THE hand that rounded Peter's dome,
And groin'd the aisles of Christian Rome,
Wrought in a sad sincerity;

Himself from God he could not free;
He builded better than he knew;
The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Know'st thou what wove yon wood bird's nest
Of leaves, and feathers from her breast?
Or how the fish outbuilt her shell,
Painting with morn each annual cell?
Or how the sacred pine-tree adds
To her old leaves new myriads?
Such and so grew those holy piles,
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.
Earth proudly wears the Parthenon,
As the best gem upon her zone;
And Morning opes with haste her lids,
To gaze upon the Pyramids;
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky,
As on its friends, with kindred eye;
For out of Thought's interior sphere,
These wonders rose to upper air;
And Nature gladly gave them place,
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date
With Andes and with Ararat.

These temples grew as grows the grass;
Art might obey, but not surpass ;
The passive Master lent his hand
To the vast soul that o'er him plann'd.

R. W. Emerson.

373. BUILDING. Neglect of
WHATE'ER thou purposest to do,
With an unwearied zeal pursue ;
To-day is thine-improve to-day,
Nor trust to-morrow's distant ray.

A certain man a house would build;
The place is with materials fill'd;
And everything is ready there-

Is it a difficult affair?

Yes! till you fix the corner-stone;

It won't erect itself alone.

Day rolls on day, and year on year,
And nothing yet is done-
There's always something to delay
The business to another day.

And thus in silent waiting stood
The piles of stone and piles of wood,
Till Death, who in his vast affairs
Ne'er puts things off, as men do theirs-
And thus, if I the truth must tell,
Does his work finally and well-
Wink'd at our hero as he pass'd,
'Your house is finish'd, sir, at last;
A narrower house-a house of clay-
Your palace for another day!'

Tr. from the Russian by Bowring.

374. BURDEN. Help with the
CHILD of my love, 'LEAN HARD,'
And let me feel the pressure of thy care.
I know thy burden, child: I shaped it,
Poised it in my own hand, made no proportion
In its weight to thine unaided strength;
For even as I laid it on I said,

I shall be near, and while she leans on me,
This burden shall be mine, not hers:

So shall I keep my child within the circling arms
Of mine own love.' Here lay it down, nor fear
To impose it on a shoulder which upholds
The government of worlds. Yet closer come;
Thou art not near enough, I would embrace thy care
So I might feel my child reposing on my breast.
Thou lovest me, I know it, doubt not, then;
But loving me-LEAN HARD!

375. BURIAL. Hymn for a Christian's

YE principalities and powers
That never tasted death,

Witness from off your heavenly towers
Our act of Christian faith.

Though tears will fall and hearts are stirr'd, We know in whom we trust;

And confident in His sure word We bear the 'dust to dust.'

We sow this seed in earth to die, In the great Master's name, Type of decay and vanity,

In weakness and in shame.

It shall arise a holy shrine Of glory, beauty, might, Fit for a spirit made divine ;

All purity, all light.

Thanks be to God, there is no death

For all that trust His word: Thanks be to God, for victory

Through Jesus Christ our Lord.-Rawson.

376. BURIAL. Sequence of

GATHER up, O earth! thy dead ;
Grass! thy peaceful pillow spread,
Add another mortal's bed

To the bed where mortals sleep :
Where they sleep-but not to rise
When morn's sunlight clears the skies,
But to rest-while centuries

Their long-during watches keep.

Centuries shall pass away;
Earth shall hasten to decay;
Days will bring of days the day

When the exhausted cycles end;
Then, earth's every fugitive
Shall appear; the grave shall give
Up its dead, the dead shall live,-
And the Eternal Judge descend.

Day of wonders! day of woe!
Day of evil's overthrow ;

Day of joy! when all shall know

Know and see the Lord of heaven!

Then, O then, may hope appear,

Faith our fainting spirits cheer,

What though now to darkness
We this body give ;
Soon shall all its senses
Re-awake and live.

E'en as duly scatter'd
By the sower's hand
In the fading autumn
O'er the fallow land,
Nature's seed, decaying,
First in darkness dies,
Ere it can in glory

Renovated rise.

Earth, to thy fond bosom

We this pledge intrust;
Oh! we pray, be careful

Of the precious dust.
This was once the mansion
Of a soul endow'd
With sublimest powers,

By the breath of God.
Here eternal Wisdom

Lately made His home;
And again will claim it
In the days to come.
O divinest period!
Speed upon thy way;
O eternal Justice!

Make no more delay.
When shall love in glory

Its fruition see?

When shall hope be lost in

WRAPT in a Christless shroud, He sleeps the Christless sleep; Above him, the eternal cloud, Beneath, the fiery deep.

Laid in a Christless tomb,

There, bound with felon-chain, He waits the terrors of his doom, The judgment and the pain. O Christless shroud, how cold! How dark, O Christless tomb! O grief that never can grow old! O endless, hopeless doom!

O Christless sleep, how sad!

What waking shalt thou know? For thee no star, no dawning glad, Only the lasting woe!

I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts

Comfort to those who in the grave have sown
The seed that they had garner'd in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.

Into its furrows shall we all be cast,

In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth!
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume

With that of flowers which never bloom'd on earth.

With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!

How wisely fate ordain'd for humankind
Calamity! which is the perfect glass
Wherein we truly see and know ourselves.
How justly it created life too short!
For being incident to many griefs,
Had it been destined to continue long,

Fate, to please fools, had done the wise great wrong.
Davenant.

Know, he that

Foretells his own calamity, and makes

Events before they come, twice over doth

Endure the pains of evil destiny.—Davenant. Methinks, if ye would know

How visitations of calamity

Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown you here.
Look yonder at the cloud, which, through the sky
Sailing along doth cross in her career

The rolling moon: I watch'd it as it came,
And deem'd the deep opaque would blot her beams;
But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs
In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes
The orb with richer beauties than her own;
Then, passing, leaves her in her light serene.

