His was a chamber in the topmost tower —
A small unsightly cell with grated bars;
And wearily went on each irksome hour
Of dim captivity and moody cares;
Against such visitants he was not strong,
But sat with laden heart and brow of woe;
And every morn he heard the stir and song
Of birds in royal gardens far below,
Telling of bowers and dewy lawns unseen,
Drench'd with the silver steam that night had shed;
Part blossom-white, part exquisitely green,
By little warblers roam'd and tenanted,
Blending their glad wild notes to greet the sheen

" The Church is dead, " said brother Brown;
" It's true, " said Gossip. " It's sure going down. "
" I'm gonna quit, " brother Gad-about 'lowed,
" And go where there is a much bigger crowd. "
Sister Selfish, too, was sure she could see —
" Not a soul in church 'preciates me. "
Said brother Grumble, " I don't see why
The Sunday school's dead and the meeting's dry. "
But good brother Faithful sat in his place;
The sunshine of heaven abeamin' on his face;
The good saint worshiped in prayer and song;

The church do zeem a touchen zight,
When vo'k, a-comen in at door,
Do softly tread the long-ailed vloor
Below the pillar'd arches' height,
Wi' bells a-pealen,
Vo'k a-kneelen,
Hearts a-healen, wi' the love
An' peäce a-zent em vrom above.

An' there, wi' mild an' thoughtvul feäce,
Wi' downcast eyes, an' vaices dum',
The wold an' young do slowly come,
An' teäke in stillness each his pleäce,
A-zinken slowly,
Kneelen lowly,
Seeken holy thoughts alwone,
In pray'r avore their Meäker's throne.

1. Christ's life our code, his cross our creed Our common, glad confession be;
2. Dear Son of God! thy blessed will Our hearts would own, with saints above;
Our deepest wants, our highest aims, Find their fulfillment, Lord in thee.
All life is larger for thy law, All service sweeter for thy love.

3. Thy life our code! in letters clear
We read our duty, day by day,
Thy footsteps tracing eagerly,
Who art the truth, the life, the way.

4. Thy cross our creed! thy boundless love
A ransomed world at last shall laud,

SONNET TO A SONNET .

Rare composition of a poet-knight,
Most chivalrous amongst chivalric men,
Distinguish'd for a polish'd lance and pen
In tuneful contest and in tourney-fight;
Lustrous in scholarship, in honour bright,
Accomplish'd in all graces current then,
Humane as any in historic ken,
Brave, handsome, noble, affable, polite;
Most courteous to that race become of late
So fiercely scornful of all kind advance,
Rude, bitter, coarse, implacable in hate
To Albion, plotting ever her mischance,—
Alas, fair verse! how false and out of date

TO THE OCEAN .

Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love,
That once, in rage with the wild winds at strife
Thou darest menace my unit of a life,
Sending my clay below, my soul above,
Whilst roar'd thy waves, like lions when they rove
By night and bound upon their prey by stealth?
Yet didst thou ne'er restore my fainting health?—
Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove?
Nay, didst thou not against my own dear shore
Full break, last link between my land and me?—
My absent friends talk in thy very roar,
In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see,

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
 ‘Now they are all on their knees,’
An elder said as we sat in a flock
 By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
 They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
 To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
 In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
 ‘Come; see the oxen kneel

‘In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
 Our childhood used to know,’
I should go with him in the gloom,

Christmas Day is come; let's all prepare for mirth,
Which fills the heav'ns and earth at this amazing birth.
Through both the joyous angels in strife and hurry fly,
With glory and hosannas, "All Holy' do they cry.
In heaven the Church triumphant adores with all her choirs,
The militant on earth with humble faith admires.

But why should we rejoice? Should we not rather mourn
To see the Hope of Nations thus in a stable born?
Where are His crown and sceptre, where is His throne sublime,
Where is His train majestic that should the stars outshine?

Christ washed the feet of Judas!
The dark and evil passions of his soul,
His secret plot, and sordidness complete,
His hate, his purposing, Christ knew the whole,
And still in love he stooped and washed his feet.

Christ washed the feet of Judas!
Yet all his lurking sin was bare to him,
His bargain with the priest and more than this,
In Olivet beneath the moonlight dim,
Aforehand knew and felt his treacherous kiss.

Christ washed the feet of Judas!
And so ineffable his love 'twas meet,
That pity fill his great forgiving heart,

Christ to seek the lost was sent,
Sympathy's embodiment;
Sent to seek a rebel soul,
With a balm to make it whole.

Heaven's greatest gift to man!
Then whatever else your plan,
Incomplete 'twill surely be
If you have not sympathy.

Man with pity views distress,
God's compassion makes it less;
He in man we'll ever see,
Shown in deeds of sympathy.

If you would the Saviour know,
On a tour of mercy go,
Help to bear a brother's cares,
And the Son of Man appears.

Inasmuch as ye have done
Good to any needy one,