Since the lorn mother, wandering there,
Cast down her fainting child P,

Then stole apart to weep and die,
Nor knew an angel form was nigh
To show soft waters gushing by
And dewy shadows mild.

Thou wilt-for Thou art Israel's God,
And thine unwearied arm

Is ready yet with Moses' rod,
The hidden rill to charm

Out of the dry unfathom'd deep

Of sands, that lie in lifeless sleep,
Save when the scorching whirlwinds heap
Their waves in rude alarm.

These moments of wild wrath are thineThine too the drearier hour

When o'er th' horizon's silent line

Fond hopeless fancies cower, And on the traveller's listless way Rises and sets th' unchanging day, No cloud in heaven to slake its ray, On earth no sheltering bower.

P Hagar. See Gen. xxi. 5.

Thou wilt be there, and not forsake,
To turn the bitter pool

Into a bright and breezy lake,

The throbbing brow to cool: Till left awhile with Thee alone

The wilful heart be fain to own

That He, by whom our bright hours shone, Our darkness best may rule.

The scent of water far away

Upon the breeze is flung:

The desert pelican to-day

Securely leaves her young, Reproving thankless man, who fears To journey on a few lone years, Where on the sand thy step appears, Thy crown in sight is hung.

Thou, who didst sit on Jacob's well
The weary hour of noon,

The languid pulses Thou canst tell,
The nerveless spirit tune.

St. John iv. 6.

Thou from whese cross in anguish burst
The cry that own'd thy dying thirst',
To Thee we turn, our last and first,
Our Sun and soothing Moon.

From darkness, here, and dreariness
We ask not full repose,

Only be Thou at hand, to bless
Our trial hour of woes.

Is not the pilgrim's toil o'erpaid
By the clear rill and palmy shade?
And see we not, up Earth's dark glade,
The gate of Heaven unclose?

St. John xix. 28.

THE EPIPHANY.

And, lo, the star. which they saw in the east, went before them, till it came and stood over where the young child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy. 9, 10.

St. Matt. ii.

STAR of the East, how sweet art Thou,
Seen in Life's early morning sky,
Ere yet a cloud has dimm'd the brow,
While yet we gaze with childish eye;

When father, mother, nursing friend,

Most dearly lov'd, and loving best, First bid us from their arms ascend, Pointing to Thee in thy sure rest.

Too soon the glare of earthly day
Buries, to us, thy brightness keen,
And we are left to find our way

By faith and hope in Thee unseen.

What matter? if the waymarks sure
On every side are round us set,
Soon overleap'd, but not obscure?
'Tis ours to mark them or forget.

What matter? if in calm old age
Our childhood's star again arise,
Crowning our lonely pilgrimage

With all that cheers a wanderer's eyes?

Ne'er may we lose it from our sight,
Till all our hopes and thoughts are led

To where it stays its lucid flight
Over our Saviour's lowly bed.

There, swath'd in humblest poverty,
On Chastity's meek lap enshrin'd,
With breathless Reverence waiting by,
When we our sovereign Master find,

Will not the long-forgotten glow

Of mingled joy and awe return, When stars above or flowers below

First made our infant spirits burn?