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There's not a strain to Memory dear',
Nor flower in classic grove,
But minds us of thy Love.
FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT.
Joseph made haste, for his bowels did yearn upon his brother; and he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and wept there Gen. xliii. 30.
There stood no man with them, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren. Gen. xlv. 1.
WHEN Nature tries her finest touch,
Weaving her vernal wreath,
Nor soil'd by ruder breath?
y See Burns's Works, i. 293. Dr. Currie's edition.
Who ever saw the earliest rose
her sweet breast ? Or, when the summer sun goes
down, The first soft star in evening's crown
Light up her gleaming crest ?
Fondly we seek the dawning bloom
On features wan and fair,
But there's a sweeter flower than e'er
Blush'd on the rosy spray-
At close of summer day.
'Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven;
Love gentle, holy, pure :
She never could endure.
Even human Love will shrink from sight
Here in the coarse rude earth : How then should rash intruding glance Break in upon her sacred trance
Who boasts a heavenly birth ?
So still and secret is her growth,
Ever the truest heart,
Least knows its happy part.
God only, and good angels, look
Behind the blissful screen-
By all but Heaven unseen :
As when the holy Maid beheld
Her risen Son and Lord : Thought has not colours half so fair That she to paint that hour may dare,
In silence best ador’d.
The gracious Dove, that brought from Heaven
The earnest of our bliss,
Sings not a note of this.
So, truest image of the Christ,
Old Israel's long-lost son,
with them alone.
He could not trust his melting soul
But in his Maker's sight-
Their treasure of delight !
Now let the dainty rose awhile
Her bashful fragrance hideRend not her silken veil too soon, But leave her, in her own soft noon,
To flourish and abide.
FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT.
And Moses said, I will now turn aside and see this great sight, why the bush is not burned. Exodus iii. 3.
TH' historic Muse, from age to age,
Hath trac'd the works of Man:
The works of God to scan.
Far seen across the sandy wild,
He thoughtless roam'd and free,
Who would not turn and see?
z • Seneh :" said to be a sort of Acacia.