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FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON. D. D
BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO
THE LIBRARY OF
PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY
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Section fgSO
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JAN -7 1933 ^
hy SACRED VERSES, M
EDITED BY
THE REV. ISAAC WILLIAMS, B.D.
author of Cfie (Eatfjcoral, srijouflfjts (n $ast ¥eats, etc.
EDWARD LUMLEY, 514, NEW OXFORD STREET.
MDCCCLVII.
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13arl II.
BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR.
PENITENCE.
DEATH
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
THE MINISTRATION OF ANGELS.
THE TWO BOOKS.
THE BIRD'S NEST.
OLD BLACKWELL.
MUSIC ON THE WATERS.
THE CHILD IN THE STORM.
ST. WENCESLAUS.
THE PILGRIM AT THE CROSS.
THE ANGEL OF DEATH.
ST. AUGUSTINE.
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.
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In dead of night profound Is heard a seraph sound Of never-ending morn, — The Lord of Glory born In a poor homely shed, on this our sullen ground.
Now with that shepherd crowd, If it might be allowed, We too would enter there, With awful hastening fear, And kiss that cradle meek, in reverent worship bound.
O sight of strange surprise ! That fills our gazing eyes, — A manger coldly strew'd Upon the ground so rude, A leaning Mother poor, and Child that helpless lies !
Art Thou, 0 wondrous sight ! Of lights the very Light, Who holdest in Thy hand The sky, and sea, and land, Who than the glorious Heavens art more exceeding bright ?
'Tis so : — Faith darts before, And, through the cloud drawn o'er, She sees the God of all, Where Angels prostrate fall, Adoring tremble still, and trembling still adore.
No thunders round Thee break, Yet doth Thy silence speak — As with that still small sound, Wherein our God is found — That man should leave his pride, the things of Heaven to seek.
Within us, Babe divine, Be born, and make us Thine ; Within our souls reveal Thy love and power to heal, And make our hearts to be Thy cradle and Thy shrine.
From a Latin Hymn.
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Jesu, born the world to free,
The incarnate Deity ;
Ere the worlds their march begun,
Equal Thou with God, and One ;
Thou our peace and glory art,
Only hope of mortal heart :
Hear our prayers, which to the skies
From the heart's low altar rise,
Holy Son, and unto Thee
Sing we everlastingly.
With a free, spontaneous birth, Thou didst take a form of earth, Drawing mortal men to Thee, To partake of Deity. Us Thy brethren Thou dost call, Our hand holding, lest we fall, And our life, with deadly stain, To its vileness turn again :
Holy Spirit, unto Thee
Sing we everlastinglv.
This is the glad holyday, Which in memory holds the ray, When from out this shining bed The true Sun did lift His head ; And the earth and distant pole, And where ocean's waters roll, Each in holy ardour vies, Breaking forth in jubilees,
Holy Father, unto Thee
Singing everlastingly.
Nor shall we, for whom undone Comes the everlasting Son, Let in thankless silence stay This our first-born holyday : Praise Him, creatures here below ; Him, where'er His blessings flow ; Him, earth, sea, and heavenly host ; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost :
Dreadful name of Godhead, Thee
Sing we everlastingly !
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No sooner is our Saviour born
Than He is marled by woe ; Those who love Him must learn to mourn
And suffer pain below.
His parents have done no man wrong,
That they must flee away ; But all who unto Him belong
Will this bad world betray.
Yet they are unto God above
And holy angels dear ; Bright are their footsteps in His love,
Calm'd by His holy fear.
To Joseph in a vision deep
The angel now rcturn'd, And all around him in his sleep
The light celestial burn'd.
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Be still, thou wintry Storm, Nor hurt her gentle form ; Shine out again from f;ir, Thou Bethlehem's lowly Star ; Their pathway strew, thou Earth, For Him who gave thee birth, By Virgin-mother trod, The mother with her God. From nightly winds so wild She wraps her Holy Child ; In each thought of unrest, She clasps Him to her breast. Good Joseph by her side Hastes, like a Heaven-sent guide ; While Faith throughout the night, Than morning star more bright ; And round them holy Love A peaceful light doth prove.
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" l?e tocnt tioVDii toirlj tljcm, ant) came to iPaja-- mi), anti toatf Subject unto rljcnu"
" Lkt us, then, also ourselves be subject to our parents. And if we have not parents, yet to those who are to us of the age of parents. And why should I speak of parents? If Jesus, the Son of God, is subject to Joseph and Mary, shall I not he subject to my Bishop, who has been appointed my father of God ? Shall I not be subject to my Priest, who is set out me by the Lord? And let everj one observe, that an in- ferior penon is often set over those who are greater than himself."
Ork.kn (in St. I.uhi.
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l\ y, Come, little child, here mayst thou view
A mirror sent from Heaven, A pattern of obedience true To holy children given.
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He whom angelic hosts obey,
The stars on high His fingers made,
And Heaven's bright arch have spann'd,
Art thou more wise in thine own eyes !■< Than are thy parents poor ?
See where the Wisdom of the skies Stoops on this cottage-floor!
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Or thinks t thou that thy parents weak
Are not so good as thou ? Behold the Lamb of God, most meek, 1 1 To sinful parents bow.
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Yields to a humble mother's sway, iff
R And hears His father's call.
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He Who of all the worlds unseen
Doth the vast pillars bear, Here carries wood in lowly mien ■ " Son of the carpenter."
Yet deign to His poor father's trade,
With meek obedient hand. t! ?!
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• ye PERCEIVE HOW BY this OUTWARD GESTURE and deed he de- CLARED HIS GOOD WILL TOWARD THEM; FOB HE EMHRACED THEM IX HIS ARMS, HE LAID HIS HANDS UPON THEM, AND BLESSED THEM."
M DOUBT YE not THEREFORE, BUT EARNESTLY BELIEVE THAT HE will LIKLwisk FAVOURABLY RECEIVE Tins PRESENT [NFANT; that HE WELL EMBRACE HEM WITH the ARMS OF his MERCY.*'
BapUtWUU St iricr.
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Cljn'0t binding; little Cljiluren*
How blest that child whom Christ of old,
In holy Palestine, Did in His sacred arms enfold,
And bless with hands divine !
More blest the child with Christ who lives
Within His Church on earth, Whom in His arms He takes, and gives
The new and heavenly birth.
How careful was that child, I ween, Which felt His gracious arm,
To flee through life from deeds unclean, And keep that holy charm !
More care he needeth unto whom
The Holy Ghost is given, Admitted to the Church's home,
And made an heir of Heaven.
He took that child within His hands, And set him down again,
To wander forth 'mid Jewish lands, Which 'neath His wrath remain.
But with this babe whom now He takes,
He doth continue still; His Presence ne'er that child forsakes
Who strives to do His will.
Ye who approach God's House of Prayer, Remember God Himself is there, Though not beheld by eyes of sense ; Do Him all lowly reverence.
Remember Christ the Crucified Was like a Lamb in all beside ; But in His Father's House His zeal Did the avenging Judge reveal.
