The Easter gift, a religious offering :: :: University of Virginia Library

The words of prayer, of penitence and praise,
I bring, O Lord, to thee, in faith and hope;
It is an offering thou wilt not despise.
L. E. L.

CHRIST CROWNED WITH THORNS.

“BEHOLD THE MAN.”

“A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.”

Too little do we think of thee,
Our too indulgent Lord:
We ask not what thy will may be,
We dwell not on thy word.

Thou, who in human shape wast born,
And shared in human woe;
Thou, who didst wear the crown of thorn,
Which all must wear below;

Thou, who the sinner's fate didst share,
Yet from the grave arise—
Alas! unworthy that we are
Of such a sacrifice.

Thy love should fill our hearts, like dew
That fills the flowers by night;
Who, in that gentle rain renew
The waste of morning's light.

Thus doth life's hurry and its glare
Dry up within our heart
The holier thoughts that are thy share,
The spirit's better part.

And yet we turn not to thy love,
We seek not to recall
The hopes that lift our souls above
Their low and earthly thrall.

On pleasures or on wealth intent,
Careless we hurry on,
And vainly precious hours are spent
Before we think them gone.

Their joy and sorrow, sin and strife,
Close round us like a bond,
Which so enslaves to present life,
We never look beyond.

O Lord, if every thought were thine,
How little would they be
Acceptable before thy shrine,
Unworthy heaven and thee.

Yet thou hast said, thou wilt accept
Prayers offered in thy name;
That never tears in vain were wept,
If from the heart they came.

Then strike our rocky souls, O Lord,
Amid life's desert place;
Yet may their hardened depths afford
The waters of thy grace.

Low in the dust we kneel and pray,
Oh! sanctify our tears:
Till they wash every stain away
From past and guilty years.

CHRIST BLESSING THE BREAD.

“This do in remembrance of me.
“This cup is the new testament in my blood, which is shed for you.”
St. Luke xxii. 19, 20.

“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.

“And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it:

“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.

“But I say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom.”

Matthew xxvi. 26–29.

Bow thee to earth, and from thee cast
All stubbornness of human will;
Then dare to drink the sacred cup
Thy God and Saviour died to fill.

If thou art humble as a child,
When lisping at his mother's knee,
His first meek words of earnest prayer;
That sacred cup may be for thee.

But if within thy sinful heart,
Lurk earthly crime or earthly care,
If hate, which broods upon the past,
Or pleasure's feverish dream, be there;

If thou against the widow's prayer,
Or orphan's cry, hast closed thine ear;
In mercy to thyself forbear,
Drink not thine own destruction here:

But from thee put all thoughts of earth,
As erst from Israel's camp were flung
Each worldly and unholy thing,
To which the secret sinner clung.

Come with thy guilt new washed in tears,
Thy spirit raised in faith above;
Then drink, and so thy soul shall live,
Thy Saviour's blood—thy Saviour's love.

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT.

“And when they were departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him.

“When he arose, he took the young child and his mother by night, and departed into Egypt.

“And was there until the death of Herod: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, Out of Egypt have I called my son.”

Matthew ii. 13–15.

A glorious landscape—clear as faith the sky,
Hath only sunshine, and the few bright clouds
Are turned to golden shadows. Stately trees
Do mock the last year's memory,—so green,
So full of life and summer are their leaves,
That fading seems impossible. The stream
Winds peacefully between its pastoral banks,
Where surely care comes not, and scarcely toil;
An earth so fertile, that the sun and air
Are the sole labourers. Yet how wearily
Those travellers are resting in the shade.
Man's doom is paramount—and even ye,
Thrice blessed and thrice glorious, ye now share
The common lot of all humanity.

But see, with sunshine radiant on his wings,
An angel sent from heaven is minist'ring;
And with their fears allay'd—their wants supplied,
Lo, they arise refreshed.
Is not this scene the type of sacred faith?
How often on life's rough and weary path
Do we sink fainting, with one only prayer,
“Now help us, or we perish,” on our lips.
And never was this uttered earnestly,
But that it has been answered: though no more
His shining messengers walk visible
On this unworthy earth; yet to our call
Doth the Almighty still vouchsafe reply,
And holy hopes arise within the heart;
We feel that we are heard in heaven, and love
Kindles within us like a stedfast thought,
Which knows its own belief; and, comforted,
We go upon our way rejoicing.

THE MADONNA AND CHILD.

“BLESSED ART THOU AMONG WOMEN.”

“And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.

