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(Grave this within thy heart!) if spiritual things
Be lost, through apathy, or scorn, or fear,
Shalt thou thy humbler franchises support,
However hardly won or justly dear:

What came from heaven to heaven by nature clings,
And if dissevered thence, its course is short.



A SUDDEN Conflict rises from the swell
Of a proud slavery met by tenets strained
In Liberty's behalf. Fears, true or feigned,
Spread through all ranks; and lo! the Sentinel
Who loudest rang his pulpit 'larum bell
Stands at the Bar, absolved by female eyes
Mingling their glances with grave flatteries
Lavished on him, that England may rebel
Against her ancient virtue. HIGH and Low,
Watch-words of Party, on all tongues are rife;
As if a Church, though sprung from heaven, must


To opposite and fierce extremes her life,
Not to the golden mean, and quiet flow
Of truths that soften hatred, temper strife.


Down a swift stream, thus far, a bold design
Have we pursued, with livelier stir of heart

Than his who sees, borne forward by the Rhine,
The living landscapes greet him, and depart;
Sees spires fast sinking, up again to start!
And strives the towers to number, that recline
O'er the dark steeps, or on the horizon line
Striding with shattered crests his eye athwart.
So have we hurried on with troubled pleasure:
Henceforth, as on the bosom of a stream

That slackens, and spreads wide a watery gleam,
We, nothing loth a lingering course to measure,
May gather up our thoughts, and mark at leisure
How widely spread the interests of our theme.




WELL worthy to be magnified are they
Who, with sad hearts, of friends and country took
A last farewell, their loved abodes forsook,
And hallowed ground in which their fathers lay;
Then to the new-found World explored their way,
That so a Church, unforced, uncalled to brook
Ritual restraints, within some sheltering nook
Her Lord might worship and his word obey
In freedom. Men they were who could not bend ;
Blest Pilgrims, surely, as they took for guide
A will by sovereign Conscience sanctified;
Blest while their Spirits from the woods ascend

Along a Galaxy that knows no end,
But in His glory who for sinners died.



FROM Rite and Ordinance abused they fled
To Wilds where both were utterly unknown;
But not to them had Providence foreshown
What benefits are missed, what evils bred,
In worship neither raised nor limited

Save by Self-will. Lo! from that distant shore,
For Rite and Ordinance, Piety is led
Back to the Land those Pilgrims left of yore,
Led by her own free choice. So Truth and Love
By Conscience governed do their steps retrace.-
Fathers! your Virtues, such the power of grace,
Their spirit, in your Children, thus approve.
Transcendent over time, unbound by place,
Concord and Charity in circles move.



PATRIOTS informed with Apostolic light

Were they, who, when their country had been freed, Bowing with reverence to the ancient creed,

Fixed on the frame of England's Church their


And strove in filial love to reunite

What force had severed. Thence they fetched the seed

Of Christian unity, and won a meed

Of praise from Heaven. To Thee, O saintly WHITE,

Patriarch of a wide-spreading family,

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Remotest lands and unborn times shall turn, Whether they would restore or build, — to thee, As one who rightly taught how zeal should burn, As one who drew from out Faith's holiest urn The purest stream of patient Energy.


BISHOPS and Priests, blessèd are ye, if deep,
(As yours above all offices is high,)

Deep in your hearts the sense of duty lie;
Charged as ye are by Christ to feed and keep
From wolves your portion of his chosen sheep:
Laboring as ever in your Master's sight,
Making your hardest task your best delight,
What perfect glory ye in Heaven shall reap!
But, in the solemn Office which ye sought
And undertook premonished, if unsound

Your practice prove, faithless though but in thought,
Bishops and Priests, think what a gulf profound
Awaits you then, if they were rightly taught
Who framed the Ordinance by your lives disowned!



As star that shines dependent upon star
Is to the sky while we look up in love;
As to the deep fair ships, which though they move
Seem fixed, to eyes that watch them from afar;
As to the sandy desert fountains are,

With palm-groves shaded at wide intervals,
Whose fruit around the sun-burnt Native falls
Of roving tired or desultory war,

Such to this British Isle her Christian Fanes,
Each linked to each for kindred services;

Her Spires, her Steeple-towers with glittering


Far-kenned, her Chapels lurking among trees,
Where a few villagers on bended knees
Find solace which a busy world disdains.



A GENIAL hearth, a hospitable board,
And a refined rusticity, belong

To the neat mansion, where, his flock among,
The learned Pastor dwells, their watchful Lord.
Though meek and patient as a sheathed sword;
Though pride's least lurking thought appear a wrong

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