But would one Church Christ's awful lore obey,

Like Saints of old, -one household, one true heart, Such sacrifice might open the dread way

For the Old Signs, for Paul's or Moses' art.


Darkness and mist, at one stern word of thine,
Might even on scorners' outward


descend Fire might break out of each insulted shrine,

Thy locusts spoil them, and thy lions rend.

Haunt us, dire thought! where'er we walk in sin

That mighty secret Power is all our foe :
But they who bear unharm’d Heaven's seal within

May through the penal fires rejoicing go.

So when the storm is rife among the hills,

Roused on his heathery bed the mountain boy To every flash that through the dim air thrills

Keeps time with eager hands, and screams for joy.

Note from the Life of Sir Walter Scott, i. 83. « There is a story of his having been forgotten one day among the knolls when a thunderstorm came on; and his aunt, suddenly recollecting his situation, and running out to bring him home, is said to have found him lying on his back, clapping his hands at the lightning, and crying out, • Bonny, bonny,' at every flash.”



“ There shall meet you a man bearing a pitcher of water: follow him.”


O LORD, behold these babes are Thine,

Thy treasured nurslings pure and sweet : We have sought counsel at Thy shrine :

Where may they sit with Thee, and eat ?” Thou saidst, “ The Water-Bearer meet Within the chosen City's round,

Trace Him along the hallowed street, And where He guides, be duteous found.

“ Where glorious Sion rests on high

Amid the hills that on her wait, Him faithful following, ye shall spy

A wicket in a lowly gate :

There early knock, there linger late, There in Christ's Name the room require,

Where the Great Lord in royal state Shall eat the Bread of His desire.

“ Then to the spacious upper room

The Host will bid you onward fare, Round many a nook of deepest gloom,

Up many a broken wearying stair.

The handmaid Penance hath been there, And swept and garnished all the place.

Haste, and with loyal hands prepare For Me and Mine the Feast of Grace.”

Thou spak’st, and we Thine infants bore,

And bathed them in the Living Well That gushes out beside the door,

Where Thou, O Lord, delight'st to dwell :

Then lowly on our knees we fell, And prayed, that through the world's hot day

Dews from that hour, a balmy spell, Might gently freshen all their way.

Now, trembling still as they advance

Up the far shadowing awful nave, Full oft we bid them backward glance

Where gleaming from its heavenly cave,

The Saviour's side, the healing wave Falls in the fount of their new birth.

The ears that hear its murmuring, crave No tinsel melodies of earth.



When to the Chancel arch they come, * Pause here,” we say,

and search with fear If yet the pledge of your high doom

Upon the sealed brow appear.

If worn and faint, by many a tear Renew the lines, then humbly kneel

Till He invite—till sure and near The gliding of soft wings ye feel.

“ Then to the inner shrine make haste,

Fall prostrate with anointed brows, Adore, and of the Adored taste.

Such bliss the Love untold allows."

Of old, we read, the intrusted Spouse Her infants to the Anointing led

Straight from the Laver and the vows ;Yea, Christ was then the children's bread.

But now some mournful instinct chills

Our Mother's joy, and mars our spring : She, as of old, to the bright hills

Her eaglets' speed at once would wing :

Now far and wide earth’s vapours fling Their tainting dews; and she perchance

Shrinks from the fall such flight may bring, Fears the debasing, downward glance.

Then in low place with lowly heart


dear babe, both thou and I, Bide we our time, and take such part

In the Bride's awful minstrelsy,

As she whose laws are sealed on high Ordains : and if long lingering tire,

Yet may we hope, Faith's virgin sigh The purer mounts, to meet Heaven's fire.

« VorigeDoorgaan »