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The Baptistery, or the way of eternal life

By the author of "The Cathedral." [i.e. Isaac Williams] A new edition

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IMAGE THE TWENTY-NINTH. The Treasures of the King's Palace.
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317

IMAGE THE TWENTY-NINTH. The Treasures of the King's Palace.

Ancient Sage, where going,
With thy glimmering light,
Where Ilissus flowing
Marvels at the sight,
Like a living dream that wanders forth at night?
Asking all he meeteth
Who will good disclose,
While the vision fleeteth,
And before him goes,
For th' undying spirit seeking sure repose.
Come thou here beholding,
In this woodland nook,
An aged man unfolding
His immortal Book,
In that silent mirror for himself to look.
And full much he needeth,
For this Book doth tell
Of a path that leadeth
To a living well,
And a place where no one but the holy dwell.

318

Fast life's sands are going,
Sparkling as they run,
And for ever shewing
That ere setting sun
Much he hath to do, and much to be undone.
In this quiet haven
Pondering o'er his soul,
And how much is graven
On the solemn scroll,
Which to worlds assembled Judgment shall unrol.
As his brow he raiseth,
Fix'd with pensive care,
On the Cross he gazeth,
Drinking comfort there,
And his sins recounting mourns in silent prayer.
Peace to him be given!
Let us leave him now
To his hopes of Heaven!—
We must farther go,
Where the woodland glen is opening from below.
Where the gleam reposes
In the quiet glade,
And a Church discloses
Its calm hallow'd shade,
Pastoral haunts among, meet for musing made.

319

Using not abusing
Gifts set by his side,
He in solemn musing
Walks with Him that died,
And in prayers and almsdeeds seeks his Heavenly Guide.
Oft he, at each turning
On the rocky road
Knows, the Cross discerning,
Where the Saints have trod,
And the narrow path that leadeth to his God.
Oft from mirth and sorrow,
And the scenes of men,
Here he turns to borrow
That calm peace again,
Fixing on the Cross his undisturbed ken.
Then shall Contemplation
To her haunts remove,
To her airy station,
Troubled scenes above,
Till the world's vain shadows less his spirit move.
Then bright hopes are given,
Taste of holier things,
And he seems to Heaven
Borne on Angel's wings,
Like a bird we see not in the cloud that sings.

320

Come, my tale ascending,
Greater things have birth—
Human thoughts transcending
As the skies the earth,—
Lend thine ear to hear of things of endless worth.
For this feeble mortal
Eats Angelic food;
Oh, in that dread portal
Let no thought intrude;
'Tis all unspeakable, awful, holy, good!
Hush, my soul, thou singest
Things that are too high,
To rude ears thou bringest
Secrets of the sky,
Pass the things of God in holy silence by.
If thy heart engages
Knowledge yet more wise,
Than the chief of sages
Brought down from the skies,
Read this hallow'd emblem with thine heart and eyes;
Lo, that bird that dwelleth
In the wilderness,
And, as fable telleth,
With no vain caress
Doth her famish'd offspring to her bosom press.

321

Nor shall they to-morrow
Make her lesson vain,
Nor forget her sorrow,
Born and rear'd in pain,
But with their own life-blood others shall sustain.
Lo, in this man readeth
Mother's love divine,
Which from Heaven proceedeth,—
In each heart its shrine,—
Of th' Almighty's love the universal sign.
Mother's love, first, purest,
Which doth never tire,
Love which last endurest,
Heaven-descended fire,
Kindling every hearth, yet multiplied entire.
Happy he that passeth
Through this world of pain,
With a soul that glasseth,
Free from earthly stain,
Love of God—for ever in his heart to reign.
Happy he, when sadness
Chance and change are o'er,
And earth's sighing gladness
Wrings the heart no more,
Who shall see where Love lights up th' eternal shore.

322

Who would hoard earth's treasure
When he Heaven may gain?
Who would love vain pleasure,
When he may attain
Joys at God's right hand for ever free from pain?
Who would covet glory
Here the dead among,
Or renown in story,
When th' Archangel's tongue
Might pronounce his praises endless years along?
Here, where death must sever,
Who would lean on love,
When he may for ever
Have his God above,
Infinitely dearer than his thought can prove?
Love is like the Ocean,
Ever fresh and strong,
Birth and life and motion,
Speed and strength and song,
Which, the world surrounding, keeps it green and young.
Love is ever flowing,
Flowing ever down;
Love through all lands going,
From the Heavenly throne,
God's eternal city doth with gladness crown.

323

Come, thou soul that sinkest
On the desert plain,
Here of streams thou drinkest,
Ne'er to thirst again,
Which shall through thy journey feet and soul sustain.
Love on earth that grieveth
Tears of pain and shame
God in Heaven receiveth,
Covering it from blame
With th' enfolding mantle of th' Almighty Name.
Love for ever singeth,
Borne on glad desire,
And the blue deep wingeth,
Like a plume of fire,
As to Heaven it soareth higher still and higher.
Love for ever sinketh,
In his silent hour,
And of sorrow drinketh,
Like a dew-weigh'd flower,
As to earth it boweth lower still and lower.
Love for ever sigheth
Banish'd from his God,
Still his spirit trieth
On the path He trod,
Still with hope undying cherisheth His rod.

324

Love his longings weaneth
From the things of sight,
And for ever leaneth
On immortal might,
And in spirit liveth a stern anchorite.
Waiting on what waiteth
Upon God above,
Hating that which hateth,
Loving all that love,
Moving as his spirit the great God doth move.
Love is ever praying,
Nor doth count the chime;
Love is ever weighing
Heaven and Hell with Time,
Nor by casuist's measure notes and numbers crime.
And when this earth faileth
Love is strong as death;
Yea, o'er death prevaileth:
Love, like vital breath
Freed from fleshly chains, the spirit cherisheth.