All that profaned He swept from thence, Dreadful in His omnipotence ; And 'mid them, with uplifted rod, Stood terrible the Almighty God.
There is He still, although unseen — Take heed no deed or thought unclean Enter within that sacred door, Or tread upon that hallow'd floor.
Let not the thoughts of merchandise In thine unheeding breast arise ; Nor pleasure past, nor future care, Dare breathe within that hallow'd air.
To eyes of faith there God is found, The angel hosts keep watch around ; Upon thine heart are countless eyes, As if admitted to the skies.
Thus when men know not He is near, In His own House shall He appear, And drive with scourge of endless woe All that defiles His Church below.
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SEVEN LESSONS.
"Baptism. Is it unless we cleansed be
By Thy Baptismal Grace, We cannot Thy new kingdom Bee,
And have in Thee a place ?
iiepentanrf. Or is it that we wash our feet
With penitential tears, Soil'd with the dust we daily meet
'Mid worldly hopes and fears ?
S&elf«&fca«tment. Or is it that we onward press,
The humblest to be found, And in all deeds of lowliness
Be bowed unto the ground ?
ISrotherlg HU'n&iuaa. Or that with kindly offices
Our brother we befriend, Laying aside our pride and ease,
Down to his feet to bend ?
©hartta?. Or that by gentle charities
His name we render clean, Look on him with a brother's eyes,
And hide his faults when seen ?
Suffering. Or that if, tried with pain below,
We are baptised in blood, Those healing waters, we shall know,
Arc sweeten 'd by the wood ?
&ijc lovU'8 Suppt r. Or that we first must cleanse our feet,
According to Thy word, Before we shall be guests found meet
For Supper of the Lord ?
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But why thus kneeling on the cold, dark ground ? Oh, why that look of fearful agony,
While from Thy livid frame
Thy blood falls drop by drop ?
It is the mighty anguish of Thy soul, And horror at the weight of others' crimes,
To bear Thy Father's wrath,
And terrors of the lost.
It is the proffer'd Cup Thy soul affrights : Ah ! if it be that Thou drink not the whole,
We everlastingly
Must drink, and suck the dregs !
But love doth master terror's agony —
Love, strong as death, and His blest Father's will;
Calmly He yields Himself
To darkness and to death.
From a Latin Hymn
To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart
He doth impart The virtue of His midnight agony,
When none was nigh, Save God and one good angel, to assuage
The tempest's rage.
Mortal ! if life smile on thee, and thou find
All to thy mind, Think who did once from Heaven to Hell descend,
Thee to befriend ; So shalt thou dare forego, at His dear cali,
Thy best, thine all.
" O Father ! not my will, but Thine be done !"
So spake the Son. Be this our charm, mellowing Earth's ruder noise
Of griefs and joys,
That we may cling for ever to Thy breast
In perfect rest.
Christian Year.
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Cfniat before ^erotu
A cord around His neck was hung,
Reproaches o'er Him flung, While through the streets they led to die
The Lamb of God Most High. Behind Him bound His sinless hands,
Before the king He stands, Like some poor guilty criminal,
Within that judgment-hall. While fierce and loud the murderous cries
Without that hall arise, As of wild beasts that stand and bay,
When they behold their prey, — So calm and gentle still He stood,
In his meek fortitude, Herod himself is moved to see
His fearless majesty. O Lord, I tremble to behold
These men so rude and bold ; Alas ! they know not that e'en now
All knees to Thee shall bow, And we with them together meet
Before Thy judgment-seat !
And now with scourges, for my sake, His tender flesh they break ;
Fierce soldiers lift the bleeding rod Against Thee, O my God !
But not Thy sufferings or Thy love Proud Pharisees can move ;
Unfeeling still they stand and cry, That Thou our King must die.
Alas ! our sins, in deed and thought, On Thee these pains have brought ;
Yet day by day, still more and more, We add unto their store.
O Lord, in pity strong to save,
One thing of Thee I crave, —
That o'er my sins, which Thou hast borne, I still may learn to mourn ;
As Thou for me hast felt to feel, And all my wounds reveal ;
Lest I be forced from Thee to go, With rod of endless woe.
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THE LORD HATH LAID ON HIM TH K INKJUTY OF US ALL."
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Meek Victim, is Thy strength undone ?
Thy pains are but begun ; What are these burdens and these blows,
But foretaste of Thy woes ?
My God and Maker ! is this Thou
That thus to earth dost bow ?
Forced by a rabble coarse and rude, Exulting in Thy blood.
The mangling scourge, the piercing thorn, Thy tender limbs have torn ;
And more than all Thy torturers see Was last night's agony :
These, with the sorrow, pain, and shame, Have overwhelm'd Thy frame,
That now Thy tottering knees sink down Beneath Thy bleeding crown.
But yet Thy words, just spoke aloud To that sad female crowd,1
Tell of a heavier weight within, — Thy sorrows for our sin.
Sharp was the scourge, and keen the thorn, And dread the shame and scorn ;
But saddest in that funeral pall — The burden of us all.
Careless they lift their heads on high, And force Thee on to die,
Types of ourselves, that little heed
The weight that made Thee bleed.
1 Luke xxiii. 28.
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IIusii'd is the noise of that tremendous day In Gabbatha's dark hall and Calvary's hill ;
The dreadful sounds in distance die away, And in that rocky garden all is still.
The Shepherd of the sheep there smitten lies ;
His sheep beloved arc scatter'd far and wide ; One faithful group stands in the evening skies,
Beneath a rugged rock's o'crhanging side.
Joseph and Nicodemus, now grown bold,
There wrap their Lord in the white winding-sheet ;
With fragrant funeral honours they enfold His Head and Body and His sacred feet.
The Holy Women too are gazing there,
In sorrow beyond sorrow drawing nigh ; But the sore agonies of their despair
Are calm'd by the deep sense that God is nigh.
Here Mary and Salome foremost stand, And gaze on that loved Face all mark'd with gore ;
The thorny crown hard by, and wounded Hand, Speak agonies which none hath known before.
The Magdalene at feet of her dear Lord
Kneels down, o'crwhelm'd with passionate grief profound, Remembers her anointing and His word,
And gains an unknown comfort from each wound.
The Virgin Mother of our Lord and God
Is sitting by, in speechless woe, apart ; They who approach II im most feel most the rod ;
The sword e'en now hath pierced her inmost heart.
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In majesty unspeakable
He rose from the dark grave,
Victorious o'er the powers of hell Omnipotent to save.
The soldier-guard that watched the tomb
Lay breathless with affright, Their souls were wrapt with twofold gloom
While round them shone the light.
Then came that holy company Of mourners ever blest,
The sepulchre of death to see, But found an angel-guest.
Why seek the Living 'mong the dead I
No more the grave's dark prison Shall hold Him in her silent bed ;
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Christ is rising, And doth burst the sepulchre.
All in vain the posted station
Of the armed soldiery, — All in vain the faithless nation
Sets the seal and watches nigh ; — Ye need not fear,
None shall reach where He doth lie.
