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" IF ever floating from faint earthly lyre, 
Was wafted to your soul one faint desire, 

By all the trembling hopes ye feel 
Think on the minstrel as ye kneel ; 

And let your prayer for charity arise 

That her own heart may hear her melodies, 

And a true voice to her may cry 

' Thy God forgives, thou shaltnot die.' ' 




Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 

Printed and bound by 

*N. B. *V- 

mg JElotljer. 

M 9520 

Ije Christian gear. 

FT1HROUGH danger, doubt and sickening fear, 
JL One guiding clue the Church retains, at least ; 
She sees her LORD through all the changing year, 
And follows Him, in vigil, fast, and feast. 

We have not handled of the Living Word, 
Our eyes have never seen His human form, 

Our ears His loving voice have never heard, 
He has not stilled, for us, life's bitter storm. 

We only know a Man Divine has trod 

This weary earth, has suffered here, and died ; 

And we believe that, rising from the sod, 
We shall behold Him, living, glorified ! 

Sometimes we almost feel His loving hand, 
Sometimes we almost hear His tender voice, 

The cloudy pillar leads us through the land, 
Like earth at touch of Spring our hearts rejoice. 


Then come the winter, and the dark, cold night, 
And Faith and Hope give place to doubt and 


Happy -the soul that the.a perceives the light 
That shines, for us, through all the Christian 

The heavenly light, that drops from Christmas 

As once of old, on Bethlehem's peaceful plain ; 
The starry light that blest the sages' eyes, 

And led them where their infant King was lain ; 

The sad, pale light, Gethsemane, that gleamed 
Upon thine hoary, ancient olive shade ; 

The awful light that through the darkness 

When, for our sins, the ransom price was paid ; 

The golden light that filled the eastern skies, 
And waked each little bird to joyful strains, 

On that glad morn that saw^ the LORD arise, 
And break, forevermore, Death's cruel chains; 

The tender glory of the noonday light, 

When, ere our SAVIOUR did to Heaven ascend, 

He blest His chosen, on the mountain height, 
Saying, Lo ! I am with you to the end ; 


And from that day the Church has ever kept 
The way-marks of His holy, blessed life ; 

Age after age His saints with Him have wept, 
And shared His triumph in the bitter strife. 

And as we trace again, thus, year by year, 
The story of the manger, cross and throne, 

The LORD Himself does to our souls draw near, 
And all our coldness and our doubts are flown, 

Thus, while the Church the wilderness must tread, 
Still bears she witness to her absent King; 

Not with cold doctrines are her children fed, 
But to the living CHRIST she bids them cling. 


The Church, the pillar and ground of the truth, i Tim. iii. 15. 

AMID a thousand voices wild, 
Which is the false, and which the true ? 
By fear and hope, alike, beguiled, 
We stumble in these pathways new. 

Hark ! to one voice, that, sweet and clear 
Rings out through every age the same ; 

The Church, that each returning year 
Calls by her absent Master's name. 

"What old and threadbare myths are these? 

The world needs doctrines new and fresh." 
She calls her children to her knees, 

With that old tale the Word made flesh. 

" Oh, for some guide to lead aright 
Our footsteps to our Father's home !" 

Rejoicing in December's night, 

She sings The SON OF GOD has come ! 

" Oh, might some Man divine arise 
To free us from sin's weary load !" 

She spreads the Feast of Sacrifice, 
And cries, Behold the LAMB OF GOD ! 


Thus bears she witness to her LORD, 
Unchanged, unmoved, whatever betide, 

Still holding forth the LIVING WORD, 
If men will hear or will deride. 

Then wake from sleep, and in the faith 
Which we from her dear lips receive, 

Let us show forth, in life and death, 
That in her LORD we do believe. 


prisorgrs of 

Where is the promise of His coming? and Peter, iii- 4. 
Turn ye to the stronghold, ye prisoners of hope. Zech. ix, 12. 

" TITHEKE is the promise ?" weary 
V ? With conflict, toil and pain, 
The Church, through all the ages, 

This question asks in vain ; 
Yet only they, victorious, 

Shall with the foeman cope, 
Who turn them to this stronghold, 
The prisoners of hope! 

Long since the war had ended, 

And the gates of hell prevailed, 
And the banner of salvation 

Low in the dust had trailed, 
But that the hope grew stronger 

With every battle past, 
And every generation 

Hoped it might be the last. 


The souls beneath the altar, 

That now cry, "LORD, how long !" 
When in the flesh they suffered 

Were by this hope made strong ; 
And in the darkest ages 

Of superstition's night, 
They waited for His coining 

As for the morning light ! 

And now we bear the burden, 

To us the strife has passed, 
And still the hope grows stronger 

That ours shall be the last. 
There are signs in earth and heaven, 

As once the LORD foretold, 
And the whisper of His coming 

Makes even the weakest bold ! 

Then sound the Advent trumpet; 

Call each man to his post, 
To greet the King, Who cometh 

With all His angel host ! 
And they, with songs triumphant, 

Shall march up Zion's slope, 
Whose trust was in this stronghold, 

The prisoners of hope ! 


of tl)is roorlb. 

St. Matt. iii. 4, 5. 

AH, yes! the lawyers and the scribes 
The Scriptures knew full well ; 
And where, and when, the CHRIST should come, 
They could most surely tell. 

"In David's city, Bethlehem," 

(Thus they the prophets read), 
" A child shall rise, of David's line, 

And to his throne succeed." 

Wise brains and stupid hearts ! no joy 

To them the tidings bring; 
Nor go they forth to Bethlehem 

To hail their new-born King. 

Content in Herod's court to dwell, 

And fawn upon his word, 
No angel songs salute their ears, 

Proclaiming, CHRIST the LORD ! 


Their eyes, with midnight study dim, 

Perceive not Judah's Star, 
Guiding, with pure and holy light, 

The wise men from afar. 

LORD, we Thy vigil keep to-night, 

Beneath the midnight sky ; 
May we not own Thee with our lips, 

And in our hearts deny ! 

The simple, loving, child-like faith 

Vouchsafe us evermore, 
To seek Thee where Thou mayst be found, 

And finding, to adore ! 



OF old, the wise men, from afar, 
Made haste the new-born King to hail, 
Their only guide the eastern Star 

O'er mountain steep, through lonely vale. 

So, LORD, Thy Church, in pilgrim guise, 
Is traveling on, her King to meet: 

Oh, bid the star of Faith arise, 

When shadows gather round her feet. 

Though loudly howl the winds of night, 
And thronging crowd the shapes of ill, 

Her face turned to that heavenly light, 
She presses on to Zion's Hill. 

And when her skies are warm and bright, 
Let not the sun, with noon-day glare, 

Have power to quench that guiding light; 
Still may it shine divinely fair ! 


But some have sought a path, and failed ; 

In doubt and fear how long they roam ; 
For them the lights of earth have paled, 

Have pity, LOUD, and lead them home. 

Oh, from Thy throne, where light has birth 

la glory that no eye can bear, 
If one faint ray shall reach the earth, 

Its beams shall lighten their despair. 

Then let it shine, a kindly star, 
To light them on their desert road, 

To lead them to their home, afar, 

Their home within the light of GOD ! 


<2EI)ri0t in tlje QLemyle. 

" And they sought Him among their kinsfolk and acquaintance." 

T1JHERE is the CHRIST ? Our longing hearts 
IT are aching 

With grief and doubt, and with unspoken dread, 
Our kindred and companions all forsaking, 

We search the city through with weary tread. 

Where have ye sought him ? In the market 

Where crowd th j insatiate throngs, athirst for 


But when we asked for Him, with scornful faces 
They told us there our search was all in vain. 

Where have ye sought Him ? Where the gates 

Of Herod's gorgeous courts were open wide; 
We looked within, our very soul delighting, 

The meek and lowly doth not there abide ! 

Where have you sought him ? In the groves of 

'Mid the philosophers of Rome and Greece ; 
Their brows are heavy with the lore of ages, 
But for our souls they had no word of peace. 


Seek ye the LORD, within His Temple holy, 
Whom ye have sought so long, in wanderings 

Who seek Him there, with contrite hearts and 

The long-desired shall never fail to find. 

Kneel there, your sorrows and your doubt 

And though He say, Why elsewhere sought 

ye Me? 

Yet with reproof shall still be mingled blessing, 
And peace undoubting shall your portion be. 

But ye must go, not always there abiding, 
And lift, again, the load of care and strife ; 

Lo ! He goes, too, your homeward footsteps 

And shares with you the daily tasks of life ! 


OF those who hailed the SAVIOUR'S birth 
With festive cheer and song, 
Glory to GOD, and peace on earth, 
Where is the countless throng ? 

For now the Church her children calls 

Their suffering LORD to see ; 
And on each ear the whisper falls, 

Canst thou not watch with me ? 

Alas ! how few, who lift the lay 

To hail the Virgin-born, 
Can bear with Him to watch and pray, 

Forsaken and forlorn. 

Yet only they who follow Him 

Even in the wilderness, 
And when His glory waxes dim 

Still nearer, closer press ; 

Who follow on, where, day by day, 

His patient steps they see, 
Nor fear to tread the bitter way 

That ends at Calvary, 


They, only, when the shadows flee 

Before the Easter light, 
The risen LORD and SAVIOUR see, 

Who conquers Death and night. 

This holy season, LORD, may we 

To-day, aright begin ; 
Each day more humble may we be, 

More deeply mourn for sin ! 

And when beneath Thy Cross we bow, 

May Faith, adoring, say, 
Oh, LAMB OF GOD, 'tis only Thou 

Canst take our sins away ! 

