and around us, became to them adorable eminently and altogether as a power which makes for righteousness; which makes for it unchangeably and eternally, and is therefore called The Eternal.

XXXV.

PROGRESS.

The Master stood upon the mount, and taught.

He saw a fire in his disciples' eyes;

"The old law," they said, "is wholly come to nought!
Behold the new world rise!"

"Was it," the Lord then said, "with scorn ye saw
The old law observed by Scribes and Pharisees?
I say unto you, see ye keep that law

More faithfully than these!

"Too hasty heads for ordering worlds, alas!

Think not that I to annul the law have will'd;

No jot, no tittle from the law shall pass,

Till all hath been fulfill'd."

So Christ said eighteen hundred years ago.

And what then shall be said to those to-day
Who cry aloud to lay the old world low
To clear the new world's way?

"Religious fervours! ardour misapplied!

Hence, hence," they cry, "ye do but keep man blind! But keep him self-immersed, preoccupied,

And lame the active mind."

Ah! from the old world let someone answer give:
"Scorn ye this world, their tears, their inward cares?

I say unto you, see that your souls live

A deeper life than theirs.

Say ye: The spirit of man has found new roads,
And we must leave the old faiths, and walk therein?

Leave then the Cross as ye have left carved gods,
But guard the fire within!

Bright, else, and fast the stream of life may roll,
And no man may the other's hurt behold;
Yet each will have one anguish-his own soul
Which perishes of cold."

Here let that voice make end! then let a strain
From a far lonelier distance, like the wind
Be heard, floating through heaven, and fill again.
These men's profoundest mind:

'Children of men! the unseen Power, whose eye

For ever doth accompany mankind,

Hath look'd on no religion scornfully

That men did ever find.

"Which has not taught weak wills how much they can?

Which has not fall'n on the dry heart like rain?

Which has not cried to sunk, self-weary man:

'Thou must be born again!'?

"Children of men! not that your age excel
In pride of life the ages of your sires,

But that you think clear, feel deep, bear fruit well,
The Friend of man desires."

XXXVI.

A WISH.

I ask not that my bed of death
From bands of greedy heirs be free;
For these besiege the latest breath
Of fortune's favour'd sons, not me.

I ask not each kind soul to keep
Tearless, when of my death he hears;
Let those who will, if any, weep!

There are worse plagues on earth than tears.

I ask but that my death may find
The freedom to my life denied;
Ask but the folly of mankind,

Then, then at last, to quit my side.

Spare me the whispering, crowded room,
The friends who come, and gape, and go;
The ceremonious air of gloom-

All that makes death a hideous show!

Nor bring, to see me cease to live,
Some doctor full of phrase and fame,
To shake his sapient head, and give
The ill he cannot cure a name!

Nor fetch, to take the accustom'd toll
Of the poor sinner bound for death,
His brother doctor of the soul,

To canvass with official breath.

The future and its viewless things

That undiscover'd mystery

Which one who feels Death's winnowing wings

Must needs read clearer, sure, than he!

Bring none of these! but let me be,
While all around in silence lies,

Moved to the window near, and see
Once more, before my dying eyes,

Bathed in the sacred dews of morn
The wide aërial landscape spread-
The world which was ere I was born,
The world which lasts when I am dead!

Which never was the friend of one,
Nor promised love it could not give;
But lit for all its generous sun,
And lived itself, and made us live.

There let me gaze, till I become
In soul with what I gaze on wed!
To feel the universe my home;
To have before my mind-instead

Of the sick-room, the mortal strife,
The turmoil for a little breath-
The pure eternal course of life,
Not human combatings with death.

Thus feeling, gazing, let me grow Composed, refresh'd, ennobled, clear; Then willing let my spirit go

To work or wait elsewhere or here!

ENGLISH ROMANISTS.

I.

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

Father of all! in every age,
In every clime adored,

By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

Thou great First Cause least understood, Who all my sense confined

To know but this, that Thou art good, And that myself am blind;

Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;

And binding nature fast in fate,

Left free the human will.

What conscience dictates to be done,

Or warns me not to do,

This, teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.

What blessings Thy free bounty gives
Let me not cast away;

For God is paid when man receives,
To enjoy is to obey.

Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.