[From The Christian Year.] THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT. (The Christian Inheritance.) See Lucifer like lightning fall, The Saints his spoils divide; This world of Thine, by him usurped too long, Now opening all her stores to heal Thy servants' wrong. So when the first-born of Thy foes Dead in the darkness lay, When Thy redeemed at midnight rose And cast their bonds away, The orphaned realm threw wide her gates, and told Into freed Israel's lap her jewels and her gold. And when their wondrous march was o'er, Among their fathers' tombs ; A land that drinks the rain of Heaven at will, Whose waters kiss the feet of many a vine-clad hill;— Oft as they watched, at thoughtful eve, A gale from bowers of balm Sweep o'er the billowy corn, and heave Just as the lingering Sun had touched with gold, It was a fearful joy, I ween, To trace the Heathen's toil, The limpid wells, the orchards green, The household stores untouched, the roses bright Wreathed o'er the cottage walls in garlands of delight. And now another Canaan yields Ye Paynim shadows dark! Lo! here the 'unknown God' of thy unconscious praise! As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven, So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given. And these are ours: Thy partial grace The tempting treasure lends : These relics of a guilty race Are forfeit to Thy friends; What seemed an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee, Tuned by Faith's ear to some celestial melody. There's not a strain to Memory dear, Nor flower in classic grove, There's not a sweet note warbled here, O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, There is no light but Thine: with Thee all beauty glows. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER. (Balaam's Prophecy.) O for a sculptor's hand, That thou might'st take thy stand, Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze, Thy tranced yet open gaze Fixed on the desert haze, As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees. 1 Where each old poetic mountain Inspiration breathed around. Gray. 2 See Burns's Works, i. 293. Dr. Currie's edition. In outline dim and vast Their fearful shadows cast The giant forms of empires on their way They tower and they are gone, Yet in the Prophet's soul the dreams of avarice stay. No sun or star so bright In all the world of light That they should draw to Heaven his downward eye: He sees the angel's sword, Yet low upon the earth his heart and treasure lie. Lo! from yon argent field, To him and us revealed, One gentle Star glides down, on earth to dwell. Our eyes may see it glow, And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well. To him it glared afar, A token of wild war, The banner of his Lord's victorious wrath : But close to us it gleams, Its soothing lustre streams Around our home's green walls, and on our church-way path. We in the tents abide Which he at distance eyed Like goodly cedars by the waters spread, While seven red altar-fires Rose up in wavy spires, Where on the mount he watched his sorceries dark and dread. He watched till morning's ray On lake and meadow lay, And willow-shaded streams, that silent sweep Around the bannered lines, Where by their several signs The desert-wearied tribes in sight of Canaan sleep. He watched till knowledge came Upon his soul like flame, Not of those magic fires at random caught: But true Prophetic light Flashed o'er him, high and bright, Flashed once, and died away, and left his darkened thought. And can he choose but fear, Who feels his God so near, That when he fain would curse, his powerless tongue- Alas! the world he loves Too close around his heart her tangling veil hath flung. Sceptre and Star divine, Who in Thine inmost shrine Hast made us worshippers, O claim Thine own; O teach our love to grow Up to Thy heavenly light, and reap what Thou has sown FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. (The Lilies of the Field.) Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies, Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew, What more than magic in you lies, Relics ye are of Eden's bowers, As when ye crowned the sunshine hours Fall'n all beside the world of life, VOL. IV. But cheerful and unchanged the while Your first and perfect form ye show, The stars of heaven a course are taught Ye dwell beside our paths and homes, They cannot brook our shame to meet- Ye fearless in your nests abide Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried By all but lowly eyes: For ye could draw th' admiring gaze Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour, As when He paused and owned you good; His blessing on earth's primal bower, Ye felt it all renewed. What care ye now, if winter's storm Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form? Alas! of thousand bosoms kind, That daily court you and caress, How few the happy secret find |