“And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord,

“And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour.

“For he hath regarded the low estate of his hand-maiden: for, behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed.

“For he that is mighty hath done to me great things, and holy is his name.”

Luke i. 28. 46–49.

Thrice blessed and thrice beautiful;
Yet come we not to thee,
With those vain prayers which make a creed
Of false idolatry.

We bring no gems to bind thine hair,
No flowers to deck thy shrine;
We light no taper's fragrant blaze,
We ask no aid of thine.

We have no need of pagan rites
To join with christian prayer;
Nor that salvation ask of thee,
'Twas only thine to share.

Thine altars where thy statues stood,
Thy hymns and votive flowers,
Were relics of another age,
Another creed, than ours;

When human was all human faith,
And to that faith was given
The likeness of its native earth,
Rather than that of heaven;

When only reason's shadowy ray
Upon the world was thrown,
And every idol's attribute
Had been the maker's own.

Then was the time of gift and vow,
And e'en a purer light
Was long ere it could penetrate
The depths of such a night.

Old superstitions still remained,
And priestcraft next stept in,
To rule by human ignorance,
And work by human sin.

Then was a veil flung over faith,
Then was God's word concealed;
Thank God, for us that veil is rent,
That Book has been revealed.

The votive wreath of early flowers,
The taper and the gem,
Were superstitions vain, we know
God asketh not for them.

We look on the Madonna's face
In thankfulness and love,
But ask no more a mortal's help
To bear our vows above.

The earnest prayer, the humble tear,
The Saviour's blessed name,
These are the Christian's sacrifice,
These are the Christian's claim.

HAGAR AND ISHMAEL.

“And Abraham rose up early in the morning, and took bread, and a bottle of water, and gave it unto Hagar, (putting it on her shoulder,) and the child, and sent her away: and she departed, and wandered in the wilderness of Beer-sheba.

“And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs.

“And she went, and sat her down over against him, a good way off, as it were a bow-shot: for she said, Let me not see the death of the child. And she sat over against him, and lift up her voice, and wept.

“And God heard the voice of the lad: and the angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar? fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is.

“Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand: for I will make him a great nation.

“And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water: and she went, and filled the bottle with water, and gave the lad drink.”

Genesis xxi. 14–19

They sank amid the wilderness,
The weary and forsaken;
She gave the boy one faint caress,
And prayed he might not waken.

But death, not sleep, was on those eyes,
Beneath the heat declining:
O'er glittering sands and cloudless skies
The noontide sun was shining.

Far, far away the desert spread;
Ah! love is fain to cherish
The vainest hopes, but now she said,
“Let me not see him perish.”

Then spoke the Lord, and at his word
Sprang forth a little fountain,
Pure, cold as those whose crystal hoard
Is in some pine-clad mountain;

And herb and shrub upon the brink
Put forth their leaf and blossom;
The pelican came down to drink
From out its silvery bosom.

O blessed God, thus doth thy power,
When, worn and broken-hearted,
We sink beneath some evil hour,
And deem all hope departed—

Then doth the fountain of thy grace
Rise up within the spirit,
And we are strengthened for that race
Whose prize we shall inherit.

When least we hope, our prayer is heard,
The judgment is averted,
And comes the comfort of thy word,
When most we seem deserted.

ST. JOHN IN THE WILDERNESS.

“And the same John had his raiment of camel's hair, and a leathern irdle about his loins, and his meat was locusts and wild honey.” Matthew iii. 4.

Afar, he took a gloomy cave,
For his accustomed dwelling-place,
As dark, as silent as the grave,
As unfamiliar with man's face;

The stern and knotted trees grew round,
Blasted, and desolate, and grey,
And 'mid their sullen depth was found
A home for birds and beasts of prey.

Morning broke joyless, for the land
Knew no green grass, nor fragrant flower,
The barren rock, the burning sand,
Blessed not the sunshine, nor the shower.

Yet there the prophet dwelt alone,
Far from the city and the plain;
For him in vain their glory shone,
For him their beauty spread in vain.

He left his youth and life behind;
Each idol of the human heart,
Pleasures and vanities resigned,
Content to choose the better part.

Methinks, when hope is cold or weak,
And prayers seem but unwelcome tasks,
And worldly thoughts and feelings seek
To fill the hours religion asks;

If, when the light of faith is dim,
The spirit would but ponder thus—
How much there was required of him,
How little is required of us!

All-Merciful, did we declare,
The glories which to Thee belong,
All life would pass in thankful prayer,
All breath in one triumphant song.

