When  up  some  woodland  dale  we  catch

The  many-twinkUng  smile  ^  of  ocean,  lo

Or  with  pleas'd  ear  bewilder'd  watch

His  chime  of  restless  motion  ;
Still  as  the  surging  waves  retire
They  seem  to  gasp  with  strong  desire,
Such  signs  of  love  old  Ocean  gives.
We  cannot  choose  but  think  he  lives.
Wouldst  thou  the  life  of  souls  discern  ?

Nor  human  wisdom  nor  divine
Helps  thee  by  aught  beside  to  learn ;

Love  is  life's  only  sign.  20

The  spring  of  the  regenerate  heart,
The  pulse,  the  glow  of  every  part,
Is  the  true  love  of  Christ  our  Lord,
As  man  embrac'd,  as  God  ador'd.
But  he,  whose  heart  will  bound  to  mark
The  full  bright  burst  of  summer  morn.
Loves  too  each  little  dewy  spark.
By  leaf  or  flow'ret  worn  :
Cheap  forms,  and  common  hues,  'tis  true.
Through  the  bright  shower-drop  meet  his  view  ;  30
The  colouring  may  be  of  this  earth  ;
The  lustre  comes  of  heavenly  birth.
E'en  so,  who  loves  the  Lord  aright.
No  soul  of  man  can  worthless  find ;
All  will  be  precious  in  his  sight,

Since  Christ  on  all  hath  shin'd  :
But  chiefly  Christian  souls  ;  for  they,
Though  worn  and  soil'd  with  sinful  clay.
Are  yet,  to  eyes  that  see  them  true.
All  gUstening  with  baptismal  dew.  40

'  .  .  .  ttovtIwv  re  Kv/ndrav
av-Zipidfiov  yiXaa-jMa  .  .  .  JEschyl.  Prom.  89.
SECOND  SUNDAY  AFTER  TRINITY  103

Then  marvel  not,  if  such  as  bask

In  purest  Ught  of  innocence,
Hope  against  hope,  in  love's  dear  task.
Spite  of  all  dark  offence.
If  they  who  hate  the  trespass  most.
Yet,  when  all  other  love  is  lost,
Love  the  poor  sinner,  marvel  not ;
Christ's  mark  outwears  the  rankest  blot.
