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FROM    THE    LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE    LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


DMafori       SCO 

Section  fgSO 


I3E 


£^ 


V' 


^acteU   tfcrticti. 


BREAD  BTKEE1    a  ILL. 


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. 


^ — ' — *'l"-M£(31.E***,m'-  *"'"•    'Vf 


! 


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. 


* 


II 


HE 


\      1( 


"(long 
a  Cijilt)  itf  bonu"  \  / 


* 


: 


rl 

i 


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. 


mmu  mm-i-te^a 


-ii^aSi 


j+KffJ!-frt-  -"j  -■■  ,  ,  h  t 


UL^JUU 


* 


V 


®8e  dantibttn. 

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 ! 


■  i 


1 


C&eQfllacninsof  lotfcplj. 

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. 


*4 


Vb 


£S* 


®je  jflinrljt  into  (£ijppt\ 


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. 


&-= 


, 


"  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. 


m 


rjr  - 

l\    y,  Come,  little  child,  here  mayst  thou  view 

A  mirror  sent  from  Heaven, 
A  pattern  of  obedience  true 
To  holy  children  given. 


- 


■  ' 


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! 

•  ,     - 

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. 

h 


I 


l)  ' 


|/  The  God  and  King  of  all,  V     9* 


Yields  to  a  humble  mother's  sway,  iff 

R  And  hears  His  father's  call. 

\\  C     I 

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!     ?! 


yw.^T'  '*  "^-- '  "T^,.- ' 


•  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. 


i 


..  _  uteMiAM 


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. 


mr 


-  ■  s'f'1  yf^^y 


^.jjffife; 


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  ? 


i 


'*»,*  "» -*^r^r~r?~ 


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. 


TsTTT 


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. 


Ifje  <L£Uag  of  fe>orrotxi0. 


0    I  1. 111 1  i 


"vS   ( 


V 


THE  LORD   HATH    LAID  ON    HIM   TH  K   INKJUTY   OF  US  ALL." 


,.*•■»— .....i..^..- 


a 


___.a_vx, 


I 


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. 


■JkL^Axv- 11'.'— .lafcfca* 


■mrr "TW"'' 


™3 


wr?>-,t*-     *  I  ge 


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. 


s 


m 


V 


->  ^ET-    -  ' 


TirnQr 


Cljritft  rtociu 


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 ; 


-\LKi£:. 


!! 


!! 


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 


r\      ~7-— , *v-~«  ^ 

f ~ 

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. 


r 


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. 


V 


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. 


Wr 


i 


SI 


I 

\ 

If) 


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. 


1 


51 


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. 


i 

i 

: 


II 


is 


"  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. 


gsz 


■^^ 


XUcfj  {Han  an*  feasant*. 

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. 


IK 


&MlCRKH*tii 


Cfte  Cm  ©irjjmsi. 


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. 
— —  . .     .«-*,    .       — — . 


«K3L1 


<■■  z*mr*^r<c*<5?>  * 


" 


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. 


*t^±*«™*m~mmr*       ' 


*.£'■ 


"  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. 


»-*- 


• — trnir 


— -^ 


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. 


^i> 


■   ■■    »'!■    ~s*V 


,.'■ 


i-i 


St.  Jeter's  ©Jains, 


r-^rr^S 


"  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, 


• 


I  I 

>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, 


«  )i 


). 


<IJ= 


4 


1 


'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 


M 


-v;"^,      ,»u»"-l'to»A-»^-^^.. ^^^j-i— j>A)m^Li_--^k^>i_i    .j,:    ■ 


!£»•"£ -^..-t^  Ui*ZZ^**ii*  -» <*r4i\r<^iv&t*to/r^2y*^^ 


,' 


■•  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. 

^^^-^^ ~~ — 


""*  '" Vf-w*"*'  '~^~~~"*'-~„^'r'"' ' ZZLTT' 


tA  c^uytt 


?r 


IDtati). 

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. 


w?T 


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. 


: 


^^ayy^s 


~-*i^_^j 


■~ 


? 


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. 


I^m5§*  itwT^ 


i~J..u^in.y^t'J 


{«= 


Elje  Doofc  of  Nature, 


w 


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. 


if  4 


■  Am  -J.  "SI  -'■^.^i^-V^jXi-k«t^^^ii-i:i'i-^*-  ■ 


T¥ul 


Yt 


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 


wm 


?^-u-_^_ 


••  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 


J 


(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$> 

V 


7 


><^ 


FOR  THEY  SAY  THAT  LITTLE  INFANTS 
REPLY  BY  SMILES  AND  BIOKO 

TO  THE  BAND  OF  GUARDIAN  ANGELS 

I'M  AT  ROUND  ABOUT  THEM  SHINES." 


s 


mm  m 


) 


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: 


i: 


3^^'/A^»^^=^4SfcC2**&Jta=; 


•>? 


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. 


52 


■ 


L: 


£  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. 


■  i 


! 


;; 


5 


"  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." 


n 


-   -J> 


CljtttJ  on  ti)t  Jttanfe. 


t 


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.