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Should his own lay th' accuser prove,
Thy God forgives-thou shalt not die.”
SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER
From whence can a man satisfy these men with bread here in the wilderness? St. Mark viii. 4.
GO not away, thou weary soul:
Heaven has in store a precious dole
Here on Bethsaida's cold and darksome height,
Where over rocks and sands arise
Proud Sirion in the northern skies,
And Tabor's lonely peak, 'twixt thee and noon-day
And far below, Gennesaret's main
Spreads many a mile of liquid plain,
(Though all seem gather'd in one eager bound,) Then narrowing cleaves yon palmy lea,
Towards that deep sulphureous sea,
Where five proud cities lie, by one dire sentence drown'd.
Landscape of fear! yet, weary heart, Thou needst not in thy gloom depart, Nor fainting turn to seek thy distant home: Sweetly thy sickening throbs are ey'd
By the kind Saviour at thy side ;
For healing and for balm even now thine hour is
No fiery wing is seen to glide,
No cates ambrosial are supplied,
. But one poor fisher's rude and scanty store Is all He asks (and more than needs)
Who men and angels daily feeds,
And stills the wailing sea-bird on the hungry shore.
The feast is o'er, the guests are gone,
And over all that upland lone
The breeze of eve sweeps wildly as of old-
The heart's sweet moonlight softly gleams
As mountain travellers in the night, When heaven by fits is dark and bright, Pause listening on the silent heath, and hear Nor trampling hoof nor tinkling bell, Then bolder scale the rugged fell,
Conscious the more of One, ne'er seen, yet ever near:
So when the tones of rapture gay
On the lorn ear die quite away,
The lonely world seems lifted nearer heaven;
Earth's common paths are strewn all o'er
With flowers of pensive hope, the wreath of man forgiven.
The low sweet tones of Nature's lyre
No more on listless ears expire,
Nor vainly smiles along the shady way
Nor unlamented sink to rest
Sweet roses one by one, nor autumn leaves decay.
There's not a star the heaven can shew,
Freely they own, or heedless prove
The curse of lawless hearts, the joy of self-control.
Then rouse thee from desponding sleep,
Nor fear to seek Him farther in the wild,
Whose love can turn earth's worst and least
Into a conqueror's royal feast:
Thou wilt not be untrue, thou shalt not be beguil'd.
EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY
It is the man of God, who was disobedient to the word of the Lord. 1 Kings xiii. 26.
PROPHET of God, arise and take
With thee the words of wrath divine,
Where angels down the lucid stair
The heathen's wizard fires.
Go, with thy voice the altar rend,
That idols would befriend,
Shrunk at thy withering charm.