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ANOTHER.

Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids,

The nearest heaven on earth,
Who talk with God in shadowy glades,

Free from rude care and mirth;
To whom some viewless teacher brings

The secret lore of rural things,
The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,
The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight

vale ;

Say, when in pity ye have gazed

On the wreathed smoke afar,
That o'er some town, like mist upraised,

Hung, hiding sun and star,
Then, as ye turned your weary eye

To the green earth and open sky,
Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell
Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel?

But Love's a flower that will not die

For lack of leafy screen,
And Christian Hope can cheer the eye

That ne'er saw vernal green.
Then be ye sure that Love can bless

Even in this crowded wilderness,
Where ever-moving myriads seem to say
Go-thou art nought to us, nor we to thee-away!

There are in this loud stirring tide

Of human care and crime,
With whom the melodies abide

Of the everlasting chime;
Who carry music in their heart

Through dusky lane and wrangling mart, Plying their daily task with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.

How sweet to them, in such brief rest

As thronging cares afford,
In thought to wander, fancy-blest,

To where their gracious Lord,
In vain, to win proud Pharisees,

Spake, and was heard by fell disease
But not in vain, beside yon breezy lake,
Bade the meek Publican his gainful seat forsake.

At once he rose, and left his gold;

His treasure and his heart
Transferred, where he shall safe behold

Earth and her idols part;
While he beside his endless store

Shall sit, and floods unceasing pour
Of Christ's true riches o’er all time and space,
First angel of his Church, first steward of his grace.

Nor can ye not delight to think

Where he vouchsafed to eat,
How the pure Master did not shrink

From touch of sinner's meat ;

What worldly hearts and hearts impure

Went with him through the rich man's door; That we might learn of him lost souls to love, And view his least and worst with hope to meet

above.

These gracious lines shed gospel light

On Mammon's gloomiest cells,
As on some city's cheerless night

The tide of sunrise swells,
Till tower, and dome, and bridge-way proud

Are mantled with a golden cloud, And to wise hearts this certain hope is given, “No mist that man may raise, shall hide the eye

of Heaven.”

And oh! if even on Babel shine

Such gleams of Paradise,
Should not their peace be peace divine,

Who day by day arise
To look on clearer heavens, and scan

The work of God untouched by man?
Shame on us, who about us Babel bear,
And live in Paradise, as if God was not there!

KEBLE.

SAINT SIMON AND SAINT JUDE'S DAY.

OCTOBER 28.

COLLECT. O Almighty God, who hast built thy Church upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the head corner stone; grant us so to be joined together in unity of spirit by their doctrine, that we may be made a holy temple acceptable unto thee, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

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HYMN.

As at the first, by two and two

His herald saints the Saviour sent
To soften hearts like morning dew,

Where he to shine in mercy meant ;

So evermore he deems his name

Best honored and his way prepared,
When watching by his altar-flame

He sees his servants duly paired.

He loves when age and youth are met,

Fervent old age and youth serene,
Their high and low in concord set

For sacred song, joy's golden mean.

He loves when some clear soaring mind

Is drawn by mutual piety
To simple souls and unrefined,

Who in life's shadiest covert lie.

Or if perchance a saddened heart

That once was gay and felt the spring, Cons slowly o’er its altered part,

In sorrow and remorse to sing,

Thy gracious care will send that way

Some spirit full of glee, yet taught To bear the sight of dull decay,

And nurse it with all pitying thought ;

Cheerful as soaring lark, and mild

As evening blackbird's full-toned lay, When the relenting sun has smiled

Bright through a whole December day.

These are the tones to brace and cheer

The lonely watcher of the fold,
When nights are dark, and foemen near,

When visions fade, and hearts grow cold.

How timely then a comrade's song

Comes floating on the mountain air, And bids thee yet be bold and strong Fancy may die, but Faith is there.

KEBLE.

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