But into keen enduring flame

It may not burst, till heavenly Love Have o'er it spread, in Christ's dear Name,

The pinions of His brooding Dove.

Now steal once more across the lawn,

Stoop gently through the cypress bough, And mark which way life's feeble dawn

Works in their little hearts, and how.

Still close and closer, as you pry,

They nestle 'neath their mother's plume, Or with a faint forlorn half-cry,

Shivering bewail her empty room.

Or haply, as the branches wave,

The little round of tender bills Is raised, the due repast to crave Of her who all their



Hast thou no wisdom here to learn,

Thou nestling of the Holy Dove,
How hearts that with the true life burn

Live by the pulse of filial love ?

When sorrow comes to thy calm nest,

Early or late, as come it will, Think of yon brood, yon downy breast,

And hide thee deep in Jesus' will.

By morning and by evening moan,

As doves beneath the cedar spray, Make thou thy fearful longings known To Him who is not far


Him Cherub-borne in royal state,

The food of His Elect to be, With eager lip do thou await,

And veiled brow, and trembling knee.

So underneath the warm bright wing,

The hidden grace of thy new birth Shall gather might to soar and sing,

Where'er He bids, in heaven or earth.



“ How often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not !”

The Lord who lends His creatures all

A tongue to preach His will—
To Salem came His mournful call,
His last sad word to Sion's wall,

From the green Eastern hill.

The little children waiting by

Wondered to see Him weep.
The louder swelled their duteous cry,
As He in lowliest majesty

Rode down the shady steep.

Thy little heart, so wild and weak,

Perhaps is musing now,
“ Had I the joy to hear Him speak,
To see that Eye, so heavenly meek,

Sure I should keep my vow.”

The Mother Bird with her Young.


Nay, in that hour He thought on thee,

And left a token sure,
Ever in times of vernal glee
Around thee in thy walks to be,

And keep thee kind and pure.

Look how the Hen invites her brood

Beneath her wing to lie,
Look how she calls them to their food,


eager, dauntless mood, The wheeling hawk on high.

How eyes,

So would thy Lord His pinions spread

Around thee, night and day,
So lead thee, where is heavenly Bread,
So, by the Cross whereon He bled,

The spoiler scare away.

But be thou gathered :-one and all

Those simple nestlings see,
How hurrying at their mother's call,
To their one home, whate'er befall,

In faith entire they flee.



“ They looked steadfastly toward Heaven, as He went up."

The shepherd boy lies on the hill

At noon with upward eye ; Deep on his gaze and deeper still

Ascends the clear blue sky.

You pass him by, and deem perchance

He lies but half awake,
And picture in what airy trance

His soul may sport or ache.

Full wakeful he, both eye and heart,

For he a cloud hath seen Into that waste of air depart,

As bark in ocean green.

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