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

The Cathedral, or the Catholic and Apostolic Church in England

Second edition [by Isaac Williams]

Williams, Isaac (1802-1865)

[section]

THE DEDICATION.

PART I. The Exterior of the Cathedral.

II.

PART II. The Nave.

The North Porch.

The Sepulchral Recesses.

The Sepulchral Recesses.

The South Porch.

III.

PART III. The Choir.

IV.

PART IV. The Pillars AND The Windows.

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PART II. The Nave.

As for me, I will come into Thine house, even upon the multitude of Thy mercy: And in Thy fear will I worship toward Thy holy temple. Psalm v. 7.

The North Porch.

THE CHURCH IN HOPE.

There are instances of two Porches, though one only on the south side is more usual. The exact uniformity and correspondence with which the two sides of the Nave have been constructed, including the Oratories, Sepulchral Recesses, &c. (which it may be observed most closely answer to each other even to the structure of the verse,) may appear to be beyond the precision required from the example of any of our Cathedrals. But it has been thought, that the regularity at which Architecture aims might be more conducive to bring before the mind the end proposed by these associations. And there are higher reasons than these; viz. from the model of the Temple of Jerusalem, and that shadowed forth by the Prophet. Of the former we read, “And he put five bases on the right side of the house, and five on the left side of the house;” (I Kings vii. 39.) and “the two leaves of the one door were folding, and the two leaves of the other door were folding;” (Ibid. vi. 34.) “and of the latter, “the little chambers thereof were three on this side and three on that side;” (Ezek. xl. 21.) “and palm trees were upon the posts thereof on this side, and on that side;” (v. 34.) “and at the side without, as one goeth up to the entry of the north gate, were two tables; and at the other side, which was at the porch of the gate, were two tables; four tables were on this side, and four tables on that side.” (v. 40, 41.)

It was the saddest time e'er lower'd on earth,
As Sin and Sorrow woke in Paradise,
When Mercy's voice mid frighted Nature's cries
Broke forth, and pledg'd a Saviour's birth.

When Noah saw how sternly Ruin gaunt
Sat on the grave of what did once rejoice,
'Twas then he saw the Bow, thrice heard the voice,
“With thee shall stand My Covenant.”

Abram was going to the grave forlorn
And childless, whom the Lord took forth and shew'd
On night's dark vault a starry multitude,—
Such, Abram, shall of thee be born.

Exil'd, mid foes, and Egypt's withering shade,
Lean'd Israel on his staff beside his tomb,
'Twas light that broke from that dark gathering gloom,
Which upon Judah's sceptre played.

When Jesse's chosen son heav'd the deep sigh,
Forbidden with stain'd hands to build the shrine,
His harp reveal'd a holier Palestine,
And spoke strange things of import high.

The destin'd Assur came with armed stream,
And Judah heard the sound of Ephraim's chain,
And rent in thousand shivers on the plain
Saw her long-promis'd Diadem,

And Chebar heard, and Ulai heard her cry;
'Twas that dark cloud which did on her alight,
Was loaded with glad Prophecy, and bright
With the Eternal Saviour nigh.

Faith, listening to the lyre that spoke Him near,
Saw Lebanon's cedars wave to Seraph's hymn,
And mid the vale of Desolation dim
A helm and moonlight-gleaming spear.

It was the guiltiest, darkest hour of man,
When the shock'd Earth shook in her agony,
And sun in shame had veil'd his sorrowing eye,
'Twas then our better Birth began.

Yea, when sun, moon, and stars upon the skies
Shall shake, like figs upon the wither'd tree,
Then your redemption cometh speedily,
And ye too may lift up your eyes.

Then, blessed Lord, when signs of coming ill
Shall speak Thy heavy vengeance at the door,
May we but cling unto Thy hand the more,
And in a holier hope be still.

When doth the soul her higher wisdom see?—
When Sorrow's clouds obscure her firmament,
'Tis then the many-colour'd bow is bent,
To bid the birds of darkness flee.

Not when bright Summer winds her gladsome horn,
But when bluff Winter's blustering Charioteer
Chases the relics of the faded year,
The lowly Child of Peace is born.

And in the gleams which thro' the darkness pour
Of Calvary, Poverty is our best wealth,
Sorrow our comforter, and Sickness health,
And Death of endless life the door.

Yea, Sin herself, as by a charmed touch,
Hath unlearn'd her black nature, and brought down
High thoughts, a better righteousness to own,
And, much forgiven, loveth much.

Thus have I seen at eve, when all the west
Marshall'd the shapes of darkness manifold,
A gleam hath turn'd to palaces of gold,
From the bright sun gone to his rest.

The Sepulchral Recesses.

THE CHURCHMAN'S FRIENDS.

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord:— Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours: and their works do follow them. Rev. xiv. 13.

LAUD.

Thy spirit in thee strove
To cleanse and set in beauty free
The ancient shrines, mindful of Him whose love
Swept with the scourge His Father's sanctuary.

Thy cloke was burning zeal,
Untaught the worldling's arts to wield,
But Innocence thy coat of triple steel,
And Loyalty and Truth thy sword and shield.

Thus arm'd against the tomb,
Thy dauntless course bore on to bind
Thy dying brows with deathless martyrdom,
Unsought by the true soul, but undeclin'd.

KEN.

Ye holy gates, open your calm repose,
Between him and the world your barriers close;
Nought hath he but his lyre and sacred key,
Which the world gave not, nor can take away.
One of that Seven against a king he stood,
The world was with him in his fortitude.
One of that Five, he scorn'd her flattering breath,
And firm in strength which wisdom cherisheth,
Where truth and loyalty had mark'd the ground,
Stood by that suffering king, allegiance-bound;
Then as in him his Saviour stood reveal'd,
The world in anger rose, against him steel'd,
And drove him from her—Open your repose,
And, her and him between, your heavenly barriers close.

KING CHARLES I.

I saw a Royal Form with eye upturn'd,
Rising from furnace of affliction free,
And knew that brow of deep serenity,
Whereon, methought, a crown of glory burn'd,
With a calm smile, as if the death-cry turn'd
On his freed ear to seraph sounds on high!
Still in the guilty place the hideous cry
Bark'd impotent. In quiet hope inurn'd
Was his poor fleshly mantle, but the breath
Of our bad world o'er this unquiet stage
Flouts his blest name, unpardon'd e'en in death.
And thus his holy shade on earth beneath,
Still walks mid evil tongues from age to age,
Bearing the cross, his Master's heritage.
But no unkindly word for evermore
Can reach his rest, or pass th'eternal door.

KETTLEWELL.

Is there a form in England's Church enshrin'd,
Which some bright guardian Angel doth invest
With his own hues, in which her mien imprest,
And her transforming spirit throughly shin'd,
In calm obedience lovingly resign'd?
'Tis Coleshill's saint, in meekness manifest,—
He whom in trial's hour she sweetly blest
With patient wisdom, and so disciplin'd
To keep his garments, that for him she won
From th'Eucharistic fount of Benison
Stern reverential Truth: then Charity
Made his meek heart an altar, and thereon
Burn'd, like some fragrant incense, to the sky
In holy prayers rising continually.

TAYLOR.

Like a woof where jewels gleam,
Where the ruby's beam,
Where the colors of all skies,
And “the beryl lies,”
Such is thy unfetter'd line,
Saint and sage benign.

Thou shalt teach us from on high
How to live and die.
How the golden hues of love
Tinge the fading grove,
Dressing Autumn's drear decay,
With the gleams of day.

Thou the channels of Heav'n's grace
Thro' all time shalt trace,
And thine untun'd eloquence
Its deep stores dispense,
In thy soul laid manifold
On the floor untold.

Early seen at Heav'n's high door
Thy full soul to pour,
If of Angel's minstrelsy
Ought should wander nigh,
Watching for a sweeter strain
Wilder'd man to gain.

Prison'd friend of martyr king,
Never flagg'd thy wing.
Upward still thy spirit draws
In life-giving laws,
Training with stern discipline
To the towers divine.

The Oratories.

CONSOLATIONS AND STRONG-HOLDS.

“Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee; hide thyself as it were for a little moment. until the indignation be overpast.” Isaiah xxvi. 20.

“When thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.” St. Matthew vi. 6.

These may be supposed to answer to the “little chambers” in the Temple, as above alluded to, “built against the wall of the house round about.” (I Kings vi. 5.) Their use in Christian churches, as little cells for meditation, reading, and prayer, has existed from an early period. See Bingham's Antiq. b. viii. c. 5. sect. 8.

DISTANT CHURCH MUSIC.

My spirit hath gone up in yonder cloud
Of solemn and sweet sound—the many-voic'd
Peal upon peal, and now
The choral voice alone

At door of Heav'n. My soul is all unspher'd,
Soaring and soaring on the crystal car
Of airy sweetness borne,
And drinks ethereal air

Amid celestial shapes. I hear a voice
Alone before the Trinal Majesty,
Singing the Eternal Lamb,
While Silence sits aloof.

Twilight of unimagin'd Deity
It seems, save where, like thousand setting suns,
Heav'n's portal darkly gleams,—
He hath gone down to man.

Far hath He thrown His crown to stars of Heav'n,
And to the skies His clear empyreal robe,
To lightning His bright spear,
And to the clouds His bow.

A crown awaits Thee there, but not of gold,—
And who is she Thy coming harbingers?
No starry watchmen near
Creation's cradle set,

No kingly pursuivants. But sackcolth-rob'd
Heard stilly 'tween the torrent's fitful sound,
And wild bird's cry forlorn,
Mid rocks, and desert caves

Repentance' voice!—Who on Thy goings wait?
No sun-bright legionry, but Sorrow meek,
Pity meek Sorrow's child,
And Peace of Pardon born.

While Hope prepares her gleaming car; from high,
With arms outstretch'd, out of a golden cloud
Righteousness leaning down
Hath kissed exil'd Peace.

To gates of darkness hies black-hooded Night,
And on her waning brow lingers the Moon,
With silver bow to greet
Uprising glory's Sun.

E'en now upon th'horizon Morning walks
Doffing to Night her mantle grey, and stands
In gold and gleaming vest,
And glittering shafts reveal'd.

Ye waiting at th'eternal gate, with robes
Of penitential Sorrow, wash'd in blood,
And odorous lamps well-trimm'd,
Your long-lov'd Lord to greet,

Lift up your eyes! E'en now His coming glows
Where, on the skirt of yon Heav'n-kissing hill,
The trees stand motionless
Upon the silvery dawn.

Deep Ocean treasures all her gems unseen,
To pave an archway to the eternal door,
And Earth doth rear her flowers
To strew your heavenly road.

The Stars on high shall be your diadem,
The Skies shall lend their rays to weave your robes,
And Iris stain the woof,
Sons of th'eternal morn.

THE DOXOLOGY.

I.

The threefold heavens, of glorious height,
Are made One dwelling for Thy might,
Set upon pillars of the light.

The earth, and sea, and blue-arch'd air,
Do form below One temple fair,
Thy footstool 'neath the heavenly stair.

Sun, Moon, and Stars, in Heav'n's great deep
Their living watch obedient keep,
Moving as One, and never sleep.

II.

Angels and men, and brutes beneath,
Make up creation's triple wreath,
Which only liveth in Thy breath.

In fish, and birds, and beasts around,
One wondrous character is found,
The skirt which doth Thy mantle bound.

And Nature's three fair realms convey
One note through this our earthly day,
Dying in distance far away.

III.

With Three arch'd roofs Thy temple springs,
Where music spreads melodious wings,
And all around One glory brings.

And Future, Past, and Present Time,
Together build One shrine sublime,
That doth prolong the ample chime.

While spirit, soul, and clay-born seat,
Warm'd by the living Paraclete,
Shall be Thy threefold mansion meet.

THE ATHANASIAN CREED.

O warning voice, from Truth's eternal shrine
Proceeding, where the great Archangel sings,
Through three-fold arching piles, on sounds divine,

And the live thunder of melodious wings
Rising in adoration! Mother dear,
To thy mysterious breast my spirit clings

Then most, when that appalling voice I hear:—
There at the sound of those thy stern alarms
I hide, and on the world look back and fear;

For she would tempt me from thy sheltering arms,
And stop thy voice, which baffled Pride disdains,
And the dread sound of never-dying harms.

Vain thought! th'o'erwhelming Future yet remains,
Though Ebal and Gerizim's voice be still,
The everlasting Now and penal chains.

And from Thine accents hide us as we will,
Death draws aside the screen. Then wherefore flee
With birds of darkness to the caves of ill?

Rather in garb of our deep poverty
Let us stand forth before Thee, not to gaze,
But tremble, with the heart's adoring knee,

Full in the light of thy meridian blaze.
Nor leave Thou us in the dark mysteries
Of our bad hearts to wander, and in ways

Of our own darkness, lest we, seeming wise,
Shrine Thee in shape of some foul deity,
And in our unbaptized phantasies

Think wickedly that God is such as we,—
Some Jove, or Pan, or Ashtaroth unclean,—
So we may 'scape Thy judgment.—Dread the sea

Of glory which enshrouds Thee, yet unseen,
And in the path whereon Thy light doth burn,
Ere that we pass th'inevitable screen,

Well need we walk and fear: to Thee we turn
For help, nor on Thy glory gaze too bold.
O sternly kind, and kindest when most stern,

Ancient of Mothers, in thy barriers old
With them that love thee is best liberty!
Fain would we hide us in thy sheltering fold.

By thee baptiz'd into the Eternal Three,
Blest Arbitress of holiest discipline,
In the world's freedom let me not be free,

But follow mine own will in following thine.
To Christ our Rock with dripping weeds we cling,
While Ocean roars beneath; fled to thy shrine

May Heav'n's own Dove, on Contemplation's wing,
Be o'er us, nurturing each holier choice,
And all around thy calmer influence bring.

Then let me ever hear thy awful voice,
Deep warning, deep adoring: while we sing
We tremble, but in trembling we rejoice.

FAST DAYS.

While to the tomb we tread this pilgrimage,
Sorrow will wait upon us, and be ours
E'en as our shadow, where on Life's dim stage
Falls the celestial light from Eden's bowers.

Then it were wise to win her for our friend,
Who must be our companion, so to gain
That she may help us to our journey's end,
So may we love her yoke, nor feel the chain.

Lest we should exile take for home of ease,
Shadows for truth, for shore the billow's breast,
Our trial for acceptance and release,
The vale of tears for mountain of our rest.

Such Sorrow is sent down by pitying Heaven,
The mantle which from Jesus fell below,
To his own chosen in His mercy given,
The last best boon He could on earth bestow.

Nor wonder that the widow'd Church should sound
Of sadness: those are mourners Christ hath blest,
Who watch with her their annual, weekly, round,
And in obedience find the promis'd rest.

A shelter from ourselves her sacred call,
Lest the self-humbling soul might haply make
Her penance glory—lest her mourner's pall
Self-form'd, for trappings of her pride she take.

