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LEGENDS OF SAINTS AND ANGELS.

I. S. ANNE.

GOD's hidden saints-it is a happy phrase:
Their life is hid in GoD with CHRIST, HIS SON;
They lead an angel's life in heaven on earth;
Who entertain them angels entertain,
Oft unawares; nay, JESUS entertain-

Who comes, a Prince disguised in beggar's rags,
And knocking at the door, an alms implores,
A gentle word, a kindly look, bestowed
On Him in them, then enters in and sups,
And there abides, if willing hearts constrain.
So dwell the saints of GOD in Galilee,

Obscure, unknown of men; if known, despised;
Though prophets, without honour in their home;
Yet leaving still a fragrance in the air
Of heaven redolent, and when they die,
Men say, a prophet hath been here indeed.
So once the Holy Babe in Egypt dwelt:
What land so fruitful in the early saints?
So Nazareth, whence never good thing came,
As men count goodness, was the chosen home
Of Anna, Joseph, Mary, JESUS, GOD:-
GOD chose it for the home of His dear SON.

:

A flowery vale it is, with scanty fringe
Of fig trees, olives, and the prickly pear,
Embosomed in a fence of rounded hills,
And a more distant range of mountain peaks,
Tabor and Hermon, Carmel and the sea.
Along the south-east steep the village slopes,
With groups of scattered hovels straggling wide,
And rude-built sheds; a sweet secluded spot,

Then by a mingled race inhabited,

Whose rough wild ways by quiet folks were shunned,
Save those whom poverty allowed no choice,
But bound them to the trammel of their birth.
Here, safely shaded 'neath the lowliest roof,
A lily among thorns, the Virgin grew.

:

A beauteous picture is the scene within :-
A youthful mother, and a Maiden Child,
Standing beside her, leans upon a book
Spread o'er the mother's lap; the mother points
With open finger; with the left hand clasps

The Maiden's waist, and strokes her gold-red hair.

On the Child's shoulder perched a snow-white dove,
With ruby eyes and coral beak and feet,

And cooed and cooed and cooed and kissed her lips.
With steadfast gaze and eager listening face
The Maiden Child would trace from right to left
The fair-writ letters on the parchment scroll,
And hearkened to her mother's silvery tones,
Who read aloud a tale of sacred lore,
With brimful lids and frequent sighs and sobs,
But with a voice at times most full and firm,
And queenlike in its calm of gentle love.
"And Orpah kissed her"-so the legend ran,
"But Ruth clave unto her. Intreat me not
To leave thee or return from following thee;
For I will go wherever thou shalt go;
And where thou lodgest I will also lodge;
Thy people shall be mine; thy God
And where thou diest I will also die,
And there will I be buried; the good LORD
Do so to me, and more, if aught but death
Part thee and me.' So they two went, and came
To Bethlehem."

my

GOD;

"I wonder," said the Child,
"Why Mary I am called from bitterness;
Almighty God hath sweetly dealt with me."
The mother dropped a tear and then read on.
"The time was summer harvest; and the scene
A barley gleaning-field; the farmer's name
Boaz, a virtuous, aged man, but young
In open-handed gracious courtesy

Towards all, but chiefly towards the weaker sex,
The stranger and the friendless.
Seeing Ruth
Gleaning amidst his reapers, he bid drop
Some ears to fill her burden, for he said,
'Her fostermother is my near of kin,
Therefore I will not send thee empty home.'
So day by day, she still would keep her close
Beside his maidens, who befriended her.
And so he drew Ruth on to love him more
Than all the young men, whether poor or rich,
And rested not till he had married her,
And did a kinsman's part, and raised up seed,
Of whom came David in the third descent."
"My royal father David,-blessed Ruth!"
Cried Mary, "Mother, I will cleave to thee,
Nor kiss thee with the kisses of my mouth,
But with the kisses of my heart and soul.
And I will go wherever thou shalt go;
And where thou lodgest I will also lodge;
And where thou diest I will also die,

And there will I be buried; the good LORD
Do so to me, and more, if aught but death

Part me and thee."-The mother clasped her child
In silent satisfaction to her breast.

And Mary wept awhile-then brightening up,
Told how she loved to dream of Bethlehem,
And that she knew of one who was to her
As Boaz was to Ruth, more kind and dear
Than all the young men, whether rich or poor,
Their aged kinsman, Joseph, who lived near
And earned his daily bread, a carpenter.
The pensive mother gravely eyed her child,
And spoke with measured whisper, "GOD be praised!
If He indeed hath put it in thine heart,
In full accord with mine, that so it be.
Joseph is good, and true, and loveth thee

As one should love his best friend's latest child.
The best friend of thy father Joachim
He was, and loveth thee and me as his.
Mary, when first thy father wedded me,
We both were young, I almost young as thou,
And eager youthful hopes decoyed my soul,
Ere yet I bore thee on my open breast,

Of giving birth to Him-the Woman's Seed,

Whose heel should bruise th' accursed serpent's head;
The Lion of our royal Judah's tribe,

