« PreviousContinue »
ST. SIMON AND ST. JUDE.
That ye should earnestly contend for f the faith which was once delivered
unto the saints. St. Jude 3.
SEEST thou, how tearful and alone,
The widow'd Church is fain to rove?
Who is at hand that loves the Lord"?
Make haste and take her home, and bring
Thine household choir, in true accord
Their soothing hymns for her to sing.
Soft on her fluttering heart shall breathe
And to her own sad music smile.
' επαγωνίζεσθαι : "be very
anxious for it:"" feel for it as for a friend in
3 St. John xix. 26. Then saith He to the disciple, Behold thy mother: and from that hour that disciple took her to his own home.
The Spirit of the dying Son
Is there, and fills the holy place
With records sweet of duties done,
Of pardon'd foes, and cherish'd grace.
His herald saints the Saviour sent
To soften hearts like morning dew, Where He to shine in mercy meant;
So evermore He deems his name
Best honour'd and His way prepar'd, When watching by his altar-flame He sees his servants duly pair'd.
He loves when age and youth are met,
Their high and low in concord set
He loves when some clear soaring mind Is drawn by mutual piety
To simple souls and unrefin'd,
Who in life's shadiest covert lie.
h St. Mark vi, 7. St. Luke x. 1.
Or if perchance a sadden'd heart
That once was gay and felt the spring, Cons slowly o'er its alter'd part,
In sorrow and remorse to sing,
Thy gracious care will send that way
And nurse it with all pitying thought;
Cheerful as soaring lark, and mild
As evening blackbird's full-ton'd lay, When the relenting sun has smil'd
Bright through a whole December day.
These are the tones to brace and cheer
When nights are dark, and foemen near, When visions fade and hearts grow cold.
How timely then a comrade's song
Comes floating on the mountain air, And bids thee yet be bold and strongFancy may die, but Faith is there.
ALL SAINTS' DAY.
Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads. Revelations vii. 3.
WHY blow'st thou not, thou wintry wind,
leaf is brown and sere,
And idly droops, to thee resign'd,
The fading chaplet of the year?
Her summer veil, half drawn on high,
How quiet shews the woodland scene!
Each flower and tree, its duty done,
Like weary men when age
Sure if our eyes were purg'd to trace
God's unseen armies hovering round, We should behold by angels' grace
The four strong winds of Heaven fast bound, Their downward sweep a moment staid On ocean cove and forest glade,
Till the last flower of autumn shed Her funeral odours on her dying bed.
So in thine awful armoury, Lord,
Till willing hearts wear quite away
The Cross by angel hands impress'd,
The seal of glory won and pledge of promis'd rest.
Little they dream, those haughty souls
Together link'd by Heaven's decree ;—