And oh ! when Easter fills the sky 

With gold and scarlet flame, 
To every mourner, LORD, draw nigh, 

And bless us, each, by name! 



/CHILDREN of Zion ! rise to hail your KING, 
\J With loud hosannas meet him in the gate, 
Garments and branches in His pathway fling, 
He comes in royal state. 

Haste to prepare for Him the kingly throne, 

The royal robe, the princely diadem, 
For lo ! MESSIAH comes to claim His own. 

Springing from David's stem. 

Ride on, O King, ride on ! the end is near, 
Thy work is wrought, Thy victory is won, 
The crown of thorns, the purple robe are here 
On Calvary, Thy throne ! 

Oh, holy crown, oh, royal robe of red ! 

Pain and contempt by you are made divine ; 
Oh Cross, where JESUS bowed His dying head, 
We conquer by that sign ! 

And now, a countless throng His name who bear, 
The thorns their glory, and the Cross their boast, 
Pass through the gates, His shame and death to 

Then join His ransomed host. 


(Easter Cilies. 

HOW shall we keep this holy day of gladness, 
This queen of days, that bitter, hopeless 


Forever drives away ? 

The night is past, its sleep and its forgetting : 
Our risen SUN, no more, forever, setting, 
Pours everlasting day ! 

Let us not bring, upon this joyful morning, 
Dead myrrh and spices for our LORD'S adorning, 

Or any lifeless thing ; 

Our gift shall be the fragrance and the splendor 
Of living flowers, in breathing beauty tender, 

The glory of our spring. 

And with the myrrh, oh, put away the leaven 
Of malice, hatred, injuries unforgiven, 

And cold and lifeless form ; 
Still, with the lilies, deeds of mercy bringing, 
And fervent prayers and praises upward spring- 

And hopes pure, bright and warm. 


So shall this Easter shed a fragrant beauty 
O'er many a day of dull and cheerless duty, 

And light thy wintry way ; 
Till rest is won, and Patience, smiling faintly, 
Upon thy breast, shall lay her lilies saintly, 

To crown Heaven's Easter Day ! 


UNCHANGED, through all the changing 

The widowed Church at dawning grey 
Goes forth to weep beside the tomb 

Where once our LORD and SAVIOUR lay, 

And carries with her spice and balm 

That through the air their fragrance shed: 

Oh, hush! nor ask of her, in scorn, 
" Why seek the living 'mid the dead ?" 

Draw near and see the precious store, 

Until she all her gifts display, 
Which through the year she garners up, 

And pours them forth on Easter Day. 

And first she brings her children's prayers, 
Which she has taught them, day by day, 

Through life, and death, to offer still, 
At home, at sea, or far away. 

And next she gives each loving word, 

And every holy, fruitful thought ; 
Each effort for the souls of men, 

Each work, in love and mercy wrought. 


And then, her last and choicest gift, 
Wherewith she crowneth all the rest, 

The memory of her holy dead 

Who sleep, of perfect peace possessed ! 

Still bears she forth her precious hoard, 
And hope grows strong, with every year, 

That many Easters shall not pass 

Before her BRIDEGROOM shall appear. 

Then shall her days of fasting end, 
And she her weeds aside will lay ; 

For Death and Sin will be no more, 
When dawns that endless Easter Day! 



DISCIPLE, lift to-day, thine eyes, 
Thy risen LORD behold 
Pass through the portals of the sky, 
Beyond the gates of gold. 

Those golden gates, they open wide 

Their monarch to receive ; 
But then the glorious vision hide, 

And we the mount must leave. 

But when we turn, with weary feet 

This lonely earth to tread, > 
Our hearts can rise, in musings sweet, 

To our ascended Head ! 

No golden gates, no deepening skies 

The longing heart restrain ; 
On wings of love and prayer she flies 

To find her LORD again. 

And they, who win the power through grace 

By faith to enter in, 
Bring blessings from that holy place, 

Back to this world of sin. 


Oh, LORD, our life is hid with Thee, 
While here on earth we move ; 

Help us, unworthy though we be, 
To lift our hearts above ; 

Till, sweeping through the gates of gold, 

The angel hosts once more 
Descend, and we Thy Face behold 

Whom we, unseen, adore ! 



OF Old, on Vesta's sacred hearth, 
Beneath the heaven's blue dome, 
The vestal virgins kept the flame 
That held the fate of Rome. 

For vain the boasted Roman arms, 
And weak the Roman might, 

Unless the mystic flame should burn 
On Vesta's altar bright ! 

And vain is now man's boasted skill, 
And strength to do and dare, 

Unless the Church's altars glow 
With purest flames of prayer ; 

Altars concealed from human gaze, 

But open to the sky ; 
Upon them burns, undimmed, the fire 

While centuries roll by. 

The soldiers of the Cross go forth, 

No victory they know, 
Unless, at home, the altars burn 

With warm devotion's glow. 


The world, perhaps, may laugh in scorn, 

But ruin, shame and blight 
That nation feels, where impious hands 

Have quenched that holy light. 

Oh, GOD the HOLY GHOST, whose breath 

First lit that living flame, 
When, on the Apostles' heads of old, 

In tongues of fire it came ; 

Still guarded by a faithful Church, 
May it more brightly burn, 

Till He, Who is the Light of light, 
Our LORD and KING, return! 


Srinitg Sun&aj}. 

Rev. v. 13, 14. 

WHEN Nature on her leafy bed, 
Sleeps through the long December night, 
The Church lifts up her patient head 
And watches for the Advent light. 

And when the sun returns again, 

With lengthening days the earth to bless, 

She sings her glad, triumphant strain, 

In the first thrill of opening spring 

Her days of penitence are set, 
Lest, rising on too joyful wing, 

We should the sinful past forget. 


When Nature wakes to sudden life, 
And finds that wintry snows are fled, 

The Church 'sings of victorious strife, 
" The LORD is risen from the dead" ! 

When, like new-fallen snowy drifts, 
The blossoms cluster on the trees, 

To GOD the HOLY GHOST she lifts 

Her prayer for fruitful boughs like these. 


But oh, the fulness and the glow, 

The light, the fragrance and the song, 

The days that only June can know 
To One great Name, alone, belong! 

Thus, in one glorious autiphone, 
Nature and Grace, in sweet accord, 

The FATHER, SON and SPIRIT own, 

And of both kingdoms hail Him LORD I 


dolled for tfje jFoitrtl) QuribaQ after 

OH, LORD, our Protector, to whom we belong, 
We are sinful and weak, Thou art holy and 
strong ; 

Though dangers affright, and temptations assail, 
Yet, trusting in Thee, our hearts shall not fail. 

We know that if Thou art our Ruler and Guide, 
Our way will be plain, and our steps shall not 

slide ; 

And, looking to Thee, as we journey along, 
The LORD our Salvation shall still be our song. 

Though thorny the road, yet our home draweth 


Unseal our dim vision, and make it appear ; 
Then, fixing our eyes on its glistening walls, 
We pass on, rejoicing, whatever befalls. 

And oh, when the bramble gives place to the rose, 
And soft verdant meadows invite to repose, 
Amid pleasures so fleeting, forbid us to stray, 

Life eternal to lose for what passes away. 

Some jewels we drop from our trembling clasp ; 
Some flowers will fade in our feverish grasp ; 
What matter, if only we hold, to the last, 
The gems that will brighten when ages roll pnst ? 


And when we shall come to the dark river's shore, 
Redeemer and Guide, Thou hast passed it before, 
Thou wilt lead us across, and then, low at Thy 

Thy praises, forever, our songs shall repeat. 


Collect for tJje igl)tfj Sunima after Srinitg. 

A LL things hurtful/' dost thou know 
\- What thou askest praying so, 

It may be the very thing 
That thy soul doth dearly love, 

That to which thy heart doth cling, 
Thou are praying, " Lord, remove" ! 
Canst thou, dar'st thou, thus to pray, 
"All things hurtful take away" ? 

" Things of profit", they may be 
Care and want and misery ; 
Days of toil, and nights of grief, 

Loneliness of heart and soul, 
Sickness finding no relief, 

Hunger fed by stranger's dole ! 
When thou prayest, dost thou know 
Thou wilt not be answered so ? 

Nay, whatever He remove, 

He will grant me still His love ; 

And whatever else He grant, 

He will give Himself to me ; 
Need I fear for earthly want, 

If the LORD my portion be ? 
Give me all things good, I pray, 
All things hurtful, take away ! 


St. itticljael cm& all Angels. 

A NGEL hosts, in strength excelling, 
XJL Ye whose very name is love, 
Now JEHOVAH'S praises telling, 
Bowing at His throne above : 
- Then, as if on eagle pinions, 

Downward through the radiant sky, 
To his uttermost dominions 
To fulfil His word ye fly. 

Now, with saddened looks descending, 

Where was wrought some deed of shame, 
Ye, the Eden gates defending, 

Conscience wake with sword of flame ; 
Ye, from out the doomed city 

To the righteous point a path, 
Then, repressing all your pity, 

Pour the vials of GOD'S wrath. 

When the pilgrim rests at even 

With a stone beneath his head, 
To the very gate of Heaven 

Ye can change that lowly bed! 
Ye, JEHOVAH'S law declaring, 

Teach His people life to win, 
Then, His awful judgments bearing, 

Smite them even in their sin. 


Hark ! the angel choir is singing, 

Shining with celestial light, 
And the joyful tidings bringing, 

"CHRST, your LORD, is born to-night" ! 
Happy they whom GOD selected 

On His Only Son to wait ! 
Though by man despised, rejected, 

Angels served His royal state. 

