| |
* * * * * ’TWAS silent all and dead 1 | |
| Beside the barren sea, | |
| Where Philip’s steps were led, | |
| Led by a voice from Thee— | |
| He rose and went, nor ask’d Thee why, | 5 |
| Nor stay’d to heave one faithless sigh: | |
| |
| Upon his lonely way | |
| The high-born traveller came, | |
| Reading a mournful lay | |
| Of “One who bore our shame, 2 | 10 |
| Silent Himself, His name untold, | |
| And yet His glories were of old.” | |
| |
| To muse what Heaven might mean | |
| His wandering brow he rais’d, | |
| And met an eye serene | 15 |
| That on him watchful gaz’d. | |
| No hermit e’er so welcome cross’d | |
| A child’s lone path in woodland lost. | |
| |
| Now wonder turns to love; | |
| The scrolls of sacred lore | 20 |
| No darksome mazes prove; | |
| The desert tires no more: | |
| They bathe where holy waters flow, | |
| Then on their way rejoicing go. | |
| |
| They part to meet in heaven; | 25 |
| But of the joy they share, | |
| Absolving and forgiven, | |
| The sweet remembrance bear. | |
| Yes—mark him well, ye cold and proud, | |
| Bewilder’d in a heartless crowd, | 30 |
| |
| Starting and turning pale | |
| At Rumour’s angry din— | |
| No storm can now assail | |
| The charm he wears within, | |
| Rejoicing still, and doing good, | 35 |
| And with the thought of God imbu’d. | |
| |
| No glare of high estate, | |
| No gloom of woe or want, | |
| The radiance can abate | |
| Where Heaven delights to haunt. | 40 |
| Sin only hides the genial ray, | |
| And, round the Cross, makes night of day. | |
| |
| Then weep it from thy heart; | |
| So may’st thou duly learn | |
| The intercessor’s part, | 45 |
| Thy prayers and tears may earn | |
| For fallen souls some healing breath, | |
| Ere they have died th’ Apostate’s death. | |
