But should thankless silence seal Lips, that might half Heaven reveal, Noblest things find vilest using,) In vile things noble breath infusing; Then waken into sound divine The very pavement of thy shrine, If it flow from childlike hearts. MONDAY BEFORE EASTER. Doubtless Thou art our Father, though Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge us not. Isaiah lxiii. 16. 66 FATHER to me Thou art and Mother dear, And Brother too, kind husband of my heart”— So speaks Andromache in boding fear, Ere from her last embrace her hero part So evermore, by Faith's undying glow, We own the Crucified in weal or woe. Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home, When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields Even to the doting mother: but thine own c Iliad. vi. 429. There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs, The Father spares the Son, for thee to die : Thou art as much His care, as if beside Nor man nor angel liv'd in heaven or earth: Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth : They shine and shine with unexhausted storeThou art thy Saviour's darling-seek no more. On thee and thine, thy warfare and thine end, The ransom'd spirits one by one were brought dIn Passion week, from Tuesday evening to Thursday evening during which time Scripture seems to be nearly silent concerning our Saviour's proceedings. Ye vaulted cells where martyr'd seers of old Green terraces and arched fountains cold, Where lies the cypress shade so still and deep, Dear sacred haunts of glory and of woe, Help us, one hour, to trace His musings high and low: One heart-ennobling hour! It may not be: Th' unearthly thoughts have pass'd from earth away, And fast as evening sunbeams from the sea Thy footsteps all in Sion's deep decay Were blotted from the holy ground: yet dear Is every stone of hers; for Thou wast surely here. There is a spot within this sacred dale That felt Thee kneeling-touch'd thy prostrate brow: One angel knows it. O might prayer avail To win that knowledge! sure each holy vow Might tear of ours once mingle with the blood That from His aching brow by moonlight fell, Over the mournful joy our thoughts would brood, Like birds of evil wing, to mar our sacrifice. So dreams the heart self-flattering, fondly dreams;— Else wherefore, when the bitter waves o'erflow, Miss we the light, Gethsemane, that streams From thy dear name, where in His page It shines, a pale kind star in winter's sky? of woe Who vainly reads it there, in vain had seen Him die. not. TUESDAY BEFORE EASTER. : They gave him to drink wine mingled with myrrh but he received it St. Mark xv. 23. "FILL high the bowl, and spice it well, and pour "The dews oblivious: for the Cross is sharp, "The Cross is sharp, and He "Is tenderer than a lamb. |