FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. 
 
 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
 
 Section 
 
O f^MAR SB t® 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE, M.A.. 
 
 RECTOR OF GRACE CHURCH, BALTIMORE. 
 
 WITH CORRECTIONS, AND A PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH 
 EDITION BY THE AUTHOE. 
 
 And he appointed singers before the Lord, that should praise 
 the Biaoiy of Eolikess. — Chrokicles. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, 
 
 OXFORD, 
 
 AND 377, STRAND, LONDON: 
 JOHX HEXRY and JAMES PARKER. 
 
 M DCCC LIX. 
 
 o : o 
 
O" 
 
 
 
 PRINTED BY MESSRS. PARKER. CORN-MAEEET, OXFORD. 
 
 <J 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
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 CONTENTS. 
 
 O 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Dedication . . v. 
 
 Preface 
 
 vii. — xv. 
 
 Hymn of Boyhood 
 
 
 > - -i- 
 
 St. Sacrament 
 
 
 . 
 
 Antioch 
 
 
 
 23 
 
 Dreamland 
 
 
 
 29 
 
 Carol 
 
 
 
 37 
 
 Lament 
 
 
 
 44 
 
 Ember- Prayers 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 England . 
 
 
 
 51 
 
 Chronicles 
 
 
 
 61 
 
 The Chimes of England , 
 
 
 
 71 
 
 Scotland . 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 Seabury's Mitre . 
 
 
 
 82 
 
 Rustic Churches . 
 
 
 
 85 
 
 Churchyards 
 
 
 
 89 
 
 Trinity, Old Church 
 
 
 
 95 
 
 Trinity, Xew Church 
 
 
 
 100 
 
 The Spire-Cross 
 
 
 
 105 
 
 Oratories . 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 Wayside Homes . . 
 
 
 
 112 
 
 Little Woodmere . « 
 
 
 
 111 
 
 Desolations 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 o 
 
c 
 
 o 
 
 iv GOSTKETB. 
 
 
 
 Page 
 
 Chelsea .... 
 
 125 
 
 Vigils 
 
 
 . 130 
 
 Matin Bells 
 
 
 135 
 
 The Curfew 
 
 
 . 138 
 
 Wildniinster 
 
 
 , 142 
 
 Xa shot ah 
 
 
 . 146 
 
 St. Silvan's Bell , 
 
 
 , 152 
 
 Daily Service 
 
 
 , 158 
 
 Christmas Carol 
 
 
 , 162 
 
 Christening 
 
 
 , 166 
 
 The Calendar 
 
 
 170 
 
 The Soul- Dirge 
 
 
 174 
 
 The Church's Daughter . 
 
 , 178 
 
 I love the Church 
 
 , 184 
 
 Notes . 
 
 189 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 
 Canzonet ... 
 
 225 
 
 Lament .... 
 
 227 
 
 Lake Byrom , 
 
 229 
 
 The Desire of All Xations 
 
 231 
 
 Western Missions 
 
 233 
 
 In Radiance he came • 
 
 236 
 
 Hymn in Holy Week . • 
 
 239 
 
 The Last Plague of Egypt 
 
 , 241 
 
 Hymn of the Altar 
 
 244 
 
 St. Bartholomew . , 
 
 247 
 
 St. Matthew . 
 
 249 
 
 Hymn to the Redeemer . 
 
 251 
 
 May-Morning at Magdalen College, Oxforc 
 
 255 
 
 
 
 c 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 TO 
 
 JOHN HEXET HOBAET. 
 
 Mr Dear Hobaet, 
 
 I dedicate these Ballads to you, as a 
 duty and as a pleasure : as a duty, because 
 but for you they would neYer haye been 
 written ; and as a pleasure, because I rejoice 
 to associate my name with yours in any- 
 thing, howeyer humble, which I am permit- 
 ted to do for the Church of God. I need 
 not add, that I consider it in happy harmony 
 with their design, that I am priyileged to 
 inscribe them to the inheritor of a name 
 whose praise is in all the Churches. 
 
 I know that to you at least they will not 
 be unacceptable. The glistening dews of a 
 Christian boyhood are fast drying up from 
 
 o- 
 
O ( 
 
 vi DEDICATION. 
 
 both of us ; but here are some results of 
 rambling talks, and rural walks, and holiday 
 diversions, which for years we have enjoyed 
 together, and which through life will be dear 
 to memory, as having gradually led us to find 
 our best delight, and to choose our portion, 
 in the amiable dwellings of the Loed of 
 Hosts. 
 
 Tours, my dear Hobart, 
 
 A. C. C. 
 
 CaaLsaA., Niw York, 
 June 28th, 1840. 
 
 O O 
 
o- 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. 
 
 The people of America are becoming in 
 many respects more intimately allied with 
 the mother-country, than they were before 
 their independence. Whatever goes to de- 
 yelope such an alliance contributes to the 
 prosperity of both countries, and does some- 
 thing for the good of the human race, not to 
 say for the glory of Him whose advent was 
 peace and good- will. 
 
 I have thought it not impossible that the 
 little book now presented in an English 
 dress, may prove interesting to many in 
 Great Britain, as a proof of the unity of 
 the Anglican and Anglo-American Churches, 
 and of the harmonizing influences which 
 those Churches may exert upon national 
 relations. To some it may prove an accept- 
 
 o- 
 
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 viii PREFACE TO THE 
 
 able expression of the gratitude and love 
 with which the Churchmen of America de- 
 light to honour their nursing mother ; and 
 others may read it with new views of the 
 Church of England, which is so ol'ten re- 
 proached as provincial and insular, though 
 mod rn times have no parallel to the repro- 
 ductive energy with which she has given 
 being to the Church in America. It may 
 also convey to many a new and not unpleas- 
 ing impression of the ritual which they 
 have heretofore associated only with what is 
 English, but which is exhibited in these 
 pages as it exists in another hemisphere, in 
 all the vigour of youth, adapting itself to a 
 fresh state of society, and gaining upon 
 the admiration and convictions of hereditary 
 foes. 
 
 In these several ways it may in some 
 humble degree subserve the noblest and 
 most sacred interests of the old world and 
 the new, awakening sympathies and streng- 
 thening instincts which, far more than 
 
 c o 
 
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 o 
 
 ENGLISH EDITION. 
 
 IX 
 
 skilful diplomacy, will ensure a perpetual 
 unity. But perhaps even these considera- 
 tions would not have emboldened me to 
 submit these very imperfect productions to 
 a foreign public, had not some of them 
 been already naturalized among my British 
 brethren, by unsolicited republication, and 
 favourable reviews. "While I gratefully ac- 
 knowledge the courtesy which hasgenerously 
 preferred to discover their merits, rather 
 than expose their defects, I find in such 
 generosity my chief encouragement to ven- 
 ture something for which I am personally 
 responsible. I therefore confidingly commit 
 the book to the press in a land which I 
 have never seen, but which from my earliest 
 childhood has been a home to my heart, not 
 only as the source of my own and my coun- 
 try's existence, but as the scene of many 
 glorious conflicts and sufferings which en- 
 noble the history of our religion. 
 
 St. John's Parish, Hartford, 
 April, 1843. 
 
 O 
 
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 Vs \ 
 
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 -r^ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The Catholic Religion, having the same 
 original with nature, is in perfect harmony 
 with it, and shares its poetical element. A 
 truly Catholic Church will therefore exhibit 
 more or less of that element in its services 
 and rites. History shews, indeed, that it 
 may be diminished by unfavourable circum- 
 stances, without impairing essential Catho- 
 licity ; and on the other hand, that it may 
 be developed beyond proportion, to morbid 
 excess, and the injury of parts more vital. 
 But it is the glory of the Anglican ritual 
 to retain in happy combination, as did the 
 whole Church in its primitive age, the cha- 
 racteristics of reverend dignity and meek 
 simplicity. In the language of one whose 
 sense of the Sublime and Beautiful will 
 hardly be questioned, it displays the elemen- 
 
 o- 
 
O 
 
 Xli PREFACE. 
 
 tal poetry of true religion — "in buildings, 
 in music, in decoration, in speech, and in the 
 dignity of persons, with modest splendour, 
 with unassuming state, with mild majesty 
 and sober pomp." 
 
 In this eulogy of the thoughtful Burke, 
 a healthful taste will value the adjectives as 
 well as the nouns. In the Latin Churches, 
 it is to be deplored that the beauties of 
 worship have risen to a pomp, majesty, 
 state, and splendour which can hardly be 
 qualified ; and precious is the Anglican 
 contrast, which, without sacrificing these 
 attributes, exhibits in harmony with them 
 the primitive qualities of modesty, simplicity, 
 mildness, and sobriety, originally impressed 
 upon His Mystical Body by the Incarnate 
 God, that it might be in all things the 
 brightness of His glory, and the express 
 image of His Person. 
 
 This happy combination, if on the one 
 hand it allows of less pageantry in the 
 Cathedral, prevents on the other a tawdry 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Xlll 
 
 pretension in the rustic church ; and pro- 
 duces everywhere a uniform propriety of 
 beauty which captivates the imagination 
 without repelling the reason. 
 
 Such is the essential poetry of that reli- 
 gion which the Christian Ballads aspire 
 to illustrate, and humbly to subserve. To 
 those who love not the Church, they will 
 seem as idle words, but they tell of things 
 which in the heart and life of the Catholic 
 are dear realities ; realities which are felt 
 though they cannot be understood by the 
 world: for there is a charm in the religious 
 character which they help to form, which 
 delights very many who are incapable of 
 discovering the secret of what affects them. 
 Thus when we name, in a breath, the rural 
 Walton, the scholastic Hooker, the saintly 
 Herbert, the courtly Evelyn, the classic 
 Wotton,the zealous Laud, the gorgeous Tay- 
 lor the magnificent trafford, and the royal 
 Charles — men of the same times, but of 
 widely differing circumstances, the dullest 
 
 > 
 
 -o 
 
> : o 
 
 xiv PBEFACE. 
 
 perception feels that there is something be- 
 longing to them in common, which invests 
 them with no ordinary glory. It is that 
 beauty of holiness which they drew from the 
 breasts of the Church in which they lived 
 and died, and which, through many sorrows, 
 satisfied every spiritual want, and retained 
 the unroving loyalty of their pure affections. 
 They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, 
 and in death they were not divided ; exhibit- 
 ing in both the power of their religion to 
 adorn everything they enjoyed and suffered, 
 from the May -day ramble of the fisherman, 
 to the fiery trial of the Martyr. 
 
 Besides revising, with some toil, a book 
 of careless ballads, to which unexpected 
 favour has been shewn ; the author has 
 completed the collection by the addition of 
 such other poems of the same sort as he 
 has from time to time produced, since the 
 Christian Ballads first appeared. They 
 lack the boyish exhilaration of his early 
 verses ; but on that very account may better 
 
 o 6 
 
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 PREFACE. 
 
 XV 
 
 suit the taste of many. The critic indeed will 
 be pleased with little that the book contains. 
 But if, like a pointed arch that delights in 
 the moss and ivy which would spoil a Grecian 
 column, it exhibits more of Gothic rude- 
 ness than of Doric delicacy, it may perhaps 
 be allowed the merit of being in keeping 
 with the architectural symbolism of the 
 holy Faith. May it be approved by Chris- 
 tians, as it will doubtless be despised by 
 the World. 
 
 St. John's Parish, Hartford, 
 July, 1847. 
 
 ^dS^c^^r 
 
 o- 
 
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 CHRISTIAN BALLADS. 
 
 JSjmn of SogDooti. 
 
 One thing have I desired of the Lord, which I will require, even 
 that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, 
 to behold the fair beauty of the Lord, and to visit His temple.— 
 Psalter. 
 
 1. 
 
 The first dear thing that ever I loved 
 
 TVas a mother's gentle eye, 
 That smiled, as I woke on the dreamy couch 
 
 That cradled my infancy. 
 I never forget the joyous thrill 
 
 That smile in my spirit stirred, 
 Nor how it could charm me against my will, 
 
 Till I laughed like a joyous bird. 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 
 
 And the next fair thing that ever I loved 
 
 Was a bunch of summer flowers, 
 With odours, and hues, and loveliness, 
 
 Fresh as from Eden's bowers. 
 I never can find such hues agen, 
 
 Nor smell such a sweet perfume ; 
 And if there be odours as sweet as then, 
 
 'Tis I that have lost the bloom. 
 
 And the next dear thing that ever I loved 
 
 Was a fawn-like little maid, 
 Half-pleased, half- awed by the frolic boy 
 
 That tortured her doll, and played : 
 I never can see the gossamere 
 
 Which rude rough zephyrs tease, 
 But I think how I tossed her flossy locks 
 
 With my whirling bonnet's breeze. 
 
 O 
 
 And the next good thing that ever I loved 
 Was a bow-kite in the sky ; 
 
 And a little boat on the brooklet's surf, 
 And a dog for my company : 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 HYMN OF BOYHOOD, 
 
 And a jingling hoop, with many a bound 
 To my measured strike and true ; 
 
 And a rocket sent up to the firmament, 
 When Even was out so blue. 
 
 And the next fair thing I was fond to love 
 
 Was a field of wavy grain, 
 Where the reapers mowed ; or a ship in sail 
 
 On the billowy, billowy main : 
 And the next was a fiery prancing horse 
 
 That I felt like a man to stride ; 
 And the next was a beautiful sailing-boat 
 
 With a helm it was hard to guide. 
 
 o- 
 
 6. 
 
 And the next dear thing I was fond to love 
 
 Is tenderer far to tell ; 
 'Twas a voice, and a hand, and a gentle eye 
 
 That dazzled me with its spell : 
 And the loveliest things I had loved before 
 
 Were only the landscape now, 
 On the canvas bright where I pictured her, 
 
 In the glow of my early vow. 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 4 HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 
 
 7. 
 
 And the next good thing I was fain to love 
 
 Was to sit in my cell alone, 
 Musing o'er all these lovely things, 
 
 Forever, forever flown. 
 Then out I walked in the forest free, 
 
 Where wantoned the autumn wind, 
 And the coloured boughs swung shiveringly, 
 
 In harmony with my mind. 
 
 8. 
 And a spirit was on me that next I loved, 
 
 That ruleth my spirit still, 
 And maketh me murmur these sing-song words, 
 
 Albeit against my will. 
 And I walked the woods till the winter came, 
 
 And then did I love the snow ; 
 And I heard the gales, through the wildwood aisles, 
 
 Like the Lord's own organ blow. 
 
 9. 
 
 And the bush I had loved in my greenwood walk, 
 
 I saw it afar away, 
 Surpliced with snows, like the bending priest 
 
 That kneels in the church to pray : 
 
 } o 
 
c 
 
 HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 5 
 
 And I thought of the vaulted fane, and high, 
 Where I stood when a little child, 
 
 Awed by the lauds sung thrillingly, 
 And the anthems undefiled. 
 
 10. 
 
 And again to the vaulted church I went, 
 
 And I heard the same sweet prayers, 
 And the same full organ-peals upsent, 
 
 And the same soft soothing airs ; 
 And I felt in my spirit so drear and strange, 
 
 To think of the race I ran, 
 That I loved the lone thing that knew no change 
 
 In the soul of the boy and man. 
 
 11. 
 
 And the tears I wept in the wilderness, 
 
 And that froze on my lids, did fall, 
 And melted to pearls for my sinfulness, 
 
 Like scales from the eyes of Paul : 
 And the last dear thing I was fond to love, 
 
 Was that holy service high, 
 That lifted my soul to joys above, 
 
 And pleasures that do not die. 
 
 6 6 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 HYMN OF BOYHOOD. 
 
 12. 
 
 And then, said I, one thing there is 
 
 That I of the Lord desire, 
 That ever, while I on earth shall live, 
 
 I will of the Lord require, — 
 That I may dwell in His temple blest 
 
 As long as my life shall be, 
 And the beauty fair of the Lord of Hosts 
 
 In the home of His glory see. 
 
 c- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 St. Sacrament, 
 
 A LEGEND OF LAKE GEORGE. 
 
 A summer shower had swept the woods ; 
 
 But when, from all the scene, 
 Rolled off at length the thunder-clouds, 
 
 And streamed the sunset sheen ; 
 I came where my postilion raised 
 
 His horsewhip for a wand, 
 And said, There's Horicon, good sir, 
 
 And here's the Bloody Pond 1 
 
 o- 
 
 And don't you see yon low gray wall, 
 With grass and bushes grown 1 
 
 Well, that's Fort George's palisade, 
 That many a storm has known : 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 ST. SACitAMEXT. 
 
 But here's the Bloody Pond, where sleeps 
 
 Eull many a soldier tall : 
 The spring, they say, was never pure 
 
 Since that red burial. 
 
 'Twas rare to see ! That vale beneath ; 
 
 That lake so calm and cool ! 
 But mournful was each lily-wreath 
 
 Upon the turbid pool : 
 And — on, postilion, let us haste 
 
 To greener banks, I cried, 
 Oh, stay me not where man has stained 
 
 With brother's blood the tide ! 
 
 An hour — and though the Even-star 
 
 Was chasing down the sun, 
 My boat was on thine azure wave, 
 
 Sweet, holy Horicon ! 
 And woman's voice cheered on our bark, 
 
 With soft bewildering song, 
 While fire-flies darting through the dark 
 
 Went lighting us along. 
 
 -c 
 
p- 
 
 -o 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 Anon, that bark was on the beach, 
 
 And soon, I stood alone 
 Upon thy mouldering walls, Fort George, 
 
 So old, and ivy-grown. 
 At once, old tales of massacre 
 
 Were crowding on my soul, 
 And ghosts of ancient sentinels 
 
 Paced up the rocky knoll. 
 
 6. 
 
 The shadowy hour was dark enow 
 
 For fancy's wild campaign, 
 And moments were impassioned hours 
 
 Of battle and of pain : 
 Each brake and thistle seemed alive 
 
 With fearful shapes of fight, 
 And up the feathered scalp-locks rose 
 
 Of many a tawny sprite. 
 
 7. 
 
 The Mohawk war-hoop howled agen : 
 I heard St. Denys' charge, 
 
 And then the volleyed musketry 
 Of England and St. George. 
 
o o 
 
 10 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 The vale, the rocks, the cradling hills, 
 
 From echoing rank to rank, 
 Rung back the warlike rhetoric 
 
 Of Huron and of Frank. 
 
 8. 
 
 So, keep thy name, Lake George, said I, 
 
 And bear to latest day, 
 The memory of our primal age, 
 
 And England's early sway; 
 And when Columbia's flag shall here 
 
 Her starry glories toss, 
 Be witness how our fathers fought 
 
 Beneath St. George's cross. 
 
 9. 
 
 An hour again — and shone the moon 
 
 Above the mountain gray, 
 And there the pearly Horicon 
 
 Leap'd up like fountain spray ; 
 The rippled wavelets seemed to dance, 
 
 And starlight seemed to sing ; 
 I never saw in all my life 
 
 So gay and bright a thing. 
 
 o 
 
o c 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 11 
 
 10. 
 
 And nought, save lulling Katydid, 
 
 Presumed the hush to mar ; 
 And then it was, I longed to hear 
 
 Some light canoe afar ; 
 I listened for the paddle's dip, 
 
 And in the moon-path clear, 
 I wished some Indian bark might glide, 
 
 With all its shapes of fear. 
 
 11. 
 
 The Indian tales of Horicon 
 
 Were in my spirit now, 
 And Sachems of the olden time, 
 
 With more than Roman brow ; 
 And all the forest histories 
 
 That make our young romance, 
 As in a wizard's glass, they moved 
 
 O'er that blue lake's expanse. 
 
 12. 
 
 And keep thy name, clear Horicon, 
 
 Thine Indian name, said I ; 
 'Tis meet, if thine old lords are dead, 
 
 Their fame should never die : . 
 
 6- 6 
 
o o 
 
 12 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 So keep thy name, sweet Horicon, 
 
 And be, to latest days, 
 Thine old free-dwellers' monument, 
 
 Their glory and their praise. 
 
 13. 
 
 But morn was up, the beamy morn, 
 
 That sapphire lake above, 
 O'er waters blue as amethyst, 
 
 And innocent as love ; 
 And there 'twas glorious to cool 
 
 The glowing breast and limb, 
 For never did a river-nymph 
 
 In sweeter ripples swim. 
 
 14. 
 
 All day my boat was on the lake, 
 
 My thoughts upon its shore ; 
 And emerald islets, one by one, 
 
 My joyous footsteps bore : 
 And where, 'mid green and mossy nests, 
 
 The sparks of quartz outshine, 
 I pulled young flowerets from the rocks, 
 
 And oped the crystal mine. 
 
 c 
 
c 1 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 13 
 
 15. 
 
 But "when the breezy even came, 
 
 Again, outstretched I lay, 
 Upon the weedy battlements 
 
 Of that old ruin gray. 
 And all alone, 'twas beautiful 
 
 To muse, reclining there, 
 And feel the chill, so desolate, 
 
 Of half autumnal air. 
 
 16. 
 
 Afar, afar, I cast mine eye 
 
 Adown the winding view : 
 The lake, the distance, and the sky 
 
 Were all a heavenly blue : 
 And distant Thung rose glorious 
 
 With colours for his crown, 
 And girt with clouds all rainbow-like, 
 
 And robes of green and brown. 
 
 17. 
 
 A holy stillness, and a calm, 
 
 O'er me and nature stole, 
 And like a babe the waters slept 
 
 Within their pebbled bowl : - 
 
 3 O 
 
o 
 
 14 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 The gales that tossed my tangled hair, 
 And stirred the fragrant fern, 
 
 They only kissed the water's breast, 
 And smoothed its brimming urn. 
 
 18. 
 
 And I was dreaming, though awake, 
 
 Such thoughts as made me sigh, 
 When, hark ! the alder-bushes break, 
 
 And falls a footstep nigh ! 
 A man of olden years came up ; 
 
 A brown old yeoman he, 
 And on, through thorn and reedy bank, 
 
 He pushed his way to me. 
 
 19. 
 
 He climbed the rough old demilune, 
 
 With iron-studded shoe, 
 Upturning, at his every stride, 
 
 Old flints and bullets too. 
 And arrow-heads that told a tale 
 
 Were in each earthy clod, 
 That rumbled down the ravelin, 
 
 And crumbled as he trod. 
 
 o o 
 
CI- 
 
 ST. SACRAMEXT. 
 
 "<? 
 
 15 
 
 20. 
 
 Now tell me, tell me, yeoman good, 
 
 One tale to bear away, 
 With relics for the well-beloved, 
 
 Of this old ruin gray ; 
 With flowers I've gather' d round the mole, 
 
 One legend would I twine ; 
 And you may chance remember one 
 
 That was some kin of mine ! 
 
 21. 
 
 Canst tell of Cleveland, or Monroe, 
 
 That fought for George's sake ; 
 Or know you of the young Montcalm, 
 
 Or Uncas — on the lake ? 
 He called it Lake St. Sacrament, 
 
 That yeoman brown and brave, 
 And thus, half soldier and half hind, 
 
 His simple story gave. 
 
 o 
 
 22. 
 
 My father was a Frenchman bold, 
 
 Came o'er the bitter sea, 
 And here he poured his red heart's blood 
 
 For Louis' rleur-de-lys : 
 
o -O 
 
 16 ST. SACKAMENT. 
 
 And yonder did he bid me swear 
 
 To say, when he was gone, 
 He drinks the Holy Sacrament 
 
 Who drinks of Horicon. 
 
 23, 
 
 And then a lake-drop on his lip, 
 
 A tear-drop in his eye, 
 He blest his boy, his king, his God, 
 
 And turned his face to die : 
 A moment — and St. George's flag, 
 
 And England's musket roar, 
 They rapt me from my soldier-sire, 
 
 And I beheld no more. 
 
 24. 
 
 He drinks the Holy Sacrament 
 
 Who drinks this crystal wave, — 
 That Sacrament baptized his death, 
 
 And was, they say, his grave : 
 Adieu, adieu, thou stranger youth, 
 
 But say, when I am gone, 
 This )ake is Lake St. Sacrament, 
 
 And not Lake Horicon. 
 
 , 
 
o o 
 
 ST SACBAMENT. 17 
 
 And down the quarry stumbled he, 
 
 Ere I could hold him back ; 
 But sounds of crackling alder-bush 
 
 Betrayed his sturdy track. 
 I saw the cottage-smoke upwreathe 
 
 Beneath the mountain shade, 
 And there I knew that old yeoman 
 
 His hermitage had made. 
 
 26. 
 
 And there, when I had followed him, 
 
 He told me more and more, 
 The magic and the witchery 
 
 Of that romantic shore. 
 'Tis many a year, he said, since here 
 
 There was no Christian soul ; 
 The Indian only, or the deer, 
 
 To taste these waters stole. 
 
 27. 
 
 The savage, in the heat of noon, 
 
 Came panting through the wood 
 
 To stain the silver-pebbled beach, 
 And wash away his blood : ' 
 
 o- o 
 
c o 
 
 18 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 And there, where those tall aspens stand, 
 
 They fought a horrid fray ; 
 The very leaves that shaded them 
 
 Are trembling to this day. 
 
 28. 
 
 But years rolled on — the sun beheld 
 
 Those savage chiefs agen, 
 All gather'd as at council fires, 
 
 Or leagued with peaceful men : 
 They listened, in their multitudes, 
 
 To one, that midst them stood, 
 And reared the Cross — as painters draw 
 
 John Baptist in the Wood. 
 
 29. 
 
 They listened to his wondrous words 
 
 Upon the pebbled strand ; 
 And ay — they welcomed in their hearts, 
 
 The reign of God at hand. 
 With laud and anthem rung the grove ; 
 
 And here, where howled their yell, 
 I've heard their Christian litanies, 
 
 And old Te Deum swell. 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 -o 
 
 19 
 
 30. 
 
 And when the golden Easter came 
 
 Again they gathered there, 
 All eager for the Christian name, 
 
 And Christ's dear Cross to bear. 
 Oh ! forest-aisles, ye trembled then, 
 
 Like fanes where organs roll, 
 To hear those savage-featured men 
 
 Outpour the Christian soul. 
 
 31. 
 
 And in the wild- wood's walks they knelt 
 
 To own their sins and pray ; 
 And in these holy water-floods 
 
 They washed their sins away : 
 By Horicon, the Trinal God 
 
 Confessed them for His sons, 
 And there the Holy Spirit sealed 
 
 His own begotten ones. 
 
 r> 
 
 32. 
 
 Oh ! Abana and Pharpar old 
 
 Must yield to Jordan's flow ; 
 
 But never this clear Horicon ; 
 The Prophet said not so ! . 
 
 ~u 
 
o o 
 
 20 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 For sins more dire than leprosy 
 
 These waves have washed away, 
 
 And so they named clear Horicon, 
 St. Sacrament, for aye. 
 
 33. 
 
 Then onward sped the missionaire 
 
 The wilderness to wake : 
 A voice was on the desert air, 
 
 For God a highway make ! 
 The lifted Cross, from hill to hill, 
 
 Proclaimed the Gospel word, 
 But sweet St. Sacrament was still 
 
 The laver of the Loud. 
 
 34. 
 
