-•¥:- "cj^r r. y^ r^'. //V7- ^ , >^7. ^^ ^ y^^A LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I l^lwp. logiirigM |o. ^ . ^ ^ I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. | t I Catena Dominica. BV JOHN HENRY ALEXANDER, CCPYni3HT''§A HERMAN HOOKER, Corner of Chestnut and Eighth Streets. 1855. f^ .V^^"^, ^.■> %^ Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by HERMAN HOOKER, in the Clerk's Oflice of the District Court of the United States in and for tlie Eastern District of Pennsylvania. rniLADELPHIA. : TRINTED BY EING AND BAlttD, SANSOM STREET TO ALL KIND READERS. One evening, as the mellow sun-light slept Upon the sward and dyed it green and gold, While overhead the leaves a nuirnwr hept And whispered what the oriole had told His mate, or what the thrush or hlue-hird hold Had carolled to them, in the early day, Of the far-distant etlicr, clear and cold, — Beside an ancient, haunted Elm Hay, With roving thovglits unsteady as yon quivering spray. 1 CATENA DOMINICA. Before me floated, then, among the rest. The shattered army of my youthfid Dreams ; Shorn of the pomp that ichllome did invest Their first Aurora-niarch with conquering gleams: Ah me ! how many a. gallant Hope now seems The pallid ghost of what it used to he — How many sunk in Acherontian streams, Never to rise — how many a shield I see No more, that dazzled erst 2vifh gorgeous Uazonry ! Then came the pictures blurred and canvass torn Of deeds (inine own and others^') that present True scenes of what my real Life has home : — A somhre shew of learning, strength, mispent, — A gloomy train of shadows rearward bent, Beneath the slant rays of a sinking sun, — A funeral march of figures tremulent. Whose step no other music hurries on, Than the dull heart-heats ^ueafh the haunted Elm, alone. CATENADOMINICA. m Wearied with such sad visions, ichere did hlend A thioarted Future with a ivasted Past, Where Hope grew heavy, when he would ascend, With such a load of Memories round him cast, — I longed and prayed for something bright, at last My thoughts might turn to — something that might he Unrrwnotone, yet anchored ever fast To Truth — the sparkling of an Ocean free. The same, yd always new in its immensity. Willie thus I longed, as if in answer there (^For hearty, hecdthy strivings, ft success /) TJie radiant image of the Church'' s Year ( That rolls along with years we treasure less,^ Up-rose in long-known, long-prized comeliness, Linhed strangely icith scenes that suggested it; Ever the same, yet varying with the p>ress Of Joy or Grief, icith hues fast-changing lit, Revolves that Year for all in time and measure fit! IV C A T E N A D M I N I C A . But diujly, mid the lines of light which shmu Its coiwse, I dwelt upon that Sunday-chain Of golden Truth and Love, let down below, — Of gracious promises and warnings plain : Less marked, it may he, than the other train Of Saintly feasts and iveek-time Holy-days ; Yet, in its order, bringing back again More of the lustre of the Saviour's ways, That all o'er Bethlehem and Joseph\9 sealed Tomb pilays. Bathed in this lustre, then awhile grew dim The actual scene that close around me lay ; — Unheard, the mocking-bird's ivild, varied hymn That fitful swelled and sank, now grave, now gay ; Unmarked, the graces of the tremnlous spray, '• Or melting colors, blending earth and sky ; — I only heeded the sweet, linked display Of that so luminmis Chain lohich seemed to lit O'er -arching, in its sp>an, the azure canopy. CATENA DOMINICA. And, as I gazed, I coidd hut mark the gleam That sdf -supporting, lllce a diamond's, shone From each partictdar link and made it seem, Itself, the Jcioel of the Chain, alone; Till, looking at the next, I needs must own My choice disturbed and, in the new-lit llaze. Found brighter hues or tints more tender groivn, As caught from separate epochs in Christ's loays, His Cradle or His Cross — sad or triumphant days» All these I saw ; — the learning Advent-dawn, The PascJud-noon with its angelic lyres. And then, (a week, between, of Sundays drawn) The ovening-glow of Pentecostal fires ; — All these I felt, as clearest sight inspires A feeling ; so that, still while sun-light clung, Ere TwiligJU came to icatch when Day retires, Unconscious syllables, together flung, Begun to tell of pictures ^neath the Elm-tree hung! Jiirst Sintbag in ^bfanit. ONCE AND ONCE MOKE. Lord ! who as at this time condescended To visit Earth in great humility; From all works by which Thou art offended, Our hearts and homes, ! help Thou us to free That both fit may prove To entertain Thy love And, not guest-wise only, welcome Thee ! For this holy tide have we been yearning, (Fit season to begin our mystic Year) Haply from all 'round the lesson learning, By our true inner Life to draw more near ; ^ Keeping quick and warm Thine own implanted germ, Mid the winter of our world-storms hcrt'. 1 First Siinday in Advent. Blest, if in our heart of hearts we store them — The teaching and the thing — that both may grow Deeper, stronger, for the pressure o'er them ; Till in our measure we may come to know How ail-graciously Was planned that Mystery, In one phase of which Thou cam'st below. Waiting long, the world had looked out for Thee ; Not wholly left, meanwhile, uncomforted : Ever and anon, a Vision bore Thee In fitting glory by some prophet's bed ; Bringing music there So sweet, that its faint air Now ev'n, in Thy Church, fresh life doth shed ! Then there came a darker time and dreary, When Faith went unrefreshed by wonted sign ; When of Man's provoking God seemed weary And suffered pride or worse to soil His shrine ; Till some Maccabee Rose, now and then, to free Those who meekly bore all yokes but Thine; Once and Once More, Till at last arrived the moment gracious, That should the long-expected Presence bring ; Seraphs hymned it, through the empyrean spacious, Archangels message-bearing stooped the wing, And the midnight skies Glowed on the Shepherds' eyes — Sign of Apostolic heralding ! Ever since, in calmer light and clearer, (Though all Thy types are not as yet made plain,) Each return of this day but brings nearer Thy second coming to the Earth again : Ere its sun goes down. Many a soul shall own Angel-calls to rise and join Thy train. Still, those calls so soft, like dew-drops gentle, Man hardly heeds in this world's utter din ; Or, for purpose high. Thou spread'st a mantle To dull the echoes waking else within ; Making out of this, A future higher bliss For the patient, watchful heart to win ! First Sunday in Advent. ]5ut for such as will not bend nor waken, Another warning yet remains in store : Soon the Earth, rocked terribly and shaken, Preserves no covered place she had before ; Soon, the friendly Night Burns with intensest light, Giving hope to hide from Thee no more. And if erst types, hard and dim, obscurely Foreshadowed Thine approach in human guise ; And Thy tokens silent, hushed, (though surely) Marked but a crisis in our inner tics ; Soon, all outward Sign And Majesty Divine Will attend our world's last Mysteries ! Saviour ! keep us, in that hour of terror, Safe underneath the Cross, man raised for Thee : And that we may know it well, ! nearer Make us, each day like this, its features see : So, hard-won at last, "VVe, though all trembling, fast- Clinging to its gracious foot may be ! uaiiJ) Suttbiig in ^Heitt. THE GLEANING OF THE GRAPES. " Why, when I looked for blushiDg, wine-fed grapes, Are there but thorns?" — so once Thy prophet sung; So might he now reprove the wayward shapes Of thanklessness, of sin in heart and tongue, Half-hid beneath that veil o'er priest and people flung. So, all the woes his mournful voice proclaimed. May o'er the Earth awaken righteously ; — The faded flowers — the shadeless heat, untamed By slightest clouds — the long-lost melody ^- The storm and yawning graves o'er darken'd land and sea ! Therefore, ! Guardian of the lonely Vine, (Thine own loved Church,) we flee to Thee for aid ; Help us to see Thy promised day-spring shine Upon the covert which Thyself* hast made, By whose green leaves alone, Thine outstretched arm is staid. 6 Second Sunday in Advent. We see Thy signs iu the decaying year And coming winter wild ; before whose breath, The tender fig-tree casts its leafets sere, The shaken olive bows itself to death, And clouded Heavens look dark upon the Earth beneath ! 'Tis Thine own vengeance, ! thou Lord of Hosts, Against the earth defiled, awakening ; Crushing the haughty looks, the thoughtless boasts Of those pale prisoners whom Thou wilt bring Into Thy pit and snare to wait Thy visiting. For all these signs, Thy virgin-spouse, the Church, Would, like the Virgin-mother, nearer cling To Thee and, in Thy word of promise, search, Read, mark and learn, what she may gladly sing When faded Winter melts in her sui'e-coming Spring ! C'ljirir Suniiiig in ^bknt. i^URE AND NIGH. Not by the flowers that gently sank So lately, in the pai'ched glen ; Not by the purple fruits that drank The autumn-dews, to ripen then ; Not by each swiftly closing year ; Count we until our Lord be here ; Nor by the tokens that impart An impulse to the coming end ; The miracles of modern art That blind men, eyes — lame, strong feet lend; Like what th' expectant Baptist knew As pledges of an Advent true : Nor even by less earthly signs ; The vintage of souls far away, 7 Third Sunday in Advent. The gleaming of their length'ning lines Who come to own the Gospel's sway; Till Christian Cross and symbols shine O'er Mahound's crescent, Vishnu's shrine : Not by all these or more ; for still Our dear-bought hearts at home are cold ; And even now, our half-taught will Would wander forth, if it were told Of reeds that syllable the wind ; Some fresher, saving grace to find. And now ev'n those that claim and wear A royal Priesthood's priceless pall, Would to the desert rude repair, For !Fancy*s song, or Honor's call; Where raiment soft or hairy skin, Alike, their gaze admiring win. These find Thee not, though long ago Their childhood's tiny step went forth At the stern Voice and Baptist- vow : — Alas, for their devotion's worth! ^nre and Nigh. Still shews the jDrison of each heart The damsel's often-pencilled part. Yet these must find Thee, or in love Or wrath, before Thine Advent come; And soon each lingering one must prove The axe laid to his very home. If line and precept fail to win, 'Tis time a sharper way begin. Time, tliine, not ours ; Who found it fit To vail Thine elder message long And made Thy prophets utter it With stammering lips and other tongue ; In mercy, thus, to seek and try The readiest for Thy mystery ! He that believes will not make haste ; Content Thy season best to wait, He questions not the desert-waste If Christ be there, or royal state; But for his Saviour, (fitter part I) He opes and searches his own heart. 10 Third Sunday in Advent. Not long, though (may be) many an age. Its unmillenial stream will roll ; Not long, though many a blotted page Of tears and woe, yet fill the scroll - Of this world-life ; ere Thou dost show Thyself to all the living, now. And, if not in the majesty Unbearable of the last Day ; Or if not in the mystery Of Heavenly love to those that pray ; 'T will be with all the helpless dread Tliat wraps the sinner's narrow bed. So sure, so nigh! — Make ready, then, The hearts your Saviour waits to fill Or crush ; that, ere the flowers again Spread their sweet carpet by each rill, As fresh, as bright, as soft, be spread Our Life-flowers for that Saviour's tread ! Jiourtj) Sinibiiji in ^bknt* THE VISIBLE TEACHERS. ! patient wait, and on Christ's promise stayed, Deem not the time delayed Ere He comes ; not, as once, In meek-borne pain. But now to judge and reign ; O'ershadowing, as some cool, fount-giving Rock, His wandering, weary flock, While toppling crags and widening chasms scare And crush rebellious ones who scorned His word to bear His time, His help, in hopeful stillness bide ; Nor dream of other Guide ; Build no fond altar up to human skill Or science or stern will ; Jjooking to Egypt, land of portents vast And mystic learning waste. As erst the Chosen's more than heathen Night Spread her dim arms abroad to lean on Pharaoh's might. 