The rod of heaven has touch'd them all, The word from heaven is spoken: “Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall; “ Are not thy fetters broken? "The God who hallow'd thee and blest, "Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, "Now that th' eternal Son "His blessed home in heaven hath left "To make thee all his own?” Thou mourn'st because Sin lingers still Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, And worldlings blot the temple's gold Hence all thy groans and travail pains, Hence, till thy God return, In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains, Oh! Nature, seem to mourn. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. And Simon answering said unto Him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net. And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes: and their net brake. St. Luke v. 5, 6. "THE livelong night we've toiled in vain, "I will let down the net again : "Do Thou thy will, O Lord!" So spake the weary fisher, spent So day by day and week by week, They muse, whom God hath set to seek For not upon a tranquil lake Our pleasant task we ply, Where all along our glistening wake The softest moonbeams lie; Where rippling wave and dashing oar Sweet thoughts of peace, ye may not last: Calls us from where ye soar so fast For wildest storms our ocean sweep:- Might hold and oft the thankless deep Full many a dreary anxious hour We watch our nets alone In drenching spray, and driving shower, And hear the night-bird's moan: At morn we look, and nought is there; There is a stay-and we are strong; To cheer our solitary song, And guide us to the strand, In his own time: but yet awhile Cast after cast, by force or guile By blameless guile or gentle force, Should e'er thy wonder-working grace Triumph by our weak arm, Let not our sinful fancy trace Aught human in the charm: |