 And years on years went rolling by ; 
 
 The Indian boy grew old ; 
 But longed once more, ere he should die. 
 
 That laver to behold : 
 And panting from his pilgrimage 
 
 He came at heat of day ; 
 The lake was calm as in his youth, 
 
 St. Sacrament, for aye. 
 
 o o 
 
 i 
 
o 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 21 
 
 35. 
 
 Then fell the white man's tracks around 
 
 Upon this virgin sand : 
 And bowed thy glories, Horicon, 
 
 Before his faithless hand ! 
 He sent these waters o'er the sea 
 
 In marble urns to shine, 
 And christen' d babes of royalty 
 
 In streams that christened mine. 
 
 36. 
 
 Adieu, adieu ! my stranger boy ; 
 
 But say, when I am gone, 
 This lake is Lake St. Sacrament, 
 
 And not Lake Horicon : 
 And when some lip that charmeth thee 
 
 Shall ask of thee a lay, 
 
 bid her call Lake Horicon, 
 St. Sacrament, for aye. 
 
 37. 
 
 Then keep thy name, sweet Lake, said I, 
 Thine holy name alone ! 
 
 1 love St. George's memory, 
 And Indian honour flown ; 
 
 ) o 
 
o- 
 
 22 
 
 ST. SACRAMENT. 
 
 But never heard I history 
 
 Like thine, old man, this day 
 The lake is Christ's for evermore, 
 St. Sacrament, for aye ! 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
 i 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 And the disciples were called Christians first in Antiocli. 
 Acts of the Apostles. 
 
 I. 
 
 Old Antioch shall answer ye 
 
 What title I would claim ! 
 Old Antioch — whence Christian men 
 
 Confess their Christian name. 
 I wear no other name but Christ's, 
 
 And His is name enow, 
 Writ by our mother's spousal hand 
 
 On all her children's brow. 
 
 n 
 
 Yet something doth that mother give, 
 
 A token to her sons, 
 And Catholic doth she surname 
 
 Her Lord's begotten ones : - 
 
 -O 
 
c : c 
 
 24 ANTIOCH. 
 
 And such, the children of her love 
 
 Are children all of Heaven : 
 Lo I — she answereth to God, 
 
 And these that Thou hast given. 
 
 I know that many martyrs died 
 
 At rack and cruel stake, 
 And Cranmer laid his prelate hand 
 
 On fire, for Jesus' sake ; 
 xlnd many a bishop's burning heart, 
 
 Like flame was lost in flame : 
 Bat Christ — none other died for me ; 
 
 I'll wear no other name. 
 
 4. 
 I wear the name of Christ my God, 
 
 So name me not from man ! 
 And my broad country Catholic, 
 
 It hath nor tribe nor clan : 
 For one and endless is the line 
 
 Through all the world that went, 
 Commissioned from the Holy Hill 
 
 Of Christ's sublime ascent. 
 
 ) c 
 
o o 
 
 ANTIOCH. 25 
 
 5. 
 
 For there, our great Melchizedek 
 
 Ordained of God that came, 
 And not Himself did glorify 
 
 To wear His priestly name, 
 His mantle — as He went on high, 
 
 To chosen sons bequeathed, 
 And bade Apostles feed His lambs, 
 
 As o'er them all He breathed. 
 
 6. 
 
 'Twas there, as God had sent the Son, 
 
 The Son His own did send, 
 And with them promised to abide 
 
 For ever — to the end : 
 And faithful to His plighted love, 
 
 The Lord is with us yet, 
 Where our Apostles bear the keys 
 
 He left on Olivet. 
 
 7. 
 
 Then call me not to other folds ; 
 
 No greener fields I see ; 
 The shepherds of my Lord alone 
 
 Can feed a lamb like me : 
 
 o o 
 
o 
 
 26 AXTIOCH. 
 
 I cannot wander, if I will, 
 And whensoever wooed, 
 
 Out-flames a burning chronicle 
 In Peter and in Jude. 
 
 I read how Korah boldly swung 
 
 The censer God abhorrd, 
 And spurned old Aaron's litanies, 
 
 Commanded of the Lord. 
 Those bold Apostles echo it, 
 
 And while their voice I hear, 
 If your strange folds seemed Eden's gate, 
 
 That waving sword I fear. 
 
 9. 
 
 I hear my Saviour's earnest prayer, 
 
 That one we all may be, 
 And — oh, how can I go with them 
 
 Who tear Him bodily 1 
 I see the heralds of His Cross 
 
 Whom Jesus sent of yore ; 
 And can I spurn anointed hands ! 
 
 I love my Saviour more. 
 
 o 
 
D O 
 
 ANTIOCH. 27 
 
 10. 
 
 Dear Lamb of God ! I know full well 
 
 All power to Thee was given, 
 And oh there is no other Name, 
 
 To name us, under heaven ! 
 I know when Thou didst send a line 
 
 Through all the world to run, 
 No arm of flesh, if that hath failed, 
 
 Can weave a surer one ! 
 
 11. 
 
 Thou, Priest and Prophet both for us, 
 
 Art Priest above in heaven ; 
 But to Thy chosen, still on earth, 
 
 Thy prophet power is given ; 
 Thank God, it never failed, nor shall ! 
 
 That long unbroken chain 
 Begun in Thee — in Thee shall end, 
 
 When Thou shalt come again. 
 
 12. 
 
 So Christ forbid that I should boast, 
 
 Save in His blood-red Cross ; 
 And let me, for the Crucified, 
 
 Count other gain but loss ; 
 
 3 O 
 
o — 
 
 i 28 
 
 -o 
 
 AXTIOCH. 
 
 And ye that scorn His follower, 
 And deem, my glory shame, 
 
 Forget not, in upbraiding me, 
 To name me by His name. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
-o 
 
 A lay, a lay, good Christians ! 
 
 I have a tale to tell, 
 Though I have ne'er a palmer's staff, 
 
 Nor hat with scallop-shell : 
 And though I never went astray 
 
 From this mine own countree, 
 I'll tell what never pilgrim told 
 
 That ever rode the sea. 
 
 0- 
 
 2. 
 
 A lay, a lay, good Christians ! 
 
 My boyish harp is fain 
 To chaunt our mother's loveliness, 
 
 In an eternal strain ; 
 
 -o 
 
-o 
 
 30 
 
 DREAMLAND. 
 
 And true it is I never strayed 
 Beyond her careful hand, 
 
 And yet my lay, good Christians, 
 Is of a Holy-Land. 
 
 In Dreamland once I saw a Church ; 
 
 Amid the trees it stood; 
 And reared its little steeple-cross 
 
 Above the sweet green-wood ; 
 And then I heard a Dreamland chime 
 
 Peal out from Dreamland tower, 
 And saw how Dreamland Christian-folk 
 
 Can keep the matin- hour. 
 
 o- 
 
 And Dreamland Church was decent all, 
 
 And green the churchyard round ; 
 The Dreamland sextons never keep 
 
 Their kine in holy ground : 
 And not the tinkling cow-bell there 
 
 The poet's walk becalms ; 
 But where the dead in Christ repose. 
 
 The bells ring holy psalms. 
 
 -o 
 
 
o- 
 
 ■o 
 
 DREAMLAND. 
 
 31 
 
 And Dreamland folk do love their dead, 
 
 For every mound I saw, 
 Had flowers, and wreathes, and garlands, such 
 
 As painters love to draw ! 
 I asked what seeds made such fair buds, 
 
 And — scarce I trust my ears, 
 The Dreamland folk averred such things 
 
 Do only grow from — tears. 
 
 6. 
 
 And while I hung the graves around, 
 
 I heard the organ pour : 
 I was the only Christian man 
 
 Without that sacred door ! 
 A week-day morn — but church was full ; 
 
 And full the chaunting choir, 
 For Dreamland music is for God, 
 
 And not for man and — hire. 
 
 I saw the Dreamland minister 
 In snowy vestments pray : 
 
 He seemed to think 'twas natural 
 That prayer should ope the day : 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
c 
 
 32 DREAMLAND. 
 
 And Dreamland folk responded loud 
 
 To blessings in God's name ; 
 And in the praises of the Lord, 
 
 They had no sense of shame ! 
 
 And Dreamland folk, they kneel them down 
 
 Eight on the stony floor ; 
 I saw they were uncivilized, 
 
 Nor knew how we adore : 
 And yet I taught them not, I own, 
 
 The posture more refined, 
 Eor well I knew the picturesque 
 
 Scarce suits the savage mind. 
 
 9. 
 
 And Dreamland folk do lowly bow 
 
 To own that Christ is God : 
 And I confess I taught them not 
 
 The fashionable nod. 
 And Dreamland folk sing Gloria 
 
 At every anthem's close, 
 But have not learned its value yet 
 
 To stir them from a doze. 
 
 6 o 
 
o- 
 
 DREAMLAND, 
 
 — 
 
 33 j 
 
 10. 
 
 I saw a Dreamland babe baptized, 
 
 With all the church to see, 
 And strange as 'twas — the blessed sight, 
 
 'Twas beautiful to me ! 
 For many a voice cried loud Amen, 
 
 When, o'er its streaming brow, 
 The pearly cross was charactered, 
 
 To seal its Christian vow. 
 
 11. 
 
 I learned that Dreamland children all, 
 
 As bowing sponsors swear, 
 To bishop's hands are duly brought, 
 
 To Eucharist and prayer : 
 And Dreamland maids wear snow-white veils 
 
 At confirmation-hour ; 
 For such — an old Apostle wrote, 
 
 Should clothe their heads, with power. 
 
 o- 
 
 12. 
 
 The Dreamland folk they wed in church ; 
 
 They deem the Lord is there, 
 And, as of old in Galilee, 
 
 May bless a bridal pair : 
 
 o 
 
c 
 
 -c 
 
 34 
 
 DREAMLAND. 
 
 And strange enough, the simple ones, 
 
 They see, in wedded love, 
 Sweet emblems of their Mother Church, 
 
 And Christ her Lord above. 
 
 13. 
 
 I saw a Dreamland funeral 
 
 Come up the shadowed way : 
 The Dreamland priest was surplice-clad 
 
 To meet the sad array ; 
 And when his little flock drew nigh 
 
 To give the dust their dead, 
 His voice went soothingly before, 
 
 As if a shepherd led. 
 
 14. 
 
 In earth they laid the Dreamland man ; 
 
 And then a chaunt was given, 
 So sweet, that I could well believe 
 
 I heard a voice from heaven : 
 And singing children o'er the grave 
 
 Like cherub chaunters stood, 
 Pouring their angel lullabies, 
 
 To make its slumber good. 
 
 o- 
 
 
 _ 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 DREAMLAND. 
 
 35 
 
 15. 
 
 The Dreamland folk count seasons four, 
 
 All woven into one ! 
 'Tis Advent, Lent, or Easter-tide, 
 
 Or Trinity begun : 
 The first is green as emerolde, 
 
 The next of cypress kue, 
 The third is glorious all as gold, 
 
 The fourth is sapphire-blue. 
 
 16. 
 
 The Dreamland folk are simple ones ; 
 
 Who knows but these are they, 
 Described in ancient chronicle 
 
 As Children of the Day ! 
 They seemed no denizens of earth, 
 
 But niore — a pilgrim band. 
 With no abiding city here, 
 
 Who seek a better land. 
 
 o- 
 
 17. 
 
 So ends my lay, good Christians ; 
 
 And ye that gave me ear, 
 Confess that 'twas of Holy-Land 
 
 I beckoned ye to hear : 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 36 
 
 DREAMLAND. 
 
 Christ bring us all, who bear His cross, 
 
 Unto His own countree ! 
 And so no more, good Christians, 
 
 Of Dreamland, or of me. 
 
 -o 
 
 
c- 
 
 -o 
 
 £aroI. 
 
 My Beloved is gone down into His garden, to the beds of 
 spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies. — Canticles. 
 
 1. 
 
 I know — I know 
 
 Where the green leaves grow, 
 
 When the woods without are bare ; 
 Where a sweet perfume, 
 Of the woodland's bloom, 
 
 Is afloat on the winter air ! 
 When tempest strong 
 Hath howled along, 
 
 With his war-whoop wild and loud, 
 Till the broad ribs broke 
 Of the forest oak, 
 
 And his crown of glory bowed ; 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 38 CAHOL. 
 
 I know — I know 
 
 Where the green leaves grow, 
 
 Though the groves without are bare. 
 Where the branches nod 
 Of the trees of God, 
 
 And the wild vines flourish fair. 
 
 For a fragrant crown 
 When the Lord comes down, 
 
 Of the deathless green we braid, 
 O'er the altar bright, 
 Where the tissue white 
 
 Like winter snow is laid. 
 And we think 'tis meet 
 The Loed to greet 
 
 As wise men did of old 
 With the spiceries 
 Of incense-trees, 
 
 And hearts like the hoarded gold. 
 And so we shake 
 The snowy flake 
 
 From cedar and myrtle fair ; 
 
 u- 
 
 
o 
 
 CAROL. 39 
 
 And the boughs that nod 
 On the hills of God, 
 
 We raise to His glory there- 
 
 I know — I know 
 Where blossoms blow 
 
 The earliest of the year ; 
 Where the passion-flower, 
 With a mystic power, 
 
 Its thorny crown doth rear ; 
 Where crocus breathes. 
 And fragrant wreaths 
 
 Like a censer fill the gale ; 
 Where cowslips burst 
 To beauty first, 
 
 And the lily of the vale : 
 And snow-drops white ; 
 And pansies bright 
 
 As Joseph's coloured vest ; 
 And laurel-tod 
 
 From the woods of God, 
 
 Where the wild-bird builds her nest. 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 40 
 
 -O 
 
 CAROL. 
 
 For, oh ! we fling 
 Each fragrant thing 
 
 In the path of the newly-wed ; 
 And, when we weep, 
 Put flowers to sleep 
 
 On the breast of the early dead. 
 And the altar's lawn, 
 At morning's dawn, 
 
 We deck at Easter-tide, 
 And the font's fair brim ; 
 To tell of Him 
 
 Who liveth though He died ! 
 Of flowers He spake ; 
 And for His sake 
 
 Whose text was the lilies' bloom, 
 We search abroad 
 Eor the flowers of God, 
 
 To give Him their sweet perfume. 
 
 5. 
 
 I know — I know 
 Where the waters flow 
 In a marble font and nook, 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 CAROL. 41 
 
 When the frosty sprite 
 In his strange delight 
 
 Hath fettered the brawling brook, 
 When the dancing stream, 
 With its broken gleam, 
 
 Is locked in its rocky bed ; 
 And the sing-song fret 
 Of the rivulet 
 
 Is hush as the melted lead ; 
 Oh then I know 
 Where the waters flow 
 
 As fresh as the spring-time flood, 
 When the spongy sod 
 Of the fields of God 
 
 And the hedges are all in bud. 
 
 6. 
 
 For the flowing Font 
 Bids Frost a vaunt, 
 
 And the Winter's troop so wild ; 
 And still 'twill gush 
 In a free full flush, 
 
 At the cry of a little child. 
 
 3 C 
 
Q. O 
 
 42 CAROL. 
 
 rare the gleam 
 
 Of the blessed stream 
 
 In the noon of a winter day, 
 "When the ruby stain 
 Of the coloured pane 
 
 Falls in, with holy ray ! 
 For then I think 
 Of the brimming brink, 
 
 And the urns, at the voice divine, 
 Like Moses' rod 
 And the rocks of God, 
 
 That flushed into ruddy wine. 
 
 I know — I know 
 No place below, 
 
 Like the home I fear and love ; 
 Like the stilly spot 
 Where the world is not, 
 
 But the nest of the Holy Dove. 
 For there broods He 
 Mid every tree 
 
 That grows at the Christmas-tide, 
 And there, all year, 
 O'er the font so clear, 
 
 His hovering wings abide ! 
 
 o 
 
 rS 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 CAIIOL. 
 
 43 
 
 And so, I know 
 No place below 
 
 So meet for the bard's true lay, 
 As the alleys broad 
 Of the Church of God, 
 
 Where Nature is green for aye. 
 
 O- 
 
 O 
 
o- 
 
 c 
 
 FOR THE LENTEN SEASON. 
 
 And of some, have compassion. — St. Jude. 
 
 Oh weep for them who never knew 
 
 The mother of our love, 
 And shed thy tears for orphan ones, 
 
 Whom angels mourn above ; 
 The wandering sheep — the straying lambs, 
 
 When wolves were on the wold, 
 That left our Shepherd's little flock, 
 
 And ventured from His fold. 
 
 O- 
 
 2. 
 
 Nay, blame them not ! for them the Lord 
 Hath loved as well as you : 
 
 But oh, like Jesus pray for them 
 Who know not what they do : 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 LAMENT. 
 
 Oh plead, as once the Saviour did, 
 That we may all be One, 
 
 That so the blinded world may know 
 The Father sent the Son. 
 
 3. 
 
 Oh let thy Lenten litanies 
 
 Be full of prayer for them ! 
 Oh go ye to the scattered sheep 
 
 Of Israel's parent stem ! 
 Oh keep thy fast for Christendom ! 
 
 For Christ's dear body mourn ; 
 And weave again the seamless robe 
 
 That faithless friends have torn. 
 
 45 
 
 4. 
 
 Ye love your dear home-festivals 
 
 With every month entwined ; 
 Oh weep for those whose sullen hearths 
 
 No Christmas garlands bind ! 
 Those Iceland regions of the faith 
 
 No changing seasons cheer, 
 While our sweet paths drop fruitfulness, 
 
 Through all the joyous year. 
 
 o- 
 
o- 
 
 46 
 
 LAMENT. 
 
 -o 
 
 What though some borealis-beams 
 
 On even them may flare ! 
 Pray God the sunlight of His love 
 
 May rise serenely there ; 
 For fitful flames, oh plead the Lord 
 
 To give His daily ray, 
 With manna dropped, at morn and eve, 
 
 Along their desert way. 
 
 6. 
 
 Oh weep for those, on whom the Lord 
 
 While here below did weep, 
 Lest grievous wolves should enter in, 
 
 Not sparing of His sheep ; 
 And eat thy bitter herbs awhile, 
 
 That when our Feast is spread, 
 These too — that gather up the crumbs, 
 
 May eat the children's bread. 
 
o- 
 
 --o 
 
 2Em6er = prai>ers. 
 
 1. 
 
 Let out thy soul, and pray ! 
 
 Not for thy home alone ; 
 Away in prayer, away ! 
 
 Make all the world thine own. 
 Let out thy soul in prayer ; 
 
 Oh, let thy spirit grow ! 
 God gives thee sun and air, 
 
 Let the full blossom blow ! 
 
 o- 
 
 There ! dost thou not perceive 
 
 Thy spirit swell within, 
 And something high receive, 
 That is not born of sin 1 
 
 o 
 
o — o 
 
 48 EMBER-PRAYERS. 
 
 Oh, paltry is the soul 
 
 That only self can heed ! 
 Sail outward — from the shoal, 
 
 And bourgeon, from the seed ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Rust and the moth consume 
 
 The spangled folds of pride ; 
 Dry-rot doth eat the bloom, 
 
 And gnaw the wealth we hide : 
 The spirit's selfish care 
 
 Doth die away the same ; 
 But give it air — free air, 
 
 And how the soul can flame ! 
 
 Yestreen I did not know 
 
 How largely I could live ; 
 But Faith hath made me grow 
 
 To more than Earth can give. 
 Joy ! for a heart released 
 
 From littleness and pride ; 
 Fast is the spirit's feast, 
 
 And Lent the soul's high tide. 
 
 o 
 
o— o 
 
 EMBER-PRAYERS. 49 
 
 5. 
 
 When for the Church I prayed, 
 
 As this dear Lent began, 
 My thoughts, Fm sore afraid, 
 
 Within small limits ran. 
 By Ember-week I learned 
 
 How large that prayer might be, 
 And then, in soul, I burned 
 
 That all might pray with me. 
 
 6. 
 
 Plead for the victims all 
 
 Of heresy and sect ; 
 And bow thy knees like Paul, 
 
 For all the Lord's Elect ! 
 Pray for the Church — I mean, 
 
 For Shem and Japhet pray : 
 And Churches, long unseen, 
 
 In isles, and far away ! 
 
 Oh pray that all who err 
 
 May thus be gathered in, 
 The Moslem worshipper, 
 
 And all the sects of sin ! 
 
 o o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 50 
 
 EMBER-PRAYERS. 
 
 For all who love in heart, 
 But have not found the way, 
 
 Pray — and thy tears will start I 
 5 Twas so the Lord did pray. 
 
 Now — even for heartless Rome 
 
 Appealing to the Lord, 
 Be every Church our home, 
 
 And love the battle- word ! 
 The saints, communion — one, 
 
 One Lord — one Faith — one birth, 
 Oh, pray to God the Son, 
 
 For all His Church on Earth. 
 
 o 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 — o 
 
 IE n giant). 
 
 The glory of children are their fathers.— Proverbs. 
 
 1. 
 
 Land of the rare old chronicle, 
 
 The legend and the lay, 
 Where deeds of fancy's dream are truths 
 
 Of all thine ancient day ; 
 Land where the holly-bough is green 
 
 Around the Druid's pile, 
 And greener yet the histories 
 
 That wreathe his rugged isle ■; 
 
 2. 
 
 Land of old story— like thine oak 
 
 The aged, but the stroDg, 
 
 And wound with antique mistletoe 
 
 And ivy- wreaths of song ; 
 
 o- 
 
 
 
O : — O 
 
 52 ENGLAND, 
 
 Old isle and glorious — I have heard 
 
 Thy fame across the sea, 
 And know my fathers' homes are thine ; 
 
 My fathers rest with thee ! 
 
 I know they sleep in hallowed ground 
 
 Beneath the church's shade, 
 Where ring old bells eternally, 
 
 For prayer incessant made ; 
 Nor dull their ear to living prayers, 
 
 Nor vain the anthem's swell ; 
 Where Christian sounds are lulling him, 
 
 The Christian slumbers well. 
 
 4. 
 
 And I could yet my dust lay down 
 
 Beneath old England's sward, 
 For, lulled by her, 'twere sweet to wait 
 
 The coming of the Lord : 
 Oh England, let thy child desire 
 
 Upon thy breast to be, 
 And bless thee in the mother-words 
 
 My mother taught to me ! 
 
 o , o 
 
o o 
 
 ENGLAND. 53 
 
 For I have learned them in the tales 
 
 Thy sagest sons have told, 
 And loved their music in romance 
 
 And roundelays of old : 
 And I have wooed thy poet tide 
 
 From fountain-head along, 
 From warbled gush, to torrent roar 
 
 And cataract of song. 
 
 6. 
 
 And thou art no strange land to me, 
 
 From Cumberland to Kent, 
 With hills and vales of household name 
 
 And woods of wild event : 
 For tales of Guy and Robin Hood 
 
 My childhood ne'er could tire, 
 And Alfred's poet story roused 
 
 My boyhood to the lyre. 
 
 7. 
 And I have lived my student years 
 
 On Isis' wizard side, 
 In sooth, no candidate, I ween, 
 
 For Alma-Mater's pride ; 
 
 O : 6 
 
o . o 
 
 54 ENGLAND. 
 
 For fancy that could awe my soul 
 
 To surplice, hood, and gown, 
 Hath mingled me in college freaks, 
 
 And quarrels with the Town. 
 
 8. 
 
 Dear happy homes ! where others slight 
 
 The boon my soul had prized, 
 The cells where sages have been bred, 
 
 And human lore baptized ! 
 Those walks of towering Magdalene, 
 
 Those Christ Church meads so fair, 
 St. Mary's spire — chime answering chime, 
 
 And early bell for prayer ! 
 
 9. 
 
 Oh shame, ye yawning Balliol men 
 
 Who hate the prayer-bell's toll, 
 That I, a far-off stranger wight, 
 
 Should love it in my soul ; 
 That oft the Mantuan's hackneyed verse 
 
 Revives at thought of you ; 
 Oh, happiest of the happy — ye, 
 
 If but your bliss ye knew ! 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 ENGLAKD. 
 
 -o 
 
 55 
 
 10. 
 
 In day-dreams of the roving wish, 
 
 The Cherwell's banks I've trod ; 
 Have pulled an oar on Isis' tide, 
 
 Or strayed with gun and rod ; 
 Have taken rooms, burglarious thought ! 
 
 Called quiet Corpus mine ; 
 And won a prize ; ye double-firsts, 
 
 Forgive the bold design ! 
 
 11. 
 
 It ne'er can be — but, fancy-free, 
 
 To live in one's desire, 
 To catch from dreams what real life 
 
 In Oxford would inspire ; 
 This use of fancy have I made, 
 
 Forbidden else to roam, 
 Till England is a home to me, 
 
 Besides my native home. 
 
 O- 
 
 12. 
 
 Fair isle ! Thy Dove's wild dale along 
 With Walton have I roved, 
 
 And London too, with all the heart 
 Of burly Johnson, loved ! 
 
o ( 
 
 56 EKGLABJ). 
 
 Chameleon-like, my soul has ta'en 
 
 Its every hue from thine, 
 From Eastcheap's epidemic laugh 
 
 To Avon's gloom divine. 
 
 13. 
 
 All thanks to pencil, and the page 
 
 Of graver's mimic art, 
 That England's panorama gave 
 
 To picture up my heart ; 
 That round my spirit's eye hath built 
 
 Thine old cathedral piles, 
 And flung the chequered window-light 
 
 Adown their trophied aisles. 
 
 14. 
 
 I know thine abbey, Westminster 
 
 As sea-birds know their nest, 
 And flies my home-sick soul to thee, 
 
 When it would find a rest ; 
 Where princes and old bishops sleep. 
 
 With sceptre and with crook, 
 And mighty spirits haunt around 
 
 Each Gothic shrine and nook. 
 
 o — 
 
o o 
 
 ENGLAND. 6 
 
 15. 
 
 I feel the sacramental hue 
 
 Of choir and chapel, there, 
 And pictured panes that chasten down 
 
 The day's unholy glare ; 
 And dear it is, on cold gray stone, 
 
 To see the sunbeams crawl, 
 In long-drawn lines of coloured light 
 
 That streak the bannered wall. 
 
 16. 
 
 I hear the priest's far-dying chaunt, 
 
 The organ's thunder-roll ; 
 I kneel me on the chilly floor, 
 
 And pray with all my soul ; 
 I feel that God Himself is there, 
 
 And saints are sleeping round ; 
 Oh, save the Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 'Tis Earth's most holy ground ! 
 
 17. 
 
 Thus, Albion, have I lived with thee, 
 
 Though born so far away ; 
 With thee I spend each holy eve, 
 
 And every festal day. 
 
 i c 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 58 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 My Sunday morn is musical, 
 
 With England's steeple-tone ; 
 
 And when thy Christmas hearths are bright, 
 A blaze is on my own. 
 
 18. 
 
 What though upon thy dear green hills 
 
 My footsteps never trod ; 
 Thine empire is as far and wide 
 
 As all the world of God ! 
 And by the sea-side glorious 
 
 Have I been wont to stand, 
 For Ocean is old England's own, 
 
 Where'er it beats the land. 
 
