of water; he turneth it whithersoever he will. — Proverbs xxi. i. THE HOLY INNOCENTS' DAY. Gales from Heaven, if so he will, Sweeter melodies can wake On the lonely mountain rill Than the meeting waters make. Who hath the Father and the Son, May be left, but not alone. Sick or healthful, slave or free, Wealthy, or despised and poor— What is that to him or thee, So his love to Christ endure ? When the shore is won at last. Who will count the billows past ? Only, since our souls will shrink At the touch of natural grief. When our earthly loved ones sink. Lend us. Lord, Thy sure relief ; Patient hearts, their pain to see, And Thy grace, to follow Thee. These were redeemed from among men, being the first fruits tmto God and to the Lamb. — Revelation xiv. 4. Say, ye celestial guards, who wait In Bethlehem, round the Saviour's palace gate, Say, who are these on golden wings, That hover o'er the new-born King of kings, Their palms and garlands telling plain That they are of the glorious martyr train, Next to yourselves ordained to praise His Name, and brighten as on Him they gaze ? THE HOLY INNOCENTS' DAY. 21 But where their spoils and trophies ? where The glorious dint a martyr's shield should bear ? How chance no cheek among them wears The deep-worn trace of penitential tears, But all is bright and smiling love, As if, fresh-borne from Eden's happy grove, They had flown here, their King to see, Nor ever had been heirs of dark mortality? Ask, and some angel will reply, " These, like yourselves, were born to sin and die. But ere the poison root was grown, God set His seal, and marked them for His own, Baptized in blood for Jesus' sake. Now underneath the Cross their bed they make, Not to be scared from that sure rest By frightened mother's shriek, or warrior's waving crest." Mindful of these, the first-fruits sweet Borne by the suffering Church her Lord to greet ; Blessed Jesus ever loved to trace The " innocent brightness " of an infant's face. He raised them in His holy arms, He blessed them from the world and all its harms : Heirs though they were of sin and shame, He blessed them in His own and in His Father's Name. Then, as each fond, unconscious child On the everlasting Parent sweetly smiled, (Like infants sporting on the shore. That tremble not at Ocean's boundless roar,) Were they not present to Thy Thought, All souls, that in their cradles Thou hast bought? But chiefly these, who died for Thee, That Thou might'st live for them a sadder death to see. 22 FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. And next to these, Thy gracious Word Was as a pledge of benediction, stored For Christian mothers, while they moan Their treasured hopes, just born, baptized, and gone. Oh joy for Rachel's broken heart ! She and her babes shall meet no more to part ; So dear to Christ her pious haste To trust them in His arms, for ever safe embraced. She dares not grudge to leave them there, Where to behold them was her heart's first prayer, She dares not grieve — but she must weep. As her pale placid martyr sinks to sleep, Teaching so well and silently How, at the shepherd's call, the lamb should die ; How happier far than life the end Of souls that infant-like beneath their burthen bend. So the sun returned ten degrees, by which degrees it was gone down. — Isaiah xxxviii. 8. Cf. Joshua x. 13. 'Tis true ! of old the unchanging sun His daily course refused to run ; The pale moon hurrying to the west Paused at a mortal's call, to aid The avenging storm of war, that laid Seven guilty realms at once on earth's defiled breast. But can it be, one suppliant tear Should stay the ever-moving sphere ? A sick man's lowly-breathed sigh, FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. 23 When from the world he turns away,* And hides his weary eyes to pray, Should change your mystic dance, ye wanderers of the sky ? We too, O Lord, would fain command, As then. Thy wonder-working hand. And backward force the waves of Time, That now so swift and silent bear Our restless bark from year to year ; Help us to pause and mourn to Thee our tale of crime. Bright hopes, that erst the bosom warmed, And vows, too pure to be performed. And prayers blown wide by gales of care : — These, and such faint half-waking dreams. Like stormy lights on mountain streams, Wavering and broken all, athwart the conscience glare. How shall we escape the o'erwhelming Past ? Can spirits broken, joys o'ercast. And eyes that never more may smile : — Can these the avenging bolt delay, Or win us back one little day The bitterness of death to soften and beguile ? Father and Lover of our souls ! Though darkly round Thine anger rolls. Thy sunshine smiles beneath the gloom, Thou seek'st to warn us, not confound. Thy showers would pierce the hardened ground. And win it to give out its brightness and perfume. * Then Hezekiah turned his face toward the wall, and prayed unto the Lord. — Isaiah xxxviii, 2. 