Nor deem such penance hard, nor fondly dream
Of Herod's ease in the imperial hall,
But seek the Baptist by the desert stream,
And thou shalt see the light on Jesus fall:

Yea haply so be brought with Christ to pray
In His own secret mount—or in His word
Where Moses and Elias witness pay,
To watch, till Heav'n-reveal'd ye see the Lord.

Nor deem such penance hard—thence from the soul
The cords of flesh are loos'd, and earthly woes
Lose half their power to harm, while self-controul
Learns that blest freedom which she only knows.

Thence is our hope to manlier aims subdued,
And purg'd from earthly mists the mental eye,
To gird herself with growing fortitude,
To see the gates of immortality,

Beyond the vale of woes; while far between,
In watchings and in fastings train'd of yore,
Martyrs and Saints, in glorious order seen,
Follow the Man of Sorrows gone before.

Now sphered in orbs of light to us they call:
The eve precedes with penitential woes,
And ushers in the holier festival,
The shadow which their glory earthward throws.

Many the gates of Hell, and every gate
Is but each vice which man's dark temper sways,
And Christ alone can raise our fallen state,
In fasting found, and prayer, and watchful ways.

The North Transept.

They stayed up his hands, the one on the one side, and the other on the other side, until the going down of the sun. Exodus xvii. 12.

All the day long have I stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people. Romans x. 21.

It is well known that these are intended to represent the transverse part of the Cross. And the Texts here selected have been supposed to contain a very striking prophetical reference to the extension of the hands in the Crucifixion. And indeed the figure of a Temple, as applied to our Lord's Body, derives a kind of sanctity from His own use of the same symbol. The Transept, when considered in this light, may shew some degree of suitableness in the subjects chosen to occupy this place, one of which represents our Lord “in Prophecy,” the other “in History.” In each case it may be said of Him, that He is “all the day long stretching forth His hands.”

THE PSALMS.

[OR JESUS CHRIST IN PROPHECY.]

I

Not to those heights where holy Herbert sits,
Or heav'n-taught Ken awakes the sounding wire,
Nor where beyond the shade of Ambrose flits
O'er sacred streams, or leaning o'er the lyre
Peace-loving Nazianzen leads the quire,—
Not to those haunts where saintly men have trod,
And hung their harps, but further yet and higher
Where Siloa's stream, woke by th'unearthly rod,
Springs forth a fountain pure beneath the mount of God.

II

Yea, and the Church shall love that hallowed fount,
Rivers of God, blest scenes, the secret height
Where David sat, his Sion's holy mount,
More than all glowing strains of human spright;
For Heav'n-born Truth shrinks from sublunar light,
And rather wears the veil of David's hymn
Than the full glare of day, and oft from sight,
In parable and type and shadows dim,
There hides her holier face and wings of Seraphim.

III

By figure, rite, and storied mysteries
The glorious light, in highest Heav'n that dwells,
Tempers its image to man's feebler eyes,
Softly reflected in terrestrial wells.
While to each rising thought true wisdom tells
Of purer heights—whate'er of good desire,
Of love, or thought serene the bosom swells,
There they on bodiless wings to Heav'n aspire,
And gain perchance a gleam of that diviner fire.

IV

While Hope with Sorrow mingles, as if still
We walked in Eden, and felt God was nigh;
Or 'neath the shade of some o'erhanging hill
An Angel guest attun'd his melody
To better things, which hidden are on high,
Blending therein Mortality's poor tale
Of sad offendings; while we listening by
Discern his lineaments, all silvery pale,
Lightening the mists that move in Death's dim-peopled vale.

V

O griefs of fall'n mankind and sympathies
Of Heav'n, like quiet stars that on the night
Look forth, and tell of their own happier skies.
There Christ Himself conceals from ruder sight,
Himself, and His own sorrow infinite,
Beneath the robe of fleshly types, which hide
His glory, dimly seen in skirts of light,—
Himself, and in Himself His suffering Bride,
Present to strengthen her, ta'en from His bleeding side.

VI

As when the Moon, hid in some woodland maze,
Lights all with her own meek magnificence,
And oft displays her shadows—the rapt gaze,
Kindling at her retiring more intense,
Labors to view her; she from her dim fence
Oft opens on the glade no more conceal'd;
Thus thro' the lore, lit by His influence,
The Christian's Lord oft stands, to sight reveal'd.
And shews, in clearer heights, His all-protecting shield.

VII

From everlasting are His goings, this
Is the deep note, wherewith his widow'd Dove
Pleads, and her note of Sorrow blends with His.
Here, mid the unfailing citadels above,
His children walk with Him; herewith Him prove
Pilgrims on earth below, from age to age;
Here link'd in suffering, may they learn His love.
And hide their joys and sorrows in the page,
Wherein with Him He blends His ransom'd heritage.

VIII

Ye holy strains, on David's harp that hung,
Tabor and little Hermon to your call,
And Jordan's willowy banks responsive sung:
Ye with soft wings, like Angel friends, when all
Seem'd to forsake, have sooth'd the martyr's thrall,—
Some high-soul'd Laud, in suffering fortitude;
Some captive Taylor by his prison wall;
And one by Cherwell's banks, in happier mood,
Hath woo'd your choral voice to sooth his solitude.

IX

Nor learned cell alone, or sacred pile—
Made animate with sweetness, flowing o'er
The music-rolling roof, and branching aisle—
But widow'd Eld, that, in some cottage poor,
Sitteth alone by the eternal shore,
With your deep inspirations hath been young;
Your beauteous torch hath lit Death's shadowy door,
And strengthen'd by your staff, and cheering tongue,
The failing spirit walks unfading groves among.

X

Oh, my sad soul is weary with Earth's wrong,
Evil of men and worldly vanity,—
Give me the music of your heav'nly song,—
Sion, nurse of our hopes, for thee I sigh;—
Give me the music of your minstrelsy,
Which hath its echo in the heart alone!
Oh, waken up that Angel company,
That sleeps in your deep chords—from your pure throne
Come forth, lift my weak soul to your untroubled zone.

XI

Come to me, Angel guests! whatever springs
In me of passion, or of earthly pride,
Shall flee at sound of your celestial wings;
O gentle Psalmist, other thoughts abide
With thee, how have I scared thee? to my side
Come again, tranquil spirit, oh, unroll
Thy sweet melodious fulness o'er the tide
Of my wild tossing thoughts, touch my sad soul,
And let me own again thy mastering soft controul!

XII

Spirit of prayer and praise, with gentle hand
Thou lead'st me, calming every wayward mood,
Thro' storied scenes and haunts of sacred land,
Unto a dim and shadowy solitude,
Where one is in a garden dropping blood.
Lo, here comes one with accents of a friend;
Gethsemane, is this thy night so rude?
On yon dark mound the cup of woe they blend;
There 'neath mysterious shades they for Thy robe contend.

XIII

How shall we learn in this our fleeting breath
The scale and measure of mortality,
Save communing with Thy life-giving death,
With stern bereavement's haggard family
Thy sole attendants! How else learn to die,
Or how to live? How else our strength discern,
Our true desert, our price, our misery,
Our happiness—how else our Maker learn,
The depth, the breadth, the height of Mercy's bounteous urn?

XIV

And where shall we behold th'Eternal Son,
Save in these strains, wherein the car of Love
In greatness of its strength is travelling on,
Through time's dark shadows which around her move?
Her silver wings here plumes the earth-soil'd Dove,
And feels again life's sunshine gleaming warm;
Here Hope Devotion's handmaid fain would prove,
The covenant bow encircling her bright form,
And lets her radiant vest flow o'er the cloud and storm.

XV

'Tis thus Imagination's airy swell
Bears on the soul, and fills her buoyant wing;
Oft hath she come with foulest airs from Hell;
Here purer gales their sweet compulsion bring,
From the fresh haunts of never-fading spring;
Sure thus to school our fancies it were wise,
That they may wait on our eternal King,
Gathering meek thoughts upon His praise to rise,
Else vanities they wed, and lurk in earthly guise.

XVI

Ever, sweet Psalmist, lead the sounding key,
Humbling to duteous calm the thoughts that move
Responsive to our sacred Liturgy,
That they on holier wings may soar above
To mercy's seat. O Bard of Heav'n-taught love,
Striving in vain thy wounded heart to hide,
Soul-stricken mourner, like the bleeding dove
Deeper and deeper clasping 'neath her side
The barbs that drink her life, and in her heart abide.

XVII

Still let me cull thy flowers of Paradise,
Sweet flowers, that ever bloom on Sorrow's brink,
Water'd with penitence and holy sighs;
And when within me my weak soul doth sink,
Oft at thy living fountains let me drink,
Springs which no wintry fetters can repress,
Nor sun, nor scorching whirlwind, cause to shrink.—
I hew'd me wells in the world's wilderness,
Wearied and worn I sought, and found but bitterness.

XVIII

I sought and found but bitterness—and now,
Blest Tree of Calvary, do thou abide
In the deep fount whence our affections flow,
Which else were Marah. How hast thou supplied
Light mid my wanderings, and at my side
Rais'd dearest friends, pitying my lost estate,
In whom I something of Thy light descried,
And learn'd of them my former self to hate,
Led onward by the hand toward the heavenly gate!

XIX

These are but ministers of Thy sure love,
By which Thou gently to Thyself wouldst lead,
And now what would I seek, but Thee above?
Our goodliest friends on earth from Thee proceed,
And unto Thee return; but our deep need
Thou only in Thy fulness canst sustain:
Upon Thine earthly plenteousness we feed,
But yet the choicest gifts of Earth disdain,
And feel in every nook around our house of pain,

XX

And find Thee not. Then in that sacred chord
We hear from unseen heights a glorious song,
Of panoplies divine and shield and sword,—
Faith in unearthly armour bold and strong,
And strains which to Thy ransom'd host belong.
Then, where from high the showering sunbeams fall
Amid th'encircling mists of grief and wrong,
Is seen to rise th'Eternal City's wall,
While Earth responds to Heav'n, and deep to deep doth call.

XXI

For Truth beside that crystal Sea doth stand,
Spher'd in her own bright radiance, like a shrine,
And holds a mystic lamp in her right-hand,
Fill'd with the light of Poesy divine;
And wheresoe'er she doth that light incline,
Something celestial shines on us awhile,
And we with yearnings of lost Eden pine,
Man's heart its fulness labouring to beguile,
Unburden'd of itself doth to her music smile.

XXII

Thus when with man's deep soul God's Spirit wrought,
They spoke of things more glorious than they knew,
Blending prophetic gleams with mortal thought.
Then fabling bards the shadows of the true
From other wells of inspiration drew;
The great dissembler came with wings of light,
O'er meaner things th'enchanter's mantle threw,
Kindling to burning thoughts th'enraptur'd sprite,
Like meteors that would vie with living stars of light.

XXIII

Then the old world with fabled heroes rung,
Men like to Gods, and Gods more frail than they,
O'er his lone harp the great Pelides hung,
Sitting by Ocean's solitary spray;
And the fam'd Bard from Chios bent his way;
Of mighty wars the marvellous minstrel told,
Earth and Heav'n leagued in battailous affray,
Prowess in arms and high achievements bold,
And that his homeless chief in wanderings grown old.

XXIV

But one there was who sat by Siloa's stream
And converse held with God; a poet's tear
He shed, but not of hate or love the theme.
He too had borne the helmet and the spear,
And now the crown of Eastern Kings did wear;
With nobler thoughts his strains arise and cease,
With One whose presence to his soul was dear,
His strains they were of holiness and peace,
And One that should arise Creation to release.

XXV

He sang of the commandments wise and true,
Which hold the Heavens and Earth in golden chain,
And man's delinquency to vengeance due,
That golden chain all powerless to retain,
By which he might those blissful seats regain.
He sang of things before his spirit brought,
Visions of God, and mansions far from pain;
Nor fathom'd half his labouring fancy wrought,
Lost in the Infinite of his own holier thought.

XXVI

He sang of the commandments true and just,
Of Him who rolling stars holds in His hand,
And hearts of men who in His guidance trust;
He call'd on earth and Heav'n, on sea and land,
With him before th'Eternal throne to stand,
On trees, and brutes, and stars before His throne
To stand, united in fraternal band,
The glories of their common Lord to own,
And sing their great Creator, Three in One.

XXVII

He sang of the commandments just and good,
Sole rest of man below and joy above:
And oft his earthly weeds at Siloa's flood,
Rent by turmoils with which his spirit strove,
He washed in streams of all pervading Love,
And put on garments of celestial Praise.
Then was God's Presence seen in all that move,
As when the sun, all arm'd with glittering rays,
Comes forth from night's dark tent, and o'er Heav'n's archway strays.

XXVIII

He sang of the commandments good and great,
Without which, mirror'd in the heavenly glass,
There were no concord in angelic state,
Nor harmonies on high. All earth as grass
Shall fade away, the skies to nothing pass,
Born of the Breath of the life-giving Word,
These living laws shall, from the dying mass,
Lead to the presence of th'Eternal Lord,
And better strength to run His high behests afford.

XXIX

Ye laws that walk in starry mansions, sweet
As melodies of mountain pipe, which fill
The frame responsive and obedient feet,
So would I listen to your sounds, until
Ye might to action stir my sluggard will;
I would be deaf to all but your deep tongue,
And run your heavenly ways; by your dread thrill,
May I to duteous discipline be strung,
Till in your freshening bloom I grow for ever young.

The North Aisle.

I. Varieties in Nature combined with identity. II. The same to be observed in the Lord's Prayer. III. A paraphrase of it in the Baptismal Service. IV. In the daily Prayers.V. In the Litany. VI. In the Ante-Communion. VII. In the Post-Communion Service. VIII. In the Marriage Service. IX. In the Burial Service. X. Its soundness and mysterious depth. XI. Its divine origin, and the future hopes contained therein. XII. Its effect in private devotion in the different ages of life. XIII. The Conclusion.

In the midst of the street, and on either side of the river was there the Tree of Life— And the leaves of the Tree were for the healing of the nations. Rev. xxii. 2.

THE LORD'S PRAYER.

Oh, that I knew how all thy lights combine,
And the configurations of their glory! [OMITTED]
Such are thy secrets; which my life makes good,
And comments on thee. For in every thing
Thy words do find me out.
Herbert.

I.

The Moon upon her silver height
Seems varying with the varying night;
Still varying seems, though still the same,
Since out of Evening's door she came;

To lead some traveller journeying on,
Her cheering mantle o'er him thrown.
First issues forth with burnish'd crest
Looking upon the golden west,—
A knight in virgin armour drest,
Pledging herself companion sure
Thro' hours of darkness to endure:
Then seems descended from her tower
To kindle up some wintry bower;
And turns the leafless branches bright
Into an hermitage of light,
Or temple strange of living gold
With gothic traceries manifold.
Then silently breaks forth to view,
Walking alone the sea of blue;
Anon with rising clouds contending,
And with their gloom her glory blending;
They gather 'neath her steps of brightness,
A pedestal of glowing whiteness.
Thus leads thro' night, then melts away
Into the sunshine of the day.
With brow unchang'd the while she dwells,
In Heav'n's serener citadels,
But seems with us as here we range
To thread the path of interchange.