 19. 
 I've seen thy beacon-banners blaze 
 
 Our mountain coast along, 
 And swelled my soul with memories 
 
 Of old romaunt and song : 
 Of Chevy-chase, of Agincourt, 
 
 Of many a field they told ; 
 Of Norman and Plantagenet, 
 
 And all their fame of old ! 
 
 o- 
 
o- 
 
 ENGLAND. 59 
 
 20. 
 
 What though the red-cross blazonry 
 
 Waved fast and far away ; 
 Not so the flourished vaunt it flung 
 
 Of Cceur-de-Lion's day ; 
 Not so the golden tales it told 
 
 Of crown and kingdom won, 
 And how my own forefathers fought 
 
 For Christ, at Ascalon. 
 
 21. 
 
 And well thy banner-folds may bear 
 
 In red — the Holy Rod, 
 Thy priests have princes been to men, 
 
 Thy princes, priests to God ! 
 And bold to win a crown in heaven 
 
 The royal Martyr bled : 
 The martyrs' noble host is full 
 
 Of England's noblest dead. 
 
 Thy holy Church— the Church of God 
 That hath grown old in thee, 
 
 Since there the ocean-roving Dove 
 Came bleeding from the sea ; 
 
 -o 
 
o — 
 
 60 
 
 When pierced afar, her weary feet 
 Could find no home but thine, 
 
 Until thine altars were her nest, 
 Thy fanes her glory's shrine 
 
 23. 
 
 At least that holy Church is mine ! 
 
 And every hallowed day, 
 I bend where England's anthems swell, 
 
 And hear old England pray : 
 And England's old adoring rites, 
 
 And old liturgic words, 
 Are mine — but not for England's sake ; 
 
 I love them as the Lord's ! 
 
 24. 
 
 And I have sung. By Babel's stream 
 
 The Hebrew's harp was still, 
 For there, there was no God for him, 
 
 No shrine and holy hill : 
 But here, by Hudson's glorious wave, 
 
 A song of thee I'll sound, 
 For England's sons and spires are here, 
 
 And England's God around. 
 
 o- 
 
Chronicle*. 
 I. 
 
 THE STORY OF SOME RUINS; 
 1. 
 The abbeys and the arches, 
 
 The old cathedral piles, 
 Oh, weep to see the ivy 
 
 And the grass in all their aisles ; 
 The vaulted roof is fallen, 
 
 And the bat and owl repose 
 Where once the people knelt them, 
 
 And the high Te Deum rose. 
 
 o- 
 
 Oh, were they not our Father's ! 
 
 Was not His honour there ! 
 Or hath the Lord deserted 
 
 His holy House of Prayer ! 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 62 
 
 CHRONICLES. 
 
 O 
 
 Time was, when they were sacred 
 As the place of Jacob's rest, 
 
 And their altars all as spotless 
 As the Virgin Mother's breast. 
 
 3. 
 
 Oh, wo ! the hour that brought him, 
 
 The Roman and his reign, 
 To shed o'er all our temples 
 
 The scarlet hue and stain : 
 Till the mitre and the crosier 
 
 Were dizzen'd o'er with gems, 
 And sullied with the tinsel 
 
 Of the Caesars' diadems. 
 
 But still our Father loved us ; 
 
 And the Holy Place had still 
 Its beauty, and its glory, 
 
 On its old eternal hill. 
 His heritage they trampled, 
 
 Those men of iron rod ! 
 But still it towered in honour, 
 
 The temple of our God. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 CHRONICLES. 63 
 
 II. 
 
 MARTYRS REFORM THE CHURCH. 
 1. 
 
 Ye abbeys and ye arches, 
 
 Ye old cathedral piles, 
 The martyrs' noble army 
 
 Are in your hallowed aisles. 
 And the bishop and the baron 
 
 Have knelt together there, 
 And breathed a vow to heaven 
 
 In agony of prayer. 
 
 2. 
 
 And to chase away the tyrant 
 
 From England's happy home, 
 They have risen like their fathers, 
 
 'Gainst the cruel hordes of Rome ; 
 For oh they love the temples 
 
 Where virgin Faith has trod, 
 Though all too long within them 
 
 Man showed himself as God. 
 
 3. 
 
 Ye abbeys and ye arches, 
 Ye old cathedral piles, 
 
 . o 
 
o- 
 
 ■o 
 
 64 CHRONICLES. 
 
 Again a holy incense 
 
 Is in your vaulted aisles ! 
 Again in noble English 
 
 The Christian anthems swell, 
 And out the organ pealeth, 
 
 Over stream and stilly dell. 
 
 4. 
 
 And the bishop, and the deacon, 
 
 And the presbyter are there, 
 In pure and stainless raiment, 
 
 At Eucharist and prayer ; 
 And the bells swing free and merry, 
 
 And a nation shouteth round, 
 For the Lord Himself hath triumphed, 
 
 And His voice is in the sound. 
 
 -o 
 
Q O 
 
 CHRONICLES. 65 
 
 III. 
 
 BUT REGICIDES MAKE DISSENT : 
 1. 
 Ye abbeys and ye arches, 
 
 Ye old cathedrals blest, 
 Be strong against the earthquake, 
 
 And the days of your unrest ; 
 For not the haughty Roman 
 
 Could make old England bow, 
 But the children of her bosom 
 
 Are the foes that trouble now. 
 
 2. 
 
 A gleam is in the abbey, 
 
 And a sound ariseth there ; 
 'Tis not the light of worship, 
 
 'Tis not the voice of prayer : 
 Their hands are red with murder, 
 
 And a prince's fall they sing ! 
 They would slay the Lord of Glory 
 
 Should He come again as King. 
 
 3. 
 
 And a lawless soldier tramples 
 Where the holy loved to kneel, 
 
 )- : 6 
 
o — 
 
 66 
 
 CHRONICLES. 
 
 And he spurns a bishop's ashes 
 With his ruffian hoof of steel ! 
 
 Ay, horses have they stabled 
 
 Where the blessed martyrs knelt, 
 
 That neigh — where rose the anthem, 
 And the psalm that made us melt. 
 
 -o 
 
 There, once a glorious window 
 
 Shed down a flood of rays, 
 With rainbow hues and holy, 
 
 And colours all ablaze ! 
 Its pictured panes are broken, 
 
 Our fathers' tombs profaned, 
 And the font where we were christened. 
 
 With the blood of brothers stained. 
 
 o- 
 
o o 
 
 CHRONICLES. 67 
 
 IV. 
 
 AND FULFIL THE SEVENTY-FOURTH PSALM. 
 
 Ye abbeys and ye arches, 
 
 Ye old cathedrals dear, 
 The hearts that love you tremble, 
 
 And your enemies have cheer ; 
 But the prayers ye heard are breathing. 
 
 And your litanies they sing ; 
 There are holy men in England 
 
 That are praying for their king. 
 
 2. 
 
 The noble in the cottage, 
 
 "While the hind is in his hall, 
 Still kneels, as if he heard them, 
 
 When your chimes were wont to call : 
 And at morning, and at evening, 
 
 There are high-born hearts and true, 
 In the lowliest huts of England, 
 
 That will bless the king, and you. 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 CHRONICLES. 
 
 3. 
 
 And bishops, in their prison, 
 
 Will still the lessons read, 
 How the good are often troubled, 
 
 While the vilest men succeed ; 
 How God's own heart may honour 
 
 Whom the people oft disown, 
 And how the royal David 
 
 Was driven from his throne. 
 
 And their Psalter mourneth with them, 
 
 O'er the carvings and the grace, 
 Which axe and hammer ruin, 
 
 In the fair and holy place ; 
 O'er the havoc they are making 
 
 In ail the land abroad, 
 And the banners of the cruel 
 
 In the dwelling-house of God. 
 
 o- 
 
 _n 
 
 1 
 
o- 
 
 CHRONICLES. 69 
 
 V. 
 BUT GOD IS WITH US TO THE END. 
 
 Ye abbeys and ye arches, 
 
 How few and far between, 
 The remnants of your glory 
 
 In all their pride are seen ! 
 A thousand fanes are fallen, 
 
 And the bat and owl repose 
 Where once the people knelt them, 
 
 And the high Te Deum rose. 
 
 2. 
 
 But their dust and stones are precious 
 
 In the eyes of pious men, 
 And the baron hath his manor, 
 
 And the king his own again ! 
 And again the bells are ringing 
 
 With a free and happy sound, 
 And again Te Deu^i riseth 
 
 In all the churches round. 
 
 O = O 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 CHRONICLES. 
 
 Now pray we for our mother, 
 
 That England long may be 
 The holy, and the happy, 
 
 And the gloriously free ! 
 TTho blesseth her, is blessed ! 
 
 So peace be in her walls ; 
 And joy in all her palaces, 
 
 Her cottages and halls ! 
 
 All ye who pray in English, 
 
 Pray God for England, pray ! 
 And chiefly, thou, my country, 
 
 In thy young glory's day ! 
 Pray God those times return not, 
 
 'Tis England's hour of need ! 
 Pray for thy mother — daughter, 
 
 Plead God for England — plead. 
 
 o- 
 
 -Q 
 
r> 
 
 o 
 
 Z\)t Cfn'nus of IsnglanD. 
 
 Upon the bells. — Zechariah. 
 1. 
 
 The chimes, the chimes of Motherland, 
 
 Of England green and old, 
 That out from fane and ivied tower 
 
 A thousand years have tolled ; 
 How glorious must their music be 
 
 As breaks the hallowed day, 
 And calleth with a seraph's voice 
 
 A nation up to pray ! 
 
 o- 
 
 2. 
 Those chimes that tell a thousand tales, 
 
 Sweet tales of olden time ; 
 And ring a thousand memories 
 
 At vesper, and at prime ! 
 
 -o 
 
L/- 
 
 o 
 
 72 THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 At bridal and at burial, 
 
 For cottager and king, 
 Those chimes — those glorious Christian chimes, 
 
 How blessedly they ring ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Those chimes, those chimes of Motherland, 
 
 Upon a Christmas morn, 
 Outbreaking as the angels did, 
 
 For a Redeemer born ! 
 How merrily they call afar, 
 
 To cot and baron's hall, 
 "With holly decked and mistletoe. 
 
 To keep the festival ! 
 
 4. 
 
 The chimes of England, how they peal 
 
 From tower and gothic pile, 
 Where hymn and swelling anthem fill 
 
 The dim cathedral aisle ; 
 Where windows bathe the holy light 
 
 On priestly heads that falls, 
 And stain the florid tracery 
 
 Of banner-dightcd walls ! 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 THE CHIilES OF EXGLAXD. 73 
 
 And then, those Easter bells, in Spring, 
 
 Those glorious Easter chimes ! 
 How loyally they hail thee round, 
 
 Old Queen of holy times ! 
 From hill to hill, like sentinels, 
 
 Responsively they cry, 
 And sing the rising of the Lord, 
 
 From vale to mountain high. 
 
 6. 
 
 I love ye — chimes of Motherland, 
 
 With all this soul of mine, 
 And bless the Lord that I am sprung 
 
 Of good old English line : 
 And like a son I sing the lay 
 
 That England's glory tells ; 
 For she is lovely to the Lord, 
 
 For you, ye Christian bells ! 
 
 7. 
 And heir of her ancestral fame, 
 
 Though far away my birth, 
 Thee too I love, my Forest -land, 
 
 The joy of all the earth ; 
 
 : — -o 
 
o 
 
 o 
 
 74 
 
 THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 For thine thy mother's voice shall be, 
 And here — where God is King, 
 
 With English chimes, from Christian spires, 
 The wilderness shall ring. 
 
 o- 
 
-o 
 
 Scotland 
 
 THE ORANGE SACRILEGE. 
 
 Though all the nations that are under the king's dominion obey 
 him and fall away, every one from the religion of their fathers, 
 God forbid that we should forsake the law, and the ordi- 
 nances ! We will not hearken to the king's words to go from our 
 religion, either on the right hand or the left.— Maccabees. 
 
 1. 
 
 'Twas a true-hearted Scotsman 
 
 Had risen from his knees, 
 All in a glorious chapel 
 
 Reared bj the old Culdees. 
 That day the axe of Orange 
 
 On Scotland's altars rung, 
 And down fair cross and crosier 
 
 Upon the Earth were flung. 
 
 2. 
 
 And as he rose from praying 
 
 The raving mob broke in ; 
 And as he passed the portal. 
 
 He heard the spoiler's din. 
 
 c- 
 
 -o 
 
o— o 
 
 76 SCOTLAND. 
 
 He beat his breast — and tear-drops 
 
 They stood in either eye : 
 He left that church for ever, 
 
 But thus did prophesy. 
 
 3. 
 
 Ah me — St. Andrew's crosier ! 
 
 'Tis broken and laid low : 
 God help thee, Church of Scotland, 
 
 It seemeth thy death-blow ! 
 They've robbed thee of thine altars, 
 
 They've ta'en thine ancient name : 
 But thou'rt the Church of Scotland 
 
 Till Scotland melts in flame. 
 
 4. 
 
 Ay — hear it, heartless William, 
 
 Thou shalt have ne'er a son ! 
 Thy tree — it shall be blighted, 
 
 For this that thou hast done ! 
 Thine orange-bough, in Britain, 
 
 Shall leave nor branch nor shoot ! 
 For God uproots the sovereign 
 
 That would His Church uproot ! 
 
 o o 
 
c o 
 
 SCOTLAND. 77 
 
 5. 
 
 Ay — grasp old Scotia's thistle, 
 
 Thy daring hand must bleed ; 
 But touch the cross of Andrew, 
 
 Thy soul shall rue the deed ! 
 Unroof the Church of Scotland, 
 
 She lives in dens and caves ; 
 She cries to God, and tyrants 
 
 Are ashes, in their graves. 
 
 And thou, old Church, like princes 
 
 When clowns usurp their state, 
 Shalt be confest, in exile, 
 
 The ancient and the great ! 
 Xot she that thus usurpeth 
 
 Can boast one grace of thine ; 
 That grace — it cometh only 
 
 Of Apostolic line. 
 
 7. 
 
 Then leave to grim Genevans 
 
 Cathedral choir and aisle, 
 Let Psalms of Covenanters 
 
 Be quavered there awhile : 
 
 : 6 
 
o— ■ o 
 
 78 SCOTLAND. 
 
 The very stones shall flout them, 
 
 In beauty built, and might, 
 For apostolic service, 
 
 And high liturgic rite. 
 
 8. 
 
 And thou, true Church of Scotland, 
 
 Cast down, shalt not despair ; 
 When dower'd wives are barren, 
 
 The desolate shall bear ; 
 Thy sons — they shall be princes, 
 
 To take their fathers' stead, 
 And shame the Church whose portion 
 
 Is proud, and full of bread ! 
 
 9. 
 
 When o'er the western waters 
 
 They seek for crook and key, 
 The Lord shall make like Hannah's 
 
 Thy poor and low degree ! 
 Thou o'er new worlds the sceptre 
 
 Of Shiloh shalt extend, 
 And a long line of children 
 
 From thy sad breast descend. 
 
 o 
 
O- -Q 
 
 SCOTLAND. 79 
 
 10. 
 
 And when, at length, old Scotland, 
 
 Her chiefs and her true men, 
 Her Highlands and her Lowlands 
 
 Shall find their hearts agen : 
 When martyr' d Sharpe upriseth 
 
 In spirit 'gainst his foes, 
 And souls are bred in Scotland 
 
 To match the great Montrose ; 
 
 11. 
 
 In Edin's high cathedral, 
 
 No more the fish-wife's voice ; 
 In Glasgow's crypts and cloisters, 
 
 No more the rabble's choice ; 
 Oh then St. Andrew's crosier 
 
 Once more shall be upheld, 
 And the Culdee mitre glisten 
 
 In Brechin and Dunkeld. 
 
 12. 
 See after See uprearing 
 
 Once more the shattered cross ; 
 Once more a bishop treading 
 
 The heathery braes of Ross ; 
 
 o . o 
 
O ; -0 
 
 80 SCOTLAND. 
 
 Fair Elgin's choir enfolding 
 
 The Moray shepherd's rest, 
 And Holyrood— from ruins 
 
 Uprising, bright and blest ; 
 
 13. 
 
 From Berwick to the Orkneys, 
 
 How each old kirk shall gleam 
 In beauty and in brightness, 
 
 With thy returning beam ! 
 One heart in Gael and Saxon, 
 
 In cotter and in thane ; 
 One creed — one Church in Scotland, 
 
 From Caithness to Dumblane ! 
 
 14. 
 
 Then faint not, Church of Scotland ! 
 
 Thy beauty and thy worth 
 Shall make a new uprising, 
 
 In fair and sightly Perth ; 
 When shines in wild Glenalmond 
 
 The dew of thy new day, 
 Again thy noon of glory 
 
 Shall glitter o'er the Tay. 
 
 ) c 
 
o- 
 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 -o 
 
 81 
 
 15. 
 
 Bide thou thy time in patience ! 
 
 The sons cf thy bold foes 
 Shall build thine old waste places, 
 
 Dunfermline and Melrose. 
 Where now the sons of havoc 
 
 Upon thine altars tread, 
 Thine own Liturgic Service 
 
 Shall bless the Cap and Bread. 
 
 16. 
 Save only from the spoiler 
 
 That pure and ancient rite ! 
 In Scotland's Altar-service 
 
 All churches must unite : 
 And — as the Ark of Scotland, 
 
 Keep thou thy rightful name, 
 For thou'rt the Church of Scotland 
 
 Till Scotland melts in flame ! 
 
 o- 
 
 -0 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 IN TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD, 
 1. 
 
 The rod that from Jerusalem 
 
 Went forth so strong of yore ; 
 That rod of David's royal stem, 
 
 Whose hand the farthest bore 1 
 St. Paul to seek the setting sun, 
 
 They say, to Britain prest : 
 St. Andrew to old Caledon ; 
 
 But who still further West ? 
 
 o- 
 
 Go ask ! — a thousand tongues shall tell 
 His name and dear renown, 
 
 Where altar, font, and holy bell, 
 Are gifts he handed down : 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 seabury's mitre. S3 
 
 A thousand hearts keep warm the name, 
 
 Which share those gifts so blest ; 
 Yet even this may tell the same, 
 
 First mitre of the West ! 
 
 3. 
 
 This mitre with its crown of thorn, 
 
 Its cross upon the front ; 
 Not for a proud adorning worn, 
 
 But for the battle's brunt : 
 This helmet — with Salvation's sign, 
 
 Of one whose shield was faith ; 
 This crown — of him, for right divine 
 
 Who battled unto death ! 
 
 4. 
 
 Oh ! keep it — till the moth shall wear 
 
 Its comeliness to dust, 
 Type of a crown that's laid up where 
 
 There is nor moth nor rust; 
 Type of the Lord's commission given 
 
 To this, our Western shore ; 
 The rod of Christ — the keys of heaven. 
 
 Through one, to thousands more. 
 
 o 6 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 84 
 
 SEABUE.Y S MITRE. 
 
 They tell how Scotia keeps with awe 
 
 Her old Regalia bright, 
 Sign of her independent law, 
 
 And proud imperial right ; 
 But keep this too for Scotland's boast ; 
 
 'Twill tell of better things, 
 When long old Scotia shall have lost 
 
 Those gewgaws of her kings. 
 
 And keep it for this mighty West 
 
 Till truth shall glorious be, 
 And good old Samuel's is confest 
 
 Columbia's primal see. 
 'Tis better than a diadem, 
 
 The crown that Bishop wore, 
 Whose hand the rod of David's stem 
 
 The furthest Westward bore. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 ^ pauper^ 
 
 txusttc ©5urcj)e$. ijr 
 
 ST. GABRIEL'S, WINDSOR, CONNECTICUT. 
 
 1. 
 
 Yes — 'tis the village-joiner's work, 
 
 With but his axe and saw : 
 No Wykeham was the humble clerk 
 
 That such a plan could draw ! 
 'Tis what a rural parish could, 
 
 With what its farms supplied ; 
 Not what in mind and heart they would, 
 
 Had they the gold beside ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Yet hath it merit — in the eye 
 
 That can, by fancy's aid, 
 What time can only give, supply, 
 
 Of shrubbery and shade. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 86 
 
 RUSTIC CHURCHES. 
 
 Add but of ancient elms a score, 
 Those undissenting trees, 
 
 And he that passes by shall pore, 
 Well-pleased, on what he sees. 
 
 3. 
 
 Its merit, first, is — what 'tis not ; 
 
 That hippogriff of art, 
 By crude Genevan rites begot, 
 
 Half temple, and half mart ; 
 Nor yet that type of changing shifts, 
 
 A hall low-roofed and tinned, 
 On which a wooden Babel lifts 
 
 Its weather-cock to wind. 
 
 Xor does it bring those shaggy curs 
 
 Instinctively to mind, 
 With forward parts adorned in furs, 
 
 But shaven close behind ; 
 Like many a pine- wood parody 
 
 Of Parthenon or Pnyx, 
 Which oft, as frontispiece, we see, 
 
 To meeting-house of bricks. 
 
 U" 
 
 -o 
 
_ 
 
 RUSTIC CHU11CHES. 87 
 
 5. 
 
 Again — as country parsons speak. 
 
 Some merit it may claim 
 In that it dares to look antique, 
 
 In colour and in frame. 
 And then, no passer-by can doubt 
 
 Its spiritual kin, 
 For oh, it tells the truth, without, 
 
 Of what it is, within ! 
 
 6. 
 
 All that the Church requires it hath, 
 
 Chancel, and porch, and nave, 
 A sacristy, and holy bath 
 
 The sinner's soul to lave : 
 And in the baptist'ry a well ; 
 
 O'er-head, an open roof ; 
 A gable-cot to hold the bell ; 
 
 The cross — a church's proof ! 
 
 7. 
 So once — where now St. Joseph's thorn 
 
 Blooms by an abbey's towers, 
 Stood the poor Briton's church, forlorn, 
 
 And ruder far than ours ! 
 
 ) : o 
 
o- 
 
 RUSTIC CHURCHES. 
 
 Nor here the faithful eye shall fail 
 The brightening view to catch, 
 
 That opened from that structure frail 
 Of wicker-work and thatch. 
 
 For dear is even the first rude art 
 
 Which holy Faith inspires ! 
 The whole is augured from the part, 
 
 Achievements — from desires. 
 At least such churches symbolize 
 
 The place where Christ was bcrn ; 
 And mangers may to minsters rise, 
 
 As noontide from the morn. 
 
 -o 
 
-o 
 
 Cfjurcljtjart)*. 
 
 ST. GEORGE'S, HEMPSTEAD. 
 
 1. 
 
 I xever can see a churchyard old, 
 
 With its mossy stones and mounds, 
 And green-trees weeping the unforgot 
 
 That rest in its hallowed bounds ; 
 I never can see the old churchyard, 
 
 But I breathe to God a prayer, 
 That, sleep as I may in this fevered life, 
 
 I may rest when I slumber there. 
 
 o- 
 
 2. 
 
 Our mother, the Earth, hath a cradle-bed 
 Where she gathereth sire and son, 
 
 And the old-world's fathers are pillowed there, 
 Her children, every one ! 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 90 
 
 CHURCHYARDS. 
 
 And her cradle it hath a dismal name, 
 When riseth the banquet's din, 
 
 And pale is the cheek at dance or wine, 
 If a song of its sleep break in. 
 
 -o 
 
 
 3. 
 
 But our mother the Church hath a gentle nest, 
 
 "Where the Lord's dear children lie, 
 And its name is sweet to a Christian ear, 
 
 As a motherly lullaby. 
 Oh the green churchyard, the green churchyard, 
 
 Is the couch she spreads for all ; 
 And she layeth the cottager's baby there, 
 
 With the lord of the tap'stry hall ! 
 
 Our mother the Church hath never a child 
 
 To honour before the rest, 
 But she singeth the same for mighty kings 
 
 And the veriest babe on her breast ; 
 x\nd the bishop goes down to his narrow bed 
 
 As the ploughman's child is laid, 
 And alike she blesseth the dark-browed serf 
 
 And the chief in his robe arrayed. 
 
 o 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 CHURCHYARDS. 91 
 
 5. 
 
 She sprinkles the drops of the bright new-birth 
 
 The same on the low and high, 
 And christens their bodies with dust to dust, 
 
 When earth with its earth must lie ; 
 Oh the poor man's friend is the Church of Christ 
 
 From birth to his funeral day : 
 She makes him the Lord's, in her surpliced arms, 
 
 And singeth his burial lay. 
 
 6. 
 
 And ever tl^e bells in the green churchyard 
 
 Are tolling, to tell ye this : 
 Go pray in the church, while pray ye can, 
 
 That so ye may sleep in bliss. 
 And wise is he in the glow of life, 
 
 Who weaveth his shroud of rest, 
 And graveth it plain on his coffin-plate, 
 
 That the dead in Christ are blest. 
 
 7. 
 I never can see a green churchyard 
 
 But I think I may slumber there, 
 And I wonder within me what strange disease 
 
 Shall bring me to homes so fair ; 
 
 : O 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 92 
 
 CHURCHYARDS. 
 
 And whether in breast, in brain, or blood, 
 
 There lurketh a secret sore, 
 Or whether this heart, so warm and full, 
 
 Hath a worm at its inmost core. 
 
 8. 
 For I know, ere long, some limb of mine 
 
 To the rest may traitor prove, 
 And steal from the strong young frame I wear, 
 
 The generous flush I love : 
 I know I may burn into ashes soon, 
 
 With this feverish flame of life ; 
 Or the flickering lamp may soon blaze out, 
 
 With its dying self at strife. 
 
 o- 
 
 9. 
 
 And here — I think — when they lay me down, 
 
 How strange will my slumber be, 
 The cold cold clay for my dreamless head, 
 
 And the turf for my canopy ; 
 How stilly will creep the long long years 
 
 O'er my quiet sleep away, 
 And oh what a waking that sleep shall know, 
 
 At the peal of the Judgment-day ! 
 
 
 -o 
 
c o 
 
 CHUUCH YARDS. 93 
 
 10. 
 
 Up — up from the graves and the clods around 
 
 The quickened bones will stare ; 
 I know that within this green churchyard 
 
 A host shall be born to air ; 
 A thousand shall struggle to earth agen, 
 
 From under the sods I tread : 
 Oh, strange — thrice strange, shall the story be 
 
 Of the field where they lay the dead ! 
 
 11. 
 
 Oh bury me, then, in the green churchyard, 
 
 As my old forefathers rest, 
 Nor lay me in cold Necropolis, 
 
 'Mid many a grave unblest : 
 I would sleep where the church-bells aye ring out ; 
 
 I would rise by the house of prayer, 
 And feel me a moment at home, on earth, 
 
 For the Christian's home is there. 
 
 12. 
 I never loved cities of living men, 
 
 And towns of the dead I hate ; 
 Oh let me rest in the churchyard then, 
 
 And hard by the church's gate ; 
 
 o = 6 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 94 
 
 CHURCHYARDS. 
 
 'Tis there I pray to my Saviour Christ, 
 And I will, till mine eye is dim, 
 
 That, sleep as I may in this fevered life, 
 I may rest, at last, in Him. 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 ®unttg, ©It) ©Jurcf). 
 