THE NATIVITY.

“Lo, the star which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was.”

“When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy.”

“And when they were come into the house, they saw the young child, with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him.”

Matthew ii. 9–11.

Far in the desert east it shone,
A guiding-star, and only one;
The other planets left the sky,
Trembling, as if rebuked on high.
The moon forsook her silvery height,
Abashed before that holier light;
The storm-clouds that on ether lay
Melted before its glorious ray;
Till half the heaven shone pure and clear,
Like some diviner atmosphere
Than ours, where heavy vapours rise
From the vile earth, to dim the skies;
Meet herald of that promised day,
When soul shall burst the bond of clay,

And, purified from earth-stains, come
Radiant to its eternal home.
On rolled the star, nor paused to shed
Its glory o'er the mountain's head,
Whereon the morning's sunshine fell,
Where eve's last crimson loved to dwell;
The gilded roof, the stately fane,
The garden, nor the corn-hid plain,
The camp, where red watch-fires were keeping
Guard o'er a thousand soldiers sleeping.
But temple, palace, city past,
That star paused in the sky at last.
It paused where, roused from slumbers mild,
Lay 'mid the kine a new-born child.

Are there no clarions upon earth,
To tell mankind their monarch's birth?
Are there no banners to unfold,
Heavy with purple and with gold?
Are there no flowers to strew the ground,
Nor arches with the palm-branch bound?
Nor fires to kindle on the hill?
No! man is mute—the world is still.
Ill would all earthly pomp agree
With this hour's mild solemnity;
The tidings which that infant brings,
Are not for conquerors nor for kings;
Nor for the sceptre, nor the brand,
For crowned head, nor red right hand.

But to the contrite and the meek,
The sinful, sorrowful, and weak;
Or those who, with a hope sublime,
Are waiting for the Lord's good time.
Only for those the angels sing,
“All glory to our new-born King,
And peace and good-will unto men,
Hosanna to our God! Amen.”

JUDAS RETURNING THE THIRTY PIECES.

“Then Judas which had betrayed him, when he saw that he was condemned, repented himself, and brought again the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and elders.

“Saying, I have sinned, in that I have betrayed the innocent blood. And they said, What is that to us? see thou to that.

“And he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself.”

Matthew xxvii. 3–5.

The thirty pieces down he flung, for which his Lord he sold,
And turned away his murderer's face from that accursed gold.
He cannot sleep, he dares not watch; that weight is on his heart,
For which, nor earth nor heaven have hope, which never can depart.

A curse is on his memory, we shudder at his name;
At once we loathe, and scorn his guilt, and yet we do the same:
Alas! the sinfulness of man, how oft in deed and word
We act the traitor's part again, and do betray our Lord.

We bend the knee, record the vow, and breathe the fervent prayer:
How soon are prayer and vow forgot, amid life's crime and care!
The Saviour's passion, cross, and blood, of what avail are they,
If first that Saviour we forget, and next we disobey?

For pleasures, vanities, and hates, the compact we renew,
And Judas rises in our hearts—we sell our Saviour too.
How for some moments' vain delight we will imbitter years,
And in our youth lay up for age, only remorse and tears.

Ah! sanctify and strengthen, Lord, the souls that turn to thee;
And from the devil and the world our guard and solace be.
And as the mariners at sea still watch some guiding star,
So fix our hearts and hopes on thee, until thine own they are.

THE MAGDALEN.

The plaining murmur of the midnight wind,
Like mournful music is upon the air:
So sad, so sweet, that the eyes fill with tears,
Without a cause—ah! no, the heart is heaped
So full with perished pleasures, vain regrets,
That nature cannot sound one grieving note
Upon her forest lyre, but still it finds
Mute echo in the sorrowing human heart.
Now the wind wails among the yellow leaves,
About to fall, over the faded flowers,
Over all summer's lovely memories,
About to die: the year has yet in store
A few dim hours, but they are dark and cold:
Sunshine, green leaves, glad flowers, they all are gone;
And it has only left the worn-out soil,
The leafless bough, and the o'er-clouded sky.
And shall humanity not sympathize
With desolation which is like its own?
So do our early dreams fade unfulfilled;
So does our hope turn into memory,

The one so glad—the other such despair,
(For who can find a comfort in the past;)
So do our feelings harden, or decay,
Encrusting with hard selfishness too late,
Or bearing that deep wound, whereof we die.

