The Cathedral, or the Catholic and Apostolic Church in England ::

With what full eyes of wonder wast thou bent
Upon each passing look, each act intent,
Fix'd on the Son of Man with earnest gaze,
While on thy heart the Father shed His rays,
Till gradual He disclos'd the mighty whole,
And the dread Godhead open'd on thy soul!

As step by step thou followedst close around
And nearest, deeper spells thy spirit bound,
Watching each light, and shade, and speaking glance,
That mark'd Thy Master's awful countenance:
Till, unreveal'd of man, thy God and Lord
Thy tongue acknowledg'd, and thy heart ador'd;
And thou wast meet to climb unto the fount
Of glory, seen on Tabor's secret mount.
Thence to that faith, as to a firm-set rock,
With thee the ransom'd of all ages flock,
Where the dread Twelve are met, who hold the keys
Which ope and close Heav'n's ivory palaces.

Thus some fair star, on its ethereal way,
Seems gazing on the golden orb of day,
And drinks his radiance, till itself, made bright,
When the Sun sinks, for others lights the night.

259

ST. ANDREW.

Oh that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep,
I might behold that Galilean deep,
Sun-gilded waves, and hill-embosom'd strand,
Where Andrew dwelt with his fraternal band!
Andrew, who saw and heard the Living Word,
And came, and then brought Peter to the Lord:
Andrew, next added to that favour'd three,
School'd in Christ's lore upon their native sea.

Blest sight! to see those heights which round them clos'd,
When holy eyes on their dark shapes repos'd;
To watch those gales which came upon the deep,
When in that hold their Lord was laid asleep;
To see those rocks where dwelt their thoughts of home,
And 'neath that glowing firmament to roam,
Move on the sea they moved, and there behold
The moon and stars which they beheld of old!

But ah, far more, when death hath clos'd my eyes,
Might I but see, beyond those eastern skies,
By Andrew led, where, round our Saviour's feet,
The holy Twelve in sweet communion meet
In their last haven, on that stable shore,
Beside that crystal sea for evermore!

260

ST. JAMES THE GREAT.

One of that chosen three, who found such grace
To be admitted to the secret place
Of His life-giving Presence, from the sight
Of the rude world there lost in radiant light.
Nor know we ought of thee,—the great and good,
The son of thunder, and baptiz'd in blood,—
Nor thought, nor word, nor deed. 'Tis ever so:
In shadow of His hand He hides below
Those who His Presence seek; Himself unseen
And His good Angels, in that blissful skreen
He gathers them in silence, to abide
Beneath His shrouding wings and sheltering side.
Tho' visibly beheld 'mid suffering men,
His name is “Secret;” nor can mortals ken
His Sion's haunts, the mount invisible,
Where He 'mid Saints and Angels deigns to dwell.

Whether allow'd to Tabor's secret height,
Or sorrows of Gethsemane, or sight
And solemn chambers of relenting death,
Where Heav'n's full power is seen o'er parting breath;
The world but sees them share His humbling rod
Unto the door;—then leaves them with their God.

261

ST. JOHN.

“Amen. E'en so, Lord Jesus, come.” O why
Tarry so long Thy chariot-wheels, while I,
I only yet remain, and, one by one,
The tried companions of Thy Love are gone;
And I, all dearest treasures gone before,
Am left upon the solitary shore?

So better may I learn “Thy will be done;”
For whom have I in Heav'n, but Thee alone?
And whom have I on earth, but only Thee?
Therefore, with one foot on the stormy sea,
And one foot fix'd on the eternal strand,
Thou hold'st me by Thy never-failing hand.
Before Thy face, that bringeth in the day,
The mountains and the hills shall flee away,
The sun and stars in darkness make their bed,
And forth the Bridal City shall be led;
For Thy blest City needs not sun or moon,
But in Thy face hath its unwaning noon.
Therefore alone in Thy eternal Love
I seek for refuge; Thee in Heav'n above,
And Thee below! Blest they, who day and night
Serve Thee, and have their dwelling in Thy sight!

262

ST. PHILIP.

