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SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

EVENING VOLUNTARY BY THE SEASIDE.

"I love the western sky,' said one who was afflicted in spirit : it seems to carry my thoughts away to another country and a brighter morrow.'

"There is often something so unearthly about the sky at sunset. Those golden rays, darting from behind the purple clouds-how full they seem of hope and promises! ***The thought leads one onward to the 'land which is very far off,' where the earthly sun shall have ceased to rise and set, and where the joy of the Lord will be the light in which we shall live, and move, and have our being."-Rays of Sunlight.

THE

HE sun is couch'd, the sea-fowl gone to rest, And the wild storm hath somewhere found a nest.

Air slumbers-wave with wave no longer strives,
Only a heaving of the deep survives—

A tell-tale motion; soon will it be laid,
And by the tide alone the water sway'd.
Stealthy withdrawings, interminglings mild
Of light with shade in beauty reconciled-
Such is the prospect far as sight can range,
The soothing recompense, the welcome change.
Where now the ships, that drove before the blast
Threaten'd by angry breakers as they pass'd,
And by a train of flying clouds be-mock'd,
Or in the hollow surge at anchor rock'd,
As on a bed of death?-Some lodge in peace,
Saved by His care who bade the tempest cease;
And some, too heedless of past anger, court
Fresh gales to waft them to the far-off port;

But near, or hanging sea and sky between,
Not one of all those winged Powers is seen,
Seen in her course, nor 'mid this quiet heard;
Yet oh! how gladly would the air be stirr'd
By some acknowledgment of thanks and praise,
Soft in its temper as those vesper-lays
Sung to the Virgin, while accordant oars
Urge the slow bark along Calabrian shores
A sea-born service through the mountains felt-
Till into one loved vision all things melt;

;

Or like those hymns that soothe with graver sound
The gulfy coast of Norway, iron-bound;
And from the wide and open Baltic rise,
With punctual care, Lutherian harmonies.
Hush, not a voice is here! But why repine,
Now when the star of eve comes forth to shine
On British waters, with that look benign?
Ye mariners, that plough your onward way,
Or in the haven rest, or sheltering bay,
May silent thanks at least to God be given
With a full heart: "Our thoughts are heard in

heaven."

Wordsworth.

174

SUNDAY

a Prayer.

THOU, that in the hollow of Thy hand
Hold'st the vast ocean's waters! Thou whose

voice

The raging seas and stormy winds obey,
As down the tide of life we hold our course,
Oh may Thy grace our guiding pilot prove-
Thy will our leading star; and whether roars
Around our mortal bark the raging storm
Of black adversity, or, more dangerous far,
Her fraudful calm prosperity outspreads
In tempting smoothness, O be Thou our guide
Till, all the ills of life securely past,
We anchor in the haven of Thy rest.

Sunday.
September 24.
1883.

SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

ODE TO DUTY.

TERN daughter of the voice of God!

STE

O Duty! if that name thou love,

Who art a light to guide, a rod

To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou, who art victory and law,
When empty terrors overawe,
From vain temptations dost set free,

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth; Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, Who do thy work, and know it not.

Oh! if, through confidence misplaced,

They fail, Thy saving arms, dread power! around them cast.

Serene will be our days, and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may

hold

Even now, who, not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet find they firm support according to their

need.

I, loving freedom, and untried,
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust;
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I

may.

Though no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought
Me this uncharter'd freedom tires;
I feel the weight of chance desires :

My hopes no more must change their name,—
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair

As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,

And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong!

To humbler functions, awful power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour.
Oh, let

my

weakness have an end!

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