FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. So Joshua smote all the country . . . and all their kings: he left none remaining. Joshua x. 40. WHERE is the land with milk and honey flowing, The giant corses strew the ground, These are not scenes for pastoral dance at even, Which every hour dread warning give, Nor may our household vine or fig-tree hide Where is the sweet repose of hearts repenting, The deep calm sky, the sunshine of the soul, Now heaven and earth are to our bliss consenting, And all the Godhead joins to make us whole? The triple crown of mercy now Is ready for the suppliant's brow, By the Almighty Three for ever plann'd, And from behind the cloud held out by Jesus' hand. "Now, Christians, hold your own-the land before ye "Is open-win your way, and take your rest." So sounds our war-note; but our path of glory By many a cloud is darken'd and unblest: And daily as we downward glide, Life's ebbing stream on either side Shows at each turn some mouldering hope or joy, The Man seems following still the funeral of the Boy. Open our eyes, thou Sun of life and gladness, That we may see that glorious world of thine! It shines for us in vain, while drooping sadness Enfolds us here like mist: come Power benign, Touch our chill'd hearts with vernal smile, Our wintry course do Thou beguile, Nor by the wayside ruins let us mourn, Who have th' eternal towers for our appointed bourne. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. Marvel not, my brethren, if the world hate you. We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren. 1 St. John iii. 13, 14. THE clouds that wrap the setting sun When Autumn's softest gleams are ending, Where all bright hues together run In sweet confusion blending : Why, as we watch their floating wreath, When up some woodland dale we catch a ποντίων τε κυμάτων ἀνήριθμον γέλασμα. . Eschyl. Prom. 89. Or with pleas'd ear bewilder'd watch Would'st thou the life of souls discern? The spring of the regenerate heart, But he, whose heart will bound to mark By leaf or flow'ret worn: Cheap forms, and common hues, 'tis true, Through the bright shower-drop meet his view; The colouring may be of this earth; The lustre comes of heavenly birth. |