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But they, the solitary pair,
Like pitying angels poured
His evil lifo deplored.
Which in their bosoms lay;
Yet harder doom had they.
The springs of human will ;
Of mortal good and ill ;
And willed them still to mourn:
Yet bade him not return.
grace ; And the poor prodigal, himself,
Would seek the father's face;Meantime man's judgment censured them,
As abject, mean, and base. The erring brother was away,
And none could tell his fate;
Sate drooping, desolate.
Nor for the breezy shore :
Distracted her no more.
So worked she day by day,
Which on her spirit lay ;
Her young life wore away.
Oft said, with pitying tongue,
Of aught so weak and young !" Alone the kinsman pitied not;
He chid her, that no more The frame was strong, the hand was swift,
As it had been before.
When holy angels bright
For her one winter's night.
Upon a pallet bed, She lay, and hold my hand, sweet friend,"
With feeble voice she said. • Oh hold my hand, sweet Marien,"
The dying child spake low; “ And let me hear thy blessed voice,
To cheer me as I go!
"Tis darksome all — Oh, drearly dark'
When will this gloom pass by ? Is there no comfort for the poor,
And for the young who die!" Down by her side knelt Marien,
And kissed her fading cheek, Then of the loving Saviour,
In low tones 'gan to speak. She told of Lazarus, how he lay,
A beggar mean and poor, And died, in misery and want,
Beside the rich man's door.
To bear his soul on high,
On Abraham's breast to lie.
Yet higher glory win,
Unsoiled by tainting sin.
“I doubt not, neither fear, All round about the bed, behold,
The angel-bands appear! “I go! - yet still, dear Marien,
One last boon let me win! Seek out the poor lost prodigal,
And bring him back from sin! “I go! I go!" and angels bright,
The spirit bare away:
In heaven 'twas endless day!
Within a carved bed,
With pillows ’neath his head.
All in that lordly room ;
For many years to come.
A form that none might see:
Shall be required of thee !"
Stole in the morning-ray,
The miser kinsman lay.
And chambers high and dim,
Made show of grief for him. Full fifty muffled mourners stood,
Around the scutcheoned bed, That held the corse, as if, indeed, A righteous man were dead.
Within a tomb, which he had built,
Of costly marble-stone, They buried him, and plates of brass
His name and wealth made known.
A coffin of the meanest wood,
The little child received; And o'er her humble, nameless grave,
No hooded mourner grieved. Only kind Marien wept such tears,
As the dear Saviour shed, When in the house of Bethany
He mourned for Lazarus dead.
Now from the miser kinsman's house
Came many a jovial sound;
Ere twelve months had gone round.
Dwelt Marien ; and each day,
And mercy, passed away.
Grief-bowed and labour-spent,
To heaven his sad lament;
The sent of God, she went.
Failed not of daily bread;
And warmed, and clothed, and fed.
And nigh to death she lay, Kind hearts there were who came to her,
And watched her night and day. And afterwards, when evil men
Doomed her in bonds to lie,
Willing for her to die.
Unto this little one
These righteous works were done!
A tenfold blessing won!
For many a passing year;
No tidings could she hear.
Others who, even as he,
To these repentant, outcast ones,
She spake kind words of grace,
To seek the Father's face ;
And love in His embrace.
- But let us now recall Whate'er had happed of change and woe
Unto the prodigal.
He saw her silent woe;
Her weary labour grow.
He hated that hard man,
Their daily tasks began.
He bare an altered mind; Alas, that injuries should make
Else loving hearts unkind !
To cheer his spirit strove,
Their patient deeds of love.
And he who was so frail
Was feeble to prevail.
And bravely clothed and fed,
A lawless life he led.
Sweet memory of the time,
Had knowledge of no crime.
Than labour night and day,
Upon his spirit lay.
And of the sister meek;
And of the fading cheek;
The faithful and the weak!
He heard his loving parent's voice
Reproach him in his sleep; And conscience, that stern bosom-guest,
Ceaseless upbraidings keep.
Neither would he regard ;
Thus doing outrage to his soul,
By chance he went one day
The little sister lay.
And why he turned the mould
No name the tenant told.
I know each separate mound;
Alone seems holy ground.”
And how she there had wept
In dreamless quiet slept.
She lieth here," said he; “ Yet not a grave in all the ground
Like this affecteth me!". Saying this, he wiped a tear aside,
And turned from the place; And, in the skirts of his rich robe,
The brother hid his face.
Bound for a far-off strand,
Pursued her from the land.
At first disease was 'mong her men;
And suffering long and sore,
Forlorn and sad he bore.
That miserable ship,
Lay moveless on the deep.
The soul-struck penitent
On his account were sent.
The ship before the gale,
Her rudder, mast, and sail.
And the strained vessel bore
A wreck upon the shore.
To note the vessel's fate; --
A bject and desolate. - The world went on as it was wont;
And in the city street,
Did thronging thousands meet.
Upon the hearths of poor men's homes
Good neighbours met at night; And kindness and companionship
Made woe and labour light. The loneliest hut among the hills
To human hearts was known; And even in kingly palaces
Men might not dwell alone. The world went on as it was wont;
And no man knew the while
Upon his lonely isle.
Over the distant sea;
A coming sail might be.
He hoisted signals high ;-
And not a ship sailed by.
