Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/109




 * There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. St. Luke xv. 10.

O hateful spell of Sin! when friends are nigh, To make stern Memory tell her tale unsought, And raise accusing shades of hours gone by, To come between us and all kindly thought!

Chilled at her touch, the self-reproaching soul Flies from the heart and home she dearest loves, To where lone mountains tower, or billows roll, Or to your endless depth, ye solemn groves.

In vain: the averted cheek in loneliest dell Is conscious of a gaze it cannot bear, The leaves that rustle near us seem to tell Our heart's sad secret to the silent air.

Nor is the dream untrue; for all around The heavens are watching with their thousand eyes, We cannot pass our guardian angel's bound, Resigned or sullen, he will hear our sighs.

He in the mazes of the budding wood Is near, and mourns to see our thankless glance Dwell coldly, where the fresh green earth is strewed With the first flowers that lead the vernal dance.

In wasteful bounty showered, they smile unseen, Unseen by man—but what if purer sprights By moonlight o'er their dewy bosoms lean To adore the Father of all gentle lights?

If such there be, O grief and shame to think That sight of thee should overcloud their joy, A new-born soul, just waiting on the brink Of endless life, yet wrapt in earth's annoy!

O turn, and be thou turned! the selfish tear, In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun, Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear, The turbid waters brightening as they run.

Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart In penitential drops have ebbed away,