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And dare we the transporting word
To our own hearts apply ?
Trembling we dare ; for He had heard Our lowly breathed vows, ere flamed yon morning sky.
We have been by His Cross and grave ;
His Angel bade us speed
Where they resort, whom He will save, And hear and say as one,
The Lord is risen indeed.”
Then speed we on our willing way,
And He our way will bless.
In fear and love thy heart array ; Straight be thy churchway path, unsoiled thy Sabbath
WALK TO CHURCH.
“The path of the Just is as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day."
Now the holy hour is nigh,
Seek we out the holy ground ;
Rustling woodlands all around :
Peat and moss and whortles green,
Through their brown or briary screen.
Hie we through the autumnal wood,
Pausing where the echoes dwell,
Trying how afar they swell.
Now the old grey tower we see,
JESUS risen hath sworn to be.
He hath sworn, for there will meet
Two or three in His great name, Waiting till their incense sweet
Feel His heaven-descended flame. Day by day that old grey tower
Tells its tale, and week by week In their tranquil hoary bower
To the unlearned its shadows speak. 3.
Keep thy foot when thou goest to the House of God.”
This is the portal of the dead.
Nay, shrink not so, my fair-eyed boy,
With wary softness : tame the joy,
The wildfire keen, that all the way Even from our porch at home hath danced with thee
This is the holy resting-place,
Where coffins and where mourners wait,
His path toward this eastern gate,
Like one who bears a hidden seal Of pardon from a king, where rebels trembling kneel.
Brief is the pause, but thoughts and dreams
By thousands on that moment crowd,
A waning lamp, a brightening shroud :
Such visions fill the longing eyes As haply haunt the space 'twixt earth and Paradise.
Such visions in the churchyard air
Are gleaming, fluttering all around.
Of bolder cry and ruder bound.
Thick as the bees that love to play Under the lime-tree leaves the livelong summer day,
And tunable as their soft song,
And fragrant as the honey'd flowers
Of thoughts in these our hallowed bowers.
yew They float, and twinkle in each drop of morning dew.