24 FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS, Thou smilest on us in wrath, and we, Even in remorse, would smile on Thee : The tears that bathe our offered hearts. We would not have them stained and dim, But dropped from wings of Seraphim, All glowing with the Light accepted Love imparts. Time's waters will not ebb, nor stay, Power cannot change them, but Love may ; What cannot be, Love counts it done. Deep in the heart, her searching view Can read where Faith is fixed and true, Through shades of setting life can see Heaven's work begun, O Thou, Who keep'st the Key of Love, Open Thy fount, eternal Dove, And overflow this heart of mine, Enlarging as it fills with Thee, Till in one blaze of Charity Care and remorse are lost, like motes, in Light divine ; Till, as each moment wafts us higher, By every gush of pure desire. And high-breathed hope of joys above ; By every sacred sigh we heave. Whole years of folly we outlive, In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love. THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST. 25 2rt)e €:ircumciHioti of €:i)nst. In whom also ye are circiimcised with the circutncisioii made withotit hands. — Colossians ii. 11. The year begins with Thee, And Thou beginn'st with woe, To let the world of sinners see That blood for sin must flow. Thine infant cries, O Lord, Thy tears upon the breast, Are not enough — the legal sword Must do its stern behest. Like sacrificial wine Poured on a victim's head Are those few precious drops of Thine, Now first to offering led. They are the pledge and seal Of Christ's unswerving faith Given to His Sire, our souls to heal. Although it cost His death. They to His Church of old, To each true Jewish heart, In Gospel graces manifold Communion blest impart. Now of Thy Love we deem As of an ocean vast, Mounting in tides against the stream Of ages gone and past. Both theirs and ours Thou art. As we and they are Thine ; Kings, Prophets, Patriarchs — all have part Along the sacred line. THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST. By blood and water too God's mark is set on Thee, That in the every faithful view Both covenants might see. O bond of union, dear And strong as is Thy grace, Saints, parted by a thousand year, May thus in heart embrace. Is there a mourner true, Who, fallen on faithless days. Sighs for the heart-consoling view Of those Heaven deigned to praise } In spirit mayst thou meet With faithful Abraham here. Whom soon in Eden thou shalt greet A nursing Father dear. Wouldst thou a poet be ? And would thy dull heart fain Borrow of Israel's minstrelsy One high enraptured strain ? Come here thy soul to tune, Here set thy feeble chant, Here, if at all beneath the moon. Is holy David's haunt. Art thou a child of tears, Cradled in care and woe ? And seems it hard thy vernal years Few vernal joys can shew } And fall the sounds of mirth Sad on thy lonely heart, From all the hopes and charms of earth Untimely called to part } SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. 27 Look hear, and hold thy peace : The Giver of all good Even from the womb takes no release From suffering, tears, and blood. If thou wouldst reap in Love, First sow in holy fear : So life a winter's morn may prove To a bright endless year. S:!)e Sccotttr .Suntias aft«^* €:f)ristmas jEBag When the poor aiid needy seek ivater^ and tJiere is none^ and their tongue faileth for thirsty I the Lord will hear them., I the God of Israel will not forsake them. — Isaiah xli. 17. And wilt Thou hear the fevered heart To Thee in silence cry ? And as the inconstant wildfires dart Out of the restless eye, Wilt Thou forgive the wayward thought, By kindly woes yet half untaught A Saviour's right, so dearly bought, That Hope should never die ? Thou wilt : for many a languid prayer Has reached Thee from the wild, Since the lorn mother, wandering there. Cast down her fainting child,^ Then stole apart to weep and die. Nor knew an angel form was nigh To shevi^ soft waters gushing by And dewy shadows mild. * Hagar. See Genesis xxi. 15. