Though dawning morn should only show
The secret of their unknown wo;
Who pray for sharpest throbs of pain
To ease them of doubt's galling chain:
"Only disperse the cloud," they cry,

"And if our fate be death, give light and let us die."*

Unwise I deem them, LORD, unmeet
To profit by thy chastenings sweet;
For thou would'st have us linger still
Upon the verge of good or ill,
That on thy guiding hand unseen
Our undivided hearts may lean,

And this our frail and foundering bark
Glide in the narrow wake of thy beloved ark.

'Tis so in war-the champion true Loves victory more, when dim in view He sees her glories gild afar

The dusky edge of stubborn war,

Than if th' untrodden bloodless field

The harvest of her laurels yield;

Let not my bark in calm abide,

But win her fearless way against the chafing tide.

"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 pledg'd her own and sure t'abide:

Dearer than every past noon-day

That twilight gleam to her, though faint and far away.†

*'Ev de gari zaι olɛoσov. The prayer of Ajax—“Light though I perish." Homer.

[Heu, quanto minus tui meminisse quam reliquis versari. Shenstone's Epitaph on Miss Dolman.]

So have I seen some tender flower
Priz'd above all the vernal bower,
Shelter'd beneath the coolest shade,
Embosom'd 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 promis'd 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.

*

* ["The bird that we nurse is the bird that we love."]

What is the heaven our God bestows?

No prophet yet, no angel knows;
Was never yet created eye

Could see across Eternity;

Not seraph's wing for ever soaring

Can pass the flight of souls adoring,
That nearer still and nearer grow

To th' unapproached LORD, once made for them so low."

Unseen, unfelt their earthly growth,
And self-accus'd of sin and sloth
They live and die: their names decay,
Their fragrance passes quite away;
Like violets in the freezing blast,
No vernal steam around they cast,-
But they shall flourish from the tomb,

The breath of GOD shall wake them into od'rous bloom.

Then on th' 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 Gop.

SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY.*

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

[O Lord, we beseech thee favourably to hear the prayers of thy people, that we, who are justly punished for our offences, may be mercifully delivered by thy goodness, for the glory of thy name, through Jesus Christ our Saviour, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

*

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 God above, below,
Within us and around,

Are pages in that book, to show
How God himself is found.

The glorious sky embracing all
Is like the Maker's love,
Wherewith encompass'd, 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 Saviour lends the light and heat

That crowns his holy hill;

[The three Sundays next preceding Lent are called, respectively, Septuagesima, Sexagesima and Quinquagesima Sundays, because nearly seventy, sixty, and fifty days before Easter. The services appointed for them are designed as a preparation for the due observance of the Lenten fast.]

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 trees they stand whom God has given,t
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, the favour'd 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
The 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 every where.

* Daniel xii. 3.

t Isaiah lx. 21.

Psalm Ixviii. 9.

§ Hebrews xii. 29.

St. John iii. 8.