TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. Who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto His glorious body, according to the working whereby He is able even to subdue all things unto Himself. Philippians iii. 21. RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun, That crown'd the eastern copse: and chill and dun Now the tir'd hunter winds a parting note, How like decaying life they seem to glide! Is all their portion, and they ask no more. Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing, A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold, The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring, And all be vernal rapture as of old. Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie, No thought of them; in all the bounteous sky Man's portion is to die and rise again— Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain, As his when Eden held his virgin heart. And haply half unblam'd his murmuring voice For dreary were this earth, if earth were all, Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart, O'er wave or field: yet breezes laugh to scorn Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven, And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main, And stars that shoot through freezing air at even— Who but would follow, might he break his chain ? And thou shalt break it soon; the groveling worm When from the grave He sprung at dawn of morn, And led through boundless air thy conquering road, Leaving a glorious track, where saints new-born Might fearless follow to their blest abode. But first, by many a stern and fiery blast The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine, And many a gale of keenest woe be pass'd, Till every pulse beat true to airs divine, S Till every limb obey the mounting soul, The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given. TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. The heart knoweth his own bitterness, and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy. Proverbs xiv. 10. WHY should we faint and fear to live alone, Since all alone, so Heaven has will'd, we die ", Nor even the tenderest heart, and next our own, Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh? Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart, Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow— a Je mourrai seul. Pascal. And well it is for us our GoD should feel Alone our secret throbbings: so our prayer May readier spring to Heaven, nor spend its zeal On cloud-born idols of this lower air. For if one heart in perfect sympathy Beat with another, answering love for love, Weak mortals, all entranc'd, on earth would lie, Nor listen for those purer strains above. Or what if Heaven for once its searching light The rude bad thoughts, that in our bosom's night Who would not shun the dreary uncouth place? So might we friendless live, and die unwept. Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn, As on the bosom of th' aerial lawn Melts in dim haze each coarse ungentle hue. |