An Eagle from the deep of space

Is hovering near, and hastes to bring (Meetest the unearthly tale to trace,)

A plume of his mysterious wing.

A golden Chalice standing by,

What mantles there is life or death ; A Dragon to the unpurged eye,

A Serpent from the Cross, to Faith.

O visions dread and bright, I feel

You are too high for me, I seek A lowlier impress for my seal,

More of this earth, though pure and meek.

Give me a tender spotless child,

Rehearsing or at eve or morn His chant of glory undefiled,

The Creed that with the Church was born.

Down be his earnest forehead cast,

His slender fingers joined for prayer, With half a frown his eye sealed fast

Against the world's intruding glare.

Who, while his lips so gently move,

And all his look is purpose strong, Can say what wonders, wrought above,

Upon his unstained fancy throng ?

The world new-framed, the Christ new-born,

The Mother-Maid, the cross and grave, The rising sun on Easter morn,

The fiery tongues sent down to save,

The gathering Church, the Fount of Life,

The saints and mourners kneeling round, The Day to end the body's strife,

The Saviour in His people crowned,

All in majestic march and even

To the veil'd eye by turns appear, True to their time as stars in heaven,

No morning dream so still and clear.

And this is Faith, and thus she wins

Her victory, day by day rehearsed. Seal but thine eye to pleasant sins,

Love's glorious world will on thee burst.



( For St. Luke's Day.)

" There is nothing hid from the heat thereof."

MOTHER of Christ's children dear,
Teacher true of loving Fear,
Kind Physician, wakeful Nurse,
Wont with many a potent verse
By our cradles watch to keep,
Singing new-born Saints to sleep ;
Be thy tenderest breath to-day
Breathed on all we sing or say.
For to-day that Saint we own,
Who to Jesus' cradle-throne
Led us first, with shepherds mild,
With that Mother undefiled,
There to adore the wondrous Child.

Spouse of Christ, so pure and bright,
Skill'd, by His unearthly light,
In our coarse dim air to trace
Lines and hues from yon high place,


Gathering tones from earth and sky
For His perfect harmony
As to-day thou guid'st our thought
Where that holy Painter wrought,
Who with pen and pencil true
Christ's own awful Mother drew;
Be thy prayer untired and strong,
That when eager fancies throng,
Pure may be our dream and song.

Watcher of the eternal ways,
Trusted with the Saints' high praise,
Oft as o'er our childish trance
History bids her visions glance,-
Wonders wild in airy measures,
Records grave from Memory's treasures -
Guide thou well the heart-winning line,
May our love and hate be thine.
He whose tongue of Jesus told
On His Cross and in His Fold,
Third of the mysterious Four,-
Learn we all his sacred lore,
Listening at the Kingdom's door.



“Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times; but, Until seventy times seven."

My child, the counsels high attend

Of thine Eternal Friend.
When longings pure, when holy prayers,
When self-denying thoughts and cares

Room in thine heart would win,
Stay not too long to count them o'er ;
Rise in His Name; throw wide the door,

Let the good Angels in :

Nor listen, should the Tempter say,

“How wearying, day by day,

prayer we said before,
The mountain path climb o'er and o'er,

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