381. CALAMITY.

R. C. Trench.

Do not insult calamity:

It is a barb'rous grossness, to lay on
The weight of scorn, where heavy misery
Too much already weighs men's fortunes down.
Daniel.

Calamity is man's true touch-stone.-Fletcher.

MAKE my breast

Transparent as pure crystal, that the world,
Jealous of me, may see the foulest thought
My heart does hold.—Buckingham.

The brave do never shun the light;

Just are their thoughts, and open are their tempers;
Truly without disguise they love or hate;

Still are they found in the fair face of day,
And heaven and men are judges of their actions.
Rowe.

WE sat by Babel's waters; and our tears
Mingled, in silence, with the silent stream;
For, oh! our hearts went back to happier years,
And brighter scenes, that faded like a dream.

Our harps, neglected, hung upon the trees,

That threw their shadows o'er the waves' dark crest,

And sigh'd, responsive to each passing breeze,

That stirr'd a ripple on its slumbering breast.

But they who led us captive touch'd the string,
And waked its music with unhallow'd hand,
And-mocking all our sadness-bade us sing
The song of Zion in a foreign land.

Oh! never, never!-hush'd be now its strains!
Far, far away her exiled children roam,
And never will they sound, on other plains,
The holy music of their native home.

Jerusalem! all ruin'd as thou art,

Thy temple by profaning footsteps trod, Still art thou fondly cherish'd in each heart,

Land of our sires, our childhood, and our God!

And, while we wander from thy sheltering wing,
To lay on distant shores the weary head,
Like houseless doves-alas! how can we sing?
Our harps are tuneless, and our souls are sad!
T.K. Hervey.

386. CARE (Anxiety): attends prosperity. WHAT bliss, what wealth, did e'er the world bestow On man, but cares and fears attended it ?-May.

387. CARE (Anxiety): destroys peace.
CARE that is enter'd once into the breast
Will have the whole possession ere it rest.
Ben Jonson.

388. CARE (Anxiety): haunts the aged.
CARE keeps his watch in every old man's eye,
And where care lodgeth sleep will never lie.
Shakespeare.

389. CARE (Anxiety): its cure.

FOR every care I have the swiftest cure,
Nor do I fear the roughest road to pass;
For why? My bread and water are most sure,'
'My feet as brass.'

'His presence doth go with me all the road.'
Nor are my hopes His promises beyond;
I only sue the good and faithful God
Upon His bond.

'Unto old age,' and through the silent vale
Shadow'd by death, I shall walk cheerfully;
It is impossible His Word should fail
Even to me.

So then by anxious cares I am not stirr'd;
His promise stretches every care beyond,
And I can plead His covenanted Word,
His Word-His bond.

392. CARE (Anxiety). Sermon on
ALL nature a sermon may preach thee;
The birds sing thy murmurs away,—
The birds which, nor sowing nor reaping,
God fails not to feed day by day;
And He, who the creature doth cherish,
Will He fail thee, and leave thee to perish?
Or art thou not better than they?

The lilies, nor toiling nor spinning
Their clothing, how gorgeous and fair!
What tints in their tiny robes woven,

What wondrous devices are there!
All Solomon's stores could not render
One festival robe of such splendour

As the flowers have for every-day wear.

God gives to each flower its rich raiment,
And o'er them His treasures flings free,
Which to-day finds so fragrant in beauty,

And to-morrow all faded shall see.
Thus the lilies smile shame on thy care,
And the happy birds sing it to air :
Will their God be forgetful of thee?

Spegel, tr. by Mrs Charles.

393. CARE (Anxiety). Succession of
WHEN one is past, another care we have ;
Thus woe succeeds a woe, as wave a wave.
Herrick.

394. CARE (Anxiety). The Christian's freedom from

CAREFUL without care I am,
Nor feel my happy toil,
Kept in peace by Jesu's Name,
Supported by His smile.
Joyful thus my faith to show,
I find His service my reward:
Every work I do below,

I do it to the Lord.

Thou, O Lord, in tender love, Dost all my burdens bear; Lift my heart to things above, And fix it ever there. Calm on tumult's wheel I sit, 'Midst busy multitudes alone, Sweetly waiting at Thy feet, Till all Thy will be done.

To the desert or the cell Let others blindly fly : In this evil world I dwell, Unhurt, unspotted I.

THERE are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs, None love them best. O vain and selfish sigh; Out of the bosom of His love He spares

The Father spares the Son, for thee to die : For thee He died-for thee He lives again; O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign.

Thou art as much His care as if beside

Nor man nor angel lived in heaven or earth: Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth; They shine, and shine with unexhausted store; Thou art thy Saviour's darling-seek no more.

397. CARE (Heedfulness): its reward.

Keble.

THINGS done well,

And with a care, exempt themselves from fear : Things done without example, in their issue Are to be fear'd. —Shakespeare.

398. CAUSE. Finding the

THE wall said to the nail, 'What have I done,

That through me thy sharp tooth thou thus dost run?'

The nail replied, 'Poor fool! what do I know? Ask him who beats my head with many a blow!' Oriental, tr. by W. R. Alger.

399. CAUSE. Judging a

HE that of greatest works is finisher

Oft does them by the weakest minister:

So Holy Writ in babes hath judgment shown

When judges have been babes. Great floods have

flown

From simple sources; and great seas have dried
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there
Where most it promises; and oft it hits,
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.
It is not so with Him that all things knows,
As 'tis with us that square our guess by shows:
But most it is presumptuous in us when
The help of Heaven we count the act of men.
Shakespeare.