11 L 12 Fomili Snndaj) in Advent. But if, more blest, thou tread' st a Christian shriuo. Owning the Power Divine That haunts it, waiting there for Advent-light To dawn upon thy sight — Think not such privilege enough may be : Since once the Pharisee Gazing on Abraham with filial pride, Missed the Messiah's self, all radiant by his side. 'Tis true that no proud Hebrew blood sustains The current in our veins : But ev'n from stones God raises, at Cubist's claim. Children to Abraham ; And, in our stonier hearts and hardened path, He looks but for the faith Of the Chaldee, t' avouch us, too, the heirs Of that high blessedness which but the Faithful shares. Lo ! early signed by more than Baptist's hand. Within His Church we stand ; Whose fretted roof and pillared aisles around With words of Life resound From teachers now no more removed for fear To lonesome crypts aud drear The Visible Teachers. 13 Or darkling corners in some city vast, Or forests whose gaunt trees their shadows frightful cast. Secure and calm, our eyes our Teachers see ; And, wheresoe'er we be. If passion tempts us from the right to stray, Or to the left-hand way Our lingering frailties cause us to decline — A warning Voice Divine, With Grospel-burden fraught, is near to woo And whisper : " Here Christ trod ; here ye must follow too." So let us follow, in obedient love. Where we shall shortly prove An Advent to ourselves, if not to all ; Striving meanwhile, like Paul, Christ undivided in our hearts to keep ; And if we fall asleep Ere Christmas wakes with angel-melodies, All nearer float wc where its songs of sweet peace rise. Jiird Siinbitg kIUx Cljristmas, TBE CHRIST IN THE TEMPLE. So young and yet so wise ! So tender and so true ! So bold to handle mysteries ! So clear, to solve them too ! — Thus spake the Rabbin, stern and cold. What day the wondrous Child his Father's message told ! They cowered before his gaze, His eyes so grave and bright ; Condemned so long to Evening-haze, They saw the Evening-light That failed, alas ! for them to show The new highway wherein the humble safely go. Forgot, the prophet-tone That told what Majesty, Beyond the shrine of Solomon, In that new House should bo ; 14 The Christ in the Temple. 15 The Presence from themselves they reft, Unstriving (Israel-like) till It a blessing left. Therefore, since Man so willed, Woke other prescient strains ; O'er chords that gladness might have filled, A mournful music reigns, Echoed in that sad Mystery Where Princes of this world theii' Lokd would cjjicify ! Do we from such dark scene Withdraw our shuddering gaze And fondly think, if we had been In those Incarnate Days, We should our privilege have prized And. in the Temple-child, Messiah recognized V — O, woful self-deceit ! 0, more than Israel blind ! Each day, beneath our very feet, Such gracious aids we find As not the seeing, wondering Jew Or Prophet-king of old or Bard inspired e'er knew ! 16 First Sunday after Christmas. So, near each faithful heart Here in his House to day, Christ stands (no more in Childlike part Except its loving way) Questioning every doubt and fear And wisely answering those who will but bend to hear. Needs but the wish sincere, ^ Him by our side to bring : Unstopped by Him the heavy ear, The dumb throat taught to sing, While flowers of Love and Peace will bless The Desert of the heart, the soul's drear wilderness ! 0, heavier far (believe) If blind, our sin and woe Than theirs who failed once to receive The Child in mortal show ! Then ope each bosom to enshrine, In Faith's devoutest pomp, the Presence all Divine ! Btm\)i Swithg nlttx €\xui\us. THE EVERGREENS. Lo mid the Evergreens we sit, — Of thy fast word, an emblem fit — Watching Thy purpose high And longing for each fleeting Year Some promised grace to bring, more dear Than aught that is gone by. For so each year is ushered in By springing hopes that Heaven would win, The same green leaves of Faith ; Yet half its moons are hardly past, Ere dead the tree and, withered, cast Its leaves around our path. Where is Thine own baptismal vow, Thy blessed Font, — for Thou didst bow, Once in Thy meekness there ? 17 18 Second Sunday after Christmas. Alas ! the waters that should spring In places dry, no odor fling Across the Desert-air. And Thy pure way is dim to eyes That, blinded in the sacrifice Of Earth's idolatry. Wake only to a fitful light. When in some ordinances bright Thy Church doth worship Thee ! Light of the blind ! the bruised reed Thou wilt not break, — the struggling seed 0, pluck not quite away ; Long years have seen us in this place, Languid yet longing for thy grace, — Thy peaceful sun -set ray. Still, like those leaves that hardly cast Yon golden hue ere it be past And all is sad again, So, scarce catch we a single beam Where blends not soon a lurid gleam — The storm cloud and the rain. IVic Evergreens. 10 O, wilt Thou hear us, Who wcrt bent Down to the hallowed element, Gathering us to God, — Thou who wert tempted like as we, That Thou in Heaven mightst pitying see Our wandering, weary road ? Thou who hast formed the circling Year, The Evergreens, the silent tear Wept here continually, — Help us who lately sung Thy birth. To worship, that each year on earth May bring us nearer Thee ! Jfirst Siinhig afttr Cpipljinig. TWILIGHT. 'Tis true, God sometimes hides His ways, Seen dim, as when pale starlight plays With dubious lustre round uncertain feet ; Now, flung back in some crystal gleam, — Now, quenched, while giant shadows seem To move in outline vast, and dusky phantoms meet. Such was the light that twice shone clear Upon the Persian Chief's career. Gilding his name with strange, prophetic sheen ; And such, the Eastern Star that led The Magi to the young Child's bed, With Chaldee love and faith, that Israel's should have been ! Was it to try men, that no light Betrayed the hurried Egypt-flight ? That over Nazareth, no planet hung ? Or that weird shapes of woe and Death, (Like phantoms on the star-lit heath) Against th' age-stricken King, avenging omens flung ? 20 Twilight 21 Say rather, 'twas the shroud once laid O'er buried crimes, now upward swayed By Memory, that scared his waking dreams ; "While clouds of incense idol-caught (Not richer, what the Wise men brought) Swept skyward and obscured that Star's else guiding gleam. So is it still, though Gospel-day Asserts o'er earlier dawn it-s sway ; But leaving yet our duteous memory To wake each year the Gentile-call And keep the gladsome Festival (Gentiles ourselves) of Christ's Epiphany. Lo ! less than one short week ago, Thus came He; — not in infant-show But glorious — and we owned Him, Loud alone; And now, how many hearts to-day Envy the Magi's long, dim way — How many sadly miss cold Starlight, even, gone ! 'Tis true, in this our Christian land Grim idol-groves no longer stand ; With ready skill, swart artizans no more 22 First Sunday after Epiphany. Kcluctaiit matter quick compel By classic forms to sink or swell And grow a visible God, its makers may adore : Yet build we, each his inner shrine, Deep in the heart where Light Divine Scarce pierces the dark, sinful incense-cloud ; And there Love, Gold, Ambition, Hate Are worshipped in such idol-state As if Christ came not, or yet lay in dying shroud ! Alas ! ev'n when devout we build A shrine for Christ Himself and yield To Him our heart's most costly treasures thei-e, There comes a dread Epiphany Of God's own fire our work to try : — How shall it be with those who Christian Idols rear? Lord ! Who hast said that not in vain Thou call'st souls to seek Thee — make plain 'Neath soft star or fierce fire our pathway dim ; Letting us question .Thee in love Till, as erst, in Thy Church we prove God hides Himself from none but those who hide from Him. ittoiii^ SniiJritg after ^Bipljitng DAY-BREAKING. See ! now purpled with coming light, How gleam the distant hills ! And how upon their anxious sight, Who dimly watched the weary night, The golden prospect fills ! While, burning still, the lonely Star Showing two nights the way, Fast by the Western chambers far, (God's purpose high, unbid to mar) Casts yet a lingering ray. And as we look, near yonder grove By Jordan's hallowed wave. Flies down from Heaven a soft-plumed Dove, Pledging His presence and His love, Who comes to seek and save ; 23 24 Second Sunday after Epiphiny. While elements averse before, Change natures in our sight — Type of that mystic rite whose power Can light up hearts and hopes that wore Only the hue of Night. Awake before these Morning beams, Church of the living God ! For thee, the sword no longer gleams, — Melted away, like broken dreams, The oppressor and his rod : And cast off now thy weary chain, ! Mother, exiled long : Lo ! yonder is thy Home again. Thy vine-hills clustering o'er the plain, Thine old remembered song ! And shining foot-prints, on the steep. Of the Peace-bringers, glow ; Piercing the clouds that o'er it sleep And parting, as of old, the Deep, The Exiles' way to show ! ^j)trb SMithjT iifttr icjiipjjnniT THE SIGNAL. FrsiiERS of Souls ! arise, Called now to early toil : With humble thoughts and peaceful guise. Enter the Day's turmoil : They, soonest for the morn prepared, Will ever earliest taste the evening's glad reward ! Arise ! — already light Gleams from the vine-clad sides Of Carmel ; and on Hermon's height The sun's full glance abides : Already o'er Tiberias' sea The prophet's voice hath waked thrice-darkened Galilee. Then waste not hours at home In slumber or in sport ; Lost, in the Evening's cominir irloom, 26 Third Sunday after Epiphamy. Ye find the Day too short, And see by the last lingering ray Your net unmended still, or empty yet of prey. Wide as the world is known, The Empire of that net; Alike, where Lebanon looks down Upon Grennesaret, As there, where kindred cedars grow, ^ Along the Andes' steeps, those monarchs crowned with snow ! Far, far, your journies lie : Oft shall the sail, first spread Where Eastern odors never die, When Day's last beam is sped, Still breathe along some Western wave A faintness of perfume — a fragrance, Morning gave. And if it does not calm The sea, ye need not fear ; Since He, whose presence is all balm, Unseen may wander near : — The Guider of the lonely ark He, lie will stay the flood and save the retsling bark ! The Signal. 27 And, when tlio Sun-set falls Upon yon placid Lake^ Obedient to your Master's calls, Your latest farewell take : And seek the quiet shore where dwells That goodly fellowship of whom the olden Scripture tells. One Voice o'er all ye hear, There 'neath the olive-shade : " Ho ! every one that thirsts, draw near The fount ; the price is paid !" — Saviour, to reach that Dwelling-place, Gladly we rise and leave our Home, our Friends, our Race ! ' There had been, up to our era, three captivities for Galilee j — by Ben- hadad, by Nebuchadnezzar, and by the Romans. 