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.” 14. DISUSE OF INFANT COMMUNION. "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: Trace Him along the hallowed street, "Where glorious Sion rests on high 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, Where Thou, O Lord, delight'st to dwell: And prayed, that through the world's hot day Now, trembling still as they advance 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, If worn and faint, by many a tear "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 As she whose laws are sealed on high Yet may we hope, Faith's virgin sigh The purer mounts, to meet Heaven's fire. |