He Himself, from sleep awaking, j Who now hidden lies in gloom,
Through your seals, and without breaking, Shall come forth and leave the tomb ; Death cannot hold
I Him born of a Virgin's womb.
When His heart stern death was rending,
!They cried out, " Thy death-bed leave, And from off Thy cross descending, We will upon Thee believe !"
To death resign'd, He would suffer no reprieve.
No, He hath not thence descended, Or ye would for ever grieve ;
But from death He hath ascended ; Will ye not in Him believe 1
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Cljritft risen*
Anc.els come on joyous pinion
Down the heaven's melodious stair ; •| Triumphing o'er death's dominion,
\ i Up to this our lower air
'Tis He alone Can your chains of death relieve.
Lord, with Thee in daily dying
May we die, and with Thee rise ; And on earth, ourselves denying, Have our hearts within the skies, To sing our God,
sole Good and Wise.
From a Latin
\ ' From a Latin Hymn.
&t, 3joj)n tljc baptist.
Lo, the Baptist's herald-cry
Shakes the Jordan 1 Let the wakening eye and ear Welcome the great harbinger.
Earth, and sea, and listening sky,
Wait their Maker ; And throughout the mighty womb Feel the jubilee is come.
Let us cast the way on high
For His coming ; Cleanse the heart, and make it. meet For His Hi'avrii-di'iM.rndcd feet.
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M THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING IN THE WILDERNESS."
Who hither comes from shrines of the dark wood, With voice that sternly cries, and as he goes
Hang on his words a growing multitude 1 His is no brow that swells with fancied woes, Nursed in a palace or a court's repose ;
No reed is he which, to the moaning gale,
Waves its tall shadow in the moonlight pale.
For thrice ten years, in desert haunts profound, He hath been rear'd to holy hardihood,
And the deep wild now hears again the sound Of her Elijah in the solitude ; Who, with his spirit bold and might-endued,
The thunders of God's law proclaims aloud
To soldier, Pharisee, and humble crowd.
And now, admitted to the kingly hall, Unto the subtle tyrant he draws near ;
No coward fears the Prophet's heart appal, No courtly favour wins, nor list'niug ear, His holy admonitions glad to hear;
But e'en in kingly ears, severe and free.
He warning speaks of foul adultery.
From a T.ntin Hymn.
HE was iiii; only BON OP Ills MOTHER, \\n BHE WAS
A WIDOW."— Li'KK vii. 12.
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The whole tale of misery is told in a few words. The mother was a widow, and had no hope of having children ; she hid no one upon whom she might look in the place of him that was dead. To him alone she had given suck; he alone made her home cheerful. All that is sweet and precious to a mother, was he alone to her."— St. Grkgouy Nyssen.
Who says the widow's heart must break,
The childless mother sink? — A kinder, truer voice I hoar, Which even beside that mournful bier
Whence parents* eyes would hopeless shrink,
Bids wee]) no more. — O heart bereft,
How strange to thee that sound ! A widow o'er her only son, Feeling more bitterly alone
For friends that press officious round.
Yet is the voice of comfort heard. For Christ hath touched the bier —
The bearers wait with wondering eve.
The swelling bosom dares not sigh, I > ii t all is still, twixt hope ami fear.
Even such an awful soothing calm
We sometimes sec alight On Christian mourners, while they wail In silence, by some churchyard-gate,
Their summons to the holv rite.
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And such the tones of love which break
The stillness of that hour, Quelling th' embittered spirit's strife — " The Resurrection and the Life
Am I : believe, and die no more."
Unchanged that voice — and though not yet
The dead sit up and speak, Answering its call ; we gladlicr rest Our darlings on earth's quiet breast,
And our hearts feel they must not break.
Far better they should sleep awhile
Within the church's shade, Nor wake until new heaven, new earth, Meet for their new immortal birth
For their abiding place be made,
Than wander back to life, and lean
On our frail love once more. 'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.
Then pass, ye mourners, checrly on,
Through prayer unto the tomb, Still, as ye watch life's falling leaf, Gathering from every loss and grief Hope of new spring and endless home.
Then checrly to your work again, With hearts new braced and set To run, untircd, love's blessed race, As meet for those who face to face Over the grave their Lord have met.
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He had <>ne only daughter, abort twelve jreara of age and the lay a dying."-- Lmk* viii. 42.
Youthful maiden, beauty's flower, Opening for thy .summer hour, Know there is a aadder death Than this one, of parting breath. Firat of all, in secret sins The undying worm begins ; But when prayer is given o'er, Then the pulse doth beat no more ; Next, when Faith in God's high will Ceases, then the breath is still. Soon Decay, with secret traces, All the work of God effaces ; Yet awhile calm beauty lingers,
E'en beneath Death's silent fingers ; For the features still are fair, You might think that life was there. Now, before Corruption foul Makes his bed in that dark soul, Blest if love should thither had Christ, the Raiser of the dead.
Upon Him, with earnest call, Cast thyself, thine all in all Make Him: what though others scorn, Mock, and laugh, or o'er thee mourn, Life shall soon resume her seat, Thou with Him shalt rise and eat.
Inflections*
FROM THE VENERABLE BEDE.
" The maid arose straightway," because when Christ strengthens the hand, man revives from the death of the soul. There are some who only by secret thought of sin bring death on themselves ; the Lord, by raising the ruler's daughter, signifies that He restores such to life. Others, committing evil in act, carry out, as it were, their dead ; by raising the widow's son without the gates, He shews that He can raise these also. But some, by habits of sin, bury themselves, as it were, and become corrupt : the grace of the Saviour is not wanting to raise even these ; to intimate this He raised Lazarus from the dead, who had been four days in the grave. But the deeper the death the more intense must be the repentance. The maid wrho lay dead in the room He raises with a gentle voice ; the youth who was carried out He strengthens with many words ; but to raise Him who had been dead four days, He groaned in His spirit, He poured forth tears, and cried with a loud voice. "We may further observe, that a public falling away needs a public remedy ; while slight offences may be blotted out by secret repentance. The maid lying in the house rises again with few witnesses ; the youth without the house is raised in the presence of a crowd which accompanied him ; Lazarus, when summoned from the tomb, was known to many nations at the Passover.
€I)c ^hotJtgars Return.
There is ■ light in all the house —
The lost one is return'd ; And in the hall, and on the health,
A fire unwonted bnrn'd.
I lis lather, who went forth to meet.
Knew not his alter'd lace ; But holds him now, with many tears,
And speechless long embrace.
The son upon his father hung,
In silence deep and long, His face with fasting pale and wan.
And feelings deep and strong ;
His face, like one long used to tears,
Which now no longer flow, Spoke more than words or tears could tell-
The broken heart of woe.
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" I will arise, and ro unto my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have
sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy
son."
Sentence before Dai/;/ Service.
If I forget the ways I trod,
They are remember'd more of God ;
If they remember'd are by me,
They are forgotten, Lord, by Thee.
But oft as I to Thee repair,
Still open is Thy house of prayer,
And written o'er my Father's hall
The tale of that poor Prodigal.