2 The Cedars of the Andes, which grow principally near "Valparaiso, the Antipodes of Capernaum, attain an extraordinary size like those which acquired such celebrity on Lebanon. ^(curtfj Siuti^Hg after (!Epi||)anir THE REST OF THE RIGHTEOUS. Like the last beam wlieii Day is done, The righteous sinks to rest, So soft, so cahn, so all unknown, Into that sombre West : That they who watched with earnest eye To see its latest flash go by, Marked not the place not time : While those who heed not in their mirth This summons to the darkening Earth (A Saint's departing chime) Gather themselves in hearth and hall, Heedless if it pass by, that solemn Funeral ! No like to watcli that bier have tlicy. Or mid the damp vault grope ; Who, proud though wearied in their way, Chase yet a glimmering Hope In some dim Law (on mountains high Half read 'ncath star-lit mystery, 28 The Rest of the Righteous. 29 Or murmured from the brook That bears primeval fragments still,) Of mystic " Nature's" potent will, But cast no upward look To that eternal starry Home Whose gate the Just man finds fast by the darkling Tomb! Nor do they come who barb the dart By which the Soldier fell ; — Rejectors of that blessed part Our Brother bore so well : Who, scared by dread of worldly loss Or lured with love of golden dross. Their Saviour bid away ; Or e'en, beneath the gracious word By kings and prophets all unheard. Their Master seek to slay : — What care have they to watch the Dead Who, blinded at noon-day see not the wrath o'er head ? Yet, Brother, bear thee boldly still ; Thou fightest not alone ; Since Morning-call awoke thy will God marked thee for His own : 30 Fourth Smiday after Epijilimiy. He asks thee but for fearless heart ; Thy strength of arm is all His part, — Thy prowess all His gift : His ear, unheavy, always hears, — His hand, unshortened, always cheers Those who his war-cry left ; When angry foes, like floods, are near, Thy safest place is ^neath God's Spirit-banner there I 'Twas first a Star that met thy gaze. Across Night's coronet, That gently lit thy wearied ways, By thorns and foes beset ; Then Day-dawn glittered from on high, Till all along the Eastern sky A golden flood was poured ; And from the mountain-tops there came, — All now unrolled. Heaven's oriflamme - The early Signal-word : " Arise, the Chosen's way prepare, In heavenly armor clad, your Lord Himself is near !" They gathered quickly from their sleep, Roused bv tliat heavenly call ; The Rest of the Righteous. 31 Armed, all their soldier-faith to keep, To conquer, or to fall : And now, the Conflict partly done, They miss amid the laurels won A fellow-helm to crown ; Whose wearer softly lies at rest — His Leader's star upon his breast, His knightly vizor down ; — Henceforth he tastes, in glad release, The fruit of lips kept pure, in an eternal Peace ! Jfiftl ^m\)in^^Utx ^pipljang. THE TORCH-BEARERS. Five times, the swift-footed Weeks Vanish since Christ's Star was seen ; Not to-day, our Mother seeks To fix our gaze where it has been But, treasuring what the Saviour taught, Bids us reflect in turn each beam we caught; That so, in brightest Gospel-day, Souls (dazzled else) may learn from us the way, And the drear Heathen-night Of hearts untaught, or hard, grow radiant with our light ! Do ye ask what this may mean? — How earth-w^alking souls may shed Heaven-like brilliance mid a scene Below all gloom, and clouds o'crhcad? — How pilgrims, as they onward press, 32 The Torch-Bearers. 33 Win in each trace they leave, new blessedness ? — Best answer ye may learn from Him (Who trod, that He might prove, the pathway dim) As one day, lingering there,* He sat Him down and told us who those Blessed arc ! Say not thus, that all too high Their state will our reach elude, — That, too frail, we vainly try To grasp the least beatitude : Lo, voices o'er Time's solemn Deep Their wondrous unison of promise keep, First uttered in prophetic strain, * Then in tones more Divine caught up again, Assuring, with kind word, A strength beyond our own — an unction from the Lord! Was it but a melody Idly breathing on the air, — Swelling twice, and then to be Thenceforward only echoes there? Do not the Watchmen it foretold Their joyful rounds on walls of Sion hold? And who arc those that, white-robed, stand 34 Fifth Sunday after Epi/phanij. To-day before our shrine on either hand, But its pledged Mini&try, And Priests who offer till the last Epiphany ! Faint not, then, your task beside ; Cast up high the Gospel- way ; Lift your banners, far and wide, For ensigns to the souls that stray; And, where the road may darkling grow. Let your bright torches all the brighter glow : So, when Curist comes along one Day His work to prove and His reward to pay, Yours may be found and given, — As Lamps were ye on earth, Stars shall ye grow in Heaven. ^ The Sermon on the Mount b the Second Morning Lesson lor the Day. ^ See Isa. Ixi. 1, and S. Luke, iv. 16 — 21, lor this unison. ^irtfj Sunirag after Otpipljanj TO-DA Y AND TO-MORRO W. " Soft Gales that, laden with the balm Of Evening, fan my cheek, — Say, will ye make the Morrow calm, Or troubled ? — wild, or meek ? " And you, fast-changing Clouds, that wear Your gracious, sunset forms — Say, will ye deck a Morning fair Or herald it with storms ?" — So spoke my heart as once the West, At night-fall, met my gaze ; So, fain my self-tormenting breast Would pierce the Evening-haze. It was not then the breeze that stirr'd Nor clouds, half- vocal grown ; But, from God's oft-repeated word, Echoed another tone: 35 36 Sixth Sunday after Epiphany. " My servant ! care for what thou hast ; Dream not of joy or sorrow Around the hidden Future cast; To-day shapes out To-morrow. " Even as thou workest, it will be ; The Means and End accord; Who works for Earth, or works for Me, Each has his own reward. " Think'st thou the gentle lilies plan The dews they drink to-night? — Can thought of thine prolong a span. Thy life-time or thy height ? — " Then humble, like those lilies, be ; Like them, look upward still ; And do and suffer trustfully, Waiting upon my will ! " It may be that this deepening gloom But thicker, darker grows, — A shadow that th' expectant Tomb Upon each victim, throws. To-D(iy and To-Mormir. 37 *' If so, what will To-morrow be V — What Life's To-day has been ; — Or troubled, dark and sore to see. Or of immortal sheen ! " New Earth, new Heavens with brighter beam Shall break upon thine eyes ; Or that dense smoke and lurid gleam Whose sharp worm never dies I" Chill fell the tone upon my breast, Thicker the Evening-haze, Yet a soft ray dwelt in the West And, peaceful, met my gaze ! Sinibajr tit'IItb Si^ptimgtsimn. ATHETESIS. 0, wilt Thou still receive The heart that turns to Thee ? — That, early taught for sin to gricTO, But frail Thy promise to believe, Would yet the Spring-time lost retrieve Again Thy face to see. Lord ! Thou hast known its way ; Thine eye, all watchful, beamed Upon me, when I stooped to pray As when, delirious and astray, I madly thought to curse the day That first upon me gleamed ! Thy hand my footsteps kept. That, erring, longed to tread Where Pleasure's gaudy pageant swept 38 Athdcsis. 39 Or where, entranced, the senses slept Until her victims, all unwept, Sank lost among the Dead ! Nor less within Thy sight The strife that slumbered not. When Fancy flung his robes of lignt O'er fell and field, o'er Day and Night : Till, dazzled by the visions bright, I scorned my humble lot. And when I, weary, sought To take a better part. And to the shrine of Science brought All eager vows and zeal unbought. And half-divine her altars thought, — My God, Thou read'dst my heart ! Thou hadst it when, at Morn, 'Twas lifted unto Thee ; And, when the Day was older worn. Mid Pleasure's lure or Learning's scorn, Thou saVst it laboring, though forlorn, Again Thy face to sec ! 40 Simdwj called Septuagesima. Take it then close to Thee, Yet while I dare to pray ; Lest, mid my struggles Thine to be, My lifted heart and bended knee And lingering hope, one day T sec Myself a Castaway! uiibitg alltJi BtnpsiiM. THE SEED OF TEE BLESSED. " In thy seed shall the Earth be blessed !" — Thus was the patriarch addressed, ]3ut uot as if of many, or of all : 'Twas but a glimpse, a flash before The pomp that ages yet shroud o'er, Of One whom brethren glad, their Prince shall call. Long years, and still that pomp delays : But, ever and anon, there plays Prophetic light through the dim, dusky vail, Intensely bright with promised grace ; So that the fainting Syrian's race Might well have clung to their exclusive pale. And so, nor wisely nor too well, They did cling to the ancient spell ; Contented with the title of Elect: 41 42 Sunday called Sexagcsima. But proving by scant faithful deed Themselves to be of his high seed, Whose faith still swam when dearest hopes were wrcck'd. 0, fire profane! 0, hearth accurst! When, one day, doomed to hear the worst, The record of God's threats they wildly burn : — In stately garments, standing by They let the hallowed ashes lie And scatter, as of old, in worse plagues to return I From such strange scene, from such sad fate 'Tis good to turn and see how wait God's blessings on the Faithful and his race ; The sons of Rechab, firm and true. Take place above th' untrusting Jew And stand, all time, before th' Almighty's face ! Needs not to ask what this may mean Of princedom high or lot serene. Greater or less than Christians now may earn : But, since God's dealings ever run The one best way, as He is One, Strive more the Rule than the Reward to learn. The Seed of the Messed. 43 That rule is written all the same For us, as erst for Abraham, (Our aids far more, our part far easier done. Now realties to types succeed And promises melt in the deed:) Believe and do, and Heaven is surely won. Not, as though God our service needs Or pays for serviceable deeds ; In pure free-will, His Paradise is given ; But Man must fit himself on Earth To esteem that Paradise's worth — Who loves not here, he cannot live in Heaven! Therefore, when at the Saviour's feet The Woman, with her ointment sweet And flowing tears and love exceeding, knelt She proved, even by such offering slight, Her faith in Him before Whose sight Glow future fruits ere yet the bud is felt. Yet only His sight has such scope. If ice would win her heavenly hope. Not only must we kneel, like her, and weep 44 Sunday called Scxageslina. But steep oiir robes of sin and strife With odors of a holy life, — Our place among the Blest Seed, thus we keep! Suiti^iig citlltb (Quiitquiigtsinui THE POWER OF UNBELIEF. Sad music — that, from propliet-lyre ^ Breathed out, went circling, swelling on ; Until it reached, in regions higher, And shook the bolt Man's sin had won ! — How like, in all but Heavenly fire. To our dark World's complaining tone ! We mourn because some City fail- That, queen-like, sat amid the rest, Now lonely lies and, in despair, Beholds her Star sink in the West ; — The jewels from her fragrant hair, Torn off at some new Bride's behest ! More plaintive, still, om* loud lament, If sinful youth and hardened age A yoke of sorrows sharp have bent 45 46 Sunday called Quinqiuigcsima. For us to wear, — 0, pilgrimage The woefullest! 0, wreath oft sent For naught but Death to disengage ! Perchance with purer sympathy, Because the ways of Sion mourn. We weep and half-judge murmuringly His wisdom, Who with all has borne ; And think that Heaven will fuller be The deeper the Church-pavement 's worn. Dear God, Thou knowest! — but, though we see A virtue in external forms, There must an inner fitness be Ere Love Divine or lights or warms, — A wondrous reciprocity, Each carried in the other's arms ! Thou canst work miracles, we know : And Thou who causest, dost control And, ev'n to human hands, allow Strange power to heal and to console ; From whence the legend old did grow That Man from Heaven, Life's tire once .stole ! The Power of UnheVcf. 