Now through her round of holy thought The Church our annual steps has brought, But we no holy fire have caught Back on the gaudy world our wilful eyes were bent. Too soon th' ennobling carols, pour'd Too soon those airs have pass'd away; The silence of CHRIST's dying day, Profan'd by worldly mirth, or scar'd by worldly fear. Some strain of hope and victory On Easter wings might lift us bigh; A little while we sought the sky: And when the SPIRIT's beacon fires On every hill began to blaze, Lightening the world with glad amaze, Who but must kindle while they gaze? But faster than she soars, our earth-bound Fancy tires. Nor yet for these, nor all the rites, By which our Mother's voice invites Our GOD to bless our home delights, And sweeten every secret tear:The funeral dirge, the marriage vow, The hallow'd font where parents bow, And now elate and trembling now To the Redeemer's feet their new-found treasures bear : Not for the Pastor's gracious arm Stretch'd out to bless-a Christian charm To dull the shafts of worldly harm: Nor, sweetest, holiest, best of all, For the dear feast of JESUS dying, Upon that altar ever lying, Where souls with sacred hunger sighing Are call'd to sit and eat, while angels prostrate fall: No, not for each and all of these, Have our frail spirits found their ease. Seems tun'd as truly to our hearts As when, twelve weary months ago, You would have thought Remorse and Woe Had taught the innocent air their sadly thrilling parts. Is it, CHRIST's light is too divine, But see, around His dazzling shrine Earth's gems the fire of Heaven have caught; Martyrs and saints—each glorious day Dawning in order on our way Remind us, how our darksome clay May keep th' ethereal warmth our new Creator brought. These we have scorn'd, O false and frail! And now once more th' appalling tale, How love divine may woo and fail, Of our lost year in heaven is told What if as far our life were past, Our weeks all number'd to the last, With time and hope behind us cast, And all our work to do with palsied hands and cold? O watch and pray ere Advent dawn! For thinner than the subtlest lawn "Twixt thee and death the veil is drawn. But Love too late can never glow : The scatter'd fragments Love can glean, To regions where one thought serene Breathes sweeter than whole years of sacrifice below. LXXVII. ST. ANDREW'S DAY. He first findeth his own brother Simon, and saith unto him, We have found the Messias; and he brought him unto Jesus. St. John i. 42. WHEN brothers part for manhood's race, What gift may most endearing prove To keep fond memory in her place, 'Tis true, bright hours together told, Shall last in fancy unimpair'd. Even round the death-bed of the good And haunt us with no vexing mood When all the cares of earth are over. |