Still would I turn from day to day,
Mourning o'er all that's past away —
Still to my Father's house return,
And more and more abasement learn :
Thus may I ever strive to know
My want, my weakness, and my woe,
Until at length I come to see
My guilty soul and self in Thee ;
My tears shall then become a flood
Which may be mingled with Thy blood,
And flow into my heart again,
There wash away each hidden stain ;
And then anew, from the heart's seat,
Flow o'er my lips, my hands, my feet ;
That so wash'd clean, a welcome guest,
I at Thy table may find rest,
Cloth'd with that robe of countless price,
And feed upon that sacrifice.
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How great is the reality of this secne ! and yet in its reality so awful,, that no words ran equal it ! We |; see him to-day at his rich table, and to-morrow in j the place of woe, which he < thought not of till he found E himself there. What pride |j is there in this countenance, l.-j with his wine in his hand, ;\j j
and his costly servants car- rying rich dainties up the splendid staircase ! What thoughts has he for the poor man below 1 His well- fed servants become them- selveslike their master; and they too have no thoughts f ) of pity for the dying stran- ger. Even the boys in his palace have caught his un- feeling pride. But the very doss of the street have taken up the cause of the poor beggar ; and while one is i] licking his sores, another I Bbews that he has no love ji for the proud boy. The A V*1P I j& peacock adorning the stair- |
I ' mr^ case Bpeaks the 1)li(1° and *
^JSJk* c&tjjjfcM^ luxulT tlmt ,1nu'11s within.
But after a few short days how is the scene changed, and thai too for ever ! A passage in an old Latin Hymn may express it :
" No iivail is then in grieving, No delay for thy retrieving, And no place for thy relieving ;
All shall be bereft thee. Wouldst thou rise ? a hand hath bound thee, And a dread abyss surrounds thee, Till the Judge's eye hath found thee : Nothing now is left thee.
Held of Saints in reprobation, In itself all desperation, Shall the soul in desolation
Turn unto that gloom, Where no change for ever neareth, Where no door of hope appearcth, But, as Abraham witness beareth,
None from thence can come."
" Send Lazarus," he says, " that he may dip his finger in water." He seems therefore, from this, to have known the poor beggar by name ; and the Painter, in the lower part of the picture, seems to suppose that the rich man had refused even this request, on some former occasion, to the poor man. But in that description which is given in Scripture — of Lazarus dying at his gate — it is not said that he knew of it ; but he was living as many — very many, perhaps most, do — taking no care to inquire about their poor neighbours, who may be dying in want not far from their doors, without their knowing or thinking at all about such matters, from being taken up with the thoughts of their own comfort. And yet even this rich man seems to have had some amiable feelings ; for how concerned does he appear for his five brothers,' — and that too even in the place of lost spirits ! But now it is for ever too late j the slight veil between the two worlds is past : — it is for ever too late to do good to himself or others.
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BE YE ALSO READY: FOR AT SUCH AN HOUR AS YE THINK NOT, THE SON OF MAN COMETH."
" flDi, map 31 rttt rea&p tftann, Mlitlj mp lamp burning in mp Ijanti • %av 31 in 0igt»t of ^eafoeti rejoice Ml&ene'er 31 Ijear tlje Bridegrooms tooicc/'
Day of wrath ! — that awful day Shall the banner'd cross display, Karth in ashes melt away !
The tremhling, the agon} ,
When \\U coming shall be nigh, Who shall all things judge and try !
— -— *■
When the trumpet's thrilling tone, Through the tombs of ages gone, Summons all before the throne, —
Death and Time shall Btand aghast, And ( Ireation, at the blast,
Rise, to answer for the past. — — . . .«-*, . — — .
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Then the Volume shall be Bpread, And the writing shall be read, Which shall judge the quick and dead.
Then the Judge shall sit ! — Oh ! then All that's hid shall be made plain, Unrequited nought remain.
What shall wretched I then plead? Who for me shall intercede, When the righteous scarce is freed?
King of dreadful majesty, Saving souls in mercy free, Fount of pity, save Thou me !
Lord, remember me, I pray, Object of Thy saving way, Lest Thou lose me on that day.
Weary seeking me wast Thou, And for me in death didst bow — Be Thy toils availing now !
Judge of justice, Thee I pray, Grant me pardon while I may, Ere that awful reckoning Day.
O'er my crimes I guilty groan, Blush to think what I have done : Spare Thy suppliant, Holy One !
Thou didst set th' adult'resa free, Heard'st the thief upon the tree, Hope vouchsafing e'en to me.
Nought of Thee my prayers can claim, Save in Thy free mercy's name, Save ine from the deathless flame !
With Thy sheep my place assign, Separate from th' accursed line, Set me on Thy right with Thine.
When the lost, to silence driven, To devouring flames are given, Call me with the blest to Heaven !
Suppliant, fallen, low I bend, My bruised heart to ashes rend, Care Thou, Lord, for my last end !
Full of tears the day shall prove, When, from ashes rising, move
To the judgment guilty men, — Spare, Thou God of mercy, then !
Lord all-pitying, Jcsu blest! Grant them Thine eternal rest. Amen.
From Ha' Latin.
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" Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom ! " Where shall that Love immortal find a home, That never yet could drop her wing to rest Save in the secret bosom of her God, When that sure stay beneath her seems to fail ? Then, like the dove pierced by the barbed shaft, She feels the death-cold iron in her soul, Fluttering and half expiring ; and those plumes, With silver wings and feathers like to gold, That bore her on the bosom of the sky, Themselves are dyed in gore ; nor serve to warm Her desolate cold heart, which all in vain Would from the tempest flee, and be at rest.
" Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom ! " The nails that pierced Him on the bleeding Cross Are in her bosom : yet on Love she leans, All tremblingly sustained ; Love holds her light, Though faintly; Love holds up her tottering steps.
" Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom ! " Within her bosom, lower than the abyss Where ever moon or stars -could penetrate, Deep calls to deep ; where she is pondering still In thoughts known to the Mother of our God. Now the loud Cry she heard at the dark noon Finds in her heart its echo ; faint she stops : There is a drop of last night's Agony Within her cup. Now He beside her path Hath sent His own good Angel ; on she walks, Unutterable Peace, stayed on her God.
" Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom ! ' There is one home in this rude desert world Where peaceful Angels find the dearest haunt They e'er have had in this wide universe ; Where Love hangs drooping, yet beneath despair Hopes, when all hope is lost ; and there, amid The blackest storm that e'er hath fill'd the world, Rests, — her sure anchor fix'd within the vail.
»-*-
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Wheels the prison-bars surround him,
In his chains shall Peter dwell : Where the sentinel hath bound him, Pacing by his gloomy cell :
What shall avail Prison, chains, or sentinel ?
Lo ! a light, from Heaven descending,
Qlimmen Like a beauteous star, An angel o'er the Saint is bending,
And the wing'd night is fled afar, —
1 1 i chains are burst I Open i- the massy bar.
Where the heavenly guide is leading, Peter follows, firm aud bold,
All as in a dream proceeding
Through the portals dark and cold :
And now. amazed. Doth the Almighty's hand behold.
