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

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!

University of Virginia Library

The Oratories.

CONSOLATIONS AND STRONG-HOLDS.

FESTIVALS.

THE NICENE CREED.

THE BLESSING.

I.

II.

III.

DISTANT CHURCH BELLS.