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Joy to the faithful Three renew'd,
As their glad errand they pursued !
Happy, who so Christ's word convey,
That he may meet them on their way!

So is it still: to holy tears,
In lonely hours, Christ risen

appears :
In social hours, who Christ would see,
Must turn all tasks to Charity.


Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons ; but in every nation he that feareth him and worketh righteousness is accepted with him. Acts x. 34, 35.


and watch the new-born rill
Just trickling from its mossy bed,
Streaking the heath-clad hill

With a bright emerald thread.

Canst thou her bold career foretel,
What rocks she shall o’erleap or rend,
How far in Ocean's swell

Her freshening billows send ?

Perchance that little brook shall flow
The bulwark of some mighty realm,
Bear navies to and fro

With monarchs at their helm.

Or canst thou guess, how far away
Some sister nymph, beside her urn
Reclining night and day,

Mid reeds and mountain fern,

Nurses her store, with thine to blend

many a moor and glen are past, Then in the wide sea end

Their spotless lives at last ?

Even so, the course of prayer who knows? It springs in silence where it will, Springs out of sight, and flows

At first a lonely rill:

But streams shall meet it by and by From thousand sympathetic hearts, Together swelling high

Their chant of many parts.

Unheard by all but angel ears
The good Cornelius knelt alone,
Nor dream'd his prayers and tears

Would help a world undone.

The while upon his terrac'd roof
The lov’d Apostle to his Lord
In silent thought aloof

For heavenly vision soar'd.

Far o'er the glowing western main
His wistful brow was upward rais’d,
Where, like an angel's train,

The burnish'd water blaz’d.

The saint beside the ocean pray'd,
The soldier in his chosen bower,
Where all his eye survey'd

Seem'd sacred in that hour.

To each unknown his brother's prayer, Yet brethren true in dearest love Were they-and now they share

Fraternal joys above.

There daily through Christ's open gate They see the Gentile spirits press, Brightening their high estate

With dearer happiness.

What civic wreath for comrades sav'd Shone ever with such deathless gleam, Or when did perils brav'd

So sweet to veterans seem ?


And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy, and did run to bring His disciples word. St. Matthew xxviii. 8.


THOU first-born of the year's delight,

Pride of the dewy glade,
In vernal green and virgin white,

Thy vestal robes, array’d;

'Tis not because thy drooping form

Sinks graceful on its nest,
When chilly shades from gathering storm

Affright their tender breast;

Nor for yon river islet wild

Beneath the willow spray,
Where, like the ringlets of a child,

Thou weav'st thy circle gay;

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