Man had forgot his name;
His lonely misery came.
His cheerless solitude,
His human will subdued.
Look up! the Father's voice Calleth thee from thy depths of woe,
And biddeth thee rejoice! – Now Marien from the trading town
Had voyaged; sent of Heaven
Which with long storm had striven, At length upon a glorious isle
Amid the seas was driven; Where dwelt a gentle race at rest
Amid their flowery wilds,
As simple as a child's.
But now it chanced one day,
Upon the shore she lay, A strong wind came, and filled the sail,
And bare her thence away. She had no fear, true Marien;
That God was good, she knew, And even then had sent her forth
Some work of love to do. The prodigal upon his rock
Was kneeling, and his prayer For confidence in heaven, arose
l'pon the evening air,
Just as the little boat approached
The island bleak and bare. The boat ran up a creek, as if,
"Twere steered by angels good; And ere the evening prayer was done
Beside the youth she stood.
Ils deep excess to say;
His spirit died away.
And tears that ceaseless flowed; He pourèd forth from his full heart
A fervent praise of God.
“But let us hence," said Marien;
And with the earliest morn,
They left the isle forlorn.
Over the waters blew,
Till the isle was out of view.
They sat; and of times gone, And of the blessèd dead conversed,
As the slender boat sailed on.
Over the Gospel bent,
O'er sinners that repent;
Returning bowed with shame, And the good father hastening forth
To meet him as he came; And how he bade the fairest robe
Be brought; the golden ring; Shoes for the feet; and music sweet,
As if to hail a king. “For this, my son,” said he,“ was dead,
And is alive; is found, Who was long lost; 'tis meet, therefore,
That stintless joy abound !" “Oh, child of woe," said Marien,
* Look up, for thou art he ; And round about the Father's throne
Many rejoice for thee !" “Oh Lord, I bless thee," said the youth,
“ That of thy mercy great, Thou hast vouchsafed to rescue me
From my forlorn estate !
Myself I dedicate!
“The meanest of thy creatures, low
I bend before thy throne, And offer my poor self to make
Thy loving-kindness known! “ Oh father, give me words of power,
The stony hearts to move ; Give me prevailing eloquence,
To publish forth thy love! “ Thy love which wearieth not; which like
Thy sun, on all doth shine!
My life, oh Lord, are thine!"
The glorious island neared,
Above the sea appeared.
As if of opal glow;
In valleys grew below.
As Paradise, ere sin
With death had entered in.
Cried Marien, “see they come,
To bid thee welcome home!
From sinful men apart;
Made pure thy trusting heart ! “ Thy work is here! Go forth, 'mid these
Meek children of the sun,
What He for thee hath done!"
A joyous, peaceful host,
Had sorrowed for as lost.
They sang forth sweet and clear; “ And welcome to the stranger poor,
Who cometh with thee here!"
Since he was meanly drest;
And mats whereon to rest. And ever as they served him,
They sang forth sweet and low, “ Would this repose might solace thee, These apples cure thy woe!"
And though the twain knew not their speech,
Yet well they understood
Their actions kind and good.
abode The youth, and learned their tongue; And with the sound of Christian praise
The hills and valleys rung.
That lay beneath the moon,
Of Christian virtues boon.
Unsuffering from their birth;
As angels on the earth.
Their chief, their priest, their friend,
Willing himself to spend.
From worldly taint kept free,
Amid its summer sea.
Was done; and ere his day
Was wearing fast away.
His loving eye grow dim;
They sorrowed over him.
And children wild and young,
And weeping round him hung. In flowery thickets of the hills
Sad mourners knelt in prayer, That God this servant so revered,
This friend beloved would spare. And round about his feet they sat,
Observant, meek, and still,
To do his slightest will.
Had wandered far and wide,
The hand of Heaven her guide. And now unto the glorious isle
She came; but on the shore She saw no wandering company,
As she had seen before.
A solemn stillness lay;
Of many a Sabbath day!
A hush, as of suspended breath,
Ere some great grief began; For the mournful people silently
Stood round the dying man. Through the still vales went Marien,
And came at length to where, 'Mid flowering trees, knelt many a one
prayer. Onward she went, not many steps,
With heart of mournful ruth, When, like a dying angel laid,
She saw the holy youth. With closed eyes and pallid lips
He lay, as one whose life Meeteth with death, yet waiteth still
The last conflicting strife. Beside him knelt she on the turf,
And spoke in accents low Words of strong love, which like new life
Seemed through the frame to go. He raised himself, and blessing God,
That He of him had care,
Had sent his angel there;
Than softest lute could make,
With fervent love, he spake. “Oh friends, beloved friends! weep not,
Nor be oppressed with woe; 'Tis of His will, who doeth right,
That I am called to go! “ Fain would I tarry, but the cry
Hath sounded in mine ear, • Haste to depart, the Lord hath need
Of thee no longer here! “ Even like the Master whom I serve,
I pray ye not to grieve; But as ye have believed in me,
Also in Him believe! “I go, but leave you not forlorn,
As sheep without a guide ; For Christ the unfailing Comforter
Shall still with you abide!
Awaits me, and I go,
For ye who love me so!
And unto yours, I go!"
A golden, cloudless sky;
Arose to God on high.
They buried him, and there