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Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,

And ever Fancy's wing Speeds from beneath her cloudless sky

To autumn or to spring.

Sweet is the infant's waking smile,

And sweet the old man's rest But middle age by no fond wile,

No soothing calm is blest.

Still in the world's hot restless gleam

She plies her weary task,
While vainly for some pleasant dream

Her wandering glances ask.

O shame upon thee, listless heart,

So sad a sigh to heave,
As if thy Saviour had no part

In thoughts, that make thee grieve.

As if along His lonesome way

He had not borne for thee Sad languors through the summer day,

Storms on the wintry sea.

Youth's lightning flash of joy secure

Pass'd seldom o'er His spright,A well of serious thought and pure,

Too deep for earthly light.

No spring was His—no fairy gleam

For He by trial knew How cold and bare what mortals dream,

To worlds where all is true.

Then grudge not thou the anguish keen

Which makes thee like thy LORD, And learn to quit with eye serene

Thy youth's ideal hoard.

Thy treasur'd hopes and raptures high

Unmurmuring let them go, Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly

Which CHRIST disdain'd to know.

Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon ;

The pure, calm hope be thine, Which brightens, like the eastern moon,

As days wild lights decline.

Thus souls, by nature pitch'd too high,

By sufferings plung'd too low,
Meet in the Church's middle sky,

Half way 'twixt joy and woe,

To practise there the soothing lay

That sorrow best relieves :
Thankful for all God takes away,

Humbled by all He gives.

ST. BARNABAS.

The Son of consolation, a Levite. Acts iv. 36.

THE world's a room of sickness, where each heart

Knows its own anguish and unrest ;
The truest wisdom there, and noblest art,

Is his, who skills of comfort best;
Whom by the softest step and gentlest tone

Enfeebled spirits own,

And love to raise the languid eye, When, like an angel's wing, they feel him fleeting by:Feel only-for in silence gently gliding

Fain would he shun both ear and sight, ”Twixt Prayer and watchful Love his heart dividing,

A nursing father day and night.
Such were the tender arms, where cradled lay,

In her sweet natal day,

The Church of JESUS; such the love He to his chosen taught for His dear widow'd Dove.

Warm'd underneath the Comforter's safe wing

They spread th' endearing warmth around : Mourners, speed here your broken hearts to bring,

Here healing dews and balms abound: Here are soft hands that cannot bless in vain,

By trial taught your pain :

Here loving hearts, that daily know
The heavenly consolations they on you bestow.

Sweet thoughts are theirs, that breathe serenest calms,

Of holy offerings timely paid",
Of fire from Heaven to bless thy votive alms

And passions on God's altar laid.

a Acts iv. 37. Having land, he sold it, and brought the money, and laid it at the Apostles' feet.

The world to them is clos'd and now they shine
With

rays of love divine, Through darkest nooks of this dull earth Pouring, in showery times, their glow of “ quiet

66 mirth.”

לל

New hearts before their Saviour's feet to lay,

This is their first their dearest joy:
Their next, from heart to heart to clear the way

For mutual love without alloy :
Never so blest, as when in Jesus' roll

They write some hero-soul,

More pleas'd upon his brightening road To wait, than if their own with all his radiance glow'd.

O happy spirits, mark'd by God and man

Their messages of love to bear, What though long since in Heaven your brows began

The genial amarant wreath to wear, And in th' eternal leisure of calm love

Ye banquet there above,

a Acts ix. 27. Barnabas took him, and brought him (Saul) to the Apostles.

b Acts xi. 22. xiii. 2.

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