ANGELS HOLY, ANGELS OF LIGHT.

July 1.

Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me
more than twelve legions of angels.—Matthew 26:53.

THE mystery of the Baptism opens up the three years; henceforth
in all the journeyings by mountain and valley, by lake
and river, the angels throng the world's Savior with adoring love,
seeking to compensate His tender heart for the scorn, neglect, and
hatred of His best beloved creatures; seeking also to drown the
discord of human coarseness, by those entrancing melodies with
which the heaven is echoing ; now swelling to the full diapason of
the angelic choirs, anon whispering low the liquid tones as of trembling
flageolets, of one hovering spirit, they would rock His soul
in ecstacy. Imagination presents the thought and love dwells
on it caressingly that angels, hovering always over Him, held Him
in their arms when the Son of Man was weary and would rest;
that when night fell upon the mountains of Judea, and the stars
mirrored themselves in Genesareth and all the world of humanity
was wrapped in slumber, the heavenly hosts vied with each other
in ministering unto Him. Imagination also pictures the multitude
who hung above the City of His Tears, and watched shudderingly
the horrors of those last hours. The angel of Gethsemane
is not named, we know not who it was who with adoring love
swept to the solace of that blinding agony beneath those gnarled
and knotted olive trees, while His chosen ones slept. We do not
know even whether it were one of the seven, the star upon his brow
dimmed in the eclipse shed over all heavenly things by that
mighty sorrow. "We cannot think it the martial Michael—rather
we picture him bending from the crystal battlements with sword
half drawn, restrained by the will of Omnipotence and holding
back his angelic cohorts by the silence of his own agonized obedience.
A moment of expectant doubt pulsated also over the waiting
hierarchy when they hear that prayer for the passing of the
chalice. The action of Peter in cutting off the ear of the high
priest's servant was witnessed rejoicingly, if we may so speak,
and the words of our Savior's rebuke: "Thinkest thou that I
cannot ask my Father and He will give me presently twelve legions
of angels ?'' must have thrilled through the watching hosts as they
turned expectantly towards the throne. But what words of
human tongue can voice, what reaching of human intelligence can
realize the angelic wrath and horror of those onlooking throngs?
                                                                            -By M.

Angels of God, ye radiant band,
Guarding the golden portals ye stand,
Lifting on high a raptured song,
Whose alleluias rise clear and strong.
Angels holy, angels of light,
Silver trumpets peal through the night!
Shout hosannas, praise ye the King!
Let all creation echo and ring!
Onward the flight they are winging,
Comfort to weary hearts bringing,
On to the haven of rest,
Peace from the land so blest.
Angels of God, ye spirits fair,
Who cast a glory everywhere,
Hark, from the glittering host above,
Rises a ceaseless tribute of love.
                —Annie Porter Lynes.