We in prison-chains are sleeping. Chains of sin. which angels sec Dunnest night our soul is Bteeping;
Christ, our light, our Liberty, I Break Thou our chains '
Lighten us, and make us five.
/•>,;>// a Latin Hymn.
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St. Jeter's ©Jains,
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" Nothing is so glorious as a bond for Christ's sake. Is there any that loveth Christ, lie will understand wh.it I say. Such an one would rather choose to be a prisoner for Christ's sake, than to have the Heavens for his dwelling. No jewelled diadem around the head invests it with such glory, as an iron chain for Christ's sake. Then was the prison more glorious than palaces, }Tea, than Heaven itself; for it con- tained a prisoner of Christ. Is there any that loveth Christ, he will know how great a boon He bestowed upon mankind, even in this, to be bound for II is sake. I am ashamed to compare earthly riches and golden attire to these bonds. They that love, even though it be not God, but man, they know what I say, for they are more delighted to be ill treated than honoured for those they love. But to be fully con- scious of these things belongs to the holy company of Apostles alone ; who rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for Christ's sake. Nothing is more blessed than that chain j nothing is more noble than to suffer evil for Christ's sake ; yea, more desirable than to re- ceive honour at His hands. He Himself emptied His glories, in order that He might be crucified for my sake. Father, glorify Thou Me, He said, when He was led to the cross with thieves to undergo the death of the accursed. Yea, He saith, for I suffer these things for My be- loved ones, and I count them My glory. If this was His glory, much more ought I to regard these things as glory. 0 those blessed bonds ! 0 those blessed hands which that chain adorned ! Now, were any one then to say to me, Whether wouldest thou, — to be the Angel that struck Peter, or Peter that was delivered % I would rather choose to be Peter, for whose sake the Angel came ; yea, I should rejoice in those chains. Not for this is it so noble a thing to be in bonds, that it procures for us a kingdom, as that it is done for Christ's sake. Not for this do 1 g
bless these bonds, that they conduct to Heaven, as because they are worn for the sake of the Lord of Heaven. How great a boast to know that he was bound for Christ's sake ! How great a happiness, how £'
high an honour, how illustrious a distinction ! Fain would I ever be dwelling on these subjects ; fain would I cling to this chain ; fain would I, though in reality I have not the power, yet still in thought would I biud this chain around my soul by a temper like his."
Thoughts from St. Chryaostom. J
Horn. viii. Epiit. Ephea.
j
H
Thou bid'st us knock with earnest cries.
And none on earth so poor But if he knocks, Thou wilt arise,
And ope for him the door.2
Still Thou for us art listening long,
To rise and let us in, We heed Thee not, we do Thee wrong,
And stray in ways of sin :
For all too well Thy spirit knows
Short time doth yet remain Before the eternal door shall close,
And we shall knock in vain.3
Thou waitest, but we do not hear ;
From II raven Thou comest down ; To us on earth Thou drawest near.
Thy wandering sheep to own.
Yea, Thou Thyself to us art come,
And listening at the door. Seeking with us to make Thine home,
And dwell for evermore.
Bong of Solomon v. I. • Matt. \ii. 7. :i Luke xiii. If,
•
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>i His locks arc wet with dews of night,
w j| 1 1 is hair is drench'd with blood,
And long within the morning light He at the door hath stood. }\ |
i :> i 7
Two men of old the risen Lord Once joined along the way, !| With burning hearts they heard His word,
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'Tis He that's called the Morning Star Who listeneth at thy door,
Within His side there is a scar, His hands are mark'd with gore.
A Stranger in the morning light Without the door He stood,
His locks are wet with dews of night, His hair is drench'd with blood.
1 Luke xxiv. 31. 2 Rev. iii. 20.
And urged with them to stay. ly y
Beneath their roof then Him they led,
An unknown stranger-guest, When suddenly, in breaking bread, Their God was manifest.1
If thou wilt ope the door e'en now, His pledge to thee is given ;
" Then I will sup with thee below, And thou with Me in Heaven."2
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■• sure penitence then [a none, without hatred of sin and love of God. When thou .0 repenteet, that thy former delight, now taste bitter to thee, and * hat once tare
pleasure to thy body n„« afflict, thy very soul : then dost thou groan aright, and say to BOfl, ■ Against 1 bee only have I sinned and done evil in Thy sight." "
From a Sermon in tkt Works 0/ St. Augi n is
jf broken atrt a contritt licaxtO 6o^tI)ou wilt uiotuC«;pi^
•■ o Lord God, Who Lightenesl every man that cometh into the world, let the Light of Thy grace shine into my heart, that I may fully know ,„> shortcomings and my sins and may confess them with that true sorrow and contrition of heart, which befits me
I and may amend them to Tin honour and glory, and to t he >ah at mn ol my
Mortal, who art God's creation,
Why bo little meditation On the vast eternal station
Wherein death will leave thee ( < louldst thou know how great that glory, It so strong would come before thee, Things so vain and transitory
Ne'er could thus deceive thee.
Couldst thou know how great the sorrow, Which, in hell, that knows no morrow, Can from hope no comfort borrow,
Thou thy chains hadst broken ; And ere yet thou art belated, All aghast and consternated, Thou thy sins hadst mourn 'd and hated,
Thought, and done, and spoken.
Such of Saints the joy and pleasure, Such the torments without measure, Such of each the endless treasure,
That no thought can know ; Till the soul, by life forsaken, Shall in endless bliss awaken, Or is suddenly o'ertaken
With eternal woe.
"
No avail is then in grieving, No delay for thy retrieving, And no place for thy relieving ;
All shall be bereft thee : Wouldst thou rise — a hand hath
bound thee, And a dread abyss surrounds thee, Till the Judge's eye hath found thee ; Nothing then is left thee.
If no Saviour thou hast gained,
If no Advocate attained,
When the time to thee remained
For thy preparation ; Who in charges shall defend thee ? Who in judgment shall attend
thee ? Who as surety shall befriend thee
In thy consternation ?
From a Latin 11 i/iiiii.
LTHOU who canst CHANGE THE HEART, AND RAI8E THE DEAD; AS THOU ART in TO BOOTHS OUH PARTING HOUR, BE READY, WHEN WE IfEET, WITH THY DEAR PARDONING WORDS.
Lyra Apottolica.
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Whene'er goes forth Thy dread command,
And my last hour is nigh, Lord, grant me in a Christian land,
As I was born, to die.
I pray not, Lord, that friends may be
Or kindred standing by, — Choice blessing! which I leave to Thee,
To give me, or deny.
But let my failing limbs beneath Thy Church's smile recline ;
My name, in sickness and in death, Heard in her sacred shrine.
And may the Cross beside my bed
In its meet emblems rest ; And may the absolving words be said,
To ease a laden breast.
Thou, Lord, where'er we lie, canst aid ;
But He, who taught His own To live as one, will not upbraid
The dread to die alone.
From the f-'/ra Apostolicu.
