Almighty God! direct us To keep Thy perfect Law! O blessed Saviour, help us Nearer to Thee to draw! Let Sinai's thunders aid us To guard our feet from sin; And Calvary's light inspire us The love of God to win. The Vision of St. Peter To Peter by night the faithfullest came And said, "We appeal to thee! The life of the Church is in thy life; We pray thee to rise and flee. "For the tyrant's hand is red with blood, And his arm is heavy with power; Thy head, the head of the Church, will fall, If thou tarry in Rome an hour." Through the sleeping town St. Peter passed To the wide Campagna plain; In the starry light of the Alban night He drew free breath again: When across his path an awful form In luminous glory stood; His thorn-crowned brow, His hands and feet, Were wet with immortal blood. The godlike sorrow which filled His eyes Seemed changed to a godlike wrath, As they turned on Peter, who cried aloud, And sank to his knees in the path. "Lord of my life, my love, my soul! Say, what wilt Thou with me?" A voice replied, "I go to Rome To be crucified for thee." The apostle sprang, all flushed, to his feet,-- The vision had passed away; The light still lay on the dewy plain, But the sky in the east was gray. To the city walls St. Peter turned, And his heart in his breast grew fire; In every vein the hot blood burned With the strength of one high desire. And sturdily back he marched to his death Of terrible pain and shame; And never a shade of fear again To the stout apostle came. Israel When by Jabbok the patriarch waited To learn on the morrow his doom, And his dubious spirit debated In darkness and silence and gloom, There descended a Being with whom He wrestled in agony sore, With striving of heart and of brawn, And not for an instant forbore Till the east gave a threat of the dawn; And then, as the Awful One blessed him, To his lips and his spirit there came, Compelled by the doubts that oppressed him, The cry that through questioning ages Has been wrung from the hinds and the sages, "Tell me, I pray Thee, Thy name!" Most fatal, most futile, of questions! Wherever the heart of man beats, In the spirit's most sacred retreats, It comes with its sombre suggestions, Unanswered forever and aye. The blessing may come and may stay, For the wrestler's heroic endeavor; But the question, unheeded forever, Dies out in the broadening day.