The Christian Year Part 17

What echoes from the sacred dome The selfish spirit may o'ercome That will not hear of love or home!

The heart that scorned a father's care, How can it rise in filial prayer?

How an all-seeing Guardian bear?

Or how shall envious brethren own A Brother on the eternal throne, Their Father's joy, their hops alone?

How shall Thy Spirit's gracious wile The sullen brow of gloom beguile, That frowns on sweet Affection's smile?

Eternal One, Almighty Trine!

(Since Thou art ours, and we are Thine,) By all Thy love did once resign,

By all the grace Thy heavens still hide, We pray Thee, keep us at Thy side, Creator, Saviour, strengthening Guide!

First Sunday after Trinity.

So Joshua smote all the country, . . . and all their kings; he left none remaining. _Joshua_ x. 40.

WHERE is the land with milk and honey flowing, The promise of our G.o.d, our fancy's theme?

Here over shattered walls dank weeds are growing, And blood and fire have run in mingled stream; Like oaks and cedars all around The giant corses strew the ground, And haughty Jericho's cloud-piercing wall Lies where it sank at Joshua's trumpet call.

These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even, For moonlight rovings in the fragrant glades, Soft slumbers in the open eye of Heaven, And all the listless joy of summer shades.

We in the midst of ruins live, Which every hour dread warning give, Nor may our household vine or fig-tree hide The broken arches of old Canaan's pride.

Where is the sweet repose of hearts repenting, The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul, Now Heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting, And all the G.o.dhead joins to make us whole.

The triple crown of mercy now Is ready for the suppliant's brow, By the Almighty Three for ever planned, And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus' hand.

"Now, Christians, hold your own-the land before ye Is open-win your way, and take your rest."

So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory By many a cloud is darkened and unblest: And daily as we downward glide, Life's ebbing stream on either side Shows at each turn some mouldering hope or joy, The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy.

Open our eyes, Thou Sun of life and gladness, That we may see that glorious world of Thine!

It shines for us in vain, while drooping sadness Enfolds us here like mist: come Power benign, Touch our chilled hearts with vernal smile, Our wintry course do Thou beguile, Nor by the wayside ruins let us mourn, Who have th' eternal towers for our appointed bourne.

Second Sunday after Trinity.

Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have pa.s.sed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. 1 _St.

John_ iii. 13, 14.

THE clouds that wrap the setting sun When Autumn's softest gleams are ending, Where all bright hues together run In sweet confusion blending:- Why, as we watch their floating wreath Seem they the breath of life to breathe?

To Fancy's eye their motions prove They mantle round the Sun for love.

When up some woodland dale we catch The many-twinkling smile of ocean, Or with pleased ear bewildered watch His chime of restless motion; Still as the surging waves retire They seem to gasp with strong desire, Such signs of love old Ocean gives, We cannot choose but think he lives.

Wouldst thou the life of souls discern?

Nor human wisdom nor divine Helps thee by aught beside to learn; Love is life's only sign.

The spring of the regenerate heart, The pulse, the glow of every part, Is the true love of Christ our Lord, As man embraced, as G.o.d adored.

But he, whose heart will bound to mark The full bright burst of summer morn, Loves too each little dewy spark, By leaf or flow'ret worn: Cheap forms, and common hues, 'tis true, Through the bright shower-drop' meet his view; The colouring may be of this earth; The l.u.s.tre comes of heavenly birth.

E'en so, who loves the Lord aright, No soul of man can worthless find; All will be precious in his sight, Since Christ on all hath shined: But chiefly Christian souls; for they, Though worn and soiled with sinful clay, Are yet, to eyes that see them true, All glistening with baptismal dew.

Then marvel not, if such as bask In purest light of innocence, Hope against mope, in love's dear task, Spite of all dark offence.

If they who hate the trespa.s.s most, Yet, when all other love is lost, Love the poor sinner, marvel not; Christ's mark outwears the rankest blot.

No distance breaks this tie of blood; Brothers are brothers evermore; Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, That magic may o'erpower; Oft, ere the common source be known, The kindred drops will claim their own, And throbbing pulses silently Move heart towards heart by sympathy.

So it is with true Christian hearts; Their mutual share in Jesus' blood An everlasting bond imparts Of holiest brotherhood: Oh! might we all our lineage prove, Give and forgive, do good and love, By soft endearments in kind strife Lightening the load of daily life.

There is much need; for not as yet Are we in shelter or repose, The holy house is still beset With leaguer of stern foes; Wild thoughts within, bad men without, All evil spirits round about, Are banded in unblest device, To spoil Love's earthly paradise.

Then draw we nearer day by day, Each to his brethren, all to G.o.d; Let the world take us as she may, We must not change our road; Not wondering, though in grief, to find The martyr's foe still keep her mind; But fixed to hold Love's banner fast, And by submission win at last.

Third Sunday after Trinity.

There is joy in the presence of the angels of G.o.d over one sinner that repenteth. _St. Luke_ xv. 10.

O HATEFUL spell of Sin! when friends are nigh, To make stern Memory tell her tale unsought, And raise accusing shades of hours gone by, To come between us and all kindly thought!

Chilled at her touch, the self-reproaching soul Flies from the heart and home she dearest loves, To where lone mountains tower, or billows roll, Or to your endless depth, ye solemn groves.

In vain: the averted cheek in loneliest dell Is conscious of a gaze it cannot bear, The leaves that rustle near us seem to tell Our heart's sad secret to the silent air.

Nor is the dream untrue; for all around The heavens are watching with their thousand eyes, We cannot pa.s.s our guardian angel's bound, Resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs.

He in the mazes of the budding wood Is near, and mourns to see our thankless glance Dwell coldly, where the fresh green earth is strewed With the first flowers that lead the vernal dance.

In wasteful bounty showered, they smile unseen, Unseen by man-but what if purer sprights By moonlight o'er their dewy bosoms lean To adore the Father of all gentle lights?

If such there be, O grief and shame to think That sight of thee should overcloud their joy, A new-born soul, just waiting on the brink Of endless life, yet wrapt in earth's annoy!

O turn, and be thou turned! the selfish tear, In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun, Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear, The turbid waters brightening as they run.

Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart In penitential drops have ebbed away, Then fearless turn where Heaven hath set thy part, Nor shudder at the Eye that saw thee stray.

O lost and found! all gentle souls below Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove Such joy o'er thee, as raptured seraphs know, Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love.

Fourth Sunday after Trinity.