SPRING AND EASTER.

(Written during the prevalence of the small-pox in the East End of London.)

THE room is dark, and at the door is death;

Sightless, and marred beyond all knowledge, there

His victims waiting lie: their labouring breath Makes the sob sound, and taints the heavy air. What comfort?-Ah, my God! who doubt Thy truth,

And mock our Easter hope, should enter here, And see Thy Word in its immortal youth,

Serene and strong in mastery of fear. Without, the changèd season smiles and sings, For winter's tyranny is overpast :

Within, is risen with healing in His wings.

The Sun, whose sky, no death-clouds overcast ; There, Springtide's promise of regenerate earth: Here, Easter sunshine of the second birth.

S. J. STONE. The Knight of Intercession. (Rivingtons.)

WHO Comes (my soul, no longer doubt),
Rising from earth's wormy sod,
And whilst ten thousand angels shout,
Ascends,-ascends to heaven, a God?
Saviour, Lord, I know thee now !

Mighty to redeem and save,
Such glory blazes on thy brow,

Which lights the darkness of the grave.

Saviour, Lord, the human soul,

Forgotten every sorrow here, Shall thus, aspiring to its goal, Triumph in its native sphere.

W. L. BOWLES.

HERE, where our Lord once laid His head, Now the grave lies buried.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

EARLY hasten to the tomb,

Where they laid His breathless clay, All is solitude and gloom :

Who hath taken Him away?

Christ is ris'n ;-He seeks the skies,

Saviour, teach us so to rise.

JAMES MONTGOMERY.

I TREAD the path where once we walked together;
Old leaves and withered fir-cones strew the way,
And cowslips rustle in the breezy weather
This Easter Day.

Over the slopes the village bells are ringing,

A skylark's song floats downward, clear and gay; And my full heart breaks forth in joy and singing This Easter Day.

My risen Lord, I feel Thy strong protection!
I see Thee stand among the graves to-day;
"I am the Way,-the Life,-the Resurrection,"
I hear Thee say.

And all the burdens I have carried sadly
Grow light as blossoms on an April spray ;
My cross becomes a staff, I journey gladly
This Easter Day.

SARAH DOUDNEY.

OH! day of days! shall hearts set free
No "minstrel rapture" find for thee?.
Thou art the Sun of other days,
They shine by giving back Thy rays:
Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere
Thou shedd'st thy light on all the year;
Sundays by Thee more glorious break,
An Easter Day in every week:

And weekdays, following in their train,
The fulness of Thy blessing gain,
Till all, both resting and employ,
Be one Lord's day of holy joy.

JOHN KEBLE. Christian Year.

I GOT me flowers to strew Thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree :
But Thou wast up by break of day,

And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee.

The Sun arising in the East,

Though he give light, and th' East perfume; If they should offer to contest

With Thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we miss :
That is but one, and that one ever.

GEORGE HERBERT.

SEE the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose,
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices;

Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild birds build and sing.

You, to whom your Maker granted
Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;

Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,
Each his Easter tribute bring-
Work of fingers, chant of voices,
Like the birds who build and sing.

CHARLES KINGSLEY.
Poems. (Macmillan and Co.)

NOT AMONG THE DEAD.

"HE is not here!" O quickening words of grace, That thrilled the morning gray,

When, stooping down, they viewed the empty place,
Where late the Master lay!

O saving words, what blessèd balm ye shed
O'er the bruised spirit yearning for its dead!
From each calm grave, to wistful memories dear,
Your echo whispers still, "He is not here."

FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

THE GREAT STONE.

SHUTTING Out light, massy and hard and cold, The great stone, Death, against our hearts was rolled.

Lo, chill and silent, breaks the Easter day; Jesus hath risen--the stone is rolled away. FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

LIGHT IN THE VALLEY.

No more, no more, with loud and shuddering breath,

We tread thy bourn, O shadowy Vale of Death;
For all along thy deeps of throbbing night
The Saviour's feet have left a track of light.
FREDERICK Langbridge.

AWAKE, glad soul! Awake! awake!
Thy Lord hath risen long;
Go to His grave, and with thee take,
Both tuneful heart and song:
Where Spring awakens all around,
Where vernal voices sing,
The first bright Blossom may be found
Of an Eternal Spring.

J. S. B. MONSELL.

CHRIST is risen! the Lord is come,
Bursting from the sealed tomb!
Death and Hell, in mute dismay,
Render up their mightier prey.

Christ is risen ! but not alone!
Death, thy kingdom is o'erthrown!
We shall rise as He hath risen,
From the deep sepulchral prison.

H. H. MILMAN.
Works. (Murray.)

[BUT] surely as our Saviour rose

On Easter morn from Joseph's cave, Shall all those mounds at last unclose, And Christian people leave the grave. He died, He slept, He rose to be An earnest of our victory.

