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That ne'er on brow of mortal birth
Shall blend again the crowns of earth,

Nor in according cry

Her many voices mingling own
One tyrant Lord, one idol throne :

But to His triumph soon
He shall descend, who rules above,
And the pure language of His lovek

All tongues of men shall tune.

Nor let Ambition heartless mourn ;
When Babel's very ruins burn,

Her bigh desires may breathe ;-
Q’ercome thyself, and thou may'st share
With Christ his Father's throne, and wear

The world's imperial wreath.

99

k Zephaniah iii. 9. “ Then will I turn to the people a pure language, that they may all call upon the name of the Lord, to serve him with one consent,"

1 Revelations iii. 21. “ To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me in my throne.”

TUESDAY IN WHITSUN-WEEK.

When He putteth forth His own sheep, He goeth before them. St. John X. 4.

( Addressed to Candidates for Ordination.)

LORD, in thy field I work all day,
" I read, I teach, I warn, I pray,
“ And yet these wilful wandering sheep
“ Within thy fold I cannot keep.

“ I journey, yet no step is won
6 Alas! the weary course I run !
“ Like sailors shipwreck'd in their dreams,
“ All powerless and benighted seems."

What ? wearied out with half a life?
Scard with this smooth unbloody strife?
Think where thy coward hopes had flown
Had Heaven held out the martyr's crown,

How could'st thou hang upon the cross,
To whom a weary hour is loss ?
Or how the thorns and scourging brook,
Who shrinkest from a scornful look ?

Yet ere thy craven spirit faints,
Hear thine own King, the King of saints;
Though thou wert toiling in the grave,
'Tis He can cheer thee, He can save.

He is th' eternal mirror bright,
Where angels view the Father's light,
And yet in Him the simplest swain
May read his homely lesson plain.

Early to quit his home on earth,
And claim his high celestial birth,
Alone with his true Father found
Within the temple’s solemn round :-

Yet in meek duty to abide
For many a year at Mary's side,
Nor heed, though restless spirits ask,
“ What? hath the Christ forgot his task ?"-
Conscious of Deity within,
To bow before an heir of sin,
With folded arms on humble breast,
By his own servant wash'd and blest :-

Then full of Heaven, the mystic Dove
Hovering his gracious brow above,
To shun the voice and eye of praise,
And in the wild his trophies raise :-

With hymns of angels in his ears,
Back to his task of woe and tears,
Unmurmuring through the world to roam
With not a wish or thought at home :-

All but himself to heal and save,
Till ripend for the cross and grave
He to His Father gently yield
The breath that our redemption seald:-

Then to unearthly life arise,
Yet not at once to seek the skies,
But glide awhile from saint to saint,
Lest on our lonely way we faint ;

And through the cloud by glimpses shew
How bright, in Heaven, the marks will glow
Of the true cross, imprinted deep
Both on the Shepherd and the sheep :-

When out of sight, in heart and prayer
Thy chosen people still to bear,
And from behind thy glorious veil,
Shed light that cannot change or fail :-

This is thy pastoral course, O LORD,
Till we be sav'd, and Thou ador'd ;-
Thy course and ours—but who are they
Who follow on the narrow way?

And yet of Thee from year to year
The Church's solemn chant we hear,
As from thy cradle to thy throne
She swells her high heart-cheering tone.

Listen, ye pure white-robed souls,
Whom in her list she now enrolls,
And gird ye for your high emprize
By these her thrilling minstrelsies.

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