O fools! created things of clay,

To think ye could your God o'ercome;
To deem ye could th' Eternal slay,
Or hide th' Almighty in a tomb.

THE RESURRECTION.

The arch-fiend once, in long career
Of subtleties too well designed,
Through his own billows failed to steer-
Broke on the shoals of his own mind.

He saw with mingled shame and grief His wisest projects turned to scorn; He saw grim Death, his legion-chief, Himself struck down on Easter-morn;

Defeat arise from all things planned
To deeply wound the Lord most high,
Saw he had lighted with his hand.

The fires of Immortality.

Death seemed for brief time to have won

The signal victory of his reign;

'Twas the brief absence of the sun

Of summer, soon to rise again.

Before the dawning Easter day

Shall tinge the Saviour's sleeping-bed, Victorious Death must yield his prey,

The baffled Grave resign her dead.

No mortals see the Lord arise;

The orbs that shunn'd his seeming end, With double radiance in the skies

Upon his heavenward flight attend.

EPILOGUE.

Too oft of Him we cannot talk,
The lesson of His death apply;
With Him in joy we daily walk,
With Him, or for Him, gladly die.

K

A

LONELINESS.

LONE, yet not alone, what should I fear
Though all around be desolate and drear;
Although the coming years lie stretched
before,

As barren as a flow'rless, treeless, shore.

Alone, long intervening leagues of space
Oft separate us from the much-lov'd face;
The ever-faithful sympathising heart
In too far distant regions, beats apart.

Alone, alone, th' insatiable grave

Divides us from the friendships which we crave;
While the true spirit that embraced our own

Soon fledged for Heaven, from earth's frail nest hath flown.

What though the lips that smile, the hands that press,
Diminish nought our sense of loneliness;

The language of the face, the grasping hand,
Is like some tongue we cannot understand.

What though the eyes that watch and scrutinise
Fail to discern the thought that underlies;

While veiled suspicion of another's guile

Blends with the voice, and mars the courtly smile;

Yet there is One, whose never erring ken
Discerns the errors of poor purblind men ;
He sees the guidings that the action lead,
The unseen motive, through the public deed.

One who, when least we deem, looks kindly down
In friendly love, while human beings frown;
His smile is welcomed by the sighing heart,
His presence can ecstatic joys impart.

The self-same walls may oftentimes embrace
Hearts more divergent than each varying face,
Like differing trees, whose mingling roots down-strike,
Whom close proximity makes not alike.

Perchance a face illumes our hurried way
Like the unveiling of a morn in May,
And flowers in unexpected grace upstart,
The lilacs, roses, lilies of the heart.

Away! away! that sympathising gaze
Will never sun us with heart-warming rays;

Though thousands meet, and meet to be forgot,
That blessed recollection fadeth not.

One judgment some men seems to permeate,
One sentence on another's deed to wait;
Whate'er is left undone is right and strong,
Whate'er is done is always weak and wrong.

No marvel that a mental robe of steel

Has cased some round whose natures strongly feel;
Till outside tones please feebly, or annoy,
Voices within are heard with peace and joy.

While hour by hour our careless footsteps stray
Our Guardian Angel watches o'er our way;
We little ken how oft his power has kept
From crushing ills, when mind or body slept.

Yet still more blest, within our citadel

The Holy Spirit ever seeks to dwell,

While thoughts of beauty, wisdom, strength, and grace Proclaim the dwelling where he holds first place.