For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of G.o.d. For the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by the reason of Him who hath subjected the same in hope, because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of G.o.d. For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. _Romans_ viii 1922.

IT was not then a poet's dream, An idle vaunt of song, Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam On vacant fancies throng;

Which bids us see in heaven and earth, In all fair things around, Strong yearnings for a blest new birth With sinless glories crowned;

Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause From care and want and toil, When dewy eve her curtain draws Over the day's turmoil,

In the low chant of wakeful birds, In the deep weltering flood, In whispering leaves, these solemn words- "G.o.d made us all for good."

All true, all faultless, all in tune Creation's wondrous choir, Opened in mystic unison To last till time expire.

And still it lasts; by day and night, With one consenting voice, All hymn Thy glory, Lord, aright, All worship and rejoice.

Man only mars the sweet accord O'erpowering with "harsh din"

The music of Thy works and word, Ill matched with grief and sin.

Sin is with man at morning break, And through the livelong day Deafens the ear that fain would wake To Nature's simple lay.

But when eve's silent footfall steals Along the eastern sky, And one by one to earth reveals Those purer fires on high,

When one by one each human sound Dies on the awful ear, Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, She speaks, and we must hear.

Then pours she on the Christian heart That warning still and deep, At which high spirits of old would start E'en from their Pagan sleep.

Just guessing, through their murky blind Few, faint, and baffling sight, Streaks of a brighter heaven behind, A cloudless depth of light.

Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, Through many a dreary age, Upbore whate'er of good and wise Yet lived in bard or sage:

They marked what agonizing throes Shook the great mother's womb: But Reason's spells might not disclose The gracious birth to come:

Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast G.o.d's secret love and power; The travail pangs of Earth must last Till her appointed hour.

The hour that saw from opening heaven Redeeming glory stream, Beyond the summer hues of even, Beyond the mid-day beam.

Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, The meanest thing below, As with a seraph's robe of fire Invested, burn and glow:

The rod of Heaven has touched them all, The word from Heaven is spoken: "Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall; Are not thy fetters broken?

"The G.o.d Who hallowed thee and blest, p.r.o.nouncing thee all good- Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, And all thy bliss renewed?

"Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, Now that th' eternal Son His blessed home in Heaven hath left To make thee all His own?"

Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still In Christ's new heaven and earth; Because our rebel works and will Stain our immortal birth:

Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, The Saviour hides His face, And worldlings blot the temple's gold With uses vile and base.

Hence all thy groans and travail pains, Hence, till thy G.o.d return, In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains, Oh Nature, seem to mourn.

Fifth Sunday after Trinity.

And Simon answering said unto Him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing; nevertheless at Thy word I will let down the net. And when they had this done, they inclosed a great mult.i.tude of fishes: and their net brake. _St. Luke_ v. 5, 6.

"The livelong night we've toiled in vain, But at Thy gracious word I will let down the net again:- Do Thou Thy will, O Lord!"

So spake the weary fisher, spent With bootless darkling toil, Yet on his Master's bidding bent For love and not for spoil.

So day by day and week by week, In sad and weary thought, They muse, whom G.o.d hath set to seek The souls His Christ hath bought.

For not upon a tranquil lake Our pleasant task we ply, Where all along our glistening wake The softest moonbeams lie;

Where rippling wave and dashing oar Our midnight chant attend, Or whispering palm-leaves from the sh.o.r.e With midnight silence blend.

Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last: Too soon some ruder sound Calls us from where ye soar so fast Back to our earthly round.

For wildest storms our ocean sweep:- No anchor but the Cross Might hold: and oft the thankless deep Turns all our toil to loss.

Full many a dreary anxious hour We watch our nets alone In drenching spray, and driving shower, And hear the night-bird's moan:

At morn we look, and nought is there; Sad dawn of cheerless day!

Who then from pining and despair The sickening heart can stay?

There is a stay-and we are strong; Our Master is at hand, To cheer our solitary song, And guide us to the strand.

In His own time; but yet a while Our bark at sea must ride; Cast after cast, by force or guile All waters must be tried:

By blameless guile or gentle force, As when He deigned to teach (The lode-star of our Christian course) Upon this sacred beach.

Should e'er thy wonder-working grace Triumph by our weak arm, Let not our sinful fancy trace Aught human in the charm:

To our own nets ne'er bow we down, Lest on the eternal sh.o.r.e The angels, while oar draught they own, Reject us evermore:

Or, if for our unworthiness Toil, prayer, and watching fail, In disappointment Thou canst bless, So love at heart prevail.

Sixth Sunday after Trinity.

David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the Lord. And Nathan said unto David, The Lord also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die. 2 _Samuel_ xii. 13.

WHEN bitter thoughts, of conscience born, With sinners wake at morn, When from our restless couch we start, With fevered lips and withered heart, Where is the spell to charm those mists away, And make new morning in that darksome day?

One draught of spring's delicious air, One steadfast thought, that G.o.d is there.

These are Thy wonders, hourly wrought, Thou Lord of time and thought, Lifting and lowering souls at will, Crowding a world of good or ill Into a moment's vision; e'en as light Mounts o'er a cloudy ridge, and all is bright, From west to east one thrilling ray Turning a wintry world to May.