And on the traveller's listless way Thou wilt be there, and not forsake, Into a bright and breezy lake, The throbbing brow to cool: Till left awhile with Thee alone The wilful heart be fain to own That He, by whom our bright hours shone, Upon the breeze is flung: The desert pelican to-day Securely leaves her young, Reproving thankless man, who fears To journey on a few lone years, Where on the sand thy step appears, Thy crown in sight is hung. Thou, who didst sit on Jacob's well The weary hour of noon1, The languid pulses Thou canst tell, The nerveless spirit tune. Thou from whose cross in anguish burst From darkness, here, and dreariness Our trial hour of woes. Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid And see we not, up Earth's dark glade, 9 St. John iv. 6. r St. John xix. 28. THE EPIPHANY. Behold, the star, which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was: when they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. St. Matt. ii. 9, 10. STAR of the East, how sweet art Thou, Ere yet a cloud has dimm'd the brow, While yet we gaze with childish eye; When father, mother, nursing friend, Most dearly lov'd, and loving best, First bid us from their arms ascend, Pointing to Thee in thy sure rest. Too soon the glare of earthly day By faith and hope in Thee unseen. What matter? if the waymarks sure What matter? if in calm old age Crowning our lonely pilgrimage With all that cheers a wanderer's eyes? Ne'er may we lose it from our sight, Till all our hopes and thoughts are led To where it stays its lucid flight Over our Saviour's lowly bed. There, swath'd in humblest poverty, Will not the long-forgotten glow Of mingled joy and awe return, When stars above or flowers below First made our infant spirits burn? Look on us, Lord, and take our parts Even on thy throne of purity! From these our proud yet grovelling hearts Did not the Gentile Church find grace, She too', in earlier, purer days, Had watch'd Thee gleaming faint and far— But wandering in self-chosen ways She lost Thee quite, thou lovely star. Yet had her Father's finger turn'd To Thee her first enquiring glance : The deeper shame within her burn'd, When waken'd from her wilful trance. Behold, her wisest throng thy gate, s The Patriarchal Church. |