PERKINS LIBRARY 
 
 Duke University 
 
 Kare Books 
 

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 THE WAY OF ETERNAL LIFE. 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF "THE CATHEDRAL." 
 
 C 
 
 Wi'i\'4*wS X^ <V ^C— -j 
 
 THIRD EDITION. 
 
 OXFORD, 
 JOHN HENRY PARKER. 
 
 MDCCCXLVI. 
 
oxtord : 
 printed by i. shrimpton. 
 

 ADYEETISEMENT. 
 
 In this edition, the Fourth Part, which was previously 
 pubhshed separately, is incorporated, the Images being 
 arranged in their respective places. 
 
Wit &vonti$#itit* 
 
 How art Thou seen in Heaven, O living Well, 
 The Fount of our New-Birth, — the blessed seal 
 Of our inheritance ? O who can tell 
 How countless Angels may around Thee kneel, 
 While earth-born clouds their glorious forms conceal, 
 And hide the golden vision from our view ? 
 Our God and Father Faith doth here reveal, 
 Whose radiance lights up the Baptismal dew, 
 While we emerge in life where all things are made new. 
 
 Countless as broods that fill the teeming sea, 
 On generations generations pour 
 As through the mouth of Ocean, flowing free 
 Into the world through that Baptismal door : 
 Numbers innumerable, evermore, 
 Part on each side in endless destinies, 
 Some on advancing to light's blissful shore, 
 Some on the road where sorrow never dies, 
 Each as they choose their lot, the way before them lies. 
 
 a2 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 A. — The Church with her deep mysteries and rites 
 Portray' d in semblance of Cathedral aisles, 
 With pillar' d shades of stone, and cloistral walks, 
 Deadens and stiffens our expansive thoughts 
 Of her ethereal essence, casing them 
 In dead cold marble ; every finite form 
 That would set forth a nature infinite 
 Must circumscribe it. 
 
 B. — Yes, in that design 
 
 Your argument was straiten' d to that mould, 
 But so the Church is oft disclos'd to man, 
 As a material Temple wrotcght of stones : 
 Yet often as a glorious living Form. 
 
 A. — Then might we not in verse delineate 
 A vision of the Bride invisible, 
 In Heavenly grace and beauty warm with life, 
 With Saints and Angels peopling all her courts ? 
 The secret struggles of the pilgrim soul, 
 
viii PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 And accidents that throng this mortal course 
 Oft Holy Writ reveals as living things, — 
 Spirits of good and evil. Angel forms 
 Tend on the Cradle and the Tomb of Christ, 
 And at His Judgment-seat come forth to view. 
 
 B. — Such a device seems of a scope too vast, 
 Of nature too ethereal to embrace 
 In mould and language of poetic thought. 
 
 A. — The portraitures in these old cloistral books 
 Have bodied forth to meet the eye of sense 
 Stores of divinest wisdom : these might range 
 
 , To aid our new conception, and thus wed 
 Painting with poesy ; and Jiaply stand 
 As storied walls of a Baptismal cell, 
 Or bring around a mimic theatre, 
 Shifting the sceneries ofpicttir'd life, 
 And shew as in a mirror things of Heaven. 
 
 B. — You scarce could weed from out this varied field 
 ( Which seems a wilderness of type and thought) 
 Emblems of Roman worship, but therein 
 The microscopic eye of fear or hate 
 Would spy some poisonous herb, and thence would arm 
 Her venom' d barbs against you. 
 
 A. — Such vain talk 
 
 I heed not, — taking all religious care 
 That nought be left that bears the taint of ill 
 To injure blameless souls ; for much I fear 
 That e'en the tokens qfherpre/y, 
 The rosary, the amice, cowl, and veil, 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 Are so allied with evil, that they seem 
 As deeply steep 'd in some enchanters toell, 
 And not in Holy Baptism. What forbids, 
 But e'en from shades where baneful weeds lie hid, 
 I still may gather flowers, and bid them grow 
 In the home vineyard of our mother Church ? 
 These symbols have I gaz'd on long and oft, 
 Threading their morals and their mysteries, 
 Beguil'd therein to deeper — holier thoughts. 
 And surely heart-expanding Charity, 
 If aught she finds that ministers to good, 
 To others would like instruments supply. 
 These scenes are eloquent beyond all words, 
 For objects pleading through the visual sense 
 Are stronger than discourses to the ear, 
 More powerfully they reach and move the soul. 
 
 B. — But grant no sign of Rome in these appears ; — 
 Yet these appeals to the more sensual eye 
 Bo savour of her worship j in her courts 
 Imagination holds too high a place, 
 Leagued with material things, and charms the heart 
 Prone to idolatry, unconscious glides 
 To sense from spirit ; upward to ascend 
 Is hard ; it is on earth to live in Heaven. 
 
 A. — Yes, dangers on each side beset our road; 
 When zeal, imbued with puritanic leaven, 
 Clogs tip heart-easing Heaven-born poesy , 
 The soul thus stifled breeds dark mutinies, 
 Irreverence, irreligion, hollow words, 
 
j PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 Hypocrisies ; yet on the other side 
 
 Let loose it runs on to material things, 
 
 And blends with sensuous idolatry. 
 
 The Church, 'tis thought, is wakening through the land, 
 
 And seeking vent for the o'erloaded hearts 
 
 Which she has kindled, — -pours her forth anew, — 
 
 Breathes life in ancient worship,— from their graves 
 
 Summons the slumbering Arts to wait on her, 
 
 Music and Architecture, varied forms 
 
 Of Painting, Sculpture, and of Poetry ; 
 
 These are allied to sense, but soul and sense 
 
 Must both alike find wing and rise to Heaven ; 
 
 Both soul and body took the Son of man, 
 
 Both soul and body must in Him serve God. 
 
 B. — If lowliness of heart and reverent faith 
 
 Be with tis, we through these conflicting tides, 
 May reach our Heavenly haven ; if these guides 
 Be wanting, we alike shall fail at last, 
 Whether we stretch our canvass to the gale, 
 Or creep along the shore : yet in these days 
 I would hold back and fear. There are, 'tis said, 
 Spirits abroad impatient of otir Church, 
 Her weakness and her children's, which is great, 
 Or driven by harshness to unfilial thoughts, 
 And yearn for union with intruding Borne. 
 
 A— This union in His Church is God's own gift, 
 Not to be seisfd by man's rude sinful hands, 
 But the bright crown of mutual holiness. 
 Therefore such leanings find in me no place, 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 So broad I feel the gulf'twixt her and us, 
 Form'd by her dark and sad idolatries, 
 That I would rather die a thousand deaths 
 Than pass it ; sure I cannot others lead 
 To thoughts which foreign are to all I love, 
 And find in me no sympathetic chord. 
 Then may I not unfold my parable 
 In visions such as holy Hermas taught, 
 Seeking the warm light of antiquity, 
 The GospeVs glorious morn, and the first love 
 Of the immortal Spouse ? Let us the while 
 In these most perilous and restless days, 
 Cling the more close to our maternal Church 
 As to a guardian Angel — hold her hand — 
 With her rove haunts of hoar antiquity, 
 To which she leads, and marshals us the way 
 As to our true and sacred heritage, — 
 And thus pursue her principles and powers, 
 Develop 'd from her shrines and liturgies, 
 Covering her faults, supplying her defects ; 
 Such filial loyalty I deem our light, 
 Our strength, and our protection ; such a guide 
 I need, and uncomplaining watch her light, 
 like the dim moon given to our wintry clime. 
 The duteous child compares not, questions not. 
 
 This sacred Art, which through the thoughtful eyes 
 Holds converse with the heart, she pleas' d allows ; 
 It by her holy altar finds a place, 
 Peoples th' enameVd windows, pours its stores 
 
xii PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 O'er shrines, o'er sculptu/d floors, 'er pietur 'd panes, 
 
 Riches of sacred scene and character — 
 
 Spirits and things of spirit brings to sense, — 
 
 With rude accoutrements of uncouth shape, — 
 
 Or female forms of Virtue*, and full oft 
 
 Delineations of the Judgment-day* . 
 
 Wen so the Sister Art that speaks in stone 
 
 Cleaves o'er her fonts, like ivy, spreading round 
 
 Their shafts and sides with sacred imagery, 
 
 And scatters o'er them marble eloquence. 
 
 Therefore I deem these pietur 1 d sceneries, 
 
 Which, like sweet music heard in rural haunts, 
 
 Would interweave the forms of sight with song — 
 
 Breathe with no spirit alien to our Church, 
 
 Nor uncongenial to that character 
 
 That in her voice and form and motion speaks. 
 
 B. — All this I doubt not ; and the uncouth shapes, 
 Harsh featur'd oft and quaint and rude of limb, 
 Wherein her stores of wisdom she retains, 
 Are hallow' d by severe antiquity. 
 But who with modern lessons such would blend ? 
 And look you here ; now these are fearful sights, 
 Monstrous, ill-shap'd, and gaunt, and terrible, 
 From which this gentle Age with lifted hands 
 Will turn, and 'gainst thy volume close the door. 
 
 A. — This Age needs them the more. Self-loving Times, — 
 
 e. g. on the west window of New College Chapel, as in Image XXVIII. 
 e. g. on the west window at Magdalene College Chapel, as in Image XX. 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 If Which fain would from religion crop the flower, 
 r And leave the thorns behind, — require the more, 
 
 That toe should not omit that bitter part 
 I Which in each healthful chalice blends below. 
 
 B. — Yes, if design could match the dreadful theme, 
 And execution match design : yet here 
 There is put forth no breathing eloquence, 
 No stern embodying of inspired thought, 
 Which could it meet the thoughtful gaze of men 
 Would fill the eyes with tears, the breath with sighs, 
 Like rain and winds upon the stagnant lake, 
 And so amend the heart. 
 
 A. — Such eloquence 
 
 Each to himself must minister ; and oft 
 Doubtless a heart, yearning for things of Heaven, 
 Hath fed on storied walls, o'er cottage hearth, 
 And rude embroideries of quaint device, 
 Which Taste would mock at. Pure religious care 
 Would strive to wed performance with design, 
 Till both give birth to heart ennobling tlwught, 
 Full of high adoration. Yet ne'er yet 
 Could warmest rhetoric of high discourse, 
 Nor earnest fear with gravest eloquence, 
 So form the picture e'en of that dread Hay, 
 But while meek spirits tremble, others scoff 
 Or cavil, or at phrase or doctrine carp, 
 Bringing God's herald to their judgment-seat 
 And not themselves before the throne of God. 
 One well we know hath given such utterance 
 
xiv PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 To the deep food of his own fervent thoughts, 
 That seem'd to us some stream of Paradise, 
 Flowing o'er Eden's gems of golden thought, 
 Troubled indeed, and strong, and passionate, 
 But such asfioufdfrom 'neath the throne of God — 
 Of Judgment and of Baptism and of Sin. 
 And when our hearts in trembling silence long 
 Stored deep his words, and were bou/d down to earth, 
 Nor wish'd to be uplifted ; then we found 
 'Twos the light theme of after-dinner talk, 
 Chance meetings by the way, debate, and strife, 
 And controversial whisp' rings ; tender souls 
 So pitiful forsooth, and full of care 
 Lest that their brethren's spirits be cast down 
 By theme so terrible, and over-wrought ! 
 Alas, in them no fear of such despair ! 
 B. — I grant it; yet I doubt if these rude shapes 
 Are themes of wholesome terror ; haply such 
 Might be envelop' d in the cloud and shade, 
 Or set in outline ; such thus dimly seen 
 Are oft more eloquent ; the mind supplies 
 Its own Diviner language, and fills up 
 The picture : Painting it is said hath less, 
 The statue more, of breathing poesy . 
 A. — Yes, for strong passion oft when left half -told 
 Breathes inspiration and true eloquence, 
 Far more than many words : and it were toell 
 If I 'Jin g our limner could portray these shapes, 
 That they should stand rcveaPd in outline dim, 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 More statue-like, more full of poetry ; — 
 Or half withdraw from sight, and clothe in shade, 
 For night and darkness is their ft abode. 
 And thus in Holy Writ such vision comes, 
 With spirits, where the stars are gleaming through 
 Their bodiless and pure ethereal forms. 
 But if Sin puts on shape to meet the eye, 
 . I These hideous forms, or foul deformities, 
 Most meetly speak her qualities and frame ; 
 For such is Sin in God's creation fair, 
 Foul treason 'gainst the Majesty of Heaven, 
 Against all goodness, beauty, harmony ; 
 Monsters, dark creeping things, and hideous snakes, 
 ' In nature are the types which speak her forms. 
 And sure much harmful influence is wrought, 
 By those proud spirits of the later age 
 Who throw heroic grandeur o'er the shape 
 Of the Arch-Evil One, — in dread sublime 
 Throning him, as that bard tve may admire 
 But cannot love. 
 
 B. — Still some, as well you know, 
 
 Esteem'dfor wisdom among those we love, 
 Shrink from this language to the eye display' d, 
 And cannot but disprove. 
 
 A. — This thought full long 
 
 Shook my strong ptcrpose, much creating doubt ; 
 But now no more, by judgments strong outweigh' d 
 And sacred reasonings. Minds of various men 
 Are variously attemper' d ; in the soul 
 
xvi PREFATORY THOUGHTS: 
 
 There is an eye and ear, an in the frame, 
 
 Attun'd or not attun'd to harmonies ; 
 
 Some more than others catch responding notes 
 
 Of sound or language. Some from tongue and pen 
 
 Banish all figure, comprehend it not : 
 
 Others read wisdom through similitudes, 
 
 Through medium of external sign and form, 
 
 Their speech by nature rich with images. 
 
 And this, if I with reverence so may speak, 
 
 Is God's own language ; yea, that Eastern tongue 
 
 Which He hath chosen to converse with man 
 
 Is form' d of symbols. Is not all His world 
 
 And all His word one speaking parable, 
 
 Speaking to sense of things invisible ? 
 
 All things with Him are double, each event 
 
 Both throw its shadow forward ; all His word 
 
 Is a full store of countless images, 
 
 Who knows them best is most Bivinely wise. 
 
 B. — Those figures are of God, but yours of man. 
 
 Yet grant such is God's teaching ; still, methinks, 
 Should we enshrine these forms uncouth and strange 
 In spiritual temples of the inner mind, 
 We should do wrong to pure immortal Truth, 
 Blending it with such semblance mean and poor. 
 
 A. — All earthly things are poor to speak Bivine : 
 For what are types that set forth things of God, 
 Moses to Jesus, or the Ark to Heaven ? 
 What is the ruin tvhich on Sodom rains, 
 Or armies compassing lost Sion's walls, 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 To that great Booms-day which they harbinger ? 
 Poor shadows all of dread reality. 
 Language suggests, the feeding eye receives, 
 And healthful minds convert to aliment, 
 Th' unhealthy turn to bane-, lience sickly souls, 
 And those replenished with immortal bloom. 
 A graver question haunts me — 
 B. — Should a child 
 
 Brink in these lessons with a greedy eye 
 And in the dreadful stillness of dead night 
 Cry out, — of fearful forms and eyes uncouth 
 That fright his slumbers : — 
 A. — You have truly toucli'd 
 
 But cloth' 'd in fairer utterance the thought 
 That moves me ; — better far that Ocean's depths 
 Should overwhelm our pictur'd themes, than we 
 Offend Chrisfs little ones : yet much I doubt 
 If objects that af rigid the tender mind 
 Make it to fall, nay, sometimes cause to stand, 
 And nothing here I trust may find a shape 
 That so should terrify ; for I prefer 
 Judgments of Childhood to tlie worldly wise 
 As less by bias sway'd. 
 B.— Well, if so be 
 
 Tlie test is easy, here Murcutio comes 
 Along th' embowering walk, where evening shades 
 Fall, and the purple clouds are trooping by. 
 A. — BZim would I make my judge. 
 
 b 
 
.iviii PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 B. — Yon have in him 
 
 Both judge and advocate ;— for all these things 
 
 Partake of those wild tales which Childhood loves, 
 
 Of haunted castles and enchanted lore. 
 
 Who has not conn'd, and with Aladdin's lamp 
 
 Wander' d through tales of Araby, and scenes 
 
 Of watery realms conceal 'd beneath the sea, 
 
 Beauteously terrible ; or Spenser's world 
 
 Of sword and spear ethereal ; These, methinks, 
 
 Touch Childhood as akin to the unseen, 
 
 The infinite and wild that speak of Heaven, — 
 
 The image hid in chambers of the heart 
 
 Which pants for the ideal, in a soul 
 
 Fresh from the hands of God: but here he comes. 
 
 A. Mercutio, you and I these pictured scenes 
 Have often trac'd together, and have touch' d 
 On deep grave themes, until we pass' d to thoughts 
 That left us musing and in better worlds, 
 With such a winning interest that seemed 
 To set your sports behind, and for awhile 
 Left you more thoughtful : — think you this design 
 Is such as would affright you, or create 
 Visions of fear ? have ever such remain' d 
 Sleeping or sleepless hanging on your thoughts, 
 And our discourse appear 1 'd to rise in dreams 
 Making night terrible ? See this dread scene 
 The Bay of final doom. 
 
 M. — / think that these 
 
 Might issue from the limners hand, so wrought 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 As not to terrify : no more than sights 
 In Gothic aisles and old Cathedrals dim, 
 Which sickness might invest with her own hues 
 Of terror, — no more than at dead of night 
 When Contemplation summons up the theme 
 Of the great Judgment. Words of Holy Writ, — 
 Of the undying worm and place of fire — 
 Will oft stand forth with power unknown before, 
 When night and darkness bring the unseen near. 
 
 A. — How fraught with grave instruction is this scene ! 
 How eloquent ! how full of warning thought ! 
 Look here, this is the great Archangel's trump 
 Which Scripture speaks of; and observe that here 
 The centre and circumference is this, 
 That all hearts shall be open'd; — and this mark, 
 'Tis made throughout to hang on this alone, 
 Whether we have lov'd God, or have lov'd self ; 
 These are the mirrors wherein souls are seen, 
 These are the books ; on this the scale depends : 
 This is announc'd to the Eternal years : 
 See, Virtue looks alone upon this love, 
 And these now pass unharm'd into the Sun 
 Of Glory: here note the designer's skill 
 To mark the King and Queen when crownless now,- 
 They issue from deep-rended monuments, 
 Which bear the stamp of ancient Royalties. 
 
 M. — And are they blessed ? we would have them so, 
 Kings have been Martyrs. 
 
 ' See Judgment scene, Image XX. 
 
„ PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 A. — It would seem that these 
 
 Arise too late, the Messed now are gone, 
 " The dead in Christ rise first." The painter means 
 Chrisfs kingdom is the poors'. And here is one 
 Torn from the blessed, and who bids his friends 
 A long farewell ! But let us dwell no more 
 On the dread scene ; — we now have power to choose. 
 
 M. — Sure these must reach t/ie heart; and oftentimes 
 When I pursued them step by step with you, 
 I seem'd to drink in sermons full of t/iought. 
 They differ from th' enchanted tales in this, 
 Those terrify but soothe not ; these of yours 
 Of terror yet of sure protection speak : 
 These terrors are but wholesome thoughts of crime, 
 These enemies are sins, — the shield is God. 
 
 A. — Yes, children here are wiser than ourselves : 
 Imagination wakes in a new world 
 Replete with wonders to the childish soul ; 
 And ere it yet has known the sting of guilt, 
 It needs to learn that serpents lie infloicers; 
 That evil spirits hide, as well as good, 
 In this fair wilderness wherein they wake. 
 
 Now to resume the theme of onr discourse : — 
 I should be loath to let this awful Work, 
 {Bereft of all that pains self-pleasing minds) 
 Like a bright-speckled serpent crawl along, 
 Reft of its sling, to please a gaping show : 
 As God hath given them stings let m adore 
 The awful emblem ; nor in God's great world 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 Wish adders baneless : but by graver thought 
 
 Gather sweet honey from the stinging bees ; 
 
 And adder's oil 'tis said will heal its wounds, 
 
 So we from such may gain a holy fear, 
 
 And high philosophy . 'Tis such a theme 
 
 Which frets the world, and arms its slanderous tongues, 
 
 Beep steep' d in poisonous hate ; 'tis this which goads 
 
 The loud dispnters of God's word and will, 
 
 ' Gainst self -renouncing bearers of the Cross, 
 
 Wherever found, or such as seem to be. 
 
 Such hate I deem the shadow of God's truth, 
 
 And without which the substance cannot stand, 
 
 Nor bathe its steps in sunshine of true Light, 
 
 The shadow which ne'er left the Lord of Truth, 
 
 Inseparable as night attending Bay, 
 
 Whene'er the light of God doth fall on man. 
 
 Yet they who seek for safety, not for ease, — 
 
 Who seek to know themselves, — such awful theme 
 
 Will ponder. Here to fix the heart and eyes 
 
 Will heal the sores of controversial strife, 
 
 Straiten our wills, our motives purify, 
 
 Humble our hearts, make single-eyed to see, 
 
 And single-hearted to embrace the truth. 
 
 Thus to behold the pregnant thunder cloud, 
 
 Botmd with the rainbow which surrounds the Judge, 
 
 Shall bid God's children hasten 'nealh the roof 
 
 Of His own sheltering House, and there await 
 
 Its coming on with tender offices, 
 
 Each emulous his brother to befriend, 
 
PREFATORY THOUGHTS. 
 
 Each to forget himself; such have no ear 
 For controversial triflings and debate, 
 Naught that responds within to party strife. 
 
 Then I would not my little bark should sail 
 To summer suns without that dreadful freight, 
 Nor Baptism's storied walls omit such scenes, 
 However poor betray' 'd ; — set forth to view 
 With feeble eloquence, yet such as might 
 Arrest one glance, — one thought, which entering in 
 The door of the life-kindling — shaping soul, 
 May haply there lie hid, yet something blend 
 Of reverend thought with other lighter themes ; 
 May to the fount of action entrance find, 
 That streams which issue thence may bear the tinge 
 Of fear, and dread expectance of that morn. 
 Reader and writer on that morn must meet : — 
 Thrice happy, could this theme arouse but one 
 To hide his brow on his uplifted hand, 
 Recalling his past life in silent prayer. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Part I. 
 
 The Baptistery . . 
 
 3 
 
 Image the First • 
 
 8 
 
 The Choice of Life 
 
 9 
 
 Image the Second . 
 
 17 
 
 The Complaint of the Penitent .... 
 
 18 
 
 Image the Third ...... 
 
 29 
 
 The Preparations of Prayer . 
 
 30 
 
 Image the Fourth . . . . . 
 
 42 
 
 The Christian Warrior ...... 
 
 43 
 
 Image the Fifth 
 
 54 
 
 Giving Thanks for all things . 
 
 55 
 
 Image the Sixth 
 
 65 
 
 Childhood at Self-Examination 
 
 66 
 
 Image the Seventh .... 
 
 80 
 
 Actions written in Heaven . 
 
 81 
 
 Image the Eighth , 
 
 91 
 
 Angels bearing Crosses ..... 
 
 92 
 
 Image the Ninth ..... 
 
 102 
 
 The Shortness of Time 
 
 103 
 
 Image the Tenth ..... 
 
 116 
 
 The Place of Refuge ..... 
 
 117 
 
 Image the Eleventh .... 
 
 132 
 
 Religious Retreats ...... 
 
 133 
 
 Image the Twelfth .... 
 
 149 
 
 The Church asking the Prayers of her Children . 
 
 150 
 
 Image the Thirteenth .... 
 
 162 
 
 The Voices of The Dead 
 
 163 
 
 Image the Fourteenth .... 
 
 177 
 
 The Broad Way 
 
 178 
 
 Image the Fifteenth .... 
 
 187 
 
 The Birth of Christ in the peaceful heart 
 
 188 
 
CONTEXTS. 
 
 Image the Sixteenth 
 Trusting always in God 
 
 Image the Seventeenth 
 The Balances of the Sanctuary . 
 
 Image the Eighteenth . 
 Habit Moulding Chains 
 
 Image the Nineteenth . 
 The Death of the Righteous 
 
 Image the Twentieth . 
 The Day of Days, or the Great Manifestation 
 
 Image the Twenty-first 
 The Years of Eternity 
 
 Image the Twenty-second 
 The City of Martyrs 
 
 Image the Twenty-third 
 Visiting Holy Places 
 
 Image the Twenty- fourth 
 The Music of the City of God . 
 
 Image the Twenty-fifth 
 The Pattern shewed in the Mount 
 
 Image the Twenty-sixth 
 Man encompassed with Blessings 
 
 Image the Twenty-seventh 
 The Waters of the City of God 
 
 Image the Twenty-eighth 
 The Daughters of the Heavenly Sion 
 
 Image the Twenty-ninth 
 The Treasures of the King's Palace 
 
 Image the Thirtieth 
 The Spiritual Husbandman 
 
 Image the Thirty-first 
 The Eyes which are in every Place 
 
 Image the Thirty-second 
 The King's Daughter 
 
PART I. 
 
 
&&£ 33apttstcry. 
 
 There is a Pont* within whose burnished face 
 The o'erarching pile itself reflected sleeps, 
 Columns, arch, roof, and all the hallowed place, 
 Beauteously mirror' d in its marble deeps; 
 And holy Church within her vigil keeps : — 
 Thus round our Pont on storied walls arise 
 Scenes that encompass Sion's holy steeps, 
 Rivers of God, and sweet societies, 
 The mountain of our rest, and Kingdom of the skies. 
 
 Uncouth as pictur'd scenes, full often found 
 To blend with our first childhood's sweetest thought, 
 Quaint tablets rang'd some antique hearth around, 
 Blue Holland porcelain, all rudely wrought 
 Yet fair in childhood's eyes, and richly fraught 
 With character and scene of sacred lore : 
 And haply from such sights hath childhood bought 
 Her holiest knowledge, such as evermore 
 Mingle with manhood's soul, and colour wisdom's store. 
 
 a At the Church of St. Ouen, at Rouen. 
 B 2 
 
THE BAPTISTERY. 
 
 Thus on the sides of our Baptismal cell 
 Are ranged the varied scenes of our new birth, 
 And round our household hearth in vision dwell, 
 Weigh' d in the scale of their immortal worth; 
 As Angels may behold the things of earth. 
 They at the shapes of vice with horror start; — 
 While nought to man appears but noisy mirth, 
 They see the struggles of the silent heart, 
 And gates of Heaven and Hell opening to bear their part. 
 
 Thither shall Faith retire from the rude light 
 And sights and sounds of Day. Tins solemn gloom 
 Shall bring the starry choirs of Heaven to sight, 
 And shut out worldly thoughts; while in their room, . 
 In tins still twilight, silent as the tomb, 
 Shall come the shapes of holy Heaven, and hence 
 As moonlight gleams their lineaments illume, 
 Beckon us on with ghostly eloquence, 
 In shapes half hid in shade, and half reveaTd to sense. 
 
 Now fair unearthly forms obscurely gleam, 
 Now scenes of pilgrimage come forth to view, 
 And living semblances, as in a dream 
 Appear, and vanish, and appear anew 
 In varied combination, now pursue, 
 Now follow — some with buoyant wings, and arms 
 Celestial; beings whose effects we rue 
 Come dismally to form in stern alarms, 
 Lying in wait for souls, and bent on mortal harms. 
 
THE BAPTISTERY. 
 
 Thus in the shadowy night when mortals sleep, 
 And things most real with unreal blend, 
 Heavenly with earthly, phantoms walk and weep, 
 Yet bear divine significance, and end 
 In holy truth: where'er our footsteps wend 
 Come forms of eloquence from earth and sky, 
 Pour'd on the scene the pilgrim to befriend, — 
 To them who travel to the realms on high, 
 All things are given to speak divine philosophy. 
 
 From parable, or type, or living scene, 
 Come forms to people this our mystic well: 
 And words and works of God, responsive seen 
 As in a twofold mirror, round us dwell, 
 Speaking the language of the Invisible. 
 When Wisdom to the soul gives ears to hear, 
 Nature becomes one living oracle, 
 Whose Sibyl leaves need no interpreter 
 But understanding heart and Faith's obedient ear. 
 
 Hour after hour, like some melodious chime, 
 Creation speaks Thee ; when Thou giVst to see 
 And read Thy lessons; things of flying time 
 Range themselves in their order while they flee, 
 To form Thy language, and to speak of Thee. 
 Thou call'st them by their names, when through our night 
 Like stars on watch they answer, Here we be b , 
 And at Thy bidding give their cheerful light, 
 To speak unto Thy sons of tilings beyond the sight. 
 
 b Baruch iii. 34-. 
 
THE BAPTISTERY. 
 
 This world is but Thy mirror, fram'd to teach 
 Thy children of the Truth behind the veil; 
 Love's handmaids charm with beauty, charming preach, 
 And preaching hurry by, bloom but to fail ; 
 Tor all material things, so passing frail, 
 Are but her handmaids, walking in disguise : 
 Upon their earthward side dark shades prevail, 
 But on the side beheld by Heaven-taught eyes, 
 There is a living light which their true Sun supplies. 
 
 The Sun whose rays below all life afford, 
 That lighteth all things, all things cherisheth, 
 Is but the shadow of the Eternal Word. 
 The winds and air which are our vital breath 
 Speak Thy good Spirit, which to lose is death : 
 Baptismal dowers are seen in those bright dews, 
 Wherewith the Sun weaves Morn's illumined wreath ; 
 Showers, streams, and lakes, their freshening life diffuse, 
 And Ocean's mighty voice proclaims the glorious news. 
 
 Creation all is new where'er we look, 
 All things are touch'd by an unearthly hand, 
 And answering to the mirror of God's book ; 
 Trees, rivers, birds, and stars, and sea, and land, 
 Are but the veil of the Eternal strand ; 
 Things are most real which we shadows deem, 
 In Fancy's visions Truth's stern figures stand, 
 Calling to Heaven, of Heavenly things their theme ; 
 The earth in which we live appears the only dream. 
 
THE BAPTISTERY. 
 
 On it we seem to rise as on a stair 
 Reaching to Heaven, whereon the Angels pass, 
 Our thoughts beguiling with its visions fair, 
 Till from our feet, like some cloud-structur'd mass 
 Lit by bright rays, or fragile looking-glass, 
 It vanishes. Such thoughts at solemn Eve, 
 Like moonlight shadows o'er the waving grass, 
 Come o'er us, and awhile we wake to grieve, 
 But soon such lessons stern our fickle spirits leave. 
 
 Men scarce discern the sound, — life's footsteps fall 
 So downy soft, 'mid scenes of care and crime, — 
 But still anon, at each calm interval, 
 A voice is heard among the wings of time 
 Speaking His praise ; like some old solemn chime 
 Elung sweetly forth from a melodious tower, 
 With modulating bells of sacred rhyme, 
 Philosophy, from that her stony bower, 
 Singing in sadness sweet of life's fast waning hour. 
 
IMAGE THE FIRST. 
 
 Consider, <D man, thine enti antl tfig loans. 
 
 Consider [A] as in the presence of God, for what end thou art 
 created, [B] as if an Heavenly Guide stood by thy side as thou 
 art formed from the dust, and pointed out to thee thine everlasting 
 home. Consider that the end is twofold, the one is that of happi- 
 ness [C], the other of miseiy [D]. And into this latter the World 
 is being rolled down [E.] It departeth into smoke, and is in- 
 flamed with a threefold concupiscence. And observe how it is 
 ever tossed about as the sea [F], which causeth shipwrecks, and is 
 full of shoals and rocks. Into that celestial Glory there is a three- 
 fold way that leadeth [G], by which is signified the threefold 
 state of life ; the life of religious retirement which is denoted 
 by the direct way ; that of the ecclesiastic by one which is less 
 direct ; and the secular by that which is winding and intricate. 
 Such forsooth it is, inasmuch as it is of its own nature less 
 adapted to the attainment of Christian perfection ; although it full 
 often happens that they who are in this latter state, do in piety 
 far surpass those who live in the more perfect, rising up by the 
 steps that lead into the straighter way. There is moreover another 
 circumstance which is designated by the threefold path, the way 
 of purification, which is that of beginners ; the way of illumination, 
 which is that of the more advanced ; and that of union with God, 
 which is the way of the perfect. Thou art moreover admonished 
 that in every state, in every step, and in every action, there is a 
 mode of life and practice which is threefold. Take care that in all 
 things thou adherest to that course of conduct which is most simple 
 and direct. Always in all things keep God before thine eyes [H]. 
 And in every place draw near unto God in prayer, in one of these 
 threefold characters [I], either as a criminal groaning over thine 
 offences, or as one poor and in need of all virtue, or as the Bride 
 burning with love. For these three persons serve to express the 
 threefold spiritual condition. And thus approaching say, "Let 
 my complaint come before Thee, O Lord, give me understanding 
 according to Thy word 3 ." 
 
 4 Psalm ixix. 160. 
 
• • 
 
 
 • 
 
 
®f)c GD&otce of %iit. 
 
 Sabbath of Sabbaths, never-waning rest, 
 Which God upon His chosen shall bestow, — 
 Art thou no dream where Hope hath built her nest 
 To cradle fond illusions ; no vain show, 
 But the great dwelling of the eternal Now ; 
 Veriest of truths, and sure reality, 
 To which all things are shadows here below ? 
 Yea, some e'en now this portal pass, to see 
 Thy mansion 'mid the clouds, immortal, stable, free. 
 
 And art thou mine own birthright, glorious place 
 Which eye hath not beheld, nor fancy knows ? 
 When we would paint thy thought-transcending face, 
 The purest height to winch our wisdom goes, 
 Is but the mere negation of our woes ; — 
 'Mid our contentions thou art gracious peace, 
 Thou to the weary soul art calm repose, 
 To prisoners galTd with chains thou art release, 
 And to the mourner thou a place where sorrows cease. 
 
10 THE CHOICE OF LIFE. 
 
 To wanderers toss'd on the tempestuous main, 
 Thou art beyond the storm a quiet shore ; 
 To heart-sick hopes a stay that shall sustain ; — 
 To needy men thou art celestial store ; — 
 To hearts bereaved where friends shall part no more, 
 And love shall need no more the chastening rod ; — 
 To penitents the land where sin is o'er ; — 
 To virgin souls a floor by Angels trod ; — 
 To saintly men a place where they shall see their God. 
 
 There are no evening shades, — no setting sun, — 
 There is no fall of the autumnal leaf, — 
 No age overtaking life but just begun, — 
 No gloom, and no decay, no parting grief; — 
 For joy below is nought but pain's relief, 
 Words that would speak it do but syllable 
 How poor it is, how shadowy, and brief. 
 O blessed place beside that living Well, 
 Thou only knowest not that sad sweet word Farewell. 
 
 Isle of the evening skies, cloud- vision' d land. 
 Wherein the good meet in the Heavenly fold, 
 And drink of endless joy at God's right hand ; 
 There kings and subjects meet, and young and old, 
 Pure virgins, matrons chaste, and martyrs bold, 
 Prophets, Apostles, Patriarchs, great and good, 
 Many yet one, in union manifold, 
 All who victorious in life's conflict stood, 
 And there that Holy One Who shed for me His blood. 
 
THE CHOICE OF LIFE. ] 1 
 
 Prayer shall e'en now unlock the azure door, 
 And there admit us to that company ; 
 There Meekness worships as a suppliant poor, 
 There sin-bound Penitence doth bend the knee, 
 And there the holy Church doth sue to Thee. 
 All hast Thou given to us, all we desire, 
 Given Thine own Self on the accursed tree, 
 And washed us with Thy blood : — we would aspire 
 To give ourselves to Thee, O kindle Thou the fire. 
 
 That fire shall in my breast burn all beside, 
 All that is earthly, — all of selfish love, 
 Projects of low-brow'd indolence and pride, 
 Until I feel in Thee I live and move, 
 And breathe regenerate life of them above : 
 For we are born of that celestial well, 
 And bear a charmed life, — that we might prove 
 Meet inmates for that peopled citadel, 
 Where Angels pure from sin, or sin-wash'd spirits dwell. 
 
 How hast Thou set around me every good, 
 That it might lead me to Thee ! yea, in all 
 It is Thyself that hast around me stood, 
 In all I hear Thee speak, I hear Thy call 
 Bidding me seek again a Father's hall ; — 
 To walk the waves to Thee amid the gloom : — 
 
 hold me by Thy hand, for if I fall 
 
 1 fall for ever — unto Thee I come, 
 Thou art Thyself alone our everlasting home. 
 
12 THE CHOICE OF LIFE. 
 
 Thou art Thyself alone the living Way, 
 Which in our darkness grows more manifest, 
 And brightens into Thee the perfect Day ; 
 O lead a wandering exile to Thy breast ! 
 
 let a troubled heart in Thee find rest ! 
 Thou didst behold me ere I yet was born ; 
 My infant cries were unto Thee addrest, 
 
 And taught by Thee : Thy rays did then adorn 
 A dewdrop in the light of never-ending mom. — 
 
 A trembling mote upborne in boundless space, — 
 An atom in the shoreless infinite, — 
 A grain that in the whirlwind finds its place, — 
 A drop within a sea of endless might, — 
 A point in the great void of depth and height, — 
 Here in the womb of time Thou schoolest me, 
 By seasons, and returns of day and night, 
 To bear the vision of eternity, 
 To be for ever one, or exiled aye from Thee. 
 
 1 wake as Adam from the formless dust, 
 
 And ask — Why am I born ? Thou bidd'st me rise, 
 Demanding only that in Thee I trust. 
 Placed in Thy Church, Thy better Paradise, 
 Thou pointest out my home in happy skies ; 
 Telling me all things here that please the sight 
 Are but the semblance given to feeble eyes, 
 Shadows of Heavenly rest and pure delight, 
 And fast they fade away, to warn us by their flight. 
 
THE CHOICE OF LIFE. 13 
 
 When Spring breaks forth, when Summer days decline, 
 All that is fair speaks of Thine inner reign ; — 
 The gate of Eve, the youthful face divine, — - 
 The starry night, the Moons that fill and wane, 
 Like Thine own Church, that wanes and fills again ; 
 The stars like Abraham's seed set round in Heaven, 
 The birds like Angels in their blue domain ; 
 And prowling beasts before the twilight driven, 
 Which tell of unseen foes that love the gloom of Even ; — 
 
 All tilings speak from Thee, — every sun that shines 
 Sets forth Thine image, and each day's return 
 Is herald of the Mom that ne'er declines ; 
 The bright recovering year, at eveiy turn 
 Speaks of that great New Year, where all things burn 
 In glorious beauty round the Source of Light ; 
 All are Thy teachers, — grant us to discern 
 Their Heavenly lessons, — cleanse our mortal sight, — 
 We have enough to preach, did we but hear aright. 
 
 Shew me the way that leadeth unto Thee : 
 Though it be difiicult Thou art all might, 
 Though low Thou art of love a boundless sea, 
 Though dark Thou art Thyself the living Light, 
 Though toilsome Thou art goodness infinite, 
 And wilt refresh the heavy-laden soul 
 That comes to Thee ; — guide me to Thee aright : 
 I cannot come unless Thou dost control; 
 Lead Thou, enlighten, draw, and fill my being whole. 
 
It THK CHOICE OF LIFK. 
 
 May I bo lost in Thy great Majesty, 
 Myself no more, — to have no cherish' d thing, 
 No choice, no hope, no sorrow, but in Thee, 
 My Shepherd, and my Father, and my King ! 
 Nothing is good but what in Thee doth spring, 
 Nothing is good but what in Thee doth end ; 
 O let me hear Thy voice, let all things bring 
 Thy voice to me ; whatever Thou dost send, 
 Shall be my welcome guest, shall be my honour'd friend. 
 
 Whatever I have is Thine ; my hour of death, 
 And all the days of life, are in Thine hand ; 
 My endless portion hangs upon Thy breath ; 
 My hairs by Thee are number' d, and the sand 
 That forms beneath my feet the eternal strand : 
 Whatever I know, whatever I have is Tlnne, 
 Save sins, which hold me like a living band, 
 Which Thou alone canst make not to be mine ; — 
 Number may count my sins, but not Thy loves divine. 
 
 Vain Worldly Hope, on waters without home 
 Toss'd and not comforted, and still at fits 
 Borne up and down upon the sparkling foam, 
 No haven knows, no anchor-hold admits ; 
 From rock to rock the bird of evil flits, 
 Brightly extending her ill-omen'd wings ; 
 And at the helm unnoted Ruin sits 
 Urging her onward, while the Syren sings ; 
 keep me where on shore tho Roek her shadow flings ! 
 
THE CHOICE OF LIFE. 15 
 
 Thrice happy they, who as they draw more near 
 More clearly can discern their being's end. 
 Who gird their loins with hope, and year by year 
 Unto their stable home still steadier wend ! 
 They from the sinuous road will still ascend 
 Unto the straighter path, while the calm ray 
 Lightens them step by step ; nor e'er shall bend 
 Their firm resolve from that their steadfast way, 
 Until they are absorb'd in the Eternal Day. 
 
 Thrice happy they, who earthly stores have sold, 
 Dearer sublunar joys, domestic ties, 
 And form themselves into one holy fold 
 To imitate on earth the happy skies, 
 "With vigil, prayer, and sacred litanies, 
 Their souls to Heavenly contemplation given, 
 While earthly hope within them buried lies, 
 Their sole employ to purge the evil leaven, 
 And render their cleans' d souls a fit abode for Heaven. 
 
 And happy they, though more of earth's alloy 
 Creeps in the scenes of their terrestrial state, 
 Who dwell 'mid social hearths and home employ, 
 Yet 'mid the world do at God's altar wait ! 
 They too may live beside the Heavenly gate, 
 And give their fleeting hours to ceaseless prayer, 
 Beside the sad, the sick, the desolate ; 
 Christ's poor their friends, His little ones then* care, — 
 Their self-rewarding toil their brethren's toils to share. 
 
16 THK CHOICE OF LIFE. 
 
 Yea, Love may give thee wings by social hearth 
 Which shall outstrip the Heaven-girt anchorite, 
 And virgin choirs removed from scenes of earth ; 
 Train thee 'mid crowded towns to pray aright, 
 To labour and withdraw from things of sight ; 
 Till vanities around thy pathway prove 
 Spurs on thy road to Heaven, thy weakness might, 
 While step by step thy ways from earth remove, 
 To that straight path lit up by Everlasting Love. 
 
 Light are their steps, who in life's earliest dawn 
 The mountain-tops of Heavenly life ascend, 
 Brushing the dewdrops from the spangled lawn ; 
 Nor ever from the straighter path descend, 
 Fixing their eyes upon their journey's end ; 
 Sweetest best thoughts are theirs, such as have striven 
 With childhood, and with dawning conscience blend, 
 To flee all other love but that of Heaven, 
 Ere weigh'd to earth with sin and much to be forgiven. 
 
% 
 
 4 
 
♦ 
 
 . 
 
IMAGE THE SECOND. 
 
 825&D art t&ou fcdaging to tutn t^g^clf unto tfie Sorb <£o&, 
 ant) tn f^tm unto all gooti ? 
 
 Be immediately turned, O thou sinner, to thy Creator and 
 Redeemer, nor defer to do so, as the Doubtful man [A]. For 
 Death, though thou seest him not, is close beside thee. Lo, 
 Jesus is ready to receive thee [B] ; behold His wounds, observe 
 the instruments of His sufferings [C], and His most gracious 
 approaches unto thee. Despise thou the World [D], and her 
 deceits; detest Sin [E], that most foid monster, and follow 
 Christ. And now look to Virtue [F], which the Angel [G] 
 pointeth out to thee, and consider the reward she beareth. In 
 order that thou mayest attain unto her and her rewards, betake 
 thyself to contrition for thy sins [H], and confession of them [I] ; 
 and imitate the examples of penitents [K.] In this way thou 
 shalt be liberated from the yoke of Pharaoh, the spirit of evil, and 
 from his bondage ; in like manner as the children of Israel were 
 on their coming out from the land of Egypt [L]. Nor stop thou 
 here, O pilgrim, but proceed onward to thy country ; and make 
 thyself a way and fortify it by Alms-giving [M], by Fasting [N], 
 and by Prayer [O]. Oh, how do the Angels rejoice over one sin- 
 ner that repenteth ! [P]. Oh, with what rewards will the soul of 
 that penitent be crowned in Heaven ! 
 
1&bt Complaint of t&e penitent. 
 
 Thou that send'st the genial drop from Heaven, 
 On the dry bud else withering ere it blooms ! 
 Thou that hear'st the cry of famished birds, 
 When Nature's stores are locFd by Winter's hand, 
 Letting a gentle-handed spirit forth 
 To ope the doors of the relenting South ! 
 
 To Thee looks forth and supplicates Thy dew 
 Each bud of Grace Thou graftest in my breast, 
 Scorch' d 'neath the blasting influence of the world : 
 To Thee each better thought doth feebly cry, 
 Upon the wintry branch of my cold heart, 
 
 That it may be restored and sing to Thee. 
 
 Thou bidd'st the waters flow, and o'er the heart 
 
 Shall flow the fount of penitential tears. 
 
 Like some soft opening wind Thy Spirit breathes, 
 
 And breaks the icy fetters of the soul : 
 
 Then, from the frost-barred gates of wintry thought, 
 
 Love shall awaken to melodious praise, 
 
THE COMPLAINT OP THE PENITENT. 19 
 
 And vernal green shall shew Hope is not dead, 
 
 In that great world wherein the Spirit lives. 
 Where have I wander' d on the edge of death, 
 
 Of death that dieth not, of endless death ? 
 
 While Doubt stood list'ning to the syren notes 
 
 That calTd me to the world, and knowing not, 
 
 I drank th' intoxications of her cup, 
 
 Which filPd my fancy with unreal joys ; — 
 
 Wreathing my fevered brow with withering flowers, 
 
 I eyed me in the glass of vanity, 
 
 And stalk' d a painted shadow on the stage. 
 
 Awful infatuation ! for the while 
 
 Death unperceiv'd Ms ever-ready dart, 
 
 Big with the fate of all eternity, 
 
 Aim'd — but deferred the blow ! Thy mercy still 
 
 Held his pois'd hand, while I discern' d Thee not. 
 
 On bended knees I would return to Thee, 
 Eenouncing this bad world : now I behold 
 How on the verge of never-ending woe 
 Man doubting stands, yet plum'd with pride the while, 
 Folding his arms in seK-admir'd repose, 
 Cased in self-confidence ; embodied there, 
 In the world's mirror I behold myself; 
 I too like him have listened to the world, 
 And while her syren notes were on my ear, 
 Hung on th' enchantment ; as when one at eve 
 In distance hears some sweet melodious chime, 
 And lost in dreams of pleasing phantasy, 
 Forgets his home and his unfinished work, — 
 c 2 
 
20 THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 
 
 How have I in the ways of pride and care, 
 
 Labour'd in doing what I must undo ; 
 
 Undoing that winch Christ hath wrought in me ! 
 
 Still nightly, with confession and remorse, 
 
 Fain to unmake the work of the past day, 
 
 I weav*d the web of that fam'd heroine, 
 
 Yet to beguile not others, but myself, — 
 
 Not false fidelity, like that fam'd wife 
 
 Faithful though false, — but weaving the vain web 
 
 Of self-deceiving falseness. Now I turn, 
 
 And with uplifted hands again abjure 
 
 Sin and the world, and turn again to Thee. 
 
 Thine own good Angel doth before me come, 
 And with his hand points to Thy dying wounds, — 
 The scourge — the pillar — and the twisted thorn, — 
 Tortures and mockeries rude together wreathed, 
 Around Thine innocent brows a burning crown, 
 While drops of blood run down Thy pallid cheeks. 
 And then I hear Thee preach, — as up that hill, 
 When sinking 'neath the weight of that dread Tree,- 
 To Sion's daughters — and in them to us, 
 "Weep not for Me; weep, mortal, for thyself; 
 Tor thou thyself hast greater cause for tears." 
 Lo, in the shades, half earthly, half divine, 
 Stands Virtue's form in silent eloquence, 
 Born from the seas of that Baptismal wave 
 Which issued from Thy side, the fount of Love, 
 Pointing to Thee, and beckoning on to Heaven ; — 
 All-cas'd in arms of Thy celestial store, 
 
THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 21 
 
 Who givest gifts to men ; and in her hand 
 The golden crown of an immortal Heaven ! 
 All have I cast upon a moment's die, 
 Thy Blood, Eternity, the prize of Life, 
 Barter' d for baubles, and have sold Thy love, 
 Sold endless bliss, to buy eternal pains. 
 Between the porch and altar a , lo, I kneel, 
 Unworthy to find entrance — where the Pont 
 Against me witness bears, washed, ah, in vain, 
 In vain Thy grace received ! Alas, e'en now 
 The Altar, where Thy presence is unseen, 
 Appeals to where Thy Pace shall be beheld — 
 The dread tribunal of Thy Majesty. 
 
 O awful hour that endeth all our time, 
 When we before the Judge shall trembling stand, 
 Who shall disclose the heart's deep labyrinth, 
 When sins of night shall see the face of day : 
 When earth and Heaven as witnesses stand by, 
 And faltering tongues to gather' d worlds confess ! 
 Where is the Priest who at the Altar waits, 
 Who shall e'en now receive th' o'ercharged breast, 
 Unload the labouring bosom of the stuff 
 That weighs and stifles now the spark of life ? 
 That clad in deep abasement here below 
 A sinner may go forth in th' eye of Heaven, 
 And so, seK-humbling, may compassion win 
 Of Angels, who have seen his guilty deeds, 
 And loath'd and in abhorrence turn'd away, 
 • Joel ii. 17. 
 
22 THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 
 
 With hands averted and with looks of shame. 
 
 How have I soiled Thy garb of Heavenly white ! 
 
 Now for the spotless white of Thy pure robe 
 
 I clothe myself in sackcloth's mourning weeds, 
 
 And sit in sorrow : nay, will rise and walk 
 
 On penitential thorns, and wander forth 
 
 From place to place along the wilderness, 
 
 To expiate my heart-engrain'd deep stains. 
 
 But who are these who from th' Egyptian sea 
 
 Come forth, with palms and garments washed in blood ? 
 
 Ah, I, like you, from that dark prison-house 
 
 Once passed, and from Egyptian bondage freed, 
 
 Was led between the walls of hanging seas ; 
 
 But now shut out from Canaan'' s holy rest, 
 
 Look on the shrines of my true heritance, 
 
 And wander round but cannot enter in. 
 
 How has my heart disloyal traversed back 
 Beyond the waves of my Baptismal birth, 
 Where yonder the Egyptian city lies, 
 Beneath the curse of God ; yon shining towers 
 Of Pharaoh's house, where Satan holds his court ! 
 Those walls are figures of this evil world, 
 Where, as in his own temple, Satan sits, 
 Maker of phantoms and the sire of lies, — 
 And worldly men there worship him ; and then 
 From smoke and glare of sacrificial fumes, 
 He forms bright vanities and shadowy shapes, 
 To mould fit guerdons for his worshippers, 
 Prince of the air : and still their eyes before 
 
THE COMPLAINT OP THE PENITENT. 23 
 
 Brings an unreal show to mock the sense, 
 Illusive forms to cheat each age of life, — 
 A sky unreal and unreal earth, — 
 A gold that glitters but which is not gold, — 
 A rain that waters but which fosters not, — 
 Unfaithful rainbows shining to deceive, — 
 Phantoms of beauty, — beck'ning forms of love, 
 Holding unreal converse, as in dreams, 
 All formed of smoke and shadow, empty shades ! 
 These paint before our path a golden Heaven, 
 And setting suns with braided beauteous clouds, 
 Cities of sapphire, bowers of amaranth, 
 A many-gated Heaven come down to man, 
 Where shining Angels walk the glittering streets : 
 Till Day-spring breaks, then suddenly appears 
 A burning Sodom with its fiery walls. 
 
 When the heart turns to God the vision flies, 
 And in the place of such false paradise 
 Dire faces come to view, and hostile shapes, 
 Dragging the captive soul away to flames. 
 vain assemblage of deluding shapes, 
 Strange mockeries of good in God's own world, 
 Eram'd by the Evil One ! For here below 
 All things are Thine, O Lord of our new birth, 
 And shadow forth realms of immortal Truth, 
 Semblance and pledge of sure reality, 
 While we for substance catch at empty shades ! 
 
 Thence as from fire-doomed Sodom I would flee : 
 Open thy gates, thou Zoar 'neath the hills, 
 
24 THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 
 
 For by the road the awful pillar stands 
 Of her that doubted — turning back her eyes. 
 I seek thy sheltering refuge by the way, 
 The House of Penitence ; for my weak knees 
 Cannot unto the mountain further go. 
 
 Ye of the house where stern Repentance dwells, 
 Pity a pilgrim who doth come to lay 
 His unstanch'd sorrows in your pitying breast ! 
 The porter who doth hold your strong-barred gates, 
 The meek-broVd child of truth, Humility, 
 Doth gaze and knows him not, a stranger there, 
 And turns the key ; then I will strip me bare 
 Of these my worldly weeds and marks of pride, 
 That scare me from the gate where "Wisdom dwells. 
 
 O Thou the true, the good Samaritan, 
 The Keeper who dost slumber not nor sleep, 
 I from Thine own, the true Jerusalem, 
 With Thy protecting mountains girded round, 
 Have wandered down into this lower world, 
 To Jericho, that city of the moon, 
 That city of the valleys 'neath the curse, — 
 And wounded by the way-side dying He. 
 Thy Priest and Levite give me no relief, 
 Nor stretch the hand, but pass unheeding by. 
 Wilt Tlion not on Thy heavenly journey bend, 
 And come down in Thy creature's guise, on us 
 To look with brotherly and human eyes ? 
 If not unto Thy Salem of the hills, 
 Wherein Thy blessed Saints and Angels dwell, 
 
THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 25 
 
 Is there no Inn by the celestial road, 
 
 Wherein a wounded man may find repose ? 
 
 Thou bidd'st the heavy-laden come to Thee ; 
 
 Thou lookest out, and hastenest on the way 
 
 To meet the poor returning Prodigal. 
 
 My sins are more in number than the sands, 
 
 More than the sands Thy mercies are to me : 
 
 Yea, though my sins are deep as hell beneath, 
 
 Thy pity is more ample than the Heavens. 
 
 I count Thy words of promise, Thou hast set 
 
 Seventy-times seven the measure of our love, 
 
 What then shall be the measure of Thine own 
 
 But seven times seventy, — Sabbath-days of Heaven ? 
 
 Infinite is thy patience as the Sea, 
 
 The Sea of Baptism, sea without a shore ; 
 
 Thy love is as unbounded as the sky, 
 
 Eefiected in the waves of that calm sea. 
 
 The body of this death doth hem me round, 
 No part of my whole frame is freed from sin, 
 No part of Thine is free from bleeding wounds. 
 Thy Spirit griev'd to see me leagued with death, 
 Let Him not take His everlasting flight : 
 With fasting and with prayer and painful alms, 
 Still let me strive to hold and win Thy stay. 
 Can mothers e'er forget their dear birth-pangs ? 
 I am the child of Thine own bitter pains. 
 Thou once hast washed me with Thine heart's own blood ; 
 Thou since hast often washed me with Thy tears ; 
 And drops will wear at length the rocky stone ; 
 
26 THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 
 
 Thy promise is to open if I knock, 
 
 Yea, Thou Thyself hast knocked at my dull heart ; 
 
 By warning — by Thy mercies — by Thy grace — 
 
 But I have still refused to let Thee in. 
 
 Close not against me the eternal door, 
 
 Although my hand is palsied ; and in vain 
 
 Would I assay to lift it to the door, 
 
 But Thou didst heal Thyself the palsied hand. 
 
 And now within Thy calm and holy grove 
 I fain would hasten on the road of Heaven ; 
 Guide me to haunts of lowly Penury, 
 That I may cast aside my worldly wealth, 
 And gird my loins with holier hope ; and now 
 Lead me to bowers of silent Abstinence, 
 And Heavenly Contemplation ; further still 
 And nearer to Thy holy mount, where Prayer 
 Kneels at her orisons, and gentle gales 
 Breathe of new hope, and Angel-harps are heard ; 
 At sound of winch o'er my regretful heart 
 There shall awake remembrance of past years, 
 And flow afresh, flow forth my bitter tears. 
 
 In that deep grove replete with airs of Heaven, 
 Where Abstinence dwells, and Charity, and Prayer, 
 I would approach Thy portals, but therein 
 I hear no sounds of sweet Angelic hymns, 
 But a still voice in the dead silent night, — 
 Be dark, ye Heavens, and black, ye Heavenly gates ; 
 Your child hath left the fountains of true life, 
 For broken cisterns, and now dies of thirst ! 
 
THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 27 
 
 The lions of the forest stood amaz'd 
 At one that leaveth Thee, the living Font, 
 Tor way of Egypt and th' Assyrian stream b ; 
 Be dark, ye Heavens, be closed, eternal doors ! 
 
 A famished Syrian, sitting at Death's gate, 
 My father was when Thou didst take me np c . 
 Long in the Egyptian furnace did I dwell, 
 But Thou on feather'd plumes hast borne me thence, 
 And set me here to till Thy blissful land : 
 And when I should my first-fruits bring to Thee, 
 A serpent in the basket hidden lies ; 
 I bring Thee nought but silence and my tears. 
 
 Thy mercies and Thy warnings came to me, 
 And fain would lead me to th' eternal house, 
 But now on time's fleet wings have hurried by. 
 The arrow of Thy vengeance drinks my blood, 
 And one good Angel now alone remains, 
 Penitence, wrapped in mourning weeds and woe. 
 And if to her I cleave, walk her sad ways, 
 And kneel in prayer without th' eternal gates, 
 The rays through Heaven's dark portals shall break forth, 
 And sounds be heard of blissful melodies, 
 In soft and soothing distance sadly sweet, 
 Erom Heavenly courts where Angels tune their harps, 
 Rejoicing o'er one sinner that repents : — 
 Songs of immortal joy, all sadly sweet 
 As thoughts of Heaven in penitential woes ! 
 
 b Jer. ii. 15, 18. 
 c Deut. xxvi. 5. 
 
28 THE COMPLAINT OF THE PENITENT. 
 
 And at the sound of those relenting harps, 
 Again o'er my forgetful silent heart 
 Shall wake the sad remembrance of past years, 
 And flow afresh, flow forth my bitter tears. 
 
IMAGE THE THIRD. 
 
 $«fote thou pragegt, prepare tj»s«clf. 
 
 Since Prayer [A] is a conversing with God, betake thyself to it 
 with care, and consider Christ as present [B] ; nor put it off, as 
 this worldly Man [C] does, on account of any business of the 
 World [D]. But first setting aside all other things, when thou 
 art about to pray examine thy Conscience [E], and cast from thee 
 with detestation that most foul monster, Sin [F]. Set before the 
 eye of thine heart the sufferings of Christ, and the Ten Command- 
 ments of God. And with Prayer unite Fasting [G], under which 
 term is comprehended all Mortification, and also Almsgiving [H] ; 
 for these two are the wings of Prayer. \ And now follow the guid- 
 ance of thy guardian Angel [I] to works of good. Prepare thy 
 mind with silence [K], with Solitude [L], and religious reading, 
 shutting the doors about thee in the secret chambers of thy heart. 
 Stir up the affection of Hope [M], and lift up more earnestly thy 
 prayer to the honour of God ; for Prayer [N] hath the sword of 
 the word of God, kindle th the heart into a flame, animateth to over- 
 come vices. By these means endeavour to destroy thy Sins [O], 
 and to obtain Virtue [P] from God. She standeth by the throne 
 of God furnished with wings, to raise the soul from things of 
 earth; and armed, because she cannot be overcome by evil; but 
 by means of the Cross, and through hardships, she obtaineth the 
 crown. Prostrate therefore thyself before the Throne of Grace, 
 and pray for her either as the Criminal [Q], or as the Poor man, or 
 as the Bride. This preparation of the mind Moses hath shewn 
 [R] when he appointed the Seventy to share his earthly labours, 
 and retired to be alone with God. 
 
®i)e preparations of ^ragw. 
 
 Come, then, Aspasio, to the house of Prayer, 
 There shalt thou dry thy self-accusing tears, 
 And flee the haunts of all-pursuing Care ; 
 Nay, thou art here more welcome for thy fears ; — 
 High as the lark, which at Heaven-gate appears, 
 Singing still soars, and soaring still she sings, 
 Till all unseen to highest Heaven she nears, 
 Scattering sweet peace from her melodious wings, 
 And all the welkin round th' overflowing music rings. 
 
 Prayer, key of Wisdom, Sorrow's antidote, — 
 Air breathed on earth by children of the skies, — 
 The well of hope, — of living life the note, — 
 What strange omnipotence within thee lies, 
 Mighty to move eternal destinies ! 
 An atmosphere of Heaven the soul to lave ; 
 When seas tumultuous in the bosom rise, 
 O magic breath to still the stormy wave, 
 And fix the anchor sure in calm beyond the grave ! 
 
THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 31 
 
 Yet think not all her house can enter in, 
 As worldlings deem, God must thine heart incline ; 
 Her dwelling opes to all who flee from sin ; 
 Hall within hall, and shrine beyond each shrine, 
 Still nearer Heaven, still more and more divine 
 Her mansions, as they near the eternal throne ; 
 Thou step by step must leave whatever is thine, 
 Gird up thy loins, and wrap around thy zone, 
 E'en till thy very self shall be no more thine own. 
 
 Think what it is, more near than man below 
 Holds converse with his friend, with eyes to eyes, 
 And ears to ears, each other's 116811; to know ; 
 Think what 'tis thus in strange mysterious guise 
 To be admitted to the awful skies, 
 Thy soul to find an entrance to the place 
 Where Angels tremble ; there thy spirit's cries 
 Do come distinct before God's dreadful Face, 
 "Whose word is endless death, Whose favour endless grace. 
 
 More sure than stands this blue o'er-hanging arch, 
 More sure than pillars of the firm-set earth, 
 More sure than is the rainbow's glowing march, 
 Which amid tears unveils its glorious birth, 
 The Covenant of God, which hath gone forth, 
 That none shall ask of Him and ask in vain ! 
 Prom Heaven's own palace to the meanest hearth, 
 Forg'd in celestial places, hangs the chain, 
 To lift men up to Heaven, from care, and want, and pain. 
 
32 THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 
 
 The only panacea for all ill, — 
 The fabled stone transmuting all to gold, 
 Yet needs no alchemy, but our own will, — 
 Turning our clouds to lustre, — earthly mould 
 To crystal gems, — making us to behold 
 Our promised skies in the Baptismal well, — 
 A charm to ope the ear, and to unfold 
 A secret winch no alchemist can tell, 
 And holiness of life the all-constraining spell. 
 
