Nor let the proud heart say, In her self-torturing hour, The travail pangs must have their way, The aching brow must lower.

To us long since the glorious Child is born Our throes should be forgot, or only seem Like a sad vision told for joy at morn, For joy that we have waked and found it but a dream.

Mysterious to all thought A mother's prime of bliss, When to her eager lips is brought Her infant's thrilling kiss.

O never shall it set, the sacred light Which dawns that moment on her tender gaze, In the eternal distance blending bright Her darling's hope and hers, for love and joy and praise.

No need for her to weep Like Thracian wives of yore, Save when in rapture still and deep Her thankful heart runs o'er.

They mourned to trust their treasure on the main, Sure of the storm, unknowing of their guide: Welcome to her the peril and the pain, For well she knows the bonus where they may safely hide.

She joys that one is born Into a world forgiven, Her Father's household to adorn, And dwell with her in Heaven.

So have I seen, in Spring's bewitching hour, When the glad Earth is offering all her best, Some gentle maid bend o'er a cherished flower, And wish it worthier on a Parent's heart to rest.

Fourth Sunday after Easter.

Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send Him unto you. _St. John_ xvi 7.

MY Saviour, can it ever be That I should gain by losing Thee?

The watchful mother tarries nigh, Though sleep have closed her infant's eye; For should he wake, and find her gone.

She knows she could not bear his moan.

But I am weaker than a child, And Thou art more than mother dear; Without Thee Heaven were but a wild; How can I live without Thee here!

"'Tis good for you, that I should go, "You lingering yet awhile below;"- 'Tis Thine own gracious promise, Lord!

Thy saints have proved the faithful word, When heaven's bright boundless avenue Far opened on their eager view, And homeward to Thy Father's throne, Still lessening, brightening on their sight, Thy shadowy car went soaring on; They tracked Thee up th' abyss of light.

Thou bidd'st rejoice; they dare not mourn, But to their home in gladness turn, Their home and G.o.d's, that favoured place, Where still He shines on Abraham's race, In prayers and blessings there to wait Like suppliants at their Monarch's gate, Who bent with bounty rare to aid The splendours of His crowning day, Keeps back awhile His largess, made More welcome for that brief delay:

In doubt they wait, but not unblest; They doubt not of their Master's rest, Nor of the gracious will of Heaven- Who gave His Son, sure all has given- But in ecstatic awe they muse What course the genial stream may choose, And far and wide their fancies rove, And to their height of wonder strain, What secret miracle of love Should make their Saviour's going gain.

The days of hope and prayer are past, The day of comfort dawns at last, The everlasting gates again Roll back, and, lo! a royal train- From the far depth of light once more The floods of glory earthward pour: They part like shower-drops in mid air, But ne'er so soft fell noon-tide shower, Nor evening rainbow gleamed so fair To weary swains in parched bower.

Swiftly and straight each tongue of flame Through cloud and breeze unwavering came, And darted to its place of rest On some meek brow of Jesus blest.

Nor fades it yet, that living gleam, And still those lambent lightnings stream; Where'er the Lord is, there are they; In every heart that gives them room, They light His altar every day, Zeal to inflame, and vice consume.

Soft as the plumes of Jesus' Dove They nurse the soul to heavenly love; The struggling spark of good within, Just smothered in the strife of sin, They quicken to a timely glow, The pure flame spreading high and low.

Said I, that prayer and hope were o'er?

Nay, blessed Spirit! but by Thee The Church's prayer finds wings to soar, The Church's hope finds eyes to see.

Then, fainting soul, arise and sing; Mount, but be sober on the wing; Mount up, for Heaven is won by prayer, Be sober, for thou art not there; Till Death the weary spirit free, Thy G.o.d hath said, 'Tis good for thee To walk by faith and not by sight: Take it on trust a little while; Soon shalt thou read the mystery right In the full sunshine of His smile.

Or if thou yet more knowledge crave, Ask thine own heart, that willing slave To all that works thee woe or harm Shouldst thou not need some mighty charm To win thee to thy Saviour's side, Though He had deigned with thee to bide?

The Spirit must stir the darkling deep, The Dove must settle on the Cross, Else we should all sin on or sleep With Christ in sight, turning our gain to loss.

Fifth Sunday After Easter.

ROGATION SUNDAY.

And the Lord was very angry with Aaron to have destroyed him: and I prayed for Aaron also the same time. _Deuteronomy_ ix. 20.

NOW is there solemn pause in earth and heaven; The Conqueror now His bonds hath riven, And Angels wonder why He stays below: Yet hath not man his lesson learned, How endless love should be returned.

Deep is the silence as of summer noon, When a soft shower Will trickle soon, A gracious rain, freshening the weary bower- O sweetly then far off is heard The clear note of some lonely bird.

So let Thy turtle-dove's sad call arise In doubt and fear Through darkening skies, And pierce, O Lord, Thy justly-sealed ear, Where on the house-top, all night long She trills her widowed, faltering song.

Teach her to know and love her hour of prayer, And evermore, As faith grows rare, Unlock her heart, and offer all its store In holier love and humbler vows, As suits a lost returning spouse.

Not as at first, but with intenser cry, Upon the mount She now must lie, Till Thy dear love to blot the sad account Of her rebellious race be won, Pitying the mother in the son.

But chiefly (for she knows Thee angered worst By holiest things Profaned and curst), Chiefly for Aaron's seed she spreads her wings, If but one leaf she may from Thee Win of the reconciling tree.

For what shall heal, when holy water banes!

Or who may guide O'er desert plains Thy loved yet sinful people wandering wide, If Aaron's hand unshrinking mould An idol form of earthly gold?

Therefore her tears are bitter, and as deep Her boding sigh, As, while men sleep, Sad-hearted mothers heave, that wakeful lie, To muse upon some darling child Roaming in youth's uncertain wild.

Therefore on fearful dreams her inward sight Is fain to dwell- What lurid light Shall the last darkness of the world dispel, The Mediator in His wrath Descending down the lightning's path.

Yet, yet awhile, offended Saviour, pause, In act to break Thine outraged laws, O spare Thy rebels for Thine own dear sake; Withdraw Thine hand, nor dash to earth The covenant of our second birth.

'Tis forfeit like the first-we own it all- Yet for love's sake Let it not fall; But at Thy touch let veiled hearts awake, That nearest to Thine altar lie, Yet least of holy things descry.

Teacher of teachers! Priest of priests! from Thee The sweet strong prayer Must rise, to free First Levi, then all Israel, from the snare.

Thou art our Moses out of sight- Speak for us, or we perish quite.

Ascension Day.

Why stand ye gazing up into Heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into Heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go into Heaven. _Acts_ i. 11

SOFT cloud, that while the breeze of May Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch, Draw'st thy bright veil across the heavenly way Meet pavement for an angel's glorious march:

My soul is envious of mine eye, That it should soar and glide with thee so fast, The while my grovelling thoughts half buried lie, Or lawless roam around this earthly waste.

Chains of my heart, avaunt I say- I will arise, and in the strength of love Pursue the bright track ere it fade away, My Saviour's pathway to His home above.

Sure, when I reach the point where earth Melts into nothing from th' unc.u.mbered sight, Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth.

And I shall sink in yonder sea of light:

Till resting by th' incarnate LORD, Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake, I mark Him, how by seraph hosts adored, He to earth's lowest cares is still awake.

The sun and every va.s.sal star, All s.p.a.ce, beyond the soar of angel wings, Wait on His word: and yet He stays His car For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings.

He listens to the silent tear For all the anthems of the boundless sky- And shall our dreams of music bar our ear To His soul-piercing voice for ever nigh?