Where are the buoyant spirits of our youth?
Where are the dancing steps, that but kept time
To our own inward gladness—where the light
That flushed the cheek into one joyous rose;
That lit the lips, and filled the eyes with smiles?—
Gone, gone as utterly, as singing birds,
And opening flowers, and honey-laden bees,
And shining leaves, are from yon forest gone.
I know this from myself—the words I speak
Were written first with tears on mine own heart;
And yet, albeit, it was a lovely time!
Who would recall their youth, and be again,
The dreaming—the believing—the betrayed.
The feverishness of hope, the agony,
As every disappointment taught a truth;
For still is knowledge bought by wretchedness,
Who could find energy to bear again?
Ye clear bright stars, that from the face of heaven
Shine out in tranquil loveliness, how oft
Have ye been witness to my passionate tears;
Altho' beloved, and beautiful, and young;
Yet happiness was not with my unrest.
For I had pleasure, not content; each wish
Seemed granted, only to be weariness.

No hope fulfilled its promise; and no dream
Was ever worth its waking bitterness.
Then there was love, that crowding into one
All vanity, all sorrow, all remorse;
Till we loathe life, glad, beauteous, hoping life,
And would be fain to lay our burthen down,
Although we might but lay it in the grave,
All natural terror lost in hope of peace.
God of those stars, to which I once appealed
In a vain phantasy of sympathy,
How wretched I have been in my few years!
How have I wept throughout the sleepless nights,
Then sank in heavy slumber, misery still
Haunting its visions: morning's cold gray light
Waked me reluctant, for though sleep had been
Anguish, yet I could say it was but sleep.
And then day came, with all those vanities
With which our nature mocks its wretchedness,
The toilsome pleasures, and the dull pursuits;
Efforts to fly ourselves, and made in vain.
Too soon I learnt the secret of our life,
That “vanity of vanities” is writ
Deep in the hidden soul of human things;
And then I sank into despondency,
And lived from habit, not from hope; and fear
Stood between me and death, and only fear;
I was a castaway: for, like the fool,
Within my soul I said there is no God.
But then a mighty and a glorious voice

Was speaking on the earth—thus said the Lord,
“Now come to me, ye that are heavy laden,
And I will give you rest”—and, lo, I came
Sorrowing,—and the broken contrite heart,
Lord, thou didst not despise. Now let me weep
Tears, and my dying Saviour's precious blood
Will wash away my sin. Now let me pray
In thankfulness that time is given for prayer;
In hope that, offered in my Saviour's name,
I may find favour in the sight of God.
Where is my former weariness of life,
Where is my former terror of the grave?
Out of my penitence there has grown hope;
I trust, and raise my suppliant eyes to heaven;
And, when my soul desponds, I meekly say,
“I know that my Redeemer liveth.”

HYMN OF THE MAGDALEN.

There was a time, when I but sought
In life its pleasant things;
And asked each moment what it brought
Of pleasure on its wings.

I bound red roses in my hair,
And when they died away,
I only thought, fresh flowers there are
As beautiful as they.

And time past on—the bright and brief,
I led the dance and song,
As careless as the summer leaf
The wild wind bears along.

But the wind fails the leaf at last,
And down it sinks to die,
To perish with the perished past,
And gone as idly by.

So sink the spirits of those days,
That buoyant bore us on;
The joy declines, the hope decays,
Ere we believe them gone.

Then memory rises like a ghost,
Whose presence brings to mind
The better things which we have lost,
The hopes we've left behind.

And what could memory bring to me
But sorrow, shame, and sin;
And wretched the worn heart must be,
With such dark guests within.

I said, accursed be a life
That mid such ills hath birth;
Where fate and nature in their strife,
Make desolate the earth.

But no more of that evil time,
An altered heart is mine:
Purified by a hope sublime,
And by a faith divine.

I weep; but tears of penitence
Still comfort as they flow;
And rise to heaven, and win from thence
A solace for below.

For I have learnt, my God, to trace
Thy love in all things here;
How wonderful the power and grace
In all thy works appear.

The vineyard dim with purple light,
The silvery olive tree,
The corn wherewith the plains are bright,
Speak to my soul of thee.

This loveliness is born to die;
Not so the race, for whom
The sun goes shining thro' the sky,
The world puts forth its bloom.

We know that to this lovely earth,
Will sure destruction come;
But though it be our place of birth,
Yet it is not our home.

For we are God's own chosen race,
Whom the Lord died to save;
This earth is but a trial-place,
Whose triumph is the grave.

THE INFANT CHRIST WITH FLOWERS.

