And since we see, and not afar, The twilight of the great and dreadful day, Why linger, till Elijah’s car Stoop from the clouds? Why sheep ye? Rise and pray, Ye heralds sealed In camp or field Your Saviour’s banner to display. Where is the lore the Baptist taught, The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue? The much-enduring wisdom, sought By lonely prayer the haunted rocks among? Who counts it gain His light should wane, So the whole world to Jesus throng? Thou Spirit, who the Church didst lend Her eagle wings, to shelter in the wild, We pray Thee, ere the Judge descend, With flames like these, all bright and undefiled, Her watch-fires light, To guide aright Our weary souls by earth beguiled. So glorious let thy Pastors shine, That by their speaking lives the world may learn First filial duty, then divine, That sons to parents, all to Thee may turn; And ready prove In fires of love, At sight of Thee, for aye to burn. St. Peter’s Day. When Herod would have brought him forth, the same night Peter was sleeping. _Acts_ xii. 26. THOU thrice denied, yet thrice beloved, Watch by Thine own forgiven friend; In sharpest perils faithful proved, Let his soul love Thee to the end. The prayer is heard—else why so deep His slumber on the eve of death? And wherefore smiles he in his sleep As one who drew celestial breath? He loves and is beloved again— Can his soul choose but be at rest? Sorrow hath fled away, and Pain Dares not invade the guarded nest. He dearly loves, and not alone: For his winged thoughts are soaring high Where never yet frail heart was known To breathe its vain Affection’s sigh. He loves and weeps—but more than tears Have sealed Thy welcome and his love— One look lives in him, and endears Crosses and wrongs where’er he rove: That gracious chiding look, Thy call To win him to himself and Thee, Sweetening the sorrow of his fall Which else were rued too bitterly. E’en through the veil of sheep it shines, The memory of that kindly glance;— The Angel watching by, divines And spares awhile his blissful trance. Or haply to his native lake His vision wafts him back, to talk With JESUS, ere His flight He take, As in that solemn evening walk, When to the bosom of His friend, The Shepherd, He whose name is Good. Did His dear lambs and sheep commend, Both bought and nourished with His blood: Then laid on him th’ inverted tree, Which firm embraced with heart and arm, Might cast o’er hope and memory, O’er life and death, its awful charm.