CLXXII.

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

O that thy creed were sound!

For thou dost sooth the heart, Thou Church of Rome, By thy unwearied watch and varied round

Of service, in thy Saviour's holy home.

I cannot walk the city's sultry streets,

But the wide porch invites to still retreats,

Where passion's thirst is calmed, and care's unthank

ful gloom.

There on a foreign shore

The homesick solitary finds a friend:

Thoughts, prisoned long for lack of speech, outpour Their tears; and doubts in resignation end.

I almost fainted from the long delay,

That tangles me within this languid bay,

When comes a foe, my wounds with oil and wine to

tend.

CLXXIII.

WHEN I am sad, I say,

"What boots it me to strive, And vex my spirit day by day Dead memories to revive?

Alas! what good will come,
Though we our prayer obtain,

To bring old times triumphant home,
And Heaven's lost sword regain?

Would not our history run

In the same weary round,

And service, in meek faith begun,
One time in forms be bound?

Union would give us strength,

That strength the earth subdue ;

And then comes wealth, and pride at length, And sloth, and prayers untrue."

Nay, this is worldly-wise;

To reason is a crime,

Since the LORD bade His Church arise, In the dark ancient time.

He wills that she should shine;
So we her flame must trim
Around His soul-converting Sign,
And leave the rest to Him.

CLXXIV.

MOSES SEEING THE LAND.

My Father's hope! my childhood's dream!
The promise from on high!

Long waited for its glories beam
Now when my death is nigh.

My death is come, but not decay;
Nor eye nor mind is dim ;

The keenness of youth's vigorous day

Thrills in each nerve and limb.

Blest scene! thrice welcome after toil

If no deceit I view ;

O might my lips but press the soil,
And prove the vision true!

Its glorious heights, its wealthy plains,
Its many-tinted groves,

They call but He my steps restrains
Who chastens whom He loves.

Ah! now they melt.... they are but shades....

I die !-yet is no rest,

O Lord! in store, since Canaan fades

But seen, and not possest?

8.

WAITING FOR CHRIST.

CLXXV.

ISRAEL.

"And all his sons and all his daughters rose up to comfort him; but he refused to be comforted."

O specious sin and Satan's subtle snare,

That urges sore each gentlest meekest heart,
When its kind thoughts are crushed and its wounds

smart,

World-sick to turn within and image there
Some idol dream, to lull the throbbing care!
So felt reft Israel, when he fain would part
With living friends; and called on memory's art
To raise the dead and sooth him by despair.

Nor err they not, although that image be

God's own, nor to the dead their thoughts be given,— Earth-hating sure, but yet of earth enthralled;

For who dare sit at home, and wait to see

High Heaven descend, when man from self is called Up through this thwarting outward world to Heaven?