Not e'en an adversary's art thy lineaments could hide,

And, though disfigured by a foe, thy beauty I descried.

For thy deep love my spirit yearned, but trembled at thy creed,

And longing still to pluck the flower, refused to sow the seed.

"Oh! that thy creed were sound," I cried, until I felt its power,

And almost prayed to find it false in the decisive hour.

Great was the struggle, fierce the strife, but wonderful the gain,

And not one trial or one pang was sent or felt in vain,

And every link of that long chain that led my soul to thee,

Remains a monument of all thy mercy wrought for

me.

MARY KEPT ALL THESE WORDS.

Mary kept all these words, pondering them in her heart."
BY LADY G. FULLERTON.

MOTHER of Him, who neither strove nor cried,
Who looked His pain, when by a friend denied ;
Whose whisper from the Cross to one forgiven
Cancelled the past, and sent a Saint to Heaven ;
Whose voice was in the noisy streets unknown,
His passage by His mercies marked alone;-
Mother, whose heart was e'en on earth a shrine
For holy memories and thoughts divine,

Whence hymns of praise and adoration rose,
As from a crystal fount the pure stream flows;
Or the white speckless lilies of the field
The fragrant tribute of their perfume yield ;-
Mother, perchance for that dear likeness fell
A glance divine upon the flow'ry dell,
And Jesus praised the children of the sod,
For love of thee, the fairest work of God;
For Solomon in all his glory bore

No brighter aspect than these emblems wore.
Mother, we fain would learn of thee to stand
The Cross beside, and with no feeble hand
To clasp its form, and resolutely pray
For strength to bear the burthen of the day;
To meditate alone, nor speak of all

The hopes that stir, the terrors that appal
Our secret souls, as in their inmost cells
The storm careers, or the bright sunshine dwells.
Teach us that solemn silence of the heart,
E'en while we fill with zeal life's earnest part,
With footsteps swift to hurry on the way
Wherever love and duty sheds its ray,

But from the earth we tread to raise our eyes
With calm repose to the unchanging skies.

THE SACRIFICE OF THE MASS.

BY LADY G. FULLERTON.

As erst on Israel's sacred ark

The Token Cloud remained,

That nightly turned to fire, the sign
That God amongst them reigned,

The midnight hour-the noonday skies,
That awful presence owned,-
By day a cloud, by night a flame,
In light or shade enthroned.

As God of old in mercy veiled
The prophet's yearning eyes,
As the too dazzling glory passed,
Between him and the skies.

As erst St. Thomas stretched his hands
The sacred wounds to test,

And in their deep reality

A risen God confest :

So bows my soul each solemn hour
The Sacred Host before,

A hidden God upon his throne
In silence to adore.

No human eye could gaze and live,
God's hand is in the cloud

That earthly sense and vision spreads,
That light divine to shroud.

That hand upon my eyes, O Lord,
In love and awe I own;
For here Thy glory will descend
Unseen, but not unknown.

As long as Time's swift footsteps fall
Like thieves at midnight tread;
Till Heaven unfolds her portals wide
And Earth gives up her dead.

THE ELEVATION OF THE HOST.

By LADY G. FULLERTON.

IN breathless silence kneel,
With trembling rapture feel

The hour of grace is nigh;
Watch for the signal given,
As for a voice from Heaven,
The Lord is standing by.

Stir not the silent air,
E'en by the words of prayer,

Breathe not too loud a sigh.

In your heart's deep recess,
Your fears, your hopes express,-
Send up a speechless cry.

Mute be the organ's strain,
Man's voice of praise is vain
Where God is all in all.
Speak not, let words alone;
Be still, His presence own,
Before Him prostrate fall.

This is no earthly hour;
This is no mortal power;

God is among you now,
And each full heart may share
In Peter's raptured prayer

On the lone mountain's brow.

A VOICE FROM THE ALTAR.

BY LADY G. FULLERTON.

Now from the altar breathing, sweet as a welcome home,

O'er the hushed spirit stealing, divinest accents come: A hope and a desire, a yearning and a rest,

A still consuming fire, that burns within the breast.

What is that voice resounding, when all is still around?

What is that joy entrancing the soul in rapture bound?

Is it an angel acting a faithful guardian's part;

Or God himself revealing the secrets of His Heart?

Oh! stay and hear Him utter what those deep throbbings tell

Of all He chose to suffer, because He loved too well; The anguish of the Passion, the story of the Cross, The might of His affection, which could not brook our loss.

Oh! let those wordless pleadings, those silent lessons

move

Our hearts with their great teachings of more than human love!

Like victims prompt and willing at His dear feet to lie ;

For His dear sake consenting to live, suffer, and die!