CIX.

LIBERALISM.

"Jehu destroyed Baal out of Israel. Howbeit from the sins of Jeroboam Jehu departed not from after them, to wit, the golden calves that were in Bethel, and that were in Dan."

YE cannot halve the Gospel of God's grace;

Men of presumptuous heart! I know you well. Ye are of those who plan that we should dwell, Each in his tranquil home and holy place; Seeing the Word refines all natures rude, And tames the stirrings of the multitude. And ye have caught some echoes of its lore, As heralded amid the joyous choirs ;

Ye heard it speak of peace, chastised desires, Good-will and mercy, and ye heard no more; But, as for zeal and quick-eyed sanctity,

And the dread depths of grace, ye passed them by. And so ye halve the Truth; for ye in heart,

At best, are doubters whether it be true, The theme discarding, as unmeet for you, Statesmen or sages. O new-ventured art

*

Of the ancient foe!-but what, if it extends

O'er our own camp, and rules amid our friends?

CX.

d.

APOSTASY.

FRANCE! I will think of thee, as what thou wast, When Poictiers showed her zeal for the true creed; Or in that age, when holy truth, though cast

On a rank soil, yet was a thriving seed

Thy schools within, from neighbour countries chased;

E'en of thy pagan day I bear to read,

Thy Martyrs sanctified the guilty host,

The sons of blessed John, reared on a western coast.

I dare not think of thee, as what thou art,

Lest thoughts too deep for man should trouble me.

It is not safe to place the mind and heart
On brink of evil, or its flames to see;
Lest they should dizzy, or some taint impart,
Or to our sin a fascination be.

And so by silence I will now proclaim

Hate of thy present self, and scarce will sound thy

name.

CXI.

CONVERSION.

ONCE cast with men of language strange
And foreign-moulded creed,

I marked their random converse change,

And sacred themes succeed.

O how I coveted the gift

To thread their mingled throng
Of sounds, then high my witness lift!
But weakness chained my tongue.

Lord! has our dearth of faith and prayer
Lost us this power once given;

Or is it sent at seasons rare,

And then flits back to heaven?

d.

d.

MOTHER AND CHILD.

CXII.

"When my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord taketh me

up."

MOTHER! and hast thou left thy child
With winds unpitying in the wild,
Stretching his feeble arms from far,
Where coldly sets the Western Star ;*
And is thy fostering bosom dry?

My Child upon me is a chain,

Mid those who have our Master slain;

And signs I see of coming war,
Tempestuously it broods afar,-

The night in silence driveth by.

* Canada.

Mother! whate'er betide thee, save
The Robe and Arms He, dying, gave;
That, thee to keep, a sheltering charm,—
And these thy foes, from their own harm;
O watch them wisely, warily!

My Child! I hold them still, but they
Would those immortal Arms essay,
And rend my sheltering Robe in twain ;
But aye with me shall they remain,—

With them I live, with them I die!

Mother! 'tis late with fear I cope,
And from my dangers gather hope:
The world grows sere, and I my bed
Have made of leaves around me shed,

Till come the day spring from on high.

My Child! whate'er shall me betide,

An Angel's face is at thy side;

He, who amid the Arabian wild

Did with the mother save the child,

Doth o'er thee lean, and hear thy cry.