 EASTER-EVEN, 1840. 
 
 Thy servants think upon her stones, and it pitieth them to 
 see her in the dust. — Psalter. 
 
 1. 
 
 The Paschal moon is ripe to-night 
 
 On fair Manhada's bay, 
 And soft it falls on Hoboken, 
 
 As where the Saviour lay : 
 And beams, beneath whose paly shine 
 
 Nile's troubling angel flew, 
 Show many a blood-besprinkled door 
 
 Of our Passover too. 
 
 2. 
 
 But here where, many a holy year, 
 
 It shone on arch and aisle, 
 What means its cold and silver ray 
 
 On dust, and ruined pile ? 
 
 o- 
 
 -c 
 
-o 
 
 96 TRINITY, OLD CHURCH. 
 
 Oh where's the consecrated porch, 
 
 The sacred lintel where, 
 And where's that antique steeple's height, 
 
 To bless the moonlight air ? 
 
 I seem to miss a mother's face 
 
 In this her wonted home ; 
 And linger in the green churchyard 
 
 As round that mother's tomb. 
 Old Trinity ! thou too art gone ! 
 
 And in thine own blest bound, 
 They've laid thee low, dear mother church. 
 
 To rest in holy ground ! 
 
 o 
 
 4. 
 
 The vaulted roof that trembled oft 
 
 Above the chaunted psalm ; 
 The quaint old altar where we owned 
 
 Our very Paschal Lamb ; 
 The chimes that ever in the tower 
 
 Like seraph-music sung, 
 And held me spell-bound in the way, 
 
 When I was very young ; 
 
 -o 
 
 
o 
 
 TRINITY, OLD CHURCH. 97 
 
 The marble monuments -within ; 
 
 The 'scutcheons old and rich ; 
 And one bold bishop's effigy 
 
 Above the chancel-niche ; 
 The mitre and the legend there 
 
 Beneath the coloured pane ; 
 All these — thou knewest, Paschal moon, 
 
 But ne'er shalt know again ! 
 
 6. 
 
 And thou wast shining on this spot 
 
 That hour the Saviour rose ! 
 But oh, its look, that Easter morn, 
 
 The Saviour only knows. 
 A thousand years — and 'twas the same, 
 
 And ha]f a thousand more; 
 Old moon, what mystic chronicles, 
 
 Thou keepest, of this shore ! 
 
 7. 
 
 And so till good queen Anna reigned, 
 
 It was a heathen sward : 
 But then they made its virgin turf 
 
 An altar to the Lord. 
 
 o- 
 
98 TRmiY, OLD CHURCH. 
 
 Yrith holy roof they covered it ; 
 
 And when Apostles carne, 
 They claimed, for Christ, its battlements, 
 
 And took it, in God's Name. 
 
 -o 
 
 8. ' 
 
 Then, Paschal moon, this sacred spot 
 
 No more thy magic felt, 
 Till flames brought down the holy place 
 
 Where our forefathers knelt. 
 Again, 'tis down — the grave old pile ; 
 
 That mother church sublime ! 
 Look on its roofless floor, old moon, 
 
 For 'tis thy last — last time ! 
 
 o- 
 
 9. 
 
 Ay, look with smiles, for never there 
 Shines Paschal moon agen, 
 
 Till breaks the Earth's great Easter-day 
 O'er all the graves of men ! 
 
 So wane away, old Paschal moon, 
 And come next year as bright ; 
 
 Eternal rock shall welcome thee, 
 Our faith's devoutest light ! 
 
 
o- 
 
 TRINITY, OLD CHURCH. 
 10. 
 
 They rear old Trinity once more : 
 
 And, if ye weep to see, 
 The glory of this latter house, 
 
 Thrice glorious shall be ! 
 Oh lay its deep foundations strong, 
 
 And, yet a little while, 
 Our Paschal Lamb Himself shall come 
 
 To light its hallowed aisle. 
 
 — o 
 
 99 I 
 
 o- 
 
 I 
 
 -o 
 
©rtnttg, Nefo Cfyuxti). 
 
 ASCENSION DAY, 1846. 
 
 I will lay thy stones with fair colours, and lay thy founda- 
 tions with sapphires. And I will make thy windows of agates 
 and thy gates of carbuncles, and all thy borders of pleasant 
 stones. And all thy children shall be taught of the Lobd ; 
 and great shall be the peace of thy children.— Isaia h. 
 
 1. 
 
 'Tis raised in beauty from the dust, 
 
 And 'tis a goodly pile ! 
 So takes our infant Church, I trust, 
 
 Her own true stamp and style. 
 As birds put forth their own attire, 
 
 As shells o'er sea-nymphs grow, 
 'Tis ours — nave, chancel, aisle, and spire. 
 
 And not a borrowed show. 
 
 KJ" 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 TRINITY, NEW CHURCH. 
 
 o 
 
 101 
 
 Not this, a church without — to hide 
 
 Conventicle within ; 
 Here is no masquerade outside 
 
 Of but the lion's skin ! 
 Not this a lie engraved in rocks ! 
 
 'Tis — what it shews abroad, 
 A mountain piled in shapely blocks, 
 
 And made the House of God. 
 
 'Tis native comeliness ! As earth 
 
 Puts forth her golden sheaves, 
 As flowers mature their brilliant birth, 
 
 And trees put on their leaves ; 
 As human flesh grows sound and fair 
 
 Around the human bone, 
 So doth the Church this glory wear, 
 
 And clothe herself in stone. 
 
 c- 
 
 How like herself our mother seems 
 In this — her ancient dress ! 
 
 'Tis as a robe the gazer deems 
 Well worn by loveliness. 
 
 "vj 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 102 TRINITY, NEW CHUHCH. 
 
 The clothing that befits a queen, 
 With ease and grace she wears : 
 
 Her home attire, for daily scene, 
 And daily work of prayers ! 
 
 Not this a Gothic gazing-stock, 
 
 Where nought is meant or told ; 
 Translated into solid rock, 
 
 The prayer-book's self behold ! 
 Sermons in stones ! Yes — more beside, 
 
 A language, and a voice ! 
 Much utter' d — but far more implied 
 
 That makes the heart rejoice, 
 
 6. 
 
 Without — each little carving speaks 
 
 Of Christ, the Crucified, 
 To Jews a stumbling-block, to Greeks 
 
 'Tis foolishness beside : 
 But oh, to all the faithful — see, 
 
 From porch to topmost tower, 
 It telleth of the Trinity, 
 
 And preacheth Christ with power ! 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
c- 
 
 EBINITYj NEW CHURCH, 
 
 -o 
 
 103 
 
 Within — behold the promised grace, 
 
 Fair stones, and colours too, 
 To beautify the holy place, 
 
 And shed a feeling through ! 
 Windows of agates — pictured sights 
 
 With floral borders bound, 
 Yes — pleasant stones, and sapphire lights 
 
 That throw a glory round. 
 
 Oh God, how beautiful and vast 
 
 Men's minds and fancies grow, 
 When, in Thy mould of doctrine cast, 
 
 Their warm ideas flow ! 
 When 'tis Thy Church inspires the thought, 
 
 And forms the bold design, 
 Till, from a sullen rock, is wrought 
 
 A symbol so divine ! 
 
 o- 
 
 9. 
 
 But note the better part, as well : 
 The Church's children all, 
 
 Called daily, by the holy bell, 
 To prayer and festival. 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 104 TRINITY, NEW CHURCH. 
 
 Oh gather them from far abroad ; 
 
 Oh pray, and never cease : 
 When all thy sons are taught of God, 
 
 How great shall be their peace ! 
 
 -o 
 
 
 10. 
 
 Dear cross ! hold fast thy height in air : 
 
 Stand ever wide, blest door ! 
 And ever crowd, ye faithful, there, 
 
 High, lowly, rich, and poor ! 
 Sweet bells ! ring ever your glad sound, 
 
 And let its message be 
 Ho ! ye that thirst — here Christ is found, 
 
 And here His home is free. 
 
 wfmmm 
 
 A) 
 
 c 
 
 u- 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 ■o 
 
 The offence of the Cross.— St Paul. 
 
 1. 
 
 Cross of Christ, Star of grace, 
 O'er the high and holy place, 
 Like the light of Jesu's face 
 
 So divine, 
 For love of what thou art, 
 My best and chosen part, 
 I hail thee in my heart ; 
 
 Blessed Siini ! 
 
 o- 
 
 2. 
 
 Let Japanese and Jews, 
 And Antichristian crews, 
 The stumbling-block refuse 
 And deride ! 
 
 U 
 
o- 
 
 106 
 
 THE SPIRE-CROSS. 
 
 But oh thou glorious Tree, 
 Bathed with Jesu's blood, for me, 
 Thou Cross of Calvary, 
 
 Crimson dyed ; 
 
 Their souls have never known 
 What comes by thee alone, 
 And their heart is like a stone 
 
 In their breast ! 
 But mine the broken Bread, 
 And the Blood my Saviour shed ; 
 And the Cross, on which He bled, 
 
 Is my rest. 
 
 o- 
 
 4. 
 
 How glorious is its form, 
 
 In the starlight, or the storm, 
 
 In the morning, or the warm 
 
 Light of noon ; 
 It peereth in the air, 
 O'er the holy place of prayer, 
 And is beautiful and fair, 
 
 By the moon. 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 THE SPIKE-CROSS. 
 
 -o 
 
 107 
 
 Let it be the Christian's boast ; 
 Let it glitter from the coast ! 
 Like a watchman, at his post, 
 
 Let it say- 
 Here the Lord Jehovah dwells, 
 Here ring the holy bells, 
 Here the Church's service swells ; 
 
 Come and pray ! 
 
 6. 
 
 As the rent and ravelled rag 
 Of the soldier's flying flag, 
 On the rampart's blazing crag, 
 
 Rouseth him; 
 It points me to the prize, 
 And to see it in the skies, 
 Brings the tear-drops to my eyes, 
 
 And they swim. 
 
 o- 
 
 Like a trumpet's stirring psalm, 
 It reminds me what I am, 
 A soldier of the Lamb ! 
 
 And, right down, 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 108 
 
 THE SPIRE-CROSS. 
 
 My soul it yearns to kneel, 
 And renew my Saviour's seal, 
 That I may, with newer zeal, 
 Win His crown. 
 
 8. 
 
 And so, thou glorious Cross, 
 On the steeple's golden boss, 
 O'er a world of gilded dross, 
 
 Lifted high, 
 Thou hast been to me, this day, 
 Like a far descending ray, 
 That lights some hut of clay, 
 
 From the sky ! 
 
 o- 
 
 9. 
 
 My banner bright art thou, 
 And I wear thee on my brow, 
 With my baptismal vow, 
 
 Writ in gore : 
 Oh Jestj, from my heart, 
 Let its shadow ne'er depart, 
 But, to bring me where Thou art, 
 
 Go before ! 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 MWF^B&m^R 
 
 
 ©ratone*. 
 
 PRIVATE PRAYER IN CHURCHES. 
 
 In a church's aisle or towers, 
 
 Vestry, porch, or chancel-side, 
 If — in prayerless days like ours, 
 
 Any open door is spied ; 
 Say not that the Sacristan 
 
 Happens there to ply his broom ; 
 Say — some viewless friend of man 
 Beckons thee, and says there's room. 
 'Tis the house of prayer — Go in ! 
 
 "lis the Christian's home by right ! 
 Find some nook, confess thy sin, 
 And go forth in Jesus' might. 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 110 
 
 ORATORIES. 
 
 -o 
 
 2. 
 
 Halt not for some foolish doubt ! 
 
 Is it not thy Father's home ? 
 Who will dare to turn thee out, 
 
 When the Master bids thee come ? 
 Is it open ? Worship God ! 
 
 If another lounges round, 
 Talking, staring, laughing broad, 
 
 Let him learn — 'tis hallowed ground. 
 'Tis the house of prayer — &c. 
 
 Like the publican of old, 
 
 Hide the face, and smite the breast, 
 Say his words, and — manifold 
 
 Be thy secret sins confess'd ! 
 For the people there that pray, ' 
 
 For the priest, whose vows are there, 
 Brother-like a collect say, 
 
 Pray some dear familiar prayer. 
 
 'Tis the house of prayer — kc. 
 
 o— 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 ORATORIES. 
 
 o 
 
 111 
 
 Oh 'tis sweet a home to claim 
 
 Thus, where'er a church we see, 
 Stealing in, though not with shame, 
 
 Yet to worship noiselessly ; 
 Like the birds to nestle there 
 
 Where the Psalmist's cedars grow ; 
 And to leave a fragrant prayer 
 Wafcing heavenward as we go. 
 
 'Tis the house of prayer — Go in ! 
 
 'Tis the Christian's home by right, 
 Find some nook — confess thy sin, 
 And go forth in Jesus' might. 
 
 -o 
 
c- 
 
 -o 
 
 £&ag£t&e Hornet 
 
 l. 
 
 As I rode on my errand along, 
 I came where a prim little spire 
 
 Chimed out to the landscape a song, 
 And glowed in the sunset like fire. 
 
 Its cross beamed a beckoning ray, 
 And the home of my Mother I knew ; 
 
 So I pressed to its portal to pray, 
 
 And my book from my bosom I drew. 
 
 o 
 
 3. 
 
 How sweet was the service within, 
 And the plain rustic chaunt how sincere ! 
 
 How welcome the pardon of sin, 
 And the kind parting blessing how dear ! 
 
 •o 
 
o- 
 
 •o 
 
 WAYSIDE HOMES. 
 
 113 
 
 4. 
 
 And the parson — I knew not his name, 
 
 And the brethren — each face was unknown ; 
 
 But the Church and the prayers were the same, 
 And my heart claimed them all for its own. 
 
 For I knew — in my own little nook, 
 That eve, the same Psalter was said, 
 
 And Lessons, the same from the Book, 
 By my far-away darlings were read. 
 
 6. 
 
 So I prayed, and went on in my way, 
 Blessing God for the Church He hath given : 
 
 My steed on his journey was gay ; 
 So was I — on my journey to Heaven. 
 
 o- 
 
 ■o 
 
c 
 
 -O 
 
 Stttle Q&oobxatzt. 
 
 THE PRAYER-BOOK PATTERN. 
 1. 
 
 A nave it had, and a chancel, 
 The Church of Little Woodmere ! 
 
 A porch at the south : on the north side 
 Did a tower and its steeple peer. 
 
 And a bell, o'er the eastern gable, 
 In a cross-topped belfry swung ; 
 
 When the Litany was beginning, 
 The gable-bell was rung. 
 
 o 
 
 The chancel it had a window, 
 All cunningly set with stains : 
 
 There were angels and saints and martyrs 
 Seen in its pictured panes. 
 
 -O 
 
p o 
 
 LITTLE WOOD^IERE. 115 | 
 
 4. 
 
 From the dust and noise of the highway, 
 'Twas a furlong perchance "withdrawn ; 
 
 Hard by stood the rectory mansion, 
 On a trim little shrubbery lawn. 
 
 And all round the church was a churchyard, 
 With beautiful clumps of trees ; 
 
 The churchyard cross was planted 
 On a hillock— -like Calvary's. 
 
 6. 
 
 A quaint little roof o'er the gateway, 
 "Where funerals paus'd with the bier ! 
 
 When the priest came forth, in his surplice, 
 He began the service here. 
 
 7. 
 The rich and poor, all together, 
 
 On the south of the church were sown, 
 To be raised in the same incorruption 
 
 When the trumpet, at last, is blown. 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 116 
 
 LITTLE WOODMERE. 
 
 8. 
 
 On the north of the church were buried 
 The dead of a hapless fame ; 
 
 A cross and a wail for pity, 
 But never a date, or name. 
 
 9. 
 
 Here and there was a quiet corner, 
 
 With a rustic seat in shade, 
 Where mourners would come and ponder 
 
 On the dear ones around them laid. 
 
 10. 
 And there I mused till the bell tolled, 
 
 And thought, with the soul in bliss, 
 The best of good things for the body 
 
 Were to sleep in a spot like this. 
 
 o- 
 
 11. 
 
 As I joined in the throng from the village 
 That were keeping St. Barthelmy's day, 
 
 And passed along, with glad faces, 
 And festival greetings so gay ; 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 LITTLE WOODMERE. 117 
 
 12. 
 
 I noticed a train of dear children ; 
 
 The school of the parish stood near, 
 And, led by a dame and a deacon, 
 
 They came — full of joy and of fear. 
 
 13. 
 
 And each had a musical Psalter, 
 
 For these were the singers ; each one 
 
 I fancied might stand for the cherubs 
 They carve with a scroll, upon stone. 
 
 14. ■ 
 
 As I entered the nave, by the portal, 
 I came to the font, and thought 
 
 Of the door to the Church Universal, 
 And how the new-birth is wrought. 
 
 15. 
 
 For a moment I knelt in devotion ; 
 
 And then — as I raised mine eyes 
 And caught the clear blaze of the chancel 
 
 In the glow of a broad sunrise ; 
 
 : 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 118 
 
 LITTLE WOODMERE. 
 
 16. 
 
 The altar — all bright -with its silver, 
 And the fair white cloth bespread ; 
 
 The credence prepared for oblation, 
 The chalice, and paten of bread ; 
 
 17. 
 
 I thought of the Church triumphant, 
 And the altar where Jesus stands, 
 
 Our great High-Priest for ever, 
 
 With a censer of gold in His hands. 
 
 18. 
 
 There was a plain cross o'er the rood-loft, 
 By the chancel's depth relieved ; 
 
 And figures were carved, in the railing, 
 Of saints who have fought and achieved. 
 
 o 
 
 19. 
 
 And I thought of the happy departed, 
 And of Jesus' descent into hell ; 
 
 And of babes, and of glorious virgins, 
 In Paradise-glory that dwell. 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 LITTLE WOODMERE. 
 
 20. 
 
 119 
 
 The nave it was dim, for its ceiling 
 "Was dark with its timbers of oak : 
 
 Of the Militant Church 'twas the symbol ; 
 And here knelt the worshipping folk. 
 
 21. 
 
 They knelt— rich and poor knelt together, 
 The ploughman at side of the squire : 
 
 They recked not of gewgaw or feather, 
 If white was the soul's attire. 
 
 22, • 
 On the gospel-side hung the pulpit ; 
 
 'Twas carved with an angel and scroll : 
 And now — from the sacristy entered 
 
 The priest, in his cope and his stole. 
 
 23. 
 
 And soon swelled the tones of the service : 
 The people were singers, each one ; 
 
 They chaunted a psalm from the Psalter, 
 Men and maidens, the sire and the son. 
 
 o- 
 
 -O 
 
o . o 
 
 120 LITTLE WOODMERE. 
 
 24. 
 
 And then came the Prayer and Commandments- 
 
 The Collect, with fervour devout, 
 And then the Epistle and Gospel ; 
 
 And the Creed — it went up with a shout ! 
 
 25. 
 
 I would you had listened the sermon : 
 Nathanael, the saint without guile, 
 
 Was the text — and the blessed example, 
 And guileless as he was the style. 
 
 26. 
 
 And oh, how like Heaven was communion, 
 Thus far from the world and its cares ! 
 
 If my life were but led in that village, 
 'Twould indeed be a life-time of prayers ! 
 
 27. 
 
 Afar from the blast of polemics, 
 Afar from their hate and their strife, 
 
 No scorn of the brawling declaimer 
 Should turn the still course of my life. 
 
 6 
 
o o 
 
 LITTLE WOODMERE. 121 
 
 28. 
 
 While they would rail on, I'd be praying ; 
 
 And, blest with a foretaste of bliss, 
 Live only with Herbert and Ferrar, 
 
 Forgetting such ages as this. 
 
 With names, in the Canon of Heaven, 
 That shine like the glittering skies, 
 
 Mine too be the scorn of the creatures 
 Whose god is the Father of Lies \ 
 
 30. 
 
 But— call me a Jew or a Pagan, 
 I'd pray the good Lord to forgive, 
 
 And' in heart, and in spirit, a Christian, 
 "lis so I would die, and would live. 
 
 o o 
 
c- 
 
 -o 
 
 VIRGINIA CHURCHES. 
 
 Jerusalem lieth waste, and the gates thereof are burned 
 with fire; come and let us build up the wall of Jerusalem, 
 that we be no more a reproach. — Nehemiah. 
 
 1. 
 
 Hast been where the full-blossomed bay-tree is 
 blowing, 
 
 With odours like Eden's around ? 
 Hast seen where the broad-leaved palmetto is 
 growing, 
 
 And wild vines are fringing the ground ? 
 Hast sat in the shade of catalpas, at noon, 
 
 And eat the cool gourds of their clime ; 
 Or slept where magnolias were screening the moon, 
 
 And the mocking-bird sung her sweet rhyme 1 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
O : 
 
 DESOLATIONS. 123 
 
 And didst mark, in thy journey, at dew-dropping 
 eve, 
 
 Some ruin peer high o'er thy way, 
 With rooks wheeling round it, and ivy to weave 
 
 A mantle for turrets so gray ? 
 Did ye ask if some lord of the cavalier kind 
 
 Lived there, when the country was young ? 
 And burned not the blood of a Christian to find 
 
 How there the old prayer-bell had rung 1 
 
 And did ye not glow, when they told ye — the Lord 
 
 Had dwelt in that thistle-grown pile ; 
 And that bones of old Christians were under its sward. 
 
 That once had knelt down in its aisle 1 
 And had ye no tear-drops your blushes to steep 
 
 When ye thought — o'er your country so broad, 
 The bard seeks in vain for a mouldering heap, 
 
 Save only these churches of God ! 
 
 4. 
 
 Oh ye that shall pass by those ruins agen, 
 
 Go kneel in their alleys and pray, 
 And not till their arches have echoed amen 
 
 Rise up, and fare on, in your way. 
 
 o — : 6 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 124 
 
 DESOLATIONS. 
 
 Pray God that those aisles maybe crowded once more, 
 Those altars surrounded and spread, 
 
 While anthems and prayers are upsent as of yore, 
 As they take of the Chalice and Bread. 
 
 Ay, pray on thy knees, that each old rural fane 
 
 They have left to the bat and the mole, 
 May sound with the loud-pealing organ again, 
 
 And the full- swelling voice of the soul. 
 Perad venture, when next thou shalt journey thereby, 
 
 Even-bells shall ring out on the air, 
 And the dim-lighted windows reveal to thine eye 
 
 The snowy-robed pastor at prayer. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 ©gel^ca. 
 
 When old Canute the Dane 
 
 Was merry England's king ; 
 A thousand years agone, and more, 
 
 As ancient rymours sing ; 
 His boat was rowing down the Ouse, 
 
 At eve, one summer day, 
 Where Ely's tall cathedral peered 
 
 Above the glassy way. 
 
 o— 
 
 Anon, sweet music on his ear, 
 Comes floating from the fane, 
 
 And listening, as with all his soul, 
 Sat old Canute the Dane ; 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 "O 
 
 126 
 
 CHELSEA. 
 
 And reverent did he doff his crown, 
 To join the clerkly prayer, 
 
 While swelled old lauds and litanies 
 Upon the stilly air. 
 
 Now, who shall glide on Hudson's breast, 
 
 At eve of summer day, 
 And cometh where St. Peter's tower 
 
 Peers o'er his coasting way ; 
 A moment, let him slack his oar, 
 
 And speed more still along, 
 His ears shall catch those very notes 
 
 Of litany and song. 
 
 O- 
 
 The Church that sung those anthem prayers 
 
 A thousand years ago, 
 Is singing yet by silver Cam, 
 
 And here by Hudson's flow : 
 And Glorias that thrilled the heart 
 
 Of old Canute the Dane, 
 Are rising yet, at morn and eve, 
 
 From Chelsea's student train. 
 
 -c 
 
o 
 
 CHELSEA. 
 
 -o 
 
 127 
 
 Ye^ite Exultemtts, there, 
 
 Those ancient scholars sung, 
 And Jubilate Domino 
 
 The vaulted alleys rung ; 
 And our gray pile will tremble oft 
 
 Beneath the organ's roar, 
 When here those very matin-songs 
 
 With high Te Deum pour ! 
 
 6. 
 
 And where are kings and empires now, 
 
 Since then, that went and came ? 
 But holy Church is praying yet, 
 
 A thousand years the same ! 
 And these that sing shall pass away : 
 
 New choirs their room shall fill ! 
 Be sure thy children's children here 
 
 Shall hear those anthems still. 
 
 o- 
 
 For not like kingdoms of the world 
 
 The holy Church of God ! 
 Though earthquake-shocks be rocking it, 
 
 And tempest is abroad ; 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 128 
 
 CHELSEA. 
 
 Unshaken as eternal hills, 
 
 Unmoveable it stands, 
 A mountain that shall fill the earth, 
 
 A fane unbuilt by hands. 
 
 8. 
 Though years fling ivy over it, 
 
 Its cross peers high in air, 
 And reverend with majestic age, 
 
 Eternal youth is there ! 
 Oh mark her holy battlements, 
 
 And her foundations strong ; 
 And hear, within, her ceaseless voice, 
 
 And her unending song J 
 
 9. 
 
 Oh ye, that in these latter days 
 
 The citadel defend, 
 Perchance for you, the Saviour said 
 
 I'm with you to the end ; 
 Stand therefore girt about, and hold 
 
 Your burning lamps in hand, 
 And standing, listen lor your Lord, 
 
 And till He cometh — stand ! 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 CHELSEA. 
 
 129 
 
 10. 
 
 The gates of hell shall ne'er prevail 
 
 Against our holy home, 
 Bat oh be wakeful sentinels, 
 
 Until the Master come ! 
 The night is spent — but listen ye ; 
 
 For on its deepest calm, 
 What marvel if the cry be heard, 
 
 The marriage of the Lamb 1 
 
 o- 
 
Let your loins be girded about, and your lights burning. 
 
 And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their lord, 
 •when he will return from the wedding ; 
 
 Blessed are those servants whom the Lord, when He cometh, 
 shall find watching : 
 
 And if He shall come in the second watch, or come in the 
 third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants. — 
 The Holy Gospel in the Ordering of Deacons. 
 
 1. 
 
 It is the fall of eve; 
 And the long tapers, now, we light 
 
 And watch : for we believe 
 Our Lord may come at night. 
 Adeste Fideles. 
 
 An hour — and it is Seven, 
 And fast away the evening rolls : 
 
 Oh it is dark in heaven, 
 But light within our souls. 
 
 Veni Creator Spiritus ! 
 
 I 
 
 o 
 
o o 
 
 YIGILS. 131 
 
 3. 
 
 Hark ! the old bell strikes Eight ! 
 And still we watch with heart and ear, 
 
 Eor as the hour grows, late 
 The Day-star may be near. 
 
 Jubilate Deo ! 
 
 4 
 
 Hark ! it is knelling Nine ! 
 But faithful eyes grow never dim ; 
 
 And still our tapers shine, 
 And still ascends our hymn. 
 Cum Angelis ! 
 
 5. 
 
 The watchman crieth Ten ! 
 My soul, be watching for the Light, 
 
 For when He comes agen, 
 'Tis — as the thief at night. 
 
 Nisi Dominus ! 
 