 Oh, what mysterious power doth lead astray, 
 And give us palsied hands before the door, 
 Ready to be unclos'd whene'er we pray, 
 But soon to be shut up for evermore ? 
 Which steals the key that opes to boundless store, — 
 That gift which turns earth's thorns into a crown 
 Which shall be worn in glory, lifts the floor 
 Of earth to Heaven, and brings good Angels down ; 
 And makes in daily life a Heavenly Father known ? 
 
 It is the Prince of Evil, — for he knows 
 That Prayer the fountain is of strength divine ; 
 The channel whence to earth all blessing flows, — 
 To this one end he doth Ins arts combine ; 
 If Prayer within thee wakes, then will he twine 
 His toils around, and shoot the poison'd dart > 
 Bring worldly schemes before thee, or incline 
 Thy thoughts to fancied good, with covert art, 
 E'en like an Angel fair to steal into thine heart. 
 
THE PREPARATIONS OP PRAYER. 33 
 
 Hast thou not noted oft when on thy knees, 
 He shoots like lightning all forgotten things, 
 And stirs thy thoughts to instant charities ? 
 At night Lethean dews about thee brings, 
 And on thy prayer hangs with oblivious wings ; 
 But most, to antedate the rising morn, 
 Strange earthly projects in thy bosom flings, 
 Planting within thee any flower or thorn, 
 Lest thy first thoughts to Heaven, like incense, should be borne ? 
 
 It is for this the busy world he stirs, 
 Glassing before thy mind through all the day 
 Wealth, honour, power, — whatever thy heart prefers, — 
 That by degrees he may thy being sway : 
 It is for this he throws before thy way 
 Some fancied gain, to hold thee thus intent 
 As on a game of chance, and with thee play, 
 That so thine earnest spirit, downward bent, 
 May heed not warning signs which God hath round thee sent. 
 
 Still God would to Himself thy soul recall, 
 And to th' employs of earth His blessing give ; 
 He 'mid these growing chains and passion's thrall 
 Can set thee free, and bid thy spirit live. 
 But when soul-mastering projects in thee strive, 
 They are the net of evil ; morn and eve, 
 And eve and morn, thy soul will be a hive 
 Of buzzing thoughts, which give thee no reprieve, 
 But when thou kneelest down thy memory shall not leave. 
 
34 THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 
 
 Therefore before thy God in stillness stand, 
 In stillness kneel ; thou art as one of old 
 Before thy Saviour brought at His command, 
 Who every thought within thee doth behold, 
 And knoweth thy desire while yet untold, 
 Who ne'er from those who sought Him turn'd aside. 
 Think that e'en now, in seasons manifold, 
 In all thy wants thy spirit He hath tried, 
 That o'er thee, with thee, still His Presence stands thy guide. 
 
 Mark them who in His Kingdom came to dwell, 
 Each had his welcome as in lowliness 
 To deeper depths he in His presence fell : 
 Behold the suppliants which around Him press, 
 When less they ask'd then did He give the less, 
 When more they ask'd then did He give the more ; 
 Infinite as the Sea His power to bless, 
 But Faith unlock' d the ever-growing store, 
 And measured pardoning grace as they their sins deplore. 
 
 Then like the Leper stand and pray aloof, — 
 Like the Centurion deem thyself unmeet, — 
 Like her of Canaan boVd to His reproof, 
 Unworthy of the children's bread to eat, — 
 Choose like the accepted guest the lowest seat, — 
 Like the sad Publican cast down thine eyes, 
 And on thy guilty breast in sorrow beat, — 
 Come as one glad a servant's place to prize, 
 And as His long-lost son He will to meet thee rise. 
 
THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 35 
 
 Still urge Thy quest like that meek Canaanite, 
 As Bartimseus blind cease not to plead ; 
 Knock at the door throughout the livelong night. 
 Till He within shall answer all thy need ; 
 Cry as the Widow till the Judge gives heed. 
 He hears thy prayer though seeming not to hear, 
 Counts all the words which from thy heart proceed, 
 To give thee more according to thy fear, 
 And when He seems afar 'tis then He is most near. 
 
 Without the falling shower and tearful gloom 
 The bow of Mercy shines not, and most bright 
 It glows when darkest is the tempest's plume ; 
 The heavens come forth when sinks day's glaring light ; 
 The stars shine brightest on the moonless night : 
 Death is the mighty teacher, schooling man 
 In one short hour to know himself aright — 
 His glory — beauty — power — his life's brief span, 
 And Death will teach to pray as nothing earthly can. 
 
 But most of all, in stern and calm repose, 
 Before thy conscience set the Crucified, 
 And number one by one thy Saviour's woes ; 
 There in that mirror let thy life be tried, 
 And set the image of thyself beside ; 
 There meditate, and tread thy feet beneath 
 Thy lust, thy malice, avarice, and pride ; 
 Think of each sin which taints thy vital breath, 
 Of life that never lives, of never-dying death. 
 
 d 2 
 
36 THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 
 
 Thus think thou of thyself, and think of God, 
 And then what word can speak thy vanity, 
 Fleeing before the shadow of His rod ? 
 When Judgment pours its flood of light from high, 
 Swift as the lightning bathes the earth and sky, 
 Soon to be followed by the dreadful sound, 
 Our life shall on a sudden open lie, 
 His knowledge all our being shall surround, 
 In twinkle of His eye is our whole compass found. 
 
 Thus may'st thou learn to know thy littleness, 
 And from thy fancied greatness to descend 
 To penitential thoughts which God will bless. 
 If still thy earth-weighed spirits downward tend, 
 Pasting is Angels' diet, and a friend 
 Which to the soul Heaven-soaring fervour brings, 
 And good desires which shall in Prayer ascend ; 
 Till in that incense a pure spirit springs, — 
 Calm Love within thy breast breeding Angelic wings. 
 
 That Angel then shall take thine hand, and lead 
 Thy steps to find thy Saviour in His poor ; 
 Yea, thou shalt find Him in the cry of need ; 
 And Lazarus, who lieth at thy door, 
 Hath friends above who walk the Heavenly floor, 
 And he shall sue for thee, and thou shalt find 
 That thine own Prayers gain wings and readier soar, 
 No more blown frustrate by the wandering wind, 
 And light unknown before shall touch thine eye-lids blind. 
 
THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 37 
 
 Then shait thou see good Angels, hid from sense, 
 Gradual reveaTd to Love's discerning eyes, 
 And all the ways of guardian Providence. 
 Silence with Solitude shall make thee wise, 
 And bring thee nearer to the tranquil skies, — ■ 
 Silence with Solitude where God doth dwell. 
 She far retired from worldly vanities, 
 Within the wilderness hath made her cell, 
 Peopling it with the thoughts of things invisible. 
 
 Sweet nymph, conversing with th' o'er-arching Heaven, 
 When Twilight lets her dewy mantle fall, 
 Thou goest forth in hallow'd time of Even, 
 While in the glowing West, all dark and tall, 
 The trees stand motionless, and on the wall 
 Of the blue East, the Moon climbs up the hill ; 
 And all is hushed, save haply the sweet call 
 Of some chance nestling bird, or falling rill, 
 With mountains listening near, majestic, dark, and still. 
 
 All things now call thee forth ; — with solemn tread, 
 And finger on thy lip, solemn maid, 
 I see thee stealing onward ! Thither lead, 
 And take me to thy converse, through the shade 
 Of yon deep avenue, and in the glade 
 Stand listening, while the solemn nightingale 
 Cheers the lone heavens with darkness overlaid, 
 To speak to pensive ears her touching tale ; — 
 And Wisdom's bird comes nigh, flapping his drowsy sail. 
 
38 THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 
 
 Then lead me with thee to yon neighbouring wood, 
 Where far retired in some embowering nook, 
 Dwells in his cave the hermit Solitude. 
 Where the intruding world comes not to look 
 On his calm shed and bright-embossed Book. 
 Where he, on eve of some great holiday, 
 Sits at his door beside the murmuring brook, 
 While sober Evening, like a pilgrim grey, 
 Looks from Ins Western cell, and gently dies away. 
 
 All hail ! dread Silence, Solitude, and Shade, 
 Children of Peace ! ye witnesses have been 
 When on the mountain-top the Saviour pra/d, 
 Or in the nightly desert ; there unseen, 
 Save by good Angels, in the dread serene 
 Where He approached His Father ! nought was heard 
 To break the hallowed stillness of the scene, 
 Save haply from its midnight covert stirred, 
 Hovering around its Lord, some solitary bird. 
 
 Blest Desolation ! thine is Heavenly balm, 
 Soft as night's dew or penitential tears, 
 Partaker of th' unutterable calm 
 Which God inhabits : noise of rolling spheres, 
 And all the passionate stir that fills our ears, 
 Reaches not there, nor sound of hurrying feet. 
 With fretful circumstance of passing years, 
 Of days and months and seasons as they fleet ; 
 Such is tlr* unearthly calm where man his God must meet. 
 
THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 39 
 
 Such is the stillness of the silent bier, 
 When first the disembodied eyelids ope 
 On everlasting things, and God is near. 
 In houses of our clay while here we grope, 
 "Who thus with Prayer and Vigil learn to cope, 
 Shall see reveaFd o'er things so passing frail, 
 Walking upon the clouds, bright-vision' d Hope, 
 Having her silver anchor in the veil, 
 While streaming rays light up her soaring vision pale. 
 
 Spiritual armour and immortal aid 
 Be with us ! for around us and within 
 Agents of evil hide in viewless shade ; 
 The garb they wear are thoughts and deeds of sin ; 
 Some in the soul their entrance now begin; 
 Others in desert places walk abroad, 
 Cast out, and watch till they may access win, 
 And enter ; then they gain more sure abode, 
 And pass from soul to soul, on ruin's widening road. 
 
 'Tis Prayer that moves the silver bowers afar, 
 Gains wings, and through the ever-open' d door, 
 Swift as the image of the twinkling star 
 Shews its reflection in the Ocean's floor, 
 It moves the inmates of that Heavenly shore. 
 As gently rippling o'er the leafy shade 
 Comes the soft sighing gale, and passes o'er, 
 E'en so in Heaven each Prayer, in secret made, 
 Huffles a thousand wings prepar'd for instant aid. 
 
40 THE PREPARATIONS OF PRAYER. 
 
 Soft o'er that Sea of glass the signal given 
 Runs, as the gentlest breath on lakes of spring, 
 Such love for wretched man there is in Heaven ! 
 Virtue stands there in bright apparelling, 
 And at that signal moves her ready wing : 
 Sent down to guide the wandering child of care, 
 She bidden hastes her instant aid to bring ; 
 The rainbow springs, and forms a glorious stair, 
 Where pursuivants of Heaven pass at a mortars Prayer. 
 
 Virtue, disclosing ever-growing Love, 
 Shall lead her suppliants to the Throne of grace : 
 They in the blessed courts that are above, 
 Within the living centre of all space, 
 'Mid those blest companies shall find a place, 
 Far from the noise of earth and earthly wrong, 
 Where God Himself reveals His blissful Pace, 
 Seraphs and Cherub hosts and Saints among j — 
 There in the secret shrine His suppliants find a tongue. 
 
 There at the footstool is the Heavenly Bride, 
 In whom — for whom — the Intercessor pleads ; 
 Touched by whose plea, through realms responding wide, 
 Worlds are refreshed ; and as she pleads His deeds, 
 The flush of joy through all the Heaven proceeds. 
 There in the pause of the Seraphic chime 
 Unutterable groanings tell her needs ; 
 Burning with love, compassed with awe sublime, 
 She prays her Lord to haste the blissful dreadful time. 
 
THE PREPARATIONS OP PRAYER. 41 
 
 There by her side the Poor in spirit kneels, 
 Driven by despair, yet hoping through despair, 
 Till fear new hope, and hope new love reveals : 
 He as he knows himself of graces bare, 
 The more is cloth' d thereby, and bowM in prayer. 
 More lowly still on right-hand of the Bride, 
 The Penitent is kneeling on that stair ; 
 Unmeet to be admitted to her side, 
 Bow*d down in sense of sin, and as a captive tied. 
 
 These suppliants, while they seem to walk on earth, 
 Are thus in Heavenly places when they kneel, 
 'Mid bands Angelic which in Heaven have birth, 
 "Which haply hear their prayers, and with them feel, 
 So vast th' electric chain, such the appeal ! 
 Start we to hear the overwhelming claim ? 
 Yea, more than words the coveu anted seal, 
 Por there are Three in Heaven, One dreadful Name, 
 Which come to dwell on earth in spirits free from blame. 
 
IMAGE THE FOURTH. 
 "iFtS&t tfie goot) figfjt of fattlj ; lag £>olti on eternal life." 
 
 Although thou mayest have been converted unto God, and hast 
 gone forth from the bondage of sin, yet never think thyself secure. 
 For our life upon earth is a trial and a warfare. How shalt thou 
 be able to endure ? Consider that thou art standing, as it were, 
 between Christ [A] thy Lord and Saviour, and the Devil [B] thy 
 deadly enemy. He is striving to win thee back to sin and eternal 
 perdition ; and is suggesting to thee how the World [C] inviteth 
 thee, by setting pleasure before thee, and vanities [D], by which 
 Sin [E] allureth thee unto her. But, behold, Christ crieth aloud 
 unto thee ; His wounds, and the sufferings which for thy sake He 
 endured, cry to thee ! Think upon those rewards of virtue which 
 are above ; and how momentary are the pleasures of sin, and ever- 
 lasting her pains behind. Consider to which of these thou would- 
 est prefer to adhere. Is it not to God, the greatest and best of 
 friends ? Abhor therefore the treacherous foe. Behold the chil- 
 dren of Israel [F] of old ; how by a similar deceit through the 
 lust of the flesh he endeavoured to bring them back again into 
 Egypt [G]. Thus now also Gluttony [H] and Avarice [I] are en- 
 deavouring to draw back those who are advancing on their way to 
 Heaven ; or, when they are already approaching to the Heavenly 
 goal, Vain-glory [K] labours to hurl them headlong down. " He 
 who endureth unto the end the same shall be saved." " Take 
 therefore unto thee the whole armour of God, that thou mayest be 
 able to stand in the evil day, and having done all to stand." 
 
ft 
 
 . # 
 
^iu <£i)rtsttan Warrior*. 
 
 On what a world of all-involving strife 
 
 Childhood opes day by day his wondering eyes ; 
 Beauteous to him and new this mortal life, 
 
 But what dark mystery beneath it lies ! 
 He looks to the blue vault above, — 
 Fair dome, and image true of all-surrounding love ! 
 
 There some bright bird on blythe and buoyant wing 
 At morning's door doth sing ; 
 
 But death is pois'd upon a stronger plume, 
 And hawks and ravening birds are battling in his room. 
 
 In beauteous Heaven above and earth below 
 
 One scene of conflict meets his thoughtful view ; 
 The very clouds seem making warlike show : 
 
 Now like encountering armies they pursue, 
 Now marring ether's blue repose 
 Castles and monstrous sights and battle-scenes disclose ; 
 
 Then seem to pass away, and take afar 
 Some shape of giant war. 
 
 The very elements are all at strife; 
 War is coeval, war confederate with life. 
 
 a This subject is founded on one in " The Book of Nature." 
 
44 THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 
 
 And multitudinous tribes that come and go 
 
 On earth around some shape of warfare wage ; 
 Beasts are with beasts contending to and fro ; 
 
 War is the universal heritage, — 
 To be undone or to undo ; 
 Insects in air around tumultuous war pursue ; 
 
 E'en tribes in miniature beneath our feet 
 In deadly contest meet; 
 
 The life of each doth seem another's death, 
 And nothing hath repose but with its parting breath. 
 
 Nor less mankind, Creation's lords below, 
 
 Are still engaged in warfare from their birth ; 
 All borne along, whether we will or no, 
 
 In tide of battling nations, moving earth ; 
 War takes, war sways, and swallows all, 
 And peace itself is but the breathing interval. 
 
 Their very being hangs on warlike power 
 When storms o'er nations lower. 
 
 Whate'er we have of calm communion sweet 
 'Tis in the middle space ere hosts encount'ring meet. 
 
 The fowler's, fisher's, hunter's, soldier's art 
 Are Childhood's first essays in mimic life, 
 
 To imitate pursuit and take his part 
 
 With siegers or besieged, — shapes of strife, — 
 Peats wherein art or strength secures 
 
 Prizes of arduous arms, and warlike forfeitures. 
 
THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 45 
 
 Howe'er innocuous the confederate sport 
 
 Where Boyhood holds his court, 
 In his instinctive breast some secret root 
 Still takes some varied form of warfare or pursuit. 
 
 If in oblivious sleep he seeks repose, 
 
 And shuts his eyes from this our world around, 
 To ope on scenes winch sleeping thoughts disclose, 
 
 There is he toss'd, and hurried, and spell-bound 
 In strivings of a world unseen, 
 Unearthly sights that blend with things that here have been 
 
 Pursuings and contendings, wars and fight, 
 Hair-breadth escape and flight, 
 
 Foes and affrays, are all he gathers thence, 
 Where Slumber lifts his latch beyond this world of sense. 
 
 Yea, e'en the very Gospel, which had birth 
 
 In songs of blessed Angels bringing peace, 
 In contact with the denizens of earth, 
 
 Hath gone forth as a sword winch doth not cease : 
 
 What though the Saints have found a home 
 
 Within her peaceful shrines, no longer thence to roam ; 
 
 The posts of faith where they their watches hold 
 Are towers bequeathed of old, 
 
 And for those citadels to fight and die 
 Is highest meed they claim of our mortality. 
 
3 THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 
 
 All things are full of strife, beyond we deem 
 
 Or sense can follow : sunshine from the skies, 
 "Winch in some chamber throws its slanting beam, 
 
 Gives semblance of the world which round us lies, 
 Where motes to sight and being press, 
 In revolutions strange encountering numberless ; 
 
 And e'en the very waters are all rife 
 With feats of insect strife ; 
 
 Where'er our light doth in their dwelling fall 
 It opes new scenes of war which fill their watery hall. 
 
 awful Power, whose wisdom girds us round 
 
 "With language so unspeakable, tins scene 
 Past finding out, this world of sense and sound 
 
 Is but the parable of things unseen, 
 Which Thy deep omens doth rehearse ! 
 Thy still small voice around is the vast universe. 
 
 Grant me to read tins lesson of the skies 
 With Childhood's Heaven-taught eyes, 
 
 Lest I be swallowed in this war of sense, 
 Nor learn the warning sent by Thy sweet Providence. 
 
 That with us here and o'er us there doth close 
 A war that is in Heaven, winch with our breath 
 
 Begins and ceases not, with viewless foes 
 A war for endless life or endless death ; 
 
THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 47 
 
 That, though the contest we forego, 
 Yet wheresoe/er we be, whatever we think or do, 
 Whether we wake or sleep, this deep turmoil 
 
 Wreathes round its serpent coil ; 
 Nor can we 'scape the universal doom 
 Of all contending war, but in the silent tomb. — 
 
 That spirits are contending with strange power 
 
 Leagued with us and against us, and with one 
 We take our part in this our destined hour, 
 
 While we ourselves are winning or are won ; 
 O war-defying mortal thought, 
 Throughout all things of sense in wondrous semblance wrought, 
 
 Through nature's gradual steps replete with life 
 Presenting shapes of strife, 
 
 While here we climb to the eternal morn, — 
 The mirror of our state for ever round us borne ! 
 
 Mark His own Word, — which as an optic glass 
 
 Opes to the spiritual eye in vision clear 
 Things of the world which here before it pass, 
 
 A key to the mysterious world they bear, 
 A hand that marks the eternal road 
 In semblances most dark that fill the earth abroad : — 
 
 There the accoutrements of warlike geer, 
 And battle of the spear, 
 
 The Lord of Hosts doth consecrate, to tell 
 The conflict here on earth of His own Israel. 
 
48 THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 
 
 What is e'en now the Christian's song of praise, 
 The storehouse of his prayers, the sainf s delight, 
 
 The counsellor and guardian of his ways, 
 
 The pilgrim's staff, and lantern through the night ? 
 The armoury of holy thought ? 
 
 'Tis Israel's Psalm-book sweet by inspiration wrought. 
 
 Hopes, joys, and fears, which unto man belong, 
 There clothe themselves with song, 
 And speak the warrior's hate, the warrior's call, 
 
 To Him at whose "rebuke the horse and chariot fall.' 
 
 Yea, e'en this passing world's historic lore, 
 
 Chronicling deeds of arms, (could we the scroll 
 Unravel like good Spenser's fairy store,) 
 
 Speaks but the trial of the human soul. 
 E'en so immortal Homer's page, 
 Which pictured warring hosts encountring on the stage, 
 
 Portray'd the battle-field of this our lot, 
 Although he knew it not : 
 
 The lesson in his heart that breathed so strong 
 Was something worthier far that ancient poet's song. 
 
 Well may the soldier's dauntless fortitude, 
 That serves for emblem of a thing so great, 
 
 Stand master of the world in Roman mood, 
 And seem upon this earth to govern fate. 
 This is thy spell, imperial Rome, 
 
 The magic of that power which found in thee a home : 
 
THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 49 
 
 Though such were but the semblance and the name 
 
 Of warfare which shall claim 
 Heaven its reward, and trample powers of hell, 
 In that great war which is to man invisible ; — 
 
 Invisible, but which shall come to sight 
 
 When our great Captain is Himself reveal' d, 
 'Mid Angel hosts which with us fought the fight, 
 
 And Satan hath no more his shape conceal' d. 
 The palace of the strong shall fall around, 
 On that great sevenfold morn at the dread trumpet's sound. 
 
 Then lights in earthen vessels hidden now 
 Shall rise before the foe ; 
 
 The Sun and Moon shall then stand still in Heaven ; 
 Stars in their courses fight; victorious crowns be given. 
 
 In this Heaven's hidden wisdom half-reveal'd 
 
 We hail instinctive childhood : as the child 
 Mimics the feats of war with spear and shield, 
 
 E'en so the soul must wield throughout the wild 
 The armories of God's own word, — 
 Take up the shield of faith, put on the Spirif s sword : 
 
 While all tilings teach us through our pilgrimage 
 Unceasing war to wage, 
 
 Yet not to trust in human panoply, 
 But strong in weakness, trust, O Lord of Hosts, in Thee. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE CIIKISTIAN WAIUtlOK. 
 
 shame to him in tins our trial state 
 
 Who " mingleth peace with war b ," and ease with strife, 
 Sleeping upon his post, while at the gate 
 
 The sleepless foes are watching for his life ! 
 For if on the soft lap of ease 
 We sink to sleep, and dream of life's securities, 
 
 We thus lay down our arms before the foe, 
 And all our strength forego ; 
 
 So may we sleep, and wake when naught remains, 
 Save dungeons of thick night and endless prison chains. 
 
 It is a strife and must be to the end, 
 
 And nature's shapes of war and hostile fight 
 Are the best images which Heaven could send 
 
 Of that invisible and watchful might, — 
 Of foes behind each earthly scene 
 Pursuing human souls, and lurking still unseen, 
 
 Walking in darkness, lying hid in wait, 
 And watching at the gate ; 
 
 Now in one body vast they darkly brood, 
 And like a tempest sway the moving multitude. 
 
 And doubtless could we see with fleshly eye 
 Sins that encompass us, like shrouds from hell, 
 
 Wherein bad spirits walk, we should descry 
 Shapes more uncouth and foul and terrible 
 
 b Hor., lib. iii. Od. 5. lin. 37. 
 
THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 51 
 
 Than Nature's self e'er brought to sight, 
 In serpents, insect tribes, or beasts that prowl at night ; 
 Or Fancy forms from all or each at will, 
 
 A whole more hideous still : 
 These will beset our path, and one by one 
 Come forward with their lures until the goal be won. 
 
 scenes and tales that people classic lore 
 
 Which pleased our childhood ; or Arabian tale ; 
 Or chivalrous emprize and fabling store, 
 
 Which led us through some lone enchanted vale ! 
 
 Of things in Heaven then childhood dream' d 
 
 When most in worldly eyes it fond and foolish seem'd. 
 
 A secret story in our being wrought 
 Spell-bound our wondering thought, 
 
 'Mid battles and escapes and snares and foes, 
 Through which some fabled wight sought long-denied repose. 
 
 And onward still our earnest eyes were bent 
 To know and see the issue crowning all, 
 The unravelling scene of long-drawn wonderment, 
 Of fights and restless travels long in thrall ; — 
 Unconscious bodings of the soul 
 Which eagerly thus pored upon the opening scroll. 
 She in these images before her brought 
 
 Knew not her own deep thought ; 
 A spirit in our spirit deeper lies, 
 And recognises still her secret destinies : — 
 
 e 2 
 
52 THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 
 
 And still looks out to catch the opening sky 
 
 Beyond the labyrinth, wherein around 
 Things that we see not sway our destiny. 
 
 Thus were our eager spirits deeply bound 
 With some famed Hector in the fray, 
 Or that long-wandering Chief upon the ocean way ; 
 
 In breathless expectation for the end 
 Still did they forward bend ; 
 
 Tor with the brave and good our sympathies 
 Are wrapt, as if in them our very being lies. 
 
 On their unfolding stories as our own 
 
 We gaze in wonder ; for the soul divines, 
 Although she deems not, of the world unknown ; 
 
 And thus instinctive yearnings intertwines, 
 Some secret thought of unseen war, 
 And wanderings from her home which is in Heaven afar. 
 
 In semblance of her lot made palpable 
 She finds a hidden spell, 
 
 And in the maze of an unreal state 
 Loves, grieves, and loathes with a mysterious hate. 
 
 And haply against others oft we turn 
 
 The war that should be with internal foes ; 
 
 Crusaders erst would fix by warfare stem 
 The Cross on Calvary, and the peaceful rose 
 Of Sharon dyed with hostile blood ; 
 
 Yet 'twas a worthy cause of holy fortitude, 
 
THE CHRISTIAN WARRIOR. 53 
 
 Type of that holier war that shall regain 
 
 Palestine's promised plain, 
 By love and hope and godly discipline, 
 And plant upon the world the Cross's conquering sign. 
 
 The Gospel as a sword the earth must win 
 
 Through struggles, foes, and hate invisible ; 
 But Christ's true soldier is at peace within, 
 
 In harmonies of Heaven he loves to dwell. 
 While wars without him still increase, 
 Within Angelic sounds are heard declaring peace. 
 
 And from the elements which rage around 
 Is music most profound ; 
 
 While Persecution marks him for her own 
 And sets on all Beatitudes the last c , the chief, the crown. 
 
 Amid surrounding storms he is in calm, 
 
 Or strives to be so, and advances on, 
 Seeking 'mid poisonous weeds the honied balm 
 
 Of wounded spirits ; till his soul hath won 
 Something of the repose of Heaven, 
 To conquerors of the world, self-mastering, spirits given, — 
 
 A something of the Everlasting chime, 
 Ethereal, calm, sublime : 
 
 And Christ at length within his soul is born, 
 Declaring His own peace and ever-cloudless Morn. 
 
 c St. Matt. v. 11. 
 
IMAGE THE FIFTH. 
 
 In ebetg tfrtng gibe tfianfc*}, for l^fs te the fotll of (Sot) in 
 ©Ijrtet 3)csus. 
 
 At all times, especially on seasons of meditation, give solemn 
 thanks [A] to God for His innumerable benefits to thee, for Crea- 
 tion [B], for Redemption [C], for the two Sacraments of Baptism 
 and the Lord's Supper [D], for the gift of Prayer [E], for the 
 Virtues [F], for holy inspirations from above [G]. Observe also 
 and give thanks to God for the protection of His good Angel [H], 
 who hath defended thee against the wiles of the devil [I] : for His 
 guardian Providence which hath preserved thee from so many 
 dangers [K], which others have met with, from diseases, from 
 falls, from maimings, devourings, from self-murder, from robbers, 
 from injury and destruction by fire and water. And how canst 
 thou repay Him for so many benefits? Give thanks unto Him, 
 and especially for His having borne with thee with so great long- 
 suffering, when otherwise thou wouldst have perished with wicked 
 men and evil spirits [L]. Let thy heart therefore, in pouring forth 
 the praises of God, hunger and thirst after Perfection [M] ; and 
 know that there is no rest or repose to be found but in Him and 
 in His will. May His good Spirit grant unto us those His wings 
 of a Dove, that our hearts may fly away unto Him, and be at rest. 
 

 
 
 
©tbt'ng ^ijanfes for all Wngs. 
 
 And can Faith's Prayer admit the soul to Heaven, 
 "Where endless life is but one hymn of praise, 
 To happy song and adoration given? 
 Blessed Immortals, singing grateful lays, 
 What must ye deem of men's repining ways ? 
 Lo ! at the thought upbraiding visions rise, 
 And clothe themselves with shape, and catch the rays, 
 Coming like stars upon the evening skies, 
 And forms Angelic speak in their own Paradise. 
 
 One came by me and said, " And hast thou then 
 No voice of thanks ? is His love nothing worth, 
 Who gave to thee to live 'mong living men, 
 And set Eternity around thy birth, 
 E'en as the circling sky surrounds the earth : — 
 WHio knew thee ere yet form'd within the womb, 
 Knew thy first thoughts of sadness or of mirth, 
 And saw thy limbs their daily form assume, 
 Thy birth, thy life, thy grave, thy lot beyond the tomb I" 
 
)6 GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 
 
 Another then drew near, and passing cried, 
 " Are no thanks due to that Immortal Love, 
 Who on the Cross to purchase thee hath died, 
 That so His death thy better life might prove ? 
 Is this all nought thy thankless soul to move ? 
 ~For such vast love He asketh no return, 
 But this — that thou would'st live for lum above, 
 Who came from highest Heaven thy love to earn ; 
 Yet in thy thankless heart no gratitude doth burn." 
 
 Then, like a cloud that clothes the evening moon, 
 Another came, — " Canst thou those gifts recount, 
 While thou wert yet unconscious of the boon, 
 Which even yet thy highest thoughts surmount ? 
 He bath'd thee erst in light's eternal Fount, 
 And took thee, through the gate of His own grave, 
 To the pure haunts of the celestial mount, 
 With dews of life the dying soul to lave : — 
 Such mighty gifts lie hid in the Baptismal wave I" 
 
 Another voice then added, " Is it nought 
 That He who is thy everlasting Good, 
 Who thy new life by His own dying bought, 
 Should feed the life He gave by His own blood, — 
 Should e'en Himself become thy living food ? 
 Each Sunday when with troubles thou art worn, 
 He from His grave-clothes, with fresh strength endued, 
 Comes forth anew, and like a Heavenly morn, 
 Again the Lord of Life within thy soul is born." 
 
GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 57 
 
 Nor does it need thy thanks/' another Voice 
 Replied, " that all the earnest heart demands 
 Is given to Faith's request, whatever thy choice ? — 
 Whene'er thou knockest, at thy lifted hands 
 The gate of every blessing open stands : 
 Each prayer is heard in Heaven, thy very sighs 
 There find a tongue, and sound in Heavenly lands : 
 Prayer opes the regal storehouse of the skies, 
 And shews a sign to winch the Prince no boon denies." 
 
 " And is it nothing," — through that blissful gloom 
 Answer'd another, — " that whatever grace 
 Hath led thee onward towards thy stable home, 
 Is but a ray from the light-giving Pace 
 That lights the heavens ? Whate'er on thy high race 
 Hath Heavenward aided thee, and given thee might 
 The pure and steadfast purpose to embrace, — 
 A power to choose the good and see the right, — 
 Is but a gleam pour'd down from Him the spirit's Light." 
 
 And then there came to me another Porm, 
 Whose brow was cloth'd with wreaths of earthly love, 
 Winch never fades in Heaven ; fresh beauty warm 
 Surrounds her with that light which glows above ; 
 Whate'er on earth the heart doth sweetly move 
 Is but its semblance ; then I seem'd to go 
 'Mid scenes of life, and with that guide to rove. 
 Ah, mortal blind, how little dost thou know 
 What care there is in Heaven for men that dwell below ! 
 
58 GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 
 
 How often when the foe hath shot his dart 
 Of evil thoughts, from Ins dark shades unseen, 
 Yet ere the deadly barb hath reached the heart 
 Love's watchful guard from Heaven doth intervene, 
 And o'er thee set his sheltering shield between ! 
 E'en as a mother o'er her sleeping clnld 
 Who comes to watch, when moonlight rays serene 
 Pall on his countenance with radiance mild; 
 He all unconscious sighs in troubled visions wild. 
 
 If these raise not thy soul to Angels' lays, 
 "Who loving ever sing and singing love, 
 Are not the ills thou scapest theme for praise ? 
 Each page of this world's histfry, as it flies, 
 Bears some new tale of human miseries ; 
 And, as it passes by, each whispering gale 
 Is loaded with some cause for Pity's sighs : 
 How oft while Life tells her absorbing tale, 
 Suddenly looks on man Death's visage stern and pale ! 
 
 Oh, what a wilderness about us lies 
 Of spirits, each wrapp'd round in fleshly cell, 
 Could we but look beyond each other's eyes, 
 An universe of souls 'mong winch we dwell, 
 Each in himself a world to Heaven or Hell ! 
 Creeping 'mid creeping things their souls embrace 
 Great worlds, and here their mighty birthright tell, 
 Traversing earth, and sky, and time, and space ; — 
 Pent in earth-treading frames, and bound to earthly place. 
 
GIVING THANKS FOlt ALL THINGS. 59 
 
 I seem'd to pass this fleshly veil beyond, 
 By hand of that celestial Guide led on 
 To a transporting vision, which his wand 
 Opened, a world where thoughts of men are known, 
 No interposing veils between us thrown, 
 Which here do hang upon our eyelids blind ; — 
 I passed to shadowy realms which spirits own, 
 And learned the clearer ken to them assigned, 
 Winch through the outer shape behold the inner mind. 
 
 Oft when we pine, afar from those we love, 
 More close are knit the spirifs sympathies 
 By mutual prayer ; distance itself doth prove 
 A greater nearness ; with such stronger ties 
 Spirit with spirit talks, that when our eyes 
 Behold each other, something sinks within, 
 Mock'd by the touch of life's realities ; 
 E'en so that vision seem'd new sense to win 
 Brought near to thoughts of men who hVd in earthly din. 
 
 We heard the tongue of souls which rove apart, 
 Toss'd to and fro amid the mighty vast ; 
 Heard the dark woes that rend the secret heart, 
 And outward accidents in vision cast 
 Before us ; one in shipwreck on a mast, 
 In a dread struggle life and death between ; — 
 One woke in sleep 'mid flames, then all the past 
 Came o'er him : all the shapes of death were seen, 
 Robbers, fell beasts, disease, Self-slaughter's murderous mien. 
 
CO GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 
 
 If hourly these attend on dying men, 
 And hourly still thy guilty head is freed, 
 Sure this should win from thee some thankful strain, 
 Some little prayer for them that are in need, 
 Some thanks that He for thee doth intercede ! 
 If others' ills this warning voice assume, 
 And for thy gratitude like Angels plead, 
 Much more beyond tins sky-o'erarched room, 
 Within that shadowy world whose portal is the tomb. 
 
 No more the thoughts of men for good or ill, — 
 But sounds of this loud world in which we dwell 
 Rose like a sea behind, and all was still : 
 As shipwrecked men scaped from the tempest's swell 
 Rove through dark wood, strange scene, and silent cell, 
 Through moon-light shades my vision seem'd to soar, 
 To where the dead themselves were visible : 
 I seem'd to pass beyond tins earthly door, 
 "Which from the things of sense shuts spirits evermore. 
 
 " "What are these awful sounds that fill mine ear, 
 And sights I see?" — then suddenly I cried, 
 And hurried forward ; passing from the rear 
 I hastened, going by that Heavenly guide, 
 And seized his skirt, — it was the other side 
 Of pallid Death, a dim and glimmering cave, 
 Where Day and Night alternately abide 
 And earthward pass, — the other side the grave, 
 Where Life and Death are met, prayer hath no power to save. 
 
GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 61 
 
 Then by me passed a melancholy Form, 
 And as it passed it cried, like the deep yell 
 Of the low wind that sighs before the storm, 
 " Ah, were it not for that all had been well, 
 But for that glare of gold ! but now the spell 
 Is broken, all is now for ever gone \" 
 " For ever !" cried another, and a swell 
 Of dying echoes answer' d that deep moan, 
 " For ever \" then there sigh'd a waking voice, " 'Tis done — 
 
 Who could have thought it were so short V and then 
 Another cried, " Ah, for one little hour, 
 Passionate love, could I in flesh again 
 Behold thee, thou couldst charm my heart no more ! 
 Come let me scan thy features as of yore : 
 Like a poor fly within a spider's toil, 
 I sung and pla/d away my scanty store 
 Of being ; what I thought rich-ghttering spoil, 
 Was but the scales that lit the wily serpent's coil.'" 
 
 " Oh, bear me upward to the realms of sight," 
 I cried, " nor let me hear this sad despair ; 
 I find no hour on earth, no evil sight, 
 But 'tis a theme to bless a Father's care ; 
 And there are things beyond this earth and air 
 Which ne'er have reach' d a dream." Then from that throng 
 I hurried, and awoke with words of prayer. 
 Nightf s stillness linger' d yet men's homes among, 
 But from afar was heard the bird of morning's song. 
 
62 01 VI NO THANKS FOli ALL THINGS. 
 
 And is my gratitude but like a dream? 
 And like the dew my morning orison ? 
 Let not my thankless spirit dry the stream 
 That floweth from Thine own true Lebanon ! 
 Thine ever bounteous care still floweth on ; 
 I drink the stream yet seldom think of Thee ; 
 And yet I breathe and live in Thee alone ; 
 While every Care that comes to visit me, 
 Is but the cloud that wraps Thy burning charity. 
 
 More dark the cloud, more near art Thou, as when 
 From furnace-flames Thine Hallelujahs sound, — 
 When Daniel praised Thee in the lions' den, — 
 Jonah with bars of ocean compassed round, — 
 Silas and Paul in night and prison bound, 
 More bound without more free the spirit sings : 
 The spirit, when it feels the fleshly wound, 
 Buns to the heart with inward communings, 
 Till the cloud gleams with light, and music round it flings. 
 
 Thine Elements all serve us, on us wait 
 The Angels of Thy bounty ; one by one 
 They bring down blessings from the Heavenly gate, 
 And Thou Thyself dost bow Thy lofty throne, 
 And from Thy highest glory comest down 
 To walk with me unharmed amidst the fires, 
 That Thou mayst take me hence to be Thine own, — 
 A worm, and one of earthly low desires ; 
 Nothing of mine to Thee but Thine own Grace aspires. 
 
GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 63 
 
 Ye shining ones that walk on Heaven's high wall, 
 Look down, behold one from your heights around, 
 Come, see, and hear, bear witness to my call ! 
 What miracle of mercy have ye found 
 Equal to mine ? — with sins encompassed round, 
 A lonely exile in the vale of tears — 
 One struggling 'mid the rocks, his comrades drown' d, 
 An unarm' d one trembling 'mid hostile spears, — 
 With such an one to walk th' Almighty God appears. 
 
 Me hath He call'd to love Him, me hath deign'd 
 To call His child, for me His life-blood pour'd, 
 And when I turn from Him then He is pain'd : 
 To all things else His all-constraining word 
 Sets bounds, and o'er them throws His holding cord, 
 But to our love : He asks our being whole, 
 And who unto the soul can bounds afford ? 
 'Tis He who can the Infinite control, 
 Alone can meet her love, alone can fill the soul. 
 
 I ask not wealth, I ask not length of days, 
 Nor joys winch home, and rural sights bestow, 
 Nor honour among men, nor poets' praise, 
 Nor friendship, nor the light of love to know, 
 Which with its own warm sun bathes all below ; 
 Nor that the seed I sow should harvest prove : 
 I ask not health, nor spirits' gladdening flow, 
 Nor an assured pledge of rest above, 
 If only Thou wilt give a heart to know Thy love. 
 
64 GIVING THANKS FOR ALL THINGS. 
 
 As many as the crosses wlrich abound 
 On every side our road which leads to Heaven, 
 So many tokens of Thy care are found, 
 To wean our fancies unto pleasure given ; 
 To aid Thy Spirit winch with ours hath striven, 
 And bring us to the Cross of Thy deep woes. 
 Here in the twilight of the silent even, 
 While life's short day to sable darkness goes, 
 My heart shall fly to Thee, and rest in Thy repose. 
 

 
 ii 
 
VI 
 
IMAGE THE SIXTH. 
 
 diamine into tjjj) defects, ant) tio tfip Diligence to coot out bice, 
 antj to plant tfie tree of Virtue. 
 
 Take heed, O thou who studiest perfection, that thou dost often 
 examine [A] thy conscience, and of it demand the account [B], 
 as if in the presence of Christ the Judge [C]. Place before thine 
 eyes the commandments of God [D], and thine own rules and re- 
 solutions [E]. Behold how the demon accuseth thee [F], and how 
 little good [G] thou hast done. Trample Sin under thy feet [H], and 
 see how thou mayest avoid it. It is no other than that foul Mon- 
 ster which hath the head of the peacock, the belly of the dropsical, 
 the feet of the goat, the tail of the scorpion. By the peacock is 
 denoted the pride of life, avarice by the dropsy, lustful concupis- 
 cence by the feet of the goat ; by the tail of the scorpion the poison 
 of sin is signified, and by the skull its wages, which are death. 
 And now, by a holy and firm resolution of mind, cut down the 
 Tree of sin [I], whose fruit is death ; and plant within thee some 
 new Virtue [K]. Then take thou the armour of the Spirit, and 
 oppose [L] with peculiar examination and care the Vice which 
 most besets thee [Mj. And such is that which chiefly and more, 
 immediately retards thee in the keeping of the Ten Command- 
 ments [N], or of thine own rules and resolutions [O], that is to 
 say, in the way of God. Watch thou for every Occasion [P] of 
 victory, and observe that the first step in a holy life is the most 
 difficult, the second is more easy, and the third the most easy : for 
 Virtue herself [Q] shall come down to aid thee, as thou advancest 
 on the way to Heaven. 
 
WltifjooiJ at £>elf=cxammatton. 
 
 Eke sin hath brushed away the morning bloom, 
 How great the care to holy Childhood due, 
 When streaks of purple morn the cheek illume, 
 And light the drops of the Baptismal dew ! 
 It is a precious sight which Angels view 
 In trembling joy and hope ; immortal Love 
 Hangs o'er it, watching every opening hue, 
 For such alone on this bad earth may prove 
 Meet for his golden house in highest Heaven above. 
 
 Childhood, in God's own temple ever found, 
 As when the lamps of Eve their shadow flung, 
 And Samuel heard the awful voice profound ; 
 Or when the Temple with Hosannas rung, 
 And Christ was welcomed by the infant tongue ! 
 Yea, Christ Himself is seen a holy child, 
 Sitting His Heavenly Father's courts among : 
 Then what, O Lord, 'mong men by sin beguil'd, 
 Is for Thy temple meet, but Childhood undehl'd ? 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 67 
 
 Sweet Childhood, shadow of celestial Love, 
 Trained to look up, and hold a parent's hand, 
 And ever lift the eye to one above ; 
 Winch knows not yet while it obeys command, 
 Hopes all, and all believes ; Elysian land, 
 Where that which is most lovely seems most true ! 
 Sweet unsuspecting Clnldhood, whose sweet wand 
 Bids fair enchanting scenes arise to view, 
 Paint emblem of that Love that maketh all things new ! 
 
 Thou dost o'er all thine own dear charms diffuse, 
 And through our weary life we turn to thee 
 As to a fountain fresh, where Heavenly dews 
 Are on each scene, and after all we flee 
 To what we loved in holier infancy : 
 Meek Childhood, in my soul again arise, 
 Drinking the air of immortality, 
 Thou shedd'st o'er rife a gleam of Paradise, 
 Lifting the earth to Heaven, or bringing down the skies ! 
 
 Blest is the shield, when Childhood's Innocence 
 Watches around like some unearthly spell, 
 Ere it has flown before the manlier sense : 
 Instinctive spirits, which in virtue dwell, 
 Keep ward within, and from their citadel 
 Fly to the cheek at every thought of blame, 
 Conscious of weakness e'en in doing well, 
 Anticipate in fear the glowing shame, 
 The fear of ill more pure than Virtue's boasted name. 
 
 f 2 
 
08 CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 Great be the heed no word nor deed unclean 
 Should soil that mirror which reflects the skies ! 
 For evil Angels watch around unseen 
 To spoil that bloom so dear in Heavenly eyes, 
 Which nothing can recall. O learn to prize 
 That ignorance, let Manhood wait awhile : 
 Manhood must learn of Childhood to be wise, 
 In wisdom prized of God, and free from guile ; — 
 Her very light deceives, her wisdom doth defile. 
 
 Within the arms of the great Lord of love 
 As in the teacher's seat, thou gentle Child, 
 We see thee, all our wisdom to reprove, — 
 That we may learn of thee, thou wisest styl'd, 
 Learn virgin innocence, learn mercy mild, 
 Unlearn ambition, unlearn carefulness. 
 life where state of Angels is fulfnTd, 
 And Saints, who little have and need still less ; 
 A state winch nothing hath, yet all things doth ^possess ! 
 
 Then Thought awakes to earth, and sea, and sky ; 
 And Faith first dawning in the unharrn'd breast 
 Tells o'er the tale of what it is to die : 
 Night after night, as Evening brings its rest, 
 The Day departing rises manifest, 
 And makes appeal — before his Judge he stands, 
 While Conscience, by Baptismal power impressed, 
 Pleads with him, and points out to God's commands, 
 And Angels good and ill stretch forth their speaking hands. 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 69 
 
 Then the untamper'd Witness pleads within, 
 And Good or Evil gain their silent sway, 
 In thoughts accusing or excusing sin. 
 How little doth he deem, from day to day, 
 What dread Spectators watch his destined way ! 
 How 'mid assembled worlds he stands alone. 
 They see him pray, see him forget to pray, 
 While the accuser stands before the throne, 
 And when Ins arts prevail doth claim him for his own. 
 
 Then with the volume of Ins life outspread 
 Stands the recording Angel, trembling till 
 The day appointed is for ever fled, 
 And shews how little good, how much of ill, — 
 The broken vows and the untutored will, — 
 Points to the twofold tablet, — thoughts of awe, — 
 Resolves of seeking good, avoiding ill ; — ■ 
 And stern to view, refusing to withdraw, 
 Rising in mirror stern dread Sinai's written Law. 
 
 Now trample 'neath thy feet the deadly coil 
 Of that fell Monster ; for all Heaven is mute, 
 And waiting for thee : in the tender soil 
 Of Youth's soft heart plant the immortal shoot 
 Of Heaven-born Virtue : it shall bear thee fruit, 
 And bind thy locks with amaranthine wreath. 
 Now ply thine axe unto the accursed root, 
 It puts forth leaves, and wooes Heaven's genial breath, 
 But soon its fruit appears ; that fruit is endless death. 
 
70 CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 In earlier years oft Satan steals within, 
 In soft and yielding hearts to drop the seed, 
 Till all unseen will spread the tree of sin ; 
 Its leaves are evil thoughts winch thence proceed, 
 Those leaves on winch the undying worm doth feed, 
 "With stealthy arms extending more and more 
 Over the soul, while none within takes heed ; — 
 Yet Faith's strong prayer e'en now can aid implore, 
 And cast into the sea the deadly sycamore 4 . 
 
 And in soft Childhood's heart will Virtue spring 
 Unheeded, there to drink celestial air, 
 And all the thoughts to her obedience bring, 
 Nourish' d day after day with dews of prayer, 
 Unseen, unknown, shrouded with many a care, 
 And scarce discernible to fleshly eye, 
 More and more bow'd to earth and hiding there ; 
 But soon released its stature fills the sky, 
 And soars the Angelic child of immortality. 
 
 That inborn Virtue shall become thy guide, 
 And lead thee on thy way and be thy light, 
 Still ever strengthening, ever by thy side 
 Holding thy hand, in arms celestial bright, 
 And home shall lead the wanderer of the night ; — 
 As Azarias who Tobias led, 
 And on Ins father's eye-balls pour'd the sight. 
 Little they know the aid around them spread, 
 Who upward pass from thee, thou City of the Dead. 
 
 * St. Luke xvii. 6, as explained by St. Chrys. and St. Ambrose. 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 71 
 
 Come on, Aspasio, on thy Heavenly war 
 With shield of faith and with the Spirit's sword, 
 Scatter the sin winch doth thy pathway mar, 
 Strong in the mail of God's unfailing word, 
 The Urim and the Thuimnim of thy Lord. 
 Walls as of emerald from the eternal tin-one 
 On either side thy mirror shall afford, — 
 The table graved on Sinai's rocky stone, 
 Or by the hand of God writ in the heart alone. 
 
 See how Occasion calls thee, while the sand 
 Of hurrying life admits of no delay, 
 And mount the step of the eternal land, 
 One step o'ercome more easy the essay, 
 While o'er thy conquer'd self thou gainest sway j 
 Haste to arise, and on the destin'd road, 
 In arms bright burnish' d with the Heavenly ray, 
 Virtue herself shall meet thee on the road, 
 And lead thee gently on to Light's serene abode. 
 
 O Thou Who dost enlighten man's dark heart, 
 Light of the eyes, and life-enkindhng Fire, 
 Be Thou a naming wall on every part 
 Around him ; may his heart to Thee aspire ; 
 Conscience keep guard within o'er each desire ; 
 On Thine own eagle wings bear Thine own child 
 Unto Thyself, still higher and still higher ; 
 Be Thou his guide throughout this desert wild, 
 In the Baptismal cloud or fire in glory pil'd. 
 
72 CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 Let peaceful Solitude, that sits apart 
 Hid in her cave from the full glare of day, 
 Learning communion with the silent heart, 
 Teach him betimes to ponder all his way, 
 Teach him to know where he has gone astray, 
 Where he hath giv*n his heart to meaner things, 
 Where earthly idols he hath made his stay, 
 Where to past deeds of sin his Memory clings, 
 Where Darkness o'er his heart her chilly mantle flings. 
 
 How oft his careless tongue hath kindled fire ; 
 How oft his hand hath minister'd to ill ; 
 How oft his eye hath drunk in bad desire ; 
 How oft his feet have follow* d wayward will ; 
 How oft low earthly thoughts his spirit fill ; 
 How oft his palate seeks itself to please ; 
 How oft his form is decked the soul to kill ; 
 How oft his time runs to the absorbing seas, 
 Pursuing empty dreams, or lost in shapeless ease. 
 
 O spread the awful scroll, and teach us now, 
 Lest Conscience sleep, while Justice's scroll is stor'd, 
 Nor know the dread amount of all her woe, 
 Till face to face she stands before the Lord, 
 And hears the somid of His undying word. 
 Or on the parting soul should Memory wake 
 To lift the curtain, and her light afford 
 To read the record, stifled Conscience break 
 Long silence with a voice the bed of death to shake. 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 73 
 
 Then through the vista of departed life 
 Shall gleam the moonlight shadows of the past, 
 Where light and cloud commingling seem at strife ; 
 Guilt like a spectral shade shall rise aghast, 
 Remorse sad moaning like the rising blast, 
 Embryo Resolves, and Warnings lightning-bright, 
 Witnesses trumpet-tongued now heard at last, 
 Occasions lost, and, standing in clear light, 
 Visions of the dark soul that loVd the gloom of night. 
 
 Open the fount Baptismal of my tears 
 Within my heart of hearts ; bid it to flow, 
 And wash my soul again from these my fears ; 
 Drown the bad fires which in my spirit glow. 
 O light the lamp within that I may know 
 How far Thy seal upon my soul is riven, 
 The breadth and depth and height of this my woe, 
 How far from my true course I have been driven, 
 Where from Bethesda's pool the road is pav'd to Heaven. 
 
 E'en like some mirror of resplendent glass, 
 Or galaxy of isles with stars serene, 
 There is a road whereon the ransomed pass, 
 Wherein the life of each is fully seen ; 
 " Ah me," I cried aloud, " I am unclean, 
 Through this Thy star-bright pavement I behold 
 What it is death to see ; the crystal sheen 
 Of this thy mirror shews a deadly fold 
 Around my heart ; I sink, all trembling, sad, and cold." 
 
74 CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 With that methought the form of Mercy mild 
 Upheld me by the hand, and bade me look 
 Sternly upon that self with sin defil'd ; 
 More on that view and more I trembling shook, 
 And sunk upon my knees, and could not brook 
 That sight so dismal, till she pitying cried, 
 " Through Penitence's gate we now must look, 
 Lost is the happier path, to peace allied, 
 Yet fail not, cling thou still unto my sheltering side." 
 
 With that I came unto a place so sad, 
 I would not speak of it to happy ears, 
 Nor shapes therein that met me, sable-clad ; 
 Shapes of remorse they were and stalking fears, 
 That glared on me, and told of long past years ; 
 And much I questioned them, and wandered on 
 Until I came to the dark lake of tears, 
 And kneeled down to drink, and lo, thereon 
 Saw mine own image gleam, a spectre pale and wan. 
 
 Till from behind a torch's silent light 
 Shone in that bed of darkness, and I turn'd 
 To see who held that lamp ; half -hid from sight 
 Stood that sweet form of Mercy : fitful burn'd 
 The lamp, and her pale cheek, thereby discerned, 
 Had lost its brightness ; " Let me on thee tend," 
 I cried, " nor wander from thy presence spurn'd." 
 " The way is dark," she answered, " hither wend, 
 And join that ancient path which Heaven-ward doth ascend." 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 75 
 
 With that I upward sprung, as one new-born 
 Unto a second life, and full of wings, 
 Buoyant as erst on that Baptismal morn : 
 But she with sorrow answered, " Devious springs 
 Hence many a path and forms delusive brings ; 
 First o'er tins lake of sorrows must we sail, 
 Where Doubt her overhanging shadow flings." 
 I saw meek Mercy's cheek with sadness pale, 
 Yet waxed glad in hope that I might yet prevail. 
 
 " Oh, more than joys winch unto youth belonged 
 If thou wilt still admit me to thy side, 
 And frown on me when I thy care have wrong' d, 
 Meek Mercy ! I will still with thee abide, 
 In all the ways of sadness would be tried ; 
 No other boon I ask, I crave not light, 
 But beam of thy calm eye to hope allied ; 
 Wrap me with thee in mantle of the night, 
 To seek the shapes of pain that shrink from human sight. 
 
 " On all the ills winch upon sin await 
 Pain would I tend with thee, — the silent cell 
 Of Want and Pain which sit before Death's gate, — 
 If at thy sheltering side I may but dwell, 
 And bear to them those mercies winch I tell, 
 And which I need ; to them I would impart 
 Goods undeserved by me, my treasures sell 
 To buy the Kingdom of the poor in heart, 
 If haply I might learn meek Mercy's healing art." 
 
76 CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 She answer'd, " Heaven for them hath love in store, 
 Who see their image in the fount of tears, 
 And more and more their sinful selves deplore ; 
 While the pale vision of their vanished years 
 Visits them, and a threatening aspect wears, 
 It finds them on their knees, nor e'er again 
 Overtakes with its allurements, till their fears 
 Shall turn to hope, while at the Cross of pain 
 They drink the healing stores which dying life sustain." 
 
 " What service," I replied, rt can I return 
 For gifts so great, for such exceeding love ? 
 Earnest desire within my breast doth burn 
 To watch o'er Childhood, which doth heedless rove, 
 Nor knows the foe whose darts oft deadly prove, 
 Ere yet suspected by sweet innocence ; — 
 To keep my ways and words lest they should prove 
 Wiles to Christ's little ones, snares of offence, 
 But most for them to seek Heaven's sheltering sure defence. 
 
 " Full much they need it," — with a deep-drawn sigh 
 Meek Mercy answer'd, while the thoughts of pain 
 Seem'd kindling wrath in her unwonted eye, — 
 " Eull much they need, for in this Christian land, 
 Careless of all things but of filthy gain, 
 So little their own ruin'd souls they mourn, 
 In their own paths their children would they train ; 
 No mother's cares with Christian grace adorn, 
 No father's love is theirs with Christian fears to warn. 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 77 
 
 " Untaught of God they leave a parent's roof, 
 Untaught of God return : in baptiz'd hands, 
 (O shame, where Reverence self should stand aloof!) 
 The foulest thoughts are placed of Heathen lands ; 
 What more could Satan ask ? Silent he stands 
 Watching the unguarded hour, when Self-control 
 Sleeps, then with downy thoughts all deftly shod 
 He steals, — with flowers enwreathing deadly bands, — 
 To strew the floor which Heavenly feet have trod, 
 And dim in the pure heart the vision of its God. 
 
 " Thus to be left with Christian love unarmed 
 'Mid blasts of death, in that confiding hour, — 
 O miracle that thou shouldst 'scape unharm'd ! 
 
 proof that Angels watch thee, tender flower ! 
 Dear Child, though clouds around thy morning lower, 
 Yet Love shall look on penitential tears, 
 
 Fair as the Sun that looks upon the shower, 
 And give the promise then of better years, 
 When e'en in Childhood's wants His rescuing hand appears." 
 
 " How can I thank the Giver of all good," 
 
 1 answered, " Who when I, destruction-bent, 
 Was on the verge of ruin, by me stood, 
 And, wrapp'd in seeming worldly accident, 
 One like His own good Angel to me sent, 
 On whom my love grew daily ; and, the more 
 It grew, more deeply was my spirit rent; 
 
 And Pain was struggling with that deadly sore, 
 Planting new thoughts that might my ruin'd state restore." 
 
78 CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 
 
 Thou ever wast around me though unseen, 
 Watching around in ways unspeakable, 
 Wliile I was hurrying on from scene to scene 
 As if my ways were mine. Yet like a spell 
 Baptismal power still held me, like a well 
 Mowing upon my soul with Sabbath thought, 
 Bathing with light ; yet it became a cell 
 For Stygian things to hide in ; and I sought, 
 Ah me, to quench the light by Thine own life-blood bought ! 
 
 Still didst Thou bear me — still didst suffer long, 
 Still struggle with me, and with tender love 
 Imbue my heart, which only did Thee wrong, 
 Wasting my youth's affections ; with me strove 
 Thy Spirit still, made meaner objects prove 
 My sadness ; and whene'er Thy beauteous light 
 Fell on the things around me, they would move 
 My worship, and I gazM on the fair sight, 
 Turning my back on Thee, Who makest all things bright. 
 
 Still I was Thine, and Thou didst with me bear, 
 Thine in the womb, and in my childhood Thine, 
 Thine while I knew it not, and had no care ; 
 My very hairs were Thine, — Thou didst incline 
 My heart to Thee, cherish each good design, 
 While still Thine own best blessings I defiFd, 
 Still breaking from Thee, making all things mine 
 By blending them with sin — mine own work wild : 
 Unmake me, oh, again make me to be a cliild ! 
 
CHILDHOOD AT SELF-EXAMINATION. 70 
 
 Make me again hang on Thee, and look up 
 To all around me ; give me here to know 
 Far less of this bad world ; to drink that cup 
 Of sorrows winch the childish heart overflow ; 
 Take high things from me, give the lowly brow, — 
 Having and needing nothing, from Thy hand 
 Ted day by day ; to be again e'en now 
 A child in wonder ; all we understand, 
 Will seem an infant's dream in that celestial land. 
 
 Thou, my Aspasio, object of my care, 
 How shall I hide thee from the uripitying winds 
 Of this rude world : — and keep thy cheek so fair 
 In the sweet innocence of unsoiFd minds 
 From that which, ah ! too soon, the spirit finds ? 
 If I do love thee with a spirit's love, 
 In this bad earth where sin our vision blinds, 
 How should I pray some Angel b from above 
 May guide thee from this world, and thy sure guardian prove ! 
 
 b See Image IX. Stanza 1st. 
 
IMAGE THE SEVENTH. 
 
 Ii3c careful of thine actions, ant) regulate them ad in the presence 
 of (KoD, to the glor» of $&te great Name. 
 
 Consider what things thou hast to do during this day, and at 
 this very hour [A] ; and in like manner as if thou wert running 
 in a race, direct all thy works [B] and all thy steps to the goal, 
 that is to say, to the glory of God, — with a burning heart [C]. 
 And be assured of this, that without the Grace of God thou art 
 utterly helpless, and canst do nothing [D]. Pray therefore for 
 this Grace, and do all thy works as in weight, number, and measure 
 [E] ; and not otherwise than if Death were following close behind 
 thee [F] ; and an Angel [G] and an Evil Spirit [H] were watch- 
 fully observing thee by the way, and all thy actions. Moreover 
 do all thy works in such a manner [I] as if thy grave were already 
 being dug for thee [K]. Nor this only, but perform all thy 
 actions after the example of Christ and His Saints [L], that they 
 may be such as the Angels [M] may bear and offer before God. 
 But above all things consider always and remember this, that God 
 [N], and the company of Heaven, are at all times beholding thee. 
 
vn. 
 
 
 
 M 
 
 
 
 
4»~» 
 
 
 •- 
 > m 
 
Actions forttten fa yfytnhtw. 
 
 O'er out thoughtless heads aloof 
 Hangs the Heaven's overarching roof; 
 Distinct therein our shadows pass, 
 As in a molten looking-glass. 
 
 And around in silence dread, 
 All unseen above our head, 
 Like an amphitheatre, 
 Stand the Angelic inmates there, 
 Watching how we do our part, 
 Hands and feet and wandering heart. 
 In the awful stillness then 
 Comes the Angel up from men, 
 With the incense from afar, 
 Brought from this our fallen star ; 
 In the watches of the sky, 
 Before the dreadful Majesty. 
 
 Emerald gates and golden street, 
 Where the shining inmates fleet, 
 Meeting pass and passing meet, 
 
 G 
 
82 ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Wandering by the jasper wall ! 
 Yet in solemn stillness all 
 Watch around our little ball ; 
 Ninety-nine those folds of day 
 Watch for one that's gone astray. 
 
 And more things than here we know 
 Are around us e'en below, 
 For the Heavenly tabernacle 
 Hath come down with man to dwell ; — 
 Ways of varied Providence 
 Greater than the things of sense, 
 Like a world beneath the sea 
 In the realms of phantasy. 
 Fancy's key to my wild theme 
 Opes the door as to a dream. 
 
 Through the ivory gate of sleep, 
 Lo, I pass'd into that deep, 
 Where Truth strips the outward show, 
 Bathing things that are below 
 With her light, and opes the eyes 
 To unseen realities. 
 By the road which mortals trod, 
 Leading to their long abode, 
 Sat an Angel with a scroll, 
 And men's deeds did there enrol, 
 Like a bird upon a tree, 
 So unseen and silently. 
 
 There an evil spirit too 
 With his record came to view, 
 
ACTIONS WKITTEN IN HEAVEN. 83 
 
 Like a reptile by the way, 
 
 Which unmark'd doth watch his prey. 
 