Angels came, the mourners cheering, 

" CHRIST is risen from the dead/' 
To the wondering twelve appearing, 

" Follow your ascended Head" ! 
For the captive, calmly sleeping, 

Whil'e the Church to GOD compl ains, 
Bolts and bars before him sweeping, 

Lo an angel breaks his chains ! 

The poor exile, in his vision, 

On the golden pavement stands, 
And he sees the hosts elysian, 

Michael and his warrior bands ; 
Angels seven, of retribution, 

Awful servants of the LORD, 
Saw he cleanse the earth's pollution 

With the vial and the sword. 


Still their ministry fulfilling, 

Angel hosts keep watch and ward, 
And with loving hearts and willing 

Still our feeble footsteps guard. 
Still they soothe the mourner's weeping, 

Still the lonely cell they grace, 
Still the children they are keeping, 

While they see our Father's face ! 

LORD, Whose love that overfloweth, 

In each darkened heart doth shine, 
Till the earthly love it knoweth 

Leads it up to the Divine ; 
Still, behind our angel keeping, 

May we own Thy tender care; 
Own the love that is unsleeping, 

Love that all Thy children share. 


l)e JHinistrg of Angela. 

THE angel host victorious, 
In ordered ranks they stand 
Around the Throne so glorious, 
Or speed at GOD'S command. 
Shall mortal man be shielded 

By creatures so divine ? 
Or Michael's sword be wielded 
For Adam's sinful line ? 

Yes ! even for this ascendeth 

To-day, the Church's prayer ; 
Since JESUS condescendeth 

Our human flesh to wear ! 
But angel hosts no blessing 

To faithless hearts can bring, 
Who fail His Name confessing, 

Of men and angels, King ! 

That Name the charm containeth 

That binds those spirits free, 
And hearts of flame constraineth 

Slaves of the Cross to be ; 
But woe to those refusing 

To own Him LORD of all, 
At their own peril choosing 

Spirits unbound to call ! 


Nor shall those angels holy 

Descend for him, whose pride 
Disdains the task most lowly, 

For love of Him Who died. 
One law His Kingdom bindeth, 

The humble shall be great, 
And he who serveth, findeth 

That angels on him wait. 


of all Saints. 

THE vigil of All Saints ! 
Awake, my soul, to prayer ; 
Oh, heart that fails and faints 
At all that thou must bear. 
Behold, serenely fair, 
The vision of All Saints. 

Far back the names begin, 

From righteous Abel slain, 
Till patriarch, prophet, psalmist win 

A place in that bright train, 
And join the joyful strain 

The New Song of All Saints. 

There holy Stephen kneels, 
And Peter mounts the Cross, 

And Paul in bonds and prison feels 
All earthly riches dross, 

And counts them all as loss, 
For CHRIST the King of Saints ! 

There, John his head reclines 

Upon his Master's breast, 
And Mary's virgin beauty shines, 

Above all women blest ; 
Not Queen of Heaven, but still confessed 

Foremost among All Saints. 


There James, killed by the sword 

The fiery Baptist there, 
Matthew called from his hoard, 

Nathanael from prayer ; 
Thomas, no longer doubting, share 

The glories of the Saints ! 

And then a glorious train, 
Whose numbers none can tell, 

White-robed, and palms in every hand, 
In joy unspeakable 

The ceaseless praises swell 

Of Him Who made them Saints. 

Why should I tell their names? 

No human praise they sought, 
Whether they trod through blood and flames, 

Or all unnoticed wrought 
His will, to serve Whom is the thought, 

The one Rule of All Saints. 

Some, like glad sunshine, burst 

On dens of woe and vice, 
And some through years of suffering nursed 

The flame of sacrifice : 
Alike, they rest in Paradise 

Among the blessed Saints. 


Nor yet their number is complete, 

For, from the Church below, 
For that inheritance made meet, 

Each year our loved ones go; 
And earth grows darker ; but we know 

They rest with all the Saints. 

LORD JESUS, give us strength, 

Who keep this vigil here, 
To follow them, till we at length, 

Unmoved by praise, unmoved by fear, 
Before Thy blessed face appear, 

To praise Thee with All Saints. 

Lo ! the first streak of dawn ; 

The midnight watch is o'er : 
All hail ! the festal morn, 
, The bridegroom shuts the door : 
Enter, tried soul, to leave no more 

The glad Feast of All Saints ! 


Cast Nigl)t of ilje gear. 

WAKE, careless soul, and watch this night 
and pray 
Beside this bier; 

Her breath, ere morning come, shall pass away 
This dying year. 

Kemember how she smiling came to thee, 

So young and fair ; 
Alas, now pale and drawn her wan cheeks be, 

And lined with care. 

Laden with many a rich and precious thing, 

From GOD she came ; 
Think, ere she die, of all that she did bring, 

And bless His Name. 

She daily strewed thy path with flowers 

Of love and peace : 
She sometimes brought thee studious hours 

Of rest and ease. 

She gave thee many a task, and duty, too, 

All for Love's sake ; 
Canst tell how sweet those daily duties grew, 

That Love did make ? 


Give thanks that she did bring thee, day by day, 

(This dying year), 
Some trembling feet to guide upon life's way, 

Some hearts to cheer. 

She brought to thee some weary nights of pain, 

Some feverish days ; 
Didst thou see Patience smiling in her train, 

With Prayer and Praise ? 

Say not she brought, then killed, some hopes most 

Not dead they be, 
They are transplanted to that Garden where 

They'll bloom for thee. 

She gave to thee, oh, thankless soul, each week, 

One day of rest ; 
Didst thou remember, then, thy LORD to seek 

To be thy Guest ? 

When morning flushed with joy the eastern skies, 

She brought thee light 

From GOD'S dear word, and closed thy weary 

With that, at night. 


Now, in the midnight chill and gloom, she died ; 

That groan her last ; 
Up to the very Throne of GOD she flies, 

Where lives the Past. 

Oh, kneel and offer now one hearty prayer, 

One earnest cry 
For pardon for the sins she must declare 

To GOD Most High ! 

Look, where her sister, with averted face, 

And covered hands, 

(Thou knowest not what they hold of woe or 

Before thee stands. 

Kneel on, but offer now an altered prayer, 

Thy pardon won ; 
Say, whatsoe'er of grief or pain she bear, 

" Thy will be done 1" 

Then rising, with a cheerful face receive 

The glad New Year ; 
To GOD thy present, past and future, leave, 

Thou needst not fear ! 


often Cegenfc. 

This is one of thermost striking of the Middle age Legends. It is 
founded on those mysterious verses, St. Matt, xxvii. 52, 53, and 
i Pet. ii. 19, 20; and Dante alludes several times to the account 
given in it of our LORD'S descent into Hell. 

AT length the awful day had reached its close, 
Day on whose like, before nor since, sun rose ; 
That saw the Prince of Life to death descend, 
Well might the sun grow dark, earth quake, rocks 

They met together, o'er their guilt to feast, 
Lawyers and Scribes, with Annas the High priest. 
What chills their joy? have they not slain the 

For which they watched and waited many a day ? 

What sudden light illumes the dusky room ? 
What shapes are these returning from the tomb ? 
They know them well dead sons of Simeon mild, 
Who, in the Temple, blest the Holy Child. 


They speak no word, but answering to their signs, 
They give to each a roll, where many lines 
They swiftly write, then vanish ; and, behold, 
The rolls compared do, each, one tale unfold. 

And, as they read, what terror and dismay 
To all their guilty souls the words convey ! 
Sudden, abrupt, the mystic scroll began 
No words superfluous and thus it ran : 

" Oh, Hell rejoice!" thus Satan cried, 
" Since Christ the Prince of Life has died ! 
His dreaded Kingdom has its end, 
Behold Him to thy shades descend." 

" But Hell made answer, sad and slow, 
<l I fear His coming works us woe ; 
Will he rest here, Who, strong to save, 
Called Lazarus from his four days grave?" 

" Such fearful words we trembling heard, 
When all the dusky air was stirred 
With beams of light and sweetest strain, 
As when the birds hail day again. 

" The choir of angels nearer came, 
And light and music shot like flame 
Through Hell's dark caverns, while their song 
Floated its arches all along : 


" Lift up your lofty gates on high, 
The King of Glory draweth nigh" ! 
" Who is the King of Glory, say" 
" The Lord, Who conquers you this day" ! 

" The massive gates rolled back, and He 
Whom ye this day slew on the tree 
Passed through them in majestic might, 
And Hell's dark caverns filled with light. 

" And round Him flocking to adore, 
Those faithful souls who long before 
Rejoiced to hail His distant reign 
Now gladly swell His conquering train ; 

" From Adam, Abraham, all the way 
To us who saw His natal day ; 
And in that dark abode so long 
Had waited their deliverer strong. 

" He through those awful gates again, 
While Satan gnashed his teeth in vain, 
Bore us to mansions calm and blest, 
Where we may in His Presence rest, 


" And peaceful wait, and hopeful pray, 
Till dawns, at last, the longed-for day, 
When soul and body meet again, 
His faithful with their Lord shall reign !" 

Such were the words they in those scrolls did 


And as they read, those guilty souls, what fright 
Made their knees tremble, whitened lip and cheek, 
AVhile each one longed and strove, yet feared to 


Another form appears, a well-known face, 
Where pain, and sin and passion leave their trace, 
Yes, holy peace now every feature fills, 
And with triumphant joy the deep voice thrills. 

" Lo, I am he who on the cross, this day, 
Hung by the Holy One Whom ye did slay : 
Who, even in dying, did a glory wear 
That flashed a light across my soul's despair ! 

