And dare we the transporting word

To our own hearts apply?

Trembling we dare; for He had heard

Our lowly breathed vows, ere flamed yon morning sky.

We have been by His Cross and grave;

His Angel bade us speed

Where they resort, whom He will save,

And hear and say as one,

"The Lord is risen indeed."

Then speed we on our willing way,

And He our way will bless.

In fear and love thy heart array;

Straight be thy churchway path, unsoiled thy Sabbath

dress.

Holy Places and Things.

261

2.

WALK TO CHURCH.

"The path of the Just is as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect day."

Now the holy hour is nigh,

Seek we out the holy ground;
Overhead the breezy sky,

Rustling woodlands all around:
Fragrant steams from oak-leaves sere,
Peat and moss and whortles green,

Dews that yet are glistening clear

Through their brown or briary screen.

Hie we through the autumnal wood,

Pausing where the echoes dwell,

Boys, or men of boyish mood,
Trying how afar they swell.
Haply down some opening glade

Now the old grey tower we see,
Underneath whose solemn shade

JESUS risen hath sworn to be.

He hath sworn, for there will meet
Two or three in His great name,
Waiting till their incense sweet

Feel His heaven-descended flame.
Day by day that old grey tower
Tells its tale, and week by week
In their tranquil hoary bower

To the unlearned its shadows speak.

Holy Places and Things.

263

3.

THE LICH-GATE.

"Keep thy foot when thou goest to the House of God."

THIS is the portal of the dead.—

Nay, shrink not so, my fair-eyed boy,
But on the threshold grating tread
With wary softness tame the joy,

The wildfire keen, that all the way

Even from our porch at home hath danced with thee

so gay.

This is the holy resting-place,

Where coffins and where mourners wait,

Till the stoled priest hath time to pace
His path toward this eastern gate,

Like one who bears a hidden seal

Of pardon from a king, where rebels trembling kneel.

Brief is the pause, but thoughts and dreams
By thousands on that moment crowd,
Of clouds departing, opening gleams,
A waning lamp, a brightening shroud :
Such visions fill the longing eyes

As haply haunt the space 'twixt earth and Paradise.

Such visions in the churchyard air
Are gleaming, fluttering all around.

O scare them not away: beware

Of bolder cry and ruder bound.

Thick as the bees that love to play

Under the lime-tree leaves the livelong summer day,

And tunable as their soft song,

And fragrant as the honey'd flowers

They haunt and cherish, is the throng

Of thoughts in these our hallowed bowers.

On every gale that stirs the

yew

They float, and twinkle in each drop of morning dew.