 Then were writ the deeds of men, 
 With a diamond-pointed pen, 
 On a plate of adamant, 
 Tor eternity to chant. 
 
 With me went a Child of air, 
 Like a little maiden fair, 
 The expanse of whose blue eye 
 Passion's billow ne'er had woke, 
 Nor the face of Heaven had broke, 
 Mirrored there so tranquilly. 
 
 Starry gates we passed, and then 
 Came to scenes where mortal men 
 Of the cup of being quaff : — 
 Doors flew open to his staff, — 
 " Heard ye not that evil laugh ?" 
 Said the Angel as we past, 
 " It is writ and it shall last, 
 Dipp'd in colours of the heart, 
 Nor from his own doom shall part. 
 Hark ! that word of injured love ! 
 It is syllabled above, 
 And Angelic courts among, 
 It doth find a trumpet-tongue. 
 See the guests at yonder board ! 
 Lightly sounds the passing word, 
 But the secrets of the breast 
 There are veiFd — yet manifest 
 G 2 
 
84 ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 They as shapes embodied stand, 
 
 In the sky's more stable strand. 
 
 There is one in silence there, 
 
 Unmarked, unheeded ; by his care, 
 
 And the words his heart expressed, 
 
 He shall be an Angel's guest : 
 
 Beams from the sun his head shall borrow, 
 
 And his feet tread stars to-morrow. 
 
 Look, how black Heaven's shadow falls 
 
 On the loveliest in those halls ! 
 
 Now to other scenes away 
 Through the courts of night and day, 
 Hear'st thou now those melodies ? 
 Stop thine ears full quick, for Hell 
 Doth to them in chorus swell, 
 Loves and battles are their theme." 
 Then we pass'd as in a dream. 
 
 "Now to other scenes away, 
 Through the courts of night and day, 
 Now we breathe a lighter air, 
 We are near the haunts of prayer." 
 Then I saw a little child 
 Singing hymns in morning mild : — 
 "Those pure notes," said he, "to hear, 
 Heaven itself doth lend an ear." 
 Then we pass'd, and Evening's gleam 
 Came upon my fancy's theme. 
 " Who is that in yonder cell ?" 
 " Contemplation there doth dwell, 
 
ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 85 
 
 Like a hermit in his shed/' 
 
 " Who doth yonder lift his head, 
 
 Working by yon sunny hill, 
 
 Where the sunbeam lingers still ? 
 
 One busy at his trade I ween." 
 
 " 'Tis Time, who digs thy grave unseen, 
 
 For he sees, that on thy race 
 
 Death doth follow thee apace, 
 
 And anon from place to place 
 
 Gains upon thee every hour, 
 
 Gathering something of thy power. 
 
 Close his spectral shape I see, 
 
 Ghastly grim anatomy." 
 
 Then I cried, " What things most true 
 
 Thy stern mirror brings to view, 
 
 All around, though hid from sense, 
 
 Peopled with intelligence ! 
 
 Nothing seems unreal here, 
 
 Save what worldlings hope and fear. 
 
 O'er a gulf I seem to pass, 
 
 On a bridge of brittle glass ; 
 
 I would hide me from the crowd, 
 
 If it might but be allow' d, 
 
 To the hermit's cell to steal ; 
 
 Or at altars ever kneel : 
 
 And with Contemplation dwell, 
 
 Heeding things of Heaven and Hell." 
 
 " Nay," said he, " where duty lies, 
 
 There is highest sacrifice ; 
 
86 ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Oft in lowliest tasks on earth, 
 
 Faith doth shew her genuine birth, 
 
 Giving them immortal worth ; 
 
 And with incense fills the urn, 
 
 Which before the Throne doth burn. 
 
 All around His Temple is, 
 
 Here whatever is done is His, 
 
 Therefore all things 'neath the skies 
 
 Are replete with auguries. 
 
 ' Holiness unto the Lord' 
 
 Marks the staff, the scrip, the board, 
 
 Harp, and spade, and book, and sword,- 
 
 All the Eoyal Priesthood use, — 
 
 Faith in all doth worth infuse. 
 
 "lis God's temple all around, 
 
 Upon all His Name is found ; 
 
 It is the great Sabbath Day, 
 
 Lit by the great Morning's ray : 
 
 In the things that meanest lie 
 
 Hideth best Humility ; 
 
 And the varied minds of men, 
 
 And the varied virtues, when 
 
 They are lit by holy Love, 
 
 Lustrous are as gems above; 
 
 Each with its own colour dight, 
 
 All replete with living light ; 
 
 Unto each its hue is given, 
 
 Varied as those stones of Heaven. 
 
ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 87 
 
 Love which, like an Angel's sight, 
 
 Sees all things divinely bright, 
 
 And each duty fills with rays, 
 
 Fairer than the chrysoprase. 
 
 " Lagging hours they seem to linger, 
 
 Yet thus each may have a finger, 
 
 Whereby it may point to Heaven ; 
 
 While the lengthening shades of even 
 
 On life's dial fall, and now 
 
 Darker shadows round thee go, 
 
 Yet thy works may pass before, 
 
 Waiting thee, — a blessed store, — 
 
 In their number, weight, and measure, 
 
 Laid up in enduring treasure." 
 Then there pass'd an Angel mild, 
 
 Like a flaxen-haired child, 
 
 Singing sweet in accents wild — 
 
 " Here, where darkness o'er thee lies, 
 Great the boon, in Wisdom's eyes, 
 In the steps of Saints to tread, 
 Like the stars above thy head !" 
 Then another answering cried, 
 " In this scene where man is tried, 
 Great the boon to mortal given, 
 To follow Christ the Lord of Heaven. 
 While His footsteps still dispense 
 Bright and hallow' d effluence ; 
 Fair as the illumiu'd moon 
 Lighting up the midnight noon." 
 
88 ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Then I heard another song, 
 " Though the way be dark and long, 
 Think of them that now on high 
 Have attained the victory. 
 In a moment it is past, 
 And the endless die is cast." 
 
 Oh, how little mortals deem 
 What a deep absorbing theme 
 Are the feeble days they spend, 
 In the worlds that have no end ! 
 
 Meanwhile Heaven above our head 
 Watches us in silence dread ; 
 Solemn awe and stillness lies 
 On those vast societies. 
 While the Angels stand around, 
 Breathless in suspense profound, 
 Looking down on human life, 
 With its mirth and with its strife ; 
 And the deeds of mortal men 
 Pass into that mirror's ken. 
 In that place where Time is not, 
 Things that are on earth forgot 
 Take their place, and ever dwell 
 Set in calm unspeakable, 
 And enshrined in silence stay 
 To abide the dreadful Day. 
 All is light, and stillness all, 
 Like an ice-bound waterfall, 
 
ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 89 
 
 Where the waves, all bright and hoar. 
 Seem to pass, and be no more, 
 But there fix' d in durance dwell, 
 Solid and unmoveable. 
 
 Ice-chain' d in its headlong tract 
 Have I seen a cataract, 
 Caught, as by a magic spell, 
 Like a downward falling well, 
 AH throughout a wintry noon, 
 Hanging in the silent moon ; 
 All throughout a sun-bright even, 
 Like the sapphire gate of Heaven. 
 Spray and wave, and drippings frore, 
 For a hundred feet and more, 
 As the river swift descended, 
 There in middle air suspended, 
 Deep ravines around it blended. 
 Icicles, and hanging flake, 
 From a bridge a , and rock, and brake, 
 And the woodland's snowy tress, 
 In its pensive loveliness, 
 O'er them hung, in silent trance 
 Witnessing their headlong dance 
 Caught in air, there to remain 
 Bound in Winter's crystal chain ; 
 Like a spell-bound falling main ; 
 AH above still Silence sleeps, 
 While in the transparent deeps 
 Far below the current creeps. 
 
 a The Devil's Bridge, Cardiganshire. 
 
90 ACTIONS WRITTEN IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Thus methought men's actions here, 
 In their headlong full career, 
 "Were passing into adamant, 
 Hopes and fears, love, hate, and want, 
 And the thoughts like sinning spray, 
 Which above their pathway play, 
 Standing in the eye of day, 
 In the changeless Heavenly noon, — 
 Things done here beneath the moon. 
 
 Thus above our heads aloof 
 Hangs the Heaven's o'er-arching roof, 
 And upon the golden strand, 
 Angels round in stillness stand, 
 And behold our actions pass 
 Into the transparent glass. 
 
v- 
 
 
 
 t 
 
'Ui 
 
 
 
 
 m ! w 
 
 1 
 
 
IMAGE THE EIGHTH. 
 
 iFollofo not tfitnc ofon {maginatfon, 6ut patfcntlg fecar tf)e ©rossss, 
 and it fotll at length 6 car tfjec. 
 
 Anticipate the evils and inconveniences which may happen to 
 thee even on this very day, and remember that thou art born 
 again in Baptism, and called, under this common law, that thou 
 shouldest carry thy cross together with Christ [A], and after Him 
 shouldest enter into glory. Embrace therefore the Cross with 
 St. Andrew [B] ; and strengthen thyself by the example of the 
 Saints, such as that of the elder Tobit [C], and of Job [DJ. For 
 by the great Charity of God [E], thy cross hath been weighed 
 out for thee from all Eternity, in proportion to thy strength ; and 
 hath been as it were sent unto thee by an Angel [F]. If thou 
 refusest this the Devil will impose on thee a heavier weight [G]. 
 Resign thyself therefore unto God, that He may lead thee, and 
 direct thee : for He only knoweth the ends of all ways [H] ; and 
 take care that thou dost not choose thy way from thine own 
 understanding, being ignorant of all things ; and console thyself 
 by this consideration, that the Cross of one short Hour [I], will be 
 compensated by an eternal reward [K]. 
 
Angels bearing Crosses. 
 
 The Sun was going down upon the sea, 
 And through th' autumnal trees was nearer seen, 
 Blending them in the golden blazonry 
 Of his fall-glowing orb, — the trees between, 
 Par in the wood, in a small glade of green, 
 A mouldering chapel ; and a pensive wight, 
 Come lately thence, was gazing on the scene 
 On a green turf hard by, as if the sight 
 Was blending with his thoughts which caught the evening light. 
 
 " Nothing have I on earth that I desire 
 Of all that I have seen, or known, or lov*d ; 
 I would within me keep Heaven's smould'ring fire, 
 And mortify the hopes that earthward rov*d, 
 For they have to my eyes but shadows proved ; 
 But beckoning onward with Angelic sign, 
 A beauteous vision hath for ever movM, 
 Still as I gaze puts on a face divine : 
 I stretch my hands in vain, and still in vain I pine/' 
 
ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 93 
 
 Thus to himself he mused, while slumbers crept 
 Upon his eyes, and thoughts, and solemn brow, 
 Fix'd in that pensive silence ; as he slept 
 'Mid those bright clouds an Angel dropp'd below, 
 And he th' approaching presence seem'd to know, 
 Mingling his vision with celestial dyes, 
 While through his frame extatic fervours glow, 
 Caught in the sudden in love's sweet surprise, 
 'Mid fancies wild that late had fill'd his awe-struck eyes. 
 
 In tuneful accents of Angelic love, 
 The ministering Spirit seem'd to say, 
 " Long have I o'er thee watch' d, and with thee strove, 
 Sent down full oft from courts of endless day 
 To turn aside from thy predestin'd way, 
 And bid the phantoms for awhile be gone 
 Winch thy too eager steps had led astray ; 
 Then griev'd to see thy sad and alter'd tone, 
 For know that man on earth can never grieve alone." 
 
 " And art thou then thyself all that I prize ? 
 Let me behold thee," sad Antonio cried ; 
 " Alas ! we are withdrawn from mortal eyes," — 
 Eeplied the Spirit, as a darker glow 
 Came round him, — " lest if thou shouldst haply know 
 Things that are born in Heaven, the worship due 
 To God alone thou shouldst on them bestow : 
 How do ye now each painted form pursue, 
 Catch at the idle shade, and then the vision rue ?" 
 
94 ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 
 
 " Yet I to things of earth," Antonio cried, 
 " Have deem'd me wean'd ; fed with Angelic food 
 Of abstinence, till lust and worldly pride 
 Were in me buried ; and my thoughts have glow'd, 
 As if their earthly nature were imbued 
 With fairer lights from Heaven ; till there doth break 
 That beauteous vision on my solitude ; 
 Again the yearnings of my spirit wake, 
 A thirst within my soul which I in vain would slake." — 
 
 " Nor ever canst on earth," replied the Yoice 
 Celestial : " Unto some meek souls is given 
 To have the tilings they love, and to rejoice ; 
 Such as therein forget not things of Heaven, 
 As using not abusing ; there hath striven 
 With thee a stronger spirit, keener bent 
 On ends proposed ; as, when on skies of even 
 Thine eyes and all thy longings late were bent, 
 The image of lost good woke in thine heart unspent." 
 
 " Yet in the things of Heaven, and hallowed shrine, 
 Where God is ever near when truly sought, 
 I thought to drink of freshness, and recline 
 On holier hopes into the bosom brought. 
 Beauty and Love have in me deeply wrought. 
 When I beheld His works, the deep ravine 
 And cataract ; in them ennobling thought 
 Found language, from the Spirit's caves unseen 
 Answered an echoing Voice to the overwhelming scene, 
 
ANGELS BEARING CKOSSES. 95 
 
 " And deep called unto deep : for in the sea 
 And everlasting mountains seem to stalk 
 The shadows of the Infinite; and we, 
 "When low-browed cares our mighty yearnings balk, 
 With th' unimagin'd mountains turn to talk 
 As to our brotherhood ; in their reproof 
 To the vast Heavens, where the Moon seems to walk 
 Amid our homes, and o'er the azure roof 
 Night's multitudinous stars march forth and range aloof. 
 
 " For thus the ever-yearning soul finds vent, 
 In that she reads in stars, sea, sky, and night, 
 The Infinite and the Omnipotent, 
 Her only home and haven. And from sight 
 Of Nature's face withdrawn, and the deep light 
 Of her blue eyes, then access hath been given 
 To pillar' d shades, whose high o'erarching might 
 In its expanse would imitate the Heaven, 
 And in its pictured panes the varying skies of even, 
 
 " Through which the Moon looks softly. High o'er-wrought 
 In arch'd magnificence and glorious ease, 
 They body forth the Heaven-aspiring thought 
 In stony imitation, like the trees 
 Of some deep avenue : and on all these, 
 HalloVd by adoration, would I gaze, 
 Till uninspired beauty failed to please ; 
 And then I turned to where the spirit's rays 
 Light up the living face, and fond expression plays, — 
 
96 ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 
 
 " On some lov'd countenance ; for gentle love 
 Is all we know of Heaven, and far and near 
 We rove our prison-house, in vain to prove 
 Pit resting-place, if aught of Heaven be here." 
 " See," whispered low that Spirit, u through yon drear 
 And narrow cave, which leads to open day, 
 A Form that hath no comeliness ; while Fear 
 Waits on Him ! take thou heed, nor miss the way, 
 Catching at rays that break through your dim house of clay. 
 
 " Amid things mightier far, both day and night, 
 Thou movest," louder spake th' Angelic sound ; 
 " See the blind man, whom Nature shuts from light, 
 He walks the earth unmov'd, 'mid the profound 
 Of multitudinous mountains, and the bound 
 Of the great Sea coasting unnumbered bays, 
 And 'neath the cloud-hung Blue overarching round, 
 Where the pale Moon glides soft on pathless ways, 
 Or Night's domain is lit with many-twinkling rays. 
 
 " He walks unmov'd ; — nor e'er his glowing thought 
 One step in Nature's kingdom can advance, 
 Her pictur'd scenes are ne'er within him wrought 
 With rays that change the scene, and like the glance 
 Upon the music-speaking countenance 
 Break forth on Nature's face : in this thy cell 
 Thus walk'st thou, hedg'd around in earthly trance, 
 Nor canst thou know the things invisible, 
 Winch with thee and around in light and darkness dwell. 
 
ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 97 
 
 " Ye live within a temple rising round, 
 Whose noiseless fabric all ethereal springs 
 On Heaven's elastic pillars from the ground, 
 FilTd with bright Beings and with holy things ; 
 Which more defies your faint imaginings, 
 Than sculptur'd heights he cannot see or feel 
 Defy the blind man's feeble shadowings ; 
 Ah, could one glance your earthly house reveal ! 
 Ye stand alone unmoved where countless Angels kneel. 
 
 " When closest leagued by human charities, 
 Affection her home-circle draws around, 
 And Love would imitate the happier skies, 
 Speaking in countenance and tuneful sound 
 Of love-endearing voice, new ever found 
 In friend or children sweet ; in deeper love 
 The friends that are unseen with you abound, 
 On golden embassies sent from above, 
 In harmonies of Heaven they all around you move, — 
 
 " But mostly in your fancied solitude, 
 And poverty and grief; for things of men, 
 And all that doth allure to sensual good. 
 Thicken the scale that dims the visual ken ; — 
 Therefore the lonely ruin, tower, and glen, 
 Ye people with unseen societies, 
 Truth on your spirits breaks, and therefore then 
 Ye feel them nearer, as to longing eyes 
 Music brings back the world that deep in memory lies. 
 
98 ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 
 
 " Therefore we nearer draw in curtained sleep, 
 For then ye are removed from outer sight, 
 And are brought nearer Heaven, and realms more deep 
 Than waking thought divines. When the dark night 
 Surrounds you, or when gloomy woes alight 
 Upon your path, oft in that cloud we move ; 
 Yea, oft when ills your sinking souls affright, 
 They are but visitings of Heavenly love, — 
 The moon and stars appear when Darkness round doth rove. 
 
 " That thou mayst pray for them thy foes are given, 
 That thou mayst look to God I bring thee pain, 
 I bring thee cares that thou mayst look to Heaven, 
 I bring thee fretful friends that thou mayst train 
 Thy soul to patience ; what thou deemest gain, 
 When closest wreathing chains around thy soul, 
 I rend from thine own bleeding heart in twain, 
 That He who bought may have thy spirit whole : 
 Spurs that may give thee pain, but urge thee to the goal." 
 
 Then he disclosM, as in a vision wild, 
 A road to Heaven, where unto each was given 
 To bear his cross by love of Christ beguiled — 
 Angels that carried them 'mid clouds of even — 
 And Love that weighed the cross of each in Heaven — 
 And they that parted from that holy load 
 Into self-chosen paths by Passion driven, 
 Laden more heavily on the false road, 
 Stray'd amid tangled paths and miss'd their last abode. 
 
ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 99 
 
 The cross Antonio seized, and gazing cried, 
 " This to my breast I clasp, and ask no more, 
 Nor ever from my spirit lay aside : 
 Tins is the richest gift Heaven hath in store 
 For exiFd man, beyond where spirits soar 
 Weighed out in scales of boundless charity, 
 And brought by Angels through the Heavenly door ; — 
 Then let me seize the cross, and follow Thee, 
 My Master and my God, — no more I wish to see ! 
 
 " If only step by step, a pilgrim blind, 
 I may but follow Thee, nor rove in vain 
 'Mid those enticing ways which endless wind ; 
 If so I may at length that path attain, 
 Wherein Thy Saints with Thee the Cross sustain 
 Along the road to Heaven ; yea, now I learn 
 That wisdom which doth make each step of pain 
 A step to Heaven ; we need not now discern, 
 But bear the Cross, and that shall to a sceptre turn. 
 
 u Now I behold how worldly gain is loss, — 
 That weeks and days and hours that by us fleet, 
 Must bear the Royal impress of the Cross : 
 As sounds discordant blend in music sweet, 
 And warring elements for union meet, 
 Thus tempers rude, and elements of strife, 
 And roughest chances on our path that beat, 
 Divinest Love hath found with music rife, 
 Moulding th' harmonious soul meet for immortal life. 
 
 h 2 
 
100 ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 
 
 " That I may pray for them let foes be given, 
 That I may look to God let me have, pain, 
 And bring me cares that I may look to Heaven ; 
 And bring me fretful friends that I may train 
 My soul to patience ; what I deem my gain, 
 When closest wreathing chains around my soul, 
 Take from me, though it rend my heart in twain, 
 That He who bought may have my spirit whole : — 
 Spurs that may give me pain, but urge me to the goal. 
 
 " Like one who on a rock with out-stretched arms 
 Hangs, struggling there his footing to retain, 
 While each returning wave with new alarms 
 Threatens to bear him to the angry main, 
 So to the Cross I cling, (0 blissful pain !) 
 Well-nigh overwhelmed with the loud-roaring tide, 
 Which to the world would bear me back again, 
 Labouring to seize with jaws devouring wide, — 
 Oh, may I for a while beneath Thy shade abide ! 
 
 " Nay, let me cling to Thee, and o'er the sea 
 Thou shalt sustain me to the stable shore ; 
 Life-bearing wood of the all-saving Tree ; 
 And lift o'er wat'ry mountains rising hoar ! 
 Hail, little plank, sent forth to bear me o'er, 
 While Faith like some good Angel holds the helm, 
 Though dark and drear the Heavens, and billows roar, 
 The stars come forth to people all the sky, 
 And rule my course, while Faith her saving bark shall ply. 
 
ANGELS BEARING CROSSES. 101 
 
 " And I with you that throng th' aerial plain, 
 And seem to view us from your calm abode, 
 Would hold companionship. Ye there attain 
 Your blissful stations ; on your earthly road 
 We see you bearing each his destin'd load, 
 Like that Cyrenian on the hallow'd hill, 
 Following the path the Man of Sorrows trode ; 
 None in that band without his share of ill, 
 Walking their Heavenward road in solemn silence still. 
 
 " This Cross I clasp, and in my heart will hide, 
 And care no more for the bright dreams of sense ; 
 I clasp it to my breast, nor lay aside 
 Until I shall resign tins fleshly fence 
 Which keeps me from the Day." Then vanished thence 
 That vision ; as it pass'd with blue eyes mild 
 As of ten summers, sweet in innocence, 
 A face beam'd on him, and with music wild 
 Lingered th* Angelic voice as of a gentle child. 
 
 The rising Moon with silver-horned brow 
 Look'd through that sylvan Church ; and 'neath the fall 
 Of gradual night the evening star e'en now 
 Led forth the watchmen of th' ethereal wall ; 
 And from afar was heard most musical 
 A herd-boy's evening hymn ; — a lonely bird 
 Wing'd his way homeward, — heard at interval 
 On the blue vault ; then Silence did afford 
 Meet audience, that sweet voice was in the stillness heard. 
 
IMAGE THE NINTH. 
 
 Beat!) approach, life file* ; © pilgrim, fofjji uost tfjou loiter. 
 
 Consider the Time of thy life [A] how uncertain it is, how short, 
 and swift. This is represented by the person of an aged man ; 
 because at every moment Time is being renewed, grows aged, 
 glides away, and dies. Make use of it therefore, as soon about 
 to pass away. The Hour-glass [B] denotes its rapid flight, and 
 on this hour and thread of life Eternity depends, into which Death 
 is hurrying men, while they think not of it. The hieroglyphic 
 which describes Eternity among the ancients is the serpent form- 
 ing a circle ; for it hath neither beginning nor end ; and this is 
 hanging on the thread of our frail life. And this life in the 
 meanwhile is flying away like the smoke [C], the bubble, the 
 arrow, the ship, the river, the bird, the stag, and the vernal 
 flower. We are cut down like the grass [D], and are ex- 
 tinguished like the candle [E] by the least breath of wind. We 
 must watch, therefore, for the axe [Fj is laid at the root of the 
 Tree. He who is wise will keep these things and live ; and will 
 do all things at each hour as if it were the last, as the Angel 
 admonishes him to do [G]. And with good cause indeed, for it is 
 to be followed by a blessed or a miserable Eternity [HJ : which is 
 denoted by the palm-branch and the flaming sword on the circle. 
 

*&& Shortness of ^tme. 
 
 " Come on, Aspasio," good Philander cried, 
 " Far o'er the hills the Heavenly City lies," — 
 Aspasio started, for behind his guide 
 He listened to a lute, in loitering guise, 
 And fix'd upon a child his thoughtful eyes ; 
 Seeing he sees not, nor in hearing hears, 
 But deep were moVd his inward phantasies, 
 Moulding their converse from Ms eyes and ears, — 
 He starts, and with his friend in converse now appears. 
 
 " Philander, all things now a voice have found, 
 And speak as if they hastened on to die : 
 As now I listened to that plaintive sound, 
 It seemed to me the voice of days gone by ; 
 A child who in his heedless sports stood nigh, 
 Blowing light bubbles to the empty air, 
 Attuned my thoughts to grave philosophy, 
 Till caught in music's dream I lingered there, 
 And from his lightsome sports I drew me thoughts of care. 
 
104 THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 " From his creative tube each airy ball 
 Successive passed to the bright morning skies, 
 Taking its colour as the sunbeams fall ; 
 The rainbow lent its own prismatic dyes ; 
 It swells and soars and shines, and then it dies ; 
 Each, gone or going, seems to speak the tale 
 Of mortal glory, how it instant flies ; 
 If one above another seems to sail, 
 "Tis but a gleam without, within an empty gale." 
 
 " Strange thoughts which keep the loiterer still behind !" 
 Philander said, " that on your pensive ear 
 Come musically as the idle wind 
 On the Eolian cords : such thoughts should bear 
 With Heaven-aspiring wings of hope and fear, 
 And like the full-blown canvass urge the soul, 
 Not idly flap the pennon; night draws near, 
 Behold yon trooping clouds that westward roll, 
 All Heaven seems moving on, and distant is the goal." 
 
 "O thou that still forbearing hold'st my hand, 
 From the Baptismal waters my sure friend, 
 Though long I left thy counsels and command, 
 Till as upon a parent's grave I bend, 
 Eresh o'er my soul came my remember'd end, 
 And thou like some good Angel cam'st to sight, 
 Homeward an orphan pilgrim to attend ; 
 That City then seem'd on the neighbouring height, 
 E'en as on yonder hill the evening suns alight. 
 
THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 105 
 
 " Still distance mocks me, like a lovely star 
 Receding from my sight as I advance, 
 Yea, while advancing, still I seem afar." 
 Thus as he spake he sank in pensive trance, 
 As if those musings serv'd but to enhance 
 His thoughtful idlesse. Lo, from bound to bound 
 An antler'd stag before them seen to glance, 
 Gathering fresh impulse as he touch'd the ground, 
 Into the thicket pass'd — and stillness reign'd around. 
 
 H Mark you," replied Philander, a on each side 
 They of that golden City of the sky 
 Send forth these omens, ever thus to glide 
 Around our path to train to wisdom high ; 
 Tokens and warnings people all things nigh, 
 All born of Heaven discern the Heavenly sign, 
 Stern monitors of life fast hurrying by ; 
 To them that watch this world becomes a shrine, 
 And every sight they see a messenger divine. 
 
 " Swift as yon arrow cleft the vacant air, 
 Swift as yon bird that sought its woodland nest, 
 So life shall have gone by, nor passing spare 
 One trace to speak of all its sad unrest : 
 Swift as on clouds some vision stands confessed, 
 Then vanishes before the shaping wind ; 
 So all on which earth's glory is impress' d, 
 Pass soon away nor leave a wreck behind, 
 No vestige of what pleasM th' imperishable mind. 
 
106 THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 " But to that City we are ever nigh, 
 Nigh and more nigh on each returning year, 
 But scenes illusive catch thy wandering eye, 
 And fill the soul : God has declared it near, 
 And they who know His mind and learn His fear, 
 Are taught of God to know that Day at hand ; 
 Then all things speak aloud to eye and ear, 
 Speak of the Judge Who at the door doth stand. 
 They tremble lest they fail of that immortal land. 
 
 " At every turn of life to listening souls 
 The sounding of the eternal wheels is known; 
 That Sea of glory ever onward rolls 
 The clouds and tempests, winch precede the throne ; 
 And that celestial City must have thrown 
 Her garb around thee, ere that face to face 
 Before the dreadful King thou stand alone ; 
 Hour follows hour, and day fast wears apace, 
 To warn thee of night's fall that shuts the day of Grace. 
 
 " Now round thy Boyhood's path they weave the dance- 
 Slow interminghng Hours, bright Day, fair Night, 
 Glad Seasons, — all with measured step advance, 
 Distinct in beauty, slow before thee light, 
 And toy and tarry with thy lingering sight ; 
 But, as thine age advances, hand in hand 
 They soon will hurry thee, till in their flight 
 Scarce are discem'd the features of that band 8 , 
 "While impulse fresh they gain as they approach the strand. 
 
 a See Lyra Apostolica, p. 48. edit. 1st. 
 
THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 107 
 
 " Each Hour gleams on thee like an infant's face, 
 Fresh yet distinct, whose features love may scan, 
 And Days and Nights and Seasons with a grace 
 Come forth by turns, in slow-revolving plan, 
 And linger, while they bear thee on to man ; — 
 Soon all in fourfold shape shall seem to meet, 
 Like that by Chebar seen, the flying van, 
 And then shall drop their wings and hurrying feet, 
 And the dread Voice be heard from the Almighty's seat b . 
 
 " The more in man the immortal spirit grows, 
 The more he feels his fleetness ; while the years 
 Still shorter seem as they approach the close ; 
 See, as this woodland path before us bears, 
 First full and clear the columrr'd arch it rears, 
 From tree to tree the vista mark'd extends, 
 With narrowing arms in distance it appears, 
 Till roof with floor, and side with side it blends, 
 And in one little point ffl o'er-arching pathway ends." 
 
 Conversing thus they went, and passed unseen 
 Down by a hanging rock, where deep below 
 The waters gathered in a still ravine, 
 Then issued on their course with winding flow ; 
 From 'neath that shady rock appeared a prow 
 Moor'd by an Aged man. They wondering note 
 His wings half hid behind, and wrinkled brow ; 
 Strange visions of the past around them float, 
 As like some fabled Shade he movM Ins silent boat. 
 
 b Ezekiel i. 25. 
 
108 THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 Touch'd by his pole the fast receding bank 
 Went from them, down the stream with watery bound 
 They hurried, waves came rippling round the plank, 
 And parted, with a soft and soothing sound ; 
 Aspasio gaz'd again in thought profound, — 
 " Thou saidst, Philander, that the earth and air 
 Are sown with Heaven-sent teachers all around, 
 Nor are the waters silent, — fleet and fair, 
 Swift as they journey on the warning voice they bear. 
 
 " All speak of life fast hastening to its close, 
 The waters ripple on and downward go, 
 The bubble breaks, and passes as it glows, 
 We hurry down with unperceived flow ; 
 Shadows are fleeting o'er the mountain brow, 
 Bright varied scenes recede and are no more, 
 On either side they flee behind the prow, 
 And hues of eve come on ; clouds, waves, and shore, 
 All range themselves in words our fleetness to deplore. 
 
 " Of man's Mortality one varied tale, 
 One holy dirge ; his generations pass 
 Like yonder corn-fields, where the woodland vale 
 Stretches behind, all in one golden mass 
 Laid low ; new fields succeed ; yet nature's glass 
 Still holds ourselves to view : now we discern 
 A nobler scene expanding, as the pass 
 Opens, yet left behind at every turn, 
 And no delaying hand can stay the vision stern." 
 
THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 109 
 
 Now fruitful glens behind withdrew from sight, 
 Bosom'd 'mid woodland heights, scenes bright and fair 
 Nestling in hidden nooks : now on the right 
 Opens a mountain amphitheatre, 
 With cots that look out from its verdant stair; 
 Fit haunts of ancient Time that mountain range ; 
 The exile may return, and lingering there 
 Find lineaments untouched by harmful change, 
 While to his heart bereaved all else is new and strange. 
 
 That Heaven-sent man of eld moor'd 'neath the shade 
 Embowering o'er their heads, and farewell took ; 
 While, as beneath the rock his freight was sta/d, 
 He pointed, " Up yon path and ivy nook, 
 There is a cell which overhangs the brook, 
 Which thoughtless men the house of Mourning call — 
 'Tis called the house of Wisdom in the Book." 
 Up the ascent they sprang, a winding wall, 
 And entered unperceived in Wisdom's holy hall. 
 
 There one was laid upon a dying bed, 
 A man of God was sitting by his side ; 
 And feebly lifting up his pallid head, 
 The dying man spake softly, and replied, 
 " I knew it well, full well, and often sigh'd 
 In days of blooming youth, to think how soon 
 The days of man, his pleasure, and his pride, 
 Nature alike and fortune's richest boon, 
 Fast hasten on to reach, and pass their waning noon." 
 
110 THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 Thus as he spake his sinking frame he rais'd ; 
 " Well I remember, in my boyhood's prime, 
 There was a touching sadness as I gaz'd 
 Upon the footsteps of transforming Time, 
 The sweetest music was the evening chime 
 That spoke of days gone by ; in very sighs 
 Was luxury ; poets' tears and thoughts sublime 
 Would come and blend with tender phantasies, 
 As they who dress a grave with flowers of vernal skies. 
 
 " The passing flower and the Autumnal leaf, 
 Lov*d animals, and men that died around, 
 Touched oft my soul with thoughts of pitying grief, 
 And on the ear, responsive to that wound, 
 Hung poets' words of soft and plaintive sound ; 
 Yet knowing still I knew them not : I tried 
 To look on all as vanity, nor found 
 How my poor thoughts the deeper truth belied, 
 So were those pensive thoughts to vanity allied." 
 
 " Therefore," replied the Priest, " of life's short span 
 'Tis writ so often in the Sacred Page, 
 Which, opening immortality to man, 
 Holds up in mirror life's short pilgrimage, 
 In every form that may the soul engage, 
 And then each talent weighs in duty's scale : 
 Mysterious thought of never-ending age, 
 At sight of which the strongest heart grows pale, 
 And dreads ere that be won lest life itself should fail ! 
 
THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. Ill 
 
 " Therefore life's glare which for awhile may play. 
 And throw a gleam upon the sepulchre, 
 Beguiles not him, who feels that his short day 
 Is hurrying on, to leave him standing where 
 He must meet Judgment on the eternal stair : 
 That as a mote to Heaven's immensity, 
 That as a sand upon the desert bare, 
 That as a drop unto the mighty sea, 
 E'en such is our short life to vast eternity. 
 
 1 ' Each hour is like an Angel, which with wings 
 Comes from, and goes to Heaven : yet empty ne'er 
 Comes or returns, but some occasion brings, 
 And hastens back to Heaven, the tale to bear 
 Of evil, or fresh store to treasure there. 
 Wrestle as with an Angel with each Hour, 
 And hold him ; though he seem a child of air, 
 Yet he will in the struggle give thee power, 
 And though the flesh grows weak, will leave a Heavenly dower. 
 
 " Pity looks down from Heaven's o'er-arching roof, 
 Awe-struck to see how swift our hour is sped ; 
 To see while day and night weave the thin woof, 
 Eternity is hanging on the thread ; 
 And then that hour that numbers 'mong the dead, 
 ^Numbers us among those that die no more : 
 Time marks not Death with unperceived tread 
 Steal on behind : but while he numbers o'er 
 His many days to come, Death shuts the eternal door. 
 
112 THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 " Death puts on every shape and varied dress, 
 Looks in at every door, hides in each scene, 
 Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter's silver tress, 
 Childhood, Youth, Manhood, Age : in verdant green 
 Or pallid sere he lurks alike unseen ; 
 At funerals or feasts a shadowy guest, 
 Thrusts his unwelcome head their mirth between : 
 And there marks for his own the unheeding breast, 
 Yea, every day we live, we are by him undress'd. 
 
 " Death speaks to us in all things, drawing near, 
 Through all we love Death speaks to us, to move 
 The more by their lov*d accents : on whatever 
 Flower, bird, or beast, we build and lean our love, 
 He takes it to himself, that we might prove 
 Sta/d listeners to his story : every night 
 He sends his image, wraps us in his cove 
 Of unavoided sleep, shuts out the light, 
 Puts life and friends away, and hides us from their sight." 
 
 The dying man was mov'd, with thoughts too deep, 
 Tor utterance too big, too big for tears : 
 Then spake at length ; " I wake as from a sleep, 
 From visions which have haunted my past years, 
 The dread reality at length appears ! 
 Such thoughts familiar from my childhood seem'd, 
 But when they movM my sorrow and my fears, 
 In fancy's fond irradiance fair they gleam'd, 
 Like gloomy clouds of night on which the moonlight stream'd. 
 
THE SHORTNESS OP TIME. 113 
 
 " Scripture oft call'd aloud ; in Nature's glass 
 Mortality's strong picture stood to view, 
 Where human things as fleeting shadows pass, 
 And all within me own'd the likeness true : 
 Truth beckon' d, yet I ne'er did Truth pursue 
 With eager hands and to my bosom press'd, 
 But sported with her shadow as it flew, 
 And now she visits me with sad unrest, 
 When I would lay me down in calmness on her breast. 
 
 " It needs a faith long school'd in hourly life 
 To feel the Everlasting arms beneath, 
 When in the bosom wakes an Ocean's strife, 
 And face to face looks on approaching Death. 
 O Thou before Whom with our fleeting breath 
 The shades of Being pass, the All in All, 
 Whose lowest whisper Wisdom cherisheth, 
 Morn, eve, month, year, and Past and Festival, 
 How hast Thou call'd to me, when I heard not Thy call !" 
 
 The Priest spake calm and comfort, and his Book 
 Unclasping, on whose bright and burnish'd page 
 Bright Angels seem'd as if they radiance shook 
 Prom wings bedropp'd with gold : — " Each passing stage," 
 He said, " of this life's sacred pilgrimage 
 Hath its own task assign' d, its duty given ; 
 Each hour, in joy or grief, in youth or age, 
 Should like the wave bear impress of the Heaven, 
 Whether the blush of Morn, or the calm star of Even. 
 
114 THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 
 
 " Thy work tliis hour is patience : if the past 
 Hath set its image there where nought decays, 
 Deny not its own work to this thy last : 
 Strong yearnings ever marked thy vanished days, 
 And outstretched longings after absent ways : 
 That all is past, and now thy heart incline 
 To seize the present good as by it strays, 
 To Heaven's all gracious will thyself resign ; 
 The Heavenly kingdom this ; and this is life Divine. 
 
 " As strangers and as sojourners we stand 
 Before Him, in our sadness and our mirth : 
 He knows our fleetness, we are in His hand ; 
 Before the sea and mountains had their birth, 
 Before were laid the pillars of the earth, 
 Thou art from everlasting : Thine ear hears, 
 Thy heart doth pity us, and knows our worth ; 
 With Thee there are the everlasting years ; 
 Thou weighest all our sighs, and countest all our tears." 
 
 He paus'd — for Death around in silence trod, — 
 On all the unutterable stillness lies 
 Of that dread hour when man must meet his God, 
 And spirits stand around : Aspasio's sighs 
 Philander heard, and saw his tearful eyes, 
 And led him forth without. One twinkling star 
 Look'd through the trees, silence was on the skies, 
 Save waters and a dog that ba/d afar ; — 
 Stillness kept watch, with nought soft Nature's calm to mar. 
 
THE SHORTNESS OF TIME. 115 
 
 " 'Tis not life's fleeting things that move my tears, 
 But that they move me thus and do no more," 
 Aspasio cried — w 'tis this that wakes my fears : 
 I stretch my hands in vain unto the shore, 
 And still in vain my empty hands deplore." 
 " Bemember," said Philander's voice serene, 
 " That now 'tis the last time !" nor added more, — 
 The youth with lifted hands and fallen mien 
 Kneel'd down, where the broad moon broke on the woodland 
 scene. 
 
 Then good Philander secretly was glad, — 
 Philander was his angel, and full long 
 Watch'd o'er him : now he saw him Heavenly-clad, 
 And pass'd on wings which to wild dreams belong.— 
 Aspasio woke, and felt himself made strong 
 With eagles' plumes and feet on high to climb. 
 Heaven seem'd all starry eyes, — like some sweet song 
 Linger'd those words with solemn under-chime ; 
 " Remember, little Child, that now 'tis the last time !" 
 
 i 2 
 
IMAGE THE TENTH. 
 
 ISe&oU), I ptag tfiee, the Dangers that beset thee, anD flee 
 to the nsnlum of Debotion ant) prager. 
 
 Consider how the World [A], the Devil [B], and Sin [C], 
 together with Death [D], are pursuing thee ; and flee for refuge 
 to the crucified Jesus [E], Who most lovingly inviteth all unto 
 Him. Betake thee also unto Prayer [F] and the presence of God, 
 as to an asylum and place of refuge. Thus did the great Anthony 
 [G], and very many other Saintly men, triumph over their enemies 
 with the arms of prayer. By the same did Moses [H] overcome 
 the Amalekites. Imitate these, and with vast strides press thou 
 forward unto Christ and the imitation of Him. For " whosoever 
 shall call upon the Name of the Lord shall be saved." From Thy 
 Cross, O blessed Jesus, we hear Thee speaking these words, 
 " Come unto Me all ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I 
 will give you rest." O words most sweet in the ears of a sinner ! 
 But how shall we come unto Thee, unless Thou draw us unto 
 Thee " with the cords of a man," with the cords of love ? Draw 
 us, we pray Thee, unto Thee, that we may hasten, as the hart 
 unto fountains of water ; for we are labouring and walking heavily 
 in difficult and uncertain ways. Lead us in the way of Thy 
 commandments, and teach us Thy paths. We are, alas, burdened 
 with many sins ; help us, and for the glory of Thy name deliver 
 us ; despise not us sinners, O God of our Salvation ! 
 
IRS 
 
 W+c^i. fit 
 
 .* ff 
 
 
r 
 
%\t $la« of Refuge. 
 
 Sweet, said the Latian bard a , from heights serene 
 To scan afar this strange tumultuous scene, 
 From Wisdom's temple to survey mankind 
 'Mid seas of error toss'd, and wandering blind, 
 Like barks that flounder on tempestuous seas ; — 
 Serene philosophy, to heights of ease 
 Uplifted, safe from the receding wave ! 
 Not so the Seer of Judah b ; " Oh for cave, 
 Or lodge unseen in some vast wilderness, 
 Where I might screen me from this sad distress ; — 
 Oh for some woodland chamber, from that sight 
 To hide me, there to weep, both day and night, 
 The wanderings of my people \" There drew near 
 One greater far than Judah's holy Seer, 
 He Who alone of men hath dwelt secure 
 In Wisdom's tower and temple, calm and pure ; 
 He saw where Salem from the mount appears c , 
 And shed, as He beheld it, bitter tears. 
 And soon on Calvary, that other hill, 
 He gave us eyes wherewith on human ill 
 
 a Lucret., lib. ii. 1—16. b Jer. ix. 1. e St. Luke xix. 41. 
 
118 THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 
 
 To gaze, and thence survey from Wisdom's height 
 The city of mankind, and judge aright 
 Their wanderings and their crimes. To anguish given, 
 With bleeding arms outstretch'd to the dark Heaven, 
 As with beseeching attitude and eyes 
 Calling for mercy on that sacrifice, 
 Upborne 'mid earth and sky He cried aloud, 
 When the sun hid himself, and that dark cloud 
 Came on, as full of those Baptismal tears, 
 Bedewing earth till the true Sun appears. 
 
 Tins Moses taught on that mysterious height, 
 While Israel and the fierce Amalekite 
 Warr'd in the vale below ; thence high in air, 
 With hands outstretch'd in long and painful prayer, 
 He saw the contest : as that holier strife, 
 And all the interchange of death and life, 
 In doubtful equipoise uplifted hung, 
 The Spirit's sword he in the balance flung. 
 
 And this is Wisdom's specular height, from whence 
 To view as from a watch-tower things of sense ; 
 Not steel'd by pride or wrath to stand aloof, 
 Nor soften'd by their power 'gainst self-reproof ; 
 But yet in her uplifted citadel 
 Safe from the seas and storms unharm'd to dwell, — 
 Taught a diviner lesson from the world, 
 Toss'd on the waves of strife, and tempest-hurl'd. 
 He who would rise upon that storied tower 
 Of Wisdom, there shall learn the hallow'd power 
 Of Pity, such as Angels feel, as now 
 They look upon this struggling scene below, 
 
THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 119 
 
 And know such tears as Angels weep ; in fear 
 And penitential sorrow drawing near, 
 He sees the dreadful tokens of His rod, 
 And e'en in their bereavement owns his God. 
 
 For this the outer world but gives to scan 
 The hideous picture of the hidden man, 
 And all the thoughts which in the breast find place 
 When left unhallowed by God's healing grace, — 
 Divine illumination dwelling there 
 In the outpourings of unceasing Prayer, 
 Which drinks its sorrows from the Crucified, 
 And hides itself within His healing side, 
 Or bears about His dying. Thither bent 
 From Cross to Cross up the steep rough ascent 
 Prayer leads to Calvary : there man may own 
 Himself and his dread Maker ; there alone 
 May view unharmed the universal strife, 
 Prom Calvary with bones and carnage rife, 
 And 'mid the place of dying cling to life. 
 
 Where'er on either side Faith lifts her eye, 
 Judgments of God are present ; all things cry 
 Broad is the way to ruin ; on each side 
 Destruction opes her mouth unsatisfied. 
 What are these records of eternal woe, 
 Scatter^ o'er all the road, where'er we go, 
 In manifold aboundings of all crime ? 
 Mark but those chroniclers of passing time, 
 The daily-teeming records. Round the soul 
 Like poisonous exhalations they unroll ; 
 
120 THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 
 
 First creep insidious on and court the ground, 
 
 Like mists from lakes of hell ; then hang profound 
 
 In gathering clouds, and hide Heaven's genial eye, 
 
 With hate of God and man, and blasphemy, 
 
 Dark prelude signs, that speak of thunder nigh ! 
 
 With such the very air is full imbued, 
 
 The breathing of the mighty multitude. 
 
 First 'mid suburban nooks and taverns rude 
 
 They lurk ; then higher rise, in smoother phrase 
 
 Hiding the nameless slanderer, and soft ways 
 
 Of irreligion ; o'er the Church they wreathe, 
 
 Till her faint pulse is scarcely found to breathe ; 
 
 While sick at heart and feeble at the tomb 
 
 She sits, unable to disperse the gloom; 
 
 Where the Egyptian darkness long hath striven 
 
 To muffle up, and blend the light of Heaven 
 
 With false philosophy. Yea, most of all, 
 
 I grieve her cramp'd, confin'd, and laid in.thrall, — 
 
 An exile sad in Desolation's hall. 
 
 Is this the Witness with her lesser light 
 
 Set on the holy mount to rule the night ? 
 
 Is't thus the house of Levi she refines, 
 
 Kneeling in penitence 'mid holy shrines ? 
 
 Nay, e'en her sons, by impress stamp'd divine, 
 
 Quake at the ghost of ancient Discipline, 
 
 Lest it should rise, like Banquo, arm'd with right, 
 
 And push them from their stools. Hence without fear 
 
 The drunkard, slanderer, and adulterer, 
 
 Impenitent — of crimes each varied kind, — 
 
 Die in her bosom, are by her consign'd 
 
THE PLACE OP REFUGE. 121 
 
 To sacred earth, pronouncing o'er them hopes 
 Of joyful Eesurrection ; while she opes 
 Her altars unto all, the mingled crowd 
 Of Vice and Fashion, — all alike allowed ; 
 No golden keys, no sacred Discipline 
 To hinder, or preserve the hallowed shrine. 
 Meanwhile to the adrruVd admiring crowd 
 The platform and the pulpit ring aloud 
 With popular ignorance, to feed the ear 
 Of feverish partizans ; no godly fear, 
 No aweful modesties of reverend care ; 
 Be sure, where fear is not, God is not there. 
 
 Thence ask, and answer next, from whence proceeds 
 Tins overflowing of the various Creeds ; — 
 Discord is hell's first-born, and liberty 
 The cloak she wears abroad. Then answer, why 
 These late-born novelties ? Blame not the poor, 
 Who long have flock'd around the Church's door, 
 Finding no entrance, and return no more. 
 No, for Christ's little ones doth Pity bleed, 
 For His lost flock that wander without heed, 
 From the true fold ; how could they else, when none 
 Was found to guide them, or their wanderings own ? 
 No, no, Church-teachers ye from age to age, 
 Ye State-disposers of God's heritage, 
 Of you will God require it ; ye still found 
 Dragging the Church at your State-chariot bound, 
 The engine of your politics ; who wed, 
 Mezentius-like, the living with the dead, 
 
122 THE PLACE OF REFUGE. - 
 
 The Church with the bad world, with brow and hand 
 
 Leprous with sacrilege. And now ye stand 
 
 Affrighted, while approaching terrors cast 
 
 Their shadowy forms before ; and on the past 
 
 Ye look and tremble ; yet reject with scorn 
 
 Those who could call you for your sins to mourn, 
 
 In fast and sackcloth : wise in your own eyes, 
 
 The pearl that they would bear ye cannot prize, 
 
 And therefore turn and rend them. Nor can ye, 
 
 Towers of the Church, or nurture-breasts, stand free, 
 
 Oxford and Cambridge, while still luxury 
 
 Battens within your courts. Ye holy shades, 
 
 (Much lov'd, much longed for, dear ancestral glades !) 
 
 Still in your breast the Pharisaic leaven, 
 
 Yea, e'en Socinian leprosies have striven, 
 
 Subtle infection ! chiefly in high place, 
 
 Where they look out for Favour's ampler space ; 
 
 On the World's Gorgon face their eyes are thrown, 
 
 Till gazing they are harden'd into stone. < 
 
 Blame not the poor ; where could they find a home, 
 
 Cushion'd and elbowed out ? there is no room 
 
 Tor raggedness ; wealth must have ample space 
 
 To sit at ease in God's own holy place. 
 
 Blame not the poor ; where could they find around 
 
 An Apostolic Pastor, hear the sound 
 
 Of Creeds, and holy Church, and discipline, 
 
 Prom those for earthly things who yield divine ? 
 
 But they whose rights beneath their feet are trod 
 
 Shall meet them at the Judgment-seat of God. 
 
THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 123 
 
 No : 'tis the drooping Church, o'er which the State, 
 Superincumbent with unfriendly weight, 
 Hangs, stretches wide through all her breadth and length, 
 And from each branch and tendril drinks its strength, 
 Embracing, intertwining, overlaid, 
 Till cankered are its leaves, its very shade 
 No refuge ; while to cherish or alarm, 
 Powerless her voice and wither' d is her arm. 
 Hence while her sons vie with the admiring Age, 
 With carriage, groom, and envied equipage, 
 The Exchanger's Seat is raised within her walls, 
 And there, all heedless of the Church's calls, 
 In haste the ancient landmarks to remove 
 They sell Christ's lambs, barter His hallow'd Dove ; 
 Her buyers and her sellers flock around. 
 Chambers of imagery in her abound, 
 Filling her courts with idols manifold. 
 What saw within the Seer's astonish'd eyes ? 
 Between the porch and altar, in the guise 
 Of Priesthood, worship they the rising sun ! 
 What, is it nothing that the course they run 
 Is taught, conmVd at, prais'd, held up as right 
 And mirror of perfection, in God's sight 
 Unblameable, — to scale the hallow'd wall, 
 And climb by secular arts into the fold, 
 Striving a worldly eminence to hold 
 From worldly hands, — for Heathen lore alone, 
 Or courtly phrase, or eloquence made known, 
 
124 THE PLACE OP REFUGE. 
 
 Or popular tone, or Senatorial wit, 
 
 As meet to shine in parliaments, and sit 
 
 Bent to take part in controversial heat 
 
 Of factions, thronging at their leader's feet ? 
 
 Yea, for e'en ends and services far worse 
 
 On generations they entail the curse. 
 
 Shall these pass o'er us like a summer cloud, 
 
 And not be heard in thunder, crying loud 
 
 When God shall visit ? Yea, the cries e'en now 
 
 Rise from the place of unavailing woe, 
 
 From thousands passing onward to the tomb, 
 
 No warrant given of an eternal home. 
 
 happy ye by prayer made spirit-poor, 
 And thus in meekness led to Christ the Door, 
 To whom the Porter openeth, Ever-blest d , 
 Pointing to paths of life and endless rest, 
 Bearing the Light ; who 'scape the world's dark thrall, 
 Give all for Him and find Him all in all. 
 Meet champions with their lives the faith to shield ; 
 To such meek souls are mysteries reveal' d, 
 "Wisdom and truth to them are manifest, 
 Urim and Thummim on the Church's breast. 
 
 No need of saints of silken mould, or reed 
 Shook by the wind of popular voice ; no need 
 Of such as strive for envied eminence 
 To sit with nobles ; girded with that fence 
 Among their holier brethren, at the nod 
 Of multitudes to measure truths of God ; 
 
 d Augustin. In Joan. Tract xlvi. 4. 
 
THE PLACE OP REFUGE. 125 
 
 While e'en the very shepherds of the fold 
 Follow their flock, not guide them, as of old. 
 
 God's Church hath in their ample bosom space 
 Broad, deep and large, but yet the larger place 
 Each for himself; and therefore when the shame 
 Of their great Master's Cross and evil name 
 Pursue, each stands aloof, so to sustain 
 His spotless reputation ; lest the stain 
 Of ignominious Truth should spoil the bright 
 Career of good before him, and the light 
 Of his high-tower' d example, which doth pant 
 The ensign of the conquering Cross to plant 
 In palaces with his own burnish' d fame, 
 To bear the Cross, avoid the pain and shame. 
 
 Thus up ascending and descending down, 
 From crown to feet, from feet unto the crown, 
 Unsoundness reigns ; the watchmen from their sleep 
 Awaken, lift their heads, and see their sheep 
 'Mid other folds and pastors not their own, 
 The hedge laid low, the vineyard overthrown. 
 No wonder, for through slumbering centuries, 
 And thrust aside by rising luxuries 
 From their paternal shrines, and all they priz'd, 
 They stray, untaught, unheeded, unbaptiz'd. 
 How shall they struggle from the deep turmoil 
 While unbaptized efforts vainly toil ? 
 Meanwhile our great ones rise in pamper'd pride 
 By sweat and toil of millions, who have died 
 
126 THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 
 
 Church-less and pastor-less. They by their blood 
 
 Have fill'd ungodly mansions with the brood 
 
 Of wealth-born greatness ; wave on wave they pass, 
 
 Corrupting and corrupted, till the mass 
 
 Heaves with a living death ; thence to overflow 
 
 In popular assemblages, winch now 
 
 Sit in the Regal seat, and bend their bow 
 
 Against what ancient wisdom priz'd so high ; 
 
 Little of soul ; for unjust policy 
 
 And arms unjust known far and wide, 'mid cries 
 
 Of distant Heathendom ; which lifts her eyes 
 
 And scared head from her long-mouldering tomb, 
 
 And cries aloud, " Lo, tins is Christendom \" 
 
 The Christian nation before China stands, 
 
 Offering the choice with full overflowing hands, — 
 
 The intoxicating bane, or else the sword, 
 
 The death of soul or body ; — then God's Word 
 
 Feebly holds forth, the Christian's heritage. 
 
 What is the righteous war these Christians wage ? 
 
 Go ask of India ! with her bleeding brow 
 
 Afghanistan shall answer. What if now 
 
 The spectre sits of old Idolatry, 
 
 Numbering her idols ; from the dismal glee 
 
 Of sacrificial fumes, where fiends delight, 
 
 She looks to England and points out the sight ; 
 
 For these are but the shadows of her chains, 
 
 It is in Christendom she truly reigns ; 
 
 In souls of Christians are her towers of might, 
 
 Her idols, sacrifice, and twofold night ; 
 
THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 127 
 
 Eapine and avarice mark the secret den 
 
 Wherein she lurks unseen, in hearts of men, 
 
 Winch once were hallcVd by Baptismal grace 
 
 To be on earth God's chosen resting-place. 
 
 Australia too, thick sown with all thy weeds, — 
 
 Columbia, swarming with her thousand creeds, 
 
 Shall rise against thee. This the Church that feeds 
 
 Her children, from her fostering bosom torn, 
 
 Casting them forth unheeded and forlorn ! 
 
 Is this the Apostolic Church that stands 
 
 The purer witness to all subject-lands 
 
 Against aggressive Rome ? Is this the one 
 
 That strives again for long-lost union, 
 
 That pleads in sackcloth to the Church's Lord 
 
 To be again in penitence restored 
 
 To that one Body, to which shall be given 
 
 The promises of earth and crown of Heaven ? 
 
 That fabled Jew that wanders desolate 
 Until the day of doom, knocks at the gate 
 Of towering empires, and from Judah's tomb 
 His spectral ringer lifts which speaks of doom. 
 Ill-boding Israel, fated still to roam 
 Till the world's evening ! where he finds a home, 
 He reads his people's story, and from theirs 
 Rings out the fate of nations in their ears, 
 When they have cast off God, His Church defied, 
 The Stone which men refuse shall crush their pride. 
 
 Such the developments of these our times ! 
 Is there no hiding from these public crimes ? 
 
128 THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 
 
 No place of refuge, no meek brotherhood, 
 
 Where we may flee from the abounding flood 
 
 That beareth onward to eternal death, — 
 
 Where souls a less contagious air may breathe, — 
 
 Wherein the penitent may find a home, 
 
 And in the refuge of the cloistral gloom 
 
 Weep for himself and others ? No, oh no, 
 
 Such witnesses have vanished long ago ; 
 
 The cruel-handed State with none to save, 
 
 Crushed them long since, and buried in the grave 
 
 Of worldly hate and ignominious scorn. 
 
 The desolated Church did feebly mourn, 
 
 " What all— all gone T " Yes, all that could be found,"- 
 
 All, all her little ones laid with the ground 
 
 " At one fell swoop" — u Heaven did look on 
 
 And would not take their part e ." Not one, not one 
 
 Remaining, — as a witness of the wrong, 
 
 While centuries unheeding roll along. 
 
 But worse than all I deem, that wheresoever 
 Truth lifts her holy head, and claims the ear, 
 In shrines or senates or in learned shades, 
 In city, or in rural haunts and glades, 
 Something of hidden power doth move around, 
 In triple league confederate ever found, 
 Herodian, Scribe, and Sadducee, combined ; 
 Such hate their mutual enmities hath twined 
 In some mysterious union, bent on ill. 
 But more than conqueror Faith's dauntless will, 
 
 e Macbeth, Act iv. Scene S. 
 
THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 129 
 
 True to herself, when seeming most oppress'd 
 
 Shall scatter them ; their grave become the nest 
 
 Of stronger hopes renewed, which shall prevail 
 
 Then most, when most of all they seem to fail. 
 
 E'en while we speak, upon the multitude 
 
 Heaven's influence may come down, like winds that brood 
 
 Upon the waters, and a thousand breasts 
 
 Heave, and uplift afar their foaming crests 
 
 Numberless, towards the shore careering fast 
 
 Tumultuous, till the barrier is overpast. 
 
 Our Church, though nigh o'erwhelm'd, may cast aside 
 The incrustations of tins worldly pride, 
 As Wisdom's emblem, the enamell'd snake, 
 Throws off its former self on thorny brake, 
 And comes forth bright and glistening with fresh youth, 
 In the new year and morning Sun of truth. 
 Sure not for nought, still loving though unlovM, 
 God hath His presence shewn e'en now, and mov'd 
 The hearts of holy men in shades retired, 
 Arm'd them with wisdom, with devotion nYd, 
 To seek the ancient paths, bent to explore 
 Her wounds, and her lost discipline restore ; 
 And on them set marks of His heritage, — 
 The hate confederate of an evil age. 
 
 Thus have I known a shrub strive to reveal 
 Its feeble life in vain ; till pruner's steel 
 Cut sheer, and laid it low beneath the ground, 
 That many deem'd it dead, no longer found ; 
 
 K 
 
130 THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 
 
 Then from the stock the living bud is seen, 
 Teeming with embryo life ; then leaflet green 
 Replete with tenfold strength, and branch and flower, 
 Exuberant from the grave, far-spreading power 
 Of Resurrection, stands a living bower. 
 Thus from the grave of Laud and Strafford's fate 
 Springs forth the living Faith : by wintry state 
 Renewed to stronger life. And they who now 
 Are leagued against God's truth in fiercest show 
 Shall wither, — wait thou but another day, 
 Seek for their place and they shall be away. 
 But God shall shield the meek, and bid appear 
 His righteousness, as cloudless noonday clear. 
 
 Such are the implements of crime and woe 
 Strewn thick along our path, where'er we go ; 
 Nor less in the close circle where we dwell, 
 In our own quiet homes, the citadel 
 Of deep heart-hid affections, round our bed 
 Sorrows and sins in darkness lift their head, — 
 People our waking thoughts — make themselves known 
 In slumber, — sins of others, and our own. 
 Yea, with ourselves the heart ends and begins, 
 And cowers at mention of our public sins. 
 
 Such is the world of sorrows here below, 
 Which o'er us more and more their shadows throw, 
 An ever-during mantle winch will cling 
 Around, and stifle life, nor can we fling, 
 But with this fleslily weight of life, aside, — 
 Sorrows or sins which with us must abide; 
 
THE PLACE OF REFUGE. 131 
 
 For if they are not sorrows they become 
 Our fond allurements, and our bitter doom. 
 From all, O Lord, unto Thy Cross we flee, 
 And there forget ourselves, remember Thee. 
 
 k l 
 
IMAGE THE ELEVENTH. 
 
 (£omc out from among them, anD be r>t separate, s$aitfi the 2orD, 
 ant) touch not the unclean tftfng; ant) X bill recefbe r>ou, and 
 toill be a JFatljer unto gou, anD jjc sijall be it! r> 50ns ant) 
 Daughter*, saith tf)c Eorti aimlghtg. 
 
 Think over the examples of those Saints of old who gave up 
 their lives to devotion. Think of each particularly [A] a , such as -are 
 recorded among ancient Fathers and Bishops, Founders of religious 
 Houses, Virgins, and Martyrs ; who relinquished all for Christ's 
 sake. Think of how many in monasteries [B], how many in 
 the desert, have given up their nights and days to prayer ; imitat- 
 ing those heavenly societies, which praise God day and night, 
 and never cease ; while mankind alone, although in the midst of 
 mortal foes, are unconcerned. Think of St. Jerome, with his bleed- 
 ing breast, in the desert [CJ. Think of Stylites [D], in unceasing 
 prayer, exposed to cold and tempest. Think of St. Francis [E], 
 melting in the ardour of devotion, at the thought of the five wounds 
 of Christ. Think of the Saints who, without weariness and with- 
 out human consolations, persevered in watchings, in labours, in 
 fastings. Think, above all things, of thy Blessed Saviour, Who 
 retired oft into the solitary mountain, and continued whole nights 
 in prayer for thy sake. But thou, alas, O Sinner [F], art sleeping 
 in the midst of dangers, and therefore beholdest them not. O 
 think how the Holy Jesus even now is coming to thee, by His 
 Spirit, to awaken thee [G], and saying, " Watch and pray that ye 
 enter not into temptation." — " Could ye not watch with Me one 
 hour?" 
 
