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So steadily he speeds,
Nor talk nor landscape heeds.
What sudden blaze is round him pour’d,
In one rich glory shone ?
Voice heard by him alone.
For to the rest both words and form
While Saul, in wakeful trance,
With keen yet pitying glance :
And hears the meek upbraiding call
As if th' Almighty Son
Nor his great power begun.
“ Ah wherefore persecut'st thou me ?"
His strain'd eye from the sight:
Th’ insufferable light.
" Who art thou, Lord ?”.. he falters forth :So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth
At the last awful day. “ When did we see thee suffering nigh', “ And pass’d thee with unheeding eye ?
“ Great God of judgment, say!"
Ah ! little dream our listless
eyes What glorious presence they despise,
While, in our noon of life,
Christ suffers in our strife.
And though heaven gate long since have clos'd, And our dear Lord in bliss repos'd
f St. Matthew xxv. 44.
High above mortal ken, To every ear in every land (Though meek ears only understand)
He speaks as He did then.
“ Ah wherefore persecute ye me?
“ With your own endless woe. “ Know, though at God's right hand I live, “ I feel each wound ye reckless give
" To the least saint below.
“ I in your care my brethren left, “ Not willing ye should be bereft
“ Of waiting on your Lord. “ The meanest offering ye can make“A drop of water-for love's sakes,
“ In Heaven, be sure, is stor'd."
O by those gentle tones and dear,
Thou only hope of souls,
& St. Matthew x. 42.
Ne'er let us cast one look behind,
What every thought controuls.
As to thy last Apostle's heart
Zeal's never-dying fire,
Intenser blaze and higher.
And as each mild and winning note
When the full strain is o'er)
Love's lesson more and more:
So, as we walk our earthly round,
Be in our memory stor’d: “ Christians! behold your happy state : “ Christ is in these, who round you wait ;
“ Make much of your dear Lord !"
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
St. Matthew y. 3.
BLESS'D are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God, The secret of the Lord is theirs,
Their soul is Christ's abode.
Might mortal thought presume
To guess an angel's lay,
The courts of Heaven to-day.
Such the triumphal hymns
On Sion's Prince that wait, In high procession passing on
Towards His temple-gate.