BETHESDA.

Had they who watched and waited there
Been conscious who was passing by,
With what unceasing, anxious care,

Would they have sought his pitying eye ;
And craved, with fervency of soul,

His power divine to made them whole.

But habit and tradition swayed

Their minds to trust to sense alone;

They only hoped the angel's aid,

While in their presence stood unknown,
A greater, mightier far than he,
With power from every pain to free.

Bethesda's pool has lost its power!

No angel, by his glad descent, Dispenses that diviner dower

Which with its healing waters went; But he whose word surpassed its wave Is still omnipotent to save.

Saviour! thy love is still the same

As when the healing word was spoke ; Still in thine all-redeeming name

Dwells

power to break the strongest yoke! O! be that power, that love displayed! Help those whom thou alone canst aid!

Bernard Barton.

323

Christ in the Storm.

And his disciples came to him, and awoke him, saying, "Lord save us: we perish."-ST. MATTHEW Viii. 25.

WHERE deep Tiberias rolls her waves,
The lowly fisher's bark was gliding;
The winds were hushed within their caves;
And gayly on the waters riding,
Was seen the bark of Galilee,

A speck upon that summer sea.

But deep and hollow murmurs came,
That heralded the tempest waking,
The gathering cloud and flickering flame,
And thunders in the distance breaking,
The storm's first drops and fitful breeze,
That curled the bosom of the seas.

And wild and high the billows rose,
Fearful in strength and proudly foaming;

Starting like maniacs from repose,

Or dark and heartless plunderers roaming;

CHRIST IN THE STORM.

With ruffian grasp they bore away

That thing of nought, their sport and spray.

Now, trembling on the mountain surge,
Now, dashed amid the deep's commotion,
Now, hurried as the tempests urge,

Swift as the sea-bird o'er the ocean,—
Now, fluttering o'er the dark abyss,
As wearied with its wretchedness.

Despair came o'er the sailor's brow,
Amid the whirlwinds fiercely sweeping;
But One was slumbering on the prow,
Like peace amid the tempest sleeping-
Whom, cradled on their foamy crest,
The angry waves had rocked to rest.

. The mariners, 'mid storm and gloom, And high upon the breaking billow, Turned, as for refuge from the tomb,

And knelt and prayed around his pillow: Wake! Master, wake! our bark is gone : And hope remains with thee alone.

Serene as Deity he stood

The friend of man-the angel's wonderGirt with the attributes of God,

To calm the wave and hush the thunder:

The stormy vassals of his will

Heard but their Lord, and all was still.

325

CHRIST IN THE STORM.

"Peace! be still!" The whirlwinds fled

The conscious billow shrunk before him; While nature all her glories shed,

And smiling, hastened to adore him ; Man, trembling heard the omnific Word, And silently confessed his Lord.

R. Brown.

:

326

Little Children Blessed.

Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.-ST. MArk x. 14.

Ir was the sunset hour-and thousands came

From the lone villages and distant hills
Of far off Galilee, to meet the Lord-
Bearing, with gentle step and anxious eye,
The sufferers of their race to Jesus' feet,
That he might lay his sin-subduing hand
In blessing on their wan and wasted frames,
And heal them with a sanctifying touch.

**

Amid the crowds that, with adoring looks,
Hung on the footsteps of the Son of God,
A Galilean mother brought her child,
In its young loveliness-its laughing eyes
Dancing in dewy light-and kneeling, prayed
A benediction from those sinless lips
Upon the cherub beauty of the babe-