Striving through faith for Virtue's heavenly crown. _THE CONSECRATION OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY._ Sebert, King of the East Saxons, having built the great church of Saint Peter at Westminster, Mellitus the Bishop prepares to consecrate it, but is warned in a vision that it has already been consecrated by one greater than he. As morning brake, Sebert, East Saxon king, Stood on the winding shores of Thames alone, And fixed a sparkling eye upon Saint Paul's: The sun new-risen had touched its roofs that laughed Their answer back. Beyond it London spread; But all between the river and that church Was slope of grass and blossoming orchard copse Glittering with dews dawn-reddened. Bertha here, That church begun, had thus besought her Lord, 'Spare me this bank which God has made so fair! Here let the little birds have leave to sing, The bud to blossom! Here, the vespers o'er, Lovers shall sit; and here, in later days, Children shall question, "Who was he--Saint Paul? What taught, what wrought he that his name should shine Thus like the stars in heaven?"' As Sebert stood, The sweetness of the morning more and more Made way into his heart. The pale blue smoke, Rising from hearths by woodland branches fed, Dimmed not the crystal matin air; not yet From clammy couch had risen the mist sun-warmed: All things distinctly showed; the rushing tide, The barge, the trees, the long bridge many-arched, And countless huddled gables, far away, Lessening, yet still descried. A voice benign Dispersed the Prince's trance: 'I marked, my King, Your face in yonder church; you took, I saw, A blessing thence; and Nature's here you find: The same God sends them both.' The man who spake, Though silver-tressed, was countenanced like a child; Smooth-browed, clear-eyed. That still and luminous mien Predicted realms where Time shall be no more; Where gladness, like some honey-dew divine, Freshens an endless present. Mellitus, From Rome late missioned and the Coelian Hill, Made thus his greeting. Westward by the Thames The King and Bishop paced, and held discourse Of him whose name that huge Cathedral bore, Israel's great son, the man of mighty heart, The man for her redemption zealous more Than for his proper crown. Not task for her God gave him: to the Gentiles still he preached, And won them to the Cross. 'That Faith once spurned,' Thus cried the Bishop with a kindling eye, 'Lo, how it raised him as on eagle's wings, And past the starry gates! The Spirit's Sword He wielded well! Save him who bears the Keys, Save him who made confession, "Thou art Christ," Saint Paul had equal none! Hail, Brethren crowned! Hail, happy Rome, that guard'st their mingled dust!'