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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 sight,

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,

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:
Labouring 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 and 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 vanes
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
To human kind; though peace be on his tongue,
Gentleness in his heart-can earth afford
Such genuine state, pre-eminence so free,
As when, arrayed in Christ's authority,
He from the pulpit lifts his awful hand;
Conjures, implores, and labours all he can
For re-subjecting to divine command
The stubborn spirit of rebellious man?



YES, if the intensities of hope and fear
Attract us still, and passionate exercise
Of lofty thoughts, the way before us lies
Distinct with signs, through which in set career,
As through a zodiac, moves the ritual year
Of England's Church; stupendous mysteries!
Which whoso travels in her bosom eyes,
As he approaches them, with solemn cheer.
Upon that circle traced from sacred story
We only dare to cast a transient glance,
Trusting in hope that Others may advance.
With mind intent upon the King of Glory,
From his mild advent till his countenance
Shall dissipate the seas and mountains hoary.



DEAR be the Church, that, watching o'er the needs
Of Infancy, provides a timely shower

Whose virtue changes to a christian Flower
A Growth from sinful Nature's bed of weeds!--
Fitliest beneath the sacred roof proceeds
The ministration; while parental Love
Looks on, and Grace descendeth from above
As the high service pledges now, now pleads.
There, should vain thoughts outspread their wings and fly
To meet the coming hours of festal mirth,
The tombs-which hear and answer that brief cry,
The Infant's notice of his second birth-

Recal the wandering Soul to sympathy

With what man hopes from Heaven, yet fears from Earth.



FATHER!-to God himself we cannot give
A holier name! then lightly do not bear
Both names conjoined, but of thy spiritual care
Be duly mindful: still more sensitive

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