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 FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON. D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 Princeton Theological Seminary Library 
 
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CHRISTIAN BALLADS. 
 
 JUL 6 1933 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR C L E Y E L A X D C O X E 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BT 
 
 JOHN A. HOW s. A. M. 
 
 REVISED EDITION. 
 
 Tie appointed singers before the Lord, that should praise the Bbautt • f 
 Holiness. — t It ro n ic leg. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 D. APPLETOX AND COMPANY. 
 
 44-3 k 445 BROADWAY. 
 1865. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S64, by 
 
 A. CLEVELAND COXE, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. 
 
TO 
 
 JOHN HENRY HOBART 
 
 Mr Dear Hobart, 
 
 I dedicate these Ballads to you, as a duty and as a pleas- 
 ure : as a duty, because but for you they would never have 
 been written ; and as a pleasure, because I rejoice to associate 
 my name with yours, in any thing, however humble, which I 
 am permitted to do for the Church of God. I need not say, 
 that I consider it in happy harmony with their design, that I 
 am privileged to inscribe them to the inheritor of a name 
 whose praise is in all the Churches. 
 
 I know that to you at least they will not be unacceptable. 
 The glistening dews of a Christian boyhood are fast drying up 
 from both of us ; but here are some results of rambling talks, 
 and rural walks, and holiday diversions, which for years we 
 have enjoyed together, and which through life will be dear to 
 memory, as having gradually led us to find our best delight, 
 and to choose our portion, in the amiable dwellings of the 
 Lord of Hosts. 
 
 Yours, my dear Hobart, 
 
 A. C. C. 
 
 Chelsea, New York, 
 June 28, 1840. 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 TO THE ILLUSTRATED EDITION. 
 
 A proposal of the Messrs. Appleto^, to publish an 
 illustrated edition of the Christian Ballads, recalled to the 
 author's attention a little work which graver occupations 
 had almost dismissed from his thoughts. He was startled 
 to discover that five-and-twenty years have passed since 
 they first appeared. 
 
 While giving them the benefit of such a revision as 
 might not materially change the form in which the public 
 has been pleased to accept them, he was led to some reflec- 
 tions, which he ventures to ttfink may be properly presented 
 as a preface to this edition, commemorative as it is of a 
 quarter-century in the history of the book. 
 
 Of its faults nobody can be so sensible as the author 
 himself. The Ballads were produced and published for 
 ephemeral circulation, and with no anticipation of the favour 
 with which they have been constantly demanded, in suc- 
 cessive editions, in Europe and America. They were the 
 outpourings of the honest convictions of the writer's heart, 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 and he aimed only to wake up the consciousness of his 
 countrymen to the value of many things which they seemed 
 to underestimate. Thev were not designed as religious 
 poems in the popular sense, but they were intended to show 
 that there are natural relations between genuine religion 
 and good taste. 
 
 Failing to observe this drift and purpose of the Bal- 
 lads, they were censured, on their first appearance, as if 
 they had aimed to supplant the substance of religion, by 
 its merest accidents. They were compared with rude 
 but hearty lyrics of uneducated piety, and described as 
 wholly inferior to them, in all that moves the soul to pen- 
 itence and prayer. Nothing can be more true ; but nothing 
 could be more unjust than the comparison. Hymns are 
 one thing, and ballads are quite another ; and he who wrote 
 these Ballads would be the first to maintain that the writer 
 of a single hymn, that is worthy of its name, has produced 
 something more precious than all the verses that he ever 
 penned. 
 
 On revising them he is further impressed with a con- 
 viction that their merit, whatever it may be, is compara- 
 tively much less, at the present time, than when they were 
 produced, their currency having diminished their intrinsic 
 worth. Thus, they abound in forms of expression which 
 were fresh and original when they appeared, but which 
 have since become tediously familiar in this kind of verse. 
 One word which he timidly coined, to express the perspect- 
 ive lines of moonlight on the waters, has passed into com- 
 mon use ; and architectural terms which once were rare and 
 poetical, have become so ordinary and mechanical as to 
 deprive some verses, in which' they are employed, of all 
 
PEEFACE. Vll 
 
 claims to even the low merit of freedom from prosaic 
 diction. 
 
 It is gratifying to observe the progress of our civilization 
 and the improvement of the popular taste in art ; but the 
 author must beg his readers to remember that many things 
 which are now familiar to everybody in America, were 
 wholly unknown among us when these Ballads were pro- 
 duced. Their author was obliged to imagine much that 
 may now be seen in almost every part of the land. When 
 he wrote them, there was not a church in the country which 
 could sustain any other than the most moderate pretensions 
 to architectural correctness in design or decoration. He 
 had never seen more than a few panes of stained glass in a 
 church window, nor heard a complete chime of bells ; and 
 there was not to be seen, on this Continent, so far as he is 
 informed, an open roof, or a well-defined chancel, or genu" 
 ine aisles, or a nave with a clere-story. Floral decorations 
 were almost unknown, and children were not provided 
 with a single carol. It has often been asserted, by gener- 
 ous critics, like the late Dr. Croswell, that the publication 
 of the Ballads contributed largely to introduce the change 
 in popular taste; but the author is well aware that his 
 own delight in such things was the product, in a great 
 measure, of what Dr. Croswell and Bishops Doane and 
 Hopkins, and Dr. Muhlenberg, with others that might be 
 named, had been doing before. From the progressive fu- 
 ture he anticipates a great reduction in the popularity of 
 his verses. They will fail to please when Avhat is now 
 agreeable in fancy becomes common in fact ; and it is the 
 height of his ambition with regard to them, that they may 
 yet do something to hasten the time when they will be 
 quite sunerfluous. 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 With a sincere gratitude to his Christian brethren, and 
 to his publishers in England and America, he desires to 
 acknowledge the singular and entirely unexpected success 
 which the little book has enjoyed. It has brought him 
 kindly greetings, and pleasant letters, from the most dis- 
 tant and from some of the most obscure portions of the 
 earth. It has gained him some of the most enviable of 
 friendships. In foreign travel it has opened his way to 
 cottages and to castles : he found it on the shelves of Eton 
 boys, and in the rooms of grave fellows of the Universities. 
 In Ireland he was presented with a curious series of imita- 
 tions of Dreamland, some grave and some comical ; and 
 of Scotland and Wales he owes some of his happiest rec- 
 ollections to incidents connected with the circulation of 
 the Ballads, in several forms. To Count Tasca, the emin- 
 ent poet and patriot of Northern Italy, he is indebted for 
 the introduction of several of them to his countrymen, in 
 spirited translations ; and the Comte de Montalembert has 
 unwittingly connected a stanza from one of them, with a 
 work which will be ever memorable in the history of the 
 French empire. In his famous philippic, Un d'ebat sur 
 VInde au Parlement Anglais, he introduced, with a sting- 
 iiro* reflection on the contrast between the state of things 
 in England and France, the following historical relation : 
 
 " Xon loin de Birmingham, s'eleve un vieux manoir feodal, en- 
 toure d'un beau pare et appele Aston-Hall. La famille ancienne qui 
 en etait proprietaire ne pouvait s'empecher de le vendue. Alors 
 Tidee vint a quelques-uns d'en faire l'acquisition pour le trans-former 
 en un pare du peuple, conformement a un example deja clonne 
 par d'autres villes. On Tappuie par une souscription generale 
 dont tout le monde prend sa part. Le domaine est achete, le vieux 
 chateau, soigneusement restaure, est destine a recevoir une exposi- 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 tion perinanente des arts, et le grand pare, avec ses arbres secu- 
 laires, est transforme en lieu de promenade et de recreation pour 
 les families ouvrieres. On envoie chercher la Eeine. Le 15 juin 
 1858, la reine obeit a cet appel touchant; elle vient, et six cent 
 mille ouvriers accourent au devant d'elle, sortant par myriades de 
 toutes les fourmilieres industrielles du ptoys noir, e'est a dire des 
 comtes de Stafford et de Warwick. La reine traverse ces flots 
 d'une population entbousiaste et inaugure le nouveau musee. Pen- 
 dant qu'elle s'eloigne, quarante mille enfants des ecoles libres et 
 nationales, ranges en espalier sur son passage, sous les grands ar- 
 bres qui avaient peut-etre vu passer diaries I er , cbantent en masse, 
 avec un accent a la fois innocent et passionne qui arracha des larmes 
 a plus d'un assistant, un hymne en vers passablement grossiers, 
 dont le refrain dit : Or prions tous pour notre patrie ; que Dieu 
 garde long-temps V Angleterre, qiCil la garde eliretienne heureuse et 
 glorieusement libre ! 
 
 " Now pray we for our country, 
 That England long may be 
 The holy and the happy, 
 And the gloriously free ! " 
 
 The Comte de Montalembert little imagined that the 
 refrain which arose that day on the voices of forty thou- 
 sand English children, was taught them by an American, 
 whose affection for the Motherland might have furnished 
 the French emperor with another salutary reflection, upon 
 the power of English Christianity and civilization over 
 many who owe no subscription to the English crown. 
 And this reminds the writer that whereas, when he wrote 
 those lines, they were by no means expressive of the com- 
 mon feeling of his countrymen, he lived to see the day 
 when, on the visit of the Prince of Wales to America, they 
 might have been sung with universal applause at every 
 stage of his progress — at almost every stage, for the ex- 
 ception need not be named. It is the writer's fervent 
 prayer, that the generous spirit of his countrymen, which 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 has been so little encouraged by subsequent events, may 
 yet be drawn forth afresh by such a change of policy in 
 England, as may secure to her the natural alliance which, 
 but a little while ago, she might have made her own for- 
 ever, and with which she might confront the world, and 
 go forth anew to the noblest enterprises for the welfare of 
 mankind. 
 
 A. C. C. 
 Rectory, Calvaey Chuech, 
 
 Geameecy Squaee, X. Y., Sept. 1864. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Hymn of Boyhood, 11 
 
 St. Sacrament, . 17 
 
 Antioch, 33 
 
 Dreamland, 39 
 
 Carol, 47 
 
 Lament, 54 
 
 Ember-Prayers, 57 
 
 England, 61 
 
 Chronicles, 72 
 
 The Chimes of England, 84 
 
 Scotland, 88 
 
 Seabury's Mitre, 95 
 
 Rustic Churches, ' 98 
 
 Churchyards, 102 
 
 Trinity, Old Church, 108 
 
 Trinity, New Church, 113 
 
 The Spire-Cross, 118 
 
 Oratories, 123 
 
 Wayside Homes, 126 
 
 Little Woodmere, 128 
 
 Desolations, 186 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Chelsea, 139 
 
 Vigils, 144 
 
 Matin Bells, 149 
 
 The Curfew, 152 
 
 TTildminster, 156 
 
 Nashotah, 160 
 
 St. Silvan's Bell, 166 
 
 Daily Service, 172 
 
 Christmas Carol, 176 
 
 Christening, 180 
 
 The Calendar, 184 
 
 The Soul-Dirge, 188 
 
 The Church's Daughter, 192 
 
 I love the Church, 198 
 
 Italian Versions, 205 
 
 Notes, 223 
 
CHKISTIAN BALLADS 
 
!)mnn of §o$aob. 
 
 One thing have I desired of the Lord, which I will require, even that I 
 may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the 
 fair beauty of the Lord, and to visit His temple. — Psalter. 
 
 FIRST dear thing 
 tliat ever I loved 
 Was a mother's gen- 
 tle eye, 
 That smiled, as I woke 
 on the dreamy 
 couch 
 That cradled my 
 infancy. 
 I never forget the joy- 
 ous thrill 
 That smile in my spirit stirred, 
 
12 HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 
 
 Nor how it could charm me against my will. 
 Till I laughed like a joyous bird. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And the next fair thing that ever I loved 
 
 Was a bunch of summer flowers, 
 With odours, and hues, and loveliness, 
 
 Fresh as from Eden's bowers. 
 I never can find such hues agen, 
 
 Nor smell such a sweet perfume ; 
 And if there be odours as sweet as then, 
 
 'Tis I that have lost the bloom. 
 
 . in. 
 
 And" the next dear thing that ever I loved 
 
 Was a fawn-like little maid, 
 Half-pleased, half-awed by the frolic boy 
 
 That tortured her doll, and played : 
 I never can see the gossamere 
 
 Which rude rough zephyrs tease, 
 But I think how I tossed her flossy locks 
 
 With my whirling bonnet's breeze. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And the next good thing that ever I loved 
 Was a bow-kite in the sky ; 
 
HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 13 
 
 And a little boat on the brooklet's surf, 
 
 And a dog for my company : 
 And a jingling hoop, with many a bound 
 
 To my measured strike and true ; 
 And a rocket sent up to the firmament, 
 
 When Even was out so blue. 
 
 v. 
 
 And the next fair thing I was fond to love 
 
 Was a field of wavy grain, 
 Where the reapers mowed ; or a ship in sail 
 
 On the billowy, billowy main : 
 And the next was a fiery prancing horse 
 
 That I felt like a man to stride ; 
 And the next was a beautiful sailing boat 
 
 With a helm it was hard to guide. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And the next dear thing I was fond to love 
 
 Is tenderer far to tell ; 
 'Twas a voice, and a hand, and a gentle eye 
 
 That dazzled me with its spell : 
 And the loveliest things I had loved before 
 
 Were only the landscape now, 
 On the canvass bright where I pictured her, 
 
 In the glow of my early vow. 
 
14 HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And the next good thing I was fain to love 
 
 Was to sit in my cell alone, 
 Musing o'er all these lovely things, 
 
 Forever, forever flown. 
 Then out I walked in the forest free, 
 
 Where wantoned the autumn wind, 
 And the coloured boughs swung shiveringly, 
 
 In harmony with my mind. 
 
 VIH. 
 
 And a spirit was on me that next I loved, 
 
 That ruleth my spirit still, 
 And maketh me murmur these sing-song words, 
 
 Albeit against my will. 
 And I walked the woods till the winter came, 
 
 And then did I love the snow ; 
 And I heard the gales, through the wildwood aisles, 
 
 Like the Lord's own organ blow. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And the bush I had loved in my greenwood wa]k, 
 
 I saw it afar away, 
 Surpliced with snows, like the bending priest 
 
 That kneels in the church to pray : 
 
HYMX OF BOYHOOD. 15 
 
 And I thought of the vaulted fane, and high, 
 
 Where I stood when a little child, 
 Awed by the lauds sung thrillingly, 
 
 And the anthems undefiled. 
 
 And again to the vaulted church I went, 
 
 And I heard the same sweet prayers, 
 And the same full organ-peals upsent, 
 
 And the same soft soothing airs ; 
 And I felt in my spirit so drear and strange, 
 
 To think of the race I ran, 
 That I loved the lone thing that knew no change 
 
 In the soul of the boy and man. 
 
 XL 
 
 And the tears I wept in the wilderness 
 
 And that froze on my lids, did fall, 
 And melted to pearls for my sinfulness. 
 
 Like scales from the eyes of Paul : 
 And the last dear thing I was fond to love, 
 
 "Was that holy service high, 
 That lifted my soul to joys above, 
 
 And pleasures that do not die. 
 
16 HY3JDS OF BOYHOOD. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And then, said I, one thing there is 
 
 That I of the Lord desire, 
 That ever, while I on earth shall live. 
 
 I will of the Lord require, 
 That I may dwell in His temple blest 
 
 As long as my life shall be, 
 And the beauty fair of the Lord of Hosts 
 
 In the home of His glory see. 
 
St Sacrament 
 
 A LEGEXD OF LAKE GEORGE. 
 
 SUMMER shower had 
 swept the woods ; 
 But when, from all the 
 scene, 
 ' Rolled off at length the 
 thunder-clouds, 
 And streamed the sun- 
 set sheen ; 
 I came where my postil- 
 ion raised 
 His horsewhip for a 
 wand, 
 
 ■ -And said. There's Hori- 
 
 - 
 
 - *^Qg>" con, good sir, 
 
 And here's the Bloody Pond ! 
 3 
 
18 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 n. 
 
 And don't you see yon low gray wall, 
 
 With grass and bushes grown ? 
 Well, that's Fort George's palisade, 
 
 That many a storm has known : 
 But here's the Bloody Pond, where sleeps 
 
 Full many a soldier tall ; 
 The spring, they say, was never pure 
 
 Since that red burial. 
 
 ni. 
 
 'Twas rare to see ! That vale beneath ; 
 
 That lake so calm and cool ! 
 But mournful was each lily-wreath 
 
 Upon the turbid pool : 
 And — on, postilion, let us haste 
 
 To greener banks, I cried, 
 Oh, stay me not where man has stained 
 
 With brother's blood the tide ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 An hour — and though the Even-star 
 Was chasing down the sun, 
 
 My boat was on thine azure wave, 
 Sweet, holy Horicon ! 
 
ST. SACRAMENT. 19 
 
 And woman's voice cheered on onr bark, 
 
 With soft bewildering song, 
 While fire-flies darting through the dark 
 
 Went lighting us along. 
 
 Anon, that bark was on the beach, 
 
 And soon, I stood alone 
 Upon thy mouldering walls, Fort George, 
 
 So old, and ivy-grown. 
 At once, old tales of massacre 
 
 Were crowding on my soul, 
 And ghosts of ancient sentinels 
 
 Paced up the rocky knoll. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The shadowy hour was dark enow 
 
 For fancy's wild campaign, 
 And moments were impassioned hours 
 
 Of battle and of pain ; 
 Each brake and thistle seemed alive 
 
 With fearful shapes of fight, 
 And up the feather' cl scalp-locks rose 
 
 Of many a tawny sprite. 
 
20 ST. SACEAJIENT. 
 
 vn. 
 
 The Mohawk war-whoop howled agen 
 
 I heard St. Denys' charge, 
 And then the volleyed musketry 
 
 Of England and St. George. 
 The vale, the rocks, the cradling hills, 
 
 From echoing rank to rank, 
 Rung back the warlike rhetoric 
 
 Of Huron and of Frank. 
 
 vin. 
 
 So, keep thy name, Lake George, said I, 
 
 And bear to latest day, 
 The memory of onr primal age, 
 
 And England's early sway ; 
 And when Columbia's flag shall here 
 
 Her starry glories toss, 
 Be witness how onr fathers fought 
 
 Beneath St. George's cross. 
 
 IX. 
 
 An hour again — and shone the moon 
 
 Above the mountain gray, 
 And there the pearly Horicon 
 
 Leap'd up like fountain spray ; 
 
ST. SACK ANIENT. 21 
 
 The rippled wavelets seemed to dance, 
 
 And starlight seemed to sing ; 
 I never saw, in all my life, 
 
 So gay and bright a thing. 
 
 x. 
 
 And nought, save lulling Katydid, 
 
 Presumed the hush to mar ; 
 And then it was, I longed to hear 
 
 Some light canoe afar ; 
 I listened for the paddle's dip, 
 
 And in the moon-path clear, 
 I wished some Indian bark might glide, 
 
 With all its shapes of fear. 
 
 XL 
 
 The Indian tales of Horicon 
 
 Were in my spirit now, 
 And Sachems of the olden time, 
 
 With more than Roman brow ; 
 And all the forest histories 
 
 That make our young romance, 
 As in a wizard's glass, they moved 
 
 O'er that blue lake's expanse. 
 
ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 xn. 
 
 And keep thy name, clear Horicon, 
 
 Thine Indian name, said I ; 
 'Tis meet, if thine old lords are dead, 
 
 Their fame should never die : 
 So keep thy name, sweet Horicon, 
 
 And be, to latest days, 
 Thine old free-dwellers' monument, 
 
 Their glory and their praise. 
 
 xm. 
 
 But morn was up, the beamy morn, 
 
 That sapphire lake above, 
 O'er waters blue as amethyst, 
 
 And innocent as love ; 
 And there 'twas glorious to cool 
 
 The glowing breast and limb, 
 For never did a river-nymph 
 
 In sweeter ripples swim. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 All day my boat was on the lake, 
 My thoughts upon its shore ; 
 
 And emerald islets, one by one, 
 My joyous footsteps bore : 
 
ST. SACEAMENT. 23 
 
 And where, 'mid green and mossy nests, 
 
 The sparks of quartz outshine, 
 I pulled young flowerets from the rocks, 
 
 And oped the crystal mine. 
 
 xv. 
 
 But when the breezy even came, 
 
 Again, outstretched I lay, 
 Upon the weedy battlements 
 
 Of that old ruin gray. 
 And all alone, 'twas beautiful 
 
 To muse, reclining there, 
 And feel the chill, so desolate, 
 
 Of half autumnal air. 
 
 XYI. 
 
 Afar, afar, I cast mine eye 
 
 Adown the winding view : 
 The lake, the distance, and the sky, 
 
 "Were all a heavenly blue : 
 And distant Thuxg rose glorious 
 
 With colours for his crown, 
 And girt with clouds all rainbow-like, 
 
 And robes of green and brown. 
 
24: ST. SACEAMENT. 
 
 xyn. 
 A holy stillness, and a calm, 
 
 O'er me and nature stole, 
 And like a babe the waters slept 
 
 Within their pebbled bowl : 
 The gales that tossed my tangled hair, 
 
 And stirred the fragrant fern, 
 They only kissed the water's breast, 
 
 And smoothed its brimming urn. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 And I was dreaming, though awake, 
 
 Such thoughts as made me sigh, 
 When, hark ! the alder-bushes break, 
 
 And falls a footstep nigh ! 
 A man of olden years came up ; 
 
 A brown old yeoman he, 
 And on, through thorn and reedy bank, 
 
 He pushed his way to me. 
 
 xrx. 
 
 He climbed the rough old demilune. 
 
 With iron-studded shoe, 
 Upturning, at his every stride, 
 
 Old flints and bullets too. 
 
ST. SACKAMEIST. 25 
 
 And arrow-heads that told a tale 
 Were in each earthy clod 
 
 That rumbled down the ravelin, 
 And crumbled as he trod. 
 
 xx. 
 
 Now tell me, tell me, yeoman good, 
 
 One tale to bear away, 
 With relics for the well-beloved, 
 
 Of this old ruin gray ; 
 With flowers I've gathered round the mole, 
 
 One legend would I twine ; 
 And you may chance remember one 
 
 That was some kin of mine ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Canst tell of Cleveland, or Monroe, 
 
 That fought for George's sake ; 
 Or know you of the young Montcalm, 
 
 Or Uncas — on the lake ? 
 He called it Lake St. Sacrament, 
 
 That yeoman brown and brave, 
 And thus, half soldier and half hind, 
 
 His simple story gave : 
 4 
 
ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 My father was a Frenchman bold, 
 
 Came o'er the bitter sea, 
 And here he poured his red heart's blood 
 
 For Louis' fleur-de-lys : 
 And yonder did he bid me swear 
 
 To say, when he was gone, 
 He drinks the Holy Sacrament 
 
 Who drinks of Horicon. 
 