 D O 
 
o- 
 
 ■o 
 
 132 
 
 VIGILS. 
 
 6. 
 
 By the old bell — Eleven ! 
 Now trim thy lamp, and ready stand ; 
 
 The world to sleep is given, 
 But Jesus is at hand, 
 
 De profundis ! 
 
 At Midnight— is a cry ! 
 Is it the Bridegroom draweth near ? 
 
 Come quickly, Lord, for I 
 
 Have longed Thy voice to hear ! 
 
 Kyrie Eleison ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Could ye not watch One hour 1 
 Be ready : or the bridal train 
 
 And Bridegroom, with His dower, 
 May sweep along in vain. 
 
 Miserere mei ! 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
 
) — o 
 
 VIGILS. 133 
 
 9. 
 
 By the old steeple — Two ! 
 And now I know the day is near ! 
 
 Watch — for His word is true, 
 And Jesus may appear ! 
 
 Dies Irae ! 
 
 10. 
 
 Three — by the drowsy chime ! 
 And joy is nearer than at first. 
 
 Oh, let us watch the time 
 When the first light shall burst ! 
 Sursum corda. 
 
 11. 
 
 Four — and a streak of day ! 
 At the cock-crowing He may come ; 
 
 And still to all I say, 
 Watch — and with awe be dumb. 
 Fili David ! 
 
 ; o 
 
o- 
 
 I 
 
 134 
 
 VIGILS. 
 
 -o 
 
 12. 
 
 Five ! — and the tapers now 
 In rosy morning dimly burn ! 
 
 Stand, and be girded thou ; 
 Thy Lord will yet return ! 
 Veni Jesu ! 
 
 13. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the Matin-call ! 
 Oh, when our Lord shall come agen. 
 
 At prime or even-fall, 
 Blest are the wakeful men ! 
 
 Nunc dlmittis. 
 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 I mvself will awake rii — i 
 
 I. 
 
 The Sun is up betimes. 
 
 And the dappled East is blushing, 
 And the merry matin-chimes. 
 
 They are gushing— Christian— gushing ! 
 They are tolling in the tow 
 
 For another day begun ; 
 And to hail the rising hour 
 
 Of a brighter, brighter Sun ! 
 Eise — Christian — rise ! 
 
 For a sunshine brighter far 
 Is breaking o'er thine - 
 
 Than the bonny morning- I 
 
 o- 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 136 
 
 MATIN BELLS. 
 
 The lark is in the sky, 
 
 And his morning-note is pouring : 
 He hath a wing to fly, 
 
 So he's soaring — Christian — soaring ! 
 His nest is on the ground, 
 
 But only in the night ; 
 For he loves the matin-sound, 
 
 And the highest heaven's height. 
 Hark — Christian — hark ! 
 
 At heaven-door he sings ! 
 And be thou like the lark, 
 
 With thy soaring spirit-wings ! 
 
 c 
 
 The merry matin- bells, 
 
 In their watch-tower they are swinging ; 
 For the day is o'er the dells, 
 
 And they're singing — Christian — singing ! 
 They have caught the morning beam 
 
 Through their ivied turret's wreath, 
 And the chancel-window's gleam 
 
 Is glorious benenth : 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 MA1IX EEELS. 
 
 Go — Christian — go, 
 
 For the altar flameth there, 
 And the snowy vestments glow, 
 
 Of the presbyter at prayer 1 
 
 -o 
 
 137 
 
 4. 
 
 There is morning incense flung 
 
 From the child-like lily-flowers ; 
 And their fragrant censer swung, 
 
 Make it ours — Christian — ours ! 
 And hark, our Mother's hymn, 
 
 And the organ peals we love ! 
 They sound like cherubim 
 
 At their orisons above ! 
 Pray — Christian — pray, 
 
 At the bonny peep of dawn, 
 Ere the dew-drop and the spray 
 
 That christen it, are gone ! 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 %\)t ©urfefo. 
 
 l. 
 
 In each New-England village, 
 
 At nine o'clock at night, 
 Still rings old England's curfew, 
 
 And says — put out the light ! 
 Then tell they to their children, 
 
 Of long long years ago, 
 The tale of Battle- Abbey, 
 
 How they fought with shaft and bow. 
 
 o- 
 
 But here's another story 
 
 New-England wives may tell, 
 
 How he that bade the curfew 
 Heard an unbidden bell : 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 TIIE CURFEW. 139 
 
 And let the boy that listens 
 
 Which best he liketh say, 
 The bell that rings for darkness, 
 
 Or the bell that rings for day. 
 
 3. 
 
 When William lay a-dying, 
 
 All dull of eye and dim, 
 And he that conquered Harold 
 
 Felt One that conquered him ; 
 He recked not of the minutes, 
 
 The midnight, or the morn, 
 But there he lay — unbreathing 
 
 As the babe that is still-born. 
 
 But suddenly a bell tolled ! 
 
 He started from the swound, 
 Eirst glared, and then grew gentle, 
 
 Then wildly stared around. 
 He deemed 'twas bell at even, 
 
 To quench the Saxon's coal, 
 But oh, it was a curfew 
 
 To quench his fiery soul. 
 
 ) o 
 
O— o 
 
 140 THE CURFEW. 
 
 Now, prithee, holy father ! 
 
 What means this bell, I pray ? 
 Is't curfew-time in England, 
 
 Or am I far away 1 
 God wot — it moves my spirit 
 
 As if it e'en might be 
 The bells of mine own city, 
 
 In dear old Xormandie. 
 
 6. 
 Ay, sire — thou art in Rouen ; 
 
 And 'tis the prayer-bell's chime 
 In the steeple of St. Mary's, 
 
 That tolls the hour of prime ! 
 Then bid them pray for William, 
 
 And may the Yirgin-born, 
 In the Church of His sweet mother, 
 
 Hear their praying, this blest morn. 
 
 Little dream the kneeling people 
 Who joins them in their prayers ! 
 
 They deem not stout King William 
 Their paternoster shares : 
 
 o 
 
o- o 
 
 THE CURFEW. 141 
 
 Nor see they how he lifteth 
 With theirs, his dying hand — 
 
 The hand that, from the Saxon, 
 Tore the crown of fair England ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Nor heard they — as responding 
 
 To their chaunting oft he sighed, 
 Till rose their de profuxdis. 
 
 And the mighty Norman died : 
 But I have thought, who knoweth, 
 
 But if that early toll, 
 Like the contrite malefactor's, 
 
 Moved a dying sinner's soul ! 
 
 In two worlds — the Anglo-Saxon 
 
 Hears yet the curfew knell ; 
 Oh might we learn from William 
 
 That soul-awaking bell ! 
 Then should the sound that covers 
 
 At night the cheery coal, 
 Stir too the rnormng-ernbers 
 
 Of worship in the soul. 
 
 o -c 
 
An altar of earth thou shalt make unto Me.— Exodus. 
 
 1. 
 
 Go where the mossy rock shall be 
 
 Thy nature-hallowed shrine, 
 The leafy copse thy canopy, 
 
 Its fringe, the gadding vine ! 
 There let the clusters round that blush, 
 
 Be sacramental blood, 
 And fountains, by thy feet that gush, 
 
 Thy pure baptizing flood. 
 
 o 
 
 2. 
 
 There let the snowy lawn be spread 
 Upon the turfy mound : 
 
 There break the life-bestowing bread, 
 And bless the people round. 
 
o o 
 
 ■WILDAIISSTER. 143 
 
 There, the green bush thy chancel rai] ; 
 
 Its cushioned floor the sod, 
 Bid boldly to the silvan pale 
 
 The kneeling host of God. 
 
 Look up, and fretted vaults are there, 
 
 And heaven itself shines through, 
 Or evening is depictured fair, 
 
 The starlight, and the blue ! 
 A temple never built by hands, 
 
 And many a shadowed aisle, 
 There — where the columned forest stands, 
 
 Be thy cathedral pile ! 
 
 There, are full choir and antiphon 
 
 At lauds and vesper-time, 
 And every niche rings unison 
 
 With priestly voice, at prime : 
 There, shall thy solitary soul 
 
 Find out its cloister dim, 
 With not the labouring organ's roll, 
 
 But nature's gushing hymn. 
 
 ) o 
 
o- — — o 
 
 144 W1LDAIIXSTER. 
 
 5. 
 
 There, the full flowers their odours fling 
 
 To bid thee pour thy prayer, 
 And vines their fragrant censers swing 
 
 O'er all the hallowed air ; 
 Thy heart forth-flaming to the skies 
 
 Shall like their breath be given, 
 And like consuming incense rise 
 
 In sweetness up to heaven. 
 
 Go to the harvest-whitened West, 
 
 Ye surpliced priests of God, 
 In all the Christian armour drest, 
 
 And with the Gospel shod : 
 Go, for their feet are beautiful 
 
 That on the mountain stand, 
 And more than music musical, 
 
 The watchman's voice at hand. 
 
 7. 
 Go, for the midnight wanes apace ; 
 
 The Sun himself is nigh ! 
 Go to the wild and lonely place, 
 
 And in the desert cry. 
 
 ■o 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 WILDMINSTER. 
 
 145 
 
 Go, — and the greenwoods are thy fanes, 
 
 Thine altar s— e very sod ! 
 Say to the wilderness, He reigns, 
 
 Thy Saviour and thy God ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Lo ! where the unsent heralds run, 
 
 Why wait Thy priests, oh Lord ! 
 These that were bid, from sun to sun, 
 
 To preach the Gospel word ? 
 Oh to Thine harvest, Saviour, send 
 
 The hosts of Thine employ, 
 To reap the ripened sheaves that bend, 
 
 And shout them home with joy ! 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 ^^€^'^f^ 
 
 AMERICAN MISSIONS. 
 
 Oh Lord, our Lord, how spreads that little seed 
 Which was, at first, of every seed the least ! 
 
 The birds of air shall scarce its growth outspeed ; 
 Its world-wide branches knit the West and 
 East. 
 
 But how it makes my heart of hearts upswell, 
 To see our English ritual planted there, 
 
 Where walks his round Nashotah's sentinel, 
 And breaks its daily service on the air ! 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 NASHOTAH. 147 
 
 3. 
 
 Rude as the Saviour's birthplace are its halls, 
 O'er which, like Bethlehem's star, the cross 
 appears : 
 
 And oft the watchman of those outpost walls 
 In tented fields his wakeful voice uprears. 
 
 Oft, on their summer-mission, as they fare, 
 They seek the wildwood settler's far retreat, 
 
 And rear their curtained chapel — while, to prayer, 
 The forest-dwellers haste with ready feet. 
 
 5. 
 
 And where, at dawn, the prairie-fox did bark, 
 Are heard, by night, sweet canticle and chaunt : 
 
 Where sung before no choirist but the lark, 
 Ring out the Church's anthems jubilant ! 
 
 6. 
 
 Then, in the wilderness, is heard the voice 
 Of one that, like the Baptist, bids repent ; 
 
 While the rude trappers tremblingly rejoice, 
 And hearts, long-hardened, sof Gen and relent. 
 
 o 
 
148 
 
 NASHOTAH. 
 
 And there the Norway rover, or the Swede, 
 
 Kneels with frank Switzer, and the florid Dane ; 
 
 And England's exile weeps to find the seed 
 
 His Mother scattered — bound in sheaves again : 
 
 8. 
 
 While here and there, those mingled groups amid. 
 The smoking torches shew the desert-child ; 
 
 The sad Oneida's countenance, half hid, 
 The bloody Osage — tamed, yet darkly wild. 
 
 9. 
 
 Flares on the Negro's swarth the self-same blaze : 
 Nor lacks the scene, from Shem's sad tents, some 
 one ; 
 
 Nashotah's priests have found in desert ways, 
 Rebecca's child and Isaac's homeless son. 
 
 10. 
 
 Thus, in the outskirt earth, earth's races meet, 
 For such their Maker's wonderful award, 
 
 And, at our Mother's fair unfettered feet, 
 
 Learn of the Cross, and bow to own its Lokd ! 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 NASHOTAH. 
 
 11. 
 
 149 
 
 Another service greets the morrow's dawn, 
 
 And babes are christened, and a prayer-book left : 
 
 Then — in a trice — priest, chapel, all are gone : 
 'Tis something if the woodman feels bereft ! 
 
 12. 
 
 Oh might our Mother's caitiff sons that rend 
 Her yearning bowels, in the mother-land, 
 
 See how she blesses thus the far world's end, 
 And lift for pardoning grace the guilty hand ! 
 
 13. 
 
 Hear, then, my plaint, ye white-robed youth that 
 raise 
 By stately Cam the even or morning song, 
 And when in turn ye wear the Senate's bays, 
 Avenge — your fathers' shame — our Mother's 
 wrong. 
 
 14. 
 
 And you, ye clerks, 'neath Oxford's glorious domes 
 That kneel, fall oft, too listless at your prayers, 
 
 Think of the rites that bless these forest homes, 
 And yours, perchance, shall be as blest as theirs. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 150 
 
 NASHOTAH. 
 
 15. 
 
 For not your hymns that YTykeham's roofs rebound, 
 Not Waynflete's arches wake such deep delight, 
 
 As that Nashotah's wilds alike resound 
 
 The self-same prayers, and own the same sweet 
 rite] 
 
 16. 
 
 Oh 'tis the glory of our service blest 
 Not that alone cathedrals hear it sung, 
 
 But that its music cheers the world's wild West, 
 And swells in rudeness from the woodman's tongue. 
 
 17. 
 
 And oft I think — what joy and strength, in God, 
 Prophetic vision of what thu3 I sing, 
 
 Had given to saintly Ken, or martyred Laud, 
 When seemed the Church half dead with suffering ! 
 
 18. 
 
 Or even to him, the frail but reverend sire, 
 
 TThose palsied palm passed down the lineal grace, 
 
 Yes — even to Cranmer, with that palm on fire, 
 And Moses' radiance on his dying face ; 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 NASHOTAH. 151 
 
 19. 
 
 Had he the Australian wilderness foreseen, 
 Canadian fastness, and the torrid land, 
 
 And priests, despising seas that roll between, 
 By Christ commissioned, through his flaming 
 hand ! 
 
 20. 
 
 Rejoice we, then, remembering other times 
 When hung the Church's life upon a thread, 
 
 That God hath slain her tyrants for their crimes, 
 And raised her up, immortal, from the dead ! 
 
 -^JpJ 
 
 I 
 
 o o 
 
o 
 
 o 
 
 St. Stlban's 5DdI. 
 
 Desire of Me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine in- 
 heritance, and the utmost parts of the earth for thy posses- 
 sion.— Psalter, 
 
 1. 
 A fortnight it was from Whitsuntide, 
 
 And a service was said that day, 
 In a little church, that a good man built 
 
 In the wilderness far away. 
 A twelvemonth before, and there was not there 
 
 Or temple or holy bell ; 
 But the place it was free from holiness 
 
 As the soul of the Infidel. 
 
 2. 
 Five thousand years this world is old, 
 
 And twice four hundred more, 
 And that green spot had forest been 
 
 From the eldest days of yore : 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 ST. SILVAN S BELL. 
 
 153 
 
 And there had the red-man made his hut, 
 And the savage beast his lair, 
 
 But never, since this old earth was young, 
 Was it hallowed with Christian prayer. 
 
 But now, for the first, a bell rung out, 
 
 Through the aisles of the wild greenwood, 
 And echo came back from the far far trees, 
 
 Like the holla of Robin Hood : 
 And the red- deer woke, in his bosky nook, 
 
 That strange strange sound to hear, 
 And the jessamine-buds from his side he shook, 
 
 And he listened awhile in fear. 
 
 4. 
 
 But the bell that rings for the Prmce of Peace 
 
 Is never a beast's alarm, 
 And down went his antlered head agen, 
 
 Like an infant asleep on its arm : 
 And the woodman went by, and stirred him not, 
 
 With his wife and children round, 
 And the baby leaped up on its mother's breast, 
 
 And laughed at the church-bell's sound. 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 154 
 
 ST. SILVAN S BELL. 
 
 5. 
 
 For the babe, he was all unchristened yet, 
 
 And well might he leap for joy ; 
 A fountain was gushing, where rung that bell, 
 
 That should make him a Christian boy ! 
 And his mother — she thought of the Catechist, 
 
 And she blessed the Lord above, 
 That her child should be baptized for Christ, 
 
 And taught in His fear and love. 
 
 6. 
 
 And she prayed in her heart, as Hannah prayed, 
 
 He might kneel in the chancel fair, 
 Like children they brought to the Lord of old, 
 
 To be blest with the bishop's prayer : 
 And she saw, far off, the vested priest, 
 
 The ring, and the marriage-bann, 
 Making some maiden a happy wife, 
 
 And her boy a happier man. 
 
 And the bell rung on ; and the wood sent forth, 
 From their log-built homes around, 
 
 The yeomanry all with their families, 
 A-wondering at the sound ; 
 
 "V 
 
 -o 
 
rv 
 
 o 
 
 ST. SILVAN S BELL. 
 
 155 
 
 And tears I saw in an old man's eye, 
 That came from a far countree ; 
 
 It minded his inmost soul, he said, 
 Of the church-bells over the sea. 
 
 8. 
 
 For a boy was he, in England, once, 
 
 And he loved the merry chimes ; 
 Had heard them ring out of a Whitsuntide, 
 
 And waken the holiday-times ! 
 And a boy was he when hither he came, 
 
 But now he was old and gray ; 
 He had not thought that a Christian bell 
 
 Should toll on his burial-day. 
 
 9. 
 
 A boy was he when he first swung axe 
 
 Against the strong oak limb ; 
 He was gray-haired now, when he heard the bell 
 
 And threw it away from him ; 
 And he followed the sound — for he thought of home, 
 
 And the motherly hand so fair, 
 That led him along through the churchyard mounds, 
 
 And made him kneel down to prayer. 
 
 o- : o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 156 
 
 ST. SILVAN S BELL. 
 
 10. 
 
 And now did an organ's peal break out, 
 
 And the bell-notes died away : 
 And a holy bishop, in robes, was there, 
 
 And priests in their white array. 
 And I heard a voice go up the nave, 
 
 And the priests, responding plain ; 
 Lift up your heads, ye gates — they said, 
 For the King of Glory's train ! 
 
 11. 
 
 And I could not but weep, for I knew, on high, 
 
 The Saviour had asked of God, 
 That the utmost lands might all be His, 
 
 And the ground whereon I trod ; 
 And I blessed the good Lord, that here at length 
 
 His own true heralds came, 
 To challenge for Christ His heritage, 
 
 And hallow it with His Name. 
 
 12. 
 
 Now pray with me, that ever there 
 
 St. Silvan's bell may ring, 
 And the yeomen brave, with their children all, 
 
 The praise of the Saviour sing : 
 
 o- 
 
o- 
 
 ST. SILVAN S BELL. 
 
 o 
 
 157 
 
 And pray ye still, that, further west, 
 The song of the bell may sound, 
 
 Till the land, from sea to sea, is blest, 
 And the world is holy ground. 
 
 W 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 Sailg Serbtce. 
 
 One day telleth another.— Psalter. 
 1. 
 
 When the gorgeous day begins 
 In the world's remotest East, 
 
 And the sun his pathway wins, 
 Bringing back some glorious feast ; 
 
 There, forestalling fears and sins, 
 Kneels the faithful English priest : 
 
 There the altar glitters fair, 
 
 Spread for Eucharistic prayer. 
 
 2. 
 
 And as each meridian line, 
 
 Gains the travelled sun, that day, 
 Still begin those rites divine, 
 
 Still new priests begin to pray ; 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 DAILY SERVICE. 
 
 159 
 
 Still are blest the bread and wine, 
 Still one prayer salutes his ray : 
 Continent and ocean round 
 Rolls the tided wave of sound ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Then at last the prairied West 
 Sees the festal light appear, 
 
 And Nashotah's clerks, from rest, 
 Early rise, their song to rear ; 
 
 Gird they then the snowy vest, 
 Raise they then the anthem clear ; 
 
 Anthems in the East that rose, 
 
 Girded earth — and there must close. 
 
 o 
 
 4. 
 
 But when, there, the holy light 
 Eades adown their West afar, 
 
 And begins the vesper rite, 
 Faithful as the vesper star, 
 
 Then — just then — has passed the night, 
 Where our eastern altars are ; 
 
 And another daylight fair 
 
 Wakes a new earth-girding prayer. 
 
 ■ o 
 
o — - 
 
 160 
 
 DAILY SERVICE. 
 
 -o 
 
 5. 
 
 Brethren of the West — my soul 
 Oft, to you, will westward wing, 
 
 When some hymn ascendeth whole 
 At the hour of offering, 
 
 Thinking how 'twill onward roll 
 Till your voice the same shall sing ; 
 
 Uttered o'er and o'er agen, 
 
 Till ye give the last Amen. 
 
 6. 
 
 That same hymn, ere I have sung, 
 Has been sung in England's fanes, 
 
 And perchance, in barbarous tongue, 
 'Mid the orient hills and plains ; 
 
 And — to die the woods among, 
 
 Swells, from aisles and tinted panes, 
 
 To the forest's solemn cells, 
 
 Where the roving red-man dwells. 
 
 I 
 
 o 
 
 Moves my spirit at the thought 
 That our service, Anglican, 
 
 Erom the faithful Isle, hath caught 
 Thus, the many hearts of man ; 
 
 -6 
 

 DAILY SERVICE. 
 
 o 
 
 161 
 
 For this sign our God hath wrought, 
 'Gainst the heartless Roman's ban ; 
 Seal of life, and fire divine, 
 Mother, in those words of Thine ! 
 
 8. 
 
 One — in water sanctified, 
 
 Though the claim be long forgot ; 
 One — in blood from Jesus' side, 
 
 Though proud Trent confess it not ; 
 One — in Spirit, far and wide, 
 
 With each ancient part and lot ; 
 Mother, let me ever be 
 One with Christ and one with Thee ! 
 
 o- 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 ©Imstma* Carol 
 
 l. 
 Carol, carol, Christians, 
 
 Carol joyfully ; 
 Carol for the coming 
 
 Of Christ's Nativity ; 
 And pray a gladsome Christmas 
 
 For all good Christian men ; 
 Carol, carol, Christians, 
 
 For Christmas, come again. 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 o- 
 
 2. 
 
 Go ye to the forest, 
 
 Where the myrtles grow, 
 Where the pine and laurel 
 
 Bend beneath the snow : 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 163 
 
 Gather them for Jescs ; 
 
 Wreathe thern for His shrine ; 
 Make His temple glorious 
 
 With the box and pine. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 Wreathe your Christmas garland, 
 
 Where to Christ we pray ; 
 It shall smell like Carmel 
 
 On our festal day ; 
 Libanus and Sharon 
 
 Shall not greener be, 
 Than our holy chaneel 
 
 On Christ's Nativity. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 4. 
 
 Carol, carol, Christians ! 
 
 Like the Magi now, 
 Ye must lade your caskets 
 
 With a grateful vow : 
 
 : o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 164 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 Ye must have sweet incense, 
 Myrrh, and finest gold, 
 
 At our Christmas altar, 
 Humbly to unfold. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 5. 
 
 Blow, blow up the trumpet, 
 
 For our solemn feast ; 
 Gird thine armour, Christian, 
 
 Wear thy surplice, priest ! 
 Go ye to the altar, 
 
 Pray, with fervour pray, 
 For Jesus' second coming, 
 
 And the Latter Day. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 o- 
 
 6. 
 
 Give us grace, oh Saviour, 
 
 To put off in might, 
 Deeds and dreams of darkness, 
 
 For the robes of light ! 
 
 •o 
 
o- 
 
 CHRISTMAS CA110L. 
 
 -o 
 
 165 
 
 And to live as lowly, 
 As Thyself with men ; 
 
 So to rise in glory, 
 
 When Thou com'st again. 
 
 Carol, carol. 
 
 o- 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 @&rt£ttning. 
 
 Oh, if there be a sight, on earth, 
 That makes good angels smile, 
 
 'Tis when a sonl of mortal birth 
 Is washed from mortal guile : 
 
 2. 
 
 When some repentant child of Eve's, 
 
 In age, is born anew : 
 Or when, on life's first buds and leaves, 
 
 Falls the baptismal dew. 
 
 O- 
 
 3. 
 
 But all the same ! The soul that, in 
 
 That laver undefiled, 
 Is truly washed from wrath and sin, 
 
 Must be a little child. 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 CHRISTENING. 167 
 
 Children alone that grace may claim, 
 Whether, to babes, be given, 
 
 Or to the childlike heart, the name 
 Of all the sons of Heaven ! 
 
 5. 
 
 See, then, the font, the church's door, 
 The group with gladsome look, 
 
 The waters, and the priest to pour, 
 The sponsors, and the book ! 
 
 What light is on all faces, now, 
 As low they bend to pray ! 
 
 How kindly on the grandsire's brow 
 Each farrow smoothes away ! 
 
 How fond the pale young mother's eye 
 Lights up, with tearful charm, 
 
 To see her babe enfolded lie 
 Upon the surpliced arm ! 
 
 c- 
 
o— o 
 
 16S CHRISTENING. 
 
 And he, of innocence, that wears 
 
 That sign and spotless vest, 
 How Shepherd-like ! Like Him that bears 
 
 The lambkin in His breast ! 
 
 9. 
 
 But hark ! the tiny Christian's name ! 
 
 Hush ! 'Tis the Mystic Trine ! 
 The Water and the Spirit came, 
 
 And, there, is life divine ! 
 
 10. 
 
 The Cross is signed — mysterious seal 
 
 Of death our life that won : 
 And Christ's dear spouse, for woe or weal, 
 
 Hath borne her Lord a son. 
 
 11. 
 
 For woe or weal ! The grafted shoot, 
 
 Alas ! may fade and die ; 
 Though long the fatness of the Root 
 
 This shower of grace supply ! 
 
 o c 
 
-o 
 
 CHKISTE.M^G. 
 
 169 
 
 12. 
 
 But, Jesu ! take Thy child from earth 
 
 Ere sense and guile begin, 
 If, only so, this second birth 
 
 May 'scape the death of sin. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 C&* ©alentoar. 
 
 My Prayer-book is a casket bright, 
 
 With gold and incense stored, 
 Which, every day, and every night, 
 
 I open to the Lord : 
 Yet when I first unclasp its lids, 
 
 I find a bunch of myrrh 
 Embalming all our mortal life ; 
 
 The Church's Calendar. 
 
 o- 
 
 But who would see an almanac 
 When opes his Book of Prayer ; 
 
 Of all the leaves between its lids, 
 These, only, are not fair ! 
 
 -6 
 
) o 
 
 THE CALENDAR. 171 
 
 So said I, in my thoughtless years, 
 
 But now, with awe, I scan 
 The Calendar, like Sybil leaves 
 
 That tell the life of Man. 
 
 3. 
 
 God set the sun and moon for signs : 
 
 The Church His signs doth know, 
 And here — while sleeps the sluggish world, 
 
 She marks them as they go. 
 Here for His coming looks she forth 
 
 As, for her Spouse, the bride ; 
 Here, at her lattice, faithfully 
 
 She waits the morning-tide. 
 