 B Those especially referred to are Benedict, Augustin, Dominic, Bernard, 
 Norbertus, Bruno, Ignatius, Catharina of Sienna, Teresa. 
 
Wj ; .;'■ " V >: 
 
 
fteltgtous. Retreats. 
 
 L 
 
 Ye holy Virgins who have ta'en your stand 
 
 Without the heavenly gate, 
 With your lamps burning in your hand, 
 And for the Bridegroom's coming wait ; 
 With midnight chaunt and holy hymn 
 Numbering night's waning watches evermore, 
 
 Till the Great Morning shall appear. 
 And when the starry sentinels grow dim 
 
 Your waning lamps ye trim, 
 With silence and with self-communing fear, 
 
 Or oft-returning Litanies. 
 While thus ye imitate the peaceful skies, 
 And stillness of the eternal spheres, 
 Beyond the noise of mortal years, 
 The eternal Bridegroom gives His love to know, 
 Disclosing more His awe-inspiring brow. 
 
 II. 
 
 I too would to your cloistral gate repair, 
 And list without upon the iron stair, 
 
134 RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 Till something I may catch of sounds of Heaven, 
 And thoughts of wisdom which to you are given. 
 
 III. 
 
 Whether in silence and apart ye dwell 
 
 In solitary cell, 
 As Adam, when pure Eden first he trod, 
 Or as the second Adam in the wild, 
 
 Or Moses on Mount Sinai hid with God, 
 Or with Elijah, the stern desert's cluld, 
 
 To hear the still small voice by mountain cave, 
 Or Cherith's halloVd wave ; 
 Or knit together in chaste companies, 
 
 With order and obedience, Heaven's first law, 
 Winch in their courses keeps the starry skies, 
 Acknowledging with downcast looks of awe 
 The presence of the Invisible. 
 Or at the midnight lamp of sacred lore 
 Your vigils pale the Chinch's walls explore, 
 
 Or build her fallen citadel. 
 Or in the genial light of other suns, 
 And bent on other gain, 
 Ye tend the bed of pain, 
 The orphan clothe, with love parental train 
 
 Christ's little ones, 
 Daily in heavenly wisdom growing wise 
 
 By unbought ministries, 
 Like gentle-handed Angels all unknown, 
 And then most nigh when men seem most alone. 
 
RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 135 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus as from mortal joys ye heavenward steal, 
 Unloosed from earth's more tender charities, 
 Christ, true to His sure promise, doth reveal 
 Manifold more e'en here beneath the skies, 
 Drawing more near as ye from earth arise. 
 Whether it be in thoughts to silence given 
 
 As ye approach to Heaven, 
 Ye something gain of the deep calm of even, 
 
 Which tuneth all your senses into peace ; 
 Or that the soul, when sensual trammels cease, 
 
 Her home and haven finds, and is at rest, 
 
 Of the heart's fitful fever dispossess'd. 
 
 Doubtless full sore the struggle, long the strife, 
 
 While the old Adam and the Eve within, 
 From out their prison bars and thoughtful cell, 
 
 (As first to close around you they begin,) 
 Look'd forth upon the charms of earthly life ; 
 Thence driven the more in things unseen to dwell, 
 Ye found your solace, strength, and hidden well ; — 
 While worldly yeannngs urg'd you to repair 
 
 To seek your home in prayer ; — 
 Sinking no more in dull vacuity, 
 Ye could look forth and see with placid eye 
 The visions of the world in quiet die ; 
 And while the golden landscape seem'd to fade 
 With the departing day, 
 Turn'd to your cloistral shade, 
 
136 RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 To commune with realities on high, — 
 More keenly to your eyesight coming nigh, — 
 Till the day break and shadows flee away. 
 
 And haply long the toil your chains to wear, 
 Until your earthly turned to heavenly care ; 
 Care, man's companion and best friend below, 
 Must daily cleanse the path whereon we go ; 
 For healthful joy must be of sorrow born, 
 And night below precede the morn. 
 No sinning houses here, no dainty furniture, 
 No tables spread with wines and costly fare, 
 No gentle couches which allure 
 Sin-laden souls to breathe the air 
 Of thoughtlessness and dream secure. 
 Pain-loving duties hold their daily round 
 With diet spare, hard couch, and slumbers light, 
 That wake to keep the watches of the night, 
 And even dreams obedient found. 
 And keener than hard rule I deem the warfare strong 
 With secret sorrows which to you belong, 
 Ere ye have calm'd the eye of sense 
 To that pale brow that loves the ground. 
 And steps that walk so near the earth, 
 Familiar with stem Abstinence, 
 Whence heavenly Graces have their birth. 
 
RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 137 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yea, dearer far I deem your sorrows, 
 Than all delights the youthful fancy borrows 
 Wherewith to fill the haunts of your retreat ; 
 Sorrow hath here below a deeper seat, 
 
 Hath sterner power the heart to move, 
 
 And knit the cords round all we love, 
 
 Than all the joys which by us fleet. 
 The dearest things to which we turn and sigh, 
 Which memory brings, 
 
 The dearest scenes and times gone by, — 
 Part of ourselves to which our being clings, 
 
 And last from our deep bosoms torn, — 
 
 Are those by sorrow marked most deep. 
 
 For man must heavenward walk and weep, 
 And comforted of God are they that mourn. 
 Nay, if the love of you my bosom steeps, 
 Ye blest retreats and homes of piety, 
 If at your thoughts my spirif s hidden deeps 
 
 Are stirr'd within to purpose high, 
 
 Longings with you to live and die, 
 
 "Tis for your sorrows, deeply bred 
 
 By scanty board and iron bed, 
 Which seek release 
 
 And bind you to your God in peace. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Prisoners of hope," nursed by stern discipline, 
 'Mid awful modesties of love divine, 
 
138 11ELIGT0US KETREATS. 
 
 Seeking the shade with downcast pallid face, 
 The loves of sordid sense no more ye move, 
 Turning your eartlily to xingelic grace ; 
 But as ye pass and hide from earthly love, 
 Labour stands still, and heaves the deep-drawn sigh, 
 With you, though loath to live, yet glad to die. 
 
 Nor all in vain, for thence 
 Are bred within, in lonely hours to rise, 
 Loathings of self, heart-stirrings, grave and wise, 
 More than by all the preacher's eloquence, 
 Shot from your face severe and downcast eyes. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet cloistral homes, to love of virtue given, 
 
 "Winch speak unseen realities, 
 And seem like fortresses of viewless skies, 
 Or like a stair connecting earth with Heaven, 
 Diffusing all around a secret sense 
 Of chastity and prayer and abstinence ! 
 How do your relics still from shore to shore 
 Live on, and speak the holy things of yore, 
 
 Marks of an heavenward pilgrimage, — 
 Abbey and priory, with ivy green, 
 Mantling the sacred window half unseen, 
 Ye seem to plead against an evil age, 
 Stern witnesses of holier heritage. 
 
 And where your wrecks are seen no more, 
 Your sacred names live on, and hallow still 
 Full many a vale retir'd and desert hill, 
 
RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 139 
 
 Shadows of refuge on the barren moor, 
 
 Or spire-ennobled plain. 
 Still your calm Shade o'er sacred Oxford throws 
 The holy mantle of a dread repose, 
 Nursing whatever of good doth still remain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Like pillars of the Church they stood 
 Through all the peopled land, a guardian multitude, 
 And shut out climbing cares of wealth and pride, 
 Unmeet with penitential sorrows to abide, 
 
 Where Want alone could find the open door, — 
 Embosomed amid mountains standing nigh, 
 Or by the wide and solitary shore. 
 Such Tintern's holy shade on winding Wye, 
 Or tree-girt Netley from the inland tide 
 Seen fair, as summer vessels downward glide ; 
 Or Royal Ina's venerated pile 
 
 Nam'd from the glassy Isle ; 
 Or Abbey Cruris, winch with ruin'd walls 
 The spirit of the past around her calls. 
 
 And e'en to later evil years 
 Gidding of honour'd name the witness bears ; 
 Seen 'mid the Church's wreck to stand 
 Holding the Virgin lamp with an unwavering hand. 
 And thou too in that Saintly band, 
 
 Not least though last, 
 May all good Angels upon thee attend, 
 Daily companion once, now absent friend ! 
 
140 RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 Still may I on our race divine 
 Find in thine orisons a place, as thou in mine, 
 And sit beneath thy feet when all is past ! 
 
 E'en such of yore, beyond the distant lull, 
 The tabernacles of the Saints were found, 
 
 Tar from all earthly sound, 
 But that of whispering grove and flowing rill, 
 And birds of happy note when all is still. 
 There rich and princely men had laid aside 
 The trappings of their pride, 
 And Eden opened in the desert rude. 
 Ambition, Avarice, and Pomp of life 
 Ne'er look'd upon their solitude : 
 Their emulation and their mutual strife, 
 Each to abase himself in lowly love, 
 
 And gain the praise of God above. 
 Riches they found in love of poverty, 
 And as they daily learn'd to die, 
 Nourished the better life of immortality. 
 The grove melodious and the whispering tree, 
 The torrent in its mountain fall, 
 They, like the birds of air, their own might call ; 
 Still less possessing they attain the more, 
 Por all is theirs in still increasing store, 
 As they were Christ's, and learn'd His lore. 
 His sun and moon did seem to stand 
 With their celestial band, 
 
RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 141 
 
 And, like aerial centinels, 
 To keep their watch around their Heaven-protected cells a . 
 
 XI. 
 
 As from a world hid in the sky 
 To wondering men came forth the saintly Antony ; 
 
 Where communing with Heaven alone 
 
 Such speaking grace his face had won, 
 That hearts were changed which had beheld him nigh ; 
 
 In silence and in solitude 
 
 His prayers attained such power of good, 
 
 That all aghast the wondering Age 
 Heard of the marvels wrought in Ins lone hermitage. 
 
 Withdrawn from sight and things of men, 
 He vision gain'd, with undisturbed ken, 
 
 To view the struggles of the world that lies 
 Around in dread realities, 
 For us contending, while of such we little deem, 
 Or think it but a dream. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Thus he who sought from men to hide, 
 And dwell with God on the lone mountain side, 
 
 Hath to all lands spread his renown, 
 As streams from hidden grove throughpeopled realms run down. 
 
 Then Egypt woke to life divine, 
 Which cradled Christ of yore, 
 
 a The account in this Stanza is taken from & beautiful passage in 
 St. Chrysostom. In Matt. Horn, lxxiii. 
 
142 RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 And peopled Holy Palestine 
 With brotherhood and cells of sacred lore ; 
 Light through the East begins to burn and shine. 
 So did the Saint in solitary grove 
 
 Draw all the world with him above, 
 By self-renouncing sterner rules 
 
 More than the pulpit and the schools ; — 
 With Saints that walk around the Virgin-born 
 In the bright Gospel morn. 
 Thence princely-hearted Athanase, 
 Thence too great Austin, like the stricken deer, 
 Drank deep the love of Heaven in penitential ways. 
 Sacred retreats ! in darkness and in fear 
 Ye speak of friendly hosts encamping near, 
 Like beacons which on mountain smnmits blaze ; 
 
 Kindling a fire in Christendom, 
 Which onward burns unto the day of doom. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Such Basil's Pontic home in holier time, 
 
 Hedg'd by the mountain wilderness, 
 And beautiful in nature's stern undress, 
 Teaching simplicity and faith, sublime 
 
 In very nakedness ; 
 While far beliind the hanging woodlands climb, 
 
 Studded with roaring waterfalls, 
 Which gather in repose beneath their feet ; 
 And there, below that saintly calm retreat, 
 
 The cataract, with foaming walls, 
 To the dark solitudes more loudly calls. 
 
RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 143 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Beasts of the wild, with horned heads upraised, 
 On the new dwellers of the forest gaz'd ; 
 Lo ! Jerome's gentle lion crouching nigh, 
 And bolder antler* d guest of silent Antony : 
 Such wondrous power hath holy Innocence 
 To shield, and guard, nor needs partition fence, 
 Since man, with inmate's of the forest wild, 
 Was in the second Adam reconciled. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Thus reconciled in peace they grow 
 
 With beasts that are below ; 
 And reconciled with Angel choirs above, 
 While thus they imitate their ways, 
 In peace, and prayer, and praise : 
 In peace with God and man, and patient love. 
 Upon their quiet solitude, 
 Or silence-loving haunts of pensive brotherhood, 
 
 By water, mount, or wood, 
 No noise of human strife came near ; 
 They in their hardy homes still year by year, 
 
 By use made doubly dear, 
 Wean'd from its cares and vanities, 
 Anticipate the happier skies 
 
 Wherein their kingdom lies. 
 
144 RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Surely if scenes on earth be known, 
 Which Angels love to haunt and prize, 
 As spots that are most like their own, 
 
 'Tis in those meek societies, 
 Whose cloistral walls the fancy bar, 
 And shut out busy sounds of earth afar, 
 Of strife, of tumult, and of war ; 
 E'en like a sheltering citadel 
 Against surrounding arts of hell ; 
 Or like a temple, rampart crown' d, 
 Upon whose battlements in heavenly ground 
 Angels and happy spirits singing go ; 
 
 While from the courts of prayer below 
 Blend with their songs the sounds of penitential woe. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Avaunt, ye thoughts of evil and unrest, 
 
 Let nothing here intrude 
 To ruffle or to soil the virgin breast 
 
 Of HeaVn-retiring solitude ! 
 Keep all without the news of passing time, 
 Where tales of pestilential ways that lead to crime, 
 Like incense to the evil spirit rise, 
 And darken all the skies. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Avaunt, dark Superstition with thy brood, 
 Hence to the haunted caves of some black Indian wood ! 
 
RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 145 
 
 For much I deem the sin is darkest found 
 
 Which lifts its head on holy ground ; 
 'Tis writ that Satan, in the peopled skies, 
 Came 'mid those blest societies : 
 And 'mid that holiest band, where Christ on earth 
 was seen, 
 Did Judas intervene. 
 Yet nathless never yet hath mortal eye 
 Beheld more blessed company, 
 Than that, when to the Twelve the Bread of life was given, 
 And Jesus spake of love and Heaven : 
 No crown 'mid men so blest, as to have stood 
 Amid that chosen brotherhood. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Hail, Kings and Saints, to wisdom's heights retir'd, 
 With love of virtue fir'd, 
 
 I deem ye wise, who bid the world farewell, 
 With fast and vigil and the saintly cell 
 
 For this short life to dwell ; — 
 A better resurrection to obtain, 
 And treasure in the Heavens abiding gain, — 
 
 To put Christ's words to proof, of gifts sublime, 
 
 With pledge and earnest in this present time ! 
 
 And haply thus from worldly hopes withdrawn 
 Ye clearer view the eternal dawn, 
 
 And in your stillness hear the immortal chime, 
 That holds the universal choirs above ; 
 So that your steps to their obedience move, 
 And in that music all your thoughts are love. 
 
 L 
 
146 RELIGIOUS RETREATS. 
 
 Till as ye nearer draw to life's dark close 
 Your purer thoughts are still' d to that repose 
 Which is in Heaven ; 
 
 While life, as fast it wanes, yet younger grows 
 In hopes of immortality to meekness given. 
 
 XX. 
 
 I know not if 'tis well to string the heart 
 
 In solitude to take her part, 
 Or silence, which is peopled solitude ; 
 
 I know not if 'tis good. 
 But this I know, to give up all 
 Which here on earth men treasure call, 
 With firm resolve to bid depart 
 Home ties, with earthly promise rife, 
 And things that lie most near the human heart ; — 
 To spend the days of this short life 
 In prayers, and alms, and charities j — 
 This in its fulness daily is to store, 
 Tor ever more and more, 
 Where nothing dies. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Stanza X., p. 54, the following is the passage alluded to in 
 St. Chrysostom, Matt. Horn, lxxiii. " He that hnmbleth himself 
 shall be exalted /" And where shall we find this humility ? Will 
 ye that we go again to the city of virtue, the tabernacles of the 
 Saints, the mountains, I mean, and the glens ? There shall we 
 behold this height of lowliness. For there are men, of whom some 
 
NOTE. 147 
 
 have been conspicuous for external distinctions, and others for 
 wealth, who abridge themselves in every way, by relinquishing 
 apparel and habitation and servants, and in all things as it were by 
 written characters, transcribing humility. For those objects which 
 are the incentives to pride, to be beautifully clothed, to dwell in fine 
 houses, and to have many servants; all these things, Avhich often- 
 times render proud even those who are unwilling to be so, are from 
 thence removed. They themselves kindle their own fires, cleave the 
 wood for themselves, dress their own victuals, and wait themselves 
 on their guests. No one is there heard treating another contume- 
 liously ; and no one is there beheld so treated ; there is no 
 giving or receiving orders : but all are of the number of those 
 that minister; each washes the feet of strangers, and great is 
 the contention to do so. And he that doeth this doeth it without 
 enquiry, who the person may be, whether he be slave or free ; 
 but for every one alike he performeth this service. No one there 
 is either great or small. Is there therefore confusion ? So far 
 from it that there prevails the most excellent order. For if any 
 one be of little importance, he that is great perceiveth it not, but 
 esteemeth himself inferior even than he, and on this account 
 becometh greater indeed. There is one table to all alike, both 
 to those that wait and those who are waited upon, the same pro- 
 visions, the same clothing, the same dwelling, the same mode of 
 living. He there is great who is the first to seize the most hum- 
 ble occupation. There is there no mine and thine; these words, 
 which are the cause of numberless contentions, are banished thence. 
 Nor need you be surprised that there should be the same mode 
 of living, and table, and dress to all ; for this is not merely with 
 respect to property, which is one and the same with all, but for 
 love's sake ; and love cannot be exalted against herself. There 
 is there no poverty and wealth, no glory and dishonour. How, 
 therefore, can pride and arrogance find admission there? For 
 they are either little or great in proportion to their virtue ; and 
 even this difference, as I said, no one perceiveth. He that is of 
 little account grieveth not as if he were despised ; for there is no 
 one to despise him. And even if there were any to use him con- 
 
 l ?. 
 
148 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 temptuously ; such things are the very means by which they are 
 schooled, to put up with being despised, and vile esteemed, and 
 set at nought by word and deed. Their company are the poor 
 and the maimed; of such guests their tables are full; and on 
 this account they are worthy of Heaven. One dresses the 
 wounds of those that are so afflicted ; another leads one that is 
 blind ; another supports one that is maimed. There is there no 
 company of flatterers or of parasites ; nay, indeed, they know 
 not the meaning of flattery. For what reason could any one 
 have to be puffed up with pride, where there exists so great 
 equality? And on this account easy is the practice of virtue. 
 For they that are inferior are more instructed by such as these, 
 than if they were compelled to concede to them the first place. 
 For as he that is stricken, and giveth way, thereby instructeth 
 the overbearing ; so likewise, he that so far from coveting glory 
 despiseth it, affordeth a lesson to the ambitious. And this they 
 practise with much assiduity ; great as the contention is among 
 us to obtain precedence, no less is the strife among them to 
 avoid the obtaining of it, and even to be cast down. Great is 
 the rivalry among them who shall surpass in giving honour to 
 others, not in receiving it himself. In other respects also their 
 very occupations induce lowliness, and admit not of vainglory. 
 For who, let me ask, will have ambitious designs, who is 
 engaged in digging the ground, in watering and planting, in 
 making baskets, and weaving sackcloth, and other like employ- 
 ments ? Who is there that will be infected by this malady while 
 dwelling with poverty and wrestling with hunger ? On this ac- 
 count then the practice of humility is easy to them ; and as here 
 to be lowly-minded is difficult, on account of the multitudes of 
 those that applaud and admire; it becomes there a matter of 
 great facility. His attention is there turned to the wilderness, 
 where he beholdeth the birds flying, and the movements of the 
 trees, and the breathing of the zephyr, and the torrents borne 
 down the ravines. What source therefore of pride is there with 
 the dweller in the wilderness?'' 
 
IMAGE THE TWELFTH. 
 
 $itg the ©hurc]) tf)g J&otjjer, anO cntieabout; to guppott f)ci* frg 
 th» ?eal ant) intcgn'tg. 
 
 Consider the Church [A] that she is as it were the Mother of 
 the Faithful ; and that she is sore beset by enemies [B], by evil 
 spirits, by bad men, heretics, and idolaters, who oppose her by 
 the sword and by the pen. So that the devil is withdrawing and 
 rending from her a great part of the world [C]. Behold her 
 entreating from her own children [D] the aid of their Prayers, 
 and demanding of them amendment of life : while she depends 
 for her defence on the protection of the Holy Spirit [E] and His 
 good Angels [Fj. And this Jesus Christ Himself, our most 
 merciful Lord, requires of us, Who gave Himself for His Church, 
 and hath committed to her the Book of Life and Keys of Remis- 
 sion ; and hath graciously promised to be with us even unto the 
 end of the world, although He well knew that by so doing He 
 would be laden with many injuries, which it is our duty to avert 
 by our fervent piety. 
 
We& (£!mrtf) asfetng tfje ^ragcrs of &er QD&iUrren. 
 
 Lift up thy voice, get up unto the mountain, 
 Say unto Sion, Prom thy trance awaken, 
 Thy sea goes forth, in every land a fountain 
 Springs forth to thee ! now no more forsaken, 
 Thy glory the destroyer hath overtaken ; 
 City of God, great tilings of thee are spoken ! 
 Death's kingdom to its centre hath been shaken, 
 All nations have discerned the glorious token, 
 Lift up thy mountain voice, the spell of death is broken ! 
 
 O happy vision, which an Angel sings, 
 Like some sweet lark hid in a cloud of rays, 
 Till all around a little Heaven she brings ; 
 In widening circles far the music strays, 
 And listening Silence echoes back the praise ! 
 Blessed is he that loveth thee, O Sion ! 
 Blessed is he that hastens thy good days, 
 Who toils to heal thy wounds, and bind in one, 
 Pouring in oil and wine, the spirit's benison. 
 
THE CHURCH ASKING THE PRAYERS OF HER CHILDREN. 151 
 
 Makers of peace, the children of our God ! 
 Ye are the generation whom the skies, 
 And they who Heaven's immortal floor have trod, 
 Admit into their sweet societies ; 
 Such share their ministries ! such Angels prize ; 
 Saints in their beds of rest with them rejoice, 
 And join with them their prayers and charities, 
 Till Heaven itself shall gladden at their voice ; 
 Love is their wisdom, Love their everlasting choice. 
 
 Love is that sweet embalming of great price 
 Which came on our High-Priest, and made him meet 
 To be the all-atoning Sacrifice. 
 It came upon His head, went to His feet, 
 And to His clothing's skirts, and made them sweet 
 With the high savour of immortal love. 
 Love is the oil of the great Paraclete, 
 Which sweetens earth below, and Heaven above, 
 Till e'en the meanest child the fragrant power shall prove. 
 
 But how shall we promote thee, Love divine ? 
 How spread abroad thy charities aright, 
 Or plead thy cause with any arms but thine ? 
 Save drinking first of thee, thou blessed might ! 
 He who attaineth love attaineth light, 
 But fire that would enlighten first must burn ; 
 Christ's love alone His children can unite ; 
 The stars of night on their own courses turn, 
 But all from the great Sun their life and glories earn. 
 
152 THE CHURCH ASKING 
 
 Great tabernacle of immortal Love, 
 From highest heights descending all unseen, 
 \ To hallow earth and fill the Heavens above, 
 What envious clouds do mar thy shape serene ? 
 Art thou indeed that sky-descended Queen ? 
 How to the ground is cast thy glorious crown? 
 Where the commanding grace and matchless mien ? 
 Thy towers are spoil'd, thy hedges broken down, 
 And thou, Vine of Heaven, with poisonous weeds o'ergrown. 
 
 Lord, Who, as Thy Church's holy token, 
 Thy seamless coat upon that dreadful morn, 
 'Mid soldiers' violent hands didst keep unbroken ; 
 Is this Thy robe in thousand pieces torn ? 
 Is this the healing garment Thou hast worn ? 
 Is this Thy Body which Divine control 
 Unbroken kept, though pierc'd by many a thorn, 
 Which Joseph wrapt in the embalming stole, 
 Entire, as Thou must dwell in the believing soul ? 
 
 rude and ruthless hands, to rend in twain 
 Christ's robe, which e'en the murd'rous soldiers spar'd ; 
 To glory in the deed, and deem it gain ! 
 Ye too with sacrilegious spoilers shar'd, 
 Leaving her broken, desolate, and bar'd ; 
 Then fiends rejoic'd, and in that boasted name 
 They saw your house divided, strength impair' d ; 
 And still ye boast that freedom without shame, — 
 Your bond is Discord's name, your glory sinful blame. 
 
THE PRAYERS OF HER CHILDREN. - 153 
 
 And thou, bound by a mysterious spell, 
 "Who on thy seven-fold lull dost still remain, 
 In stern impenitence unchangeable, 
 And in thine attitude of boundless reign 
 Binding thyself around as with a chain, 
 Combining earth with Heaven in Eoman mood, 
 Are thy celestial garments free from stain ? 
 Where art thou seen the mirror of all good ? 
 Say, in what land are not thy footsteps mark'd with blood ! 
 
 How o'er thee weeps the mother of thy Lord 
 Herself enthron'd in God's own house to find, 
 E'en as the Spouse of the unfailing "Word : — 
 Yea, in the temples of the soul enshrin'd, 
 And like an idol imag'd in the mind, 
 Till God's pure worship there can find no place ! 
 O burst thy chain, to penitence resign' d, 
 And strive with us that we may find such grace 
 Again to be all one, and see God's holy face ! 
 
 For if we were all one, a temple meet, 
 We should behold His love, whose beams so bright 
 Would then transform us to His holy seat : 
 But while Eome, unrepenting, boasts her light, 
 She is encompass'd with a twofold night ; 
 To seek her is to seek a double curse ; 
 'Tis first disloyalty winch blinds the sight, 
 'Tis then with blinded hands to choose the worse : 
 Her very boast of light her judgment doth rehearse 3 . 
 a Rev. iil 17. 
 
154 . THE CHURCH ASKING 
 
 Whatever in restless lust for things beyond b 
 My fancies would entice, and make me wise 
 To lure me on to that mysterious bond, — 
 Where Truth's celestial form is soiled with lies, 
 And choked and hid in foul idolatries, — 
 Though knit to my heart's core through every sense, 
 Associate with aU dear to my sad eyes, 
 Though my heart bleed, yet will I pluck it thence, 
 Ere my youth's guide I leave — my guardian Providence. 
 
 How in each breast shall Peace celestial dwell ? 
 It hath no way, it needs no other art, 
 No man or Angel hath devis'd a spell, 
 Save seeking God with undivided heart ? 
 Then her own peace Obedience shall impart : 
 Peace, the surpassing music of the skies, 
 Turns all to love, love is her Heavenly mart, 
 Love tunes the ears aright, looks from the eyes, 
 And bathes all things around with her own harmonies. 
 
 b 'Hparo rctif aire6u- 
 
 Twv, o'la Kal TroWol iraOop. 
 ecrri Se <j>v\ov iv au- 
 
 dpc&iroiffi fiaraiSraToy, 
 '6<ttis altrxivwv 4ttix<1>- 
 
 pia, iraTTTalvti to irSpffu, 
 /AeTafubina Otj- 
 
 pec'oij' aKpdvTOis £\irlo~ii>. 
 
 Pind. Pyth., iii. 34. 
 'AirpoalKTwv b" ipdnwv o^vrepat fiaflai. 
 
 Nem., xi. 63. 
 
 Svixepwras elvai toiv a.-n6vTu>v. 
 
 Thucyd., lib vi. c. 13. 
 
THE PRAYERS OF HER CHILDREN. 155 
 
 So with the Church by endless discords riven, 
 One way alone her union can restore, 
 And gain the blessing to that union given, 
 Obedience of a spirit meek and poor, 
 And Christ Himself the everlasting Door : 
 Obedience to the eyes is Heavenly light, 
 Struck by whose rays self-seeking is no more ; 
 Then Schisms and Heresies shall hide in night, 
 And one harmonious bond discordant souls unite. 
 
 It was for this of old Apostles taught, 
 It was for tins that Martyrs shed their blood, 
 It was for this that Saints have marvels wrought, 
 It was for this that Confessors have stood, 
 It was for this that Yirgins meek and good, 
 And holy men in cells and deserts prayed ; 
 That Love's great secret might be understood, — 
 That all with Christ's one robe might be arrayed, — 
 And 'neath one Shepherd all one fold celestial made. 
 
 They deem'd one narrow road the way to Heaven, 
 But manifold the paths that lead to Hell, 
 And manifold the shapes to wandering given ; — 
 One only robe of Christ, one only spell 
 Unbroken, and of life one saving well. 
 But who shall now discern the Heavenly Bride? 
 And who shall now Truth's royal signet tell ? 
 Truth, thyself within my soul abide, 
 Lead me through tangled ways, and be thyself my guide ! 
 
150 THE CHURCH ASKING 
 
 Yea, we believe her glorious yet within, 
 With beauty undiscern'd by mortal eye, 
 Yet seen in Heaven. Her glories shall begin 
 To come serenely forth, when earth and sky, 
 Like morning mists which shroud her, shall pass by ; 
 Then like the radiant Sun on either hand, 
 With beauty cloth' d and immortality, 
 She shall break brightly forth at God's command, 
 And filling earth and Heaven a living Temple stand. 
 
 What if her glory meet not mortal sight ; — 
 Who on the burning orb of Heaven can gaze ? 
 Cloth'd with the solar robe of Christ's own light, 
 Too pure for mortal eyes her living blaze, 
 Too bright her incommunicable rays ! 
 Though strifes and sorrows, dark and manifold, 
 Encompass her with clouds ; in her meek ways, 
 She walks within that City paVd with gold, 
 Whose lustre is too fair for sinners to behold. 
 
 Who can discern the beauty of that power, 
 When endless life within the soul is born, 
 When glistening in the fresh Baptismal shower 
 Dawns on the soul the everlasting Morn, 
 And rainbow-hues her earthly clouds adorn ? 
 There is no comeliness that we desire, 
 Though Christ's long-promis'd glory she hath worn, 
 Nor can our eyes perceive His robe of fire, 
 Which wraps each soul that stands in His celestial choir. 
 
THE PRAYERS OF HER CHILDREN. 157 
 
 She sits, — Heaven's Bride, but in an evil world, 
 And sore environed by unnumber'd foes, 
 With wiles and weapons stern against her hurl'd ; 
 The Child of life, death's shades around her close ; 
 The Crown of joy amid overwhelming woes : 
 Her right hand holds the keys of death and life, 
 And calm she sits in undisturb'd repose, 
 But all around with hostile arms are rife, 
 And foes of earth and hell are arming for the strife. 
 
 Satan with eager unremitting grasp 
 Struggles to wrest the world from her blest fold, 
 And thrusts the Cross from him, his own to clasp; 
 Now plies with stealth, and now with aspect bold, 
 Whatever means his kingdom may uphold ; 
 But most he strives to bury Truth with lies, 
 Or paint her holy visage dark and cold, 
 Stirring a hell-born brood of calumnies, 
 To hide her genial eye, and poison all the skies. 
 
 Now he draws thousands from the Christian name, 
 Banded in arms and arts of Mahomet ; 
 Now Puritanic fevers fans to flame, 
 To break down thrones and altars fiercely set ; 
 Now Heresies and Schisms their arrows whet, 
 And turf unhallow'd builds self-chosen shrines ; 
 Now close he hides to draw more sure his net. 
 Yet still she lives, and heeds not, nor repines, 
 But on her Saviour's breast her holy head reclines. 
 
158 THE CHURCH ASKING 
 
 Thus have I seen a purple-blooming rose, 
 Which 'mid the lowering storms untouched appears, 
 Though hostile lances all around her close, 
 Yet o'er the palisade of armed spears, 
 Her loveliness unharm'd its beauty rears, 
 And day by day expanding drinks the shower : 
 E'en so unfolding to the eternal years 
 The Church discloses her ethereal flower, 
 The many-folded Heavens of her unfading bower. 
 
 All things winch here are cast in beauty's mould, 
 Awful or fair, of soul-entrancing power, 
 Speak but the things of her celestial fold. 
 Heart-stirring love in youth's first blooming hour, 
 Gazing intense on beauty's short-hVd flower, 
 Speaks but the love of that immortal Bride, 
 And beauty, which is her resplendent dower : 
 Riches speak treasures which with her abide, 
 And Fame th' unerring Praise which God sets by her side. 
 
 The gems in Ocean's breast, and living spars 
 Deep hid in Earth's dark bowels far below, 
 Shall pave her wond'rous pathway to the stars ; 
 The fairest hues on Eve or Morning's brow 
 Are shadows of her glory ; Heaven's bright bow 
 The emblem of her Covenantal sign ; 
 Birds' songs are Angels' voices, as they go, 
 Bearing their aid to weary souls that pine ; 
 All blessings are but streams from her life-giving shrine. 
 
THE PRAYERS OF HER CHILDREN. 159 
 
 I saw, or dream'd I saw, her awful Form, 
 
 And said, "If thou art girt with sure repose, 
 
 Thyself calm as the Moon within the storm, 
 
 Why do these ills thy very life enclose, 
 
 And thus thy inmost being blend with woes ? 
 
 Thy friends — thy very household — peace will hold 
 
 With the bad world, are chosen by thy foes, 
 
 Thy hallow' d offices are given for gold, 
 
 Or worse than given for gold, to thine own foes are sold : — 
 
 " Their price to fight against thee, — that meek men 
 Doubt if they can believe the impress thine, 
 Which comes in shape so questionable, when 
 The rust so thickly hath o'erlaid the sign, 
 Although beneath the Image be Divine." 
 She answer' d, " Troubled spirit, peace, be still ! 
 I in the calm unearthly dwell with mine, 
 And thou must come to me, — thence judge of ill, 
 Not in that troubled world where cares thy fancy fill. 
 
 " Couldst thou but see as from a Heavenly place, 
 Calm as the moon, while ye are bowM to sense, 
 And wrapped in joys and sorrows : could ye trace 
 How all are mov'd by sweetest Providence 
 Educing good from evil, forming thence 
 A noiseless temple, where the living stones 
 Are built up one by one ! While the offence 
 Darkens your hearts, and your frail spirit groans, 
 Then is the time when God builds up His chosen ones. 
 
160 THE CHURCH ASKING 
 
 " Come thou to me into that moonlight calm, 
 Where I abide in the tempestuous night, 
 And judge therein of all things." " Sweet as balm 
 Thy words/' I cried, "for cares my soul deform ; 
 Then take me 'neath thy mantle of calm light, 
 That I may strive for thee ; nor yet dark care 
 Sadden my spirit, nor contentions blight." 
 " Thy love they may but sweeten," smiling fair 
 She answered, " to this calm the door is fervent prayer. 
 
 " Thy prayers I ask, I ask thy spirit clean, 
 And pure thy hands, that thou in prayer below 
 Mayst lift them up for me in thought serene. 
 I ask thy prayers, ah, little do ye know 
 How much by prayer one fervent soul may throw 
 Into the scale where kingdoms now are weighed : 
 Cleanse thou for this thine heart; for this thy brow 
 Bow down to earth; and seek the lonely shade, 
 That thou in needful hours mayst lend the Church thine aid. 
 
 " I ask thy prayers — thy earnest prayers I need — 
 What, should I ask thy life ? for me His Bride 
 The Lord of Life Himself did dying bleed, 
 And when He died for me for thee He died, 
 And thou with me wast taken from His side ; 
 What then if I thy dying life demand, 
 Live thou for me, in prayer for me abide ; 
 I bear the Keys to the eternal strand, 
 And thou the Book t»f Life receivest at my hand. 
 
THE PRAYERS OP HER CHILDREN. 161 
 
 " Who prays for me dotli for his brethren pray ; 
 And on the wings of his own charities 
 He shall be borne toward Heaven, in thoughts that sway 
 His better life, — by prayer itself made wise : 
 His very words will come back from the skies 
 Laden with thoughts of love ; and o'er the cloud 
 Of earth-born fears his spirit will arise : 
 He shall look calmly through the stormy crowd, 
 And e'en to fight for God shall be to him allow'd. 
 
 "And what though all the world be leagu'd around, 
 The holy Intercessor never dies, 
 And by His bleeding brow and flowing wound, 
 Love turns to you her supplicating eyes, 
 Not to forget His dying charities, 
 But join your prayers with His ; such incense, sent 
 From contrite hearts, shall join His sacrifice ; 
 Ere life, the time which unto prayer is lent, 
 Or love, which is the life of prayer itself, be spent." 
 
 M 
 
IMAGE THE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 SSthatgoebcr thji fianD finDeth to Ho, bo it totth thg might ; for there 
 t0 no foorfe, nor Debtee, nor fenotoleoge, nor foteoom, in the grabe, 
 fofitther thou goegt. 
 
 Consider the impenitent souls that are departed from the body 
 [A] ; ' and what their thoughts must be respecting that shcrt life 
 which hath closed. How earnestly do they lament, and wish for 
 one hour that hath been lost ; as the Rich man in the place of woe, 
 how do they seem to entreat their friends that remain, that they 
 lose not their time of probation, as they themselves have done. 
 His good Angel [B] whispereth even now to the Worldly man [C] of 
 such that must be the thoughts of the dead, while he can contem- 
 plate them with unconcern. But the good man [D] ever seems to 
 hear their judgment of things temporal ; and turning from unavail- 
 ing lamentations for the dead to his own abiding profit while living, 
 he hastens, before the night cometh, to do all things which he shall 
 then wish to have done ; seizing, while the time still lasteth, the 
 Cup of Salvation [E] : among the tombs of the dead [F] learning, 
 to know the value of the world ; and remembering all those works 
 of charity [G] which the Judge will bring forth on that day. 
 How will the whisperings of his good Angel [H] return to 
 the remembrance of the worldly man with tenfold power, when 
 released from the body, and when such thoughts can profit him not ! 
 How will he then earnestly desire for one hour [I] ! What will 
 then be thy judgment of thy works, when the fire shall try each 
 man's work, of what sort it is [K], whether wood, hay, and stubble, 
 or gold and precious stone ? How do the Angels, who see the 
 two worlds, judge of these things, turning unto God, the only 
 support of themselves and us [L] ! Meanwhile life hurries 
 onward, like the bark, unto the shoreless sea of eternity, as the 
 hermit considereth in his solitude. Weigh well thy works, that 
 thy judgment of them may be now as it will be when the door is 
 shut. 
 
Xl.UI. 
 
We>i Fences of tije Beafci. 
 
 The Churchyard, — 'tis the nearest spot 
 Which lies adjoining to the plot 
 That now surrounds my earthly home, — 
 The nearest spot wherein I tread ; 
 One step whene'er I leave this room, 
 And I am 'mid the voiceless dead. 
 If duty hence or pleasure call, 
 Whene'er I leave my rural hall, 
 In going or returning still, 
 In doing good or doing ill, 
 I tread the silent graves along. 
 That I in all might daily learn to die, 
 When I return, when forth I wend, 
 At the beginning, and the end, 
 
 I am the dead among. 
 And now my thoughts with them would dwell 
 
 Approaching, unapproachable. 
 
 The Churchyard, — 'tis the spot of ground 
 Which lies the two great worlds between, 
 m 2 
 
1 G4 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 The living and the dead ; 
 The living by the graves are seen, 
 The dead in funeral fetters wound, 
 Their bodies in the winding-sheet, 
 Their souls among the spirits led. 
 'Tis here the dead and living meet. 
 It is an awful spot, — to stand 
 With either world on either hand, 
 What countless paths do hither end, 
 Full of heart-breaking histories, 
 With all the sorrows that attend 
 The sunderings of a thousand ties ? 
 The sorrows that survived the dead, 
 Soon in the grave beside him laid ; — 
 And sorrows of His dying bed, 
 Here wrapt alike in death's calm shade. 
 What countless paths do hence begin 
 To pass the eternal place within ? 
 What spirits here, beyond the veil, 
 The disembodied soul have met, 
 When it hath left its mansion frail ? 
 O what are thoughts which are with thee, 
 Who hast escaped from the net, 
 Winch round thy path the fowler set, 
 And broken forth, — for ever free ? 
 
 It is an awful thing to stand 
 With either world on either hand, 
 Upon the intermediate ground 
 Which doth the sense and spirit bound. 
 
THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 165 
 
 Woe worth the man who doth not fear 
 
 When spirits of the dead are near. 
 
 How wild their awful destinies ! 
 
 As stars that gleam among the trees, 
 
 'Tween leaves that tremble ere they fall. 
 
 When the Autumnal wind shall call, 
 
 And oft at intervals disclose 
 
 The interminable dread repose, 
 
 With watch-towers gleaming in their height 
 
 With something of unearthly light, — 
 
 Veiling the terrors they express, 
 
 Unspeakable in tenderness, 
 
 Drawing our thoughts with them to tread 
 
 The dwelling-places of the dead ! 
 
 We send our thoughts with them to dwell, 
 
 But still the wall impassable 
 
 Bars us around with sensual bond, 
 
 In vain we dive for that beyond ; 
 
 Yet traverse o'er and o'er the bound, 
 
 Walking on the unseen profound. 
 
 Thus flies, which fain would break away 
 
 Into th' expanse of open day, 
 
 They know not why, are travelling still 
 
 On the glass fence invisible : 
 
 So dwell our thoughts with the unseen, 
 
 Yet cannot pass the bourn between. 
 
 My spirit doth within me sink, 
 When thus I stand upon the brink, 
 
166 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 And labour with them to converse 
 Hid in the boundless universe; 
 O 'tis a fearful thing to be 
 Within your silent company ! 
 This outer world doth seem to fail, 
 
 And stoutest heart turns pale; 
 Your very stillness seems to din, 
 And wake a deeper noise within. 
 
 Ye spirits that around us sleep 
 
 In stillness deep, 
 With nothing to be done again, 
 Beyond the sight and thoughts of men, 
 
 Who o'er your memories weep, 
 What are the thoughts winch you attend, 
 
 Where all things end? 
 Come all around me with your spell 
 To mortal unattainable, 
 O'er my becalmed senses creep, 
 And with yourselves my spirits steep. 
 
 Yes, 'tis an awful thing to die, 
 And yet unconquer'd in that agony, 
 Stronger than death, survives the spirit's love ; 
 And may we then indeed believe you nigh, 
 
 Ye whom we loved, and wept so long ? 
 
 No thoughts with power so grave and strong 
 The fountain depths of all our being move, 
 As ye who hidden are from view. 
 
THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 107 
 
 In summer light, 
 
 When all is bright, 
 
 The thoughts of you 
 Come o'er us like a loaded cloud ; 
 
 In midnight deep, 
 
 When all things sleep, 
 Your awful presence speaks aloud. 
 
 Come, teach us, for ye sure can tell, 
 
 What it is to be with God, 
 
 Safe from the avenging rod, 
 
 In the paths by spirits trod : 
 For with you I soon must dwell. 
 
 Spirits of the dead, 
 Be gently o'er me hither led, 
 
 Ye bodiless society! 
 Or if ye cannot come to me, 
 Yet I in thought to you will come ; 
 For with you I soon must be, 
 Must dwell Avith you, when life is done, 
 Far longer than I see the sun. 
 
 And I now would learn your lore, 
 
 Lest I then the loss deplore, 
 In the gloom, 
 
 And the silence of the tomb, 
 
 Where I nothing more can do, 
 But all now left undone shall then for ever rue. 
 
 Ye holy Dead, now come around, 
 In season more profound ; 
 
168 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 And through the barriers of our sense 
 
 Shed round your calming influence ; 
 
 In silence come and solitude 
 
 With thoughts which o'er the mourner brood. 
 
 Ye sounds depart 
 
 That fill the heart 
 With noise of this tumultuous sphere ; 
 Ye holy Dead, in peace draw near ! 
 Now let the list'ning Earth be still, 
 
 With grove and hill ; 
 
 Let Sea and Land 
 
 In silence stand ; 
 Let Ocean now his silence keep, 
 With all his thousand rivers deep ; 
 Which in their mountain-dwellings leap 
 
 Prom steep to steep. 
 Be silent, ye loud-footed Streams, 
 Tor holy silence best beseems. 
 Let pensive Calm, and sober Rest, 
 Their twilight curtain o'er us weave ; 
 
 Let sacred Eve, 
 And Contemplation be our gue9t. 
 
 Be hush'd, thou Pole, 
 And stars that round in order roll : 
 
 Let the soul 
 
 Herself be still' d, 
 With thoughts which idle bosom fillM ; 
 
 Let tongue and sign 
 Unspeakably be lost in awe divine ! 
 
THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 169 
 
 Ye shadows fleeting o'er the grass, 
 And the steps of things that pass 
 To the grave, 
 
 In some calm and hallo Vd cave, 
 
 Your dread influence o'er us wave. 
 Come around me ye that dwell, 
 
 Unapproachable, 
 By the gates of Heaven or Hell : 
 Unto me your wisdom tell ! 
 All around, hi calm profound, 
 
 I hear your voices from the ground ; 
 Now lend me your unearthly ear, 
 That your deep wisdom I may hear. 
 
 Ye deathless spirits which have gone, 
 Gone haply to be yet more nigh, 
 All strangely and unspeakably, 
 Than when we saw you standing by ; 
 Lo, where I now am left alone, 
 And would around your presence own, 
 
 Come to me! 
 If capable of change of place, 
 Bring ye near with awful face 
 
 Your dread society ! 
 Lend me your Heaven-illumin'd sight, 
 That I with that may see aright 
 
 What ye do prize, 
 Seeing all tilings with your eyes, 
 With your eyes all things surveying, 
 And with you for ever praying. 
 
170 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Ye departed, stand ye nigh, 
 Let your presence make me wise 
 
 In the things ye now descry ! 
 For haply ere the morning's rise, 
 Or before the evening's light, 
 One with you I may be found, 
 And never more behold the round 
 Of day and night. 
 
 Endless sleepers, teach me then, 
 
 For I trow the way ye go, 
 None can traverse back again. 
 Yea, 'tis a fearful thing to think, 
 Fearful beyond all we know, 
 That before the rising sun 
 O'er night's sable brow shall sink, 
 
 Or before the night hath run 
 Through her course with star-light shod, 
 I may be with God. 
 
 Endless wakers, teach me now, 
 For I know, 
 Whether it be soon or late 
 
 Death may to me Ins warrant shew, 
 I ere long must pass the gate 
 Winch doth bound tins mortal state. 
 Ye that are where all must meet, 
 After tins their winding-sheet, 
 
 Whate'er ye be, if rightly we 
 
THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 171 
 
 Substances or shadows call 
 
 Those that people your dark hall, 
 Stay awhile, 
 Till I learn your lesson stern ; 
 That nothing may again my heart beguile. 
 Ye that evermore 
 
 Behold the true substantial Sun, 
 Where His short earthly race like yours is o'er : 
 
 What is it that ye desire ? 
 
 What is it ye wish undone ? 
 
 Or for ever now require, 
 
 Where impassable remains 
 
 Custody of viewless chains, 
 And eternity for ever reigns ? 
 
 Can ye your secret not impart 
 In the dread silence of the heart ? 
 What is tins 
 Which we may miss, 
 And the loss for ever mourn ; — 
 Where penitence is fruitless and forlorn ? 
 
 Buried friends, your voice I hear, 
 As the voice of Midnight clear, 
 If Midnight's self could find a tongue, 
 This would be her voice's sound; 
 All about it comes around, 
 One dread accent to prolong, 
 " No repentance in the grave, 
 And beyond no power to save;" 
 
172 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 With one voice, both low and liigh, 
 Now they cry, 
 And multitudinous sounds reply. 
 
 And is tins all 
 
 Ye wisdom call ? 
 Tins I deem I know full well, 
 And we need no further spell, 
 From your dark bed 
 
 This to tell. 
 But there is an accent dread 
 In the voices of the dead, 
 When this lesson they proclaim, 
 Though the living speak the same. 
 
 Now I hear 
 
 Your accents clear, 
 Speaking wisdom more divine, 
 With me wheresoever I go. 
 I must hasten to the shrine, 
 
 For the bell 
 
 Tells the knell 
 Of the numbered hours that flow, 
 While it summons me to prayer, 
 And I trust ye will be there. 
 
 Lo, beneath the Altar nigh, 
 Now I hear your voices cry, 
 
 Lord, how long 
 Shall Thy chariot-wheels delay, 
 And the coming of that Day ? 
 
THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 173 
 
 Lord, how long 
 Shall thy Church in exile mourn, 
 Thy saints be with contention torn, 
 While Antichrist uprears his horn ? 
 
 O midnight, with thy dread serene, 
 Art thou the image of the scene, 
 Wherein the dead await the Judge's call, — 
 
 Peopling the dim and silent height, 
 In watches numberless and bright, 
 
 With darkness for their pall : — 
 The midnight when the voice is heard, 
 
 The Bridegroom comes ; 
 And Angel callings the deep heart have stirr'd 
 
 Amid the silent tombs ? 
 
 Midnight, thou hast found a tongue, — 
 
 Thy darkness and thy solitude 
 
 Do on the secret spirit brood, 
 When thou in dreams dost take the soul among 
 
 Scenes that have been buried long. 
 Thy voice, — it doth not silence break, 
 
 But is as awful spirits speak, 
 
 Louder than the voice of men, 
 
 Though no sound is with us then ; — 
 Speaking with no sound 
 
 In the heart's abyss profound, 
 
 In that place that is more deep 
 Than all but thoughts which are with sleep. 
 
174 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Midnight, could I see thy face, 
 Like the dark aerial space, 
 When the stars gleam in the eternal place; 
 And on all life there is a spell, 
 
 And a pause, 
 Silent, dread, unspeakable, 
 
 Suspending nature's laws, 
 Winch her dark curtain o'er us draws. 
 Thou seem'st to visit us from that dim cave, 
 Where they, whose fleshly robes are in the grave, 
 In silence and in stillness wait, 
 In intermediate state, 
 The Judgment gleaming in the Eastern gate. 
 
 Thought wanders forth afar, 
 Yet cannot pass the viewless bar, 
 And of that place can nothing guess, 
 But something like an awful sleep, 
 
 A something deep, 
 And shadowlike, yet shadowless. 
 Like Day, 'neath some still fountain seen, 
 With a white moon and cloudy sheen, 
 Unreal, yet like all we see, 
 In shadowlike immensity. 
 Yet, doubtless, ye more real are than we, 
 Partaking nought of shadow or of gloom ; 
 To be with Christ, and be at home, 
 While here as in a dream we roam. 
 
THE VOICES OP THE DEAD. 175 
 
 Then strife is o'er, and work is done, 
 
 And Contemplation comes alone, 
 Wrapt in a twilight veil with dew besprent, 
 
 Through that deep door which death hath rent ; 
 
 She comes to sit her by your side, 
 And in old Memory's ruin'd cell abide, 
 
 Recalling all the work that's o'er, 
 Recounting all her store, 
 That can be lessen'd and increas'd no more. 
 
 fearful things do walk the night, 
 
 1 fain would hide me from their sight ; 
 The wind seems howling low beneath the trees, 
 
 Then silent sinks the breeze, 
 And nought I hear but sounds like distant seas. 
 I would with terror deep mine eyelids close, 
 From shades of other days in death's dark vale, 
 
 That come with many a tale, 
 And break on stillness of that dread repose. 
 
 night, stars, O blue profound, 
 Which hedge my fancy round, 
 
 When solemn Awe 
 Doth around her mantle draw, 
 With a strange unearthly dress, 
 As in dreams, 
 Visiting with starlike gleams 
 
 Of everlastingness ; 
 When I would think of that dread cell, 
 Peopled with the invisible ! 
 
1 70 THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 But awful night is terrible, 
 And seems to speak the gates of Hell, 
 Where ghosts of my past sins may dwell. 
 Lord, in the rock with Thee let me abide, 
 Nay, in Thyself, the Rock, my spirit liide, 
 No phantom of past guilt that soul shall stir 
 Which finds in Thee her sepulchre. 
 
2JLV. 
 
 
 
 
IMAGE THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 j&ee ijofo fcroat) fe tf)e foag tfiat lea&ctl) unto liegtructton ; ant) fiofo 
 mang goute thou mightest rescue from tjicncc, W tfiou tftggeK foert 
 earnegtlg bent on perfection. 
 
 Consider how great is the number of those that perish [A] ; whom 
 the Devil [B] invites ; and at whom, hiding in ambush, he shoots 
 his arrows [C], from the allurements of these vanities [D]. The 
 World [E] draws them on and impels them forward by means of her 
 own laws ; and ( Oh, sad to think !) there are those [F] who, even 
 of their own accord, rush headlong to the place of perdition. Assist 
 these [G] by thy example, by thy words, and by thy prayers. Alas, 
 see how frail is that stay on which the sinner confides [H]. His 
 "trust," as holy Job says a , "shall be a spider's web," — spread over 
 the bottomless pit beneath. " He shall lean upon his house, but 
 it shall not stand." "The snare is laid for him in the ground." 
 "His confidence shall bring him to the King of Terrors." See 
 how the Angels of God [I] exhort thee to zeal for the souls of 
 others ! Yea, even Jesus our King Himself [K] is willing to come 
 down to earth to deliver souls [L], that are in peril of the eternal 
 woe. He sees and knows the dangers that encompass us, though 
 we see and know them not : and oftentimes, while we think not 
 of it, is He descending to succour and deliver us from the devour- 
 ing flames. 
 
 * Chap. viii. 14, and ch. xviii. 14. 
 
Look upon those starry nations 
 
 Which now come to sight around, 
 In their everlasting stations, 
 
 "With a mighty dread profound ! 
 Tor what are we, who walk with day and night, 
 'Mid those thick scattered worlds that fill the infinite ? 
 
 There, as heart-appalling Wonder 
 Looks into the shoreless whole, 
 Deeper than with sounds of thunder 
 
 Steals that Silence o'er the soul, 
 While through the avenues of mortal sense 
 Opens, in vista dread, boundless Omnipotence. 
 
 Fathoming the heart's dark ocean, 
 
 Faith and Wonder stand aghast, 
 Calm more deep than felt emotion ; — 
 
 Conscience then brings up the past, 
 And whispers, ' ' Fifty years and I am gone, 
 Illimitable worlds, to traverse you alone !" 
 
THE BROAD WAY. 179 
 
 One short hour, and we are parted 
 
 Into that which is to come ; 
 Thought to bend the stoutest hearted 
 
 Should it to his breast come home ; 
 The strongest pulse is as a spider's thread, 
 Spread o'er that infinite that doth receive the dead. 
 
 Hast thou ne'er from airy mountain 
 
 Look'd upon a gulf below, 
 Or deep cavern, where a fountain 
 
 With a glimm'ring lamp may glow ? 
 A sinking dread upon the spirit lies, 
 As daring to look out on some dark destinies. 
 
 How tremendous is that portal 
 
 Into which we onward press, 
 Issuing to climes immortal, 
 
 Harbourless and fathomless ! 
 How hugest mountains vanish into naught 
 When in our face unscar'd looks that overwhelming Thought ! 
 
 Then the spirit to its centre 
 
 Shakes, for doubtful is our state, 
 And there are but few that enter 
 
 Into that the happier gate : 
 That Thought will then not be put by, nor go, 
 But in the spirit's cells it looks us through and through. 
 
 n2 
 
180 THE BROAD WAY. 
 
 Then when strongest heart is failing 
 
 Death it calls in to its aid, 
 Strips aside the fleshly veiling 
 
 Round ourselves that we have made, 
 And in each crevice dark, where Memory lies, 
 Looks in the inner soul as with a spirit's eyes. 
 
 Dread the night around us standing, 
 
 With its many-peopled skies, 
 But more terribly expanding 
 
 Are the heart's immensities ; 
 And thoughts of deeper dread therein may roll 
 Than thunderings and light which fill the starry pole. 
 
 If we now the soul surrender 
 
 Unto all that Christ doth say, 
 Grace and Mercy shall defend her, 
 
 While so many go astray; 
 With pride and lust unheeding are they led, 
 And know not that they tend to City of the Dead. 
 
 See throughout the swarming City, 
 
 Countless multitudes that throng, 
 Unto whom celestial Pity 
 
 Calls to pause, — yet calls not long, 
 For, one by one, full fast they disappear 
 Into the silent grave, where none her voice can hear. 
 
THE BROAD WAY. 181 
 
 See, the World with luring glances 
 
 Leads them on and lulls their fear, 
 Each as downward he advances 
 
 Less and less will lend an ear, 
 Proceeding on till sin's absorbing sleep 
 With some oblivious power their senses seems to steep. 
 
 As if there were round them playing 
 
 Some dark spirit's witching song, — 
 Thoughtlessness their souls arraying 
 All that downward path along, — 
 Some evil spirit on the banks of Hell 
 Touching their souls with sounds to us untraceable. 
 
 With such care they clasp the treasure, 
 
 Which with them still daily dies ; 
 So unheeding court that pleasure, 
 
 Which is fading ere it flies : 
 Such soft enchantment o'er their purpose steals, 
 And dead upon them fall stern Wisdom's calm appeals. 
 
 Blessed Angels high in Heaven 
 
 O'er the penitent rejoice ; 
 Hast thou for thy brother striven 
 
 With an importuning voice ? 
 Thus inay'st thou here, in tins sad earth's annoy, 
 Peel what it is to know an Angel's heavenly joy. 
 
182 THE BROAD WAY. 
 
 He that wakes his brother sleeper 
 Double Light himself shall gain ; 
 What, "am I my brother's keeper?" 
 
 Said of old the wicked Cain ; 
 Christ is our Keeper, Who doth with us stay, 
 His brethren to awake with Him to watch and pray. 
 
 Now how many may be given 
 
 To that during fiery lake, 
 Who had found a place in Heaven 
 
 Had'st thou toiTd for Jesus' sake, 
 Hadst thou but watch' d and prayed their souls to save 
 Before upon them clos'd the never-opening grave ! 
 
 Dives, lo, in torments burning, 
 
 Who had lost his day of grace, 
 To his friends in pity turning, 
 
 Lest they come into that place ! 
 Shall we not, Lord of grace, in pity strive, 
 While still our brethren dwell with us on earth alive ? 
 
 Some there are for their departed 
 Who at shrines and altars pray, 
 Bow'd to earth and broken-hearted, 
 
 And their riches give away, 
 If so they may but lighten the dread pains 
 Which hold their lovM and lost in purifying chains. 
 
THE BROAD WAY. 183 
 
 What, if naught in sacred story 
 
 Is reveal' d beyond the tomb 
 Of the fires of Purgatory, 
 
 And the place of middle gloom ; 
 We know that prayers for living souls avail, 
 Then shall we sit and smile at their fond fabled tale ! 
 
 Naught we know of vanished spirits, 
 
 Whether they can aid us now ; 
 Here we know each soul inherits 
 
 Mighty powers to save from woe, 
 From endless woe to save his fellow-men ; 
 But when the door is closed, we know not what is then. 
 
 They who erst in Christ believed 
 
 E'en for others won His aid, 
 Through their friends whom Christ received, 
 
 They by Him all whole were made : 
 So now with prayers importunate and deep, 
 Faith brings Christ near to raise souls that in ruin sleep. 
 
 Deem him not an useless liver 
 
 Who hath fled the appalling sight, 
 With the all-bestowing Giver 
 
 Interceding day and night ; 
 Calling his Lord from the eternal place, 
 To save from brink of Hell, in this our day of grace. 
 
184 THE BROAD WAY. 
 
 Though the world is little heeding 
 
 Them from her who stand aloof, 
 They for her are interceding ; 
 
 And when opes the heavenly roof, 
 True friends of man shall come indeed to sight, 
 Par more than statesman's skill or warrior's boasted might. 
 
 Cleanse by alms and fast and weeping 
 
 Sins that weigh thy spirit down ; 
 Souls of friends, in death now sleeping, 
 
 Shall be waken' d with thine own : 
 Whilst thou their sins dost blend in prayer with thine, 
 More deeply to repent shall thine own heart incline. 
 
 Think how fast the minutes dying, 
 
 "Which now bear thee to the grave, 
 Winged with prayers, and heavenward flying, 
 
 Might a tottering brother save : 
 While on each parting day the curtains fall, 
 And such occasions gone thou never canst recal ! 
 
 Think how much thy Lord sustained, 
 How He fasted, wept, and pra/d, 
 When His soul for thee was pained, 
 
 Passing through death's gloomy shade ; 
 Eemember His dear words, that 'neath the sun 
 Whatever thou dost to man unto Himself is done. 
 
THE BROAD WAY. 185 
 
 Think of that day when each brother 
 
 To his brother shall be known, 
 If thy prayers have saved another, 
 And thy service God shall own ; 
 How well repaid will be thy toils and pain, 
 If thou shalt meet him there where joys eternal reign. 
 
 Think how words in season spoken 
 In some sinful heart sink deep, 
 And the first link may have broken 
 
 Of the chains that round him creep ; 
 Or, drop by drop, at length, and day by day, 
 How waters soft will wear the stubborn rocks away. 
 
 Though their inward selves they smother, 
 
 And like hidden streamlets run, 
 Yet men's thoughts will watch each other, 
 
 And we know not how are won ; 
 Lights of the world a halo round them bear, 
 Something that sheds around Divine inspiring fear. 
 
 Have ye never read in story 
 
 Of great Antony the good, 
 How 'mid caves and deserts hoary 
 
 He the enemy withstood ; 
 Till to his countenance such peace was given, 
 That silently men's hearts it won to God and Heaven ? 
 
186 THE BROAD WAY. 
 
 They, who in this world of sorrow 
 
 Seek for God's life-giving Pace, 
 Something from the next shall borrow, 
 
 Loving God's own hiding-place ; 
 Like Angels who around in stillness steal, 
 And God Himself Who loves unseen to work our weal. 
 
 But, when over life's short fever, 
 
 They who many turn to good 
 Like the stars shall shine for ever, 
 
 Bright, eternal brotherhood, 
 Building their houses in that City free, 
 "Which God Himself shall gird with immortality. 
 
 Then upon the starry nations 
 
 Which now come to sight around, — 
 
 As they glimm er in their stations, 
 With a mighty dread profound, — 
 
 Thou ma/st look out, with kindling hope and fear, 
 And sink within thyself, rememVring God is near. 
 
XV 
 
 nrrv 
 
 T 
 P 
 
 
 
IMAGE THE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 ^racttee tfiggdf in nwfcttattng on ftolg Doctrines, ant) tafee foe an 
 example tj»e mggterg of the Nattbitg. 
 
