THE CHILDREN OF THE

LORD'S SUPPER.

PENTECOST, day of rejoicing, had come. The church of the village Gleaming stood in the morning's sheen. On the spire of the belfry, Tipped with a vane of metal, the

friendly flames of the Spring-sun Glanced like the tongues of fire, be

held by Apostles aforetime. Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with her cap crowned with

roses,

Stood in her holiday dress in the fields,

and the wind and the brooklet Murmured gladness and peace, God's

peace! with lips rosy-tinted; Whispered the race of the flowers,

and merry on balancing branches Birds were singing their carol, a jubi

lant hymn to the Highest. Swept and clean was the churchyard.

Adorned like a leaf-woven arbor Stood its old-fashioned gate; and

within upon each cross of iron Hung was a fragrant garland, new

twined by the hands of affection. Even the dial, that stood on a hillock

among the departed, (There full a hundred years had it

stood.) was embellished with blossoms.

Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage

of his kith and the hamlet, Who on his birthday is crowned by children and children's children. So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with his pencil of iron

Marked on the tablet of stone, and measured the time and its changes,

While all around at his feet, an eternity slumbered in quiet. Also the church within was adorned, for this was the season When the young, their parents' hope, and the loved ones of heaven, Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows of their baptism. Therefore each nook and corner was

swept and cleaned, and the dust

was

Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from the oil-painted benches. There stood the church like a garden;

the Feast of the Leafy Pavilions 1 Saw we in living presentment. From

noble arms on the church wall Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and

the preacher's pulpit of oak-wood Budded once more anew, as afore

time the rod before Aaron. Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, and the dove, washed with silver, Under its canopy fastened, had on it a necklace of wind-flowers. But in front of the choir, round the

altar piece painted by Hörberg,2 Crept a garland gigantic; and bright

curling tresses of angels Peeped, like the sun from a cloud,

from out of the shadowy leafwork.

Likewise the lustre of brass, newpolished, blinked from the ceiling.

And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost set in the sockets.

Loud rang the bells already; the thronging crowd was assembled Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy preaching.

Hark! then roll forth at once the mighty tones from the organ, Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible spirits.

Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from him his mantle,

Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth; and with one voice Chimed in the congregation, and sang an anthem immortal

Of the sublime Wallín,1 of David's harp in the North-land

Tuned to the choral of Luther; the

song on its powerful pinions Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to heaven,

And every face did shine like the

Holy One's face upon Tabor. Lo! there entered then into the

church the Reverend Teacher. Father he hight and he was in the

parish; a Christianly plainness Clothed from his head to his feet the

old man of seventy winters. Friendly was he to behold, and glad as the heralding angel Walked he among the crowds, but

still a contemplative grandeur Lay on his forehead as clear, as on moss-covered gravestone a sunbeam.

As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that faintly

Gleams in the human soul, even now,

from the day of creation) Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, im

agines St. John when in Patmos, Gray, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so seemed then the old man; Such was the glance of his eye, and such were his tresses of silver. All the congregation arose in the pews that were numbered.