FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

THE TEN LEPERS.

And Jesus answering said, Were there not ten cleansed? but where are the nine? There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger. St. Luke xvii. 17, 18. [Gospel for the Day.]

[Almighty and everlasting God, give unto us the increase of faith, hope and charity; and that we may obtain that which thou dost promise, make us to love that which thou dost command, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.]

TEN cleans'd and only one remain!
Who would have thought our nature's stain
Was dyed so foul, so deep in grain?

Even He who reads the heart,

Knows what He gave and what we lost,
Sin's forfeit, and redemption's cost,-
By a short pang of wonder cross'd
Seems at the sight to start:

Yet 'twas not wonder, but His love
Our wavering spirits would reprove,
That heaven-ward seem so free to move
When earth can yield no more:

Then from afar on God we cry;
But should the mist of wo roll by,
Not showers across an April sky
Drift, when the storm is o'er,

Faster than those false drops and few
Fleet from the heart, a worthless dew.
What sadder scene can angels view
Than self-deceiving tears,
Pour'd idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
The record of to-day engage,

A wo for future years?

Spirits, that round the sick man's bed
Watch'd, noting down each prayer he made,
Were your unerring roll display'd,
His pride of health t'abase;

Or, when soft showers in season fall
Answering a famish'd nation's call,
Should unseen fingers on the wall
Our vows forgotten trace;

How should we gaze in trance of fear!
Yet shines the light as thrilling clear
From heaven upon that scroll severe,

"Ten cleans'd and one remain!"
Nor surer would the blessing prove
Of humbled hearts, that own thy love,
Should choral welcome from above
Visit our senses plain:

Than by Thy placid voice and brow,
With healing first, with comfort now,
Turn'd upon him, who hastes to bow
Before Thee, heart and knee;
“Oh! thou, who only would'st be blest,
On thee alone my blessing rest!
Rise, go thy way in peace, possess'd
For evermore of me."

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. St. Matthew vi. 28. [Gospel for the Day.]

[Keep, we beseech thee, O Lord, thy Church with thy perpetual mercy: and because the frailty of man without thee cannot but fail, keep us ever by thy help from all things hurtful, and lead us to all things profitable to our salvation, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.]

*

SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,
Bath'd 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.

["Look at the little child on the meadow, no matter though it has been born in the very heart of a city, and seen nothing but brick walls, and crowds, and rolling carriages, and pavements, and dust; let it once get its feet upon the sward, and it will toss away the most costly playthings, and never gather enough of the butter-cups, and daisies, and other wild flowers which prank the sod. And if it shall start a little bird, which bounces onward with easy wing, as if it were leaping from portion to portion of the sightless air, how it will stretch its little hands, and shout, and hurry on to catch the living treasure, which, in its young, but perfectly natural estimation, is of more value than the wealth of the world. And if the bird perches on the hedge or the tree, and sings its sweet song of security, the little finger will at once be held up by their little ear, and the other hand will be extended with the palm back wards, as if a sign were given by nature herself for the world to listen and admire." Mudie's Observation of Nature, p. 35.]

Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,
As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crown'd the sunshine hours
Of happy wanderers there.

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

But cheerful and unchang'd 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 your 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.