'Tis so in love-the faithful heart From her dim vision would not part, When first to her fond gaze is given That purest spot in Fancy's heaven, For all the gorgeous sky beside, Though pledged her own and sure to abide: Dearer than every past noon-day That twilight gleam to her, though faint and far away.

So have I seen some tender flower Prized above all the vernal bower, Sheltered beneath the coolest shade, Embosomed in the greenest glade, So frail a gem, it scarce may bear The playful touch of evening air; When hardier grown we love it less, And trust it from our sight, not needing our caress.

And wherefore is the sweet spring-tide Worth all the changeful year beside?

The last-born babe, why lies its part Deep in the mother's inmost heart?

But that the Lord and Source of love Would have His weakest ever prove Our tenderest care-and most of all Our frail immortal souls, His work and Satan's thrall.

So be it, Lord; I know it best, Though not as yet this wayward breast Beat quite in answer to Thy voice, Yet surely I have made my choice; I know not yet the promised bliss, Know not if I shall win or miss; So doubting, rather let me die, Than close with aught beside, to last eternally.

What is the Heaven we idly dream?

The self-deceiver's dreary theme, A cloudless sun that softly shines, Bright maidens and unfailing vines, The warrior's pride, the hunter's mirth, Poor fragments all of this low earth: Such as in sleep would hardly soothe A soul that once had tasted of immortal Truth.

What is the Heaven our G.o.d bestows?

No Prophet yet, no Angel knows; Was never yet created eye Could see across Eternity; Not seraph's wing for ever soaring Can pa.s.s the flight of souls adoring, That nearer still and nearer grow To the unapproached Lord, once made for them so low.

Unseen, unfelt their earthly growth, And self-accused of sin and sloth, They live and die; their names decay, Their fragrance pa.s.ses quite away; Like violets in the freezing blast No vernal steam around they cast.- But they shall flourish from the tomb, The breath of G.o.d shall wake them into odorous bloom.

Then on the incarnate Saviour's breast, The fount of sweetness, they shall rest, Their spirits every hour imbued More deeply with His precious blood.

But peace-still voice and closed eye Suit best with hearts beyond the sky, Hearts training in their low abode, Daily to lose themselves in hope to find their G.o.d.

Septuagesima Sunday.

The invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made. _Romans_ i. 20.

THERE is a book, who runs may read, Which heavenly truth imparts, And all the lore its scholars need, Pure eyes and Christian hearts.

The works of G.o.d above, below, Within us and around, Are pages in that book, to show How G.o.d Himself is found.

The glorious sky embracing all Is like the Maker's love, Wherewith encompa.s.sed, great and small In peace and order move.

The Moon above, the Church below, A wondrous race they run, But all their radiance, all their glow, Each borrows of its Sun.

The Savour lends the light and heat That crowns His holy hill; The saints, like stars, around His seat Perform their courses still.

The saints above are stars in heaven- What are the saints on earth?

Like tress they stand whom G.o.d has given, Our Eden's happy birth.

Faith is their fixed unswerving root, Hope their unfading flower, Fair deeds of charity their fruit, The glory of their bower.

The dew of heaven is like Thy grace, It steals in silence down; But where it lights, this favoured place By richest fruits is known.

One Name above all glorious names With its ten thousand tongues The everlasting sea proclaims.

Echoing angelic songs.

The raging Fire, the roaring Wind, Thy boundless power display; But in the gentler breeze we find Thy Spirit's viewless way.

Two worlds are ours: 'tis only Sin Forbids us to descry The mystic heaven and earth within, Plain as the sea and sky.

Thou, who hast given me eyes to see And love this sight so fair, Give me a heart to find out Thee, And read Thee everywhere.

s.e.xagesima Sunday.

So He drove out the man; and He placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life. _Genesis_ iii. 24; compare chap. vi.

FOE of mankind! too bold thy race: Thou runn'st at such a reckless pace, Thine own dire work thou surely wilt confound: 'Twas but one little drop of sin We saw this morning enter in, And lo! at eventide the world is drowned.

See here the fruit of wandering eyes, Of worldly longings to be wise, Of Pa.s.sion dwelling on forbidden sweets: Ye lawless glances, freely rove; Ruin below and wrath above Are all that now the wildering fancy meets.

Lord, when in some deep garden glade, Of Thee and of myself afraid.

From thoughts like these among the bowers I hide, Nearest and loudest then of all I seem to hear the Judge's call:- "Where art thou, fallen man? come forth, and be thou tried."

Trembling before Thee as I stand, Where'er I gaze on either hand The sentence is gone forth, the ground is cursed: Yet mingled with the penal shower Some drops of balm in every bower Steal down like April dews, that softest fall and first.

If filial and maternal love Memorial of our guilt must prove, If sinful babes in sorrow must be born, Yet, to a.s.suage her sharpest throes, The faithful mother surely knows, This was the way Thou cam'st to save the world forlorn.

If blessed wedlock may not bless Without some tinge of bitterness To dash her cup of joy, since Eden lost, Chaining to earth with strong desire Hearts that would highest else aspire, And o'er the tenderer s.e.x usurping ever most;

Yet by the light of Christian lore 'Tis blind Idolatry no more, But a sweet help and pattern of true love, Showing how best the soul may cling To her immortal Spouse and King, How He should rule, and she with full desire approve.

If n.i.g.g.ard Earth her treasures hide, To all but labouring hands denied, Lavish of thorns and worthless weeds alone, The doom is half in mercy given, To train us in our way to Heaven, And show our lagging souls how glory must be won.

If on the sinner's outward frame G.o.d hath impressed His mark of blame, And e'en our bodies shrink at touch of light, Yet mercy hath not left us bare: The very weeds we daily wear Are to Faith's eye a pledge of G.o.d's forgiving might.

And oh! if yet one arrow more, The sharpest of the Almighty's store, Tremble upon the string-a sinner's death- Art Thou not by to soothe and save, To lay us gently in the grave, To close the weary eye and hush the parting breath?

Therefore in sight of man bereft The happy garden still was left; The fiery sword that guarded, showed it too; Turning all ways, the world to teach, That though as yet beyond our reach, Still in its place the tree of life and glory grew.

Quinquagesima Sunday.

I do set My bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between Me and the earth. _Genesis_ ix. 13.

SWEET Dove! the softest, steadiest plume, In all the sunbright sky, Brightening in ever-changeful bloom As breezes change on high;-

Sweet Leaf! the pledge of peace and mirth, "Long sought, and lately won,"

Blessed increase of reviving Earth, When first it felt the Sun;-

Sweet Rainbow! pride of summer days, High set at Heaven's command, Though into drear and dusky haze Thou melt on either hand;-

Dear tokens of a pardoning G.o.d, We hail ye, one and all, As when our fathers walked abroad, Freed from their twelvemonth's thrall.