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, tho' 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 BLEST.

Happy were they, the mothers, in whose sight
Ye grew, fair children! hallowed 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 prayed not; but deep thoughts have

pressed

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'erburdened Son of man have felt, When, turning where inviolate stillness dwelt, IIe 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 !