" Those cruel thorns changed to a shining crown ; 
The cross, transformed, became a royal throne. 
I saw Messiah 'hanging from the tree/ 
And cried, in transport, 'Lord, remember me'! 


" Sweet was His smile, and soft His voice like 


Fell on my fevered heart, and healed its pain." 
"And didst thou know Me, through this sad 

Then shalt thou walk with Me, this day, in 

Paradise ; 

" Take thou this sign, and bear it to the gates 
And offer it, whatever angel waits ; 
For, from this day, howe'er defiled by sin, 
Whoever shows the Cross shall enter in." 

" When death released me, to the golden door 
This sign, upon my shoulders marked, I bore ; 
The pitying angel gave to me a place, 
I thence return to bid you seek His grace" ! 

Tliis legend in a quaint old book I read, 
And it was added that Hell's mansions dread, 
The walls thrown down, the dismal caverns rent, 
Still bore the marks of that Divine Descent. 

But if the priests and lawyers, when they heard 
The wondrous tale, repented at the word, 
The legend tells not ; let thine own heart say, 
Hell's gates resist not, but the proud soul may. 


Jflorittm te QalntanL 

The gladiators passing before the throne of Tiberius, when entering 
the arena, saluted him in these words. I have supposed the Christ- 
ians being led to martyrdom to do the same. 

DARK, awful power, now from thy throne 
Look on thy suffering subjects down, 
With scornful smile and cruel eye, 
To see them fight and bleed and die ! 
Our lives hang on thy word alone, 
We know it well, but not one groan 
Escapes our lips, no frantic prayer 
Wrung from the anguish of despair : 
With unblanched cheek and unmoved eye 
We pass thy radiant splendor by; 
Thy slaves in all things else, beside, 
Thine equals, Caesar, in thy pride ! 
Thou hast no power to make us quail, 
We, dying Romans, bid thee hail ! 

Oh, mighty monarch, thanks to thee, 
Who, on this day, dost set us free ! 
Hard is the fight, and sharp the pain, 
But at the end eternal gain. 
A mightier King is looking down, 
Who holds, for each, a victor's crown ! 
Isot to, but for thee, King, we pray 


That thou mayst be forgiven this day. 

Youths, maidens, men with hoary head, 

And matrons, by thy throne we're led, 

Serene, but not in stoic pride, 

Our trust is in the Crucified ! 

Thy power can ne'er our souls assail, 

We, dying Christians, bid thee hail ! 

Still stands that awful throne on high 

And still the ceaseless stream goes by 

In long procession, young and old ! 

And some with haughty mien, and bold, 

And some in fright, and dumb despair ; 

And some in agony of prayer ; 

And some with smiles, as who should say 

Lo, now, we put all care away ! 

And some, with them be mine a place, 

With awe that hopes for pardoning grace ; 

And some whose faces wear a light 

That streams from some far, heavenly height. 

To pass that throne not one shall fail, 

Oh Death, the dying bid thee hail ! 



On the south-west coast of England is a monument raised to the 
memory of the young girl whose heroism is recorded in the follow- 
ing verses. 

SWEET and tender as the violets, 
On a chilly April day ; 
Pare and holy as the lilies, 

And as soon to fade away ; 
Born to be a pet and darling, 

Born to be some brave heart's queen ; 
Dying far from friends and kindred ; 
Dying, only seventeen ! 

Soft and gentle through the voyage, 

As a child we held her dear, 
Saint and heroine we found her 

In that awful night of fear, 
Meeting such a death of horror 

Just when life most brightly smiled, 
With the courage of a martyr, 

And the meekness of a child ! 


'Mid the darkness, and the tempest, 

Struck the ship upon a rock ; 
And from helm to bow-sprit quivered, 

With the horror of the shock ; 
Spake the captain, " Hope is over, 

Men prepare, for death is near !" 
To the spirit room descending, 

Mad, they sought to drown their fear. 

At the door the maiden met them, 

Like an angel clothed in white, 
And her voice rang like a trumpet ; 

" Be not beasts, but men, to-night ! 
Well I know this coast, these billows 

Beat around my childhood's home." 
(Here, perhaps, the clear voice trembled, 

And the gathering tears would come). 

" And if one man has the courage 

Round his waist to bind a rope, 
And to take it through the breakers 

To those rocks, there yet is hope." 
Then the roughest sailor answered, 

With a look of shame he spoke; 
" That is true, and I will venture, 

I will bear it to the rock." 


Soon three ropes were safely fastened, 

And, amid the howling blast, 
All the women, and the children, 

Trembling, crying, safely passed ; 
Where was she, the maid heroic ? 

In the rigging, safely bound, 
With the sea- spray dashing o'er her, 

And the tempest raging round ! 

And, from out her little prayer book, 

By the swinging light, read she 
The prayers for those in peril 

Of shipwreck, on the sea. 
The bravest hearts were strengthened 

By those words of holy cheer, 
And even the little children 

Could half forget their fear. 

The women, and the children 

Were safe upon the shore, 
And the captain came to take her 

Who would not go before, 
One moment, and the vision 

Came rushing on her sight, 
Of the circle at the fireside, 

Who thought of her, that night ! 


One moment ! then she answered, 

" Let the fathers and the sons 
On whom so many lives depend, 

Go to those helpless ones !" 
Then, from out her little prayer book, 

By the ship's dim light, read she 
The prayers for those in peril 

Of shipwreck, on the sea ! 

But seven of all those hundreds 

Were left upon the wreck, 
And the captain had unbound her, 

When a sea swept o'er the deck ; 
Only one of those last seven 

In safety reached the land ; 
In the morn they found the maiden, 

Lying lifeless on the sand ! 

All loosely, round her figure, 

Hung that long, soft, golden hair, 
One hand, upon her bosom, 

Clasped the little book of prayer, 
The other held her garments, 

With a sweet and modest grace, 
One little foot uncovered, 

And a smile on her dead face I 


She rests with her Eedeemer, 

Who ransomed her from death, 
And whose dear name she uttered, 

In yielding up her breath, 
Till the morn of Resurrection 

Bids storms and darkness flee, 
And then, O blessed promise, 

There shall be " no more sea 7 ' ! 


tyaven of 

Then are they glad because they are at rest ; He bringeth them to the 
haven where they would be. Ps. cvii. 

GLAD, not with the gladness of crowned am- 

Not in a bark that comes riding at ease, 
Not with the gladness of Hope's bright fruition, 
Not with full sails, and a prospering breeze ! 

Nay, with a vessel before the storm driven, 
With cargo thrown over, masts lost, and sails 

Yet the storm passes on, not in vain have they 

For life is not lost, and they are content ; 

Contented ? yea, glad, for the anguish is over, 
The sun shineth bright on a clear, glassy sea, 

And, far in the distance their eyes may discover 
The haven of rest where their souls fain would 


And oh, in Life's storm, though the bright hopes 

have perished, 
The warmth, and the glow, and the dew of our 


The treasures so dear that our longing hearts cher- 

Gone down 'neath the billows of sorrow and 
ruth ; 

If the vessel of faith shall outride that fierce ocean, 
Nor the life of the spirit be lost in the wave, 

Heaven's calm shall repay us Life's wildest com- 
The LORD, our REDEEMER, is mighty to save ! 

And oh, when the soul that dear haven attaineth, 
How glad and how blessed that tried soul shall 


Forever to dwell in "the rest that remaineth," 
For the promise is sure, there shall be no more 


l)e Suilbing tlje to alls. 

" And the walls shall be built, even in troublous times." 
Dan. ix. 25. 

WITH one hand the trowel wielding, 
While the other held the sword, 
Such has ever been the building 
Of the City of the LORD ! 

Thus was laid her sure foundation 

Long ago, in troublous time, 
In the last great tribulation 

Shall they rear her towers sublime. 

When men dwell at ease, securely, 
Ah ! how oft the building stays, 

But it rises fast arid surely, 

In the dark and troublous days. 

Let us rise then to our duty, 

Work and watch, in faith and prayer, 
Till, at length, in all her beauty 

Zion rise, complete and fair ! 

Let no threatening make us falter, 
Treacherous friend, nor open foe, 

Care we not how times may alter, 
If our glorious work may grow. 


What, though evil men oppress us, 
He, who says Arise and build, 

In the work He gives will bless us, 
And His word must be fulfilled. 

His the plan, and His the glory, 
In His Name the walls we raise, 

When we crown the topmost story, 
His, alone, shall be the praise I 


Qt. Bernard emir tlje historian, Onbbon. 

See Chapt 59 of the Decline and Fall. 

F IKE some fair, captive princess sleeping, 
JLJ Calm lay the lovely lake Lucerne, 
Their silent watch around her keeping, 
Stood the cold Alps, like warders stern. 

And, ere the sun, with glances tender, 
Might kiss the lake that lay below, 

The herald, dawn, with golden splendor, 
Must touch each peak of ice and snow. 

Upon the shore there walked, each morning, 

A monk of such celestial mind 
That he, all earthly beauty scorning, 

Could walk unconscious, as the blind. 

And when within their convent dwelling 
Of that fair scene his brethren spake, 

And praised its beauty all excelling, 
And where, then, said he, is this lake ? 

Oh, fool, like dew thy Maker's blessing 
Fell on the earth, and named it good, 

And shouldst not thou, His praise confessing, 
Thank Him Who gave thine eyes such food ? 


Did not thy Lord, upon the mountain, 
Mark each fair lily, where it grew, 

While He from vine, and field, and fountain, 
His holy lessons daily drew ? 

Ages past by, and still the glory 

Each morning touched those mountains stern, 
And he, who tells this quaint old story, 

Dwelt now by lovely lake Lucerne. 

