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To every ear in every land
(Though meek ears only understand)

He speaks as He did then.

“ Ah wherefore persecute ye me?
'Tis hard, ye so in love should be

“ With your own endless woe. “ Know, though at God's right hand I live, “I feel each wound ye reckless give

“To the least saint below.

“I in your care my brethren left, “Not willing ye should be bereft

“Of waiting on your Lord. “ The meanest offering ye can make“A drop of water-for love's sake 8,

“ In Heaven, be sure, is stor’d.”

O by those gentle tones and dear,
When Thou hast stay'd our wild career,

Thou only hope of souls,

8 St. Matthew x. 44.

VOL. II.

I

Ne'er let us cast one look behind,
But in the thought of Jesus find

What every thought controuls.

As to thy last Apostle's heart
Thy lightning glance did then impart

Zeal's never-dying fire,
So teach us on thy shrine to lay
Our hearts, and let them day by day

Intenser blaze and higher.

And as each mild and winning note (Like pulses that round harp-strings float,

When the full strain is o'er) Left lingering on his inward ear Music, that taught, as death drew near,

Love's lesson more and more :

So, as we walk our earthly round,
Still may the echo of that sound

Be in our memory stor'd: “ Christians! behold your happy state: “ Christ is in these, who round you wait;

“ Make much of your dear Lord !"

LXXX.

THE PURIFICATION.

Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see God.

St. Matthew v. 3.

BLESS'D are the pure in heart,

For they shall see our God, The secret of the Lord is theirs,

Their soul is Christ's abode.

Might mortal thought presume

To guess an angel's lay,
Such are the notes that echo through

The courts of Heaven day.

Such the triumphal hymns

On Sion's Prince that wait, In high procession passing on

Towards His temple-gate.

Give ear, ye kings—bow down,

Ye rulers of the earthThis, this is He; your Priest by grace,

Your God and King by birth.

No pomp of earthly guards

Attends with sword and spear, And all-defying, dauntless look,

Their monarch's way to clear :

Yet are there mor: with him
Than all that are with

youThe armies of the highest Heaven,

All righteous, good, and true.

Spotless their robes and pure,

Dipp'd in the sea of light,
That hides the unapproached shrine

From men's and angels' sight.

His throne, thy bosom blest,

O Mother undefild That throne, if aught beneath the skies.

Beseems the sinless child.

Lost in high thoughts, “whose son

“ The wondrous Babe might prove," Her guileless husband walks beside,

Bearing the hallow'd dove;

Meet emblem of His vow,

Who, on this happy day,
His dove-like soul-best sacrifice-

Did on God's altar lay.

But who is he, by years

Bow'd, but erect in heart, Whose prayers are struggling with his tears ?

“Lord, let me now depart.

“Now hath thy servant seen

“Thy saving health, O Lord : “ 'Tis time that I depart in peace,

“ According to thy word.”

Yet swells the pomp: one more

Comes forth to bless her God : Full fourscore years, meek widow, she

Her heaven-ward way hath trod.

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