And thus how often do we vainly seek
The rest we need among earth's fleeting joys;
As well hope safety from the ruin weak,
Which in its fall the clinging plant destroys.

But still more often do we seek repose,
In those so dear to every loving breast;
But, ah, what humble creeper ever rose,
By leaning on as frail a prop for rest?

But oft I've seen the ivy's fragile form,
Clinging in safety to a stately tree;
Secure from danger-fearless of the stor m;
Oh, is there such a resting place for me?

Yes, weary spirits who for shelter long,
Upon the "Tree of Life" may safely lean;
Cleave closely to this refuge firm and strong,
None trusting there have disappointed been.

O precious Saviour! glorious "Tree of Life,"
I am all weakness, with no power to rise;
And passing through a world with changes rife,
On Thee alone my trembling hope relies.

I have not even strength to cling to Thee;
Bind to Thyself this restless, throbbing heart;
Give me to feel Thy boundless love to me,
And let me never from Thy side depart.

B. A. M.

A PAGE OF CHURCH HISTORY.

DARKLY did the year 1556 open over the followers of the Reformed faith, for the Christian Church in England was under a cloud. The healthful though tender plant of Protestantism was sorely shaken by the tempest of persecution, but, while its leaves and blossoms were torn off, its roots took a firmer hold in the soil; the bright and pure though wavering fire of truth was well-nigh quenched in blood, but the tiny flame burned with an intenser radiance. A feeble queen, aided by bigot ministers, strove to spread again over the scarce enlightened land the dark shadow of popery, and to reunite the sundered realm with the still unawakened States of Europe, beneath the enslaving tyranny of Rome. The gaols were filled with prisoners for conscience' sake, many of whom were called to the high honour of martyrdom and sealed joyfully their witness with their blood.

One, however, who should have shown an example of unflinching firmness, had shrunk from the trial. In an hour of weakness, when the ties of kindred chained his affections still to earth, and when the ghastly horrors of death filled the gloom of his prison cell, the gentle-spirited Cranmer had yielded to the persuasions of his enemies, and signed a recantation of his faith; and then, feeling that the God whose truth he had outwardly forsaken, and whose word within his heart he had denied, had turned from him in wrath, he mourned with bitter anguish his want of fidelity. "I am pierced through with many sorrows,' was the language of his remorse, which was aggravated by the thought of how his fall would give cause for triumph to his foes, and would be a stumbling-block in the way of the doubting. The life that he believed to be thus bought, seemed to him valuable only as it might allow opportunity to give evidence of his repentance. Bodily suffering was as nothing in comparison with the torture of the thought, that "after he had preached to others he himself would prove a castaway."

But the Almighty Father would not permit his erring child to be utterly crushed by his self-accusings. On March 20th, Dr. Cole, a learned man, and skilled in controversy, entered the little chamber, but not to convince the prisoner, or to converse on the differences which were no longer supposed to exist between them. From what he said, Cranmer gathered that the fate which he had fruitlessly endeavoured to ward

off even then awaited him, and in grateful acknowledgment of the mercy which granted to him the means of giving public testimony to the truth, in prayer for strength needful for the time of suffering, and in writing a confession of his true belief, he passed the night.

From early dawn the following morning, the inhabitants of Oxford flocked in crowds to the open space within the town, where was piled a heap of fagots, with a post and a chain attached to it in the midst. Few went forth that day to mock the sufferings of the martyr; for he had borne prosperity with such humility, that scarce any hated him personally, however the multitude in their blindness might deem him worthy of death-many went from idle curiosity to see the goodly sight of a fellow-creature writhing in the agonies of death, and some went in sorrow and abasement, fearing to hear the sentence of deadly defection from those venerable lips which had for so long published the truth. Meanwhile, before the pulpit of St. Mary's church a platform had been put up, and Cranmer was placed thereon, in view of those assembled. His pale, worn face exhibiting, according to one who witnessed the scene, "the very image and shape of perfect sorrow," bore trace of bodily weakness and mental conflict. There was no fear, no thought of death; there was deep and earnest contrition expressed in that countenance, usually so placid; and gratitude mingled with shame. From time to time he clasped his hands, and raised his tearful eyes as though in prayer, while Dr. Cole delivered a sermon, a cold and learned discourse on the day's events, full of commonplace reflection on the vicissitudes of life, and of counsel to the victim to pass with fortitude through the fiery trial, promising that masses should be said for his soul's repose. A deep and fearful silence followed, a breathless stillness of suspense, unbroken even by a whisper or a sigh among the expectant throng that filled the church. The preacher then went on reminding the kneeling Cranmer of his promise openly to avow his conversion, that all doubt might be removed.

