Yet e’en the lifeless stone is dear For thoughts of Him who late lay here; And the base world, now Christ hath died, Ennobled is and glorified. No more a charnel-house, to fence The relics of lost innocence, A vault of ruin and decay; Th’ imprisoning stone is rolled away: ’Tis now a cell, where angels use To come and go with heavenly news, And in the ears of mourners say, “Come, see the place where Jesus lay:” ’Tis now a fane, where Love can find Christ everywhere embalmed and shined: Aye gathering up memorials sweet, Where’er she sets her duteous feet. Oh! joy to Mary first allowed, When roused from weeping o’er His shroud, By His own calm, soul-soothing tone, Breathing her name, as still His own! Joy to the faithful Three renewed, As their glad errand they pursued! Happy, who so Christ’s word convey, That he may meet them on their way! So is it still: to holy tears, In lonely hours, Christ risen appears: In social hours, who Christ would see Must turn all tasks to Charity. Monday in Easter Week. Of a truth I perceive that God is no respecter of persons: but in every nation he that feareth Him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with Him. _Acts_ x. 34, 35. GO up and watch the new-born rill Just trickling from its mossy bed, Streaking the heath-clad hill With a bright emerald thread. Canst thou her bold career foretell, What rocks she shall o’erleap or rend, How far in Ocean’s swell Her freshening billows send? Perchance that little brook shall flow The bulwark of some mighty realm, Bear navies to and fro With monarchs at their helm. Or canst thou guess, how far away Some sister nymph, beside her urn Reclining night and day, ’Mid reeds and mountain fern, Nurses her store, with thine to blend When many a moor and glen are past, Then in the wide sea end Their spotless lives at last? E’en so, the course of prayer who knows? It springs in silence where it will, Springs out of sight, and flows At first a lonely rill: But streams shall meet it by and by From thousand sympathetic hearts, Together swelling high Their chant of many parts. Unheard by all but angel ears The good Cornelius knelt alone, Nor dreamed his prayers and tears Would help a world undone. The while upon his terraced roof The loved Apostle to his Lord In silent thought aloof For heavenly vision soared. Far o’er the glowing western main His wistful brow was upward raised, Where, like an angel’s train, The burnished water blazed.