Think not, when all your scanty stores afford Is spread at once upon the sparing board; Think not, when worn the homely robe appears, While on the roof the howling tempest bears, What farther shall this feeble life sustain, And what shall clothe these shivering limbs again. Say, does not life its nourishment exceed? And the fair body its investing weed? Behold! and look away your low despair,See the light tenants of the barren air: To them nor stores, nor granaries belong; Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song: Yet your kind, Heavenly Father bends his eye On the least wing that flits along the sky. To him they sing, when spring renews the plain, To him they cry, in winter's pinching reign; Nor is their music nor their plaint in vain : He hears the gay and the distressful call, And with unsparing bounty fills them all. Observe the rising lily's snowy grace, They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow; If, ceaseless, thus the fowls of heaven he feeds; If, o'er the fields, such lucid robes he spreads: Will he not care for you, ye faithless, say ? Is he unwise?-or, are ye less than they? THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. Reb. Thomas Dale. 'Tis still thine hour, O Death! Thine, Lord of Hades, is the kingdom still: Yet, twice thy sword unstain'd hath sought its sheath, Tho' twice upraised to kill: And once again the tomb Shall yield its captured prey : A mightier arm shall pierce the pathless gloom, And rend the prize away : Nor comes thy Conqueror arm'd with spear or sword ; [word. He hath no arms but prayer, no weapon but his "Tis now the fourth sad morn Since Lazarus, the pious and the just, To his last home by sorrowing kinsmen borne, The grave-worm revels now And He before whose car the mountains bow, The rivers roll away In conscious awe, He only can revive [live! Corruption's withering prey, and call the dead to Yet still the sisters keep Their sad and silent vigil at the grave, Watching for Jesus-" Comes he not to weep ? He did not come to save!" But now one straining eye The advancing form hath traced; And soon in wild resistless agony Have Martha's arms embraced The Saviour's feet.-" O Lord! hadst thou been nigh [high !" But speak the word e'en now: it shall be heard on They led him to the cave, The rocky bed where now in darkness slept O love sublime and deep! O Hand and Heart divine! He comes to rescue, though he deigns to weep. The captive is not thine, O Death! thy bands are burst asunder now, There stands beside the grave a mightier far than thou. "Come forth," he cries, "thou dead!" O God! what means that strange and sudden sound That murmurs from the tomb,-that ghastly head With funeral fillets bound? It is a living form, The loved, the lost, the won, Won from the grave, corruption, and the worm ! "And is not this the Son Of God?" they whispered; while the sisters pour'd Their gratitude in tears: for they had known the Lord. Yet now, the Son of God For such he was in truth-approach'd the hour O Death! should be restored, And yet restored in vain : For tho' the blood of ransom must be pour'd, He shall but yield to conquer, fall to rise, And make the cold dark grave a portal to the skies. THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN. Rogers. "TIs midnight-'tis midnighto'er Egypt's dark sky, And in whirlwind and storm the sirocco sweeps by: All arid and hot is its death-breathing blast,— Each sleeper breathes thick, and each bosom beats fast. And the young mother wakes, and arouses from rest, And presses more closely her babe to her breast; But the heart that she presses is deathlike and still, And the lips that she kisses are breathless and chill. And the young brother clings to the elder in fear, As the gust falls so dirge-like and sad on his ear; But that brother returns not the trembling embrace: He speaks not-he breathes not-death lies in his place. And the first-born of Egypt are dying around; 'Tis a sigh-'tis a moan-and then slumber more sound : |