Nay, gracious Saviour-but as now Our thoughts have traced Thee to Thy glory-throne So help us evermore with thee to bow Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan.

We must not stand to gaze too long, Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend Where lost behind the bright angelic throng We see CHRIST'S entering triumph slow ascend.

No fear but we shall soon behold, Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive, When issuing from his cloud of fiery gold Our wasted frames feel the true sun, and live.

Then shall we see Thee as Thou art, For ever fixed in no unfruitful gaze, But such as lifts the new-created heart, Age after age, in worthier love and praise.

Sunday after Ascension.

As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of G.o.d. 1 _St.

Peter_ iv. 10.

THE Earth that in her genial breast Makes for the down a kindly nest, Where wafted by the warm south-west It floats at pleasure, Yields, thankful, of her very best, To nurse her treasure:

True to her trust, tree, herb, or reed, She renders for each scattered seed, And to her Lord with duteous heed Gives large increase: Thus year by year she works unfeed, And will not cease.

Woe worth these barren hearts of ours, Where Thou hast set celestial flowers, And watered with more balmy showers Than e'er distilled In Eden, on th' ambrosial bowers- Yet nought we yield.

Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord, Largely Thy gifts should be restored; Freely Thou givest, and Thy word Is, "Freely give."

He only, who forgets to h.o.a.rd, Has learned to live.

Wisely Thou givest-all around Thine equal rays are resting found, Yet varying so on various ground They pierce and strike, That not two roseate cups are crowned With drew alike:

E'en so, in silence, likest Thee, Steals on soft-handed Charity, Tempering her gifts, that seem so free, By time and place, Till not a woe the bleak world see, But finds her grace:

Eyes to the blind, and to the lame Feet, and to sinners wholesome blame, To starving bodies food and flame, By turns she brings; To humbled souls, that sink for shame, Lends heaven-ward wings:

Leads them the way our Saviour went, And shows Love's treasure yet unspent; As when th' unclouded heavens were rent.

Opening His road, Nor yet His Holy Spirit sent To our abode.

Ten days th' eternal doors displayed Were wondering (so th' Almighty bade) Whom Love enthroned would send, in aid Of souls that mourn, Left orphans in Earth's dreary shade As noon as born.

Open they stand, that prayers in throngs May rise on high, and holy songs, Such incense as of right belongs To the true shrine, Where stands the Healer of all wrongs In light divine;

The golden censer in His hand, He offers hearts from every land, Tied to His own by gentlest band Of silent Love: About Him winged blessings stand In act to move.

A little while, and they shall fleet From Heaven to Earth, attendants meet On the life-giving Paraclete Speeding His flight, With all that sacred is and sweet, On saints to light.

Apostles, Prophets, Pastors, all Shall feel the shower of Mercy fall, And startling at th' Almighty's call, Give what He gave, Till their high deeds the world appal, And sinners save.

Whitsunday.

And suddenly there came a sound from Heaven as of a rushing mighty wind, and it filled all the house where they were sitting. And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost. _Acts_ ii. 24

WHEN G.o.d of old came down from Heaven, In power and wrath He came; Before His feet the clouds were riven, Half darkness and half flame:

Around the trembling mountain's base The prostrate people lay; A day of wrath and not of grace; A dim and dreadful day.

But when he came the second time, He came in power and love, Softer than gale at morning prime Hovered His holy Dove.

The fires that rushed on Sinai down In sudden torrents dread, Now gently light, a glorious crown, On every sainted head.

Like arrows went those lightnings forth Winged with the sinner's doom, But these, like tongues, o'er all the earth Proclaiming life to come:

And as on Israel's awe-struck ear The voice exceeding loud, The trump, that angels quake to hear, Thrilled from the deep, dark cloud;

So, when the Spirit of our G.o.d Came down His flock to find, A voice from Heaven was heard abroad, A rushing, mighty wind.

Nor doth the outward ear alone At that high warning start; Conscience gives back th' appalling tone; 'Tis echoed in the heart.

It fills the Church of G.o.d; it fills The sinful world around; Only in stubborn hearts and wills No place for it is found.

To other strains our souls are set: A giddy whirl of sin Fills ear and brain, and will not let Heaven's harmonies come in.

Come Lord, Come Wisdom, Love, and Power, Open our ears to hear; Let us not miss th' accepted hour; Save, Lord, by Love or Fear.

Monday in Whitsun-week.

So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the face of all the earth; and they left off to build the city. _Genesis_ xi. 8

SINCE all that is not Heaven must fade, Light be the hand of Ruin laid Upon the home I love: With lulling spell let soft Decay Steal on, and spare the giant sway, The crash of tower and grove.

Far opening down some woodland deep In their own quiet glade should sleep The relics dear to thought, And wild-flower wreaths from side to side Their waving tracery hang, to hide What ruthless Time has wrought.

Such are the visions green and sweet That o'er the wistful fancy fleet In Asia's sea-like plain, Where slowly, round his isles of sand, Euphrates through the lonely land Winds toward the pearly main.

Slumber is there, but not of rest; There her forlorn and weary nest The famished hawk has found, The wild dog howls at fall of night, The serpent's rustling coils affright The traveller on his round.

What shapeless form, half lost on high, Half seen against the evening sky, Seems like a ghost to glide, And watch, from Babel's crumbling heap, Where in her shadow, fast asleep, Lies fallen imperial Pride?

With half-closed eye a lion there Is basking in his noontide lair, Or prowls in twilight gloom.

The golden city's king he seems, Such as in old prophetic dreams Sprang from rough ocean's womb.

But where are now his eagle wings, That sheltered erst a thousand kings, Hiding the glorious sky From half the nations, till they own No holier name, no mightier throne?

That vision is gone by.

Quenched is the golden statue's ray, The breath of heaven has blown away What toiling earth had piled, Scattering wise heart and crafty hand, As breezes strew on ocean's sand The fabrics of a child.

Divided thence through every age Thy rebels, Lord, their warfare wage, And hoa.r.s.e and jarring all Mount up their heaven-a.s.sailing cries To Thy bright watchmen in the skies From Babel's shattered wall.