 XXTTT. 
 
 And then a lake-drop on his lip, 
 
 A tear-drop in his eye, 
 He blest his boy, his king, his God, 
 
 And turned his face to die : 
 A moment — and St. George's flag, 
 
 And England's musket roar, 
 They rapt me from my soldier-sire, 
 
 And I beheld no more. 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 He drinks the Holy Sacrament 
 Who drinks this crystal wave. 
 
 That Sacrament baptized his death, 
 And was, they say, his grave : 
 
ST. SACKAMEXT. 27 
 
 Adieu, adieu, thou stranger youth, 
 But say, when I am gone, 
 
 This lake is Lake St. Sacrament, 
 And not Lake Horicon. 
 
 XXY. 
 
 And down the quarry stumbled he, 
 
 Ere I could hold him back ; 
 But sounds of crackling alder-bush 
 
 Betrayed his sturdy track. 
 I saw the cottage-smoke up wreathe 
 
 Beneath the mountain shade, 
 And there I knew that old yeoman 
 
 His hermitage had made. 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 And there, when I had followed him, 
 
 He told me more and more, 
 The magic and the witchery 
 
 Of that romantic shore. 
 'Tis many a year, he said, since here 
 
 There was no Christian soul ; 
 The Indian only, or the deer, 
 
 To taste these waters stole. 
 
28 ST. SACRAMEXT. 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 The savage, in the heat of noon, 
 
 Came panting through the wood 
 To stain the silver-pebbled beach, . 
 
 And wash away his blood : 
 And there, where those tall aspens stand 
 
 They fought a horrid fray ; 
 The very leaves that shaded them 
 
 Are trembling to this day. 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 But years rolled on — the sun beheld 
 
 Those savage chiefs agen, 
 All gathered as at council fires, 
 
 Or leagued with peaceful men : 
 They listed in their multitudes, 
 
 To one, that midst them stood, 
 And reared the Cross — as painters draw 
 
 John Baptist in the Wood. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 They listened to his wondrous words 
 
 Upon the pebbled strand ; 
 And ay — they welcomed in their hearts, 
 
 The reign of God at hand. 
 
ST. SACRAMEXT. 
 
 With laud and anthem rung the grove ; 
 
 And here, where howled their jell, 
 I've heard their Christian litanies, 
 
 And high Te Deum swell. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And when the golden Easter came 
 
 Again they gathered there, 
 All eager for the Christian name, 
 
 And Christ's dear Cross to bear. 
 Oh ! forest-aisles, ye trembled then, 
 
 Like fanes where organs roll, 
 To hear those savage-featured men 
 
 Outpour the Christian soul. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And in the wild- wood's walks they knelt 
 
 To own their sins and pray ; 
 And in these holy water-floods, 
 
 They washed their sins away : 
 By Horicon, the Trinal God 
 
 Confessed them for His sons, 
 And here the Holt Spirit sealed 
 
 His own begotten ones. 
 
30 ST. SACRAMEXT. 
 
 XXXH. 
 
 Oh ! Abana and Pharpar old 
 
 Must yield to Jordan's flow ; 
 But never this clear Horicon ; 
 
 The Prophet said not so ! 
 For sins more dire than leprosy 
 
 These waves have washed away, 
 And so they named clear Horicon, 
 
 St. Sacrament, for aye. 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 Then onward sped the missionaire 
 
 The wilderness to wake : 
 A voice was on the desert air, 
 
 For God a highway make ! 
 The lifted Cross, from hill to hill, 
 
 Proclaimed the Gospel word, 
 But sweet St. Sacrament was still 
 
 The laver of the Lord. 
 
 xxxrv. 
 
 And years on years went rolling by ; 
 
 The Indian boy grew old ; 
 But longed once more, ere he should die, 
 
 That laver to behold : 
 

ST. SACRAMENT. 31 
 
 And panting from his pilgrimage 
 He came at heat of day ; 
 
 The lake was calm as in his youth, 
 St. Sacrament, for aye. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Then fell the white man's tracks around 
 
 Upon this virgin sand : 
 And bowed thy glories, Horicon, 
 
 Before his faithless hand ! 
 He sent these waters o'er the sea 
 
 In marble nrns to shine, 
 And christened babes of royalty 
 
 In streams that christened mine. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Adieu, adieu ! my stranger boy ; 
 
 Bat say, when I am gone, 
 This lake is Lake St. Sacrament, 
 
 And not Lake Horicon : 
 And when some lip that charmeth thee 
 
 Shall ask of thee a lay, 
 Oh bid her call Lake Horicon, 
 
 St. Sacrament, for aye. 
 
ST. SACEAMEXT. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Then keep thy name, sweet Lake, said I, 
 
 Thine holy name alone ! 
 I love St. George's memory, 
 
 And Indian honour flown ; 
 But never heard I history 
 
 Like thine, old man, this day : 
 The lake is Christ's for evermore, 
 
 St. Sacrament, for aye ! 
 
%v&ozh. 
 
 And the disciples were called Christians first in Antioch.- AeUofth* 
 
 Apostles. 
 
 LD Antiocli shall answer ye 
 "What title I would claim ! 
 Old Antiocli — whence Christian men 
 
 Confess their Christian name. 
 I wear no other name but Cheist's, 
 And His is name enow, 
 Writ by our mother's spousal hand 
 On all her children's brow. 
 
34 AXTIOCH. 
 
 n. 
 
 Yet something doth that mother give, 
 
 A token to her sons, 
 And Catholic doth she surname 
 
 Her Loed's begotten ones : 
 And such, the children of her love 
 
 Are children all of Heaven : 
 Lo I — she answereth to God, 
 
 And these that Thou hast given. 
 
 m. 
 
 I know that many martyrs died 
 
 At rack and cruel stake, 
 And Cranmer laid his prelate hand 
 
 On fire, for Jest's sake ; 
 And many a bishop's burning heart, 
 
 Like flame was lost in flame : 
 But Cheist — none other died for me ; 
 
 I'll wear no other name. 
 
 rv. 
 
 I wear the name of Cheist my God, 
 So name me not from man ! 
 
 And my broad country Catholic, 
 It hath nor tribe nor clan : 
 
ANTIOCH. 35 
 
 And one and endless is the line 
 Through all the world that went, 
 
 Commissioned from that Holy Hill 
 Of Christ's snblime ascent. 
 
 For there, our great Melchizedek 
 
 Ordained of God that came, 
 And not Himself did glorify 
 
 To wear His priestly name, 
 His mantle — as He went on high, 
 
 To chosen sons bequeathed, 
 And bade Apostles feed His lambs, 
 
 As o'er them all He breathed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'Twas there, as God had sent the Son, 
 
 The Son His own did send, 
 And with them promised to abide 
 
 For ever — to the end : 
 And faithful to His plighted love, 
 
 The Lord is with us yet, 
 Where our apostles bear the keys 
 
 He left on Olivet. 
 
36 AXTIOCH. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Then call me not to other folds ; 
 
 No greener fields I see ; 
 The shepherds of my Lord alone 
 
 Can feed a lamb like me : 
 I cannot wander, if I will, 
 
 For whensoever wooed, 
 Out-names a burning chronicle 
 
 In Peter and in Jude. 
 
 Yin. 
 
 I read how Korah boldly swung 
 
 The censer God abhorr'd, 
 And spurned old Aaron's litanies, 
 
 Commanded of the Loed. 
 Those bold Apostles echo it, 
 
 And while their voice I hear, 
 If your strange folds seemed Eden's gate 
 
 That waving sword I fear. 
 
 IX. 
 
 I hear my Saviour's earnest prayer, 
 
 That one we all may be, 
 And — oh, how can I go with them 
 
 Who tear Him bodily ? 
 
ANTIOCH. 37 
 
 I see the heralds of His cross 
 Whom Jesus sent of yore ; 
 
 And can I spurn anointed hands ? 
 I love my Saviour more. 
 
 x. 
 
 Dear Lamb of God ! I know full well 
 
 All power to Thee was given, 
 And oh there is no other Name, 
 
 To name us, under heaven ! 
 I know when Thou didst send a line 
 
 Through all the world to run, 
 ~No arm of flesh, if that hath failed, 
 
 Can weave a surer one ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Thou, Priest and Prophet art for us, 
 
 Our great High Priest in heaven ; 
 While to Thy lowly priests on earth, 
 
 Thy prophet voice is given : 
 Thank God, it never failed, nor shall ! 
 
 That long unbroken chain 
 Begun in Thee — in Thee shall end, 
 
 When Thou shalt come again. 
 
38 axtioch. 
 
 xn. 
 
 So Christ forbid that I should boast, 
 
 Save in His blood-red cross ; 
 And let me, for the Crucified, 
 
 Count other gain but loss ; 
 And ye that scorn His follower, 
 
 And deem my glory shame, 
 Forget not, in upbraiding me, 
 
 To name me by His name. 
 
ill 
 
 gwamlantr. 
 
 LAY, a lay, good Christians ! 
 
 I have a tale to tell, 
 Though I have ne'er a palmer's staff, 
 
 Kor hat with scallop-shell : 
 And though I never went astray 
 From this mine own conntree, 
 111 tell what never pilgrim told 
 That ever rode the sea. 
 
 n. 
 
 A lay, a lay, good Christians ! 
 My boyish harp is fain 
 
40 DEEAMLAXD. 
 
 To chaunt our mother's loveliness, 
 
 In an eternal strain ; 
 And true it is I never strayed 
 
 Beyond her careful hand, 
 And yet my lay, good Christians, 
 
 Is of a Holy-Land. 
 
 in. 
 
 In Dreamland once I saw a Church ; 
 
 Amid the trees it stood ; 
 And reared its little steeple-cross 
 
 Above the sweet green-wood ; 
 And then I heard a Dreamland chime 
 
 Peal out from Dreamland tower, 
 And saw how Dreamland Christian-folk 
 
 Can keep the matin-hour. 
 
 rv. 
 
 And Dreamland Church was decent all, 
 
 And green the churchyard round ; 
 The Dreamland sextons never keep 
 
 Their kine in holy ground : 
 And not the tinkling cow-bell there 
 
 The poet's walk becalms ; 
 But where the dead in Cheist repose, 
 
 The bells ring holy psalms. 
 
DEEAMLAND. 41 
 
 And Dreamland folk do love their dead, 
 
 For every mound I saw, 
 Had flowers, and wreaths, and garlands, such 
 
 As painters love to draw ! 
 I asked what seeds made such fair buds, 
 
 And — scarce I trust my ears, 
 The Dreamland folk averred such things 
 
 Do only grow from — tears. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And while I hung the graves around, 
 
 I heard the organ pour : 
 I was the only Christian man 
 
 Without that sacred door ! 
 A week-day morn — but church was full ; 
 
 And full the chaunting choir, 
 For Dreamland music is for God, 
 
 And not for man and — hire. 
 
 vn. 
 
 I saw the Dreamland minister 
 
 In snowy vestments pray : 
 He seemed to think 'twas natural 
 
 That prayer should ope the day : 
 
42 DREAMLAXD. 
 
 And Dreamland folk responded loud 
 To blessings in God's name ; 
 
 And in the praises of the Lord, 
 Thej had no sense of shame ! 
 
 TDZE. 
 
 And Dreamland folk, they kneel them down 
 
 Eight on the stony floor ; 
 I saw they were uncivilized, 
 
 Xor knew how we adore : 
 And yet I taught them not, I own, 
 
 The posture more refined, 
 For well I knew the picturesque 
 
 Scarce suits the savage mind. 
 
 And Dreamland folk do lowly bow 
 
 To own that Christ is God : 
 And I confess I taught them not 
 
 The fashionable nod. 
 And Dreamland folk sing Glorda 
 
 At every anthem's close, 
 But have not learn'd its value yet 
 
 To stir them from a doze. 
 
DREAMLAND 43 
 
 X. 
 
 I saw a Dreamland babe baptized, 
 
 With all the church to see, 
 And strange as 'twas — the blessed sight 
 
 'Twas beautiful to me ! 
 For many a voice cried loud Amen, 
 
 When, o'er its streaming brow, 
 The pearly cross was charactered, 
 
 To seal its Christian vow. 
 
 XI. 
 
 I learned that Dreamland children all, 
 
 As bowing sponsors swear, 
 To bishop's hands are duly brought, 
 
 To Eucharist and prayer : 
 And Dreamland maids wear snow-white veils 
 
 At confirmation-hour : 
 For such — an old Apostle wrote, 
 
 Should clothe their heads, with power. 
 
 xn. 
 
 The Dreamland folk they wed in church ; 
 
 They deem the Lord is there, 
 And, as of old in Galilee, 
 
 May bless a bridal pair : 
 
44 DEEA^CLAXD. 
 
 And strange enough, the simple ones, 
 
 They see, in wedded love, 
 Sweet emblems of their Mother Church, 
 
 And Cheist her Loed above. 
 
 xin. 
 
 I saw a Dreamland funeral 
 
 Come up the shadowed way : 
 The Dreamland priest was surplice-clad 
 
 To meet the sad array ; * 
 And when his little flock drew nigh 
 
 To give the dust their dead, 
 His voice went soothingly before, 
 
 As if a shepherd led. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 In earth they laid the Dreamlaud man $ 
 
 And then a chaunt was given, 
 So sweet, that I could well believe, 
 
 I heard a voice from heaven : 
 And singing children o'er the grave 
 
 Like cherub chaunters stood, 
 Pouring their angel lullabies, 
 
 To make its slumber good. 
 
DREAMLAND. 45 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Dreamland folk count seasons four, 
 
 All woven into one ! 
 "lis Advent, Lent, or Easter tide, 
 
 Or Trinity begun : 
 The first is green as emerolde, 
 
 The next of cypress hue, 
 The third is glorious all as goM 
 
 The fourth is sapphire-blue. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Dreamland folk are simple ones ; 
 
 Who knows but these are they, 
 Described in ancient chronicle, 
 
 As Children of the Day ! 
 They seemed no denizens of earth, 
 
 But more — a pilgrim band, 
 With no abiding city here, 
 
 Who seek a better land. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 So ends my lay, good Christians ; 
 
 And ye that gave me ear, 
 Confess that 'twas of Holy-Land, 
 
 I beckoned ve to hear : 
 
46 DKEAMLAXD. 
 
 Christ bring us all, who bear His cross 
 
 Unto His own countree ! 
 And so no more, good Christians, 
 
 Of Dreamland, or of me. 
 
€ arnL 
 
 My Beloved is gone down into His garden, to the beds of spices, to feed 
 in the gardens, and to gather lilies. — Canticles. 
 
 KNOW— I know 
 
 Where the green leaves grow, 
 
 When the woods without are bare 
 Where a sweet perfume 
 Of the woodland's bloom, 
 Is afloat on the winter air ! 
 When tempest strong 
 Hath howled along, 
 
 With his war-whoop wild and loud, 
 
48 CAROL. 
 
 Till the broad ribs broke 
 Of the forest oak, 
 
 And his crown of glory bowed ; 
 I know — I know 
 Where the green leaves grow, 
 
 Though the groves without are bare. 
 Where the branches nod, 
 Of the trees of God, 
 
 And wild vines nourish fair. 
 
 For a fragrant crown 
 When the Lord conies down, 
 
 Of the deathless green we braid, 
 O'er the altar bright, 
 Where the tissue white 
 
 Like winter snow is laid, 
 And we think 'tis meet 
 The Lord to greet 
 
 As wise men did of old, 
 With the spiceries 
 Of incense-trees, 
 
 And hearts like the hoarded gold. 
 And so we shake 
 The snowv flake 
 
CAEOL. 4:9 
 
 From cedar and myrtle fair ; 
 And the boughs that nod 
 On the hills of God, 
 
 We raise to His glory there. 
 
 m. 
 
 I know — I know 
 Where blossoms blow 
 
 The earliest of the year ; 
 Where the passion-flower 
 With a mystic power, 
 
 Its thorny crown doth rear ; 
 Where crocus breathes, 
 And fragrant wreaths 
 
 Like a censer fill the gale ; 
 Where cowslips burst 
 To beauty first, 
 
 And the lily of the vale : 
 And snow-drops white ; 
 And pansies bright 
 
 As Joseph's coloured vest ; 
 And laurel-tod 
 From the woods of God, 
 
 Where the wild-bird builds her nest. 
 1 
 
50 CAEOL. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For, oh ! we fling 
 Each fragrant thing 
 
 In the path of the newly-wed ; 
 And, when we weep, 
 Put flowers to sleep, 
 
 On the breast of the early dead. 
 And the altar's lawn, 
 At morning's dawn, 
 
 We deck at Easter-tide, 
 And the font's fair brim ; 
 To tell of Him 
 
 Who liveth though He died ! 
 Of flowers he spake ; 
 And for His sake 
 
 Whose text was the lilies' bloom, 
 We search abroad 
 For the flowers of God, 
 
 To give Him their sweet perfume. 
 
 I know — I know 
 Where the waters flow 
 
 In a marble font and nook. 
 
CAROL. 51 
 
 When the frosty sprite 
 In his strange delight 
 
 Hath fettered the brawling brook 
 When the dancing stream 
 With its broken gleam, 
 
 Is locked in its rocky bed ; 
 And the sing-song fret 
 Of the rivulet 
 
 Is hush as the melted lead ; 
 Oh then I know 
 Where the waters now 
 
 As fresh as the spring-time flood, 
 When the spongy sod 
 Of the fields of God 
 
 And the hedges are all in bud. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For the flowing Font 
 Bids Frost avaunt, 
 
 And the Winter's troop so wild ; 
 And still 'twill gush 
 In a free full flush, 
 
 At the cry of a little child. 
 Oh rare the gleam 
 Of the blessed stream 
 
CAROL. 
 
 In the noon of a winter day, 
 When the ruby stain 
 Of the coloured pane, 
 
 Falls in, with holy ray ! 
 For then I think 
 Of the brimming brink, 
 
 And the urns, at the voice divine, 
 Like Moses' rod 
 And the rocks of God, 
 
 That flushed into ruddy wine. 
 
 vn. 
 
 I know — I know 
 No place below, 
 
 Like the home I fear and love ; 
 Like the stilly spot 
 Where the world is not, 
 
 But the nest of the Holy Dove. 
 For there broods He 
 'Mid every tree 
 
 That grows at the Christmas-tide, 
 And there, all year, 
 O'er the font so clear, 
 
 His hovering wings abide ! 
 And so, I know 
 ~No place below 
 
CAUOL. 53 
 
 So meet for the bard's true lay, 
 As the alleys broad 
 Of the Church of God, 
 
 Where Xature is green for aye. 
 
?iV\,^^€ 
 
 y^o 
 
 ITammi 
 
 FOR THE LENTEN SEASON. 
 
 And of some, have compassion. — St. Jude. 
 
 H weep for them who never knew 
 The mother of our love, 
 J And shed thy tears for orphan ones 
 Whom angels mourn above ; 
 The wandering sheep — the straying 
 lambs, 
 When wolves were on the wold, 
 That left our Shepherd's little flock, 
 And ventured from His fold. 
 
 n. 
 
 Nay, blame them not ! for them the Lord 
 Hath loved as well as you : 
 
LAMENT. 55 
 
 But oli, like Jesus pray for them 
 
 Who know not what they do : 
 Oh plead, as once the Saviour did, 
 
 That we may all be One, 
 That so the blinded world may know 
 
 The Father sent the Son. 
 
 m. 
 
 Oh let thy Lenten litanies 
 
 Be full of prayer for them ! 
 Oh go ye to the scattered sheep 
 
 Of Israel's parent stem ! 
 Oh keep thy fast for Christendom ! 
 
 For Christ's dear body mourn ; 
 And weave again the seamless robe, 
 
 That faithless friends have torn. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Ye love your dear home-festivals 
 
 With every month entwined ; 
 Oh weep for those whose sullen hearths 
 
 No Christmas garlands bind ! 
 Those Iceland regions of the Faith 
 
 No changing seasons cheer, 
 While our sweet paths drop fruitfulness, 
 
 Through all the joyous year. 
 
56 LAMEXT. 
 
 V. 
 
 What though some borealis-beains 
 
 On Arctic night may flare ! 
 Pray God the sunlight of His love 
 
 May rise serenely there. 
 For fitful flames, oh plead the Loed 
 
 To give His daily ray, 
 With manna dropped, at morn and eve, 
 
 Along their desert way. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh weep for those, on whom the Loed 
 
 While here below did weep, 
 Lest grievous wolves should enter in, 
 
 Not sparing of His sheep ; 
 And eat thy bitter herbs awhile, 
 
 That when our Feast is spread, 
 These too — that gather up the crumbs, 
 
 May eat the children's bread. 
 
(Kmfor-|)rag*r8, 
 
 ET out thy soul, and pray ! 
 Not for thy home alone ; 
 J Away in prayer, away ! 
 
 Make all the world thine own. 
 Let out thy soul in prayer ; 
 Oh, let thy spirit grow ! 
 God gives thee sun and air, 
 Let the full blossom blow ! 
 
 n. 
 There ! dost thou not perceive 
 
 Thy spirit swell within, 
 And something high receive, 
 
 That is not born of sin ? 
 8 
 
58 
 
 EMBEE-PEAYEE3 
 
 Oh, paltry is the soul 
 That only self can heed ! 
 
 Sail outward — from the shoal, 
 And bourgeon, from the seed ! 
 
 m. 
 
 Rust and the moth consume 
 
 The spangled folds of pride ; 
 Dry-rot doth eat the bloom, 
 
 And gnaw the wealth we hide 
 The spirit's selfish care 
 
 Doth die away the same ; 
 But give it air — free air, 
 
 And how the soul can flame ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yestreen I did not know 
 
 How largely I could live ; 
 But Faith hath made me grow 
 
 To more than Earth can give. 
 Joy ! for a heart released 
 
 From littleness and pride ; 
 Fast is the spirit's feast, 
 
 And Lent the soul's high tide. 
 
EMBER-PRAYERS. 59 
 
 When for the Church I prayed, 
 
 As this dear Lent began, 
 My thoughts, I'm sore afraid, 
 
 Within small limits ran. 
 By Ember-week I learned 
 
 How large that prayer might be, 
 And then, in soul, I burned 
 
 That all might pray with me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Plead for the victims all 
 
 Of heresy and sect ; 
 And bow thy knees like Paul, 
 
 For all the Lord's Elect ! 
 Pray for the Church — I mean, 
 
 For Shem and Japhet pray : 
 And Churches, long unseen, 
 
 In isles, and far away ! 
 
 vu. 
 
