And now another Canaan yields
To Thine all-conquering ark ;—
Fly from the old poetic' fields',

Ye Paynim shadows dark!

Immortal Greece, dear land of glorious lays,

Lo! here the 'unknown God' of thy unconscious praise
The olive-wreath, the ivied wand,
'The sword in myrtles drest,'
Each legend of the shadowy strand
Now wakes a vision blest;

As little children lisp, and tell of Heaven,

So thoughts beyond their thought to those high Bards were given.

And these are ours: Thy partial grace

The tempting treasure lends :

These relics of a guilty race

Are forfeit to Thy friends;

What seemed an idol hymn, now breathes of Thee, Tuned by Faith's ear to some celestial melody.

There's not a strain to Memory dear,

Nor flower in classic grove,

There's not a sweet note warbled here,
But minds us of Thy Love,

O Lord, our Lord, and spoiler of our foes,

There is no light but Thine with Thee all beauty glows

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

(Balaam's Prophecy.)

O for a sculptor's hand,

That thou might'st take thy stand, Thy wild hair floating on the eastern breeze,

Thy tranced yet open gaze

Fixed on the desert haze,

As one who deep in heaven some airy pageant sees.

Where each old poetic mountain

Inspiration breathed around. Gray.

'See Burns's Works, i. 293. Dr Currie's edition.

In outline dim and vast

Their fearful shadows cast

The giant forms of empires on their way
To ruin one by one

They tower and they are gone,

Yet in the Prophet's soul the dreams of avarice stay.

No sun or star so bright

In all the world of light

That they should draw to Heaven his downward eye:
He hears th' Almighty's word,

He sees the angel's sword,

Yet low upon the earth his heart and treasure lie.

Lo! from yon argent field,
To him and us revealed,

One gentle Star glides down, on earth to dwell.
Chained as they are below

Our eyes may see it glow,

And as it mounts again, may track its brightness well

To him it glared afar,

A token of wild war,

The banner of his Lord's victorious wrath:

But close to us it gleams,

Its soothing lustre streams

Around our home's green walls, and on our church-way path.

We in the tents abide

Which he at distance eyed

Like goodly cedars by the waters spread,

While seven red altar-fires

Rose up in wavy spires,

Where on the mount he watched his sorceries dark and dread

He watched till morning's ray

On lake and meadow lay,

And willow-shaded streams, that silent sweep

Around the bannered lines,

Where by their several signs

The desert-wearied tribes in sight of Canaan sleep

He watched till knowledge came

Upon his soul like flame,

Not of those magic fires at random caught

But true Prophetic light

Flashed o'er him, high and bright,

Flashed once, and died away, and left his darkened thought

And can he choose but fear,

Who feels his God so near,

That when he fain would curse, his powerless tongue
In blessing only moves?—

Alas! the world he loves

Too close around his heart her tangling veil hath flung Sceptre and Star divine,

Who in Thine inmost shrine

Hast made us worshippers, O claim Thine own;
More than Thy seers we know—

O teach our love to grow

Up to Thy heavenly light, and reap what Thou has sowa

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

(The Lilies of the Field.)

Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
What more than magic in you lies,
To fill the heart's fond view?
In childhood's sports, companions gay,
In sorrow, on Life's downward way,
How soothing! in our last decay
Memorials prompt and true.

Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,

As when ye crowned the sunshine hours
Of happy wanderers there.

Fall'n all beside-the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In Reason's world what storms are rife,
What passions range and glare!

VOL. IV.

But cheerful and unchanged the while

Your first and perfect form ye show,
The same that won Eve's matron smile
In the world's opening glow.

The stars of heaven a course are taught
Too high above our human thought;
Ye may be found if ye are sought,
And as we gaze, we know.

Ye dwell beside our paths and homes,
Our paths of sin, our homes of sorrow,
And guilty man, where'er he roams,
Your innocent mirth may borrow.
The birds of air before us fleet,

They cannot brook our shame to meet-
But we may taste our solace sweet
And come again to-morrow.

Ye fearless in your nests abide—

Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise,
Your silent lessons, undescried

By all but lowly eyes:

For ye could draw th' admiring gaze
Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys:
Your order wild, your fragrant maze,
He taught us how to prize.

Ye felt your Maker's smile that hour,

As when He paused and owned you good His blessing on earth's primal bower,

Ye felt it all renewed.

What care ye now, if winter's storm

Sweep ruthless o'er each silken form?
Christ's blessing at your heart is warm,
Ye fear no vexing mood.

Alas! of thousand bosoms kind,

That daily court you and caress,

How few the happy secret find
Of your calm loveliness!

LI

Live for to-day! to-morrow's light
To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight,
Go sleep like closing flowers at night,
And Heaven thy morn will bless.'

ALL SAINTS' DAY.

Why blow'st thou not, thou wintry wind,
Now every leaf is brown and sere,
And idly droops, to thee resigned,
The fading chaplet of the year?
Yet wears the pure aërial sky
Her summer veil, half drawn on high,
Of silvery haze, and dark and still
The shadows sleep on every slanting hill.

How quiet shews the woodland scene!
Each flower and tree, its duty done,
Reposing in decay serene,

Like weary men when age is won,
Such calm old age as conscience pure
And self-commanding hearts ensure,
Waiting their summons to the sky,
Content to live, but not afraid to die.

Sure if our eyes were purged to trace
God's unseen armies hovering round,

We should behold by angels' grace

The four strong winds of Heaven fast bound Their downward sweep a moment stayed

On ocean cove and forest glade,
Till the last flower of autumn shed
Her funeral odours on her dying bed.

So in Thine awful armoury, Lord,
The lightnings of the judgment-day
Pause yet awhile, in mercy stored,

Till willing hearts wear quite away