In His own words we Christ adore, But angels, as we speak, Higher above our meaning soar Than we o'er children weak: And yet His words mean more than they, Why should we think, He turns away CONFIRMATION. THE shadow of th' Almighty's cloud Calm on the tents of Israel lay, While drooping paus'd twelve banners proud, Till He arise and lead the way. Then to the desert breeze unroll'd Lion or eagle each bright fold A loadstar to a warrior's eye. So should thy champions, ere the strife, Steady and pure as stars that beam And soft as pure, and warm as bright, Spirit of might and sweetness too! Now leading on the wars of God, Now to green isles of shade and dew Turning the waste thy people trod ; Draw, Holy Ghost, thy seven-fold veil Between us and the fires of youth; Breathe, Holy Ghost, thy freshening gale, Our fever'd brow in age to soothe. And oft as sin and sorrow tire, The hallow'd hour do Thou renew, When beckon'd up the awful choir By pastoral hands, toward Thee we drew; When trembling at the sacred rail We hid our eyes and held our breath, Felt thee how strong, our hearts how frail, And long'd to own thee to the death. For ever on our souls be trac'd That blessing dear, that dove-like hand, A sheltering rock in Memory's waste, O'er-shadowing all the weary land. MATRIMONY. THERE is an awe in mortals' joy, To Eden's portal, and those fires What cost us once so dear. We cower before th' heart-searching eye In rapture as in pain; Even wedded Love, till thou be nigh, Dares not believe her gain: Then in the air she fearless springs, A tun'd and measur'd strain. Ill fare the lay, though soft as dew And free as air it fall, That, with thine altar full in view, Thy votaries would enthrall To a foul dream, of heathen night, Far other strains, far other fires, Our marriage offering grace; Welcome, all chaste and kind desires, With even matron pace Approaching down the hallow'd aisle! Where should ye seek Love's perfect smile, But where your prayers were learn'd erewhile, In her own native place? Where, but on His benignest brow, Who waits to bless you here? Living, He own'd no nuptial vow, No bower to Fancy dear: Love's very self-for Him no need To nurse, on earth, the heavenly seed : |