"But when death comes, the Priest will come, And shriven I shall be; I long have trusted, still I trust, With wondering awe, the stranger heard, The sign of blessing, words long since Came to that dying man with all He bowed his aged head and smiled The rites of Holy Church are o'er, And he, whom God had sent, went on At the great wonders wrought for those THE PILGRIM'S PRAYER. BY LADY G. FULLERTON. WITH trials compassed and beset with foes Armed for the fight, thy life-long strife begin, And ever as the conflict deeper grows With dangers round thee, and within the sin, Yield not an inch-press on—no efforts spare, But arm thee, Christian, with the Pilgrim's prayer. Temptation in thy path? Then call for aid— Guilt on thy soul? Behold thy ransom paid. God's kingdom in thy hopes; His will, thy will; God's name upon thy lips; there keep it still : A Heaven in view, and in the Cross a share, This, this, O Christian, is the Pilgrim's prayer! THE LANGUAGE OF THE CHURCH. UNTO all lands thy sound has gone, In every clime beneath the skies There does the Church her "Sanctus sing, That Christ on earthly altars dwells. BY LADY G. FULLERTON. WHO would not seek with eager steps Who would not gaze upon the sea Who would not linger in the shade Or higher yet-on Calvary 66 Who would not kneel and cry— "My God, my God! of very love Here let Thy creature die ?" Yes, still to Salem's hallowed scenes, To Martyrs' graves, Apostles' tombs, The pilgrim's feet are duly bent; But there are Sanctuaries at hand The Lord vouchsafes to dwell. Oh! are not these the shrines where all And at His sacred feet their weight Yea, blessed are the hallowed haunts A lesson from each silent scene In holy relics lies a joy That all who love Him know, But still more precious to the heart He gives us all, He gives Himself "OH! THAT THY CREED WERE SOUND!" "Oh! that thy Creed were sound, For thou dost soothe the heart, Thou Church of Rome," &c. -Lyra Apostolica. BY LADY G. FULLERTON. O MOTHER CHURCH! my spirit's home! long sought and found at last, Safe in the shelter of thy arms, I muse upon the past; E'en in my childhood's days, there rose a shadow of thy form, And through the thoughtlessness of youth it showed amidst the storm; Like angel visits came those gleams my startled soul before, Wave upon wave advancing left a token on the shore. |