Of David's line, of Judah's kingly throne, Nor view, ye timid few, our course with fear- That portion of your own we deign to leave; CXLIV. a. NATIONAL DEGRADATION. GOD of our Israel! by our favoured sires Once known, once honoured! And is this the creed Hailed, in their children's councils, with the meed Of godless acclamation; while the fires Burn low on Thy dread Altar, and around Th' advancing Gentile treads the hallowed ground? Yea, it is thus; and nerveless rulers hear, Unholy triumph kindling in their eyes, And catch fresh ardour from each maddening cheer To urge the spoiler toward his glittering prize. Thine own apostate worshipper, to Thee, Mocking or self-deceived, who bends the knee, Dares join the clamour; dares, though sworn to wait, A faithful guard, before Thy vineyard's gate, Tear down her fence, and bid the forest boar Uproot Thy cherished vine on green Ierne's shore. CXLV. PROSPECTS OF THE CHURCH. AND where is now the Tishbite? Where is he And while the Gentile scorns Thine awful frown, a. Nay, Bride of Heav'n! thou art not all bereft, Still, in thy dimness, watch, and fast, and pray; And wait the Bridegroom's call,-the burst of opening CHAMPIONS OF THE TRUTH. CXLVI. "Who shall go for us?" And I said, "Here am I : send me." DULL thunders moan around the Temple Rock, His footsteps timing as the low winds breathe; Hark! from the Shrine is asked, What steadfast heart Dares in the storm go forth? Who takes th' Almighty's part? And with a bold gleam flush'd, full many a brow Is raised to say, "Behold me, LORD, and send.” But ere the words be breath'd, some broken vow Remember'd, ties the tongue; and sadly blend With Faith's pure incense, clouds of conscience dim, And faltering tones of guilt mar the Confessor's hymn. y. CXLXII. THE CREED. IF waiting by the time-crown'd halls, Proudly we show our banner'd scroll, "GOD IS MY LIGHT!* whom need I fear!" How bleak, that hour, across our purpose high, Sweeps the chill damping shade of thoughtless years gone by! How count we then lost eve and morn, The bell unwelcom'd, prayer unsaid, And holy hours and days outworn In youth's wild race, Sin's lesson newly read! * "Deus illuminatio mea," is the motto of the University of Oxford. |