(Though meek ears only understand) He speaks as He did then. "Ah wherefore persecute ye me? ""Tis hard, ye so in love should be "With your own endless woe. "Know, though at God's right hand I live, "I feel each wound ye reckless give "To the least saint below. " I in your care my brethren left, "Not willing ye should be bereft "Of waiting on your Lord. "The meanest offering ye can make— O by those gentle tones and dear, g St. Matthew x. 42. Ne'er let us cast one look behind, But in the thought of Jesus find What every thought controuls. As to thy last Apostle's heart So teach us on thy shrine to lay And as each mild and winning note (Like pulses that round harp-strings float, When the full strain is o'er) Left lingering on his inward ear Music, that taught, as death drew near, Love's lesson more and more: So, as we walk our earthly round, Still may the echo of that sound Be in our memory stor❜d: "Christians! behold your happy state : "Christ is in these, who round you wait; "Make much of your dear Lord!" THE PURIFICATION. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. BLESS'D are the pure in heart, The secret of the Lord is theirs, Their soul is Christ's abode. Might mortal thought presume Such are the notes that echo through The courts of Heaven to-day. Such the triumphal hymns On Sion's Prince that wait, In high procession passing on Towards His temple-gate. St. Matthew v. 3. Give ear, ye kings-bow down, Ye rulers of the earth This, this is He; your Priest by grace, No pomp of earthly guards Attends with sword and spear, And all-defying, dauntless look, Their monarch's way to clear: Yet are there more with him Than all that are with youThe armies of the highest Heaven, All righteous, good, and true. Spotless their robes and pure, That hides the unapproached shrine From men's and angels' sight. His throne, thy bosom blest, O Mother undefil'd That throne, if ought beneath the skies, Beseems the sinless child. Lost in high thoughts," whose son Meet emblem of His vow, His dove-like soul-best sacrifice Did on God's altar lay. But who is he, by years Bow'd, but erect in heart, Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? "Lord, let me now depart. “ "Tis time that I depart in peace, "According to thy word." Yet swells the pomp: one more Comes forth to bless her God: Full fourscore years, meek widow, she Her heaven-ward way hath trod. |