The storm is o'er-and hark! a still small voice Steals on the ear, to say, Jehovah's choice Is ever with the soft, meek, tender soul; By soft, meek, tender ways He loves to draw The sinner, startled by His ways of awe: Here is our Lord, and not where thunders roll.

Back, then, complainer; loath thy life no more, Nor deem thyself upon a desert sh.o.r.e, Because the rocks the nearer prospect close.

Yet in fallen Israel are there hearts and eyes That day by day in prayer like thine arise; Thou know'st them not, but their Creator knows.

Go, to the world return, nor fear to cast Thy bread upon the waters, sure at last In joy to find it after many days.

The work be thine, the fruit thy children's part: Choose to believe, not see: sight tempts the heart From sober walking in true Gospel ways.

Tenth Sunday after Trinity.

And when He was come near, He beheld the city, and wept over it.

_St. Luke_ xix. 41.

WHY doth my Saviour weep At sight of Sion's bowers?

Shows it not fair from yonder steep, Her gorgeous crown of towers?

Mark well His holy pains: 'Tis not in pride or scorn, That Israel's King with sorrow stains His own triumphal morn.

It is not that His soul Is wandering sadly on, In thought how soon at death's dark goal Their course will all be run, Who now are shouting round Hosanna to their chief; No thought like this in Him is found, This were a Conquerer's grief.

Or doth He feel the Cross Already in His heart, The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss?

Feel e'en His G.o.d depart?

No: though He knew full well The grief that then shall be- The grief that angels cannot tell- Our G.o.d in agony.

It is not thus He mourns; Such might be martyr's tears, When his last lingering look he turns On human hopes and fears; But hero ne'er or saint The secret load might know, With which His spirit waxeth faint; His is a Saviour's woe.

"If thou had'st known, e'en thou, At least in this thy day, The message of thy peace! but now 'Tis pa.s.sed for aye away: Now foes shall trench thee round, And lay thee even with earth, And dash thy children to the ground, Thy glory and thy mirth."

And doth the Saviour weep Over His people's sin, Because we will not let Him keep The souls He died to win?

Ye hearts, that love the Lord, If at this, sight ye burn, See that in thought, in deed, in word, Ye hate what made Him mourn.

Eleventh Sunday after Trinity.

Is it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and oliveyards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and menservants, and maidservants? 2 _Kings_ v. 26.

IS this a time to plant and build, Add house to house, and field to field, When round our walls the battle lowers, When mines are hid beneath our towers, And watchful foes are stealing round To search and spoil the holy ground?

Is this a time for moonlight dreams Of love and home by mazy streams, For Fancy with her shadowy toys, Aerial hopes and pensive joys, While souls are wandering far and wide, And curses swarm on every side?

No-rather steel thy melting heart To act the martyr's sternest part, To watch, with firm unshrinking eye, Thy darling visions as thy die, Till all bright hopes, and hues of day, Have faded into twilight gray.

Yes-let them pa.s.s without a sigh, And if the world seem dull and dry, If long and sad thy lonely hours, And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers, Bethink thee what thou art and where, A sinner in a life of care.

The fire of G.o.d is soon to fall (Thou know'st it) on this earthly ball; Full many a soul, the price of blood, Marked by th' Almighty's hand for good, To utter death that hour shall sweep- And will the saints in Heaven dare weep?

Then in His wrath shall G.o.d uproot The trees He set, for lack of fruit, And drown in rude tempestuous blaze The towers His hand had deigned to raise; In silence, ere that storm begin, Count o'er His mercies and thy sin.

Pray only that thine aching heart, From visions vain content to part, Strong for Love's sake its woe to hide May cheerful wait the Cross beside, Too happy if, that dreadful day, Thy life be given thee for a prey.

s.n.a.t.c.hed sudden from th' avenging rod, Safe in the bosom of thy G.o.d, How wilt thou then look back, and smile On thoughts that bitterest seemed erewhile, And bless the pangs that made thee see This was no world of rest for thee!

Twelfth Sunday after Trinity.

And looking up to heaven, He sighed, and saith unto him, Ephphatha, that is, Be opened. _St. Mark_ vii. 34.

THE Son of G.o.d in doing good Was fain to look to Heaven and sigh: And shall the heirs of sinful blood Seek joy unmixed in charity?

G.o.d will not let Love's work impart Full solace, lest it steal the heart; Be thou content in tears to sow, Blessing, like Jesus, in thy woe:

He looked to Heaven, and sadly sighed- What saw my gracious Saviour there, "With fear and anguish to divide The joy of Heaven-accepted prayer?

So o'er the bed where Lazarus slept He to His Father groaned and wept: What saw He mournful in that grave, Knowing Himself so strong to save?"

O'erwhelming thoughts of pain and grief Over His sinking spirit sweep;- What boots it gathering one lost leaf Out of yon sere and withered heap, Where souls and bodies, hopes and joys, All that earth owns or sin destroys, Under the spurning hoof are cast, Or tossing in th' autumnal blast?

The deaf may hear the Saviour's voice, The fettered tongue its chain may break; But the deaf heart, the dumb by choice, The laggard soul, that will not wake, The guilt that scorns to be forgiven;- These baffle e'en the spells of Heaven; In thought of these, His brows benign Not e'en in healing cloudless shine.

No eye but His might ever bear To gaze all down that drear abyss, Because none ever saw so clear The sh.o.r.e beyond of endless bliss: The giddy waves so restless hurled, The vexed pulse of this feverish world, He views and counts with steady sight, Used to behold the Infinite.

But that in such communion high He hath a fount of strength within, Sure His meek heart would break and die, O'erburthened by His brethren's sin; Weak eyes on darkness dare not gaze, It dazzles like the noonday blaze; But He who sees G.o.d's face may brook On the true face of Sin to look.

What then shall wretched sinners do, When in their last, their hopeless day, Sin, as it is, shall meet their view, G.o.d turn His face for aye away?

Lord, by Thy sad and earnest eye, When Thou didst look to Heaven and sigh: Thy voice, that with a word could chase The dumb, deaf spirit from his place;

As Thou hast touched our ears, and taught Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain, Quell Thou each thankless G.o.dless thought That would make fast our bonds again.

From worldly strife, from mirth unblest, Drowning Thy music in the breast, From foul reproach, from thrilling fears, Preserve, good Lord, Thy servants' ears.

From idle words, that restless throng And haunt our hearts when we would pray, From Pride's false chime, and jarring wrong, Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way: For Thou hast sworn, that every ear, Willing or loth, Thy trump shall hear, And every tongue unchained be To own no hope, no G.o.d, but Thee.

Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity.

And He turned Him onto His disciples, and said privately, Blessed are the eyes which see the things that ye see: for I tell you, that many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them: and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them. _St. Luke_ x. 23, 24.

ON Sinai's top, in prayer and trance, Full forty nights and forty days The Prophet watched for one dear glance Of thee and of Thy ways:

Fasting he watched and all alone, Wrapt in a still, dark, solid cloud, The curtain of the Holy One Drawn round him like a shroud:

So, separate from the world, his breast Might duly take and strongly keep The print of Heaven, to be expressed Ere long on Sion's steep.

There one by one his spirit saw Of things divine the shadows bright, The pageant of G.o.d's perfect law; Yet felt not full delight.