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To have tenderly bound up her scattered hair,

And have dried her tearful eyes !
Hush! there are broken hearts to soothe,

And penitent tears to dry,
While Magdalen prays for you and them,

From her home in the starry sky.

O to have followed the mournful way

Of those faithful few forlorn !
And, grace beyond even an angel's hope,

The Cross for our Lord have borne !
To have shared in His tender mother's grief,

To have wept at Mary's side, To have lived as a child in her home, and then

In her loving care have died !

Hush ! and with reverent sorrow still

Mary's great anguish share ;
And learn, for the sake of her Son divine,

Thy cross, like His, to bear.
The sorrows that weigh on thy soul unite

With those which thy Lord has borne,
And Mary will comfort thy dying hour,

Nor leave thy soul forlorn.

O to have seen what we now adore,

And, though veiled to faithless fight, To have known, in the form that Jesus wore,

The Lord of Life and Light !

Hush! for He dwells among us still,

And a grace can yet be thine, Which the scoffer and doubter can never know,

The Presence of the Divine.
Jesus is with His children yet,

For His word can never deceive;
Go where His lowly altars rise,
And worship, and believe.

Miss A. A. Procter. 1859.


POOR wayfaring Man of grief
n Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,

That I could never answer, Nay.
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.

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I spied him, where a fountain burst

Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mocked his thirst,

He heard it, saw it hurrying on:
I ran to raise the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipt, and returned it running o’er ;
I drank, and never thirsted more.

’T was night; the floods were out ; it blew

A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and Aew

To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest ;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.

Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,

I found him by the highway-side ;
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,

Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment; he was healed :
I had myself a wound concealed ;

But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart

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Then in a moment to my view

The Stranger darted from disguise ;
The tokens in his hands I knew,

My Saviour stood before mine eyes!
He spake; and my poor name he named :
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed ;
These deeds shall thy memorial be ;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me.”

James Montgomery. 1826.



CALM me, my God, and keep me calm,

While these hot breezes blow; Be like the night-dew's cooling balm

Upon earth's fevered brow.

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Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude

The sounds my ear that greet, Calm in the closet's solitude,

Calm in the bustling street;

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