FROM THE EPISTLE.
SONNET I.
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.
