THE PREACHING OF ST. PAUL.
Or Attic portico her presence held,
Or the dark inmate of the pagan shrine,
She heaped vain incense to some idol-god.
O! may those living oracles of light,
That boast the sanction of thy hallowed pen,
Illustrious convert! o'er each gloomy land,
Where still pale fear and superstition reign,
Spread the rich treasures of immortal truth!
May the false prophet's sensual paradise,
Base hopes of ignorance and lust,
Allure no more the pilgrim's weary step
To Mecca's walls; no longer Fohi's name
Usurp the prostrate adoration, due
To God alone: nor more th' unconscious sun
Provoke the trembling Indian's fruitless vow :
But may one mind, one faith, one hope, one God
Unite the scattered progeny of man!
And now abideth faith, hope, charity; but the greatest of these is charity. COR. xiii. 13.
Is it some sport of Fancy's silver light,
That darts along the shades of scattered night?
Or gleams from spot to spot on mortal ground,
The mystic web through time and nature wound?
Three holy graces came from heaven to man,
Three great apostles led their peaceful van,
Three lengthened ages, blending each with each,
From truth's first blaze, to earth's last glory reach:
And each apostle wears one holy grace,
And each long age is one apostle's trace.
The age of Faith, it leaned on Peter's name,
And stood a rock 'mid seas of mounting flame:
Its youthful strength the assailant's fury broke,
And error crouched beneath its scourging stroke.
It held the cross with zeal's impetuous hand,
And touched, and blessed, and swayed each savage land;
Chose for itself the lonely cell and cave,
But reared for heaven the minster's glorious nave:
The age of Hope, it heard the conqueror's call,
And girt the shield, and grasped the sword of Saul;
It strove for truth, and truth in strife it won,
Strong in the word, the immortal cause went on
Foiled and still foiled, the hostile armies swell,
Long is the work, yet toil the champions well;
Ranged for the last, the fierce opposer stands,
And doubt and discord tear the faithful bands,
A hundred winds their hundred banners blow,
Yet beams on each defiance to the foe;
From victory rings their clarion's mingling tone,
We hear their peal, but hear in hope alone.
The age of Love,—O, who its light shall see?
Beloved apostle! tells it not of thee?
The strife is o'er, the day of triumph nigh;
In palmy groves the shields are hung on high:
For every band its destined place is there,
And every brow its worthy wreath must wear;
A blooming garden rises o'er the waste,
Amid its walks they rove, and till, and taste;
The playful lyre in tuneful numbers sweep,
Or speak, or sing, of wisdom high and deep,
Then sit them down and watch the fading ray;
Their eve is morn, their morn an endless day.
Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father, is this, To visit the fatherless and the widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world.-ST. JAMES i. 27.
WOULDST thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?
Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold?
Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.-—
"Tis when the rose is wrapt in many a fold
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
Its life and beauty; not when, all unrolled,
Leaf after leaf, its bosom, rich and fair,
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
Wake, thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers,
Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours
To take their swif; and everlasting flight;
Wake, ere the earth-born charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed;
Do something-do it soon-with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself, inactive, were no longer blest.
Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate, till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined.
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
To this thy purpose-to begin, pursue,
With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind; Strength to complete, and with delight review, And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.
No good of worth sublime will Heaven permit
To light on man as from the passing air;
The lamp of genius, though by nature lit,
If not protected, pruned, and fed with care,
Soon dies, or runs to waste with fitful glare:
And learning is a plant that spreads and towers
Slow as Columbia's aloe, proudly rare,
That, 'mid gay thousands, with the suns and showers Of half a century, grows alone before it flowers.
Has immortality of name been given
To them that idly worship hills and groves,
And burn sweet incense to the queen of heaven?
Did Newton learn from fancy, as it roves,
To measure worlds, and follow where each moves?
Did Howard gain renown that shall not cease,
By wanderings wild that nature's pilgrim loves?
Or did Paul gain heaven's glory and its peace,
By musing o'er the bright and tranquil isles of Greece?
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