He sought that wicket when the storm Which found its most congenial scene We "come and see where Jesus dwelt,"Nazareth no more is Home for Him; And this, his fondest rest he felt For wounded mind and wearied limb. Short was that peace! but when reposed The Solitary in this family, On the Incarnate Lord was closed O for a limning of that Brow Which shone on every inmate there! O for an echo of that flow Of gracious words, beguiling care! He, condescending, sat at meat! Smiled through each moment amiably! Suffered a votary at His feet, Thy Mary, Home of Bethany! It was the good and lasting part! And none were strangers to its rest,— Only less love had warmed her heart And was not he, the brother too, Who early learnt what 't was to die, Taught by that grace which fell like dew To bless Thee, Home of Bethany! John i. 39. Other far visits Jesus paid, When doing good he went about,— He brake their bread, enjoyed their shade,— But here he goeth in and out: The all and best of home on earth He might commune, was found in Thee,Amid his lot's distress and dearth Sole refuge,-Home of Bethany! Hallowed excitement found relief, When His heart thrilled in all its veins; And there stole on His spirit grief Deeper than source of mortal pains; And when He kept the Temple-feast, Wrapt in its pomp and minstrelsy, Divining all,-when all had ceased, Thou sooth'dst Him, Home of Bethany !* Angelic envoys! how ye lent Your waving plumes to shade that group: On all its mystery intent, Encamping round, "a blessed troop." They rested not, nor sought to rest, Through day and night, from ministry Which all their powers of love possessed,To guard thee, Home of Bethany! Deep wailings fill that blest abode! "T is Death that three-fold cord unties! The Resurrection, Life, and God Draws near, and all its power defies! Heart-broken sisters, clasp again Your dead,-Death's barriers open fly! Bloom forth with joy, Thou mountain-glen! Wake Thy songs, Home of Bethany! Luke xxi. 37. And honour shall be done the spot Where Christ could find an earthly calm! Nor can her memory be forgot, Who poured on Him the costly balmThe mystic pledge of hastening doom,— Well He rewards that scenery, Leads forth His triumph,-bursts His tomb,Hard by Thee, Home of Bethany! Let not the risen Saviour scorn Our mean abode and worthless name! As Thine was, Home of Bethany! O may He this our prayer accept, And yet each active duty ply, Those vine-bound eaves no longer skirt Yet cannot still, in that fair land, O model of domestic joy! (An earth-revolving star of heaven !) Our griefs till in Thy Home we be ! Mean wast Thou, Home of Bethany! TO THE NIGHTINGALE. MYSTERIOUS Murmur! Where, and what, art thou? A wail of anguish! Who can doubt that strain? Thy pensive sadness now has found relief! Like canzonet of flow'ret-hooded fay! Yet seemed those mirth-notes oft constrained and brief. For still, methought, thy joy was never gay,— Perhaps, like me, thou know'st the joy of grief! MADONNA. "Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also." Он what are all our Nature's ties To those wound round a Mother's heart? Long since the Widow steeped the moss Strong in maternal love,-the Eclipse,- Mother! once fanned by angel-wings! Born of a woman,-see Him turn Upon the crisis of that hour Heaven's glory, Earth's salvation, hung! There speaks the Child's expiring tongue! |