When one by one each human sound Then Nature's voice no more is drowned, Then pours she on the Christian heart At which high spirits of old would start Just guessing, through their murky blind, Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, They marked what agonizing throes Nor could the enchantress Hope forecast The travail-pangs of Earth must last The hour that saw from opening heaven Redeeming glory stream, Beyond the summer hues of even, Beyond the mid-day beam. 256 FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, The rod of heaven has touched them all, "The God who hallowed thee, and blest, Pronouncing thee all good, Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, "Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, His blessed home in heaven hath left Thou mourn'st because sin lingers still Because, as Love and Prayer grow cold, And worldlings blot the temple's gold Hence all thy groans and travail-pains; In Wisdom's ear thy blithest strains, IS THERE, FOR HONEST POVERTY. - Burns. Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that? Our toil 's obscure, and a' that; What tho' on hamely fare we dine, For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that, The honest man, though e'er sae poor, Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; Though hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, His riband, star, and a' that, The man of independent mind, He looks and laughs at a' that! A king can mak' a belted knight, 258 THE GREENWOOD SHRIFT. For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities, and a' that, Then let us pray that come it may,— That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, It 's comin' yet, for a' that, OUTSTRETCHED beneath the leafy shade Three little children round her stood, "O mother!" was the mingled cry, "My blessed babes!" she tried to say, In a low sobbing moan. And then life struggled hard with death, And peering through the deep wood's maze Just then, the parting boughs between, "Mother!" the little maiden cried, But long went wandering up and down, 66 They told me here, — they told me there, I think they mocked me everywhere; And when I found his home, And begged him on my bended knee "I told him how you dying lay, I begged him, for dear Christ his sake, my heart was fit to break, But O! Mother! he would not stir. "So, though my tears were blinding me, I ran back fast as fast could be, To come again to you; And here close by- this squire I met, Who asked (so mild!) what made me fret; And when I told him true, S |