 Oh pray that all who err 
 May thus be gathered in, 
 
 The Moslem worshipper, 
 And all the sects of sin ! 
 
60 EHBEE-PEAYEES. 
 
 For all who love in heart 
 
 But have not found the way, 
 Pray — and thy tears will start ! 
 'Twas so the Loed did pray. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Now — even for heartless Eome 
 
 Appealing to the Loed, 
 Be every Church our home, 
 
 And love the battle-word ! 
 The saints' communion — one, 
 
 One Lord — one Faith — one birth, 
 Oh, pray to God the Son, 
 
 For all His Church on Earth. 
 
(Englanb. 
 
 The glory of children are their fathers. — Proverbs. 
 
 n ^ \ AND of tlie rare old chronicle, 
 The legend and the lay. 
 
 Cj Where deeds of fancy's dream are truth 
 |||j Of all thine ancient day ; 
 ; SJ^^^Bj i Land where the holly-bough is green 
 ^IL Around the Druid's pile, 
 
 And greener yet the histories 
 That wreathe his rugged isle ; 
 
62 ENGLAND. 
 
 Land of old story — like thine oak 
 
 The aged, but the strong, 
 And wound with antique mistletoe 
 
 And ivy- wreaths of song ; 
 Old isle and glorious — I have heard 
 
 Thy fame across the sea, 
 And know my fathers' homes are thine ; 
 
 My fathers rest with thee ! 
 
 in. 
 
 I know they sleep in hallowed ground 
 
 Beneath the church's shade, 
 AY here ring old bells eternally, 
 
 For prayer incessant made. 
 Xor dull their ear to living prayers, 
 
 Xor vain the anthem's swell ; 
 Where Christian sounds are lulling him, 
 
 The Christian slumbers well. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And I could yet my dost lay down 
 Beneath old England's sward, 
 
 For, lulled by her, 'twere sweet to wait 
 The coming of the Lord : 
 
'. '■: 
 
 vasht x* me! 
 
 z'—i ' '.'.:• 
 
 r\:...^:;r 
 
 :: Sv — 
 
 -„:.:; zie. 
 From Cumberland to Kent, 
 TUth hilk and yaks ©f household name 
 
 1 woods of wild event : 
 For tales of Guy and Eobm Hood 
 
 11- ."_:!.". :•:•: r.r\: .v.". ". ::f. 
 Al .: _LlrTr-..^ -_■. r : ?: 77 : -.:-: I 
 Z-7 '.•.7_.«.'l : :L- "_;-?-r. 
 
64 ENGLAND. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And I have lived my student years 
 
 On Isis' wizard side, 
 In sooth, no candidate, I ween, 
 
 For Alma-Mater's pride ; 
 For fancy that could awe my soul 
 
 To surplice, hood, and gown, 
 Hath mingled me in college freaks, 
 
 And quarrels with the Town. 
 
 vin. 
 
 Dear happy homes ! where others slight 
 
 The boon my soul had prized, 
 The cells where sages have been bred, 
 
 And human lore baptized ! 
 Those walks of towering Magdalene 
 
 Those Christ Church meads so fair, 
 St. Mary's spire — chime answering chime, 
 
 And early bell for prayer ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh shame, ye yawning Baliol men 
 Who hate the prayer-bell's toll, 
 
 That I, a far-off stranger wight, 
 Should love it in my soul ; 
 
ENGLAND. 65 
 
 That oft the Mantuan's hackneyed verse 
 
 Revives at thought of you ; 
 Oh, happiest of the happy — ye, 
 
 If but your bliss ye knew ! 
 
 In day-dreams of the roving wish, 
 
 The Cherwell's banks I've trod ; 
 Have pulled an oar on Isis' tide, 
 
 Or strayed with gun and rod ; 
 Have taken rooms, burglarious thought ! 
 
 Called quiet Corpus mine ; 
 And won a prize ; ye double-firsts, 
 
 Forgive the bold design ! 
 
 XI 
 
 It ne'er can be — but, fancy-free, 
 
 To live in one's desire, 
 To catch from dreams what real life 
 
 In Oxford would inspire ; 
 This use of fancy have I made 
 
 Forbidden else to roam, 
 Till England is a home to me, 
 
 Besides my native home. 
 9 
 
66 ENGLAND. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Fair isle ! Thy Dove's wild dale along 
 
 With Walton have I roved, 
 And London too, with all the heart 
 
 Of burly Johnson, loved : 
 Chameleon-like, my soul has ta'en 
 
 It every hue from thine, 
 From Eastcheap's epidemic laugh 
 
 To Avon's gloom divine. 
 
 xni. 
 
 All thanks to pencil, and the page 
 
 Of graver's mimic art, 
 That England's panorama gave 
 
 To picture up my heart ; 
 That round my spirit's eye hath built 
 
 Thine old cathedral piles, 
 And flung the chequered window-light 
 
 Adown their trophied aisles. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 I know thine abbey, Westminster, 
 As sea-birds know their nest, 
 
 And flies my home-sick soul to thee, 
 "When it would find a rest ; 
 
EXGLAXD. 67 
 
 Where princes and old bishops sleep, 
 
 With sceptre and with crook, 
 And mighty spirits haunt around 
 
 Each Gothic shrine and nook. 
 
 xv. 
 
 I feel the sacramental hue 
 
 Of choir and chapel, there, 
 And pictured panes that chasten down 
 
 The day's unholy glare ; 
 And dear it is, on cold gray stone, 
 
 To see the sunbeams crawl, 
 In long-drawn lines of coloured light 
 
 That streak the bannered wall. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 I hear the priest's far-dying chaunt. 
 
 The organ's thunder-roll ; 
 I kneel me on the chilly floor, 
 
 And pray with all my soul ; 
 I feel that God Himself is there, 
 
 And saints are sleeping round ; 
 Oh, save the Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 'Tis Earth's most holy ground ! 
 
68 ENGLAND. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Thus, Albion, have I lived with thee, 
 
 Though born so far away ; 
 With thee I spend each holy eve, 
 
 And every festal day. 
 My Sunday morn is musical, 
 
 With England's steeple-tone ; 
 And when thy Christmas hearths are bright, 
 
 A blaze is on my own. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 What though upon thy dear green hills 
 
 My footsteps never trod ; 
 Thine empire is as far and wide 
 
 As all the world of God ! 
 And by the sea-side glorious 
 
 Have I been wont to stand, 
 For Ocean is old England's own, 
 
 Where'er it beats the land. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 I've seen thy beacon-banners blaze 
 
 Our mountain coast along, 
 And swelled my soul with memories 
 
 Of old romaunt and song : 
 
EXGLAXD. M) 
 
 Of Chevy-chase, of Agincourt, 
 Of many a field tliey told ; 
 
 Of Xorman and Plantagenet, 
 And all their fame of old ! 
 
 xx. 
 
 What though the red-cross blazonry 
 
 "Waved fast and far away ; 
 Not so the ilourished vaunt it flung 
 
 Of Coeur-de-Lion's day ; 
 Xot so the golden tales it told 
 
 Of crown and kingdom won, 
 And how my own forefathers fought 
 
 For Cheist, at Ascalon. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And well thy banner-folds may bear 
 
 In red — the Holy Rod, 
 Thy priests have princes been to men, 
 
 Thy princes, priests to God ! 
 And bold to win a crown in heaven 
 
 The Royal Martyr bled ; 
 The martyrs' noble host is full 
 
 Of England's noblest dead. 
 
TO ENGLAND. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Thy holy Church— the Church of God 
 
 That hath grown old in thee, 
 Since there the ocean-roving Dove 
 
 Came bleeding from the sea ; 
 TVlien pierced afar, her weary feet 
 
 Could find no home but thine, 
 Until thine altars were her nest, 
 
 Thy fanes her glory's shrine ; 
 
 xxm. 
 
 At least that holy Church is mine ! 
 
 And every hallowed day, 
 I bend where England's anthems swell, 
 
 And hear old England pray : 
 And England's old adoring rites, 
 
 And old liturgic words, 
 Are mine — but not for England's sake ; 
 
 I love them as the Lobd's ! 
 
 xxrv. 
 
 And I have sung. By Babel's stream 
 The Hebrew's harp was still, 
 
 For there, there was no God for him, 
 Xo shrine and holy hill : 
 
ENGLAND. 71 
 
 But here, by Hudson's glorious wave, 
 
 A song of thee I'll sound, 
 For England's sons and spires are here, 
 
 And England's God around. 
 
Cfranicics. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE STORY OF SOME RUINS. 
 
 HE abbeys and the arches, 
 The old cathedral piles, 
 Oh, weep to see the ivy 
 
 And the grass in all their aisles ; 
 The vaulted roof is fallen, 
 And the bat and owl repose 
 AYhere once the people knelt them, 
 And the high Te Deoi rose. 
 
CHBOXICLES To 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh, were they not our Father's ! 
 
 Was not his honour there ! 
 Or hath the Loed deserted 
 
 His holy House of Prayer ! 
 Time was, when they were sacred 
 
 As the place of Jacob's rest, 
 And their altars all as spotless 
 
 As the Yirgin Mother's breast. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Oh, wo ! the hour that brought him, 
 
 The Roman and his reign, 
 To shed o'er all our temples 
 
 The scarlet hue and stain : 
 Till the mitre and the crosier 
 
 Were dizen'd o'er with gems, 
 And sullied with the tinsel 
 
 Of the Caesars' diadems. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But still our Father loved us ; 
 
 And the Holy Place had still 
 Its beauty, and its glory, 
 
 On its old eternal hill. 
 10 
 
74 CHKONICLES. 
 
 His heritage they trampled, 
 Those men of iron rod ! 
 
 But still it towered in honour, 
 The temple of our God. 
 
II. 
 
 MARTYRS REFORM THE CHURCH. 
 
 E abbeys and ye arches, 
 Ye old cathedral piles, 
 - The martyrs' noble army 
 
 Are in your hallowed aisles. 
 'And the bishop and the baron 
 Have knelt together there, 
 And breathed a vow to heaven. 
 In agony of prayer. 
 
 And to chase away the tyrant 
 From England's happy home, 
 
 They have risen like their fathers, 
 'Gainst the cruel hordes of Rome ; 
 
70 CHRONICLES. 
 
 For oil they love the temples 
 TThere virgin Faith has trod, 
 
 Though all too long within them 
 Man showed himself as God. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Ye abbeys and ye arches. 
 
 Ye old cathedral piles. 
 Again a holy incen-e 
 
 Is in your vaulted aisle- ! 
 Again in noble English 
 
 The Christian anthems swell, 
 And out the organ pealeth, 
 
 Over stream and stilly dell. 
 
 rv. 
 
 And the bishop, and the deacon, 
 
 And the presbyter are there. 
 In pure and stainless raiment, 
 
 At Eucharist and prayer : 
 And the bells swing free and merry. 
 
 And a nation shouteth round, 
 For the Loud Himself hath triumphed, 
 
 And His voice is in the sound. 
 
CHRONICLES. 
 
 i i 
 
 III. 
 
 BUT REGICIDES MAKE DISSENT. 
 
 E abbeys and ye arches, 
 Ye old cathedrals blest, 
 i { ^ Be strong against the earthquake, 
 And the days of yonr unrest ; 
 For not the haughty Roman 
 Could make old England bow, 
 But the children of her bosom 
 Are the foes that trouble now. 
 
 n. 
 
 A gleam is in the abbey, 
 And a sound ariseth there ; 
 
 'Tis not the light of worship, 
 'Tis not the voice of prayer : 
 
78 CHRONICLES. 
 
 Their hands are red with murder, 
 And a prince's fall they sing ! 
 
 They would slay the Lord of glory 
 Should He come again as King. 
 
 m. 
 
 And a lawless soldier tramples 
 
 Where the holy loved to kneel, 
 And he spurns a bishop's ashes 
 
 With his ruffian hoof of steel : 
 Ay, horses have they stabled 
 
 "Where the blessed martyrs knelt, 
 That neigh — where rose the anthem, 
 
 And the psalm that made us melt. 
 
 rv. 
 
 There, once a glorious window 
 
 Shed down a flood of rays, 
 With rainbow hues and holy, 
 
 And colours all ablaze : 
 Its pictured panes are broken, 
 
 Our fathers' tombs profaned, 
 And the font where we were christened, 
 
 With the blood of brothers stained. 
 
CHRONICLES. 
 
 79 
 
 IV. 
 
 AND FULFIL THE SEVENTY-FOURTH P SAL 21. 
 
 X 
 
 E abbeys and ye arches, 
 Ye old cathedrals dear, 
 ^ The hearts that love you trem- 
 ble, 
 And your enemies have cheer ; 
 But the prayers ye heard are breathing, 
 
 And your litanies they sing ; 
 There are holy men in England 
 That are praying for their king. 
 
 n. 
 
 The noble in the cottage, 
 "While the hind is in hi& hall, 
 
80 CHKOXICLES. 
 
 Still kneels, as if lie heard thera, 
 
 When jour chimes were wont to call : 
 
 And at morning, and at evening, 
 There are high-born hearts and trne, 
 
 In the lowliest huts of England, 
 That will bless the king, and yon. 
 
 m. 
 
 And bishops, in their prison, 
 
 Will still the Lessons read, 
 How the good are often troubled, 
 
 While the vilest men succeed : 
 How God's own heart may honour 
 
 Whom the people oft disown, 
 And how the royal David 
 
 Was driven from his throne. 
 
 rv. 
 
 And their Psalter mourneth with them, 
 
 O'er the carvings and the grace, 
 Which axe and hammer ruin, 
 
 In the fair and holy place ; 
 O'er the havoc they are making 
 
 In all the land abroad, 
 And the banners of the cruel 
 
 In the dwelling-house of God. 
 
CHRONICLES. 
 
 31 
 
 
 BUT GOD IS WITH US TO THE END. 
 
 E abbeys and ye arches, 
 How few and far between, 
 3 The remnants of your glory 
 ^^ In all their pride are seen ! 
 A thousand fanes are fallen, 
 And the bat and owl repose 
 Where once the people knelt them, 
 And the high Te Deum rose. 
 ]l 
 
82 CHRONICLES. 
 
 II. 
 
 But their dust and stones are precious 
 
 In the eyes of pious men, 
 And the baron hath his manor, 
 
 And the king his own again ! 
 And again the bells are ringing 
 
 With a free and happy sound, 
 And again Te Deum riseth 
 
 In all the churches round. 
 
 m. 
 
 Now pray we for our mother, 
 
 That England long may be 
 The holy, and the happy, 
 
 And the gloriously free ! 
 Who blesseth her, is blessed ! 
 
 So peace be in her walls ; 
 And joy in all her palaces, 
 
 Her cottages and halls ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 All ye who pray in English, 
 Pray God for England, pray ! 
 
 And chiefly, thou, my country, 
 In thy young glory's day ! 
 
CHRONICLES. 83 
 
 Pray God those times return not, 
 'Tis England's hour of need ! 
 
 Pray for thy mother — daughter, 
 Plead God for England — plead. 
 
Cfo Cljrmes 0f (Bnjjlantr. 
 
 CHIMES, the chimes 
 of Motherland, 
 Of England green 
 and old, 
 That out from fane 
 and ivied tower 
 A thousand years 
 have tolled ; 
 How glorious must 
 their music be 
 As breaks the hal- 
 lowed day, 
 
THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND. 86 
 
 And calleth with a seraph's voice 
 A nation up to pray ! 
 
 n. 
 
 Those chimes that tell a thousand tales, 
 
 Sweet tales of olden time ; 
 And ring a thousand memories 
 
 At vesper, and at prime ! 
 At bridal and at burial, 
 
 For cottager and king, 
 Those chimes — those glorious Christian chimes, 
 
 How blessedly they ring ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Those chimes, those chimes of Motherland, 
 
 Upon a Christmas morn, 
 Outbreaking as the angels did, 
 
 For a Redeemer born : 
 How merrily they call afar, 
 
 To cot and baron's hall, 
 TVith holly decked and mistletoe, 
 
 To keep the festival ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 The chimes of England, how they peal 
 From tower and gothic pile, 
 
86 THE CHEVIES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Where hymn and swelling anthem fill 
 
 The dim cathedral aisle ; 
 Where windows bathe the holy light 
 
 On priestly heads that falls, 
 And stain the florid tracery 
 
 Of banner-dighted walls ! 
 
 v. 
 And then, those Easter bells in Spring, 
 
 Those glorious Easter chimes ! 
 How loyally they hail thee round, 
 
 Old Queen of holy times ! 
 From hill to hill, like sentinels, 
 
 Responsively they cry, 
 And sing the rising of the Lord, 
 
 From vale to mountain high. 
 
 IX 
 
 I love ye — chimes of Motherland, 
 
 With all this soul of mine, 
 And bless the Lord that I am sprung 
 
 Of good old English line : 
 And like a son I sing the lay 
 
 That England's glory tells ; 
 For she is lovely to the Lord, 
 
 For you, ye Christian bells ! 
 
THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND. 87 
 
 YH. 
 
 And heir of all her olden fame, 
 
 Though far away my birth, 
 Thee too I love, my Forest-land, 
 
 The joy of all the earth ; 
 For thine thy mother's voice shall be, 
 
 And here — where God is KiDg, 
 With English chimes, from Christian spires, 
 
 The wilderness shall ring. 
 
Sratlattir. 
 
 THE ORANGE SACRILEGE. 
 
 Though all the nations that are under the king's dominion obey him 
 
 and fall away, every one from the religion of their fathers, God 
 
 forbid that we should forsake the law, and the ordinances ! We will not 
 hearken to the king's words to go from our religion, either on the right 
 hand or the left. — Maccabees. 
 
 WAS a true-hearted Scotsman 
 Had risen from his knees, 
 
 All in a glorious chapel 
 Reared by the old Culdees. 
 
 That day the axe of Orange 
 
 On Scotland's altars rung, 
 And down fair cross and crosier 
 Upon the Earth were flung. 
 
 n. 
 
 And as he rose from praying 
 The raving mob broke in ; 
 
SCOTLAND. 50 
 
 And as he passed the portal, 
 
 He heard the spoiler's din. 
 He beat his breast — and tear-drops 
 
 They stood in either eye : 
 He left that church forever, ' 
 
 But thus did prophesy. 
 
 in." 
 
 Ah me — St. Andrew's crosier ! 
 
 'Tis broken and laid low : 
 God help thee, Church of Scotland, 
 
 It seemeth thy death blow ! 
 They've robbed thee of thine altars, 
 
 They've ta'en thine ancient name ; 
 But thou'rt the Church of Scotland 
 
 Till Scotland melts in flame. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Ay — hear it, heartless William, 
 
 Thou shalt have ne'er a son ! 
 Thy tree — it shall be blighted, 
 
 For this that thou hast done : 
 Thine orange-bough, in Britain, 
 
 Shall leave nor branch nor shoot, 
 For God uproots the sovereign 
 
 That would His Church uproot. 
 12 
 
90 SCOTLAND. 
 
 A j — grasp old Scotia's thistle, 
 
 Thy daring hand must bleed : 
 But touch the cross of Andrew, 
 
 Thy soul shall rue the deed ! 
 Unroof the Church of Scotland, 
 
 She lives in dens and caves ; 
 She cries to God, and tyrants 
 
 Are ashes, in their graves. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And thou, old Church, like princes 
 
 When clowns usurp their state, 
 Shalt be contest, in exile, 
 
 The ancient and the great ! 
 JSTot she that thus usurpeth 
 
 Can boast one grace of thine ; 
 That grace — it cometh only 
 
 Of Apostolic line. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then leave to grim Genevans 
 Cathedral choir and aisle, 
 
 Let psalms of Covenanters 
 Be quavered there awhile ! 
 
SCOTLAND. 91 
 
 The very stones shall flout them, 
 In beauty built, and might, 
 
 For apostolic service, 
 And high liturgic rite. 
 
 vm. 
 
 And thou, true Church of Scotland, 
 
 Cast down, shalt not despair ; 
 When dowered wives are barren, 
 
 The desolate shall bear ; 
 Thy sons — they shall be princes, 
 
 To take their fathers' stead, 
 And shame the Church whose portion 
 
 Is proud, and full of bread. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "When o'er the western waters 
 
 They seek for crook and key, 
 The Loed shall make like Hannah's 
 
 Thy poor and low degree ! 
 Thou o'er new worlds the sceptre 
 
 Of Shiloh shalt extend, 
 And see a line of children 
 
 From thy sad breast descend. 
 
92 SCOTLAND. 
 
 And when, at length, old Scotland, 
 
 Her chiefs and her true men, 
 Her Highlands and her Lowlands 
 
 Shall find their hearts agen : 
 When martyr'd Sharpe upriseth 
 
 In spirit 'gainst his foes, 
 And souls are bred in Scotland 
 
 To match the great Montrose ; 
 
 XI. 
 
 In Edin's high cathedral, 
 
 !No more the fish- wife's voice ; 
 In Glasgow's crypts and cloisters, 
 
 No more the rabble's choice ; 
 Oh then St. Andrew's crosier 
 
 Once more shall be upheld, 
 And the Culdee mitre glisten 
 
 In Brechin and Dunkeld. 
 
 xn. 
 
 See after See uprearing 
 
 Once more the shattered cross ; 
 Once more a bishop treading 
 
 The heathery braes of Ross ; 
 
SCOTLAND. 93 
 
 Fair Elgin's choir enfolding 
 The Moray shepherd's rest, 
 
 And Holyrood — from rains 
 Uprising, bright and blest ; 
 
 xin. 
 
 From Berwick to the Orkneys, 
 
 How each old kirk shall gleam 
 In beanty and in brightness, 
 
 With thy returning beam ! 
 One heart in Gael and Saxon, 
 
 In cotter and in thane ; 
 One creed — one Church in Scotland, 
 
 From Caithness to Dumblane ! 
 
 XP7. 
 
 Then faint not, Chnrch of Scotland ! 
 
 Thy beauty and thy worth 
 Shall make a new uprising, 
 
 In fair and sightly Perth ; 
 "When shines in wild Glenalmond 
 
 The dew of thy new day, 
 Again thy noon of glory 
 
 Shall glitter o'er the Tay. 
 
94 SCOTLAND. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Bide thou thy time in patience ! 
 
 The sons of thy bold foes 
 Shall build thine old waste places, 
 
 Dunfermline and Melrose. 
 Where now the sons of havoc 
 
 Upon thine altars tread, 
 Thine own Liturgic Service 
 
 Shall bless the Cup and Bread. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Save only from the spoiler 
 
 That pure and ancient rite ! 
 In Scotland's pure Oblation 
 
 All churches must unite : 
 And — as the Ark of Scotland, 
 
 Keep thou thy rightful name, 
 For thou'rt the Church of Scotland 
 
 Till Scotland melts in name ! 
 
