Nor noon, nor night; for to the west

The heavy sun doth glow;

And, like a ship, the lazy mist

Is sailing on below;

Between the broad sun and the earth

It tacketh to and fro.

There is no living wind astir;

The bat's unholy wing

THE STAR OF CALVARY.

Threads through the noiseless olive trees,

Like some unquiet thing

Which playeth in the darkness, when
The leaves are whispering.

Mount Calvary! Mount Calvary,

All sorrowfully still,

That mournful tread, it rends the heart
With an unwelcome thrill;

The mournful tread of them that crowd
Thy melancholy hill!

There is a cross, not one alone,

"Tis even three I count,

Like columns on the mossy marge
Of some old Grecian fount;
So pale they stand, so drearily,
On that mysterious Mount.

Behold, O Israel! behold,
It is no human One,
That ye have dared to crucify.

What evil hath he done?

It is your King, O Israel!

The God-begotten Son!

A wreath of thorns, a wreath of thorns!
Why have ye crowned him so!
That brow is bathed in agony,

'Tis veiled in every woe;

"Tis fixed on thee, O Israel!

His gaze!-how strange to brook; But that there's mercy blended deep In each reproachful look,

"Twould search thee, till the very heart Its withered home forsook.

To God! to God! how eloquent

The cry, as if it grew,

By those cold lips unuttered, yet

All heartfelt rising through,

"Father in heaven! forgive them, for

They know not what they do!"

Hawthorne.

The Burial.

Joseph of Arimathea, an honorable counsellor, which also waited for the kingdom of God, came, and went in boldly unto Pilate, and craved the body of Jesus. -ST. MARK XV. 43.

Ar length the worst is o'er, and Thou art laid
Deep in thy darksome bed;

All still and cold beneath yon dreary stone,
Thy sacred form is gone;

Around those lips where power and mercy hung,
The dews of death have clung

The dull earth o'er Thee and thy foes around,
Thou sleep'st a silent corse, in funeral fetters wound.

Sleep'st Thou indeed? or is thy spirit fled,
At large among the dead?

Whether in Eden bowers thy welcome voice
Wake Abraham to rejoice,

Or in some drearier scene thine eye controls
The thronging band of souls;

That, as thy blood won earth, thine agony

Might set the shadowy realm from sin and sorrow free.

THE BURIAL.

Where'er Thou roam'st, one happy soul, we know,
Seen at thy side in woe,

Waits on thy triumph-even as all the blest
With him and Thee shall rest.

Each on his cross, by Thee we hang a while,
Watching thy patient smile,

Till we have learned to say, ""Tis justly done
Only in glory, LORD, thy sinful servant own."

Soon wilt Thou take us to thy tranquil bower
To rest one little hour,

Till thine elect are number'd, and the grave
Call thee to come and save;

Then on thy bosom borne shall we descend,
Again with earth to blend,

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Earth all refined with bright supernal fires, Tinctured with holy blood, and wing'd with pure desires.

O come that day, when in this restless heart

Earth shall resign her part,

When in the grave with Thee my limbs shall rest,
My soul with Thee be blest!

But stay, presumptuous-CHRIST with thee abides
In the rock's dreary sides;

He from the stone will wring celestial dew,

If but the prisoner's heart be faithful found and true.

John Keble.