Sidor som bilder

Where is your Lord ?' she scornful asks :
•Where is his hire ? we know his tasks ;
Sons of a King ye boast to be ;
Let us your crowns and treasures see.'

We in the words of Truth reply,
(An angel brought them from the sky,

Our crown, our treasure is not here, 'Tis stored above the highest sphere :

Methinks your wisdom guides amiss, To seek on earth a Christian's bliss ; We watch not now the lifeless stone; Our only Lord is risen and gone.'

Yet even the lifeless stone is dear,
For thoughts of Him who late lay here ;
And the base world, now Christ hath died,
Ennobled is and glorified.

No more a charnel-house to fence
The relics of lost innocence,
A vault of ruin and decay ;-
Th' imprisoning stone is rolled away :

'Tis now a cell where angels use
To come and go with heavenly news,
And in the ears of mourners say,
Come see the place where Jesus lay.'

'Tis now a fane where love can find
Christ everywhere embalmed and shrined ;
Aye gathering up memorials sweet,
Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

Oh ! joy to Mary first allowed,
When roused from weeping o'er his shroud,
By his own calm, soul-soothing tone,
Breathing her name, as still his own!

Joy to the faithful Three renewed,
As their glad errand they pursued !
Happy, who so Christ's word convey,
That He


meet them on their way!

So is it still: to holy tears,
In lonely hours, Christ risen appears :
In social hours, who Christ would see,
Must turn all tasks to charity.


Blessed are the pure in heart; for they shall see


WHEN holy maids and matrons speak

Of Christ's forsaken bed, And voices, that forbid to seek

The living 'mid the dead;

And when they say, 'Turn wandering heart,

Thy Lord is risen indeed, Let pleasure go, put care apart,

* And to his presence speed;

We smile in scorn: and yet we know

They early sought the tomb, Their hearts, that now so freshly glow,

Lost in desponding gloom.

They who have sought, nor hope to find,

Wear not so bright a glance : They who have won their earthly mind, Less reverently advance.

But where, in gentle spirits, fear

And joy so duly meet,
These sure have seen the angels near,

And kissed the Saviour's feet.

Nor let the Pastor's thankful eye

Their faltering tale disdain,
As on their lowly couch they lie,

Prisoners of want and pain.

O guide us, when our faithless hearts

From Thee would start aloof, Where patience her sweet skill imparts

Beneath some cottage roof:

Revive our dying fires, to burn

High as our anthems soar, And of our scholars let us learn,

Our own forgotten lore.


Lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of

the world.

ON the first christian sabbath eve,

When his disciples met,
O’er his lost fellowship to grieve,

Nor knew the scriptures yet ;

Lo! in the midst his form was seen,

The form in which He died,
Their Master's marred and wounded mien,

His hands, his feet, his side.


Then were they glad their Lord to know,

And hail Him, yet with fear :
Jesus ! again thy presence show;

Meet thy disciples here :

Be in our midst ! let faith rejoice

Our risen Lord to view,
And make our spirits hear thy voice,

Say, 'Peace be unto you!

And while with Thee, in social hours,

We commune through thy word,
May our hearts burn, and all our powers

Confess— It is the Lord !'


Our double kindred to Emmanuel.

The second man was the Lord from Heaven.

And as we have borne the image of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly.

O! MEAN may seem this house of clay,

Yet 'twas the Lord's abode;
Our feet may mourn this thorny way,

Yet here Emmanuel trod.

This fleshly robe the Lord did wear,

This watch the Lord did keep,
These burdens sore the Lord did bear,

These tears the Lord did weep.

This world the Master overcame,

This death the Saviour died ;
He bore our sins, He took our shame,

This darksome bed He tried.

O vale of tears, no longer sad,

Wherein the Lord did dwell!
O holy robe of flesh that clad

Our own Emmanuel !

Our very weakness brings us near

Unto the Lord of Heaven;
To every pang, to every tear,

Such glory strange is given.

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