THE HOME OF BETHANY.

"Low-rooft beneath the skies !"-Milton.
"The air of Paradise did fan the House,
And angels officed all!"-Shakspeare.

Of Judah's dwellings many a roof
Shone with a loftier pinnacle;

And foldings of a richer woof

O'er many a couch in splendour fell: But which of all the hearths of man,

And all his palaces, can vie

With Thee (since Christ, who heaven doth span, Bent 'neath it-) Home of Bethany!

Embosomed in Mount Olivet,

It decked those slopes with simple grace; And, surely, art elaborate

Left there no proud and formal trace:

But lovely bines and tendrils wreathed
Its sides in wild luxuriancy,

While from the uplands incense breathed
Around Thee, Home of Bethany!

What was that Countenance divine,

Where gentlest meekness found its throne!
What was the Voice of power benign
Distilling love's unwearying tone!
What was that household, all beloved!
He saw them with discerning eye,—
Active, and quiet, virtue proved,
Schooled by Thee, Home of Bethany!

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He sought that wicket when the storm
Of persecution rung its blast;
There His marred visage and His form
Found shelter till the tempest past :
And oh, how sweet it must have been
To mark that holy amity

Which found its most congenial scene
Within thee, Home of Bethany!

We "come and see where Jesus dwelt,"-* Nazareth no more is Home for Him; And this, his fondest rest he felt

For wounded mind and wearied limb.
Short was that peace! but when reposed
The Solitary in this family,

On the Incarnate Lord was closed
Thy doorstead, Home of Bethany!

O for a limning of that Brow

Which shone on every inmate there! O for an echo of that flow

Of gracious words, beguiling care! He, condescending, sat at meat!

Smiled through each moment amiably! Suffered a votary at His feet,— Thy Mary, Home of Bethany!

It was the good and lasting part!

And none were strangers to its rest,—

Only less love had warmed her heart
Who sought a vainer, gaudier, test.

And was not he, the brother too,

Who early learnt what 't was to die, Taught by that grace which fell like dew To bless Thee, Home of Bethany!

John i. 39.

Other far visits Jesus paid,

When doing good he went about,

He brake their bread, enjoyed their shade,But here he goeth in and out:

The all and best of home on earth

He might commune, was found in Thee,Amid his lot's distress and dearth

Sole refuge,-Home of Bethany!

Hallowed excitement found relief,

When His heart thrilled in all its veins; And there stole on His spirit grief

Deeper than source of mortal pains; And when He kept the Temple-feast, Wrapt in its pomp and minstrelsy, Divining all,-when all had ceased,

Thou sooth'dst Him, Home of Bethany !*

Angelic envoys! how ye lent

Your waving plumes to shade that group: On all its mystery intent,

Encamping round, "a blessed troop.' They rested not, nor sought to rest,

Through day and night, from ministry Which all their powers of love possessed,To guard thee, Home of Bethany!

Deep wailings fill that blest abode !

"T is Death that three-fold cord unties!

The Resurrection, Life, and God

Draws near, and all its power defies! Heart-broken sisters, clasp again

Your dead,-Death's barriers open fly! Bloom forth with joy, Thou mountain-glen ! Wake Thy songs, Home of Bethany!

Luke xxi. 37.

And honour shall be done the spot

Where Christ could find an earthly calm! Nor can her memory be forgot,

Who poured on Him the costly balmThe mystic pledge of hastening doom,— Well He rewards that scenery,

Leads forth His triumph,-bursts His tomb,Hard by Thee, Home of Bethany!

Those vine-bound eaves no longer skirt
Yon hill-side and its olive copse:
The spoiler came, with judgment girt,
Blasted its scene, hewed down its props.
But ere that blow, the happy band
Embraced in realms above the sky;
Yet cannot still, in that fair land,

Forget Thee, Home of Bethany!

O model of domestic joy!

(An earth-revolving star of heaven!)
Be ours Thy peace, and Thine employ,
From dawn to noon, from noon to even !
And Thou, Blest Visitant! assuage
Our griefs till in Thy Home we be !
Compared with that rich heritage

Mean wast Thou, Home of Bethany!

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

MYSTERIOUS Murmur! Where, and what, art thou?
Song in the night! Or art thou more than song?
Then more than feathered songster! Here along
The fragrant copse thou peal'st melodious vow,-
Whether of grief or joy I cannot trow.

A wail of anguish! Who can doubt that strain ?
The thorn is in its breast! And then again.
That long drawn cadence out yon willow bough!
I list once more,-It trills a joyous lay!

Thy pensive sadness now has found relief!

Like canzonet of flow'ret-hooded fay!

Yet seemed those mirth-notes oft constrained and brief.

For still, methought, thy joy was never gay,—

Perhaps, like me, thou know'st the joy of grief!