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. Thou v/ilt — for Thou art Israel's God, And Thine unwearied arm Is ready yet with Moses' rod The hidden rill to charm Out of the dry unfathomed deep Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep, Save when the scorching w^hirlwinds heap Their waves in rude alarm. These moments of wild wrath are Thine — Thine too the drearier hour When o'er the horizon's silent line Fond hopeless fancies cower, And on the traveller's listless way Rises and sets the unchanging day. No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, On earth no sheltering bower. Thou wdlt be there, and not forsake, To turn the bitter pool Into a bright and breezy lake, The throbbing brow to cool : Till left awhile with Thee alone The wilful heart be fain to own That He, by Whom our bright hours shone. Our darkness best may rule. The scent of water far away Upon the breeze is flung : The desert pelican to-day Securely leaves her young. Reproving thankless man, who fears To journey on a few lone years ; Where on the sand Thy step appears, Thy crown in sight is hung. Thou, who did'st sit on Jacob's well The weary hour of noon,* * S. John iv. 6. THE EPIPHANY. 29 The languid pulses Thou canst tell, The nerveless spirit tune. Thou from Whose Cross in anguish burst The cry that owned Thy dying thirst,* To Thee we turn, our Last and First, Our Sun and soothing Moon. From darkness, here, and dreariness We ask not full repose, Only be Thou at hand, to bless Our trial hour of woes. Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid By the clear rill and palmy shade ? And see we not, up Earth's dark glade, The gate of Heaven unclose ? And, lo, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. Whe?i they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. — S. Matthew ii. 9, 10. Star of the East, how sweet art Thou, Seen in life's early morning sky. Ere yet a cloud has dimmed the brow, While yet we gaze with childish eye ; When father, mother, nursing friend, Most dearly loved, and loving best, First bid us from their arms ascend. Pointing to Thee in Thy sure rest. Too soon the glare of earthly day Buries, to us. Thy brightness keen. And we are left to find our way By faith and hope in Thee unseen. * S. John xix. 28. 30 THE EPIPHANY. What matter ? if the waymarks sure On every side are round us set, Soon overleaped, but not obscure ? 'Tis ours to mark them or forget. What matter ? if in calm old age Our childhood's star again arise, Crowning our lonely pilgrimage With all that cheers a wanderer's eyes ? Ne'er may we lose it from our sight. Till all our hopes and thoughts are led To where it stays its lucid flight Over our Saviour's lowly bed. There, swathed in humblest poverty, On Chastity's meek lap enshrined. With breathless Reverence waiting by. When we our sovereign Master find. Will not the long-forgotten glow Of mingled joy and awe return. When stars above or flowers below First made our infant spirits burn ? Look on us. Lord, and take our parts Even on Thy throne of purity ! From these our proud yet grovelling hearts Hide not Thy mild, forgiving eye. Did not the Gentile Church find grace. Our mother dear, this favoured day ? y/ith gold and myrrh she sought Thy face. Nor didst Thou turn Thy face away. She too,* in earlier, purer days, Had watched Thee gleaming faint and far- But wandering in self-chosen ways She lost Thee quite. Thou lovely star. * The Patriarchal Church. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 31 Yet had her father's finger turned To Thee her first inquiring glance : The deeper shame within her burned, When wakened from her wilful trance. Behold, her wisest throng Thy gate, Their richest, sweetest, purest store (Yet owned too worthless and too late) They lavish on Thy cottage-floor. They give their best — O tenfold shame On us their fallen progeny. Who sacrifice the bhnd and lame* — Who will not wake or fast with thee ! Tkey shall spring up as among the grass, as zvillows by the water courses. — Isaiah xliv. 4. Lessons sweet of spring returning, Welcome to the thoughtful heart ! May I call ye sense or learning, Instinct pure, or Heaven-taught art ? Be your title what it may, Sweet the lengthening April day, While with you the soul is free, Ranging wild o'er hill and lea. Soft as Memnon's harp at morning, To the inward ear devout, Touched by light, with heavenly warning Your transporting chords ring out. Every leaf in every nook. Every wave in every brook. Chanting with a solemn voice. Minds us of our better choice. * Malachi i. 2. 