Who should restore and sit on David's throne,
The SAVIOUR and the Sovereign of our race.
Joseph, thy father's friend, was rich in lore
Of ancient pedigrees, and oft would trace
Our rival claims to hold the sceptre now,
Would smile and show his labour-hardened hands,
And say that mine were fitter for a queen's,
Nor deemed his grizzled locks could wear a crown,
Who earned his daily bread by sweat of brow.
So stirred he up my soul to hopes too proud.
A daughter and another daughter came,
And when I felt thee quickening in my womb,
More fervent were my prayers to bear a son,
Whose name I longed to call Immanuel.
Before thy birth I vowed a solemn vow
To dedicate thee wholly to the LORD:

I thought of her who was my namesake once,

Who prayed, then lent the child for whom she prayed
To be for ever His Who heard her prayer.
Before thy birth thy father passed away,'
(In measured whispers still the mother spake,)
"And therefore Mary wast thou fitly called.
But Joseph, ever hoping against hope,
Saw happier meanings hidden in the name,

And spake of triumphs by the Red Sea shore,
When thou with timbrel and with dance shouldst lead
The Israelitish damsels, as of yore,

Where, dashed in pieces by the Unseen Hand,
Glorious in power, in holiness, in praise,
Chariots, and horse, and rider, Pharaoh's host,
The dragon's head, lay broken in the waves.
To Marah, still methought, they journeyed thence;
Thought, too, of Jephtha's only virgin child,
Who so, with timbrel and with dance, came out
To meet and welcome, glorious but sad,
Her doting father home, by his rash vow
Foredoomed to chastity perpetual,

Whom Israel's daughters year by year lament."
"Weep not for me, dear mother," cried the Child,
"Thou gavest me to GOD, and I am His.
To thy once solemn vow I add my own,
Nor will bewail my Blest Virginity.

GOD made me; He shall keep me for His own,
If such His will, and Joseph, good old man,
Fulfil towards thee and me a kinsman's part,
To be my guardian, elder brother, friend,
And I at once his sister and his spouse.
So, Mother, we shall never part on earth,
But I still be thy loving Maiden Child;
And when thou goest to heaven, and Joachim,
My blessed father, once more smile on thee,
My soul shall dwell with thee and him in GOD,
To whom thou weddedst me; while here on earth
Joseph will take me to his hallowed home,
And shield me from the wicked world around."
Speaking, she looked into her mother's eyes,
Who answered her with silent, loving gaze.

A long, long pause, unbroken, save by sound
Of falling hammer, creaking saw, and plane

From neighbouring work-shed, where "the carpenter"
Plied daily handicraft from morn till night,
In shaping yokes for gentle beasts to bear
With plough or wain, nor often ceased from toil
Through the six days of labour, till the seventh
Brought holy rest, which he kept with his GOD.
The Sabbath duties o'er, he loved to spend
Some quiet hours with Anna and her Child
In pious talk, and shared their simple meal.
For twice six years he watched the maiden grow,
A lily among thorns, on that wild ground,
Wondering what grace Divine o'ershadowed her,
E'en from her mother's womb presanctified.
Now, when the opening blossom seemed to breathe

A sweeter fragrance, and her tender form
More lovely shone amidst the foul rank weeds
That spread their evil seed through Nazareth's vale,
Fears often mingled with his prayers for her,
Lest hand unclean should pluck the spotless flower.

A long, long pause; and then a low, sweet hymn
Rose through the twilight from the neighbouring shed,
And soothed the mother and her Maiden Child.
It ran thus: "Who is like the LORD our GOD,
Who hath His dwelling in the highest, yet
Humbly beholdeth things in heaven and earth?
He taketh up the simple from the dust,
Out of the mire He lifteth up the poor,
That He may set him on a princely throne,
Even with the princes of His chosen race.
He maketh the barren Woman to keep House,
And be a joyful Mother of children blest."

Two Sabbaths thence, some solemn words were spoke
By Joseph and by Mary, each to each.

GOD's blessing rested on their plighted troth;
He bound to show towards her a kinsman's part,
She be at once his sister and his spouse,

A fountain sealed, a holy spring shut up.

REVIEWS AND NOTICES.

The Church's Broken Unity. Vol. I. On Presbyterianism and Irvingism. Edited by the Rev. W. J. E. BENNETT, Vicar of Frome Selwood. London: J. T. Hayes.

THE above is the first and, at present, the only published volume of a series, which is little more, and claims to be no more, than a seasonable reprint of some or all of the admirable papers written and published some years back by the present editor in his excellent parochial magazine, The Old Church Porch, on certain heresies and schisms which have broken the unity of the Church, especially the Church of England. The re-issue of the papers is especially seasonable at this present juncture, because Churchmen on all sides are looking for information on the subjects treated by them, far more so than at the time of their original publication; and because The Old Church Porch, as a local magazine, must, despite its many excellencies, have had a comparatively limited circulation, and has been, we believe, for some time out of print. The present form of the republication will, we hope and trust, secure