CXXXI.

ΠΕΡΙ ΤΗΣ ΜΙΣΗΤΟΥ ΣΤΑΣΕΩΣ.

"The Powers that be are ordained of God."

YES, mark the words, deem not that Saints alone Are Heaven's true servants, and His laws fulfil Who rules o'er just and wicked. He from ill Culls good, He moulds the Egyptian's heart of stone To do Him honour, and e'en Nero's* throne

Claims as His ordinance; before Him still Pride bows unconscious, and the rebel will Most does His bidding, following most its own.

Then grieve not at their high and palmy state, Those proud bad men, whose unrelenting sway Has shattered holiest things, and led astray

Christ's little ones: they are but tools of Fate, Duped rebels, doomed to serve a POWER they hate,

To earn a traitor's guerdon, yet obey.

* Rom. xiii. 1-8.

B.

SACRILEGE.

CXXXII.

"I have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth Thee." Job xlii. 5.

1.

'Twas on the day* when England's Church of yore Hail'd the New Year-a day to Angels known, Since holy Gabriel to meek Mary bore

The presence-token of th' Incarnate SONUp a low vale a shepherd stray'd alone; Slow was his step and lowly bent his eye

Save when at times a thought of tasks undone His waken'd wincing memory stung too nigh: Then startled into speed, else wandering wearily.

*The above was written March 25, 1833, whilst the Irish Church Bill was in progress.

2.

A Shepherd he, but not of lambs and ewes,
But of that flock redeem'd with precious Blood;
Thoughtless too oft, now deeply seen to muse
O'er the cold lea and by the rushing flood,
And where the pathway skirts the leafless wood,
And the heaped snow, in mockery of the spring,
Lies mantling crimson flower and cowslip bud,
And scared birds forget to build and sing,
So rudely the cold North has brush'd each tender wing.

3.

These Easter snows, of evil do they bode?

Of faith's fair blossoms withering ere their prime; And of a glorious Church that early glow'd Bright as yon Crown of Stars in cold clear time, That never sets, Pride of our arctic clime, Now deeply plung'd where tempests drive and sweep, Wavering and flickering, while rude gusts of Crime Rush here and there across th' ethereal deep,

And scarce one golden Isle her station seems to keep?

4.

Nay-'tis our human eyes, our airs of earth,

That waver; yet on high th' unquenched stars Blaze as they blaz'd, and in their might go forth: The spouse of Heaven nor crime nor rapine mars. But the MOST HIGH permits these earthly jars, That souls yet hearing only, may awake

And see Him near,

and feel and own the bars 'Twixt them and Him. O be Thou near, to make

The worldly dream dissolve, the seared conscience

ache!

5.

But chiefly theirs, who at Thine Altar serve,
And for the souls elect Thy life-blood pour.
O grief and shame, when aged Pastors swerve
To the base world or wild schismatic lore.
Alas too lightly, by Thine open door,
They had been listening; not within the shrine
Kneeling in Christian calmness to adore,

Else had they held untir'd by Thee and Thine :

Nor gain nor fancy then had lur'd them from Thy

shrine.

6.

Lord of a world in years, a Church decay'd,
If from Thy whirlwind answering, as of old,
Thou with the vile wilt plead, till we have laid
Our hand upon our mouth, and truly told

Our tale of contrite Faith-(O not too bold
The prayer) then welcome, whirlwind, anger, woe,
Welcome the flash that wakes the slumbering fold

Th' Almighty Pastor's arm and eye to know,
And turn their dreamy talk to holy Fear's stern glow.

"But ye say, Wherein have we robbed Thee? in tithes and offerings. Ye are cursed with a curse: for ye have robbed Me, even this whole nation."

Heard ye? the unerring Judge is at the door!
The Curse of GOD is on thee, hapless Age,
Binding thy brows with deadly sacrilege;

Heaven's blight hath passed o'er thee! Talk no more.
Your talking must the rising sea outroar,

Your schemes with God's own whirlwind must

engage,

Hand joined in hand with nature war must wage, Your thoughts of good are toiling for a shore