IN TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD. 
 
 HE rod that from Jerusalem 
 Went forth so strong of yore ; 
 
 That rod of David's royal stem, 
 Whose hand the farthest bore I 
 
 St. Paul to seek the setting suu, 
 They say, to Britain prest : 
 
 St. Andrew to old Caledon : 
 
 But who still further West ? 
 
 ii. 
 
 Go ask ! — a thousand tongues shall tell 
 His name and dear renown. 
 
96 
 
 Where altar, font, and holy bell, 
 
 Are gifts he handed down : 
 A thousand hearts keep warm the name, 
 
 Which share those gifts so blest ; 
 Yet even this may tell the same, 
 
 First mitre of the West ! 
 
 ni. 
 
 This mitre with its crown of thorn, 
 
 Its cross upon the front ; 
 Not for a proud adorning worn, 
 
 But for the battle's brunt : 
 This helmet — with Salvation's sign, 
 
 Of one whose shield was faith ; 
 This crown — of him, for right divine 
 
 Who battled unto death ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 Oh ! keep it — till the moth shall wear 
 
 Its comeliness to dust, 
 Type of a crown that's laid up where 
 
 There is nor moth nor rust ; 
 Type of the Lord's commission given 
 
 To this, our Western shore ; 
 The rod of Christ — the keys of heaven, 
 
 Through one, to thousands more. 
 
seabury's mitre. 97 
 
 They tell how Scotia keeps with awe 
 
 Her old Regalia bright, 
 Sign of her independent law, 
 
 And prond imperial right ; 
 But keep this too for Scotland's boast ; 
 
 'Twill tell of better things, 
 When long old Scotia shall have lost 
 
 Those gewgaws of her kings. 
 
 TI. 
 
 And keep it for this mighty "West 
 
 Till truth shall glorious be, 
 And good old Samuel's is confest 
 
 Columbia's primal see. 
 'Tis better than a diadem, 
 
 The crown that bishop wore, 
 Whose hand the rod of David's stem 
 
 The furthest Westward bore. 
 
 13 
 
Rustic Chunks. 
 
 ST. GABRIEL'S, WINDSOR, CONNECTICUT. 
 
 ES — 'tis the village-joiner's work, 
 
 With but his axe and saw : 
 l\o Wykeham was the humble clerk 
 
 That such a plan could draw ! 
 'Tis what a rural parish could, 
 With what its farms supplied ; 
 Not what in mind and heart they would, 
 Had they the gold beside. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Yet hath it merit — in the eye 
 That can, by fancy's aid, 
 
 What time can only give, supply, 
 Of shrubbery and shade. 
 
RUSTIC CHURCHES. 99 
 
 Add but of ancient elms a score, 
 
 Those nndissenting trees, 
 And he that passeth by shall pore, 
 Well-pleased, on what he sees. 
 
 m. 
 
 Its merit, first, is — what 'tis not ; 
 
 That hippogriff of art, 
 By crude Genevan rites begot, 
 
 Half temple, and half mart : 
 Nor yet that type of changing shifts, 
 
 A hall low-roofed and tinn'd 
 On which a wooden Babel lifts 
 
 Its weather-cock to wind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nor does it bring those shaggy curs 
 
 Instinctively to mind, 
 With forward parts adorned in furs, 
 
 But shaven close behind ; 
 Like many a pine-wood parody 
 
 Of Parthenon or Pnyx, 
 Which oft, as frontispiece, we see, 
 
 To chapel built of bricks. 
 
100 RUSTIC CHURCHES. 
 
 V. 
 
 Again — as country parsons speak, 
 
 Some merit it may claim 
 In that it dares to look antique, 
 
 In colour and in frame. 
 And then, no passer-by can doubt 
 
 Its spiritual kin, 
 For oh, it tells the truth, without, 
 
 Of what it is, within ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 All that the Church requires it hath, 
 
 Chancel, and porch, and nave, 
 A sacristy, and holy bath 
 
 The sinner's soul to lave : 
 And in the baptist'ry, a well ; 
 
 O'er-head, an open roof; 
 A gable-cot to hold the bell ; 
 
 The cross — a church's proof ! 
 
 vn. 
 
 So once — where now St. Joseph's thorn 
 Blooms by an abbey's towers, 
 
 Stood the poor Briton's church, forlorn, 
 And ruder far than ours ! 
 
RUSTIC CHURCHES. 101 
 
 Nor here the faithful eye shall fail 
 
 The brightening view to catch, 
 That opened from that structure frail 
 
 Of wicker-work and thatch. 
 
 YIII. 
 
 For dear is even the first rude art 
 
 "Which holy Faith inspires ! 
 The whole is augured from the part, 
 
 Achievements — from desires. 
 At least such churches symbolize 
 
 The place where Christ was born ; 
 And mangers may to minsters rise, 
 
 As noontide from the morn. 
 
«^.~i 
 
 Cljurrjrprbs, 
 
 ST. GEORGE'S, HEMPSTEAD. 
 
 XEYEE can see a churchyard old, 
 
 With its mossy stones and mound-. 
 And green-trees weeping the nnforgot 
 
 That rest in its hallowed hounds ; 
 I never can see the old churchyard. 
 But I breathe to God a prayer, 
 That, sleep as I may in this fevered life, 
 I may rest when I slumber there. 
 
 Our mother, the Earth, hath a cradle-bed 
 
 Where she gathereth sire and son, 
 And the old-world's fathers are pillowed there, 
 
 Her children, every one. 
 
CHURCH YARDS. 103 
 
 And her cradle it liatli a dismal name. 
 
 When riseth the banquet's din, 
 And pale is the cheek at dance or wine, 
 If a song of its sleep break in. 
 
 ni. 
 
 But our mother the Church hath a gentle nest, 
 
 Where the Lord's dear children lie, 
 And its name is sweet to a Christian ear, 
 
 As a motherly lullaby. 
 Oh the green churchyard, the green churchyard 
 
 Is the couch she spreads for all ; 
 And she layeth the cottager's baby there, 
 
 With the lord of the tap'stry hall. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Our mother the Church hath never a child 
 
 To honour before the rest, 
 But she singeth the same for mighty kings 
 
 And the veriest babe on her breast ; 
 And the bishop goes down to his narrow bed 
 
 As the ploughman's child is laid, 
 And alike she blesseth the dark-browed serf 
 
 And the chief in his robe arrayed. 
 
104 CHURCHYARDS. 
 
 She sprinkles the drops of the bright new-birth 
 
 The same on the low and high, 
 And christens their bodies with dust to dust, 
 
 ^Ylien earth with its earth must lie ; 
 Oh the poor man's friend is the Church of Christ 
 
 From birth to his funeral day ; 
 She makes him the Lord's, in her surpliced arms, 
 
 And singeth his burial lay. 
 
 YI. 
 
 And ever the bells in the green churchyard 
 
 Are tolling, to tell ye this ; 
 Go pray in the church, while pray ye can, 
 
 That so ye may sleep in bliss. 
 And wise is he in the glow of life, 
 
 vTho weaveth his shroud of rest, 
 And graveth it plain on his coffin-plate, 
 
 That the dead in Christ are blest. 
 
 rn. 
 
 I never can see a green churchyard 
 
 But I think I may slumber there, 
 And I wonder within me what strange disease 
 
 Shall bring me to homes so fair ; 
 
CHUECHYABDS. 105 
 
 And whether in breast, in brain, or blood, 
 
 There lnrketh a secret sore, 
 Or whether this heart, so warm and full, 
 
 Hath a worm at its inmost core. 
 
 Tin. 
 
 For I know, ere long, some limb of mine 
 
 To the rest may traitor prove, 
 And steal, froru the strong young frame I wear, 
 
 The generous flush I love : 
 I know I may bnrn into ashes soon, * 
 
 TTith this feverish flame of life ; 
 Or the flickering lamp may soon blaze out, 
 
 "With its dying self at strife. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And here — I think — when they lay me down 
 
 How strange will my slumber be, 
 The cold cold clay for my dreamless head, 
 
 And the turf for my canopy ; 
 How stilly will creep the long long years 
 
 O'er my quiet sleep away, 
 And oh what a waking that sleep shall know, 
 
 At the peal of the Judgment-day ! 
 14 
 
106 CHURCHYARDS. 
 
 Up — up from the graves and the clods around 
 
 The quickened bones will stare ; 
 I know that within this green churchyard 
 
 A host shall be born to air ; 
 A thousand shall struggle to earth ao;en, 
 
 From under the sods I tread : 
 Oh, strange — thrice strange, shall the story be 
 
 Of the field where they lay the dead ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Oh bury me, then, in the green churchyard, 
 
 As my old forefathers rest, 
 Nor lay me in cold Necropolis, 
 
 'Mid many a grave unblest ; 
 I would sleep where the church-bells aye ring out ; 
 
 I would rise by the house of prayer, 
 And feel me a moment at home, on earth, 
 
 For the Christian's home is there. 
 
 xn. 
 
 I never loved cities of living men, 
 And towns of the dead I hate ; 
 Oh let me rest in the churchyard then, 
 And hard by the church's gate ; 
 
CHURCHYARDS. 10' 
 
 'Tis there 1 pray to my Saviour Christ 
 
 • And I will, till mine eye is dim, 
 That, sleep as I may in this fevered life, 
 I may rest, at last, in Him. 
 
EASTER EYEX, 18 40, 
 
 Thy serrants think upon her stones, and it pitieth them to see her in 
 the dust. — Psaltsr. 
 
 Cms 
 
 7 HE Paschal moon is ripe to-night 
 On fair Manhada's bay. 
 And soft it falls on Hoboken, 
 As where the Saviour lav : 
 And beams, beneath whose paly shine 
 Xile's troubling angel flew, 
 Show many a blood-besprinkled door 
 Of our Passover too. 
 
 But here where, many a holy year, 
 It shone on arch and aisle, 
 
TEDOTY, OLD CHURCH. 109 
 
 What means its cold and silver ray 
 
 On dust, and mined pile ? 
 Oil where's the consecrated porch, 
 
 The sacred lintel where, 
 And where's that antique steeple's height, 
 
 To bless the moonlight air ? 
 
 m. 
 
 I seem to miss a mothers face 
 
 In this her wonted home ; 
 And linger in the green churchyard 
 
 As round that mother's tomb. 
 Old Trinity ! thou too art gone ! 
 
 And in thine own blest bound, 
 They've laid thee low, dear mother church, 
 
 To rest in holy ground ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The vaulted roof that trembled oft 
 
 Above the chaunted psalm ; 
 The quaint old altar where we owned 
 
 Our very Paschal Lamb ; 
 The chimes that ever in the tower 
 
 Like seraph-music sung, 
 And held me spell-bound in the way, 
 
 "When I was very young ; 
 
110 TRINITY, OLD CHURCH. 
 
 The marble monuments within 
 
 The 'scutcheons, old and rich ; 
 And one bold bishop's effigy 
 
 Above the chancel-niche ; 
 The mitre and the legend there 
 
 Beneath the coloured pane ; 
 All these — thou knewest, Paschal moon, 
 
 But ne'er shalt know again ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 And thou wast shining on this spot 
 
 That hour the Saviour rose ! 
 But oh, its look, that Easter morn, 
 
 The Saviour only knows. 
 A thousand years — and 'twas the same, 
 
 And half a thousand more ; 
 Old moon, what mystic chronicles 
 
 Thou keepest, of this shore ! 
 
 vn. 
 
 And so till good queen Anna reign'd, 
 
 It was a heathen sward : 
 But then they made its virgin turf 
 
 An altar to the Lord. 
 
111 
 
 With hoi j roof they covered it ; 
 
 And when apostles came, 
 They claimed, for Christ, its battlements, 
 
 And took it, in God's Name. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Then, Paschal moon, this sacred spot 
 
 No more thy magic felt, 
 Till flames brought down the holy place 
 
 Where our forefathers knelt. 
 Again, 'tis down — the grave old pile : 
 
 That mother church sublime ! 
 Look on its roofless floor, old moon, 
 
 For 'tis thy last — last time ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ay, look with smiles, for never there 
 
 Shines Paschal moon agen, 
 Till breaks the Earth's great Easter day 
 
 O'er all the graves of men ! 
 So wane away, old Paschal moon, 
 
 And come next year as bright ; 
 Eternal rock shall welcome thee, 
 
 Our faith's devoutest light ! 
 
112 TRINITY, OLD CHURCH. 
 
 The j rear old Trinity once more : 
 
 And, if ye weep to see, 
 The glory of this latter house, 
 
 Thrice glorious shall be ! 
 Oh lay its deep foundations strong, 
 
 And, yet a little while, 
 Our Paschal Lamb Himself shall come 
 
 To light its hallowed aisle. 
 
^rwitg, fMxr Cljuxxlj, 
 
 ASCENSION DAY, 1846. 
 
 I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy foundations with 
 sapphires. And I will make thy windows of agates and thy gates of car- 
 buncles, and all thy borders of pleasant stones. And all thy children shall 
 be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children. — 
 Isaiah. 
 
 IS raised in beauty from the dust, 
 
 And 'tis a goodly pile ! 
 So takes our infant Church, I trust, 
 
 Her own true stamp and style. 
 As birds put forth their own attire, 
 As shells o'er sea-nymphs grow, 
 'Tis ours — nave, chancel, aisle, and spire, 
 And not a borrowed show. 
 15 
 
114 TEDOTY, NEW CHUECH. 
 
 n. 
 
 Not this,, a church, without — to hide 
 
 Conventicle within ; 
 Here is no masquerade outside 
 
 Of but the lion's skin ! 
 Xot this a lie engraved in rocks ! 
 
 'Tis — what it shews abroad, 
 A mountain piled in shapely blocks, 
 
 And made the House of God. 
 
 m. 
 
 'Tis native comeliness ! As earth 
 
 Puts forth her golden sheaves, 
 As flowers mature their brilliant birth 
 
 And trees put on their leaves ; 
 As human flesh grows sound and fair 
 
 Around the human bone, 
 So doth the Church this glory wear, 
 
 And clothe herself in stone. 
 
 rv. 
 
 How like herself our mother seems 
 In this — her ancient dress ! 
 
 T Tis as a robe the gazer deems 
 Well worn bv loveliness. 
 
TRINITY, NEW CHURCH. 115 
 
 The clothing that befits a queen, 
 
 With ease and grace she wears : 
 Her home attire, for daily scene, 
 
 And daily work of prayers ! 
 
 v. 
 
 Not this a Gothic gazing stock, 
 Where nought is meant or to 
 Translated into solid rock, 
 
 The prayer-book's self behold ! 
 Sermons in stones ! Yes — more beside. 
 
 A language, and a voice ! 
 Much uttered — but far more implied 
 
 That makes the heart rejoice. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Without — each little carving speaks 
 
 Of Christ, the Crucified, 
 To Jews a stumbling-block, to Greeks 
 
 'Tis foolishness beside : 
 But oh, to all the faithful — see, 
 
 From porch to topmost tower, 
 It telleth of the Trinity, 
 
 And preacheth Christ with power ! 
 
116 TRINITY, NEW CHURCH. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Within — behold the promised grace, 
 
 Fair stones, and colours too, 
 To beautify the holy place, 
 
 And shed a feeling through ! 
 Windows of agates — pictured sights 
 
 With floral borders bound, 
 Yes — pleasant stones, and sapphire lights 
 
 That throw a glory round. 
 
 VHT. 
 
 Oh God, how beautiful and vast 
 
 Men's minds and fancies grow, 
 When, in Thy mould of doctrine cast, 
 
 Their warm ideas flow : 
 When 'tis Thy Church inspires the thought, 
 
 And forms the bold design, 
 Till, from a sullen rock, is wrought 
 
 A symbol so divine ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 But note the better part, as well : 
 
 The Church's children all, 
 Called daily, by the holy bell, 
 
 To prayer and festival. 
 
TRINITY, NEW CHURCH. 117 
 
 Oh gather them from far abroad ; 
 
 Oh pray and never cease : 
 When all thy sons are taught of God, 
 
 How great shall be their peace ! 
 
 x. 
 
 Dear cross ! hold fast thy height in air : 
 
 Stand ever wide, blest door ! 
 And ever crowd, ye faithful, there, 
 
 High, lowly, rich, and poor ! 
 Sweet bells ! ring ever your glad sound, 
 
 And let its message be 
 Ho ! ye that thirst — here Christ is found, 
 
 And here His home is free. 
 
C{j£ £>pir*-<£rass. 
 
 The offence of the Cross. — St. Paul. 
 
 ^^ROSS of Christ, Star of grace, 
 O'er the high and holy place, 
 Like the light of Jesu's face 
 So divine, 
 For love of what thou art, 
 My best and chosen part, 
 I hail thee in my heart ; 
 
 Blessed Sign ! 
 
THE SPIKE-CROSS. 119 
 
 Let Japanese and Jews, 
 And Antichristian crews, 
 The stumbling-block refuse 
 
 And deride ! 
 But oh thou glorious Tree, 
 Bathed with Jestt's blood, for me, 
 Thou Cross of Calvary, 
 
 Crimson dyed : 
 
 m. 
 
 Their souls have never known 
 What comes by thee alone, 
 And their heart is like a stone 
 
 In their breast ! 
 But mine the broken Bread, 
 And the Blood my Saviour shed ; 
 And the Cross, on which He bled. 
 
 Is my rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 How glorious is its form, 
 In the starlight or the storm, 
 In the morning, or the warm 
 
 Light of noon ; 
 
120 THE SPIRE-CROSS. 
 
 It peereth in the air, 
 O'er the holy place of prayer, 
 And is beautiful and fair, 
 By the moon. 
 
 Let it be the Christian's boast ; 
 Let it glitter from the coast ! 
 Like a watchman, at his post, 
 
 Let ic say — 
 Here the Lord Jehovah dwells, 
 Here ring the holy bells, 
 Here the Church's service swells ; 
 
 Come and pray ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 As the rent and ravelled rag 
 Of the soldier's flying flag, 
 On the rampart's blazing crag, 
 
 Kouseth him ; 
 It points me to the prize, 
 And to see it in the skies, 
 Brings the tear-drops to my eyes, 
 
 And they swim. 
 
THE SPIKE-CROSS. 121 
 
 vn. 
 
 Like a trumpet's stirring psalm, 
 It reminds me what I am, 
 A soldier of the Lamb ! 
 
 And, right down, 
 My soul it yearns to kneel, 
 And renew my Saviour's seal 
 That I may, with newer zeal, 
 
 Win His crown. 
 
 vni. 
 
 And so, thou glorious Cross, 
 On the steeple's golden boss, 
 O'er a world of gilded dross, 
 
 Lifted high, 
 Thou hast been to me, this day, 
 Like a far descending ray, 
 That lights some hut of clay, 
 
 From the sky ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 My banner bright art thou, 
 And I wear thee on my brow, 
 "With my baptismal vow, 
 
 Writ iD gore : 
 16 
 
122 THE SPIEE-CE0S5. 
 
 Oil Jesu, from my heart, 
 
 Let its shadow ne'er depart, 
 But, to bring rne where Thon art, 
 Go before ! 
 
®ratories. 
 
 PRIVATE PRAYER IN CHURCHES. 
 
 N a church's aisle or towers, 
 
 Vestry, porch, or chancel-side, 
 If — in prayerless days like ours 
 
 Any open door is spied ; 
 Say not that the Sacristan 
 
 Happens there to ply his broom ; 
 Say — some viewless friend of man 
 Beckons thee, and says there's room. 
 'Tis the house of prayer — Go in ! 
 
 'Tis the Christian's home by right ! 
 Find some nook, confess thy sin, 
 And go forth in Jesu's might. 
 
124 ORATORIES. 
 
 n. 
 
 Halt not for some foolish doubt ! 
 
 Is it not thy Father's home ? 
 Who will dare to turn thee out, 
 
 When the Master bids thee come ? 
 Is it open ? Worship God ! 
 
 If another lounges round, 
 Talking, staring, laughing broad, 
 
 Let him learn — 'tis hallowed ground. 
 'Tis the house of prayer — &c. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Like the publican of old, 
 
 Hide the face, and smite the breast, 
 Say his words, and— manifold 
 
 Be thy secret sins confessed ! 
 For the people there that pray, 
 
 For the priest, whose vows are there, 
 Brother-like a collect say, 
 
 Pray some dear familiar prayer. 
 'Tis the house of prayer — &c. 
 
 TV. 
 
 Oh 'tis sweet a home to claim 
 Thus, where'er a church we see, 
 
OEATOEIES. 125 
 
 Stealing in, though not with shame, 
 
 Yet to worship, noiselessly ; 
 Like the birds to nestle there 
 
 Where the Psalmist's cedars grow ; 
 And to leave a fragrant prayer 
 Wafting heavenward as we go. 
 
 'Tis the house of prayer — Go in ! 
 
 'Tis the Christian's home by right ! 
 Find some nook — confess thy sin, 
 And go forth in Jesu's might. 
 
ffl&uvnibt J|omes. 
 
 S I rode on my errand along, 
 
 I came where a prim little spire 
 
 Chimed out to the landscape a song, 
 
 . And glowed in the sunset like fire. 
 
 Its cross beamed a beckoning raj, 
 And the home of m y Mother I knew ; 
 
 So I pressed to its portal to pray, 
 And my book from my bosom I drew. 
 
 m. 
 
 How sweet was the service within, 
 
 And the plain rustic chaunt how sincere ! 
 
WAYSIDE HOMES. 127 
 
 How welcome the pardon of sin, 
 
 And the kind parting blessing how dear ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And the parson — I knew not his name, 
 
 And the brethren — each face was unknown ; 
 
 But the Church and the prayers were the same, 
 And my heart claimed them all for its own. 
 
 v. 
 
 For I knew — in my own little nook, 
 That eve, the same Psalter was said, 
 
 And Lessons, the same from the Book, 
 By my far-away darlings were read. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So I prayed, and went on in my way, 
 
 Blessing God for the Church He hath given ; 
 
 My steed on his journey was gay ; 
 So was I — on my journey to Heaven. 
 
little H00bmm. 
 
 THE PRAYER-BOOK PATTERN. 
 
 NAVE it had and a chancel, 
 
 The Church of Little Woodmere ! 
 
 A porch at the sonth : on the north side 
 Did a tower and its steeple peer. 
 
 n. 
 
