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“And mark, too keen for earthly day,
The Father's stamp and seal, Christ in the heart, the Living Ray,
Its deepening light reveal ?"
Oh, well the denizens of Heaven
Their Master's children know, By filial yearnings sweet and even,
By patient smiles in woe,
By gaze of meek inquiry, turn'd
Towards th' informing Eye,
By clasped hands on high.
Well may we guess, our Guardians true
Stoop low and tarry long,
That shows us weak or strong.
And even as loving nurses here
Joy in the babe to find
Or brother good and kind,
So in each budding inward grace
The Seraphs' searching ken The memory haply may retrace
Of ancient, holy men.
For of her Saints the Sacred Home
Is never quite bereft ;
A glorious type, hath left:
And by those features, stern or sweet,
Of bold or gentle gleam, Heaven's keen-eyed Watchers haply mete
What mortals holy deem.
“ And hark,” saith one, “the soul I guide
I heard it gently sigh
Touched by his Saviour's eye.”
“And see,” another cries,“ how soft
Smiles on that little child Yon aged man ! even so full oft
The loved Disciple smiled."
And oh, be sure no guardian fires
Flash brighter in their joy Than theirs, who scan the meek desires
And lowly lone employ
Of maiden in her quiet bower,
When haply glance or mien Reminds them of the lily flower
With Blessed Mary seen.
But as when babes by look or tone
Brother or friend recall,
Their memory blend with all,
So in earth's saintly multitude
Discern we Saints above :-
Pure Light and endless Love.
“Ye shall have a song, as in the night when a holy solemnity is kept."
The western sky is glowing yet,
The burnished Cross upon the spire
Touch'd faintly with its last dim fire.
A maiden rocks a babe to sleep,
And times the cradle to her song ;-
But awful thoughts thereto belong :
* Psalm lxxi. 1. New Version.
Without a Psalm she breathes her strain,
Lest haply ruder ears be nigh ;
In that half word of lullaby.
Angels may read such words of power,
And infants feel them : we the while But dimly guess, till in His hour
We see the Lord's unclouded smile. Then spells that guarded us of old Their hidden virtue shall unfold : Charm'd writings are they now; no eye May read them till the fire be nigh.
O awful touch of God made Man !
We have no lack if Thou art there, From Thee our infant joys began,
By Thee our wearier age we bear.