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Not wondering, though in grief, to find
The martyr's foe still keep her mind ;
But fix'd 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 God 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!

Chill'd 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 pass our guardian angel's bound, Resign'd 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 strew'd With the first flowers that lead the vernal dance.

In wasteful bounty shower'd, 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 newborn soul, just waiting on the brink

Of endless life, yet wrapt in earth's annoy!

O turn, and be thou turn'd! the selfish tear,
In bitter thoughts of low born care begun,
Let it flow on, but flow refin'd and clear,

The turbid waters brightening as they run.

Let it flow on, till at thine earthly heart
In penitential drops have ebb'd away,
Then fearless turn where Heaven hath set thy part,
Nor shudder at the eye that saw thee

O lost and found! all gentle souls below

stray.

Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove Such joy o'er thee, as raptur'd seraphs know,

Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love.

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestations of the sons of God: for the creature was made subject to vanity, not willingly, but by reason of him who hath subjected the same in hope; because the creature itself also shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God: for we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. Rom. viii. 19-22.

IT was not then a poet's dream,

An idle vaunt of song,

Such as beneath the moon's soft gleam
On vacant fancies throng;

Which bids us see in heaven and earth,

In all fair things around,

Strong' yearnings for a blest new birth

With sinless glories crown'd;

Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause

From care and want and toil,

When dewy eve her curtain draws
Over the day's turmoil,

In the low chant of wakeful birds,
In the deep weltering flood,
In whispering leaves, these solemn words—
“God made us all for good."

All true, all faultless, all in tune,

Creation's wondrous choir

Open'd in mystic unison

To last till time expire.

And still it lasts: by day and night,
With one consenting voice,
All hymn thy glory, Lord, aright,
All worship and rejoice.

Man only mars the sweet accord,
O'erpowering with “harsh din”

The music of thy works and word,
Ill match'd with grief and sin.

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