Believing God was with them, even there,

When to Bethesda's sunrise-smitten wave

Poor trembling cripples crawl'd their limbs to

lave ;

In all the various forms of human trial,

Brimming that cup, filled from a bitter vial, Which even the suffering Christ with fainting cry Under God's will had shudderingly past by:

To hunger, pain, and thirst, and human dread;
Imprisonment; sharp sorrow for the dead;
Deformed contraction; burdensome disease;
Humbling and fleshly ill!—to all of these
The shining messengers of comfort came,-
God's angels,-healing in God's holy name.

And when the crowning pity sent to earth
The Man of Sorrows, in mysterious birth;

And the angelic tones with one accord
Made loving chorus to proclaim the Lord;
Was Isaac's guardian there, and he who gave
Hagar the sight of that cool gushing wave?
Did the defender of the youthful Three,
And Peter's usher, join that psalmody?
With him who at the dawn made healing sure,
Troubling the waters with a freshening cure;
And those, the elect, to whom the task was given
To offer solace to the Son of Heaven,

When,-mortal tremors by the Immortal felt,—
Pale, 'neath the Syrian olives, Jesu knelt,

Alone,-'midst sleeping followers warned in vain Alone with God's compassion, and His pain!

;

Cease we to dream. Our thoughts are yet more

dim

Than children's are, who put their trust in Him.

All that our wisdom knows, or ever can,

Is this that God hath pity upon man ; And where His Spirit shines in Holy Writ, The great word COMFORTER comes after it.

No trellised-iron work, with pleasant view

Of trim-set flowery gardens shining through;

No bolts to bar unasked intruders out;

No well-oiled hinge whose sound, like one low

note

I

Of music, tells the listening hearts that yearn,
Expectant of dear footsteps, where to turn;

No ponderous bell whose loud vociferous tone
Into the rose-decked lodge hath echoing gone,
Bringing the porter forth with brief delay,

To spread those iron wings that check the

way;

Nothing but ivy-leaves, and crumbling stone;
Silent old gateway,-even thy life is gone!

But ere those columns, lost in ivied shade,

Black on the midnight sky their forms por

trayed;

And ere thy gate, by damp weeds overtopped,

Swayed from its rusty fastenings and then

dropped,

When it stood portal to a living home,

And saw the living faces go and come,