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mother will not leave her helpless babe, how can Christ's disciples in their weakness endure His absence? Yet it was His own word; and His Apostles proved that so it was, when they had watched this ascension into Heaven, and returned, not daring to mourn for themselves, but rejoicing in His glory, to
• Their home and God's, that favoured place,
-namely, the upper room; the first of all Christian churches, which continue to enjoy His blessing, as the favoured place where He is present with the true children of Abraham by faith.
There, in prayer, they await His promise ; like suppliants, awaiting in security their monarch's largess, reserved to increase the joy of his coronation day. They wait-not doubting of His Rest, nor of His gracious purpose; only as yet scarce understanding what that Gift could mean which is to be so great as to make their Saviour's going, gain.' That waiting time was through life a period on which Mr. Keble loved to dwell in his teaching-the Expectation days, when the greatest of all gifts, the completion of the Divine Work for man, was to come.
Solemn, sweet, and lovely are the ensuing verses, in which the Coming and the Work of the Comforter is described ; and so simple, that no comment can render them easier. We can scarce refrain from quoting them, but their cadence cannot fail to be in the hearts of all our readers ; and it would be presumption to try to paraphrase them. They answer the wistful question at the beginning—they shew what the Blessed Presence of God the Holy Ghost is to the Church; and the last—turning our gaze inward to our own heart-calls from ourselves the witness that eren were our Lord in bodily presence among us, as among the Jews of old, we should have no power to believe on Him without the quickening Grace of the Holy Spirit.
• The Spirit must stir the darkling deep,
The Dove must settle on the Cross ;
If the Lyra Innocentium had Scriptural mottoes connecting the poems with the services, that for to-day's would no doubt be from the Epistle, •Of His own Will begat He us with the Word of truth, that we should be a kind of first-fruits of His creatures.' The whole of this Cradle Song of the Guardian Angels,' is a 'Morning dream' or vision of the presentation of infant souls, at their Baptism, to their Heavenly Father, each by its own angel keeper, as the true first-fruits of His created beings.
Ne'er with smile so glad and kind
Welcomed God's High Priest of old,
Offering gifts from field and fold;
Lamb or kid, or first-ripe corn,
While the shades from Salem's wall
as was the welcome with which our Great High Priest embraced each soul in the arms of His mercy,' and assigned its place in the eternal round' of beings doing Him service in Heaven and earth.
Was it a mere dream? Nay
• From the Fountain to the Shrine,
(To be continued.)
TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF MANZONI.
He is risen! But how was death
Forced to give back his prey ?
Made the dark gates give way?
That He only liveth alway,
No longer the Holy Head
Lies swathed in the linen fine;
Is rolled from the empty shrine ;
Like a giant refreshed with wine,
As the pilgrim awakes from sleep,
Far in the forest glade,
Shakes away from his head
Had wafted there, and laid,
So from that rock-hewn door,
Where the ponderous marble lay,
The mighty Sleeper tore
The stone, and cast it away,
Came back to the sacred clay,
What word is this, that so fast
Is breaking the dreams of the Jews? The gates
of death are past,
He is risen, your chains to loose ;
What mortal foot might so
Pass to the deathless clime ? Old fathers, who sleep below,
Deaf to the morning chime,
The sigh of the olden time,
Still from father to son,
As the days went by of old, The whisper was handed down,
The story of hope was told,
In the word of their God grew bold,
For the prophets' sainted choir
Passed o'er the world's dark rim, And sang of the nations' Desire,
And how men mourned for Him;
It was dawn; and with tear-wet face
Magdalene wept for her Dead, When lo! through the holy place
Strange tidings swiftly sped;
And dared the death on their head,
A youth none seemed to know
Sat on the funeral stone; His vesture like the snow,
His face as lightning shone ;
As Mary made her moan,-
Away with weeds of dole!
Bring back the shining gold! Let priest in snow-white stole
Come forth great rites to hold,
Their echoes glad and bold,
From the altar is heard a voice,
Rejoice in the Lord alway! It bids us all rejoice,
With her in whose breast He lay, As in the nest of His choice,
When He came to take our clay;
O Brothers, prayer is joy,
And joy like this is prayer! A feast that cannot cloy
With gladness let us share;
In the arms of his mother there,
best must wear.
But beware how ye keep the Feast !
Ye rich, be frugal and wise;
Is a day of sacrifice;
Let its superfluities
Far be the noise and din
Of foolish dance and glee, To-day such mirth were sin ;
Better for God to see
Such gladness as may be
So blessed on thy head
Shall shine this holy sun;
Thy foolish feet should run
Cling to the Risen One,
"APPEARED TO SIMON.'
'APPEARED to Simon! Lord, less moved we read
That Thou to loving Mary didst appear,
And with Thy gracious 'All-hail !' didst draw near
But Simon! who with coward lips denied
All knowledge of Thee-Thee, his God, his Lord !
And with an oath confirmed the trait'rous word,
When the soft stillness of that Paschal morn
Was deepening into noon, didst Thou, the Sun
And splendour of both earth and heavens, come
So speaks Thy Holy Word; though nought is said
Of Simon's greeting; perchance mute he knelt,
And bathed in tears Thy risen Feet, and felt
'Appeared to Simon!' Lord, my tears drop down
Upon the words, for I too have denied,
Forsaken, grieved Thee; I, who thought to bide
Woven by Angel-hands for they who best
Have served Thee, might be mine, for ever mine!
And now what hope is left me? yet the line, 'Appeared to Simon,' brings a thought of rest.
I ask not for the 'All-hail,' or the name,
Uttered in token of familiar love,
Only look on me, and that look shall prove
Balm to the deep wounds of my grief and shame. VOL. 7.