Hast Thou so long been with us, gracious Lord,
And yet have we not known Thee? while Thy word
Within us and about us wraps around,
Impalpable as th'air? Thine eye is found
In th'heart of hearts, and Thy sustaining hand;
And all events, arrang'd at Thy command,
Are but th'unfoldings of a Father's care,
Unsought for, and responsive to our prayer,—
And yet have we not known Thee? have we brought
Others to thee, and Thy true wisdom taught,—
And yet not known Thee? By our home retreat,
Our own Bethsaida, “Have ye here no meat?”
Thou seem'st to say, that so Thou mightest lead
To feel our own deep want, in that our need,
Of all true bread that satisfies, that we
Might turn, and hang our famish'd souls on Thee;
Thousands at Thy good word with food abound,
And shew that Thy live presence dwells around,—
And yet have we not known Thee? have not known
The all-transcending circle and the crown
Of Thy deep Love?—still know Thee not, nor find
The Father's image within Thee enshrin'd?

263

ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

Come forth, Nathanael, from the fig-tree's shade,
And see, where, down yon mountain's solemn glade,
The lowly Nazareth, in the summer even,
Shines in the sunbeams, like a gate of Heaven!
'Mid those poor walls, Heav'n opens to thy prayer,
And Angels pass upon the crystal stair.

And who within that tabernacle's light
Shall dwell, but thou, the guileless Israelite?
Thine is the art of artless souls, true seer!
To know thy God in all things standing near.
Divine prerogative! The blameless soul,
Its own simplicity its sweet controul,
Leads on, and, like a guardian spirit, brings
Into the Palace of the King of kings,
The Mount of God. To him all nature stirs,
Ranging herself in glowing characters;
Seen thro' Faith's light'ning mirror; blooming skies
Come down on earth and sea, like vernal dyes,
Speaking of Resurrection;—all are rife
And animate with forms of beauteous life,
Unseen before; 'mid busiest scenes below,
The messengers of Mercy come and go.

264

ST. MATTHEW.

Nor Pharisaic school, nor harness'd train
Of Roman state, nor pow'r, nor thoughtful gain,
Nor breezy lake, where circling mountains rise,
Nor Lebanon's snowy top in summer skies,
Could to thy longing eyes afford repose,
Good Levi, till they found the Man of woes!

Beneath thy lowly roof I see Him come,
An honour'd guest,—the Pharisee's stern gloom
Sitting aloof,—in calm and humble gaze
The Galilean twelve,—th'half-pleas'd amaze
Of Publicans,—and mourning Eremite
Shrinking apart; yet seen, or out of sight,
Manifold words of wisdom find them out,
And in each heart an eye that looks throughout.

But, lo, again his hospitable store
Levi prepares, unfolding wide the door
Of his blest Gospel, 'neath whose sacred roof
All may behold the Christ, and learn by proof.
E'en now, as then, within each secret soul
An eye is found, seek we or shun controul,
All see the Son of Man; each doth invest
His form with the deep hues of his own breast.

265

ST. THOMAS.

Blessed are they who, needing no loud sign
Of reason, or felt proof, or voice divine,
Believing, love; and, loving, ask not sight!
They on the bosom of the Infinite
Have been, and there in Faith for ever lie;
Believe because they love, and ask not why:
But on His bosom lie they all day long,
And drink His words, and are refresh'd and strong;
Thro' all Thy works, Thee, Lord, at every turn,
Thro' all Thy word, Thee and Thy Cross discern;
Shrine within shrine, and hall encircling hall,
Pass unto Thee, to Thee, the All in All.

Thine too are they, of ruder sense, who deem
Such thoughts but fancies of the mystic's dream;
Then, to their questioning and ruder sense,
In palpable and solemn evidence
Thy presence breaks, in providential change
Defying thought, or visitation strange:
They see and feel Thy hands and pierced side,
Worship, and their adoring heads would hide.
Such dwell in Thy blest courts, and see Thy face,
But not most near Thine altar have their place.

266

ST. JAMES THE LESS.

Where death's deep shade the ruin'd Salem shrouds,
A covenanted bow amid the clouds
Opens a brighter city to disclose,
Wherein the Son of Man, in dread repose,
Is walking 'mid the candlesticks of gold,
And the seven stars in His right hand doth hold.

