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The warrior from his arméd tent,
The seaman from the tide,
In Christian nations wide ;
Their sorrows to His shrine,
Of Jesu's love divine.
If, at an earthly chime, the tread
Of million million feet
In God's own temple seat,
To see God's saints arise,
Builds on the ground her lowly nest;
Sings in the shade when all things rest.
When Mary chose the better part,
She meekly sat at Jesus' feet ;
Was made for God's own temple meet.
In deepest adoration bends :
Then most when most his soul ascends.
FRIEND after friend departs
Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts
That finds not here an end. Were this frail world our final rest, Living or dying, none were blest. Beyond the flight of time,
Beyond the reign of death,
Where life is not a breath,
Thus star by star declines,
Till all are passed away,
To pure and perfect day ;
- James Montgomery.
In the hollow tree in the old grey tower,
The spectral Owl doth dwell :
But at dusk he's abroad and well.
All mock him outright by day ;
The boldest will shrink away.
And the Owl hath a bride, who is fond and bold,
And loveth the wood's deep gloom ;
She awaiteth her ghastly groom.
As she waits in her tree so still,
She hoots out her welcome shrill.
Mourn not for the Owl, nor his gloomy plight :
The Owl hath his share of good,-
He is lord in the dark greenwood.
They are each unto each a pride ;
Hath rent them from all beside.
We know not alway
Who are kings by day,
-W. B. Procter.
WHEN Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil, When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mowers' toil, When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood, In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns its Maker good.
The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade,
Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,
The flowers of Spring may wither, the hope of Summer fade,