Who live beside the solemn Sea,
And love his simple majesty,
Still ever new, in alter'd mien,
His untransformed shape have seen.
Now as they sit his margin nigh,
He lifts his hands, and voice on high,
No thought can trace his hidden treasure,
His beauty, strength, or vastness measure.
Now while they other scenes pursue,
The hills between, in arching blue,
He gathers in his silver length
All darkly to a bow of strength.—
Now man's meek friend, upon his breast
He bears him hous'd in sea-born nest.—
How God's unsullied temple fair,
For man hath left no traces there.—
Now aye unchang'd, yet ever changing,
To caves unfathom'd boundless ranging;—
Now seems to lay his vastness by
To minister to thought and eye.

A faithful Friend, best boon of Heav'n,
Unto some favour'd mortal given,
Tho' still the same, yet varying still,
Our each successive want to fill,
Beneath life's ever fitful hue
To us he bears an aspect new.

Round childhood's path a happy charm,
In age a tried supporting arm;
A chastening drop in cup of gladness,
A light to paint the mists of sadness;
To cheer, to chide, to teach, to learn,
Sad or severe, serene or stern.
Whatever form His Presence wears,
That Presence every form endears.
Till Faith descries in that dear love
The messenger from one above,
Faint emblem of a better Friend,
Who walks with us till life shall end.

II.

E'en such in its simplicity
Containing things for man too high,
The holy Prayer which Jesus taught!
A well too deep for mortal thought,
But where his want may ever turn,
And draw with ever welcome urn.
On childhood's dawn it doth unfold
Its treasures, and when life is old
Unfolding still yet all untold.
Ever transform'd to meet our needs,
Oft as Devotion counts her beads,

As if those beads had caught the light,
In her celestial girdle bright,
But each with its own colours dight.
Thus whensoe'er that Prayer is heard,
Fresh thoughts are in each solemn word;
An orb of light, come from the skies,
To kindle holy Liturgies;
It gathers and gives back their rays,
Now turn'd to prayer, and now to praise.

Thus is Thy word, unearthly wise,
A fire that lights each sacrifice;
'Tis that which, in Thine earthly shrine,
Clothes our desires with form divine,
To enter so more worthily
The place of Thy dread Majesty.
Upon that incense doth arise
An holy Angel to the skies,
And there, all cloth'd with other wings,
'Neath th'Intercessor's feet it springs.
Yea, could we see within that cloud
Of incense, from its earthly shroud
Its glorious fulness evermore
Unfolding to the heavenly door,
We there, reveal'd to mortal eye,
Should Angels, on glad ministry,
Ascending and descending see.

III. In the Baptismal Service.

First on Baptismal waters bright
It seems to move, a face of light,
And when around we kneel and pray,
The holy accents seem to say,

“Our Father, freed from error's chain,
May we Thy children be,
At this blest fountain born again
To filial liberty.

All things are changing, Thou the same,
Thou art our heavenly home;
Be hallowed here our Father's Name,
Until His kingdom come.

Lo, to Thy kingdom here below
We little children bring,
For to that kingdom such we know
The meetest offering.

That they in Thee may here put on
Thy kingdom's panoply,
And in the path of duty run,
Like children of the sky.

Oft as breaks out their mother's stain,
While they advance to Heav'n,
Children in love may they remain,
Forgiving and forgiv'n.

Let nought allure them from Thy word,
Or tempt their spirits frail,
But should they fall, yet, blessed Lord,
Let evil not prevail.

But when our Childhood's morn was ending,
And we 'neath holy hands were bending,
Beside that altar's witness stone
That prayer had caught an altered tone.
The cheek with shame and hope was burning,
To a lost Father's house returning;
It seem'd to chide, and yet to cheer,
And to that blending hope and fear
It brought our endless birthright near,
And from the rude world seem'd to sever,
Binding us to that shrine for ever.

IV. In the Daily Service.

At morn or eve when worldly Care
Would seek to breathe the calmer air
Of Thy pure temple; Peace is there,
But not for her. At mercy gate
Repentance stands, made wise too late,
Half lifts the latch, as one in guise
To enter, but with tearful eyes
Sees her lost heritage and sighs.
But watching for returning grief,
The great Absolver with relief
Stands by the door, and bears the key
O'er Penitence on bended knee:
Then blending accents, sweet to save,
Come like the gale on sullen wave,
When Day is at his western cave.

“Our Father, who dost dwell above,
May we find rest in Thy dear love,
And sanctify in heart Thy name;
Where else shall sinner hide his shame,

When rising and departing Sun
But numbers duties left undone,
And nearer brings th'Eternal throne!

May we, advancing that to meet,
Feel daily more beneath our feet,
The better strength which doth the will,
And seeth Thee, and so is still:
And borne on Thy sustaining arm,
Which daily feeds, and keeps from harm,
The wrath of man by love disarm.

The sole assurance that we live,
Is that we others thus forgive;
And day and night, where shall we flee
The wily Tempter, but to Thee?
Dim shadows range this earthy cell,
The Kingdom and the Glory dwell
With Thee, alone unchangeable.”

V. In the Litany.

Who long in light of prayer abide,
As in the Sun's bright gushing tide,

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Find hidden stains break forth within,
Like spots upon the leopard's skin.
Now spreading thro' the ample shrine,
Prayer sounds the seas of Love divine,
And now the deeps of crime and woe
Thro' changeful scenes of Life below.
Now Fear doth wake and onward press,
Girding her loins with lowliness,
Till seeing Thee she sinks from high,
In thoughts of her deep poverty;
And with poor Bartimæus blind
Seeks in the dark Thy presence kind;
Now with thine accents, deep and clear,
She holds Thy mantle in calm fear.

“Like as a Father his own children loves,
So unto those that fear Thee Thou art kind,
For Thine own glorious Name,
Turn from us our deserts!

So may Thy Kingdom come, on whose blest shore
These hosts of woe and crime shall war no more,
But East and West be set
Our sins and us between.

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Strengthen, and comfort, raise us, and support,
So may Thy will be done, as 'tis in Heav'n:
And dews of blessing fall
On the fruit bearing earth!

By all Thy works that we might be forgiven,
Thy Love, Thy Prayer, Thy Baptism, and Thy Grave,
From envy and from hate,
Deliver us, Good Lord.

Deliver us from the dark Tempter's wiles,
In Sorrow's hour and in the hour of wealth,
So 'neath our feet at last
The Serpent may be laid.”

'Tis thus, by all Thy mercies old,
By all our fathers have us told,
Thus by Thy love are we made bold.

VI. In the Ante-Communion.

But when, the white-rob'd Altar nigh,
The chain was let down from on high,
Which from His Cross unto His throne
Doth bind His children all in one,
As heavy-laden souls draw near
To hear dread Sinai's voice of fear,

102

Responsively to our deep wound,
That Prayer assumes another sound.

“Out of a world of grief and wrong,
Where we have wandered all too long,
To Thee our Father we return,
Do Thou not spurn!

Thou art in Heav'n, and we on earth,
Then weigh us not by our own worth,
May we henceforth in reverend awe
So keep Thy law,

That we may hallow Thy Great Name!
Lay on our lips Thine altar flame,
And that from Thee no more we roam,
Thy Kingdom come.

For only they, who do Thy will,
Shall thine Eternal Kingdom fill,
Then may we throughout this our night
Walk in Thy Light!

Thou art our Father, only Good,
Wilt Thou not give us that blest food?
We on Thine altar for thine aid
Ourselves have laid,

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Unworthy—yet in deed or thought,
If our own brother hath done aught,
As we on Thy forgiveness live,
So we forgive.

Around us are the shafts of ill,
O hide us in Thy holy hill,
That we in th'evil day may stand,
Holding Thy hand!”

The cloud hath past, which hung thereon,
And Moses and Elias gone,
And Thou art standing by alone.

VII. In the Post-Communion.

And now the fount of Love o'erflows,
And the worn spirit finds repose;
Lord, at Thy feet in thrilling fear
Lifts up her eye, and wipes the tear,
And with Thy Prayer again draws near.

“Our Father, knit in Thy dear Son,
In celestial union,

104

Thy Name we hallow, and adore,
Praising Thee for evermore.
And hasten till Thy kingdom come,
Which is our eternal home.
May we till that blest palm be won,
On the path of duty run.
With Angels and Archangels high,
And the heav'nly company,
Singing of Thine immortal love,
As thine Angels sing above.
O daily from th'angelic hall,
This life-giving food let fall,
And knit us in the holy tie
Of ne'er-failing charity.
That from Thine own parental sway,
Nought may lead our feet astray,
Ever attun'd in heart to sing
Thee our everlasting King,
Whose Glory is our home on high,
And His name best Panoply.”

Thus when Thy love hath made us strong,
That Prayer becomes the pilgrim's song.

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VIII. In the Marriage Service.

But lo, a small and silent train
Is gather'd 'neath the pictur'd pane,
Where ancient saints in light profound,
Stand, like stern witnesses, around;
Whose rainbow hues now play below
Fitfully on the vest of snow:
'Tis bridal Love that doth repair
To light her holy torch-light there.
Varied as Morning's eastern door,
That Prayer hath other thoughts in store:
As on some dove's soft mantling breast
When vernal lights or shadows rest,
There come forth interchangeably
An emerald, gold, or silver dye,
Which 'neath the secret color lie.

“O Thou, of whom all families,
In Earth and Heaven are named, may that Name,
Which all our wills and wishes sanctifies,

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Be hallowed in each household; may the flame
From off thine Altar light the peaceful hearth,
And patriarchal blessings crown the same.

A type of Thy true Kingdom here on earth,
An household, over which Thy holy Dove
Broods, nurturing below to heav'n-taught worth,

Angelic order, and harmonious love.
The ministering elements in Thy hand lie,
Open for them Thy store-houses above:

Their spirits clothe with the meek poverty
Of the true Bridegroom, His law to fulfil
In mutual forbearing charity.

Stand Thou about them night and day, that ill
May not approach their dwelling, nor sin's bane
Tempt forth, then blast with death the wandering will.

So rise they on that bridal morn again,
Where all as Angels Thy great Kingdom fill,
And in thine everlasting glory reign!”

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IX. In the Burial Service.

But lo, where by yon gleaming tower
The Sun sinks to his western bower,
As weeping mourners stand around,
Like Evening dews there falls a sound
On hearts by sorrow withered,—
The words of Him who woke the dead.

“O Father of the fatherless, to Thee
We turn, sole Comforter, and seek release,
When shall Thy better Kingdom come—and we
Be gather'd 'neath Thy feet, and be at peace?

Thou giv'st and tak'st away, Thy Name be blest!
Fain would we have that Cup to pass away,
But may Thy will be done; our only rest
To know that Thou art good, and to obey.

Thy will be done on Earth, as 'tis in Heav'n,
Give us enough each day to bear us on,
'Tis not our home, and as we have forgiv'n,
Forgive us ere we die for Thy dear Son.

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Look on us, for, like leaves, we haste away,
And are not; to Thy mercy let us cling:
Till we have pass'd this world of evil sway,
Hide us beneath the shadow of Thy wing.

X.

Thus hallow'd in Thy house of Prayer
Each change, else leading to despair,
Doth, like a pillar, heavenward rise,
On which are built our destinies.

I thank Thee, oft as we are there
And stand upon the heavenly stair,
Thy words the key note still return,
Lest all too bold our fancies burn.

As “Holiness” on Aaron's head
Which o'er his purple garments shed
That felt but untold sanctity
Of him who bears the Priestly key,
O'ershadowing with awe profound
Unto his tuneful skirts around.

Or as on Aaron's holier breast
The glorious constellations rest,
Enfolding “Light and Truth” from high,
The voice of God in mystery.

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Thus o'er each worship here below,
A light divine that Prayer doth throw.

If 'neath the Church's parent shade
'Tis thus transform'd to meet our aid,
How shall it not abide the proof
For every want 'neath mortal roof?
O thought too high for mortal sense
The lowliness, the confidence,
Reposing love, retiring fear,
Unspeakably combining there!
Within the wayside leaf, or flower,
Is hid a temple of strange dower,
Of order fair a very world
Beneath a vein'd envelope curl'd,
All wondrous hid in viewless bars,
Like a blue night of silver stars.
'Tis thus where'er Thy hand hath been,
Tho' oft by none but Angels seen:
And here, conceal'd from careless eyes,
In sheltering veils there folded lies,
Within that heav'n-made prayer enroll'd,
Simplicity most manifold!

Forms which surround Truth's secret throne,
By varied name to mortals known,
Are here united all in one;

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The Eight that hold the heavenly door
Beatitudes of Gospel lore;
The number'd Graces which all lie
In bosom of true Charity;
The Fruits which round the branches twine,
And gather o'er the mystic Vine.
Like fairest shapes, unchang'd above,

Yet altering their mien and air,
Throw varying shadows as they move

O'er sunny earth and waters fair.
Within this Prayer come from on high,
Their embryo forms in secret lie,—
Here are the roots which all supply.
Like that dread image from the skies,
Before and after having eyes:—
Or like a cloud, with lustre sown,
Where stars of the celestial zone
Blend in a bright communion.

O hidden wisdom, ever nigh,
Then let me school mine ear and eye
To unwind all thine harmony.
'Tis ever thus in holy things,
The more we seek the sacred springs,

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More fresh and deep their bounty flows,
More calm beneath the skies repose.
Oft'ner we turn, more love we learn,
And loving more, more thither turn.
For Prayer doth feeble Faith repair,
And Faith repair'd doth kindle Prayer;
Like Angel forms on either hand,
They hold the Pilgrim thro' life's strand,
From strength to strength both leading on
In holy wondrous union.
Thus lifting up our thoughts on high,
We nearer bring the starry sky,—
E'en thus for ever newly born
Advance we into Heav'nly morn.

Blest words come from the holiest shrine,
Ye that on Jesus' lips divine,
Ye that with saints from age to age
Have been throughout their pilgrimage!
In triumph and in agony
Ye went between them and the sky,—
A road where aiding Angels came;
May we in you partake their flame,
Bond of strange union when we kneel,
Think as they thought, and with them feel,
With saints on earth and saints on high,
Bound in mysterious sympathy!

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By day and night there may we flee,
As to a sheltering sanctuary,
The refuge of a Father's name
Which only doth abide the same.

Thro' life, as change and chance succeed,
That Prayer to Heav'n doth bear our need,
And with Thine inspiration warm
Turns our dead thoughts to living form:
As when goes forth thy quickening breath,
Kindling the wrecks and dust of Death,
Into the shapes of varied Life,
Trees, flowers, and streams, all beauty rife,—
Man, beast, and bird, one kindred strife,—
Earth, Sea, and Sky, uniting raise
A living temple to Thy praise.

