There's not a strain to Memory dear', Nor flower in classic grove, There's not a sweet note warbled here, But minds us of thy Love. O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes, There is no light but thine: with Thee all beauty glows. 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 First open her sweet breast? Or, when the summer sun goes down, The first soft star in evening's crown Fondly we seek the dawning bloom The gazing eye no change can trace, Then turn, and, lo! 'tis there. But there's a sweeter flower than e'er Blush'd on the rosy spray A brighter star, a richer bloom Than e'er did western heaven illume 'Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven; Love gentle, holy, pure : But tenderer than a dove's soft eye, The searching sun, the open sky, 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, Where deepest strikes her kindly root God only, and good angels, look As when, triumphant o'er his woes, As when the holy Maid beheld Her risen Son and Lord : Thought has not colours half so fair That she to paint that hour In silence best ador'd. H may dare, The gracious Dove, that brought from Heaven The earnest of our bliss, Of many a chosen witness telling, On many a happy vision dwelling, So, truest image of the Christ, What time, with sweet forgiving cheer, He could not trust his melting soul Then why should gentle hearts and true No-let the dainty rose awhile Her bashful fragrance hide— Rend not her silken veil too soon, 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, Thro' many a waste heart-sickening page But a celestial call to-day Stays her, like Moses, on her way, The works of GOD to scan. Far seen across the sandy wild, Where, like a solitary child, He thoughtless roam'd and free, One towering thorn was wrapt in flame— Bright without blaze it went and came : Who would not turn and see? z "Seneh :" said to be a sort of Acacia. |