 And a bell, o'er the eastern gable, 
 In a cross-topped belfry swung ; 
 
 When the Litany was beginning, 
 The gable-bell was rung. 
 
LITTLE WOODMERE. 129 
 
 m. 
 
 The chancel it had a window, 
 
 All cunningly set with stains : 
 There were angels and saints and martyrs 
 
 Seen in its pictured panes. 
 
 rv. 
 
 From the dust and noise of the highway, 
 'Twas a furlong perchance withdrawn ; 
 
 Hard by stood the rectory mansion, 
 On a trim little shrubbery lawn. 
 
 v. 
 
 And all round the church was a churchyard, 
 
 With beautiful clumps of trees ; 
 The churchyard cross was planted 
 
 On a hillock — like Calvary's. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A quaint little roof o'er the gateway, 
 "Where funerals paused with the bier ! 
 
 When the priest came forth, in his surplice 
 He began the service here. 
 17 
 
130 LITTLE WOODMEEE. 
 
 vn. 
 
 The rich and poor, all together, 
 
 On the sonth of the church were sown, 
 
 To be raised in the same incorrnption 
 When the trumpet, at last, is blown. 
 
 vm. 
 
 On the north of the church were buried 
 
 The dead of a hapless fame ; 
 A cross and a wail for pity, 
 
 But never a date, or name. 
 
 EX. 
 
 Here and there was a quiet corner, 
 
 With a rustic seat in shade, 
 Where mourners would come and ponder 
 
 On the dear ones around them laid. 
 
 And there I mused till the bell tolled, 
 And thought, with the soul in bliss, 
 
 The best of good things for the body 
 Were to sleep in a spot like this. 
 
LITTLE WOOmiEKE. 131 
 
 XI. 
 
 As I joined in the throng from the village 
 That were keeping St. Barthelmy's day. 
 
 And passed along, with glad faces, 
 And festival greetings so gay ; 
 
 xn. 
 
 I was ware of a train of dear children 
 The school of the parish stood near, 
 
 And, led by a dame and a deacon, 
 Thev came — full of iov and of fear. 
 
 xrn. 
 
 And each had a musical Psalter, 
 
 For these were the singers ; each one 
 
 I fancied might stand for the cherubs 
 They carve with a scroll, upon stone. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 As I entered the nave, by the portal, 
 I came to the font, and thought 
 
 Of the door to the Church Universal, 
 And how the new-birth is wrought. 
 
132 LITTLE WOODMERE. 
 
 XV. 
 
 For a moment I knelt in devotion ; 
 And then — as I raised mine eyes 
 
 And caught the clear blaze of the chancel 
 In the glow of a broad sunrise ; 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The altar — all bright with its silver, 
 And the fair white cloth bespread ; 
 
 The credence prepared for oblation, 
 The chalice, and paten of bread ; 
 
 xvn. 
 
 I thought of the Church triumphant, 
 And the altar where Jesus stands, 
 
 Our great High-Priest for ever, 
 
 With a censer of gold in His hands. 
 
 xvrn. 
 
 There was a plain cross o'er the rood-loft, 
 By the chancel's depth relieved ; 
 
 And figures were carved, in the railing, 
 Of saints who have fought and achieved. 
 
LITTLE WOODHEKE. 133 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And I thought of the happy departed, 
 And of Jesu's descent into hell ; 
 
 And of babes, and of glorious virgins, 
 In Paradise-glory that dwell. 
 
 xx. 
 
 The nave it was dim, for its ceiling 
 Was dark with its timbers of oak : 
 
 Of the Militant Church 'twas the symbol ; 
 And here knelt the worshipping folk. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 They knelt — rich and poor knelt together, 
 The ploughman at side of the squire : 
 
 They recked not of gewgaw nor feather, 
 If white was the soul's attire. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 On the gospel-side hung the pulpit ; 
 
 'Twas carved with an angel and scroll : 
 And now — from the sacristy entered 
 
 The priest, in his cope and his stole. 
 
134 LITTLE WOODMERE. 
 
 xxrn. 
 
 And soon swelled the tones of the service : 
 The people were singers, each one ; 
 
 They chaunted a psalm from the Psalter, 
 Men and maidens, the sire and the son. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And then came the Prayer and Commandments, 
 
 The Collect, with fervour devout, 
 And then the Epistle and Gospel ; 
 
 And the Creed — it went up with a shout ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I would you had listened the sermon : 
 ISTathanael, the saint without guile, 
 
 Was the text — and the blessed example, 
 And guileless as he was the style. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 And oh, how like Heaven was communion, 
 Thus far from the world and its cares ! 
 
 If my life were but led in that village, 
 'Twould indeed be a life-time of prayers. 
 
LITTLE WOODMERE. 135 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 Afar from the blast of polemics, 
 
 Afar from their hate and their strife, 
 
 No scorn of the brawling declaimer 
 Should turn the still course of my life. 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 While they would rail on, I'd be praying ; 
 
 And, blest with a foretaste of bliss, 
 Live only with Herbert and Ferrar, 
 
 Forgetting such ages as this. 
 
 XXTX. 
 
 "With names, in the Canon of Heaven, 
 That shine like the glittering skies, 
 
 Mine too be the scorn of the creatures 
 Whose god is the Father of Lies ; 
 
 XXX. 
 
 But call me a Jew or a Pagan, 
 I'd pray the good Lord to forgive, 
 
 And in heart, and in spirit, a Christian, 
 'Tis so I would die, and would live. 
 
^tsohixom, 
 
 VIRGINIA CHURCHES. 
 
 Jerusalem lieth waste, and the gates thereof are burned with fire; come 
 and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we be no more a reproach. 
 — Nehemiah. 
 
 cy^y AST been where the full-blossomed 
 bay-tree is blowing, 
 With odours like Eden's around ? 
 Hast seen where the broad-leaved 
 palmetto is growing, 
 And wild vines are fringing the ground ? 
 
DESOLATIONS. 137 
 
 Hast sat in the shade of catalpas, at noon, 
 To eat the cool gourds of their clime; 
 
 Or slept where magnolias were screening the moon, 
 And the mocking-bird sung his sweet rhyme ? 
 
 n. 
 
 And didst mark, in thy journey, at dew-dropping eve, 
 
 Some ruin peer high o'er thy way, 
 \Yith rooks wheeling round it, and ivy to weave 
 
 A mantle for turrets so gray ? 
 Did ye ask if some lord of the cavalier kind 
 
 Lived there, when the country was young ? 
 And burned not the blood of a Christian to find 
 
 How there the old prayer-bell had rung ? 
 
 m. 
 
 And did ye not glow, when they told ye — the Lord 
 
 Had dwelt in that thistle-grown pile ; 
 And that bones of old Christians were under its sward. 
 
 That once had knelt down in its aisle ? 
 And had ye no tear-drops your blushes to steep 
 
 When ye thought — o'er your country so broad, 
 The bard seeks in vain for a mouldering heap 
 
 Save only these churches of God ! 
 18 
 
138 DESOLATIONS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ye that shall pass by those ruins agen, 
 
 Go kneel in their alleys and pray, 
 And not till their arches have echoed amen 
 
 Rise up, and fare on, in your way. 
 Pray God that those aisles may be crowded once more, 
 
 Those altars surrounded and spread, 
 While anthems and prayers are upsent as of yore, 
 
 As they take of the Chalice and Bread. 
 
 Ay, pray on thy knees, that each old rural fane 
 
 They have left to the bat and the mole, 
 May sound with the loud-pealing organ again, 
 
 And the full-swelling voice of the soul. 
 Peradventure, when next thou shalt journey thereby, 
 
 Even-bells shall ring out on the air, 
 And the dim-lighted windows reveal to thine eye 
 
 The snowy-robed pastor at prayer. 
 
€lnkm< 
 
 g?HEN old Canute the Dane 
 Was merry England's king ; 
 A thousand years agone, and more, 
 
 As ancient rymours sing ; 
 His boat was rowing down the Onse, 
 
 At eve, one summer day, 
 "Where Ely's tall cathedral peered 
 Above the glassy way. 
 
 n. 
 
 Anon, sweet music on his ear, 
 Comes floating from the fane, 
 
 And listening, as with all his soul, 
 Sat old Canute the Dane : 
 
140 CHELSEA. 
 
 And reverent did he doff his crown, 
 To join the clerkly prayer, 
 
 While swelled old lauds and litanies 
 Upon the stilly air. 
 
 m. 
 
 Now, who shall glide on Hudson's breast, 
 
 At eve of summer day, 
 And cometh where St. Peter's tower 
 
 Peers o'er his coasting way : 
 A moment, let him slack his oar, 
 
 And speed more still along, 
 His ears shall catch those very notes 
 
 Of litany and song. 
 
 rv. 
 
 The Church that sung those anthem prayers 
 
 A thousand years ago, 
 Is singing yet by silver Cam, 
 
 And here by Hudson's flow : 
 And Glorias that thrilled the heart 
 
 Of old Canute the Dane, 
 Are rising yet, at morn and eve, 
 
 From Chelsea's student train. 
 
CHELSEA. 141 
 
 Venue Exuxtemus, there, 
 
 Those ancient scholars sung, 
 And Jubilate Domino 
 
 The vaulted alleys rung : 
 And our gray pile with tremble oft 
 
 Beneath the organ's roar, 
 When here those very matin-songs 
 
 With high Te Deum pour. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And where are kings and empires now, 
 
 Since then, that went and came ? 
 But holy Church is praying yet, 
 
 A thousand years the same ! 
 And these that sing shall pass away ; 
 
 New choirs their room shall fill : 
 Be sure thy children's children here 
 
 Shall hear those anthems still. 
 
 vn. 
 
 For not like kingdoms of the world 
 
 The holy Church of God ! 
 Though earthquake-shocks be rocking it, 
 
 And tempest is abroad ; 
 
142 CHELSEA, 
 
 Unshaken as eternal hills 
 
 Unmovable it stands, 
 A mountain that shall fill the earth, 
 A fane unbuilt by hands. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Though years fling ivy over it, 
 
 Its cross peers high in air, 
 And reverend with majestic age, 
 
 Eternal youth is there ! 
 Oh mark her holy battlements, 
 
 And her foundations strong ; 
 And hear, within, her ceaseless voice, 
 
 And her unending song ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh ye, that in these latter days 
 
 The citadel defend, 
 Perchance for you, the Saviour said 
 
 I'm with you — to the end : 
 Stand therefore girt about, and hold 
 
 Your burning lamps in hand, 
 And standing, listen for your Lord, 
 
 And till He cometh — stand ! 
 
CHELSEA. 143 
 
 X. 
 
 The gates of hell shall ne'er prevail 
 
 Against our holy home, 
 But oh be wakeful sentinels, 
 
 Until the Master come ! 
 The night is spent — but listen ye ; 
 
 For on its deepest calm, 
 What marvel if the cry be heard, 
 
 The marriage of the Lamb ! 
 
Wxgih. 
 
 Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning: 
 
 And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their lord, when he will 
 return from the wedding ; 
 
 Blessed are those servants whom the Lord, when He cometh, shall find 
 watching: 
 
 And if He shall come in the second watch, or come in the third watch, 
 and find them so, blessed are those servants. — The Holy Gospel in the Or- 
 <lering of Beacons. 
 
 T is the fall of eve ; 
 |F And the long tapers, now, we light 
 And watch : for we believe 
 Our Loed may come at night. 
 Adeste Fideles. 
 
VIGILS. 145 
 
 II 
 An hour — and it is Seven, 
 And fast away the evening rolls : 
 
 Oh it is dark in heaven, 
 But light within onr souls. 
 
 Yeni Creator Spiritus ! 
 
 m. 
 Hark ! the old bell strikes Eight ! 
 And still we watch with heart and ear, 
 
 For as the hour grows late 
 The Day-star may be near. 
 
 Jubilate Deo ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hark ! it is knelling Nlne ! 
 But faithful eyes grow never dim ; 
 
 And still our tapers shine, 
 And still ascends our hymn. 
 
 Cum Angelis ! 
 
 The watchman crieth Ten ! 
 My soul, be watching for the Light, 
 
 For when He comes agen, 
 
 'Tis — as the thief at night. 
 
 Nisi Dominus ! 
 19 
 
14:0 VIGILS. 
 
 YI. 
 
 By tlie old bell — Eleven ! 
 Now trim thy lamp, and ready stand ; 
 
 The world to sleep is given, 
 But Jesus is at hand. 
 
 Kyrie Eleison ! 
 
 vn. 
 
 At Midnight — is a cry ! 
 Is it the bridegroom draweth near \ 
 
 Come quickly, Lord, for I 
 Have longed Thy voice to hear ! 
 De profundis ! 
 
 vm. 
 
 Could ye not watch One hour ? 
 Be ready : or the bridal train 
 
 And Bridegroom, with His dower, 
 May sweep along in vain. 
 
 Miserere mei ! 
 
 LX. 
 
 By the old steeple — Two ! 
 And now I know the day is near ! 
 
VIGILS. 147 
 
 Watch — for His word is true, 
 And Jesus may appear ! 
 Dies Iras. 
 
 Three — by the drowsy chime ! 
 And joy is nearer than at first. 
 
 Oh, let ns watch the time 
 When the first light shall burst ! 
 Sursum corda ! 
 
 XL 
 
 Four — and a streak of day ! 
 At the cock-crowing He may come ; 
 
 And still to all I say, 
 Watch — and with awe be dumb. 
 Fili David ! 
 
 xn. 
 
 Five ! — and the tapers now 
 In rosy morning dimly burn ! 
 
 Stand, and be girded thou ; 
 Thy Lord will yet return ! 
 Yeni Jesu ! 
 
148 VIGILS. 
 
 xm. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the Matin-call ! 
 Oh, when onr Lord shall come agen, 
 
 At prime or even fall, 
 Blest are the wakeful men ! 
 
 Xnnc dimittis. 
 
• 
 
 
 gtatw ^dk. 
 
 I myself will awake right early. — Psalter. 
 
 HE Sun is up betimes, 
 
 And the dappled East is blushing, 
 And the merry matin-chimes, 
 
 They are gushing — Christian — gush- 
 ing! 
 They are tolling in the tower, 
 For another day begun ; 
 And to hail the rising hour 
 Of a brighter, brighter Sun. 
 
150 MATIN BELLS. 
 
 Rise — Christian — rise ! 
 
 For a sunshine brighter far 
 Is breaking o'er thine eyes, 
 
 Than the bonny morning star ! 
 
 n. 
 
 The lark is in the sky, 
 
 And his morning-note is pouring : 
 He hath a wing to fly, 
 
 So he's soaring — Christian — soaring ! 
 His nest is on the ground, 
 
 But only in the night ; 
 For he loves the matin-sound, 
 
 And the highest heaven's height. 
 Hark — Christian — hark ! 
 
 At heaven-door he sings ! 
 And be thou like the lark, 
 
 With thy soaring spirit- wings ! 
 
 m. 
 
 The merry matin-bells, 
 
 In their watch-tower they are swinging ; 
 For the day is o'er the dells, 
 
 And they're singing — Christian — singing ! 
 They have caught the morning beam 
 
 Through their ivied turret's wreath, 
 
MATIN BELLS. 151 
 
 And the chancel-window's gleam 
 
 Is glorious beneath : 
 Go — Christian — go, 
 
 For the altar flameth there, 
 And the snowy vestments glow, 
 
 Of the presbyter at prayer ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 There is morning" incense flung 
 
 From the child-like lily-flowers ; 
 And their fragrant censer swung, 
 
 Make it ours — Christian — ours ! 
 And hark, our Mother's hymn, 
 
 And the organ-peals we love ! 
 They sound like cherubim 
 
 At their orisons above ! 
 Pray — Christian — pray 
 
 At the bonny peep of dawn, 
 Ere the dew-drop and the spray 
 
 That christen it, are gone ! 
 
®{j* Cwrfefa 
 
 N" each New-England village, 
 
 At nine o'clock at night, 
 Still rings old England's curfew, 
 And says — put out the light ! 
 Then tell they to their children, 
 Of long long years ago, 
 The tale of Battle- Abbey, 
 How they fought with shaft and bow. 
 
 n. 
 
 But here's another story 
 
 New-England wives may tell, 
 
 How he that bade the curfew 
 Heard an unbidden bell ; 
 
 And let the boy that listens 
 Which best he liketh say, 
 
THE CUTiFEW. 153 
 
 The bell that rings for darkness. 
 Or the bell that rin^s for day. 
 
 in. 
 
 "Wlien TTilliam lav a-dying, 
 
 All dull of eye and dim, 
 And he that conquered Harold 
 
 Felt One that conquered him ; 
 He recked not of the minutes, 
 
 The midnight, or the morn, 
 But there he lay — unbreathing 
 
 As the babe that is still-born. 
 
 rv. 
 
 But suddenly a bell tolled ! 
 
 He started from the swound, 
 First glared, and then grew gentle 
 
 Then wildly stared around. 
 He deemed 'twas bell at even, 
 
 To quench the Saxon's coal, 
 But oh, it was a curfew 
 
 To quench his fiery soul. 
 
 Xow, prithee, holy father ! 
 "Wliat means this bell, I pray ? 
 20 
 
154 THE CURFEW. 
 
 Is't curfew-time in England, 
 
 Or am I far away ? 
 God wot — it moves my spirit, 
 
 As if it ev'n might be 
 The bells of mine own city, 
 
 In dear old Normandie. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ay, sire — thou art in Rouen ; 
 
 And 'tis the prayer-bell's chime 
 In the steeple of St. Mary's, 
 
 That tolls the hour of prime ! 
 Then bid them pray for William, 
 
 And may the Virgin-born, 
 In the church of His sweet mother, 
 
 Hear then praying, this blest morn. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Little dream the kneeling people 
 
 Who joins them in their prayers ! 
 They deem not stout King William 
 
 Their paternoster shares : 
 Nor see they how he lifteth 
 
 With theirs, his dying hand — 
 The hand that, from the Saxon, 
 
 Tore the crown of fair England : 
 
THE CUEFEW. 155 
 
 vm. 
 
 Nor heard they — as responding 
 
 To their ehaunting oft he sighed, 
 Till rose their de profundis, 
 
 And the mighty Norman died. 
 And I have thought, who knoweth. 
 
 But if that early toll, 
 Like the contrite malefactor's, 
 
 Moved a dying sinner's soul ! 
 
 rx. 
 
 And we, the Seed of England, 
 
 Hear yet the curfew's knell ; 
 Oh might we learn from William 
 
 That soul-awaking bell ! 
 Then should the sound that covers 
 
 At night the cheery coal, 
 Stir, too, the morning-embers 
 
 Of worship in the soul. 
 
SMiibmhtsfer. 
 
 An altar of earth thou shalt make unto Me. — Exodus. 
 
 O where the mossy rock shall be 
 Thy nature-hallowed shrine, 
 The leafy copse thy canopy, 
 
 Its fringe, the gadding vine ! 
 There let the clusters round that blush, 
 
 Be sacramental Blood, 
 And fountains, by the feet that gush, 
 Thy pure baptizing flood. 
 
 There let the snowy lawn be spread 
 Upon the turfy mound : 
 
 There break the life-bestowing Bread, 
 And bless the people round. 
 
WILDMIN"STER. 157 
 
 There, the green bush thy chancel-rail, 
 
 Its eushion'd floor the sod, 
 Bid welcome, to the silvan pale, 
 
 The kneeling host of God. 
 
 hi. 
 
 Look up, and fretted vaults are there, 
 
 And heaven itself shines through, 
 Or evening is depictured fair, 
 
 The starlight, and the blue ! 
 A temple never built by hands, 
 
 And many a shadowed aisle, 
 There — where the columned forest stands, 
 
 Be thy cathedral pile ! 
 
 rv. 
 
 There, are full choir and antiphon 
 
 At lauds and vesper-time, 
 And every niche rings unison 
 
 With priestly voice, at prime : 
 There, shall thy solitary soul 
 
 Find out its cloister dim, 
 With not the labouring organ's roll. 
 
 But nature's gushing hymn. 
 
158 WILDMEN'STEB. 
 
 V. 
 
 There, the full flowers their odours fling 
 
 To bid thee pour thy prayer, 
 And vines their fragrant censers swing 
 
 O'er all the hallowed air. 
 Thy heart forth-flaming to the skies 
 
 Shall like their breath be given, 
 And like consuming incense rise 
 
 In sweetness up to heaven. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Go to the harvest-whitened West, 
 
 Ye surpliced priests of God, 
 In all the Christian armour drest, 
 
 And with the Gospel shod : 
 Go, for their feet are beautiful 
 
 That on the mountain stand, 
 And, more than music, musical, 
 
 The watchman's voice at hand. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Go, for the midnight wanes apace ; 
 
 The Sun himself is nigh ! 
 Go to the wild and lonely place, 
 
 And in the desert cry. 
 
WILDMINSTER. 159 
 
 Go, — and the greenwoods are thy fane?. 
 
 Thine altars — every sod : 
 Say to the wilderness, He reigns, 
 
 Thy Saviour and thy God ! 
 
 vin. 
 
 Lo ! where the nnsent heralds run, 
 
 "Wiry wait Thy priests, oh Lord ! 
 These that were bid, from sun to sun, 
 
 To preach the Gospel word ? 
 Oh to Thine harvest, Saviour, send 
 
 The hosts of Thine employ, 
 To reap the ripened sheaves that bend, 
 
 And shout them home with joy ! 
 
Itasjjotafr. 
 
 AMERICAN MISSIONS. 
 
 H Loed, our Lord, how spreads that 
 little seed 
 Which was, at first, of every seed 
 the least ! 
 
 The birds of air shall scarce its growth outspeed : 
 Its world-wide branches knit the West and East. 
 
NASHOTAII 161 
 
 II. 
 
 But how it makes my heart of hearts upswell 
 To see our English ritual planted there, 
 
 Where walks his round ^ashotah's sentinel, 
 And breaks its daily service on the air ! 
 
 m. 
 
 Rude as the Saviour's birthplace are its halls, 
 
 O'er which, like Bethlehem's star, the cross appears 
 
 And oft the watchman of those outpost walls 
 In tented fields his wakeful voice uprears. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oft, on their summer-mission, as they fare, 
 They seek the wildwood settler's far retreat, 
 
 And rear their curtained chapel — while, to prayer, 
 The forest-dwellers haste with ready feet. 
 
 v. 
 
