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Go thou and hear the threatenings of the Lord;
Listening within his Temple, see his sword
Unsheathed in wrath to strike the offender's head,
Thy own, if sorrow for thy sin be dead,
Guilt unrepented, pardon unimplored.

Two aspects bears Truth needful for salvation;
Who knows not that?-yet would this delicate age
Look only on the Gospel's brighter page:
Let light and dark duly our thoughts employ;
So shall the fearful words of Commination
Yield timely fruit of peace and love and joy.



To kneeling Worshippers no earthly floor
Gives holier invitation than the deck

Of a storm-shattered Vessel saved from Wreck
(When all that Man could do availed no more)
By Him who raised the Tempest and restrains:
Happy the crew who this have felt, and pour
Forth for His mercy, as the Church ordains,
Solemn thanksgiving. Nor will they implore
In vain, who, for a rightful cause, give breath,
To words the Church prescribes, aiding the lip
For the heart's sake, ere ship with hostile ship
Encounters, armed for work of pain and death.
Suppliants! the God to whom your cause ye trust
Will listen, and ye know that He is just.





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FROM the Baptismal hour, through weal and woe,
The Church extends her care to thought and deed;
Nor quits the Body when the Soul is freed,
The mortal weight cast off to be laid low.
Blest Rite for him who hears in faith, “I know
That my Redeemer liveth,” — hears each word
That follows, striking on some kindred chord
Deep in the thankful heart;—yet tears will flow.
Man is as grass that springeth up at morn,

Grows green, and is cut down and withereth
Ere nightfall, truth that well may claim a sigh,
Its natural echo; but hope comes reborn

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At Jesu's bidding. We rejoice, “O Death,

Where is thy Sting?-O Grave, where is thy



CLOSING the sacred Book which long has fed
Our meditations, give we to a day
Of annual joy one tributary lay;

This day, when, forth by rustic music led,
The village Children, while the sky is red

* See Note.

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With evening lights, advance in long array
Through the still churchyard, each with garland


That, carried sceptre-like, o'ertops the head

Of the proud Bearer. To the wide church-door,
Charged with these offerings which their fathers

For decoration in the Papal time,

The innocent Procession softly moves:

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The spirit of Laud is pleased in heaven's pure clime,
And Hooker's voice the spectacle approves!



WOULD that our scrupulous Sires had dared to leave

Less scanty measures of those graceful rites

And usages, whose due return invites

A stir of mind too natural to deceive;

Giving to Memory help when she would weave
A crown for Hope! I dread the boasted lights
That all too often are but fiery blights,

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Killing the bud o'er which in vain we grieve.
Go, seek, when Christmas snows discomfort bring,
The counter Spirit found in some gay church
Green with fresh holly, every pew a perch
In which the linnet or the thrush might sing,
Merry and loud and safe from prying search,
Strains offered only to the genial Spring.

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FROM low to high doth dissolution climb,
And sink from high to low, along a scale
Of awful notes, whose concord shall not fail;
A musical but melancholy chime,

Which they can hear who meddle not with crime,
Nor avarice, nor over-anxious care.

Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear
The longest date do melt like frosty rime,
That in the morning whitened hill and plain
And is no more; drop like the tower sublime
Of yesterday, which royally did wear

His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain
Some casual shout that broke the silent air,
Or the unimaginable touch of Time.



MONASTIC Domes! following my downward way,
Untouched by due regret I marked your fall!
Now, ruin, beauty, ancient stillness, all
Dispose to judgments temperate as we lay
On our past selves in life's declining day :
For as, by discipline of Time made wise,
We learn to tolerate the infirmities

And faults of others, gently as he may,
So with our own the mild Instructor deals,
Teaching us to forget them or forgive.
Perversely curious, then, for hidden ill
Why should we break Time's charitable seals?
Once ye were holy, ye are holy still;
Your spirit freely let me drink, and live!



Even while I speak, the sacred roofs of France
Are shattered into dust; and self-exiled
From altars threatened, levelled, or defiled,
Wander the Ministers of God, as chance
Opens a way for life, or consonance

Of faith invites. More welcome to no land
The fugitives than to the British strand,
Where priest and layman with the vigilance
Of true compassion greet them. Creed and test
Vanish before the unreserved embrace

Of catholic humanity: -distrest

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They came, and, while the moral tempest roars Throughout the Country they have left, our shores Give to their Faith a fearless resting-place.

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