It is not that the fig-tree grows, And palms, in thy foft air; But that Sharon's fair and bleeding rofe Graceful around the mountains meet, But ah! far more! the beautiful feet Those days are paft!-Bethfaida, where? His tent the wild Arab pitches there, Tell me, ye mouldering fragments tell, Ah! would my flock from Thee might learn How days of grace will flee; How all an offered Chrift who spurn Shall mourn at last like thee. And was it befide this very sea Three times to Simon, "Lovest thou me ? O Saviour! gone to God's right hand, Yet the fame Saviour still; Graved on thy heart is this lovely strand, Oh! give me Lord, by this facred wave, That I may feed, till I find my grave, MCCHEYNE.* LVIII. ST. JOHN. E hath gone to the place of his reft, Submiffive would bow to the rod. Our friend and our father we heard, On earth, paint the glories of Heaven ;But now the lone Church, like a wandering bird, To the home of the defert is driven. Entranced, on his vifions we hung; Our hearts and our hopes were above; For the words of Perfuafion fell foft from his tongue, And the foul of his teaching was Love. * Written by the Sea of Galilee, July 16th, 1839. In vain the ftern Tyrant affailed With threats of the dungeon or grave;— He spoke but the word, and the timid ne'er quailed In pangs that had mastered the brave. The babe hath endured, while its frame With the scourge and the torture was torn — The maiden, the mother, in chariots of flame, To glory triumphant were borne. For what were thy terrors, O Death? And where was thy triumph, O Grave? When the vest of pure white and the conquering wreath, Were the prize of the fcorned and the flave? Oh! then to our Father was given, To read the bright visions on high; He gave to our view the full glories of Heaven;We heard and we haftened to die. Some died-they are with thee above; Some live-they lament for thee now; But who would recall thee, blest Saint, from the love That circles with glory thy brow? Long, long didft thou linger below, But the term of thine exile is o'er; And praises shall mix with the tears that must flow Praise praise that thy trials are past! The thrones are completed-for thine is the laft O Lord! fhall the time not be yet When thy church fhall be bleffed and free? Thou who canft not forfake, and who will not for Still am I nearer heaven than when I first believed. Thou art the voice of Love, That Love Divine Will o'er my future path in cloudless glory fhine. Thou art the Voice of Life, A found which seems to say, Thy flesh may faint, thy heart may fail, Which shall not pass away. Here grief and pain Thy fteps detain; There, in the image of thy Lord, fhalt thou with Jefus reign. LX. THE MILLENNIUM. WHAT a bright and bleffed world Shall leave it all, O Lord, to Thee! |