THE CROWN OF THORNS.

Glory doth pluck the leaf

For Learning's martyr, and her fond acclaim,
He, pale with midnight toil, esteems the chief
Of earthly good-and calls the bauble fame.

But the mean diadem

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That tells of calumnies, insults, and scorns,
Hath splendour dimming these, although no gem
Be woven in the coronal of thorns.

Sharp were its cruel points,

That cinctured the blest forehead of the Christ, Forcing thence blood; the crimson that anoints And heals-unction all-potent and unpriced!

Glory is His, O Crown!

Who wore thee meekly once-when from dark

ways

Of sin, the sinner fleeing, fälleth down
In lowly penitence, and weeps and prays.

The men that platted thee

For that sad coronation, in His blood

Washed from their crime, confessed his DeityMysterious God in Man, the Man in God.

Millions that knew him not,

Since then, have had sweet knowledge of the cross:

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THE CHURCH IS THERE.

He hath been found of them that sought him not; And they that sought, have deemed all else but loss.

I, when some sore distress

Racks this decaying body, do bethink

Me of thee, painful, wondrous Crown! and bless The cup, whose dregs I may not choose but drink.

THE CHURCH IS THERE!

THAT tossing vessel's silver wake,
Thine eye discerns no more;
A storm has gathered on the lake,
And sullen is its roar.

Why sinks not the devoted bark

Beneath that boiling sea?

Why o'er those men close not the dark

Wild waves of Galilee?

The Church is there!-He who doth keep
Within his fists the wave,

Doth rouse him, like the strong, from sleep,
His followers to save.

THE CHURCH IS THERE.

Still breasts the bark the troublous gale;

She's on the flood of time;

How fearful is the tempest's wail!

How high the waters climb!

She's on the deep;-though her beset
Fierce storms that prowl the seas,
There's One that never doth forget
To lull them to a breeze.

And ever as the winds increase,
When nearest is despair,

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His voice cries through the thunders, "Peace!" The Church-the Church is there!

When mighty are the thralls of sin,
And tall and strong is pride,
"Tis safe with her to be shut in,

And o'er the danger ride.

Amid the sweep of whelming waves,

Amid the tempest's stir,―

Beneath His wings whose presence saves,
May I be found with her!

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REV. A-J

REV. A- J.

THOU wast brought down by sickness.

youth

In thy fresh vigour-in the midst of toil

In thy

And usefulness, God touched thee. Racking pain
And conflict, sharp, came on thee. We beheld
Our leader taken from the wonted place
Of holy ministering, and on the bed

Of anguish cast,—yet, sweetly there to teach
His flock, by patient willingness, to choose
A Father's will. We felt in our deep need,
Already shepherdless. We feared that thou
No more unto thy gathered ones wouldst break
The living Bread, nor lead them by the streams
Of free salvation. But for thee, we knew
Our loss must needs be gain. We wept, we
prayed.-

The secret sigh of those whom thou hast led
To Zion, brake forth for thee. The heart's cry,
So deep, so powerful, went up for thee.

God heard and answered; and his strong rebuke Drove back the messenger that well nigh brought Thy feet to Jordan's swellings.

TO THE MISSIONARY STUDENTS AT ANDOVER. 157

Now, again,

We meet thee at the altar, where we bow,
A flock assured, and comforted and glad.
And as we look upon thy wasted form,
And pallid brow, and mark of that stern strife
These tokens, thoughts of gratitude to heaven
Are blended with the prayer, that needful strength
To serve thy Master longer, may be thine:
And long thy purity of heart and life,
That living comment on thy message-may
Be given unto our gaze. For us, that we,
Stricken, yet not destroyed-may rise and shine,
A living church, a pillar of the Truth.

TO THE MISSIONARY STUDENTS AT ANDOVER;

On hearing of the death of Messrs. Munson and Lyman; missionaries, killed by the natives in Sumatra.

THERE's stillness in your halls

There's silence in your rooms—
Lightly, the hushed step falls,

As 'twere the place of tombs.