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Now through her round of holy thought
But we no holy fire have caught-
Too soon th' ennobling carols, pour'd
For thankful echoing all the year-
The silence of CHRIST's dying day, Profan’d by worldly mirth, or scar’d by worldly fear.
Some strain of hope and victory
And when the SPIRIT's beacon fires
Who but must kindle while they gaze ?
Nor yet for these, nor all the rites,
Our God to bless our home delights,
And sweeten every secret tear:The funeral dirge, the marriage vow, The hallow'd font where parents bow,
And now elate and trembling now To the Redeemer's feet their new-found treasures bear :
Not for the Pastor's gracious arm
Nor, sweetest, holiest, best of all,
Where souls with sacred hunger sighing Are call'd to sit and eat, while angels prostrate fall :
No, not for each and all of these,
Seems tun'd as truly to our hearts
You would have thought Remorse and Woe Had taught the innocent air their sadly thrilling parts.
Is it, CHRIST's light is too divine,
Earth's gems the fire of Heaven have caught;
Remind us, how our darksome clay
These we have scorn'd, 0 false and frail !
Of our lost year in heaven is told-
With time and hope behind us cast,
O watch and pray ere Advent dawn!
But Love too late can never glow :
The scatter'd fragments Love can glean,
To regions where one thought serene
He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias ; and he brought him unto Jesus. St. John i. 42.
WHEN brothers part for manhood's race,
What gift may most endearing prove
And certify a brother's love?
'Tis true, bright hours together told,
And blissful dreams in secret shar'd,
Shall last in fancy unimpair'd.
Even round the death-bed of the good
Such dear remembrances will hover,
When all the cares of earth are over.