Some say that love and joy are one: and so
They are indeed in heaven, but not on earth.
Our hearts are made too narrow for the girth
Of love, which is infinity; below
The portion we can compass may bring woe;
Of this the Church bears witness from her birth:
And though a throne in heaven be more than worth
Tears, it is pain that makes them overflow.
Think of the utter grief that fell on them

HYMN I

" The Lord Jesus, although gone to the Father, and we see Him no more, is still present with His Church; and in His heavenly glory expends upon her as intense a love, as in the agony of the garden, and the crucifixion of the tree. Those eyes that wept, still gaze upon her." — Recalled words of an extempore Discourse, preached at Sidmouth , 1833.

God , named Love, whose fount Thou art,
Thy crownless Church before Thee stands,
With too much hating in her heart,

" From fading things, fond men, lift your desire."
— Drummond .

Could ye be very blest in hearkening
Youth's often danced-to melodies —
Hearing it piped, the midnight darkening
Doth come to show the starry skies, —
To freshen garden-flowers, the rain? —
It is in vain, it is in vain!

Could ye be very blest in urging
A captive nation's strength to thunder
Out into foam, and with its surging
The Xerxean fetters break asunder?
The storm is cruel as the chain! —

1.
I have wept and I have sighed;
Chloe will not be my bride.
I have sighed and I have wept,
She hath not her promise kept.

2.

I have grieved and I have mourned;
She hath not my love returned.
I have mourned and I have grieved;
She hath not my pains relieved.

3.

But her pride I'll mortify,
For her love I will not die.
Amaryllis fair I'll wed,
Nor one tear for Chloe shed.

I love to see the summer beaming forth
And white wool rock clouds sailing to the north
I love to see the wild flowers come again
And Mare blobs stain with gold the meadow drain
And water lilies whiten on the flood
Where reed clumps rustle like a wind shook wood
Where from her hiding place the Moor Hen pushes
And seeks her flag nest floating in bull rushes
I like the willow leaning half way o'er
The clear deep lake to stand upon its shore
I love the hay grass when the flower head swings
To summer winds and insects happy wings

Love builds a nest on earth and waits for rest,
Love sends to heaven the warm heart from its breast,
Looks to be blest and is already blest,
And testifies: " God's Will is alway best. "

Faith and Hope are wings to Love,
Silver wings to golden dove.

Jesus, do I love Thee?
Thou art far above me,
Seated out of sight
Hid in heavenly light
Of most highest height.
Martyred hosts implore Thee,
Seraphs fall before Thee,
Angels and Archangels,
Cherub throngs adore Thee;
Blessed she that bore Thee! —
All the Saints approve Thee,
All the Virgins love Thee.
I show as a blot
Blood hath cleansed not,
As a barren spot
In Thy fruitful lot.
I, figtree fruit-unbearing,
Thou, Righteous Judge unsparing:
What canst Thou do more to me
That shall not more undo me?

Lord, whomsoever Thou shalt send to me,
Let that same be
Mine Angel predilect:
Veiled or unveiled, benignant or austere,
Aloof or near;
Thine, therefore mine, elect.

So may my soul nurse patience day by day,
Watch on and pray
Obedient and at peace;
Living a lonely life in hope, in faith;
Loving till death,
When life, not love, shall cease.

. . . . Lo, thou mine Angel with transfigured face
Brimful of grace,
Brimful of love for me!
Did I misdoubt thee all that weary while,
Thee with a smile

Who lives in love, loves lest to live, least
And longe delayes doth rue,
If Him he love by Whome he lives,
To Whome all love is dewe.

Who for our love did choose to live,
And was content to dye;
Who lov'd our love more then His life,
And love with life did buy.

Let us in life, yea with our life,