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

How art Thou seen in Heaven, O living Well,
The Fount of our New-Birth,—the blessed seal
Of our inheritance? O who can tell
How countless Angels may around Thee kneel,
While earth-born clouds their glorious forms conceal,
And hide the golden vision from our view?
Our God and Father Faith doth here reveal,
Whose radiance lights up the Baptismal dew,
While we emerge in life where all things are made new.

Countless as broods that fill the teeming sea,
On generations generations pour
As through the mouth of Ocean, flowing free
Into the world through that Baptismal door:
Numbers innumerable, evermore,
Part on each side in endless destinies,
Some on advancing to light's blissful shore,
Some on the road where sorrow never dies,
Each as they choose their lot, the way before them lies.

xii

Haply to earth-dimm'd eyes alike they seem;—
These worldly Favour courts with winning smiles,
And Pleasure lures with many a lightsome scheme,
Hope after hope their thoughtless way beguiles;
That foul-limb'd Monster, conscious of her wiles,
Sits o'er the arch and counts them for her own:
While Virtue shews the path where nought defiles,
And her meek children 'neath her solemn throne
Walk on their silent way, sad, desolate, alone.

On, step by step, they tread their way with fear,
And down-bent looks; and as they onward pass
Grief's penitential robes they seem to wear:
Eying herself within a silent glass
Faith calmly moves, and from the worldly mass
Parts more and more, where Virtue's palmy rod
Points out the way; and like the withering grass
The things of earth beneath her feet are trod,
While on their narrow way they upward walk with God.

Then light increases to the perfect day;
The world doth know them not, and cannot know,
Nor understand their ways, nor see the ray
That comes from Heaven to light them, while they go
From strength to strength; along this vale of woe
A rainbow sprung from the Baptismal well
Surrounds them, raining freshness o'er their brow;
And Angels while they know not round them dwell,
Whence in their presence seems some Heaven-constraining spell.

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Lo, one by one they pass, and are no more,
Walking in awful stillness into light
Too pure for mortal wisdom to explore;
So solemnly and still they pass from sight;—
Still as the minute-watches of the night,
Or trees that by the streams of life appear,
Waiting their change: O vision all too bright
For sinful man, who still must walk in fear,
Till death removes the veil and makes the vision clear.