THE STRANGER-GUEST.1 T was a sunny Sabbath morn, the spring-time of the year, The earth look'd green and beautiful, the sky look'd bright and clear, And softly blew the freshening breeze and sweetly rose the lay Of feather'd woodland choristers blithe as the newborn day! 'To * * Ere upon thy pillow thou Shalt to-night compose thy brow Greet the Minstrel while thou may'st, For he passeth on in haste, Soon a higher, happier sphere Will his solemn harpings hear! The village bells for matins rang, their soothing, solemn sound In every heart a glad response, a joyful echo found, Their music in the olden time had summon'd sire and son While here they ran their earthly race-and when that race was run! It was a pleasant sight to see how met, with one accord, The old and young, the rich and poor, in peace, to praise the Lord, And how content and cheerfulness and serious thought did seem In every grateful heart to glow, in every eye to beam! Among the Christian Worshippers who pray'd to be forgiven, To do their Father's will on earth and see his face in heaven, Was one, a lonely wayfarer from some far-distant land, Whom time, stern monitor! had touch'd, but with a tender hand. Deep thought in mournful majesty sat on his lofty brow, His cheek, if it had once been fair, was dark and sunburnt now, His stately form with tremor shook, his eyes were dim with tears, |