Oh then revere each old grey stone,

And gently tread the mounds between. So when thy blithesome days are done,

And thou, as I, shalt wearied lean

Upon the wicket low, and tell Thy tale of playmates called before thee here to

dwell ;

When thou shalt mark, how swarms the street

With boys at play, the turf with graves, All in one little hour to meet

And hear the doom that slays or saves ;

Fresh may the memory prove and dear, How thou hast come and gone, since first we brought

thee here.

Then shall the wings, so strong in need,

Which met thee at the Font that hour, And homeward joy'd with thee to speed,

O'ershade thee still in love and power,

And with the churchyard shadows blend, Which thy last entering here shall in sweet peace




“ They shall see His Face, and His Name shall be in their foreheads.'

COME hear with duteous mind

Thy Mother's whisper'd word.
“Wouldst thou upon His threshold find

Thy dread and loving Lord ?
Renew in silence on thy brow
The pledge of thy first saving vow.”

Safe in thy forehead keep

The mark by Jesus set. Before thee is a mighty deep,

A baptism waits thee yet : As Lazarus rising, such thou art, Thy soul and flesh again to part.

But when thy Lord and thou,

Thou from the grave, and He
From Heaven,-shall meet, upon thy brow

A glorious Cross shall be,
A Light that needs no watching o'er,
Even as He rose, and died no more.



“ The blind and the lame came to Him in the temple.”

Why should we grudge the hour and house of prayer

To Christ's own blind and lame,

Who come to meet Him there? Better, be sure, His altar-flame

Should glow in one dim wavering spark, Than quite die down, and leave His temple drear and


“But in our Psalm their choral answers fail.”_

Nay, but the heart may speak,

And to the holy tale
Respond aright in silence meek.

And well we know, bright angel throngs
Are by, to swell those whisperings into warbled songs.

What if the world our two or three despise ?

They in His name are here,

To Whom in suppliant guise
Of old the blind and lame drew near.

Beside His royal courts they wait
And ask His healing Hand : we dare not close the




“I will not offer burnt-offerings without cost."

Why deck the high cathedral roof

With foliage rich and rare,
With crowns and flowerets far aloof,

To none but Angels fair ?

“Why for the lofty Altar hide

Thy gems and gold in store ? Why spread the burnished pall so wide

Upon the chancel floor ?"

Nay, rather ask, why duteous boy

And mother-loving maid
Scarce in their filial gifts find joy,

If nought of theirs be paid :

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