III.

And vainly too the magic word

By worn and fainting warrior heard, That nerves him for the fight once more With heart more fearless than before.

IV.

So, in this struggling battling world,
Where sin's red banners are unfurled
As proudly as defeat and loss

Were but for soldiers of the cross,

V.

The clash, the tumult may be heard
By distant listeners, haply stirred
With terror to behold how dire

In rebel breasts is mortal ire ;—

VI.

But none remote may hear the stream, Which, sparkling in the Heavenly beam, Doth flow to bless the warrior there,

Who pauses oft for praise and prayer ;—

VII.

Nor yet the spirit-stirring word
By him from voice beloved heard,
That nerves him for the fight once more

With heart more fearless than before.

VIII.

No; battle may be heard afar;
But they, within the field, that are,
Though worn and wearied with the fight,

True to their Sovereign and the right,—

IX.

Alone may catch the water's flow,
Which whoso drinks no thirst shall know;

Alone may hear the still small voice

That whispers to the heart, "Rejoice!"

LXXXIV.

THE DIVINE HEALER.

"He hath sent me to heal the broken-hearted."-LUKE IV. 18

I.

WHY in the woods, but not the crowded city,
Is there so much of joy to wake the soul?
Why mid the haunts of men do tears of pity,

Rather than streams of living gladness roll?
Man is the favourite of Heaven-the Word
Proclaims him over all this fair creation Lord?

II.

Why, then, O why is man so oft the mourner?
A monarch weeping whilst his people smile?
Alas! because the monarch is the scorner

Of his still higher sovereign, the while

His own glad subjects willingly obey,

Save when with harshness stained, their earthly

ruler's sway.

III.

We do not marvel if the rebel servant
Be forced in want and misery to roam;
Nor think to see, without petition fervent,

A pardon granted and admission home:
Enough, and more than always meets our view,
If grace look down and smile, when first the con-

trite sue.

IV.

Thou that wilt heed a voice which from these bowers
Would for one little moment crave thine ear-

As wise it were to look in streets for flowers
That ask the dew, the sun, the shelter here,
As think the treasure of sweet peace to find,
Till thou return to God with all thy heart and mind.

V.

O cease the fruitless search!-let timely warning Prompt to a timely change !-let not the eve Of life be sadder than has been its morning; But kneel, and ask of Heaven to relieve

A worn and wearied prodigal unblest,

Whose spirit yearns for home, whose broken heart would rest.]

VI.

Yes, though thou know it not, thy heart is broken! Thy mirth is only like the winds at play

With severed chords! and if thou ask a token,

What do thy calm and lonely moments say, When the winds sink to rest, and nought is heard Save a still voice with which thine inmost soul is stirred?

VII.

Whispers that voice that thou wert formed by heaven
To taste no higher happiness than thine?
That this intense mysterious life was given
To waken feelings which must hopeless pine,
And die like flowers from an eastern soil,

Fostered and watched in vain on some cold northern isle ?

VIII.

Does it, when night spreads forth to thee her glory,
And hangs her countless lustres in the sky,
That thou might'st read the everlasting story
Writ not by men, but by the Deity

With his own hand, as if one page should teach
Where all might read who would, and past corrup-

tion's reach;