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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 roll'd 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 every where embalm'd and shrin'd; Aye gathering up memorials sweet, Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

Oh! joy to Mary first allow'd,

When rous'd 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 renew'd,
As their glad errand they pursued!
Happy, who so Christ's word convey,
That He may 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.

MONDAY IN EASTER WEEK.

Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: but in every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with Him. Acts x. 34, 35,

GO up and watch the new-born rill

Just trickling from its mossy bed,
Streaking the heath-clad hill

With a bright emerald thread.

Canst thou her bold career foretel,
What rocks she shall o'erleap or rend,

How far in Ocean's swell

Her freshening billows send?

Perchance that little brook shall flow
The bulwark of some mighty realm,

Bear navies to and fro

With monarchs at their helm.

Or canst thou guess, how far away
Some sister nymph, beside her urn
Reclining night and day,

Mid reeds and mountain fern,

Nurses her store, with thine to blend When many a moor and glen are past, Then in the wide sea end

Their spotless lives at last?

Even so, the course of prayer who knows?
It springs in silence where it will,
Springs out of sight, and flows
At first a lonely rill :

But streams shall meet it by and by
From thousand sympathetic hearts,
Together swelling high

Their chant of many parts.

Unheard by all but angel ears
The good Cornelius knelt alone,
Nor dream'd his prayers and tears
Would help a world undone.

K

The while upon his terrac'd roof
The lov'd Apostle to his Lord
In silent thought aloof

For heavenly vision soar'd.

Far o'er the glowing western main
His wistful brow was upward rais'd,
Where, like an Angel's train,
The burnish'd water blaz❜d.

The saint beside the ocean pray'd,
The soldier in his chosen bower,
Where all his eye survey'd

Seem'd sacred in that hour.

To each unknown his brother's prayer,
Yet brethren true in dearest love

Were they-and now they share
Fraternal joys above.

There daily through Christ's open gate They see the Gentile spirits press,

Brightening their high estate

With dearer happiness.

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