47 But yet with measure, such supplies: Thine own ordained Servants' throng Once failed an 111 to exorcise ; And it is writ, Thy truths among, That Thou Thyself, in human guise, Foundst Unbelief for Thee too stronc: I 0, Brother, let us hushed remain ; Nor murmur that God suffers sin ; Until we learn the minstrel-strain That drives out the strong Foe within. If CimiST Himself were here again, Could He work wonders with His kin ? '• The doleful Lamentations of Jeremiah are heard, both morninoj and evenini^, on tliis Day. £ixst ^m\)i^ in f ent. THE TEMPTATION. 'Tis Morning ; o'er the dark-blue sky No mist to float — no cloud to fly; And, brightly gemmed, the crystal Dceii Seems in its Naiad caves to sleep : In such an age, in such an hour. If thoughtless, be Thou near to bless And keep me by Thy watchful power, O, Tempted in the Wilderness ! And when, o'er Land and Deep, there streams A glorious flood of Noon-day beams ; Keep me in forest, cave, or dell. Or where the angry waters swell. In crowded haunts where men allure. Mid foeman's wrath, or friends caress — In each, in all, preserve me pure 0, Tempted in the Wilderness ! 48 TJic Temptation. 49 And when the Evening's welcome shado Shall find me by some fountain laid ; Or, as she shakes her dewy wreath, Beholds me bowing unto Death ; Do Thou be near, my soul to keep In that sad hour of sore distress ; And unaffrighted let me sleep, 0, Tempted in the Wilderness ! I pray to Thee, for Thou hast known My spu'it's suffering, all Thine own ; And earthly wants and misbelief. And this world's glory and its grief, And other gods and selfish sway, — All these Thyself, did once oppress : — Help me all these to put away, 0, Tempted in the Wilderness ! Suonir Sunbitg in f titt. THE TWO VOICES. Once, upon a sunny Autumn day, 'Neath some ancient forest-trees I lay, Watching shadows in their fitful play, Seeing how each strove to catch the other; And I could but think : How like are ye To Man's heart-aims, and how like is he (Himself but a shade, as Angels see,) To you, fleeting Forms, as if he were your Brother ! Then there came, from out the Forest-deep Voices as of two that converse keep — Both sweet, one sad — while all else did sleep; " Wherefore," breathed the sad One, " should I carry Still my golden vase to Adonai ? — Filled with perfume of devoutest sigh, His austere glance oft hath passed it by And, for gracious gifts in answer, bid me tarry. 50 The Two Voices. 51 *' Often mark I whence my perfumes come ; — From pale flowers, alas, that cannot bloom. Drooping in an undeserved gloom, Or from plants, no dew-drops ever cherish ; — Yet, when hopefullest to carry back. With glad speed, the graces that they lack — Showers and sunshine on my grateful track, — Rayless all and dewless, they are left to perish !" " Murmur not, kindest Spirit !" — here Swelled responsive a new Tone and clear, — " Nor thy Maker's ways, most equal, fear ; He to each one, as his faith is, giveth ; Lo, His Day, — so long-time sought in vain By ev'n kings and prophets and, when plain, Lighting but the lowliest to His train, — Is still Noon or Night, just as each one receiveth. " And if lore, the Wise could not attain. Grew to be poor, helpless Infants' gain, — Who so fit to learn that Martyr-strain ? — Who, to wear that bloody Baptism given? Ever thus to meekest, humblest hearts That Grief skills to bear their patient parts. 52 Second Sunday in Lent. "More than asked for, the All-Good imparts; Though they know it not, lo, Satan foils from Heaven I" Then, amid that ancient Forest-deep, Both Tones died away, and all did sleep; But the music in my heart I keep, Echoing now the sad part, now the other ; While its sweetest cadence, still I deem (And I found since in Gob's Book the theme, Whence I know it was not all a dream.) "God does naught without cause : murmur not, my Brother. C^irb Smtkg in fent. KNOWLEDGE THAT IS NOT A DREAM. 'Tis true, all speech of Heavenly love, "Wisdom above mere daily ken, Our worldly spirits, fail to move ; While still our shattered day-dreams prove How much we need to know, how scant our lore has been ! If to the Prophet's cell we go. Or at pure Priestly lips inquire, — How dull our intellect, and slow ! Or, if some fevered thoughts do glow Within, they are but caught from strange and heathen fire ! Such fires as, builded every day And nursed at our heart-altars, burn ; Shrines for our Learning's proud display And on whose horns our hold we lay, — Alas, both horn and hold how frail, one Day, to learn I 53 64 Third Sunday in Lent. Down to moss-covered Stones we bow ; Within whose mass compacted, stands (We think) the tale of when and how God formed the solid earth below, While subtile flame and floods obeyed His plastic hands. And when, beneath those rocks' defence, We find some lowly modest Flower, We torture it for evidence ; The lessons of its innocence We hold but parables for some poetic hour. And ev'n the Winds, careering free. We question on their viewless track — Explore their mission, what it be ; — They blow but as God lists, while we List not of Him whose breath impels or holds them back ! More venturous still, some burning soul O'erleaps the bounds of this Earth-sphere ; And, where unkenn'd of planets roll Led by sweet Music's soft control, He calls and claims a Stranger to its due career. I Knowledge that is Not a Dream. 55 These all arc wonders ; and the tale That stories them, might well be held A Parable whose folded vail Encloses in its dusky pale But few whose taste or trust is not full soon repelled. Yet long and wide, the thick array Of listeners to such lofty themes : — Youth pauses on its heedless way, Age fain its ebbing force would stay, [dreams. While Strength and Beauty bow before these Knowledge- But Knowledge that is Not a Dream, Has scanty pupils for its lot ; Christ's truths, as hopeless mysteries, seem And Tabor's light, an idle gleam, — Elias comes again, and the World knows him not! Lord, cleanse me of the desolate pride That longs within my heart to dwell And watch (a strong man, armed) beside Its prey, till, of its empire wide, Neglected fasts and prayer too late would break the Spell \ J|0iirtj) Suiibiig ill ftiit. THE TWO Vli^ITS. Once, in an eager but yet slow procession Winding round Olivet, With sorrowing heart and glance of deep depression, Our rudest housings set, Came the Redeemer; — not with gorgeous banners Of might and victory; Welcomed, 'tis true, with loud, short-lived hosannas Changed soon to : Crucifij ! Once more He comes ; not for one Race or Nation, In patient, weeping love ; But sternly searching all through His Creation, To punish or approve. Who shall portray the terrors of that Visit? — Prophets, with hearts inspired And lips Heaven-touched, have faintly told what is it, — World-dreaded, world-desired. 56 The Tico Visits. 57 Wherewith shall we, His creatures, come before Him? Will clouds of incense hide The sinner? Or will victims' blood, shed o'er hinj, God's anger turn aside? Can He be won by human intercession Even though, (0, saddest dole !) We give our first-born for our own transgression, The Body for the Soul ? Nay, none of these can earn a glance of favoi* ; Only a life aligned By His own pattern and His gospel's savor, That day, will tolerance find. Only the eyes that loved to trace the story Of His long-suffering. May bear to gaze, unblinded, on the glory Of His World-visiting. Only the heart that thrones Christ in its living And feels to die is gain. May meet Him safely in His sentence-giving On the vast Judgment-plain ! Jfiftlj SunVdjj ill f tut. THE ALTAK-FIliE. PRIEST. Gather around; with voices blending, Worship beneath this crimsoned shrine, With prayers that, incense-like, ascending May pierce into the Throne Divine ! CHOIR. Brightly, Altar-flame Burn on ; thou bearest thy last offering : No more, at twilight dim, in any Name Shall Minister his trembling Victim bring. No more, no more, Shall Man with sacrifice or perfumes rare Or rich libations at thy foot, implore, Amid some splendid hour, his God to spare ! PRIEST. Gather around, the blood that staineth This hallowed place, shall be your aid; 58 The Altar-Fire. 59 Till gladdening unction that remaineth Will make the Trembling, not afraid ! CHOIR. But with a Sacrifice, A Fire, a Priest to dwell continually In Heaven, in each one's heart — where, without price, Atonement, Hope, Eternal life may be — We worship now, Trusting that Thou wilt hear our sorrowing prayer ; And, as we breathe our sadly-lingering vow, Ask Thee to sanctify the Kneelers there ! Gather around ; with faces lowly And hearts repenting, bend in prayer ; And if ye weep, lo ! Angels holy Each precious drop to Heaven will bear. CHOIR. And Thou, 0, Victim blest! Who bent'st Thyself from out Thy glorious Heaven (Left now Thy starlit place of calmest rest And purity) to be for mortals given — CO Fifth Sunday in Lent. How in Thy sight Ought we to dwell, as still remembering That every breath of Earth, or feeling light May damp the flame of Thy pure ojQfering ! PRIEST. Draw near; around us all is fading Into the gloom of coming Night ; Only our Fire has known no shading — See, how it leaps in living light ! CHOIR. Burn — as on thee we gaze, ! Altar-firo, we see the Earth grow dim. Be it so e'er : let thy perpetual blaze, Hiding the World, give light to worship Him ; And when no more May the dark veil of falling Night be riven, Our God shall make thy Flame, fresh radiance pour To guide our trembling footsteps into Heaven ! Sinikg nnl-kfor^ ^mttx. THE MARCH OF KEDRON. Sign of the Heavenly Year — Pledge that the Home is near, In whose breath, its children's hearts expand When those who fear the Lord, Each to each, with pleasant word, Often speak and grasp the others' hand. God hears each warm salute ; GrOD marks each greeting mute ; In His Book, all such are written down : Tears, gems are counted there — Every smile, a setting rare Laid before Him for His jewelled crown I Dost thou, then, ask if soon Will that high count be done, Soul ! bewildered in Earth's sensuous laws? — Gl 62 Sunday ncxt-hcfore Easter. God waits to publish it, But for Man to grow more lit; Each love-pulse the moment, nearer draws ! So it proved long ago When that dense march and slow Circled Olivet and Kedron passed ; Each warm Ilosanna there. Each devout Palm-bearer's prayer, Served the lingering Easter-day to haste. So can it prove to-day. If we will only lay At Christ's feet some cast-off cloak of sin : — Such a self-victory, (Though no human eyes may see) Palms for us to bear in Heaven, doth win ; And by all springing hopes, — Each longing wish that droops Till the Sun of righteousness arise, — We (though not in the flesh) Are following Curist's march afresh And ffrow meet to earn His sacrifice! (BiisUx-^iq. THE RETURN OF THE LEAF. It was the Winter-time, When the sweet Angel-chime Stole o'er the Chaldee shepherds' slumberous sense ; Ringing out, full and clear. The burden of its cheer : " Glory to God on high ; good will to men from thence :" — A chant that, taught then from above, Ilath ever since, suj)lime, intoned the Churches love ! Fit was it that, bedight In dress of snowy white, The Earth, all bride-like, should receive her Lord : Nor strange, a wintry chill Her very breath should fill Waiting so long for His delayed, prophetic word. Alas, all help for her was o'er, Unless the Woman-born should her lost peace restore ! 