The Christian Year Part 23

"LORD, wave again Thy chastening rod, Till every idol throne Crumble to dust, and Thou, O G.o.d, Reign in our hearts alone.

"Bring all our wandering fancies home, For Thou hast every spell, And 'mid the heathen where they roam, Thou knowest, LORD, too well.

"Thou know'st our service sad and hard, Thou know'st us fond and frail; Win us to be loved and spared When all the world shall fail.

"So when at last our weary days Are well-nigh wasted here, And we can trace Thy wondrous ways In distance calm and clear,

"When in Thy love and Israel's sin We read our story true, We may not, all too late, begin To wish our hopes were new.

"Long loved, long tried, long spared as they, Unlike in this alone, That, by Thy grace, our hearts shall stay For evermore Thine own."

Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.

Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the king, True, O king. He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of G.o.d. _Daniel_ iii. 24, 25.

WHEN Persecution's torrent blaze Wraps the unshrinking Martyr's head; When fade all earthly flowers and bays, When summer friends are gone and fled, Is he alone in that dark hour Who owns the Lord of love and power?

Or waves there not around his brow A wand no human arm may wield, Fraught with a spell no angels know, His steps to guide, his soul to s.h.i.+eld?

Thou, Saviour, art his Charmed Bower, His Magic Ring, his Rock, his Tower.

And when the wicked ones behold Thy favourites walking in Thy light, Just as, in fancy triumph bold, They deemed them lost in deadly night, Amazed they cry, "What spell is this, Which turns their sufferings all to bliss?

"How are they free whom we had bound?

Upright, whom in the gulf we cast?

What wondrous helper have they found To screen them from the scorching blast?

Three were they-who hath made them four?

And sure a form divine he wore,

"E'en like the Son of G.o.d." So cried The Tyrant, when in one fierce flame The Martyrs lived, the murderers died: Yet knew he not what angel came To make the rus.h.i.+ng fire-flood seem Like summer breeze by woodland stream.

He knew not, but there are who know: The Matron, who alone hath stood, When not a prop seemed left below, The first lorn hour of widowhood, Yet cheered and cheering all, the while, With sad but unaffected smile;-

The Father, who his vigil keeps By the sad couch whence hope hath flown, Watching the eye where reason sleeps, Yet in his heart can mercy own, Still sweetly yielding to the rod, Still loving man, still thanking G.o.d;-

The Christian Pastor, bowed to earth With thankless toil, and vile esteemed, Still travailing in second birth Of souls that will not be redeemed: Yet stedfast set to do his part, And fearing most his own vain heart;-

These know: on these look long and well, Cleansing thy sight by prayer and faith, And thou shalt know what secret spell Preserves them in their living death: Through sevenfold flames thine eye shall see The Saviour walking with His faithful Three.

Twentieth Sunday after Trinity.

Hear ye, O mountains, the Lord's controversy, and ye strong foundations of the earth. _Micah_ vi. 2.

WHERE is Thy favoured haunt, eternal Voice, The region of Thy choice, Where, undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul Owns Thy entire control?- 'Tis on the mountain's summit dark and high, When storms are hurrying by: 'Tis 'mid the strong foundations of the earth, Where torrents have their birth.

No sounds of worldly toil ascending there, Mar the full burst of prayer; Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe, And round us and beneath Are heard her sacred tones: the fitful sweep Of winds across the steep Through withered bents-romantic note and clear, Meet for a hermit's ear,-

The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry, And, scarcely heard so high, The das.h.i.+ng waters when the air is still From many a torrent rill That winds unseen beneath the s.h.a.ggy fell, Tracked by the blue mist well: Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart For Thought to do her part.

'Tis then we hear the voice of G.o.d within, Pleading with care and sin: "Child of My love! how have I wearied thee?

Why wilt thou err from Me?

Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves, Parted the drowning waves, And set My saints before thee in the way, Lest thou shouldst faint or stray?

"What! was the promise made to thee alone?

Art thou the excepted one?

An heir of glory without grief or pain?

O vision false and vain!

There lies thy cross; beneath it meekly bow; It fits thy stature now: Who scornful pa.s.s it with averted eye, 'Twill crush them by-and-by.

"Raise thy repining eyes, and take true measure Of thine eternal treasure; The Father of thy Lord can grudge thee nought, The world for thee was bought; And as this landscape broad-earth, sea, and sky,- All centres in thine eye, So all G.o.d does, if rightly understood, Shall work thy final good."

Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity.

The vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it, because it will surely come, it will not tarry. _Habakkuk_ ii. 3.

THE morning mist is cleared away, Yet still the face of Heaven is grey, Nor yet this autumnal breeze has stirred the grove, Faded yet full, a paler green Skirts soberly the tranquil scene, The red-breast warbles round this leafy cove.

Sweet messenger of "calm decay,"

Saluting sorrow as you may, As one still bent to find or make the best, In thee, and in this quiet mead, The lesson of sweet peace I read, Rather in all to be resigned than blest.

'Tis a low chant, according well With the soft solitary knell, As homeward from some grave beloved we turn, Or by some holy death-bed dear, Most welcome to the chastened ear Of her whom Heaven is teaching how to mourn.

O cheerful tender strain! the heart That duly bears with you its part, Singing so thankful to the dreary blast, Though gone and spent its joyous prime, And on the world's autumnal time, 'Mid withered hues and sere, its lot be cast:

That is the heart for thoughtful seer, Watching, in trance nor dark nor clear, Th' appalling Future as it nearer draws: His spirit calmed the storm to meet, Feeling the rock beneath his feet, And tracing through the cloud th' eternal Cause.

That is the heart for watchman true Waiting to see what G.o.d will do, As o'er the Church the gathering twilight falls No more he strains his wistful eye, If chance the golden hours be nigh, By youthful Hope seen beaming round her walls.

Forced from his shadowy paradise, His thoughts to Heaven the steadier rise: There seek his answer when the world reproves: Contented in his darkling round, If only he be faithful found, When from the east the eternal morning moves.

_Note_: The expression, "calm delay," is borrowed from a friend, by whose kind permission the following stanzas are here inserted.

TO THE RED-BREAST.

Unheard in summer's flaring ray, Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer, Wooing the stillness of the autumn day: Bid it a moment linger, Nor fly Too soon from winter's scowling eye.

The blackbird's song at even-tide, And hers, who gay ascends, Filling the heavens far and wide, Are sweet. But none so blends, As thine, With calm decay, and peace divine.