The Baptistery, or the way of eternal life :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lord, what is man that Thou shouldst own,
And like a guest shouldst visit him;—
With Thine own loving-kindness crown,
And set him with Thy Seraphim!
Thou from the dust didst give him birth,
And pointing upward from dull earth
Awaken to Thine orison,
Creation's Heir and Priest, Thine everlasting Son.

And then began the wondrous strife,
Man to heap up his deeds of ill,
Thou to outdo with gifts of life,
And overcome him with goodwill.
Then came the tempest and the cloud,
Deep unto deep then call'd aloud—
Thy depth of love, our depth of woe,—
The deep of Heaven above—the deep of Hell below.

Bow down your heads, ye ancient mountains,
Heaven bends to earth her place of rest;

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Flow back unto your source, ye fountains,
And stand in wonder at your Guest!
Lo, in a Virgin's solitude
The harbinger of Glory stood;
Open, ye portals of the morn,
That from your dewy womb Love may Himself be born.

Heap up ye mountains upon mountains,
The growing mountains of men's crimes!
Flow on—flow on ye tainted fountains,
The gather'd evil of all times!
Lo, man in league with Satan stands,
Both bring on their embattled bands;
But God fights with His clemency,
And hath o'ercome them all on the accursed Tree.

Trine visitation of th' Unseen,
Be graven in us; in us dwell,
In Sacramental Grace serene,
The Heaven-reveal'd Immanuel;
The Child within the bosom found,
Who hath the sun His brows around!
'Tis He of David bears the keys,
And in the things of earth unlocks Heaven's mysteries.

And now, thou heir of sin and woe,
Come forth, and see this blue-roof'd hall!
From Heaven above, from earth below,
What varied blessings rise and fall!
While through the opening gates of morn
His bounties are in silence borne,

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In stillness as of Angels' wings,
Save where the bird of morn his grateful descant sings.

The night is pass'd, and with it gone
The wandering shapes of ill that crept
Around us, and to us unknown
Have look'd upon us while we slept,
Like dismal faces in the gloom,
Through windows of th' illumin'd room:
Some guard unseen drives them afar,
As on night's scatter'd rear breaks forth the Eastern star.

And now let some sweet guide be found
To lead us forth, and point abroad,
How we are on the narrow road
By cords of sweet compulsion bound.
There are on all the ties of Love
To draw us to her house above.
Though sense sees not the sacred band,
We feel there is on all a soft-constraining Hand.

It is as if through fields of air
We saw the bright-wing'd pursuivant,
Sent down by that all-seeing Care
Which hears, and answers every want.
Yea, finding answers to our needs,
While no seen form from Thee proceeds,
We feel it is Thyself that's here,
Art present to our love, art present to our fear.

The Sun Thou daily sendest forth,—
With varied blessings manifold,

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To turn to verdure the dead earth,
To turn her verdure into gold,—
Seems like Thy torch to lead us on
To worlds far better than his own;
And for his Maker asks our love,
And daily doth withdraw our coldness to reprove.

The steers that toil in furrow'd field,—
On mountain sides the waving grain,—
The vine that hangs her purple shield,—
The fatness-dropping genial rain,
And Nature's self that finds a voice,
And all the hills which round rejoice,
With woods and verdant spots between,
All speak around our homes the steps of the Unseen.

When musing on celestial things
Fairer than what we here behold,
From birds we give them buoyant wings,
And human face of fairest mould;
This wall of sense that bars us round,
Doth thus our very fancy bound:
Nor can we deem their matchless grace
To be with us unseen, but in some distant place.

Haply some new diviner sense
The spirit's portals might unbar,
And ope to us Omnipotence;
Not distant as the twinkling star,
But in such unknown radiance
As might th' immortal soul entrance,
Yet nearer than our very breath:
And what if this which opes the door of sense—be death!

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Then think of God, and walk in fear
Of all that doth thy fancy stir,
Whate'er doth meet thine eye and ear,
Look on it as His messenger:
In this bad world wherein we dwell,
Who grasp at Heaven shall find it Hell:
The sun lights up dark clouds to shew
That that which gleams most bright is but a cloud below.

Whate'er may be Thy messenger,
His lesson will I strive to learn,
Yea, though some rudest shape he wear,
And though his voice be sad and stern;
Yea, though he speak occasions gone,
And dread Remorse be in the tone,
Him would I cherish in Thy Name,
And for Thy sake would love, crown'd King of woe and shame.

Fair as the shining gate of even,
Comes Virtue down the sun-pav'd road,
Bright in the panoply of Heaven,
To lead us to that calm abode;
For this God spreads His bounties o'er,
Alike embracing rich and poor,
Blue skies above, green scenes below,
'Tis all that we might strive the better path know.

Thus to enlighten dull-eyed man,
He trains him through the things of sense,
The scenes of varied life to scan,
And read aright His providence;

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Home to his heart this truth to press,
He school'd him in the wilderness,
When Angels op'd the Heavenly door,
And daily rain'd below the life-supporting store.

Fair Form, that sittest on the cloud,
The image of parental love,
And from the purple-folding shroud
To earth descendest from above,
With babes enfolded in thine arms,
As sheltering them from worldly harms;
All things are weak to speak of thee,
And figure thy fair form, divinest Charity

How can we paint thee to our eyes?
Thy brow is like the radiant morn
Thy flowing robes are azure skies,
And stars the gems thy robes adorn,
The vernal cloud thy chariot fair,
The winds the steeds that chariot bear,
The hues on evening clouds that roam
Are but the radiant gate that leads unto thy home.

If thou art fair with God above,
And fairer than all things below,
Bath'd in thy light, immortal Love,
Let our heart burn, our footsteps glow
With emulous haste our feet be shod
To love our neighbour and our God:
For Action is the heart's own door,
Whereby Affection comes, and gathers in her store.