But Time, as holy sages sing,

When earth and sin have waxed old, A direr progeny will bring,

The last foe of the fold.

Of mortal seed, of woman bred,

The Antichrist, they write, will be,

From a soft bosom duly fed,

Rock'd on a loving knee.

High grace at first to Judas came—
Who knows but he, the Man of Sin,
In the baptismal wave and flame

ye

May his dread course begin?

who wait with hearts too light. By Font or cradle, fear in time ! O let not all your dreams be bright,

Here in Earth's wayward clime!

From the foul dew, the blighting air,
Watch well your treasure newly won.
Heaven's child and yours, uncharm'd by prayer,
May prove Perdition's son.

14.

THE SAINTS' INFANCY.

"And all that sat in the council, looking steadfastly on him, saw his face as it had been the face of an Angel."

WHERE is the brow to bear in mortals' sight
The Crown of pure angelic Light?

And where the favoured eye

Through the dim air the radiance to descry?
An infant on its mother smiling,

Wash'd from the world and sin's defiling,
And to Faith's arm restored, while yet

With the blest dew its cheeks are wet.There Christ hath sworn seraphic Light shall be, There eyes, the Light to see.

He who vouchsafed to kindle that pure glow
Will feed it day and night, we know,

By duteous fear of sin

Fann'd into flame the virgin heart within,

Till once again at Angels' warning

Heaven-gates shall part as clouds of morning,
And the confirming Spirit pour

His glory where young hearts adore :
There is Heaven's Light; there, if true Pastors be,
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

Light uncorrupt from His pure fontal Law,
Then 'mid his brethren bear unknowing

The lustre keen within him glowing,
But veil it, when he feels their gaze,

As Moses veil'd the Sinai rays ?

Blest, who so shines and blest the thoughtful few, 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,

His willing Saints in His dread day of Power.

Ever as earth's wild war-cries heighten,
The Cross upon the brow will brighten,
Till on the very scorner's gaze

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,

As martyrs' eyes near and more near discern Where on the Father's right hand beaming, Light upon Light in glory streaming,

The Saviour, felt, not seen, in life,

Deigns to be seen in that last strife, And Angels hail, approaching to the shore, 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,
O bliss, to aid its high fulfilling !
O woe and wrong, O tenfold shame,

To mar or damp the angelic flame !

To draw His soldiers backward from the Cross! Woe and eternal loss !