How joyful from the imprisoning ark On the green earth they spring!

Not blither, after showers, the lark Mounts up with glistening wing.

So home-bound sailors spring to sh.o.r.e, Two oceans safely past; So happy souls, when life is o'er, Plunge in this empyreal vast.

What wins their first and fondest gaze In all the blissful field, And keeps it through a thousand days?

Love face to face revealed:

Love imaged in that cordial look Our Lord in Eden bends On souls that sin and earth forsook In time to die His friends.

And what most welcome and serene Dawns on the Patriarch's eye, In all the emerging hills so green, In all the brightening sky?

What but the gentle rainbow's gleam, Soothing the wearied sight, That cannot bear the solar beam, With soft undazzling light?

Lord, if our fathers turned to Thee With such adoring gaze, Wondering frail man Thy light should see Without Thy scorching blaze;

Where is our love, and where our hearts, We who have seen Thy Son, Have tried Thy Spirit's winning arts, And yet we are not won?

The Son of G.o.d in radiance beamed Too bright for us to scan, But we may face the rays that streamed From the mild Son of Man.

There, parted into rainbow hues, In sweet harmonious strife We see celestial love diffuse Its light o'er Jesus' life.

G.o.d, by His bow, vouchsafes to write This truth in Heaven above: As every lovely hue is Light, So every grace is Love.

Ash Wednesday.

When thou fastest, anoint thine head, and wash thy face; that thou appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in secret.

_St. Matthew_ vi. 17, 18.

"YES-deep within and deeper yet The rankling shaft of conscience hide, Quick let the swelling eye forget The tears that in the heart abide.

Calm be the voice, the aspect bold, No shuddering pa.s.s o'er lip or brow, For why should Innocence be told The pangs that guilty spirits bow?

"The loving eye that watches thine Close as the air that wraps thee round- Why in thy sorrow should it pine, Since never of thy sin it found?

And wherefore should the heathen see What chains of darkness thee enslave, And mocking say, 'Lo, this is he Who owned a G.o.d that could not save'?"

Thus oft the mourner's wayward heart Tempts him to hide his grief and die, Too feeble for Confession's smart, Too proud to bear a pitying eye; How sweet, in that dark hour, to fall On bosoms waiting to receive Our sighs, and gently whisper all!

They love us-will not G.o.d forgive?

Else let us keep our fast within, Till Heaven and we are quite alone, Then let the grief, the shame, the sin, Before the mercy-seat be thrown.

Between the porch and altar weep, Unworthy of the holiest place, Yet hoping near the shrine to keep One lowly cell in sight of grace.

Nor fear lest sympathy should fail- Hast thou not seen, in night hours drear, When racking thoughts the heart a.s.sail, The glimmering stars by turns appear, And from the eternal house above With silent news of mercy steal?

So Angels pause on tasks of love, To look where sorrowing sinners kneel.

Or if no Angel pa.s.s that way, He who in secret sees, perchance May bid His own heart-warming ray Toward thee stream with kindlier glance, As when upon His drooping head His Father's light was poured from Heaven, What time, unsheltered and unfed, Far in the wild His steps were driven.

High thoughts were with Him in that hour, Untold, unspeakable on earth- And who can stay the soaring power Of spirits weaned from worldly mirth, While far beyond the sound of praise With upward eye they float serene, And learn to bear their Saviour's blaze When Judgment shall undraw the screen?

First Sunday in Lent.

Haste thee, escape thither: for I cannot do any thing till thou be come thither. Therefore the name of the city was called Zoar.

_Genesis_ xix. 22.

"ANGEL of wrath! why linger in mid-air, While the devoted city's cry Louder and louder swells? and canst thou spare, Thy full-charged vial standing by?"

Thus, with stern voice, unsparing Justice pleads: He hears her not-with softened gaze His eye is following where sweet Mercy leads, And till she give the sign, his fury stays.

Guided by her, along the mountain road, Far through the twilight of the morn, With hurried footsteps from the accursed abode He sees the holy household borne; Angels, or more, on either hand are nigh, To speed them o'er the tempting plain, Lingering in heart, and with frail sidelong eye Seeking how near they may unharmed remain.

"Ah! wherefore gleam those upland slopes so fair?

And why, through every woodland arch, Swells yon bright vale, as Eden rich and rare, Where Jordan winds his stately march; If all must be forsaken, ruined all, If G.o.d have planted but to burn?- Surely not yet the avenging shower will fall, Though to my home for one last look I turn."

Thus while they waver, surely long ago They had provoked the withering blast, But that the merciful Avengers know Their frailty well, and hold them fast.

"Haste, for thy life escape, nor look behind"- Ever in thrilling sounds like these They check the wandering eye, severely kind, Nor let the sinner lose his soul at ease.

And when, o'erwearied with the steep ascent, We for a nearer refuge crave, One little spot of ground in mercy lent, One hour of home before the grave, Oft in His pity o'er His children weak, His hand withdraws the penal fire, And where we fondly cling, forbears to wreak Full vengeance, till our hearts are weaned entire.

Thus, by the merits of one righteous man, The Church, our Zoar, shall abide, Till she abuse, so sore, her lengthened span, E'en Mercy's self her face must hide.

Then, onward yet a step, thou hard-won soul; Though in the Church thou know thy place, The mountain farther lies-there seek thy goal, There breathe at large, o'erpast thy dangerous race.

Sweet is the smile of home; the mutual look When hearts are of each other sure; Sweet all the joys that crowd the household nook, The haunt of all affections pure; Yet in the world e'en these abide, and we Above the world our calling boast; Once gain the mountain-top, and thou art free: Till then, who rest, presume; who turn to look, are lost.

Second Sunday in Lent.

And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father, Bless me, even me also, O my father. _Genesis_ xxvii. 34. (Compare _Hebrews_ xii. 17.

He found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.)

"AND is there in G.o.d's world so drear a place Where the loud bitter cry is raised in vain?

Where tears of penance come too late for grace, As on the uprooted flower the genial rain?"

'Tis even so: the sovereign Lord of souls Stores in the dungeon of His boundless realm Each bolt that o'er the sinner vainly rolls, With gathered wrath the reprobate to whelm.

Will the storm hear the sailor's piteous cry, Taught so mistrust, too late, the tempting wave, When all around he sees but sea and sky, A G.o.d in anger, a self-chosen grave?

Or will the thorns, that strew intemperance' bed, Turn with a wish to down? will late remorse Recall the shaft the murderer's hand has sped, Or from the guiltless bosom turn its course?

Then may the unbodied soul in safety fleet Through the dark curtains of the world above, Fresh from the stain of crime; nor fear to meet The G.o.d whom here she would not learn to love;

Then is there hope for such as die unblest, That angel wings may waft them to the sh.o.r.e, Nor need the unready virgin strike her breast, Nor wait desponding round the bridegroom's door.

But where is then the stay of contrite hearts?

Of old they leaned on Thy eternal word, But with the sinner's fear their hope departs, Fast linked as Thy great Name to Thee, O Lord: