Through gold and gems, a dazzling maze, From veil to veil the vision led, And ended, where unearthly rays From o'er the ark were shed.

Yet not that gorgeous place, nor aught Of human or angelic frame, Could half appease his craving thought; The void was still the same.

"Show me Thy glory, gracious Lord!

'Tis Thee," he cries, "not Thine, I seek."

Na, start not at so bold a word From man, frail worm and weak:

The spark of his first deathless fire Yet buoys him up, and high above The holiest creature, dares aspire To the Creator's love.

The eye in smiles may wander round, Caught by earth's shadows as they fleet; But for the soul no help is found, Save Him who made it, meet.

Spite of yourselves, ye witness this, Who blindly self or sense adore; Else wherefore leaving your own bliss Still restless ask ye more?

This witness bore the saints of old When highest rapt and favoured most, Still seeking precious things untold, Not in fruition lost.

Canaan was theirs; and in it all The proudest hope of kings dare claim: Sion was theirs; and at their call Fire from Jehovah came.

Yet monarchs walked as pilgrims still In their own land, earth's pride and grace: And seers would mourn on Sion's hill Their Lord's averted face.

Vainly they tried the deeps to sound E'en of their own prophetic thought, When of Christ crucified and crowned His Spirit in them taught:

But He their aching gaze repressed, Which sought behind the veil to see, For not without us fully blest Or perfect might they be.

The rays of the Almighty's face No sinner's eye might then receive; Only the meekest man found grace To see His skirts and live.

But we as in a gla.s.s espy The glory of His countenance, Not in a whirlwind hurrying by The too presumptuous glance,

But with mild radiance every hour, From our dear Saviour's face benign Bent on us with transforming power, Till we, too, faintly shine.

Sprinkled with His atoning blood Safely before our G.o.d we stand, As on the rock the Prophet stood, Beneath His shadowing hand.-

Blessed eyes, which see the things we see!

And yet this tree of life hath proved To many a soul a poison tree, Beheld, and not beloved.

So like an angel's is our bliss (Oh! thought to comfort and appal) It needs must bring, if used amiss, An angel's hopeless fall.

Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity.

And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to G.o.d, save this stranger. _St. Luke_ xvii. 17, 18.

TEN cleansed, and only one remain!

Who would have thought our nature's stain Was dyed so foul, so deep in grain?

E'en He who reads the heart- Knows what He gave and what we lost, Sin's forfeit, and redemption's cost,- By a short pang of wonder crossed Seems at the sight to start:

Yet 'twas not wonder, but His love Our wavering spirits would reprove, That heavenward seem so free to move When earth can yield no more Then from afar on G.o.d we cry, But should the mist of woe roll by, Not showers across an April sky Drift, when the storm is o'er,

Faster than those false drops and few Fleet from the heart, a worthless dew.

What sadder scene can angels view Than self-deceiving tears, Poured idly over some dark page Of earlier life, though pride or rage, The record of to-day engage, A woe for future years?

Spirits, that round the sick man's bed Watched, noting down each prayer he made, Were your unerring roll displayed, His pride of health to abase; Or, when, soft showers in season fall Answering a famished nation's call, Should unseen fingers on the wall Our vows forgotten trace:

How should we gaze in trance of fear!

Yet shines the light as thrilling clear From Heaven upon that scroll severe, "Ten cleansed and one remain!"

Nor surer would the blessing prove Of humbled hearts, that own Thy love, Should choral welcome from above Visit our senses plain:

Than by Thy placid voice and brow, With healing first, with comfort now, Turned upon him, who hastes to bow Before Thee, heart and knee; "Oh! thou, who only wouldst be blest, On thee alone My blessing rest!

Rise, go thy way in peace, possessed For evermore of Me."

Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. _St. Matthew_, vi.

28.

SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies, Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, What more than magic in you lies, To fill the heart's fond view?

In childhood's sports, companions gay, In sorrow, on Life's downward way, How soothing! in our last decay Memorials prompt and true.

Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, As pure, as fragrant, and as fair, As when ye crowned the sunshine hours Of happy wanderers there.

Fall'n all beside-the world of life, How is it stained with fear and strife!

In Reason's world what storms are rife, What pa.s.sions range and glare!

But cheerful and unchanged the while Your first and perfect form ye show, The same that won Eve's matron smile In the world's opening glow.

The stars of heaven a course are taught Too high above our human thought: Ye may be found if ye are sought, And as we gaze, we know.

Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow, And guilty man where'er he roams, Your innocent mirth may borrow.

The birds of air before us fleet, They cannot brook our shame to meet- But we may taste your solace sweet And come again to-morrow.

Ye fearless in your nests abide- Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried By all but lowly eyes: For ye could draw th' admiring gaze Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys: Your order wild, your fragrant maze, He taught us how to prize.

Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour, As when He paused and owned you good; His blessing on earth's primal bower, Ye felt it all renewed.

What care ye now, if winter's storm Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form?

Christ's blessing at your heart is warm, Ye fear no vexing mood.

Alas! of thousand bosoms kind, That daily court you and caress, How few the happy secret find Of your calm loveliness!

"Live for to-day! to-morrow's light To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight, Go sleep like closing flowers at night, And Heaven thy morn will bless."

Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity.

I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, which is your glory.

_Ephesians_ iii. 13.