 Prepare thyself, and then select some subject for meditation, as 
 that of the Nativity. [A] Portray this, as a Painter would do, in 
 a heart [B] which Peace [C] sustains, that is to say, in a heart 
 which is in tranquillity and at peace. Consider it with all its cir- 
 cumstances. First of all, who it is that is born [D]. Secondly ? 
 what it is which is said or done on that occasion, and in what 
 manner [E] . Thirdly, where, and when it is [F] . Fourthly, why 
 and for what end [G], namely, that Adam and the human race 
 might be rescued from death. Fifthly, collect inducements out of 
 each of these particulars, to the practice of some Virtue [H] . As 
 thou mayest perceive that, from each little chart in these delinea- 
 tions there is a ray of light extending to Virtue. Now take hold 
 of some Occasion [I], whereon thou mayest exercise this virtue ; 
 and shew thy detestation for the opposite Vice [Kj. Moreover, 
 while engaged in this contemplation, stir up thyself to the affection 
 ofGratitude [L],of Joy [M], of Admiration [N], of Compassion [O]. 
 Wherever thou art, exercise Faith, Hope, and Charity [P], deriving 
 them in prayer from above. And observe how, in all this subject 
 of our meditation,Virtue [Q] shineth forth, and is taught in mystery. 
 And now consider the particulars of doctrine or precept [R], which 
 are set before thee by the Divine Teacher in that holy seat of His 
 instructions, the Mount of the Beatitudes; and endeavour practi- 
 cally to follow that Virtue [S] which they would point out to thee. 
 
®f)e 33trtft of ODfin'st in t&e peaceful ftcart. 
 
 Sweet Peace, of brow with olive crown* d, 
 
 Thou art no name of vain pretence, 
 
 That charms the ear but mocks the sense, 
 But sure as God's own word art found, 
 "Watching around the heart, on thee 
 Sta/d in unfailing charity. — 
 
 The heart that is the cradle meet, 
 Of pure affections the calm seat, 
 Wherein th' eternal Child is born 
 Whose face is the celestial Morn. 
 
 The Painter labours to impart 
 More than the magic of his art 
 Around that unimagin'd Birth, 
 Bines the hidden haunts of earth, 
 And o'er the scene strives to infuse 
 
 An immortality of hues. 
 
 Oh, that to me there might be given 
 A pencil dipp'd in hues of Heaven, 
 In living colours to enrol 
 Upon the tablet of the soul, 
 
THE BTRTH OF CHRIST IN THE PEACEFUL HEART. 189 
 
 And so to frame that portraiture, 
 As might in Paradise endure. 
 Grain' d in affection's glowing dyes, 
 Such as Angelic eyes might read, 
 Who gaze upon, and long to tread 
 The depth of those great mysteries. 
 Till graver thoughts of Duty, won 
 From Heaven-wrapt contemplation, 
 Glass' d in the bosom undefil'd 
 Reveal the sky-descending Child ; 
 The immortal beaming of Whose brow 
 Lights Heaven above, and earth below, 
 With infant temples blazing bright 
 In golden-haired cloud of light ; 
 Till full-arm' d Virtue into birth 
 Awakens, and on this bad earth 
 Goes forth, and with Occasion joined 
 Gains something of th' unearthly mind, 
 Shot like the lightning from that Pace, 
 One ray of which is deathless grace. 
 Yea, as I gaze upon the scene, 
 And would portray it, though unseen, 
 I seem beneath my feet to tread 
 That monster of the living dead, 
 Till in my fancy 'tis allow' d 
 To walk upon the earthly cloud, 
 Upward to rise with love, and see 
 A ray of immortality. 
 
 Lo, now the deep-souTd orison 
 A speaking shape and form hath won, 
 
190 THE BIRTH OF CHRIST 
 
 Nor shall the Poet's glowing art 
 Her sister leave to take her part, 
 And unattended there to wait, 
 The handmaid of Divinity. 
 And well I love that poet wild a 
 Who oft would paint Thee as a Child, — 
 ' A Child with more than Anger's ken 
 Mixing among the things of men ; 
 With warning dread and sweet control, 
 And more than manhood in Thy soul : — 
 With this huge world of sea and land 
 A ball within Thine infant hand. 
 
 Thus comest Thou in this our pride, 
 To lay thy glorious robe aside, 
 Great in Thy Godhead, for our sake 
 This manhood's gentlest form to take, 
 Calling us round to plead with Thee, 
 Dreadful in Thy humility. 
 
 Great in Thy Godhead, yet a child, 
 So by Thee be my spirit filled, 
 A little Child that helpless lies, 
 Bound round by our infirmities. 
 
 A little Child of one day old, 
 Laid in a manger dark and cold ; 
 Whom Heaven of Heavens cannot contain, 
 Nor years eternal bound Thy reign ! 
 
 8 Francis Quarles, to whom may be added Herman Hugo, 
 from whom his Emblems are taken. 
 
IN THE PEACEFUL HEART. 191 
 
 Of Thee we cannot choose but speak, 
 Yet speaking feel our words are weak ; 
 One word speaks all — Immanuel, — 
 Whose love is Heaven, whose wrath is Hell. 
 
 A little Child from Heavenly land 
 Low bending down, and from the height, 
 Hanging precipitous in sight, 
 Holding mankind with mighty hand, 
 SaVd from an unseen gulf beneath, 
 And lifted from the grasp of death. 
 In that sweet vision manifest, 
 In all He does His infant breast 
 Hath shot a ray that grows not old, ' 
 But maketh our weak Virtue bold, 
 Saving, and teaching blinded man, 
 Thyself the good Samaritan. 
 
 But how shall we portray the scene, 
 Blending the things that might have been, 
 "With thoughts found meet to speak th' Unseen ? 
 For Heaven and earth there seem to meet, 
 And opens the eternal seat. 
 
 Though dark and silent is the room, 
 The painter and the poet's skill 
 With other inmates strive to fill, 
 And all the darkness to illume, — 
 Ashamed of poor humanity 
 Before the Maker of the sky. 
 The homely scene they fain would dress 
 Grieved at the cold and nakedness ; 
 
192 THE BIRTH OF CHRIST 
 
 They bring around that wondrous Birth 
 Whate'er of good is found on earth, 
 And from all hues in Fancy's store 
 Living illumination pour. 
 
 Yet rather to the scene be given 
 The silence of that hour in Heaven ; 
 For what can speak the Infinite ? 
 And what can paint the wondrous light, 
 Where brighter than ten thousand suns 
 The stream of burning glory runs 
 Around His brow, whose viewless glow 
 To endless worlds doth life bestow ? 
 But if the painter needs must speak, 
 And poet too would silence break, 
 We there would paint a Heavenly crown, 
 Opening above, Heaven's Lord to own, 
 And in dread stillness coming down b . 
 
 O scene mysterious of all time, 
 What thought can match the dread sublime 
 Of that the meek reality ? 
 When howling Winter hurried by, 
 And sang Thy birth-night lullaby ; 
 And hungry beasts were prowling round, 
 In the dead midnight hour profound ? 
 
 The horned ox is standing by, 
 And idly feeding without fear, 
 Looks coldly on, he knows not why, 
 Nor conscious feels Ins Maker nigh. 
 
 b See the Image here described. 
 
IN THE PEACEFUL HEART. 193 
 
 The lamb too lies there bound and dead. 
 
 Significance divinely meant, 
 
 That life of man must needs be fed, 
 
 On death of the meek innocent ! 
 
 Thus Winter's sound and Midnight's womb, 
 
 With cheerless cold, and silent gloom, 
 
 Welcome Thee to this lowly room. 
 
 Little hath Earth to give at best, 
 But of that little gives the least, 
 Sullen her mien and aspect drear, 
 Her Heavenly Lord to welcome here. 
 
 And shall we weave a wreath o'er thee 
 Of heart out-pouring poesy, 
 Mysterious Birth ? Art would express 
 And toils anew the scene to dress ; 
 Conception labours to find vent, 
 Yet feels her vain and impotent : 
 Weak is the thought, the hand, the tongue, 
 And yet our silence does thee wrong. 
 The painter and the poet vie 
 With kind and holy rivalry, 
 Rifling Imagination's lore 
 To deck and people that dread floor, 
 With live and speaking furniture, 
 And all things holy, bright, and pure. 
 
 That shed becomes a ruin'd hall c , 
 Once Israel's temple, now to see 
 Wreck of a wondrous masonry, 
 
 c The Nativity, by Overbeck. 
 O 
 
194 THE BIRTH OF CHRIST 
 
 Glorious in ruin, from whose fall 
 There goeth forth, as in a dream, 
 Through distant worlds a living stream. 
 
 Another brings the princes nigh 
 Of Saba and of Araby, 
 While on the other hand appear, 
 With pipe and tabor drawing near, 
 A band of Shepherds, old and young, 
 Who on this night with Angels sung. 
 
 Some bring in distance Sion's hill, 
 Or Tabor, or that mount of ill, 
 Or there the true Gerizim plant d 
 Of the life-giving Covenant. 
 Some make that scene the dread resort 
 Of beings of the Heavenly court, 
 Whatever may the power bring nigh 
 Of that tremendous clemency ; 
 Something that may the heart express 
 Of overwhelming lowliness. 
 
 Some such majestic radiance pour 
 O'er the blest Mother, that no more 
 In meek subjection hath she shone, 
 The Mother lost in the dread Son, 
 The human Maid, the Child Divine, 
 The Godhead and the earthly shrine ; 
 But o'er her countenance infuse 
 An emanation of bright hues, 
 
 d The Mount of the Beatitudes. See Image described. 
 
IN THE PEACEFUL HEART. 105 
 
 Not saintly stern and pale, with form 
 By watches wan ; but breathing warm 
 With female grace and loveliness, 
 That charm the sense, but awe us less. 
 
 Others from Fancy's world will seek 
 Symbolic forms high truth to speak ; 
 And thus our limner to the eye 
 Presents Ins pictured poesy, 
 Rake, pail, and shepherd's household gear 
 Blend with the storied scene that's there,— 
 Shapes that embody to the sense 
 The Preacher's holy eloquence. 
 
 Thus Joy behind with lifted hands 
 Wrapt in ecstatic transport stands, 
 While Hope and Love the painter brings, 
 Within his bosom breeding wings. 
 He seems to catch in that bright ray 
 A something of the Heavenly day ; — 
 Of Love's philosophy divine, 
 Such as it is where Angels shine. 
 
 And Admiration on his knees 
 The sight in trance-like silence sees : — 
 Much hath he witness'd 'neath the sun, 
 The child of adoration, 
 Seen rugged scenes and waters wild, 
 And mountains upon mountains pil'd, 
 And track'd the stars that fill the sky 
 With whirlwind-winged ecstacy, 
 Yet never yet seen aught to tell 
 Of marvel so ineffable. 
 
 o 2 
 
] 98 THE BIKTH OF CHRIST 
 
 Behind the Infant's radiant Head, 
 Like holy Simeon thither led, 
 Kneels heart-transporting Gratitude ; 
 And Virtue with her light endued 
 Stands, girt for action, and anon 
 As she that sight doth feed upon, 
 In attitude both stern and mild, 
 Points to her Cross and to the Child. 
 
 Compassion too with melting eyes, 
 That speak Ins deep-stirr'd sympathies, 
 With folded arms hangs in amaze, 
 And on the Infant feeds his gaze ; 
 While Faith, and Hope, and holy Love, 
 Lean from their radiant seats above. 
 Now wouldst thou learn with Heaven-taught eye 
 To read aright this mystery, 
 Then wait awhile, and that fair Shade 
 Of Virtue, — in bright arms array'd, 
 And crown 5 d with helm of burnished blaze, 
 Winch o'er her brow unharming plays, — 
 Shall lead thee to the Teacher's tlirone : 
 The King shall there His subjects own, 
 Sitting upon the mountain ground, 
 With His disciples gather'd round, 
 Where from His shrine go forth the floods 
 Of life-giving Beatitudes. 
 
 Here in these Angel-haunted lands, 
 Where Bethlehem's lowly cradle stands ; 
 Or that hill-top, through clouds that break, 
 Looks on the Galilean lake, 
 
IN THE PEACEFUL HEART. 197 
 
 Here skies and earth do seem to meet 
 
 Around His ever-blessed feet ; — 
 
 Together in one blending ray, 
 
 Conspire in one bright holiday : 
 
 While Heaven seems opening her bright door, 
 
 And letting down her burnished floor. 
 
 This is the land where Israel's stair 
 
 "Was seen upon the lucid air; 
 
 Where most on earth, if not alone, 
 
 The haunt of Angels hath been known. 
 
 Fairer than sight of mortal eye 
 That vision of the opening sky, 
 Where three bright Shapes are earthward bow'd, 
 And sitting on a golden cloud : 
 First Faith, that giveth eyes to see, 
 With cup of immortality ; 
 In her right hand the Cross she bears, 
 To shew a charmed life she wears. 
 And that irradiant form of Love, 
 Enfolding children from above, 
 With an immortal power descending, 
 All things in holy marriage blending, 
 Preparing the true spotless Bride 
 That with the First-born may abide. 
 And Hope, that holds her anchor fast, 
 Winch she within the vail hath cast, 
 With a meek bird of dove-like wings 
 To bear the soul to better things. 
 
 Fond vision of the silent heart, 
 Not poet's thought nor painter's art 
 
198 THE BIRTH OF CHRIST 
 
 Hath power that promise to fulfil ! 
 Prayer hath alone the secret skill 
 To plant around that living tent, 
 With all the limner's art hath meant, 
 And bring to earth the firmament : 
 With cords of love to weave a crown, 
 And bring the golden vision down ; — 
 The Jubilee of Heaven and earth, 
 To celebrate their Maker's birth. 
 Prayer that high vision shall create, 
 And make that land the Heavenly gate. 
 
 Lord, I would speak of Thee aright, 
 And meekly : if a poet' s might 
 Moulds in my soul its chains of fire, 
 Then would my burning thoughts aspire, 
 Above all earthly things, to be 
 The bard of Thy Nativity ! 
 
 But better if my heart express 
 Thy Childhood in its lowliness ; — 
 Alas, and was Thy cradle bare 
 Of all the welcome Earth could spare ? 
 My heart is now a shed more rude, 
 And sterner is the solitude ; 
 Darker my spirit's night, while sound 
 Remorseless memories, like the Mind ; 
 And restless passions, prowling round, 
 Therein an entrance strive to find. 
 Wilt Thou within so mean a shed, 
 So vile a manger, lay Tliine head ? 
 
IN THE PEACEFUL HEART. 199 
 
 If so, all things the foulest there 
 Shall in Thy Countenance stand bare, 
 But should they catch Thy gleam Divine 
 Shall like an Eastern palace shine. 
 
IMAGE THE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 M tfjou fooufoegt attain unto that grace fohtch tfrou Uegtregt, 
 put tjjg trugt in (£ot> onlg, ant> Dtetrugt t&gsdf. 
 
 Although thou mayest have determined to seek after Virtue, 
 as observed in the contemplation of that mystery which we have 
 considered, and to follow Christ [A] : yet, alas, the World [B] 
 and the weight of corrupt nature will hold thee : and perhaps in 
 addition to these thou wilt be pulled backward by the chains of Sin 
 [C]. But put thy trust in God, and Christ shall liberate thee [D] 
 by His grace ; and will point out unto thee the way to Virtue [EJ. 
 Without the aid of His grace man is like an Infant [F], who is 
 unable either to rise, or to stand, or to defend, and feed himself, or 
 even to seek those things which he needeth from another. Have 
 no confidence therefore in thyself, but put thy trust in God only, and 
 His grace ; as the holy David did [G], when he overcame Goliath 
 the Philistine, not with a sling and a stone, but in the Name of the 
 Lord. And take care in thus adventuring with the sure aid of God, 
 that thou art by no means of a doubtful mind, lest with St. Peter 
 [H] thou beginnest to sink on account of the weakness of thy 
 Faith. 
 
XVI 
 
 - 1 . . R "*-— 
 
 ^1 
 
 ' 
 
 AS ' 
 
 3, c ^4i' 
 
 feJ 
 
 
 W- 
 
 ' ^0 , '!rir : ~a^ 
 
 Ms 
 
trusting alfoaps in CRotr. 
 
 Peace. — That vision of the holy Child, 
 Shrin'd in the bosom undent d, 
 Therein shall go from strength to strength, 
 Moulding His members ; till at length 
 The New Man's stature shall unfold, 
 Growing in virtue meek and bold. 
 
 Penitence. — Alas, the fetter on me lies 
 Of unbaptized phantasies, 
 And holds me, like an unseen weight, 
 Affection unregenerate. 
 
 Peace. — Again, again thou must return, 
 
 And of that holy Childhood learn ; 
 Cloth' d in this form of wisdom mild, 
 He there would teach thee as a child, 
 To turn from manhood's wisdom high. 
 And learn of helpless infancy. 
 
202 TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 
 
 Penitence. — Daughter of Hope and holy Love, 
 Tell me, thou herald from above, 
 What is that emblem in the grove, 
 A babe, of fear unconscious, laid 
 Beneath an adder-haunted shade ? 
 
 Peace. — 'Tis this that speaks thy nature's state, 
 Thus powerless left, and desolate, 
 Born in a world of serpent stings, 
 'Mid crawling worms and creeping things, 
 It helpless, hopeless, hapless lies, 
 And hath no language but its cries. 
 
 Penitence. — I see him thus upon the ground 
 
 With deadly foes encompass'd round, 
 Prey of the venom' d tooth and lies, 
 And laden with infirmities ; 
 Is this the embryo of the sky, 
 The child of immortality ? 
 
 Peace. — And this thy helplessness to know 
 Is thy best wisdom here below, 
 Yea, this to know is to be wise 
 In Heaven-revealed mysteries ; 
 This is the wisdom of the skies. 
 
 Penitence. — From day to day on every side 
 Are we by new temptations tried, 
 Like serpents winch around us creep, 
 While we seem bound in powerless sleep. 
 
TRUSTING ALWA\S IN GOD. 203 
 
 To know ourselves is to confess 
 Our own unaided helplessness. 
 
 Peace. — A child's true wisdom more and more 
 Learn by thy falls, — a spirit poor, — 
 The wisdom of its infant cries, 
 Winch on a parent's hand relies — 
 The wisdom of its calls for aid ; 
 This learn and thou art perfect made ; 
 More wisdom this than Plato's schools, 
 And all the Stagyrite's sage rules, 
 Than learned bowers of Academe, 
 And fam'd Ilissus' golden stream. 
 On Jordan rests a brighter gleam, 
 Wherein the leprous, sin-defil'd, 
 Again becomes a little child. 
 
 Penitence. — Now from His childhood I would turn, 
 That I might of His manhood learn ; 
 His word doth break the captive's chains, 
 And that His word in fire remains, — 
 " Come unto Me, ye sin-oppress'd, 
 My very yoke shall be your rest, 
 'Tis I who heal all malady, 
 And set the sin-bound prisoner free." 
 Lord, I have by experience known, 
 That all I have which is my own, 
 And whatsoe'er I virtue call, 
 Oft leads me to a heavier fall. 
 
204 TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 
 
 I make me cords to hold from wrong, 
 
 And bind my will by purpose strong, 
 
 But my resolves, as cords of tow, 
 
 Before the strength of passion go, 
 
 Like hempen bonds which flames o'er-run, 
 
 Or icy streams before the sun. 
 
 But list, I hear a happier strain, 
 
 Like sunbeams bright that blend with rain, 
 
 Till both in rainbows fair remain ! 
 
 Faith appearing. 
 
 Lo, flying from a burning cave, 
 
 And wood that might have been their grave, 
 
 I saw two wights who sore withstood, 
 
 And fled the monster of the wood : 
 
 I dare not look to them again, 
 
 But fain would join thy solemn strain. 
 
 As I attain this path of light, 
 
 My chains drop from me, at the sight 
 
 Of Him whom I have seen below : 
 
 Sing we His praises as we go, 
 
 Less shall we feel our toilsome woe a . 
 
 Penitence and Faith. 
 
 Lord, who hast ta'en us by Thy hand, 
 "Tis only by Thy strength we stand ; 
 Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life, — 
 Yea, through this world of sin and strife, 
 
 * Cantantes licet usque, minus via laedat, eamus. Virg. Ec. ix. 64. 
 
TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 205 
 
 Thy sheep is on Thy shoulders borne 
 
 By Thee unto the gates of morn. 
 
 Still do we see Thee All in All, 
 
 Still do we hear Thy loving call, 
 
 Not only by the gentle sign, 
 
 Thy still and lowly Yoice divine ; 
 
 Not by the whisper of the gale, 
 
 Or beckoning hand at evening pale ; 
 
 But by the cry (so strong and loud, 
 
 As that dread Voice heard from the cloud) 
 
 Of Thine example, — and Thy tears, — 
 
 And of Thy blood, which wakes our fears, — 
 
 And by the seal of Baptism given, — 
 
 And by a name that' s writ in Heaven, — 
 
 And by the silence of the shrine, 
 
 Wherein our spirit cries to Thine, — 
 
 And by the scent of odours sweet, 
 
 That dwells around Thy sacred feet. 
 
 But who is this ? some radiant friend 
 Doth from the portal bright descend, 
 With glittering arms and golden sheen 
 Encompassed, like a Heavenly Queen ! 
 
 Virtue. — On tin's bright road I come to meet 
 Pilgrims that seek the Heavenly seat ; 
 Heard in the morning's dawning light, 
 Your love doth here my steps invite ; 
 Which like the brooklet, clear and strong, 
 Sings as it speeds its course along. 
 
206 TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 
 
 As wakening from your nightly trance, 
 Ye onward on this road advance, 
 The Eye of day shall ope more clear, 
 And I be your interpreter. 
 Deep in the soul the vision springs, 
 Shewing in death immortal things : 
 Here in the mirror of the Word, 
 Each hath his own true lesson heard ; 
 Eaith may therein his conflict view, 
 And Penitence his strength renew. 
 
 Come, and yourselves behold in them,- 
 Lo here that youth of Bethlehem, 
 Unharm'd upon the battle-field, 
 With that Philistine deftly steel'd, 
 With greaves of brass and coat of mail ; 
 Here in that child which shall prevail, 
 Faith's true encounter is portrayed, 
 That leaneth not on earthly aid, 
 But in the Name of God on high, 
 Which shall obtain the victory. 
 And shall for ever overthrow 
 This world's arm'd prince, the giant foe. 
 
 And here comes forth to eyes of sense 
 The lesson of meek Penitence ; 
 Where Christ is walking on the wave, 
 And shews His mighty power to save. 
 And see upon destruction's brink 
 Good Peter is allow'd to sink, 
 That we with him might learn to tread 
 Among the dying and the dead, 
 
TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 207 
 
 Upheld divinely o'er the sea 
 Of fathomless eternity. 
 
 For this Christ comes from the Unseen, 
 To train us on His strength to lean ; 
 And Mercy's marvels, round Him thrown, 
 Are but to make His presence known ; 
 His presence and His power to bless 
 When man doth know his helplessness. 
 
 And all His Word, both Old and New, 
 Is but to bring that faith to view, 
 And in some storied guise set nigh 
 Man's struggle and his victory ; 
 Thus to reveal in vision clear 
 Christ's near approach to mortals here : — 
 That He who fills the sky with stars, 
 And to the ocean sets His bars, — 
 The bars of His Almighty Name, — 
 Will come to keep their soul from blame. 
 
 The three together. 
 
 From centre to circumference, 
 Through all the realms of soul and sense 
 To bounds of th' everlasting lulls, 
 "Whatever is His will fulfils, 
 All are around Him as they stand; 
 No atom stirs, nor drop, nor sand 
 Without Him, moves in Him alone, 
 As Seraphim around His throne. 
 Thou art Thyself the Sun of Light, 
 The Sea of Goodness infinite ; 
 
208 TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 
 
 While Thy dread justice overawes, 
 Whoe'er in heart goes from Thy laws, 
 Shall answer Thy mysterious call, 
 Or 'neath Thy power overwhelming fall. 
 Thou givest strength, and dost require 
 That all should love Thee, Thee desire. 
 
 Virtue. — Meek pilgrim, sore beset with foes, 
 
 And marked with scars that speak thy woes, 
 Upon thy way still onward press, 
 And look to Him in thy distress ; 
 He gives hinds' feet to climb on high, 
 And eagles' wings wherewith to fly. 
 
 'Penitence. — But hark, metliinks a gentle voice 
 Bids valley, hill, and lake rejoice, 
 So sweet that now the morning star 
 Seems lingering on his waning car, 
 To listen to that voice of mirth ; 
 'Tis sure of Heaven and not of earth, 
 Where such melodious sounds have birth. 
 Now near it soars, now sad the lay, 
 In distance dying far away, 
 Now grows upon the listening ear, 
 With happy sounds distinct and clear. 
 
 An Angelic voice heard, as of a child singing. 
 
 The hind hath 'scaped ! now haste away, 
 Thy life is given thee for a prey ; 
 
TRUSTING ALWAYS IN GOD. 209 
 
 Now haste away, thou hind forlorn, 
 
 And with thee take the wings of morn ! 
 
 On and on ! thy toils are broken, 
 
 Streaks of light the day betoken ; 
 
 Ply amid the purple dawn, 
 
 Hasten to the upland lawn, 
 
 To slopes where odorous cedars sigh, 
 
 To pine-clad tops of mountains high ! 
 
 Take wings and soar, thou gentle hind, 
 
 And leave the nets and dart behind. 
 
 Fly, fly above tins lower air, 
 
 To mist-rang' d halls and mansions fair ; 
 
 Ply on to homes of wind and cloud, 
 
 Which wrack tins lower world and shroud; 
 
 Fly on to stars in air that move, — 
 
 Take spirits' wings, the stars above, 
 
 Ply to the golden realms of Love ; 
 There only, gentle hind, canst thou be free, 
 Safe from the hunter's toils in rest and liberty. 
 
IMAGE THE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 @omc nnt) let us foeigfi them together, let ug put tfjem botf) in 
 the balance, anfc see fohat tt comes to. 
 
 If thou wouldest know the intrinsic value of Virtue [A] , con- 
 sider how she outweigheth Vice [B] and all the World, with what- 
 soever it hath to hestow, — of whose children it is written, that 
 "they are deceitful upon the weights, they are altogether lighter 
 than vanity itself." Virtue promiseth and pointeth out to thee 
 the praise and rewards of God : Vice, the chains of slavery and 
 punishment, for he that doeth sin is the slave of sin. Virtue 
 healeth and strengtheneth the powers of the soul : Vice woundeth 
 with a triple weapon, — in thought, understanding, and will, — and 
 destroyeth. Give heed to the Occasions [C] of each, embrace 
 the handle of Virtue and avoid that of Sin ; for it is Occasion that 
 leadeth thee to every Virtue, or every Vice, and being bald behind 
 cannot be seized when once she is past. Be careful lest thou thy- 
 self be "weighed in the balance and found wanting." For God 
 hath "ordered all things in measure and number and weight;" 
 and will bring all things into the balance, and every work into 
 judgment. Consider how all Virtue [D] leadeth thee on, as by 
 the hand ; and maketh thee light and winged towards Heavenly 
 things, as in the case of voluntary Poverty [E], and helpeth thee 
 forward on the strait way that leadeth unto Salvation [F]. But 
 Sin [G] draweth away from the road to Heaven ; and the World 
 [H] and the love of the World and of riches urgeth thee through 
 crooked paths ; and so burdeneth thee as to render thy step as slow 
 as that of the tortoise. What therefore ? beyond all things let the 
 reflection be ever brought before thy mind, for what end thou wast 
 created [I], and that in order to attain that end, Virtue and all 
 things that appertain unto her can alone aid and promote thee. 
 " Whatsoever thou takest in hand, remember the end, and thou 
 shalt never do amiss." 
 
xvii 
 
 * 
 
 
 
®|je 23alan«s of fyz &anctuarg. 
 
 This is the calm of the Autumnal Eve, 
 
 beautiful and blessed sight 
 Which lifts the soul to Heaven, and while I grieve 
 Doth fill me with a holy still delight ! 
 
 O silence and repose, 
 Which o'er the passing year, ere yet it goes, 
 
 A holy mantle throws ! 
 The Nightingale to other lands hath flown, 
 
 The singing birds are still, 
 The roses have all ceased, the lilies gone, 
 Declining Noon withdraws from vale and hill, 
 
 And leaves us all alone. 
 
 For these outgoings of the waning Year, 
 
 And comings on of silent Night, 
 Do put more brightly on the Heaven's apparelling, 
 
 And e'en Decay doth beauty wear ; 
 Blest auguries fill thought and sense and sight : 
 
 From purple-clouded strands 
 
 A Spirit fair doth spring, 
 
 And on the mountain height, 
 Equipped for new and fairer lands, 
 Like some bright-harness'd Angel doth appear. 
 p2 
 
212 THE BALANCES OF THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 The yellow leaves are trembling, 
 And pilgrim-birds assembling 
 And the silver stars are breaking, 
 And the Moon upon the glorious Heavens all freshly is awaking. 
 Now Death and Life encountering meet, 
 And 'tween th' opposing bands 
 Decay and Beauty have shook hands ; 
 Twilight steals on with dewy feet ; 
 While Earth and Skies are meeting 
 In mutual benison, 
 Soft-handed Silence near stands looking calmly on, 
 And cordial is the greeting. 
 
 Brightly looks forth the wandering Moon 
 
 On rear of the Autumnal noon ; 
 And seems descending from a Heavenly door, 
 
 And speaking of a happier shore, 
 
 When Death's dim shade shall on us fall, 
 
 And Night display her spangled pall. 
 The Day that goes away 
 Lifts up a glorious curtain in the soul 
 From things that are more beautiful than Day : 
 But we, pent up in prison-house of clay, 
 See them not, though around us still they roll ; 
 Till Darkness shews the peopled Infinite, 
 
 And earth-worms tremble at the sight. 
 
 Thou aged man that sittest by the sea, 
 Feeding thy thoughts upon the dark blue Ocean, 
 
THE BALANCES OP THE SANCTUARY. 213 
 
 And on thy staff with pensive eyes dost lean, 
 Say from that distant land, which none hath seen, 
 
 What visions come to thee ; 
 Prom o'er the dark blue caves of ceaseless motion, 
 Say, what does thy prophetic soul divine, 
 To fill with happy thoughts thy lustrous eyne ? 
 Sitting alone upon life's evening shore, 
 Thou hear'st th' eternal billows roar, 
 
 Already at the door. 
 Lift up thy heart, thou aged man, 
 To where thy face is set — that beauteous dome, — 
 There thy true birthright scan, 
 And measure thine own glorious home. 
 
 Prom the cloud-moulded visions of the "West 
 A spirit fair unfolds her glowing vest, 
 And there, pavilioned in gold-braided cloud, 
 
 Upon the sea descending, 
 She unto earth, in beauty bow'd, 
 
 Her dreadful scale is bending. 
 Balanc'd upon the Heavenly roof, 
 One scale springs light as air aloof, — 
 Sin with her short-hVd pleasures, 
 Her poisoned darts, her wounds and chains, 
 
 Bought by eternal pains : — 
 One low descends, all massy proof, — 
 Yirtue, with her undying treasures, 
 
 Her pains that pass away, 
 
 And joys that ever stay. 
 
214 THE BALANCES OF THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 Mute is the calm autumnal eve profound, 
 With holy peace diffused around, 
 While all the worth of man, and his pursuit she measures. 
 
 And now as in some isle afar, 
 Beneath the Evening star, 
 Brought into nearness in the distant mass, 
 
 Bright moon-lit shadows pass ; 
 Catching the rays, as light around them flows, 
 While mantling Night upon their heels is treading, 
 And Twilight all behind her dewy sails is spreading ; 
 They pass into their bright and calm repose, 
 Before th' eternal door shall ever close. 
 Virtue's fair Daughters, born from dying woes 
 
 Of Him that walk'd the wave, 
 They go to Him, and plead His power to save 
 From the devouring grave. 
 
 And who is yonder man ? 
 Himself a fleeting span, 
 His shadow lengthens as the sun goes down, 
 So growing Sorrow marks him for her own ; 
 But o'er his head a golden crown 
 The parting sun hath thrown. 
 His worldly wealth on earth forsaking, 
 Wing'd sides he finds, and light-wing' d feet, 
 And on his way his comrades is overtaking, 
 While Virtue now descends her pilgrim true to meet, 
 And lead him hand in hand to her enduring seat. 
 
THE BALANCES OP THE SANCTUARY. 215 
 
 Man seems to climb a mountain side, 
 And ever as he mounts to leave behind 
 Green spots and flowers, 
 And shade of verdant bowers : 
 
 Bidding adieu to golden prime, 
 
 He flings aside to envious Time 
 The richer thoughts that were to Hope allied, 
 From barren to more barren still to climb. 
 Then, as he upward mounts, upon the wind 
 He hears no more the streamlet's melodies, 
 And Childhood's freshness on his spirit dies. 
 But now that he hath gain'd the mountain height, 
 He seems to walk upon the glorious skies : 
 The Sun, that sets upon the seas beyond, 
 Flings back the radiance of his golden wand, 
 And clothes him with a new celestial light ; 
 Anon he seems more large than man's estate, — 
 A figure seen on Heaven's bright-burnish'd gate. 
 
 Another road extends its forward march, 
 
 Above the mighty arch 
 
 That stretches o'er the tide. 
 And one is travelling with a tortoise by his side. 
 
 How slowly doth he wend, 
 
 Making the world his friend ! 
 Nor with her strong league will break, 
 
 But perish for her sake, 
 
 At the celestial gate 
 Knocking too late ! 
 
216 THE BALANCES OF THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 A road still lower now extends, 
 Which to that glory dimly tends ; 
 And one in sight of the eternal walls 
 
 For ever falls, — 
 By Sin inthraU'd when near his journey's end, 
 And Fiends afar in the dark shade rejoice 
 To see his hapless choice. 
 
 And lo, I see on the left hand 
 The Forms that lead the victim soul 
 To chambers of the grave, and sorrow's land. 
 Catching the rays, they sport awhile 
 
 And on their victim smile. 
 One blindly tears life's charter'd scroll, 
 
 And tramples on the sword ; 
 Another bears th' inebriating bowl, 
 Or whatever price they need who sell the Lord. 
 While Folly laughs to gain the heart and head 
 Of them who dream of life, while they embrace the dead. 
 
 Occasions, standing on each side, 
 
 Present themselves to guide, 
 As pursuivants to either band, 
 Like sisters twain, or shadows bland ; 
 With head behind all bald and bare, 
 
 Before all flowing hair, 
 Through which is scarce discerned their visage rare. 
 
 They come at every tide, 
 To convoy each to her own strand. 
 One grasps the world within her hand 
 
THE BALANCES OF THE SANCTUARY. 217 
 
 One tramples 'neath her feet. 
 One bears the crown of life for ever young, 
 And endless Heaven upon an hour-glass hung. 
 The other bears the thong 
 Which follows on the wrong : 
 She comes an Angel fair, 
 "With sweet enticing air, 
 Her hook and scourge conceals, 
 And feet which turn to talons strong ; 
 But when embraced, her twisted thong reveals, 
 And her uplifted soundless scourge, 
 With which her victim blind she on to death shall urge. 
 
 Hail, visions strange, which fill the poet's dream, 
 And shape his flowing theme 
 
 With shadows true of mightier things ! 
 While evening skies and earth together teem 
 
 With beauteous shades that walk abroad, 
 
 Truth peoples fancy's airy road 
 
 With her own deep imaginings. 
 It is a hallowed and a solemn time, 
 And o'er the Sea the red-orb'd Sun descends, 
 Methinks I hear the sound of that eternal chime, 
 
 When Judgment shall begin, and Trial ends. 
 
 Then say what hour through the long year is found 
 Like this, when summer's glare and daylight fails, 
 And Contemplation broods around, 
 To witness those eternal scales 
 Where life o'er death prevails, — 
 
218 THE BALANCES OF THE SANCTUARY. 
 
 The scales as seen in Angels' eyes, 
 Who watch us choose our destinies ? 
 What scene more meet, that where the stars 
 
 Stern witnesses appear, 
 As darkness lifts her massy bars, 
 And Ocean sounds his diapason drear 
 
 To the fast-waning year ? 
 
 Then lift thy voice, thou glorious Sea, 
 
 In expectation trembling, 
 And Earth with thousand tongues, 
 
 And Stars that are assembling 
 
 "With sweet though silent songs ; 
 Lift up on high your prison-bars, 
 That the eternal Year may go forth, free 
 Prom all that now his vision mars, 
 Crown' d with immortal jubilee, 
 
 And rescued from his wrongs. 
 
 Ye feathered pilgrims, when the year grows old, 
 Who on the dim horizon darkly flock, 
 While pillar'd clouds like smoke the vision mock ;- 
 Or range along the pented roof, 
 In companies so stiff and cold, — 
 In flying troops now wheel aloof, 
 Now huddle 'neath the frosty eaves, 
 As if in you the spirit grieves 
 To see the Autumn's waning leaves ; 
 And yet, preparing to depart to-morrow, • 
 Seem reconciled to tlus day's sorrow ; 
 
THE BALANCES OP THE SANCTUARY. 219 
 
 Pictures ye seem of suffering, 
 As if our climate did you wrong, 
 Yet suffering still in hope are fresh and strong, 
 With buoyant wing and twittering song ; 
 Give to my heart your song and wing, 
 And I with you will fly and sing. 
 
IMAGE THE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 Uteengage thggdf front tjje cbil ham't which frcgetg thee, 
 anD thou {Shalt ftntj light. 
 
 Art thou still hesitating, and yet desirous to render thy heart 
 more zealous in the attainment of holiness ? Consider, as in God's 
 presence, what advice thou wouldst seriously give thy friend in 
 such a case [A] ; and do thou thyself the same. But if Vice 
 holdeth thee back [BJ, disentangle thyself from her, and especially 
 if she be united with any old evil Habit [C], which formeth a cord 
 around thee, like that of a stern necessity, and which commencing 
 in a thread increases till it becomes a cable. And then follow thy 
 guardian Angel to all good, and along the straight road of life re- 
 member the advice of Christ, by pursuing it with Simplicity [Dj 
 and with Prudence [E], which qualities are denoted in Holy Scrip- 
 ture by the Dove and the Serpent. Watch for some Occasion [F] 
 of working out thy salvation. Consider the figures and symbols 
 which surround thee in the world, which may tend to represent 
 Virtue [G] to thy thoughts, either by simile or by contrast. For 
 to do this the Lord Jesus [H] hath taught us by His Parables, 
 such as that of the Good Shepherd [I], that of the Wheat and 
 Tares [K], that of the Vine [L], that of the prodigal Son [M]. 
 By which mode of teaching He hath made all nature to be eloquent 
 to us in the things of Salvation. 
 
I^abtt moultrtng ©Jjatns. 
 
 Reef after reef upon its ocean bed 
 The coral branches forth, and lifts its head, 
 More and more spreads around its woodland caves, 
 Emerging like a palace from the waves, 
 Hardening and reddening in each glowing cell, 
 Et haunt for fabled spirit there to dwell ; — 
 Fair roof d abodes, crystalline cells and floors, 
 Where shells and living things, old Ocean's stores, 
 Take varied hues and put on mailed form, 
 Gathering their strength and beauty from the storm. 
 And yet the while it hath no root on earth, 
 But feeds on air and sea, from whence its birth. 
 Thus Habits mould the soul to be a place, 
 Wherein may dwell forms of immortal grace ; 
 While thoughts and tempers in the spirit's shrine 
 Grow into shape and take the life divine ; — 
 Born and upraised from the Baptismal sea, 
 And drinking Heaven — elastic, stainless, free. 
 
 Branch after branch the Banyan tree gives birth 
 To daughter arms, that downward seek the earth. 
 
222 HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 
 
 Whose envious branches make a raid-day gloom, 
 And hide the sun ; — dun, silent as the tomb, 
 A life-destroying, gloom-embowering cave, 
 A temple for dark spirits of the grave. 
 Thus evil Habits wreathe their snakes around, 
 With elephantine trunks that love the ground, 
 And form a sullen shield against the sky, 
 Hiding from all the soul Heaven's genial eye : 
 Where sinful passions brood and range the shade, 
 And hide them in the gloom themselves have made. 
 
 Say, shall the dusky Ethiop change his skin ? 
 Then he that long hath sinn'd shall cease from sin. 
 And shall the dappled leopard lose his spots ? 
 Then time shall wear away the sinner's blots. 
 With changing life we change through our short span, 
 Yet still " the boy is father of the man f 
 In altered lineaments the same we trace, 
 And in the man behold the stripling's face. 
 
 First soft and flexible ourselves we mould, 
 Then cold and harden'd the sure impress hold ; 
 See the fresh youth alive to breath of blame, 
 Soft as the air to catch the tinge of shame ; 
 He laughs at vice, decrying virtue's pains, — 
 Now look again, his spirit is in chains. 
 Or if his will hath wrought the mastery, 
 It hath regain'd the reins, and now is free. 
 
 As we advance a silent hand we find, 
 A form unseen is pulling from behind ; 
 In ways and thoughts of weakness and of wrong, 
 Threads turns to cords, and cords to cables strong, 
 
HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 223 
 
 Till Habit hath become our Destiny, 
 Which drives us on, and shakes her scourge on high. 
 Stumbling when we our heavenly course would run, 
 Caught in the meshes we ourselves have spun ; 
 Then knowing not the cause we feel a chain 
 Withholding, and of outward things complain, 
 Of fate, — foreknowledge,— nails by Nature driven, — 
 Of stern necessity, — and power of Heaven, — 
 Of head's formation, — aU-constraining will, — 
 Of inborn evil, — power invincible ; 
 Alas our folly doth divine too well 
 Of Satan's bondage, and the toils of hell ; 
 As if the mandate had gone forth in doom, 
 " Bind hand and foot, and take him to the gloom.'" 
 
 The Will is moulded warm, but hard remains, 
 And is upon the heart with iron chains ; 
 And Sin, within the seat of conscience wrought, 
 Brings in her teeming brood of evil thought ; 
 Those thoughts of evil still unbid return, 
 Till through the veins the secret fevers burn : 
 
 While every avenue lies open still, 
 
 And from each scene lets in the taint of ill. 
 Then let thine Angel seize thee by the hand, 
 
 And lead thee onward to a happier land, 
 
 While thou art able yet to hear his call, 
 
 Ere bound within by Passion's secret thrall. 
 
 And know thy Heaven- ward pathway to descry, 
 
 There is no guide like sweet Simplicity ; 
 
224 HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 
 
 The serpent's wisdom, manhood's worldly sense, 
 
 Can boast no light like dove-like innocence. 
 
 Nay, serpent's wisdom, manhood's strength combin'd 
 
 Are found in childlike innocence of mind. 
 
 For love on earth, in things unearthly wise, 
 
 Doth of the desert make a paradise ; 
 
 Wherein the child doth with the lion stray, 
 
 The serpent and the dove together play. 
 
 Thus death to life and night to day-light turns, 
 
 And round thy feet the light of duty burns, 
 
 While purity keeps watch at every pore, 
 
 And 'gainst each evil phantom shuts the door. 
 
 Behold how Mammon's child through earth and sky 
 Weighs all, unconscious, with a practised eye, 
 To something of prophetic sight attains, 
 While finger upon finger counts Ins gains : 
 How keen to scape all loss, all store to hold ! 
 He deems nought pleasant but what turns to gold. 
 Thus Love divine looks round with eager eyes, 
 Transmuting all things to her growing prize, 
 Her task on earth is treasure in the skies. 
 
 And now Occasion calls thee with her glass, 
 Wherein thy sands are number' d as they pass ; 
 Ere it hath flown seize now the fleeting hour ; 
 Each hour may break a link of Satan's power ; 
 Each hour one Heavenward step may thee advance, 
 Eor good or evil may the next enhance ; 
 Till Virtue meet thee, fair as star of even, 
 And her own light and liberty hath given. 
 
HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 225 
 
 How sweet the ways of Wisdom early gain'd, 
 Growing with growth, and strength by strength attained, 
 As higher heights and broader ways expand, 
 A freer air more near th' immortal land, 
 More treasure stor'd in Heaven ! Then Habit's might 
 Gives armour, makes the yoke and burden light, 
 When with spontaneous spring the heart ascends 
 In prayer to Heaven, in prayer begins and ends j 
 Till Custom shall to Nature's strength attain, 
 Duty her present joy, her future gain, 
 Opening a wider path in green old age, 
 Strewed with calm hopes of her high heritage. 
 
 Then Wisdom's self descending from the sky 
 Shall train thy heart to glad philosophy ; 
 And Christ Himself upon the way appears, 
 In things of Heaven to school thine eyes and ears ; 
 To walk with thee as erst with them of old, 
 And all the world around thee to unfold. 
 The scene to worldlings where their glory dies, 
 The grave wherein their hope in ruin lies, 
 Becomes replete with pictures ever new, 
 Presenting Heavenly lessons to the view ; — 
 Portraying tilings of our immortal birth, 
 As evening clouds oft shadow things of earth, 
 Obscure and transient, yet as by they sail, 
 There the full heart reads many a solemn tale ; 
 Each object seen becomes a speaking sign, 
 Which with a finger points to things divine, 
 A mirror wherein things celestial pass, 
 Eternity disclos'd as in a glass. 
 Q 
 
226 HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 
 
 For if Christ is within, enshrin'd in light, 
 Prom all without, from like or opposite, 
 Prom scenes we meet, or by the way behold, 
 He forms His parable, as erst of old, 
 Giving the seeing eye and hearing ear, 
 And heart to understand His presence near ; 
 Till all around our life shall find a tongue, 
 And witnesses of God our pathway throng. 
 
 All Nature then becomes a living book,' 
 Wherein the eyes of Paith for ever look, 
 And see a Father's love, a Father's care, 
 And the eternal kingdom rising there. 
 Then she walks forth 'neath Heaven's o'er-arching light, 
 And reads the glorious tidings brought to sight, 
 And carries on her holy orison 
 Through all His works in sacred shrines begun. 
 
 Read we in learned lore of rural scene ? 
 Or range the moor and mount, and pause between ; 
 Where fleecy wand'rers browze the sunny hill, 
 Or bleating drink of the dark winding rill, — 
 While by the sidelong path and jutting rock, 
 The shepherd hastens down to aid his flock ? 
 That watchful guide, and wolf that prowls at eve, 
 When thoughts of evil the week bosom grieve, 
 Shall speak of guardian Love in dangers nigh — 
 The Shepherd ready for His sheep to die ; 
 On mountain sides and wilds all bleak and bare, 
 Sweet are such lessons of His gentle care ; 
 On wind and wave His presence seems to brood, 
 Till that lone sheep-moor is not solitude. 
 
HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 227 
 
 Then let me pass along to cultural plains; 
 Lo, in destruction gay the charnock reigns, 
 The proud usurper o'er the waving corn, 
 Sharing soft dews, and rains, and rays of morn. 
 Alas, in Christf s own kingdom, all unseen, 
 The footsteps of the deadly fiend have been ; 
 Such are bad thoughts in the untutor'd breast ; 
 Such the bad men that break the Church's rest. 
 Thus e'en in sorrows we discern the sign, 
 And read in works of men Thy truth divine ; 
 Read Thine own lessons, and no more repine, 
 But haply gain therein a thought of care, 
 Of sleepers — and the harvest. — and the tare. 
 
 Or shall we wander forth to southern skies ? 
 There Wisdom still shall bear her Heaven-taught eyes, 
 Where creeps from branch to branch the hanging vine, 
 And fair festoons with clustering grapes entwine. 
 Sweeter than fragrant dews and genial air, 
 Breathe o'er that beauteous scene the thoughts of prayer. 
 O wondrous truth of awful mystery, 
 Are we the branches that bear fruit in Thee ? 
 All one with Thee, by Thee, in Thee abide, 
 Planted in Thee, and growing from Thy side, 
 Thyself in us — we not ourselves but Thine, 
 Form'd of and in one new mysterious Vine ! 
 Our better thoughts — our works — are all Thine own, 
 Thou spread'st Thyself in us, in us art grown, — 
 Bearing Thy fruit in us, Thyself our fruit, — 
 Thyself expanding in each living shoot. 
 q2 
 
228 HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 
 
 Grow, glorious Vine, around our homely halls, 
 Spreading Thine arms about our peaceful walls ; 
 Type of that heavenly Bride whose living grace 
 Clasps our poor homes with her serene embrace ; 
 With sheltering arms around and costly dower, 
 Drinking the airs of Heaven, and sun, and shower. 
 
 Nor shall the lulls and vales that breathe of Heaven, 
 And vines, and setting suns, and rays of even, 
 Alone speak Thy blest language, but the walls 
 Of crowded cities echo back Thy calls ; 
 Heard stilly amid rude suburban cells ; 
 And thickly-peopled towns, where luxury dwells. 
 There haply some fond parent's aching breast 
 Looks for a long-lost child, in sad unrest, 
 Watching the distance in his lone abode, 
 Where opes the window to the mountain road ; 
 Or hastes to meet the wanderer on the wild, 
 And Justice yields to Mercy reconciled. 
 Thus yearning Nature speaks a parent's love, 
 And this is Pity such as dwells above. 
 So when sad Memory sinks in guilty fears, 
 Such emblem of Thy love shall move his tears, 
 And urge to rise and seek a Father's face, 
 Who hastes to hold hhn in Ins fond embrace. 
 
 Thus when the heart, from fleshly bonds made free, 
 Attains to that immortal liberty, 
 The spirit of adoption shall make wise, 
 And clothe the world with her own mysteries. 
 The Spirit Which made all things gives to read 
 In His own works below His living creed. 
 
HABIT MOULDING CHAINS. 229 
 
 Then as we walk abroad, in singing bird 
 A Father's care is seen, His praise is heard ; 
 And lihes, in their sweet and dewy nest, 
 Speak of more radiant hues that shall invest 
 The earth-soil' d soul, which while it hastes to die 
 Is clothed afresh with immortality. 
 While withering flowers, which bloom but to decay, 
 Leave seeds that shall abide the harvest-day : 
 And labouring ants still teach us at our feet 
 Of Heavenly stores, and sure unseen retreat. 
 
 Soul-lighting Wisdom, unto whom is given, 
 To find on earth a shadow of thy Heaven, 
 Purge from the dross of sin my feeble sight, 
 That I Thy blessed lore may read aright ! 
 
IMAGE THE NINETEENTH. 
 
 CTongtoct: Ijotu in ticatl) tljou lotlt fotjsh to Ijabc rultibatcD ann par- 
 ticular, btrtue, anD make uge of life ant) opportumtg. 
 
 Reflect now, if thou wilt not wish in death [A] to have followed 
 virtue rather than vice. For at that time Virtue [B] alone will 
 stand by thee, and be a consolation to thee ; when Sin [C] and its 
 worm shall torment thee, when Death [D] shall terrify thee, and 
 the Demon [E] will be ready at hand to hurry away the impeni- 
 tent soul. When even thine intimate friends [F], and they that are 
 flesh and blood, shall carry away thy riches: when Occasion [G] shall 
 have departed ; when all worldly pleasures and sports [H] shall 
 have perished. When out of all thy earthly possessions nothing- 
 will remain to thee, but the winding sheet [I]. When thy friends 
 and kindred [K] will follow indeed thy funeral procession to the 
 grave, but, alas, must desert thee there, and leave thee to earth and 
 forgetfulness : and however eagerly thou mayest desire [L] their 
 society, yet thou canst obtain it not. On the other hand, the righte- 
 ous man [M], being refreshed by Virtue, and by good Angels, 
 shall have death converted into life, and sorrow changed into joy. 
 O with what tranquillity of mind will the righteous man, with what 
 perturbation of mind will the sinner, approach unto the Judgment- 
 seat of God [N] ! 
 
-. 
 
 I ft 
 
 nJi 
 
 _. jj ^ 
 
 
 r % 
 
 ^E ^ 
 
 : / : 
 
t&ty Btat^ of t&e Ifttgfmous. 
 
 There is a spot beside a h.ill% 
 Where sleep the dead in holy ground, 
 Nor know I auglit so sweet and still 
 As is the peace which there is found. 
 
 There, where beneath the church-yard wall 
 Adown the glen the waters fall, 
 Beneath a tapering ash-tree's shade 
 Three graves are by each other laid. 
 
 Around the very place doth brood 
 A strange and holy Quietude, 
 Where lingers long the evening gleam, 
 And stilly sounds the mountain stream. 
 
 I know not if it is the scene, 
 Bosomed in hills by the ravine ; 
 Or if it is the conscious mind 
 Hallows the spot, and stills the wind, 
 And makes the very place to know 
 The peace of them that sleep below, 
 
 a A village church-yard to the north of Aberystwith. 
 
232 THE DEATH OE THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 Investing nature with the spell 
 Of that strange calm unspeakable. 
 
 Methinks that both together blend 
 To hallow their calm peaceful end, — 
 The thoughts of them that slumber there, 
 Seem still to haunt the holy ground ; 
 And e'en the spot and solemn air 
 Themselves partake that calm profound. 
 Methinks that He who oft at even 
 Brings stillness o'er the earth and Heaven, 
 Till mountains, skies, and neighbouring sea 
 Blend in one solemn harmony, 
 Hath caused e'en Nature's self to grace 
 Their sweet and holy resting-place. 
 
 It seems the air of Heaven, and so 
 It was when erst they hVd below, 
 Around their dwelling seem'd to be 
 A charm of deep serenity ; 
 The vale, the hill, the quiet air, 
 Were made their hallow'd calm to share, 
 And whosoe'er to them drew near 
 Seem'd to put on a holy fear. 
 
 'Twas so erewhile — and when at last 
 One had surviv'd, and hence had past 
 To scenes of other neighbourhood, 
 Yet still the place of her abode 
 The skies and earth conspir'd to bless 
 "With that unearthly quietness. 
 
 'Twas not the play of high-ton'd sense, 
 Nor keenly-eyed intelligence, 
 
THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 23.3 
 
 Which have a power I know full well 
 To charm us ; — but a deeper spell, 
 A something in a holy life, 
 Which, unapproachable by strife, 
 Shed its own halo round the spot ; 
 That Care awhile herself forgot ; 
 And Passion could not there intrude 
 Upon their holy quietude. 
 
 'Tis hard, when by affection led, 
 To speak of the long cherish'd Dead, 
 Lest haply they should linger near, 
 And human praise should pain the ear 
 Of them who Christ's own Pace behold, 
 
 Or hide them 'neath His garment's fold. 
 It is enough that, where they sleep, 
 
 The Angels still their watches keep, 
 
 Which round them in tins world of sense 
 
 Shed once their calming influence. 
 
 The blackbird there, when showers are gone, 
 
 Still pipes at eve his benison ; 
 
 And on the frosty vernal morn 
 
 The valley's cheerful sounds are borne 
 
 As erst upon the mountain side ; 
 
 The spot is still as ere they died ; 
 
 But there is something on the scene 
 
 More hallow'd now than it hath been. 
 
 I sought the place when they were gone ; — 
 
 In silent pensiveness alone 
 
 I went upon the spot to grieve ; 
 
 It was a calm autumnal eve ; 
 
2-34 THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 And like a holy pilgrimage 
 
 Its memory doth my heart engage : 
 
 And oft when in tins worldly life 
 
 I am overtaken with its strife, 
 
 That hour comes back with its deep calm, 
 
 And on my senses breathing balm, 
 
 Awakens thoughts that deepest dwell 
 
 Within the bosom's hidden well, 
 
 Winch makes the eyes with tears to swell. 
 
 Beneath an ash-tree's light- green shade, 
 There side by side the Three are laid — 
 Laid by that church-yard gate at last, 
 Whereby they oft together pass'd. 
 That ash puts on and drops its leaves, 
 When the dishevelled Autumn grieves : 
 But no rude change again shall come, 
 To reach them in their peaceful home. 
 
 When Death first op'd the silent door, 
 The youth arose, and went before, 
 And so from places of the blest 
 Grief came to be his parents' guest, 
 To fit them for his happier rest. 
 
 The Priest was such as Chaucer drew 
 In very lineament and hue ; 
 Save when his love o'er children bent, 
 It something to the surface sent, — 
 A child-like soul, winch takes delight 
 In lowly deeds, and shews aright 
 The true and guileless Israelite. 
 
THE DEATH OF THE MGHTEOUS. 235 
 
 Often he seem'd by toil oppressed, 
 Oftener in very toil at rest ; 
 Nor ever deem'd his labour done 
 Till he that last repose had won, 
 Where now the chequered shadows wave, 
 And breathe that peace above his grave. 
 
 Since he hath been in yonder tomb, 
 Pull many a house hath caught the gloom, 
 Pull many a widow's heart is cold, 
 And many us'd his hand to hold 
 Have miss'd the shepherd of the fold. 
 
 Her form I see, though gone from sight, 
 Yet ne'er of her can speak aright ; 
 But if the Peace which dwells above 
 E'er took the form of earthly Love, 
 'Twas like that spirit meek, whose price 
 Is more than costliest sacrifice. 
 
 Lord, if my many sins below 
 Porbid me here that peace to know, 
 Grant when, from these my chains set free, 
 I put on ImmortaHty, 
 I may be with them at the close, 
 And find at last their true repose. 
 
 When thus the door is shut at last, 
 And we sit musing on the past, 
 Released from things that cheat the sight, 
 We seem to judge of life aright ; 
 We seem with them whose day is o'er 
 To sit upon th' eternal shore ; 
 
230 THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 
 
 Safe from the tumult and the wave, 
 And learn the wisdom of the grave. 
 
 Preach, read, and study as we will, 
 Death is the mighty teacher still, — 
 Here something of celestial light 
 Seems to break in upon the sight : 
 We seem to see as Angels see, 
 Taught somewhat of the mystery, 
 Like they who, gathered to the fold, 
 Afar this troubled scene behold ; 
 Where things of earth no more can charm, 
 Nor wake their wonder and alarm, 
 No more can their affections mock ; 
 While, hid within their sheltering Rock, 
 They hear the passing tempest roar, 
 Hear the turmoil without the door, 
 Which shakes their faithless hearts no more. 
 
 Amuse our fancies as we will, 
 Death is the mighty teacher still : 
 Dispute, debate we as we may, 
 His is the wisdom none gainsay. 
 When he shall first uplift the veil, 
 And Memory sternly tells her tale ; 
 When lost Occasion goes to dwell 
 Tor ever with the Unchangeable ; 
 When all upturned the festive token, 
 The harp upon the ground lies broken, 
 The outside turn'd of Pleasure's mask, 
 And no one found her aid to ask : 
 
THE DEATH OE THE RIGHTEOUS. 237 
 
 The feathered plume is cast aside, 
 We have no more a heart for pride ; 
 And all the emblems of our play 
 Seem to upbraid our earthly stay ; 
 The lifeless toys all find a voice, 
 To tell us of our broken choice. 
 The World herself in silence stands, 
 And in amazement lifts her hands, 
 To see that now our work is o'er, 
 Of all our furniture and store, 
 What now remains our wants to meet, 
 Is nothing but a winding sheet ! 
 While e'en our kindred from us go, 
 To share what we have left below. 
 
 Now the lone inmate of the tomb 
 Is left to nakedness and gloom, 
 And laid in cold corruption's seat, 
 His lingering friends seems to entreat ; 
 But all in vain, they cannot stay, 
 The silent mourners steal away, 
 To weep awhile, and then put on 
 The treasures left by him that's gone, — 
 To share them with the setting sun. 
 
 Let me awhile thy patience crave ; — 
 There is no teacher Like the grave ; — 
 Come, and behold tins dying room, 
 Say, what can lighten here the gloom, — 
 When Sin doth at thy bosom knock, 
 And he whom thou hast made thy liege, 
 
238 THE DEATH OF THE 1UGHTEOUS. 
 
 Doth call in Death thy woes to mock ? 
 And as he presses on the siege, 
 Within thy breast th' undying worm 
 Begins to shew his serpent-form, — 
 What else can cheer thee or illume, 
 And kindle light in that dim room, 
 But Virtue with her Cross, to sight 
 Coming apparelled in the light ; 
 As in a night of darkest noon, 
 Walking o'er clouds the silent moon ? 
 
 Refuse we counsel as we may, 
 Yet unto death shall none say nay : — 
 Expanded is the solemn scroll, 
 Which time throughout did still unroll, 
 And gave o'er earthly things to float, 
 But we had other sights to note ; 
 On all around us still he wrote 
 O vanity of vanities ! 
 'Mid Heaven and earth the Angel flies, 
 And unto all creation cries, 
 O vanity of vanities ! 
 On every side the lesson lies, 
 ReveaTd to hands, and ears, and eyes — 
 The earth proclaims it to the skies, 
 The sky the same to earth replies, 
 O vanity of vanities ! 
 
 This man doth unto man proclaim, — 
 Day tells to day on wheels of flame, — 
 His very nature and his frame, 
 His power, his riches, and Ins fame, 
 
THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS. 239 
 
 Resolves, and purposes, and aim, 
 Yea, e'en his sorrows and his shame, — 
 Whate'er he touches tells the same, 
 That vanity is man's true name. 
 
 Then cheat our fancies as we will, 
 Death is the mighty teacher still. 
 Still from ourselves ourselves we hide, 
 But he holds up the glass to pride, 
 And shews us, reft of all, in dress 
 Of our own utter nakedness. 
 
 Nor need we earthly garb or store, 
 To pass with us that awful door, 
 For should we gain such bliss, to come 
 Unto the everlasting home, 
 We need no clothing which decays, 
 But that which unto faith is given, 
 Wove of imperishable rays, 
 The robe of holiness and Heaven. 
 
 To them whose pride and glory here 
 Lies buried in Christ's sepulchre, 
 To pass from this our sky-arch'd room 
 Is but a leaving of the tomb. 
 If sensual leanings first shall cease, 
 Then to go hence is but release. 
 When Alms and Prayers have gone before, 
 And daily strivings to be poor 
 Disrobe us of mortality, 
 And in the heart's core breed that sigh 
 Which pierces Heaven, and from above 
 Brings down the pledged immortal Love. 
 
240 THE DEATH OF THE RIOHTEOUS. 
 
 Then when the Deeds which to the end 
 The disembodied soul attend, 
 Love with her bright beams shall have lit, 
 Faith, who at Eden's door doth sit, 
 Shall know them and admit them there, 
 Bearing thy soul through fields of air, — 
 To rest in peaceful Paradise, 
 Until the Judge unbars the skies. 
 
 If such their end who e'er they die 
 Do put on immortality, 
 Then, tell me, is there spot below, 
 If thou to Wisdom's school wouldst go, 
 Like that calm grave so deeply still 
 Upon the shelf of that green hill, 
 Where lingers long th' Autumnal eve, 
 As loath that tranquil scene to leave ? 
 
 Oft when the day Ins race hath run, 
 Beyond the slow-retiring sun, 
 The clouds our eyes love to beguile 
 With shadows of some Blessed Isle ; 
 But lest thereon too long we gaze 
 It disappears with parting rays ; 
 That we from fancies yearning there 
 May turn, and for the night prepare, 
 And for the great eternal morn, 
 Winch on the wheels of night is borne : 
 When like the sun we see below, 
 The good through realms of space shall go, 
 And bear about them endless days 
 While night before them flies away. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTIETH. 
 