Each day with ardor unabated 

He wrote the tale of Home's decay, 

And then, with rapture never sated, 
He watched the daylight fade away. 

And yet, perhaps, in angels' vision, 

The vapor of a carnal mind, 
More than the veil of superstition, 

Has power to make its victim blind ! 

For he, that scene each day beholding, 
Thought not of Him Who made it fair, 

And Night, the weary Earth enfolding, 
Awoke no voice of praise and prayer,: 


Nay more, while tracing through the ages 

The causes of an empire's fall, 
He never named, in all his pages, 

The GOD Who planned and ordered all ! 

A GOD, from all Himself concealing, 
Who on His creatures looks not down ; 

Nor love, nor wrath, nor pity feeling, 
His philosophic mind could own. 

The Holy GOD of Kevelatiou, 

The sinner loving, hating sin, 
Who gave Himself for man's salvation, 

Only a scornful smile could win ; 

"I only know of one religion 

Whose God and sacrifice are one" ; 

And whence, then, came this strange tradition, 
Differing from all beneath the sun ? 

No answer comes ! Beside the ocean 
Of that great Love, so vast and deep, 

He walks, and yet with no emotion 
Of love or joy his heart doth leap. 

Ah ! happy he who GOD beholdeth 
In all His works, with vision clear, 

And then the Tale of Love unfoldeth, 
And finds Him in His Word most dear. 


' 6tair0. 

I SAW a flight of marble stairs, 
I saw a kneeling crowd 
Crawl slowly up, with many prayers, 
Hands clasped, and faces bowed. 

They told me 't was the very flight 

Up which, with weary feet, 
The SAVIOUR went, that last sad night, 

His heathen judge to meet. 

And they who on their knees ascend 
Those stairs, though foul with sin, 

Are sure, when they have reached the end, 
Pardon and peace to win ! 

I saw the pilgrims on their knees, 
I heard their muttered prayers, 

And yet I could not think that these 
Were truly Pilate's Stairs ! 

They who in heart have followed CHRIST, 
With meek and patient feet, 

Who all for Him have sacrificed, 
And found the offering" sweet, 


Who walk with Him through grief and pain, 
Through sickness, want and cares, 

Who count for Him all loss but gain, 
These kneel on Pilate's Stairs. 

They who, where vice and ignorance dwell 

His blessed Name declare, 
Nor shun the felon in his cell, 

Are climbing Pilate's Stair : 

They who the world's reproach and blame, 

And cruel mockings bear, 
And count it joy to suffer shame 

With Him mount Pilate's Stair! 

But when, at last, they reach the end, 

They see the gates of gold! 
The gates roll back, and lo, within, 

They their dear LORD behold ; 

Then shall the weary pilgrims meet, 
To praise shall turn their prayers, 

And they shall worship at His feet, 
Who first trod Pilate's Stairs. 


Home, above an& beloto. 

UP above, the churches, in their jewelled 

And waving censers, with their rich perfume, 
Down below, the rudely hewu-out arches, 

The cave-like chapels, and the mouldering 

Up above, the ever-burning candles, 
And costly altars, by their light displayed, 

Down below, the glaring of the lurid torches 
Shows where the saints in endless twilight 

Above, the gaudy shrines of the Madonna, 
Pictures of saints by kneeling crowds adored, 

Below, the Fish, the Dove, and the Good Shepherd , 
And simple altars where they sought the 

Above, the worshipped relics of the martyrs, 
A thousand-fold oh wonder, multiplied, 

Below, the tomb, and rudely-sculptured palm- 
And words of praise to JESUS crucified. 


Above, the daily, oft-repeated masses, 

For souls in torment, that their pain may cease, 

Below, the simple, hopeful, sweet inscription, 
" He suffered and he sleeps" ; " He rests in 

Oh, that the spirit of the brave old martyrs* 
Might fill the Churches, walk the streets of 

And we, no more, amid the dust of ages, 
Need seek the Faith, down in the Catacomb ! 


lje f) aster's Sale. 

rjIHE Church was free-stone, and was floored 

With costly marble tiles, 
The light through gorgeous windows poured, 
Grand were the arched aisles ; 

One thing was wanting to complete 

The beauty of the shrine, 
A service for the Altar, meet 

To hold the Bread and Wine. 

The plainest service, if 't were real, 

I would use gladly there, 
It made my soul revolt to feel 

That this was plated ware. 

And so I told my flock, one day, 

Their choicest hoards to bring, 
The sacred relics put away, 

The cup, the spoon, the ring ; 

For we should offer to the LORD 

The thing we hold most dear, 
More precious than the richest hoard 

The gift that costs a tear ! 


The thought once dropped was like a seed, 

More like a coal of fire ; 
From heart to heart it spread with speed, 

Till I had my desire. 

As for the tabernacle of old, 

When Moses gave command, 
They brought the silver and the gold, 

Fit for the workman's hand. 

And with each gift I heard a tale 

Of hopes laid in the tomb, 
Of joys like withered flowers grown pale, 

No more on earth to bloom. 

One woman, friendless, poor and old, 
In our Church Home had found a rest, 

No hoard was her's of gems or gold, 
Yet still one treasure she possessed ; ' 

A silver thimble ! Years had fled 
Since one who claimed her for his own 

Had given it her, and, smiling, said, 

With this you '11 sew your wedding gown. 

He sailed, one final voyage to make, 
The ship went down, with all on board; 

The gift so treasured for his sake, 
Was it not precious to the LORD ? 


A silver cup, (a simple note 

Came with it) next to me was brought ; 
"My christening cup," the young girl wrote, 

May it be in the chalice wrought? 

" A trembling hope I have, most sweet, 

I daily turn it into prayer, 
That when the service is complete, 

I may the Cup of Blessing share." 

Hers was a wish sincere and true, 
And when the Bishop came in Lent, 

She knelt, the promise to renew, 
At Easter, for the Sacrament. 

For every offering that was brought 
Keturned to bless the giver's heart ; 

He loses all, who giveth naught, 
He only gains who doth impart. 

A member of my parish came, 

"Who always seemed reserved and cold, 

I scarcely knew him save by name, 
Yet touching was the tale he told ; 

A tiny box he held with care, 

Which, opened, to my view displayed 

A golden dollar, bright and fair, 
On folds of silver paper laid. 


For twenty years his child had slept, 

His only son, beneath the sod ; 
And for his sake his parents kept 

This token, yielded, now, to GOD. 

And like the smitten rock that shed 
Fresh streams o'er all the arid plain, 

Touched by the memory of the dead, 
The stern man's heart grew soft, again. 

We wept together, what was said 
My lips, of course, will ne'er repeat, 

But, by his buried darling led, 

At length he found the SAVIOUR'S feet. 

And at the font he washed away 

The sins so late in life deplored. 
Sure, there was joy in heaven that day, 

Over the wanderer restored ! 

To me these Holy Vessels fair, 

Shine with a more than earthly light ; 

For pearls from tears distilled, are there, 
And gems of love, by grace made bright. 

'Tis gold and silver, tried by fire, 
Wherein the LORD His image sees! 

LORD, grant again my heart's desire, 
As Thou hast blest me now with these ; 


When Thou shalt make Thy jewels up, 
May every soul that gave its own, 

To form the paten and the cup, 
Shine ever, in Thy glorious crown ! 


3n itye 

Deut. viii. 15, 16. 

IN the wilderness, 
The great and terrible wilderness, 
CHRIST Himself is the pilgrim's bread, 
The manna wherewith the soul is fed ; 
And He my table will prepare, 
As long as I shall journey there ; 
Himself the food, and the Priest to bless, 
What can I lack in the wilderness ? 

In the wilderness, 
The great and terrible wilderness, 
From the burning sand I need not shrink, 
Fqr CHRIST, Himself, shall give me drink; 
And He, who deigned, at Hagar's cry, 
To show the fountain, springing nigh, 
Shall bid, from the rock, in my sore distress, 
Kivers to flow in the wilderness ! 

In the wilderness, 
The great and terrible wilderness, 
CHRIST is the Angel Who leads the way, 
In fire by night, and in cloud by day ! 
Though rugged, dear LORD, the road may be, 
I cannot be lost, while I follow Thee ; 
In the way of the Cross my feet shall press, 
'Till I reach the end of the wilderness. 


In the -wilderness, 
The great and terrible wilderness, 
CHRIST, alone, is my stay and strength, 
And I need not fear its awful length ; 
No danger shall e'er the soul alarm 
That leans alone on His faithful arm, 
For the LORD, our only RIGHTEOUSNESS, 

Is our Rock of strength in the wilderness ! 

In the wilderness, 
The great and terrible wilderness, 
CHRIST is my food, my drink and my guide, 
My stay and defence, whatever betide ! 
And if I shall reach the glorious Land, 
By the River of Life, where the palm trees stand, 
How gladly shall I the love confess 

That led me safe through the wilderness ! 

JAEL. 77 


YES, Ishmael and Zarah, come lean against 
my knee, 
And hear the dreadful story that you have asked 

of me; 

How, in your father's tent, one day, I slew a trust- 
ing guest, 

Nay, start not back in terror, for JEHOVAH called 
me blest. 

Blessed above all women, in Arab tents who 

And He has showered down blessings upon my 
happy home; 

No larger herds, no swifter steeds feed in the pas- 
tures round, 

No fairer children than my own, in all the tribe 
are found. 

And a loving, faithful wife, I have ever been, and 

And a tender, patient mother, oh, my children, 

unto you ; 
Yet that day I did not shrink from the hammer 

and the nail, 
And no tenderness nor pity made my dreadful 

purpose fail. 

