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 tears that to obey have learn’d,

By clasped hands on high.

Well may we guess, our Guardians true

Stoop low and tarry long,
Each accent noting, each faint hue,

That shows us weak or strong.

And even as loving nurses here

Joy in the babe to find
The likeness true of kinsman dear

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 ;
Each a bright shadow in the gloom,

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
In such a tone as Peter sighed,

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,
In all the Parents' right we own,

Their memory blend with all,

So in earth's saintly multitude

Discern we Saints above :-
In these, the Fountain Orb of Good,

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
Gives token where the Sun hath set,

Touch'd faintly with its last dim fire.
Pause on thy way from evening prayer,
And listen : through the twilight air
Floats from yon open cottage door
A soft strain warbled o'er and o'er.

A maiden rocks a babe to sleep,

And times the cradle to her song ;-
A simple strain, not high nor deep,

But awful thoughts thereto belong :
For oft in holy Church's shade
She to that strain hath lent her aid :-
“In thee I put my steadfast trust,
Defend me, Lord, for thou art just."*

* Psalm lxxi. 1. New Version.

Without a Psalm she breathes her strain,

Lest haply ruder ears be nigh ;
But to the babe her sense is plain,

In that half word of lullaby.
That sound still varied, still the same,
To him is as the Saving Name
Pronounced in every tone, and strong
To guard his sleep from every wrong.

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.

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