Who knows but here, in mercy lent,
A gleam preventing heaven we see,
A token of Love's victory
In a sweet awful Sacrament?

Hearts fallen and sin-born,
Oh, why are ye so fondly stirr'd ?
For bounding lamb or lonely bird
Why should ye joy or mourn?

Ah, you have been in JESUS' arms,
The holy Fount hath you imbued
With His all-healing kindly Blood,
And somewhat of His pastoral charms,
And care for His lost sheep,

Ye there have learn'd: in order'd tones
Gently to soothe the lesser ones,

And watch their noon-day sleep.

Lo, far and wide the Love o'erflows,
The Love that to your souls He gave
In the regenerating wave ;—

Both man and beast His mercy knows

Nor from His pattern swerve

His children, tending lamb or dove :— aye the choice of all your love

But

Ye for His Least reserve.

To point the way where they should go,
By word and gesture, o'er and o'er,
Teach them untir'd, all courteous lore,

Hear their first prayers, so meek and low :—
These are your arts: by these

Ye in the fold your task fulfil,

And the Good Shepherd on the hill

From far approving sees.

10.

LIFTING UP TO THE CROSS.

"But Jesus answered and said, Ye know not what ye ask. Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of, and to be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with? They say unto him, We are able."

OFT have I read of sunny realms, where skies are pure

at even,

And sight goes deep in lucid air, and earth seems nearer Heaven,

And wheresoe'er you lift your eyes, the holy Cross, they say,

Stands guardian of your journey, by lone or crowded

way;

And I have mused how awfully its shadows and its

gleams

Might haply fall on infants' eyes, and mingle with their dreams,

And draw them up by silent power of its o'er-shading

arm,

And deepen on the tender brow Christ's seal and saintly charm.

Oft have I read, and dream'd, and now behold a token

true!

A maiden from a distant isle, where Faith is fresh of

hue,

Where Memory tarries, to reprove our cold irreverent

age,

In churches set like stars around some saintly hermitage ;

Where old Devotion lingers beside the granite Cross, And pilgrims seek the healing well, far over moor and

moss,

A noble-hearted maiden, from a believing shore,

Is by, to see Christ's little ones Him crucified adore.

Upon a verdant hillock the sacred sign appears,

A damsel on no trembling arm an eager babe up

rears,

With a sister's yearning love, and an elder sister's

pride,

She lifts the new-baptized, to greet the Friend who for him died.*

* A traveller from Ireland witnessed this scene on the Continent, and described it to the Author.

Who may the maiden's thought divine, performing thus in sight

Of all the heavenly Watchers her pure unbidden rite? While fearless to those awful Lips her treasure she would raise,

I see her features shrink, as though she fain would downward gaze.

Perchance a breath of self-reproach is fluttering round her heart :

Thou, darling, in our Saviour mayst for certain claim thy part :

The dews baptismal bright and keen are glistening on thy brow,

He cannot choose but own thee, in His arms received

e'en now.

But much I've sinn'd and little wept: will He not say, 'Begone?'

I dare not meet His searching eye; my penance is

undone.

But thou and thy good Angel, who nerves mine arm to

bear

And lift thee up so near Him, will strive for me in prayer."