78 JAEL. 

When GOD revealed to Deborah that a woman it 

Who, from their cruel bondage the Israelites 

should free, 
I shuddered with foreboding, lest I should be the 

For when the LORD hath spoken, His word it 

must be done ! 

And on the day of battle, I blest GOD that far 

From my husband's tent, the armies had mar- 
shalled their array ; 

But in the suitry noon-tide, as I stood at my tent- 

A man came rushing onward, begrimed with 
dust and gore. 

'Twas Sisera, the captain of the Canaanitish host, 
His men were dead or scattered, and the battle 

it was lost; 
He asked for food and shelter, and oh, I tried to 

" Neither shelter nor refreshment of a woman ask, 

this day ! 

JAEL. 79 

Pass on, no foe so dreadful lurks in forest or in 

field ;" 
But the words I could not utter, my lips seemed 

closely sealed, 
And something in my bosom said, aiid said it not 

in vain, 
" From Heber's tent-door, Jael, let him not go out 

again !" 

So forlorn he looked and weary, my heart with 

pity bled, 
And when he asked for water I gave him milk 

I spread a blanket o'er him, and promised watch 

to keep, 
And from weariness and sorrow he sank away to 


And then, I cannot tell you what turned my heart 

to stone, 
Nor how these hands could do it, but only it was 

done ! 
And Israel thenceforward had peace throughout 

their land, 
For GOD their foe delivered into a woman's 


80 JAEL. 

And in the song of Barak it is written that I, Jael, 
Put my hand unto the hammer, my right hand 

to the nail, 
Therefore, above all women, this woman shall be 

Though not in favored Israel she builds her happy 


My children, great and holy is the GOD of Israel, 
And happy are the people with whom He deigns 

to dwell ; 
And we too, who know His Name, must not 

shrink from His command, 
Who turned to steel a woman's heart, and nerved 

a woman's hand ! 

But, oh, my children ! I will pray that y our's may 

never be 
So hard a task as that to which, that day, He 

called me ; 
GOD grant you strength to do His will, with 

hearts as firm and true, 
But to a life of gentle deeds, I trust, He calleth 


JAEL. 81 

When I am dead, I know they'll say, " Her heart 
was cold and hard, 

And, faithless to her trusting guest, contempt be 
her reward ;" 

I shall not heed them, when these hands are clasp- 
ed in peaceful rest, 

Since for the bloody work they did, JEHOVAH 
called me blest ! 


t) SoUriers of tlje QTrcss. 

" They hungered and thirsted for Jerusalem alone." Old Chronicle. 

OH, brethren, on whose forehead was made the 
sacred sign, 
That marked you out as soldiers in a warfare 

most divine, 
Leave your pleasures and ambitions, be your 

quarrels all foregone, 

Ye should hunger and be thirsty for Jerusalem 

Let no flattery beguile you, let no danger you 

" God wills" and " He will aid us" * be your bat- 
tle cry to-day ; 

Nor count your conflicts over, till the citadel is 

Ye must hunger and be thirsty for Jerusalem 

Alas, how many soldiers have laid the cross aside* 

Or fought for earthly kingdoms, or with infidels 
allied ; 

Yet some, through all the ages, God has num- 
bered for his own, 

Who hungered and who thirsted for Jerusalem 

* " Dieu veut, and Dieu aidera," the battle-cry of the Crusaders. 


There are souls, and ye may know them by their 
upward glance serene, 

By their patience, and their meekness, and their 
lowliness of mien, 

Who danger, pain and hardships, yea and pleas- 
ure's wiles have known, 

Yet, who hunger and are thirsty for Jerusalem 
alone ; 

They pass the Golden City, and the desert's burn- 
ing sand, 

And Satan's hosts are conquered, in Jerusalem 
they stand ; 

And think ye that among them regret is ever 

Who hungered once, and thirsted, for Jerusalem 

Again the foe is rising for a fiercer battle yet, 

Sound the trumpet, lift your banner, let the bat- 
tle ranks be set ! 

"Goo wills," and "He will aid us," and His 
saints are looking on, 

Who hungered, and who thirsted for Jerusalem 


Their conflicts all are over, for the Cross they 

bear the palm, 
For the battle-cry they shouted, they sing the 

victor's psalm ! 
GOD grant to us the glory to stand with them 

round His throne, 
Who hungered and who thirsted for Jerusalem 

alone ! 


Stye Ccmtr 0f Kest. 

Heb. iv. g. 

FOR " there remaineth still a rest," 
Thus speaks the Word of GOD ; 
Peace, by no anxious cares distrest, 
For wounded hearts a refuge blest, 
Pardon, for souls by guilt opprest, 
Where is that fair abode ? 

For men of halcyon isles have told, 

And Gardens of the Blest, 
Of lands whose very fruit is gold ; 
But when they sought, with footsteps bold, 
That land, came Death, the tyrant old, 

And ended all their quest. 

Our sails by every breeze are fanned, 

We fly on wings of steam ; 
No more the haunted forests stand, 
Our maps have, now, no unknown land ; 
But yet we have not found that strand, 

The Rest whereof we dream ! 

The sea of Time, with angry roar, 

Casts, ever, at our feet 
The ancient arts, the mighty lore 
Of all the centuries gone before, 
Yet for this single secret more 

We may, in vain, entreat ! 


Oh, 'tis no earthly Paradise, 

As sing the poets vain ; 
Faith sees it shine beyond the skies, 
Hope fastens there her longing eyes, 
And Love with eager pinion flies 

Her native air to gain ! 

No sin, nor death those shores affright, 

Nor sorrow's harpy wing ; 
Sin flies before that holy light, 
Death's conqueror reigns in glory bright, 
And sorrow 'mid untold delight 

Becomes a nameless thing. 

But what if we, to whom is given 

The promise of such bliss, 
Idly, by sin and passion driven, 
Should waste the powers that might have striven 
That port to gain, and unforgiven, 

At last that Rest should miss ? 

There streams a light across the sea, 

We need not blindly roam ; 
However dark the night may be 
The Cross shines out divinely free, 
Yes, storm-tossed soul, it shines for thee, 

Oh, let it guide thee home ! 


l)e Ko0e of Sa:icl)0. 

This is a very curious plant which grows in the East, by the road- 
side, in the crevices of the houses, on rocks and in the desert, seeming to 
need neither moisture nor soil for its growth and blossoming. But in the 
Autumn it withers, and leaves and stem curl into a tight ball. In this 
state it is easily uprooted by the sirocco which carries it for many miles, 
and at last drops it into the ocean. There, floating on the waves, it draws 
in the moisture it has lived so long without , and its seeds form and swell. 
It is then cast again by the surf on the shore, and the seeds scattered 
by every breeze. 

AND was it not enough that, meekly growing, 
In lack of all things wherein plants delight, 
Cool dews, rich soil, and gentle showers refreshing, 
It yet could blossom into beauty bright ? 

In the hot desert, in the rocky crevice, 
By dusty waysides, on the rubbish heap, 

Where'er the Lord appoints, it smiles believing 
That where He planteth, He will surely keep ! 

Nay, this is not enough, the fierce sirocco 
Must root it up, and sweep it from its home, 

And bear it miles away, across the desert, 
Then fling it, ruthless, on the white sea- foam. 

Do they thus end, those lives of patient duty, 
That grow, through every grief and pain more 

Are they thus cast aside, at length, forgotten? 
Ah no ! my story is not ended there. 


Those roots upon the waves of ocean floating, 
That in their desert homes no moisture knew, 

Now, at the Fount their life-long thirst are 

Whence rise the gentle shower, the nightly dew. 

They drink the quickening streams through every 


Until with hidden life each seed shall swell ; 
Then come the winds of GOD, His word fulfilling, 
And bear them back, where He shall please to 

Thus live meek spirits, duly schooled to duty, 
The whirlwind storm may sweep them from 
their place, 

What matter if by that affliction driven 
Straight to their GOD, the Fountain of all grace? 

And when, at length, the final trial cometh, 
Though hurled to unknown worlds, they shall 

not die, 
Borne not by winds of wrath, but GOD'S own 


They feed upon His love, and dwell beneath 
His eye. 


Till by the angel of the resurrection 

One awful blast through heaven and earth be 


Then, soul and body, met no more to sunder 
That all GOD'S ways are true and just shall 
own ! 


JWjotwI) Qljammal). 

Ezekiel xlviii. 35. 

LONG have we wandered, far and wide, 
Nor yet those shining walls descried, 
Oh, for some guide, to show us where 
That City stands, " The LOKD is there ! " 

Its walls and towers are manifold 

Its gates are cedar wrought with gold ; 

The City lies an even square, 

Its name is called " The LORD is there." 

But we are weary, sore distressed, 

And soul and body long for rest ; 

When shall we reach that City fair, 

Whose name is called " The LORD is there ? " 

" That City is of heavenly birth, 
And, till her KING return to earth, 
The Bride no sceptred rule can bear, 
No city call ' The LORD is there. ' " 

" No crown her widowed brow adorns, 
Her LORD wore only one of thorns, 
She waits for Him in faith and prayer, 
Till she can say, ' The LORD is there ? ' " 


" Wait thou in patience at her side, 
With her, in poverty abide, 
Ere long thou shalt her triumph share, 
And gladly cry ' The LORD is there ! ' " 

" Then, robed and crowned, a joyful train, 

Her children hail their LORD again, 

And enter, all, the City fair, 

Whose name is called, ' The LORD is there ! ' " 


& Summer (Setting. 

THE mountains rise in purple gloom, 
Against the golden sky, 
The air is filled with faint perfume, 
The lengthening shadows lie 

O'er new mown fields; some spell has hushed 

All sound of beast and bird, 
Nor, by the faintest zephyr moved, 

The poplar leaves are stirred. 