“For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.

“But the word of the Lord endureth for ever.”

1 Peter i. 24, 25.

Sweet Lord, as in those infant hands
Are heaped up early flowers,
Gathered with toil, and wreathed with care,
The wealth of summer hours.

So gather thou, amid our thoughts,
The purest and the best;
The few that, in our busy world,
Are heavenward addrest.

So forming in the human soul
Thine own immortal wreath,
Of sacred hopes, nurst in thy faith,
To blossom after death.

NATHAN AND DAVID.

“And David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the Lord. And Nathan said unto David, The Lord also hath put away thy sin; thou shalt not die.” 2 Samuel xii. 13.

“Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out, when the times of refreshing shall come from the presence of the Lord.” Acts iii. 19.

The monarch knelt, and, in the dust,
Confessed his sin and shame;
And God forgave the guilty one,
Who called upon his name.

He won by tears, he won by prayers,
A pardon from on high;
Though scarce he dared to raise to heaven
His dim and pleading eye.

Oh, write the lesson on our heart,
And teach us that our tears
Can wash away each guilty stain
That on life's page appears.

God grant that never we may bow
So low to guilt's control,
As did that king who had the weight
Of blood upon his soul.

But seeds of sorrow and of crime
Are sown each heart within;
And who can look upon his soul,
And say he knows not sin?

We are as nothing in ourselves,
And only in thy name
May we approach thy heavenly throne,
And urge our sorrow's claim.

Then teach us, Lord, to weep and pray,
And bend the suppliant knee;
For what but penitence and prayer
Can hope for grace from thee?

THE INCREDULITY OF ST. THOMAS.

“But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came.

“The other disciples therefore said unto him, We have seen the Lord. But he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.

“And after eight days, again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them; then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst, and said, Peace be unto you.

“Then saith he to Thomas, Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands, and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.

“And Thomas answered and said unto him, My Lord and my God.

“Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.”

John xx. 24–29.

Still doth that spirit linger upon earth;
Still the vain doubt has in delusion birth.
We hesitate, we cavil, we deny,
And ask, though all things answer in reply;
All nature echoes with one mighty Yes,
And only man will not his God confess.
Yet read him in his works, yon radiant sea,
Glassing the heaven's blue tranquillity;
Noon on the waters, noon within the skies,
No cloud to shadow, and no wave to rise.
Now is thy triumph, man, unroll the sail,
Like the white meteor, glancing on the gale;

Go, ride the billows, sweep before the wind,
And say, this is the mastery of the mind:
I gave those planks their shape to cut the seas,
I taught that canvass how to catch the breeze,
I guide the helm which tracks the pathless brine,
The work of my own hands, the ship is mine.

'Tis early evening, round the sinking sun,
The shadowy clouds have gathered one by one,
The waves are running high, and o'er them sweep
The spectral seabirds, phantoms of the deep,
Over their pale white wings the surges break;
And with the wild wind blends their wilder shriek.
The mighty tempest rushes o'er the main
With thunder, and with lightning, and with rain.
The strong ship trembles; to the deep they throw
The thunder that was destined for the foe.
The tall mast falls, as once before it fell,
When came the woodman to the forest dell.
In vain the billows whelm the sinking prow;
Oh, man, art thou the lord of ocean now?

But let us trace Him in some milder form
Than the dread lessons of the sea and storm;
It is the end of March, and, over earth,
Sunshine is calling beauty into birth.
There is fragrance on the soft warm air;
For many the sweet breaths now floating there.
The snowdrop is departed, that pale child,
Which at the spring's bright coming seems exiled,

Cold, like a flower carved on a funeral stone,
Born with the snows, and with the snows is gone.
And, in its place, daisies, rose-touched, unfold—
Small fairies, bearing each a gift of gold;
And violets, like a young child's eyes of blue;
Ah, spring and childhood only know that hue;
The violet wears a dimmer shade; the eye
Grows tear-stained, as the year and life pass by.
But now the wheat and grass are green, therein
The grasshopper and lark their nests begin;
The purple clover round them, like a bower.
Now doth the apple-tree put forth its flower,
Lined with faint crimson; the laburnum bends
'Neath the bright gold that from each bough descends;
Her graceful foliage forth the ash has flung;
The aspen trembles: are its leaves so young
That the sweet wind doth scare them, though it bear
No ruder breath than flowers breathe through the air?
A lulling sound where thyme and wild-heaths blow,
Tells that the bee has there its Mexico.
One note of natural music, that which now
Haunts the deep grass, the sky, the brook, the bough.
Deep in the woodland sits the thrush and sings,
The sunshine dancing on its dusky wings,
When the wind stirs the branches, and a ray
Lights the dim glades scarce conscious of the day.
Are not these beautiful, these hours which bring
Its leaves and flowers, its breath and bloom to spring.

