But bold with misery, VIII. He heeded not the taunt of selfish pride, "Have mercy, Christ, on me!" IX. The ever open ear Heard-and heard not unmoved that quivering voice. "Come hither!" Hundreds now exclaimed-"Rejoice! He calls; be of good cheer!" X. How rare-how passing sweet Sounded those words of hope. He cast away His garment, lest its folds his course might stay, XI. "What would'st thou?" Wondrous bright The beggar's visage glowed. He felt right sure That voice so God-like, straight would speak his cure. "Lord, that I may have sight!" XII. He never knew suspense. "Receive thy sight, thou dark one for thy faith!" And lo! convulsively he draws his breath, Entranced with his new sense. XIII. Did Bartimeus seek Once more his ancient nook of beggary? XIV. Love would not let him stay. His darkened soul was lightened like his eyes, And from that hour the Lord whom he did prize He followed in the way. THE INDIAN LOG CHURCH. Rude forest temple! little canst thou show But to my heart thy meek simplicity For ages buried in the gloom of night, Within thy walls, first, in this region, swelled The entrance to immortal life's straight road, That he was heir with Christ, of wealth beyond the sky. "WHO IS MY NEIGHBOUR?" Most churlish question, when the husky cry Or party in the pain-extorted tear? "Who is my neighbour?" Cold one wend thy way To Calvary's mount, and gaze upon the face Of Him who bled to free our common race From death's sharp sting, and sin's polluting sway. The kind Lord died for all. Yes, e'en for those Whose torments wrung his flesh with nameless throes. Blush for thy selfishness, and learn to see A neighbour in each child of Adam's family. CHRIST MOURNING OVER JERUSALEM. I. Like royal maiden sleeping gracefully, Scarcely was heard the pilgrim zephyr's sigh, II. On Olive's mount reclined an humble band, From whom the sons of pride would shrink in scorn; Way-faring ones, whose robes the churlish hand Of penury had sorely moiled and torn, Plain might you read in each care-wrinkled face, |