L.

THE RESOURCE OF THE SENSITIVE.

ART thou a spirit of a gentle mould?
Sensitive, tender-haply to excess-

Pained by a word too harsh, a look too cold,
And most of all from them thou would'st caress?
Thou hast within, what, if thou wilt, shall bless,
Through grace divine, with future good untold,
And even here yield pleasures numberless,
And waken praises too as manifold:

From all below, oh, turn to one on high!
Taste, taste the sweetness of a Saviour's love!
Expect no more on earth the sympathy

A heart like thine ne'er found except above;
Thou needest one who thoughts untold can read,
And fans the smoking flax, and binds the bruised
reed.

LI.

TRUST IN A RISEN SAVIOUR.

"Be careful for nothing."-PHIL. iv 6.

I.

As on I pass along the crowded way

To the one silent resting-place of all,

Thy Word, the lamp that lights me on my way, Casts a bright gleam even on the funeral pall.

II.

Illumined thus, my risen Lord, I trust

In Thee to raise what Thou hast died to save, In new-born power and glory from the dust,

To which ere long 'twill moulder in the grave.

III.

And shall I doubt thy goodness to provide
For this frail form before I yield my breath?
Forgive, blest Lord, the thought! I will confide
In Thee alike for all in life or death.*

*The above lines were suggested by the following passage in the writings of Bishop Hall: "I will rely on Him for small matters of this life for how shall I hope to trust him in [seeming] impossibilities, if I may not in likelihoods? How shall I depend on Him for raising my body from dust, and saving my soul, if I mistrust him for a crust of bread, towards my preservation?"

For similar assistance in one or two other of the pieces which form this volume, the author is also indebted to prose divines.

LII.

HOME.

"As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place."-PROV. xxvii. 8.

I.

THROUGH all the world, so varied, and so vast,
May there not be some little chosen spot,
Wherein 'twere better that my lot were cast,

And which, with careful search, were wisely

sought?

Never, oh, never, while the truth remains

That love supremely wise my home and lot ordains!

II.

The bird that idly wanders from her nest,-
A prodigy in nature rarely seen,-

Must build another ere she calmly rest;

While, chill and dying in their leafy screen, She leaves the fruit of many a toil and care, That soon had gladdened her, and all the woodland air.

III.

And when the second nest is built, and warm With tender life that should endear her home, Where is the tie of nature, or the charm,

To bind her now? Why should she cease to roam? She will not cease, till restless heart and wing Shall both alike be cold mid withered leaves of

spring.

IV.

"Tis not in place to give the heart repose :

The bird that wanders from the mountain pine Would quit alike the woodbine and the rose, And see no beauty in the clustered vine:

R