Where'er the Lord is, there are they ;

In every heart that gives them room, They light His altar every day,

Zeal to inflame, and vice consume.

Soft as the plumes of Jesus' Dove
They nurse the soul to heavenly love:
The struggling spark of good within,
Just smother'd in the strife of sin,
They quicken to a timely glow,
The pure flame spreading high and low.
Said I, that prayer and hope were o'er ?

Nay, blessed Spirit! but by Thee The Church's prayer finds wings to soar,

The Church's hope finds eyes to see.

Then, fainting soul, arise and sing ;
Mount, but be sober on the wing;
Mount

for Heaven is won by prayer,
Be sober, for thou art not there;
Till Death the weary spirit free,
Thy God hath said, 'Tis good for thee
To walk by faith and not by sight :

Soon shalt thou read the mystery right

In the full sunshine of His smile.

Or if thou yet more knowledge crave,
Ask thine own heart, that willing slave
To all that works thee woe or harm :
Shouldst thou not need some mighty charm
To win thee to thy Saviour's side,
Though He had deign’d with thee to bide ?
The Spirit must stir the darkling deep,

The Dove must settle on the Cross,
Else we should all sin on or sleep

With Christ in sight, turning our gain to loss.

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

ROGATION SUNDAY.

And the Lord was very angry with Aaron to have destroyed him: and I prayed for Aaron also the same time. Deut. ix. 20.

Now is there solemn pause in earth and heaven;

The Conqueror now

His bonds hath riven,
And Angels wonder why he stays below:

Yet hath not man his lesson learn'd,
How endless love should be return'd.

Deep is the silence as of summer noon,

When a soft shower

Will trickle soon,
A gracious rain, freshening the weary

bower—
O sweetly then far off is heard
The clear note of some lonely bird.

So let thy turtle dove's sad call arise

In doubt and fear

Through darkening skies,
And pierce, O Lord, thy justly sealed ear,

Where on the house top“, all night long,
She trills her widow'd, faltering song.

Teach her to know and love her hour of

prayer, And evermore,

As faith grows rare,
Unlock her heart, and offer all its store

In holier love and humbler vows,
As suits a lost returning spouse.

Not as at first, but with intenser cry,

Upon the mount

She now must lie,
Till thy dear love to blot the sad account

But chiefly (for she knows thee anger'd worst

By holiest things

Profan'd and curst) Chiefly for Aaron's seed she spreads her wings, If but one leaf she

may

from Thee Win of the reconciling tree.

For what shall heal, when holy water banes ?

Or who may guide

O'er desert plains
Thy lov’d yet sinful people wandering wide,

If Aaron's hand unshrinking mould
An idol form of earthly gold ?

Therefore her tears are bitter, and as deep

Her boding sigh,

As, while men sleep,
Sad hearted mothers heave, that wakeful lie,

To muse upon some darling child
Roaming in youth's uncertain wild.

Therefore on fearful dreams her inward sight