FROM "AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE." With all thy hart, with all thy soule and mind, Thou must him love, and his beheasts embrace; All other loves, with which the world doth blind Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base, Thou must renounce and utterly displace, And give thy selfe unto him full and free, That full and freely gave himselfe to thee. Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest, And ravisht with devouring great desire Of his deare selfe, that shall thy feeble brest Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire With burning zeale, through every part entire, That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight, But in his sweet and amiable sight. Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye, And all earthes glorie, on which men do gaze, Seeme durt and drosse in thy pure-sighted eye, Compared to that celestiall beauties blaze, Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth daze With admiration of their passing light, Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright. Then shall thy ravisht soule inspired bee With heavenly thoughts farre above humane skil, And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see The idee of his pure glorie present still Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill With sweet enragement of celestiall love, Kindled through sight of those faire things above. EDMUND SPENSER. * * * * * THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. O thou great Friend to all the sons of men, Who once appeared in humblest guise below, Sin to rebuke, to break the captive's chain, And call thy brethren forth from want and woe,-- We look to thee! thy truth is still the Light Which guides the nations, groping on their way, Stumbling and falling in disastrous night, Yet hoping ever for the perfect day. Yes; thou art still the Life, thou art the Way The holiest know; Light, Life, the Way of heaven! And they who dearest hope and deepest pray, Toil by the Light, Life, Way, which thou hast given. THEODORE PARKER. * * * * * KNOCKING, EVER KNOCKING. "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock." --REVELATIONS iii. 20. Knocking, knocking, ever knocking? Who is there? 'T is a pilgrim, strange and kingly, Never such was seen before;-- Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder, Undo the door. No,--that door is hard to open; Hinges rusty, latch is broken; Bid Him go. Wherefore with that knocking dreary Scare the sleep from one so weary? Say Him, no. Knocking, knocking, ever knocking? What! Still there? O sweet soul, but once behold Him, With the glory-crownèd hair; And those eyes, so strange and tender, Waiting there; Open! Open! Once behold Him, Him so fair.