 All time is hers, and, at its end, 
 
 Her Lord shall come with more : 
 As one for whom all time was made, 
 
 Thus guardeth she her store ; 
 And, doating o'er her letters old, 
 
 As pores the wife bereft, 
 Thus daily reads the Bride of Christ 
 
 Each message He hath left. 
 
 n : c 
 
o- 
 
 
 
 172 
 
 THE CALENDAR. 
 
 As prisoners notch their tally-stick, 
 
 And wait the far-off day, 
 So marks she days, and months, and years, 
 
 To ponder and to pray ; 
 And year by year beginning new 
 
 Her faithful task sublime, 
 How lovingly she meteth out 
 
 Each portion in its time ! 
 
 6. 
 
 This little index of thy life, 
 
 Thou, all thy life, shalt find 
 So teaching thee to tell thy days, 
 
 That wisdom thou mayst mind. 
 Oh live thou by the Calendar ; 
 
 And when each morn you kneel, 
 Note how the numbered days go by, 
 
 Like spokes in Time's swift wheel. 
 
 With this thy closet seek ; and learn 
 What strengthening word to-day 
 
 From out the Holy Book of God 
 Our Mother would display ; 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 THE CALEXDAE. 
 
 173 
 
 And know thy prayers go up on high., 
 With thousands that, unknown, 
 
 Are lighted at the self-same fire, 
 And mingle at God's throne. 
 
 For so — though severed far on earth — 
 
 Together we are fed ; 
 And onward, though we see it not, 
 
 Together we are sped ! 
 Oh live ye by the Calendar, 
 
 And with the good ye dwell ; 
 The Spirit that comes down on them 
 
 Shall lighten you as well. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
c 
 
 c 
 
 
 ^li? 
 
 MPL-^ja 
 
 
 c 
 
 ©i)c <£oul = 33trge. 
 
 Then said Jfsus, Will ye also go away ?— St. John. 
 
 1. 
 
 The organ played sweet music 
 
 Whileas, on Easter-day, 
 All heartless from the altar, 
 
 The heedless went away : 
 And down the broad aisle crowding, 
 
 They seemed a funeral train, 
 That were burying their spirits 
 
 To the music of that strain. 
 
 2. 
 
 As I listened to the organ, 
 And saw them crowd along, 
 
 I thought I heard two voices, 
 
 Speaking strangely, but not strong ; 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 THE SOUL-DIRGE. 
 
 175 
 
 And one, it whispered sadly, 
 
 Will ye also go away ? 
 But the other spoke exulting, 
 
 Ha ! the soul-dirge, — hear it play ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Hear the soul-dirge ! hear the soul -dirge ! 
 
 And see the feast divine ! 
 Ha ! the jewels of salvation, 
 
 And the trampling feet of swine ! 
 Hear the soul-dirge ! hear the soul-dirge ! 
 
 Little think they, as they go, 
 What priceless pearls they tread on, 
 
 Who spurn their Saviour so ! 
 
 o- 
 
 Hear the soul-dirge ! hear the soul-dirge ! 
 
 It was dread to hear it play, 
 While the famishing went crowding 
 
 From the Bread of Life away : 
 They were bidden, they were bidden 
 
 To their Father's festal board ; 
 But they all, with gleeful faces, 
 
 Turned their back upon the Lord. 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 176 
 
 THE SOUL-DIRGE. 
 
 You had thought the church a prison, 
 
 Had you seen how they did pour, 
 With giddy, giddy faces, 
 
 From the consecrated door. 
 There was angels' food all ready, 
 
 But the bidden — where were they ? 
 O'er the highways and the hedges, 
 
 Ere the soul-dirge ceased to play ! 
 
 6. 
 
 Oh, the soul-dirge, how it echoed 
 
 The emptied aisles along, 
 As the open street grew crowded 
 
 With the full outpouring throng ! 
 And then — again the voices ; 
 
 Ha ! the soul- dirge ! hear it play ! 
 And the pensive, pensive whisper, 
 
 Will ye also go away ? 
 
 o- 
 
 Few, few were they that lingered 
 To sup with Jesus there ; 
 
 And yet, for all that spurned Him, 
 There was plenty, and to spare ! 
 
 -T\ 
 
o — o 
 
 THE SOUL-DIRGE. 17' 
 
 And now, the food of angels 
 
 Uncovered to rny sight, 
 All-glorious was the altar, 
 
 And the chalice glittered bright. 
 
 Then came the hymn Trisagion, 
 
 And rapt me up on high, 
 With angels and archangels 
 
 To laud and magnify. 
 I seemed to feast in Heaven ; 
 
 And downward wafted then, 
 With angels chaunting round me, 
 
 Good-will and peace to men. 
 
 9. 
 I may not tell the rapture 
 
 Of a banquet so divine ; 
 Ho ! every one that thirsteth, 
 
 Let him taste the bread and wine ! 
 Hear the Bride and Spirit saying, 
 
 Will ye also go away 1 
 Or — go } poor soul, forever! 
 
 Oh ! the soul-dirge — hear it play ! 
 
 o o 
 
G- 
 
 -O 
 
 mmM^ 
 
 C&e €J)urc^^ Baug&ter. 
 
 1. 
 
 Oh woman is a tender tree ! 
 
 The hand must gentle be that rears 
 Through storm and sunshine, patiently, 
 
 That plant of grace, of smiles and tears. 
 
 2. 
 
 Let her that waters, at the font, 
 
 Life's earliest blossoms, have the care : 
 
 And where the garden's Lord is wont 
 To walk His round — oh keep her there. 
 
 r> 
 
 Who, but her Mother Church, knows well 
 The deep-hid springs of grief and joy ; 
 
 That in the heart of woman swell, 
 
 And make that heart — or else destroy ? 
 
o o 
 
 the church's daughter. 179 
 
 4. 
 
 Who, but the Church, can every power 
 
 Of the true woman nurse to life, 
 Till, fit for every changeful hour, 
 
 Is seen the maiden — woman — wife ! 
 
 5. 
 
 'Tis not alone the radiant face, 
 
 And some accomplished gifts, that shine ; 
 The harmony of every grace 
 
 Is nurtured by her care divine. 
 
 6. 
 
 She — not the coy and bashful art, 
 But all the instinct of the pure, 
 
 The virgin soul — the angel heart, 
 Alone is mindful to mature. 
 
 7. 
 
 E'en like the first warm sun of May, 
 
 Or, to the daisy, April showers, 
 Her earliest lesson — how to pray, 
 Clothes the young soul with fragrant flowers. 
 
 } : — ■ o 
 
O : O 
 
 180 the church's daughter. 
 
 8. 
 Then, planted by the altar's pale, 
 
 The Church, with catechising art, 
 Trains to the chancel's trellised rail 
 
 The wandering tendrils of the heart. 
 
 9. 
 And when before the mitred priest 
 
 She bids, at length, her daughter kneel, 
 What lavished gifts of grace increased 
 
 Shine from her dear Redeemer's seal ! 
 
 10. 
 
 Or when, her snowy veil beneath, 
 She stands a pale and fearful thing, 
 
 And, trembling like her orange-wreath, 
 Gives her fair finger to the ring ; 
 
 11. 
 When manly honour makes her bride, 
 
 In God's own name, Triune and dread, 
 And, from the holy altar's side, 
 
 Another blessing crowns her head ; 
 
 3 ( 
 
o c 
 
 THE CHURCH'S DAUGHTER. 181 
 
 12. 
 
 See how the Church's care, for her, 
 Hath done the jealous parent's part. 
 
 And been to him a monitor 
 
 To whom she gives her daughter's heart. 
 
 13. 
 
 Nor shall she e'er desert, through life, 
 Through fearful life, that daughter's side, 
 
 But ever, o'er the wedded wife, 
 
 Bend fond, as o'er the kneeling bride. 
 
 14. 
 
 When the pale mother clasps her child, 
 
 And pats her darling to its rest. 
 Or sinks to slumbers undented, 
 
 Her bride-ring shining o'er her breast ; 
 
 15. 
 
 Again, to hallow that pure joy, 
 
 Comes Holy Church and tells her, then, 
 
 Of Mary and the Holy Boy ; 
 And claims the turtle-doves agen. 
 
 ) : c 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 182 
 
 THE CHURCH S DAUGHTER. 
 
 16. 
 
 Or if, within the darkened room, 
 The trail of death be sweeping slow, 
 
 The Church that taught her unto whom, 
 Shall teach her, too, the way to go. 
 
 17. 
 
 Then spreads she, there, an altar lone ; 
 
 Her priest, to bless and break, is there, 
 And angels, radiant from the throne, 
 
 Come winging round the scene of prayer. 
 
 18. 
 
 So points the Church to Paradise, 
 And bids, in peace, her child depart ; 
 
 Then shuts to earth the blessed eyes, 
 And binds with balm each bleeding heart. 
 
 19. 
 
 Then roses pale, and rose-marine, 
 She scatters o'er the marble dust ; 
 
 And at the last heart-rending scene, 
 As earth takes back its precious trust ; 
 
 -0 
 
o- 
 
 T1IE CHURCH S DAUGHTER. 
 
 -o 
 
 183 
 
 20. 
 
 From the deep grave she lifts the eye, 
 Where the free spirit wings hath found ; 
 
 And leaves her child's mortality, 
 To rise an angel from the ground. 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
1. 
 
 I love the Church, — the holy Church, 
 
 The Saviour's spotless bride ; 
 And oh, I love her palaces 
 
 Through all the land so wide ! 
 The cross-topped spire amid the trees, 
 
 The holy bell of prayer : 
 The Music of our Mother's voice, 
 
 Our Mother's home is there. 
 
 o- 
 
 The village tower — 'tis joy to me : 
 
 I cry the Lord is here ! 
 The village bells — they fill my soul : 
 
 They more than fill mine ear ! 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 I LOVE THE CHURCH. 185 
 
 O'er kingdoms to the Saviour won, 
 
 Their triumph-peal is hurled ; 
 Their sound is now in all the earth, 
 
 Their words throughout the world. 
 
 3. 
 
 And here — eternal ocean crossed, 
 
 And long, long ages past ; 
 In climes beyond the setting sun, 
 
 They preach the Lord at last ; 
 And here, Redeemer, are Thy priests 
 
 Unbroken in array, 
 Far from Thine Holy Sepulchre, 
 
 And Thine Ascension-day ! 
 
 Unbroken in their lineage : 
 
 Their warrants clear as when 
 Thou, Saviour, didst go up on high, 
 
 And give good gifts to men ; 
 Here, clothed in innocence they stand, 
 
 To shed Thy mercy wide, 
 Baptizing to the Trinal Name, 
 
 With waters from Thy side. 
 
 o '- c 
 
D 
 
 186 
 
 I LOVE IIIE CUCRCE. 
 
 -o 
 
 And here, confessors of Thy cross, 
 
 Thine holy orders three, 
 The bishop, and the elders too, 
 
 And lowly deacons be ; 
 To rule and feed the flock of Christ, 
 
 To fight, of faith, the strife, 
 And to the host of God's Elect, 
 
 To break the Bread of Life. 
 
 6. 
 
 Here rises, with the rising morn, 
 
 Their incense unto Thee, 
 Their bold confession Catholic, 
 
 And high doxology : 
 Soul-melting litany is here, 
 
 And here — each holy feast, 
 Up to the altar, duly spread, 
 
 Ascends the stoled priest. 
 
 o- 
 
 7. 
 Then with the message of our King, 
 
 The herald stands on high : 
 How beautiful the feet of them 
 
 That on the mountain cry ! 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 I LOVE THE CHURCH. 187 
 
 And then — as when the doors were shut, 
 
 With Jesus left alone, 
 The faithful sup with Christ-— and He 
 
 In breaking bread is known. 
 
 And kneeling at the altar's rail, 
 
 With blessings all divine, 
 As from the Saviour's hand, thej take 
 
 The broken bread, and wine ; 
 In one communion with the saints, 
 
 With angels and the blest, 
 And looking for the blessed hope 
 
 Of an eternal rest. 
 
 The peace of God is on their heads ; 
 
 And so thej wend away, 
 To homes all cheerful with the light, 
 
 Of love's inspiring ray : 
 And through the churchyard and the graves, 
 
 With kindly tears they fare, 
 Where every turf was decent laid, 
 
 And hallowed by a prayer. 
 
 y : o 
 
f 
 
 -o 
 
 188 
 
 I LOVE THE CHURCH. 
 
 10. 
 
 The dead in Christ — they rest in hope ; 
 
 And o'er their sleep sublime, 
 The shadow of the steeple moves, 
 
 From morn to vesper-chime : 
 On every mound, in solemn shade, 
 
 Its imaged cross doth lie, 
 As goes the sunlight to the west 
 
 Or rides the moon on high. 
 
 11. 
 
 I love the Church — the holy Church, 
 
 That o'er our life presides, 
 The birth, the bridal, and the grave, 
 
 And many an hour besides ! 
 Be mine, through life, to live in her, 
 
 And when the Lord shall call, 
 To die in her — the spouse of Christ 
 
 The Mother of us alL 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 -0 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 The Chkistia>- Ballads were originally contri- 
 buted to the Churchman in 1S39. Several of them 
 were soon republished in England, and then again cir- 
 culated in America, credited to the English periodi- 
 cals which had borrowed them ; when, as they seemed 
 to enjoy some favour, they were collected, and published 
 at New York, in the following year. 
 
 The following are the ballads which were contained 
 in the first edition : St. Sacrament; Hymn of Boyhood 
 Antioch; Chronicles; Desolations; Churchyards 
 Trinity, Old Church; England; Chelsea; Vigils 
 Matin-Bells; The Chimes of England; Wildminster 
 Dreamland; Carol; Lament; St. Silvan' s Bell; and 
 I love the Church. 
 
 The additional ballads which appear in the present 
 edition, have, with a few exceptions, been written since 
 1840; and the others are given with some additions and 
 amendments. 
 
 o 
 
o — o 
 
 190 FOTES. 
 
 St. Sacrament. 
 
 Lake Geobge — the most beautiful sheet of water 
 in the state of New York — was called Horicon by 
 the Aborigines; but by the French missionaries was % 
 named St. Sacrement, because they deemed its waters 
 too pure for anything but the holy Sacrament of Bap- 
 tism, and are said to have sent specimens to France, 
 to be used for that purpose. The Royal American 
 army gave the lake its popular name in compliment 
 to the reigning sovereign, and as a token of their 
 attachment to the house of Hanover. 
 
 The visit commemorated in the ballad was made 
 in the summer of 1839. 
 
 Page 7. — The Bloody Pond. A dark looking, 
 little, circular pond, near the southern extremity of 
 the lake, is so called from its having been the recep- 
 tacle of the bodies of the English and Americans, who 
 were massacred by the Indians, after the capitulation 
 of Fort William Henry, in the old French war. 
 
 Page 7. — Fori George. The ruins of this fort are 
 yet in preservation; but of Fort William Henry 
 nothing but mounds and embankments remain. 
 
 Page 11. — Katydid. A beautiful American insect, 
 whose note is very prominent in the autumnal evening 
 music of American landscapes. It is a delicate kind 
 of grasshopper, and its colour is a beautiful pea -green. 
 
 o o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 191 
 
 Its name is derived from its note, which it incessantly 
 repeats, katy-frd, Icaty-did, to the great amusement 
 of listening children. 
 
 Page 11. — Sachems. Some of my readers may not 
 know that such is the aboriginal term for the Indian 
 chiefs. 
 
 Page 12. — "Emerald islets. The surface of the lake 
 is broken by innumerable little islands, some of them 
 but a few feet in diameter, which look as if they mere- 
 ly floated on the water. You are told by the boatmen, 
 who row you about, that the islands are just one for 
 every day in the year; an assertion which I cannot 
 dispute. 
 
 Page 13. — Distant Tliung. This fine mountain, 
 which some call Tongue mountain, is the limit of 
 one's view to the northward, from the walls of Fort 
 George. 
 
 Page 14. — Its Irimwing urn, Lake George may 
 well be called an overflowing basin, for its outlet is a 
 rapid and descending stream, which, after making a 
 succession of beautiful waterfalls, finds its way into 
 Lake Champlain. 
 
 Page 15. — Cleveland, I hope to be pardoned for 
 introducing the name of a collateral relative, who 
 served in the old French war, and afterwards became 
 General Cleveland, and bequeathed his name to a 
 flourishing city in Ohio, which he himself laid out 
 in 1796, when there was not a single white inhabitant 
 in that part of the territory. Forty years after, when 
 it was incorporated as a city, its annual exports were 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o — ■ o 
 
 192 NOTES. 
 
 valued at six millions of dollars. The family name 
 was originally brought to America by Moyses Cleve- 
 land, of Ipswich, in the county of Suffolk, England, 
 who settled in the colony of Massachusetts in the 
 memorable year 1648-9. 
 
 Page 15. — Monroe. This name, with those of 
 Montcalm and Uncas, is familiar to all readers, from 
 that beautiful romance of Mr. Cooper, The Last of 
 the Mohicans. 
 
 Page 20. — St. Sacrament for aye. As a similarity 
 may be observed between this passage and another in 
 the New York Review for October, 1839, it may be 
 proper to state, that the ballad and the article which 
 contains the latter, are by the same writer. It is not 
 intended here to express any high estimate of the 
 French Missions among these savages. In general, 
 they merely changed the superstitions of the barbarians, 
 without improving their moral or social condition. 
 
 II. 
 
 &nttocf). 
 
 The principle, asserted in this ballad, is simply the 
 primitive and Catholic one, of the apostolical suc- 
 cession. Those who would see it discussed are recom- 
 mended to the celebrated Letters of Law (author 
 of the Serious Call) to Hoadley, the notorious bishop 
 of Bangor ; or to a tract, upon the Qualifications for 
 administering the Sacraments, by Leslie ; to whose 
 
 o o 
 
-) ( 
 
 NOTES. 193 ' 
 
 famous "Short method with a Deist." it is appended, 
 in all genuine editions. As to the historical fact of 
 the Succession, the useful work of Mr. Chapin, on 
 the Primitive Church, may be consulted ; and also 
 the little book of the Hon. and Rev. Arthur Per- 
 ceval. 
 
 Page 25, — Ordained of God. So also Cheist 
 glorified not Himself to be made an High-priest. 
 Hebrews v. 5. 
 
 Page 25. — As God had sent the Son. As My 
 Father hath sent Me, even so send I you. And when 
 He had said this, He breathed on them, and saith 
 unto them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost, &c. St. 
 John xx. 21. 
 
 All power is given unto Me in heaven and earth : 
 Go ye therefore, &c. St. Matthew xxxviii. 18. 
 
 Page 26. — Sow Korah, fyc. Compare Is umbers xvi. 
 with 2 Peter ii. and the Epistle of St. Jv.de. 
 
 If the sin of Korah is one which can be committed 
 under the Christian dispensation, it follows that there 
 must be a legitimate priesthood, against which it is 
 sinful to rebel; and, by a comparison of Hebrew and 
 Christian orders, it will be seen, that Korah was a 
 deacon, who, despising his bishop, usurped the func- 
 tions of a priest. This interpretation was forcibly 
 urged by the Reverend John Wesley, against those of 
 his own society who undertook, against his entreaties, 
 to administer the Sacraments ; as may be seen in his 
 sermon, written about a year before his decease, and 
 published in the Arminian Magazine in 1790. 
 
 O r 
 
■o 
 
 194 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 26. — My Saviour's earnest prayer. That they 
 all may be one ; as Thou, Father, art in Me, and I in 
 Thee, that they also may be one in us; that the world 
 may believe that Thou hast sent Me. St. John xvii. 21. 
 
 It is observable that the conversion of the world is 
 here connected with Christian unity. The breach of 
 unity is, by inference, connected with a scandal to 
 the cause of Truth. So then St. Peter, speaking of 
 schismatics, says — "by reason of whom the way of 
 truth shall be evil spoken of." (2 Peter ii. 1, 2.) Again 
 he says that these schismatics " shall privily bring in 
 damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that bought 
 them." The unsettling of rnen's minds, and final 
 apostasy, was to be the consequence, then, of departure 
 from the apostolical ministry. Let history be the 
 comment. In Geneva, where the presbyterian schism 
 was instituted by Calvin, we find that the whole sect, 
 in the time of Voltaire, had privily lapsed into Soci- 
 nian deism, denying the Lord that bought them. The 
 presbyterians of England have so universally lapsed 
 into the same heresy, that the "Dissenters' Chapels' 
 Bill" has been passed, within the last few years, to 
 allow them to retain the property which they received 
 as Calvinists. The puritans of Massachusetts have in 
 like manner lapsed from the strictest Calvinism into 
 the coldest Socinianism, as is sufficiently notorious, 
 from the writings of their most eminent preachers. 
 In all these instances has Scripture been fulfilled by 
 the privy bringingin of the heresy which denies the Lord 
 that bought us. And let earnest-minded persons con- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 o 
 
 KOTES. 
 
 195 
 
 sider, whether schisms, thus universally running to 
 seed in the most heathenizing of heresies, can possibly 
 have been the planting of the Lord. 
 
 Page 27.— It never failed. For the historical fact, 
 see the works which I have before commended, in 
 these notes. For Scripture-proof take the following 
 line of argument. 
 
 It is evident that our blessed Lord ordained the 
 Apostles. It is evident that they ordained others ; as, 
 for instance, Timotheus and Titus. It is evident that 
 these were commanded to ordain others : and that thus 
 the succession was handed into the second century. 
 Now can it be possible it was to stop there, when our 
 Saviour had said to the Apostles, " Lo ! I am with 
 you always, even unto the end of the world V 
 
 The gift of apostleship was in Timothy by the 
 'putting on of St. Paul's hands. (2 Tim. i. 6.) It is 
 plain that the same gift, or a share in it, was to be 
 imparted to others in the same way, by Timothy ; who 
 is not only told what kind of persons to ordain, but 
 cautioned to " lay hands suddenly on no man." (1 Tim. 
 v. 20.) Where would be the importance of this cau- 
 tion, if without the laying on of his hands, any one 
 in Ephesus might have been a valid minister of 
 Cheist ! 
 
 The argument, in the case of Titus, Bishop of 
 Crete, is equally conclusive. 
 
 To this, add the unanimous testimony of the primi- 
 tive age ; and even the consent of the reformed, until 
 many of them became a party to their own opinion, 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 196 NOTES. 
 
 and denied the apostolical succession from personal 
 feeling. 
 
 III. 
 
 Brcamlantf. 
 
 This little ballad is intended as a playful reproof of 
 those who, in many places, misrepresent the Church, 
 by neglecting the decorum and decency which her stan- 
 dards require. It is the misfortune of the American 
 Church to have many nominal members, who bring 
 disgrace upon her, by cold formality on the one hand, 
 and a slovenly disregard of her injunctions on the 
 other. 
 
 Page 31. — Had flowers andivreaths. This practice, 
 once of ordinary occurrence in England, is thus ex- 
 plained by that true-hearted Churchman, John Evelyn, 
 in his Sylva : u We adorn their graves with flowers, 
 and redolent plants, just emblems of the life of man, 
 which has been compared in Holy Scriptures to those 
 fading beauties, whose roots being buried in dishonour, 
 rise again in glory." 
 
 Page 32 — Do lowly bow. The humble bowing of 
 the head at the adorable and saving name of Jesus, is 
 intended as a confession of the glorious doctrine of St. 
 Paul, in Philippians ii. 10. It is the design of this 
 s.anza, simply to censure the irreverent foppery with 
 
 O- 
 
 -o 
 
O O 
 
 NOTES. 197 
 
 which some reduce this edifying act of faith to a mere 
 formality. 
 
 Page 33. — Clothe their heads. See 1 Corinthians 
 xi. 6, 10. The use of veils, at confirmation, in obedi- 
 ence to the spirit of this passage, is still common 
 in many places. Attention to such matters is, of 
 course, disapproved by the censorious ; but as it was 
 the wisdom of the Holy Ghost to write such a chap- 
 ter as the eleventh of First Corinthians, it is the 
 wisdom of faith to obey its letter, and carry its spirit 
 into everything of the same kind. 
 
 Page 34. — Angel lullabies. The consoling text — 
 "I heard a voice from heaven," &c, is sometimes 
 chaimted at the grave, according to the Rubric; and 
 may be said in poetry to make that slumber good, which 
 is thus hallowed and blessed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Carol. 
 
 The decoration of churches and churchyards with 
 evergreens and flowers, and such customs as those of 
 "the Rushbearing," and "Posy Sunday," which are 
 still extant in England, though wholly voluntary, and 
 not ordained by the Church, are, with unprejudiced 
 persons, a beautiful illustration' of the faculty by 
 which she invests every good gift of God with sacred 
 associations. 
 
 o ■ o 
 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 198 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 The holy George Herbert speaks as follows in his 
 Country Parson. " The country parson is a lover of 
 old customs, if they be good and harmless, and the 
 rather because country people are much addicted to 
 them, so that to favour them therein is to win their 
 hearts, and to oppose them therein is to deject them. 
 If there be any ill in the custom, which may be severed 
 from the good, he pares the apple, and gives them 
 the clean to feed on." Again; "The country par- 
 son takes order that the church be swept and kept 
 clean, .... and at great festivals strewed, and stuck 
 with boughs, and perfumed with incense." 
 
 So Wordsworth, in his Ecclesiastical Sketches, de- 
 scribes a day among the parishes of Westmoreland, 
 where the village children are accustomed to come 
 forth 
 
 *'by rustic music led, 
 
 Through the still churchyard, each with garland gay, 
 That carried, sceptre-like, o'er-tops the head 
 Of the proud bearer." 
 
 It is by such spontaneous and instinctive tributes, 
 precisely such in principle as were ordained in the 
 Old Testament, and accepted in the New, (Nehemiah 
 viii. 15 ; St. Matthew xxi. 8,) that the beautiful gifts 
 of God are severed from vain and worldly uses, and 
 made to minister to a sanctified taste, in Christians 
 of full years ; while, for children, they perform a use- 1 
 ful part in making the associations of their religion ! 
 attractive and lovely. 
 
 But while He, who bade us to " consider the lilies," I 
 
 o o 
 
o o 
 
 NOTES. 199 
 
 will doubtless approve of our employing their glorious 
 clothing, to shew our delight in that greater Solomon 
 who created them, we must reflect that we live in a 
 gainsaying and censorious time, and that it is far 
 better that we should deprive ourselves of an innocent 
 gratification, than minister an occasion of stumbling 
 to weak brethren. And though there are those who 
 would complain of Gabriel's censer, and reform the 
 very ritual of Heaven ; we must remember that it is 
 a duty not to let our good be evil spoken of: and in 
 deference to this injunction, I would be far from 
 advising the restoration of any merely voluntary prac- 
 tice, however innocent, in places where the grievous 
 sins of dissension and evil-speaking would be the only 
 fruits. 
 
 V. 
 
 Hanunt. 
 
