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

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.

University of Virginia Library

THE PSALMS.

[OR JESUS CHRIST IN PROPHECY.]

I

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IV

V

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VII