HE I. AM. Til IT ON ills SHOULDERS REJOICING
St. Luke xv. 6: "I save found My iheep
which was lost."
•• o pood Shtpkerd, l thank Thee for Thy
care and concern for Thy lost iheep.
I had Indeed been fOT ever lost, had not Thy lOUght and found nie when 1 WM
for Thy goodness1 sake keep me, for the tim>- to ootne,froni wandering from
'j'hrc ;nid from Thy fold."
Bp, \\ i i.sos's Prajfers.
Win hast Thou foi our earthly gloom Thus left Thy Father'! hall ?
•• N.»t for the righteous am I come, |
But sinners to recall."*
What bear's* Thou from von desert rock
Upon Thy shoulders bound ? M A sheep that left My Father's dock.
Whom I have lost and found.*1
What is it causes Angels' mirth 'Mid sons of God in Heaven ?
" 'Tis some poor sorrowing child of earth Who is of God forgiven.'*
What makes the gracious Father rise,
And hasten from His Beat ? kt 'Tis one in distance He descries.
A long-lost son to meet.''
What is that poor and abject thin.;.
Washing Thy feet with tears? " One that would hide beneath My wing
Her sin and shame and fear-.''
In Paradise who is that one
That hasto Thy side along?
" One of earth's outcasts 1 have won ; With Mi> in death he hung."
Dear words to sinner, at the door Who feels Tin judgment near ;
\nd still the more he nioiuns.tho more These woids of love are dear.
Good Shepherd, bear Thy long-lost sheep
Upon Thy shoulders home ; By Thine own side the wanderer keep,
That I no longer roam.
When, viewing all the past, I think
How I have gone astray, My spirit doth within me sink ;
I feel me far away.
Thy words, in trembling fear and love,
Then o'er and o'er I read, Pledging that Thou from heaven above
Wilt come down in our need ;
That Thou wilt all our sorrows own
When most we feel forlorn, And Angels which surround Thy throne
Will pity them that mourn.
With them that mourn loss of Thy grace,
In sorrow and in fear, The Angels which surround Thy face
And Thou Thyself art near.
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2Tf)C Jilintstintions of eartf)Ig Jpritntrs.
Tnou sendest thousand blessings from on high,
Who dost Thy servant through deep waters Lead ; The tender heart, the careful hand, the eye That watches all my need.
But Thou, 0 blessed Lord, wast left alone. By foes insulted, and by friends denied ; One only stood beside Thee of Thine own ; I [e came Thy foes to guide.
Alone in agony, because they slept:
Alone at Gabbatha, because they lied; Alone on Calvary, because they kepi
Th. mselvea conceal'd through dread.
Taken from prison, and to judgment brought : Of men rejected, press'd by woes untold ; Thy chief Apostle ' Btood afar, and sought A refuge from the cold.
The thief alone was found confessing Thee :
On me, a greater sinner, east thine eyes, As justly Buffering; saying, "Thou shalt be i With Me in Paradise."
i •• An.] lYtcr wanned himself at the fire. And the chief priest | and all the people tOUghl false wiin. sv Bgainif JeeUS to put Him to death."— .V. Mark \v.
" Now Annas |,ad -tut 1 1 mi humid unto Caiaphas. the high piicst. And Simon l'et. r stood
and wanned himself.''— 5. John wiii. 24, 15.
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QLfyt Jtttmsttntion of Angels.
They slumber not, nor sleep, Whom Thou dost send, O God of light, Around Thine Own the livelong night
Their watch and ward to keep :
They leave their scats on high, They leave the everlasting hymn, Where cherubim and seraphim
Continually do cry :
They come to guard the bed Whereon, while others wake and weep, Thou givest Thy beloved sleep,
And hover round their head.
Nor less they haste to soothe Their vigils, who, like me, distrest, Nor wake to strength, nor sleep to rest,
And make the rough ways smooth.
So peradventure now, My eyes, let loose from flesh, might see Such an immortal company,
As ne'er to monarch bow ;
And this familiar room Might seem the gate of paradise ; And in its sorrow joy might rise,
And glory in its gloom.
Thy holy Name be blest, God in Three Persons, both by those That after toil in Thee repose,
And those by grief opprest !
From Hymns for the Sick.
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Elje Doofc of Nature,
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How beauteous .sleeps this summer sen. v,,l With mountains hemm'd around.
Like some still lake, so pleasantly, With gentle inland sound.
:
The star that first comes forth at even There loves to see his face,
It is bo like his own blue heaven— That calm and tranquil place.
So. little Child, upon the Bhore Life seems to smile on you,
Its bright expanse it spreads before. And tempts your eager view.
You lift your hands to the fair scene, In wondering glad surprise ; vjv> There seems to dwell Heaven's peace serene * In unexperienced Byes.
But storms and shipwrecks there abide.
And, lo ! another day May lash to foam the quiet tide.
In furious wild dismay.
There is a Book where children rend Of a far happier shore ; 1 1 They who love God shall there be freed
From storms for evermore.
!'
i
| J >j There find they rest, all dangers past,
i ' I '-)
] I Sweet as the summer sea,
1 V
With holy pleasures, that shall last For long eternity.
While far away bad men are driven
I From God's most blessed sight,
lv IS Cast out from that bright-shining Heaven,
To storms, and gloom, and night.
Thus, in that Book which God bestows,
The holy child descries What Nature means by her repose,
And quiet summer skies.
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A.\-(.ei.s build the starry skies,
In God's aearer Presence blest; Yet they look with wondering eyes
With a child into the nest
rft of CLKMEHS BBJ
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•• If a bird's nest chance to be before thee in the way, in any tr
the ground, whether they lie young ones or eggs not one of them ll
forgotten before God Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing !
and one of them shall not fall to the ground without your Father."
/)<•,//. xxii. 6: .S7. Luke xii. 6; St. Mmtt. x. 19.
First Thoughts.
Lately these were speckled tilings, Fit for beads on rows of strings ; Now a wide-mouth'd family. Which I must take home with me.
. «'
The Watchers.
See, he leans and looks, with eyea Of a careless glad surprise ; For his young heart little knows All the flutterings and the throes In the mother's feather'd breast, As he leans above her nest.
Second Thoughts.
No, I will not make you grieve ; One look — and I take my leave ; For methinks that I have heard God doth love the little bird.
■
*
The Watchers.
Yea, and love the little child, AVhen a thought of mercy mild Shews some token in his play Of a love, some future day, Which shall give him wings to rise, Singing in the happy skies.
SJZL^C^ - -
M.r,«','Mi\»-, - r^~:.--.,nvt-~m>^„x.
-
.
©ID Blactttodl. " 0 sir, I take it kind of you, Who have so many things to do, To visit one like me — so poor, There's scarce a beggar at the door But has of food a better store; And. as you see, the clothes I wear Are fitter far the birds to scare Than for m\ poor old back to wear.
But what is this to loss of sight ? For man\ a \ear I'w sen the light But dimlj now 'tis darkness all. I earn'd of late a pittance small By breaking stones; but that is past I could not see mj heap ;it last.
And thus at random fell my stroke.
