So be it now : the secret dark
Of wasting sin here in God's awful ark

In mercy may He keep from thee,
Yet be thou near, our penance-hour to see,
Our penance-hour to see, and deeply thrill

At sense of unknown ill.
Thou look’st an Angel : be thy presence found
Like a bright Angel's here, guarding the holy ground.

Oh much we need a loving spell,
To scare away the Powers unclean and fell,

Whom we too oft have tempted nigh,
To bind our burden, dim our upward eye.
Thou from the Font art fresh and undefiled :

O surely, happy child,
More than angelic power is where thou art,
More than angelic love, to melt the cold dry heart.




“ It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.”

THE Primroses with kindly gleam

Are looking out from bower and brake :
As bright and quiet all things seem

As if no heart on earth could ache.

Yet He, the Sun who yester even

Set in that wild tempestuous gloom,
When graves flew wide, and rocks were riven,

Still lingers in the dreary tomb.

Nor blame our peace : for He will rise,

His veil for evermore withdrawn.
O never yet shone vernal skies

So pure, as shall to-morrow dawn.

'Tis in that faith the flowers of Earth

best make speed to wear, And e'en the funeral mound gives birth

To wild thyme fresh and violets fair.

Stoop, little child, nor fear to kiss

The green buds on this bed of death. Thou hast thy first baptismal bliss,

Like new-born babe's, thy fragrant breath.

Thy fragrant breath with this sweet air

From briar and turf may duly blend : But keep it pure with Fast and Prayer,

Come early near, and lowly bend.



“I found Him whom my soul loveth: I held Him, and would not let Him go."

'Twas at the matin hour, early before the dawn, The prison-doors flew open, the bolts of death were

drawn. 'Twas at the matin hour, when prayers of Saints are

strong, Where, two short days ago, He bore the spitting,

wounds, and wrong, From realms unseen, an unseen way th’Almighty

Saviour came, And following on His silent steps an Angel arm'd in

flame. The stone is roll’d away, the keepers fainting fall ; Satan's and Pilate's watchmen—the Day has scar’d The Angel came full early, but Christ had gone

them all.

before, The Breath of Life, the Living Soul, had breath'd

itself once more Into the sacred Body that slumber'd in the tomb, As still and lowly, as erewhile in th' undefiled womb. And surely not in folds so bright the spotless winding

sheet Inwrapt Him, nor such fragrance pour'd the myrrh

and aloes sweet, As when in that chaste Bosom, His awful bed, He

lay, And Mary's prayer around Him rose, like incense,

night and day.

And even as when her hour was come, He left His

Mother mild A royal Virgin evermore, heavenly and undefild, So left the glorious Body the rock it slumber'd on, And spirit-like in silence past, nor touch'd the sealed


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