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Burrow in darkness like a mole;

For Satan made this lie your Soul,

This bounteous joy-dispenser,

This light within the censer!

Hear it, and quench all human love,
Ye lordlings and ye ladies,

God interdicts all light above,

Conceding light in Hades—

Hope, Joy, and Love are fleshly lies,
And Want and Woe are Paradise:
God kills, that He may win us,
All light divine within us.

Oh, hollow cheat! that wounds the mind
With narrow creeds and feelings,-
That kills the Soul and makes it blind
To all sublime revealings,-
That chokes the undevelopt trust,
The seed of Godhead, into dust,-
That makes this flesh a hovel
Where slimy monsters grovel.

Joy is a portion of the Word

Whence clearer light we borrow, Men in their joy approach the Lord

More near than in their sorrow: God lit dark skies with sun and moon, And set them to a golden tune;

He set the Soul, our gladness,

Within the flesh, our sadness.

Through light and darkness Nature rolls, Through light and fleshly leaven

Joy is the music made by Souls

When most in tune with Heaven; And we are like the common flowers, Which, taking both the sun and showers,

Take from the sun above me

The hues which make them lovely.

And every little blossom strives

To help the summer-Maying;

Joy gives a colour to our lives,

And is the heart of praying:

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When tortured texts our peace annoy

Our woe is blinder than our joy,
And quenches in its blindness

The light of human kindness.

Pulpit, whose words of war and strife
Mock yonder starry crescent,

We cannot mend the Future Life

Through warring on the present:
Our loves, our joys, our human ties,
Are tiny steps to Paradise;

And woe without cessation
Is base humiliation.

Remember, Pulpit, the sublime

Sweet Bethlehem called Pity;
Yours is mean doctrine for the Time,
The Labourer, and the City;
Our streets are black enough without
Unhallowed clouds of pain and doubt;
Who weep for aye in Tophet

Insult the gift they covet.

Love proves her reverence, I know,

By hate of all displaying,

And hearts that hate prayer's hollow show
Unconsciously are praying:

Christ came in human shape to prove
The common truths of Hope and Love ;
And if the Lord would win us,

His Christ must dwell within us.

B.

For Better, for Worse.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MOST willingly Margaret had lingered on at Grafton, installing Katie in her new home, and assisting Ralph in his plans and arrangements for his parish work; but her visit was shortened by the accounts Gracie gave of her mother's health. Through her agent, Margaret had learnt that an ample sum of money for Frank had been placed at his disposal by Lord Redenham; and though Ralph and Grace both stormed at the insult, Margaret persisted that for Ethelind's sake it was right to accept her husband's first acknowledgment of her family. It would enable her now to quit Deignton, and remove Mrs. Atherton to a more bracing climate.

She found, on her return to Deignton, her mother was looking old and careworn; and Susannah had grown anxious, and joyfully welcomed Margaret. Grace had grown into great favour with the Weldons, as well as their nephew, a Mr. Chudleigh, a rising young barrister, who had been visiting at the Rectory, and whom Grace declared the good Rector and his sister had brought there with the laudable intention of retaining Margaret in their own possession. Rachel Grey, with her grave staid manner and quiet self-possession, had grown used to take command; and with Annie Morley to assist, there seemed little fear of failure.

"This termination to your residence among us is so unexpected, it comes upon us like a thunder-clap," Mr. Weldon said, with strong emotion struggling in his usually cheerful face. "We see you are right; so I can only say God bless you, and make you as great a comfort and help to others as you have been to us ;" and he pulled his hat over his brows, and turned back to the Rectory.

After consulting the best medical opinion, Margaret took her mother and sister to Brighton.

Nearly all correspondence with Lady Redenham had died away. Grace's long letters to Ethel had extorted only one or two short notes in reply, which had left (if the truth were told) a sore spot on Grace's heart. Mrs. Atherton never failed to look down the fashionable movements of Belgravia for any mention the papers might give of her child's gay doings. She was growing imperceptibly into the belief, that to speak of Ethel as "my daughter Lady Redenham," amongst their small circle of acquaintance, was the only gratification the connection afforded her. Grace studiously read Philip's speeches in Parliament. A man who could be "great" in every thing but his domestic relations could be no hero in Grace's eyes, and she felt almost angry with herself for taking any interest in him at all; but Margaret was always ready to vindicate Philip

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