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SONNETS,

DEVOTIONAL AND MEMORIAL.

I. THE SACRED HARP.

How shall the harp of poesy regain

That old victorious tone of prophet-years, A spell divine o'er guilt's perturbing fears, And all the hovering shadows of the brain? Dark evil wings took flight before the strain, And showers of holy quiet, with its fall, Sank on the soul.

Oh! who may now recall The mighty music's consecrated reign?

Spirit of God! whose glory once o'erhung

A throne, the ark's dread cherubim between, So let thy presence brood, though now unseen, O'er those two powers by whom the harp is strung, Feeling and Thought! till the rekindled chords Give the long-buried tone back to immortal words.

II. TO A FAMILY BIBLE.

WHAT household thoughts around thee, as their shrine,

Cling reverently?—of anxious looks beguiled

My mother's eyes, upon thy page divine,
Each day were bent-her accents, gravely mild,
Breathed out thy lore: whilst I, a dreamy child,
Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away,

To some lone tuft of gleaming spring-flowers wild,
Some fresh discover'd nook for woodland play,
Some secret nest: yet would the solemn Word,
At times, with kindlings of young wonder heard,
Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be
A seed not lost ;-for which, in darker years,
O Book of Heaven! I pour, with grateful tears,
Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee!

III. REPOSE OF A HOLY FAMILY.

FROM AN OLD ITALIAN PICTURE.

UNDER a palm-tree, by the green old Nile,
Lull'd on his mother's breast, the fair child lies,
With dove-like breathings, and a tender smile,
Brooding above the slumber of his

eyes.

While, through the stillness of the burning skies, Lo! the dread works of Egypt's buried kings, Temple and pyramid, beyond him rise,

Regal and still as everlasting things!Vain pomps! from him, with that pure flowery cheek, Soft shadow'd by his mother's drooping head,

A new-born spirit, mighty, and yet meek,

O'er the whole world like vernal air shall spread! And bid all earthly grandeurs cast the crown, Before the suffering and the lowly, down.

IV. PICTURE OF THE INFANT CHRIST WITH FLOWERS.

ALL the bright hues from eastern garlands glowing,
Round the young child luxuriantly are spread;
Gifts, fairer far than Magian kings, bestowing
In adoration, o'er his cradle shed.

Roses, deep-filled with rich midsummer's red,
Circle his hands; but, in his grave sweet eye,
Thought seems e'en now to wake, and prophecy
Of ruder coronals for that meek head.

And thus it was! a diadem of thorn

Earth gave

to Him who mantled her with flowers,

To Him who pour'd forth blessings in soft showers

O'er all her paths, a cup of bitter scorn!

And we repine, for whom that cup He took,

O'er blooms that mock'd our hope, o'er idols that forsook!

V. ON A REMEMBERED PICTURE OF CHRIST.

AN ECCE HOMO, BY LEONARDO DA VINCI.

I MET that image on a mirthful day

Of youth; and, sinking with a still'd surprise,
The pride of life, before those holy eyes,

In my quick heart died thoughtfully away,
Abash'd to mute confession of a sway,

Awful, though meek; and now, that from the strings

Of my soul's lyre, the tempest's mighty wings Have struck forth tones which then awaken'd lay; Now, that around the deep life of my mind, Affections, deathless as itself, have twined,

Oft does the pale bright vision still float by; But more divinely sweet, and speaking now Of One whose pity, throned on that sad brow, Sounded all depths of love, grief, death, humanity!

VI. THE CHILDREN WHOM JESUS BLESSED.
HAPPY were they, the mothers, in whose sight
Ye grew, fair children! hallow'd from that hour
By your Lord's blessing! surely thence a shower
Of heavenly beauty, a transmitted light
Hung on your brows and eyelids, meekly bright,
Through all the after years, which saw ye move
Lowly, yet still majestic, in the might,

The conscious glory of the Saviour's love!
And honoured be all childhood, for the sake
Of that high love! Let reverential care
Watch to behold the immortal spirit wake,

And shield its first bloom from unholy air; Owning, in each young suppliant glance, the sign Of claims upon a heritage divine.

VII-MOUNTAIN SANCTUARIES.

"He went up to a mountain apart to pray."

A CHILD 'midst ancient mountains I have stood, Where the wild falcons make their lordly nest

On high. The spirit of the solitude

Fell solemnly upon my infant breast,

Though then I pray'd not; but deep thoughts have press'd

Into my being since it breathed that air, Nor could I now one moment live the guest

Of such dread scenes, without the springs of prayer O'erflowing all my soul. No minsters rise Like them in pure communion with the skies, Vast, silent, open unto night and day;

So might the o'erburden'd Son of Man have felt, When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt, He sought high mountains, there apart to pray.

VIII. THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.
"Consider the lilies of the field."

FLOWERS! when the Saviour's calm benignant eye
Fell on your gentle beauty-when from you
That heavenly lesson for all hearts he drew,
Eternal, universal, as the sky-

Then, in the bosom of your purity,

A voice He set, as in a temple-shrine, That life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by, Unwarn'd of that sweet oracle divine. And though too oft its low, celestial sound, By the harsh notes of work-day Care is drown'd, And the loud steps of vain unlistening Haste,

Yet, the great ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul, in thought's hush'd hour,

Than yours, ye Lilies! chosen thus and graced!

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