 | English Roses |  |
THE CATHOLIC.
No one nation,No one time,
Compasses his glorious vision
Which embraces every clime
In the purpose of its plan;
Builded on the sole foundation
Meet for universal man,
Bridging earth and scaling sky
In divine and calm derision
Of our poor mortality,
Lo, he fights not for the fraction
Of a faith,
Or the colour of the stole
Won by some small dying fraction
And the wraith
Of a long departed creed;
Nothing less,
Can content him, than the Whole
536
In accord with every need.
Down the ages
Runs his thought like golden thread,
With a pulse of fiery leaven
Kindling all our blotted pages
And old stories dim and dead,
With the life and light of Heaven;
Till each broken prayer and part,
Find an echo in God's heart!
| English Roses | |