I pray not, Lord, that friends may be, Choice blessing! which I leave to Thee But let my failing limbs beneath My Mother's smile recline; And prayers sustain my labouring breath And let the cross beside my bed Thou, Lord, where'er we lie, canst aid; At Sea, June 22, 1833. LUCIS CREATOR OPTIME (VESPERS SUNDAY) FATHER of Lights, by whom each day Is kindled out of night, Who, when the heavens were made, didst lay Thou who didst bind and blend in one The glistening morn and evening pale, Hear Thou our plaint, when light is gone, Hear, lest the whelming weight of crime Lest thoughts and schemes of sense and time So may we knock at Heaven's door, And strive the immortal prize to win, Guarded without and pure within. LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom The night is dark, and I am far from home - Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou I loved to choose and see my path, but now I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. At Sea, June 16, 1833. TWO LYRICS FROM "THE DREAM OF SOUL I go before my Judge. Ah!.. ANGEL Praise to His Name The eager spirit has darted from my hold, But, ere it reach them, the keen sanctity, SOUL Take me away, and in the lowest deep And there in hope the lone night-watches keep, There, motionless and happy in my pain, There will I sing my sad perpetual strain, There will I sing, and soothe my stricken breast, To throb, and pine, and languish, till possest There will I sing my absent Lord and Love:- That sooner I may rise, and go above, ANGEL Now let the golden prison ope its gates, ANGEL Softly and gently, dearly-ransom'd soul, I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee. And carefully I dip thee in the lake, And thou, without a sob or a resistance, Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take, Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance. Angels, to whom the willing task is given, Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest; And masses on the earth, and prayers in heaven, Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most Highest. Farewell, but not for ever! brother dear, Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow; Swiftly shall pass thy night of trial here, And I will come and wake thee on the morrow. The Oratory, January, 1865. HOME Where'er I roam in this fair, English land, |