For lo! the Sufferer turns His woe-worn face,
And on His servant bends His gentle eye-
Pity and Love blend in that look of grace,
And to the sinner tell his Saviour nigh-
He heeded not the deadly fight he fought,
Or his heart's pangs-his wandering sheep he sought:

He sought and found-the arrow Peter smote,
And forth he stepped from out the evil hall,
Bitter the things, that 'gainst himself he wrote,
Deadly his sin, and desperate his fall-

He wept, to tell how grossly Satan lied--
Man hath no power to stay his heart of pride.

O then! why drag him forth who thus did mourn,
And wish all self deep buried in his grave!
Why bid the crowd besotted t'ward him turn,
Their souls to save, his own who could not save!
O sight more galling than the lictor's rod,
The humbled saint upreared a brazen God!

Bitter the tears! and let them freely flow,
For evil was the hand that placed him there!
How would he weep to serve the nation's woe,
By claiming homage in God's House of Prayer!
How weep to see his form, from realms above,
Stand 'twixt his fellow-man, and Jesu's look of love!

S. PIETRO IN VINCOLI.

THE MOSES OF MICHAEL ANGELO.

AND AARON AND MIRIAM SPAKE AGAINST MOSES.-NUMB. XII. 1.

O VEX him not, nor chide

His delegated power!

Not his on wheels of state to ride,

Or bask a summer-hour—

He claims to guide with pastoral staff, not reign, And meekly bears a load, which worlds could not sustain.

Think not, in that calm mind

The seeds of empire spring,

Till round his furrowed brows he bind

Wreaths of a tyrant-king

Not his the royal robe with gems besprent,

Or iron heel of scorn to climb the proud ascent.

Tho' bred beside the throne,
He sought no ruler's wand;
Jehovah marked him for his own,

And placed it in his hand;

Then bade him go, nor faithless, lingering, stay, Meekest of men, but point his fainting Israel's way!

O then, why load his ear
With taunt and bitter mock,
To his meek spirit more severe,

Than the rude tempest's shock

Why fail his help, joint pillars of his power, Nor share the unequal weight in tribulation's hour?

When o'er the desert-land

Flames of rebellion burn,

While Israel's sons his just command

In fretted madness spurn—

He calmly asks his loving Lord in prayer, His feeble strength to nerve-their guilty heads to spare.

But when, with scornful eye

And lip, his fellows rise,
Rebuke his zeal, his power defy—

Struck with severe surprise,

His speaking glance he turns, while the full soul

Boils o'er, and gushing tears their furrowed courses roll.

Yet anger stern contends

With a most patient grief

One hand his robe of office rends

Like a December leaf;

The other on his beard, as if to strew
Its spoil upon the winds in restlessness of woe.

What fires that fixed eye?
Why points it as a sword?
He guards, with wakeful jealousy,

The glory of his Lord!

For those around his cheeks with blushes burn, Who share their Sovereign's gifts, yet can such meed return.

Others might pave their thrones
With skulls of slaughtered foes,
Bracelet their arms with human bones,
And crown their brows with woes-

Ever he sought, with shepherd-care, to guide
His flock in pastures green, the gentle stream beside.

The crown he holds as nought,

He rules but for his King:

To Him the praise he ever brought,

To Him, would ever bring:

Shall he now yield to man-tho' left alone?

No! God enthroned, and none but God shall disenthrone!

Not readier sinks the sun

Down on the ocean's breast,

Than he would hail, his work once done,

The haven of his rest

But ne'er will he, while God upholds his head, List to a rebel's voice-a rival's vengeance dread.

Nor dares Jehovah's choice to bow,

At beck of earth-born fears

When lo! the columned cloud the portal fills, And He, whose will is law, the storm of passion stills.

He comes to judge the right :

To some he shows his grace
In dreams and visions of the night-
To Moses, face to face :

Favored beyond all others-they who dare
His bidding scorn, a Miriam's leprosy must bear !

Firm is his judgment-seat,
Owned in the courts above-

The foe must worship at his feet,

And note the mark of love

1

O fools! who could not see the path they trod, How, warring 'gainst his rule, they warred against their GOD!

1 Rev. iii. 9.