Thus have our earthly wishes turn'd
To wings that have with glory burn'd,
Fann'd into pure serene desires,
They clothe them with celestial fires,
Borne on the breath of our own Lord,
And instinct with the living Word.
But unto what shall we compare
The boundless hopes embosom'd there?

How beauteous here the Moon at night
Walks forth amid her hosts of light;

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And Evening looks, a pilgrim sage,
Out of his western hermitage;
And Earth and Sea, whose voices rise
In solemn and dread harmonies;
Then what shall be the spirit's home,
When Thy true Kingdom shall have come?

If in the flower such beauty lies,
Which blooms at morn, at evening dies,
And in each form of life around
Mysterious wisdom hides profound;
What shall our heav'nly bodies be
When cloth'd with immortality?

If in Thy guiding hand above
The glorious hosts are seen to move,
And all creation here below
Thy daily ordering seems to know;
How much more Thine unseen controul
Must be around the human soul,
Prepar'd, beyond the starry skies,
To put on endless destinies!

XI.

I said, as change and chance succeed,
That Prayer doth Heav'n-ward bear our need,—
When in this temple, greenly dight,
And arch'd o'er with its roof of light,

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Our childhood woke to earth's unrest,
That Prayer came like an Angel guest,
And in that pensive silent cell,
Which heart of childhood knoweth well,
It led our thoughts by gentle mien
To dwell around a friend unseen;
And turn'd from earth the wondering eyes
Unto a happier Paradise.

When we were grown to riper years,
Woo'd by a world of hopes and fears,
Each morn and evening it would come,
And lighting up the silent room
Would oft forgotten still intrude
On evening's holier solitude,
A gentle witness standing nigh
Of things that should not be put by.

More and more to our manlier sense
Faith's treasur'd stores it doth dispense,
A key that opes omnipotence:
It can the mountains set afar,
Which our obedience seem to bar.
But if not made in love our own
It is a witness of stern tone;
Or seems with parting wings to go,
And leave us to the world below.

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When age hath come, ere we depart,
That Witness takes the Judge's part,—
The Judge's part, which serves to prove
Thoughts chain'd below, or train'd above,
Of character the form and measure,
Of our desires, our hope, and treasure:
Whether in converse with the sky
We strength have gain'd to walk on high;
With thoughts to our true Father led,
Content below with daily bread:
Or whether in low dreams of earth
Forgotten lies our better birth.

XII.

Thro' life, as change and chance succeed,
It thus doth vary to our need,
And to the faith-illumin'd sense
Expandeth its magnificence.
Said I, 'twas like the silver Moon,
Companion thro' night's wintry noon?
Yea, and I deem it not too bold,
Could I its treasures half unfold:
'Tis fraught with goodness all Thine own,
Whilst Thou, our Sun, from sight art gone.
Lo, earth-born cares are at its rising riven,
And wither'd hopes have caught the holier hues of Heav'n!

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Said I 'twas like the solemn Sea,
So simple in sublimity,
Transform'd to meet each changing scene,
And glass Heav'n's face dark or serene?
Man's hand hath been on all beside,
Thy holy footsteps there abide,
Tho' all too deep for mortal pride.
In that baptismal flood serene
Still would I wash, and still be clean.

Said I, 'twas like a constant Friend,
Whom we would hold when life shall end?
Yea, it shall ever be to me
In solitude best company:
And a sweet spell when friends are nigh,
A presence felt in silence by.
Yea, while we walk with cloud and shade,
And meteor lights our path invade,
Let not a wish within me burn,
But first unto that Prayer I turn!
And, oh, may I at life's dim close
Know of that Prayer the calm repose!

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The Middle Aisle.

HOLY SCRIPTURE.

I. Its consolations and guidance as supplied in the daily Service. II. The same continued. III. Its secret meanings. IV. Disclosed to obedience, and in the day of visitation. V. The fall—Abraham. VI. The wilderness—Canaan, as applicable to ourselves. VII. The varied teaching in Job, Proverbs, and Ecclesiastes. VIII. The Prophets under temporal evils disclosing Christ. IX. The kingdom of Heaven upon earth. X. Christ's Presence continued in His Church. XI. Forerunners of the Day of Judgement. XII. A confessional prayer.

Our mirror is a blessed book,
Where out from each illumin'd page
We see one glorious Image look
All eyes to dazzle and engage.
The Christian Year.

I.

“A little further lend thy guiding hand,”
A littly onward, Heav'n-descended Guide!
This scene will soon be o'er, where Hope and Fear
Busily twine the thread of hurrying life;

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And this strange house, where the o'er-arching blue
Bends o'er us, from whose dark aerial caves
The Day and Night, on time's alternate watch,
In solemn interchanges come and go,
And Winter and swift Summer hasten by
So stilly; soon its portal will be past,—
E'en now my shadow on the mountain side
Is lengthening,—hues of Evening o'er me fall.

Thy guiding hand a little further on,
Whate'er Thou art that thro' unravelling time
Leadest me on! for oft Thy hand I feel,
And tho' amid life's solitudes I droop
Unmindful, oft beside me in the gloom,
And oft'ner still behind, 'mid travell'd scenes
As back I bear my view, celestial tracks
I see, and “skirts of an unearthly friend.”

Yet not so much, that, while I wondering tread
Th'unfoldings of Thy silent Providence,
Thou giv'st to feel Thy kind withholding chain,
And gentle leading;—not so much for this,
I thank Thee, heavenly Father, Friend, and Lord,
As that each morn and eve, that hasten on
My days to number, to the homeless heart,
Which turns from fairest scenes unsatisfied,
Wearied with vain pursuits, and vainer end,
Thou in serener dwellings dost disclose

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The Kingdom of Thy treasures, new and old.
—Oft some arm'd saint, who saw th'Invisible,
And in that strength bore heathen gates away,
Or sword-less slew the giant;—oft deep thoughts
Revealing, in Thy Gospel's bosom laid.

Thus may Thy Church within her daily arms
Take me, and with her blessing let me go,—
But not with her depart her accents sweet.
Thus be my loins girded with holier hope,
And discipline, and penitential thought,
Led by the hand of self-rewarding care.
Nor know I aught beside to buoy the soul
Against the weight of her own solitude,
Aim-less and object-less; or, what is worse,
Fever'd pursuit, and rest-less followings on
Of the impassion'd being, meteor lights
Which leave at last in deeper loneliness.

Thence is the soul attun'd to secret spells
Of that eternal music heard in Heav'n,
Albeit hush'd by ruder sounds of Earth,
Yet pure and deep as the celestial spheres,
Which calm the wayward spirit, and reveal
Other pursuits, and ends which end not here;
A light that brighter burns unto the close;
A feeling of immortal youth within,
That while these earthly weeds and flowery hopes

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Drop from us, looks to an enduring home;
A sense of reconcilement oft renew'd,
And power to throw aside the darts of care,
Temptation-proof, ethereal panoply.

II.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
Thus doth Thy spirit walk with soundless tread
In the outgoings of the morn and eve,
Leading us on, unseen, unheard of man:
Constant—as dews whose footsteps fall from Heav'n,
Noise-less, and not less balmy in their tread;
Gradual—as rays that build the golden grain;
Unseen—as gales that homeward bear the sail;
Dear—as awaken'd thoughts of absent home;
And soothing—as familiar strains from far,
Long-lov'd, but dull to unaccustom'd ear.

And sweet it were to steal from day to day
From the rude thoughts and fever of the world,
To sit upon that mighty river's bank,
Descending from the everlasting hills:
To travel on its banks, and watch the flow
Untouch'd by man, making free melodies,
With multitudinous waters as it goes:—
Such is Thy word, which thro' our annual round
Flows on its course, unfolding more and more,

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And gladdening scenes of life, which hath its spring
Beneath the throne of God, and lingers not,
But to th'eternal ocean passes on.

III.

Mysterious deeps of wisdom, dimly known,
Where fathom of man's thought ne'er touch'd the ground,
Who shall thy lessons reach, who shall descry
His steps of light, who in His boundless word
The wilderness of waters walks unseen?
In this Thy visible house, mankind's abode,
Thy hand withdraws from search of human ken,
Whene'er the depths we trace, there opes beyond
An inner world, where Science lifts her torch,
And wonder leads thro' new enchanted halls.
And glorious links we see of heavenly mould,
But cannot track the chain; Thyself, unseen,
Sittest behind the mighty wheel of things,
Which moves harmonious, tho' unheard below,
Save when Thine order'd ways, at intervals,
Break forth, as falling on some traveller's ear
Musical notes, which make the landscape smile.

The Hand that kindles up the rolling moon,
Lights up the worm's blue lamp beside our path;
And haply in Thy word there hidden lies

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Infinity, coil'd up in narrowest bound;
We on the surface walk, and know it not.

The bird, that sits and sings upon the thorn,
Knows not its Maker's wonders, known to man:
Man moves mid hidden things, to Angels known,
Nor knows of aught, around, above, beneath,
Where'er he turns, beside the path of life,
Enough on earth to know.—O send Thou forth
Thy Light and Truth from Thine unseen abodes,
That they may lead me to Thy Holy Hill.
Thou that hast made the heart and seeing eye,
Give me to know Thyself, of all things else
Let me be ignorant deem'd; for Thee to know
Is to know all that's good and fair below;—
Without Thee we are blind, but in Thee see
Thy multitude of mercy far and wide,
Thee good in all, and all things good in Thee.
Thee only none can seek and seek in vain:
Thus travelling thro' the world's lone desert way,
If, with that Ethiop stranger, o'er Thy word
I bend, Thy heav'n-sent guide is at my side.

IV.

Thy guiding light a little further on!
Shower on my heart Thy radiance, without which

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Thine own sure word were but a barren void,
But ever and anon as Thy calm light
Falls on it, Thy deep fulness comes to view.
Oft clouds and darkness all about Thee dwell,
Till thoughts responsive wake with changeful life,
And open all Thy word, as light or shade
Fall on it, and fresh scenes arise to light,
With life and infinite variety,
Ever unfolding, as in scenes of Earth,
Mountains, and plains, and streams, and land, and sea.
As when upon a wild autumnal noon,
Some traveller sits on airy cliffs, and sees
The far-spread range below, where lights and shades
In beauteous interchanges come and go.
One scene comes forth to view, another fades,
Trees on a distant line—then gleaming rocks,
And woods, dwellings of men, and 'tween the hills
O'er-arching, haply glows the opening sea,
And some lone bark in sunshine—then retires
In shade—the nearer object comes to light
Unseen before—and then on either side
The multifarious landscape breaks to sight,
Unseen, till the bright beam expands the view.
Thus the unbounded fulness of Thy Word
Betokens Thy dread Glory veil'd beneath,
Throwing the light and cloud Thy skirts around.

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Lend me Thy hand, celestial visitant,
Into the inner chambers where thou sitt'st,
Unfolding lessons of diviner lore!
Touch'd by th'unearthly wand, ethereal doors
Fly open, answering to the wondrous key.
I seem behind this shifting scene of things
Admitted, Heav'n's high counsels to behold.
I seem to wander thro' mysterious ways,—
Shadows of other days, and other lights
Around me,—such is Thy unfathom'd word;—
And oft at every turn myself descry.
Patriarchs, and Kings, and Prophets, great and good,
Are hurrying all before us to the tomb,
And cry aloud, “we seek another home.”
I seem to walk through Angel-haunted caves,
Lit by celestial light, not of the Sun,
That leadeth to a kingdom far away.
There as behind this screen, and sensual bar,
I see a hand that weighs us day by day,
We, wrapt in earthly schemes are hastening on,
And heed not; while Thy Judgments walk the earth,
Evils by mortals nam'd, and mercy loves
Beneath a cloud to veil her silver wings,
To me still speaks Thy voice, myself I see,
I see myself in each new scene reveal'd.

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V.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
Now Death on the new world in twilight dim
Alighting, spreads his wings from pole to pole;
Lo, as the wily Tempter coils away,
I hide me from my sins in coverts green,
And think Thine eye beholds not, but Thy voice,
Mid the dread stillness of the evening's close,—
Thy sternly-kind enquiring voice I hear:
In wither'd and vile leaves I stand reveal'd.
Anon a beckoning hand I see afar,
It is the call that came to Terah's son,
Singling me out from old Euphrates' bank,
And bids me follow to a land unknown.
I linger on, and hear not, but afar
I see the holy Abraham journeying on
Unto that heavenly Canaan, now awhile
He leans on Haran's tomb, now westward wends
Unto the unseen City, built of God.
Strong in celestial hope he walks on high
In Heav'n-conversing solitude; that sight
Girds me with other strength, but loitering still
Myself I see at every turn disclos'd,
Wooing fair phantoms. He is travelling on
He knows not whither, but serene and glad,
Rests with no meaner things, no servant-heir

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Chosen awhile, but lifts his eye aloft
Unto the unseen City, built of God.

VI.

Now like a widening river opes the scene;
A flying host is seen, and marvellous way,
And sea on either hand, with watery walls.
Heav'n hath come down, and with life-giving touch,
Struck all the desert: there where Nature pin'd,
She hath forgot herself, and looks around—
Rocks gushing, Angel's food, the light, and cloud,
The mountain mantled round with fire and smoke,
And terrible voice. 'Tis desolate around,
And far below stretches that livid sea.
Where o'er his black domain the vulture sails
To mountains far away, bright fruitful lands,
Where God would bear them upon eagle's wings,
But Israel turns away, and fears, and pines!

It is the Christian thro' life's wilderness
Numbering his forty years, and mercy's form
Stretching her arms. 'Tis desolate around,
But with new hopes Heav'n opens in the wild,
We knowing know not, but to Egypt turn.

Like that fam'd Trojan in the Tyrian hall
Who mid the pictur'd host himself descried,

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I start—and see myself in stern review.
And lo, all life seems teeming with new thoughts,
And other purposes ordain'd of old!
I thread a path replete with embryo life,
Unwinding golden destinies, and oft
Find me in a mysterious balance weigh'd.

What are these washings, ceremonial chains,
And all this flow of sacrificial blood?—
The Holiest of Holies open stands,
On that dread sorrowing Sabbath, which gives life
To all the year, the great Atoning Day.—
Christian, thou tread'st on solemn mysteries,
Strange prophecies, and counsels laid in Heav'n;
Dim clues, which thro' Life's winding labyrinth
Lead on, emerging in ethereal day,
If Wisdom lend her kind conducting hand.

