So teach us on thy shrine to lay
Our hearts, and let them day by day
Intenser blaze and higher.

And as each mild and winning note (Like pulses that round harp-strings float, When the full strain is o'er)

Left lingering on his inward ear

Music, that taught, as death drew near, Love's lesson more and more:

So, as we walk our earthly round,
Still may the echo of that sound

Be in our memory stor❜d:

"Christians! behold your happy state : "Christ is in these, who round you wait; "Make much of your dear Lord!"

THE PURIFICATION.

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.

St. Matthew v. 8.

BLESS'D are the pure in heart,
For they shall see our God,

The secret of the Lord is theirs,
Their soul is Christ's abode.

Might mortal thought presume
To guess an angel's lay,

Such are the notes that echo through
The courts of Heaven to-day.

Such the triumphal hymns On Sion's Prince that wait, In high procession passing on

Towards His temple-gate.

Give ear, ye kings-bow down

Ye rulers of the earth

This, this is He; your Priest by grace, Your God and King by birth.

No pomp of earthly guards
Attends with sword and spear,

And all-defying, dauntless look,
Their monarch's way to clear:

Yet are there more with Him Than all that are with youThe armies of the highest Heaven, All righteous, good, and true.

Spotless their robes and pure,
Dipp'd in the sea of light,

That hides the unapproached shrine
From men's and angels' sight.

His throne, thy bosom blest,

O Mother undefil'd

That throne, if aught beneath the skies, Beseems the sinless Child.

Lost in high thoughts, "whose son "The wondrous Babe might prove," Her guileless husband walks beside, Bearing the hallow'd dove;

Meet emblem of His vow,
Who, on this happy day,

His dove-like soul-best sacrifice

Did on God's altar lay.

But who is he, by years

Bow'd, but erect in heart,

Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? "Lord, let me now depart.

""Tis time that I depart in peace,

Yet swells the pomp: one more
Comes forth to bless her God:

Full fourscore years, meek widow, she
Her heaven-ward way hath trod.

She who to earthly joys

So long had given farewell,

Now sees, unlook'd for, Heaven on earth, Christ in His Israel.

Wide open from that hour
The temple-gates are set,

And still the saints rejoicing there

The holy Child have met.

Now count His train to-day,

And who may meet Him, learn : Him child-like sires, meek maidens find, Where pride can nought discern.

Still to the lowly soul

He doth Himself impart,

And for His cradle and His throne