63 64 Easter- Day. Three decades, hushed, pass by ; Three years of ministry, Of wouders, wisdom, costliest love forlorn ; Three days of mortal gloom In the mysterious Tomb ; Ere He may, glowing, rise on the true Bridal-morn, — Ere consummated the emprize That to our Manhood frail, the Godhead's Self allies. E'er since, on that blest Day Glows now a vernal ray. As if to mark a new Creation's Spring ; Earth, clad in loveliest flowers All fragrant with soft showers. Spreads her green, jewelled carpet for her Lord and King; While, to the upward-looking eye. New Hope, new Grace, new Life shine in the open sky. Therefore, each rolling year, The withered leaves and sere That icy Cliristmas scatters, crisped and torn, Wander till Easter comes ; When in their ancient homes And on old forest-boughs, they find themselves new-born, The Return of the Leaf. 65 — Type, how the Child of Virgin-womb, The grieved and sorrowing Man,, rose radiant from the Tomb ! Lo ! ere the morning breaks, Night hangs in thickest flakes Upon the curtain of th' expectant East ; Just as our Lenten cloud And gloomier Sabbath-shroud And Friday-cross precede our glorious Paschal-feast, While yet we struggle here on Earth, Mid varying light and shade, for our own Easter-birth ! Sure as that sad Week's flight Leads to glad, Easter light ; Sure as green leaves, each year, the boughs do hide ; Sure as the Christmas-snow Melts ere the March-winds blow. Or as the hue and breath of flowers become a Bride ; — Our fasts and chill and woe and Niglit, Wrapped in the Saviour's shroud, shall turn to endless Light ! Jfirst Swiikg aftu" iasttr. THE LAUNCH OF THE WRECK. Twice a thousand years and more Had flung their wrecks along Time's shore ; And Earth-pilgrims day by day, Sank wearied, worn-out, by the way — Happy, if where wild-flowers wave They found some calm, love-tended grave ; But no echo swelled the strain That buried Forms should live again [the Main ! — That those wrecked Ships once more should, gallant, plough Dimmer, for each younger year. Glows that bright, early truth and clear ; Fewer, from the Forest-deep Where patriarchal whispers sleep. Float the crisp and withered leaves ; And, stronger as this World-life heaves, Fainter flows Tradition's stream ; Till Eden-knowledge grew a dream And Man forgot (or worse) his high ancestral theme. G6 The Launch of the Wreck. 67 Where, at last, was that lost theme Again revived? And whence the gleam O'er sad sepulchres and urns, That now in Christian church-yards burns With a ray so pure, profound ? — It was not in old, classic ground ; Not where Tempo's lovely vale Was yearly sad with Orphic wail ; Nor where Dodona kept her doves and priestess pale ; Nor even whence those sweet doves flew — That olden clime of talcs half true, — Where a dim, religious Art Shewed but its mysteries in part, Where the darksome Pyramid The patriarchal doctrine hid, And the Statue-music weird That Thebes, night and morning, heard. No answering chord of Hope in human bosoms stirred ! But in lowly Palestine — When Jewish glories ceased to shine, And God's Temple, oft profaned, 68 First Sunday after Easter. For but one offering more remained ; When prophetic pledge must be Or false or all reality — Waked at last a murmur low, A Woman's tone, half-joy, half-woe, Breathing a wondrous tale to deadened hearts and slow ! Twice, the sad Passover-moon, With earliest Even climbing soon Olivet, the livelong night Had watched how Angel-servants bright Tended a new Tomb with tears. Where lay awhile their Lord and hers ; Till His mystic slumber o'er, He came forth to the light once more And taught one gentle heart to wonder and adore ! Ever since, that heart's glad creed : " Christ from the dead is risen indeed" — Blending with revealed lore, The World had lost or scorned before — Gathers, as each day sweeps by, Fresh votaries to swell the cry; The Launch of the Wreck. 69 And, stored up in tlic holiest place Of Christ's own sacramental grace, Our^ graves and altars both, it crowns with life and peace. First-fruits of the souls that slept — Pledge that our bodies shall be kept Like Thine own to rise, whose food Is Thy mysterious flesh and blood — Teach us, calm, to leave dear friends To strange repose, as this life ends ; Hearing all the while this strain " Those Forms, so still, shall breathe again ; Those wrecked Life-barks once more shall, gallant, plough the Main !" Bttm)i Siuibag ditx ^mltx. THE HEALING OF EPHEAUr. Sweet promise to the half-learned, stricken heart That trembles o'er its part; Sweet comfort to the wandering souls that mourn And long but to return : " In Me, their help the needy ones shall find ; In Me, the fatherless a Father kind?" Such, the soft accents to Thine elder Hace Of Thine unwearied grace ; Such were the tones that long-sought Ephraim heard In Thy prophetic word, Breathed then in vain along his desolate way, But echoing yet in Christian ears to-day. Be ours, to love its music and to learn Each close, each thrilling turn That, stronger than old Orpheus' fabled strain, •70 The Ilraling of Ej)hraim, Tells of the Dead again Recalled from more than an earth-covered grave, Ransomed by One who died that He might save ! But if those gladdening airs inspired, should prove Too lofty for our love, (While, all the time, our heart reluctant owns The sway of earthlier tones) Soon as their cadences unheeded die, A sterner strain and wailings sad swell high, Lo! o'er the desert of the Arab horde, The wild wind of the Lord — The whistling, mortal wind — sweeps as of old Till Ephr aim's sin |?e told, — His hidden sin, he thought no more to see, — His bound up, yet disclosed, iniquity. So sweeps and searches still a breath from Him, Each secret shrine and dim ; So glare, like leopards' on their evening-prey, Eyes on our wilful way : While ev'n the King who else would guard our path, (An angry gift) is crucified in wrath ! 72 Second Smiday after Easter. Yet where He sits, the First-born from the dead, He waits His grace to shed O'er each sad heart, o'er all returning feet; And if with some He meet Too lame for aught but at His door to sit, — He heals and strengthens them to enter it. Not such as these, alone, His kindness prove ; But instant in His love. By prophets, miracles and providence And inward stricken sense, He ever calls us as Lambs to the fold And pledges His own blood all safe to hold. Well may we treasure such a promised Rest, So called and healed and blest; Well may our echoing hearts take up again That sweetest prophet strain : " From Him their fruit, the barren ones shall find ; In Him, the fatherless a Father kind !" Cljirb Sniibitg afttr €mhx. THE CHURCH IN THE WILDERNESS. A little while ! — Say, have we learned The words' full meaning, yet? Or is not rather to be earned A lesson true that hidden burned But fraught, if only rightly turned, With gracious pledge and sweet ? More gracious for this cloudy day That wraps our Desert-church ; Closing to human skill her way, Veiling their fiiult who from her stra)'' Or listless far off rather stay Than for her altar search ! Saviour, for three sad troubled days Thine early servants lost The lustre of Thy wondrous ways, 73 Third Sunday aflrr Eai^trr. Till Easter blest their tcar-dinimcd gaze ; Then all was dark till the displays Of fiery Pentecost. So do thy Servants find it still: — First called to follow Thee By some heart-piercing tone, their will TTalf from the world won — bright hopes fill The horizon of their hopes, nntil The bridal moments flee. A little while — and all is dark ; Deserted all, and lone ; Nor welcomes the dim Morn, the lark; A cloud envelopes shrine and ark ; Watching for Thee, we only mark A cold and sealed stone I A little while — if patient there And prayerful, comes again The Bridegroom with His dewy hair And fragrant as the lilies are ; While o'er the Tomb, lo, angels care And shew wlu'r(^ TTc has lain ! The Church in llic Wilderness. 76 More plainly still Thy Church may ween The truth of this dim word ; A little while since all has been Bright as the Morn from mountains seen, — Now, dreary shadows come between Ilcr children and their Loud : A little while — the shadow breaks Before a ray of Thine ; The gloomy Night to glad Day wakes ; The lark his hymn up with him takes ; And the fresh Sun more brilliant makes Her services and shrine. Be trustful, then, Mother dear This pledge to thy heart press ; A little while — and every fear Shall, like a sea-mist, disappear And the Beloved Himself be near Tlioe in the Wilderness ! Jfaurtlj Suiihir itfttr Caster LOSS AND GAIN. *' Lord, only one short, hurried Moon Since we have known all ; and so soon, Lose we Thy light again ? Alas, before is warmed the love Or roused the strength, that we must prove Ere tit to join Thy martyr-train ! ^' We trusted, until that sad Day Wherein the World-prince held wild sway, To see Thee on Thy Throne ; Now, better taught yet clinging still To fancies fond and worldly will, O Master, leave us not alone !" So sighed, one time. Thy faithful few ; — Reluctant lest aught might renew Some scene of shuddering gloom; 76 Loss and Gain. 77 Or, dazzled by Thine Easter-light, Misjudging in their dubious sight The path of toil to lead them home. So, to this day, the heart late-won, Just taught to joy at Easter-dawn, Sighs as if losing Thee, When its first raptured feelings fade ; And back again — now Sun, now shade — Comes Earth-life's stern reality ! True, it has gone in mourning weed — True, it has known Thee risen indeed ; But a dim mystery Still veils the sense that would pierce higher. And waits for Pentecostal fire Or to consume, or purify. Thou work'st by an all-perfect plan ; 'Twas not enough for sinful Man To be redeemed, alone, But to be fit for Heaven, beside And flame baptized and sanctified, Here, ev'n on Earth, be all Thine own ! 78 Fourth Sunday after Easter. Therefore, the gracious answer came, (To every Christian heart the same And kind as we are weak) " My servants ! my sharp task is done ; Your places that my Cross has won For you in Heaven, yourselves must seek. " I go those places to prepare : Ye gain them but by fast and prayer, By work and vigil, here ; And lest your nature, all too frail For such high aim, at last might fail, I send thence a new Comforter !" Lord ! thanks for that sweet, gentle tone "Whose music, if else all alone, Keeps us glad company, And softens, if it cannot solve, The doubt some dreary days evolve, How we can gain by losing Thee ! fiftlj Snuhji afttr faster. THE PRINCED03[ OF ISRAEL. Bright clouds and softest showers — Low sounds of fragrant rain Whose drops, the Angels of the Flowers Scent, as descends the glittering train — Ye fitly mark the gracious Day [stay ! When the Church reads, how long God's heavenly dews can Not, for the broken vows, Oft pledged, forgotten still ; Not, for the idol-fire that glows Upon each lonely, tree-crowned hill ; Doth He forsake His Israel For whom in morning-mist, the wondrous manna fell I The wild again shall bloom, As erst the prophet sang ; And, mid the vine-leaves' deepening gloom 19 80 Fifth Sunday after Easter. The blushing fruit shall clustering hang: Ev'n Noon-tide glows with tempered light, For burning Day still drinks the chalice of the Night. Though Horeb flows no more Yet, mid the desert-sand Where Sorek's ripples seek the shore, Beneath the grace that Philip's hand On the bright element bestows. If not the Ethiop's skin, his soul less dusky grows ! Then, promised gifts begun On Meroe to gleam ; And Israel's light, dark Sheba's son Saw brighten to a purer beam ; While, too, Samaria's sorcerer, Touched by Apostles' hands, learned what his foul rites were. Then, from the sombre Past, Intoned a Voice fulfilled : — " One day, and eager crowds shall haste. On Israel's Hope their own to build ; Ten men, the long-scorned Jew shall see Seizing his skirt and glad, with him to company !" The Princedom of Israel. 