 <!KoU gfiall faing eberg foorlt into judgment, faith cberg secret 
 thfng, iD£>etgcr ft tic gooo, or tuj»etj»cr it tic coil. 
 
 O the terrible sight of Judgment ! Behold, O man, and consider 
 what then thou wilt wish to have done : do that now, and love 
 Virtue [A], which will then alone be thine advocate, when God 
 will bring to light the hidden things of darkness and will make mani- 
 fest the counsels of the heart [B]. The good things thou hast done 
 thy good Angel shall then recount [C] ; but the devil also, before 
 God and the whole world shall accuse thee of thy sins [D]. Oh, 
 how will the wicked man then wish to be united with the good [E], 
 O the sad separation [F] ! O the mournful spectacle ! Here the 
 World, which mortals make so much account of, is burned up [G]. 
 There Kings and Princes are trembling [H]. Here will be past 
 the irrevocable sentence either of eternal punishment [I], or of 
 eternal glory [K] . If thou wilt ever keep in mind these the last 
 things, surely thou wilt never willingly be guilty of any sin. For 
 it is written that "we must all appear before the Judgment- seat of 
 Christ ; that every one may receive the things done in his body, 
 according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad :" and 
 moreover " that every idle word that men shall speak they shall 
 give account thereof in the day of Judgment." v 
 
®fK Bag of Bags, 
 
 OR 
 
 tEfje (Sruat ittantfestatton. 
 
 Solemn are th' Autumnal signs 
 When the waning year declines, 
 And the frequent meteor shines : 
 
 Deeper tokens shall appear, 
 When the winter shall be near 
 Bringing in the Eternal Year. 
 
 Heavily through land and main 
 Moans the dread prelusive strain 
 Of the rising hurricane : 
 
 But more terrible the tone, 
 When Creation's self shall groan 
 As comes on the Judgment-throne. 
 
THE DAY OF DAYS, OR THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 243 
 
 Solemn is th' Autumnal pall, 
 When the leaves in silence fall 
 Through the branching forest hall : 
 
 Darker gloom shall clothe the sky, 
 As that Season draweth nigh 
 When the stars shall fall from high. 
 
 When the Sun is in eclipse, 
 Terror sits upon men's lips, 
 Till his light the forest tips : 
 
 Deeper fear through hearts shall run, 
 When the dim expiring Sun 
 Says that his long work is done. 
 
 When the palsied Earth doth shake, 
 When terrestrial thunders wake, 
 Sons of men with terror quake : 
 
 Then shall universal space, 
 
 From its height unto its base, 
 
 Say the Judge doth leave His place. 
 
 Watchful wakes the*eye- and ear, 
 When the glowing Eastern sphere 
 Doth proclaim the Sun is near : 
 r2 
 
244 THE DAY OF DAYS, OB 
 
 Hope and Fear shall listening stand, 
 When the moving sea and land 
 Shall proclaim the Judge at hand. 
 
 Midnight terror wakes from sleep, 
 When the mountain thunders leap, 
 Like a stag from steep to steep : 
 
 Louder far the Trump of doom 
 Shall re-echo through the gloom, 
 Which declares the Judgment come. 
 
 Marvellous and passing strange 
 From dead midnight is the change, 
 When the mid-day sun doth range : 
 
 But more wonderful the sight 
 When the everlasting Light 
 Breaks upon this earthly night. 
 
 Wondrous is the gate of Even, 
 
 When through all the dark blue Heaven 
 
 To our sight the stars are given : 
 
 But more solemn shall it be, 
 When around us we shall see 
 The celestial company. 
 
THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 245 
 
 Sun and stars withdrew their light 11 , 
 When the locust cloud of blight 
 Shrouded Israel's land in night : 
 
 More ten thousand-fold the state 
 On the Judge's path shall wait, 
 When He opes the Eastern gate. 
 
 When the dead Thy voice did hear, 
 In the grave and in the bier, 
 All aghast stood solemn Tear : 
 
 Then shall be a deeper dread, 
 When all ages of the Dead 
 Hear Thee in their darksome bed. 
 
 Oft we feel the dye is cast, 
 And a long expectance past, 
 And the Hour is come at last : 
 
 So in silence of the tomb, 
 In a moment shall have come 
 The expected Day of doom. 
 
 Solemn is the trial, when 
 
 Man doth give account to men, — 
 
 Solemn is the trial then : 
 
 • Joel ii. 10, Sat. 
 
246 THE DAY OP DAYS, OR 
 
 That account shall be more drear, 
 Greater trembling shall appear, 
 When the Judgment shall be near. 
 
 Dread on earth is the assize 
 When we watch the Judge's eyes, 
 Till we see how sentence lies : 
 
 Greater awe shall hold the breath, 
 When we wait to hear of death 
 Which for ever perisheth. 
 
 Awful is the silent room, 
 When a brother is calTd home, 
 And we feel his hour hath come : 
 
 Greater awe shall then be known, 
 When we see the Judge's throne, 
 And the sentence is our own.' 
 
 Awful is the lightning blast, 
 When suspense doth stand aghast 
 Ere the thunder follows fast : 
 
 Deeper shall be stillness, when 
 Judgment summons one from men, 
 And we wait the Voice again. 
 
THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 247 
 
 Solemn thought within us breeds, 
 When a multitude of heads 
 Like a sea around us spreads : 
 
 Then through all the earth and sky, 
 Shall the Angels from on high, 
 And all men be standing by ? 
 
 Wonder doth the heart appal, 
 When we witness first of all 
 Ocean, mountain, water-fall : 
 
 Greater dread the heart shall bow, 
 WTien it first shall ope to know 
 God Himself come down below. 
 
 In the peopled concourse now, 
 Lo, before the rich man's brow 
 To the earth the poor doth bow ! 
 
 Where their dead the tombs disclose, 
 Lo, the crownless King arose, 
 But the poor before him goes ! 
 
 Thought more grievous have we none, 
 Than that things which we have done 
 Should be brought to see the sun : 
 
24§ TUE DAY OF DAYS, OK 
 
 But what terror shall be then, 
 When the thoughts of guilty men 
 Stand before the Judge's ken ! 
 
 Now oft deed and word and thought 
 Pass away and go for naught, 
 Scarce before the conscience brought 
 
 But they all shall then be found 
 Writ in adamantine ground, 
 And shall like a trumpet sound. 
 
 Now when Conscience stands at bay, 
 From the look that strikes dismay 
 We can turn our eyes away : 
 
 But His Face we then must brook, 
 When the Judge shall on us look, 
 And shall ope the dreaded Book. 
 
 Conscience oft doth drop the rein, 
 Oft so strong her slumber's chain 
 Not e'en death can burst in twain : 
 
 But the Trumpet echoing deep 
 Shall so wake her watch to keep 
 That she ne'er again shall sleep. 
 
THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 249 
 
 Sin doth bring a gradual gloom, 
 Till she makes the soul a tomb, 
 Which no warning can illume : 
 
 But the all-pervading sight 
 Of the Judge's Presence bright 
 Shall her senses steep with light. 
 
 Sudden in the crowded street 
 
 All past guilt our thoughts will meet, 
 
 Writ as in a Hghtning sheet : 
 
 Haply so in that appeal, 
 Shall one flash of light reveal 
 All the bosom doth conceal ! 
 
 When we feel us cold and drear, 
 We have now some friendly ear 
 To alleviate our fear : 
 
 Who a pitying ear will bend, 
 If the Judge be not our friend 
 In our everlasting end ? 
 
 Great below a glorious name, 
 When the sounding voice of fame 
 Doth to men man's deeds proclaim 
 
250 THE DAY OF DAYS, OR 
 
 Greater glory shall belong 
 Unto him whose right or wrong 
 Is upon the Archangel's tongue. 
 
 Sweet, as soft melodious lays, 
 When the light of others' praise 
 Bathes our steps with sunny rays : 
 
 But if God should praise bestow, 
 "Who alone the heart can know, 
 What to this is praise below ? 
 
 Dread the calm when, shipwreck o'er, 
 Sounds of fear are heard no more, 
 And the sailor is on shore : 
 
 But, O thought surpassing speech, 
 When the soul wakes on the beach 
 Which no tempest more can reach ! 
 
 Dreadful is the joy, I trow, 
 When a mother from her woe 
 Wakes her first-born child to know : 
 
 Greater joy succeeds the pain, 
 When the soul shall life attain, 
 Never more to die again. 
 
THE GK.EAT MANIFESTATION. 251 
 
 Thought comes like a sighing blast, 
 When it says our hour hath pass'd, 
 And our crown to earth is cast : 
 
 But such thought is weak to tell, 
 If we wake and have to dwell 
 In a doom unspeakable. 
 
 Awful is the passing moan 
 
 Of a spirit left alone, 
 
 When it mourns occasions gone : 
 
 But more sad and desolate 
 
 If we waken all too late, 
 
 And are found without the gate. 
 
 Hearts almost to bursting swell 
 When they faintly syllable 
 To the dying sad farewell : 
 
 Sadder his adieu shall be, 
 
 Who the lov*d — the bless' d — shall see 
 
 Parting for eternity. 
 
 Touching sad is music known, 
 When a deep heart-thrilling tone 
 Brings around us loVd ones gone : 
 
252 THE DAY OF DAYS, OR 
 
 Sadder shall be that sweet sound, 
 If it breathes their path around 
 Who have left us prison-bound. 
 
 Here when men together band, 
 And against each other stand, 
 Awful things are then at hand : 
 
 But no question now of right, 
 When these pass into the light, 
 Those to everduring night. 
 
 'Tis on earth the thing most dread, 
 When Corruption makes her bed 
 In the body of the dead : 
 
 Thus to us hath Love brought nigh 
 Semblance of the mystery, 
 When the soul herself shall die. 
 
 If we have but eyes and ears, 
 All Creation living stirs 
 Into speaking characters, 
 
 And to us would fain reveal 
 Things, which silence now doth seal, 
 Of that Day without appeal. 
 
THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 253 
 
 Day of days, the first and last, 
 When shall sound the echoing blast, 
 And Creation stand aghast : 
 
 When the Volume shall be spread, 
 And the writing shall be read, 
 Which shall judge the quick and dead ! 
 
 Day of days ! that day of fear, 
 It is written, shall appear 
 Ere we think it will be here. 
 
 Day of days, the Day of doom, 
 When indeed wilt thou have come, 
 On our bed or on our tomb ? 
 
 Day of days, the awful Day, 
 Christ Himself hath bid us pray 
 That thou wilt not long delay. 
 
 Day of days, though long it seem, 
 It shall come before we deem, 
 When all else shall be a dream. 
 
 Sudden as on that old world 
 Vengeance erst the deluge hurl'd, 
 And her watery flag unfurl'd. 
 
254 THE DAY OF DAYS, OK 
 
 Sudden as on Sodom's walls, 
 When the fiery judgment falls, 
 And Surprise lost guilt appals. 
 
 Sudden as at midnight shone 
 Flaming doom, pronounced and done, 
 On the halls of Babylon. 
 
 Sudden as at midnight deep, 
 
 By dark death arous'd from sleep, 
 
 Guilty Egypt woke to weep. 
 
 So Remorse shall wake too late, 
 When with everlasting fate 
 Judgment shall unbar the gate. 
 
 When is heard the midnight cry 
 Of the Bridegroom's coming nigh, 
 And the Virgins slumbering he. 
 
 When the King shall standing near 
 At the marriage-feast appear, 
 Girded with overwhelming fear. 
 
 Oft Suspense hath looked before, 
 Watching for some opening door, 
 Then she finds that all is o'er ; 
 
THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 255 
 
 When we feel in very deed 
 Hath arrived the hour of need. 
 And a trembling doth succeed. 
 
 In an instant from the ground 
 "We shall hear the trumpet sound, 
 And in Judgment shall be found : 
 
 In a way no man can deem, 
 
 Nor an Angel reach the theme, — 
 
 Sudden as the lightning's gleam. 
 
 Then the Cross shall lift- its head, 
 And the stars before it fled 
 Shall in darkness make their bed. 
 
 Day and night on either hand 
 Shall in silence take their stand, 
 Waiting for the new command. 
 
 When the Maker of the whole 
 Shall the Earth and Heaven uproll, 
 Folding like a finish'd scroll. 
 
 When the hideous prince of air, 
 And the blackness and the glare 
 Speak the pit of lone despair. 
 
25G THE DAY OF DAYS, OR 
 
 When the Church, releas'd from wrongs, 
 On her Heavenward archway throngs, 
 Crown'd with everlasting songs. 
 
 When their task for ever done, 
 Earth gone by, and glory won, 
 Saints shall pass into the Sun. 
 
 As our thoughts the theme pursue, 
 Still the portrait comes to view, 
 But how feeble to the true ! 
 
 Lord, in this Thy mercy's day, 
 
 Ere it pass for aye away, 
 
 On our knees we fall and pray. 
 
 Holy Jesu, grant me tears, 
 
 rill me with heart-searching fears, 
 
 Ere that awful doom appears. 
 
 Supplication on us pour, 
 
 Let us now knock at the door, 
 
 Ere it close for evermore. 
 
 By Thy night of agony, 
 By Thy supplicating cry, 
 By Thy willingness to die, 
 
THE GREAT MANIFESTATION. 257 
 
 By Thy tears of bitter woe 
 
 For Jerusalem below, 
 
 Let us not Thy love forego. 
 
 'Neath Thy wings let us have place, 
 Lest we lose this day of grace, 
 Ere we shall behold Thy face. 
 
 Love of God shall stand alone, 
 And that love it shall be known 
 By the deeds that we have done. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-FIRST. 
 
 &js a Drop of foater unto fljt gea, anD a grabelgtone in compari= 
 gon of the ganb ; go arc a tfiousanD gears to tfy bapg of ctemftg. 
 
 Before all things consider Eternity [A], and how the Saints in 
 Heaven and the wicked in Hell now wish that they had more 
 earnestly followed after holiness. O how long is Eternity ! Thou 
 mayest reckon up the atoms of the sand on the shore [B], thou 
 mayest count the drops of water in the sea [C], more easily than 
 thou wilt number the years of Eternity. Where the Tree shall 
 once have fallen [D], whether it be toward the South, or toward 
 the North, there shall it for ever remain : nor beyond that will there 
 be any more Time [E],nor Occasion [F], nor Death [G], except- 
 ing Death eternal. Behold, how even one Sin shutteth man up in 
 Hell [H]. Oh, how much would he that is for ever lost now 
 give, if he could purchase but one little hour [I] in which he might 
 repent ! But it is now all in vain, and he is derided by the evil 
 spirit that deceived him [K]. Look to it therefore and take care 
 what thou art now placing in that indelible record, and in which 
 Eternity thou art writing [L]. For thy thoughts, thy ivords, thine 
 actions, when once past, are eternal, and can never be again undone. 
 O short-lived and high-destined man, who art so fast travelling to 
 the tomb ! Oh, that thou wouldest be wise, that thou wouldest be 
 wise in time! 
 
I- 
 
 
 
 - ■ 
 
I 
 
 # 
 
®i)t §9ears of lEternttg. 
 
 Dread stillness, when the gate of life shall close 
 
 For ever ! and for ever ! infinite 
 
 In immortality of dying woes, 
 
 The fathomless abyss of penal night ! 
 
 Thought lifts her hands aghast, and with affright 
 
 Against the dreadful image shuts the door, 
 
 And back recoils from that dread word — no more. 
 
 O unimagin'd sad realities, 
 The adamantine wall, the burning chains, 
 Wherein the worm of anguish never dies, 
 Where nothing but the change of woe remains, 
 Beyond the furthest reach of earthly pains ! 
 For ever ! Hell grows darker at the fame, 
 And echoes from its lowest depths the name. 
 
 For ever ! thousand upon thousand years, 
 And centuries on centuries to pile, 
 Ages on ages, yet no end appears, 
 No thought of termination to beguile ; 
 Upon the horizon drear no gleam the while ; 
 It fools our reckoning, like the trackless wind, 
 And sets imagination far behind. 
 s 2 
 
200 THE YEARS OF ETERNITY. 
 
 Philosophy in nature saw that Hell, 
 
 A death that died not, seeing vice led on 
 
 To pain and ruin irreclaimable ; 
 
 For what but this was the Sisyphian stone, 
 
 The wall of adamant, the triple zone, 
 
 The wheel that rested not, the unfilTd urn, 
 
 The streams where all must pass and none return ? 
 
 For ever ! let us gaze upon thy brow 
 
 And paint thee ; what shall bring thy form to view, 
 
 And image thee — the never-ending Now ? 
 
 The sky above us can afford no clue, 
 
 The sea no colour which can give thy hue, 
 
 Earth from her stores can yield no lineament, 
 
 Which can to sense thy dreadful form present. 
 
 The awe-inspiring Mountains at the thought 
 Upon their adamantine bases shake, 
 Moving away, and vanish into nought — ■ 
 The brazen-vaulted Skies above us break, 
 And fade as smoke ; and Ocean seems to wake, 
 And find him wings, and from his place to soar 
 Into the boundless void, and is no more. 
 
 Eternity ! awhile upon the beach 
 We sport with painted pebbles, and we send 
 Our eyes and thoughts to travel to the reach 
 Of seas and skies, unanswered : we ascend 
 From mount to mount, and at the last we end 
 Where we begun ; to you, earth, sea, and sky, 
 We call in vain to read tins mystery. 
 
THE YEARS OF ETERNITY. 261 
 
 Yea, could we take the mighty ocean up, 
 
 And count it drop by drop, from strand to strand, 
 
 It all were but one drop in that vast cup : 
 
 Or, could we sit and calculate the sand, 
 
 Numbering each grain of dust that forms the land ; 
 
 Yet that which dwells with everlasting years 
 
 Laughs at the reckoning, — and untouched appears. 
 
 The door for ever closed ! where'er it falls, 
 To south or north, the tree for ever lies, 
 Where in an instant close enduring walls, — 
 Where gained or lost for ever is the prize, — 
 Where Death himself is dead or ever dies, — 
 Time with Ins scythe lies broken and overthrown, 
 Occasion with him sleeps, her hour-glass done. 
 
 Oh then, of hours which now so fleeting pass 
 The sinner shall too late the loss deplore, 
 Put forth Ins hand to grasp again Time's glass, 
 And draw it back at that dread word — no more, — 
 For stern Necessity holds fast the door : 
 Dread thought, and thou more dread reality, 
 O let us gaze on thee, nor put thee by ! 
 
 Eor ever clos'd, the time of trial gone ! 
 At thought of thee the sun itself grows pale, 
 The candles of the sky turn dim and wan, 
 The firm-set bounds of day and night do fail, 
 Earth's pillars pass like clouds before the gale ; 
 Time himself flies, with all the things of sight, 
 And hides from view in shoreless infinite. 
 
THE YEAES OF ETEltNITY. 
 
 Yea, at the thought all creatures seem to move, 
 
 Like rivers hurrying down unto the sea, 
 
 The mountains of the earth, and Heaven above, 
 
 Flowers, fruits, and living things, all seem to flee, 
 
 So mutable and fleeting, and to be 
 
 But passing images of what remains, 
 
 Shadows of that where Truth eternal reigns. 
 
 To utter that dread word, for evermore, 
 
 The mansion of the disembodied soul 
 
 Shall unbar all its caves from shore to shore ; 
 
 The far stretch' d Heavens, from Ganges to the Pole, 
 
 Their twice ten-thousand portals shall unroll, 
 
 And all the furthest regions of the sky 
 
 Shall utter that dread word — eternity. 
 
 The sun, the moon, th' immeasurable skies, 
 
 And mountains heaped on mountains, and the sea, 
 
 Are but like stairs on winch our thoughts arise 
 
 To apprehensions of infinity ; 
 
 But yet they are as nothing : all we see, 
 
 Weighed in the scale of our ascending thought, 
 
 Are but as dust, and fade away to nought. 
 
 Ye blissful Companies that sit around 
 
 Within the circle of th' eternal fence, 
 
 In Heaven's immeasurable depth profound, — 
 
 Yet in no circle visible to sense, 
 
 But without centre, or circumference, — 
 
 Well may ye watch and gaze with earnest eyes 
 
 On men that walk 'tween such deep destinies ! 
 
THE YEARS OF ETERNITY. 
 
 How do we hasten to the boundless vast, 
 E'en as the arrow speeding to the mark, 
 Which in one moment passing is and past, — 
 Or like the waning of a flickering spark, — 
 As hurries into port the full-wing' d bark, 
 Or as a shadow glancing past the door, 
 Irrevocably gone and seen no more. 
 
 Therefore our God doth pity us, because 
 
 Our fleetness, which we know not, He doth know, 
 
 Ere we have pass'd the gulf : life is the pause 
 
 Like fitting of the arrow to the bow 
 
 Before 'tis gone for ever : we e'en now 
 
 Shall understand what those deep words convey, 
 
 " A thousand years with Him are but a day." 
 
 It is the weight of dread eternity 
 
 Which we do bear about us as we go, 
 
 Winch, though we see not, God and Angels see, 
 
 That makes it meet that we should bend so low, 
 
 Walk near the ground, and to His judgments bow ! 
 
 And tins our being's awfulness we scan 
 
 In the sad bearing of the Son of Man. 
 
 How doth the limner and the poet's eye 
 
 Dwell on the tablet that shall ever stand, 
 
 When they would paint for immortality ! 
 
 How do they glean each hue from sea and land, 
 
 And with laborious caution guide the hand ! 
 
 But their eternity is but a day, 
 
 The shadow of a shade that cannot stay. 
 
264 THE YEARS OF ETERNITY. 
 
 Whether we will or nay, each cherish'd thought 
 
 Is passing into marble, line by line, 
 
 And as we speak our very words are wrought 
 
 Into expression on a form Divine ; 
 
 Or chains of evil on the soul entwine. 
 
 O thought of ages which can ne'er be past, 
 
 How inconceivable the dreadful vast ! 
 
 How awful is that word,^/ evermore ! 
 
 And yet th' insatiate soul's congenial home, 
 
 Winch here, as it advances to deplore 
 
 The fleetingness of all things, looks to some 
 
 Assured stability that is to come ; 
 
 Sea, Moon, and Stars, and Skies which earth surround, 
 
 All speak some home, immortal, dread, profound. 
 
 Dread word, for everlasting ! Go, demand 
 What joy is dearest in their love's abyss, 
 Where happy souls drink life at God's right hand ; 
 'Tis that no time shall take away their bliss : 
 And unto them who their great prize shall miss, 
 The bitterest drop in that most bitter cup 
 Is that no end their sorrows shall drink up. 
 
 For ever is the fountain which abounds ; 
 And Never is the bound to winch it flows ; 
 The shoreless sea of being still surrounds. 
 Where shall this dread reflection find repose, — 
 Save in that God Who all our frailty knows ? 
 In thought of Him this fearful thought finds rest, 
 It hath no place of refuge but His breast. 
 
THE YEARS OF ETERNITY. 265 
 
 Here among things that fade so fast away, 
 
 Whatever courts our love, before it goes 
 
 Still flatters with the hopes that it will stay : 
 
 Duration all things' value doth dispose. 
 
 The penal aggravation of all woes ; 
 
 Takes worth from flowers, and gives it to the gem, 
 
 And is itself the spirit's diadem. 
 
 Around me as I write the shadows flee 
 
 Of number numberless, — leaves from the trees 
 
 Are falling, — and the showers are pouring free, — 
 
 And multitudinous on the outstretched seas 
 
 Waves lift their little heads unto the breeze, 
 
 And flowers are gone, — and seeds, around us shed, 
 
 Seek o'er the boundless lands their wintry bed. 
 
 But more than leaves that fall into their graves, — 
 And more than drops of rain in winter shed, — 
 And more than are the multitudinous waves 
 Which o'er the expanse of waters lift their head ; — 
 And more than seeds winch seek their wintry bed, 
 Those ages long when life and death appears, 
 The immortality of endless years. 
 
 We deem of termination to all space, 
 
 But yet that termination further goes, 
 
 Still Thought sets foot upon the furthest place, 
 
 And shoots beyond ; that Thought no limit knows, 
 
 Beyond the end the infinite still flows : 
 
 Thus to all time no Thought can find the door, 
 
 But limitless extends — the Evermore. 
 
260 THE YEARS OF ETERNITY. 
 
 Is this the substance, the reality, 
 
 And life the dream ? then let us talk no more 
 
 Of ways to flee from hallowed poverty, 
 
 Of gathering grains in streams of golden ore, 
 
 Of evil tongues, of disputatious lore, 
 
 Of many days the poet's praise shall live, 
 
 Of the delights domestic love can give. 
 
 For more than thoughts on anxious souls that break, 
 More than the grains in fabled streams of gold, — 
 And more than idle words that men shall speak, — 
 Than joys of home, — than praise that grows not old,- 
 More than all these, ten thousand times twice told, 
 The never-ending years God shall bestow, 
 When spirits shall awake in bliss or woe. 
 
 Tins makes the eyes so full of pitying care, 
 That •'mid the dead and dying thus we flee, 
 'Mid mouldering shrines in ruin sad and fair ; — 
 That when we die we do not cease to be, 
 But pass to shoreless and unchanging sea : 
 This, lost in sensual things, the soul divines, 
 Like a dim lamp that in a ruin shines. 
 
 This is the chord of mournful tenderness 
 In Heathen song, at every parting close 
 Returning, while with flowers their heads they dress, 
 That like those fading flowers the spirit goes, 
 But to some unimagin'd dread repose : 
 Still in the soul sounds the deep undercliime 
 Of some immeasurable boundless time. 
 
THE YEARS OP ETERNITY. 267 
 
 For otherwise why thus should man deplore 
 To part with his short being ? why thus sigh 
 O'er things which fade around and are no more — 
 While heedless of their doom they live and die, 
 And yield up their sweet breaths, nor reason why, — 
 But that within us, while so fast we flee, 
 The Image dwells of God's eternity ? 
 
 From tomb to tomb the living echo cries, 
 Th' unearthly calls of multitudes gone hence ; 
 From tomb to tomb one lesson still replies, 
 Like the dread voice of God's omnipotence ; — 
 Warning us from the fleeting scenes of sense 
 To turn to Thee, and ask Thee for Thy rod, 
 That we may be prepared to meet our God. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-SECOND. 
 
 j&eetng toe ate compared about toitf) 00 great a clout) of fottneggeg, 
 let 110 lag agibe eberg foeigftt; — ant) run untl) patience the rate 
 that te get before uss. 
 
 That thou mayest the more powerfully be stirred up to Virtue, 
 search out [A] and follow the examples of the Saints, such as 
 suffered from the hatred and persecution of the world. Many a 
 one hath desired to do so, but alas, some Sin hath intervened and 
 entangled and drawn him back from so holy a purpose [B]. Weigh 
 with thyself what they thought and wrote of Virtue, and how they 
 practised it ; — they on whom the Holy Spirit shed His inspira- 
 tions [C], those humble and contrite ones with whom He came to 
 dwell. Take the blessed Virgin [D] as an example of humility ; 
 St. Paul [E] of zeal ; St. Jerome [F] and St. Anthony of peni- 
 tence and devotion ; — the Martyrs [G] of patience. Consider also 
 what the philosophers [H] of old, who only lived in the shade of 
 Virtue [I], thought concerning it, and how they practised it. Why 
 dost thou not imitate even these ? " The men of Nineve," says 
 our Saviour, " shall rise up in the judgment with this generation, 
 and shall condemn it ; for they repented at the preaching of Jonas, 
 and, behold, a greater than Jonas is here ! " And the same did He 
 say of the Queen of the South, who came from the utmost parts 
 of the earth to hear the wisdom of Solomon. This we ought to 
 receive also concerning the ancient philosophers; and by their 
 labours after the shadow of Virtue, to stimulate ourselves to the 
 attainment of the substance and reality. 
 
JCOL 
 
 c 
 
 
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 V v ;. 
 
 
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 4* 
 
 ► > 
 
 i. 
 
 m 
 
®l)e (ZDttg of JWartgrs. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Is this the Holy Church on earth, 
 
 Which nothing earthly taints ; 
 Jerusalem of heavenly birth ; 
 
 The City of the Saints ; 
 Wisdom's true house, and seven-fold pillar' d halls, 
 Whose streets are by good Angels trod, 
 Her boundaries th' eternal walls, 
 Her gates that lead alone unto the throne of God ? 
 E'en so proclaims th' unnumbered tongue 
 
 A thousand years along. 
 
 2. 
 
 O mystery of mysteries ! 
 Salem worthy of a Saviour's tears ! 
 For what are these idolatries, 
 Nurs'd in thy hidden courts and open skies ? 
 Is this the City of the light where this black pall appears ? 
 That he who runs may read on thee 
 Something of fearful mystery. 
 
270 Till. CITY OF MAKTYKs. 
 
 3. 
 
 Then art thou that dread Power on seven hills, 
 Where deep imbedded, 'neath ancestral halls, 
 The air some monster dead with foul contagion fills ? 
 Where evil spirits haunt the walls, 
 And the old Serpent finds a home, 
 And hides him in the relics dark of old imperial Home ? 
 There coil'd beneath that ancient Capitol 
 Doth he again Ins deadly length unroll, 
 The woman's seed in his embrace to fold, 
 A deeper empire still in souls of men to hold ? 
 
 E'en so proclaims th' unnumbered tongue 
 The flowing years along. 
 
 O mystery of mysteries ! 
 For where hath e'er Devotion drunk so deep 
 Of penitential sighs ? 
 Where with so grave a tone hath true Love learn'd to weep ? 
 Can Antichrist so oft to prayer and vigil call, 
 And with the depths of holiness the sinner's heart appal ? 
 
 5. 
 
 Yet what are things we hear of thee, 
 
 The things we hear and see ? 
 That she who made the kingdom known, — 
 A thousand idol shrines hath overthrown, — 
 Now teems herself with dark idolatry. 
 A thousand Martyrs' bones within her bosom lie ; 
 
THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 271 
 
 But her own hands are stain' d with blood 
 
 Of Christian brotherhood ? 
 She who the faith hath guarded well 
 
 As in a holy Citadel, 
 Worships her God enshrined in local space, 
 As in a carnal resting-place. 
 
 6. 
 name most holy, yet most sinful, styl'd, 
 
 Most glorious and yet most defil'd ! 
 Most haughty, yet most lowly still, — 
 
 O mystery unspeakable ! 
 
 7. 
 Wonderful sight for good or ill ! 
 Whose very name men's deepest hearts doth thrill 
 
 For love or hate ; 
 She seems the judgment of our God to wait. 
 O keep me, Christ, to gaze upon this mystery, 
 And yet unharmed pass by : — 
 Where Thou hast set to do Thy secret will, 
 Bidding me in Thine own appointed state 
 Await Thy sentence, and be still. 
 
 I will not speak of thee with scorn, 
 Lest I Christ's very Bride, the Ancient-born, 
 Yea, His own awful Spirit, have reviTd. 
 I will not cease o'er thee to mourn, 
 Lest I with Christ's own foe at last be reconcil'd. 
 
272 THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 
 
 II. 1. 
 
 lead me to thy Martyrs' tomb, O gently lead, 
 Thou City of the Dead j 
 I would forget thee what thou art 
 To learn of thee as thou hast been : 
 Let that high vision not depart. 
 O gently lead me to thy haunts unseen ; 
 Let me through all thy secret caverns wind ; 
 Leave sounds of earth and ruder thoughts behind, 
 Lest they disturb the mystery 
 Which lingers o'er the cells wherein their ashes lie. 
 
 2. 
 
 Peace to the shrines wherein they sleep ! 
 
 Walk softly, gently by, 
 Lest thou shouldst break the memories deep 
 
 Wherein they buried lie ; 
 Each word doth mar some holy spell, 
 Or crumble hallow'd dust from off their silent cell. 
 
 3. 
 
 O quiet stillness, yet how deep, 
 How imperturb'd, and dead the gloom ! 
 Is this in arms of Christ to sleep ? — 
 To thee we yearn, Rome, O Rome, 
 
 As exiles to their home, 
 Wilt thou not here be reconcil'd ? 
 Erring thyself receive thine erring child, — 
 Each own herself by sin and hate defil'd, 
 
THE CITY OF MARTYRS. Jd73 
 
 And o'er each other weep, 
 Locked once again in one embrace 
 In this thy Martyrs' resting-place ? 
 
 4. 
 Stay, stay awhile, for see afar 
 Twilight let in, like nightly star, 
 Opens the shades, — in calm profound 
 Keeping her watch on holy ground. 
 Pil'd in their beds they sleep around ; 
 Cells of the dead, which on each side 
 Amid their scant memorials hide ; 
 As haste and terror could entomb 
 In the deep-cavern' d catacomb : 
 Where the rough mortar in the gloom 
 Holds some mute emblem, which might plead 
 Their hope in dying, or their need. 
 
 5. 
 
 The Martyr's Heaven-beseeching mood, 
 And hands in praying attitude ; 
 Letters uncouth, or symbols rude, 
 In outline dimly charactered ; 
 The Cross, the palm, the fish, the bird, — 
 The bird which flies and finds release 
 Bearing the olive-branch of peace ; — 
 The hart, where cooling waters flow, 
 With antler' d forehead bending low ; — 
 The courser speeding to the goal 
 As to eternity the soul ; 
 
274 THE CITY OF MAKTYRS. 
 
 They seem Faith's watchers at the grave, 
 Their hallcVd resting-place to save ; 
 Whose voices in the bosom heard 
 A thousand echoes there have stirred. 
 
 6. 
 
 What is this vase with stains imbued ? 
 
 It is the holy Martyr's blood ; 
 
 This is the sponge that drank the gore, 
 
 This is the urn that keeps the store : 
 
 blest memorials lying by, 
 
 And he whose dust doth with them He ! 
 
 But who is he ? and what his name ? 
 
 What deeds shall him in Judgment claim ? 
 
 What were his pains ? and what the life 
 
 Which had prepared him for the strife ? 
 
 7. 
 See signals here of love bereft, 
 By artless haste in sorrow left ? 
 And still their rudely-carv'd farewell 
 Speaks of the things tongue cannot tell ; 
 While at their graves her watch doth keep 
 Silence unutterably deep ; 
 Symbols which at Death's portal dwell 
 Speak words that are unspeakable ; — 
 Bring to the heart things hid from view, 
 The language of the world where all is true. 
 
THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 275 
 
 A little onward ; — on each side 
 
 The dormitory ranges wide 
 
 In storied mansions, where to view 
 
 The subterranean avenue 
 
 Opes branching shades, and still anew 
 
 The pale light breaks in to illume 
 
 Some rude memorial in the gloom, 
 
 And draws the footsteps to a tomb. 
 
 Far onward yet, where Twilight dim 
 Seems her faint-ghmmering lamp to trim. 
 Now finished more the marble stone 
 Hath ta'en the impress, and makes known 
 Their story or their faith sublime ; 
 Memorials wrought in breathing time : 
 When ling'ring love to them hath turned, 
 As Persecution feebler burn'd ; — 
 With more of art, of nature less, 
 More beauty, less impressiveness. 
 
 10. 
 
 Now spreads the deep sepulchral glade 
 To shrines retir'd in cavern'd shade ; 
 Walls, which some pictured tale inwreathe, 
 With living inspiration breathe. 
 The Shepherd on his shoulders brings 
 His long-lost sheep : or Jonah springs 
 t 2 
 
276 THE CITY OF MAHTYftS. 
 
 From Resurrection's ocean womb, 
 Cast new-born from his watery tomb. 
 Here Noah from his house of wood, 
 Upon the watery solitude, 
 Puts forth his hand, to welcome home 
 The dove that shall no longer roam, 
 With olive rudely manifest 
 Her welcome to that ark of rest. 
 Here Christ by the sepulchral cave, 
 With voice omnipotent to save : 
 Here 'mid the lions Daniel prays ; 
 Here walk the Princes three in the unharming blaze. 
 
 11. 
 
 Like echoes from their tombs around 
 Such living lessons seem to bound ; 
 Reverberating on they pass, 
 Responsive borne from grave to grave, 
 And die afar upon the wave 
 Of some Baptismal fountain deep, 
 Where in a distant shrine dark waters sleep. 
 
 12. 
 
 Still on and onward, without end, 
 Like the dim moonlight, ways extend : 
 Shrines, cells, and tombs together press, 
 A subterranean wilderness, 
 Branching on all sides without bound, 
 City of Churches underground ; 
 
THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 277 
 
 The empire of the silent dead, 
 Christ's ancient Kingdom's quiet bed. 
 O resting-places of the good, 
 How peopled is your solitude ! 
 How deep, intense, and calm the prayer 
 From shrines and altars hidden there ! 
 How solemn is the requiem said 
 Within this City of the Dead ! 
 Where every shrine is but a tomb, 
 Each Altar speaks of martyrdom. 
 
 13. 
 
 Darkness itself doth with them dwell 
 
 By silence made more terrible : 
 
 As when Night lets her curtain fall, 
 
 The stars in the aerial hall 
 
 Come forth to sight, and stand around, 
 
 Ineffable, august, profound. • 
 
 In calm wild watches, stern and still, 
 
 The Dead around the twilight fill. 
 
 14. 
 
 Far in the fear-inspiring gloom 
 They hide their awful face in Expectation's womb, 
 
 Yet find a voice, and seem to say, 
 
 Out of the deep to Thee I call, 
 
 The deep sepulchral hall ; 
 
 As they who watch for dawning day, 
 We wait Thy coming in, Thou Everlasting ray. 
 
278 THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 
 
 III. 1. 
 
 Here where Death holds his silent court, 
 Did youthful Jerome erst resort ; 
 Through Sunday evenings musing long, 
 A living guest the dead among : 
 For Sabbath thoughts O suited well ! 
 Here feelings drank unspeakable, 
 Which through his after life diffuse 
 Philosophy of sabler hues ; 
 By stern and pensive sadness bred, 
 The wisdom which is with the dead. 
 O Saints and Martyrs ever blest, 
 This is the Sabbath of your rest, — 
 Where shall we learn such wisdom high 
 As in your silent company ? 
 
 And scenes like these were sure the home 
 Of the true bard of Martyrdom ; 
 Such, — the last conflicts of the good, 
 Whose deaths have peopled this abode, — 
 Touched his deep heart, and fill'd his tongue, 
 When " grave and great" Prudentius sung. 
 
 3. 
 Here, from the terrors of the grave, 
 The new-born Church with power to save 
 Issued, as from a shrouding cave : 
 
THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 279 
 
 Like that fam'd Antioch's martyr-maid, 
 As by the Painter's art displayed, — 
 Meek Margaret in calmness treading 
 Upon the dragon, 'neath her spreading 
 His scaly length in death extended, 
 His hell-eyes on her fiercely bended. 
 She in the gloom of lurid night 
 Treads, like an Angel of the light. 
 
 4. 
 
 By his own arms subdued, the foe 
 Doth now his martyr-fires forego ; 
 But with the martyr's soul imbued 
 Religion drank her sterner mood, 
 And rising in immortal mould 
 The Cross did for her anchor hold, 
 Peopling with Saints the courts of Heaven, 
 To whom that virgin soul was given 
 Which learns a daily death to die, 
 That so their prayers from earth might readier reach the sky. 
 
 5. 
 
 Thence Rome, at her Apostle's tomb 
 And grave of Martyrs, did assume 
 Her attitude and form divine, 
 Girding herself with discipline. 
 Here her deep fountains would I sound, 
 Her ancient fountains under ground. 
 While all around corruption clings, 
 Here would I turn to clearer springs, — 
 
'280 THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 
 
 That lake with all its thousand rills, 
 Which, unpolluted, there distils 
 Amid the mist- enshrouded hills, 
 Where calmly on them seems to press 
 Something of everlastingness. 
 
 6. 
 In Time's dark hidden womb, 
 That seems itself to mantle from our sight, 
 
 Silence and the sepulchral damp 
 The Church's cradle hides, the Mother of all light. 
 And in the darkness of the Martyr's tomb, 
 
 I too would light my lamp 
 To guide me onward to the Day of doom. 
 
 7. 
 
 Nothing of earth around doth stir, 
 Stillness and subterranean shade 
 Her Saints doth sepulchre. 
 In darkness are her pillars laid, 
 And her eternal walls are there, 
 Pounded in the obscure of night ; 
 As mists on clouded mountain height 
 Cradle some mighty river's birth 
 'Mid the foundations of the earth. 
 
 8. 
 Silence and gloom, and night profound, 
 In you a spirit breathes around ! 
 
THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 281 
 
 It is to know the dead are near, 
 And Christ before Whom they appeal" : 
 Therefore the dark doth our dim sense astound, 
 Deep underground. 
 
 9. 
 When dreariness itself doth seem most drear, 
 When darkest is the thunder-cloud, 
 Then unseen worlds do seem most near, 
 
 And in the tempest's shroud 
 Suddenly break upon the eye and ear, 
 'Mid blackest mountains echoing loud. 
 
 10. 
 Clouds and thick darkness are His dwelling-place, 
 And night His tabernacle; 
 As Moses when he saw His face, 
 Where everlasting shades around Him dwell ; 
 Blackness around and night profound 
 His mantle skirts had bound. 
 
 11. 
 From the thick sable of the tomb, 
 Wrapt in impenetrable gloom, 
 Unutterably silent doom, 
 The Everlasting day is born, 
 
 As night precedes the morn. 
 
282 THE CITY OF MARTYRS. 
 
 12. 
 
 Darkness is stable 'neath His feet, 
 His goings are a cloud, 
 In dead of night the soul her God must meet, 
 And in the grave, winch night and silence shroud. 
 His footsteps in dark waters are, 
 Ten thousand fathoms deep, 
 Where Ocean's fountains sleep, 
 Nor Sun nor Moon nor Stars are gleaming there. 
 
 13. 
 Lord, in this night be Thou my guide, 
 Lead Thou me on through these dark shadowy lands ; 
 Through wilderness of tombs on every side 
 I wander in the dark, and stretch forth feeble hands. 
 O let me hold Thee, be my guiding Star, 
 Hold Thou my hand, while step by step afar 
 I seek Thy light ; until these shadows flee 
 Let me but feel Thee near, and follow Thee. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Part III. 1. Allusion is here made to the account of St. 
 Jerome, in his Commentary on Ezekiel, lib. xii. cap. xl. 
 
 "When I was at Rome as a boy, while pursuing my studies 
 there, I was wont on the Lord's day, with others of the same age 
 and turn of mind, to frequent the sepulchres of the Apostles and 
 Martyrs ; and oftentimes to enter into the crypts which are dug 
 into the deep places of the earth ; and have the bodies of the dead 
 buried along the walls on either side as you enter : and all things 
 
283 
 
 are so enveloped in gloom, that the prophetical expression seems 
 in a manner fulfilled there, 'let them go down alive into hell.' 
 Rarely does the light admitted from above alleviate the horror of 
 the darkness, and even that such as that you might suppose it was 
 rather an opening that let in the light than a window. We 
 approached step by step, and surrounded with the darkness of night, 
 so as to remind one of the line in Virgil, 
 
 ' Horror on every side, e'en silence awes the mind.' 
 " I mention this that the thoughtful reader may understand 
 what my opinion is of the explanation of the Temple of God in 
 Ezekiel ; of whom it is written, that ' darkness was under His feet,' 
 and again, ' He maketh darkness His secret place.' Hence Moses 
 also entered into the cloud and thick darkness, that he might be 
 able to contemplate the mysteries of the Lord, which the people 
 placed afar off, and remaining below, could not perceive." 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-THIRD. 
 
 (£o ant) (earn ijolu great bat!) been tijctr peace, bijosc heart's 
 ha&e been staged on <5ob\ 
 
 How tranquillizing are those places that are associated in our 
 minds with the remembrance, or are blessed with the company 
 of Saints ! How great have been the consolations which those 
 holy men have enjoyed [A] ! For Virtue [B] is ever united with 
 Peace [C] ; one beareth the palm-branch of future reward ; the 
 other hath the olive-bough of present tranquillity. Thus is it 
 when Jesus Christ cometh to be in the heart, for in Him alone 
 the soul findeth rest. Consider, I pray you, with what feelings 
 the great and the poor alike have visited the humble abodes of 
 the Saints [D], and have lingered with holy reverence about their 
 tombs [E] : and point out at a distance to the cities wherein they 
 have dwelt [F]. Yea, the places of their earthly habitation have 
 been far more blessed than by the feelings of men ; for even in 
 this world Angels minister unto them [G] , and God Himself de- 
 lights to be with them, and is pleased to call Himself their God. 
 How different on the contrary are the lives of the children of this 
 world ! how little of real peace is theirs, although they may attain 
 all the objects of their desires ! Vice still harasses, disquiets, and 
 saddens her votaries [H], even in the .midst of their highest worldly 
 delights and vanities [I]. " There is no peace, saith my God, 
 to the wicked." 
 
Ftstting f^olg places, 
 
 Oil THE PILGRIMS OP ST. DAVIDS. 
 
 I passed beneath a mouldering tower, 
 When on me came a solemn hour 
 Of feelings never known before, 
 But which from me shall pass no more. 
 
 A scene beneath the wicket gate, 
 Most beautiful, most desolate ! 
 It was St. David's ancient pile, 
 Chancel, nave, tower, and window* d aisle, 
 And skirting all the western side 
 A Palace fair in ruirr'd pride ; 
 With storied range in order set, 
 And portal, arch, and parapet. 
 There hiding from the haunts of men 
 In hollow of the mountain glen, 
 Beligion's venerable hold, 
 With wrecks and ruin manifold, 
 Burst full on the astonished eye, 
 Hoar in sublime antiquity. 
 
286 VISITING HOLY PI-ACES, 
 
 An evening mist which o'er it hung 
 A deeper desolation flung, 
 While 'neath its skirts were dimly seen, 
 Within a shaggy drear ravine, 
 Black grazing herds in pastures rude, 
 In ivy-walled solitude, 
 Signs of wild life which, wandering near, 
 Made dreariness itself more drear. 
 That mist it seem'd a fitting shroud 
 For desolation, and the cloud 
 Oblivion's pall, that dropped in tears, 
 As peopled with long vanished years, 
 Waving their shadowy wings in gloom, 
 And hovering o'er their ancient home. 
 
 sight forlorn, and yet so fair 
 In ruin, that transfixed there 
 I gaz'd, until I seem'd to stand 
 Upon a strange unearthly land, 
 Between the dying and the dead ! 
 So many centuries o'er my head 
 Their solemn shade in silence spread ; 
 So awful was the drear around, 
 The desolation so profound : 
 While beauty and magnificence 
 Strove with a beam, calm but intense, 
 To pierce the darkly-mantling gloom, 
 Like star-light through a broken tomb ; 
 Or like the dimly-labouring Moon 
 That now stood nigh on her white throne, 
 
OR THE PILGltlMS OP ST. DAVID'S. £87 
 
 Struggling in vain to penetrate 
 The mist that wrapt her shrouded state, 
 And where her twilight radiance fell 
 Made desolation visible. 
 
 Then wonder not, in such a scene, 
 If what now is and what hath been 
 Come o'er us, with so deep a thrill, 
 That though the surface seems so still, 
 They waken thoughts that lie most deep, 
 Amid the ruin'd scene to weep. 
 
 It seem'd the gathering of past years, 
 The place of penitence and tears : 
 And where in cell or roofless shrine 
 The saintly Dead in peace recline, 
 In thoughts of them that slumber by, 
 We seem to feel the Judgment nigh, 
 And from the fellowship that's there 
 Shrink with a something like despair : — 
 To think that when we rise again 
 We must awake 'mid holy men, 
 'Mid those who so could live and die, 
 With pure resolve and purpose high, 
 As thus to leave for days to come 
 A fragrance breathing o'er their tomb. 
 In that despair past deeds arise, 
 And each a voice of shame supplies ; 
 Till a new will, to hope allied, 
 Hath conscience to the altar tied, 
 And speaks amendment which shall last, 
 And years far better than the past. 
 
:288 VISITING HOLY PLACES, 
 
 And if of old they so could feel 
 Who at this altar came to kneel ; — ' 
 Nor superstition mar the sense 
 Of heart-exalting reverence ; 
 'Twere well if pilgrims would repair 
 Again to drink this sacred air. 
 Thus thought I while in dim moonlight 
 I slowly wandered through the site 
 Of crumbling walls, half- falling tower, 
 Mullions and arch, which darkly lower, 
 And o'er the intruder seem to frown, 
 Putting on size beyond their own, 
 Like giants in enchanted tale, 
 As dimly seen through misty veil. 
 While soft and wild a mountain rill, 
 Winch only broke the twilight still, 
 Had caught an ancient chime forlorn, 
 And 'mid the ruins seem'd to mourn, 
 As by the Palace walls it pass'd, — 
 A mouldering bridge-way o'er it cast. 
 
 And there was one who said that he 
 (Speaking in his simplicity) 
 Had oft been here at dead of night, 
 But yet no form had met his sight, — 
 By that negation bringing nigh 
 His secret deep expectancy ; 
 But that the midnight tombs around 
 Strange floatings by were said to sound, 
 And through the aisled stillness deep, 
 Strains indistinct were heard to sweep. 
 
OH THE PILGRIMS OP ST. DAVID'S. 289 
 
 Blest wisdom, dress' d in fancy's hue ! 
 Such legends, if they be not true, 
 Speak what our nature here divines 
 'Mid holy sepulchres and shrines ! 
 Such thoughts in me a place have found 
 'Mid contemplations more profound, 
 And seem to mingle with my themes : 
 More true than life such holy dreams ; — 
 I deem in them more truth to lie 
 Than all man's cold philosophy. 
 
 And they, I ween, who sleep below 
 Had more of wisdom than we know ; 
 With alms and prayers and penitence, 
 They sternly conquered things of sense. 
 And with them, in their slumbers deep, 
 Their fastings and their vigils sleep, 
 And shall awake with them to stand, 
 When the last Judgment is at hand. 
 Well may we hope their peaceful rest, 
 Whose labours thus their life attest ! 
 They built in marble, built as they 
 Who wished these stones should see the day 
 When Christ returns, and these vast walls 
 May stand o'er them when Judgment calls. 
 Not that the shrines in grandeur built 
 Can do away the stains of guilt ; 
 But witnesses they are of love 
 Which only shall unfailing prove — 
 Of paths in stern abasement trod — 
 Of self that died to live to God. 
 
290 VISITING HOLY PLACES, 
 
 What, if in marble they recline, 
 It is not idle pomp, but sign 
 Of Resurrection, — and a state 
 Which doth in awful stillness wait 
 The opening of the Eastern gate. 
 
 The saint who fix'd this sacred site 
 Liv^d once a holy Anchorite, 
 By old Lanthony's honour* d cell, 
 Where mount-encircled Ewias' dell a 
 Closed darkly round his solitude. 
 The forest wild supplied his food, 
 And all his drink lone Honddy's spring ; 
 That men to God might anthems sing 
 In pillar' d choirs of marble : then 
 What if our God, apart from men, 
 Should plant His honour in this place 
 To witness 'gainst their fallen race ; — 
 Something that might His Name express- 
 
 11 Where Llanthony Abbey now stands in the vale of Ewias, which 
 is surrounded by the Black mountains. Mr. Southey thus speaks of the 
 circumstance : 
 
 " Here was it, stranger, that the patron saint 
 Of Cambria pass'd his age of penitence, 
 A solitary man : and here he made 
 His hermitage : the roots his food, his drink 
 Of Honddy's mountain stream." 
 
 And the poet Drayton, 
 
 " He did only drink what crystal Hodney yields, 
 And fed upon the leeks he gather'd in the fields." 
 
OR THE PILGRIMS OF ST. DAVIDS. 2!U 
 
 A voice, for sure it is no less, 
 Of warning in the wilderness ; 
 What if He thus their pious deeds 
 Remembers in their children's needs ! 
 
 No sound is here of ruder mirth, 
 Yet if there be a peace on earth, 
 Here with Religion shall she dwell, 
 And rear again her hermit cell, — 
 By flowing years more sanctified, 
 And nearer to the end allied. 
 Glorious was the design ye drew, 
 Yet Time itself hath built for you 
 A house of wisdom, far above 
 All ye designed ; as if in love 
 He mellows down the stony tress 
 Into a solemn tenderness : 
 And clothes yon beauteous roof on high 
 With a more dread sublimity : 
 With quiet awe around them lingers, 
 Touching, as loath to harm, with soft and reverend fingers. 
 And he who loves the mystic lore 
 Hath haunts unseen he may explore ; 
 The Misereres b here have place, 
 As hiding from the day of Grace 
 The quaint device, and snakes that twine, 
 And dogs impure, and unclean swine, 
 
 b Small shelving seats, with grotesque carvings under them, remarkable 
 in this cathedral. 
 
 u 2 
 
292 VISITING HOLY PLACES. 
 
 Which speak the serpent's brood below, 
 
 Whereon the feet of Faith shall go, 
 
 Ways of the wicked overthrown, 
 
 And all their pride "turned upside down c ." 
 
 Or with distorted tortur'd face 
 
 They fly the music-haunted place. 
 
 Stay yet, in holy stillness tread, 
 This is the mansion of the Dead ; 
 Their City doth in quiet lie, 
 The living here may learn to die. 
 Like fabled town, as legends tell, 
 Where by some spell invincible 
 Its inmates, turned to marble, sleep ; 
 Where Silence, wont her watch to keep, 
 With felt-shod footsteps softly went, 
 And o'er the sleepers stilly bent ; 
 But nothing their deep trance shall break 
 Till the Enchanter's trump shall wake. 
 Thus peopling nook and shrine and cell, 
 Here stony forms around in sacred slumber dwell. 
 
 Holy Enchantment, linger still, 
 And all my deep-fraught bosom fill ! 
 The Dead seem breathing all around, 
 And we alone are shadows found. 
 Eeligion hath her reverence lent, 
 And o'er them spreads her solemn tent, 
 Not as in close-built cities pent ; 
 
 c Ps. cxlvi. 9. 
 
oit the piLGiiiMs of st. david's. 293 
 
 For hills which bound the distant ken 
 Banish the thoughts and feet of men, 
 And make a solemn quiet here, 
 So calm, so beautiful, so drear ! 
 No thought of cities must intrude 
 Upon this mountain solitude. 
 For this that mitred Saint of old 
 Withdrew his charge — made this the hold 
 Of grave Beligion in the wild, 
 Pillar' d, and arch'd, and shrin' d, and aisl'd, 
 Deeming her strength the world to save 
 Were greater, from the noisy wave 
 Withdrawn to stillness of the grave. 
 That greater was her power to bless 
 From this the mountain wilderness, 
 Than 'mid the stir of civil life, 
 The feast-f-the party — and the strife ! 
 She here a Heavenly power might gain 
 Without which all their toil was vain ; 
 And from tins fastness on the strand 
 Might send forth Priests to all the land. 
 
 O night, O place with wisdom fraught, 
 How deep your soul hath in me wrought, 
 And still I linger on the thought ; 
 How do ye o'er my bosom swell, 
 Feelings too big for words to tell ! 
 This is the place of hallow'd peace, 
 Where sounds of worldly wisdom cease, 
 To Heaven in solemn music led, 
 And converse with the saintly dead. 
 
'2 'J 1 VISITING HOLY PLACES, 
 
 Here could I bid the world good night, 
 And live a pensive anchorite. 
 
 No sound is here of tables spread, 
 Where Joyance lifts her festive head ; 
 But yet of peace a deeper sense 
 Than in their glad magnificence : 
 And if you ask the reason why, 
 Nature must own it with a sigh, 
 'Tis suited more for those that die. 
 E'en at the feast is conscience stirr'd, 
 Her scourge is felt, unseen, unheard ; 
 Where, though aloud the laughter swells, 
 Her secret in the bosom dwells : 
 There is a sadness in the strain, 
 As from a heart overcharged with pain. 
 The Sabine bard of love and wine 
 Sighs while the flowers Ins brows entwine ; 
 How touching still recurs his lay, 
 Of poor delights that cannot stay, 
 Of death that doth alone remain ! — 
 To sad regrets it turns again. 
 
 Ever unsated strong Desire 
 Builds high, and ever rises higher, 
 And there Ms mate, dark-bosom' d Care, 
 Her cradle rocks with troublous air, 
 Nestling her brood of sorrows there. 
 Peace here in rocks may build her nest, 
 Or charm the halcyon wave, and brood at rest. 
 
 The night hath pass'd — the morn hath come, 
 And through the village height I roam — 
 
OR THE PILGRIMS OF ST. DAVLl/s. 295 
 
 It is a bright and summer day ; 
 Where Thought hath led her pensive way, 
 Beside an ancient Cross I stand, 
 Winch overlooks the distant land. 
 Before the face of golden dawn 
 Th' enshrouding mist hath now withdrawn, 
 And lifting up its canopy 
 Discloses near the dark blue sea, 
 Close circling with its ridge of blue, — 
 And craggy isles that come to view ; — 
 Upon the dark and ruhr'd scene 
 Throwing a beautiful serene, 
 Taking from that their sombre face, 
 And adding to their tranquil grace. 
 O day, O place with beauty fill'd, 
 How deep have ye my fancy thrill'' d ; 
 The spirit so of ages gone 
 Hath mark'd this spot to be his own ! 
 Ancient Menevia, o'er thee still 
 I linger, sea, and rock, and hill 
 Peopling with recollections high 
 Of more divine antiquity. 
 Sons of a happier, holier day, 
 I cannot deem ye gone away, 
 The moaning wind your requiem sings, 
 To all around your memory clings, 
 No crowded town, no fertile scene, 
 To stand yourselves and us between ! 
 And what if marble tombs must die, 
 Nature doth monuments supply : 
 
290 VISITING HOLY PLACES, Oil THE PILGRIMS OF ST. DAVId's. 
 
 Yon craggy Isles that skirt the strand 
 Tradition marks as her own band : 
 In echoing shore and wild sea-bird 
 The Organ and the Choir d are heard. 
 And in yon rocks with billows hoar, 
 Which seem to watch and guard the shore, 
 " The Bishop and Ins Clerks e " are seen. 
 O firm-set, ever-during scene ! 
 May those thy Pastors thus with thee 
 Share the strong rock's stability, 
 And in their place be faithful found, 
 Deep-rooted in the hidden ground, 
 That though the sea and tempest roar, 
 Their firm foundations move no more ! 
 
 Yea, lovM Menevia, if to thee 
 O'er mount and vale my spirits flee ; 
 Yea, if to thee my fancy yearns, 
 If early love within me burns 
 At thy dear name, my native land, — 
 If thrills a pulse in heart or hand 
 Por home, or shrine, or Church below, 
 Tins is the dearest wish I know. 
 
 d Ramsey Island, one part of which is called the Organ, from the 
 sound of the sea, and another the Choir, from the noise of the sea-birds. 
 
 e Seven insulated rocks near the coast, known by the name of " the 
 Bishop and his Clerks." 
 

IMAGE THE TWENTY-FOURTH. 
 
 ©JKS shall fa gattefkD faith tj»e plenteougnegg of 3Fhg fiouge ; anO 
 'ZFfiou gfialt gibe them tinnfe of 'JEftg pleasure, ag out of the riber. 
 jpor faith Ztyt is* tj)e feell of life* 
 
 The whole World [A] cannot fill thy heart, which is ever being- 
 agitated by the blasts of various desires [B]. Why therefore art 
 thou led away from virtue by the foolish enticements of those Vices 
 [C], which charm thy senses, as with sounds of sweet music, only 
 that they may allure thee to drink of that foul lake [D] to which 
 thou art wandering down by a dangerous and crooked way [E] ; 
 and that when they have allured thee down, Pride [F], Luxury 
 and Avarice, may transform thee into a beast [G], and draw thee 
 down into the gulf of Hell [H]. Behold the kingdom of God [I] 
 is within thee, why shouldest thou be seeking for it elsewhere in 
 vain? It is "God, my Maker," saith holy Job, "Who giveth 
 songs in the night." In the night of this world He giveth some 
 foretaste of the harmonies and peace of Heaven. Behold, the 
 greatest joys are those which are in the heart of Virtue [K] ; such 
 some Saints [L] have tasted even in this life, like emanations from 
 the songs that are above. Those joys which are from God, Who 
 is the Fountain of all good things, overflow the heart [M], and 
 satisfy it : but those delights [N] which are drawn from the lake 
 of sin, flow through it, perish, and are no more. What are these 
 to those pleasures at God's right hand, which shall last for ever?" 
 
^t Jttustc of t&e GDitp of <ffio&. 
 
 When listening still at midnight deep 
 Thought doth her vigil keep, 
 Lo, suddenly, in some old holy town 
 The sacred chime is sounding : 
 As modulating sweet its tuneful changes 
 The solemn minstrelsy runs down, 
 What memories old are all the soul surrounding ! 
 What echoing thoughts responsive beat ! 
 Prolonging now its cadence sweet, 
 On chains of sadness wild it ranges ; 
 And still, at each descending fall, 
 Awakes through memory's pictured hall 
 
 Her long-forgotten treasures ; 
 Visions most sad, most musical, 
 
 Old shapes that haunt the hallow' d wall, 
 And worlds that live in holy measures. 
 
 They steal around us, calm and deep, — 
 
 Awakening from their sleep, 
 Where waters of oblivion creep, — 
 Meek Saintly forms that wahVd the cloister dim, 
 And heard of old the vesper hymn, 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. £99 
 
 Come round us, and the deep-wrapt vision fill. 
 Ring on, ring on, ye solemn chimes, 
 And let me wander still, 
 Still wander in the blissful dream of happy olden times ! 
 
 Hail, hallowed visions on my way attending, 
 With dews of morn again, and singing voices blending, 
 Where yearly in that vernal hour 
 The sacred City is in shades reclining, 
 With gilded turrets in the sunrise sinning : — 
 From sainted Magdalene's aerial tower 
 Sounds far aloof that ancient chaunt are singing, 
 And round the heart again those solemn memories bringing. 
 
 What wonder if that matin hymn 
 Sounds like the song of Seraphim ? 
 The present all unreal seems, from Heaven 
 Such power is to the past and awful future given. 
 Tilings long gone by come floating back again, 
 
 With all their cloud-borne airy train ; 
 From those bright clouds an Angel seems to lean, 
 And thence to speak of the Unseen, 
 Of better things that once have been, 
 Better than all that doth remain ; 
 As if to bring protection round 
 On that fair Town with holy turrets crown' d, 
 Their bright assemblage far disclosing, 
 In morning's mantle green all freshly now reposing. 
 
300 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF COD. 
 
