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TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER
The boary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness. Proverbs xvi. 31.
THE bright hair'd morn is glowing
O'er emerald meadows gay,
The early shepherd's way.
Stealing away with night
Tread more than airy light.
And see what joyous greeting
The sun through heaven has shed,
His beams have faster sped.
For lo! above the western haze
igh towers the rainbow arch In solid span of purest rays :
How stately is its march!
Pride of the dewy morning !
The swain's experienc'd eye From thee takes timely warning,
Nor trusts the gorgeous sky. For well he knows, such dawnings gay
Bring noons of storm and shower, And travellers linger on the way
Beside the sheltering bower.
Even so, in hope and trembling,
Should watchful shepherd view His little lambs assembling,
With glance both kind and true; 'Tis not the eye of keenest blaze,
Nor the quick-swelling breast, That soonest thrills at touch of praise
These do not please him best.
But voices low and gentle,
And timid glances shy,
That seem for aid parental
To sue all wistfully,
Yet fearing to be wrong-
A lamb-like, Christ-like throng.
These in Life's distant even
Shall shine serenely bright, As in th' autumnal heaven
Mild rainbow tints at night, When the last shower is stealing down,
And ere they sink to rest, The sun-beams weave a parting crown
For some sweet woodland nest.
The promise of the morrow
Is glorious on that eve, Dear as the holy sorrow
When good men cease to live. When brightening ere it die away
Mounts up their altar-flame, Still tending with intenser ray
To Heaven whence first it came.
Say not it dies, that glory,
'Tis caught unquench'd on high, Those saintlike brows so hoary
Shall wear it in the sky. No smile is like the smile of death,
When all good musings past Rise wafted with the parting breath,
The sweetest thought the last.
LAST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.
St. John vi. 12.
WILL God indeed with fragments bear,
The dregs of a polluted life?
The sailor's untried arms are cross'd
Sighs that exhaust but not relieve,
For lavish'd hours and love mispent !