Page:The Christian Year 1887.djvu/83



Is there a heart that loves the spring, Their witness can refuse? Yet mortals doubt, when angels bring From Heaven their Easter news:

When holy maids and matrons speak Of Christ's forsaken bed, And voices, that forbid to seek The hiving 'mid the dead,

And when they say, "Turn, wandering heart,  Thy Lord is ris'n indeed, Let Pleasure go, put Care apart,   And to His presence speed;"

We smile in scorn: and yet we know They early sought the tomb, Their hearts, that now so freshly glow, Lost in desponding gloom.

They who have sought, nor hope to find, Wear not so bright a glance: They, who have won their earthly mind, Lees reverently advance.

But where in gentle spirits, fear And joy so duly meet, These sure have seen the angels near, And kissed the Saviour's feet.

Nor let the Pastor's thankful eye Their faltering tale disdain, As on their lowly couch they lie, Prisoners of want and pain.

O guide us, when our faithless hearts From Thee would start aloof, Where Patience her sweet skill imparts Beneath some cottage roof:

Revive our dying fires, to burn High as her anthems soar, And of our scholars let us learn Our own forgotten lore.