To my dark steps a little further on!
Now Israel sits in Canaan's promis'd rest,
The Lord like His own mountains stands around;
But sounds of arms are on the distant gale;
He sits,—but by his side his sword and shield.
Before, an armed Angel leads the way,
But Superstition's haggard brow, behind,
Gleams darkly, by each hill and green tree's shade,
While fitfully breaks forth the wandering moon
On Canaan's fallen towers. Is this the rest?—

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I start and look around me—

This the land,
Ordain'd of old, the glad Inheritance?
The Peace beneath the Gospel's sheltering vine?
The heavenly kingdom? Mammon reigneth here;
And Passion's sevenfold host of Canaan born!
Amid a falling world we build again
Their idol temples! Thence arise to view
Times heavy with dark signs, and days of old,
And Noah stretching forth beseeching hands,
Fearfully seen the type of darker days;
Judgment is at the door, and even now
With the dread Coming gleams the Eastern gate,
We plant, and build, and hearing, hear it not.

VII.

Thy guiding hand a little further on,
Into the treasures of thine inner shrine!
O perfect energy of Thy deep word,
With varied ends combining all in one,
Like nature's works, all one, all manifold!
Each hath its single lesson, each is part
Of one great whole, that whole in each is found,
Each part with th'other blends, and lends its light.

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One perfect whole, where earth and sea and skies
Are mirror'd; now at random thrown apart,
In thousand scintillations far and wide,
Each fragment bears the earth and sea and skies,
Each on the other throws its pictur'd form,
And all combine in one mysterious whole.

There Wisdom varies oft her mien and form,
Now sits with Job, bow'd down to misery's chain;
Wonderful things from water, earth, and air,
Approach her in the dismal solitude,—
A wilderness all touch'd by fiery breath—
The thunder and the lightning come to him,
The Behemoth is there, and mightiest forms
From the dark lair of Nature's hiding place
Come forth, to speak their Maker mightier far.
There Patience sits, and drooping Penitence,
That long had sought, and vainly sought relief,
Her image eyes in Woe's black flowing stream,
And lifts her head by bitterness reviv'd.

The scene is chang'd, and Wisdom by the gate
Sits calling to the simple ones; and now
Her precepts are link'd beads of many hues,
She bears the golden key to hidden stores,
Rubies, and health, and plenteous barns, and wine,
A crown of glory, or a sheltering shield,
Apples of gold in silver pictures laid,

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Wherein the Gospel's light in secret burns,
A tree of life, an ever brightening path,
Now length of days, now ways of pleasantness,
Now one that in an ivory palace dwells,
Now terrors in her hand, and hell and death,
Now in the whirlwind walks an armed man.
Thus, like the face of the autumnal night,
She varies: lo, anon her son she brings
On the world's highest stair, experience-crown'd.
O Royal Preacher, wondrous is thy voice,
And deep thy tale of earthly vanity,
Of nothing true but God, nor calm but Heav'n!

VIII.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
What visionary shapes now fill the gloom,
Of more than earthly wisdom, tho' in grief
O'er earthly things they hang their drooping form?
And who art thou with robes all rudely rent,
Sitting beneath the lofty Lebanon,
Thy realm a waste, and Solitude thy throne?
Daughter of Salem, from what tower of strength
Descending, sitt'st thou at the gate of Death?
And can our God cast off his own elect?
Desolate Judah, lesson sad to us!

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Desolate Judah, sitting on the ground!
O thou, but little mid the nations known
In arts or arms, (emblem of Hope divine
By man despis'd,) O thou, but little known
In arts or arms, but better known of God,
And could not this content thee, little one?
Euphrates' bank, and Chebar's distant flood,
Have echoed to thy Jordan's deep lament.

Now all is vocal with prophetic strains,
And Lebanon and Carmel find a voice,
Kingdoms their mighty shadows cast before
Going to ruin—Tyre, and Nineveh,
And Babylon. Behind the fleeting scene
Stern Retribution sits, and holds the scale,
Where empires all are weigh'd, while rebel Pride
With meteor lamp leads on to dusky Death.

Meanwhile, as flows the stream of mortal things,
There riseth up the mist of human woes,
And, lo, that mist is skirted with the gleam
Which harbingers the slowly-rising morn,
And brightens more and more, as darker grows
The gather'd cloud, until effulgent made
With rays prophetic purpling all the dawn,
It doth disclose the Sun of Righteousness,
Streaming in light o'er the dim vale of life,
And hills of immortality afar.

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IX.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
Now other ears we need, and other eyes,
For semblance hath brought forth reality;
The cloud the Sun, the night reveal'd the Day,
Which from her open'd portals walks abroad,
With messages of mercy to the poor.
The volume is unfolded day by day,
Unletter'd hinds are greater than the proud,
And pennyless old age is rich and young,
Sequester'd ignorance is wiser far
Than knowledge, in her city trappings dress'd.
See, where combin'd in our diurnal round,
There moves a twofold orb of light divine,
And throws th'united gleam upon our path,
Morning and Eve, lightening the narrow way.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
All things are now made new, another Sun
Shines o'er us, and another Moon from high,
Each passing day reveals a sacred step,
Where thro' life's cave our Lord the burden bore;
And when receiv'd into a golden cloud
Thy form is seen no more, Thy sacred voice
In Apostolic warnings cloth'd anew
Is heard, as oft as Evening shadows fall.

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Thy guiding hand a little further on!
Man hath gone down unto a cheerless tomb,
Dismays and doubts around, and all before
Peopled with visionings of his sad mind,
Doubting of good because deserving ill,
Scarce daring to believe God's mercy true;
When broke the Church amid the shining Heavens,
With all her saints array'd in Jesus' robe,
Rejoicing in the light of other worlds,
Beyond the dull house of mortality.
As when one on a nightly journey wends
With clouded Heavens around him, till from high
Far on her nightly tower is seen the Moon,
With one pale glimmering star,—then hills afar
Come forth in brightness, promontories, seas,
And hanging woods, and gradual breaks to view
The infinite expanse, and all the stars;
He on his homeward way rejoicing goes.

A little onward lend Thy guiding hand!
Thus daily may we gather better thoughts,
And arm our souls with stedfastness, or learn
That we have nought to gather, nought to lose,
On earth, and in that knowledge learn our peace.
Then welcome disappointment, and decay,
Bereavement, and keen sense of lov'd ones lost,—
While not a star along the aerial hall,

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But solitude, and sterner forms of woe
Lend their companionship amid the gloom—
Full welcome, if they lead us, in Thy path,
To cling the more to Thy parental hand,
Far better than false gleams that lead us thence,
And then desert us.

Soon comes forth to view
Upon her nightly watch the silent Moon,
Ether's blue arms around her, gradual breaks
The infinite expanse, and all the stars;
He on his homeward way rejoicing goes.

Then by degrees is gather'd that within,
Which more and more impels, and urges on
Heavenward—himself unconscious of the Power;
Like gales that swell unseen, and move at length
The unheeding bark, or thoughts the unconscious frame.
Thence he the spirit of obedience wears,
Chains round the neck, and ornaments of grace,
By others seen, but to himself unknown,
Blest ignorance, the nurse of lowly thoughts!

X.

A little onward lend Thy guiding hand!
The Sun now rises on the Minaret,
And desolation lingers o'er the walls,

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Where Angels once, like its own mountain band,
Stood round Jerusalem; thro' that blest realm
Scarce doth a sacred track unharm'd remain,
At Nazareth's lone hill-side, or silent lake,
(Dear lake, dear hills, where Thy blest eyes repos'd!)
But in the living page thy steps abide,
Fresh as of yesterday. Faith lights her lamp,
And rising thence she sees Thee all around:
She walks the earth, in amice of the morn,
And wheresoever the need of human woe
Varies its shape, she finds Thee standing nigh,
And burns to follow. Oft Thy presence lies
Hidden in busy scenes, but as they pass,
The parting step reveals Thy form Divine,
And gentle dealings: as we backward bear
The thoughtful eye, we see in vision clear,
And lost occasions mourn. Oh, that we thence
Might gain th'enduring sense of Thy deep love,
How in that light would things terrestrial wear
Celestial colourings, that we no more
Should droop, or in Thy Presence feel alone!

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
As when, amid her azure palaces,
Mounts in her solemn state the Queen of night,
Her airy pathway holds the floating web,
Shook from her brow the silver clouds among:

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So doth Thy solemn memory here remain.
Not now beheld at Abraham's friendly door,
In flaming bush, or Gideon's threshing floor,
As man with man, or wrapt with Angel wings;
Not now beside the Galilean shore;
But where the widow'd mother walks bereav'd,
Where Poverty and Blindness by the way,
Where Innocence sits at the festal board,
Or listening Penitence hangs down to mourn.

Lend me thy light a little further on!
Henceforth the Church is as the living shrine,
Wherein the Angel of Thy presence dwells,
About Thee thrown like an illumin'd cloud.
She hand in hand with morning issues forth,
And daily traversing the peopled globe
Kindles mute forms, in which her Spirit dwells,
Circling the earth with her celestial day,
As with a radiant zone, while from her steps
Night flies; she on her path continuous wakes
Her ancient prayers, and David's chaunt of praise,
From Ganges' bank to these cold Western isles.

Nor only thus, but veil'd in silvery mist
With each she springs from the Baptismal fount,
And half disclosing her celestial brow,
She lends herself companion of the way,
Seizing the trembler's hand, and seeing things

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He sees not, forward leads him thro' the night,
And tries him oft in crooked and dark ways,
Of discipline, and penitential love,
Till with her secrets she can trust his soul.

XI.

To my dark steps a little further on,
As things here seen on earth—the Night—the Storm,—
The Thunder—Pain—Unrest—and pale Remorse,
Girding around with ever-during fire,
And boding evil; so within Thy word
Dark auguries in terror seem to walk,
And sterner premonitions blend with hope,
The dread forerunners of the Judgment-morn.
Let not these pass, like clouds which summer gilds,
Lest shapes sublime and shadowy semblances
Teach us th'o'erwhelming substance to forego;
Lest flowers, which spring around the fount of truth,
We gather for frail wreaths of poesy,
Nor know our foulest selves reflected there.
Lest of these mighty things we talk and feel
Unprofited, and fail the will to do;—
The tabernacle deck with curious art,
Forget the engraven word laid up within,
Nor know the mercy seat, and awful cloud.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!

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The Day and Night on their alternate watch,
And Time's bright sentinels that walk the sky,
The Sun and Moon—'tis written, doubt it not—
Shall pass, and in the darkness make their bed:
And we unloos'd out from this womb of things
Shall on the mighty stair of being climb.

Unto the light a little further on!
Day after day that book is open laid,
A day shall come, and cannot now be far,
A day shall come, when last it shall be seen,—
The universe, of Angels and of men,
Shall stand around, and Christ Himself shall sit
Upon the great tribunal, plac'd on high,
And then that book shall be reopen'd wide,
And we shall look upon the Judge's face,
And on that book—and then shall hear His voice.

XII.

Thy guiding hand a little further on!
O Thou sole End and Author of all hope,
That hast reveal'd the sinner's dwelling-place,
And the eternity of Heaven and Hell,
Look on us, teach us upon Thee to lean;
O'er the dread gulf disclose Thy peaceful path!
For thou art not in brain-sick ecstasy,
That climbs the Heavens to light th'unhallow'd torch,

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Fever'd Imagination's fiery wing,
Like vap'rous breath, which in the furnace mounts,
Fann'd to a vitreous blaze, and hangs again
In earth-born vapor on the vault above;
But in that viewless flame, from ashes born
Of Penitence, with lowlier wisdom wise,
Born to a purer love, and onward bent
To purge terrestrial dross, that trembling still
In thankfulness, in lowliness and love,
With Anna and with Simeon, good of old,
Waits in Thy courts: while still, from step to step,
On stairs by Israel seen, dwindle behind
The towers of earth, and gradual grow before
The immensities of Heav'n. Oh, lend me wings,
Ethereal Spirit, ere that stair of Heav'n
Be gather'd up into th'enfolding clouds,
And I be left in darkness,—low I sit
In sorrow, penitence-strick'n, and deep woe,—
Mid shades of Death, thine arrow drinks my blood.
For I Thine innocent side have pierced deep,
For I have pierced deep Thine innocent side,
Thou Holy One,—and I could sit and weep,
But that Thou bidd'st me rise, and with Thy voice
Of ever-varying seasons, day and night,
And this eternity that stirs within,
Thou bidd'st us stand not, but arise, and wash

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Our robes to meet Thee, and to trim the lamp.
Bow'd with th'o'erwhelming burden down to earth,
I dar'd not look upon Thy bleeding brow;
Like some poor Alpine wanderer, who in dreams,
In powerless dreams, beholds th'incumbent pile,
Heavily over-hanging—threat'ning still,
Still threat'ning to hurl down the gather'd Alp;
But now I trembling look to Thee, and, oh,
If not to me the harp of Jesse's son,
Which bad the gloomy spirit part from Saul,
In blooming-haired youth, oh, for that harp,
With which in later day, with sackcloth rob'd
And Penitence, his overcharged heart
Broke forth, and gave its sorrows to the strings,
Of deep-ingrained guilt—of guilt that cleaves
Unto the bone of life. Thee shall I sing,
While passion round the heart with snaky wile
Wreaths its dark folds, and pride, that foully feeds
On praise of man, breeding distemper'd blood,
And dons the pilgrim's cowl, and lowly weed!
Wash me again for Thine, and bind my wounds,
For whom have I in Heav'n but Thee alone?
And whom on earth—but Thee? and well I know
If I dare lean on aught but Thee alone,
I mourn a broken reed and bleeding side.

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Oh, lead me but a little further on!
Oh, now, I now behold Thee, who Thou art,
Celestial Visitant! I see Thee now
Confess'd, and my revealed God adore!
Stay with me, for the evening goes away;
I am not worthy Thou beneath my roof
Should'st enter, if Thou enterest not, I die;
The day is now far spent, and evening shades
Are coming on—oh, with me stay awhile.

142

The South Aisle.

THE CREED.

I. The vastness of the Creed. II. Its all-pervading charity. III. How to be impressed with its importance. IV. The same. V. Unsatisfying nature of earthly things. VI. The Creed paraphrased, as our only consolation. VII. The strong-hold of Faith. VIII. In the Occasional Servics. IX. The proportion of Faith. X. How received into the soul. XI. Its practical effects as thus held. XII. A Prayer to hold it aright, and find rest therein.

The greater height these Graces reach,
The clearer they the mystery teach;
Saints best in their own souls may read
The illustration of their Creed.
Ken, vol. i. 269.

I.

Go, stand beneath some minster tall,
Stretching in aisles majestical;
In branchings of embowering length,
And avenues of pillar'd strength,

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Mid arch and pile aloft array'd,
And clustering reach of vaulted shade,
Dwarf'd to a speck man there doth stand,
Mid the colossal mountain band.

Or go, and gaze, when mortals sleep,
Upon the wild ethereal deep!
Solemn and vast in night's stern dress,
Of worlds a very wilderness,
In their blue caves half seen they lie,
The many mansions of the sky.
Man sinks, his inmost soul within,
In littleness and conscious sin.