The golden light, the deepening shade, 

The silence and the calm, 
Seem for the weary spirit made, 

Like drops of sweetest balm. 

'Tis but a moment, soon, again, 

From every bush and tree, 
The birds shall chant their evening strain, 

And fill the air with glee. 

That setting sun perhaps may rise 

' Mid showers of driving rain, 
And I must lift, with opening eyes, 

My daily cross, again ! 


What matter ! one such hour as this 
Gives strength to do and bear ; 

The foretaste of the heavenly bliss, 
The end of faith and prayer, 

That golden light shall never fade, 

No shadows, there, grow long, 
And if a hush in heaven is made 

'Tis for the angel's song ! 

LORD JESUS, be my strength, 
Though toil and cares increase, 

Till 'mid the evening shades at last, 
My soul depart in peace. 


of Jftib-Smnnter. 

" The grass withereth, the flower fadeth, but the word of the LORD 
atideth forever." i Peter, i, 24, 25. 

THE glory of Mid-summer! slow ascending, 
The year attains that passion of delight, 
When sun, and breeze, and shower, their influ- 

ence lending, 
Conduct her to that throne so soft and bright. 

The glory of Mid-summer ! quickly waning 
The music, and the fragrance and the glow, 

Of all her pomp not one faint shred remaining 
When sleeps the earth beneath December's 

The glory of Mid-summer ! weep not though she 

For fainting hearts the lesson is not vain, 
That He, who all this fervid life supplieth, 

Brings June from winter, glory out of pain ! 

The glory of Mid-summer ! thus, for ages, 
The seasons fail not, though the earth grows old ; 

And Life with Death a ceaseless conflict wages, 
Each gains a victory that it cannot hold. 


The glory of Mid-summer, eyes that love her 
No more shall look upon her shining bloom ; 

No rays can pierce the clods their dust that cover, 
No voice of birds recall them from the tomb ! 

The glory of Mid-summer ! briefly smiling, 
Faint image of the heavenly, endless bliss, 

Beware lest, earthly joys our hearts beguiling, 
We grasp the shadow, and the substance miss. 


Stye UJeatl) 0f ttye Summer. 

HOW does the Summer die ? 
In quiet, slow decay, 
Watching with weary, languid eye 
Her glories fade away ? 

How does the summer die ? 
Mourning her lost delights, 

Her glorious June, her strong July, 
Her August's dewy nights ? 

How does the summer die? 
A crowned and radiant queen, 

With glowing cheek, and tearless eye 
She passes from the scene ! 

It had been hard to go, 

When tender, rosy May 
Called forth her blossoms from the snow, 

And smiled the frost away. 

It had been hard to go, 

When June with song and flowers, 
And all of bliss that earth can know, 

Crowded the raidant hours. 


It had been hard to go 

From July's life intense, 
To leave the light, the warmth, the glow 

That quickens every sense ! 

It would be hard to go, 

When fields of waving grain, 

And all the fruit of August show 
She has not lived in vain. 

But now, there comes a breath 

Of something in the air, 
That bids her not for life but death, 

Her festive robes prepare ! 

She answers with a smile, 

I am content saith she, 
My children left my side ere while, 

What has earth left for me ? 

Oh, skies of Autumn weep, 

Oh winds of Autumn sigh, 
Since bravely, for her last long sleep, 

A queen lies down to die ! 

Sept. 17, 1877. 


l)e Sattle 0f Ce^ington. 

ONLY a lantern's double light, 
Only a horseman's speedy flight, 
Only a petty village fight, 

A hundred years ago ! 

They had no thought of storied fame, 
They only watched, with hearts aflame, 
For the call of duty when it came 

A hundred years ago. 

Long since their hearts have ceased to beat, 
Who hung the lantern, and rode so fleet, 
And fought, at morn, in the village street, 
A hundred years ago. 

But still that lantern its light doth pour, 
Still echoes that shot the whole world o'er, 
Still thrills the message that horseman bore, 
A hundred years ago ! 

And now, with cannon, music and bell, 
Their children's children meet to tell 
The praise of those who fought so well, 
A hundred years ago ! 



But oh, let them think, while yet they may, 
That the deeds they work, the words they say, 
Shall live when men shall call to day 
A hundred years ago ! 


31 JUag in Smte. 

Written, June s8th, 1877, the day after the destruction of the city of 
St. John, N. B., by fire, and at the beginning of the bloody Russian 
campaign of that year. 

A meadow sweet with the new mown grass, 
Over which the changing shadows pass 
Of snow clouds, that sail the sky, 
While clear the distant mountains lie, 

In glorious June. 

The fragrance, the light, the bursts of song, 
No words but must do their sweetness wrong, 
The tender evening, the firefly's light, 
The softened glow of a moonlit night 

In glorious June ! 

The tramp of horses, the cannon's roar, 
The groans of the wounded, when all is o'er, 
The ghastly piles of stiffening dead, 
With the pale moonlight around them shed, 

In glorious June. 

A spark, a smoke, and a burst of flame, 
And none knows how, or whence it came, 
But the city, at morning so gay and bright, 
In ashes lies in the calm moonlight 

Of glorious June. 

A DAY > 7TL^E. 101 

Such are the sights 
Such joy and sorrow the'great earth folds 
In her breast, while He, who sees it all, 
Marks even the sparrows when they fall, 

In glorious June. 

Thy kingdom come, oh, PRINCE OF PEACE, 
Return, and bid such horrors cease ! 
Then earth shall smile beneath Thy sway, 
As in one long and perfect day 

Of glorious June. 



July 4, 1876. 

TO-DAY the fathers made their choice, 
Each set thereto his hand, 
Then bid me, with a mighty voice, 
Ring Freedom through the land 1 

And now, ten thousand cannons roar, 

Ten thousand bells are rung, 
And through the land, from shore to shore, 

Is freedom's banner flung. 

'Tis well, oh sons of patriot sires, 

Your fathers' deeds to tell, 
And light, anew, the holy fires 

They kindled, once, so well I 

But listen and let fancy bear 

A warning note from me, 
Though borne upon the startled air 

No more my voice shall be. 

Your fathers' lives were pure and true, 

We honor them to-day ; 
When children's children speak of you, 

Are such the words they '11 say ? 


Think not that chains of custom bind, 

And glory's paths are few ; 
The hero's heart will always find 

A hero's work to do ! 

High deeds of lofty thoughts are born, 

Be simple, just and pure, 
And treat no human rights with scorn, 

So shall your fame be sure. 

So, linked with theirs on Honor's page 
Your names inscribed shall be ; 

While other bells, from age to age 
Proclaim, this land is free ! 


Lines written on Dr, Howe's second mission to Greece, April, 1867. 

BLOW, gently blow, oh, western gales ! 
And swiftly on, our vessel bear, 
The smile of GOD is on her sails, 

Her course is sped by many a prayer. 

Oh, stormy sea! whose angry tide 

In ebb and flow can find no rest, 
To thee our treasure we confide, 

Oh, bear it safely on thy breast : 

Then, waft our ship, thou lovely sea, 
Whose tideless waves still whisper peace 

In vain, to lands that are not free, 

And bring her to the shores of Greece. 

Oh, land beloved ! thine ancient fires, 

Though smothered long, now burn once more, 

Thy sons are worthy of their sires, 
For thee the tyrant's reign is o'er. 

But when your need was sorest, then 
A greeting came from o'er the seas, 

From lands beyond your fathers' ken, 
Beyond the famed Hesperides. 


We sent you stores of food and gold, 

Nor these alone ; we sent to you 
A man cast in heroic mould, 

Fertile to plan, and brave to do. 

And when, at last, the fight was won, 

Did he remain to wear your bays, 
Or think that his life-work was done, 

Even in those great and glorious days ? 

Ah no ! to labor for his kind, 

Back to New England's shores he came ; 
The poor, the dumb, the slave, the blind, 

All have on him an equal claim. 

And now, when to their mother-land, 
The " isles of Greece" for succor cry, 

Women and children throng thy strand, 
Husbands and sons remain to die ; 

Again we send you food and gold, 
Again, dear Greece, we send to you 

Your champion, now in years grown old, 
In heart as young, as brave and true ! 

Receive him ! on the golden scroll 

Of benefactors of the race, 
Two continents his name enroll, 

And give to him a foremost place. 


Oh, Crete ! thou yet shalt overcome, 
As surely as our GOD is true, 

The host of poor, of blind, and dumb 
"Who pray for him, will pray for you ! 


lje Hospital Nurses Storg. 

NOT a murmur past his dying lips, 
Tho' his distress was sore ; 
Far from his mother and his friends 

He sleeps in Baltimore. 
A widow's only son was he, 

And only just sixteen, 
And yet he died that cruel death 
With calmness so serene ! 

He called me to his side that night, 

He knew that death was nigh, 
" Come sit by me, awhile," he said, 

" Be near me when I die ; 
But read me from the Holy Book, 

Of love that cannot fail, 
Of Him who my kind Shepherd is, 

Who lights this gloomy vale." 

I read the soothing, solemn words, 

My voice was strong and clear, 
I did not dare to weep, while I 

His dying hours could cheer. 
" Now pray with me," he said, but this 

I felt I could not do, 
For such a saintly soul as his 

No words of mine could sue. 


He took his little Prayer-book worn, 

That lay beneath his head, 
And the prayers he pointed out to me 

I knelt by him and read. 
Oh, prayers of our dear mother, 

That from the very spring 
Beneath GOD'S throne, in life and death 

Such strength and comfort bring ! 

