Deep is the silence as of summer noon,
      When a soft shower
      Will trickle soon,
A gracious rain, freshening the weary bower —
   O sweetly then far off is heard
   The clear note of some lonely bird.

So let Thy turtle-dove’s sad call arise
      In doubt and fear
      Through darkening skies,
And pierce, O Lord, Thy justly-sealed ear,
   Where on the house-top, all night long
   She trills her widowed, faltering song.

Teach her to know and love her hour of prayer,
      And evermore,
      As faith grows rare,
Unlock her heart, and offer all its store
   In holier love and humbler vows,
   As suits a lost returning spouse.

Not as at first, but with intenser cry,
      Upon the mount
      She now must lie,
Till Thy dear love to blot the sad account
   Of her rebellious race be won,
   Pitying the mother in the son.

But chiefly (for she knows Thee angered worst
      By holiest things
      Profaned and curst),
Chiefly for Aaron’s seed she spreads her wings,
   If but one leaf she may from Thee
   Win of the reconciling tree.

For what shall heal, when holy water banes! 
      Or who may guide
      O’er desert plains
Thy loved yet sinful people wandering wide,
   If Aaron’s hand unshrinking mould
   An idol form of earthly gold?

Therefore her tears are bitter, and as deep
      Her boding sigh,
      As, while men sleep,
Sad-hearted mothers heave, that wakeful lie,
   To muse upon some darling child
   Roaming in youth’s uncertain wild.

Therefore on fearful dreams her inward sight
      Is fain to dwell —
      What lurid light
Shall the last darkness of the world dispel,
   The Mediator in His wrath
   Descending down the lightning’s path.

Yet, yet awhile, offended Saviour, pause,
      In act to break
      Thine outraged laws,
O spare Thy rebels for Thine own dear sake;
   Withdraw Thine hand, nor dash to earth
   The covenant of our second birth.

’Tis forfeit like the first—­we own it all —
      Yet for love’s sake
      Let it not fall;
But at Thy touch let veiled hearts awake,
   That nearest to Thine altar lie,
   Yet least of holy things descry.

Teacher of teachers!  Priest of priests! from Thee
      The sweet strong prayer
      Must rise, to free
First Levi, then all Israel, from the snare. 
   Thou art our Moses out of sight —
   Speak for us, or we perish quite.

ASCENSION DAY

Why stand ye gazing up into Heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into Heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go into Heaven.  Acts i. 11

      Soft cloud, that while the breeze of May
Chants her glad matins in the leafy arch,
   Draw’st thy bright veil across the heavenly way
Meet pavement for an angel’s glorious march: