Is there, on earth, a spirit frail, Who fears to take their word, Scarce daring, through the twilight pale, To think he sees the Lord? With eyes too tremblingly awake To bear with dimness for His sake? Read and confess the Hand Divine That drew thy likeness here so true in every line. For all thy rankling doubts so sore, Love thou thy Saviour still, Him for thy Lord and God adore, And ever do His will. Though vexing thoughts may seem to last, Let not thy soul be quite o’ercast;— Soon will He show thee all His wounds, and say, “Long have I known Thy name—know thou My face alway.” The Conversion of St. Paul. And he fell to the earth, and heard a voice saying unto him, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me? And he said, Who art Thou, Lord? And the Lord said, I am Jesus whom thou persecutest. _Acts_ ix. 4, 5. THE mid-day sun, with fiercest glare, Broods o’er the hazy twinkling air: Along the level sand The palm-tree’s shade unwavering lies, Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise To greet you wearied band. The leader of that martial crew Seems bent some mighty deed to do, So steadily he speeds, With lips firm closed and fixèd eye, Like warrior when the fight is night, Nor talk nor landscape heeds. What sudden blaze is round him poured, As though all Heaven’s refulgent hoard In one rich glory shone? One moment—and to earth he falls: What voice his inmost heart appalls?— Voice heard by him alone. For to the rest both words and form Seem lost in lightning and in storm, While Saul, in wakeful trance, Sees deep within that dazzling field His persecuted Lord revealed, With keen yet pitying glance: And hears time meek upbraiding call As gently on his spirit fall, As if th’ Almighty Son Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, Nor had proclaimed His royal birth, Nor His great power begun. “Ah! wherefore persecut’st thou Me?” He heard and saw, and sought to free His strained eyes from the sight: But Heaven’s high magic bound it there, Still gazing, though untaught to bear Th’ insufferable light. “Who art Thou, Lord?” he falters forth:— So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth At the last awful day. “When did we see Thee suffering nigh, And passed Thee with unheeding eye? Great God of judgment, say!” Ah! little dream our listless eyes What glorious presence they despise, While, in our noon of life, To power or fame we rudely press.— Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless, Christ suffers in our strife. And though heaven’s gate long since have closed, And our dear Lord in bliss reposed, High above mortal ken, To every ear in every land (Thought meek ears only understand) He speaks as he did then.