Then on thy bosom borne shall we descend,

Again with earth to blend,

Earth all refin'd with bright supernal fires,

Tinctur'd with holy blood, and wing'd with pure desires.

Meanwhile with every son and saint of thine
Along the glorious line,

Sitting by turns beneath thy sacred feet
We'll hold communion sweet,

Know them by look and voice, and thank them all
For helping us in thrall,

For words of hope, and bright examples given

To shew through moonless skies that there is light in Heaven.

O come that day, when in this restless heart

Earth shall resign her part,

When in the

with Thee grave

my

limbs shall rest,

My soul with Thee be blest!

But stay, presumptuous-CHRIST with thee abides

In the rock's dreary sides:

He from the stone will wring celestial dew

If but the prisoner's heart be faithful found and true.

When tears are spent, and thou art left alone
With ghosts of blessings gone,

Think thou art taken from the cross, and laid
In JESUS' burial shade;

Take Moses' rod, the rod of prayer, and call
Out of the rocky wall

The fount of holy blood; and lift on high
Thy grovelling soul that feels so desolate and dry.

Prisoner of Hope thou art look up and sing
In hope of promis'd spring.

As in the pit his father's darling lay"

Beside the desert way,

And knew not how, but knew his God would save
Even from that living grave,

So, buried with our LORD, we'll close our eyes
To the decaying world, till Angels bid us rise.

1 Zechariah ix. 12.

m Gen. xxxvii. 24.

Turn ye to the strong hold, ye prisoners of hope.

They took him and cast him into a pit, and the pit was empty, there was no water in it.

EASTER DAY.

And as they were afraid, and bowed down their faces to the earth, they said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen. St. Luke xxiv. 5, 6.

OH! day of days! shall hearts set free
No "minstrel rapture" find for Thee?
Thou art the Sun of other days,
They shine by giving back thy rays:

Enthroned in thy sovereign sphere
Thou shedd'st thy light on all the year:
Sundays by Thee more glorious break,
An Easter Day in every week:

And week-days, following in their train,
The fullness of thy blessing gain,
Till all, both resting and employ,
Be one Lord's day of holy joy.

Then wake, my soul, to high desires,
And earlier light thine altar fires :
The World some hours is on her way,
Nor thinks on thee, thou blessed day :

Or, if she think, it is in scorn:
The vernal light of Easter morn
To her dark gaze no brighter seems
Than Reason's or the Law's pale beams.

"Where is your Lord ?" she scornful asks : "Where is his hire? we know his tasks; "Sons of a king ye boast to be;

"Let us your crowns and treasures see."

We in the words of Truth reply,
(An angel brought them from the sky,)
"Our crown, our treasure is not here,
""Tis stored above the highest sphere:

"Methinks your wisdom guides amiss, "To'seek on earth a Christian's bliss; "We watch not now the lifeless stone; "Our only Lord is risen and gone."

Yet even the lifeless stone is dear

For thoughts of Him who late lay here; And the base world, now Christ hath died, Ennobled is and glorified.

No more a charnel-house, to fence

The relics of lost innocence,

A vault of ruin and decay ;

Th' imprisoning stone is roll'd away :

'Tis now a cell, where angels use
To come and go with heavenly news,
And in the ears of mourners say,
"Come see the place where Jesus lay :"

'Tis now a fane, where Love can find Christ every where embalm'd and shrin'd; Aye gathering up memorials sweet,

Where'er she sets her duteous feet.

Oh! joy to Mary first allow'd,

When rous'd from weeping o'er his shroud, By his own calm, soul-soothing tone,

Breathing her name, as still his own!

K