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"Behold the handmaid of the Lord." "The hand maid of the Lord" must wait. This, if possible, is even harder than to trust. It needs more grace. Nature is impatient. If it wants any thing, it wants it, now. If it is to do any thing, it must do it, now. If it has any thing to suffer, it must meet it, now. It can do any thing, better than wait. How we see this, in a little child! And how few of us are more than little children, in this matter! But, God, who need not, uses time in every thing. Time to create the world: which might have burst into full being, as the light did. Time, for the germ to start, and for the bud to swell, and for the flower to sweeten: when the full cluster might spring, purple, on the Vine. Time for the embryo, and for the infant, and for the child, and for the youth, and for the man who might have stood, at once, erect and grand, as Adam did, in Eden. Time, for the developement of the body. Time, for the unfolding of the mind. Time, for the maturity of the character. Time, for the experience of life. Time, for the endurance of death. Time, for the encounter of eternity. "The handmaid of the Lord" must wait. "Wait, I say, on the Lord." Not, when I will, but when Thou wilt. Thou, Who canst wait on me, teach me to wait on Thee; to choose Thy time, as well as take Thy way. Thou, Who art patient, because Thou art immortal, imbue me with Thy patience; that I may be partaker of Thy immortality! "Behold the handmaid of the Lord!"

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord." "The handmaid of the Lord" must suffer. Suffering is an incident

of humanity. With women, it is a habit. It is constitutional, with their sex. Suffering, as wives. Suffering, as mothers. Suffering, as women. Nor is it constitutional, only; but, of their temperament. The sensibility, which gives a keener zest to their enjoyment; the susceptibility, which so enhances their loveliness; are elementary, also, in their suffering. Nay, it is in their gentleness, and tenderness, and delicateness, and frailness, that the secret of their strength lies hid. The weak are the only conquerors of the strong. It is their weakness, which wins for them an unresisted victory. And, mark the beautiful compensation. From suffering, their meekness. From suffering, their endurance. From suffering, their thoughtfulness. From suffering, their self-collectedness. From suffering, their lovingness. From suffering, their confidence. From suffering, their piety. How could our daughters soothe us, how could our sisters cheer us, how could our mothers nurse us, how could our wives comfort, sustain, and bless, us, but from the sympathy, which only comes of suffering? And, what but that confidingness and tenderheartedness, and looking on, beyond the present, to a better and a happier future, which suffering teaches best, and soonest, brought women, to be ministering angels, to the Saviour, in His life; and, when Apostles fled, the martyrs of His death?

"Last, at his Cross, and earliest, at His grave."

"Behold the handmaid of the Lord."

"The hand

maid of the Lord" must pray. The sex, to which we owe our mothers, is more native to religion. We see it

everywhere. We feel it, always. It fills our Churches, with worshippers. It surrounds our altars, with communicants. It supplies our hospitals, with nurses. It dignifies humanity, with the blessed names of Sisters of Mercy, and Sisters of Charity. It has adorned the age with Florence Nightingale; the very darling of the human race. "Behold the handmaid of the Lord."

"BEHOLD THE HANDMAID OF THE LORD." Beloved ones, may you, indeed, be such! The handmaids of the Lord, to trust. The handmaids of the Lord, to wait. And, since you are, and must be, the handmaids of the Lord, to suffer; the handmaids of the Lord, to pray.

"Oh joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,

Lightly, when eve's pure orisons are done,
As birds, with slumber's honey-dew, oppressed,
Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun:
Lift up your hearts; though, yet, no sorrow lies
Dark, in the summer heaven of those clear eyes.

Though, fresh, within your breast, the untroubled springs
Of hope make melody, where'er ye tread;
And, o'er your sleep, bright shadows, from the wings
Of spirits, visiting but youth, be spread;
Yet, in those flute-like voices, mingling low,
Is woman's tenderness: how soon, her wo!

Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep,

And patient smiles to wear, through suffering's hour;
And, sumless riches, from affection's deep,

To pour, on broken reeds, a wasted shower;

And, to make idols, and to find them clay,
And, to bewail that worship: therefore, pray.

Her lot is on you-to be found untired,
Watching the stars out, by the bed of pain,
With a pale cheek, and, yet, a brow inspired,

And a true heart of hope, though hope be vain;
Meekly to bear with wrong, to cheer decay;
And, oh, to love through all things: therefore, pray.

And, take the thought of this calm parting time

With its low murmuring sounds and sacred light,
On, through the dark days, fading from their prime,
As a sweet dew, to keep your souls from blight.
Earth will forsake. Oh, happy, to have given
The unbroken heart's first fragrance, unto Heaven."

My darlings, we are now to part. and loved together, many happy years.

We have lived

But, love must be unselfish. Its fondest token and its truest triumph are in sacrifice. Go, then, to be the light of other hearths, the joy of other hearts. Go, to be daughters, sisters, wives. Go, to shed fragrance, on your homes. Go, to make sunshine in dark places. Go, to be pillars of the Church. Go, to be comforters of age. Go, to be soothers of affliction. Go, to be teachers of the young, and patterns to your sex, and blessings to your kind. Wher ever you may be, whatever you may do, however you may have to suffer, bear, ever, in your heart of hearts, that sacred scroll; which, for the last time, now, may fill your moistened eyes; "Behold the handmaid of the Lord!" Be, everywhere, be, always, be, in every way, THE HANDMAIDS OF THE LORD.

XIV.

THE FOURTEENTH ADDRESS

*TO THE GRADUATING CLASS AT ST. MARY'S HALL.

THE HOME; THE SCHOOL; THE CHURCH.

of

By the good hand of God, upon me, I have lived, to see St. Mary's Hall, of age. Our next birth-day is our one and twentieth: and, as if to mark the year our majority, we exceed, by seven, the highest number, that has ever graduated. To day, we send forth, from our guarded hearth, and sacred shrine, three and twenty-which, but for failing health, had been twentyfour +-who have, for years, been daughters of our house and heart. To lose the loving words and cheering smiles of four and twenty daughters, from one old man's home, is not a loss, that can be estimated, in any language, or by any figures. But, then, what is it, to have given, to the world, in one day, four and twenty women?

St. Mary's Hall was opened, on the first day of May,

March, A. D. 1857.

+ One, who, from infirm health, was unable to complete the course; but hopes to return.

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