81 Is this so marvellous, 0, wise man of the Earth ? — That God should not be like to us Whose minds are changing from our birth, Who one day love what next we hate, — False as the fitful breeze, wayward as misnamed Fate V But He is ever One ; Unchangeable, His ways ; From His star-lighted, silent throne One glance, Eternity surveys ; No faded Past or Future dim Unrolls its page, but all is Present aye for Him ! Therefore the Princedom high. Once given to Israel, Survives his sad Captivity That fleeting records tell ; — 'Tis but his own reluctant will That leaves his Land a waste, his Home deserted still ! SiniirHg after %Btt\mm. THE ACOLYTES. With Thee in life ! — Thine eye benign upon us, Thy gentle hand, throughout the slippery way, Thy voice, when eager foes had else undone us Or perils worn, to turn them from their prey And guard us still unharmed amid the strife : - Keep us with Thee in Life ! With Thee in heart ! — thus pure and calm and lowly, To watch Thee through Thy human pilgrimage ; To trace Thee from Thy Starlit cradle holy, Thro' tempted youth and sinless Manhood's age. To the last, incommunicable part : — Keep us with Thee in Heart ! With Thee in death ! — Life's feverish pulses over, Stilled in the darkness of our agony ; 82 The Acolytes. 83 Then, as of old, ! our lost souls' best Lover, In the dim Garden came to comfort Thee An Angel- watcher of Thy fainting breath — So strengthen us in Death ! And when that Hour is past, though angel-bidden We timid linger near Thy golden gate, Wilt Thou be there in Whom our hope was hidden To take within the souls that trembling wait ? — Then, blest beyond all glorious presage given. Keep us with Thee in Heaven ! Mljitsiuiiiitg, THE NEW SINAI. Ye, who would walk in white one Day Before the Lamb, now put your white robes on ; And, since so far we bear to stra}^ ' From habits, hallowed in the times by-gone, And vestiaries hold no more The garments the new-baptized wore, — Wear them at least upon your heart ; Unspotted, pure in every part And fit, as aught of ours can claim, To bear and to reflect the Pentecostal flame ! For so, when long, long years ago This Day grew pale at Sinai's awful glare And darkness visible below While ghostly trumpets swelled and echoed there- Through all the wandering Host redeemed, An unstained vesture brightly gleamed ; 84 The New Sinai. 85 Proving, thus far, obedience To free themselves from stains of sense .And wilful act, ere they drew nigh To gaze on tokens of their Maker's purity ! 'Tis true, those tokens come no more, Mid gloom and brilliance struggling, to our sight; Nor aching eyes, fain to explore. Find darkness only in th' excessive light ; Nor rushing winds at first swell high, Then into fearful silence sigh ; While milder, lambent flames illume Pale faces in an upper room : — But not less earnest nor less true, The still, small signs that pledge God's own descent anew! And if no visible crowns of fire Mark the Elect ; yet viewless still they dwell Within our hearts and there inspire A power and peace, no gift of tongues could tell ; The marvels that shone on the path And won the way of earlier Faith, Have ceased; but o'er the sin-sick soul Our faith still wields as strong control ; 8() Whitsunday. And, just as sure as erst, may men Take knowledge of our walk who have with Jesus been. And though not now, mid light intense And mighty sound or on soft dove-like wings, The Spirit comes, yet Christian penitence As real finds His wondrous visitings ; And, as of old declared. His grace Waits for us in the Holy place (The Church) where God His name has set, Choosing there chiefly to be met, And promising each worshii^per In sacramental signs to send the Comforter ! Would you, then, unconsumed abide That Real Presence, not less grieved and lost By sin of ours at Whitsuntide Than of the Tribes or Twelve at Pentecost ? — Leave all your frailties far behind: Only your love and sorrow find Forbearance in His mercy's store, Who judges tenderly the poor. Who makes all wild hcart-throbbings cease And teaches those He loves, the secret of His Peace ! Criiiitji Siinbag. EDEN AND GETHSEMANE. Dark, formless, void, was the unregioncd space ; No wave to stamp, no shore to wear a trace; Till, moving o'er the dreary waters' face, God's Spirit waked the echo of His Light. Then, with that pulse. Time's Ocean dim grew bright And rolling worlds began their mystic flight ! Then sprang, each instant, up some beauty new; Each Day declining lingered still to view Some just-born grace — more gracious for the dew That pensive Night shed o'er each lineament : From light and shade and scents and music blent Harmoniously, a Heavenward worship went. 87 88 Trinity Sunday. With such fair scene, the Earth Man's vision blest (The wondrous Week not yet quite sunk in rest) What time — God's image outwardly imprest, Within, a living Soul by God's own breath, And monarch of all moving things beneath, — He trod at first Euphrates' flowery heath. Then came an hour of bitter change for all. The Angels wept (could they be sad) Man's Fall ; Earth, cursed for him, wore now a dreary pall ; Her loveliest flowers that wooed his touch before, Now thorns, to guard them from his dalliance, bore — Her fruits demand his sweat and tears, and more! If dark the Earth, his heart was yet more drear. Within, Lust, Falsehood, Shame, Remorse, and Fear : Nought but a promise dim, God left to cheer His sinking soul that, when his sand was run And his worn frame a resting-place had won In kindred dust, his punishment was done ! ' Eden and Ckthsemanc. 89 Yet not unmixed with pangs this pledge he bears ; For to his gaze, made prescient through long years, A bloodstained mount with Crosses three appears : One — true type of the Eace, — hangs hopeless there ; Another's pale lips just can move in prayer — That He may save^ One deigns their woe to share ! Hence came it that from patriarchal lore The mystic sign, the Cross, its meaning wore That Egypt gives it — Endless life in store ! ^ And hence, for ages, Heaven-taught faith relied On symbols that the coming Truth did hide : — Each priest-slain Lamb showed forth the Crucified ! Then, when the mystery of Sin was done And patient Faith its lingering pledge had won, A new Creation on the Earth begun : For, woman-born. Thou cam'st in human guise — With Woman's softness, Man's infirmities — To win back our first Father's Paradise. 90 • Trinity Sunday. In every trait, Thou fought'st Ms conflict o'er : And, what no living Soul could do before. Thy quickening Spirit did achieve and more ! So, in a Garden, Thou didst strive anew, (Like where the fatal tree of Knowledge grew) But pluck'dst the tree of Life, Redeemer, too ! We may not follow farther on the path (Too weak our wishes or too faint our faith) That led Thee through the thronging realms of Death To visit and console th' expectant band Of souls that erst, in many a distant land. Thro' veils and shadows, knew and loved Thy hand. The wondrous plan was still not all complete. To make us for the purchased glory meet, AVe, too, must pluck the tree of Life and eat I Therefore, at Pentecost, in fire came down The Spirit with His grace the Work to crown And help the hearts He wants to make His own. Eden and Gvlhscmanc. 91 Then were fulfilled strange, ancient types and dim ; — The fire that burnt the Victim's quivering limb And Heavenward bore it, but prefigured Him ; The guiding Dove sent from the lonely Ark, — The auguries that, through world-ages dark, Men thought in wayward flight of birds, to mark : — These all were glimpses of Thy coming, Lord; While reverent hearts, but unread in Thy Word, The Shadow for the Substance oft adored. Ah ! better this than the cold clime and drear, In which they dwell who will not own Thee here But scorn Thee in half-hardihood, half-fear. Let no such phantasms, Lord, our souls benight; But let us, walking in Thy Gospel-light, Confess Thee One in Truth and Love and Might; And, holding by Thy Church's teaching clear E'er since that upper chamber shook with fear, Trace how Thy Three-fold energies appear ! 02 Trinity Sundaij. Therefore, to-day, wo keep the Festival Whereto bright l^entecost and Easter call ; And, though no human thought may scale it all, We, reverent, adore the Mystery Of Triune Being and the Etkrnal see Ckeatok, Saviour, CoMtouTKjt, in Thee! •' And not IC^^pt only, )jul tlio Chosen Race ilself. It is agreed that the savinf^ maik Hcen hi tho vision of the Prophet (Ezek. ix. 4.) was the sacred Tan,— a. letter that, in the prui-Kzraic chirography of the Hebrews, was itself a 6Vuv«. Jfirst Suniian afttr ^rinitg ^PIHIT-VISITINGS. Low tones tliat ou the Night-wind's sigh So faintly through the casement creep, Yet fearfully distinct and nigh For wakeful care or dreamless sleep, — Are ye but fancies of the brain, Or music of a Spirit-train? — Sometimes, so clear, so known as well (Those Voices of long-parted Friends) As if those Friends had come to tell The secrets that the Tomb defends; And then again, so strange and sweet As nought on Earth our ears could meet ! And sometimes, too, when all is still And slumber wraps the house around, Come Shapes of those who used to fill 93 94 First iSandai/ nftcr Trinity. With light and love, the Homestead's bound ; — Silent, with earnest-gleaming eyes That half light up Death's mysteries ! Float these from the dim, shadowy realm That overlooks the mournful Past, To warn us of the woes that whelm Souls (like the Rich man's) lost at last? — Or grow they but from hues that lie, Self-blending, in our memory? Ah ! none can tell ; for since the day Man, serpent-led, preferred to know More than in Paradise to stay, — Less sapient all our senses grow, And more confined and earthlier, The orbit of our knowledge-sphere. God, seen at no time, on His Throne Sits, dark with an excessive light; His angels, elder errands done, Wing now to Earth no visible flight Nor help t' unwrap from its dim veil The grey Past or the Future pale. tSjnrit- Yisitings. 95 Only His Word is with us yet, A Witness and a Teacher true ; Only His Church o'er us is set, With light our dark souls to imbue And with His Sacraments' avail, To pledge the cure of natures frail. Tf these serve not, then all in vain Will ghostlier warnings be and dread ; No pale Face or sad Voice again, Returning with the white-clothed Dead, No midnight Spirit-visitings, Will break the chain, Earth o'er us flings ! ^ttonb Smikg dkx Criiutjj. THE THREE PICTURES. Three changing Pictures in the glass Of God's dim Providence ! Three Figures, beckoning as they pass, Ere melting in the vapory mass That hides, more than with triple brass, Time's march from our frail sense ! Not ours, to know the full extent Of such portentous Forms ; We can but watch in wonderment The awful brilliance that, unspent, (Though age to age a veil has lent) Still all the foreground warms. We can but gaze, now, where the glow Of the descending Sun Leaves pleasant shadows, cool and low. There where young trees green branches throw ; While yonder, through the mist, God's Bow Makes sky and earth but one ! 96 TJie Three Piefures. 