 If an humble member of the Church may make a 
 suggestion, ought not our Lenten season to be kept 
 with soine reference to the divided state of Christendom ? 
 In our own land, we find eminently Lovely characters 
 often arrayed against what ice know is the Church — 
 the body of our blessed Lord and Saviour, Cheist. 
 The circumstances of this country's original settlement 
 were such as to favour and strengthen a growth of igno- 
 rance on this subject, heretofore unparalleled in the 
 
 o o 
 
o 
 
 o 
 
 200 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Christian world; and through influences of education 
 and accidental prejudice, there are hundreds of pious 
 and gentle spirits wandering from their true mother, 
 and knowing nothing of her. For such we have only- 
 one resource, but that is the best — even prayer. The 
 most clear and convincing argument fails when directed 
 against their seven-fold armour of pre-judgment or in- 
 difference. But prayer may enlist Him in their behalf, 
 Who pierceth the joints of the harness. At least it 
 will help ourselves : for to be true Catholic Christians 
 in our land and day, we need not only the boldness of 
 Paul, and the ardour of Peter, but more than all, the 
 meekness and long-suffering of our blessed Lord Him- 
 self. If we were partizans, we might be angry at un- 
 warrantable opposition : if we were striving for earthly 
 things, we might abandon to the chilly arms of their 
 desolate systems those who answer us with railing 
 accusation. But we are their servants and strive for 
 their benefit — not for our own. We would fain see all 
 Christians blest with us, in the Catholic fold of Christ ; 
 and when was there ever advice so appropriate as 
 that of an old apostle to a primitive bishop ! — " And 
 the servant of God must not strive ; but be gentle unto 
 all men; apt to teach; patient; in meekness instruct- 
 ing those that oppose themselves ; if God peradven- 
 ture will give them repentance, to the acknowledging 
 of the Truth/' 
 
 O 
 
 O 
 
Q O 
 
 BOTES* 201 
 
 YL 
 Xftglanlr. 
 
 In this ballad, such feelings towards the mother- 
 country are expressed, as I am happy to believe, not 
 personal to myself, but common to nearly all educated 
 and liberal-minded Americans. 
 
 Page 54. — Balliol men. Perhaps I should rather 
 have apostrophised the Men of Belial, than the re- 
 spectable society named in the text ; but a college that 
 once had such a man as Southey for a member, can 
 afford to bear a little responsibility for his juvenile 
 Jacobinism. The apostrophe was suggested by his 
 mean little poem on "the Chapel Bell," written 
 in 1793. The young pantisocrat seems to have had 
 a peculiar spite against that bell, as another of his 
 poems begins with the hemistich, "Toll on, toll on, 
 old bell r 
 
 Page 55. — Quiet Corpus. I have an impression that 
 Corpus must be a quiet place for a moderate read- 
 ing man, not over studious, and fond of conversation. 
 What can be got from books and pictures gives an 
 American this impression j but I know nothing about 
 it, and am very likely wide of the mark. 
 
 6 
 
o- 
 
 ■o 
 
 202 
 
 yOTE3. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Chronicles. 
 
 This ballad is a history of the apostolic commission 
 in England from the first century to the Restora- 
 tion. 
 
 Page 62. — Altars all as spotless. This refers to the 
 early British Church in its original independence, 
 purity, and poverty; before the conversion of the 
 Saxons by St. Augustine, a.d. 596. 
 
 Page 62. — Oh, ivo ! the hour. Not the hour of 
 Augustine's mission and patriarchate ; for he was sent 
 to convert the Saxons by the good and great Gregory, 
 who abhorred the idea of a supremacy ; but the hour 
 vslien the pall ivas imposed, with an oath of subjection, 
 in the days of William Rufus, against every principle 
 of apostolical precedent and canon law. 
 
 Page 63. — To chase away the tyrant. The Engl'sh 
 Reformation was no revolution. It merely threw off 
 the usurped supremacy of the bishop of Rome, and 
 restored the Church to her primitive purity and in- 
 dependence ; rejecting whatever was papal, but care- 
 fully retaining all that was apostolical. 
 
 Thus it differed essentially from the Continental 
 Reformation ; with which we have no concern, except 
 to deplore it as a miserable failure. It is only an 
 artifice of papists to confound the Anglican Reform- 
 ation with the Lutheran schism ; for while they are 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
) o 
 
 NOTES. 203 
 
 powerless against the former, they are mighty in ex- 
 posing the latter, and it is easier to make the ignorant 
 believe that the two are one and the same thing, than 
 it is to face the direct question — in what essential 
 point does the Anglican Church now differ from the 
 Church of the apostolic age. 
 
 It is another artifice of the papists to discuss the 
 character of Henry VIII. instead of shewing in ivhat 
 particular the Anglican Church departed from Ca- 
 tholic doctrine and discipline, during the reign of that 
 tyrant. As for Henry, it may be conceded that he 
 was nearly as bad as some of the popes ; and that the 
 vices of both paved the way for the Church's re- 
 storation to primitive purity. So did the adultery of 
 Ahasuerus save the Hebrew Church from Hainan; 
 and the lawfulness of Katharine's divorce has as little 
 to do with present issues as the repudiation of Queen 
 Vashti. A political quarrel, indeed, gave opportunity 
 for the restoration of the English patriarchate to its 
 original independence ; but its reformers were its own 
 bishops ; and, like the primitive apostles, they sealed 
 their work with their blood. 
 
 Page 64. — A nation shout eth round. For the first 
 twelve years of Elizabeth, the papists themselves fre- 
 quented the sacraments and ministry of the ancient 
 Church of England; shewing that in nothing had 
 its identity been lost, or its Catholicity impaired, 
 even in their estimation. During that period two 
 popes had offered to receive and approve the Common 
 Prayer, if the Queen would but consent to the papal 
 
 o- : o 
 
o— o 
 
 204 NOTES. 
 
 supremacy — so that, even m their judgment, the 
 Church had forfeited nothing essential to Catholicity, 
 by translating and reforming her worship. Thus, till 
 1569, when Pius V. forced those Englishmen who 
 were in favour of his supremacy to become recusants, 
 there was in England one pure and undivided Church, 
 which, but for the Romish and Puritan schisms, which 
 soon followed, would have become the joy of the whole 
 earth, for beauty and primitive completeness. The 
 recusancy of 1569 was the origin of the Papal sect in 
 England, which has no thread of connexion with the 
 ancient Church of England ; and owes its existence, as 
 well as its creed, to the novelties of the pseudo- council 
 of Trent. 
 
 Page 65. — Children of her bosom. Having success- 
 fully, but with great tribulation, survived the perse- 
 cutions of Rome, the poor Church of England was 
 next called to suffer for the testimony of God's truth 
 at the hands of rebellious sons. It is impossible for 
 one with anything that is generous in his bosom, to 
 behold her, in this new emergency, without veneration 
 and awe ; whether she be considered in her individual ■ 
 confessors, harassed by a popular outbreak, which 
 confounded all ranks in ruin, and overwhelmed alike 
 the primate, the premier, and the prince ; or whether 
 she be regarded as a venerable mother, sitting in her 
 own house in sackcloth, and baring her breast to the 
 blows of the children of her bowels. 
 
 Page 65. — A prince' s fall. Under the first Stuart, 
 the Church of England had begun to be under- 
 
 : -.o 
 
o o 
 
 NOTES. 205 
 
 stood by the states of the Continent; and she was 
 fast securing the admiration and imitation of foreign 
 Churches, when the violence of the Puritans plunged 
 both Church and State into abject misery and con- 
 tempt. James left to his son a legacy of mischief; 
 but both the filial and the personal piety of Charles 
 disqualified him for a true appreciation of his diffi- 
 culties. The abuses of the State were not of his 
 making; those of the Church, he was zealous to re- 
 form by the primitive pattern. He was fast gathering 
 around him that noble company of divim s who now 
 illustrate the misfortunes, as he designed that they 
 should the glories of his reign. With such a generation 
 of bishops, it is a painfully pleasing thing to fancy 
 what the Church of England would have been under 
 a pious and enlightened prince, who loved letters, 
 encouraged the arts, delighted in men of learning, was 
 a pattern of domestic virtue, and lacked nothing but 
 a considerate and well-affected people, to exhibit to 
 the world the model of Empire, — a kingdom which 
 was but a family. But England was cursed with 
 Pyms and Cromwells; and became the frantic popu- 
 lace, that required a master instead of a father : and 
 thus was lost the golden opportunity. But Charles 
 the First remains the only king of England, since the 
 accession of his family, for whose character it is possi- 
 ble to feel an enthusiasm, and for whose faults there 
 exists thepleuary apo ] ogy, that they were the results, 
 and not the causes, of a popular spirit of rebellion. 
 Page 66. — The blessed martyrs. As the Martyrs 
 
 o : o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 206 
 
 KOTES. 
 
 of the Marian times were the reformers of the Church, 
 so the murderers of Laud and King Charles, and the 
 barbarous persecutors of such men as Jeremy Taylor, 
 were the authors of Dissent. Suppose then, the court 
 was corrupt : so it was in the days of Xero, when the 
 Spieit of God wrote the commandment, "Honour 
 the King." Or suppose some of the clergy were 
 depraved : so was it when our Saviour said, " The 
 Scribes and Pharisees sit in Moses' seat ; all therefore 
 whatsoever they bid you observe, that observe and do." 
 Or suppose Laud had superstitions— so had Cotton 
 Mather. Or suppose he cropped Prynne's ears; so 
 did St. Peter the ear of Malchus; and New England's 
 own Cotton Mather burned witches, and tortured 
 Quakers. Yet Laud is a papist, forsooth, because he 
 kept vigils and fasts; while the fact that Cotton 
 Mather did the same, is always adduced to shew that 
 in spite of infirmities he was a saint. But this is 
 only retort against cavil; and good only to disarm 
 prejudice. Let the candid enquirer read Dr. Southey's 
 Book of the Church, from beginning to end; and 
 compare it with such books as Le Bas' Life of Laud, 
 Sir Thomas Herbert's Two last years of Charles, and 
 Dr. Wordsworth's Theophilus Anglicanus. 
 
 Page 67. — The noble in the cottage. Sir Walter 
 Scott has beautifully introduced this fact into his fine 
 fiction, the story of Woodstock ; where Alice Lee and 
 Dr. Bochecliffe at their cLvotions are so beautifully 
 pourtrayed. 
 
 Page 63.— Their Psalter. See Psalm lxxiv. 5—10, 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 NOTES. 207 
 
 20—2-4, Hearing it read one Sunday during divine 
 service, at St. Mark's in-the-Bowery, suggested these 
 verses. 
 
 Page 70. — Daughter. Every American bishop, 
 priest, and deacon, derives his ordination from the 
 Apostles, through the Church of England. See Per- 
 ceval on the Apostolfc Succession. 
 
 Bishops White and Madison, from whom (with Bp. 
 Provoost) all our clergy have descended, were conse- I 
 crated at Lambeth, Feb. 4, 17S7 ; and landed in the j 
 New World on Easter-day succeeding, to begin a 
 succession which already has its representatives at 
 the antipodes. 
 
 YIIL 
 
 Scotland, 
 
 The melancholy religious condition of Scotland at 
 the present time is the best comment on the injury 
 which was done to that kingdom by the destruction of 
 her ancient establishment, under the dull usurper of 
 Orange. It is to me a strange thing, that the Scot- 
 tish writers, who have lately shed such glory upon 
 their country, and many of whom have been attached 
 to the Church of England, should have had so little to 
 say of this great national outrage. I know there is 
 
 o '■ o 
 
o o 
 
 208 NOTES. 
 
 an impression, that the establishment of the Kirk was 
 the unanimous voice of the Scottish people. But such 
 is not the case : as is well known to those who have 
 looked into the matter. In a collection of letters on 
 the Scottish Church, printed in London in 1690, says 
 Mr. Sage, afterwards a Scottish bishop, " I can affirm 
 with a well-grounded assurance, Ihat if by the people 
 you mean the Commonalty . . . the third man, 
 throughout the whole kingdom, is not presbyterian : 
 and if, by the people, you mean those who are persons 
 of quality and education, I dare boldly say not the 
 thirteenth" And even, at the present day — if I may 
 trust an article in Blackwood's attributed to Professor 
 Wilson — the following is a just account of things. 
 "The greater part of the Scotch aristocracy and 
 landed men (the infinitely greater part of them), are 
 not members of the Kirk of Scotland at all. They 
 are, as all their forefathers were, episcopalians. They 
 yield, as their ancestors did, to the voice of the majo- 
 rity of the gross population." See Nodes Amhrosiance. 
 Page 78. — Shall flout them. For a very graphic 
 description of the poor appearance which the Kirk 
 makes in Glasgow Cathedral,- and some fine remarks 
 thereon, see "Peter's Letters," (Xo. lxvii.) by Lock- 
 hart. 
 
 Page 78. — And shame the Church, fyc. The American 
 Church owes its episcopate to the persecuted and al- 
 most extinguished Church of Scotland; which not 
 | only gave to America her first bishop in the person of 
 i Seabury, but by so doing was the means of securing 
 
 6 c 
 
o o 
 
 NOTES. 209 
 
 the Lambeth consecrations, with which that from Scot- 
 land was united. (See Bp. Wilberforce's American 
 Church, page 194.) Thus she may be said to have 
 put her more flourishing sister to shame. 
 
 Page Id.— The fishwife's voice. The story of Jenny 
 Geddes, and her exploit in the High Church of 
 St. Giles', Edinburgh, (July 23, 1637,) is probably 
 familiar to my reader, but may be found in the 
 Tales of a Grandfather, Second Series. 
 
 Page 79. — Braes of Ross. The old see of Ross has 
 once more a bishop. 
 
 Page 80. — The Moray Shepherd. No Scottish bishop 
 is more venerated in America than the late good 
 Bishop of Moray (Dr. Jolly), who should have been 
 buried in Elgin Cathedral, w 7 here many of his pre- 
 decessors lie entombed. 
 
 Page 80. — Glenalmond. The founding of Trinity 
 College, near Perth, is hailed by the friends of the 
 Church of Scotland as an earnest of better days at 
 hand. 
 
 Page 81. — Scotland's altar service. The Scotch 
 Liturgy is not only more perfect and primitive than 
 the Latin Missal, but is also far le>s in accordance 
 with the Romish doctrine than the English Liturgy, 
 which regards the consecration as concluded by a 
 repetition of the words of Institution, without the invo- 
 cation of the Spirit. In America, where the Scottish 
 Liturgy has been followed without a whisper of dis- 
 approbation, it is earnestly hoped that the Scottish 
 Church will never surrender its distinctive glory for 
 
 c- 6 
 
; : O 
 
 210 KOTES. 
 
 any suggestions of expediency, or threats of vengeance, 
 from parties whose influence is as ephemeral as their 
 opinions are ignorant and contracted. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Scaburp's JftMtre. 
 
 Samuel Seabury, bishop of Connecticut, and first 
 Bishop of the American Church, was consecrated at 
 Aberdeen, in Scotland, November 14, 1784. He died 
 Feb. 25, 1796. 
 
 Learning that the mitre worn by Bishop Seabury 
 in his episcopal ministrations, was yet in existence, I 
 had the curiosity to obtain it, through the Rev. Dr. 
 Seabury, of New York, and placed it in the Library 
 of Trinity College, with an appropriate Latin inscrip- 
 tion. An aged presbyter, the Rev. Isaac Jones, of 
 Lichfield, came into the Library, on commencement- 
 day, 1847, and betraying some emotion at the sight, I 
 said to him, " You probably have seen that mitre on 
 Seabury's head." He answered, "Yes; in 1785, at 
 the first ordination in this country, I saw him, wear- 
 ing his scarlet hood and that mitre; and though I 
 was then a dissenter, his stately figure and solemn 
 manner impressed me very much. He was a remark- 
 able-looking man." 
 
 o — ■ o 
 
o o 
 
 HOTES. 211 
 
 Page 83. — Crown of thorn. The mitre is of black 
 satin, adorned with gold-thread needlework. The 
 Cross is embroidered on the front; and on the re- 
 verse, a truly significant emblem, the crown of thorns. 
 
 Fage 84. — Her old Regalia. The discovery of the 
 ancient Regalia of Scotland in 1817, was the subject 
 of great national enthusiasm : and the royal jewels are 
 now preserved in the castle of Edinburgh, as symbols 
 of the independence of the kingdom. 
 
 5. 
 Busttc @$urc$es. 
 
 The folly of ambitious architectural attempts in 
 brick and mortar, in our rural parishes, has reigned too 
 widely, and involved too much waste, to be considered a 
 trifling evil. The parish- church described in the text 
 was designed on the principle of reality ; and was in- 
 tended to shew that propriety, and even taste, may 
 be gratified with just such resources as any country 
 village possesses in itself. Although making no preten- 
 sion to accuracy of detail, it is interesting, therefore, 
 as a legitimate rural church, the natural result of 
 catholic principles of architecture contending with 
 want of means, and modified by the peculiarities of 
 American climate and material. 
 
 > o 
 
o — o 
 
 212 NOTES. 
 
 Page 86. — That hippogriff. It is not uncommon, 
 in Connecticut, to see a modern Puritan meeting- 
 house built over a row of shops, which may be said 
 to support it in a double sense. But the old meeting- 
 house of New England is a genuine symbol of the 
 spirit that reared it; and stands a speaking witness 
 against prelacy and the consecration of churches. 
 Although designed for what are called town-meetings, 
 as well as for spiritual uses, there is a kind of re- 
 spectability about it, as being the honest exponent of 
 its origin; a respectability which vanishes when the 
 modern meeting-house, with its tin-roof and Grecian 
 pillars, is substituted; and which is superseded by 
 vulgar pretension when, as is sometimes the case, its 
 place is supplied by a Gothic structure, with all the 
 external symbols of Liturgy and Episcopacy. 
 
 Page 86. — Pine-ivood parody. Instead of removing 
 the old meeting-house, it is often subjected to the 
 operation of modernizing ; which consists in giving 
 it a row of Doric columns and a pediment in front. 
 The old steeple is also taktn away, and a spruce cu- 
 pola substituted. With such a heavy frontispiece, the 
 old house in the rear accords very ill. The case is 
 worse when the rear is of red brick. A profile view 
 exhibits a foreground of columns, looking like the 
 legs of a shag-dog, while the rest reminds us of the 
 same dog fantastically shaven in the hinder parts, as 
 is the fashion with fanciers. 
 
 Page 87. — St. Joseph's thorn. The celebrated Glas- 
 tonbury thorn, which blooms at Christmas, is fabled to 
 
 O 6 
 
o c 
 
 NOTES. 213 
 
 have been the staff of St. Joseph of Arimathea, when 
 he came into England as a missionary, a.d. 64. In 
 its immediate vicinity stood the earliest British church, 
 described by old Fuller as follows : — 
 
 "It had in length sixty feet, and twenty-six in 
 breadth, made of rods, wattled or interwoven. . . . Let 
 not stately modern churches disdain to stoop, with, their 
 highest steeples, reverently doing homage to this poor 
 structure as their first platform and precedent. And 
 let their chequered pavements no more disdain this 
 oratory's plain floor, than its thatched covering doth 
 envy their leaden roofs." Eccles. Hist., vol. i. p. 14. 
 London, 1837. 
 
 XI. 
 
 C!)urcT)9artJs. 
 
 The parish of St. George's, Hempstead, is the oldest 
 in the state of Xew York ; and its churchyard, though 
 not a model cemetery, is dear to me as containing the 
 remains of my kinsman, Edward Henry Hyde, some- 
 time a member of the University of New York, and 
 at the time of his death intended for Holy Orders. 
 This ballad was suggested by a moonlight visit to 
 his grave, in 1810. 
 
 o o 
 
o 
 
 o 
 
 214. 
 
 XII. 
 ftrfaitg, ®ft OjttrcT). 
 
 The removal of the old Trinity Church was a sad 
 sight to many Xew Yorkers; notwithstanding the 
 proposed splendours of the new church. I had often 
 worshipped in it in my boyhood ; and just as its de- 
 struction was beginning, had a final opportunity of 
 paying my vows there on my twenty-first anniversary, 
 Friday, May 10, 1839. 
 
 Page $1.— Effigy. The statue of Bishop Hobart, 
 now in the sacristy of the new church, occupied the 
 place of an altar-piece in the old church. 
 
 XIII. 
 £rimtr>, Xfto Ojttrcrj* 
 
 This church was consecrated on Ascension-c'ay, 
 1846, when I had the satisfaction of being present at 
 the solemnities. 
 
 Page 103. — Jfovld of doctrine. The original Greek 
 of Romans vi. 17, (as criticised by a venerated kins- 
 man, in familiar conversation,) suggested this expres- 
 sion, which is a literal translation of what our English 
 version renders form of doctrine. The whole text is 
 sadly distorted in the authorized translation. 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 XOTES. 215 
 
 XIV. 
 (Oratories. 
 
 The custom here commended has had its exam- 
 ples among the best of men of widely differing piety; 
 and I would instance Herbert, Hooker, and Henry 
 Venn. Even in the dullest days of the eighteenth 
 century, it is gratifying to find Dr. Johnson recom- 
 mending it on one occasion to his friend Boswell. 
 See Life of Johnson, i. 397. Dublin. 
 
 Page 111. — The Fsalmisfs cedars. See Psalm 
 xcii. 11, 12. 
 
 XV. 
 
 little £ctootmurc. 
 
 Had the Church, as it is in the English Prayer- 
 book, been allowed its quiet and natural develop- 
 ment during the seventeenth century, it would have 
 been found in every English village as I have por- 
 trayed it in this ballad. Such Herbert, and Perrar, 
 and Hooker would have had it ; and, in our own days, 
 Bishop Heber. 
 
 Page 114.— W7ien the Litany, Sfc. " It was a 
 custom in several churches to toll a bell whilst the 
 
 -\J 
 
o — o 
 
 216 NOTES. 
 
 Litany was reading, to give notice to the people that 
 the Communion Service was coming on." Wheatly. 
 Page 116. — On the north. It was the custom of 
 our ancestors to bury outcasts and criminals on the 
 shady side of the church. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Desolations. 
 
 In the diocese of Virginia, such ruins as are here 
 described unhappily abound. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Crista. 
 
 The General Theological Seminary of the American 
 Church is situated in that quarter of New York known 
 as Chelsea. 
 
 Page 125. — When old Canute. See the story in 
 Sharon Turner's Anglo-Saxons. Canute himself com- 
 posed a ballad upon the occasion, of which a frag- 
 ment remains. 
 
 o 
 
o -o 
 
 NOTES. 217 | 
 
 " Merry sang the monks in Ely, 
 When Canute the king was sailing by ; 
 Row, ye knights, near the land, 
 And let us hear the monks' song." 
 
 Such is Turner's translation. Wordsworth has a 
 beautiful sonnet on this incident. 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 Ft* f-i«. 
 
 The Latin lines at the end of every stanza are the 
 titles of anthems or chants, appropriate to the hours. 
 
 Page lZO.—Adeste Fideles. Hither ye faithful. 
 
 Page 130. — Veni Creator. Come Holy Ghost : 
 as in the Ordinal. 
 
 Page 131. — Jubilate Deo. The hundredth Psalm. 
 
 Page 131. — Cum Angelis. With Angels, &c. : as 
 in the Eucharist. 
 
 Page 131. — Nisi Dominus. Unless the Lord keep 
 the city, the watchman waketh but in vain. Psalm 
 cxxvii. 
 
 Page 132. — De Profundis. Psalm cxxx. 
 
 Page 132. — Kyrie Eleison. Lord have mercy upon 
 us : as in the Litany. 
 
 Page 132. — Miserere. Psalm lvii. 
 
 Page 133.— Z)«e$ Irce. The day of wrath. 
 
 O 
 
O — 
 
 218 X0TE8. 
 
 Page 133. — Sursum Corda. Lift up your hearts : as 
 in the Eucharist. 
 
 Page 133. — Fill David. Oh ! son of David : as in 
 the Litany. 
 
 Page 134. — Veni Jesu. Come, Lord Jestts. 
 
 Page 134. — Nunc Dimittis. Lord, no\V lettest Thou 
 Thy servant depart in peace. The Song of Simeon, 
 St. Luke ii. 29. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ®%t ©nrfcro. 
 
 The anecdote of "William I., which is employed in 
 this ballad, will be found in nearly all English his- 
 tories. The Curfew-bell, an institution of that mon- 
 arch, is generally understood. 
 
 Page 138. — New-England village. So late as the 
 beginning of the present century, the nine-o' clock -bell 
 is said to have been generally obeyed in New England, 
 by the breaking up of company, and the retiring of 
 families. 
 
 o— o 
 
o o 
 
 VOTB& 219 
 
 XX. 
 Ka 8$ o t aft- 
 
 At Xashotah, in Wisconsin, a thousand miles from 
 the Atlantic seaboard, is a religious establishment of 
 unmarried missionaries, who live and labour in the 
 spirit of the primitive clay. All that is said of it and 
 them in this ballad is literally true. 
 
 The founders of this mission (and among them was 
 the dear friend to whom this book is dedicated) were, 
 in 1S40, my fellow-students at Chelsea, and Wisconsin 
 was then a wilderness. It is now a Christian diocese, 
 and has a bishop, and twenty-one clergy, — the blessed 
 results, in a ^reat degree, of the self-denying labours 
 of the brethren of Xashotah. 
 
 Page 148. — TJie Norway rover. Wisconsin is 
 rapidly filling up with the better class of emigrants 
 from Europe; and the itinerant brothers of Xashotah 
 have under their care settlements of Xorwegians, 
 Swedes, Irish, Welsh, Euglish, and Oneida Indians. 
 They have also baptized several Jews. 
 
 Page 148. — The sad Oneida. Several Oneida In- 
 dians are training for Holy Orders at Xashotah ; 
 and at the first Diocesan council of Wisconsin, in 
 1847. there were present several Oneidas, as lay dele- 
 gates. They had walked two hundred miles to be 
 present, aud on the last day had accomplished forty- 
 five miles. One of them spoke in debate; probably | 
 
 o -b 
 
O- o 
 
 220 itoxes. 
 
 for the first time (says my friend the Rev. Dr. Kip) 
 that an American Indian has been heard in the coun- 
 cils of the Church. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 St Stluan's 13cII. 
 
 When this ballad was written, it was a mere fiction. 
 The Nashotah missionaries have since erected a church, 
 by the name of St. Silvanus, and it can hardly be 
 doubted that the effects anticipated in the ballad 
 have resulted in some degree. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 33$c CI) urri^s Daughter. 
 
 Ih this ballad I feel that I have very imperfectly 
 expressed what, nevertheless, I may have sufficiently 
 suggested, — a conviction that, in the formation of 
 female character, the Church's system, if faithfully 
 carried out, naturally developcs that harmony of 
 graces which her Creator designed for woman, as the 
 companion and minister of man. 
 
 c- 
 
o o 
 
 NOTES. 221 
 
 Page 151. — Hose-marine. I have taken a quaint 
 sort of license with the botanical name of the flower 
 rosemary, (rosmarinus,) which has no reference to the 
 rose at all, but is similar in sound. I judge it not 
 out of place in a ballad. The custom of using rose- 
 mary at funerals is thus explained by Wheatly, on 
 the Common Prayer : — 
 
 "To express their hopes that their friend is not lost 
 for ever, each person in the company usually bears in 
 his hand a sprig of rosemary; a custom which seems 
 to have taken its rise from a practice among the hea- 
 thens, of a quite different import. For they have no 
 thought of a future resurrection, but believing that the 
 bodies of those that were dead would for ever lie in 
 the grave, made use of cypress at their funerals, which 
 is a tree that being once cut never revives, but dies 
 away. But Christians, on the other side, having better 
 hopes, and knowing that this very body of their friend, 
 which they are now going solemnly to commit to the 
 grave, shall one day rise again, and be reunited to his 
 soul, instead of cypress, distribute rosemary to the 
 company, which being always green, and flourishing 
 the more for being cropt, (and of which a sprig only 
 being set in the ground, will sprout up immediately 
 and branch into a tree,) is more proper to express 
 their confidence and trust." 
 
 c — — o 
 
o o 
 
 222 notes. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 B lobe xl)c €I;urd). 
 