Till scarce a stone a day was broke.
So here a blind old man, and weak, I : ami little comes to break The aameneM of my lonely hour. Hut Ciod Lb gracious; ;m<l lli^ power Sometimes within me strong I feel. He ili«l to me a thing reveal But late ; 'twas joyful, y<_-t I fear'd. So strong before me it appeared :
t
Never in dream, when sight was mine,
Saw I a scene so rare and fine.
Sir, did I think 'twas but a dream,
I would not tell it; for 'twould seem
An idle story : — but you'll say,
As / believe, that 'twas a way
The Almighty took to comfort me
In all my sore adversity.
I saw a place all shining bright
"With dazzling gems and heavenly light;
And some there were who seenrd to glide
In movements swift on every side,
On golden ground or in the air —
Forms beautiful, and features fair;
And mild and kind to me they were.
And oh, among them gather'd there,
Was one that cheer'd me long in life
And loved — my beloved wife :
A calm and blessed countenance
Was hers, and angel-like her glance.
And there, too, were my children found — Lost to the eye since holy ground Received them; now with spirits' grace They greeted me in that sweet place. And one there was that from her birth Had never breathed, conveyed from earth To live and bloom in paradise. She smiled on me whose infant eyes Had never beam'd with mortal light. A thrill it was of calm delight To join that blest society — Again with my beloved to be. And ever since sweet thoughts of rest Have fill'd the blank within my breast And here I sit and wait ; though blind, Yet scenes of glory fill my mind; And thoughts of coming gladness store My soul with wealth, though I am poor. And sure I think 'twill not be long Before I join that blessed throng."
Such was old BlackwelTs tale or dream. It tells, methinks, we little deem How often to the world of glory The tranquil thoughts, by such a Btorj Created, will upraise the heart, — How Faith her comfort can impart When all we think is dark and drear, Without a single gleam to cheer.
jlttustc on tljc Waters.
FIRST CHILD. vy nillU) CHILD.
How full, this morning, is each place )': To tell us this, at His command
( )f pleasant Bight and Bound ! The waters shew the happy face
Of earth and skies around.
»■
SECOND CHILD.
Now, if this earth is full of love.
I »v dying sinners trod, I low fair must be that home above,
All pleasures here decay : But they which are at God's right Shall never pass awaj.
hand
FOURTH CHILD.
It will not make this morn less bright
To think of God and Heaven, But may prepare us for the night,
Where good men dwell with God I \ And happier thoughts at even.
3e
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(fffttlfcttii on tijc SRater.
The waves gently swelling, The winds breathing low, Are playfully heaving
Our boat to and fro.
Along smoothly gliding, We keep by the shore,
To our orisons timing The stroke of the oar.
The heavens are so placid,
And clear is the lake, Where flocks now are hast'ning
Their fever to slake.
f
*S O youth ! O fair dawning !
How brief is your stay ! Like the songs of glad children To greet the young May !
The breeze lightly flitting,
The wave on the sea, The odour of roses, Are emblems of thee.
While catching the odours That float through the air
The grove's happy music The same breezes bear.
The beams of the morning
Enchant with delight ; The shadows of evening, They come not in sight.
^
W-
When shadows of evening Fall down, and the night
Awakes in our bosoms An awful delight : —
Our course then we hasten, To reach the loved shore,
Where our Father is waiting To welcome us o'er !
From the Germnn.
'
Cljiltt in tl;c Atom. mJ?A v$>
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FOR THEY SAY THAT LITTLE INFANTS REPLY BY SMILES AND BIOKO
TO THE BAND OF GUARDIAN ANGELS
I'M AT ROUND ABOUT THEM SHINES."
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Dark the mountains are, and drear And no human footstep near ; 'Neath the shelter of my wing" Safely sleep, thou helpless thing- ; For the storm that beats so wild Shall not harm thee, little child. From beyond the silver star Have I spied thee from afar ; And have come my watch to keep O'er thee smiling- in thy sleep. Gently smile, my little one, For thou art not left alone ; Happy would thy mother be Could she wisdom learn of thee — 'Mid the tempest thus to smile, And to trust in God the while. He throug-h the dark mountain-way Watches where her footsteps stray ; But she is half dead with care, For she knows not He is there.
fen aaicncccilautf.
Th« snow lies deep throughout the night ( >'er hill, and grove, and town,
And on its silvery mantle bright The cold clear moon looks down.
" Heap op the wood," the rich man cries, The fire burns bright and warm ;
Inward to Heaven the poor man sighs, And tri mbles at the storm.
There gently steak .1 form of* good. Like one from Bethlehem's shed,
J I is shoulders hear a pile of wood. A kingly crown his head.
King Wenceslaus, monarch mild —
I le seeks a cottage-door ; Friend of the friendless is he styled.
And father of the poor.
"• Help me, m\ honour'd king and lord," Then cried his servant old ;
kk Unless thou timely aid afford,
I '•ink benumb'd with cold."
u Dear faithful servant. M said the Saint, " Come on, and follow me ;
Lift up thy heart without complaint, And I will pray for thee."
Then in his master's footsteps bold, He follow'd 'mid the snow, —
1 1 is master's footsteps 'mid the cold Secm'd with a fire to glow.
His heart so chill'd then waxed warm.
The ice and snow among, And all throughout his aged form
A kindly warmth hath sprung.
So hurn'd within that kingly heart
With holy love Of God, That there was found a fire to start
Prom footsteps when' he trod.
And to thai heart such power was given
In winter's cold and storm. Thereat, as by a fire from Heaven,
The Mck and poor were warm.
Parable of rfjc feafntlp l&incr.
li
Now stay — 'twill not detain you long, To hear the moral of my song : Ye poor that lack e'en daily bread, And have scarce place to lay your head, Know that God's Saints, who were of old, Suffer'd for Christ's sake want and cold, Hardship and toil, and this world's scorn ; Yea, more than ye yourselves have borne They bore by choice, and learn'd to mourn, That they might draw to Christ more nigh, Who loveth holy poverty ; Yea, men of riches and great name Gave up their all, and poor became, Like Christ Himself, that better so " The Man of Sorrows" they might know— Might know Him, counting this world loss, That they with Him might bear the cross : For Him they sought in solitude, For Him would oft forego their food, That so they might by deeds express The thoughts of their unworthiness, And that they might the better pray, — For seven times pray'd they every day ; And in the night, when others sleep, They rose again their watch to keep ; For on straw beds, in hardy cells, They laid them down like sentinels,
•*T *-'
And rose to trim their lamps with fear, Lest the great Bridegroom should appear. While thus to earthly things they died, They learn'd to know the Crucified ; For they themselves who mortify, Do love the more the things on high.
Now, in their steps if you would tread, And thus to worldly hopes were dead — If you, I say, would learn of these, Who of themselves, their Lord to please, Chose harder lives, poor men, than ye Are born to of necessity — Are born to by the will of God, In paths your blessed Saviour trod — Their flame would warm your spirits cold, And you would feel both glad and bold ; Then the old man in you would die, And, rich in riches of the sky, Your low estate would be your choice ; Then e'en in that you would rejoice More than in treasures of a king, In feasts and soft apparelling ; Through want and pain and this world's
storm, You in their footsteps would be warm, And, more than all that wealth could buy, Would love your lowly poverty.
