No thought like this in Him is found,
This were a Conqueror's grief.

Or doth he feel the cross

Already in his heart,

The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss? Feel even his God depart?

No: though he knew full well

The grief that then shall be

The grief that angels cannot tell—
Our God in agony.

It is not thus he mourns;

Such might be Martyr's tears,

When his last lingering look he turns

On human hopes and fears;

But hero ne'er or saint

The secret load might know,

With which His spirit waxeth faint;
His is a Saviour's woe.

"If thou hadst known, even thou,

"At least in this thy day,

"The message of thy peace! but now

""Tis pass'd for aye away:

"Now foes shall trench thee round,

"And lay thee even with earth, "And dash thy children to the ground, "Thy glory and thy mirth."

And doth the Saviour weep

Over his people's sin,

Because we will not let him keep

The souls He died to win?

Ye hearts, that love the Lord,

If at this sight ye burn,

See that in thought, in deed, in word,

Ye hate what made Him mourn.

LXI.

ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

Is it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and olive yards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and men servants, and maid servants? 2 Kings v. 26.

Is this a time to plant and build,

Add house to house, and field to field,
When round our walls the battle lowers,
When mines are sprung beneath our towers,

And watchful foes are stealing round
To search and spoil the holy ground?

Is this a time for moonlight dreams
Of love and home by mazy streams,
For Fancy with her shadowy toys,
Aerial hopes and pensive joys,

While souls are wandering far and wide,

And curses swarm on every side?

No-rather steel thy melting heart

To act the martyr's sternest part,
To watch, with firm unshrinking eye,
Thy darling visions as they die,

Till all bright hopes, and hues of day
Have faded into twilight gray.

Yes-let them pass without a sigh,
And if the world seem dull and dry,
If long and sad thy lonely hours,

And winds have rent thy sheltering bowers,
Bethink thee what thou art and where,

A sinner in a life of care.

The fire of Heaven is soon to fall,
(Thou know'st it) on this earthly ball;
Then many a soul, the price of blood,
Mark'd by th' Almighty's hand for good,
Shall feel the o'erflowing whirlwinds sweep-
And will the blessed Angels weep?

Then in his wrath shall GOD uproot

The trees He set, for lack of fruit,
And drown in rude tempestuous blaze

The towers His hand had deign'd to raise ;

In silence, ere that storm begin,
Count o'er His mercies and thy sin.

Pray only that thine aching heart,

From visions vain content to part,
Strong for Love's sake its woe to hide,
May cheerful wait the cross beside,
Too happy if, that dreadful day,
Thy life be given thee for a prey c.

Snatch'd sudden from th' avenging rod,
Safe in the bosom of thy GOD,

How wilt thou then look back, and smile
On thoughts that bitterest seem'd erewhile,
And bless the pangs that made thee see,
This was no world of rest for thee.

Jeremiah xlv. 4, 5. The Lord saith thus: Behold, that which I have built will I break down, and that which I have planted I will pluck up, even this whole land. And seekest thou great things for thyself? seek them not, for, behold, I will bring evil upon all flesh, saith the Lord; but thy life will I give unto thee for a prey in all places whither thou goest.