Thus, in Christ's holy Creed display'd,
Truth on eternal pillars laid,
World beyond world, end without end,
Doth over man her vastness bend.
Far stooping from the deeps of night,
She stands reveal'd to mortal sight,
Like the broad Heav'n's o'er-arching span,
Divinity encircling man.

II.

What is the long Cathedral glade,
But Faith that in the structur'd shade
Herself embodies to the sense,
Leaning upon Omnipotence;

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And Holiness, ennobling thought,
Into a living temple wrought?
There Strength and Beauty spring to life,
In contests of harmonious strife;
With blended glories high aloof,
Embracing on the gorgeous roof,
Till standing 'neath the giant throng
The soul expands, and feels her strong
With more than doth to man belong.

Nor gazing on th'ethereal hall
Let thoughts of vastness thee appall!
Through the still arch, night's awful dome,
Love gleams from his eternal home,
With countenance unearthly bright
Lifting the curtains of dead Night,
And thro' the vast of that wild sea
Speaks peace to fall'n humanity.

E'en thus the Creed's eternal scroll
Doth awe, but not confound the soul;
Like tent of ether spread above,
All fostering, all sustaining love,
There stretches her unfailing strength,
And height, and depth, and breadth, and length
Doth to our aid itself unfold,
Exalt, ennoble, strengthen, hold,
'Neath whose encircling canopy
We may from Sin and Sorrow flee.

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God the beginning whence it rose,
And everlasting life the close.

Tho' clouds and darkness mantle round
Those towers, disclos'd on heavenly ground,
Mercy with them her light is blending,
On embassies of grace descending.

There, as within a darken'd glass,
Our God before us deigns to pass,
We 'neath His sheltering hand may hide,
And in our Rock unharm'd abide.

No sooner in His might array'd,
He hath the world's foundations laid,
Holding in hollow of His hand,
The Heav'ns—and earth—and sea—and land,
When lo, the crystal skies descend,
He comes below of man the Friend,
To walk with man till time shall end—
In him, with him, the weary steep to climb,
And lead him to calm heights beyond the sea of time.

III.

Good Angels, I would fain adore,
And trace the secrets of your shore,
In safety guide my feeble bark,
And lift the mantle of the dark!

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How bring we near to mortal eyes
Those infinite realities,
That they may on our spirits dwell,
The Great, the Good, th'Unchangeable?

Upon the glass the creeping fly
Will shut out mightiest worlds on high,
And care, to earthly projects giv'n,
Will hide from man his God and Heav'n.

'Tis distance dwarfs the mighty star,
In Night's blue caves scarce seen afar,
But the great God to us is near,
As mortal eye, or mortal ear,
And that vast sea, which knows no shore,
With all its floods is at the door.

'Tis in the holy Liturgy
We come to sit its margin nigh,
Till haply so familiar grown,
With glorious things to man made known,
We by that standard rightly scan
How little, and how great is man.

It is the soul in love and fear,
Kindling to life th'eternal sphere,
Till mightiest things that fill the sky,
And walk in immortality,
Assemblages of light around,
Wakening throughout the dim profound,

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All tremblingly begin to stir,
A living amphitheatre,
Where Jesus mid the dark serene
O'er the vast circuit walks unseen.

'Tis thoughtfulness on brooding wing,
Earth's lowliest duties cherishing,
And prayer that bringeth down the skies
With dread immortal companies.

Thus in Thy hallow'd house on earth,
Breathing the breath of our new birth,
As thro' a portal we descry,
Growing upon the gazing eye,
The palace of eternity.

Without, forgetful we are Thine,
We seek for happiness, and pine,—
There, in the ocean of Thy love,
Remember that in Thee we move,
And breathe the life-restoring air
Of Thy calm presence;—earthly care
Looses her hold; Faith more and more
Admits to her celestial store.

IV.

Why dwells the lover on the glance
Of some endeared countenance?
At each remembrance in him stirs
A man of strength, oft as recurs

148

Thought upon thought, a link remains,
Until the soul is found in chains.

What binds the exile to his home?
Regretful memories, that come
With images that love to dwell
By some known tree or native well.

What weds the traitorous soul to gold?
Cares which returning manifold
At morn and eve, grow on the soul,
And thence shut out the mighty whole,
Heav'n's heights and everlasting goal.

What lit in thee the lamp of love,
Great Saint of Patmos? Thoughts above
Ever conversing with the Word,
In cherish'd memory seen and heard.
Thine eagle eye was ever bent
Gazing upon the firmament,
Till on thee burst th'ethereal world,
Armies of God with signs unfurl'd,
And thou wast seen 'mong men to be
The o'er-flowing fount of charity.

Thus Faith, her torch-light to repair,
Will oft return, and linger there,
Where Truth, unfolding her deep creed,
Opens the Heav'ns to meet our need,
And shews lights gleaming evermore,
On margin of th'eternal shore.

149

How shall I thank Thy Majesty,
That giv'st to know ourselves, and Thee;—
The mercies which with Thee abide,
The littleness of all beside;—
Not in the cloud spread forth above,
Not in the light on Aaron's breast,
But in this mantle of Thy love,
Which on each earthly scene doth rest!

V.

Spirit of awe, my fancy lead,
While thus mid holy things I tread,
Lay on my lips thy sweet control,
And touch them with the living coal!

That Creed in the calm Liturgy,
Mid varied worship, prayer, and praise,
Concentrating their heavenly rays,

Is like the lamp that came from high,
And mov'd, beneath the nightly skies,
Mid the divided sacrifice.
Then spake a voice to Terah's son,
‘Mid foes, meek stranger, hold thee on,
‘A little while—on either hand
‘They shall be gone, but thou shalt stand.’

150

Sweet words of holy embassage,
May ye my weary soul engage,
In this my house of pilgrimage!
While watchful foes around me throng,
Make me in your blest wisdom strong!

With throbbing head and aching breast,
I find no Elim's shade of rest.
I wander 'neath this desert Sun,
Shod with desires still fresh and bold;
My earthly weeds have not grown old,
But here of good I nought have won,
My hopes are yet where they begun.
Pride came, and whisper'd secretly,
To come unto her nest on high:
There was a gleam that slumber'd there,
It was the storm's bright harbinger.
That calm—it was the thunder's shroud—
For sorrow aye pursues the proud.

Peace came with tale of gentle springs,
Of valleys and sequesterings,
Where on the mirror of her breast,
Tranquilly I might lean and rest.
That vale was an unearthly land,
Guarded by some enchanted band,
Nor can I know that sweet recess,
Till friendly Death shall me undress.

151

Then Friendship came with purest hope below,
Like dark-stol'd Una with her lambs of snow:
But, if to her I wed my days,
I should forget a holier praise!
Yet, so I love the sacred grace,
And angel calm of her dear face,
That I will leave her for awhile,
To gain her everlasting smile.

Ah, well I know thee, Solitude,
Thy silent cell and sinking mood;
And hard the task with thee to dwell,
And love thy thoughtful citadel,
But for the star that lights thy page,
And cheers thine evening hermitage.

Then Learning tun'd her classic lute
So touchingly—the vale hung mute;
I turn'd to seek one by my side,
But found not—there sat lonely Pride,
The heart still droop'd unsatisfied.

Then Nature oped her hidden treasure,
Defying bound, defying measure,
With beauty half-reveal'd, half shewn,
Still leading to her Lord unknown:
The soul amid the landscape fair,
For something sought which was not there.

152

Then pointed she with iron hand
Unto Religion's calm abode;
But gleams, that broke the twilight, shew'd
Dark Superstition's phantom band,
Which round her cave were seen to stand.
Pale Care was there, to whom Heav'n's bird
Sang her sweet lesson all unheard:
Distrust that scarce could light descry
Mid tangled woods—felt none was nigh:
And wan Despair mid places lone
Brooding o'er that which Time hath done,
And Time can ne'er undo again;—
Pharpar and Abana all vain,
Or Ocean's self to wash her stain.

VI.

The quiet of this Summer eve,
When birds are on their homeward wing,
Save night's sweet friend that wakes to sing,
Should sooth a heart unus'd to grieve.
But lights that fall on yonder glade,
Do but disclose a darker shade,
And Nature in her joyous mood
Were but a deeper solitude,
But for the gleams of heavenly love,
Which fall from our true home above.

153

The shadow sleeps upon the hill,
In Nature's temple all is still.
With rippling stir the leaflets move,
Tho' not a gale to wake the grove;
The lake hath caught a silver crest,
Tho' not a breath to break its rest.
Calm tremblings thro' the earth and sky
Speak some approaching Presence nigh;
Shadows of earth hold me no more,
Ah, glorious light, I see thee now,
Forth issuing from the eastern door,
I turn, and head and heart I bow.

The Creed.

Do I believe in God above?
Then nought on earth my heart shall move,
Calm I unravel life's dull lore,
That I may so His goodness prove.
Away with sad distrust, no more
Come knocking at my heart's low door!
What shall th'Almighty's power withstand,
What shall withhold a Father's hand,
That hand which made of old the sky and sea and shore?

154

One only Son within Thy breast,
In Jesus Christ made manifest,
He is my heav'n-born earth-born Lord,
I see Him and I find my rest;
Conceiv'd of Holy Ghost—the Word,—
Earth saw, and trembled, and ador'd.
But lest we call on rocks to hide,
A virgin mother's at Thy side,
The pure in heart behold, and own love's gentle chord.

Oh, that this heart were cleans'd to see!
Go, earthly good, and leave me free,
To see my God by sorrow torn,
In robes of rent humanity.
And now before me that dread morn,—
And that pale form is bleeding borne;
Of blending water and of blood
Flows forth the sacramental flood;
And we without the tomb with Mary sit and mourn.

E'en yet—disarming all our woe,
Thou goest down with us below!

155

May we behold where Thou hast been,
And night of Thy dark burial know;—
Thence see Thee by the moon serene,
Rising behind th'Eternal screen,
Now opening Heav'n's ethereal bar,
And golden portals from afar,
On the right hand on high by dying Stephen seen.

O, mercy with strange terrors blended!
Above, around, the skies are rended,
Christ sits on high, and far and wide
Are hurrying Angels,—all is ended!
Ah, hence with indolence and pride,
With vain hope in the Crucified!—
In those dread truths do I believe?
Then let me not Thy presence grieve,
But working in calm fear that fiery hour abide!

Spirit, foretelling and foretold,
Lighting upon our Head of old,

156

And thence through all His priesthood sent,
With power to loose, and power to hold;
Like oil on Aaron's head besprent,
Till to his clothing's skirts it went:
Thence, to all time diffusing down,
Thou fill'st the Church from that blest crown
With odorous graces sweet, o'erflowing and unspent.

Why mourn we left on earth alone?
When bound within that mystic zone
The dead and living are brought nigh,
And knit together all in one:—
O bond for mortal sense too high!
And, pale Remorse, repress thy sigh;
See the baptismal seal of Heav'n,
The pledge of penitence forgiven;
Go, sin no more, but learn a better strength to try!

Let me not mourn that stern decay
Is busy with this shed of clay,
And wither'd leaves from off me fall;—
I shall put on a fairer day
Beyond my wintry funeral.—

157

O thought that doth the heart appal,
Bidding adieu to laggard time,
The unimagin'd steep to climb,
With bars of night around, or Heav'n's eternal hall!

VII.

Thus rising, like a living mine,
From quarries of the Word divine,
The Apostolic symbol stands,
Moulded of old by saintly hands.
Within, o'ershadowing holy things,
Love stretches her cherubic wings.
Wind and rain they have no power,
To impair this heaven-built tower;
Time, that beats down earthly things
With his “multitudinous wings,”
Serves but to strengthen and disclose
This temple in its dread repose.
Thus from a world of stern reproof,
From storm and wind which fitful go,
And shake each hope-built tower below,
We flee to an embowering roof,
Thence see the shower—the shade—the sun,
O'er all without their courses run.

158

Oft mid the throng of spirits rude
We seem in friendless solitude,
And seek in vain some holding hand;—
But entering on that holy ground,
The veil is rais'd,—the mountains stand
With fiery coursers girt, and fiery cars around.

VIII.

Nor only in the holy shrine
The Faith holds forth this shield divine;—
As with the traveller on his way,
Social or lonely, grave or gay,
The sky extends its circling bound,
The cloud-hung blue expanding round,—
Thus, wheresoe'er on earth we rove,
Its omnipresent form doth move,
Wherein the image of the skies,
And the eternal Gospel lies,
Infinity of strength and light,
And love e'en more than infinite.

It is the breath of our new birth,
It is the light of our new morn,
Whence hues upon the soul are born,

More durable than aught on earth.
When dawning life first let us in,
Into this house of grief and sin,

159

And Death stood by to mark his prey,—
Protectingly, our sheltering stay,
That Creed stood o'er the dangerous way—
An arch that open'd to the dome,
The ancient Church's sacred home;
An arch which, at Death's twilight bourne,
Lets out into the heavenly morn,
And over-stretching the dread road
Props on each side th'incumbent load,
Until the ransom'd have pass'd by,
In soberness most meet to bear the Judge's eye.

IX.

Behold in Heav'n yon glorious bow,
Which spans the gleaming world below!
The hues distinct in order glow,
Yet each in each doth melt unseen,
That none can mark the bound between:
Lo, such is Faith's mysterious scroll,
A multiform harmonious whole,
Together gather'd for our aid,
And in the darken'd heights display'd:
The Church shall ne'er that emblem want
Of her eternal covenant.

160

As on th'horizon's cloudy wall,
Where'er the golden sunbeams fall,
The colours in the rainbow found
Blend in a secret union bound.
E'en thus, where the true light hath shone,
The heart all truths shall hold, which rightly holdeth one.

First Fear, which is the shadow true
Of wrath divine to sinners due,
Looks out upon the deep, and tries
To sound her endless destinies;—
That Fear with falling, falling wing,
Will to nought less than Godhead cling:
And he with eager heart and eyes
Who feeds on that dread sacrifice,
In aid Divine will seek to hide,
And on the living Word abide:
Feeling His presence, which doth bear,
And hold him buoyant in mid air.
O wondrous spell the heart to move,
And all her dark recesses prove!

Lord, wake in me that holy awe,
Which thro' obedience learns Thy law,
Till all my soul responsive own
That Faith's mysterious union!

161

X.

Yea, what is the Liturgic store
Of prayer and praise and sacred lore,
But changing notes as they proceed,
Unfolding all that wondrous Creed;
Now rising to sublimer lays
In the Ambrosian song of praise,
Now calling pity from the skies
In penitential Litanies?—
Or what the characters combin'd
In gifted holiness of mind,
But, in the secret spirit found,
The Creed contracting its vast bound?
As all in one earth, sea, and sky,
Are pictur'd in the gazing eye;
Or some calm-bosom'd wave below
Mirrors the Sun's life-giving brow,
And holds unbroken and entire,
The image of celestial fire;
So may my heart reflective own
That Faith's all-perfect union!

