To hear thee that deep mystery,
The knowledge of itself, impart.

The veil is rais'd; who runs may read,
By its own light the truth is seen,
And soon the Israelite indeed

Bows down t'adore the Nazarene.

So did Nathanael, guileless man,
At once, not shame-fac'd or afraid,
Owning him God, who so could scan
His musings in the lonely shade :

In his own pleasant fig-tree's shade,
Which by his household fountain grew,
Where at noon-day his prayer he made,
To know God better than he knew.

Oh! happy hours of heaven-ward thought!
How richly crown'd! how well improv❜d!
In musing o'er the Law he taught,
In waiting for the Lord he lov'd.

We must not mar with earthly praise

What God's approving word hath seal'd;

Enough, if right our feeble lays

Take up the promise He reveal'd;

"The child-like faith, that asks not sight, "Waits not for wonder or for sign,

66

Believes, because it loves, aright—

"Shall see things greater, things divine.

"Heaven to that gaze shall open wide,
"And brightest angels to and fro
"On messages of love shall glide

""Twixt God above, and Christ below."

So still the guileless man is blest,

To him all crooked paths are straight,

Him on his way to endless rest

Fresh, ever-growing strengths await a.

God's witnesses, a glorious host,
Compass him daily like a cloud;
Martyrs and seers, the sav'd and lost,
Mercies and judgments cry aloud.

Psalm xxxiv. 7. They go from strength to strength.

Yet shall to him the still small voice, That first into his bosom found

A way, and fix'd his wavering choice, Nearest and dearest ever sound.

ST. MATTHEW.

And after these things He went forth, and saw a publican, named Levi, sitting at the receipt of custom: and He said unto him, Follow me. And he left all, rose up, and followed Him. St. Luke v. 27, 28.

YE hermits blest, ye holy maids,
The nearest heaven on earth,

Who talk with God in shadowy glades,
Free from rude care and mirth;

To whom some viewless teacher brings
The secret lore of rural things,

The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,
The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale:

Say, when in pity ye have gaz’d

On the wreath'd smoke afar,

That o'er some town, like mist uprais'd,

Hung hiding sun and star,

Then as ye turn'd your weary eye

To the green earth and open sky,

Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel ?

But Love's a flower that will not die
For lack of leafy screen,

And Christian Hope can cheer the eye
That ne'er saw vernal green;

Then be ye sure that Love can bless

Even in this crowded loneliness,

Where ever-moving myriads seem to say, Go-thou art nought to us, nor we to thee-away!

There are in this loud stunning tide

Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide

Of th' everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart

Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.

How sweet to them, in such brief rest

As thronging cares afford,

In thought to wander, fancy-blest,

To where their gracious Lord,