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That," said the repentant prisoner, rising, "will I do, and with a good will;" and standing up, in his ragged dress, and taking from his brow the old flat cap which partially concealed his features, he spoke calmly and yet with deep feeling, asking for the prayers of those there present, and himself praying meekly and devoutly that his sins might be forgiven. Having exhorted the people to charity and to all good works, he added solemnly, that now at the last hour of life, when his final destiny must soon be determined, he dared

not use dissimulation, but would declare his real faith without regard to whatever he might have said or written aforetime. Then he repeated the apostles' creed, and declared his full and unreserved belief in all that is contained in the Old and New Testaments, and in those truths alone; and declared, that of all the sins that he had committed, what most troubled his conscience was, that to save his life he had written or signed divers documents, containing error, to which he had thereby assented. "And forasmuch," he said, "as my hand offended, writing contrary to my heart, my hand shall first be punished therefore; for may I come to the fire it shall first be burned."

The indignation of the most part of his auditors on hearing this unexpected avowal was restrained only by their astonishment and desire to know further, that they might more fully comprehend him. He continued boldly, "As for the pope, I refuse him as Antichrist; and as for the sacrament, I believe as I have taught in my book against the bishop of Winchester, which teacheth so true a doctrine of the sacrament, that it shall stand at the last day before the judgment of God, when the papistical doctrine, contrary thereto, shall be ashamed to show her face."

Here the rage of his persecutors broke forth. They accused him of falsehood and hypocrisy in having so deceived them; and one, pretending to believe that he thus spoke in order to cast shame on them in revenge for their severity, urged him to lay aside lying, and speak in all sincerity. "Ah, my masters," he replied, "do not you take it so. I have always been a hater of falsehood, and a lover of simplicity, and never before this time have I dissembled.'

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'Stop the heretic's mouth!" exclaimed Cole, loudly; "and take him away!" and amidst the clamour and tumult that ensued, Cranmer was dragged forth to the stake, between two Spanish friars, who, by menaces of eternal woe on the one hand, and by promises of Heaven's felicity on the other, strove to induce him to recant; but as his resolution remained unshaken, they turned away, averring that his obstinacy was of the devil.

And now that his end was so near, he trembled not. Earth and the things of earth, and the weakness of mortality, seemed far away. Through the fiery gate of death he saw the glory of his everlasting home; he heard his Father's voice inviting him to enter; he saw his Saviour's arm stretched forth to aid; and, with an untroubled countenance, he prepared for the last steps which should place him within the haven of rest.

Disembarrassed of his scant and ragged garment, he mounted the funeral pile; whence, having cast off its tenėment of clay, his soul, purified from earthly dross, was so soon to ascend to be for ever with the Lord. 66 This hand," he said, "which signed my recantation, shall suffer first;" and so he held his right hand in the rising flames that curled up snake-like about him, and held it firmly there, until the flesh was burnt from the bone, crying, "This hand hath offended, this unworthy hand!" One of those who had been taught to think ill of him, says, "Surely his death grieved every one." Some pitied his soul, lost without redemption for ever. His friends sorrowed for love, his enemies for pity, and strangers through humanity. He stood so calmly in the fire, that it seemed as though he must have felt comparatively little pain; at least his sufferings did not last long. When the flames had died away, his heart was found unharmed amidst the embers.

So died Thomas Cranmer, in the sixty-seventh year of his

age!

The spot on which our first Protestant archbishop thus yielded up his spirit was already consecrated ground, for there the brother martyrs, Ridley and Latimer, had met their death for the same cause, and in the same manner. The particulars of their noble testimony to the truth are well known.

Among the spectators stood a man who watched the scene with manifest impatience. When at last the fire was kindled, he turned from the scene, and strode off in haste to an adjoining hostel, and having mounted a travelling hack which was ready saddled for him, rode with speed towards London, sparing neither whip nor spur, for he was the bearer of the important news, to a master who could reward diligence and would punish delay.

This employer was no other than Gardiner, bishop of Winchester, whose noontide meal was that day postponed till the expected messenger should arrive. The Duke of Norfolk was the bishop's guest that day, and much they chafed, and oft they wondered that the courier did not come.

“My lord,” said Norfolk, "was it not by your counsel that the heretics were condemned."

"I can scarce lay claim to the credit of the deed, though my influence may have weighed in the scale, and turned the balance against them," answered the bishop, with affected candour.

"Nay, not with reference by name to the reprobates," rejoined the duke; "but at the first council of the bishops convened by the Lord Cardinal, 'tis said you exhorted him to take such measures."