A holy home, a refuge-bower,

For Saints in evil hour,
Where child, and slave, and household maid,

Of their own joy afraid,
As parent's voice familiar own
The pastoral Apostolic tone.
'Tis heard, and each the race would win

To tell the news within.

a snare.

A holy household ! yet beware!
Even here


lurk These home delights, so keen and pure, May not for


endure. Ere long, perchance, a sterner sound Will summon : where wilt thou be found ? Even holy homes may hearts beguile,

And mar God's work a while.



“Jesus was casting out a Devil, and it was dumb: and it came to pass, when the Devil was cast out, the dumb spake."

Not often bends the face of heaven and earth

A dull and joyless brow
On hearts that own meek love and quiet mirth :

But such their aspect now.
Slowly and late through leaden skies
The scanty lights of morning rise,

And hour by weary hour
The hard stern outlines loom around
Of hill by many a frost embrowned,

Pine top, and leafless forest bower.

And days have been, wild days of stormy wing,

O'er-powering breath and thought,
When the dark clouds plied each its heavy sling,

And air and ocean wrought
As erst o'er Noe, hiding all
The bright hues of this earthly ball.

The traveller on his way
Was like a pinnace on the deep,
Whirling around as rude waves sweep,
The sport

of every gust and spray.

So, happy childhood, thine enchanted clime

Two evil spirits mar,
This wild, that sullen : o'er the unlovely prime

Looks out no lingering star,
No softly-brightening trail of morn:
Their day, in gloom or tempest born,

Lowers on till noon and night :
Because the new-born soul made haste
Love's christening gift to scorn or waste,

Fretting or fierce, in Angels' sight.

Yet burns the sun on high beyond the cloud :

Each in his southern cave
The warm winds linger, but to be allowed

One breathing o'er the wave,
One flight across the unquiet sky ;-
Swift as a vane may turn on high

The smile of heaven comes on.

So waits the Lord behind the veil,
His light on frenzied cheek or pale

To shed when the dark hour is gone.

O ye who feel the dumb deaf spirit's breath


heart and home, As in foul cavern spreading damps of death,

Where only Love should come ;-
Who mark, how wane the lamps of prayer
Where sullen thoughts are in the air ;-

Haste, to the Healer bring
The moody silent one : perchance
He at the mighty word and glance

With Saints will hear, with Angels sing.

But if the frenzy fire blaze out, and cast

The sparks of Stygian glow,
Wild evil words, such showers as rode the blast

In Sodom's overthrow ;
If tossing limb and glaring eye
Declare the o'ermastering agony;

On Tabor's crown behold
The pure calm glory : Jesus there

Hath spent the summer night in prayer :

There be your tale of anguish told.

Faint not, if


of man find tardy grace Though saintly knees be bowed, But wait untired beneath the mountain's base ;

Soon will the healing Cloud
Toward thee descend,—the voice of Love
Through the glad air will gently move :-

* Believe, and all may be :"-
The voice of Power command afar
The rushings of that ireful war,

And heart and tongue for prayer be free.


Nay, doubt it not : He gave His signs of yore,

When Angels at the porch
Met thee, and led along the sacred floor,

And from their unseen torch
Shrank muttering to his penal fire
The Demon Shade, companion dire

Of all in evil born.
Within thee, if thou wilt, be sure
That happy hour's strong spells endure,

The seal of heaven, not all outworn.


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