FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. Lo, the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield! Hark to nature's lesson given By the blessed birds of Heaven. Every bush and tufted tree 'Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow: God provideth for the morrow. Say, with richer crimson glows Say, have kings more wholesome fare Barns nor hoarded grain have we, Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, One there lives whose guardian eye SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. WAKE not, O mother, sounds of lamentation; Bear forth the cold corpse slowly, slowly bear him: Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all. Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping? Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? 'Set down the bier-he is not dead, but sleeping. 'Young man, arise!'-He spake, and was obeyed. Change, then, O sad one, grief to exultation, Strong was the word of God to succor thee. NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRININY. O blest were the accents of early creation, When the Word of Jehovah came down from above: In the clods of the earth to infuse animation, And wake their cold atoms to life and to love. And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind, By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended, He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind. And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven, (Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,) Who said to the mourner, Thy sins are forgiven,' 'Be whole,' to the sick,-and Be still,' to the the storm. O, Judge of the world, when arrayed in thy glory, Thy summons again shall be heard from on high, While nature stands trembling and naked before thee, And waits on thy sentence to live or to die; When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder, And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale, And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder, In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail. 7 TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. THE Sound of war! In earth and air Of bitter doubt the barbed aim, Gods of the world, ye warrior host In vain is all your impious boast, |