Then he told me of his mother, 

And the little farm that he 
Had bought her with his soldier-pay 

That she at ease might be. 
Tell her not to sell the house away, 

But let the farm instead, 
And so she all her days will have 

A shelter for her head. 

" Give her my dying love, and cut 

A curl from her boy's hair ; 
And now you're tired, and so am I, 

Lean back in your great chair ; 
I too, can sleep awhile, I think, 

But let me hold your hand, 
I'll press it when I need you, yes, 

I see you understand. 


He closed his eyes, and though in pain, 

Still wore that peaceful smile. 
Worn out with watching, and with grief, 

I dozed a little while ; 
At length he pressed my hand, ah me, 

I saw that awful look, 
That shade of death, upon his face, 

That cannot be mistook ! 

The soldiers in the beds around, 

Though rough, and brave in fight, 
Still wept, like children, as they watched 

The dying boy that night ; 
He never murmured, though we knew 

That he was sore distrest, 
But ere the morning dawned, his soul 

Had entered into rest 

But to the last he held my hand. 

Although he did not shrink 
From death, yet human love he craved 

To lead him to the brink ; 
But when the waters o'er him closed, 

And left me on the shore, 
He clasped a Hand Divine, and then 

He needed me no more! 

NOTE. This incident is related almost word for 
word as it was told me by the nurse herself. 


Stye OII)iItrren of igf)t. 

WE are children of the light, 
Climbing np to Heaven's height, 
Round our upward faces play 
Beams of everlasting day. 

On the valley lies the shade, 
By the awful mountains made, 
And the gloomy shadows keep 
The dwellers there in hopeless sleep. 

But upon our pathway lies 
Light, not born of changing skies ; 
Noonday cloud, and shades of night 
Never dim that heavenly light. 

Ever, in the west there shine 
Rays from Him Whose life divine, 
Lived on earth so long ago, 
Still outvies the sunset glow. 

In the east a faint, pale ray 
Proclaims the coming of the day ; 
Brighter glow those eastern skies, 
Till, at length, our Sun shall rise. 


Thus the light of Him Who died 
Ever gilds the mountain side ; 
With the hope of His return 
The mountain tops begin to burn. 

Thus we children of the light, 
Marching on in armor bright, 
Singing, climb the mountain height, 
Praising still the LORD of light : 

Saviour, let us never roam 
Where Thy glad light cannot come 
Keep us, till Thy face we see, 
Where no night can ever be I 


ttJill be bone. 

will be done ! oh, words too hard 
JL For lips to form of stammering clay, 
Only a power divine can teach, 
Only a child-like heart can say. 

It must be done, as breaks the surf 
Upon the rock, and leaves no flaw, 

So our vain hopes and wishes beat 
Beat vainly, on the perfect law. 

And yet there is a bitter joy 

To feel they are unconquered still, 

And, rushing back, they surge and pour 
Through the dark caverns of the will. 

SAVIOUR, Thine is the might divine 

To tame those waves, and hush their roar, 

Till, willing slaves, they gently lay 
Their treasures on the eternal shore. 

Only beneath Thy blood-stained Cross 
Can that wild, inward conflict cease ; 

But he who kneels there, and resigns 
His all to Thee, finds perfect peace. 


Sogetljer tmtl) tfye or&. 

ist Thess., iv. 17. 

"PiAUGHT up with our dear LORD to be 
\J Together in the air" ; 
Oh, rapt Apostle ! didst thou see 
More than thy words declare ? 

More than the hosts of angels bright, 
And saints released from prison, 

More than the morn that breaks the night 
When CHRIST'S redeemed are risen ? 

More even than the sight most dear 

To our awakening eyes, 
When CHRIST shall in the clouds appear, 

To meet us in the skies ! 

Couldst thou not look beyond, above, 

Even to th' Eternal Throne, 
Where we shall bow in awe and love, 

Knowing as we are known ? 

Ah, yes! but human words must fail 

That glory to reveal ; 
Thou who hast looked within the veil 

Must yet the vision seal. 


Yet we, with bleeding hearts who mourn, 

May still be comforted, 
When to the Holy Book we turn, 
And these dear words are read. 

Together, with the LORD, to meet, 

And nevermore to part, 
Oh, strength to nerve our weary feet, 

And balm to heal our smart ! 

Together, do we need to know 
Aught more of heaven than this ? 

Together all our loves shall flow, 
Each share the other's bliss ! 

Together, with our present LORD, 

Whom now we love, although unseen, 
Upon our hearts we '11 bind this word, 

And on this precious promise lean. 

Forevermore, forevermore, 

Together with the LORD, to be ! 
My soul, repeat it o'er and o'er, 

For it is more than life to thee. 

In the air, in the air, 

Caught up our dear LORD to see, 
We need to ask no more, for there 

With them, in Him, our heaven must be! 



rpHESE flowers, so beautiful and graceful grew 
JL In gladness far beneath the ocean wave, 
Safe from all human touch, all human view, 
Or hid deep fathoms, in some dark sea cave. 

And as I gaze on them I fain would be, 

In those deep grots' so beautiful and strange, 

And in those sunless gardens of the sea, 
My longing spirit, willingly, would range. 

Who would have thought the dark and stormy 

Could hold such fragile beauty in its breast, 
Or, that, beneath that wild commotion 

Such depths of peace and blessedness could rest. 

Yet, there they dwell secure beneath His eye, 
Who made them in their light and feathery 

Safe and unharmed, below the storm they lie, 
His loving care doth all His works embrace. 


But sometimes, from those ocean chambers vast, 
Of which the upper waters are the beam, 

A few fair flowers are to the surface cast, 
To tell of worlds beyond our wildest dream. 

And so, beneath the din of human passion, 
Where vice and folly seem to dwell alone, 

Amid the hollow show and glare of fashion, 
A world lies hid, by all but GOD unknown : 

Flowers of humility, mid pomp and pride, 
Of warm devotion even in Satan's seat, 

Of virtue in a court all foul beside, 

Of love and prayer hid in some safe retreat. 

These bloom unseen by all, save Him alone ; 

Safe and secure, beneath His care they lie, 
Yet, sometimes, on the upper surface thrown, 

We gaze upon them with delighted eye. 

They teach us, there's no place by GOD forsaken, 
However foul and dark some spots may seem : 

And where He is, such flowers may bloom un- 
Fed by His smile, rejoicing in His beam. 


JlUmorial 41) all, (iEambnirge. 

Dulce et decorum pro patria mori. 

THEY came forth from their studies, and from 
their boyish play ; 
What magic spell transformed them to heroes in 

one day ? 
What fed the fire that glowed so bright, the pulse 

that beat so high, 

How knew they for their country 't was so beau- 
tiful to die ? 

Oh, not from ancient tales of Roman, or of Greek, 
Was caught the patriotic glow that mantled every 

cheek ; 
But from that granite shaft,* rising clear against 

the sky, 
They learned that for their country 'twould be 

beautiful to die. 

And as, day by day, they entered the ancient 

college halls, 
The faces of their patriot sires looked on them 

from the walls ; 
And, face to face, and heart to heart, from such 

communings high, 
They learned that for their country 'twould be 

beautiful to die. 

* Bunker Hill Monument. 


Not theirs the meed that cometh from Science or 

from Art, 
No Class-Day or Commencement to them assigned 

a part ; 
Yet on the list of honors their names are written 

Who knew that for their country 't was beautiful 

to die. 

They sought not fame no$ glory, but by the simple 

Of patient, faithful duty they won their deathless 

Not always theirs to conquer, but always theirs 
to try, 

And always, for their country, 't would be beau- 
tiful to die ! 

Then build the massive walls, and the noble pile 

And grave their names on tablets white, in letters 

black and clear ; 
And, Harvard, teach thy children this science, 

pure and high, 
For GOD and for your country live, for GOD and 

country die! 



The Christian Year 5 

Advent 8 

The Prisoners of Hope 10 

The Wisdom of this World 12 

The Epiphany Star 14 

Christ in the Temple 16 

Ash Wednesday 18 

Palm Sunday 20 

Easter Lilies 21 

Easter Day 23 

Ascension Day 25 

Whitsun-Day, Vesta's Altar 27 

Trinity Sunday, The Twofold Witness 29 

Collect for Fourth Sunday after Trinity 31 

Collect for Eighth Sunday after Trinity 33 

St. Michael and All Angels 34 

The Ministry of Angels 37 

The Vigil of All Saints 39 

The Last Night of the Year 42 


The Golden Legend 47 

Morituri te Salutant 52 

Loss of the Adrian Capel 54 

The Haven of Rest 59 

The Building the Walls 61 


St. Bernard and the Historian, Gibbon . . ta 63 

Pilate's Stairs 66 

Rome, above and below 68 

The Pastor's Tale 70 

In the Wilderness 75 

Jael 77 

The Soldiers of the Cross 82 

The Land of Rest 85 

The Rose of Jericho 87 

Jehovah Shammah 90 

A Summer Evening 92 

The Glory of Mid-Summer 94 

Death of the Summer , 96 

The Battle of Lexington 98 

A Day in June 100 

Independence Bell 102 

The New Alcides 104 

The Hospital Nurse's Story 107 

The Children of the Light 110 

Thy will be done 112 

Together with the Lord 113 

Sea Mosses 115 

Memorial Hall, Cambridge 117 


ERRATUM. page 50, last verse, for "hanging," read " reigning." 
This is a quotation from the Septuagint translation of the loth verse 
of the xcvi Ps. which in that version runs, " Tell it out among the 
heathen that the Lord reigneth from the tree," and this was supposed to 
be a prophecy of the Messiah. See Dr. J. M. Neale's Hymns of the 
Eastern Church.