The Christian Year Part 29

St. Peter's Day.

When Herod would have brought him forth, the same night Peter was sleeping. _Acts_ xii. 26.

THOU thrice denied, yet thrice beloved, Watch by Thine own forgiven friend; In sharpest perils faithful proved, Let his soul love Thee to the end.

The prayer is heard-else why so deep His slumber on the eve of death?

And wherefore smiles he in his sleep As one who drew celestial breath?

He loves and is beloved again- Can his soul choose but be at rest?

Sorrow hath fled away, and Pain Dares not invade the guarded nest.

He dearly loves, and not alone: For his winged thoughts are soaring high Where never yet frail heart was known To breathe its vain Affection's sigh.

He loves and weeps-but more than tears Have sealed Thy welcome and his love- One look lives in him, and endears Crosses and wrongs where'er he rove:

That gracious chiding look, Thy call To win him to himself and Thee, Sweetening the sorrow of his fall Which else were rued too bitterly.

E'en through the veil of sheep it s.h.i.+nes, The memory of that kindly glance;- The Angel watching by, divines And spares awhile his blissful trance.

Or haply to his native lake His vision wafts him back, to talk With JESUS, ere His flight He take, As in that solemn evening walk,

When to the bosom of His friend, The Shepherd, He whose name is Good.

Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, Both bought and nourished with His blood:

Then laid on him th' inverted tree, Which firm embraced with heart and arm, Might cast o'er hope and memory, O'er life and death, its awful charm.

With brightening heart he bears it on, His pa.s.sport through this eternal gates, To his sweet home-so nearly won, He seems, as by the door he waits,

The unexpressive notes to hear Of angel song and angel motion, Rising and falling on the ear Like waves in Joy's unbounded ocean.-

His dream is changed-the Tyrant's voice Calls to that last of glorious deeds- But as he rises to rejoice, Not Herod but an Angel leads.

He dreams he sees a lamp flash bright, Glancing around his prison room- But 'tis a gleam of heavenly light That fills up all the ample gloom.

The flame, that in a few short years Deep through the chambers of the dead Shall pierce, and dry the fount of tears, Is waving o'er his dungeon-bed.

Touched he upstarts-his chains unbind- Through darksome vault, up ma.s.sy stair, His dizzy, doubting footsteps wind To freedom and cool moonlight air.

Then all himself, all joy and calm, Though for a while his hand forego, Just as it touched, the martyr's palm, He turns him to his task below;

The pastoral staff, the keys of Heaven, To wield a while in grey-haired might, Then from his cross to spring forgiven, And follow JESUS out of sight.

St. James's Day.

Ye shall drink indeed of My cup, and be baptised with the baptism that I am baptised with: but to sit on My right hand, and on My left, is not Mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom it is prepared of My Father. _St. Matthew_ xx. 23.

SIT down and take thy fill of joy At G.o.d's right hand, a bidden guest, Drink of the cup that cannot cloy, Eat of the bread that cannot waste.

O great Apostle! rightly now Thou readest all thy Saviour meant, What time His grave yet gentle brow In sweet reproof on thee was bent.

"Seek ye to sit enthroned by me?

Alas! ye know not what ye ask, The first in shame and agony, The lowest in the meanest task- This can ye be? and came ye drink The cup that I in tears must steep, Nor from the 'whelming waters shrink That o'er Me roll so dark and deep?"

"We can-Thine are we, dearest Lord, In glory and in agony, To do and suffer all Thy word; Only be Thou for ever nigh."- "Then be it so-My cup receive, And of My woes baptismal taste: But for the crown, that angels weave For those next Me in glory placed,

"I give it not by partial love; But in My Father's book are writ What names on earth shall lowliest prove, That they in Heaven may highest sit."

Take up the lesson, O my heart; Thou Lord of meekness, write it there, Thine own meek self to me impart, Thy lofty hope, thy lowly prayer.

If ever on the mount with Thee I seem to soar in vision bright, With thoughts of coming agony, Stay Thou the too presumptuous flight: Gently along the vale of tears Lead me from Tabor's sunbright steep, Let me not grudge a few short years With thee t'ward Heaven to walk and weep:

Too happy, on my silent path, If now and then allowed, with Thee Watching some placid holy death, Thy secret work of love to see; But, oh! most happy, should Thy call, Thy welcome call, at last be given- "Come where thou long hast storeth thy all Come see thy place prepared in Heaven."

St. Bartholomew.

Jesus answered and said unto him, Because I said unto thee, I saw the under the fig-tree, believest thou? Thou shalt see greater things than these. _St. John_ i. 50.

HOLD up thy mirror to the sun, And thou shalt need an eagle's gaze, So perfectly the polished stone Gives back the glory of his rays:

Turn it, and it shall paint as true The soft green of the vernal earth, And each small flower of bashful hue, That closest hides its lowly birth.

Our mirror is a blessed book, Where out from each illumined page We see one glorious Image look All eyes to dazzle and engage,

The Son of G.o.d: and that indeed We see Him as He is, we know, Since in the same bright gla.s.s we read The very life of things below.-

Eye of G.o.d's word! where'er we turn Ever upon us! thy keen gaze Can all the depths of sin discern, Unravel every bosom's maze:

Who that has felt thy glance of dread Thrill through his heart's remotest cells, About his path, about his bed, Can doubt what spirit in thee dwells?

"What word is this? Whence know'st thou me?"

All wondering cries the humbled heart, To hear thee that deep mystery, The knowledge of itself, impart.

The veil is raised; who runs may read, By its own light the truth is seen, And soon the Israelite indeed Bows down t' adore the Nazarene.

So did Nathanael, guileless man, At once, not shame-faced or afraid, Owning Him G.o.d, who so could scan His musings in the lonely shade;

In his own pleasant fig-tree's shade, Which by his household fountain grew, Where at noon-day his prayer he made To know G.o.d better than he knew.

Oh! happy hours of heavenward thought!

How richly crowned! how well improved!

In musing o'er the Law he taught, In waiting for the Lord he loved.

We must not mar with earthly praise What G.o.d's approving word hath sealed: Enough, if might our feeble lays Take up the promise He revealed;