XI.

Shadows with us and phantoms dwell,
Nor can I now the vastness tell,
Wherein abides the Unchangeable.

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The things which mightiest seem'd erewhile,
The tree—the lake—the rustic pile—
Thro' memory's glass in childhood seen,
When manhood re-beholds, how mean
Poor and contracted is the scene!
Then what will all things seem below,
When opes the heart our God to know?
Fain would I learn heart-stilling awe,
While to that change I nearer draw;
One who is doom'd to rove the main
Will gaze on that untravell'd plain,
Early and late will thither come,
Forgetful of his rural home,
And view th'expanse that boundless lies,
Form'd of the blending sea and skies.

So would I gaze, e'er I depart,
On that dread scene, and fill my heart,
Till gazing on reality,
All here shall shadows seem to me.
If freed from clouds of earthly care
The soul becomes a mirror fair,
Where Truth from her empyreal shrines
As in a secret palace shines,
Impregnating the crystal deeps,
Lightening the bed where darkness sleeps.

163

If music of that calmer sphere,
Find in the heart a mansion clear,
It with each virtue fills the soul,
And moulds to an harmonious whole;
As runs the air the organ round,
And modulates the varied sound,
Each pipe and stop in breathing gold
Answers with voices manifold.

Nor marvel that, where'er it range,
Heav'n's breath should work such wondrous change.
At spring goes forth a viewless Power,
On leaf, on wing, on bird, on flower,
From buried winter's winding-sheet
Wakening a sound or colour sweet,
Sky-tinctur'd plants, and feather'd things,
Fluttering upon melodious wings.
'Tis so with meaner sights of earth;—
The light of our Baptismal birth,—
Shall it not turn each cross and care
Into some glorious form as fair,
Tho' eye and ear see nothing there?

I know not much, I cannot tell,
I cannot see th'Invisible;
But much I see for thoughtful praise;
Tho' hedg'd with ill our mortal days,

164

The darker is the avenue,
More bright beyond Heav'n's portal blue;
And if a cloud should linger there,
'Tis pass'd—Heav'n's gate again is fair.
If pride should lead to wanderings vain,
Remorse will oft restore;—again
Awe-struck beneath that Creed we stand,
Its glories opening on each hand,
As vastness of the Heavens beyond
Bursts forth, struck by Night's ebon wand.

XII.

Lord, who to set Thy pardon's seal
To us Thy Godhead dost reveal,
And on our skies the signal plant
Of the life-giving covenant:
Grant I may so obedience learn,
That I may thus those truths discern!
Grant I may so those truths discern,
That I may thus obedience learn!
Until their mutual benison
Disclose in me th'Eternal Son.

So order me, without Thy shrine,
To walk in holy discipline,
Thy treasures in my soul to hide,
To steer me from the rocks of pride,

165

The lowliness of place to love,
And holiest truth's by practice prove,
Resign'd, resolv'd, in meekness bold,
Thy steps to watch, Thy hand to hold,
That so Faith's scroll, which I repeat,
May find in me accordance meet.

And teach me so, Thy shrine within,
Calm'd by Thy peace from worldly din,
The everlasting Faith to hear,
With fancy warm and spirit clear,
That, going thence, mid worldly strife
I wear a charm in daily life;
That wisdom, like a living well,
Within my heart of hearts may dwell,
Strengthening and freshening, as we go,
The vale of sorrows here below;
Till Truth no more, in Nature's glass,
Shall like a shadow by us pass,
But we shall see her fountain bright,
And dwell with her in seas of light.

166

The South Transept.

THE EPISTLE AND GOSPEL.

[OR JESUS CHRIST IN HISTORY.]

I

No more in mazes of the Psalmist's song
Is Christ disclos'd, as in a dim retreat;
Nor sitting the prophetic shades among;—
But lighten'd by the living Paraclete
The Church her children gathers 'neath His feet,
And shews anew upon each holier morn
Tracks of His footsteps, or some lesson meet,
Words from th'Eternal roll, to cheer or warn,
And in a bracelet weaves her Sunday to adorn.

167

II

A few short Years make up our pilgrimage;
A few short Weeks make up the fleeting Year;
Each Week doth bear a heavenly embassage;
With silent steps, as on a crystal stair,
It comes and goes to Heav'n. With such sweet care
The Church hath deck'd each Week with blooming wings,
Which else were earth's stern-hearted messenger
Leading to Death; she at perennial springs
Clothes it with holy light, and like an Angel brings.

III

The Natural Year, swift shadow of the sun,
Wakes from the earth a chequer'd tapestry
To greet his footsteps as he passes on,
Carpets of snow—sweet violets—lilies high—
Then fields of waving gold—then varied dye
Of Autumn; but the snow, and violets sweet,
Lilies, and Autumn's wild variety,
And waving corn, fast as the sunbeams fleet,—
They bow their head and die beneath his hurrying feet.

168

IV

Not so the path the holy Church doth tread,
The Year, that walketh in her light unseen,
Around its steps awakens from the dead
Hopes that shall never die. Through the serene
Of the calm Sunday, like an alley green,
Are seen th'eternal towers; and where lights gild
Death's twilight portal, us and them between,
She shews her suffering Lord; throughout the wild
Still shews her suffering Lord to her faint wandering child.

V

At every turn throughout Life's wilderness,
In pillar'd fire, smote rock, or healed springs,
His presence she reveals, and power to bless:
When the autumnal wind of ruin sings,
She blends her Advent chaunt of happier things,
As louder swell the sounds of stern decay,
The higher doth she lift her herald voice, till wings
And Angel forms are seen, and on our way
Springs fron dark Winter's womb the face of endless day—

169

VI

The Christmas dawn. She thro' the waning night
Her leaning child hath to that cradle led,
And bids him all unlearn but the meek sight
And Heav'n's own lesson of the homely shed,
The Babe and Mother. Nature now is dead,
And darksome; but in wintry skies is set
A wreath that glitters o'er that Infant's head;
Her fairest stars are round His cradle met,
Like gems of light within His Kingly coronet,—

VII

The Innocents, the Martyrs, and the one,
For martyr's heart, and childlike innocence,
Belov'd and nearest. Thus each duteous son
She trains at His poor cradle, gaining thence
Sermons of that diviner eloquence,
And as our sorrow's winters roll along,
Brings to that childhood—in our manlier sense
Less have we ears for the angelic song,
Or heart to enter in with that meek shepherd throng.

170

VIII

Sweetly by mysteries are we wrapt around,
Th'Epiphany's bright star is o'er the plain,
Mountain, and sea, where Jesus' steps are found,
Coming to sojourn with the heirs of pain,
And draw true hearts to Him with unseen chain.
Now she in sterner warnings points to where
In judgment and in glory He again,
Beyond the twilight of this silent air,
Mid th'everlasting hills His chariot doth prepare.

IX

Then vernal Lent comes on—Nature puts up
Her sweetest notes, and dons her fairest trim;
The Church is drinking of her Saviour's cup,
And far into the wild hath gone with Him;
Nature's glad tones upon her prison dim
Break not, or with calm influence on the soul
Come, like faint sounds of distant cherubim,
To cheer the chasten'd spirit, not control,
While prayer clears her dull eye to see th'eternal goal.

171

X

O Thou, on whom the Angels dare not gaze,
In the deep bosom of Divinity,
But veil their faces from th'o'erpowering rays
Of Thine eternal beauty! Thee we see
With countenance sore marr'd with agony
Beyond the sons of men. O wondrous power
Of Love divine! shall man not watch with Thee
One little hour? for scarce one fleeting hour
Set 'gainst the days of Heav'n, is life's fast fading flower.

XI

A little further in the solemn grove,
Into the bosom of the silent night,—
A little further onward, let us move
From the rude world—yet further—from the sight
Of kindred and of friends, that so aright
We may discern our weakness, and apply
Our hearts to God alone, while the broad light,
The witness of His sorrows, is on high,—
The paschal moon, which o'er yon olive mount stands by.

172

XII

Green Bethany, since that dread sorrow's blast,
Thine olive crown is turned all to sere;—
Where from beneath thy feet is Cedron past?
Where is the glorious temple standing near?
But still the widow'd Church is lingering here;
Mary of Christ approv'd, and meekly wise,
Teach her to bring with penitential fear
Some offering honour'd in thy Saviour's eyes,
The incense of the heart to embalm His obsequies.

XIII

Church of resign'd obedience! Rome may prize
Her costlier garniture, and flaunting air;
Geneva boast her undress'd novelties;—
Keep thou meek Mary's mien, divinely fair,
Thy Saviour to approach with reverend care,
And lowly service—not where sounds aloud
The voice that crieth in the streets, the stare
And gaze tumultuous of th'admiring crowd,
To stand beneath the cross with holy John allow'd.

173

XIV

Now, as the opening year doth gradual rise
Thro' toilsome months to her meridian tower,
Then full expands into her summer skies;
Or plants that climb thro' many a wintry hour,
And are unbosom'd in some fragrant flower:
Thus Whitsuntide, reveal'd in mighty flame,
Opens from high Heav'n's full mysterious dower,
And crowns the sacred year:—if without blame
The things which are divine with earthly I may name.

XV

And now her Lord is seen no more on earth,
From the blest Three in One, withdrawn from view,
She showers down blessings of our better birth
In falls of streaming light and pearly dew,
Life-giving precepts, heavenly helps, and true
Unfading hopes; till all is eloquent
Within this house roof'd o'er with crystal blue,
The earth, and sea, and glowing firmament,
Threefold one temple form, their Maker's holy tent.

174

XVI

Thus year by year the same her weekly strain,
For not on turbulent seas of human pride,
But on the moveless rock she doth remain:
Whate'er unquiet Creeds the earth divide,
Between the Cherubims He doth abide,
Whose same still warning voice, afar and near,
Is heard above the ever changeful tide:
Now as of old, unto a thousand year,
Goes forth one weekly store—each willing heart and ear

XVII

One lesson learns. Thus thro' advancing time
Building His habitation from the ends
Of Earth and Heav'n, of every tongue and clime,
The dead and quick He in one temple blends,
Wherein one prayer the Heavenly gate ascends.
Tho' Babel's curse rests on the world forlorn,
And language, clime, and heart asunder rends,
Yet in th'unfailing Church, by age unworn,
Thy blessing still is fresh, thou Pentecostal morn!

175

XVIII

One soul, one tongue is there: Th'Eternal Son,
Her true Shechinah unreveal'd to sight,
Dwells in her living courts for ever One,
Tho' manifold His gifts, and infinite
The varied radiations of the light,
While in His awful countenance we read:
Withholding and imparting to our might,
And the requirements of our several need,
He quickens all the forms which from her breast proceed.

XIX

Her sacred Sundays, in their varied vest,
And Saintly days, in colours of the skies,
With precept and with Prayer and warning drest,
Were without Him but like th'enamell'd dyes
On pictur'd panes, whose beauty hidden lies
All colourless, till from the veil of night
The bright-hair'd Sun behind is seen to rise,
When lo, the holy Preachers spring to light,
Manifold shapes of life, in glowing vestures dight.

176

XX

And cloistral cells retir'd have caught the gleam,
Thus each home-service hath His light enshrin'd;
See on the bridal morn His radiance stream!
Art thou a lonely one in lot and mind,
Or hast thou earthly blessings but to find
That helplessness which on Earth's good relies?
Here is th'immortal Bridegroom, who doth bind
The virgin soul with more than bridal ties,
And hallows wedded love to holier charities.

XXI

Now at the couch of sickness would she stand,
With that sweet lesson, like a lamp from high,
While Truth up-lifts her awe-inspiring hand,
Mercy with gentler accents would draw nigh,
“'Twere good with Christ to suffer and to die;”
And when the soul, by sickness all unwound,
O'er the expanse is shaken tremblingly,
She then discloses 'neath her girdle bound
A golden key, and cries, “I have a ransom found.”

177

XXII

Christ hath been in the waters, and the whole
Of our baptismal being doth abound
With more of healing than Bethesda's pool,
Stirr'd by the Angel, where there lay around
The impotent, the maim'd, and sickness-bound;
Emblem of this world's sorrows, mid the show
Of portals fair, which over-arch the ground,
And seem to mock her children's varied woe.
Look on us, or we die where healing waters flow!

XXIII

From that baptismal well are onward cast
The ancient paths, and fenc'd for evermore,
To the Eternal City; on the past
We think, and sigh, and our lost time deplore:
How have I fail'd to gain thy weekly lore,
Seedtime of heavenly harvests! from a child
Deep might my heart have treasur'd thy rich store;
So transient scenes had ne'er my love beguil'd,
And left with empty hands, and soul with sin defil'd.

178

XXIV

But time remains for hope each angry thought
Against myself to turn, my bosom's pride,
And passionate complainings in me wrought
Vent on myself; how have I wander'd wide!
Woe is me, for the day will not abide;
Shadows of eve are stretched out, and we
'Neath night's dark wings our guilty heads would hide,
And steal to rest; yet we can never be
As if we ne'er had been;—but there th'o'erwhelming sea

XXV

Shall burst from all its flood-gates, with the light
Ushering the Judge's presence. Mother dear,
Oft as thy courts I enter, day or night,
Thy voice is of forgiveness, full and clear,
Hast thou no daily baptism?—much I fear;
Yet something o'er thine ancient threshold flings
A dewy freshness; where the fount stands near
Of our new birth-right, Hope reviving springs,
And o'er my fever'd brow soft waves her healing wings.

179

XXVI

Church of my country, unto thee is lent
More than e'en Nature hath in ways of love;
A vine, that spreads abroad a living tent
Of shelter, shade, and food,—a rocky cove,—
The eye maternal of the gentle dove,—
The swan's soft wing spread o'er her snowy throng,—
The gaze of the stern eagle fix'd above,—
The doe's retiring step, that with her young
Bounds from the gazer's eye the branching woods among.

XXVII

The archers sore have griev'd thee;—wilt thou flee,
And leave us? so hereafter, hither bent,
Some pensive traveller may return, and see
All that remains, a mantle rudely rent,
Or weep beside a mouldering monument.
I saw an aged pile, calm in decay,
Which, where the Wye his mountain windings went,
Look'd from its ivy mantle, stern and grey,
While little birds sang thro' their summer holiday:

180

XXVIII

The sheep were browsing in the sacred hall,
Which once had echoed to the choral song;
And that old wandering river seem'd to call
On ancient memories; and the mountain throng
Stood by in solemn consciousness; among
Rent walls the wild flowers hung, thro' blended view
Of arches and tall piles, in ruin strong
And beautiful, shone the celestial blue,
And there with a black cloud the Sun contending through.

XXIX

Thoughts of our Church like moon-beams seem'd to peer,
And made the desolation more forlorn;
It was an hour for contemplation's tear:
But 'tis not ours o'er ruined wrecks to mourn,
For thro' the broken rents, which Time hath worn,
Shines our celestial House: our Father blest
Would teach us thus how vain each earthly bourne,
Though fairest seeming, holiest, and best;—
The more to seek for nought but His eternal rest.

