And there are aching solitary b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Whose widowed walk with thought of thee is cheered Our own, our royal Saint: thy memory rests On many a prayer, the more for thee endeared.

True son of our dear Mother, early taught With her to worship and for her to die, Nursed in her aisles to more than kingly thought, Oft in her solemn hours we dream thee nigh.

For thou didst love to trace her daily lore, And where we look for comfort or for calm, Over the self-same lines to bend, and pour Thy heart with hers in some victorious psalm.

And well did she thy loyal love repay; When all forsook, her Angels still were nigh, Chained and bereft, and on thy funeral way, Straight to the Cross she turned thy dying eye

And yearly now, before the Martyrs' King, For thee she offers her maternal tears, Calls us, like thee, to His dear feet to cling, And bury in His wounds our earthly fears.

The Angels hear, and there is mirth in Heaven, Fit prelude of the joy, when spirits won Like those to patient Faith, shall rise forgiven, And at their Saviour's knees thy bright example own.

The Restoration of the Royal Family.

And Barzillai said unto the King, How long have I to live, that I should go up with the King unto Jerusalem? 2 _Samuel_ xix. 34.

AS when the Paschal week is o'er, Sleeps in the silent aisles no more The breath of sacred song, But by the rising Saviour's light Awakened soars in airy flight, Or deepening rolls along;

The while round altar, niche, and shrine, The funeral evergreens entwine, And a dark brilliance cast, The brighter for their hues of gloom, Tokens of Him, who through the tomb Into high glory pa.s.sed:

Such were the lights and such the strains.

When proudly streamed o'er ocean plains Our own returning Cross; For with that triumph seemed to float Far on the breeze one dirge-like note Of orphanhood and loss.

Father and King, oh where art thou?

A greener wreath adorns thy brow, And clearer rays surround; O, for one hour of prayer like thine, To plead before th' all-ruling shrine For Britain lost and found!

And he, whose mild persuasive voice Taught us in trials to rejoice, Most like a faithful dove, That by some ruined homestead builds, And pours to the forsaken fields His wonted lay of love:

Why comes he not to bear his part, To lift and guide th' exulting heart?- A hand that cannot spars Lies heavy on his gentle breast: We wish him health; he sighs for rest, And Heaven accepts the prayer.

Yes, go in peace, dear placid spright, Ill spared; but would we store aright Thy serious sweet farewell, We need not grudge thee to the skies, Sure after thee in time to rise, With thee for ever dwell.

Till then, whene'er with duteous hand, Year after year, my native Land Her royal offering brings, Upon the Altar lays the Crown, And spreads her robes of old renown Before the King of kings.

Be some kind spirit, likest thine, Ever at hand, with airs divine The wandering heart to seize; Whispering, "How long hast thou to live, That thou should'st Hope or Fancy gave To flowers or crowns like these?"

The Accession.

As I was with Moses, so I will be with thee; I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee. _Joshua_ i. 5.

THE voice that from the glory came To tell how Moses died unseen, And waken Joshua's spear of flame To victory on the mountains green, Its trumpet tones are sounding still, When Kings or Parents pa.s.s away, They greet us with a cheering thrill Of power and comfort in decay.

Behind thus soft bright summer cloud That makes such haste to melt and die, Our wistful gaze is oft allowed A glimpse of the unchanging sky: Let storm and darkness do their worst; For the lost dream the heart may ache, The heart may ache, but may not burst; Heaven will not leave thee nor forsake.

One rock amid the weltering floods, One torch in a tempestuous night, One changeless pine in fading woods:- Such is the thought of Love and Might, True Might and ever-present Love, When death is busy near the throne, Auth Sorrow her keen sting would prove On Monarchs orphaned and alone.

In that lorn hour and desolate, Who could endure a crown? but He, Who singly bore the world's sad weight, Is near, to whisper, "Lean on Me: Thy days of toil, thy nights of care, Sad lonely dreams in crowded hall, Darkness within, while pageants glare Around-the Cross supports them all."

Oh, Promise of undying Love!

While Monarchs seek thee for repose, Far in the nameless mountain cove Each pastoral heart thy bounty knows.

Ye, who in place of shepherds true Come trembling to their awful trust, Lo here the fountain to imbue With strength and hope your feeble dust.

Not upon Kings or Priests alone The power of that dear word is spent; It chants to all in softest tone The lowly lesson of Content: Heaven's light is poured on high and low; To high and low Heaven's Angel spake; "Resign thee to thy weal or woe, I ne'er will leave thee nor forsake."

Ordination.

After this, the congregation shall be desired, secretly in their prayers, to make their humble supplications to G.o.d for all these things: for the which prayers there shall be silence kept for a s.p.a.ce.

After which shall be sung or said by the Bishop (the persons to be ordained Priests all kneeling), "Veni, Creator Spiritus." _Rubric in the Office for Ordering of Priests_.

'TWAS silence in Thy temple, Lord, When slowly through the hallowed air The spreading cloud of incense soared, Charged with the breath of Israel's prayer.

'Twas silence round Thy throne on high, When the last wondrous seal unclosed, And in this portals of the sky Thine armies awfully reposed.

And this deep pause, that o'er us now Is hovering-comes it not of Thee?

Is it not like a mother's vow When, with her darling on her knee,

She weighs and numbers o'er and o'er Love's treasure hid in her fond breast, To cull from that exhaustless store The dearest blessing and the best?

And where shall mother's bosom find, With all its deep love-learned skill, A prayer so sweetly to her mind, As, in this sacred hour and still,

Is wafted from the white-robed choir, Ere yet the pure high-breathed lay, "Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire,"

Rise floating on its dove-like way.

And when it comes, so deep and clear The strain, so soft the melting fall, It seems not to th' entranced ear Less than Thine own heart-cheering call.

Spirit of Christ-Thine earnest given That these our prayers are heard, and they, Who grasp, this hour, the sword of Heaven, Shall feel Thee on their weary way.

Oft as at morn or soothing eve Over the Holy Fount they lean, Their fading garland freshly weave, Or fan them with Thine airs serene.

Spirit of Light and Truth! to Thee We trust them in that musing hour, Till they, with open heart and free.

Teach all Thy word in all its power.

When foemen watch their tents by night, And mists hang wide o'er moor and fell, Spirit of Counsel and of Might, Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well.

And, oh! when worn and tired they sigh With that more fearful war within, When Pa.s.sion's storms are loud and high, And brooding o'er remembered sin

The heart dies down-oh, mightiest then, Come ever true, come ever near, And wake their slumbering love again, Spirit of G.o.d's most holy Fear!