ASCENSION DAY. Why stand ye gazing up into Heaven? This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into Heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into Heaven. Acts i. 11. SOFT cloud, that while the breeze of May Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch, My soul is envious of mine eye, That it should soar and glide with thee so fast, Chains of my heart, avaunt I say- Sure, when I reach the point where earth Melts into nothing from th' uncumber'd sight, Heaven will o'ercome th' attraction of my birth, And I shall sink in yonder sea of light: Till resting by th' incarnate LORD, Once bleeding, now triumphant for my sake, I mark him, how by seraph hosts ador'd He to earth's lowest cares is still awake. All space, beyond the soar of Angel wings, Wait on His word: and yet he stays his car For every sigh a contrite suppliant brings. He listens to the silent tear For all the anthems of the boundless sky- Nay, gracious Saviour-but as now Our thoughts have trac'd Thee to thy glory-throne, So help us evermore with Thee to bow Where human sorrow breathes her lowly moan. We must not stand to gaze too long, Though on unfolding Heaven our gaze we bend, Where lost behind the bright angelic throng We see CHRIST's entering triumph slow ascend. No fear but we shall soon behold, Faster than now it fades, that gleam revive, Then shall we see Thee as Thou art, For ever fix'd in no unfruitful gaze, But such as lifts the new-created heart, Age after age, in worthier love and praise. M SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION. As every man hath received the gift, even so minister the same one to another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God. 1 St. Peter iv. 10. THE Earth that in her genial breast Where wafted by the warm south-west Yields, thankful, of her very best, To nurse her treasure: True to her trust, tree, herb, or reed, Thus year by year she works unfeed, Woe worth these barren hearts of ours, And water'd with more balmy showers, Than e'er distill'd In Eden, on th' ambrosial bowers Yet nought we yield. Largely Thou givest, gracious Lord, He only, who forgets to hoard, Wisely Thou givest-all around That not two roseate cups are crown'd Even so, in silence, likest Thee, Steals on soft-handed Charity, St. Matt. x. 8. |