3a FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. Needs no show of mountain hoary, Winding shore or deepening glen, Where the landscape in its glory- Teaches truth to wandering men ; Give true hearts but earth and sky, And some flowers to bloom and die, — Homely scenes and simple views Lowly thoughts may best infuse. See the soft green willow springing Where the waters gently pass, Every way her free arms flinging O'er the moist and reedy grass. Long ere winter blasts are fled. See her tipped with vernal red» And her kindly flower displayed Ere her leaf can cast a shade. Though the rudest hand assail her, Patiently she droops awhile, But when showers and breezes hail her, Wears again her willing smile. Thus I learn Contentment's power From the slightest willow bower, Ready to give thanks and live On the least that Heaven may give. If, the quiet brooklet leaving. Up the stony vale I wind. Haply half in fancy grieving For the shades I leave behind, By the dusty wayside drear, Nightingales with joyous cheer Sing, my sadness to reprove, Gladlier than in cultured grove. Where the thickest boughs are twining Of the ereenest darkest tree, SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 33 There they plunge, the light declining — All may hear, but none may see. Fearless of the passing hoof. Hardly will they fleet aloof ; So they live in modest ways, Trust entire, and ceaseless praise. 2r|)e Scronu .SuittJag after V^t Hpi^Ijan^. Every 7nan at the begi7tni7ig doth set forth good wine ; and wheji men have well drunk, thefi that which is ivoj'se : but thou hast kept the good wine until now. — S. John ii. 10. The heart of childhood is all mirth : We frolic to and fro As free and blithe, as if on earth Were no such thing as woe. But if indeed with reckless faith We trust the flattering voice, Which whispers, " Take thy fill ere death, Indulge thee and rejoice ;" Too surely, every setting day. Some lost delight we mourn, The flowers all die along our way. Till we, too, die forlorn. Such is the world's gay, garish feast, In her first charming bowl Infusing all that fires the breast. And cheats the unstable soul. 34 SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. And still, as loud the revel swells. The fevered pulse beats higher. Till the seared taste from foulest wells Is fain to slake its fire. Unlike the feast of heavenly Love Spread at the Saviour's w^ord For souls that hear His call, and prove Meet for His bridal board. Why should we fear youth's draught of joy, If pure, would sparkle less ? Why should the cup the sooner cloy. Which God hath deigned to bless ? For, is it Hope, that thrills so keen Along each bounding vein, Still whispering glorious things unseen ? — Faith makes the vision plain. The world would kill her soon : but Faith Her daring dreams will cherish. Speeding her gaze o'er time and death To realms where naught can perish. Or is it Love, the dear delight Of hearts that know no guile. That all around see all things bright With their own magic smile ? The silent joy, that sinks so deep. Of confidence and rest. Lulled in a Father's arms to sleep. Clasped to a Mother's breast ? Who, but a Christian, through all life That blessing may prolong ? Who, through the world's sad day of strife. Still chant his morning song ? SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 35 Fathers may hate us or forsake, God's foundling-s then are we : Mother on child no pity take,"^ But we shall still have Thee. We may look home, and seek in vain A fond fraternal heart, But Christ hath given His promise plain To do a Brother's part. Nor shall dull age, as worldlings say, The heavenward flame annoy : The Saviour cannot pass away. And with Him lives our joy. Ever the richest, tenderest glow Sets round the autumnal sun — But there sight fails : no heart may know The bliss when life is done. Such is Thy banquet, dearest Lord ; O give us grace, to cast Our lot with Thine, to trust Thy word. And keep our best till last. * Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb ? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. — Isaiah xlix. 15. 36 THIRD SUNDA Y AFTER EPIPHANY. When Jesus heard it, he ?narvelled, and said to them that foUoived, Verily I say unto you, I have fiot found so great faith, no, not ifi Israel. — S. Matthew viii. ic. I marked a rainbow in the north, What time the wild Autumnal sun From his dark veil at noon looked forth. As glorying in his course half done. Flinging soft radiance far and wide Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side. It was a gleam to Memory dear, And as I walk and muse apart. When all seems faithless round and drear, I would revive it in my heart, And watch how light can find its way To regions farthest from the fount of day. Light flashes in the gloomiest sky, And Music in the dullest plain, For there the lark is soaring high Over her flat and leafless reign. And chanting in so blithe a tone. It shames the weary heart to feel itself alone. Brighter than rainbow in the north. More cheery than the matin lark, Is the soft gleam of Christian worth, Which on some holy house we mark ; Dear to the pastor's aching heart To think, Vv^here'er he looks, such gleam may have a part ; May dwell, unseen by all but Heaven, Like diamond blazing in the mine ; THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 37 For ever, where such grace is given, It fears in open day to shine.