Shall light upon some lurking harm,

And work some wonder little meant.

Doubt we, how souls so wanton change,

Leaving their own experienc'd rest ? Needs not around the world to range ; One narrow cell

may

teach us best.

Look in, and see Christ's chosen saint

In triumph wear his Christ-like chain ; No fear lest he should swerve or faint';

“ His life is Christ, his death is gaino.”

Two converts, watching by his side,

Alike his love and greetings share; Luke the belov'd; the sick soul's guide,

And Demas, nam'd in faltering prayer.

Pass a few years—look in once more

But only Luke is with him now :

Alas! that even the martyr's cell, Heaven's very gate, should scope allow

For the false world's seducing spell.

'Tis sad—but yet ’tis well, be sure,

We on the sight should muse awhile, Nor deem our shelter all secure

Even in the Church's holiest aisle.

Vainly before the shrine he bends,

Who knows not the true pilgrim's part: The martyr's cell no safety lends

To him, who wants the martyr's heart.

But if there be, who follows Paul

As Paul his Lord, in life and death, Where'er an aching heart may call,

Ready to speed and take no breath ;

Whose joy is, to the wandering sheep

To tell of the great Shepherd's love“;

To learn of mourners while they weep

The music that makes mirth above;

Who makes the Saviour all his theme,

The Gospel all his pride and praiseApproach : for thou canst feel the gleam

That round the martyr's death-bed plays :

Thou hast an ear for, angels' songs,

A breath the Gospel trump to fill,
And taught by thee the Church prolongs

Her hymns of high thanksgiving stille. .

Ah ! dearest mother, since too oft

The world yet wins some Demas frail Even from thine arms, so kind and soft,

May thy tried comforts never fail ?

When faithless ones forsake thy wing,

Be it vouchsaf'd thee still to see Thy true, fond nursling closer cling,

Cling closer to their Lord and thee.

ST. SIMON AND ST. JUDE.

That ye should earnestly contend for the faith which was once delivered unto the saints. St. Jude 3.

ŞEEST thou, how tearful and alone,

And drooping like a wounded dove,
The Cross in sight, but Jesus gone,

The widow'd Church is fain to rove?

Who is at hand that loves the Lord & ?

Make haste and take her home, and bring
Thine household choir, in true accord

Their soothing hymns for her to sing.

Soft on her fluttering heart shall breathe

The fragrance of that genial isle,
There she may weave her funeral wreath,

The Spirit of the dying Son

Is there, and fills the holy place With records sweet of duties done,

Of pardon'd foes, and cherish'd grace.

And as of old by two and two"

His herald saints the Saviour sent To soften hearts like morning dew, Where He to shine in

mercy meant ;

So evermore He deems his name

Best honour'd and His way prepard, When watching by his altar-flame

He sees his servants duly pair’d.

He loves when age and youth are met,

Fervent old age and youth serene, Their high and low in concord set

For sacred song, Joy's golden mean.

He loves when some clear soaring mind

Is drawn by mutual piety To simple souls and unrefind,