254 FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. Which bids us hear, at each sweet pause From care and want and toil, In the low chant of wakeful birds, In whispering leaves, these solemn words,– All true, all faultless, all in tune, Creation's wondrous choir Opened in mystic unison, And still it lasts: by day and night, Man only mars the sweet accord, Sin is with man at morning break, But when eve's silent footfall steals Along the eastern sky, And one by one to earth reveals Those purer fires on high, FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. When one by one each human sound Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, Then pours she on the Christian heart At which high spirits of old would start Just guessing, through their murky blind, Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, They marked what agonizing throes Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast The travail-pangs of Earth must last The hour that saw from opening heaven Redeemning glory stream, Beyond the summer hues of even, Beyond the mid-day beam. 255 256 FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITI. Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, The rod of heaven has touched them all, "The God who hallowed thee, and blest, Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, 66 Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, His blessed home in heaven hath left Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, And worldlings blot the temple's gold Hence all thy groans and travail-pains, In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains, IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. — Burns Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? Our toil 's obscure, and a' that; What tho' on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, A king can mak' a belted knight, THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, Then let us pray that come it As come it will for a' that, may, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, For a' that, and a' that, It 's comin' yet, for a' that, THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. Blackwood's Magarine Outstretched beneath the leafy shade Three little children round her stood, "O mother!" was the mingled cry, And leave us all alone." My blessed babes!" she tried to say, In a low sobbing moan. And then life struggled hard with death, |