STANZAS. LADY EMMELINE WORTLEY. SOON, Soon shall my toiling bark touch on the shore, Where the surge of this long-troubling ocean no more Where no care for the past, and no fear for the morrow, Shall oppress earth's tired wanderers-welcomed, for given; When the bark that hath rode through the dim waves of sorrow, Shall anchor sublimely in shadowless heaven. On, on! my frail bark, through the surge and the spray- (Original.) LILIES. Stanzas written under a drawing of a bunch of these flowers in the Album of the Right Honourable Lady C― C. DELTA. "Look to the lilies how they grow!" Yes! nought escapes the guardian eye Then mourn not we for those we love Shall He, who paints the Lily's leaf, Love all his works except the chief, No! other hearts and hopes be ours, And to our souls let faith be given, TO A CHILD, PLAYING. REV. R. C. TRENCH. DEAR boy, thy momentary laughter rings Sincerely out; and that spontaneous glee, Seeming to need no hint from outward things, Breaks forth in sudden shoutings, loud and free. From what hid fountains doth thy joyance flow, That borrows nothing from the world around? Its springs must deeper lie than we can knowA well whose springs lie safely underground. So be it ever-and, thou happy boy, When time, that takes these wild delights away, Gives thee a measure of sedater joy, Which, unlike this, shall ever with thee stay ;— Then may that joy, like this, to outward things LUKE XIX. 41. "And when He was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it." KEBLE. WHY doth my Saviour weep 'Tis not in pride or scorn, That Israel's King with sorrow stains His own triumphal morn. It is not that his soul Is wandering sadly on, In thought how soon at death's dark goal Their course will all be run, Who now are shouting round Hosanna to their Chief; No thought like this in Him is found; Or doth he feel the Cross Already in his heart, The pain, the shame, the scorn, the loss? Feel even his God depart? No! though he knew full well The grief that angels cannot tell- It is not thus he mourns; Such might be Martyr's tears, When his last lingering look he turns On human hopes and fears; But hero ne'er or saint The secret load might know, With which his spirit waxeth faint; If thou had'st known, ev'n thou, The message of thy peace! but now 'Tis pass'd for aye away : Now foes shall trench thee round, And lay thee even with earth, And dash thy children to the ground, Thy glory and thy mirth. And doth the Saviour weep Because we will not let him keep The souls He died to win? Ye hearts, that love the Lord, If at this sight ye burn, See that in thought, in deed, in word, Ye hate what made Him mourn! |