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Yet deem not, on such parting sad
Divided in their earthly race, .
The faithful champions shall embrace.
For even as those mysterious Four,
By Chebar in the fiery blast',
Right onward speed, yet join at last.
And sometimes even beneath the moon
When reconciled Christians meet,
High thoughts of holy love impart
Companion of the Saints ! 'twas thine
To taste that drop of peace divine, i Ezekiel i. 9. They turned not when they went--they went every one straight forward.
When the great soldier of thy Lord
The story of your love restor’d.
O then the glory and the bliss,
Shall melt with earth and sin away!
Shall spend in love th' eternal day!
ST. PHILIP AND ST. JAMES.
Let the brother of low degree rejoice in that he is exalted : but the rich, in that he is made low. St. James i. 9, 10.
DEAR is the morning gale of spring,
And dear th' autumnal eve;
A Poet's crown to weave.
Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,
And ever Fancy's wing Speeds from beneath her cloudless sky
To autumn or to spring.
Sweet is the infant's waking smile,
And sweet the old man's restBut middle age by no fond wile,
No soothing calm is blest.
Still in the world's hot restless gleam
She plies her weary task,
Her wandering glances ask.
O shame upon thee, listless heart,
So sad a sigh to heave,
In thoughts, that make thee grieve.
As if along His lonesome way
He had not borne for thee Sad languors through thé summer day,
Storms on the wintry sea.
Youth's lightning flash of joy secure
Pass'd seldom o'er His spright, A well of serious thought and pure,
Too deep for earthly light.
No spring was His—no fairy gleam
For He by trial knew How cold and bare what mortals dream,
To worlds where all is true.
Then grudge not thou the anguish keen
Which makes thee like thy LORD, And learn to quit with eye serene
Thy youth's ideal hoard.
Thy treasur'd hopes and raptures high
Unmurmuring let them go, Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly
Which CHRIST disdain'd to know.
Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon ;
The pure, calm hope be thine, Which brightens, like the eastern moon,
As days wild lights decline.
Thus souls, by nature pitch'd too high,
By sufferings plung’d too low,
Half way ?twixt joy and woe,
To practise there the soothing lay
That sorrow best relieves :
Humbled by all He gives.
The Son of consolation, a Levite. Acts iv. 36.
THE world's a room of sickness, where each heart
Knows its own anguish and unrest ;
Is his, who skills of comfort best;
Enfeebled spirits own,
And love to raise the languid eye, When, like an angel's wing, they feel him fleeting by: