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While his free spirit, soaring high,
Discerns the glorious from the base ; Till out of dust his magic raisey A home for prayer and love, and full harmonious praise,
Where far away and high above,
In maze on maze the tranced sight
Which knows no end in depth or height,
What though in poor and humble guise
Thou here didst sojourn, cottage-born ? Yet from thy glory in the skies
Our earthly gold Thou dost not scorn. For Love delights to bring her best, And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest.
Love on the Saviour's dying head
Her spikenard drops unblam'd may pour,
y He hath built us a synagogue.
May mount his cross, and wrap him dead
In spices from the golden shore”;
Worthless and lost our offering seem,
Drops in the ocean of his praise ;
Is ripening them to pearly blaze,
FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER
When they saw him, they besought him to depart out of their coasts. St. Matthew viïi. 34.
THEY know th’ Almighty's power,
Watch for the fitful breeze
2 St. John xii, 7. xix. 30.
Watch for the still white gleam
Touching the tremulous eye with sense of light
They know th’ Almighty's love,
Stand in the shade, and hear
How, in their fiercest sway,
Like a bold steed that owns his rider's arm,
But there are storms within
And there is power and love
And when he takes his seat,
Is not the power as strange, the love as blest,
a St. Mark v. 15. iv, 39.
Woe to the wayward heart,
Of Passion in her might,
Pleas'd in the cheerless tomb
Green lake, and cedar tuft, and spicy glade,
The storm is laid--and now
Who bade the waves go sleep,
How on a rock they stand,
Not half so fix'd, amid her vassal hills,
And wilt thou seek again
And with the demons be,
Sure 'tis no heav'n-bred awe That bids thee from his healing touch withdraw,
The world and He are struggling in thine heart, And in thy reckless mood thou bidd'st thy Lord depart.
He, merciful and mild,
When souls of highest birth
He opens Nature's book,
Till by such chords, as rule the choirs above, Their lawless cries are tun'd to hymns of perfect love.