The Denial.

URGED, Lord, by sinful terror,
Peter denied thy name;
Soon, conscious of his error,

He mourned his guilt with shame :
Thy look with sorrow filled his breast,
He sought thy pard'ing mercy,

And was with pardon blessed.

After, how grew this martyr

In faith and hardihood!
He scorned thy truth to barter,
But sealed it with his blood:

For thee, his Lord, he spent his breath,

In life declared thy glory,

And honored thee in death.

B. Muenta.

St. Peter.

THOU hast the art on 't, Peter, and canst tell

To cast thy net on all occasions well.

When Christ calls and thy nets would have thee stay, To cast them well's to cast them quite away.

Well, Peter, dost thou wield thy active sword,
Well for thyself, I mean, not for thy Lord.
To strike at ears is to take heed there be
No witness, Peter, of thy perjury.

Under thy shadow may I lurk awhile,
Death's busy search I'll easily beguile :
Thy shadow, Peter, must show me the sun,
My light's thy shadow's shadow, or 'tis done.

Richard Crashaw.

St. Paul.

WHOSE is that sword-that voice and eye of flame,
That heart of unextinguishable ire?

Who bears the dungeon keys; and bonds and fire?
Along his dark and withering path he came―
Death in his looks, and terror in his name,
Tempting the might of Heaven's Eternal Sire.

Lo! the light shone! the sun's veiled beams expire— A Saviour's self a Saviour's lips proclaim!

Whose is yon form stretched on the earth's cold bed,
With smitten soul, and tears of agony

Mourning the past? Bowed is the lofty head-
Rayless the orbs that flushed with victory.

Over the raging waves of human will,

The Saviour's spirit walked, and all was still.

Roscoe.

The Conversion of St. Paul.

And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?"-Acts ix. 4.

THE midday sun with fiercest glare,
Broods o'er the hazy, twinkling air;
Along the level sand

The palm tree's shade unwavering lies,
Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise,
To greet yon wearied band.

The leader of that martial crew
Seems bent some mighty deed to do,
So steadily he speeds,

With lips firm closed and fixed eye,
Like warrior when the fight is nigh,
Nor talk nor landscape heeds.

What sudden blaze is round him poured,
As though all heaven's refulgent hoard
In one rich glory shone?

One moment-and to earth he falls;
What voice his inmost heart appals?

Voice heard by him alone.

412

THE CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL.

For to the rest both words and form

Seem lost in lightning and in storm,
While Saul, in wakeful trance,
Sees deep within that dazzling field
His persecuted Lord revealed,

With keen yet pitying glance.

And hears the meek upbraiding call
And gently on his spirit fall,

As if th' Almighty Son

Were prisoner yet in this dark earth,
Nor had proclaimed his royal birth,
Nor his great power begun.

"Ah! wherefore persecut'st thou me?"
He heard and saw, and sought to free
His strained eye from the sight;

But Heaven's high magic bound it there,
Still gazing, though untaught to bear
Th' insufferable light.

"Who art thou, Lord ?" he falters forth:So shall sin ask of heaven and earth

At the last awful day,

"When did we see thee suffering nigh,
And passed thee with unheeding eye?
Great God of judgment, say?”

Ah! little dream our listless eyes
What glorious presence they despise,
While in our noon of life,