Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.
“Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil
speaking, be put from you, with all malice; and be ye kind
one to another.”
—Epistle for the Day.
Base passions are the serpents of our soul,
That bite, and sting to bitterness the heart,
And, where they wield their unsubdued control,
Angels and Grace from that foul den depart!
But, when these hearts atoning Blood makes white,
Soft o'er our spirit broods the mystic Dove;
Like the hush'd band who watch'd their sheep by night,
A “peace on earth,” replies to peace above.
Then, like our Lord, magnanimous and meek,
Move where we may, our end is still the same;
Firm to Their vow, in all we do, or speak,
Our lives embody the baptismal name.
No longer, as the Lord of Hosts, and War,
Doth God the glories of His will unfold;
But, radiant as the lull of evening star
As Lord of Peace His pard'ning smile behold.
And, saints on earth, resemble Him, in heaven,
Who help to circulate the calm of love,
And, by imparting what to each is given,
Prove their high lineage from the Lord above.
Makers of Peace! your task divine complete,
Two sever'd hearts in unity restore;
And bid mild harmonies of friendship meet
In homes to rule, where they have reign'd before.
For ah! how mournful, when two friends depart
Wider and wider unto distance stern,
While each one holds the arrow at his heart
And, but for pride, would lovingly return.
And, more than beauteous is a god-like word,
Breathing soft balm o'er that tempestuous hour
When some dark madness of the soul hath stirr'd,
Or, poison'd nature with envenom'd power.—
To stand between, like mediating Grace
And make two alienated minds agree,
Sublimes our being, and reveals the trace
Of true adoption into Deity.
And He, in Whom all unities reside,
Celestial Fount from whence communions flow,
Husband of Souls, who took His chosen Bride
And call'd it by the name of, Church, below,—
How can we love Him, if we dare to rend
By the rude harshness of sectarian will
That Mystic Body, where all members blend
And, by their harmony, due office fill!
How can we love Him, if our “Church” we choose
As pride, and reason and presumption sway?—
Defend us, Grace! from Babylonian views,
And teach us, not to argue, but, obey.
Be ours submission, Mary-like and meek,
Who love the path anointed martyrs trod;
Learning to crucify, what most we seek,
When Self would image a sectarian God.
