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Oh! surely some bright Presence from above On those wild rocks the lonely one must aid!E'en so; a strengthener through all storm and shade, Th' unconquerable Angel, mightiest Love!

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VI.

THE REPLY OF THE SHUNAMITE WOMAN.

And she answered, I dwell among mine own people."—2 Kings, iv. 13. "I dwell among mine own,"-Oh! happy thou! Not for the sunny clusters of the vine, Nor for the olives on the mountain's brow;

Nor the flocks wandering by the flowery line
Of streams, that make the green land where they
shine

Laugh to the light of waters-not for these,
Nor the soft shadow of ancestral trees,

Whose kindly whisper floats o'er thee and thine-
Oh! not for these I call thee richly blest,
But for the meekness of thy woman's breast,
Where that sweet depth of still contentment lies;
And for thy holy household love, which clings
Unto all ancient and familiar things,

Weaving from each some link for home's dear charities.

VII.

THE ANNUNCIATION.

Lowliest of women, and most glorified!

In thy still beauty sitting calm and lone, A brightness round thee grew-and by thy side Kindling the air, a form ethereal shone,

Solemn, yet breathing gladness.- From her throne A queen had risen with more imperial eye, A stately prophetess of victory

From her proud lyre had struck a tempest's tone, For such high tidings as to thee were brought,

Chosen of Heaven! that hour;- but thou, O thou! E'en as a flower with gracious rains o'erfraught,

Thy virgin head beneath its crown didst bow, And take to thy meek breast th' all holy word, And own thyself the handmaid of the Lord.

VIII.

THE SONG OF THE VIRGIN.

Yet, as a sun-burst flushing mountain snow,
Fell the celestial touch of fire ere long
On the pale stillness of thy thoughtful brow,
And thy calm spirit lighten'd into song.
Unconsciously perchance, yet free and strong
Flow'd the majestic joy of tuneful words,

Which living harps the quires of Heaven among Might well have link'd with their divinest chords. Full many a strain, borne far on glory's blast, Shall leave, where once its haughty music pass'd, No more to memory than a reed's faint sigh; While thine, O childlike virgin! through all time Shall send its fervent breath o'er every clime, Being of God, and therefore not to die.

IX.

THE PENITENT ANOINTING CHRIST'S FEET.

There was a mournfulness in angel eyes,

That saw thee, woman! bright in this world's train,

Moving to pleasure's airy melodies,

Thyself the idol of the enchanted strain.

But from thy beauty's garland, brief and vain, When one by one the rose-leaves had been torn, When thy heart's core had quiver'd to the pain Through every life-nerve sent by arrowy scorn; When thou didst kneel to pour sweet odours forth On the Redeemer's feet, with many a sigh, And showering tear-drop, of yet richer worth Than all those costly balms of Araby; Then was there joy, a song of joy in Heaven, For thee, the child won back, the penitent forgiven!

X.

MARY AT THE FEET OF CHRIST.

Oh! blest beyond all daughters of the earth!
What were the Orient's thrones to that low seat,
Where thy hush'd spirit drew celestial birth?
Mary! meek listener at the Saviour's feet!
No feverish cares to that divine retreat
Thy woman's heart of silent worship brought,
But a fresh childhood, heavenly truth to meet,
With love, and wonder, and submissive thought.
Oh! for the holy quiet of thy breast,

'Midst the world's eager tones and footsteps flying! Thou, whose calm soul was like a well-spring lying So deep and still in its transparent rest,

That e'en when noontide burns upon the hills, Some one bright solemn star all its lone mirror fills.

XI.

THE SISTERS OF BETHANY AFTER THE DEATH OF
LAZARUS.

One grief, one faith, O sisters of the dead!

Was in your bosoms-thou, whose steps, made fleet By keen hope fluttering in the heart which bled, Bore thee, as wings, the Lord of Life to greet;

And thou, that duteous in thy still retreat Didst wait his summons- then with reverent love

Fall weeping at the blest Deliverer's feet, Whom e'en to heavenly tears thy woe could move, And which to Him, the All Seeing and All Just, Was loveliest, that quick zeal, or lowly trust? Oh! question not, and let no law be given To those unveilings of its deepest shrine, By the wrong spirit made in outward sign: Free service from the heart is all in all to Heaven.

XII.

THE MEMORIAL OF MARY.

"Verily I say unto you, wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, there shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her."-Matthew, xxvi. 13.-See also John, xii. 3.

Thou hast thy record in the monarch's hall;
And on the waters of the far mid sea;
And where the mighty mountain-shadows fall,
The Alpine hamlet keeps a thought of thee:
Where'er beneath some Oriental tree,

The Christian traveller rests-where'er the child
Looks upward from the English mother's knee,
With earnest eyes in wondering reverence mild,
There art thou known-where'er the Book of Light
Bears hope and healing, there, beyond all blight,

Is borne thy memory, and all praise above;
Oh! say what deed so lifted thy sweet name,
Mary! to that pure silent place of fame?
One lowly offering of exceeding love.

XIII.

THE WOMEN OF JERUSALEM AT THE CROSS.

Like those pale stars of tempest hours, whose gleam Waves calm and constant on the rocking mast, Such by the Cross doth your bright lingering seem, Daughters of Zion! faithful to the last!

Ye, through the darkness o'er the wide earth cast
By the death-cloud within the Saviour's eye,
E'en till away the heavenly spirit pass'd,
Stood in the shadow of his agony.

O blessed faith; a guiding lamp, that hour,
Was lit for woman's heart; to her, whose dower
Is all of love and suffering from her birth;
Still hath your act a voice-through fear, through
strife,

Bidding her bind each tendril of her life,

To that which her deep soul hath proved of holiest worth.

XIV.

MARY MAGDALENE AT THE SEPULCHRE.

Weeper! to thee how bright a morn was given
After thy long, long vigil of despair,

When that high voice which burial rocks had riven,
Thrill'd with immortal tones the silent air!
Never did clarion's royal blast declare
Such tale of victory to a breathless crowd,
As the deep sweetness of one word could bear
Into thy heart of hearts, O woman! bow'd
By strong affection's anguish!-one low word-
"Mary!"—and all the triumph wrung from death
Was thus reveal'd! and thou, that so hadst err'd,
So wept, and been forgiven, in trembling faith

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