 Harp of the heart, sweet poesy, 
 
 In secret spirit lying, 
 Something within, whatever thou art, 
 
 Which hopes and memories bringest nigh, 
 And in our inmost being hast a part ; — 
 Still to some unseen hand, or gales of Heaven replying ! 
 Whether by tuneful sounds afar that seem to grieve, 
 On some Autumnal couet eve, 
 Or touch' d by some electric chain within, 
 Your magic chords awaken and begin ; 
 But not with tliem to end, 
 Till with wild harmonies our being blend. 
 Well might they fable those Aonian daughters, 
 
 As if some Heaven-sent vision from above 
 Descended all unseen, and stirr'd your healing waters. 
 Hail, sounds which the deep spirit move, 
 
 Until the present seems as nought 
 In the realities of sterner thought ; 
 Around us come the dead and dying, 
 And all the silent heart with pensive scenes is sighing. 
 
 Ye distant strains that fill the thoughtless street 
 Upon a summer evening, sad and sweet, 
 Where some wild songstress chaunts her descant lone, 
 Or wilder music wakes the tuneful bell, 
 While loitering groups are gathering, or pass on ! 
 How little do ye know with what a gale it falls 
 Upon some Solitary's cell, 
 And all the past recalls : 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. :}l)l 
 
 While clearest friends that now are gone 
 Do seem to live again, 
 Hid in deep worlds that are in your sad strain ; 
 Then all within in sadness swells, 
 And Memory there unseen her story tells ; 
 Till he who seemed an unblench'd eye to bear 
 On the sad tokens of life's waning year, 
 And all things passing by, — 
 His heart is heaving with a sigh, 
 His eye-lid hath a tear. 
 
 Lo, all around your vision now is stealing, 
 Where'er we turn their dim-veil' d forms revealing : 
 With thoughts of those once lov'd and near, 
 Whose early years with ours were blended, 
 Whose memories have with all things dear 
 Deep in the heart descended ; — 
 A mother's love, which o'er our Childhood bended, 
 And all our youthful steps attended ; 
 Or brother lost, whose early hours, 
 Whose thoughts and hopes and fears were ours ; 
 While we saw all things with his eyes, 
 Knit in still growing sympathies ; — 
 Now they are gone, but we remain, 
 Our love for them is mix'd with pain ; 
 Our wonted haunts know them no more ; 
 But they are on the unseen shore, 
 And draw us after them, as with a silent chain ; 
 Thus all we lov'd make wings, and leave us to deplore. 
 
.'502 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 They make them wings and fly away, 
 And fairer still they seem as we behold them flying ; 
 Like that bright bird that, glancing on the stream. 
 His fairest plumes in parting doth display : 
 Or when on woodland hills the Autumnal gleam 
 Is calmly lying ; 
 And while in golden stillness it reposes, 
 The Autumnal gale is sighing, 
 And 'tween the withering boughs some ancient tower dis- 
 closes. 
 While on ourselves we feel that, year by year, 
 The Autumnal hand is stealing, 
 And through the alter'd brow, turned pale and sere, 
 The Autumn of our age its aspect stern revealing. 
 "When evening shades their solemn gloom are flinging 
 
 O'er valleys once so bright and fair, 
 And stilly seen upon the silent air 
 Some bird his homeward way to woodland heights is winging. 
 
 Through cloistral glades what shadows round us steal 
 Of them that are with God ? 
 We on the path they trod 
 Live in their thoughts, and with them feel, 
 And learn the blest communion 
 Of Saints that are in wisdom one ! 
 Our heart-pulse is to theirs replying, 
 In books which all their souls reveal, 
 And all the breath we breathe is 'mid the dead and dying. 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 308 
 
 While peace and calm to them belong, 
 Our life unquiet is, and fades ; 
 Shadows we are and wandering amid shades, 
 As they who walk'd the realms below, 
 
 With that fam'd Florentine, 
 Substances amid spirits seen, 
 Known only by the sabler shade they throw 3 ; 
 Thus mid the dead, where'er we go, 
 Our life is known by sure companionship of woe. 
 
 And fast as we ourselves thus fade, 
 So our desires are from us stealing ; 
 
 What once seem'd beckoning in the shade, 
 And still before a beauteous form revealing, 
 Now left behind its worthlessness we rue ; 
 
 But something else we now pursue ; 
 Which fairer still each day now comes to view ; 
 But that soon passes, and is gone, 
 
 And we are left alone. 
 What yesterday had seem'd so fair, 
 Seems now not worth pursuing ; 
 With changing life our longings still we change, 
 
 Through all the weary range, 
 And what is done and past we are undoing : 
 The things of Heaven alone are still the same, 
 And as we nearer draw more eager love they claim. 
 
 Father of spirits, far from Thee we roam, 
 Thou art the Unchangeable, the spirit's home, 
 
 » Dante's Purgatorio, Cant. iii. 
 
804 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 And in all things, but those that come from Thee, 
 
 The never-resting spirit finds a tomb. 
 Thine aspirations, e'en while here we flee, 
 
 Are drinking of the hidden springs, 
 That still flow on, and are for ever flowing, 
 That love alone which no repentance brings, 
 But to the last is growing ; 
 While, all that's earthly to the grave is going ; 
 But they o'er graveof earthly things arehappierthoughtsbestowing. 
 
 Spirits departed, ye are still, 
 And thoughts of you our lonely hours will fill, — 
 As gales wake from the harp a language not their own, 
 Or airs Autumnal raise a momentary moan j — 
 
 Till all the soul to thoughts of you is sighing, 
 And every chord that slept in sadness stern replying. 
 Where are ye now in regions blest, 
 On shores of land unknown, 
 In silence and at rest, 
 While still your shadows by our eyes are passing, 
 And all the lost again in sable colours glassing ? 
 
 O let me with you converse keep 
 On the Autumnal eve, 
 
 Or in the quiet midnight deep : 
 There is a solemn sweetness when we grieve, 
 And holier wisdom on our hearts ye leave ; 
 Better than all the talk of living men, 
 Which in their frustrate longings still again 
 The weary round of earthly things pursue ! 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OV GOD. 805 
 
 For ye full well the value know 
 
 Of all things here below ; 
 And while our contemplations dwell with you, 
 We learn to look with your unsealed eyes 
 
 On all things here we prize. 
 
 O Thou great God unsearchable, 
 Still something with us doth abide of Thee, 
 E'en of Thy life and immortality : 
 
 Whatever desires the panting bosom swell, 
 It is that blind and dark for Thee we seek. 
 And e'en though lost in sin 
 There something is within 
 Which of a better birthright seems to speak, 
 
 While nought but phantoms vain upon it gleam. 
 Still thoughts of Thee within us breed, 
 As in a feverish dream, 
 As in a dream all powerless, blind, and weak. 
 O unto Thee our spirits lead, 
 For all things here deceive, 
 Allure us but to leave, 
 And leave with empty hands and aching heart to grieve. 
 
 O lead us unto Thee, the hidden Well, 
 Who art alone immutable ; 
 With Thee alone there hidden are on high 
 
 The joys that satisfy : 
 And they who drink of joys Thy hand supplies, 
 They shall be satisfied ; 
 
.'500 THE MUSIC OF THE f'lTY OF QOD. 
 
 For here below, whate'er awhile may please, 
 
 Nothing there is that satisfies ; 
 Th' immortal spirit still can find no ease, 
 Unsatisfied, unsatisfied, 
 For nothing can abide. 
 
 Of vanity, of vanity, each age to age is crying, 
 And each anew the self-same strain replying, 
 And all repeats the strain before us flying : 
 To this sad thought their notes return, 
 And at the touching theme their dying spirits burn. 
 And all their notes of sweetness 
 Are singing of our fleetness, — 
 Are of our fleetness sighing, 
 And singing of our dying. 
 And every gale that passes 
 
 Is tuned to a sigh, 
 And every wave but glasses 
 The lesson, we must die ; 
 And waves and gales together sing 
 Of this our daily perishing. 
 What is this flood of sweetest sound, . 
 
 That bathed me all around, 
 Till with new being I abound ? 
 O sweet as Evening, beautiful and calm, 
 As blue skies seen 'tween the dark waving palm ; 
 As fragrant scents around me breathing balm ; 
 As thoughts that speak of God and Heaven, 
 Where strife and war afar are driven ! 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 307 
 
 sweetest tide, 
 Which speaks the good beyond the clouds of time, 
 Who walk in your angelic chime ; 
 While all their souls at length in you abide. 
 O tide of sweet and solemn sounds, flow on, 
 Till discord finds no place, and all is union ! 
 
 As they who fabled b shapes of poet's dream, 
 
 Deep hid in sylvan halls, 
 Dryads and Naiads, such as lov'd to tend, 
 And with the being blend 
 Of woods or flowing stream, 
 And answered to their calls. 
 Where shepherd oft, at solemn eve returning, 
 Heard sounds melodious, and a solemn theme, 
 Perchance afar some glancing form discerning ; 
 While woods and valleys listened to the song, 
 And Evening seem'd to linger sweet and long, 
 
 Caught by the enchanting sound. 
 When sober Eeason look'd upon the scene, 
 All was but empty air, 
 And nothing to be found ; 
 Some yearning of the immortal spirit came between, 
 
 b Haec loca capripedes Satyros Nymphasque tenere 
 Finitimi fingunt ; et Faunos esse loquuntur, 
 Quorum noctivago strepitu, ludoque jocanti 
 Adfirmant volgo tacituma silentia rumpi, 
 Chordarumque sonus fieri, dulcisque querelas, 
 Tibia quas fundit, digitis pulsata canentum. 
 
 Lucret. iv. 556. 
 
 x2 
 
308 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 And dress'd up sounds and sights so fair, 
 To body forth her longings of the Unseen. 
 So all the things which here on earth have been, 
 
 Unreal shadows of the eye and ear, 
 Stripped of their soft enchantment disappear, 
 And there is nothing there. 
 
 But in the woods they seem afar, 
 Holding sweet converse with the Evening star ; 
 
 The heart is listening still, 
 And echoes of the past the deepest spirit fill. 
 
 The music now hath ceas'd and gone, 
 
 Faint and more faint the visions come, 
 And leave us to the weary world alone ; 
 
 Whene'er amid the earth we roam, 
 
 There something is in Music's tone, 
 
 That to the exile seems to bring 
 The thoughts of his lost Paradise, 
 
 Like words and things from distant home. 
 
 Unconsciously they touch a spring 
 Winch in the secret spirit lies, 
 As wandering from their parent skies. 
 
 What worlds with you are come and flown ! 
 Musical sounds, say, what are ye? 
 
 Whence do ye come ? what can ye be, 
 That ye should thus our inmost being move, 
 Speaking with such strange language all your own ? 
 Are ye wild spirits, wandering from above, 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 309 
 
 That unto you such power is given ? 
 Or are ye gales which here have stray* d from Heaven, 
 Come from the place where all the past is sWd, 
 
 "Waiting the awful coming of the Lord ? 
 And therefore when o'er us your spirit steals 
 It all the past reveals, 
 Finds access to the secret place of fears, 
 And lifts the shadows of long buried years, 
 For human tongue too deep, and human tears. 
 
 But not alone within the tuneful wall, 
 
 And music-loving cells : — 
 All far aloof from spiral summit tall, 
 Eddying around in circuits musical, 
 The aerial sweetness floats and swells 
 Down to the woodland dells. 
 And wise I deem the Church of olden times 
 That hallowed your sweet bells, which from their towers 
 Mung out such spirit-moving powers, 
 In flood of their melodious chimes. 
 Well might she consecrate those fountain wells, 
 Such strength of sympathy within them dwells, 
 And keep from use profane and vile. 
 While now, alas ! pour'd forth from sacred pile, 
 State-strifes, home-jealousies, take up the hallow' d strain, 
 And blended with the airs from hell upon the heart remain. 
 
 Ye golden streams from purer worlds o'er-flowing, 
 Musical sounds, in you a language lies, 
 
SI THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Which speaks of God's eternal harmonies, 
 In secret Providence around us going. 
 Ye speak as by a hidden spell 
 That union strange, unspeakable, 
 Of the eternal City in the skies. 
 Therefore in Salem's earthly courts were found, 
 Cymbal, lute, trumpet, harp, and vocal sound, 
 
 And steps with music shod. 
 With harps Angelic, songs, and hallowed lips, 
 Heaven is reveaFd in dread Apocalypse, 
 Wherein the blessed spirits dwell with God. 
 
 Whatever ye be, ye speak so much of Heaven, 
 
 That at your sound the evil spirit flies ; 
 
 As erst we read in holy histories, 
 
 He from the stern remorseM King was driven, 
 
 When David touched the soothing minstrelsies ; 
 
 The fiend then heard, and caught the preludes deep 
 
 Of sounds and thoughts harmonious, which begin 
 
 In Jesse's son, — signals precursive given 
 
 Of that sweet music which his Psalteries keep, 
 
 Cleansing and liberating souls from sin, 
 
 And to the everlasting refuge win. 
 
 Thus through our sensual avenues ye pour 
 
 Treasures of wisdom. Truth's mysterious store, 
 
 All bathed and blended with melodious air, 
 
 Into the unwilling soul ; to harbour there, 
 
 Breeding serener thoughts, in you to soar 
 
 Above the reach of grovelling earthly care. 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 311 
 
 Therefore ye find meet place in hallow'd shrine ; 
 Blending sweet grace with austere discipline ; 
 Since that dear time when erst the shepherd throng 
 
 Upon that hallowed even, 
 Heard strains which to Angelic hosts belong, 
 As if a door were opened into Heaven, 
 And pour'd a gleam of light and song, 
 Of glory, joy, and love eternal realms among. 
 Such are the melodies of new-born Peace, 
 Which then began, and will not cease, 
 Till men to Angels shall respond, and all to praise be given. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, to Heaven from whence ye rise, 
 Ye blessed harmonies, 
 And waft us on your breast unto your parent skies ; 
 Attune to Heaven our laggard feet, 
 
 Attune our spirits here below 
 To order and obedience meet, 
 Such as there is in that blest seat 
 From whence ye flow. 
 
 Obedience — it is love, 
 
 And where love is is harmony ; 
 
 Therefore the stars that range above 
 Throughout the infinite in order roving, 
 
 As through the shoreless space they fly, 
 We deem to thread their maze to music high, 
 In some melodious measure moving ; 
 
 And all we know of Angels blest 
 
312 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Is that they love and they obey, 
 
 And sing alway, 
 Ever singing, ever loving, 
 In the mansions of their rest, 
 Around the throne where God is mamfest. 
 And what we music call below 
 Is something thence that doth o'erflow, 
 Like a golden stream of light 
 From the infinite ; 
 Here in matter dull unfolding 
 And our earth-sick hearts upholding ; 
 . And therefore like electric chain . _. J 
 It hath a power in souls to reign, 
 And rivet with a sadness sweet, 
 Like voices come to exiles lone from their abiding seat. 
 
 Hence it hath power to give us wings, — 
 Wings and a tongue of pure desire ; — 
 Harmonious wings, like plumes of fire, 
 Whereon the exil'd spirit sings, 
 
 In her sunrise soaring higher ; 
 Happy, happy, happy singing, 
 Highest heights of ether winging, 
 All her birth-right round her bringing ; 
 
 Happy heights where she may go, 
 
 And look down on all below, 
 
 Only voice that can express 
 
 Her o'er-flowing thankfulness. 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 313 
 
 Plow on, flow on, ye hallow'd solemn measures, 
 Mysterious language of Angelic peace, 
 
 Still singing of high pleasures, 
 And long the lonely soul your dying accent treasures. 
 Plow on, flow on, and never cease, 
 Till all is peace and love on earth, 
 
 And man be tun'd to virtue strong; 
 
 And mindful of your awful song 
 Foregoes Ins low-bred cares and mirth, 
 
 In thoughts that unto you belong. 
 Flow on, flow on, ye tones of sweetness, 
 Till all the discords of our clime 
 Be swallow* d in your march sublime, 
 Whereon the eternal Bride advances ; 
 
 Wherein the sorrows of our fleetness, 
 Widow'd hopes, and evil chances, 
 Are lost in the eternal chime. 
 
 Lift the Ambrosian hymn sublime, 
 Or deep Gregorian chaunt of plaintive underchime ; 
 For solemn, deep, and awful-ton' d 
 Must be the sounds that speak of God, 
 Of Heaven and Hell, of Christ in Judgment tliron'd, 
 
 And of the path the Saints have trod. 
 Sounds worthy of the words the Psalmist sung, 
 And which in Christ have found a tongue, 
 And all His Saints among; 
 
314 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 The words on wliich the Martyrs' prayers ascended, 
 Like cars of fiery steeds, when Angels bended 
 To take them to their rest. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, ye tones of sadness, 
 
 Until the heart hath wept her stains away, 
 
 She waketh now from all the madness 
 
 Which o'er her spirit hath had sway, 
 
 And seeks a place to weep. 
 But there are sounds more grave and deep, 
 Which Conscience shall awaken from her sleep ; 
 
 She looks around, 
 Eous'd from the spell winch long hath bound, 
 And hears the Judgment-wheels in thunder falling, 
 While nearer as they draw, like lightning now, 
 The Judge's eye the heart appalling, 
 Brings memory forth upon the brow. 
 
 Ring out, ye tones, so sad and long, 
 With that deep solemn undersong, 
 That wakes stern grief and penitential fear. 
 Flow on, flow on, ye tears and sighs ; 
 Such are the strains most meet 
 For them who in their exile long and drear, 
 Sit by the waves of Babylon's proud seat, 
 Wliile Penitence therein her altered brow descries, 
 Where flood of light upon her steals, 
 And all the unclean heart reveals. 
 
THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 315 
 
 O wake your accents sad, and solemn closes, 
 
 Until the soul to Angel songs may rise, 
 And in their quiet haven it reposes. 
 
 Immortal harmonies ! thence Satan stole 
 Sweet sounds to bathe therein the captive soul, 
 Framing bad thoughts to imitate your strains, 
 And bind Ins prisoner in melodious chains ; 
 So to forget his miseries within, 
 And deeper and more deep to plunge in sin. 
 For such the sweetness of your gentle spell, 
 That e'en the influences that come from hell, 
 In your disguise seem fair, and cheat the sight, 
 RoVd in the many colours of your light. 
 Stop up all avenues, and close my ears, 
 O Spirit pure, redouble all my fears ! 
 Thus takes the soul her hue for the eternal years. 
 
 Strains which belong to City of the skies, 
 Ye are such notes as Plato deemed 
 Might calm and cleanse the soul, and render meet 
 
 To be the seat of virtuous harmonies, 
 In that fam'd City as he fondly dreamed. 
 Strains fitly framed to measured tone Divine, 
 That mould to high celestial disciphne, 
 And tune fit tempers to their cadence sweet. 
 Such as 'neath trees of life at Wisdom's feet 
 Sit at the living well, which from above 
 Flows in a golden shower of endless love. 
 
316 THE MUSIC OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Thus Ambrose with the hallowed song 
 Built up the citadel, 
 Where Truth her sacred treasures guarded well. 
 Strange are the walls to you belong, 
 Melodious songs that sink and swell ; 
 Angelic hands do build your spiritual towers, 
 In men's own hearts are laid your powers, 
 And your foundations deep and strong. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-FIFTH. 
 
 ©firtet suffered for ug, leabtng ug an example, that ge gftoufa 
 follofo ?£?fe gtepg. 
 
 Observe, O Christian, what illustrious examples of faith and 
 holiness the good Spirit, and Christ thy Lord, hath set before thee 
 in the sacred Scriptures [A]. In order that Virtue [B] and her 
 ways may not be an offence unto thee, behold, how thy Lord hath 
 gone before thee in all instances of goodness [C]. Imitate then 
 and copy Him [D], and endeavour to follow after Him, looking 
 unto Jesus the Author and Finisher of our faith. " See, saith He, 
 that thou make all things according to the pattern shewed to thee 
 in the mount." Look to Christ as set before thee on the mount of 
 His Passion [E]. Hear Him also teaching thee on the mount of 
 the Beatitudes [F], and observe how in all things, which He has 
 commanded us to do, He hath Himself set before us the same in 
 His own living example. Behold, and consider that Virtue [G] 
 which He there pointeth out ; and hear His high and gracious 
 injunction, when He biddeth us to be perfect even as our Father 
 which is in Heaven is perfect. Hear also God the Father from 
 Heaven [H], on that other mount of His Transfiguration, com- 
 manding us to hear His Son. Finally, flee from Sin [I], which 
 would turn thee away from following Christ, and lead thee from 
 the difficult road of the Cross, which is the only way of Virtue, 
 and tempt thee to thine own destruction. "For every man is 
 tempted, when he is drawn away by his own lust and enticed." 
 Thus, shi inking from that rough dealing with ourselves which 
 Virtue requires, or from a love of some momentary pleasure 
 which is found in Sin, he falls away from the path of Salvation, 
 and from Jesus Christ, Who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. 
 
®\)t pattern sftcfcoctr in tfje Jttount. 
 
 O blessed Picture, let my soul conceive, 
 And grave Thee on the tablet of my thought; 
 Wipe out all other records, there to leave 
 Thee only on my inmost spirit wrought. 
 
 let my anxious heart in Thee find rest, 
 
 1 know that all things else shall pass away, 
 
 Like nightly dreams that haunt th* unquiet breast, 
 Which flee like shadows at the face of Day. 
 
 I know Thou hast descended from above 
 To teach us what alone is great and good, 
 I know that all things in the end shall prove 
 As in thine own Example they have stood. 
 
 For can it be that He Who made the skies 
 Knows not the value of all things below ? 
 That He sees not aright Who made the eyes, — 
 That He Who gives all knowledge doth not know ? 
 
THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 819 
 
 Yea, sure I am while we ourselves molest 
 Where schemes of gain or seeming good abound ; 
 What Thou hast blessed shall indeed be blest, 
 What Thou hast called good shall so be found. 
 
 I see Thee, on that great and dreadful morn, 
 
 BoVd with the weight of Thine own charity, 
 
 While nigh overwhelmed with weakness, pain, and scorn, 
 
 Thou sayest unto all men, "follow Me." 
 
 O painful lesson, written in Thy blood, 
 To follow Thee ! lesson full of pain ! 
 And yet not painful if it is most good, 
 The pain shall pass away, the good remain. 
 
 For all things Thou hast bidden us to do 
 In Thine own life and dying were portray' d, 
 In Thine own image found in likeness true, 
 In colours of Thy woe all living made. 
 
 The words Thou spakest on that Teacher's hill 
 Thou writest here Thyself in Thine own blood, 
 Opening our eyes to know both good and ill ; 
 This is the mount of Thy beatitude. 
 
 For if it blessed is on earth to mourn, 
 Bless' d to be merciful, in spirit poor, 
 To love our enemies and suffer scorn, 
 Thou art Thyself most blessed evermore. 
 
320 THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 
 
 What is the lesson Thou from Heaven hast brought ? 
 That seeming ills on earth which mortals fear 
 In eyes that are in Heaven are all as nought, 
 And, did we know them rightly, should be dear : 
 
 That all things chosen by the Lord of Light 
 Are the best gifts that are to mortals given, 
 For all things are as they are in His sight, 
 His Cross to man is the sole door of Heaven. 
 
 Seek we for rays of comfort from above ? 
 Through the dark valley cheerless was Thy road, 
 And the withdrawing of Thy Father's love 
 Like a black thunder-cloud on Thee abode. 
 
 Think we in sorrow of ourselves alone ? 
 Upon Thy foes were turned Thy pitying eyes, 
 Thy thoughts were e'en in suffering not Thine own, 
 Thine arms outstretched in dying charities. 
 
 Shrink we from penury and hard estate ? 
 Thou hadst but one poor mantle at Thy death, 
 And that the soldiers, mocking Thy sad fate, 
 Had made their own before Thy parting breath. 
 
 Seek we for pomp and greatness of renown ? 
 Man's glory in that mirror we may scan, 
 When Pilate led Thee forth with bleeding crown, 
 And said to gazing crowds, "Behold the Man \" 
 
THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 32 1 
 
 Behold the Man, of sorrow and of shame, 
 
 One deem'd unworthy upon earth to dwell, 
 
 " A worm" and " outcast " among men His name, 
 
 In God's and Angels' sight " Tmmanuel." 
 
 Seek we in praise of multitudes to stand ? 
 Blood-stained Barabbas was to Thee preferred. 
 Seek we to shine unblam'd on either hand ? 
 Loud were false tongues, but Thy voice was not heard % 
 
 Seek we soft beds to sleep on or to die ? 
 With iron nails upon Thy torturing bed 
 Thy naked limbs were viewed in agony — 
 And Mockery stood by Thy dying head. 
 
 Thus when we meet Thee at the City's gate 
 And seek to enter, Thou dost bid us turn 
 Unto the Mount of Sorrows, there to wait 
 Till we ourselves and Thee shall better leara. 
 
 Alas, how full the road of toil and pain 
 From earthly Salem to the Heavenly hill ! 
 Each one thereon doth his own Cross sustain, 
 Some weight, whatever it be, of human ill : — 
 
 A Cross of gold, of silver, or of wood, 
 Or of mean straw, hid in each shape of life ; 
 Some trial working for eternal good, 
 Found in the outward state or inward strife. 
 
 Y 
 
THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 
 
 Something to wean the soul from things of sense, 
 To higher aim the weak resolve to brace, 
 To train our thoughts in lowly penitence, 
 And bring us to the Cross, the Fount of Grace. 
 
 Blest woe to Thee that brings us, woe Divine, 
 Which quicken' d by Thee may the will control, 
 Or through affection mark one living line 
 Of Thy celestial Image on the soul. 
 
 For to approach Thee must be good indeed 
 Although most painful : in Thy deepest woes 
 Healing and virtue from Thy skirts proceed, 
 And in thy sorest anguish sure repose. 
 
 let me rub mine eyes, O take away 
 
 Whatever of passion weighs mine eyelids down, 
 
 That I may see the light of endless Day, 
 
 And something from Thy sorrows make mine own ! 
 
 This is the place, O Lord, where I would dwell, 
 And this is all the wisdom which I need, 
 To judge of all things and their issue tell ; 
 This is the light where I would all things read. 
 
 Not on the Mount with those most favour' d three 
 Might I approach Thee, but I here may hide, — 
 Three tabernacles make, that Thou with me 
 In body soul and spirit may'st abide. 
 
THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 323 
 
 More blest than Mount of Thy beatitudes, 
 Or that dread Mount of Thy transforming change ; 
 This is that Sion's hill whence healing floods 
 Through the world's wilderness Avith blessings range. 
 
 " Be perfect as your Father is in Heaven/' 
 So spake the Son ; from courts of Seraphim 
 A Yoice responsive through the cloud was given, 
 " This is My Son beloved, hear ye Him." 
 
 Before assembled worlds that He hath made 
 Th' Almighty Father from His bosom brings 
 Th' Almighty Son, in pain and shame array' d, 
 In suffering bow'd 'neath all created things : 
 
 And unto lost mankind He calls aloud, — 
 " Ye who become not as this little Child 
 Shall enter not with Him the living Cloud, 
 Children of Heaven, in mercy reconciled." 
 
 "Let Us in Our own Image make mankind," 
 So spake the Almighty Father ; to His will 
 The Son submissively His head inclin'd, 
 And took our form that He might that fulfil ; — 
 
 And answer'd meekly, "It is finished !" 
 So we must bear the Cross, and one by one 
 With Thee on earth be number'd with the dead, 
 And rise in life like Thee, the living Son. 
 y 2 
 
324 THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 
 
 The Alpha and Omega, First and Last, 
 Slain ere foundations of the world were laid, 
 And on the Cross ere heaven and earth be past, 
 Gathering Thy children 'neath its hallowed shade. 
 
 Ye vain deluding vanities, depart, 
 Be still, ye tumults of the impassioned mind : 
 Let lowly Eeverence hold the silent heart, 
 That God may in His temple entrance find. 
 
 Idols of pride, tables of merchandize, 
 Depart ye hence without the temple gate : 
 Let little children sing His welcome praise, 
 The lowly thoughts that on His Coming wait ! 
 
 Loud are the sounds on all sides winch would call 
 My spirit from Thee, all the clamorous brood 
 Of hopes and fears which the vain heart enthrall, 
 And touch the spirit in her solitude. 
 
 Alas, I must divest and cast aside 
 All that in me is mine — I must forego 
 My very self, that with me may abide 
 Thy Spirit, and may teach me Thee to know. 
 
 let me touch Thy garment, vile and mean, 
 
 But full of healing, full of holiness ; — 
 
 Alas, love we in splendour to be seen 
 
 Rather than meanness Thou hast deign'd to bless ? 
 
THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 325 
 
 E'en as Thine own mean garment, so didst Thou 
 Wrap all around Thee painful poverty ! 
 Thy ministers were Sorrows ; on Thy brow 
 Was set the brand of bitter infamy, — 
 
 E'en as a kingly Crown : Thy sceptre mild 
 Was but the meek endurance of all wrong, 
 That reed of mockery ; while like a child 
 Thou conqueredst Thy foeman great and strong. 
 
 Still as I gaze on Thee my tears will swell, 
 The things of which I glory drop away, 
 Nothing but of my sorrows would I tell, 
 So many are my sins, so short my day. 
 
 O let me not, for this my hardened heart, 
 Be yielded up, like false-soul'd Caiaphas ; 
 With Judas or Barabbas take my part, 
 Or with the multitudes that mocking pass. 
 
 Oh, let me here abide my short-lived days, 
 And hide me ! from myself I fain would flee ; 
 To go hence to the world and seek its praise 
 Is to shake hands with that which murdered Thee. 
 
 Let me think o'er Thy sayings, — on them dwell, 
 And fathom in each word the depths divine, 
 Drinking the sweetness from the Rocky cell, 
 And hide me in Thee as a hallow'd shrine. 
 
326 THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 
 
 Infinite sweetness, wisdom infinite 
 Dwells in the words Thy sacred lips have told, 
 E'en like the stars that fill the Heaven at night, 
 Exhaustless, fresh, and beauteous as of old. 
 
 Yea, all Thy words disclose themselves a Heaven, 
 Full of great meanings, growing as we gaze ; 
 Stars one by one come forth, until 'tis given 
 To see the skies alive with shining rays. 
 
 Nay, stars to us are dead, however bright ; 
 
 Thy words are very life, by them we live, 
 
 Our food, and vital air, and Heaven-born light, 
 
 Which to our souls bloom, strength, and beauty give. 
 
 The Painter labours with his toilsome art 
 To paint Thee in the colours of the sky, 
 Bines all nature, borrows from the heart, — 
 To deck and hallow some blest sanctuary. 
 
 Art and its work shall perish, fast each hue 
 Prom the unwilling canvass fades away, 
 The outward form alone it brings to view, 
 Which must be chang'd to everlasting Day. 
 
 Faith paints Thine Image on the soul in love 
 With Heavenly graces like mifading dyes, 
 To have a place in temples hid above, 
 And gains her colours from -the unseen skies. 
 
THE PATTERN SHEWED IN THE MOUNT. 827 
 
 In Thine own Word by Thy good Spirit wrought 
 We see the portrait of Thy dying pains, 
 Thence to our souls by that good Spirit brought 
 Something of Thee th' obedient heart attains. 
 
 O blessed picture, on Thee let me gaze, 
 In Thee my weary spirit finds repose, 
 My spirit flies from men's polluted ways, 
 And drinks of sad refreshing at Thy woes. 
 
 If I believe this is th' eternal Light, 
 The Light that changes not, and cannot wane, 
 Then all things, as departs this life's short night, 
 Appear as Thou hast said, and so remain. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-SIXTH. 
 
 &ttenD to the benefit* tohu;ft ffioD tonferjS upon thee, hj? fohieh thou 
 art ^stimulated to fjoltnc^. 
 
 Consider the blessings with which God invites thee to virtue ; 
 that of Creation [A], that of our Lord's Incarnation [B], that of 
 Redemption [C], those of Sacraments and Graces [D], For it is 
 God that feeds thee and clothes thee [E], delivers thee from many 
 evils and miseries [F], and by His Angels sendeth His gifts [G], 
 as He did of old upon the Israelites [H]. It is God Who giveth 
 thee showers [I], and sunshine [K], and increase of fruits for thy 
 use and delight [L] ; and these He bestoweth upon thee in order 
 that thou mayest follow Virtue [M]. And since God doeth all 
 these things out of His very great Charity [N] , wilt thou not also 
 in thy turn be melted with love ? Surely although Virtue be of 
 itself lovely, and vice detestable, yet independently of these con- 
 siderations it were but reasonable that we should embrace Virtue 
 from the love of God and our Lord, and on account of those 
 blessings with which He hath prevented us. 
 
; 
 
 '^zc 
 
jftlan encompassed foiti) blessings. 
 
 Lord, what is man that Thou shouldst own, 
 
 And like a guest shouldst visit him ; — 
 With Thine own loving-kindness crown, 
 
 And set him with Thy Seraphim. 
 Thou from the dust didst give him birth, 
 And pointing upward from dull earth 
 Awaken to Thine orison, 
 Creation's Heir and Priest, Thine everlasting Son. 
 
 And then began the wondrous strife, 
 
 Man to heap up his deeds of ill, 
 Thou to outdo with gifts of life, 
 
 And overcome him with goodwill. 
 Then came the tempest and the cloud, 
 Deep unto deep then called aloud — 
 Thy depth of love, our depth Of woe, — 
 The deep of Heaven above — the deep of Hell below. 
 
380 MAN ENCOMPASSED WITH BLESSINGS. 
 
 Bow down your heads, ye ancient mountains ! 
 
 Heaven bends to earth her place of rest ; 
 Flow back unto your source, ye fountains, 
 
 And stand in wonder at your Guest ! . 
 Lo, in a Yirgin's solitude 
 The harbinger of Glory stood ; 
 Open, ye portals of the morn, 
 That from your dewy womb Love may Himself be born. 
 
 Heap up ye mountains upon mountains, 
 
 The growing mountains of men's crimes ! 
 Flow on — flow on ye tainted fountains, 
 
 The gathered evil of all times ! 
 Lo, man in league with Satan stands, 
 Both bring on their embattled bands ; 
 But God fights with His clemency, 
 And hath overcome them all on the accursed Tree. 
 
 Trine visitation of th' Unseen, 
 
 Be graven in us ; in us dwell, 
 In Sacramental Grace serene, 
 
 The Heaven-revealed Immanuel ; 
 The Child within the bosom found, 
 Who hath the sun His brows around ! 
 'Tis He of David bears the keys, 
 And in the things of earth unlocks Heaven's mysteries. 
 
 And now, thou heir of sin and woe, 
 
 Come forth, and see this blue-roof d hall ! 
 
MAN ENCOMPASSED WITH BLESSINGS. 331 
 
 From Heaven above, from earth below. 
 What varied blessings rise and fall ! 
 While through the opening gates of morn 
 His bounties are in silence borne, 
 In stillness as of Angels' wings, 
 Save where the bird of morn Ins grateful descant sings. 
 
 The night is passed, and with it gone 
 
 The wandering shapes of ill that crept 
 Around us, and to us unknown 
 
 Have look'd upon us while we slept, 
 Like dismal faces in the gloom, 
 Through windows of th' illumined room : 
 Some guard unseen drives them afar, 
 As on night's scattered rear breaks forth the Eastern star. 
 
 And now let some sweet guide be found 
 
 To lead us forth, and point abroad, 
 How we are on the narrow road 
 
 By cords of sweet compulsion bound. 
 There are on all the ties of Love 
 To draw us to her house above. 
 Though sense sees not the sacred band, 
 We feel there is on all a soft-constraining Hand. 
 
 It is as if through fields of air 
 
 We saw the bright-winged pursuivant, 
 Sent down by that all-seeing Care 
 
 Which hears, and answers every want. 
 
332 MAN ENCOMPASSED WITH BLESSINGS. 
 
 Yea, finding answers to our needs, 
 While no seen form from Thee proceeds, 
 We feel it is Thyself that's here, 
 Art present to our love, art present to our fear. 
 
 The Sun Thou daily sendest forth, — 
 With varied blessings manifold, 
 
 To turn to verdure the dead earth, 
 To turn her verdure into gold, — 
 
 Seems like Thy torch to lead us on 
 
 To worlds far better than his own ; 
 
 And for his Maker asks our love, 
 And daily doth withdraw our coldness to reprove. 
 
 The steers that toil in furrow'd field, — 
 
 On mountain sides the waving grain, — 
 The vine that hangs her purple shield, — 
 
 The fatness-dropping genial rain, — 
 And Nature's self that finds a voice, 
 And all the hills which round rejoice, 
 With woods and verdant spots between, 
 All speak around our homes the steps of the Unseen. 
 
 When musing on celestial things 
 Fairer than what we here behold, 
 
 From birds we give them buoyant wings, 
 And human face of fairest mould ; 
 
 This wall of sense that bars us round, 
 
 Doth thus our very fancy bound : 
 
MAN ENCOMPASSED WITH BLESSINGS. 333 
 
 Nor can we deem their matchless grace 
 To be with us unseen, but in some distant place. 
 
 Haply some new diviner sense 
 
 The spirit's portals might unbar, 
 And ope to us Omnipotence ; 
 
 Not distant as the twinkling star, 
 But in such unknown radiance 
 As might th' immortal soul entrance, 
 Yet nearer than our very breath : 
 And what if this which opes the door of sense — be death ! 
 
 Then think of God, and walk in fear 
 
 Of all that doth thy fancy stir, 
 Whatever doth meet thine eye and ear, 
 
 Look on it as His messenger : 
 In this bad world wherein we dwell, 
 Who grasp at Heaven shall find it Hell : 
 The sun lights up dark clouds to shew 
 That that which gleams most bright is but a cloud below. 
 
 Whatever may be Thy messenger, 
 
 His lesson will I strive to learn, 
 Yea, though some rudest shape he wear, 
 
 And though his voice be sad and stern ; 
 Yea, though he speak occasions gone, 
 And dread Eemorse be in the tone, 
 Him would I cherish in Thy Name, 
 And for Thy sake would love, crown'd King of woe and shame. 
 
334 MAN ENCOMPASSED WITH BLESSINGS. 
 
 Fair as the shining gate of even, 
 
 Comes Virtue down the sun-pav'd road, 
 
 Bright in the panoply of Heaven, 
 To lead us to that calm abode ; 
 
 For this God spreads His bounties o'er, 
 
 Alike embracing rich and poor, 
 
 Blue skies above, green scenes below, 
 'Tis all that we might strive the better path to know. 
 
 Thus to enlighten dull-eyed man, 
 
 He trains him through the tilings of sense, 
 The scenes of varied life to scan, 
 
 And read aright His providence ; 
 Home to his heart this truth to press, 
 He schoord him in the wilderness, 
 When Angels op'd the Heavenly door, 
 And daily rain'd below the life-supporting store. 
 
 Fair Form, that sittest on the cloud, 
 
 The Image of parental love, 
 And from the purple-folding shroud 
 
 To earth descendest from above, 
 With babes enfolded in thine arms, 
 As sheltering them from worldly harms ; 
 All things are weak to speak of thee, 
 And figure thy fair form, divinest Charity. 
 
 How can we paint thee to our eyes ? 
 Thy brow is like the radiant morn, 
 
MAN ENCOMPASSED WITH BLESSINGS. 385 
 
 Thy flowing robes are azure skies, 
 
 And stars the gems thy robes adorn, 
 The vernal cloud thy chariot fair, 
 The winds the steeds that chariot bear, 
 The hues on evening clouds that roam 
 Are but the radiant gate that leads unto thy home. 
 
 If thou art fair with God above, 
 
 And fairer than all things below, 
 Bath'd in thy light, immortal Love, 
 
 Let our heart burn, our footsteps glow, — 
 With emulous haste our feet be shod 
 To love our neighbour and our God : 
 For Action is the heart's own door, 
 Whereby Affection comes, and gathers in her store. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-SEVENTH. 
 
 2The Soro gittrth afrobe the foater=flooo ; ant) the Sort rematnetb 
 a Iting for cbcr. 
 
 Whom therefore wilt thou serve, the mighty God [A] or the 
 Devil [B] ? Virtue inviteth thee to serve God [C], Whose child 
 thou wert born again in Baptism ; but Vice enticeth thee away, 
 to return to the service of the Devil [D], which thou hast 
 renounced. Consider what thou art doing; for who is God ? He 
 is Three and yet One [E] ; the Fountain of all good [F] ; 
 Eternal [G] ; Almighty [H] ; infinitely Wise [I] ; most Boun- 
 tiful [K] ; alone satisfying the heart [L], filling all things [M] ; 
 and every where present; most Just [N] ; the most mighty 
 King [O]. Come therefore unto Him; offer unto Him all thou 
 hast ; give up thy heart [P] unto Him, as the Bride [Q] burn- 
 ing with love ; deliver it unto Him through Faith, Hope, and 
 Charity [R]. As far as thou canst, draw all men unto the love of 
 Him [S], being thyself inflamed with zeal for His honour, and 
 doing all things unto His glory. Consider what great things 
 He hath done for thee, and what good gifts He hath bestowed 
 on thee in thine adoption. Who can tell the privileges of 
 our New Birth in Baptism? "His paths are in" those "great 
 waters, and His footsteps are not known." " Out of the throne 
 of God and of the Lamb" go forth the waters of life, "clear as 
 crystal." " The rivers of the flood thereof shall make glad the 
 city of God; the holy place of the tabernacle of the Most 
 Highest." 
 
XXHE. 
 
OTe Sinters of tt»e ODttg of <£otr. 
 
 Boun from the deep of the Baptismal flood 
 She sprung, with wings half pois'd to fly to Heaven, 
 Heavenward her palm she pointed ; as she stood 
 A warlike attitude to her was given, 
 And round her as she rose the clouds were riven ; 
 A Cross her helm, a Cross her halbert strong : 
 She seemed as one come from the clouds of even, 
 Who did on earth to higher worlds belong, 
 As to the waves she sung her clear Baptismal song. 
 
 Lift up thy voice, thou mighty Main, 
 
 The thunder of thy song, 
 Thou utterest thy glorious strain 
 
 A thousand years along. 
 Free Ocean, lift thy voice again, — 
 While mantling round thee thy blue robe, 
 Thou seem'st to live, and to rejoice, 
 And symbol round the peopled globe 
 
 Th* Almighty's awful Voice a . 
 
 a Ezek. xliii. 2 ; Rev. i. 15 ; xiv. 2 ; xix. 6. 
 Z 
 
338 THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Stretch forth thine arms, — thy bright blue arms, — 
 
 The big broad world around, 
 And shake thy locks, — thy bright blue locks, — 
 
 And let thy trumpet sound ! 
 Go forth, ye waves, exulting bound, 
 
 Go forth from shore to shore ! 
 He laughs along and spreads alarms ; 
 From pole to pole his thundering sides he rocks ; 
 
 With wild tumultuous roar, 
 He roves to unseen worlds afar, 
 
 And bears his watery war. 
 
 The Heavens do in thy bosom sleep, 
 
 In their immensity, 
 With hosts that range th/ ethereal deep, 
 
 Dark-bosom'd, glorious Sea! 
 And there the Moon in deeps of light 
 Doth make herself a glorious place, 
 While, through the mantle of the night, 
 Glass'd in thy watery world the Heavens behold their face. 
 
 Come, let me listen unto thee, 
 
 And read thy dark-writ brow, 
 Great Ocean ! ah, I know thee now, 
 
 Mysterious, awful Sea ! 
 Sign of what is, and what shall be, 
 Birthplace of things that cannot die ! 
 My childhood lovM thy vocal shore, 
 
 With a mysterious fear, 
 
THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 'd'-iU 
 
 And watch' (1 thy living waves expiring there, 
 With rippling froth and gentle roar, 
 And now I haunt thy sides with awful fond regret j 
 I see thy watery hall, 
 And gaze, and gazing yet 
 I feel a something gone I would in vain recall. 
 
 Great sign of our Baptismal birth, 
 
 With twice ten thousand hands 
 Embracing the else fading earth, 
 
 As with sweet swaddling bands ; 
 O mighty storehouse, awful Sea, 
 Th' Almighty's footsteps are in thee, 
 
 When He doth walk abroad, 
 His ways where life and healing dwell, 
 By human eye untraceable ! 
 In thee there lies the hidden road 
 
 To the celestial towers, 
 Whose gates are pearl of living blaze, 
 
 And agate-paVd her bowers, 
 Wherein the white-cloth' d pilgrim strays, 
 Led on to those immortal walls by the soft-footed Hours. 
 
 Lift up thy voice, dread watery wild, 
 
 I know thy sounds divine, 
 Now thy deep voice I understand, 
 
 That speaks from land to land, 
 Thou art the great Baptismal sign, 
 
 Life-giving, pure, profound. 
 z 2 
 
•340 THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Deep in thy halls with waters piTd 
 
 Angelic steps abound : 
 The Sky, with its star-peopled space, 
 Doth gaze enamoured on thy face, 
 And wheresoever thy glass is found, 
 In this dark-cornered earth by sin defil'd, 
 Sleeps calmly in thy lov^d embrace, 
 Reliev'd and reconciled. 
 
 Spread forth thy bosom, awful Sea ! 
 Thou in Jehovah's house of old 
 Wast on the pillared Twelve unrolTd b , 
 Dread emblem of great majesty. 
 And in His living Church on earth 
 
 Doth thy vast laver stand. 
 Great fountain of Baptismal birth 
 For children born for th J eternal land. 
 But in that House where Angel-hosts adore, 
 That Sea shall be no more c , 
 For none there die, and none are born, 
 No longer from the sea doth rise the purple morn. 
 
 Of mighty floods majestic seat 
 
 In arching blue uprear'd ; 
 On thy abyss the Paraclete 
 
 Erst dove-like deign'd to brood, 
 Ere sun or stars had yet appealed 
 
 To light that solitude, 
 
 b 1 Kings vii. 23, 2/>. c Rev. xxi. 1. 
 
THE WATERS 0¥ THE CITY OF GOD. 341 
 
 The formless void profound ; 
 Until the Earth, with hill and valley crown' d, 
 
 From out thy bosom rose, 
 And winding round her came to view 
 
 Thy beauteous arch of blue ; 
 
 There Morn's first waking from repose, 
 
 And Evening on her starry throne, 
 
 Crown' d with her golden sunset shone, 
 
 Glass'd in the lucid folds of thy transparent zone. 
 
 Deep walking in thy watery caves 
 
 The Moon doth bright appear ; 
 Amid the thunder of thy waves 
 She lifts her glittering spear ; 
 When from her palace gates, through some bright cloud, 
 Emerges forth her presence proud, 
 The emerald and the chrysoprase, 
 Responsive own the blaze ; 
 And finny troops flash in the burnish'd rays, 
 While her soft shadow roves at ease 
 Her watery palaces : 
 Thus still and soft the Church doth walk below 
 In the Baptismal seas, 
 While nought her presence soils, more white than virgin snow. 
 
 Great Laver of Baptismal birth, 
 
 How didst thou in thy strength 
 Rejoice to know thy Lord on earth, 
 And His still Voice to hear along thy breadth and length ! 
 
342 THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Then thou, in thy dark mood so wild, 
 E'en like a wayward child, 
 Didst hear thy Maker's voice, and sweet and mild 
 All calmly at His feet didst he ; 
 And e'en in thy tumultuous wrath 
 Didst make for him a marble path ; 
 While in their house of wood His chosen feared to die. 
 
 Strong flowing Main, that groVst not old, 
 
 While all things else decay, 
 In youthful buoyance fresh and bold 
 
 As on thy natal day, 
 Thou roll'st thy watery hosts along, 
 
 And utterest thy song ; 
 Thou keepest fresh the verdant world, 
 Which else would fade in her polluted ways, 
 In turbulence around her hurl'd, 
 
 Or soft melodious praise. 
 
 Ye watery worlds that range aloof, 
 Above tins earthly globe, 
 And form your roving bands on Heaven's bright roof, 
 
 Where God hath His pavilion made d , 
 
 And in your deeps His pillars laid, 
 Throwing around Him your dark-flowing robe, 
 
 In you He drops fresh life below, 
 
 In you He sets His wondrous bow ! 
 
 And here below the waters move, 
 
 Responsive to some spell above : 
 
 '* Fsalin xviii. 1 1. 
 
THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 343 
 
 O dread mysterious awful power, 
 Quickening the new-born world with thy Baptismal shower ! 
 
 Ye springs and fountains, stream and lake, 
 
 That fill our world below, 
 And bear your warrant forth to go, 
 A garden here on tins bad world to make, 
 
 And thirst of life to slake : 
 Ye from the secret sea of Love, 
 Do spring amid the wilderness, 
 
 In varied forms ye move, 
 Mountain and vale with beauty dress, 
 
 And all things living bless. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, thou mighty Main, 
 
 And send thy thousand rills, 
 Through all thy secret stores which strain 
 
 From the dark-treasur'd hills, 
 And wheresoever thy waters flow, 
 
 The gladdening banks between, 
 The trees in varied order seen, 
 Trees of the Lord stand fresh and green 
 In God's own Paradise below 6 . 
 
 Ye wells and waters, o'er which broods 
 The Dove of sacred lore, 
 Refreshing erst those Syrian solitudes, 
 While Faith still look'd before ! 
 
 * Psalm i ; civ. 16. 
 
344 THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 She now in you beholds mysterious things, 
 And o'er you hangs oh thoughtful wings. 
 Ye hallow'd wells, where Abraham walk'd, 
 Where Patriarchs old their blessings won, 
 "Where Jacob with his chosen talked, 
 
 Bequeathed from son to son ! 
 Till on your sacred site a greater One 
 Sat down at eve to rest ; 
 'Twas He Who was in Baptism manifest, 
 Who from His bleeding side the wave, 
 And living waters gave. 
 
 And thou, of all God's streams most dread and sweet, 
 
 Great Jordan, who with hallow'd feet 
 Down Israel's mountains didst descend, 
 
 Prom skies that earthward bow and bend; 
 
 Prom thee the Twelve great Stones are seen, 
 
 When Israel passed the floods between : 
 
 In thee the Syrian cleansing found ; 
 
 From thee the Galilean lake 
 
 Spreads forth her watery bound ; 
 
 O stream most blest for His dear sake 
 Who touched thy sacred wave, and hallow'd all thy ground. 
 
 The voice of the Lord is on the waters — lo, it souudeth ; 
 
 He only doeth wonder, 
 The voice of the Lord is on the waters, — it aboundeth, 
 
 Above, around, and under, 
 Proclaiming the Belov'd, — the Sou Belov'd proclaiming, 
 
 In living thunder ; 
 
THE WATERS OE THE CITY OF GOD. 345 
 
 And Heaven, and Earth, and Sea, are witness to Thy naming. 
 
 The waters saw Thee, and were troubled, 
 And through the watery deeps the living lightnings spring; 
 Deep calls to deep in echoing sounds redoubled ; 
 Go tell it forth, the Lord is King ! 
 The Lord sits o'er the waterfloods, 
 And o'er the watery multitudes 
 His Spirit broods. 
 
 Mow forth, meek Jordan, to the sea, 
 
 Henceforth the pure salt main 
 Is hallowed in its founts by thee, 
 And all its streams do virtue gain. 
 The Temple now unfolds her gates, 
 And hearing waves thence issue forth ; 
 And East and West and South and North 
 
 The hallow* d stream awaits. 
 
 Sea of Tiberias, watery bed, 
 
 Lay down thy rippling billow, 
 I fain would lay my weary head 
 
 Upon thy gentle pillow ! 
 Bosom of waters with fair mountains crown' d, 
 To thee sweet memories are given, 
 Thou art, if such on earth be found, 
 
 A mirror meet for Heaven ! 
 
 In those blest waters then 
 Eull oft those holy Fishermen, 
 Watching their nets in that deep quiet scene, 
 Beheld the stars in the blue seas serene, 
 
34 H TJ1E WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 And prais'd their Lord on high. 
 Little they deem'd what then was nigh, 
 That those bright stars of lustre so divine 
 Were emblems of that company, 
 Which should hereafter rise and shine 
 In the Baptismal sea. 
 
 Ye watery clouds that stray above, 
 
 Ye watery streams below, 
 Still wheresoever ye stand or move, 
 
 Ye meet us as we go ; — 
 Your sinuous paths still wending, 
 
 Upon our ways attending, 
 Or wings ye take and o'er our heads are flying, 
 
 Or at our feet are lying, 
 Stretching your silver length along. 
 Ye showers, ye streams, ye lakes, and seas, 
 Ye put on every shape to meet us on our way, 
 
 To cheer, sustain, to soothe, to please : 
 And when your Heaven-replenish' d urn is dry, 
 All things around fade and decay, 
 
 And we too pine and die. 
 
 Flow forth, ye showers, ye blissful showers, 
 Long parch' d hath been the land ; 
 
 In sultry noon where wither' d Carmel towers, 
 Elijah is at hand ! 
 He lean'd his head full low, 
 His head in prayer did bow, 
 
THE WATERS OF THE CITY OE GOD. 347 
 
 His head between his knees. 
 What is there now beyond the distant seas ? 
 
 Methinks I hear afar 
 
 The footsteps of the storm f . 
 Now go, and yoke the harnessed car, 
 
 And hasten to the town ; 
 
 For o'er the distant main 
 There is a cloud, as if a form 
 Were leaning with a pitcher down, 
 
 And drawing up the rain. 
 
 Spring forth from out thy mountain nest, 
 
 Thou bright and bounding billow ! 
 Where Moses stands beside the rock, 
 And tented tribes through all the valley flock, 
 With crystal-sounding step, and sparkling breast 
 I hear thee down the rocky stair descending ! 
 No green banks mark thee down the strand, 
 No tree, nor ranks of willow, 
 Are on thy winding course attending ! 
 But famished beasts and thirsty men 
 Around thee bend, and stand, 
 With gaping mouth and leaning hand, 
 All hastening, bending, drooping, kneeling, 
 By thee restored to life again. 
 Meanwhile thy watery footsteps wend, 
 Choose their new path, spontaneous bend, 
 In living channels stealing, 
 And with their freshening song their hidden path revealing. 
 
 f (pwvrj Ttav -nohoiv tov vtrov. 1 Kings xviii. 41. Septuap. 
 
348 THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 
 
 Ye rains on high that dwell, 
 Ye waters that around our home 
 
 Do ripple, fall, or swell, 
 And all about us gently range 
 
 With beauteous interchange, 
 Ye shadow forth the stores that come 
 
 From our Baptismal well, 
 And all around our being roam 
 In blessings numberless and strange. 
 The Heaven-built City's shadow sleeps 
 
 Within your glassy deeps, 
 
 With all her golden-pillared towers, 
 And gliding forms that walk in amaranthine bowers. 
 
 Flow on, flow on, ye glistening streams, 
 
 I listen, and I gaze, 
 But I have wandered in my dreams 
 
 To Childhood's peaceful days. 
 While down some stony stair advancing 
 
 Your rippling waves are glancing ; 
 Or like a silver sea are spread, 
 Where high-walTd Cities see their tower-encircled head ; 
 
 Or through the green elm-studded vale 
 
 Is seen to move the whitening sail, 
 
 A swelling sheet the trees between 
 
 In some Autumnal quiet scene ; 
 Or Summer Eve is through her portals going, 
 
 And in your waters glowing, 
 Her fairest parting hues on your bright waves bestowing. 
 
THE WATERS OF THE CITY OF GOD. 349 
 
 Flow on, flow on, old Ocean's daughters, 
 In every shape and form that, ye are wrought, 
 
 I love you, happy waters ! 
 Whether ye lead me back in thought 
 
 To Boyhood's purer days, 
 Or your refreshing sounds are brought 
 
 'Mid the polluted ways 
 
 Of cities, towers, and men. 
 
 happy waters, hail to you again ! 
 
 I know not how upon the theme I linger, 
 In vain I close the strain, 
 
 1 strike the chords, and still again, 
 
 Thought runs on thought beneath the moving finger, 
 I close, aud yet again upon the theme I linger. 
 
 Why are ye link'd with all my deepest musings, 
 
 And summon up the past, 
 Yet in regrets which evermore must last, 
 
 Your freshness new infusing ? 
 Types of Baptismal blessings ever winding, 
 Ye my sad weary ways at every turn are finding, 
 
 With sounds as of celestial dew, 
 
 Or streams that come to view ! 
 Bear me, great flowing fountains, bear me still 
 
 Upon your heaving breast : 
 Bear me yet onward to th' eternal hill 
 
 Where I at length may rest ! 
 Still would I close, my tongue in closing falters, 
 O bear me on your flowing breast, ye happy, happy waters ! 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-EIGHTH. 
 
 ^Tfte birgtng that bear her tompang gftall be brought unto 
 ^ftee, antj gfiall enter into the Ittng'a palace. 
 
 None of those graces and virtues which thou needest — which 
 come forth from God, and lead thee up to God — canst thou attain 
 without prayer. For all thy wishes are in vain unless God he with 
 thee. Pray therefore for that virtue which thou needest ; first and 
 above all things pray through the Passion of Christ [A] and 
 trample Sin under thy foot [B]. And when thou hast prayed 
 for strength, then seize some Occasion [C] of practising that 
 Virtue, — earnestly asking God for the attainment of it [D]. For 
 " unto which of the Saints canst thou turn [E]?" " the Heavens 
 are not clean in His sight," and even " His Angels He chargeth 
 with folly." Pray thou fervently, as one who is at the point of 
 death [F], or situated in the greatest danger. Pray for Faith [G], 
 for Hope [H], for Charity [I], for Humility [K], for Liberality 
 [L], for Chastity [M], for Temperance [N], for Meekness [O], 
 for Diligence [P]. And ever mindful of Divine charity pray thou 
 also for the whole Church [Q] ; for thy Parents and Superiors [R] ; 
 pray for those under thee, as David did ; and for those committed 
 to thy charge [S] ; for thy benefactors [T] ; for thine Enemies [V] ; 
 for Sinners, that they may be converted [W]. In all things re- 
 member that gracious promise, "if any man lack wisdom let him 
 ask of God, and it shall be given him ;" and another promise even 
 greater than that, viz. "whosoever asketh, receiveth." All those 
 Graces which have been set before thee thou mayest attain for 
 thyself by prayer: and if thou attainest these Graces of God, then 
 will thy prayers also be more availing both for thyself and others. 
 
©fje 3BauQl)tns of tfje f^eabenlj) Sbion. 
 
 I. 
 
 Ye of that glorious train that walk on high, 
 Each in the radiance of her glowing sheen, 
 High pursuivants that tend upon your Queen, 
 Strangers of earth, and children of the sky, 
 Where do ye haste, and one by one pass by ; — 
 While clouds of earth beneath your feet are seen, 
 And as ye walk betray your heavenly mien ? 
 Daughters of light, may I to you draw nigh ? 
 Stay, stay, till love your beauteous forms hath scanned ; 
 What are your names ? from what unearthly land, 
 Come ye to sight ? and tell me, is it given 
 For child of earth to join your glorious band ? 
 Forth as ye rise th' enshrouding mists are driven, 
 And open, as ye pass, your march to Heaven. 
 
352 THE DAUGHTERS OF 
 
 II. 
 
 Chief of the beauteous band, there come to view 
 Three Sisters, which above their fellows shine, 
 Towering in grace and majesty divine : 
 In order first, in lineament, and hue, 
 Faith, to her Boyal standard ever true, 
 Leading on high their bright and order'd line, 
 And raising with firm hand her Master's sign, — 
 Around her thrown a stole of heavenly blue, 
 The Cross her sceptre, and her robe the sky. 
 Hope too is there with Heaven-communing face, 
 Fair Hope, her silver anchor fix'd on high : — 
 And saffron-rob' d descending Charity, 
 With little children in her lov'd embrace, 
 Leaning from Heaven with Heaven-inviting grace. 
 
 III. 
 Then one intent doth in a mirror gaze, 
 Herself to scan, the first-born child of love, 
 O'er whom for ever broods th' eternal Dove, 
 Humility. Next in the sun-bright blaze 
 Free-handed Bounty ; where her footstep strays 
 Spring verdant hues around, and flowers that move 
 Their thankful heads ; her treasure is above ; 
 And therefore doth she shrink from earthly praise, 
 Friend of the poor. The next no form of earth ; — 
 The palm adorns her hand, the crown her brow ; 
 She hides the stamp of her Angelic birth, 
 And men on earth her beauty cannot know ; 
 But unto her 'tis given her God to see, 
 Making earth Heaven, Seraphic Chastity. 
 
THE HEAVENLY SION. 353 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then, waited on by musings pure and good. 
 She, who to Daniel deathless bloom hath given, 
 Fair in kings' courts, and fair in courts of Heaven, 
 Bright Abstinence, who feeds on Angels' food. 
 Next Christ-like Meekness, with her holy rood, 
 And ever pointing to the Crucified, 
 With milk-white lamb that follows by her side. 
 Last, in that sky-descended sisterhood, 
 With whip, and spur, and glass that wanes apace, 
 Bidding thee seize at once the hour of grace, 
 Comes, onward urging, duteous Diligence : 
 Tor hurrying fast among the things of sense, 
 That beauteous troop, on wings of Night and Day, 
 Shall pass into the clouds for aye away. 
 
 V. 
 
 Daughters of Heaven, in language all your own 
 Ye seem in silent attitude to preach ; 
 And stand beyond our billows on the beach ! 
 Fair as Heaven's doors, which, made of varied stone, 
 Yet mingling form one glory all their own ; 
 Sisters of glorious birth, though varied each, 
 Each lovely, yet your mien, and form, and speech, 
 Mark all one family, all blend in one, 
 Their hues combining in one light divine. 
 Thus in my musings all together shine, 
 In one harmonious whole, and ever seem 
 Passing from form to form, as in a dream. 
 Till all is lost in one, in beauty seen, 
 Centred in light, one Heaven-descended Queen. 
 
 a a 
 
354 THE DAUGHTERS OF 
 
 VI. 
 
 As in that ancient, venerable pile a , 
 
 Of tombs and shrines, bosom' d in the ravine, 
 
 Par from the world by sea and mountain seen, 
 
 Where, as 'tis said, at dead of night erewhile 
 
 There are perceiv'd through dim and shadowy aisle 
 
 Aerial motions as of forms unseen, 
 
 And sounds of sweetest music heard between : 
 
 Dear fancies, which th' overflowing heart beguile ! 
 
 E'en so by you the air is stilly trod, 
 
 Bearing some happy soul to be with God, 
 
 'Mid mortal relics sad and shrines Divine ; 
 
 And while my eyes and hands to you incline, 
 
 Ye seem to pass into ethereal strains, 
 
 Or one calm Form, beck'ning to Heaven, remains. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Eaith, Hope, or Love, Avhate'er tlnne earthly name, 
 
 Coming from place of thy transcendent birth 
 
 To fit for Heaven the denizens of earth, 
 
 Whatever shape thou wearest, still the same ; — 
 
 The aspiration of one lofty aim, 
 
 Stilling the noise of passion and of mirth, 
 
 Set on her heritage of endless worth, 
 
 And her immortal birth-right bent to claim ; — 
 
 Art thou the handmaid, Heaven-transforming power, 
 
 Or thou thyself the Bride, so rich thy dower ? 
 