!;
'ZOje pilgrim at tljc Cross,
Now weary men are tending to their home, The sun is going down on mount and sea ;
Where shall the way-worn Pilgrim cease to roam, Or find on earth a resting-place, but Thee ?
This is the Pilgrim's way-side hospital,
With oil and wine meet for his sorrowing breast ;
From hence Thy loving accents seem to call, — Come unto Me, ye weary, and find rest.
This shall be fire to warm his world-chill'd heart, A light to lighten in the darkest gloom, —
In life or death in Thee to have his part, — Here shall the homeless traveller find a home.
Home-loving men, amid their homes at ease, They are of all most homeless ; and where'er
The Palmer strays, each man on earth he sees Is but a stranger and a sojourner.
And village-homes that seem so still and bright, By golden streams and meadows rich and fair,
And castellated holds on mountain-height,
That catch the sun's last gleams, raised high in aiiy
All these unreal things appear to me,
The melancholy shadow of a shade; Or cloudy pageants in the setting sun,
That seem so fair because so soon to fade
1 I ' 1 <
But this is that enduring Sign in Heaven,
That when the skies and earth shall pass away,
Shall then outshine the sun in the world's even, And be the light of an eternal day.
The sun is going down, and bids good night
To homeward-wandering men, and field, and town ;
Thou art my light in darkness, and more bright When this sun fails,— a Star that goes not down.
^Ijc tfngcl of SDcarlj*
AN EASTERN LEGEND.
King of wisdom, on his throne Sat tlic mighty Solomon, Whom the spirits far away, And the realms unseen obey.
There Death's Angel, of dread mien, Was with him in converse seen, Bearing to him from on high Secrets of dark destiny.
Then as he assayed to go From that kingly palace, lo ! In before him, by the door, Came the ancient Chancellor.
Then were that dark Angel's eyes, With a solemn deep surprise} Fix'd upon him, and all o'er Trembled then the Chancellor.
A* his frame with terror shook — u What doth mean that thrilling look? Will he bear me hence," he said, " To the regions of the dead I
Wise and mighty Solomon If I have true service done, For one only boon I plead,— Grant to me thy fleetest steed !
King and Master, let me flee ! May that look ne'er rest on me ! On the horse that swiftest flies, Let me 'scape that Angel's eyes."
" All thy wish I grant, my son," Spake the kingly Solomon ; " But think not that God's decree Can by flight avoided be."
Over mountains, like the breeze — Over mountains, lands, and seas, That old man, on wings of morn, Hurries to earth's furthest bourne.
Many thousand Leagues are past :
On he flies — and on ; — at last, In the evening, ;ill alone,
Stood he by a desert ^tone:
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There he sinks, and, pale with feaij Feels that chilly death is near; — Lo, that Angel's solemn mien Sitting on the stone is seen !
Then said he, with failing breast, " Ere thou take me to my rest, Tell me what, at morning's rise, Fix'd on me thy wond'ring eyes?"
Upward did the Angel gaze — " Lord, how wondrous are Thy ways ! His command to me was given, Here to wait for thee at even :
With the king at early day I behold thee, far away ; Now, before the day is done, Thou art at th' appointed stone.
Then I wonder'd to behold, How one so infirm and old, Thus, in regions far away I could meet at parting day."
Thus he spake. — The stone beside That old man at evening died, Who had fled from Death so fast, Thus to meet him at the last.
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£ Hcpnti of Sr. flutftin.
BniDI the Military shore
Groat Austin stray *d at even,
Deep wrapt in meditation's lore, And seeking light from Heaven.
Hi- eyes he tum'd to Heaven for light
To know Cod's mysteries, But seem'd to dive in hidden night,
And dark and pathless seas ;
Then wander'd on all fruitlessly,
To visions vain and wild ; When, lo ! before him, by the sea,
There kneel'd a little child.
Mis bee like snow in sunny rays,
A shell was in his hand, He turn'd upon the Saint to gaze,
There kneeling on the strand.
" Help mi'," said he, k" tliis sandy hole
To fill with the vast sea ; 'Tis easier than to fill the soul,
Almighty God, with Thee."
The Saint bow'd to the holy child, —
He suddenly from sight Then vanish 'd, like a spirit mild,
Or mist in morning light.
The good man kept that warning word ;
And though he BOar'd to Heaven. To him, e'en when to Heaven he soar'd.
A childlike mind was given.
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" The day now approaching whereon she was to depart this life, it came to pass, by Thy secret ways so ordering it, that she and I stood alone, leaning in a certain window which looked into the garden of the house where we now lay, at Ostia ; where, removed from the din of men, we were recruiting from the fatigues of a long journey. We were discoursing then together alone very sweetly ; and, foryettiny those thinys ivhich are behind, and reachiny forth unto those thinys which are before, we were inquiring between ourselves in the presence of the Truth, which Thou art, of what sort the eternal life of the Saints was
fi to be, which eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered into
the heart of man. But we panted after those heavenly streams of the Fountain of life, which is with Thee.
" And when our discourse was brought to that point — that the highest delight of the earthly senses was, in respect of the sweetness of that life, not only not worthy of comparison, but not even of men- tion,— raising ourselves with a more glowing affection towards the same, we passed by degrees through all things bodily, even the very heavens, whence sun and moon and stars shine upon the earth ; and by inward musing and admiring of Thy works, we arrived at that region of never-failing plenty, where Thou fecdest Israel for ever with the food of Truth, and where life is the Wisdom by whom all thinys were made.
" In that day, when we were speaking of these things, and this world with all its delights became, as we spake, contemptible to us, my Mother said, ■ Son, for mine own part I have no further delight in any thing in this life. One thing there was for which I desired to linger for a while, that I might see thee a Catholic Christian before I died. My God hath done this for me more abundantly, that I should now see thee withal despising earthly happiness, and become His servant.'
" Scarce five days after, or not much more, she fell sick of a fever."
St. An;. Con. 1>. ix.
■ TAKE HEED THAT YK DESPISE NOT ONE OF THESE LITTLE ONES: FOR I SAY UNTO YOU, THAT IN HEAVEN THEIB ANGELS DO ALWAYS BEHOLD THE FACE OF MY FATHER WHICH IS IN HEAVEN."
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CljtttJ on ti)t Jttanfe.
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See those bubbles, one, two, three How they sparkle ! now they flee, Now they stop and look at me ; Then they hide ; now, three, four, Whirl about as if alive ; Then they break ; and then another Rises up, and wheels around, With that rippling, pleasant sound. But how little does my mother Think that I have strayed so far, Or what I have got for her !
©ttartotan 9ngtl.
Gently tread, my little one ! Fair and bright the waters run ; But where most they seem asleep, There are whirlpools very deep ; And you have no stay to hold On the plank so free and bold ; And to save yourself, I know, You that flower would ne'er let go.