 And where, at dawn, the prairie-fox did bark, 
 Are heard, by night, sweet canticle and chaunt : 
 
 Where sung before no choirist but the lark, 
 Ring out the Church's anthems jubilant ! 
 21 
 
162 NASHOTAH. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then, in the wilderness, is heard the voice 
 Of one that, like the Baptist, bids repent ; 
 
 While the rnde trappers tremblingly rejoice, 
 And hearts, long-hardened, soften and relent. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And there the Norway rover, or the Swede, 
 Kneels with frank Switzer, and the florid Dane 
 
 And England's exile weeps to find the seed 
 
 His mother scattered — bound in sheaves again : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 While here and there, those mingled groups amid, 
 The smoking torches shew the desert-child ; 
 
 The sad Oneida's countenance, half hid, 
 
 The bloody Osage — tamed, yet darkly wild. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Flares on the Negro's swarth the self-same blaze : 
 
 Nor lacks the scene, from Shem's sad tents, some one ; 
 
 Nashotah's priests have found, in desert ways, 
 Rebecca's child and Isaac's homeless son. 
 
N AS HOT AH. 163 
 
 31. 
 
 Thus, in the outskirt earth, earth's races meet, 
 For such their Maker's wonderful award, 
 
 And, at our Mother's fair unfetter'd feet, 
 
 Learn of the Cross, and bow to own its Lokd ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Another service greets the morrow's dawn, 
 
 And babes are christened, and a prayer-book left : 
 
 Then — in a trice — priest, chapel, all are gone : 
 'Tis something if the woodman feels bereft ! 
 
 xn. 
 
 Oh might our Mother's caitiff sons that rend 
 Her yearning bowels, in the mother-land, 
 
 See how she blesses thus the far world's end, 
 And lift for pardoning grace their guilty hand ! 
 
 xm. 
 
 Hear, then, my plaint, ye white-robed youth that raise 
 By stately Cam the even or morning song, 
 
 And when in turn ye wear the Senate's bays. 
 
 Avenge — your fathers' shame — our Mother's wrong. 
 
164 BTA8H0TAH. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And you. ye clerks, 'neath Oxford's glorious domes 
 That kneel, fulJ oft, too listless at your prayers. 
 
 Think of the rites that bless these forest homes, 
 And yours, perchance, shall be as blest as theirs. 
 
 XT. 
 
 For not your hymns that Wykeham's roofs rebound. 
 
 Xot Waynflete's arches wake such deep delight, 
 As that Xashotalrs wilds alike resound 
 
 The self-same prayers, and own the same sweet rite ! 
 
 XYI. 
 
 Oh 'tis the glory of our service blest 
 Not that alone cathedrals hear it sung, 
 
 But that its music cheers the world's wild West, 
 And swells in rudeness from the woodman's tongue 
 
 xvn. 
 
 And oft I think — what joy and strength, in God, 
 
 Prophetic vision of what thus I sing, 
 Had given to saintly Ken, or martyred Laud, 
 
 When seemed the Church half dead with suffering ! 
 
NASH0TAH. 165 
 
 XVIIT. 
 
 Or even to him, the frail but reverend sire, 
 
 Whose palsied palm passed down the lineal grace. 
 
 Yes — even to Cranmer, with that palm on fire, 
 And Moses' radiance on his dying face ; 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Had he the Australian wilderness foreseen, 
 
 Canadian fastness, and the torrid land, 
 And priests, despising seas that roll between, 
 
 By Christ commissioned, through his flaming hand ! 
 
 xx. 
 
 Ivejoice we, then, remembering other times 
 When hung the Church's life upon a thread, 
 
 That God hath slain her tyrants for their crimes, 
 And raised her up, immortal, from the dead ! 
 
Si Sitoan's |icll. 
 
 Desire of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, 
 and the utmost parts of the earth for thy possession. — Psalter. 
 
 FORTNIGHT it was from Whitsuntide, 
 
 And a service was said that day, 
 In a little church, that a good man built 
 In the wilderness far away. 
 yj> \ A twelve-month before, and there was not 
 there 
 Or temple or holy bell ; 
 But the place it was free from holiness 
 As the soul of the Infidel. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Five thousand years this world is old, 
 And twice four hundred more. 
 
107 
 
 And that green spot had forest been 
 From the eldest days of yore : 
 
 And there had the red-man made his hut, 
 And the savage beast his lair, 
 
 But never, since this old earth was young, 
 Was it hallowed with Christian prayer. 
 
 in. 
 
 But now, for the first, a bell rung out, 
 
 Through the aisles of the wild greenwood, 
 And echo came back from the far far trees, 
 
 Like the holla of Robin Hood : 
 And the red-deer woke, in his bosky nook, 
 
 That strange strange sound to hear, 
 And the jessamine-buds from his side he shook, 
 
 And he listened awhile in fear. 
 
 rv. 
 
 But the bell that rings for the Prince of Peace 
 
 Is never a beast's alarm, 
 And down went his antlered head agen, 
 
 Like an infant asleep on its arm : 
 And the woodman went by, and stirred him not, 
 
 With his wife and children round, 
 And the baby leaped up on its mother's breast, 
 
 And laughed at the church-bell's sound. 
 
168 ST. SILVAx's BELL. 
 
 For the "babe, he was all unchristened jet, 
 
 And well might he leap for joy ; 
 A fountain was gnshing, where rung that bell. 
 
 That should make him a Christian boy. 
 And his mother — she thought of the Catechist, 
 
 And she blessed the Lord above, 
 That her child should be baptized for Christ, 
 
 And taught in His fear and love. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And she prayed in her heart, as Hannah prayed, 
 
 He might kneel in the chancel fair, 
 Like children they brought to the Lokd of old, 
 
 To be blest with the bishop's prayer : 
 And she saw, far off, the vested priest, 
 
 The ring, and the inarriage-bann, 
 Making some maiden a happy wife, 
 
 And her boy a happier man. 
 
 vn. 
 
 And the bell rung on ; and the wood sent forth, 
 From their log-built homes around, 
 
 The yeomanry all with their families 
 A-wondering at the sound : 
 
ST. SIL VAN'S BELL. 169 
 
 And tears I saw in an old mams eye, 
 That came from a far conntree ; 
 
 It minded his inmost soul, he said, 
 Of the church-bells over the sea. 
 
 vrn. 
 
 For a boy was he, in England, once, 
 
 And he loved the merry chimes ; 
 Had heard them ring out of a Whitsuntide, 
 
 And waken the holiday-times ! 
 And a boy was he when hither he came, 
 
 But now he was old and gray ; 
 He had not thought that a Christian bell 
 
 Should toll on his burial-day. 
 
 rx. 
 
 A boy was he when he first swung axe 
 
 Against the strong oak limb ; 
 He was gray-haired now, when he heard the bell 
 
 And threw it away from him ; 
 And he followed the sound — for he thought of home, 
 
 And the motherly hand so fair, 
 That led him along through the churchyard mounds, 
 
 And made him kneel down to prayer. 
 
170 
 
 And now did an organ's peal break out, 
 
 And the bell-notes died away : 
 And a holy bishop, in robes, was there, 
 
 And priests in their white array. 
 And I heard a voice go np the nave, 
 
 And the priests, responding plain ; 
 Lift np your heads, ye gates — they said, 
 
 For the King of Glory's train ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And I could not but weep, for I knew, on high, 
 
 The Saviour had asked of God, 
 That the utmost lands might all be His, 
 
 And the ground whereon I trod ; 
 And I blessed the good Lord, that here at length 
 
 His own true heralds came, 
 To challenge for Christ His heritage, 
 
 And hallow it with His Name. 
 
 xn. 
 
 .Now pray with me, that ever there 
 
 St. Silvan's bell may ring, 
 And the yeoman brave, with their children all, 
 
 The praise of the Saviour sing : 
 
And pray ye still, that, further west, 
 The song of the bell may sound, 
 
 Till the land, from sea to sea, is blest. 
 And the world is holy ground. 
 
 171 
 
gitilg Sairia. 
 
 One day telleth another. — Psalter. 
 
 =^HExsT the gorgeous day begins 
 In the world's remotest East, 
 \md the sun his pathway wins, 
 -j/ Bringing back some glorious feast ; 
 There, forestalling fears and sins, 
 Kneels the faithful English priest : 
 There the altar glitters fair, 
 Spread for Eucharistic prayer. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And as each meridian line, 
 
 Gains the travelled sun, that day, 
 
DAILY SERVICE. 
 
 Still begin those rites divine, 
 Still new priests begin to pray ; 
 
 Still are blest the bread and wine, 
 Still one prayer salutes bis ray : 
 
 Continent and ocean round 
 
 Rolls tbe tided wave of sound ! 
 
 ni. 
 
 Then at last tbe prairied West 
 Sees tbe festal ligbt appear, 
 
 And Kasbotab's clerks, from rest, 
 Early rise, their song to rear ; 
 
 Gird they then the snowy vest, 
 Raise they then the anthem clear ; 
 
 Anthems in the East that rose, 
 
 Girded earth — and there must close. 
 
 rv. 
 
 But when, there, the holy light 
 Fades adown their west afar, 
 
 And begins the vesper rite, 
 Faithful as the vesper star, 
 
 Then — just then — has passed the night, 
 Where our eastern altars are ; 
 
 And another daylight fair 
 
 Wakes a new earth-girding prayer. 
 
174 DAILY SEEVICE. 
 
 Brethren of the West — my soul 
 Oft, to you, will westward wing, 
 
 When some hymn ascendeth whole 
 At the hour of offering, 
 
 Thinking how 'twill onward roll 
 Till your voice the same shall sing ; 
 
 Uttered o'er and o'er agen, 
 
 Till ye give the last Amen. 
 
 VI. 
 
 That same hymn, ere I have sung, 
 Hath been sung in England's fanes, 
 
 And perchance, in barbarous tongue, 
 'Mid the Orient hills and plains ; 
 
 And — to die the woods among, 
 
 Swells, from aisles and tinted panes, 
 
 To the forest's solemn cells, 
 
 Where the roving red-man dwells. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Moves my spirit at the thought 
 That our service, Anglican, 
 
 From the faithful Isle, hath caught 
 Thus, the many hearts of man ; 
 
DAILY SERVICE. 175 
 
 For this sign our God hath wrought, 
 'Gainst the heartless Soman's ban ; 
 Seal of life, and fire divine, 
 Mother, in those words of Thine ! 
 
 Yin. 
 
 One — in water sanctified, 
 
 Though the claim be long forgot ; 
 
 One — in blood from Jesu's side, 
 Though proud Trent confess it not ; 
 
 One — in Spirit, far and wide, 
 With each ancient part and lot ; 
 
 Mother, let me ever be 
 
 One with Christ and one with Thee ! 
 
©Ijristmas CmrL 
 
 AROL, carol, Christians, 
 
 Carol joyfully ; 
 Carol for the coming 
 ^ Of Christ's ^Tativity ; 
 And pray a gladsome Christmas 
 For all good Christian men ; 
 
CHRISTMAS CAROL. 177 
 
 Carol, carol, Christians, 
 
 For Christmas, come agen. 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 Go ye to the forest, 
 
 "Where the myrtles grow, 
 Where the pine and laurel 
 
 Bend beneath the snow : 
 Gather them for Jesus ; 
 
 Wreathe them for His shrine 
 Make His temple glorious 
 
 With the box and pine. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 m. 
 
 Wreath your Christmas garland, 
 
 Where to Christ we pray : 
 It shall smell like Carmel 
 
 On our festal day ; 
 Libanus and Sharon 
 
 Shall not greener be 
 Than our holy chancel 
 
 On Christ's Xativity. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 23 
 
178 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Carol, carol, Christians ! 
 
 Like the Magi now, 
 Ye must lade your -caskets 
 
 With a grateful vow : 
 Ye must have sweet incense, 
 
 Myrrh, and finest gold, 
 At our Christmas altar 
 
 Humbly to unfold. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 v. 
 
 Blow, blow up the trumpet, 
 
 For our solemn feast, 
 Gird thine armour, Christian. 
 
 Wear thy surplice, priest ! 
 Go ye to the altar, 
 
 Pray, with fervour pray, 
 For Jesus' second coming, 
 
 And the Latter Day. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Give us grace, oh Saviour, 
 To put off in might, 
 
CHRISTMAS CAROL. 179 
 
 Deeds and dreams of darkness, 
 
 For the robes of light ! 
 And to live as lowly, 
 
 As Thyself with men ; 
 So to rise in glory, 
 
 When Thou com'st agen. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
listening. 
 
 H, if there be a sight, on earth. 
 That makes good angels smile, 
 
 'Tis when a soul of mortal birth 
 Is washed from mortal guile : 
 
 ii. 
 
 When some repentant child of Eve's, 
 
 In age, is born anew : 
 Or when, on life's first buds and leaves, 
 
 Falls the baptismal dew. 
 
 m. 
 
 But all the same ! The soul that, in 
 That laver undefiled, 
 
CHRISTEXCsG. 181 
 
 Is truly washed from wrath and sin, 
 Must be a little child. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Children alone that grace may claim, 
 
 'WTiether, to babes, be given, 
 Or to the childlike heart, the name 
 
 Of all the sons of Heaven ! 
 
 See, then, the font, the church's door, 
 The group with gladsome look, 
 
 The waters, and the priest to pour, 
 The sponsors, and the book ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 What light is on all faces, now, 
 
 As low they bend to pray ! 
 How kindly on the grandsire's brow 
 
 Each furrow smooths away ! 
 
 vn. 
 
 How fond the pale young mother's eye 
 Lights up, with tearful charm, 
 
 To see her babe enfolded lie • 
 Upon the surpliced arm ! 
 
182 CHRISTENING. 
 
 Tin. 
 
 And he, of innocence, that wears 
 
 That sign and spotless vest, 
 How Shepherd-like ! Like Him that bears 
 
 The lambkin on His breast . 
 
 IX. 
 
 But hark ! the tiny Christian's name ! 
 
 Hush ! 'Tis the Mystic Trine ! 
 The Water and the Spirit came, 
 
 And, there, is life divine. 
 
 The Cross is signed — mysterious seal 
 
 Of death our life that won : 
 And Christ's dear spouse, for woe or weal, 
 
 Hath borne her Lord a son. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For woe or weal ! The grafted shoot, 
 
 Alas ! may fade and die ; 
 Though long the fatness of the Eoot 
 
 This shower of grace supply. 
 
CHRISTENING. 183 
 
 xn. 
 
 But, Jesu ! take Thy child from earth 
 
 Ere sense and guile begin, 
 If, only so, this second birth 
 
 May 'scape the death of sin. 
 
t Calmtrar, 
 
 Y Prayer-book is a casket bright, 
 With gold and incense stored, 
 Which, every day, and every night, 
 
 I open to the Lord : 
 Yet when I first unclasp its lids, 
 I find a bunch of myrrh 
 Embalming all our mortal life ; 
 The Church's Calendar. 
 
 But who would see an almanac 
 When opes his Book of Prayer ? 
 
 Of all the leaves between its lids, 
 These, only, are not fair ! 
 
THE CALEKDAK. 185 
 
 So said I, in my thoughtless years, 
 But now, with awe, I scan 
 
 The Calendar, like Sybil-leaves 
 That tell the life of Man. 
 
 ni. 
 
 God set the sun and moon for signs : 
 
 The Church His signs doth know, 
 And here — while sleeps the sluggish world, 
 
 She marks them as they go. 
 Here for His coming looks she forth 
 
 As, for her spouse, the bride ; 
 Here, at her lattice, faithfully 
 
 She waits the morning-tide. 
 
 TV. 
 
 All time is hers, and, at its end, 
 
 Her Loed shall come with more : 
 As one for whom all time was made, 
 
 Thus guardeth she her store ; 
 And, doating o'er her letters old, 
 
 As pores the wife bereft, 
 Thus daily reads the Bride of Cheist 
 
 Each message He hath left. 
 24 
 
186 THE CALENDAR. 
 
 As prisoners notch their tally-stick, 
 
 And wait the far-off day, 
 So marks she days, and months, and years, 
 
 To ponder and to pray ; 
 And year by year beginning new 
 
 Her faithful task snblime, 
 How lovingly she meteth ont 
 
 Each portion in its time ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 This little index of thy life, 
 
 Thon, all thy life, shalt find 
 So teaching thee to tell thy days, 
 
 That wisdom thon may'st mind. 
 Oh live thou by the Calendar ; 
 
 And, when each morn you kneel, 
 Note how the numbered days go by, 
 
 Like spokes in Time's swift wheel. 
 
 vn. 
 With this thy closet seek ; and learn 
 
 What strengthening word, to-day, 
 From out the Holy Book of God 
 
 Our Mother would display ; 
 
THE CALENDAR. 187 
 
 And know thy prayers go up on high, 
 
 With thousands that, unknown, 
 Are lighted at the self-same fire, 
 
 And mingle at God's throne. 
 
 vni. 
 
 For so — though severed far on earth — 
 
 Together we are fed ; 
 And onward, though we see it not, 
 
 Together we are sped ! 
 Oh live ye by the Calendar, 
 
 And *with the good ye dwell ; 
 The Spirit that comes down on them 
 
 Shall lighten you as well. 
 
t Stfitl-Qirge. 
 
 Then said Jesus, Will ye also go away? — St. John. 
 
 /f HE organ played sweet music 
 
 WlrileaSj on Easter-day, 
 All heartless from the altar, 
 
 The heedless went away : 
 And down the broad aisle crowding. 
 
 They seemed a funeral train, 
 That were burying their spirits 
 To the music of that strain. 
 
 ii. 
 
 As I listened to the organ, 
 And saw them crowd along, 
 
THE SOUL-DIRGE. 189 
 
 I thought I heard two voices, 
 
 Speaking strangely, but not strong ; 
 
 And one, it whispered sadly. 
 Will ye also go away I 
 
 But the other spoke exulting, 
 
 Ha ! the soul-dirge, — hear it play ! 
 
 m. 
 
 Hear the soul-dirge ! hear the soul-dirge ! 
 
 And see the feast divine ! 
 Ha ! the jewels of salvation, 
 
 And the trampling feet of swine ! 
 Hear the soul-dirge ! hear the soul-dirge ! 
 
 Little think they, as they go, 
 What priceless pearls they tread on, 
 
 Who spurn their Savioee so ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hear the soul-dirge ! hear the soul-dirge ! 
 
 It was dread to hear it play, 
 While the famishing went crowding 
 
 From the Bread of Life away : 
 They were bidden, they were bidden 
 
 To their Father's festal board ; 
 But they all, with gleeful faces, 
 
 Turned their back upon the Loed. 
 
1 90 the soux-di:. 
 
 v. 
 
 You had thought the church a prison. 
 
 Had y y did pour. 
 
 With giddy, giddy fa -. 
 
 From the c-.-n-eerated door. 
 There was angels' food all ready. 
 
 Bui widen — where were th< 
 
 O'er the highways and the hecL 
 
 Ere the a )ul-dirge cease to play ! 
 
 vl 
 
 Oh. the soul-dirge, how it echoed 
 
 The emptied aisles along. 
 Afl the open street grew crowded 
 
 AVith the full outpouring thro _ ! 
 And then — again the? s; 
 
 Ha ! the soul-dirge ! hear it play ! 
 And the pensive, v ensive vhisper, 
 
 Wfll ye also go awa; 
 
 vn. 
 
 Few. few were they that lingered 
 To sup with Jesus there ; 
 
 And yet. for all that spurned Him, 
 There was plenty, and to spare ! 
 
THE SOUL-DIRGE. 191 
 
 And now, the food of angels 
 
 Uncovered to my sight, 
 All-glorious was the altar, 
 
 And the chalice glittered bright. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Then came the hymn Teisagion, 
 
 And rapt me up on high, 
 With angels and archangels 
 
 To land and magnify. 
 I seemed to feast in Heaven ; 
 
 And downward wafted then, 
 With angels chaunting round me, 
 
 Good-will and peace to men. 
 
 IX. 
 
 I may not tell the rapture 
 
 Of a banquet so divine ; 
 Ho ! every one that thirsteth, 
 
 Let him taste the bread and wine 
 Hear the Bride and Spirit, saying 
 
 Will ye also go away ? 
 Or — go, poor soul, forever ! 
 
 Oh ! the soul-dirge — hear it play ! 
 
(Cbt Cburcb's D:utctbtcr. 
 
 i. 
 
 ' H woman is a tender tree ! 
 
 The hand must gentle be that 
 rears 
 -flr>' . Through storm and sunshine, pa- 
 tiently. 
 That plant of grace, of smiles and tears. 
 
 rr. 
 
 Let her that waters, at the font. 
 
 Life's earliest blossoms, have the care ; 
 And where the garden's Lord is wont 
 
 To walk His round — oh keep her there. 
 
ion 
 
 in. 
 
 Who but her Mother Church, knows well 
 The deep-hid springs of grief and joy, 
 
 That in the heart of woman swell, 
 
 And make that heart — or else destroy ! 
 
 iy. 
 
 Who but the Church, can every power 
 Of the true woman nurse to life, 
 
 Till, fit for every changeful hour, 
 Is seen the maiden — woman — wife ! 
 
 'Tis not alone the radiant face, 
 
 And some accomplished gifts, that shine ; 
 The harmony of every grace 
 
 Is nurtured by her care divine. 
 
 VI. 
 
 She — not the coy and bashful art, 
 But all the instinct of the pure, 
 
 The virgin soul — the angel heart, 
 Alone is mindful to mature. 
 
194 THE CHURCH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Even like the first warm sun of May, 
 
 Or, to the daisy, April showers, 
 Her earliest lesson — how to pray, 
 
 Clothes the young soul with fragrant flowers. 
 
 vm. 
 
 Then, planted by the altar's pale, 
 The Church, with catechising art, 
 
 Trains to the chancel's trellised rail 
 The wandering tendrils of the heart. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And when before the mitred priest 
 
 She bids, at length, her daughter kneel, 
 
 What lavish gifts of grace increased 
 Shine from her dear Redeemer's seal ! 
 
 x. 
 
 Or when, her snowy veil beneath, 
 She stands a pale and fearful thing, 
 
 xind, trembling like her orange- wreath, 
 Gives her fair finger to the ring ; 
 
195 
 
 XI. 
 
 When manly honour makes her bride, 
 In God's own name, Triune and dread, 
 
 And, from the holy altar's side, 
 Another blessing crowns her head ; 
 
 XII. 
 
 See how the Church's care, for her, 
 Hath done the jealous parent's part, 
 
 And been to him a monitor 
 
 To whom she gives her daughter's heart ! 
 
 xm. 
 
