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“The creature itself shall be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God."

WHAT is this sudden thrill

Of notes so sweet and keen ?
The organ's waves of sound are still

Within the awful screen.
In prayer are bowed both head and knee,
And yet unbidden rings and free

A chant from one unseen.

A winged chorister

From his arched nook on high
Makes in the calm a gladsome stir,

His proper melody :
A Redbreast blithe, his evening hymn
Trying amid the shadows dim,

Attracts both ear and eye.

Nor time nor tune are there,

Yet sounds the unruly joy
Meet for the hour, nor spoils the prayer

Even of the gazing boy.
It seems to say, Not man alone
Lives in the shade of Jesus' Throne,

And shares the Saints' employ.

The Angels out of sight

Worship with us, we know ; And who can say what pure warm light

The unreasoning tribes below May by their kindly wafting feel? What gleams to guide, what balms to heal

From Christ on earth may flow?

Bird, beast, and insect hail

Warm sun and fragrant shower. The sheep in Bethlehem's thymy dale,

In Blessed Mary's bower The ox and ass—to them was given To see our Lord : the Light of Heaven

Fell on them in that hour.

And since our Lord she bare

In triumph to His place, One patient beast hath seemed to wear

The mark of His high grace, His token to dumb creatures, freed From slavery and unholy deed,

From cruel tasks and base :

Freed by the mighty Cross,

And pure.-0 mark it, all
Who bear that sign ! O fear and loss,

Should ye again enthrall
To woe and



creatures, sealed For blessing, aid to earn and yield,

As ere our father's fall !



“ Having in a readiness to revenge all disobedience, when your obedience is fulfilled."

O WONDROUS warfare of the Spouse of God,

Trampled to earth, yet wielding bolts so keen, She dares not hurl them in her wrath abroad,

Only their ireful lustre glares half-seen.

For if she once unlock her quivered store,

Once speak the words that in her bosom dwell, Earth could not bear the sound ; the anguish sore

Might drive her haughtiest to the scourge and cell.

For she hath power to shut the Heaven on high,

Oft as in hallowed air her dread notes thrill, That no shower fall : and she may smite and try

Earth with all plagues, as often as she will.

Only her potent arm now for a space

Lies withered : quenched and dull her arrowy fires, Like smouldering brands in daylight, till her race

Wake, as of old, to heaven-born high desires.

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