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The prayer is heard-else why so deep

His slumber on the eve of death? And wherefore smiles he in his sleep

As one who drew celestial breath ?

He loves and is belov'd again

Can his soul choose but be at rest ? Sorrow hath fled away, and Pain

Dares not invade the guarded nest.

He dearly loves, and not alone :

For his wing’d thoughts are soaring high Where never yet frail heart was known

To breathe in vain affection's sigh.

He loves and weeps—but more than tears

Have seald thy welcome and his loveOne look lives in him, and endears Crosses and wrongs

where'er he rove :

That gracious chiding look", Thy call

To win him to himself and Thee, Sweetening the sorrow of his fall

Which else were ru'd too bitterly.

h St. Luke xxii. 61.

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Even through the veil of sleep it shines,

The memory of that kindly glance ;-
The Angel watching by divines
And
spares

awhile his blissful trance.

Or haply to his native lake

His vision wafts him back, to talk With Jesus, ere his flight he take,

As in that solemn evening walk,

When to the bosom of his friend,

The Shepherd, He whose name is Good, Did His dear lambs and sheep commend,

Both bought and nourish'd with His blood :

Then laid on him th’inverted tree,

Which firm embrac'd with heart and arm, Might cast o'er hope and memory,

O'er life and death, its awful charm.

With brightening heart he bears it on,

His passport thro' th' eternal gates, To his sweet home-so nearly won,

He seems, as by the door he waits,

The unexpressive notes to hear

Of angel song and angel motion, Rising and falling on the ear

Like waves in Joy's unbounded ocean.

His dream is chang'd—the Tyrant's voice

Calls to that last of glorious deedsBut as he rises to rejoice,

Not Herod but an Angel leads.

He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright,

Glancing around his prison roomBut 'tis a gleam of heavenly light

That fills up all the ample gloom.

The flame, that in a few short years

Deep through the chambers of the dead Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears,

Is waving o'er his dungeon-bed.

Touch'd he upstarts-his chains unbind

Through darksome vault, up massy stair, His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind

To freedom and cool moonlight air.

Then all himself, all joy and calm,

Though for a while his hand forego,
Just as it touch'd, the martyr's palm,

He turns him to his task below;

The pastoral staff, the keys of heaven,

To wield awhile in grey-hair'd might,
Then from his cross to spring forgiven,

And follow Jesus out of sight.

ST. JAMES'S DAY.

Ye shall indeed drink of my cup, and be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with : but to sit on my right hand and on my left is not mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom it is prepared of my Father. St. Matthew xx. 23.

SIT down and take thy fill of joy

At God's right hand, a bidden guest,
Drink of the cup that cannot cloy,

Eat of the bread that cannot waste.
O great Apostle ! rightly now

Thou readest all thy Saviour meant,

What time His grave yet gentle brow

In sweet reproof on thee was bent.

“ Seek ye to sit enthrond by me?

“ Alas! ye know not what ye ask, 66 The first in shame and agony,

66 The lowest in the meanest task66 This can ye be ? and can

ye

drink 66 The cup

that I in tears must steep, “ Nor from the whelming waters shrink

“ That o'er me roll so dark and deep?"

“ We can-thine are we, dearest Lord,

“ In glory and in agony, “ To do and suffer all Thy word;

Only be Thou for ever nigh :" “ Then be it so—my cup receive,

“ And of my woes baptismal taste : “ But for the crown, that angels weave

“ For those next me in glory plac’d,

“ I give it not by partial love;

“ But in my Father's book are writ “ What names on earth shall lowliest prove,

“ That they in Heaven may highest sit.”

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