 Nor shall she e'er desert, through life, 
 Through fearful life, that daughter's side, 
 
 But ever, o'er the wedded wife, 
 
 Bend fond, as o'er the kneelino; bride. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 When the pale mother clasps her child, 
 And pats her darling to its rest, 
 
 Or sinks to slumbers undenled, 
 
 Her bride-ring shining o'er her breast ; 
 
196 the chtech's daughtee. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Again, to hollow that pure joy, 
 
 Comes Holy Church and tells her, then, 
 
 Of Mary and the Holy Boy, 
 
 And claims the turtle-doves agen. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Or if, within the darken'd room, 
 The trail of death be sweeping slow, 
 
 The Church that taught her unto 'Whom, 
 Shall teach her, too, the way to go. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 Then spreads she, there, an altar lone ; 
 
 Her priest, to bless and break, is there, 
 And angels, radiant from the throne, 
 
 Come winging round the scene of prayer. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 So points the Church to Paradise, 
 And bids, in peace, her child depart ; 
 
 Then shuts to earth the blessed eyes, 
 
 And binds with balm each bleeding heart. 
 
197 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Then roses pale, and rose-marine, 
 She scatters o'er the marble dust ; 
 
 And at the last heart-rending scene, 
 As earth takes back its precious trust ; 
 
 xx. 
 
 From the deep grave she lifts the eye, 
 Where the free spirit wings hath found ; 
 
 And leaves her child's mortality, 
 To rise an angel from the ground. 
 
I tt&t % €I;ur4 
 
 LOYE the Church —the holy Church, 
 
 The Saviour's spotless bride ; 
 And oh, I love her palaces 
 
 Through all the land so wide : 
 The cross-topped spire amid the trees, 
 The holy bell of prayer ; 
 The music of our Mother's voice, 
 Our Mother's home is there ! 
 
 n. 
 
 The village tower — 'tis joy to me ; 
 
 I cry the Lord is here ! 
 The village bells — they fill my soul ; 
 
 They more than fill mine ear ! 
 
I LOVE THE CHURCH. 199 
 
 O'er kingdoms to the Saviour won, 
 
 Their triumph-peal is hurled ; 
 Their sound is now in all the earth. 
 
 Their words throughout the world. 
 
 in. 
 
 And here — eternal ocean cross'd, 
 
 And long, long ages past, 
 In climes beyond the setting sun, 
 
 They preach the Lord at last ; 
 And here, Redeemer, are Thy priests 
 
 Unbroken in array, 
 Far from Thine Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 And Thine Ascension day ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Unbroken in their lineage, 
 
 Their warrants clear as when 
 Thou, Saviour, didst go up on high, 
 
 And give good gifts to men ; 
 Here, clothed in innocence they stand, 
 
 To shed Thy mercy wide, 
 Baptizing to the Trinal Name, 
 
 With waters from Thy side. 
 
I LOVE THE CHUECH. 
 
 And here, confessors of Thy cross, 
 
 Thine holy orders three, 
 The bishop, and the elders too, 
 
 And lowly deacons be ; 
 To rule and feed the flock of Christ, 
 
 To fight, of faith, the strife, 
 And to the host of God's Elect, 
 
 To break the Bread of Life. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Heie rises, with the rising morn. 
 
 Their incense unto Thee, 
 Their bold confession Catholic, 
 
 And high doxology : 
 Soul-melting litany is here, 
 
 And here — each holy feast, 
 Up to the altar, duly spread, 
 
 Ascends the stoled priest. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Then with the message of our King, 
 The herald stands on high : 
 
 How beautiful the feet of them 
 That on the mountain cry ! 
 
I LOVE THE CHUECH. 201 
 
 And then — as when the doors were shut, 
 
 With Jesus left alone, 
 The faithful sup with Christ — and He 
 
 In breaking bread is known. 
 
 Till. 
 
 And kneeling at the altar's rail, 
 
 With blessings all divine, 
 As from the Saviour's hand, they take 
 
 The broken bread, and wine ; 
 In one communion with the saints, 
 
 With angels and the blest, 
 And looking for the blessed hope 
 
 Of an eternal rest. 
 
 The peace of God is on their heads ; 
 
 And so they wend away, 
 To homes all cheerful with the light 
 
 Of love's inspiring ray : 
 And through the churchyard and the graves, 
 
 With kindly tears they fare, 
 Where every turf was decent laid, 
 
 And hallowed by a prayer. 
 
 20 
 
202 I LOVE THE CHURCH. 
 
 X. 
 
 The dead in Christ — they rest in hope ; 
 
 And o'er their sleep sublime, 
 The shadow of the steeple moves, 
 
 From morn to vesper-chime : 
 On every mound, in solemn shade, 
 
 Its imaged cross doth lie, 
 As goes the sunlight to the West 
 
 Or rides the moon on hio;h. 
 
 XI. 
 
 I love the Church — the holy Church, 
 
 That o'er our life presides, 
 The birth, the bridal, and the grave, 
 
 And many an hour besides ! 
 Be mine, through life, to live in her, 
 
 And, when the Lord shall call, 
 To die in her — the spouse of Christ, 
 
 The Mother of us all. 
 
ITALIAX VERSIONS 
 
 BY COUNT TASCA. 
 
10 AMO LA C HIES A 
 
 AMO la Chiesa ! Ah ! si la Cliiesa santa, 
 Del Salvator 1' immacolata sposa : 
 Amo i sacri edifizj onde s' ammanta 
 Dell' Anglia la ccmtrada spaziosa ; 
 La croce del pignon fra pianta e pianta 
 Delia prece la squilla arnioniosa ; 
 Delia voce materna il suon diletto 
 Che nostra Madre e la sotto quel tettc. 
 
 ii. 
 
 E del villaggio il campanile, oh ! quanto 
 
 Fiacer mi desta ! lo sclamo ; e qui '1 Signore ! 
 
 Delle campane il suon che aggrado tanto 
 
 Piu che gli orecchi mi riempie il core. 
 
 II trionfal lor grido ovunque e spanto 
 
 Pei regni che sommise il Salvatore, 
 
 DifFuso e in terra il lor squillo giocondo 
 
 Ed il linguaggio lor per tutto il mondo. 
 
206 caxzoxi spikituali. 
 
 in. 
 
 Qui dopo il volger di ben lunga etade, 
 Dell' immenso oceano oltre il confine 
 Ed oltre le spiaggie ove il sol cade, 
 Esse il Signor lian proclamato alfine. 
 Qui son tuoi preti, o Cristo, in lor pietadc 
 Fidi alle pure antiche discipline, 
 Lunge dal santo avello u' V uman velo 
 Posasti, e d' ond' Tu salisti al cielo. 
 
 L' ordin di succession non mai troncato, 
 Legale e il lor poter, come il Juo 1' era 
 Quando salendo al cielo hai ricolmato 
 D' ogni tuo ben Y umanitade intera. 
 Qui ciascun d'essi d'innocenza ornato 
 Lunge diffonde la tua grazia vera, 
 E battezzando va nel nome Trino 
 Coll' acque uscite dal tuo sen divino. 
 
 v. 
 
 E qui della Tua croce confessori 
 
 Stan tuoi ministri in triplo ordine espressi 
 I vescovi da prima ed i seniori, 
 Quind' ad entrambi i diaconi sommessi, 
 Son del gregge cristian guide e pastori : 
 Per la Fe' combattendo obblian se stessi, 
 Ed ai convivi che il S ignore invita 
 Rompendo vanno il pane della vita. 
 
CANZONI SPIRITUALI. 207" 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pria che dei monti sol dori le cime, 
 Col cattolico e fermo atto di fede 
 E colla lor dossologia sublime, 
 Qui sal T incenso del tuo trono al piede. 
 E litania che dolce in cor s' imprime ; 
 E ad ogni santa a noi festa che riede 
 All' altar che, qual deesi, ornato splende 
 Cinto di stola il sacerdote ascende. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Poi del Re nostro fia che il nunzio apporte 
 Dair alto seggio la parola eletta. 
 Oh ! quanto e bello il progredir del forte 
 Che sale a predicar del moute in vetta ! 
 Poi, come allor che si sevrar' le porte, 
 Gesu lasciato sol, la prediletta 
 Cena fedel con Cristo, ov' Egli poi 
 Rompendo il pane si rivela a noi. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ed umilmente inginocchiati presso 
 L' altar, col don d' ogni favor divino, 
 Qual dalla man del Salvator istesso, 
 Prendono il pan ridotto in pezzi e '1 vino, 
 In comunion coi santi e nell* amplesso 
 D' ogni beato e d' ogni serafino : 
 Assorti nel desio che il di superno 
 Per lor riluca del riposo eterno. 
 
caxzoxi BPiErruALi. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Colla pace di Dio sul volto e in seno 
 
 Fan poi clal tempio al tetto lor passaggio, 
 
 Tutt' esultanti in quel lume sereno 
 
 Che d' amor ne' lor petti infonde un raggio. 
 
 Lungo il sacrato che di tombe e pieno 
 
 Offron di pianto ai morti un dolce omaggio ; 
 
 La consacrate dal pregar, di molle 
 
 Erba e di nor s' ammantano le zolle ; 
 
 x. 
 
 I morti in Cristo dorniono sperando, 
 
 E coprendo il lor sonno alto e tranquillo 
 L' ombra del campanil gira da quando 
 II sole spanta al vespertino squillo : 
 Ogni zolla in solenne ombra mostrando 
 Yien della crcce l'immortal vessillo, 
 O 1' maggior astro all' occidente scenda, 
 la pallida lima in ciel risplenda. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Amo la Chiesa, ah ! si la Chiesa santa 
 Che la nostra quaggiu vita presiede, 
 E culla, e nozze, e funerali, e quanta 
 Aftra serie d' eventi a noi succede. 
 Ah ! ch' io sempre in lei viva ! E quando infranta 
 Mia vita, assunto alia tremenda sede 
 Del giudizio saro, ch' io muoja in lei . . . 
 Tu sposa a CRISTO e Madre nostra sei ! 
 
CANZONI SPIEITUALI. 209 
 
 IL SERVIZIO D I VI NO. 
 ux Gionxo chiama l'altro," — Salmo, 19. 
 
 QUANDO T oriental lido remoto 
 Manda del di la prima e vaga luce, 
 E '1 sol poggiando per 1' etereo vuoto 
 Qualclic festa solenne riconduce, 
 Timori e colpe a prevenir, devoto 
 L' anglo-prete ad orar la si conduce : 
 Per la cena eucaristica parato 
 Risplendente e 1* altar piu dell' usato. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Ad ogni era che il sole in suo cammino 
 Marca sul meridiano in simil giorno 
 Ricomincia il fedel rito divino ; 
 Nuovi preti al pregar fanno ritorno 
 Benedicendo sempre il pane e '1 vino : 
 Nuova preghiera il sol saluta, e intorno 
 Sul continente e sovra il mar, pertutto 
 Del suon si spande il progredente fluttc. 
 
 in. 
 
 Poi d' Occidente le savane il santo 
 Lume vedere alia lor volta ponno : 
 E pronti i chierci di Nashota intanto 
 Per unirsi a cantar rompon lor sonno : 
 
 27 
 
210 canzoni spmrruALi. 
 
 Cinti di bianchi lin fanno col canto 
 Le antifbne salire al sommo Donno, 
 Che nate in Ori'ente e poi, compito 
 Del globo il giro, han fin sopra quel lito. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ma quando il santo lume illanguidito 
 Verso il lontano occaso lor declina, 
 E cominciando va del vespro il lito 
 Esatto qual la Stella vespertina, 
 Notte in quel punto ha di regnar finito 
 IP l'uom ne' templi oriental s'inchina : 
 Nuov' alba a destar vien nuova preghiera 
 Sorta pur per girar la terra intera. 
 
 v. 
 
 Fratelli d' Occidente ! Oh ! come anelo 
 
 Vorria mio spirto al vostro esser congiunto, 
 Alio ch' un inno con fervente zelo 
 S' erge nel tempio dell' offerta al punto ; 
 Pensando quale ei d' spazio di cielo 
 Varcar pria che sul labbro a voi sia giunto, 
 Ripetuto via via di gente in gente 
 Finche tra voi Festremo Amen si sente. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pria che il fosse da me, quell' inno stesso 
 Cantato fu nei templi d'Inghilterra, 
 Ed in barbara lingua forse espresso 
 Pei colli e i pian che 1' Oriente serra : 
 
cA^zora spiKimAu. 211 
 
 E per morir nel piii cupo recesso 
 Da pinti muri e volte, u' si disserra, 
 S' innoltra in selve il cui denso fogliame 
 Copre il selvaggio dal color di rame. 
 
 YII. 
 
 Lo spirto mio comniuovesi all' idea 
 Che il nostro vincitor rito Anglicano, 
 Dall' Isola fedele uscir potea 
 Per unir tanti cor di mano in mano ! 
 Un segno egli e clie Dio ne concedea 
 Contro il crudele anatema roraano : 
 Suggel vital, fuoco divin che suole 
 Ardere, o Madre, in queste tne parole : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Una — nell' acqua consacrata, il dritto 
 Sebben per lunga eta dimenticato ; 
 Una — nel sangue di Gesii traffitto, 
 Benche 1' abbia T alter Trento negato ; 
 Una — in spirito e senza alcun conflitto 
 Con ogni antica parte e dritto usato ; 
 Deh ! fa si, cli' io per sempre, o Madre mia, 
 Una con CRISTO. una con Te mi sia. 
 
212 CANZONI SPIRITTJALI. 
 
 LE CAMP ARE A FESTA IN INGEILTEERA 
 
 i. 
 
 SQUILLE all ! squille del loco nativo, 
 
 D 'Inghilterr la verde, l'antica, 
 
 II cui suon per mill' anni festivo 
 
 Dalle torri ederose s' udi ! 
 Com' e lieta la musica loro 
 
 Quando air alba d'un giorno solenne 
 
 Pari a voce d'angelico coro, 
 
 A pregar tutto un popolo uni ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 Mille storie un tal suono di festa, 
 Vecchie storie si grate ricorda : 
 Mille a Prima ed a Vespro ridesta 
 Commoventi memorie nel cor. 
 
 Nozze e morte al mendico, al sovrano 
 Proelamando con voce imparziale, 
 Benedetto, solenne, cristiano 
 Delle squille rimbomba il fragor. 
 
 in. 
 
 Questo suon cbe nel patrio soggiorno 
 L' alba annunzia del santo Natale, 
 Come fecero gli angioli un giorno 
 Sulla cuna del feimbo divin ; 
 
 Come allegro all' intorno si spande 
 Pe' tugurj, pegli ampli castelli, 
 Con gran pompa di tende e gliirlande 
 Per ornare un si fausto mat tin ! 
 
CAXZOXI SPISITUALI. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sceadon gai d' Inghiltcrra i tintinni 
 Dei torrion dalle gotiche aguglie, 
 Mentre echeggian d'antifone e d' inni 
 L' ali supe del tempio maggior ; 
 
 Ove il sacro splendor, che dei preti 
 Sovra ii capo rifletta, rischiara 
 Di bandiere le adorne pareti, 
 I festoni intrecciati di fior. 
 
 v. 
 
 Quando vien primavera gioconda 
 Suonan liete di Pasqua le squille, 
 E il lor suono t'allegra, t' innonda, 
 D' ere sante, o Regina fedel. 
 
 Pari a scolte i lor suoni van pronti 
 Eclieggiando d'altura in altura : 
 Dalle valli alle cime de' monti 
 Van gridando : E risorto 1' Agnel ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 V amo, o squille del nostra paese, 
 Coll' ardor di quest' aninia io y' amo : 
 Benedico il Signor, che d'inglese 
 Vecchio tronco discender mi fe'. 
 
 Qual suo flglio il cantar mi diletta 
 Che dell' Anglia le glorie proclama ; 
 E per voi, sacri bronzi, ella e accetta 
 Al cospetto del Itege dei re. 
 
'214: 1ITUAIX 
 
 vn. 
 
 Rede anch' io di sua storia famosa, 
 Benclie nafco a rimota diftanza. 
 T amo io pur mia contrada id 
 Che la gioja del mondo puoi far. 
 
 Tua la riinane, 
 
 E qui c Sign ha suo i 
 
 »Squille inglesi da torri cristiane 
 II deserto faran rimbombar. 
 
 J y AC HE. 
 
 BAD IE. pilastri. arcate 
 
 D" anriA** cattedrali tm di Euperbe 
 Fiangon le lor navate 
 
 Or rieo: d' erbe. 
 
 A hi ! le vetuste cadono 
 
 Yc. la Bono, 
 
 in giimcrliin H popolo 
 
 Alzava un o-iorno del Te Deum il saoao. 
 
 :ri essi non erano 
 Al Padre nostro. e T onor boo non v* era 
 
 il Signer fiagg 
 Dal" - - ■ _ >ra? 
 
- 
 
 E.551. il 7 -r i-rl :: :i" : 
 
 U* riposa Giacob, saeri mi £ fhro ; 
 
 i" ni ii-ir : :ht il 7 r": 
 
 I 7 11.1 V-irri^i M:-1tt r:ii: 711:. 
 
 '.'i :::?: : 1 il :n 1' riii i : 
 
 ?.::::-: i: illi-.r il il :i:i.l n: :t.i:. 
 >- : -ri" : " il. : n: iciiii: 
 
 I : rn _ • : n ■: 71 in 11 1 il ii.«5- : in i r rr_ : . 
 
 11 r : 
 
 La mitra e 1 pastoral eon pompa esteem; 
 
 E ir.iiiirl : 11:1: 
 
 '1:1 t;,-: :;-,; !_;,_:: iii.iriii. ! 
 
 IT. 
 
 P-m il Piir-r 517:11: 
 
 Ai::r ;: 1111-1. ^ ir_ :■•: :i il l'i : r: 511: 
 
 Ml Hr li:i:: :1t71 1 
 
 S-iri-j 11 ii::ii : ii irll:ii.i il ~ii: :. 
 Cii-sin ':: 11 iriiiri: 
 
 '/It.'! '::ili: :_ l~r.ll - Z-TZ'. 1 IT: : 
 
 11 - lii .?•: '. i : « .: 
 
 ^•:~-- U n:v: il :-n;i: i-1 Si_n::r 
 
216 CANZONI SPIRITUAL!. 
 
 II. 
 
 I MARTIUI RIFORMAXO LA CHIESA. 
 
 Badie, pilastri, arcate 
 
 Di veccbie cattedrali, antiebe volte, 
 Vostre sante navate 
 
 Han de' niartiri Fossa in seno accolte. 
 L' alto barone e '1 vescovo 
 
 Inginoccbiati Tun deli' altro accanto 
 Qui lacrimando supplici 
 
 I lor voti innalzar' de' santi al Santo. 
 
 ii. 
 
 II tiranno onde espellere 
 
 Dal bel seno dell' angliclie contrade, 
 Come i lor padri, u' sorsero 
 
 Contro quelle di Roma empie masnade : 
 Poicb' essi i templi amavano 
 
 U' regno Fede in suo candor natio, 
 Benche pur troppo gb* uomini 
 
 Osasser la di surrogarsi a Die. 
 
 in. 
 
 Badie, pilastri, areate 
 
 D' ogni antica risorta cattedrale, 
 Delle vostre navate 
 
 L' ineenso ancor su per le volte sale : 
 
CANZONI SPmiTUALI. 21 
 
 Ancor s' erge nell' anglico 
 
 Nobil sermon l'antifona cristiana, 
 Ed oltre il fiimie l'organo 
 
 Fa la cheta eclieggiar valle lontana. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Vescovi, preti e diaconi, 
 
 In puri immacolati paramenti 
 L' Eucaristia, le Supplici 
 
 Preci la sono ad alternare intent:. 
 Dalle festive e libere 
 
 Sqnille i fecleli convocati sono, 
 Che trionfo 1' Altissimo, 
 
 E sua voce rinibornba entro quel suono. 
 
 III. 
 
 SOLO I KEGICIDI FRODUCONO LA DISSENSIONS. 
 
 Badie, pilastri, arcate 
 
 Antiche benedette cattedrali, 
 Salde al tremuoto siate 
 
 E dell' enipie discordie ai di fatali. 
 Che non romani artigli 
 
 Questa umiliar potran vecchia Ingliilterra, 
 Ma del suo grenibo i figli 
 
 Sono i nemici ch' or le fanno guerra. 
 
 28 
 
218 CAXZOXI SPIRITTJAU. 
 
 n. 
 
 Entro i templi un bagliore 
 
 Fiamnieggia e sordo un niormorio s' intende 
 Non di culto e splendore, 
 
 Ne suon di preci eke devoto ascende. 
 Di sangue il braccio intriso 
 
 Un re beffeggian clie cadea lor preda ; 
 Di glo riail Sir distruggere 
 
 Vorrian per tema eh' Ei qual re non rieda. 
 
 in. 
 
 Or masnadier sacrilego 
 
 I luoghi ove i fedeli orar' curvati 
 Calca, e '1 cener d'un vescovo 
 
 Va calpestando co' tallon ferrali. 
 Ora i cavalli sdrajansi 
 
 U' gia s'inginocchiar' martiri santi, 
 Nitrendo ove le antifone 
 
 Un di s'ergeano e i salmi al cor parlanti. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Dal linestron gia splendido 
 
 Di luce un fiume giu pioveva un giorno, 
 E coi sacri dell' iride 
 
 Color gli oggetti irradiava intorno : 
 Ma i pinti vetri in polvere 
 
 Irne, e dei padri profanar' si l'ossa ; 
 La fonte, ove il battesimo 
 
 S' ebber, del sangue de' fratelli e rossa. 
 
CANZONI SPIRITUAL!. 219 
 
 IV. 
 
 E COMPIONO IL SETTANTESIMO QUARTO SALMO. 
 
 Badie, pilastri, arcate 
 
 Antiche e care cattedrali, oh ! quanto 
 Trema chi v' ama ! e armate 
 
 Orde nemiche van gioendo intanto. 
 Pur la prece ancor mormora 
 
 Di vostre litanie spargendo il suono : 
 Ancor fedeli ha l'Auglia 
 
 Che pregan serapre pel suo re, pel trono. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Xelle capanne il nobile, 
 
 Mentre il villano entro il castel dimora, 
 Si prostra, qual se 1' aere 
 
 La vostra squilla pereuotesse ancora : 
 Puo V Anglia a mane, a sera 
 
 Ne' piu. abbietti mirar tugurj suoi, 
 Di fidi eletta schiera 
 
 Tuttor benedicente al rege, a voi. 
 
 in. 
 
 I.or lezioni i vescovi 
 
 Van recitando ancor fra le ritorte : 
 Oh ! come i buoni sofirono 
 
 Mentis agli empi sorride ingiusta sorte ! 
 
CAJSZOS1 hLI. 
 
 Come a Dio cara e un' aninia 
 
 Cui spesso danna un folle plebiscito ! 
 
