XIV.

Dying upon a cross of shame

For sins of every hue and name

That call for heaven's dread curse;

Dying for creatures of his hands,
Who trampled on his own commands,

And stained his universe!

XV.

Dying that men deserving woes

None but a hopeless spirit knows,
Might yet escape his ire,

And in that deeply pierced side
Might all their sins and sorrows hide-

Then join the ceaseless quire!

XVI.

Before this wonder infinite

Sink'st thou oppressed? An angel's sight

Were dazzled by the blaze

Of love, that, beaming from that brow,

Ne'er streamed thro' heaven's courts as now!

How then can mortal gaze?

XVII.

Aright thou canst not-till there shine, Deep in thy soul, that light divine,

Which strength with weakness blends: His feeble emblem in the sky

Is seen not to a mortal eye,

Save by the light it lends.

XVIII.

Fall then before the Cross with me!

Together let us bow the knee;

And, with intense desire,

Implore this Lord of boundless grace, To make these souls his dwelling place, And faith to gaze inspire.

XIX.

Then love, within us and above,

Shall sweetly answer-love for love,

Until, their wings unfurled,

Our spirits mount with rapturous flight, And, heaven exchanging faith for sight, Love bloom in its own world.

VII.

THE TOPMOST BOUGHS.

1.

WHAT time the storm was wrestling with the woods, And the hare trembled in her leafy bed,

And tumult raged in deepest solitudes,

And the swarth herdsman felt unwonted dread,

I marked the topmost branches of an oak
Rent from the tree as by a lightning stroke,
And, borne away upon the viewless blast,
Against a bleak hill's side with shattered foliage

cast.

II.

Yet far beneath, round that same broken tree,
A honeysuckle twined her branches frail,
Which, while the tempest raged so mightily,
Just waved, as yielding to a gentle gale,
Nor lost a blossom; for around her close
Hung sheltering boughs, that, as the storm arose,
Still closer bent to her-as if in love

They would her blooms protect from the dread blast above.

III.

'Tis an old tale-but I did hear it now,
As if proclaimed by the winds on high,
That peace is far below the topmost bough,
And safety lieth in obscurity;

And I will learn that lesson by the grace
Of Him who chose on earth a lowly place,
And feel, with deeper gratitude to heaven,

Such place I need not seek-since love divine hath given.

Ꭰ

VIII.

THE SHOWER IS PAST.

I.

THE shower is past;-and only one glad song
As yet doth welcome the returning rays;
But that so clear, so full, it were to wrong
Its melody, methinks, to speak its praise,
Except with answering sweetness :-Oh! again
Repeat, bright bird, thine own rich notes, before
Others do shake their plumes, and join the strain-

Thy single voice to me now lovelier seems than

more.