THE CHURCH.

OH! do not think I slight, or scorn, or hate
The zeal wherewith ye view the strong and vast
Dominion of the Church in ages past,

And giant splendour of her huge estate;
For in her outward semblance she was great,

A mighty mansion, fit to entertain

All nations, whom the mountain or the plain,

Or Nature, in the length of time, could generate.
Ye wish, I know, we could as one unite,

And have a Church as ample as the sky,

Whence every Church might draw its whole of light, And not divide, but only multiply.

Good is your purpose; but, ye English youth,

Are ye quite sure that this is perfect truth?

RELIGIOUS DIFFERENCES.

YEA, we do differ, differ still we must,
For language is the type of thought, and thought
The slave of sense; and sense is only fraught
With cheques and tokens taken upon trust,
Not for their worth but promise. Earth is all
One mighty parable of Hell and Heaven.
The portion we can read at best is small;
'Tis little that we know, and if befal

That faith do wander, like the restless raven,
That rather chose without an aim to roam
O'er the blank world of waters, than to seek
In the one sacred ark, a duteous home,

May good be with it! Yet the bird so meek,
The missive dove, that ne'er begrudged her pain,
But duly to the ark return'd again,

And brought at last the promise and the pledge Of peace, hath won a dearer privilege, —

To be of birds the most beloved of maids,-
To be the emblem and security

Of mother's love and wedded purity!

And see the mystic dove that sinks and fades

In unreflected light on Jordan river,

Upon the Mighty Sin Forgiver!

Sweet dove, sweet image of the faith that rests

All doubts, all questions past,

In babe-like love at last,

With that dear Babe divine, between the Virgin's breasts.

Yes, we do differ when we most agree,
For words are not the same to you and me.
And it may be our several spiritual needs
Are best supplied by seeming different creeds.
And differing, we agree in one
Inseparable communion,

If the true life be in our hearts-the faith,

Which not to want is death;

To want is penance; to desire
Is purgatorial fire;

To hope, is paradise; and to believe

Is all of Heaven that earth can e'er receive.

WYTHEBURN CHAPEL AND HOSTEL.

HERE, traveller, pause and think, and duly think What happy, holy thoughts may heavenward rise, Whilst thou and thy good steed together drink Beneath this little portion of the skies.

See! on one side, a humble house of prayer, Where Silence dwells, a maid immaculate, Save when the Sabbath and the priest are there, And some few hungry souls for manna wait.

Humble it is and meek and very low,

And speaks its purpose by a single bell; But God Himself, and He alone, can know

If spiry temples please Him half so well.

Then see the world, the world in its best guise,
Inviting thee its bounties to partake;
Dear is the Sign's old time-discolour'd dyes,
To weary trudger by the long black lake.

And pity 'tis that other studded door,
That looks so rusty right across the way,
Stands not always as was the use of yore,
That whoso passes may step in and

pray.

VOL. II.

A A