XXIII.

STILL on the gracious work proceeds ;·
The good, great tidings preached anew
Yearly to green enfranchised meads,

And fire-topped woodlands flushed with dew.

Yon cavern's mouth we scarce can see;
Yon rock in gathering bloom lies meshed;
And all the wood-anatomy

In thickening leaves is over-fleshed.

That hermit oak which frowned so long
Upon the spring with barren spleen,
Yields to the holy Siren's song,

And bends above her goblet green.

Young maples, late with gold embossed,-
Lucidities of sun-pierced limes,

No more surprise us—merged and lost
Like prelude notes in deepening chimes.

Disordered beauties and detached

Demand no more a separate place:
The abrupt, the startling, the unmatched,
Submit to graduated grace;

While upward from the ocean's marge
The year ascends with statelier tread
To where the sun his golden targe
Finds, setting, on yon mountain's head.

Turris Eburnea.

XXIV.

THIS Scheme of worlds, which vast we call,
Is only vast compared with man:
Compared with God, the One yet All,
Its greatness dwindles to a span.

A Lily with its isles of buds

Asleep on some unmeasured sea :—

O God, the starry multitudes,

What are they more than this to Thee?

Yet girt by Nature's petty pale

Each tenant holds the place assigned

To each in Being's awful scale :

The last of creatures leaves behind

The abyss of nothingness: the first
Into the abyss of Godhead peers;
Waiting that vision which shall burst
In glory on the eternal years.

Tower of our Hope! through thee we climb Finite creation's topmost stair;

Through thee from Sion's height sublime Towards God we gaze through purer air.

Infinite distance still divides

Created from Creative Power; But all which intercepts and hides

Lies dwarfed by that surpassing Tower!

XXV.

WHO doubts that thou art finite? Who
Is ignorant that from Godhead's height
To what is loftiest here below

The interval is infinite?

O Mary! with that smile thrice-blest
Upon their petulance look down;-
Their dull negation, cold protest-
Thy smile will melt away their frown!

Show them thy Son! That hour their heart Will beat and burn with love like thine; Grow large; and learn from thee that art Which communes best with things divine.

The man who grasps not what is best
In creaturely existence, he

Is narrowest in the brain; and least

Can grasp the thought of Deity.

XXVI.

THEY seek not; or amiss they seek;·

The cold slight heart and captious brain: To Love alone those instincts speak

Whose challenge never yet was vain.

True Gate of Heaven! As light through glass,
So He who never left the sky

To this low earth was pleased to pass
Through thine unstained Virginity.

Summed up in thee our hearts behold
The glory of created things:-
From His, thy Son's, corporeal mould

Looks forth the eternal King of Kings!