O blest, O safe, on God's own bosom leaning !

But passion-hours are nigh keep thou thy place : And far and wide are evil watchers, gleaning

The lambs that slight the Shepherd's fostering grace.

“Nay, I will drink His cup; my vow is taken ;

With His baptizing blood mine own shall blend ; Ne'er be that holiest charge by me forsaken,

The dying Saviour's trust to each true friend.”

Well hast thou sworn, and be thy warfare glorious :

But Saints are pure, the Church is undefiled, And JESUS welcom'd from His cross victorious

A Virgin Mother to a Virgin Child.

“Then ask for me of the dread Son of Mary,

Whose arms eternal are young children's home, A loving heart, obedient eyes and wary,

Even as I am to tarry till He come.

Prayer shall not fail, but higher He would lead thee :

His bosom-friend ate of that awful Bread :
So will He wait all day to bless and feed thee ;-

Come thou adoring to be blest and fed.

“ 'Tis meet and right, and mine own bounden duty.

Good Angels guide me with pure heart to fall Before His Altar-step, and see His Beauty,

And taste of Him, my first, my last, mine all.”



(See the First Prayer Book of Edward VI.—Receyve the signe of the Holy Crosse, both in thy forehead, and in thy breste.")

“ I will write upon him my new Name."

WHERE is the mark to Jesus known,

Whereby He seals His own ?
Slaves wore of old on brow and breast

Their master's name impress’d,
And Christian babes on heart and brow

Wear Jesus' token now.
His holy Priest that token gave
With finger dipt in the life-giving wave.

When soldiers take their sovereign's fee,

And swear his own to be,
The royal badge on forehead bold

They show to young and old.
Nor may we hide for fear or shame

The persecuted Name.
Only with downcast eyes we go
At thought of sin that God and Angels know.

If the dread mark, though dim, be there,

The watchers will not bear
From spirits unblest or reckless man

Unpitying word or ban.
“ Mine own anointed touch ye not,

Nor mine handwriting blot. Where'er


soldiers cross your path, Honour my royal Sign, or fear my wrath.”

The Shepherd signs his lambs in haste,

Ere on the mountain waste
He loose them, far and wide to stray,
And whoso mars their

Or scorns the awful Name they show,

That Shepherd counts him foe.
Fresh from His arms are these, and sure
We read His token here undimm’d and pure.

Fresh from th' eternal Arms are these,

Or sporting on our knees,
Or set on earth with earnest eye

And tottering feet, to try

Their daily walk, or newly taught

Grave prayer and quiet thought.
The fragrant breath of their new birth
Is round them yet : avaunt, ill airs of earth.

Ye elder brethren, think on this !

Think on the mighty bliss,
Should He, the Friend of babes, one day,

The words of blessing say :
“My seal upon My lambs ye knew,

And I will honour you :"And think upon the eternal loss If on their foreheads ye deface the glorious Cross.

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