Was in your bosoms-thou, whose steps, made | Never did clarion's royal blast declare
fleet

By keen hope fluttering in the heart which bled,|
Bore thee as wings, the Lord of Life to greet;
And thou, that duteous in thy still retreat
Didst wait his summons then with reverent love
Fall weeping at the blest Deliverer's feet,
Whom e'en to heavenly tears thy woe could move,
And which to Him, the All Seeing and All Just,
Was loveliest, that quick zeal, or lowly trust?
Oh! question not, and let no law be given
To those unveilings of its deepest shrine,
By the wrong spirit made in outward sign:
Free service from the heart is all in all to Heaven.

XII.

THE MEMORIAL OF MARY.

Verily I say unto you, wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this

woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her."-Matthew.

xxvi. 13.-See also John, xii. 3.

Thou hast thy record in the monarch's hall;
And on the waters of the far mid sea;
And where the mighty mountain-shadows fall,
The Alpine hamlet keeps a thought of thee:
Where'er, beneath some Oriental tree,
The Christian traveller rests-where'er the child
Looks upward from the English mother's knee,
With earnest eyes in wondering reverence mild,
There art thou known-where'er the Book of
Light

Bears hope and healing, there, beyond all blight,
Is borne thy memory, and all praise above;
Oh! say what deed so lifted thy sweet name,
Mary! to that pure silent place of fame?

One lowly offering of exceeding love.

Such tale of victory to a breathless crowd,

As the deep sweetness of one word could bear,
Into thy heart of hearts, O woman! bow'd
By strong affection's anguish !-one low word-
Mary!"—and all the triumph wrung from
death

Was thus reveal'd! and thou, that so hadst err'd,
So wept and been forgiven, in trembling faith
Didst cast thee down before th' all-conquering

Son,

Awed by the mighty gift thy tears and love had

won!

XV.

MARY MAGDALENE BEARING TIDINGS OF THE
RESURRECTION.

Then was a task of glory all thine own,
Nobler than e'er the still small voice assign'd
To lips in awful music making known

The stormy splendours of some prophet's mind. "Christ is arisen!" by thee to wake mankind, First from the sepulchre those words were brought!

Thou wert to send the mighty rushing wind First on its way, with those high tidings fraught"Christ has arisen !"-Thou, thou, the sin enthrall'd,

Earth's outcast, Heaven's own ransom'd one, wert

call'd

In human hearts to give that rapture birth;
Oh! raised from shame to brightness!—there
doth lie

The tenderest meaning of His ministry, Whose undespairing love still own'd the spirit's worth.

THE TWO MONUMENTS.

Oh! blest are they who live and die like "him,"
Loved with such love, and with such sorrow mourn'd!
Wordsworth.

BANNERS hung drooping from on high
In a dim cathedral's nave,
Making a gorgeous canopy

O'er a noble, noble grave!

And a marble warrior's form beneath,
With helm and crest array'd,
As on his battle bed of death,
Lay in their crimson shade.

Triumph yet linger'd in his eye,

Ere by the dark night seal'd,
And his head was pillow'd haughtily
On standard and on shield.

And shadowing that proud trophy pile
With the glory of his wing,
An eagle sat-yet seem'd the while
Panting through Heaven to spring,

Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot,
And ye-our faded earth beholds you not!

Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken,
Man wander'd from his Paradise away;
Ye, from forgetfulness his heart to waken,

Came down, high guests! in many a later day,
And with the Patriarchs, under vine or oak,
'Midst noontide calm or hush of evening, spoke.

From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending,
Came the rich mysteries to the Sleeper's eye,
That saw your hosts ascending and descending
On those bright steps between the earth and
sky;

Trembling he woke, and bow'd o'er glory's trace,
And worshipp'd, awe-struck, in that fearful place.

By Chebar's brook ye pass'd, such radiance wearing

As mortal vision might but ill endure; Along the stream the living chariot bearing,

With its high crystal arch, intensely pure! And the dread rushing of your wings that hour, Was like the noise of waters in their power.

But in the Olive mount, by night appearing,

'Midst the dim leaves, your holiest work was
done!

Whose was the voice that came divinely cheering,
Fraught with the breath of God, to aid his
Son ?-

Haply of those that, on the moon-lit plains,
Wafted good tidings unto Syrian swains.

Yet one more task was yours! your heavenly

dwelling

Ye left, and by th' unseal'd sepulchral stone,
In glorious raiment, sat; the weepers telling,
That He they sought had triumph'd, and was
gone!

Now have ye left us for the brighter shore,
Your presence lights the lonely groves no more.

But may ye not, unseen, around us hover,

That makes my home so awful? Faithlesshearted!

With gentle promptings and sweet influence "T is that from thine own bosom hath departed

yet,

Though the fresh glory of those days be over,
When, 'midst the palm-trees, man your foot-
steps met?

Are ye not near when faith and hope rise high,
When love, by strength, o'ermasters agony?

The inborn gladd'ning light!

No outward thing is changed;
Only the joy of purity is fled,
And, long from nature's melodies estranged,
Thou hear'st their tones with dread.

Therefore, the calm abode,
By thy dark spirit, is o'erhung with shade;
And, therefore, in the leaves, the voice of God,
Makes thy sick heart afraid!

The night-flowers round that door
Still breathe pure fragrance on the untainted air,
Thou, thou alone art worthy now no more

To pass, and rest thee there.

ON A PICTURE OF CHRIST BEARING Where banners thrill'd of yore, where harp