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Till once again at Angels' warning
His glory where young hearts adore :
Are eyes, the Light to see.
And what if there some favoured one should kneel,
Whom in His time the Lord will seal,
High in the Mount to draw
Then ʼmid his brethren bear unknowing
As Moses veil'd the Sinai rays ?-
Who see that brightness true.
Wouldst thou the tide of grace should higher flow,
The angelic ray more glorious show ?
Wait for His trial hour,
Ever as earth's wild war-cries heighten,
Break forth the Heaven-reflecting rays, Strange awful charms the unwilling eye compel
On the Saints' Light to dwell.
Yes—strive, thou world, in thy rash tyrant-mood,
To slake that burning Cross in blood :
It will but brighter burn,
Where on the Father's right hand beaming,
Deigns to be seen in that last strife,
Rays like their own, and more.
Who knows but maiden mild or smiling boy,
Our own entrusted care and joy,
By His electing grace May with His martyrs find their glorious place?
O hope, for prayer too bold and thrilling,
To mar or damp the angelic flame !
Woe and eternal loss !
THE CRADLE GUARDED.
“ Whose fan is in his hand, and he will thoroughly purge his floor, and gather his wheat into the garner ; but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire."
“As therefore the tares are gathered, and burned in fire, so shall it be in the end of this world."
The Lord, th' All-gracious, hides not all His Ire :
Through the dim chinks of this decaying earth Gleams ever and anon th' unwasted fire,
Startling rude eyes, and shaming lawless mirth.
Even in the joy of Harvest, see, His Brand
Over the chaff is kindling ; sheaves for food And tares for fire, He binds in equal band.
At vintage time His robes are rolled in blood.
His Angels and His Saints cry out, How long ?
His Little ones, full keenly are they bent To right the fallen and redress the wrong,
Full eagerly to justice run unsent.
These are Thy tokens, all-redeeming Lord !
Where, but of Thee, learn'd we aright to name The last dire prison ? Thine the dismal word,
Thine the undying worm, th’unquenched flame.
Therefore Thy duteous Spouse, our Mother dear,
Tuning her love-notes to the Father's voice, Is fain to breathe grave warnings in deep fear,
And say to Sin, Hell is thine hopeless choice !
The strain Love taught her, she in love repeats.
Call it not hard, if in each holiest hour, When with unwonted joy her King she greets, With His own threatenings she would fence His
Call it not stern, though to her Babes she show
The smoke aye glaring o'er th’ abode of ill ; Though guileless hearts, even in their vernal glow,
Hear now and then her thunders, and are still.
Might the calm smile, that on the infant's brow
So brightly beams, all its deep meaning tell, Would it not say, “For Love's sweet sake allow
Fear's chastening Angel here with me to dwell?