And when He had sent them away, He departed into a mountain to pray.

MARK VI. 46.

"COME to a desert place apart,

And rest a little while:"

So spake the Christ, when limbs and heart Waxed faint and sick through toil.

High communings with God He sought,
But, where He sought them, found
The restless crowd together brought,
And labour's weary round.

Then, not a thought to self was given,
Nor breathed a word of blame;

He fed their souls with bread from Heaven,
Then stayed their sinking frame.

Yet grows
and works the grace of Heaven,
A seed unmarked, or quickening leaven.
Wait on thy watch-tower, wait, and see
How all these things shall ended be.

When ill-won glory turns to shame,

When drunkards drain the cup of woe,
O'er earth, the knowledge of His name,
As waters o'er the deep, shall flow.
Then the sure vision, few would heed,
Though plain, that he who runs might read,
Shall be for truth by sinners known,

“The just shall live by faith alone."

First Lesson. Morning.

For the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the Lord

as the waters cover the sea.

HABAK. ii. 14.

Twenty-second

Sunday after Trinity.

For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand.

2 TIM. iv. 6.

ENOUGH, O Paul, enough; and now
A crown in Heaven awaits thy brow,
Thy earthly toils are nearly done,
Thy heavenly prize is all but won;
Long tossed by ills, on land and sea,
The shore is all but gained by thee.

Long time, 'mid stonings, rods, and chains,
Watchings, and cares, and dying pains,
Thee Christ upon His Cross doth hold,

In daily dyings now grown old;
He bids thee now, no more remain,
And unto thee, to die is gain.

Turned He, when that long task was done,

To sleep fatigue away?

When on the desert sank the sun,

The Saviour waked to pray.

O perfect pattern from above,
So strengthen us, that ne'er
Prayer keep us back from works of love,
Nor works of love from prayer.

My meat is to do the will of Him that sent Me, and to

finish His work.

ST. JOHN iv. 34.

Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been.

GEN. xlvii. 9.

As o'er the past my memory strays,
Why heaves the secret sigh?
'Tis that I mourn departed days,
Still unprepared to die.

The world, and worldly things beloved,
My anxious thoughts employed;
While time, unhallowed, unimproved,
Presents a fearful void.

Yet, holy Father, wild despair

Chase from this labouring breast: Thy grace it is which prompts the prayer, That grace can do the rest.