* Lest the deep stain it owns within Break out, and Faith be shanned by the believer's sin. In silence and afar they wait, To find a prayer their Lord may hear : Voice of the poor and desolate. You best may bring it to His ear. Your grateful intercessions rise With more than royal pomp, and pierce the skies. Happy the soul, whose precious cause, You in the sovereign Presence plead — " This is the lover of Thy laws,t The friend of Thine in fear and need " — For to the poor Thy mercy lends That solemn style, " Thy nation and Thy friends." He too is blest, whose outward eye The graceful lines of art may trace. While his free spirit, soaring high. Discerns the glorious from the base ; Till out of dust his magic raise \ A home for Prayer and Love, and full harmonious Praise. * Lord, I am not v/orthy that thou shouldest come under my roof. — S. Matthew vili. 8. " From the first time that the impressions of reh'gion settled deeply in his mind, he used great caution to conceal it ; not only in obedience to the rule given by our Saviour, of fasting, praying, and giving alms in secret, but from a particular distrust he had of himself : for he said he was afraid he should at some time or other dosome enormous thing, which, if he were looked on as a very re- ligious man, might cast a reproach on the profession of it. and give great advantages to impious men to blaspheme the name of God." — Burnet's Life of Hale, in Wordsworth's Eccl. Biog. vi. 73. t He loveth our nation. — S. Luke vii. 5. J He hath built us a synagogue.— S. Luke vii. 5. 38 THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. Where far away and high above, In maze on maze the tranced sight Strays, mindful of that heavenly Love Which knows no end in depth or height, While the strong breath of Music seems To waft us ever on, soaring in blissful dreams. What though in poor and humble guise Thou here didst sojourn, cottage-born ? Yet from Thy glory in the skies Our earthly gold Thou dost not scorn. For Love delights to bring her best. And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest. Love on the Saviour's dying head Her spikenard drops unblamed may pour, May mount His Cross and wrap Him dead In spices from the golden shore ;* Risen, may embalm His Sacred Name With all a Painter's art, and all a Minstrel's flame. Worthless and lost our offerings seem, Drops in the ocean of His praise ; But Mercy with her genial beam Is ripening them to pearly blaze, To sparkle in His crown above. Who welcomes here a child's as there an angel's love. * S. John xli. 7 ; xix. 30. FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 39 STije jfourtl) .Suntiaj after tfjc IBjJipJaiig* When they saw him, they besought Mm that he would depart out of their coasts. — S. Matthew viii. 34. They know the Almighty's power. Who, wakened by the rushing midnight shower. Watch for the fitful breeze To howl and chafe amid the bending trees, Watch for the still white gleam To bathe the landscape in a fiery stream, Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light Too rapid and too pure for all but angel sight. They know the Almighty's love, Who, when the whirlwinds rock the topmost grove, Stand in the shade, and hear The tumult with a deep exulting fear, How, in their fiercest sway, Curbed by some power unseen, they die away, Like a bold steed that owns his rider's arm, Proud to be checked and soothed by that o'er- mastering charm. But there are storms within That heave the struggling heart with wilder din. And there is power and love The maniac's rushing frenzy to reprove, And when he takes his seat. Clothed and in calmness, at his Saviour's feet,* Is not the povi^er as strange, the love as blest. As when He said. Be still, and ocean sank to rest } Woe to the wayward heart, That gladlier turns to eye the shuddering start * S. Mark v. 15 ; iv. 39. 