 I am not ashamed to confess that I have a passion 
 for the Beauty of Holiness, as exemplified in the 
 Liturgy and Offices of the Church ; and if this book of 
 ballads shall serve to impress the humblest Christian 
 with a deeper love for his high and glorious privileges 
 in this life, and with a more ardent longing for his 
 hopes in the life of the world to come, I shall feel 
 that I have neither written nor lived in vain. 
 
 3 O 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o 
 
 -n 
 
 'ansonct. 
 
 TO THE MUSIC OF WEBER - S LAST WALTZ. 
 
 1. 
 
 I'd die midst soft music, 
 
 And whispering the lay, 
 I'd breathe in sweet singing 
 
 My spirit away. 
 Bend o'er me, tho' weeping, 
 
 Thou beautiful one, 
 With thy long flowing tresses, 
 
 Till sinks my life's sun. 
 Then round me, ye lovely, 
 
 Sigh sad to the lute. 
 And warble your sorrow 
 
 While breathes the soft lute, 
 I'd die, &c. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 226 
 
 CANZONET. 
 
 -o 
 
 2. 
 I've lived 'mid the lovely 
 
 And dying, I'd hear 
 The voice of the lovely, 
 
 Sound last on mine ear ; 
 In life and in blooming 
 
 I've loved the soft lyre, 
 And music shall soothe me 
 
 Till faint I expire. 
 Till Earth's music failing 
 
 I join, as I rise, 
 The far-fading echoes, 
 
 That float from the skies. 
 I'd die, &c. 
 
 -o 
 
Zantent. 
 
 FROM THE LATIN OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 
 
 1. 
 
 Oh blessed Redeemer, I've trusted in Thee, 
 Oh Saviour, my Jesu, now liberate me ! 
 
 In horrible prison, 
 
 And gloom, have arisen 
 My sighs, oh my Jesu, incessant to Thee ; 
 
 But oh, on my sorrow, 
 
 Has brightened no morrow, 
 Yet hear me, my Jesu, and liberate me ! 
 
 o- 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh blessed Redeemer, I've trusted in Thee, 
 And still will I trust Thee, to liberate me ! 
 
 And so, while I languish, 
 
 I cry in my anguish, 
 
 ■o 
 
n- 
 
 -o 
 
 228 
 
 LAMENT. 
 
 Adoring, imploring, and bending the knee ; 
 
 In sorrow and tremor, 
 
 Oh blessed Redeemer, 
 Smile on me from Heaven, and liberate me ! 
 
 o 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 
 Safcc JJgrom. 
 
 IN THE COUNTY OF WEST CHESTER, NEW YORK. 
 
 1. 
 
 By thy still waters, lonely lake, 
 
 The wild dove builds her hermit home, 
 And there her matin song doth make, 
 
 Where mornings all like sabbaths come : 
 O'er thee she flits with silent wing, 
 
 Or lulls thee with its silken sound, 
 Thee— sleeping like a holy thing, 
 
 And hid from all the world around. 
 
 o 
 
 2. 
 
 No voice along thy leafy shore, 
 
 But Nature's hymns are rising there, 
 
 Nor oft the echo-waking oar 
 
 Disturbs thy breast, and haunted air ! 
 
 -o 
 
o— • o 
 
 230 LAKE BYROM. 
 
 A fane upon thy water side 
 
 With lights ablaze in every cell, 
 
 How bright 'twould seem at even-tide^ 
 How soft be heard its vesper bell ! 
 
 By thy still waters, lonely lake, 
 
 I too would build a hermit home, 
 Where mornings all like sabbaths break, 
 
 And earth's alarm can never come ; 
 And there, this bosom, Heavenly Dove, 
 
 A cell for Thy repose might be, 
 Forsaking all for worlds above, 
 
 And all the world forsaking me. 
 
 TV 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -r 
 
 JK 33e$tre cf 3!l Xatton*. 
 
 So shall He sprinkle many nations. 
 
 Isaiah iii. lc 
 
 1. 
 
 Saviour, sprinkle many nations, 
 
 Fruitful let Thy sorrows be ! 
 By Thy pains and consolations, 
 
 Draw the Gentiles unto Thee. 
 Of Thy cross, the wondrous story, 
 
 Be it to the nations tuld ; 
 Let them see Thee in Thy glory, 
 
 And Thy mercy manifold. 
 
 Far and wide, though all unknowing, 
 Pants for Thee each mortal breast ; 
 
 Human tears for Thee are flowing, 
 Human hearts in Thee would rest. 
 
 -o 
 
u- 
 
 232 
 
 THE DESIRE OF ALL NATIONS. 
 
 -Q 
 
 Thirsting, as for dews of even, 
 As the new-mown grass for rain, 
 
 Thee they seek, as God of Heaven, 
 Thee, as man, for sinners slain. 
 
 3. 
 
 Saviour ! lo, the isles are waiting, 
 
 Stretch'd the hand, and strain'd the sight, 
 For Thy Spirit, new-creating, 
 
 Love's pure flame, and wisdom's light ; 
 Give the word, and of the preacher 
 
 Speed the foot, and touch the tongue, 
 Till on earth, by every creature, 
 
 Glory to the Lamb be sung. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
r> 
 
 -O 
 
 BBttgteui ^tissions. 
 
 A HYMN FOR EPIPHANY. 
 
 Then thou shalt see, and flow together, and thine heart shall 
 fear, and be enlarged ; because the abundance of the sea shall 
 be converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles shall come 
 unto thee. Isaiah lx. 5. 
 
 Lord, when Thou didst come from heaven, 
 
 Edom sought Thee from afar, 
 With her gold and incense given, 
 
 By the leading of a star ; 
 Westward then from Eden guiding, 
 
 Was the light of Bethlehem shed ; 
 Like the pillar' d blaze abiding 
 
 O'er the wandering Hebrew's head. 
 
 2. 
 
 Westward still the world alluring, 
 Hath the risen Day-star beamed, 
 
 And, the sinking soul assuring, 
 
 O'er the world's wide ocean streamed. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 234 WESTERN MISSIONS. 
 
 Westward still, the midnight breaking, 
 Westward still its light be poured ! 
 
 Heathen Thy possession making, 
 Utmost lands Thy dwelling, Lord ! 
 
 Westward where from giant fountains', 
 
 Oregon comes down in floods, 
 Westward to Missouri's mountains, 
 
 Or to the wild Iowa's woods, 
 Where the broad Arkansas goeth, 
 
 Winding o'er savannahs wide, 
 Where, beyond old Huron, floweth 
 
 Many a strong eternal tide. 
 
 4. 
 
 Westward where the wavy prairie 
 
 Dark as slumbering ocean lies, 
 Let Thy starlight, Son of Mary, 
 
 O'er the shadowed billows rise ! 
 There be heard, ye herald voices, 
 
 Till the Lord His glory shews, 
 And the lonely place rejoices, 
 
 With the bloom of Sharon's rose. 
 
 ) j 
 
o- 
 
 WESTERN MISSIONS. 
 
 -o 
 
 235 
 
 Where the wilderness is lying 
 
 And the trees of ages nod, 
 Westward, in the desert crying, 
 
 Make a highway for our God. 
 Westward — till the Church be kneeling 
 
 In the forest aisles so dim, 
 And the wild-wood arches pealing, 
 
 With the people's holy hymn. 
 
 6. 
 
 Westward still, oh Lord, in glory 
 
 Be Thy bannered cross unfurled, 
 Till from vale to mountain hoary, 
 
 Rolls the anthem round the world ; 
 Reign, oh reign o'er every nation, 
 
 Reign, Redeemer — Father — King ; 
 And with songs of Thy salvation, 
 
 Let the wide creation ring. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 

 
 In i\at>tance Ijc came. 
 
 1. 
 
 In radiance he came from the mount where hebowed, 
 To talk with the Lobd in the veil of the cloud ; 
 And light flashed before him, as trembling he trod, 
 From the mountain that quaked at the coming 
 of God. 
 
 'Twas Israel's prophet — oh breathe not his name, 
 Who talked with the Lord till his visage was flame, 
 Whose brow with the smile of Jehovah did glow, 
 And shone with the blaze of His glory below ! 
 
 3. 
 
 Oh, bright as the mercy-seat, dazzling afar, 
 He rose on the night of the vale like a star, 
 And dread was the sight to the recreant's mirth, 
 Who praised his grim idol, while God was on earth. 
 
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0- o 
 
 IN RADIANCE HE CAME. 237 
 
 4. 
 
 Then flew the swift shudder electric of fear, 
 And stole the breath-whisper of guilt on the ear, 
 And the dancer was dumb at his orgies abhorr'd, 
 And the renegade priest knew the friend of theLoRD. 
 
 5. 
 
 And the virgins of Judah are lightsome of limb 
 As they whirl round the calf to a love-breathing 
 
 hymn; 
 And the damsel's swift heel hath a language that 
 
 speaks, 
 And the hue of her heart flushes warm on her cheeks. 
 
 A moment — and mute as the startled gazelle, 
 All wild is her eye — the dark eye of her spell ! 
 And breaks the frail ring o'er the dance-beaten sod, 
 Like flowers dropping pale from their garlanded god. 
 
 So dazzling the beauty of holiness bright ! 
 The glory of goodness — the wonderful light ! 
 So, Lord, would I shine from my converse above 
 So shed on the nations the light of .Thy love. 
 
 o c 
 
O 
 
 o 
 
 238 
 
 IN KADIANCE HE CAME. 
 
 And so from the mountains the height of my prayer, 
 Where dwelling with Thee, it was good to be there, 
 Grant, Lord, I may stoop to the valleys below, 
 With visage all radiant, and features that glow. 
 
 o 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 J^Smn in ?i?ob 3&ec6. 
 
 Who is this, with garments gory, 
 
 Triumphing from Bozrah's way, 
 This, that weareth robes of glory, 
 
 Bright, with more than Vict'ry's ray ; 
 Who is this unwearied comer 
 
 From the journey's sultry length, 
 Travelling through Idume's summer, 
 
 In the greatness of his strength ! 
 
 o- 
 
 Wherefore red in thine apparel, 
 Like the conquerors of earth, 
 
 And arrayed like those who carol 
 O'er the reeking vineyard's mirth. 
 
 -o 
 
 
o o 
 
 240 HYMN IN HOLY WEEK. 
 
 Who art thou, the valleys seeking, 
 Where our peaceful harvests wave ! 
 
 I — in righteous anger speaking, 
 I — the mighty One to save. 
 
 3. 
 
 I — that of the raging heathen 
 
 Trod the wine-press all alone, 
 Now in victor garlands wreathen, 
 
 Coming to redeem Mine own. 
 I am He with sprinkled raiment, 
 
 Glorious from My vengeance hour, 
 Ransoming with priceless payment, 
 
 And delivering with power. 
 
 4. 
 
 Hail, all hail, Thou Lord of Glory ! 
 
 Thee our Father — Thee we own ! 
 Abra'm heard not of our story, 
 
 Israel ne'er our name hath known ; 
 But, Redeemer, Thou hast sought us, 
 
 Thou hast heard Thy children's wail, 
 Thou with Thy dear blood hast bought us, 
 
 Hail, Thou mighty Victor, hail ! 
 
 o o 
 
€f)t 2ast Plague of ISggpt. 
 
 1. 
 
 Deep night o'er thy waters, thou dark rolling Nile, 
 And, all save the Hebrew, they slumber and smile, 
 For a voice comes in dreams to the children of God ; 
 But the proud have no whisper that Death is abroad. 
 
 2. 
 
 So nestled in rocks, when the whirlwind is nigh, 
 They hear its far coming ; the birds of the sky ! 
 While trees it must shiver in leaf and in form, 
 Are hush as the stillness that heralds the storm. 
 
 And the Memphian, at midnight, lay smiling well- 
 pleased, 
 His sin all unshriven, his God unappeased, 
 Till o'er his dark slumbers chill shadows were curled, 
 And the soul of the dreamer was far from the world. 
 
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 •o 
 
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 242 THE LAST PLAGUE OE EGYPT. 
 
 4. 
 
 And he lay in the coils of the Death- Spirit, mute, 
 With a seal on his lips, like the blast in the fruit : 
 And he seemed as when hoar-frost hath stiffened 
 
 the flower, — 
 'Twas the blight of the Lord, 'twas the touch of 
 
 His power. 
 
 5. 
 
 But stDl was the starlight — while shrouded and hid 
 Death brooded o'er palace, and cold pyramid ; 
 No voice on the midnight ; no larum of wrath ; 
 No sound of the whirlwind — but only its path ; 
 
 6. 
 
 And a cry was in Egypt when rose the red morn. 
 For a thousand pale mothersbewail'd their first-born ; 
 And Memnon's sweet music, that greeted the sun, 
 Was lost in the moan of a nation undone. 
 
 And shriek' d the young wife o'er the child of her pain, 
 That never should breathe on her bosom again, 
 And breasts that were warm with their nursling 
 
 before, 
 But heaved in her grief, for the boy that she bore. 
 
 o o 
 
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 THE LAST PLAGUE OF EGYPT. 243 
 
 8. 
 
 And the bride shrank aghast, like the death- stricken 
 
 dove, 
 When she woke in the cold frozen lock of her love : 
 And a groan for the noble, the lovely outpoured, 
 A wail for the battle they waged with the Lord. 
 
 9. 
 
 And they seemed like the willows, that, left on the 
 
 steep, 
 Are bent o'er the wreck of the forest to weep, 
 Or lilies that dripping, and drooping in form, 
 Shed tears o'er the broken, the spoil of the storm. 
 
 10. 
 
 Ye join not the wailing, ye dwellers of Zan ! 
 Hath the Death-Angel spared ye, that smote as he 
 
 ran 1 ? 
 Oh the blood-sprinkled lintel hath stayed his proud 
 
 reign, 
 And watched at your threshold the Lamb that was 
 
 slain. 
 
 o— o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 l^gmn of t&c &ltat. 
 
 PANGE LINGUA. 
 
 Tell, my tongue, the wondrous story 
 
 Of the Body's Mystery ; 
 And the chalice, dread and gory, 
 
 Which, the world's dear price to be, 
 Mary's Son, the King of Glory, 
 
 Filled on streaming Calvary. 
 
 o- 
 
 Duly given us from heaven, 
 Of the taintless Virgin, He 
 
 First, the word's mysterious leaven 
 To the world dispensed free, 
 
 Then, with greater marvels even, 
 Closed His wondrous ministry. 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 HYMX OF THE ALTAR. 245 
 
 In that Even, with Eleven, 
 At the last sad feast reclined, 
 
 He, with due observance given, 
 Ended all the Law designed ; 
 
 Then, Himself, the Bread of Heaven, 
 Gave to them, and all mankind. 
 
 4. 
 
 Word made flesh, He speaking merely 
 With a word made flesh of bread ; 
 
 And, of wine, His blood as clearly, 
 To the thirsty spirit shed ; 
 
 Sense perceives not, yet, sincerely 
 We believe, and faith is fed. 
 
 5. 
 
 Thus in Spirit sacramental, 
 
 Him discerning we adore ; 
 Type and symbol elemental 
 
 Fade this newer rite before, 
 And, to reason supplemental, 
 
 Faith beholds, when sense gives o'er. 
 
 : c 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 246 
 
 HYMN OF THE ALTAR. 
 
 6. 
 
 Glory, honour, and salvation, 
 To the Father and the Son ; 
 
 And co-equal adoration 
 To the Holy Ghost be done ; 
 
 One in substance, power and station, 
 Everlasting Three in One. 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 St. 33artijolomefo. 
 
 l. 
 
 Behold an Israelite indeed, 
 
 In whom no guile is found, 
 For such was blest Nathanael's meed, 
 
 Ere yet with glory crowned ! 
 Now he who once, in bending awe, 
 
 Beneath the fig-tree prayed, 
 Sees greater things than then he saw, 
 
 In highest heaven displayed. 
 
 Oh ! when did he that vision bright 
 
 Of wondrous glory scan, 
 Of angels, to and fro, in flight 
 
 Upon the Son of Man ? 
 
 o- 
 
 o 
 
o- 
 
 248 
 
 ST. BARTHOLOMEW. 
 
 Long waiting for the sight, perchance 
 When came his Master's call, 
 
 The Martyr, as with Stephen's glance, 
 Looked up and saw it all ! 
 
 o- 
 
St. iWatt&efo. 
 
 1. 
 
 He who for Christ hath left behind 
 Or house, or lands, or wife, 
 
 A hundred-fold, e'en here, shall find, 
 And everlasting life. 
 
 The gold on Levi's table shone, 
 As Jesus passed that way ; 
 
 But called to follow Christ alone, 
 He left it, where it lay. 
 
 3. 
 
 Thus, for His Lord, he suffered shame, 
 And shamed a faithless age, 
 
 Else who, to-day, had named his name, 
 Or read his golden page ] 
 
 -o 
 
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 ■o 
 
 250 
 
 ST. MATTHEW. 
 
 4. 
 
 Else, how, with all the saints enrolled, 
 
 Should he in glory stand, 
 And wear the martyr's crown of gold, 
 
 At Jesus Christ's right hand ? 
 
 o- 
 
 -o 
 
o 
 
 -o 
 
 f^gmn to tjic fteueenur. 
 
 1. 
 
 When o'er Judea's vales and hills, 
 Or by her olive-shaded rills, 
 Thy weary footsteps went of old, 
 Or walked the lulling waters bold, 
 How beauteous were the marks divine 
 That in Thy meekness used to shine, 
 That lit Thy lonely pathway, trod 
 In wondrous love, oh Lamb of God ! 
 
 o- 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh ! who like Thee so calm, so bright, 
 Thou Son of Man, Thou Light of Light : 
 Oh ! who like Thee, did ever go, 
 So patient, through a world of woe : 
 
 -o 
 
o o 
 
 1 252 HYMN TO THE REDEEMER. 
 
 Oh ! who like Thee, so humbly bore 
 The scorn, the scoffs of men before ; 
 So meek, forgiving, God-like, high, 
 So glorious in humility ! 
 
 3. 
 
 The morning saw Thee, like the day, 
 Forth on Thy light-bestowing way ; 
 And evening in her holy hues, 
 Shed down her sweet baptismal dews, 
 Where bending angels stooped to see 
 The lisping infant clasp Thy knee, 
 And smile as in a father's eye 
 Upon thy mild Divinity ! 
 
 The hours when princes sought their rest 
 Beheld Thee, still, no chamber's guest ; 
 And when the chilly night hung round, 
 And man from Thee sweet slumber found, 
 Thy weary footsteps sought, alone, 
 The mountain to Thy sorrows known, 
 And darkness heard Thy patient prayer, 
 Or hid Thee, in the prowler's lair. 
 
 } c 
 
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 HYMN TO THE REDEEMER. 253 
 
 5. 
 
 And all Thy life's unchanging years, 
 A man of sorrows, and of tears, 
 The Cross, where all our sins were laid, 
 Upon Thy bending shoulders weighed ; 
 And death, that sets the pris'ner free, 
 Was pang, and scoff, and scorn to Thee ; 
 Yet love through all Thy torture glowed, 
 And mercy with Thy life-blood flowed. 
 
 6. 
 
 Oh wondrous Lord ! my soul would be 
 Still more and more conformed to Thee ; 
 Would lose the pride, the taint of sin, 
 That burns these fevered veins within, 
 And learn of Thee, the lowly One, 
 And like Thee, all my journeys run, 
 Above the world, and all its mirth, 
 Yet weeping still with weeping earth. 
 
 o- 
 
 7. 
 Oh ! in Thy light, be mine to go, 
 Illuming all my way of woe ; 
 And give me ever, on the road, 
 To trace Thy footsteps, oh my God ! 
 
 -o 
 
o- 
 
 -o 
 
 254 
 
 HYMN TO THE REDEEMER. 
 
 My passions lull, my spirit calm, 
 And make this lion-heart a lamb ; 
 And give me all my life to be 
 A sacrifice to love and Thee ! 
 
 o- 
 
o o 
 
 iHag*iftornittff 
 
 AT 
 
 MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXEORD. 
 
 1. 
 
 England and Oxford, — Magdalen and May-morn, 
 These were that day my elements of mirth ; 
 
 When harshly sounding many a restless horn 
 Of Flora's feast proclaimed the rosy birth. 
 
 blessed the month that decks with flowers the 
 thorn, 
 And spreads fresh beauty o'er reviving earth ! 
 
 And blessed was I, uprising glad as they, 
 
 To join the throngs that kept the holiday ! 
 
 2. 
 
 And as the earliest lark went up the skies, 
 
 All emulous of her aspiring flight, 
 Where Magdalen's tow'ring pinnacles arise, 
 
 A choir of singers climbed the airy height ; 
 
 o ■ o 
 
O ! o 
 
 256 MAT-MORNING. 
 
 Vested they were for holy minstrelsies, 
 
 And each young chorister was all delight, 
 Thus like the morning bird to mount and sing, 
 As if at Heavens own window carolling. 
 
 3. 
 
 Ah ! who can tell how good it was to climb 
 With them the windings of that faery tower, 
 
 And from the summit scan the scene sublime 
 Of hill and dale, high wood, and bosky bower, — 
 
 Meadows still sparkling with the dews of prime, — 
 And skies all rosy with the dawning hour,— 
 
 And e'en of antique roofs the nearer show, 
 
 With CherwelTs bridge, and glassy stream below ! 
 
 4. 
 
 Of Faith and Learning those delightful homes, 
 And holy seigniories mine eye surveyed ; 
 
 Quaint gables, sightly turrets, shapely domes, 
 Halls, colleges, and gardens ; and the shade 
 
 Of thoughtful walks, where Merton's student roams. 
 And winding banks that shewed where Is is 
 strayed : — 
 
 And all seemed beautiful, and long I there 
 
 Respired sweet sentiment and wholesome air. 
 
 o o 
 
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 AT MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 257 
 
 What though on Forest Hill the bard uo more 
 Sings blithe " Allegro" and a " May-day song :" — 
 
 In Bagley-wood the morrice-dance is o'er, 
 Nor May-pole rises 'mid the rustic throng ; — 
 
 Nor sports are seen that cheered hard toils of yore 
 In many a scene these spreading meads among, — 
 
 Nor Cumnor rings, — nor Woodstock bower, as when 
 
 Queen Bess and Burleigh blazoned Englishmen : — 
 
 6. 
 
 Yet o'er the scene I gazed with longing head, 
 Nor deemed from hill and dale the glory flown ; 
 
 There, where the daisy in the emerald mead 
 To Chaucer's early eye unclosed its own ; — 
 
 Or there where Milton's soul disowned its creed, 
 And wooed to pleasures all too long unknown, 
 
 From e'en his darling treasons stayed his heart, 
 
 And gave to native loves his nobler part. 
 
 Nor aught did t'hose returning calends lack 
 Of England's own incomparable May : 
 
 o : c 
 
O : O 
 
 258 MAY-MORNING 
 
 Of pleasures rare in life's more wonted track 
 Of sights, like Florence for a holiday a ! 
 
 Ah me, what memories won my fancy back ! 
 Historic thought, and fiction's sportive play, 
 
 That rose like sighs within me, as I stood, 
 
 And all around me surplice, cap, and hood. 
 
 8. 
 
 And when, at length, the flash of Morning's fires 
 Smote Oxford's many domes and pinnacles, 
 
 There was a crash from all her gilded spires 
 Telling the hour with sympathizing bells : 
 
 And then, — as if all Angels struck their lyres, — 
 Filling the skies with music's miracles, — 
 
 Up to the throne, between the Cherubim, 
 
 I heard ascend their Eucharistic Hymn ! 
 
 9. 
 
 And seemed that music, in mid air, as when 
 The spirit is absolved from mortal clay, 
 
 And to the Paradise of ransomed men, 
 Finds it, in Angels' arms, in upward way. 
 
 * Charles the Fifth's remarks about Florence. Walton's Angler. 
 
 o o 
 
o 
 
 AT MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 259 
 
 I seemed to tremble lest to earth again 
 
 I should be banished from that upper day, 
 Where rings for aye the glory excellent, 
 And all is harmony and ravishment. 
 
 10. 
 
 Father ! of Thee they sung the twofold boon, 
 Bread for the body, for the spirit grace ; 
 
 The Son they glorified, and in their tune 
 Thy name, consoling Paraclete ! had place. 
 
 Nor aught unsung was of that Power Triune ; 
 Nor aught of Him, Who did His power abase, 
 
 To be of Mary's womb, the Virgin-born ; 
 
 Of Calvary's Cross the victim and the scorn ! 
 
 11. 
 
 And when it ended, 'twas as visions die 
 
 Of the third Heaven, and all its seraph throng : 
 
 Or fades a rapture from the prophet's eye, 
 Upon the house-top listening their sweet song. 
 
 Ah ! never more to hear that harmony, 
 Still on the breezy height I lingered long : 
 
 While, to prolong the worship, bells out-pealed, 
 
 And the strong tower beneath me rocked and 
 reeled. 
 
 o : o 
 
o o 
 
 2G0 HAY-MORNING 
 
 12. 
 And then, or ever their glad voice was done, 
 
 Descending to the walks, I wandered round, 
 And watched the golden lustre of the sun 
 
 Brightning the belfry that gave forth the sound, 
 And seemed the deep blue sky to float upon ! 
 
 Solid, yet light, — and springing from the ground, 
 With battlements above the verdure tall, — 
 It looked unearthly, and aerial ! 
 
 13. 
 
 And pleasant as I walked, the Rookery- scream ; — 
 The fresh, cool, joyous, influence of the air; 
 
 And incense floating like a morning dream, 
 Of fragrant sweetbriar lurking everywhere : — 
 
 But thoughts of pleasant men did sweeter seem 
 As in their very footsteps I did fare ; 
 
 And walked with Addison, or talked with Home, 
 
 In their old haunts that memorable morn. 
 
 14. 
 
 All ye that linger where so soon I passed, — 
 
 My friends of Magdalen, and thou Reverend j 
 Form ! 
 
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O Q 
 
 AT MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD. 261 
 
 Of olden worth the lonely leaf and last, 
 
 Who gav'st my bended head a blessing warm : — 
 
 If on this votive page a glance ye cast, 
 Remember one escaped th' Atlantic storm. 
 
 Who found adventure's rich reward that day 
 
 When, on your tower, he welcomed English May. 
 
 PRINTED BY MESSRS. PARKER, CORK-MARKET, OXFORD. 
 
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