O happy spirits, marked by God and man Their messages of love to bear, What though long since in Heaven your brows began, The genial amarant wreath to wear, And in th’ eternal leisure of calm love Ye banquet there above; Yet in your sympathetic heart We and our earthly griefs may ask and hope a part. Comfort’s true sons! amid the thoughts of down That strew your pillow of repose, Sure ’tis one joy to muse, how ye unknown By sweet remembrance soothe our woes; And how the spark ye lit, of heavenly cheer, Lives in our embers here, Where’er the cross is borne with smiles, Or lightened secretly by Love’s endearing wiles: Where’er one Levite in the temple keeps The watch-fire of his midnight prayer, Or issuing thence, the eyes of mourners steeps In heavenly balm, fresh gathered there; Thus saints, that seem to die in earth’s rude strife, Only win double life: They have but left our weary ways To live in memory here, in Heaven by love and praise. St. John Baptist’s Day. Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord: and he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers. _Malachi_ iv. 5, 6. TWICE in her season of decay The fallen Church hath felt Elijah’s eye Dart from the wild its piercing ray: Not keener burns, in the chill morning sky, The herald star, Whose torch afar Shadows and boding night-birds fly. Methinks we need him once again, That favoured seer—but where shall he be found? By Cherith’s side we seek in vain, In vain on Carmel’s green and lonely mound: Angels no more From Sinai soar, On his celestial errands bound. But wafted to her glorious place By harmless fire, among the ethereal thrones, His spirit with a dear embrace Thee the loved harbinger of Jesus owns, Well-pleased to view Her likeness true, And trace, in thine, her own deep tones. Deathless himself, he joys with thee To commune how a faithful martyr dies, And in the blest could envy be, He would behold thy wounds with envious eyes, Star of our morn, Who yet unborn Didst guide our hope, where Christ should rise. Now resting from your jealous care For sinners, such as Eden cannot know, Ye pour for us your mingled prayer, No anxious fear to damp Affection’s glow, Love draws a cloud From you to shroud Rebellion’s mystery here below.