 Oh ! come Y unto Davide 
 
 Precipitato fu dal trono avito .' 
 
 IV. 
 
 C'cn essi i lor salteri 
 
 Cui gemon su' Lei rabeschi e le scaltun 
 Ne' templi. gia alteri, 
 
 A gara devastar' martello e scure : 
 Sulle mine gemono 
 
 Che van coprerido la contrada inlera, 
 Er del Signor ncl tempio 
 
 SuH' ondeggiante del tiran bandiera. 
 
 V. 
 
 MA DIO E CON" XOI SIXO AXLA FINE. 
 
 Badie, pilastri, arcate 
 
 Oh ! come poche e a gran distanza sparse ! 
 Di vostre glorie andate 
 
 Splendidi i resti ancor potean mirarse. 
 
 Mille delubri ahi ! caddero : 
 
 Nottole e gufi la annidati or Bono, 
 U' genufiesso il poplo 
 
 Un ofiorno alzava del Te Deuin il suouo. 
 
CANZONI SPIRITUALI. 221 
 
 n. 
 
 Ma i sassi lor, la polvere 
 
 Son preziosi agli occhi della Fede. 
 E gia i baroni riedono 
 
 Ai lor castelli, e al soglio il re sen riede. 
 Di nuovo un lieto e libero 
 
 Suon di squille echeggid di balza in balza : 
 Ed ogni chiesa in giubilo 
 
 H canto del Te Deum di nuovo innalza. 
 
 ni. 
 
 Per nostra madre or supplici 
 
 Preghiam : che l'lnghilterra a lungo viva, 
 Sia grande, santa, libera, 
 
 E in mezzo alle sue glorie ognor giuliva : 
 Sia benedetta ogni anima 
 
 Che benedice a lei : dentro a' suoi muri 
 Sia pace ; e gioja stabile 
 
 Ne* palagi, nelT aule, e nei tuguri. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Tutti, o preganti in anglica 
 
 Lingua, per l'lnghilterra a Dio pregate : 
 E prima tu, mia patria, 
 
 In questa nuova di tua gloria etate. 
 Pregate che non riedano 
 
 Que' di che fur per lei giorni tremendi ; 
 Per la tua madre, o figlia, 
 
 Prega, e '1 Signor propizio all' Anglia rendi ! 
 
NOTES 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 Lake Geoege — the most beautiful sheet of water in the state 
 of New York — was called Horicon by the Aborigines ; but by the 
 French missionaries was named St. Sacrement, because they deem- 
 ed its waters too pure for any thing but the holy Sacrament of 
 Baptism, and are said to have sent specimens to France, to be used 
 for that purpose. The Koyal American army gave the lake its 
 popular name in compliment to the reigning sovereign, and as a 
 token of their attachment to the house of Hanover. 
 
 The visit commemorated in the ballad was made in the summer 
 of 1839. 
 
 Page 17. — The Bloody Pond. A dark-looking, little, circular pond, 
 near the southern extremity of the lake, is so called from its having 
 been the receptacle of the bodies of the English and Americans, 
 who were massacred by the Indians after the capitulation of Fort 
 William Henry, in the old French war. 
 
 Page 19. — Fort George. The ruins of this fort are yet in pres- 
 ervation; but of Fort William Henry nothing but mounds and 
 embankments remain. 
 
 Page 21. — Katydid. A beautiful American insect, whose note 
 
224 NOTES. 
 
 is very striking in the autumnal evening music of American land- 
 scapes. It is a delicate kind of grasshopper, and its colour is a 
 beautiful pea-green. Its name is derived from its note, which it 
 incessantly repeats — Tcaty-did, Jcaty-did — to the great amusement 
 of listening children. 
 
 Page 21. — Sachems. Some of my readers may not know that 
 such is the aboriginal term for the Indian chiefs. 
 
 Page 22. — Emerald islets. The surface of the lake is broken by 
 innumerable little islands, some of them but a few feet in diameter, 
 which look as if they merely floated on the water. You are told 
 by the boatmen, who row you about, that the islands are just one 
 for every day in the year : an assertion which I cannot dispute. 
 
 Page 23. — Distant Thung. This fine mountain, which some 
 spell Tongue mountain, is the limit of one's view to the northward, 
 from the walls of Fort George. 
 
 Page 24. — Its brimming urn. Lake George may well be called 
 an overflowing basin, for its outlet is a rapid and descending stream, 
 which, after making a succession of beautiful waterfalls, finds its 
 way into Lake Champlain. 
 
 Page 25. — Monroe. This name, with those of Montcalm and 
 Uncas, is familiar to all readers, from that beautiful romance of Mr. 
 Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans. 
 
 Page 32. — St. Sacrament for aye. It is not intended here to 
 express any high estimate of the French Missions among these 
 savages. In general, they merely changed the superstitions of the 
 barbarians, without improving their moral or social condition. 
 
 II. 
 
 DREAMLAXD. 
 
 Page 41. — Had flowers and wreaths. This practice, once of or- 
 dinary occurrence in England, is thus explained by that true-heart- 
 ed Churchman, John Evelyn, in his Sylva : " We adorn their graves 
 with flowers and redolent plants, just emblems of the life of man, 
 
NOTES. 225 
 
 which has been compared in Holy Scriptures to those fading beau 
 ties, whose roots being buried in dishonour, rise again in glory." 
 
 Page 44. — Angel lullabies. The consoling text — "I heard a 
 voice from heaven," &c, is sometimes chaunted at the grave, ac- 
 cording to the Kubric ; and may be said in poetry to make that 
 dumber good which is thus hallowed and blessed. 
 
 III. 
 
 CAB L. 
 
 The decoration of churches and churchyards with evergreens 
 and flowers, and such customs as those of "the Eushbearing," and 
 " Posy Sunday," which are still extant in England, though wholly 
 voluntary, and not ordained by the Church, are, with unprejudiced 
 persons, a beautiful illustration of the faculty by which her spirit 
 invests every good gift of God with sacred associations. 
 
 The holy George Herbert speaks as follows in his Country Par- 
 son : " The country parson is a lover of old customs, if they be 
 good and harmless, and the rather because country people are 
 much addicted to them ; so that to favour them therein is to win 
 their hearts, and to oppose them therein is to deject them. If there 
 be any ill in the custom which may be severed from the good, he 
 pares the apple, and gives them the clean to feed on." Again : 
 " The country parson takes order that the church be swept and 
 kept clean, .... and at great festivals strewed and stuck with 
 boughs, and perfumed with incense." 
 
 So Wordsworth, in his Ecclesiastical Sketches, describes a day 
 among the parishes of Westmoreland, where the village children 
 are accustomed to come forth : 
 
 " by rustic music led, 
 
 Through the still churchyard, each with garland gay, 
 That carried, sceptre-like, o'er tops the head 
 Of the proud bearer." 
 
NOTES. 
 
 It is by such spontaneous and instinctive tributes, precisely such 
 in principle as were ordained in the Old Testament, and accepted 
 in the New (Xehemiah viii. 15 ; St. Matthew xxi. 8), that the beau- 
 tiful gifts of God are severed from vain and worldly uses, and made 
 to minister to a sanctified taste in Christians of full years : while 
 for children they perform a useful part, in making the associations 
 of their religion attractive and lovely. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 In this ballad, such feelings toward the mother-country are ex- 
 pressed, as I am happy to suppose, not personal to myself, but com- 
 mon to nearly all educated and liberal-minded Americans. 
 
 Page 64. — Baliol men. Perhaps I should rather have apostro- 
 phized the Men of Belial, than the respectable society named in the 
 text ; but a college that once had such a man as Southey for a 
 member, can afford to bear a little responsibility for his juvenile 
 Jacobinism. The apostrophe was suggested by his mean little 
 poem on " the Chapel Bell," written in 1793. The young pantiso- 
 crat seems to have had a peculiar spite against that bell, as another 
 of his poems begins with the hemistich, " Toll on, toll on, old bell! " 
 
 Page 65. — Quiet Corpus. I have an impression that Corpus 
 must be a quiet place for a moderate reading man, not over studi- 
 ous, and fond of conversation. What can be got from books and 
 pictures gives an American this impression ; but I know nothing 
 about it, and am very likely wide of the mark. 
 
 Y. 
 
 CHRONICLES. 
 
 Page 73. — Altars all as spotless. This refers to the early Brit- 
 ish Church in its original independence, purity, and poverty, before 
 the conversion of the Saxons by St. Augustine, a.d. 596. 
 
NOTES. 227 
 
 Page 73. — Oh, ico! the Tiovr. Xot the hour of Augustine's 
 mission and patriarchate : for he was sent to convert the Saxons 
 by the good and great Gregory, who abhorred the idea of a suprem- 
 acy ; but the hour when the pall icas imposed, with an oath of sub- 
 jection, in the days of "William Eufus, against every principle of 
 apostolical precedent and canon law. 
 
 Page 75. — To chase aicay the tyrant. The English Reformation 
 was no revolution. It merely threw off the usurped supremacy of 
 the Bishop of Rome, and restored the Church to her primitive 
 purity and independence ; rejecting whatever was papal, but care- 
 fully retaining all that was apostolical. 
 
 Page 76. — A nation shouteth round. For the first twelve years 
 of Elizabeth, the papists themselves frequented the sacraments and 
 ministry of the ancient Church of England ; showing that in nothing 
 had its identity been lost or its Catholicity impaired, even in their 
 estimation. During that period two popes had offered to receive 
 and approve the Common Prayer, if the Queen would but consent 
 to the papal supremacy — so that, even in their judgment, the 
 Church had forfeited nothing essential to Catholicity, by translat- 
 ing and reforming her worship. Thus, till 1569, when Pius V. 
 forced those Englishmen who were in favour of his supremacy to 
 become recusants, there was in England one pure and undivided 
 Church, which, but for the Romish and Puritan schisms which soon 
 followed, would have become the joy of the whole earth, for beauty 
 and primitive completeness. The recusancy of 1569 was the origin 
 of the papal sect in England, which has no thread of connection 
 with the ancient Church of England ; and owes its existence, as 
 well as its creed, to the novelties of the pseudo-council of Trent. 
 
 Page 79. — The noble in the cottage. Sir Walter Scott has beau- 
 tifully introduced this fact into his fine fiction, the story of Wood- 
 stock, where Alice Lee and Dr. Rochecliffe at their devotions are 
 so beautifully portrayed. 
 
 Page 80.— Their Psalter. See Psalm lxxiv. 5-10, 20-24. Hear- 
 ing it read, one Sunday during divine service, at St. Mark's in the 
 Bowery, suggested these verses. 
 
228 NOTES. 
 
 Bishops White and Madison, from whom (with Bp. Provoost) 
 all our clergy have descended, were consecrated at Lambeth, Feb. 
 4, 1787 ; and landed in the New World on Easter-day succeeding, 
 to begin a succession which already has its representatives at the 
 antipodes. 
 
 VI. 
 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 In a collection of letters on the Scottish Church, printed in Lon- 
 don in 1690, says Mr. Sage, afterward a Scottish bishop, "I can affirm 
 with a well-grounded assurance, that if by the people you mean 
 the Commonalty . . . the third man, throughout the whole king- 
 dom, is not Presbyterian ; and if by the people you mean those 
 who are persons of quality and education, I dare boldly say not the 
 thirteenth." And even, at the present day — if I may trust an ar- 
 ticle in Blackwood's, attributed to Professor Wilson — the following 
 is a just account of things : " The greater part of the Scotch aris- 
 tocracy and landed men (the infinitely greater part of them) are 
 not members of the Kirk of Scotland at all. They are, as all their 
 forefathers were, Episcopalians. They yield, as their ancestors 
 did, to the voice of the majority of the gross population." See 
 Nodes Ambrosiance. 
 
 Page 91. — Shall flout them. For a very graphic description of 
 the poor appearance which the Kirk makes in Glasgow Cathedral, 
 and some fine remarks thereon, see " Peter's Letters," (No. lxvii.) 
 by Lockhart. 
 
 And shame the Church, &c. The American Church owes its 
 episcopate to the persecuted and almost extinguished Church of 
 Scotland, which not only gave to America her first bishop, in the 
 person of Seabury, but by so doing was the means of securing the 
 Lambeth consecrations, with which that from Scotland was united. 
 (See Bp. Wilberforce's American Church, page 194.) Thus she 
 may be said to have put her more flourishing sister to shame. 
 
NOTES. 229 
 
 Page 92. — The fishwife's voice. The story of Jenny Geddes, 
 and her exploit in the High Church of St. Giles', Edinburgh (July 
 23, 1637), is probably familiar to my reader, but may be found in 
 Tales of a Grandfather, Second Series. 
 
 Page 92. — Braes of Ross. The old see of Ross has once more a 
 bishop. 
 
 Page 93. — The Moray Shepherd. No Scottish bishop is more 
 venerated in America, than the late good bishop of Moray (Dr. Jolly), 
 who should have been buried in Elgin Cathedral, where many of 
 his predecessors lie entombed. 
 
 Page 93. — Glenalmond. The founding of Trinity College, near 
 Perth, is hailed by the friends of the Church of Scotland, as an 
 earnest of better days at hand. 
 
 VII. 
 
 SEABURY'S MITRE. 
 
 Samuel Seabuet, Bishop of Connecticut, and first Bishop of 
 the American Church, was consecrated at Aberdeen, in Scotland, 
 November 14, 1784. He died Feb. 25, 1796. 
 
 Page 96. — Crown of thorn. The mitre is of black satin adorn- 
 ed with gold-thread needlework. The Cross is embroidered on the 
 front ; and on the reverse, a truly significant emblem, the crown 
 of thorns. 
 
 Page 95. — Her old Regalia. The discovery of the ancient Re- 
 galia of Scotland in 1817, was the subject of great national enthu- 
 siasm ; and the royal jewels are now preserved in the castle of 
 Edinburgh, as symbols of the independence of the kingdom. 
 
 VIII.. 
 
 RUSTIC CHURCHES. 
 
 Page 100. — St. Joseph's thorn. The celebrated Glastonbury thorn, 
 which blooms at Christmas, is fabled to have been the staff of St. 
 
230 H0TES. 
 
 Joseph of Arimathea. when he came into England as a missionary. 
 a.d. 65. In its immediate vicinity stood the earliest British Church, 
 described by old Fuller as follows : — 
 
 "It had in length sixty feet and twenty-six in breadth, made 
 of rods, wattled or interwoven. . . . Let not stately modern 
 churches disdain to stoop, with their highest steeples, reverently 
 doing homage to this poor structure as their first platform and 
 precedent. And let their chequered pavements no more disclaim 
 this oratory's plain floor, than its thatched covering doth envy their 
 leaden roofs." Eccles. Hist., vol. i. p. 14. London. 183 1. 
 
 IX. 
 
 0HUBCHTABD8. 
 
 The parish of St. George's. Hempstead, is the oldest in the 
 state of New York : and its churchyard, though not a model ceme- 
 tery, is dear to me as containing the remains of my kinsman. Ed- 
 ward Henry Hyde, some time a member of the University of New 
 York, and at the time of his death intended for Holy Orders. This 
 ballad was suggested by a moonlight visit to his grave, in 1840. 
 
 TEIXITT, OLD CEUECE. 
 
 The removal of the old Trinity church was a sad sight to many 
 Xew Yorkers : notwithstanding the proposed splendours of the 
 new church. I had often worshipped in it in my boyhood ; and 
 just as its destruction was beginning, had a final opportunity of 
 paying my vows there on my twenty-first anniversary, Friday, 
 May 10, 1839. 
 
 Page 110. — Emgy. The statue of Bishop Hobart, now in the 
 sacristy of the new church, filled the place of an altar-piece in the 
 old church. 
 
NOTES. 231 
 
 XI. 
 
 TRINITY, NEW CHURCH. 
 
 This church was consecrated on Ascension-day, 1846, when I 
 had the satisfaction of being present at the solemnities. 
 
 Page 116. — Mould of doctrine. The original Greek of Romans 
 vi. 17 (as criticized by a venerated kinsman, in familiar conversation,) 
 suggested this expression, which is a literal translation of what our 
 English version renders— form of doctrine. 
 
 XII. 
 
 ORATORIES. 
 
 The custom here commended has had its examples among the 
 best of men of widely differing piety ; and I would instance Her- 
 bert, Hooker, and Henry Venn. Even in the dullest days of the 
 eighteenth century, it is gratifying to find Dr. Johnson recommend- 
 ing it on one occasion to his friend Boswell. See Life of Johnson, 
 i. 397. Dublin. 
 
 Page 125. — The Psalmist's cedars. See Psalm xcii. 11, 12. 
 
 XIII. 
 LITTLE WOOD1IERE. 
 
 Had the Church, as it is in the English Prayer-book, been allow- 
 ed its quiet and natural development during the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, it would have been found in every English village as I have 
 portrayed it in this ballad. Such Herbert, and Eerrar, and Hooker 
 would have had it ; and, in our own days, Bishop Heber. 
 
 Page 128. — When the Litany, &c. " It was a custom in several 
 churches to toll a bell while the Litany was reading, to give notice 
 to the people that the Communion Service was coming on." 
 Wheatley. 
 
 Page 130. — On the north. It was the custom of our ancestors 
 to bury outcasts and criminals on the shady side of the church. 
 
232 NOTES. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 DESOLATIONS. 
 
 In the diocese of Virginia, such ruins as are here described un- 
 happily abound. 
 
 XV. 
 
 CHELSEA. 
 
 The General Theological Seminary of the American Church is 
 situated in that quarter of New York known as Chelsea. 
 
 Page 139. — When old Canute. See the story in Sharon Tur- 
 ner's Anglo-Saxons. Canute himself composed a ballad upon the 
 occasion, of which a fragment remains : 
 
 "Merry sang the monks in Ely, 
 When Canute the king was sailing by; 
 Row, ye knights, near the land, 
 And let us hear the monks' song." 
 
 Such is Turner's translation. Wordsworth has a beautiful son- 
 net on this incident. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 VIGILS. 
 
 The Latin lines at the end of every stanza are the titles of an' 
 thems or chants appropriate to the hours. 
 
 Page 144. — Adeste Fideles. Hither ye faithful. 
 
 Page 145. — Veni Creator. Come Holy Ghost : as in the Or- 
 dinal. 
 
 Page 145. — Jubilate Deo. The hundredth Psalm. 
 
 Page 145. — Cum Angelis. With An r els, &c. : as in the Eu- 
 charist. 
 
 Page 145. — Nisi Dominus. Unless the Lord keep the city, the 
 watchman waketh but in vain. Psalm cxxvii. 
 
NOTES. 233 
 
 Page 146. — De Profundis. Psalm cxxx. 
 
 Page 146. — Kyrie Eleison. Lord have mercy upon us: as in 
 the Litany. 
 
 Page 146. — Miserere. Psalm lvii. 
 
 Page 147. — Dies Irce. The day of wrath. 
 
 Page 147. — Sursum Corda. Lift up your hearts: as in the 
 Eucharist. 
 
 Page 147. Fill David. O son of David : as in the Litany. 
 
 Page 147. — Veni Jesu. Come, Lord Jesus. 
 
 Page 148. — Nunc Dimittis. Now, Lord, lettest Thou Thy ser- 
 vant depart in peace. The song of Simeon, St. Luke ii. 29. 
 
 XVII. 
 THE CURFEW. 
 
 The anecdote of William I., which is employed in this ballad, 
 will be found in nearly all English histories. The Curfew-bell, an 
 institution of that monarch, is generally understood. 
 
 Page 152. — New England milage. So late as the beginning of 
 the present century, the nine-o'clock-bell is said to have been gen- 
 erally obeyed in New England, as the warning to go to bed. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 NASHOTAH. 
 
 At Nashotah, in Wisconsin, a thousand miles from the Atlantic 
 coast, is a religious establishment of unmarried missionaries, who 
 live and labour in the spirit of the primitive day. All that is said 
 of it and them in this ballad is literally true. 
 
 The founders of this mission (and among them was the dear 
 friend to whom this book is dedicated) were, in 1840, my fellow- 
 students at Chelsea, and Wisconsin was then a wilderness. It is 
 now (1850) a Christian diocese, and has a bishop, and twenty-one 
 
234: NOTES. 
 
 clergy, — the blessed results, in a great degree, of the self-denying 
 labours of the brethren of Nashotah. 
 
 Page 162. — The Norway rover. Wisconsin is rapidly filling up 
 with the better class of emigrants from Europe ; and the itin- 
 erant brothers of Nashotah have under their care settlements of 
 Norwegians, Swedes, Irish, Welsh, English, and Oneida Indians. 
 They have also baptized several Jews. 
 
 Page 162. — The sad Oneida. Several Oneida Indians are train- 
 ing for Holy Orders at Xashotah ; and at the first Diocesan council 
 of Wisconsin, in 1847, there were present several Oneidas, lay dele- 
 gates. They had walked two hundred miles to be present, and on the 
 last day had accomplished forty-five miles. One of them spoke in 
 debate : probably for the first time (says my friend, the Ptev. Dr. 
 Kip) that an American Indian has been heard in the councils of 
 the Church. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 S T. SIL VA iV S BEL L . 
 
 When this ballad was written, it was a mere a fiction. The 
 Nashotah missionaries have since erected a church, by the name of 
 St. Silvanus, and it can hardly be doubted that the effects antici- 
 pated in the ballad have resulted in some degree. 
 
 XX. 
 
 TEE CHURCH'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Page 165. — Hose-marine. I have taken a quaint sort of license 
 with the botanical name of the flower rosemary (rosmarinus), 
 which has no reference to the rose at all, but is similar in sound. I 
 judge it not out of place in a ballad. The custom of using rose- 
 mary at funerals is thus explained by Wheatley, on the Common 
 Praver : 
 
NOTES. 235 
 
 " To express their hopes that their friend is not lost forever, 
 each person in the company usually hears in his hand a sprig of 
 rosemary : a custom which seems to have taken its rise from a 
 practice among the heathens, of a quite different import. For they 
 have no thought of a future resurrection, hut believing that the 
 bodies of those that were dead would forever He in the grave, made 
 use of cypress at their funeral, which is a tree that being once cut 
 never revives, but dies way. But Christians, on the other side, having 
 better hopes, and knowing that this very body of their friend, 
 which they are now going solemnly to commit to the grave, shall 
 one day rise again, and be reunited to his soul, instead of cypress 
 distribute rosemary to the company, which being always green, and 
 flourishing the more for being cropt (and of which a sprig only 
 being set in the ground, will sprout up immediately and branch into 
 a tree), is more proper to express their confidence and trust. " 
 
 THE END.