97 Ev'n as we look, a change comes o'er That so delicious scene ; The irised hues that, just before, Both Heaven's arch and the rain-drops wore, Eade, and a twilight stern and hoar Unfolds its dreary screen ! Deeper and deeper falls the Night ; Till the lone Worshipper — Who sank in slumber 'neath the light Of countless stars that pledged both Might And Love, — wakes shuddering, in affright, At the strange darkness there. Once more the Canvass weird outpours Fresh rays; — long since, the Sun Has heard the first call of the flowers And visits now their mid-day bowers ; While, round, the dark-haired Evening-hours His chariot wait upon ! Who on the house-top lingering kneels, As that great sheet unrolls ? While half-tauffht Faith the warrant steals 98 Second Smulay after Trinity From what the Vision plain reveals And what the possible Dream conceals — God's Ark for human souls. If, fainter than to Patriarch's gaze Or to Apostle's eye, Those visions loom in our late days ; At least for us a lustre plays (Lit up from emblems of God's ways) Their earlier times deny. The Rain-bow blazons in the cloud Our Baptism's covenant ; The Mount, where Abram darkly bowed, Is Calvary where the Saviour stood ; The Church holds still the mystic Shroud - Room there for all, to grant ! Such symbols she would have us store, — Our Mother, tender, true ; Therefore, each day, she gleans them o'er. Repeating from her elder lore And tripling for our sakes (and more) Their ancient strength, anew ! Cljirb \u\U\) after Crinitg, THE PRODIGAL SON. Once, when Summer's light was low In the distant West ; And purple Twilight, creeping slow, Stole, tint by tint, the Evening's glow ; Where rich clustering vines did grow, I laid me down to rest. And then slumber, unperceived, O'er me listless, fell ; I saw no more where vines, thick-leaved. Sweet glimpses of the light received, Or where branches interweaved Quaint syllables, to spell. But my sense, a new clime woo'd With strange scenery ; — Far off, there gleamed Tiberias' flood, 145 146 Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity. While, darkly shading where I stood, Hermon rose, all crowned with wood. Against the Eastern sky. Yet the look of gleam and shade, Lake and storied dell, (With child-lore, half-familiar made) Charmed not my gaze from one weird glade Where the very birds, afraid. Spared their song-dreams to tell ! Soon I knew why silent there. When I looked more nigh ; A Man^ — true image of despair — Had made within his hopeless lair, Till the heavy, stagnant air Had sickened with his sigh ! There he writhed — no tear, no cry — For a weary space ; When, sharp athwart the brilliant sky, The shadow of a Dove went by And, a moment, seemed to lie On his pallid face. The Prodigal Son. 147 I know not what slumbering chord Of his soul, it woke Or what long-buried memories, stored Within his brain, like fire were poured ; But with firm, reflected word And gentle tears, he spoke : " Better those who humbly earn Bread at home, than I ; Repentant, there I will return. Not son-like, but to service stern ; Father ! pardon now, nor spurn Slow-learning misery !'' As he said this, one might see Nature understood ; And breaking forth in sympathy, (As longing all the time, to be In accord) sweet minstrelsy Rang through the enchanted wood. Sweeter, every swelling tone For the hush before ; More brilliant, all the rich tints thrown 148 Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity. Upon the laudseape, till it shone Too intense to gaze upon ; — I slumbered then no more. And the vine-leaves hanging low, As at first, I found ; But mellow Eve's retreating glow Was lost in dusky Twilight now, Where quaint shadows come and go Half guest-, half ghost-like, round. And a low, clear whisper came (Through my bones it ran) As if a Spirit called my name : •' Poor Sleeper ! 'twas not all a dream — That sad glade, that wan One's shame ; My Son ! Thou art the Man !" Hiiutuiitlj Switbag aftu Crinitg THE DEDICATION. "■ And will the Lokd indeed Dwell on the earth, He made ? — He Who, for fitting Court, would need The Heaven of Heavens where Angels heed His glance, will He endure this human Temple's shade?" So breathed the strain one day From Mankind's Wisest son ; While kneeling millions round him lay Before a shrine, so rich, to pray, That human Art well nigh a rank Divine^ had won ! Not in distrust or scorn, So doubtful rose his prayer ; No ghostly fear or pride forlorn, But a humility inborn, With pearls of Wisdom set, decks his devotion rare. 149 150 Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity. But now, in later days Of hopeless, heartless gleam, Men, lost in philosophic maze, — Too learned to love, too proud to praise. Too free for faith — of gifts without a Giver, dream ! While some, less bold than these, A God above them own ; But in cold Reason's chamber freeze And worshipping (not on their knees But in the spirit,) set Self on an Idol-throne ! Guard us from such extremes, Lord of all Truth and Grace ; Alike, from superstitious dreams, And from wild, pantheistic schemes And from their creed, who put Man's feelings in Thy place ! Teach us, all glad, to pay The blushing Vineyard's due ; At Caesar's feet, his own to lay ; And, on the World's thick-crowded way, To leani their lineaments, who bear Thy tokens true ! The Dedication. 151 So, though no outward shrine, With Israel's king, we build, A pledge and share of Life divine In pure, obedient hearts shall shine, Till, like that olden House, those hearts with Thee be filled ! And if it be, at first, A Cloud that hides from Thee ; A little while — it is dispersed, And o'er the heedful soul will burst, The Day-star's promised beam, to bid the darkness flee. Then may we say, indeed, (More wise, more humble made,) " He Who, for fitting Court, does need The Heaven of Heavens where Angels heed His glance, can yet endure poor, human Temples' shade !" ^fotiiltdfj SiMti^ag after Criiiitg. THE PRAYER OF ELIAS. Whose is the breath, so sweet, so pure, That will not soil Thy shrine ? Whose suppliant hands, canst Thou endure To see before Thee twine ? Whose is the faith, so calm, so sure, To ask for aught of Thine ? — Alas, our stains are wide and deep ; Within, foul Memories their dreary vigil keep ! The snow-drops bright, all trustful, peep Up mid the sheer ice-field ; The juicy vines, untrelliced, creep And folded tendrils shield ; The violets on yon mossy steep Delicious odor yield ; But not cv'n fragrant violet Nor clasping vine nor fearless snow-drop are we yet ! 152 The Prayer of Elias. 153 And these have not, like us, to bring Crushed hopes and languid cares To Thee, or chords unnerved to string Afresh with voiceless prayers ; Their duteous, life-long offering But praise for burden bears ; While ice, as thankless still as poor, Each moment feel thy help — each moment need it more ! If, in the glowing page we read The tale of Prophet's power ; To whom, the obedient clouds gave heed, Three years forbid to shower ; And who the parted soul could lead Back, after Death's worst hour ; — Slight claim to prophet-grace have we His children, who once thought to hide himself from Thee ! Yet from that storied page we learn A lesson true and high ; If gifts so large, our Race could earn, When all was shadowy, How freer, brighter far, they turn Since His humanity, 15'1 Twentieth Saiumy after Trinity. Who each faint sigh in Heaven presents As kindest Son of Man and, Son of God, then grants ! For, ever since the chosen Few Watched once His cloud-borne way. The droi3S they caught, of falling dew In fonts baptismal stay ; And virtues, recked not of, imbue With a mysterious sway The simple food He blest and brake That elements of Earth might thence Heaven's own hue take! Thus cleansed, thus fed, we need not hide In hopelessness, our sin ; But follow where the Crucified Leads His regenerate kin ; And, though our prayers may not betide The prophet's meed to win, Dews yet more gracious heed our word And Bouls, once dead in sins, are to new Life restored. Thus called, thus blest, our breath grown pure Fears not to soil Thy shrine ; The Prayer of EUas. 155 Our suppliant hands are clasped secure Where'er Thine altars shine ; And kindling faith, serene and sure, Makes us all but divine ; — Without, Christ's footfall stills the Deep, Within, we wait for Him and pleasant vigils keep ! Cfoniig-first Sitithj) uiitx Criiiitg THE RIVEES OF DAMASCUS. He stood beside the door Of the lone house and poor, (Wherein the Prophet chanced awhile to dwell) In Eastern vizier-pomp, With chariot and clear trump, The praise of Israel's healing God to swell ! But forth, no wizard came, Pale-cheeked, with eye of flame ; No form, evoked by magic art, was seen ; A daily servitor The simple message bore : " Go, seven times wash in Jordan and be clean !' How often, since that day, The world hath seen the sway Of pride, the same that fired the Syrian's breast 156 The Rivers of Damascus. 157 Ev'n now, we sinners turn Away and God's plan spurn, K not just what Man dares to deem the best. And, though in other words, Our verdict still accords \\'ith the rude soldier's self-deceiving zeal ; Some vague and sensuous dream, Some dear Abana's stream, A\^e hold more worth than Gospel-grace, to heal Lord of all Form and Power ! Why dim, unto this hour, Are all Thy lines, marked in both works and word V Why does our Faith so late For signs and wonders wait. As if calm order less showed forth the Lord V Why ask we that it be A sudden leprosy To mark, Gehazi-like, the selfish sin ? Or that, before our eyes. Stern Azrael arise To smite, as erst, th' Assyrian camp within V 158 Twenty-first Sunday offer Trinify. Needs it a visible Dove, Font-hovering, to prove The virtue rare of the Baptismal wave ? Or must we, sceptic, wait Until the Judgment-seat, To see Thy Body raise ours from the grave? Thou canst shed o'er a sign The simplest, power Divine To work the wonders of Thy Love or Wratli ; Be ours such signs to learn Nor, with Naaman, spurn The easy rites that mark Salvation's path ! ®;i))tittg-su0itb Stttibag after Crinitg. THE ETERNITY OF THE GOSPEL. Who hath not felt the bliss of new-born Day Along its glowing way ; ' And, drinking of its countless, airy wells, Owned their enchanting spells ; Nor thought how each fresh-rising, fragrant Morn Hastes to that long-pledged bourne Where neither Sun's bright beam, nor Star's calm ray, But Light more heavenly still, shines endless on the way 'I Ev'n so, each period in the Church's life (Though waking to new strife) Marks the sure progress of the Eternal Will That weaves, unhindered still, (Whether amid a luscious landscape's gleam Or lurid cloud and flame) 159 160 Twenty -second Sunday after Trinity. The varied web that ever to His Eye Lies all outspread at once, while myriad ages fly. Not Man's, to know the pictures that it holds In undeveloped folds ; Save when, from God's own glance reflected, gleams Shine on some prophet's dreams ; As, once, the Father of the Faithful saw Christ's glad Day and new Law, Or passed before the Babylonish Seer Men's Empires o'er their kind, in living shapes of Fear. Now, since that gracious, purer Day hath risen Upon our earth-bound prison, Less needed (and so, quenched) is prophet-light ; But not left to the Night Of dark forebodings and of duties dim, Unmarked, unblest by Him, Are we ; for, by His manifested word. We learn and treasure up the portents of the Lord ! With more of grace, to help our faint, frail aim, Than prescient seers could claim ; The Eternity of the Gospel. 