 Thou hauntest me like some night-wandering dream,- 
 
 Dreams are more near to Heaven than waking theme 
 
 May I unblam'd clothe thee with mortal form, 
 
 All animate with life, with beauty wtirm ? 
 
 a St. David's Cathedral, see page 288. 
 
THE HEAVENLY SION. 355 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Like that celestial Beatrice that led 
 Florence's bard through bowers of Paradise, 
 Opening, like rosy petals, all the skies : 
 E'en thus the tranquil effluence o'er thee shed 
 Lighteth me on, the living 'mong the dead, 
 The heavenly 'mid the earthly, gives me eyes 
 Of glad philosophy, which Heaven descries 
 In things below, of thee in all doth read, 
 Bearing thine image pictured in the heart, 
 In all beholds thine eyes and hears thee speak. 
 Thus, though to tell of thee language is weak, 
 Yet all things to my spirit find a tongue, 
 Events and sights all range and take their part, 
 Syllabling words which unto love belong. 
 
 IX. 
 
 To what shall I compare the varying bloom 
 That lights thy face, while my fond thoughts pursue ? 
 Like the majestic sea winch comes to view, 
 Closing the valley of my mountain home, 
 A living mirror which the Heavens illume, 
 Eor ever beauteous and for ever new, 
 And ever changing its ethereal hue, 
 While passing gleams light up the purple gloom. 
 Thus through the night, in wakeful thought or dream, 
 While I behold thy beauteous countenance. 
 Expression varies still each speaking glance ; 
 And when thy smile breaks forth, like some bright gleam, 
 I seem to hear thy voice, music sweet, 
 And sit a holy pilgrim at thy feet. 
 
 a a 2 
 
356 THE DAUGHTERS OF 
 
 X. 
 
 Bless'd be the day when first on thee I gaz'd, 
 For it hath op'd new worlds of happy thought, 
 When upon thee I muse, and musing fraught, 
 Tend on thy presence, when thy lustre blaz'd, 
 And full on me thy pensive eyes were raised, 
 For those sweet nets that have my spirit caught, 
 Have purified my soul, and nearer brought 
 Him "Who alone without all blame is prais'd, 
 Him Who hath made thee, and Who keepeth thee, 
 And watcheth o'er thee, unto Him I pray ; 
 And when aught dark my sinking fancy shrouds, 
 Thou seemest some good Angel, from the clouds 
 Beckoning me on to where is no decay, 
 But the good bloom with immortality. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Since first mine eyes beheld thy matchless grace, 
 
 And unimaghr'd beauty, passing far 
 
 AH thy report, and like a lovely star 
 
 Seen through a cloud, through that majestic face, 
 
 And air and speech and action, from its place 
 
 Looked out a gracious spirit ; — it doth haunt 
 
 My days and nights, till in a dreamy want 
 
 Cold wax my studious tasks, and wane apace 
 
 All the delights of common air and sky, 
 
 Dim grows the eye of Heaven ; but I from thence 
 
 Will learn to muse of things beyond our sense, 
 
 More fair than all beheld by mortal eye, 
 
 Till from the thoughts of thee there shall go forth 
 
 A spirit fairer than the sky and earth. 
 
THE HEAVENLY SION. 357 
 
 XII. 
 
 For if we will forsake our own design, 
 And hopes that as we grasp them fade away, 
 Thou, Lord, wilt be to us, in this our day. 
 Sister and friend and brother ; if we pine 
 Let it be further in Thy blissful slnine 
 To enter, and so entering in to pray, 
 Led on and on by the calm guiding ray 
 Sent forth from Thine own Majesty Divine. 
 And if Thou wilt vouchsafe one pitying glance, 
 It shall not leave us, but its gracious light 
 Shall gladden the dull face of day and night, 
 Delights of earth and sky shall make more bright, 
 And all my studious tasks shall more enhance, 
 Which are but to behold Thy countenance. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 O sweetness e'en of anxious thoughts, that leave 
 
 All their lov'd hopes within a parent's breast, 
 
 Watching that store like some fond bird her nest ; — 
 
 Like some fond bird, wont all tilings to retrieve, 
 
 And bear unto her home, to joy, to grieve, 
 
 To pour in song her overflowing breast, 
 
 To flit from tree to tree, and cry distressed, 
 
 If snakes prowl near at noon or beasts at eve, — 
 
 To watch, to stay, and far abroad to roam, 
 
 Yet know no rest till she to that return. 
 
 Sweet bird, thine heart is ever at thine home ; 
 
 Thine heart and home are where thy treasure lies ; 
 
 Man may of thee a holy lesson learn, 
 
 His heart, his home, Ins treasure in the skies. 
 
358 THE daughtf.es of 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Prayer is omnipotence descending, when 
 
 We pray through Him Who died upon the Tree, 
 
 Pray through His merits and His agony : 
 
 The prayer of them who pray as dying men, 
 
 Who pray as they who ne'er can pray again, — 
 
 Such power is mighty to bring down the sky 
 
 With all that bright and glorious company ; 
 
 Which made thus sensible to mortal ken, 
 
 Are but the spiritual deeds that go before, 
 
 Or follow after to the Judgment door. 
 
 Prayer hath the power to draw them from their sphere, 
 
 And bring them unto us in spirit near. 
 
 Oh, if those bright ones come on earth to dwell, 
 
 It is the golden age which poets tell ! 
 
 XV. 
 It is in Prayer, as at celestial springs, 
 Those Virtues live, and breathe ethereal air : 
 Prayer brings on all around Angelic care ; — 
 Prayer o'er each scene Love's radiant halo flings ; — 
 Prayer spreads o'er all we love protecting wings, 
 Makes all events a cloud-surmounting stair : — 
 Prayer eye-enlightening, soul-transforming Prayer, 
 Hallows the Church, o'er Parents spreads, and Kings, 
 Bears and is borne to Heaven. The Monarch's calls 
 Shall round his people plant unearthly walls ; 
 The mother's prayer, in the calm midnight hour, 
 Brings on her child the moon-light's silver shower ; 
 And, at the altar kneeling, Christ's own poor 
 For worldly gifts true riches can restore. 
 
THE HEAVENLY SION. 359 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Thus earthly enemies are Heavenly friends, 
 While Persecution wings to Prayer supplies. 
 And Love on wings of Prayer doth seek the skies, 
 E'en like an Angel winch to Heaven ascends. 
 And while the world to Hell's dark portal tends, 
 And ways of death in slumber seals their eyes, 
 Prayer may arrest their course which downward lies, 
 E'en like an Angel which from Heaven descends. 
 Yea, haply on their calm and peaceful bed 
 Our prayers may reach and may refresh the dead, 
 Like airs of Heaven amid their bowers of rest, — 
 Like gales from far replete with tender sighs, 
 Which wake again then earthly sympathies, 
 And wreathe new cords that bind us with the blest. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Then, calm Devotion, make me to be thine ; 
 Array me all around with burnish' d arms, 
 Be in my hand a spear 'gainst worldly harms, 
 And on th' illumin'd head a Cross divine ; — 
 Clothe me all o'er with wings ; together twine 
 One chord of varied graces, such as may 
 Lead me through this dark valley of decay, 
 And bear me onward to the hidden shrine. 
 Make me chaste, meek, bounteous and abstinent, 
 Humble and diligent, — that onward bent 
 I may attain to that prevailing might, 
 Which prays to live, and lives to pray aright. 
 Such are those Graces which do walk above, 
 But varied forms of Faith that works bv love. 
 
IMAGE THE TWENTY-NINTH. 
 
 Seam foljere te foisoom, foftere te strength, foftere te unoerstano= 
 ing : tftat tfiou magest fenofo also foftere is length of bags, anti 
 life, foftere fe tfie ligftt of tfte egeg ant> peace. 2&ho ftatft 
 founti out fter place ? or fofto ftatft come into her treasured ? 
 
 There be many who say, Who will shew us any good ? Behold, 
 He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good ; and what doth the 
 Lord require of thee, but to do justice ; — (and if by frequent exami- 
 nation we judge ourselves as this holy man of God [A], we shall 
 not be judged of the Lord :) — and to love mercy, by bearing 
 patiently the infirmities of others : — and to walk humbly with 
 thy God, — even with thy Lord Jesus Christ Who hath come down 
 from Heaven to be with thee [B] ? To these add also frequent 
 meditation on the Passion of Christ [C], and divine contemplation 
 [D], with the renewal of repentance, and often partaking of the 
 most holy Sacrament [E]. To all of which add most especially 
 the love of God and our neighbour [F], after the example of that 
 love which, like the Pelican in the wilderness, feedeth her young 
 with her own life-blood, and dwelleth in solitary places. By these 
 means thou shalt arrive at true tranquillity of mind, and that place 
 where there is light of the eyes, and the peace which passeth all 
 understanding : especially if in solitude of heart thou wilt by pious 
 exercises adorn thy soul. 
 
i 
 
Win treasures of t&elBttng's palace. 
 
 Ancient Sage, where going, 
 
 With thy glimm ering light, 
 Where Eissus flowing 
 
 Marvels at the sight, 
 Like a living dream that wanders forth at night ? 
 
 Asking all he meeteth 
 
 Who will good disclose, 
 While the vision fleeteth, 
 
 And before him goes, 
 Tor th' undying spirit seeking sure repose. 
 
 Come thou here beholding, 
 In this woodland nook, 
 An aged man unfolding 
 His immortal Book, 
 In that silent mirror for himself to look. 
 
362 THE TREASURES OF THE KING'S PALACE. 
 
 And full much he needeth, 
 
 For this Book doth tell 
 Of a path that leadeth 
 
 To a living well, 
 And a place where no one but the holy dwell. 
 
 Fast life's sands are going, 
 
 Sparkling as they run, 
 And for ever shewing 
 
 That ere setting sun 
 Much he hath to do, and much to be undone. 
 
 In this quiet haven 
 
 Pondering o'er his soul, 
 And how much is graven 
 
 On the solemn scroll, 
 Which to worlds assembled Judgment shall unroll. 
 
 As his brow he raiseth, 
 
 Fix'd with pensive care, 
 On the Cross he gazeth, 
 
 Drinking comfort there, 
 And his sins recounting mourns in silent prayer. 
 
 Peace to him be given ! 
 
 Let us leave him now 
 To Iris hopes of Heaven ! — 
 
 We must farther go, 
 Where the woodland glen is opening from below. 
 
THE TREASURES OF THE KING'S PALACE. 363 
 
 Where the gleam reposes 
 
 In the quiet glade, 
 And a Church discloses 
 Its calm hallow'd shade, 
 Pastoral haunts among, meet for musing made. 
 
 Using not abusing 
 
 Gifts set by Ins side, 
 He in solemn musing 
 
 Walks with Him that died, 
 And in prayers and almsdeeds seeks his Heavenly Guide. 
 
 Oft he, at each turning, 
 
 On the rocky road 
 Knows, the Cross discerning, 
 Where the Saints have trod, 
 And the narrow path that leadeth to his God. 
 
 Oft from mirth and sorrow, 
 
 And the scenes of men, 
 Here he turns to borrow 
 
 That calm peace again, 
 "Fixing on the Cross his undisturbed ken. 
 
 Then shall Contemplation 
 
 To her haunts remove, 
 To her airy station, 
 
 Troubled scenes above, 
 Till the world's vain shadows less his spirit move. 
 
364 THE TREASURES OF THE KING'S PALACE. 
 
 Then bright hopes are given, 
 
 Taste of holier tilings, 
 And he seems to Heaven 
 Borne on Angel's wings, 
 Like a bird we see not in the cloud that sings. 
 
 Come, my tale ascending, 
 
 Greater things have birth — 
 Human thoughts transcending, 
 As the skies the earth, — 
 Lend thine ear to hear of things of endless worth. 
 
 For this feeble mortal 
 
 Eats Angelic food ; 
 Oh, in that dread portal 
 
 Let no thought intrude ; — 
 'Tis all unspeakable, awful, holy, good ! 
 
 Hush, my soul, thou singest 
 
 Things that are too high, 
 To rude ears thou bringest 
 
 Secrets of the sky, 
 Pass the things of God in holy silence by. 
 
 If thy heart engages 
 
 Knowledge yet more wise, 
 Than the chief of sages 
 
 Brought down from the skies, 
 Read this hallow' d emblem with thine heart and eyes ; 
 
THE TREASURES OF THE KING'S PALACE. 365 
 
 Lo, that bird that dwelleth 
 
 In the wilderness, 
 And, as fable telleth, 
 
 With no vain caress 
 Doth her famished offspring to her bosom press. 
 
 Nor shall they to-morrow 
 
 Make her lesson vain, 
 Nor forget her sorrow, 
 
 Born and reared in pain, 
 But with their own life-blood others shall sustain. 
 
 Lo, in this man readeth 
 
 Mother's love divine, 
 Which from Heaven proceedeth, — 
 
 In each heart its shrine, — 
 Of th' Almighty's love the universal sign. 
 
 Mother's love, first, purest, 
 
 Which doth never tire, 
 Love which last endurest, 
 Heaven-descended fire, 
 Kindling every hearth, yet multiplied entire. 
 
 Happy he that passeth 
 
 Through this world of pain, 
 With a soul that glasseth, 
 
 Free from earthly stain, 
 Love of God — for ever in Ins heart to reign. 
 
36G THE TREASURES OK THE KING'S PALACE. 
 
 Happy he, when sadness 
 
 Chance and change are o'er, 
 And earth's sighing gladness 
 
 Wrings the heart no more, 
 Who shall see where Love lights up th' eternal shore. 
 
 Who would hoard earth's treasure 
 
 When he Heaven may gain ? 
 Who would love vain pleasure, 
 
 When he may attain 
 Joys at God's right hand for ever free from pain ? 
 
 Who would covet glory 
 
 Here the dead among, 
 Or renown in story, 
 
 When th' Archangel's tongue 
 Might pronounce his praises endless years along ? 
 
 Here, where death must sever, 
 
 Who would lean on love, 
 When he may for ever 
 Have his God above, 
 Infinitely dearer than Ins thought can prove ? 
 
 Love is like the Ocean, 
 
 Ever fresh and strong, 
 Birth and life and motion, 
 Speed and strength and song, 
 Which, the world surrounding, keeps it green and young. 
 
THE TREASURES OF THE KING'S PALACE. 307 
 
 Love is ever flowing, 
 
 Flowing ever down; 
 Love through all lands going, 
 
 From the Heavenly throne, 
 God's eternal city doth with gladness crown. 
 
 Come, thou soul that sinkest 
 
 On the desert plain, 
 Here of streams thou drinkest, 
 Ne'er to thirst again, 
 Which shall through thy journey feet and soul sustain. 
 
 Love on earth that grieveth 
 
 Tears of pain and shame 
 God in Heaven receiveth, 
 
 Covering it from blame 
 With th* enfolding mantle of th' Almighty Name. 
 
 Love for ever singeth, 
 
 Borne on glad desire, 
 And the blue deep wingeth, 
 
 Like a plume of fire, 
 As to Heaven it soareth higher still and higher. 
 
 Love for ever sinketh, 
 
 In his silent hour, 
 And of sorrow drinketh, 
 
 Like a dew- weighed flower, 
 As to earth it boweth lower still and lower. 
 
368 THE TREASURES OF THE KING'S PALACE. 
 
 Love for ever sigheth 
 
 Banish' d from his God, 
 Still his spirit trieth 
 
 On the path He trod. 
 Still with hope undying cherisheth His rod. 
 
 Love his longings weaneth 
 
 From the things of sight, 
 And for ever leaneth 
 
 On immortal might, 
 And in spirit liveth a stern anchorite. 
 
 Waiting on what waiteth 
 
 Upon God above, 
 Hating that which hateth, 
 
 Loving all that love, 
 Moving as his spirit the great God doth move. 
 
 Love is ever praying, 
 
 Nor doth count the chime ; 
 Love is ever weighing 
 
 Heaven and Hell with Time, 
 Nor by casuist's measure notes and numbers crime. 
 
 And when this earth faileth 
 
 Love is strong as death ; 
 Yea, o'er death prevaileth : 
 
 Love, like vital breath, 
 Freed from fleshly chains, the spirit cherisheth. 
 
«*. 
 
 
 
•V 
 
IMAGE THE THIRTIETH. 
 
 ©frgerbe in eberg thought, foort), an& action, for fohom thou Docgt 
 it, fohether it lie for the- giafce of (Sob or for thine enemies. 
 
 In this life thou art situated in a place between God on one 
 side, and on the other the Devil and thine enemies ; consider this, 
 and diligently ascertain to which thou belongest ; which in every 
 thought, word, and work thou servest, and desirest to please. 
 Is it not to please God? and to fulfil entirely His perfect will? 
 Offer therefore unto Him thine heart [A] and all thy works, of 
 whatever kind they be. The Angel shall bear them from earth 
 [B], and present them before the throne, in the presence of His 
 Divine Majesty ; and He Himself in His mercy will crown with 
 His gracious acceptance all thy works [C]. But if thine actions 
 are from thine own will, and not from the will of God, or the desire 
 of pleasing Him ; if they are actuated by Avarice [D] or by Con- 
 cupiscence [E,] or by Pride of life [F], or the desire of Glory and 
 Fame [G,] then thou wilt greatly deceive thyself. For thou shalt 
 receive nothing more for all this than a little handful of smoke ; 
 and all thy works thou wilt offer up and devote to the Devil [H], 
 and these (if thou perish) will only serve as fuel to the flames [I], 
 in which thou thyself shalt for ever burn and be tormented. 
 
 B b 
 
t&itf Sbptrttual ^usban&man. 
 
 All labour for their wages j fragrant tree, 
 And many-colour'd mead, and thymy lull, 
 Are all alive with sacred industry ; 
 Where bees now range abroad, and now are still, 
 On orchys, cowslip, or pale daffodil, 
 Loaded with sweetness ; now each interval, 
 As they pass by, with hymning chimes they fill : 
 O lesson sweet to man, O sacred call 
 To labour till the grave shall house and gather all, — 
 
 Hid in our Eock with own works till morn 
 Of vernal Resurrection ! 'Neath our feet 
 No less the busy ants their path have worn : 
 As multitudes that throng suburban street 
 Of huge metropolis, they pass and meet, 
 Like some strange miniature of human life, 
 Swarming in myriads to their central seat, 
 With emulous toils and combinations rife ; 
 Such haste ere winter's hand shall still th' industrious strife. 
 
 All labour for their wages ; — o'er the ground 
 The trees inanimate are gathering spoil 
 
THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 871 
 
 For their own strength and increase ; far around 
 The sun, and shower, and air, and pregnant soil 
 Transmuting to their substance ; in their toil 
 Labouring they seem to labour not ; but rise 
 Long unperceiv'd, till after the turmoil 
 Of tempests, silent in their own blue skies, 
 Cedars of God they stand, and trees of Paradise. 
 
 All labour for their wages ; — beasts that ask 
 Their nurture and protection from man's hand, 
 With varied natures, act the allotted task, 
 And in return due recompense demand ; 
 Such plighted covenants between us stand 
 Of service and repayment ; every gate 
 Is full of labour throughout all the land, 
 While creatures serve mankind and on him wait ; 
 Such mutual toils inwreathe the universal state. 
 
 Due Recompense through all things sternly rides, 
 And to her omnipresence all things bow ; 
 Due Eecompense commands the flowing tides 
 Of business through the streets, while to and fro 
 They meet and overtake, and come and go, 
 Men laboring for each other : Recompense 
 Hangs on the scale, and governs all below, 
 And due returns all nature's laws dispense"; 
 Like power that rolls the stars unseen by mortal sense. 
 
 " Arist. Ethic, lib. v c. 5. 
 
 b b 2 
 
372 THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN'. 
 
 Due Eecompense doth people the wide seas, 
 Studding the blue with pearl-drops, which for hire 
 Spread forth their pennons to the wintry breeze ; 
 Due Recompense doth muster and attire 
 Great armies, glittering like spots of fire 
 On sunny slopes, and marching up and down ; 
 Their mighty captains for a breath aspire, 
 Shake hands with death, and, all their toils to crown, 
 Grasp at an empty shade of fleeting poor renown. 
 
 Due Recompense walks 'mid the grassy vale, 
 'Mid hanging woods, waiting their time to fall, — 
 And golden harvests, waving in the gale 
 Their yellow seas tumultuous ; all things call 
 For Recompense, the crown that waiteth all. 
 This sends the ploughman to the autumnal slope, 
 This calls the daily herdsman to the stall, 
 Through the long year the husbandman's sole hope ; 
 The circle binding each in less or ampler scope. 
 
 E'en as the heavenly orbit keeps in course, 
 In wide or nearer circuit, countless stars, 
 Wheeling along with unabated force, 
 And hedg'd around with mnmagin'd bars ; 
 So Recompense stills our terrestrial jars. 
 But those bright stars walk their liigh paths in love, 
 Their unpaid light no selfish purpose mars, 
 Like Angels whom delight alone doth move, 
 Therefore their steps we deem all harmonies above. 
 
THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 373 
 
 But Recompense below keeps all in place, 
 And urges all our motions : — Let me learn 
 And understand this Parable, whose face 
 Looks with significance so full and stern, 
 And meets us all around, where'er we turn, 
 With omnipresent language : its deep eye 
 Speaks of some Recompense that man must earn, 
 Pregnant no doubt with some vast prophecy, 
 And haunting all our steps with message from on high. 
 
 Justice and Faithfulness, and Honour true, 
 Stamp characters which here on earth are won 
 Prom distribution right of wages due. 
 And Power, Wealth, Pame, on races mortals run 
 Tend them, as due rewards for service done. 
 What mystery thus wraps our being round ? 
 They are precursors of the Judge's throne, 
 Wherein the one great Recompense is found, 
 The wages, guerdon, prize, wherewith all works are crown'd. 
 
 Thus all this universal frame is seal'd 
 And stamped by retribution, soon or late, 
 Before the assembled worlds to be reveal' d, 
 Por which all natures in expectance wait 
 Without the Everlasting City's gate ; 
 That coming Retribution sways e'en now, 
 And interweaves her signals with each state, 
 Her dread rehearsals ever acts below, 
 And lifts her warning hand to bid us pause and know. 
 
874 THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 These retributions thick around us sown, 
 In countless evolutions, new and strange, 
 Wheel within wheel b , bear on the Judge's throne, — 
 Wheel within wheel in wondrous interchange, — 
 The world's tumultuous deep-order* d range ; 
 All ways at once they move, yet onward bear 
 Straightforward, — nought their course to disarrange ; 
 Each orbit hath its lamp and eyes of fear, 
 AH blend in one broad light — of Judgment drawing near. 
 
 All labour, yet none singly in their sphere ; 
 Things mute and senseless need man's watchful aid ; 
 The visible creations all cohere, 
 With offices co-operate inlaid 
 And mutual dependancies, all made 
 To serve each other : cherished beasts, hous'd bees, 
 And men with men, and trees of shelt'ring shade, 
 Blend, form, unite in deep confederacies, 
 And interwoven aid each other's destinies. 
 
 Thus beings with us blend beyond our ken ; 
 And they who feign'd the distant stars to be 
 Inwoven with contingencies of men, 
 In that great fiction touch'd upon a key 
 Within the door of mighty mystery: 
 " The stars — they fought 'gainst Sisera from Heaven," 
 And sun and moon for Joshua ; types I see 
 Of things afar which here with men have striven, 
 As skirts of glorious worlds break forth on star-lit even. 
 
 h Ezekieli. 13, 16, 17. 
 
THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 375 
 
 Again : through nature's efforts doth attend 
 A mind Omniscient and Almighty hand, 
 Swaying their movements towards their destined end ; 
 Forms in the womb the babe, with viewless band 
 Holds, and instils instinctive its command : — 
 Softly around is wonder's mantle brought. 
 The vernal plants e'en now, that climb or stand, 
 Unfold deep plans of preordaining thought, 
 Contrived ere they had birth, and now to being brought. 
 
 All indicate one Omnipresent Mind ; 
 The nascent tendril creeps, or climbs and clings, 
 Its storied ladders spread, and upward wind, 
 Supported and supporting. Feeble things, 
 Lambs in their sports, and birds on unfledg'd wings, 
 Speak a Divine Intelligence to tend 
 Their gradual steps, winch, slow-evolving, tend 
 To that perfection winch their lives ascend ; 
 Though multitudes ne'er reach their nature's destin'd end. 
 
 Much more in this our mortal pilgrimage, — 
 In this the womb of mighty destinies, — 
 In this the embryo of eternal age, — 
 In these the spirit's want-announcing cries, — 
 In these its aspirations to arise, — 
 Where closing round tempestuous life appears 
 Beneath the covering of the hidden skies, 
 Booking the cradle of eternal years, 
 Our ever-present God, moves, aids, and rules our fears. 
 
376 THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 Hence Faith doth hallow all things, nurs'd with love, 
 Descending from the Heavens, with them to hold 
 Communion, and again ascend above, 
 In varied ways of wisdom manifold, 
 Winch join us with our Head. Things dead and cold 
 Kindling with fire, she, ere the spirit goes, 
 On natures which surround us, growing old, 
 Something of everlastingness bestows, 
 Converting to that life which through her being flows. 
 
 Treasure in Heaven ! O words of awful sound : — 
 Treasure in Heaven, where thieves cannot break through, 
 "Where rust and moth corrupt not : treasure found 
 For ever durable, for ever new, — 
 Which wastes not in the using ; riches true, 
 Because for ever ; riches which e'en now 
 May be increased each hour that flies from view, 
 Each hour may be diminished, ere we know, — 
 And we for everlasting years the loss forego. 
 
 « Thy Father sees in secret," — fast and prayer, 
 And alms unknown to man, are all His own ; 
 He treasures them in secret, storing there 
 Where nothing perishes. O words alone 
 Worthy our thought and care ! the seeds thus sown 
 In darkness, 'neath the earth forgotten long, 
 In some mysterious increase shall be known, 
 In harvests which to other worlds belong, 
 As elements most rude mould Love's melodious song. 
 
THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 377 
 
 Alas ! how many seem to sow in air, 
 In life's poor vanities ; and then they sleep, 
 Forgotten ; nothing marks the whence or where, 
 Or whither gone : but in that stillness deep, 
 Which doth their senses in oblivion steep, 
 Their works do follow them, — about them throng j 
 Dread pause, ere they tb/ o'erwhehning whirlwind reap ! 
 Their deeds shall claim them with a trumpet tongue, 
 And through th' eternal years shall unto them belong. 
 
 Whate'er we do it passes, and is found 
 Whither we know not j and becomes the seed 
 Of after reckonings ; seed which underground 
 Lies unperceiv'd awhile, beside the weed 
 That bore it, or is driven on wings with speed 
 Of airy ministers, where no one knew ; 
 But when the eternal Summer shall succeed, 
 It shall with all its increase stand to view, 
 And claim the parent stock whereon the poison grew. 
 
 All labour for their wages, yet unseen ; 
 The Heavenly Kingdom which around us springs, 
 Lies hidden 'neath tins ever-shifting scene, 
 And worlds we deem not of around us brings : 
 Wherein whate'er we do makes itself wings, 
 And when the intent doth consecrate the deed, 
 Here, from amid the same material things, 
 Doth to imperishable worlds proceed, 
 Converted to a store to aid us at our need. 
 
378 THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 Alas ! and is it true that all we do 
 Is thus immortal ? spirits cannot die, 
 Their doings are with them, where'er they go, 
 Partakers of their immortality, 
 And grow into their essence ; hence to fly 
 From our own works is from ourselves to part ; 
 For who can 'scape from conscious memory, 
 That wondrous treasure-house within the heart ? 
 The things that thou hast done have made thee what thou art. 
 
 Then works are written deepest in the soul, 
 And deepest in God's book, whate'er that be, 
 When least apparent in sad memory's scroll ; 
 Least wash'd by tears ; they from us seem to flee, 
 And their dark lineaments no more we see. — 
 In the soul's inner chambers then they hide, 
 Have gone to lurk behind the very eye 
 With which we judge of all things : in their pride 
 Close like a beam the door, and in the dark abide. 
 
 In God's own book then are they writ most deep 
 When most by us forgotten ; they remain 
 Part of our very being, and thus steep 
 Memory's own tablet with the running stain. 
 Conscience proves that to which she turns Math pain 
 Abhorrent to herself. When streamlets run 
 In sunshine, shadows on their breast remain ; 
 But when they know no more the genial sun, 
 No image marks their breast, all shadowless and dun. 
 
THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 379 
 
 Like streams our lives are hastening ; and whate'er 
 They in their journey take with them to dwell, 
 Impregnate with their substance, on they bear 
 To the great home of waters. From the well 
 Of our regenerate being, in a cell 
 Cradled in flowers within a mountain cave, 
 Like early morn, they issued ; as they swell, 
 Something they gather with each passing wave, 
 That nought can lave again till ocean be their grave. 
 
 All labour for their wages : like a stream 
 Life hastens onward ; and for good or ill, 
 Each day adds to the store, though as a dream 
 It hurries by. plant in me the will, 
 Quicken, exalt, refine, — my bosom fill 
 With earnest diligence, whatever I do ! 
 Life swells the onward river, — nought is still ; 
 O may no earthly taint within it flow 
 To meet that hidden sea, the everlasting Now. 
 
 All labour for their wages, — for some crown 
 In things unseen, and great realities, 
 Proportion' d to their labours, yet unknown ; 
 And in all things around enveloped lies 
 Some parable of hidden histories. 
 On lives obscure, and paths in silence trod, 
 Faith, whose transcendent birth is in the skies, 
 Quickens the heart, and, like that fabled rod, 
 Turns all to gold around the ways that lead to God. 
 
380 THE SPIRITUAL HUSBANDMAN. 
 
 Thus bees, which hide in flowery bells unseen, 
 Gain sweetness o'er bare hill or barren moor, 
 And fill with hymn each interval between ; 
 Thus busy ants toil for their wintry store ; 
 Thus trees are gathering stature evermore 
 Prom suns and showers, and from the hidden ground ; 
 Thus ships spread forth their sails to distant shore, 
 Waiting on gales from Heaven, and wakeful found 
 On moon -lit ocean broad, while stars keep watch around. 
 
• 
 
 
XXXI. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 y i 
 
 • I'A < -' - - ' ■ 
 
 
 
IMAGE THE THIRTY-FIRST. 
 
 *&& eges of the Sort) ace tit ebeca place, fceftoltititg tj»c cbtl 
 ant) tfjc qoou. 
 
 Believe thou and firmly apprehend that God [A] is present in 
 every place, and that with His eyes [B], which are ten thousand 
 times brighter than the Sun, He beholdeth and searcheth thy reins 
 and thine heart, and watcheth all thy ways. He seeth our perilous 
 straits [C], and our temptations [D], in order that He may assist 
 us. He considereth the festive revellers [E], who here receive 
 their good things, — and the penitents [F], who here bewail the 
 evil things they have committed, in order that He may reward 
 them, — and the wicked [G], in order that, sooner or later, He may 
 punish them. " The Lord's seat is in Heaven," but " His eyes 
 consider the poor, and His eyelids try the children of men." Set 
 Him therefore always before thee, whether thou art engaged in 
 traffic [H], or art eating and drinking. If thou art playing [I], yet 
 let it be as in His sight. Walk thou with Him [K] ; and remember 
 above all things that He is present in thine heart [L] : manage 
 as with Him all thy affairs : choose thy state of life [M] as 
 according to His will, attending therein also to the inclination 
 of thine own nature, for this also is from God. Remember that 
 from Him is all Spiritual Authority [N], and all temporal Power 
 [O]. It is God that worketh all in all, and reacheth from end to 
 end, and strongly and sweetly disposeth all things according to the 
 greatness of His power, His wisdom, and His goodness. 
 
%^z Ja#t% fofncfc art tit tberg $lace. 
 
 {A Hermits Cell.) 
 
 As here removed from the resorts of men 
 I converse hold with silent solitude, 
 !Prom contemplation's tower I view mankind, 
 Like insects building citadels in sand, 
 And learn communion with a better world. 
 
 These pensive walls, that shut out day's glad eye, 
 Open the eye of Heaven, and make the soul 
 Luminous at each door to let in light. 
 Bringing to that dread stillness where God is, 
 With eyes innumerable in every place, 
 Ten thousand times more bright than mid-day suns. 
 The more I ponder I am lost the more, 
 Our feeble eyesight blinded with the glare, 
 As step by step, by contemplation led, 
 We nearer draw unto the Fount of light ; 
 Yet drawing near more distant still we seem. 
 Like that fam'd sage of old, who ask'd a day 
 To say what God is, then another sought, 
 Another and another, seeming still 
 More distant from the thought that he would grasp, 
 
THE EYES WHICH AllE IN EVERY PLACE. 383 
 
 111 infinite progression, more and more 
 Lost in bewild'rings of his pensive mind. 
 
 But yet not so to musings void and vain, 
 Do we in meditation wander on, 
 Lost in the labyrinth of heathen doubt, 
 To whom 'tis given to know in Christ the door, 
 His Cross the key, which opes of human things 
 The intricate, involved, and numerous wards, 
 Whereby we know indeed that God is love. 
 Unspeakable prerogative ! for so 
 Our contemplations are no longer sad, 
 But link by link in sweetness carried on 
 Above this earth, nay, rather on their wings 
 Bearing this earth to Heaven, until at length 
 Beneath the grosser steps of our weak thought 
 The golden stair by meditation reared 
 Gives way ; — We look around us, and awake, 
 As from some solemn music of the soul, 
 To stern realities of this sad life. 
 
 Come, blessed musing, ever nearer come ! 
 Be my companion ; at thy blissful face 
 Let me gaze on ! Come, ever dwell with me, 
 Divine philosophy ! like some sweet chime 
 Taking possession of my inmost soul 
 Tune the rude jars of life ! be these deep thoughts 
 My sole realities, and life the dream, 
 Till the fast fleeting shadows of the world 
 Shall sadden, and affright the soul no more. 
 
 What are the eyes of God ? fearful thought, 
 
384 THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PLACE. 
 
 That fills all contemplation ! eyes of sense 
 
 He gives to man, and ears whereby our thoughts 
 
 Pass to each other, sense to apprehend, 
 
 And memory to retain ; — mysterious powers, 
 
 Whereby we wrapt each other and ourselves 
 
 With knowledge, like ethereal light around, 
 
 Pervading, entering in each other's hearts. 
 
 But what are these His gifts, how poor to speak 
 
 Those infinite perfections, winch we call 
 
 The eyes and ears and thoughts which are in God ;- 
 
 His eyelids which behold the sons of men, 
 
 Present in every place ? Thought feeds on this 
 
 Till lost in adoration. 
 
 How replete 
 With inspiration, wonder, awe, delight, 
 The presence here of man with man below : — ■ 
 The subject in his King's own countenance, 
 The child with the fond parent, friend with friend, 
 Or lover in the sight of one beloved ! 
 Our spirits from each other take their hues, 
 Past as the seas from the o'erhanging skies. 
 Highest of all things which we know below, 
 The eye of man, powerful to minister 
 Hope, or correction, reverence, or support ; 
 Yea, e'en wild beasts 'tis said will stand aghast, 
 And madness at the stern-fix'd eye of man 
 Grows mild, enchain'd with intellectual bands. 
 How sweet whatever channels may convey 
 Feelings of present nearness, or may bear 
 
THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PLACE. 885 
 
 Intercommunion of responsive thought, 
 
 Converse of eye or tongue, or written words, 
 
 Or silent interchange of mind with mind ! 
 
 Such drops that mingle sweetness in life's cup, 
 
 Are but the shadows and the semblances 
 
 Of that dread consummation, when the soul 
 
 At all her avenues and every pore 
 
 Shall come to know the countenance of God. 
 
 Buoyed with the theme, on tiptoe stands bright Hope ; 
 
 " Open," she cries, " ye everlasting doors, 
 
 Eend, Skies o'er head, your circumambient veils, 
 
 Which hide from us the presence of our God, 
 
 And haste ye wheels of the eternal Morn ; " — 
 
 But Tear draws back aghast in reverend awe 
 
 Lest we be ever blasted by the sight, 
 
 And asks of Faith if she will give to know 
 
 The feeling of His nearness here beneath, 
 
 Through eyes and ears school'd to discern our God, 
 
 Whose countenance protection is and peace. 
 
 'Tis not the speculation of rude thought 
 That has that key of Heaven, but Prayer alone ; 
 Prayer through the avenues of this dark world 
 Leads us thus blind with an ethereal thread, 
 Makes conscious of His guidance, gives to feel 
 His nearness, which alone is life below. 
 We ask for Him around, and find Him not — 
 We ask of all His creatures ranging by, 
 And all His works, if they have seen His face ; 
 They answer, We are form'd and live by Him, 
 
 c c 
 
386 THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PLACE. 
 
 But we behold Him not, and know Him not. 
 
 We ask of Nature, if she hath in her 
 
 That winch can satisfy the craving soul : 
 
 But to our search she giveth no reply. 
 
 We ask the Sea with his abyss of waves, 
 
 He answers, It is written, that His paths 
 
 Are in the mighty waters, but His ways 
 
 Are secret, and His footsteps are not known. 
 
 We ask the winds, and all the habitants 
 
 That wing the buoyant air : we ask the Skies, 
 
 The Sun, the Moon, the Stars, and they respond, 
 
 Of His dread goings we have heard the sound, 
 
 But He is not in us, nor can we speak 
 
 His dwelling-place ; we range our order' d watch 
 
 Without the flaming walls that hide His courts. 
 
 It is reveal' d that in the heart of man 
 Is set the throne of Him that dwells in Heaven ; 
 The Body is His Temple, and the Soul 
 His inner shrine ; then reverent must we think, 
 And speak of Him in stillness, for where'er 
 The heart of man may be, there is his God, 
 Conversing with him in his silent thought, 
 Judging, controlling, guiding, reigning there. 
 And therefore 'mid the troubles that surround, 
 To know Thee is to know all blessedness, 
 And is to be at peace ! who dwells in love 
 Doth dwell in Thee, for Thou art Love Divine ; 
 Thou art around us though we see Thee not, 
 About our path, about our bed, and Thou 
 
THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PEACK. 387 
 
 Spiest out all our ways ; whom then on earth, 
 
 And whom have I in Heaven, but Thee alone ? 
 
 Around us and within us, as the child 
 
 Wrapped in the mother's womb and there sustained ; 
 
 Or as the gem transfused with radiant light, 
 
 Or cavern' d spunge with the surrounding sea, 
 
 Or as the air filling the bird's wing'd frame, 
 
 Making it buoyant ; or as vital heat 
 
 Keeping its watch against chill creeping death ; 
 
 E'en so around and in us is our God. 
 
 And souls made pure and radiant by His grace, 
 
 Are sph'itual mirrors to reflect Himself, 
 
 E'en as the sea reflects the face of Heaven. 
 
 But here, alas, as turbulent rude streams 
 
 Image no more the quiet eye of Day, 
 
 E'en so the stir of rude impassion'd strife 
 
 Ruffles men's spirits, till they less and less 
 
 Bear in themselves Heaven's kind protecting eye. 
 
 In love alone is light, in love is life, 
 Eor love still ever yearns the soul of man, 
 In love alone finds rest ; and He alone 
 Who made her, is meet object for her love, 
 Which turns from all things else unsatisfied, 
 Wishing to ope itself unto His Beams 
 And His deep-searching Eye. Therefore whate'er 
 Lurks in the heart of man, and fain would hide 
 Erom that His Eye of soul-transforming power, 
 Against Him shuts the door, and leaves that place 
 A corner full of night, where poisonous things 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PLACE. 
 
 Crawl, breed, and stable, hiding from the day. 
 
 Still at Night's door He knocks, the Morning Star, 
 
 And when denied due entrance, oft in sounds 
 
 Of stern adversity His voice is heard 
 
 Calling His friend, like Lazarus, from the tomb, — 
 
 The tomb of low delights and grovelling thoughts ; 
 
 His grave-clothes, which He bids them to unloose, 
 
 And sets with Him at feasts in Bethany, 
 
 The house of His obedience. Such His calls 
 
 And gracious visitations of the good, 
 
 Calming this earthly noise to hear His voice, 
 
 Nurturing the soul to thrilling reverence 
 
 As brought more near to Godhead ; mercy's beams 
 
 Kindling the soul to an habitual awe. 
 
 How strengthening, how subduing, yet how calm 
 The feeling of His presence ! 'Mid the loud 
 And busy scenes of this tumultuous life 
 He walks in stillness unapproachable, 
 In this our world of spirits watching souls, 
 As we ourselves may watch the things of sense. 
 How green and stirring is this wilderness ! 
 "Tis like a natural temple clustering round ; — 
 Her over-branching columns put forth life, 
 Her roof is musical with singing birds, 
 The air with buzzing insects, and the floor 
 Alive with creeping things and opening flowers. 
 Man notes them all with intellectual eyes, 
 And walks amid them unobserv'd, while they 
 Unconscious of his presence sport around. 
 
THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PLACE. 389 
 
 So are we all within the eyes of God, 
 Who walks among us while we know Him not, 
 In this His temple, wherein spirits live, 
 Impervious to the sight or dimly seen ! 
 
 Sweet thoughts of all-pervading Providence, 
 In the hot hour of our adversity 
 Flowing so freely, and which come as sounds 
 Of rippling streams heard beneath scorching suns, 
 "When we retire to leafy bowers apart 
 Tor contemplation, solitude, and shade, 
 And listen, and are grieved to find them end. 
 Sweet thoughts of God, in themes of high discourse 
 Flowing to Paradise from whence they rose, 
 While, like the stones that break the streamlet's flow, 
 E'en doubts and difficulties give rise to themes 
 Which still renew them to melodious sounds, 
 With eddyings bright, careering as they go — 
 And in the bottom shine, like Eden's gems, 
 With precious stones, which interrupt its course. 
 So are our musings still' d to holy peace, 
 And awful meditation. Dear to Him 
 His creatures as the apple of His eye ; 
 And we are all alike within His sight, 
 Whether in doing or in suffering wrong ; 
 This takes the sting from biting injuries 
 And calumny ; and turns what else were hate 
 To pity ; and hath oft upborne the soul 
 To walk with happy angels o'er the cloud. 
 For let but Faith uplift the sensual veil, 
 
ii90 THE EYES WHICH AltE IN EVERY PLACE. 
 
 And shew us here below, how eyes of God, 
 
 Innumerable and brighter than the sun, 
 
 Behold the thoughts and ways and lives of men, 
 
 And what a flood of Heaven-born light doth bathe 
 
 The scenes of life ! With tins overwhelming thought 
 
 The good man grows familiar, till at times, 
 
 When State and Greatness seem on him to wait, 
 
 He would put on the lowest garb of men, 
 
 And hide himself in his own littleness. 
 
 How terrible are seen the crimes of men 
 
 Glass'd in God's judgments, in that mirror seen 
 
 They speak His presence : how replete with awe 
 
 His power and majesty, as dimly seen 
 
 By loyal and by filial piety 
 
 In His Yicegerents : or when these full oft, 
 
 Offended by men's crimes, He sets aside, 
 
 Himself in them despis'd, and He Himself 
 
 Stands in their place, and His last judgment sends, 
 
 The last precursor of their final doom, 
 
 Blinded infatuation. It is He 
 
 Visits in love the lonely penitent, 
 
 In his dim cell with fast and vigil bound, 
 
 And sends him Angel guests : and it is He 
 
 'Mid the close tempter's wiles Who shelt'ring stands. 
 
 Mysterious visitations ! dread to think 
 
 That those His eyes which visit sons of men 
 
 Pass through eternity 3 , with the dread orb 
 
 Of knowledge infinite encompass'd round : 
 
 All scenes of life, with all the ways of men, 
 
 » See Image XXXI. letters F. and G. 
 
THE EYES WHICH ARE IX EVE1SY PLACE. 391 
 
 Are with their endless portions in His sight ; — 
 
 The murderer's lifted hand pursuing life, — 
 
 The festive voices loud at banquetings, — 
 
 The many speeches of the busy mart, 
 
 Boiling their merchandize, and crowded ports; 
 
 And sportive games, when the loose villager 
 
 Weaves 'neath the moon Iris rustic saraband, 
 
 Or tunes alone his pensive madrigal 
 
 Unto the Evening star, whose watchtower gleams 
 
 Between the branches of the village oak. 
 
 To know His presence is to steep our hearts 
 
 In the irradiance of a Heavenly fire : 
 
 The knowledge of His presence here in man 
 
 Crowns every action ; and round meanest firings 
 
 Weaves rays of glory ; it is this which makes 
 
 Each calling honourable ; while all in place, 
 
 As kingly servants, stand for his behests 
 
 And ministrations. 'Tis no heathen chance, 
 
 But Plis good Angel, marks each road of life, 
 
 Assigns the line, the chisel, or the spade ; 
 
 Giving to each Iris destined heritage ; — 
 
 The Crown to Kings, to Bishops sacred charge. 
 
 As when we look on meanest firings around, 
 
 While some sweet pipe attunes the soul's deep ear, 
 
 The music clothes those sights with radiant gleams, 
 
 And lights them as with sunshine, so the thought 
 
 Of God clothes all things of this mortal life. 
 
 Lead me, good Angel, to those holier haunts 
 Where He unfolds His presence more Divine, 
 
392 THE EYES WHICH ARK IN KVEKY PLACE. 
 
 To sacred temples, and to inner shrines, 
 And consecrated altars ; there to learn 
 How in that heart of hearts He builds His shrine, 
 Which is in contrite meekness bowM to earth, 
 While awful thoughts, like holy ministers, 
 Own his dread nearness, and before Him bow 
 In adoration ! These more near and near 
 The soul shall to His presence-chambers lead, 
 Where Seraphin and Cherubin, who stand 
 Before Him, with ecstatic fear and love 
 Are ravish'd, yet who veil their feet and eyes 
 Because they love Him not, and fear Him not, 
 As He is worthy of their fear and love. 
 
 To know Thee is on earth all blessedness, 
 And is to be at peace with God and man ! 
 Nor need we wings of the transporting dove 
 To bear our restless souls to be with Thee 
 In th' Heaven of Heavens ; for Thou art with us here ; 
 Love shall give dove-like wings of Prayer and Alms 
 To bear the soul to Thee her place of rest. 
 Meanwhile 'mid stormy tumults of the world, 
 The Ark of Thine own presence gathers home 
 Thy children, and protects them o'er the wave. 
 
 Here in this wilderness and lonely scene 
 This silence is not solitude, if God 
 And His good Angels will approach more near, 
 And calm the soul their influence to know. 
 Prom sights and sounds of the deluding world 
 The senses here turn inward on the soul, 
 
THE EYES WHICH ARE IN EVERY PLACE. 393 
 
 And so the ear and eye may be in Heaven, 
 
 Communing with th' unearthly melodies 
 
 Which tune the heart to wisdom. Oh, how calm 
 
 Is the dread stillness of the silent grave, 
 
 And thoughts of them that people it ! which seems 
 
 A figure of that peace which is with God, 
 
 And they which enter into it have found; — 
 
 A quiet haven after stormy seas, — 
 
 A night which opes the stars when day is still. 
 
IMAGE THE THIRTY-SECOND. 
 
 &nU there appeared a great foonDer in ?i?eaben ; a fooman 
 clot^cO foftfi tjic j&un, ant) ti>c 0Lqq\\ unDcr her feet, anil 
 upon her heat) a ctofon of tfoelbe j&targ. 
 
 Consider what glorious things are spoken of her, the City of 
 God ; how the Church is said to be the Bride of Christ, redeemed 
 from among mankind to be with Him in Heaven [A]. How not 
 unto man alone, but "unto principalities and powers in heavenly 
 places, is made known by the Church the manifold wisdom of 
 God a ." How Kings cast down their crowns at her feet, and the 
 Angels of God rejoice with her. Consider how the Saints of all 
 ages have lived and died for her, giving up country and home 
 and kindred to advance the knowledge of her amongst men, and 
 being for her sake as strangers and pilgrims upon earth [B], 
 loving here below those holy habitations where God's Honour 
 dwelleth, more than the houses and palaces of Kings ; hanging 
 as it were upon her walls the arms and trophies whereby they 
 have overcome the world [C]. To the afflicted, to whom the 
 world is as a wilderness, she appeareth as Divine Charity ready 
 to support them [D]. To them that are tempted she speaks of 
 the sure aid of Christ, Who was tempted for our sakes that He 
 might succour them that are tempted b [E]. To those that are 
 in shipwreck she appears as a refuge amid the waters, with her 
 prayers and Divine services, even as Christ Himself walking upon 
 the waves [F]. 
 
 " Hearken, O daughter, and consider, incline thine ear ; forget 
 also thine own people and thy Father's house. So shall the King 
 have pleasure in thy beauty ; for He is thy Lord God and wor- 
 ship thou Him." "The King's daughter is all glorious within; 
 her clothing is of wrought gold. She shall be brought unto the 
 King in raiment of needle-work ; the Virgins that be her fellows 
 shall bear her company, and shall be brought unto Thee. With 
 joy and gladness shall they be brought, and enter into the King's 
 palace ." "Peace be within thy walls!" — "they shall prosper 
 that love thee d !" 
 
 « Eph. iii. 10. •> Heb. ii. 13. 
 
 c Psalm xlv. 11—16. ' Psalm cxxii. 7, 8. 
 
V < A [ ! 
 
■ # 
 
 , V 
 
 r 
 
 « 4 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 ^ M 
 
■ 
 
 OTe Ittng's BaugfjUr. 
 
 Lokd, what is this Thou callest Thine own Bride 
 ForshadoVd erst in Paradise, 
 And taken from the Sleeper's side ; — 
 The Bride of the great Virgin-born, 
 Ta'en to be with Him in the skies, — 
 The Bridegroom purer far than the bright sun at morn ? 
 
 Lord, what is tins Thy Church below, 
 That thou should' st such a name on her bestow ? 
 Then may we clothe her with a human form, 
 With human charities her life-blood warm ? 
 
 And haply some mysterious sense 
 Of one thus shriu'd in Thine Omnipotence, 
 Yet strangely blending with humanity, 
 
 Dwelling on earth and teaching Heaven, 
 
 With human names mysterious given, — 
 
 A form we cannot hear or see 
 
 Yet omnipresent to the eye ; — 
 
 Haply this far-pervading thought, 
 
 Of female form that doth combine 
 
 Something of human and divine, 
 
 Erst in religion so inwrought, 
 
39(3 the king's daughter. 
 
 With men's deep feelings did entwine, 
 And forth a monstrous shape of carnal error brought. 
 
 For 'mid the evil multitude 
 
 The things that are for man too high 
 
 With earth-bred fancies were imbued, 
 
 And brought to earth the mystery. 
 
 Thus varied thoughts, corruption-bred, 
 
 Fastened upon blest Mary's head, — 
 Shed o'er her gifts to Thine own Church assigned, — 
 
 Till yearnings of man's evil mind 
 
 The Yirgin-mother had enshrin'd 
 In the most holy place, 
 E'en like Christ's mystic Bride upon the throne of Grace. 
 
 Yet since Thy words have Thine own Church endued 
 With bridal love and form of womanhood, 
 
 School'd in Thy wisdom may our heart 
 
 Hold to the deeper, better part, 
 
 In this blest figure to descry 
 
 Things of mysterious doctrine high, 
 
 And deep divine philosophy. 
 For haply thus the Lord of earth and skies, 
 
 From His own Heaven of Heaven descending 
 
 To look on us with human eyes, 
 Cloth'd with our sympathies and with us blending, 
 
 Would teach us that His Church on earth, 
 
 Shadow of Him Who gave her birth, 
 
 E'en like her Lord, when seen below, 
 
 Should put on human charities ; 
 
 Visit each shape of human woe ; 
 
THE KING S DAUGHTER. ftft' 
 
 And like her Master should be known 
 
 Making our human feeling all her own, 
 
 Visiting each in lowly dress 
 
 Of more than human tenderness. 
 
 As when the moon hath mounted high 
 
 Into her palace in the sky, 
 
 The illumin'd cloud hath caught the veil 
 
 Thrown softly from her visage pale. 
 
 Yea, like her Master, left behind, 
 
 She hath the milk of human-kind ; 
 
 Unlike the World, whose mastering hand 
 
 Dominion grasps o'er sea and land, 
 
 Numbers her thousands, makes her laws 
 
 Where iron-handed wisdom draws 
 
 Her demarcations, and her line 
 
 Of even-handed discipline ; 
 
 Marks out the vast material mass 
 
 Of armies, trades ; in giant class 
 
 Before her eyes the numbers pass, 
 
 And thousands more succeed ; with rules 
 
 Marks out her fields, her marshalTd schools 
 
 Moulding and blending into one, 
 
 In centralizing union; 
 
 Hardened and hardening all the heart 
 
 Of those with her that take their part ; 
 
 Heartless herself, and rendering such 
 
 All iron-hearted by her touch ; 
 
 Heartless herself, her rude control 
 
 Eats out the very feeling soul. 
 
398 the king's daughter. 
 
 Not so the Church, which comes from high, 
 Cloth' d with all human sympathy ; 
 By no rude laws by statesmen given 
 Her willing souls she wins to Heaven, 
 But by the hearts and voice of men ; 
 For hearts are all she claims again : 
 It is the heart she strives to teach, — 
 With lives far more than laws to preach ; 
 Bishops and Pastors sends to each ; 
 Walks, like her Master, with the poor, 
 And lifts the latch ; by some lone. hearth 
 She finds a soul of such vast worth, 
 That mightiest armies in their stir 
 She heeds not, and they mark not her, 
 While by that ivy-mantled door 
 Conversing with a soul, her eye 
 Traverses through eternity, 
 While gazing on th' indented floor : 
 With each converses, visits each, 
 Each in her arms she takes ; her speech 
 Is to each heart : while companies 
 In noiseless order heavenward rise, 
 Along the unnumber'd hue each one 
 She tends, as if on him alone ; 
 Each takes by the Baptismal wave, 
 And each lets down into his grave ; 
 Eor each she looks, with each she feels, 
 And unto each her God reveals : 
 With each her Saviour deigns to dwell 
 E'en in the turf-roof d cell. 
 
the king's daughter. 399 
 
 They in her holy ear distil 
 Thoughts which the darkest bosom fill, 
 That so from this our lower air 
 They thence may upward pass in prayer, 
 Laid open at the Mercy-seat, 
 In incense-cloud beneath the Intercessor's feet. 
 
 Hopes against hope, — when death is nigh 
 She speaks of comfort from on high : 
 Hopes against hope ; her children lays 
 Each in Iris grave with prayer and praise, 
 Like his Baptismal robe, made meet 
 To form again his winding-sheet. 
 By countless shrines made visible, 
 Pleads for each shape of human ill : 
 Enters each form of life, and still 
 With gentle-handed charities, 
 Like some good spirit from the skies, 
 Walking the dark ; and through all space, 
 Where fear or pain can find a place, 
 Her intercessions liid from sight 
 Come, like an Angel clad with light. 
 The gleams upon her tranquil face 
 Stream from a hidden fount of Grace : 
 Lifting her voice from the deep seas 
 
 Of man's iniquities, 
 
 She heavenward lifts her eyes. 
 
 Now sinks her voice, as turtle's song 
 Tree-embower' tl homes and haunts among; 
 
400 the king's daughter. 
 
 Now comes around with all the dead, 
 
 Like that fair Eastern bird, whose tread 
 
 Is music, while a thousand eyes 
 
 O'er-canopy his regal head 
 And feathered diadem, whose step profound 
 
 Disdaining seems to touch the ground, 
 Like some mysterious guest, half-fearful of our skies. 
 Her shape meanwhile as what in dreams we see, 
 
 Eluding sense, but walking 'mid the things 
 Of stern and deep reality, 
 
 Which to the inner soul a spirit brings ; 
 
 E'en like the wind her airy form 
 
 Defies our grasp ; then like a star 
 
 Looks in between our prison bar, 
 
 As one that walks beyond the storm. 
 
 Walks with us and around, yet hides her rays, 
 As erst below those forty days 
 When Christ of His own kingdom taught, 
 And met them in each holy thought, 
 Expounding His own Word while they His light discern' d, 
 And all their deepest hearts with heavenly musing burn'd ; 
 Till in that Breaking Bread, 
 His very Self they saw arisen from the Dead. 
 He from their suppliant and adoring hands 
 No sooner seen than gone ; 
 As when whate'er is good before us stands, 
 And, ere we know its worth, is from us flown. 
 
 The Church e'en so His shadow still 
 Wanders on earth around her sacred hill, 
 
THE KING'S DAUGHTER. 1 M ) 
 
 Yet oft when all is dark her holy light reveals, 
 And all around our haunts and homes in awful silence steals. 
 
 O wondrous truth to fabling fiction given, 
 Of one that walk'd on earth and hid her head in Heaven ; 
 Whose stature is eternity, 
 
 Her crown the living sky ! 
 
 Or rather like a spirit's love 
 
 Whose form to mortal sense is all invisible, 
 
 Yet still around doth dwell and move, 
 
 Around, yet how we cannot tell : 
 
 Living in calm unknown to mortal birth, 
 
 And hiding oft her mission high, 
 And now appears to die away from earth, 
 
 Then suddenly 
 She filleth all the earth and all the sky, 
 
 Like lightning traversing the east and west, 
 Clothing the inner soul with an ethereal vest. 
 
 Thou walkest in the bottom of the deep 
 
 Beneath the Ocean fountains ; 
 Thyself art born before the ancient mountains ; 
 Eor worlds material from time's womb but creep, 
 To shadow forth thy things that wax not old. 
 When all that now our eyes behold 
 Shall pass away, 
 Like shades around the summer sunset sailing, 
 
 Yet thou shalt stay, 
 Fair as the moon when summer lights are failing. 
 Dd 
 
402 the king's daughter. 
 
 Her steps like stars hid in the skies, 
 Whose motions men divine unheard of harmonies,- 
 
 Her pilgrim course still wanders on 
 Until the world is done ; 
 
 Her voice sinks now serene and low, 
 Like seas expiring on the quiet shore, 
 On some calm summer even; 
 Now on the ear breaks loud and clear 
 
 The sound of many waters, 
 Passing to eternal worlds with deep majestic roar, 
 
 And gathering to her quiet haven 
 
 Her numbered sons and daughters. 
 
 Nay, rather 'mid the troublous Ocean war 
 
 When human aid seems hid afar, 
 Like hovering near of some good-omen' d bird 
 Thy soothing voice is heard ; 
 Where 'mid the full masts piping loud, 
 And the loud creaking shroud, 
 It breathes to faithful ears of deep tranquillity. 
 As when to the heart-failing mariner, 
 When stars and sky were hid on high, 
 Like guardian of the deep did holy Paul appear ; 
 
 In chains thyself, yet making free ; 
 In dungeons dark, thyself all light and liberty. 
 As if One greater far were walking nigh ; — 
 As if the wilderness between 
 Of waves and clouds all cold and drear, 
 A Porm benign were seen, 
 
THE KING S DAUGHTER. 403 
 
 All calmly treading on the storm, 
 With blood of human life and human kindness warm. 
 
 From our earth-blinded eyes how didst thou hide thy light, 
 
 Holding deep commune with the Infinite ? 
 Whether thou walkest o'er the blue profound, 
 
 As stars by night reveal' d : 
 Or where the mountain deeps in Ocean he concealed 
 
 Do thy dark footsteps there abound ? 
 Art thou the eternal Bride to whom earth's kings must bow ? 
 Is this thy voice so faint and low 
 As one that speaketh from the ground ? 
 
 As stars in Heaven above, or gems in seas below, 
 Dost thou thy presence hide, — 
 Thy presence in which we abide. 
 
 Or like the light we cannot see 
 Yet without which we nothing can descry ; 
 
 Save when perchance thy glories come 
 
 On some bright surface in the gloom ; 
 
 Then we in that pure mirror's blaze 
 
 Our shadows see, and sigh, and gaze. 
 Or when upon some flower at morning falls 
 
 Thy shower of bright Baptismal rays, 
 Or lights up things that range in the celestial halls. 
 Bride of the Great Anointed, earthly guest, 
 
 Where is thy place of rest ? 
 
4(H THE KING'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 And unto whom dost thou thy glories manifest ? 
 
 As shadows on a living form attend, 
 Thou mark'st the presence of the Eternal Friend. 
 
 Or like a bright iUumin'd robe 
 Marking His goings on this peopled globe. 
 
 A haven of serene repose, 
 Whence weary souls look forth upon the world, 
 
 In waves tumultuous random hurl'd : — 
 And hide them in thy bosom from her woes. 
 
 O garment, which no foes can rend, all one, 
 
 Indissoluble union, 
 Dipp'd in Christ's blood, may we 'neath thee be found ! 
 Or art thou as that City of the Blest, 
 Prom highest Heaven descending, 
 As with a starry diadem with Angels crown'd, 
 And saintly hosts attending ; 
 Whose gates are open day and night unto her place of rest. 
 Let down from Heaven, like mighty winds the sound, — 
 The Tabernacle come to dwell unseen around ? 
 
 Go round about, and tell her towers sublime, 
 And mark her battlements in every clime ! 
 Nay, nought we see but walls in ruin deep, 
 Where 'mid her mouldering halls the wild wind seems to weep, 
 And desolation there to desolation calls. 
 Is this the living Temple of our God ? 
 Yes, 'mid the ruins hoar the Angel with his rod 
 Is marking out her walls : 
 
THE KING S DAUGHTEll. 405 
 
 Ten thousand fathoms under gromid 
 Her deep foundations sink profound : 
 Though clouds and tempests hide her standing nigh ; 
 Yet as the wild wind hurries by, 
 With lamentable moan, 
 To eyes with prayer and vigil made her own, ' 
 Her spiritual walls are seen, — 
 Rising into the Heaven of Heavens, mysterious, vast, serene. 
 
 Immortal spirits are thy walls, 
 And living stones thy citadels, 
 There is an awful voice within thee calls, 
 Echoing throughout the heart's most hidden cells, 
 Where thy pervading light appals, 
 Reflecting Heaven beneath unfathomable wells. 
 
 The Ocean teaches thine unearthly fear ; 
 The Moon and Stars the beauty where thou dwellest ; 
 By evening skies thou of thy glory tellest : 
 By lightnings and by thunders bursting near, 
 Of powers mysterious which to thee belong : 
 The mountains speak of thy foundations strong : 
 The human voice of love alone 
 Doth speak with language all thine own- 
 
 - 
 
 OXFORD : 
 
 PRINTED BY I. SHRIMPTON. 
 
Div.S. 2U2 TO3B 
 
 
 Williams 
 
 The Baptistery 
 
 
 ISSUED TO 
 
 '71 Ms"