And yet, proud man, what hast thou here to do?
Owes it one leaf, one breath, one bloom to you?

Almighty God! and if thou couldst depart
And leave no image in the darkened heart,
What hope would be for earth, to soothe or save,
Life, a brief struggle ending in the grave.
No soul to elevate our wretched dust,
No faith to triumph in its sacred trust,
First fever, then oblivion, and the tomb,
Eternal and unconquerable gloom.
“Lord, we believe, help thou our unbelief.”
Let there be hope in toil, and joy in grief;
Teach us on nature's glorious face to look,
As if it were thine own immortal book;
Teach us to read thee in thy works, and find
Their evidence of thine Almighty mind.
Keep us, till in the grave, with hope divine,
We sink rejoicing that we now are thine.

THE INFANT ST. JOHN.

“In those days came John the Baptist, preaching in the wilderness of Judea,

“And saying, Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.

“For this is he that was spoken of by the prophet Esaias, saying, The voice of one crying in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

Matthew iii. 1–3.

“For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.

“All these are the beginning of sorrows.

“For as the lightning cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west, so shall also the coming of the Son of man be.

“Immediately after the tribulation of those days, shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken.

“And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven; and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven, with power and great glory.”

Matthew xxiv. 7, 8, 27, 29, 30.

Lo, on the midnight winds a young child's voice
With lofty hymn,
Calling on earth and heaven to rejoice
Along with him.

Those infant lips are given from above
A spirit tone,
And he speaks out those words of hope and love
To prophets known.

He is a herald, as the morning star
Brings daylight in,
For he doth bring glad tidings from afar
To man and sin.

Now let the desolate earth lift up her head,
And at the word
Wait till the mountains kindle with the tread
Of Christ the Lord.

And earth was conscious of her God, he came
Meek and decried,
Bearing the weight of sorrow, sin, and shame,
And for us died.

Twice shall he come—e'en now the appointed hour
Is in its birth,
When he shall come in glory, and in power,
To judge the earth.

Not as before, to win mankind and save,
But in his ire,
When earth shall be but as a mighty grave
In that red fire.

Do we not live now in those evil days
Which were foretold,
In holy writings and inspired lays,
Of prophets old?

There is a wild confusion in the world,
Like the vexed sea.
And ancient thrones are from high places hurled,
Yet man not free.

And vain opinions seek to change all life,
Yet yield no aid
To all the sickness, want, the grief and strife
Which now pervade.

Are not these signs of that approaching time
Of blood and tears,
When thou shalt call to dread account the crime
Of many years.

Then who shall bide before thee, only he
Who is all thine,
Who hath stood fast, amid iniquity,
In faith divine.

Oh, Lord, awaken us; let us not cease
To look afar.
Let us not, like the foolish, call it peace
When there is war.

Oh, teach us to believe what thy blest word
Has long declared,
And let thy second advent, gracious Lord,
Find us prepared.

CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN.

“Suffer little children to come unto me—for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew xix. 14.

If ever in the human heart
A fitting season there can be,
Worthy of its immortal part,
Worthy, O blessed Lord, of thee;

'Tis in that yet unsullied hour,
Or ere the world has claimed its own;
Pure as the hues within the flower,
To summer and the sun unknown;

When still the youthful spirit bears
The image of its God within,
And uneffaced that beauty wears,
So soon to be destroyed by sin.

Then is the time for faith and love
To take in charge their precious care,
Teach the young eye to look above,
Teach the young knee to bend in prayer.

This work is ours—this charge was thine
These youthful souls from sin to save;
To lead them in thy faith divine,
And teach its triumph o'er the grave.

The world will come with care and crime,
And tempt too many a heart astray;
Still the seed sown in early time
Will not be wholly cast away.

The infant prayer, the infant hymn,
Within the darkened soul will rise,
When age's weary eye is dim,
And the grave's shadow round us lies.

The infant hymn is heard again,
The infant prayer is breathed once more;
Reclasping of a broken chain,
We turn to all we loved before.

Lord, grant our hearts be so inclined,
Thy work to seek—thy will to do;
And while we teach the youthful mind,
Our own be taught thy lessons too.