First in the kingdom of the Crucified,
Unto the Son of God in flesh allied,
And more allied in suffering, James, the Just,
Bears the new keys of Apostolic trust.

And well we deem that 'twas thine only pride
To bear the cross on which thy Master died,
In daily dying; by self-chast'ning care,
Vigil, and fast, to unloose the wings of Prayer
From bodily weight, and win Faith's hallow'd spell,
Which breaks from captive souls the chains of hell.

So putt'st thou on Christ's loyal poverty,
Looking thro' earth, as with an Angel's eye,
With all its wealth like the fair flow'ring grass,
Whereon Christ's words of woe already pass
Like some hot burning wind: while Patience mild
Drinks Heav'n's pure light, and vigour undefil'd.

267

ST. JUDE.

One glory kindles night's aërial blue,
But clothes each star with its distinctive hue;
One light from crystal dew-drops on the thorn
Calls forth the varied jewels of the morn:
And, in that little band of Jesus blest,
To whom our Lord “Himself did manifest,”
And who on Him in answ'ring love are bent,
Faith doth in each a varying form present.

Thus that deep voice, O Jude, is all thine own,
Tho' Christ is heard in thy dread warning tone,
And speaks in thee, exhorting with arm'd heed
To wrestle for the everlasting Creed.

Unfolding ever to our feeble sight
In endless forms, we see the Infinite;
Nor doth the varied human countenance,
So manifold in shape and speaking glance,
Range through more boundless changes, than doth Love
In spirits which are born of God above.

Thus, Lord, when, from Thy vessels of rude clay,
Thou makest up Thy jewels on that day,
Their diverse hues, with Thy pure lustre sown,
Shall blend to form Thy many-colour'd crown.

268

ST. SIMON.

O Thou, who art th'eternal Corner-stone,
And bearest up Heav'n's pillar'd frame alone;
Thou art the Light that fills each living gem,
Which glimmers in Thy Church's diadem!
Thou art her Crown: the stars which round her shine
Are but the effulgence of Thy fire divine;
Thy Wisdom in the Twelve made manifest,
The Urim and the Thummim on Thy breast,
Sole Living Priest! 'twas Thy heart-glowing light
That burn'd within the zealous Canaanite;
Thou who did'st drive the buyers to the door,
And with Thy mantle sweep Thy Father's floor!
O wrath most merciful! portentous sign
Of Thy last coming, arm'd with wrath divine!

Do Thou my heart with holy zeal controul,
And purify the temple of my soul,
Drive each foul thought with Thine uplifted rod,
Which stains the floor Thy holy feet have trod;
A den of evil fancies, whence arise
Far other fumes than love of Thee supplies:—
Oh, cleanse my heart betimes, ere Thou shalt come,
And sweep Thy temple with eternal doom!

269

ST. MATTHIAS.

From Abraham's breast, 'mid heav'nly towers on high,
Death's lake is seen, and heard the dismal cry:
From Salem's heights, dread Sodom's sea of doom
Is o'er the hills descried in fiery gloom:
'Mid that small band, for Heav'n's high mandate seal'd,
Hell opens, and a Judas is reveal'd.

Dread thought of terror! Heav'n the rescu'd crown
Holds, and on just Matthias lets it down;
Sent forth of Him who was sent forth of God,
And arm'd with nought but His supporting rod.

Oh, by that Cross on which Thou deign'st to die,
Let that staff bear me Death's dark valley by!—
Thine was the Patriarch's staff, when Jordan's strand
He pass'd, and thence return'd a two-fold band;—
Thine was the staff Elisha sent before,
The staff of health which false Gehazi bore.

From this new morn until th'eternal Day,
That pastoral staff must be the pilgrim's stay;
From this new morn, when, from its wintry blight,
Springs the new year, and day is mast'ring night.
Still, wheresoe'er the grounded staff shall pass,
The sea divides,—wide opes the watery mass.

University of Virginia Library

The Pillars of the Choir.

APOSTLES.

ST. PETER.