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

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.

University of Virginia Library

V.