“As the shadow of a great Rock in a weary land."

The Twelve holy men are gathered in prayer,
The Psalm mounts on high, the Spirit descends :
A keen silent thrilling is round them in air,
A Power from the Highest with thought and word


They pass by the way, to sight poor and mean.
How glorious the train that streams to and fro !
The blind, dumb, halt, withered, by hundreds are

The prisoners of Satan lie chained where they go.

O lay them but where the shadow


Of Christ's awful Saint, to prayer as he speeds :
The mighty love-token all fiends shall appal,
A gale breathe from Eden, assuaging all needs.


Or bring where they lie Paul's girdle or vest :
One touch and one word :—the pain fleets away,
The dark hour of frenzy is charmed into rest :-
The hem of Christ's garment all creatures obey.

Christ is in His Saints : from Godhead made Man
The virtue goes out, the whole world to bless.
O'er lands parched and weary that shadow began
To spread from Saint Peter, and ne'er shall grow less.

See Acts iv. and v.



“Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones : for in Heaven their angels do always behold the Face of My Father.”

GREATEST art Thou in least, O Lord,

And even Thy least are great in Thee :
A mote in air, a random word,
Shall save a soul if Thou decree :-

Much more their presence sweet,
Whom with an oath Thou didst into thy Kingdom


A little child's soft sleeping face

The murderer's knife ere now hath staid :
The adulterous eye, so foul and base,
Is of a little child afraid.

They cannot choose but fear,
Since in that sign they feel God and good Angels


For by the Truth's sure oath we know,

There is no christened babe but owns
A Watcher mightier than his foe,
One of the everlasting Thrones,

Who in high Heaven His face
Beholding ever, best His likeness here may trace.

As in each tiny drop of dew,

Glistening at prime of morn, they mark Of Heaven's great Sun an image true, Hear their own chantings in the Lark,

So, sleeping or awake, They love to tend their babes for holy Bethlehem's


And so this whole fallen world of ours,

To us all care, and sin, and spite,
Is even as Eden's stainless bowers
To the pure spirits out of sight,-

To Angels from above,
And souls of infants, sealed by new-creating Love.

Heaven in the depth and height is seen ;

On high among the stars, and low
In deep clear waters : all between
Is earth, and tastes of earth : even so

The Almighty One draws near
To strongest seraphs there, to weakest infants here.

And both are robed in white, and both

On evil look unharmed, and wear
A ray so pure, ill Powers are loth
To linger in the keen bright air.

As Angels wait in joy
On Saints, so on the old the duteous-hearted boy.

God's Angels keep the eternal round

Of praise on high, and never tire.
His Lambs are in His Temple found
Early, with all their heart's desire.

They boast not to be free,
They grudge not to their Lord meek ear and bended


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