THE TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

Lessons: 1 Kings xxii. 1—41; 2 Kings ii. 1—16, iv. 8—38. Epistle 2 Cor. iii. 4-10. Gospel: St. Mark vii. 31.

THE COLLECT,

ALMIGHTY and everlasting God, who art always more ready to hear than we to pray, and art wont to give more than either we desire or deserve; Pour down upon us the abundance of Thy mercy; forgiving us those things whereof our conscience is afraid, and giving us those good things which we are not worthy to ask, but through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ Thy Son our Lord. Amen.

"And he took the mantle of Elijah that fell from him, and smote the waters, and said, Where is the Lord God of Elijah? And when he also had smitten the waters, they parted hither and thither; and Elisha went over."2 Kings ii. 14.

Where is our fathers' God,
Our fathers' God and ours?
For o'er the desert and the flood
The brooding tempest lowers.

Still nearer and more near
The shadow of that gloom;
Men's hearts are failing them for fear
Of the dread day of doom.

Still widow'd Zion mourns,
Her heart and garments rent;

And Babylon insensate scorns
Her captive's long lament.

Still o'er the heathen world
Reign darkness, lust, and pride :
The banner of the Cross is furl'd,
Where martyrs lived and died.

What is that cry that peals
The battle-field along?

Why tarry yet Thy chariot-wheels,
How long, O Lord, how long?

O God, our ears have heard
Thy wonders wrought of old :
Be it according to Thy word,
Thy suffering saints behold.

Our fathers in Thy might
Endured till set of sun;
Then pass'd into the calmer light,
Their work and warfare done.

Why should we longer stand
In doubt beside their graves?
Bid us, their mantle in our hand
Smite Jordan's sullen waves.

Where is our fathers' God?
His name has cleft the river:

Dark be the storm o'er field and flood,
Their God is ours for ever.

THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

Lessons 2 Kings v., vi. I-24, vii. Epistle: Gal. iii. 16-23. Gospel : St. Luke x. 23—38.

THE COLLECT.

ALMIGHTY and merciful God, of whose only gift it cometh that Thy faithful people do unto Thee true and laudable service; Grant, we beseech Thee, that we may so faithfully serve Thee in this life, that we fail not finally to attain Thy heavenly promises through the merits of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

"Then went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, according to the saying of the man of God: and his flesh came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was clean."-2 Kings v. 14.

One sate beside the fretting sea

Which chafed the rock beneath his feet;

A weary world-worn wanderer he,

Who sought the calm of this retreat :

And now, from God and man estranged,
His eye the waste of waters ranged,
The while in drearier solitude
Life's wildering pathway he review'd.

Far off in sooth a golden light

Yet linger'd o'er his childhood's years, Whereon he gazed with aching sight,

Half dreaming, through the mist of tears :

A father's voice, its echoes still

His broken heart-strings seem'd to thrill; A mother's searching tenderness,

A sister's proud and fond caress.

The vision faded. Soon, too soon
Wild passion lit his soul with flame,
And dragg'd him ere his manhood's noon
Adown the slopes of sin and shame.
Nor was the ruin all his own ;
He was not perishing alone;
Wishing and saying as he fell,

"There is no God nor heaven nor hell.”

But pleasure's sparkling cup was drain'd;
The prodigal had run his course;
And nothing but the dregs remain’d

Of self-contempt and sou!-remorse.
Alas, the ravages of sin,

The wreck of that which once had been,
As hopeless, reckless, desolate,
Thus musing on his past he sate !

But thither, as it chanced, a child,
That hung upon an old man's hand
And often caught his eye and smiled,
Came prattling o'er the sea-ribb’d sand.
The outcast watch'd them; till at last,
As near him unawares they pass'd,
"Would heaven I were a child again,"
Broke from his lips in bitter pain.

The old man heard the low-breathed moan
And saw tears brush'd aside ere shed;
And seated on the rugged stone

Beside him took his hand and said,

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My brother, there is One, whose breast Yearns o'er thee. Come to Him and rest; And thy torn heart, once more shall be Like this sweet prattler's on my knee.”

Enough it needs not here to tell

The charm that word in season wrought : God's hand is used to miracle;

God's love unbounded by our thought.
Enough the water and the blood,
That on the cross for sinners flow'd,

Wash'd from that heart each crimson stain :
He was a little child again.