Fall'n all beside-the world of life, How is it stain'd with fear and strife! In Reason's world what storms are rife, What passions range and glare!

But cheerful and unchang'd the while
Your first and perfect form ye show,
The same that won Eve's matron smile
In the world's opening glow.

The stars of Heaven a course are taught
Too high above our human thought;—
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
And as we gaze, we know.

Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And guilty man, where'er he roams,
Your innocent mirth may borrow.
The birds of air before us fleet,

They cannot brook our shame to meet-
But we may taste your solace sweet,
And come again to-morrow.

Ye fearless in your nests abide

Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise,

Your silent lessons, undescried

By all but lowly eyes :

For ye could draw th' admiring gaze
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys:
Your order wild, your fragrant maze,
He taught us how to prize.

Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour,
As when He paus’d and own'd you good;
His blessing on earth's primal bower,
Ye felt it all renew'd.

What care ye now, if winter's storm
Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form?
Christ's blessing at your heart is warm,
Ye fear no vexing mood.

Alas! of thousand bosoms kind,
That daily court you and caress,
How few the happy secret find
Of your calm loveliness!
"Live for to-day! to-morrow's light
"To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight,
"Go sleep like closing flowers at night,
"And Heaven thy morn will bless."

Q

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

I desire that ye faint not at my tribulations for you, which is your glory. Ephesians iii. 13.

WISH not, dear friends, my pain away-
Wish me a wise and thankful heart,
With God, in all my griefs, to stay,
Nor from His lov'd correction start.

The dearest offering He can crave
His portion in our souls to prove,
What is it to the gift He gave,
The only Son of His dear love?

But we,

like vex'd unquiet sprights,
Will still be hovering o'er the tomb,
Where buried lie our vain delights,
Nor sweetly take a sinner's doom.

In Life's long sickness evermore

Our thoughts are tossing to and fro : We change our posture o'er and o'er, But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe.

Were it not better to lie still,

Let Him strike home and bless the rod, Never so safe as when our will

Yields undiscern'd by all but God?

Thy precious things, whate'er they be

That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain,

Look to the Cross, and thou shalt see

How thou may'st turn them all to gain.

Lovest thou praise? the Cross is shame :
Or ease? the Cross is bitter grief:

More pangs

than tongue or heart can frame Were suffer'd there without relief.

We of that altar would partake,

But cannot quit the cost-no throne Is ours, to leave for Thy dear sake

We cannot do as Thou hast done.

We cannot part with Heaven for Thee-
Yet guide us in thy track of love :
Let us gaze on where light should be,
Though not a beam the clouds remove.

So wanderers ever fond and true

Look homeward through the evening sky, Without a streak of Heaven's soft blue To aid Affection's dreaming eye.

The wanderer seeks his native bower,
And we will look and long for Thee,
And thank Thee for each trying hour,

Wishing, not struggling, to be free.