40 FOURTH SUNDA Y AFTER EPIPHANY. Of Passion in her might, Than marks the silent growth of Grace and Light ;— Pleased in the cheerless tomb To linger, while the morning rays illume Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade, Shaking their dewy tresses now the storm is laid. The storm is laid ; and now In His meek power He climbs the mountain's brow, Who bade the waves go sleep. And lashed the vexed fiends to their yawning deep. How on a rock they stand, Who watch His eye, and hold His guiding hand I Not half so fixed amid her vassal hills, Rises the holy pile that Kedron's valley fills. And wilt thou seek again Thy howling waste, thy charnel-house and chain. And with the demons be, Rather than clasp thine own Deliverer's knee ? Sure 'tis no Heaven- bred awe That bids thee from His heahng touch withdraw. The world and He are struggling in thine heart. And in thy reckless mood thou bidst thy Lord depart. He, merciful and mild, As erst, beholding, loves His wayward child ; When souls of highest birth Waste their impassioned might on dreams of earth, He opens Nature's book. And on His glorious Gospel bids them look, Till by such chords, as rule the choirs above. Their lawless cries are tuned to hymns of perfect Love. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 41 W^z jFifti) Suntras after tije 23|)iji!)ans* Behold, the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save ; neither his ear heavy, that it cannot hear : but your iniquities have separated between you and your God. — Isaiah lix. i, 2. " Wake, arm divine ! awake, Eye of the only Wise ! Now for Thy glory's sake, Saviour and God, arise. And may Thine ear, that sealed seems, In pity mark our mournful themes !" Thus in her lonely hour Thy Church is fain to cry, As if Thy love and power Were vanished from her sky ; Yet God is there, and at His side He triumphs Who for sinners died. Ah ! 'tis the world enthralls The Heaven-betrothed breast : The traitor Sense recalls The soaring soul from rest. That bitter sigh was all for earth, For glories gone, and vanished mirth. Age would to youth return. Farther from Heaven would be. To feel the wildfire burn. On idolizing knee Again to fall, and rob Thy shrine Of hearts, the right of Love divine. 42 FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. Lord of this erring flock ! Thou Whose soft showers distil On ocean waste or rock, Free as on Hermon's hill, Do Thou our craven spirits cheer, And shame away the selfish tear. 'Twas silent all and dead* Beside the barren sea, Where Philip's steps were led — Led by a voice from Thee ; He rose and went, nor asked Thee why, Nor stayed to heave one faithless sigh ; Upon his lonely way The high-born traveller came, Reading a mournful lay Of " One Who bore our shame,t Silent Himself, His Name untold, And yet His glories were of old." To muse what Heaven might mean His wandering brow he raised, And met an eye serene That on him watchful gazed. No hermit e'er so welcome crossed A child's lone path in woodland lost. Now wonder turns to Love ; The scrolls of sacred lore No darksome mazes prove ; The desert tires no more : They bathe where holy waters flow, Then on their way rejoicing go. * See Acts viii. 26-40. t Isaiah liii. 6-8. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 43 They part to meet in Heaven : But of the joy they share, Absolving and forgiven, The sweet remembrance bear. Yes — mark him well, ye cold and proud, Bewildered in a heartless crowd, Starting and turning pale At Rumour's angry din — No storm can nov/ assail The charm he wears within, Rejoicing still, and doing good. And with the thought of God imbued. No glare of high estate. No gloom of woe or want, The radiance can abate Where Heaven delights to haunt ; Sin only hides the genial ray, And, round the Cross, makes night of day. Then weep it from thy heart ; So mayst thou duly learn The intercessor's part. Thy prayers and tears may earn For fallen souls some healing breath, Ere they have died the Apostate's death. 44 SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY, STije S!):t!) SunUag afUr t|)e 2S|)ipt)an2, Beloved^ now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be : but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him ; for we shall see hint as he is.—i S. John iii. 2, There are, who darkhng and alone. Would wish the weary night were gone, Though dawning morn should only shew The secret of their unknown woe : Who pray for sharpest throbs of pain To ease them of doubt's galling chain : "Only disperse the cloud," they cry, ** And if our fate be death, give light and let us die," Unwise I deem them. Lord, unmeet To profit by Thy chastenings sweet, For Thou wouldst have us linger still Upon the verge of good or ill. That on Thy guiding hand unseen Our undivided hearts may lean. And this our frail and foundering bark Glide in the narrow wake of Thy beloved ark. 