Nor view, ye timid few, our course with fear

We

reverence, reared, the shrine we would not rear, And take not all. With thankfulness receive

That portion of your own we deign to leave;
And let the many, from your surplus store,
Mould their own idols. We demand no more.
Speak ye of rights? What right, in reason's eye,
Outweighs the sanction of a nation's nod ?
Who shall condemn a people? Who deny
That people's privilege to chuse their God?

CXLII.

α.

NATIONAL DEGRADATION.

GOD of our Israel! by our favoured sires
Once known, once honoured! And is this the creed
Hailed, in their children's councils, with the meed
Of godless acclamation; while the fires
Burn low on Thy dread Altar, and around

Th' advancing Gentile treads the hallowed ground?
Yea, it is thus; and nerveless rulers hear,
Unholy triumph kindling in their eyes,

And catch fresh ardour from each maddening cheer
To urge the spoiler toward his glittering prize.

Yea, worst of all; not Bethel's priest alone,
Or Bel's adorer swells that plaudit's tone,
Thine own apostate worshipper, to Thee,
Mocking or self-deceived, who bends the knee,
Dares join the clamour; dares, though sworn to wait,
A faithful guard, before Thy vineyard's gate,

Tear down her fence, and bid the forest boar
Uproot Thy cherished vine on green Ierne's shore.

CXLIII.

PROSPECTS OF THE CHURCH.

a.

AND where is now the Tishbite? Where is he
Should wave his master's robe, and call on Thee,
The Lord God of Elijah? All is o'er.

And while the Gentile scorns Thine awful frown,
Th' apostate digs Thy hallowed Altar down,
We see no sign, we hear no prophet more.
Nay, Bride of Heav'n! thou art not all bereft,
Though this world's prince against thy power rebels;

By thrones, dominions, wealth, and honours left,
Within thee still the ETERNAL SPIRIT dwells,
Thy pledged possession. Seek nor seer nor sign,
True Temple of that Habitant Divine ;

Thy part is simple. Fearless still proclaim
The Truth to men who loath her very name.
Proclaim that HE, to Paul in glory shewn,
E'en from that glory, calls thy wrongs His own.
And, if thy night be dark,—if tempests roll
Dread as the visions of thy boding soul,-

Still, in thy dimness, watch, and fast, and pray;

And wait the Bridegroom's call;—the burst of

opening day.

a.

CHAMPIONS OF THE TRUTH.

CXLIV.

"Who shall go for us?" And I said, "Here am I: send me."

DULL thunders moan around the Temple Rock,
And deep in hollow caves, far underneath,
The lonely watchman feels the sullen shock,

His footsteps timing as the low winds breathe ; Hark! from the shrine is asked, What steadfast heart Dares in the storm go forth? Who takes th' Almighty's part?

And with a bold gleam flush'd, full many a brow

Is rais'd to say, "Behold me, LORD, and send." But ere the words be breath'd, some broken vow

Remember'd, ties the tongue; and sadly blend With Faith's pure incense, clouds of conscience dim, And faltering tones of guilt mar the confessor's hymn.

R

CXLV.

THE CREED.

IF waiting by the time-crown'd halls,
Which nurtur'd us for CHRIST in youth,
We love to watch on the grey walls
The lingering gleam of Evangelic Truth ;-
If to the spoilers of the soul,

Proudly we shew our banner'd scroll,

And bid them our old war-cry hear,

"GOD IS MY LIGHT :* whom need I fear !"

How bleak, that hour, across our purpose high,

Sweeps the chill, damping shade of thoughtless years gone by!

How count we then lost eve and morn,

The bell unwelcom'd, prayer unsaid,

And holy hours and days outworn

In youth's wild race, Sin's lesson newly read!

"Deus illuminatio mea," is the motto of the University of Oxford.