"And, O beloved voices! upon which Ours passionately call, because erelong Ye brake off in the middle of that song We sang together softly, to enrich The poor world with the sense of love, and witch The heart out of things evil--I am strong,-- Knowing ye are not lost for aye among The hills, with last year's thrush. God keeps a niche In Heaven to hold our idols! and albeit He brake them to our faces, and denied That our close kisses should impair their white,-- I know we shall behold them raised, complete,-- The dust shook from their beauty,--glorified New Memnons singing in the great God-light." And again, listen to her hallowed and womanly strain when she speaks of "Comfort:"-- COMFORT. "Speak low to me, my Saviour--low and sweet From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, Lest I should fear and fall, and miss thee so Who art not miss'd by any that entreat. Speak to me as to Mary at thy feet-- And if no precious gums my hands bestow, Let my tears drop like amber, while I go In reach of thy divinest voice complete In humanest affection--thus, in sooth To lose the sense of losing! As a child, Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth; Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, He sleeps the faster that he wept before." How profound and yet how feminine is the sentiment! No _man_ could have written that sonnet. It rises spontaneously from the heart of a Christian woman, which overflows with feelings more gracious and more graceful than ever man's can be. It teaches us what religious poetry truly is; for it makes affections inspired by the simplest things of earth, to illustrate, with the most artless beauty, the solemn consolations of the Cross. The pointedness of the following religious sonnet is very striking and sublime. The text is, "And the Lord turned and _looked_ upon Peter." THE MEANING OF THE LOOK. "I think that look of Christ might seem to say-- 'Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone Which I at last must break my heart upon, For all God's charge, to his high angels, may Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday Wash _thy_ feet, my beloved, that they should run Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun,-- And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray?-- The cock crows coldly.--Go, and manifest A late contrition, but no bootless fear! For when thy deathly need is bitterest, Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here-- My voice, to God and angels, shall attest,-- _Because I_ KNOW _this man, let him be clear_.'" One more sonnet, and we bid adieu to these very favourable specimens of Miss Barrett's genius:-- PATIENCE TAUGHT BY NATURE.