C. F. ALEXANDER.

Hymns for Little Children. (J. Masters.)

O GLORIOUS Head, Thou livest now! Let us Thy members share Thy life; Canst Thou behold their need, nor bow

To raise Thy children from the strife
With self and sin, with death and dark distress,
That they may live to Thee in holiness?

Earth knows Thee not, but evermore

Thou liv'st in Paradise, in peace;
Oh fain my soul would thither soar,

Oh let me from the creatures cease:
Dead to the world, but to Thy Spirit known,
I live to Thee, O Prince of life, alone.

Break through my bonds whate'er it cost,

What is not Thine within me slay, Give me the lot I covet most,

To rise as Thou hast risen to-day.

I nought can do, a slave to death I pine,
Work Thou in me, O Power and Life Divine!

Work Thou in me, and heavenward guide
My thoughts and wishes, that my heart
Waver no more nor turn aside,

But fix for ever where Thou art.

Thou art not far from us; who loves Thee well, While yet on earth in heaven with Thee may dwell.

TERSTEEGEN.

Translated by C. Winkworth. (Lyra Germanica.) [By kind permission of Messrs. Longman and Co.]

LIFE, by this light's nativity,

All creatures have.

Death only by this day's just doom is forced to die :

Nor is death forced; for, may he lie
Throned in thy grave,

Death will, on this condition, be content to die.

RICHARD CRASHAW.

MATTHEW XXVIII. 6.

WHENEVER by sense of ours
An angel voice is heard,
Like the dropping of nard of flowers
Is the sound of each gracious word.

But dearest, where all are dear,

Is the voice that speaks to-day: "He is risen-He is not here:

Come, see the place where He lay."
FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

PRAISE be to God on high!
The triumph hour is near;
The Lord hath won the victory,
The foe is vanquished here!
Dark Grave, yield up the dead;

Give up thy prey, thou Earth;
In death He bowed His sacred head,—
He springs anew to birth!

J. S. B. MONSell.

"These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."-Rev. vii. 14.

THEY came through anguish and moan,

And their robes in His blood made white,

They are ever before God's throne,

And they serve Him day and night.
They shall hunger no more for aye,

On them shall no heat arise,
And our God shall wipe away
All tears from their eyes.

FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

A PATHWAY opens from the tomb,
The grave's a grave no more!
Stoop down look into that sweet room,
Pass through the unseal'd door :
Linger a moment by the bed,

Where lay but yesterday the Church's Head.

What is there there to make thee fear?

A folded chamber-vest,

Akin to that which thou shalt wear,

When for thy slumber drest;

Two gentle angels sitting by

How sweet a room, methinks, wherein to lie!

No gloomy vault, no charnel cell,

No emblems of decay,

No solemn sound of passing-bell,
To say "He's gone away;"

But angel-whispers soft and clear,
And He, the risen Jesus, standing near.

"Why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou?"

'Tis not the gardener's voice,

But His to Whom all knees shall bow,

In Whom all hearts rejoice;

The voice of Him Who yesterday

Within that rock was Death's resistless prey.

"Why weepest thou?

Whom seekest thou? The living with the dead?"

Take young spring flowers and deck thy brow,
For life with joy is wed;

The grave is now the grave no more;
Why fear to pass that bridal-chamber door?

Take flowers and strew them all around

The room where Jesus lay;

But softly tread; 'tis hallowed ground,
And this is Easter Day.

"The Lord is risen," as He said,

And thou shalt rise with Him, thy risen Head.

ANON.

THEN wake, glad heart! awake! awake!
And seek thy risen Lord,
Joy in His Resurrection take,

And comfort in His word;

And let thy life, through all its ways,
One long thanksgiving be,
Its theme of joy, its song of praise,
"Christ died, and rose for me."

J. S. B. MONsell.

ST. MATTHEW IX. 24.

O YE that mourn the first and best,
It is not death, but quiet rest,

His weary eyes that steepeth.
So speaks the voice of Easter Day;
Your wreath of flowers above Him lay;
Look up to Heaven, and turn away.—
He is not dead, but sleepeth.

FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

THE shade and gloom of life are fled
This Resurrection Day,

Henceforth in Christ are no more dead,

The grave hath no more prey;

In Christ we live, in Christ we sleep,
In Christ we wake and rise ;
And the sad tears Death makes us weep
He wipes from all our eyes.

J. S. B. MONSell.

THE way He trod there is no other way-
Thro' death to life, thro' suffering to the crown.
FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE.

"THE servant as His Master;" tread thou on ; Suffer with Him, with Him be glorified.

F. L.