Wouldst thou the life of souls discern? Nor human wisdom nor divine Helps thee by aught beside to learn; Love is life’s only sign. The spring of the regenerate heart, The pulse, the glow of every part, Is the true love of Christ our Lord, As man embraced, as God adored. But he, whose heart will bound to mark The full bright burst of summer morn, Loves too each little dewy spark, By leaf or flow’ret worn: Cheap forms, and common hues, ’tis true, Through the bright shower-drop’ meet his view; The colouring may be of this earth; The lustre comes of heavenly birth. E’en so, who loves the Lord aright, No soul of man can worthless find; All will be precious in his sight, Since Christ on all hath shined: But chiefly Christian souls; for they, Though worn and soiled with sinful clay, Are yet, to eyes that see them true, All glistening with baptismal dew. Then marvel not, if such as bask In purest light of innocence, Hope against mope, in love’s dear task, Spite of all dark offence. If they who hate the trespass most, Yet, when all other love is lost, Love the poor sinner, marvel not; Christ’s mark outwears the rankest blot. No distance breaks this tie of blood; Brothers are brothers evermore; Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood, That magic may o’erpower; Oft, ere the common source be known, The kindred drops will claim their own, And throbbing pulses silently Move heart towards heart by sympathy. So it is with true Christian hearts; Their mutual share in Jesus’ blood An everlasting bond imparts Of holiest brotherhood: Oh! might we all our lineage prove, Give and forgive, do good and love, By soft endearments in kind strife Lightening the load of daily life. There is much need; for not as yet Are we in shelter or repose, The holy house is still beset With leaguer of stern foes; Wild thoughts within, bad men without, All evil spirits round about, Are banded in unblest device, To spoil Love’s earthly paradise. Then draw we nearer day by day, Each to his brethren, all to God; Let the world take us as she may, We must not change our road; Not wondering, though in grief, to find The martyr’s foe still keep her mind; But fixed to hold Love’s banner fast, And by submission win at last. Third Sunday after Trinity. There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth. _St. Luke_ xv. 10. O HATEFUL spell of Sin! when friends are nigh, To make stern Memory tell her tale unsought, And raise accusing shades of hours gone by, To come between us and all kindly thought!