Where'er Thou roam'st, one happy soul, we know, Seen at Thy side in woe, Waits on Thy triumphs-even as all the blest With him and Thee shall rest.

Each on his cross; by Thee we hang a while, Watching Thy patient smile, Till we have learned to say, "'Tis justly done, Only in glory, LORD, Thy sinful servant own."

Soon wilt Thou take us to Thy tranquil bower To rest one little hour, Till Thine elect are numbered, and the grave Call Thee to come and save: Then on Thy bosom borne shall we descend Again with earth to blend, Earth all refined with bright supernal fires, Tinctured with holy blood, and winged with pure desires.

Meanwhile with every son and saint of Thine Along the glorious line, Sitting by turns beneath Thy sacred feet We'll hold communion sweet, Know them by look and voice, and thank them all For helping us in thrall, For words of hope, and bright examples given To show through moonless skies that there is light in Heaven.

O come that day, when in this restless heart Earth shall resign her part, When in the grave with Thee my limbs shall rest, My soul with Thee be blest!

But stay, presumptuous-CHRIST with Thee abides In the rock's dreary sides: He from this stone will wring Celestial dew If but this prisoner's heart he faithful found and true.

When tears are spent, and then art left alone With ghosts of blessings gone, Think thou art taken from the cross, and laid In JESUS' burial shade; Take Moses' rod, the rod of prayer, and call Out of the rocky wall The fount of holy blood; and lift on high Thy grovelling soul that feels so desolate and dry.

Prisoner of Hope thou art-look up and sing In hope of promised spring.

As in the pit his father's darling lay Beside the desert way, And knew not how, but knew his G.o.d would save E'en from that living grave, So, buried with our LORD, we'll chose our eyes To the decaying world, till Angels bid us rise.

Easter Day.

And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen. _St. Luke_ xxiv. 5, 6.

OH! day of days! shall hearts set free No "minstrel rapture" find for thee?

Thou art this Sun of other days, They shine by giving back thy rays:

Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere, Thou shedd'st thy light on all the year; Sundays by thee more glorious break, An Easter Day in every week:

And week days, following in their train, The fulness of thy blessing gain, Till all, both resting soil employ, Be one Lord's day of holy joy.

Then wake, my soul, to high desires, And earlier light thine altar fires: The World some hours is on her way, Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day:

Or, if she think, it is in scorn: The vernal light of Easter morn To her dark gaze no brighter seems Than Reason's or the Law's pale beams.

"Where is your Lord?" she scornful asks: "Where is His hire? we know his tasks; Sons of a King ye boast to be: Let us your crowns and treasures see."

We in the words of Truth reply, (An angel brought them from this sky,) "Our crown, our treasure is not here, 'Tis stored above the highest sphere:

"Methinks your wisdom guides amiss, To seek on earth a Christian's bliss; We watch not now the lifeless stone; Our only Lord is risen and gone."

Yet e'en the lifeless stone is dear For thoughts of Him who late lay here; And the base world, now Christ hath died, Enn.o.bled is and glorified.

No more a charnel-house, to fence The relics of lost innocence, A vault of ruin and decay; Th' imprisoning stone is rolled away:

'Tis now a cell, where angels use To come and go with heavenly news, And in the ears of mourners say, "Come, see the place where Jesus lay:"

'Tis now a fane, where Love can find Christ everywhere embalmed and shined: Aye gathering up memorials sweet, Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

Oh! joy to Mary first allowed, When roused from weeping o'er His shroud, By His own calm, soul-soothing tone, Breathing her name, as still His own!

Joy to the faithful Three renewed, As their glad errand they pursued!

Happy, who so Christ's word convey, That he may meet them on their way!

So is it still: to holy tears, In lonely hours, Christ risen appears: In social hours, who Christ would see Must turn all tasks to Charity.

Monday in Easter Week.

Of a truth I perceive that G.o.d is no respecter of persons: but in every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with Him. _Acts_ x. 34, 35.

GO up and watch the new-born rill Just trickling from its mossy bed, Streaking the heath-clad hill With a bright emerald thread.

Canst thou her bold career foretell, What rocks she shall o'erleap or rend, How far in Ocean's swell Her freshening billows send?

Perchance that little brook shall flow The bulwark of some mighty realm, Bear navies to and fro With monarchs at their helm.

Or canst thou guess, how far away Some sister nymph, beside her urn Reclining night and day, 'Mid reeds and mountain fern,

Nurses her store, with thine to blend When many a moor and glen are past, Then in the wide sea end Their spotless lives at last?

E'en so, the course of prayer who knows?

It springs in silence where it will, Springs out of sight, and flows At first a lonely rill:

But streams shall meet it by and by From thousand sympathetic hearts, Together swelling high Their chant of many parts.

Unheard by all but angel ears The good Cornelius knelt alone, Nor dreamed his prayers and tears Would help a world undone.

The while upon his terraced roof The loved Apostle to his Lord In silent thought aloof For heavenly vision soared.

Far o'er the glowing western main His wistful brow was upward raised, Where, like an angel's train, The burnished water blazed.

The saint beside the ocean prayed, This soldier in his chosen bower, Where all his eye surveyed Seemed sacred in that hour.

To each unknown his brother's prayer, Yet brethren true in dearest love Were they-and now they share Fraternal joys above.

There daily through Christ's open gate They see the Gentile spirits press, Brightening their high estate With dearer happiness.

What civic wreath for comrades saved Shone ever with such deathless gleam, Or when did perils braved So sweet to veterans seem?

Tuesday in Easter Week.

And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy, and did run to bring His disciples word. _St. Matthew_ xxviii. 8.

TO THE SNOWDROP.