Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

The powers that be are God's—from Him derive
Their functions and their rights;—so we maintain,
O'er whom Christ doth, as willing subjects, reign;
Whence, whosoever with such powers shall strive,
Striveth with God, and doth himself contrive
His own damnation. Meekly wear thy chain,
Servant of Christ, nor e'er, in heart or brain,
At the fierce deeds of headstrong men connive.
Thine 'tis, while furious anarchs rant and rage,
Filling the air with turbulence and hate,
To shame the license of this latter age,
Still faithful found to God and to the State;
And rendering still, with spirit meek and sage,
Love to the good and honour to the great.

SONNET II.

Not in the foul and pestilential den
Of plotting treason;—not where brawlers meet
In fierce assemblies, with seditious heat
To rail at monarchs;—not where evil men
Slander the great and good with tongue and pen;
Not where, in crowded mart and public street,
Vile demagogues their ribald slang repeat—
Spirit of Christ! thy presence meets our ken.

Better thou lov'st the tranquil home and hearth
Of those whom such mean-spirited esteem;—
The gentle and submissive of the earth,
Who glide securely down life's quiet stream,
Safe, in their meek and unobtrusive worth
From fears which haunt the evil-doer's dream.

FROM THE GOSPEL.

I

With sails full spread and bending mast,
Like one who bounds with glee,
A fisher's bark was sailing fast
Across Gennesareth's sea.
Freshly and keenly blew the blast
From the shore of Galilee.

II

A precious freight it was, I trow,
Which that frail galley bore;
But angry waves, from stern to prow,
Her deck were sweeping o'er;
And loud and louder bellow'd now
The tempest's gathering roar.

III

But still, as on the vessel swept
Through waters foaming wild,
One toil-worn man lay still and slept
As calmly as a child,
Whose eyes for sin have never wept,
Whose heart is undefiled.

IV

Full soundly slept he,—for in sooth
A weary man was he;

A wanderer since his noon of youth,
By land and lake and sea,
To spread the rays of light and truth,
Where darkness wont to be.

V

Awhile that vessel's thoughtful crew
Stood gazing on his rest,
With awe profound and reverence due
In all their looks exprest;
Till fiercer yet the tempest blew
From the dark and cloudy west.

VI

Then straight a fearful toil began
The vessel's course to keep;
So wildly with the wind she ran
O'er the black and boiling deep;
—Yet still he slept (that weary man)
A calm, unstartled sleep.

VII

But fiercer still the surges roar'd,
And fiercer blew the blast;
And now, in each bold heart on board,
Dark fears were gathering fast,
As the winds and waves their fury pour'd
On shatter'd sail and mast.

VIII

Then came they, in their utmost need,
To where that sleeper lay;—
“Lord, sleep'st thou still and tak'st no heed—
Betide our lives what may?”
They spake—and at their words, with speed,
The sleeper rose straightway.

IX

“Oh! ye of little faith!”—he stood,
And calmly waved his hand;
At once the tempest's wrathful mood
Was hush'd at his command.
And the waters, in a waveless flood,
Roll'd smoothly to the strand.

X

No cloud obscured the deep blue sky,
No ripple curl'd the sea;
Earth, air, and water, far and nigh,
Were calm as calm could be.
The vessel's track you scarce might spy,
She rode so peacefully.

XI

The vessel's track you scarce might spy,—
And yet she wins her way,
With sails untorn and cordage dry,
Through the smooth and smiling bay;
“Now, who is this,” the shipmen cry,
“Whom the sea and the wind obey?”

XII

Dear Lord! a lowly life was thine,
While thou with Man didst dwell;
Yet winds and waves obey'd thy sign,
And knew their Maker well.
Thy voice could tame, with a charm divine,
All powers of Earth and Hell.

XIII

Incarnate fiends, beneath thine eye,
From human dwellings fled,
With a terrified and wailing cry,
To the fields where swine were fed;

And the sick were heal'd at the point to die,
And the graves gave up their dead.

XIV

And is thy power less wondrous now?
Or is thy love less kind
Than when they made Hell's demons bow,
And still'd the waves and wind?
May prayer no more, and whisper'd vow,
From thee such mercy find?

XV

Nay, still, though oft thou seem'st to sleep,
Thy love directs the helm,
And guides thy Church from deep to deep,
O'er this world's billowy realm;
And a tender watch doth o'er it keep,
Lest storms should overwhelm.

XVI

And still do Hell's dark legions flee
From the heart where thou dost reign,
And the sinner is cleansed from his leprosy,
And the prisoner breaks his chain,
And the soul, which was dead as dead could be,
Is raised to life again.