'Tis so in war — the champion true Loves victory more, when dim in view He sees her glories gild afar The dusky edge of stubborn war. Than if the untrodden, bloodless field The harvest of her laurels yield ; Let not my bark in calm abide, But win her fearless way against the chafing tide. 'Tis so in love — the faithful heart From her dim vision would not part, When first to her fond gaze is given That purest spot in Fancy's heaven, SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. 45 For all the gorgeous sky beside, Though pledged her own and sure to abide : Dearer than every past noon-day That twilight gleam to her, though faint and far away. So have I seen some tender flower Prized above all the vernal bower. Sheltered beneath the coolest shade, Embosomed in the greenest glade. So frail a gem, it scarce may bear The playful touch of evening air ; When hardier grown we love it less. And trust it from our sight, not needing our caress. And wherefore is the sweet springtide Worth all the changeful year beside ? The last-born babe, why lies its part Deep in the mother's inmost heart ? But that the Lord and source of love Would have His weakest ever prove Our tenderest care — and most of all Our frail immortal souls, His work and Satan's thrall. So be it. Lord ; I know it best. Though not as yet this wayward breast Beat quite in answer to Thy voice, Yet surely I have made my choice ; I know not yet the promised bliss. Know not if I shall win or miss ; So doubting, rather let me die. Than close with aught beside, to last eternally. What is the heaven we idly dream ? The self-deceiver's dreary theme, A cloudless sun that softly shines. Bright maidens and unfailing vines, 46 SIXTH SUN DA Y AFTER EPIPHANY. The warrior's pride, the hunter's mirth. Poor fragments all of this low earth : Such as in sleep would hardly soothe A soul that once had tasted of immortal Truth. What is the Heaven our God bestows ? No Prophet yet, no Angel knows ; Was never yet created eye Could see across Eternity ; Not Seraph's wing for ever soaring Can pass the flight of souls adoring. That nearer still and nearer grov/ To the unapproached Lord, once m.ade for them so low. Unseen, unfelt their earthly growth. And self-accused of sin and sloth They live and die ; their names decay, Their fragrance passes quite away ; Like violets in the freezing blast. No vernal steam around they cast, — But they shall flourish from the tomb. The breath of God shall wake them into odorous bloom. Then on the incarnate Saviour's breast, The fount of sweetness they shall rest, Their spirits every hour imbued More deeply with His precious Blood. But peace — still voice and closed eye Suit best with hearts beyond the sky. Hearts training in their low abode, Daily to lose themselves in hope to find their God. SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY. 47 W^z Sunlias calleD Septuasesima. The i7ivisible things 0/ hhn from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. — Romans i. 20. There is a Book, who runs may read. Which heavenly Truth imparts, And all the lore its scholars need. Pure eyes and Christian hearts. The works of God above, below, Within us and around. Are pages in that Book, to shew How God himself is found. The glorious sky embracing all Is like the Maker's love, Wherewith encompassed, great and small In peace and order move. The Moon above, the Church below, A wondrous race they run. But all their radiance, all their glow, Each borrows of its Sun. The Saviour lends the light and heat That crowns His holy hill ; The Saints, like stars, around His seat, Perform their courses still.* The Saints above are stars in Heaven — What are the saints on earth ? Like trees they stand whom God has given,t Our Eden's happy birth. * Daniel xii. 3. t Isaiah ix. 21. 48 SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY. Faith is their fixed unswerving root, Hope their unfading flower, Fair deeds of Charity their fruit, The glory of their bower. The dew of Heaven is like Thy grace,* It steals in silence down ; But where it lights, the favoured place By richest fruits is known. One Name above all glorious names With its ten thousand tongues The everlasting sea proclaims. Echoing angelic songs. The raging Fire,t the roaring Wind, Thy boundless power display : But in the gentler breeze we find Thy Spirit's viewless way.t Two worlds are ours : 'tis only Sin Forbids us to descry The mystic heaven and earth within, Plain as the sea and sky. Thou, who hast given me eyes to see And love this sight so fair. Give me a heart to find out Thee, And read Thee everywhere. * Psalm Ixviii. 9. t Hebrews xii. 29. % S. John iii. 8. SEXAGESIMA SUNDAY. 49 STp Suntrag calletr