181

The Oratories.

CONSOLATIONS AND STRONG-HOLDS.

FESTIVALS.

Spher'd in its orb, each radiant Festival
Upon our annual path in turn appears,
And, like the lights on the ethereal wall,
Each its new shade of varying lustre wears,—

Each its new thought, new lesson, till at length
The combinations of their brightness blend
To form the wreath of Truth, Light's gather'd strength,
The knowledge of our God, our being's end.

One while the Infant Martyrs throw their mild
And gentle radiance upon childhood's grave;
Which some sad mother hath of grief beguil'd,
Sooth'd with the pledge of the fresh saving wave.

182

Not so when glorious Michael stands confest,
With ministering hosts and bright array,
Faith sees around her many an Angel guest,
Like stars, forgotten in the glare of day.

Not so when Saints of God around us come,
Till, half unmindful of ourselves forlorn,
Of th'intervening veil and silent tomb,
We tread with them the courts of heav'nly morn.

Now holy Matthew calls, for Jesus' sake,
“Beware of Mammon and the treacherous leav'n,”
Leaving the gainful Galilean lake,
Calls us with him to barter Earth for Heav'n.

Now John, whose ravish'd glance is fix'd above,
Drinking the beams which from the Godhead stream,
Puts on the calmness of Angelic love,
While life beneath him seems a fleeting dream.

Thus from the sphere in which it lay conceal'd,
As thro' its zodiac rolls the sacred year,
Some grace is ever and anon reveal'd,
To duteous hearts fresh influence to bear.

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Nor deem it profitless on chosen days
The ever-busy soul to discipline
To clothe herself with robes of holy praise,
Of countless hues as in the sun-beam shine.

As sunbright days transform the teeming grain,
So these do mould the temper, till it grows
To full and golden ripeness, with the train
Of Sabbath thoughts unask'd, and Christ's repose.

As when on Sunday morn insensate things
With the glad Spirit sweetly harmonize,
Till leafy woods, and beasts, and flowing springs
Seem but to join heard music in the skies:—

The mind clothes all with light from her own store,
And over mute creation spreads her wings;
Then on those wings to nature's God to soar,
On sympathies of earth she heavenward springs:—

So these lift up their soul to happier lands,
To hear what strains to the redeem'd belong;
Many the gate where Sion's daughter stands,
And at each portal sings a new-made song.

184

THE NICENE CREED.

August Consistory, in whose dread pale
Together comes assembled Christendom;
While Kings, the nursing fathers, watch the scale!

They come, faint image of the general doom,
From the four winds of Heav'n, and with them meet
The spirits of their fathers from the tomb,—

Call'd by the witness-bearing Paraclete
To testify to wandering Israel.—
But who is set on Sion's judgment-seat?

'Tis One too glorious to be visible
To mortal eyes, but who unto the end
Dwells in his Church—the true Emmanuel.

He from the heights of Heav'n deigns to descend,
And takes his seat on David's ancient throne;
And, where Christ is, th'Angelic hosts attend.

He, mid the golden candlesticks alone
Walks, and attemper'd to divine accord
Th'assembled multitude His presence own.

185

Lo! in His voice is heard th'unfailing Word,
Like sound of many waters; and again
There goeth from His mouth a two-edg'd sword.

He high enthron'd above dark Error's reign,
With His Apostles round His sacred feet,
Shall yesterday, to-day, and aye remain.

Then wonder not that, where her children meet,
The Church but gathers up her ancient lays,
And fuller diapason doth repeat.

Thus in earth's distant mines are hid the rays,
Which light the breast-plate in Truth's living zone,
Bearing the voice of God to latest days;—

Strings brought together of responsive tone,
Which form a harp by Wisdom's holy spell,
From which proceeds the Church's orison;—

Stones wrought by unseen hands, and moulded well,
Which, knit together, build a mystic shrine,
Wherein resides a living oracle;—

And when it goeth forth,—Earth's furthest line,
And echo answers from the distant skies,
Acknowledging the voice of Truth divine.

186

Here in our solemn minster it doth rise
Like some ancestral pillar to behold,
The witness-stone inscrib'd with living eyes;

With sculptur'd tablets on each side enroll'd,
Writ by the finger of th'Eternal Son,—
The universal Faith which was of old.

Rest not without to gaze, but pass still on,
And thou shalt find within a sacred cell,
An holy altar, and a cross thereon,

Faith's oratory, and calm citadel,
Angelic haunts, the house of benison,
Where thou may'st grateful pray, and ever dwell.

187

THE BLESSING.

I.

As Simeon for his last release,—
As crowds when evening shades increase,
Till Jesus bids them go in peace:—

As thirsty lands to summer skies,
The maiden on her mistress' eyes,
As travellers for the morning's rise:—

Thus, heav'nward turn'd her listening ear,
Faith waits her Saviour's peace to hear,
In words of His own messenger.

II.

For vapours sent on wings of even,
From pining earth to pitying Heaven,
The freshening dew to her is given.

188

The drop, which through the ocean strays,
Touch'd by the Sun's pure Indian rays
Becomes a pearl of living blaze.

So for our earthly sacrifice
Of prayer and praise, returneth thrice
The blessing of celestial price:—

III.

More than the dying patriarch knew,
Who o'er his sons his mantle threw,—
Words which Christ's dying gift renew.

Not such the spreading incense cloud;
Not such the music thrilling loud;
Nor Aaron's voice o'er silent crowd.

Shield of the Spirit, saving spell,
Faith's amulet invisible,
Ever about us come and dwell.

189

DISTANT CHURCH BELLS.

Up steeps reclining in th'Autumnal calm,
The woodland nook retir'd, and quiet field
Upon the tranquil noon
The Sunday chime is borne;

Rising and sinking on the silent air,
With many a dying fall most musical,
And fitful bird hard by
Blending harmoniously.

The Moon is looking on the sunny earth;
The little fleecy cloud stands still in Heav'n,
Making the blue expanse
More still and beautiful.

If ought there be upon this rude bad earth,
Which Angels from their happy spheres above
Could lean and listen to,
It were those peaceful sounds.

190

There is unearthly balm upon the air,
And holier lights which are with Sunday born,
That man may lay aside
Himself, and be at rest.

The week-day cares, like shackles, from us fall,
As from our Lord the clothings of the grave;
And we too seem with Him
To walk in endless morn.

Not that these musical wings would bear us up,
On buoyant thoughts too high for sinful man,
But that they speak the best
Which earth hath left to give,

Of better hopes, and prayer, and penitence,
Rising in incense on the sacred air
From many a woodland spire,
Or hill-embosom'd tower;—

That sadness, and privation, and earth's loss
In the great sea of goodness are forgot,
And sense of stern decay
Is lost in sweet repose.

So deep are all things stamp'd with vanity,
So fading, and so fleeting, and so frail,—
And we too, while we speak,
Dropping ourselves away,—

191

That envy, and unkindness, and revenge
In very pity for themselves might weep,
Coping with a poor shade,
With real sad unrest.

It may be that our hopes may be deceiv'd,
And we found wanting; yet a little while
We 'gainst ourselves will hope,
And against hope rejoice.

For earth hath nothing else found worth our care,
And if we lose her all, we nothing lose,
So poor while it remain'd,
And so short-lived when gone!

But if we are beguil'd by her false charms,
By her enthralling ways and prospects fair,
Her promises of good
The shadow of a shade,

Fleeting behind to-morrow—on—and on—
If we, by her vain impotence beguil'd,
Lose our great being's end—
We are beguil'd indeed!

192

The Sepulchral Recesses.

THE CHURCHMAN'S FRIENDS,

HERBERT.

Meek Herbert, ere of thee I sing,
'Tis thou must lend the string,
On Jesus' breast thou art asleep,
Or thou would'st wake and weep,
That any one should sing of thee
Laid in thy poverty.

But all our Church doth bear along
The echoes of thy song,
Thy Country Pastor sweet and stern
Her children fain would learn;
Then let the light that fills her shrine
On thy meek urn recline.

193

For now thou art a holy thing,
And singing the great King
For ever with a nobler strain;
Nor praise of our's can pain,
If we be tuned by thy lays
To sing thy “Master's” praise.

Meek Herbert, would that such as I
Could learn thy lesson high,
Those ways that make thy spirit's tone
A midnight orison,
Thy more than manly wisdom free,
And child's simplicity.

For Angels ever with thee are,
And, in their presence fair,
Thy spirit feels it poor and mean,
But golden thoughts doth glean
Which fall like light from off their wings,
When bow'd to earth it sings.

194

BUTLER.

I saw within a glass vast worlds of light,
Launch'd multitudinous on the shoreless sea,
While, far outspread, the boundless Deity,
Sat brooding 'mid the peopled Infinite.
Within her and around her the dark sprite
Sees—but to know she sees not—the vast zone.
All bodiless, hung from th'Eternal's throne,
And hears strange melodies on th'ear of night.
Thus on my heart of hearts still silently
Lingers the echo of thy solemn strain,
Thoughtful and saintly Butler! then above,
Dark clouds between, is seen a golden chain,
And earth and Heav'n breathe with Divinity;
—I walk with holy trembling and deep love.

195

KING GEORGE III.

And thee, of firm-set foot, and stern advance,
Giv'n to whose prayers she haply yet doth stand
To hold Truth's lamp unto a thankless land,
Our Church shall own. For no unholy chance,
Nor strength of counsel, nor embattled lance,
Nor princely league, nor sea-victorious band,
Shielded her from the pestilential brand,
And fiery breath of parricidal France:
But one who drank at Her diurnal source,
One who his anchor had within the veil.
Her's was the breath that fill'd his regal sail
Right onward, her's the star that led his course
Thro' the tempestuous skies; that, 'mid wild force,
Disloyal tongues, fall'n kings, hearts faint and frail,
All lookd to him, in her calm firmness free,
Sacredly wise in mild simplicity.

196

WILSON.

Mona, may Ocean's waves that gird thee round.
Keep watch about thy shores, as holy ground,
And lift their suppliant hands, nor plead in vain,
And thine Apostle's See e'en yet remain!
For, louder than those waves thy rocks among,
That saintly name once had a thrilling tongue,
Which pleaded for thy sea-encircled strand;
And still doth plead. Woe worth the reckless hand
That shall remove thy landmark, and defile
His living monument, thou sacred Isle.
He needeth nought of us, true-hearted saint,
Nor storied stone, nor monumental plaint,
But much we need of him, while, in his praise
Shall the memorial live of pure primeval days.

197

HOOKER.

Voice of the wise of old!
Go breathe thy thrilling whispers now
In cells where learned eyes late vigils hold,
And teach proud Science where to veil her brow.

Voice of the meekest man!
Now, while the Church for combat arms,
Calmly do thou confirm her awful ban,
Thy words to her be conquering, soothing charms.

Voice of the fearless saint!
Ring like a trump, where gentle hearts
Beat high for Truth, but, doubting, cower and faint:—
Tell them, the hour is come, and they must take their parts.

γ.

198

The South Porch.

THE CHURCH IN FEAR.

Eden was in her morning beauty rife,
Opening her bosom, like some vernal flower,
When crept the deadly serpent from his bower
To poison all the founts of life.

Men smil'd at one that wrought a house of wood,—
Married and gave in marriage,—built and made
Foundations; when the sky was overlaid,
And open'd with the rushing flood.

Sodom in pamper'd pride was revelling,
And Jordan in the sunshine basking nigh,—
The thunder-arm was hid in the blue sky,
'Neath flowers the sulphurous whirlwind's wing.

Not when king David cried, My son, My son!
But when before him, on his throne reclin'd,
Wav'd number'd hosts, like trees before the wind,—
Look forth, the plague is now begun!

199

Not when sick Hezekiah hid his brow,
But when he shew'd his treasur'd pride,
'Twas then the Angel took the veil aside,—
Lo, Babylon, and chains, and woe!

The Babylonian 'mid the heavenly stars
Walk'd in his glory;—when the sky was riven,
Fell, like the thunderbolt, the voice from Heaven,
And the dark cloud his vision mars.

The Eastern Queen of cities sat in state,
Throwing unwonted lustre on night's hall;—
Behold, the fiery hand is on the wall,
The Mede is knocking at the gate.

When Tyre with jewels deck'd her sea-born nest,
Sitting in beauty 'mid her watery flock,
The nations heard her cry:—upon the rock
The lonely sea-bird sits to rest.

Not when Christ's flock were wandering, earth-disown'd,
But when on her seven hills, attir'd in gold,
Sat Babylon 'mid sorceries manifold,—
'Twas then the poison'd cup went round.

At the vex'd Church's feet, oppress'd and wrong'd,
When Constantine laid down the imperial pride,
Her gate once narrow she unfolded wide,
And the mix'd world her temple throng'd.

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When liberty her triumph loudest rais'd,
And on the popular billow William sail'd
Into our thrones, Britain the stranger hail'd,—
The Church look'd on, and blindly gaz'd.

Then her best sons were from the vineyard cast,
While loyal Truth in secret sat to mourn,
She knew not, of her strength and glory shorn,
The leav'n to her deep bosom past.

Since then, her children flock to Freedom's shrine;
She hath forgot her sackcloth, seeming fair,
Her discipline, her penitence, and prayer;
And wakes all nerveless to restrain.

When she hath hid her Cross, with glad accord
The world will welcome her, in beauty shrin'd,
And woo her charities, and, seeming kind,
Stretch forth those hands that slew her Lord.

Yea, often will she stop her gilded car,
To hear of treasures op'd by pardon free,
And fadeless joys, and calm eternity,—
Then passion-borne hurry afar.

Thus as her voice shall higher rise and higher,
The priests of God disown'd, His word put by,
Then shall the stars shake on the trembling sky,
And forth shall break the Judgment-fire.

University of Virginia Library

PART II. The Nave.

The North Porch.

THE CHURCH IN HOPE.

The Sepulchral Recesses.

THE CHURCHMAN'S FRIENDS.

LAUD.

KEN.

KING CHARLES I.

KETTLEWELL.

TAYLOR.

The Oratories.

CONSOLATIONS AND STRONG-HOLDS.

DISTANT CHURCH MUSIC.

THE DOXOLOGY.

I.

II.

III.

THE ATHANASIAN CREED.

FAST DAYS.

The North Transept.

THE PSALMS.

[OR JESUS CHRIST IN PROPHECY.]

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

XXVII

XXVIII

XXIX

The North Aisle.

THE LORD'S PRAYER.

I.

II.

III. In the Baptismal Service.

IV. In the Daily Service.

V. In the Litany.

VI. In the Ante-Communion.

VII. In the Post-Communion.

VIII. In the Marriage Service.

IX. In the Burial Service.

X.

XI.

XII.

The Middle Aisle.

HOLY SCRIPTURE.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.