Tyre of the West, and glorying in the name More than in Faith’s pure fame! O trust not crafty fort nor rock renown’d Earn’d upon hostile ground; Wielding Trade’s master-keys, at thy proud will To lock or loose its waters, England! trust not still. Dread thine own power! Since haughty Babel’s prime, High towers have been man’s crime. Since her hoar age, when the huge moat lay bare, Strongholds have been man’s snare. Thy nest is in the crags; ah, refuge frail! Mad counsels in its hour, or traitors, will prevail. He who scann’d Sodom for His righteous men Still spares thee for thy ten; But, should vain tongues the Bride of Heaven defy, He will not pass thee by; For, as earth’s kings welcome their spotless guests, So gives He them by turn, to suffer or be blest. THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home-- Lead Thou me on! 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 Shouldst lead me on. I lov’d to choose and see my path; but now Lead Thou me on! I lov’d the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride rul’d my will: remember not past years. So long Thy power hath bless’d me, sure it still Will lead me on, O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have lov’d long since, and lost awhile. THE GREEK FATHERS BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN Let heathen sing thy heathen praise, Fall’n Greece! the thought of holier days In my sad heart abides; For sons of thine in Truth’s first hour Were tongues and weapons of His power, Born of the Spirit’s fiery shower, Our fathers and our guides. All thine is Clement’s varied page; And Dionysius, ruler sage, In days of doubt and pain; And Origen with eagle eye; And saintly Basil’s purpose high To smite imperial heresy, And cleanse the Altar’s stain. From thee the glorious preacher came, With soul of zeal and lips of flame, A court’s stern martyr-guest; And thine, O inexhaustive race! Was Nazianzen’s heaven-taught grace; And royal-hearted Athanase, With Paul’s own mantel blessed. RELICS OF SAINTS BY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN “He is not the God of the dead, but of the living; for all live unto Him.” “The Fathers are in dust, yet live to God:” So says the Truth; as if the motionless clay Still held the seeds of life beneath the sod, Smouldering and straggling till the judgment day.