 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
250
A CONSECRATION.
Like some fair Nun, the pious and the chaste,Shalford, thy new-born temple stands serene,
Modestly deck'd in pure old English taste,
The village beauty of thy tranquil scene;
And we to-day have made religious haste
To see thee wedded to thy heavenly Spouse,
Kneeling in unison of praise and prayer
To help the offering of thy maiden vows:
Hark! what a thrilling utterance is there,
‘Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates,’—
As God's high priest with apostolic care
To Him this tent of glory consecrates:
Good work! to be remember'd for all time,
The seed of mercies endless and sublime.
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