12. REDBREAST IN CHURCH. "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, 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 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 His token to dumb creatures, freed From cruel tasks and base :— Freed by the mighty Cross, And pure. O mark it, all Who bear that sign! O fear and loss, To woe and wrong His creatures, sealed As ere our father's fall! 13. DISUSE OF EXCOMMUNICATION. "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, 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. 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, Haunt us, dire thought! where'er we walk in sin But they who bear unharm'd Heaven's seal within So when the storm is rife among the hills, 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.” |