'Twixt Heaven and us; the manna was not good After sun-rising; far day sullies flowers: Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut, And Heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut. Walk with thy fellow creatures: note the hush And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush And oak doth know I Am. Can'st thou not sing? O leave thy cares and follies! go this way And thou art sure to prosper all the day. H. Vaughan CIII TO A CHILD Y fairest child, I have no song to give you; MY so gray: Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave For every day. you Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; CIV THE CHRISTIAN'S PROGRESS HROUGH sorrow's path, and danger's road, Tamid the deepening gloom, We, soldiers of an injured King, There, when the turmoil is no more, Our labors done, securely laid Yet not thus lifeless, thus inane, For o'er life's wreck that spark shall rise These ashes too, this little dust, Our Father's care shall keep, Till the last angel rise, and break The long and dreary sleep. There love's soft dew o'er every eye, And the long silent dust shall burst With shouts of endless praise. H. Kirke White CV THE CHARITIES OF THE POOR HERE is a thought so purely blest, THERE That to its use I oft repair, When evil breaks my spirit's rest, And pleasure is but varied care, A thought to gild the stormiest skies, The charities of poor to poor. It were not for the rich to blame, If they, whom fortune seems to scorn, To give the stranger's children bread, The daily sacrifice of years, And when all else to give is gone, The precious gifts of love and tears. Therefore lament not, honest soul ! That Providence holds back from thee, The means thou might'st so well control, Manhood is nobler, as thou art; And should some chance thy coffers fill, Wealth, like all other power, is blind, That fills the hero's breast with joy ; Which mere possession might destroy. R. M. Milnes CVI SAYING THE RESPONSES THAT is the Church, and what am I?" "WA world to one poor sandy grain, А A waste of sea and sky, To one frail drop of rain. "What boots one feeble infant tone Nay, the kind watchers hearkening there Upon the faltering tongue. Each half-note in the great Amen, To bring thy lowly word. CVII 7. Keble G SAYING THE CREED IVE me a tender spotless child, Rehearsing o'er at eve, or morn, His chant of glory undefiled, The creed that with the Church was born. Down be his earnest forehead cast, His slender fingers joined for prayer, With half a frown his eye sealed fast, Against the world's intruding glare. Who, while his lips so gently move, The world new framed, the Christ new born, The mother-maid, the cross, and grave, The rising sun on Easter morn, The fiery tongues sent down to save. The gathering Church, the font of life, The saints and mourners kneeling round; The Day to end the body's strife, The Saviour in His people crowned. |