161 With more than Light, to shine along our way, — Ev'n Endless Life's clear ray ; With holiest pledge, that who His will doth do Shall know the Good and True : — We deeper pierce, than Hebrew sage, the scroll And watch a fate serene, when worlds unlearn to roll ! The Merciful, He leaves not those alone Whom He has made His own ; But as, once, lions in their Persian den Became more tame than men, At His command ; and (be we reverent here) As He was ever near The Son of Man in more than human straits, — His presence still round those who love to please Him, waits ! Nor is the way to please Him, dim or hard ; But brilliant with reward : — The law of love, that Cain once fiercely broke With fratricidal stroke ; Th' example, that but sinless ones alone May cast at Guilt the stone ; The warning, lest our pardons count by seven ; The threat, not to forgive is to be not forgiven ! 162 Twenty -second Sunday after Trinity. Such is the Gospel-law, the Saviour brought ; That, e'en ere Eden-taught, Ran, chainlike, through what is and is to be In our World-history ; Now, shedding o'er some scene celestial light Now, quenched in heathen night ; But serving always fitly as the key Of Time's dim, solemn march on to Eternity I Cfonttg-tfjirir Siinbag after Criiittg. THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE. In Eden, when the Earth was new, Two trees not far asunder grew ; One Knowledge Ibore, — the other, Life ; As if, then, was begun the strife How heavenly bliss might best be won, — Whether by intellect alone Or by Obedience, to prove A fitness for those realms where Life is fed on Love ! We know too well that Eden-choice ; We hear, each day, too plain the Voice That whispered lofty promise there : " Ye shall not die ; — another sphere, More safe and high, awaits their tread Who dare on Wisdom's fruit to feed : One taste — one step — and ye shall grow As Gods yourselves, like Him, both good and ill to know !" 163 164 Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity. Since then, that earliest dream all o'er, We, children, wander by the shore Of Time's vast sea, and watch afar The gleaming (like some distant star) Of Cherub-swords that guard and show The Paradise shut from us now, — Condemned, how perilous to prove. How sorrowful tJieir lot, who rather know than love ! Nor is it only Man's wild will That thus is paid ; but Knowledge still Has, in its nature. Sorrow's seed. Else wherefore was the Wise king's meed. With all his search, but Vanity ? And (higher, apter instance) why Was He, the all-prescient One, the while He dwelt with us on Earth, seen never once to smile Wrapped in His words the Truth doth lie, (Perhaps made into Truth, thereby) " If blind, ye should be without sin ;" And thence, as consequence, we win — " If sinless, without sorrow too ;" For every heart that Sin doth woo The Tree of Knowledge. 166 And win, full soon to see, is fain, Sharp, unfamiliar Griefs ev'n in its bridal-train. So, Light and Crime and Suffering stand, Three Mighties, linked hand in hand And haunting every avenue That mortals tread, in various hue ; — Now, to scale Heaven, they tempt the mind, — Now, sense, with pleasures less refined ; But leading sure their votaries To some such steep as where the baffled Titan lies ! 0, riddle hardest to be read ! 0, mystery most near, most dread ! — Undying souls, (so far divine) Encased in such a mortal shrine ; E'er struggling with transcendant aims While Earth, each hour, its tribute claims ; Ev'n as they burn to pass the skies. Polluting, with strange fire, their holiest sacrifice ! Light, enough to miss the way — Knowledge, that just can lead astray — 166 Twentij -third /Sunday after Trinity. Would ye were either less or more ! — So speaks my heart ; but from the store Of Scripture, comes another tone : •' My Servant ! leave such doubts alone ; Seek but to do as I command, In hope and love ; the rest is safe within My hand !" Else, every Morn's returning light, The Seasons' many colored flight, The wonders that our frame disclose And, (stranger still) the fire that glows Within, — each trace that God has given, Our wandering minds to point to Heaven — Mislead the souls they were to guide, Till Nature's brightest works her Maker only hide ! 'Tis only, when the humbled heart. With conscience soft, will do its part, — Accepting, first, revealed lore ; Then, if it venture to explore Creation-marvels, quick to find Christ's light without which all are blind — That Man another taste may claim Of Fruit which, Eden-touched, turned to consuming Flame ! Cfo^ntg-fourtlj Swnkg after S^riiiitr HYPOSTASIS. Two dew-drops, run together ; Two clouds that, floating, blend in summer-weather ; Two smoke-wreaths, upward driven, That mingle ere they melt away tow'rds Heaven ; Two voices, but one tone ; Two hearts — ah ! leave those hearts alone, Nor dream in human types to see The semblance of the harmony That, (echoing notes, ! Saviour, Thine In Thine abasement's mystery) Breathes, in regenerate Man, the Human and Divine ! Ev'n those works where God's finger Has left its traces, not so marred, to linger; Or where His shadow falling Makes outlines still, though dim, Himself recalling; — The gentle drops of dew. The vapors melting out of view, lev 108 Twenty -fourth Sunday after Trinity. The harmless air whose tones are heard As when by leaves in Eden stirred, — These serve but faint half-thoughts to bode (Unfettered all by rhyme or word) Of the high union that new-forms us sons of God ! 0, words, so strange, so awful! Well might we deem their utterance still unlawful, — Fit but for Psalmist's lyre Or wisest King or loved Apostle higher — "^ If He, all Three Who taught, Had not, one day, rebuked such thought; Bidding the illy-reverent Jew Confess the Scriptures that he knew; And, to His Church now still more kind, Bestowing an assurance true On loving souls that, glad, room for His Spirit find. But lest some fond thought, hidden. Should cheat our hopes, clad in a shape forbidden ; Or life-long cherished error, Dissolving one day at Death's touch in terror, Our sad mistake should prove, — Lo, gleaming lines of tcnderest love Hypostasis. 169 Betoken where that Spirit is ; And, by clear visible sympathies, Afford this test, external, true, Of whence our hopes regenerate rise : Who loves God and is loved, must love his Brother, too I Thus, following Christ's example, We come to share with Him, His heirdom ample. The Son of Gon, most Holy, Became the Son of Man, despised and lowly ; And, spite His thankless kin, Poured out His love and life to win For us the door of a new fold : So, we, the sons of men, enrolled Among His sacramental host. Though a mysterious grace untold, Grow to be the sons of God — gain more than Adam lost I No figure this, but real ! And, though the curious heart, that longs to see all, Misdoubts our secret treasure And deems that aught Divine should act at pleasure. (While we are fettered still,) We patiently our tasks fulfil ; 170 TwfMtij-foiirtli JSunday after Trinity. Waiting until lie comes again, Whose Manhood, once bowed down with pain, Is pattern of what ours shall be ; For mingling in His rapturous train We glorious grow like Him, Whom as He is, we see ! '0 See Ps. lii. 6, quoted in S. John x. 34. the Second Morning Lesson. The two chapters of the Proverbs of Solomon, taken as the First Lessons for the Day, contain the description of that Heavenly Wisdom which is Hgnratively said to have been with the LORD from the beginning as His Delight and Daughter, whom we arc bid to win. The words of the Belov- ed Disciple are in John iii. 11. the Second Evening Lesson. CtotittjT-fiftj) Swiiku iifttr CriiiitB THE SOUL-WINNERS. If, wandering on Life's beaten road, One spot, amid the verdant sod, Should most attract our heart and ej^es ; It is, where Love from man to man. Its hallowed pilgrimage began, Where we may offer our best sacrifice I So truest still, and likest Him — Who thought not shame nor grief to climb That awful Mount of gloom and woe, — Shall we be ; if, in following far. We strive upon our hearts to bear The Cross of loving every soul below. Winners of souls — how wise ! who deem Best of that road where mankind dream The hand that scatters, poorest still ; m 172 Tvoc)it\j-jifth Simday iiftcr Trinity. And who, if e'er the pathway be Arid and thirsty, faithful see A budding tree of Life by every rill. Therefore the needy ones they love. As they are loved ; and seek to prove The promised power their Maker gave : — Joyful if, by assiduous prayer And love and faith, they haply tear Some long-lost soul from its stone-covered grave ; Or feed, with kindly voice and hand, Poor wanderers in a desert land With bread and word and softest care ; And, thoughtful that the tenderest grace Lose not by disregard its place. Teach them to gather up the fragments there. They faint not in their glad endeavor Of giving and forgiving, ever ; Their perfect Love doth cast out Fear, While through the veil that thickly shrouds What shall be, amid glowing clouds. They see the Coming of their Saviour, near ! cLtotnlg-skilj Siuihtir afiu Mnii^ THE HEART KNOWETH ITS OWN BITTERNESS, The dimpling smile on Beauty's cheek, The brow so calm and fair, Pledge not within the peace we seek, — Hide not its secret there. And so, amid some pageant high, Some hour of glorious sheen, The form elate, the flashing eye Mask woful hearts, I ween ! No age, no rank, no toil, no love Evades this destiny ; But each created heart must prove Its lonely malady. The tender infant sobs amid The mother's soft caress ; And stalwart manhood's face is hid In silent bitterness. 173 174 Twenti/sixth Sunday after Trinitij. No heart can, to another's grief, Vibrate in full, true tone — No heart will bear to win relief, Unveiling all its own ! Nor does the sparkling flush of joy Glow in reflected beam ; It wakes in each one's own employ, Or lives in each one's dream. We meet its gleam, in one we love, With constant, ready smile ; But how so little can so move, Wonder, perchance, the while. For ever since the Fall that drove Man out from Paradise, In vain our sympathetic love To be responsive, tries I At best it is but half in tune, — A weak and shattered Harp, Athwart whose harmonies are strewn Wild discords, harsh and sharp. The Heart Icnuwdh its own Bitterness, 175 Lord, only Thou canst mark and feel Each wavering note, each sigh And tones that, half-unconscious, steal From burdened hearts, on high I Happy, whose burden thither borne Grows light as it ascends ; Till music from all hearts forlorn, Harmoniously blends ; — Till sicknesses of Hope deferred, Touched gently by Thee, close ; — Till wishes, that each stray wind stirred, Now motionless repose ! (!LlDtut])-$tbtiit|) ^iinkg afttr ^nnilg A LITTLE WHILE. A little while ! — Ah, how much hangs upon it, Of hasty joys, hopes killed, and sudden strife, And footholds lost upon the bridge of Life, And fruit found ashes just when we had won it By force or guile ! A little while, — In funeral darkness lying, We, too, are counted among things that were ; Yet ghosts of all our actions haunt us there. Like spectral-fires, at night-fall oft seen flying Round some old pile. 0, reconcile Our souls to Thee, Redeemer ! So, in that gloomy hour we may but find The burdens of our life-time left behind. And feel that Thou dost hold us, spite our tremor, Safe all the while I hUit. TUB STRAIN HAS CEASED; AND MANY AN EVE, SINCE IT WAS SUNG, HAS STOLEN NIGH THE ELM, WHERE FANCIES CAME TO WEAVE THEIR RUDE, UNLABORED TAPESTRY; SO LONG AGO, THAT EVEN I THE DREAMER THERE BUT HALF-REMEMBER EACH SHADE ONCE KNOWN, AND LINGERINGLY HANG o'er it now, AS o'eR SOME EMBER OP CHERISHED FIRES; OR START AT FINDING SOME TRACE THAT FRIGHTENS IN REMINDING, LIKE one's OLD FOOT-PRINTS ON THE BEACH, THE WASTING TIDE HAS FAILED TO REACH. STEALING EVE, HAUNTED TREE, WOULD YE HAD BORNE OR LESS OR MORE TO ME 17t ,^f