Without whose aid, our best attempts are vain,
Our hopes delusive, and our thoughts profane.
Thou, from the soul, hast chas'd forlorn despair,
And built for hope a biding temple there.
High on the top, with ever-watchful eyes,
She waits the dawning of celestial skies;
Fierce elements, around her seat, engage
To shake her fortitude, with envious rage.
Strong in herself, and stronger in thy aid,
She bears th' assault, unshaken, undismay'd;

Bold centinel, allied to Love, and Thee!

Of spotless race, the yet surviving three,
Who, since the foe our first possession stole,
Transplant a fairer Eden in the soul!

But Love, seen dimly thro' this mortal cloud,

Shines, without shadow, on the sinless crowd;
There, only, truly felt and understood,

Here, faintly seen, to be more warmly woo'd.

Not, like her sister-race, confin'd t' adorn

Th' elect on earth; in earlier ages born,

To later seasons she extends her rest,

And shines on all, but brightest on the blest. There, when the pilgrim joins that happy throng, Love shall add new-born vigor to his song.

He best can sing the pure delights above,

Who feels the fulness, and the force of love.

V.

Meantime let Faith invite to yon fair goal,

Yet hid within the veil, the panting soul.

How charming is her accent to the ear!

Most musical, but more than music dear,
Mild as the dew, which quickens the dry leaf,

It eases pain, as well as softens grief.
It finds the spirit lonely, lost, and wild-
It leads from wrath to mercy reconcil'd.

-And yet, not always was her word approv'd,
Her message hallow'd, or her presence lov'd.
Once, when the soul was proud and unconcern'd,
Strange, as the letter to the sight unlearn'd.

And whoso strove to make her calling plain,
His speech was foreign and his labour vain.
Till God, most mindful, tho' forgotten most,
Gave to the soul the being she had lost;
Sight to her eyes, and hearing to her ears,

And Faith discover'd, as she now appears.

Stript of disguise, she seems no more, as then,
A mad enthusiast, agitating men;

But like a queen, in royal robes array'd,

She gives her followers due and timely aid,
Gilds their short pilgrimage with pure renown,
And signs her passport to th' eternal crown.

VI.

With what delight, with what religious awe,

Does the true pilgrim Faith's resemblance draw.

When, in the volume of the book, he reads

The record of her origin and deeds!

-O for a portion of that sacred fire, Which the good Spirit of her God inspire, To fit this heart, too fond of earthly toys, For contemplation of sublimer joys!

Of earth too vain, too cold for heav'n, I feel

Th' excess of unbelief, and want of zeal;

Else, when I read the names, of old renown'd,

Whom Faith with valour arm'd, with victory crown'd,

To dust no more my longings should decline,

But rise to nobler thoughts, and things divine.

Hail, glorious army, how the soul admires

Their high-born destinies, and bold desires!

Elected, of their God, to plead the right,
Beneath his banners, aided by his might,
Methinks, I see them, marshall'd at the word,

Gird their bright panoply, and grasp the sword.
First the weak frailties of the flesh they cut,
Then to quick rout the wilder passions put,
Undaunted, while attack'd by inward foes,

At outward hosts, tho' earth, and hell arose.

O'er mount, o'er vale, with valiant heart, they press'd, Thro' dreary deserts, to the promis'd rest.

In health and sickness, in the flood and flame,

True sons of Faith, uncheck'd by fear or shame,
Along the field, what perils they sustain'd,

What matchless honours, at the goal, they gain'd!
When, at the close of that hard-foughten day,
They wash'd the dust, and briny dews away,

In the soft stream, by Jesu's hand supplied,

And bath'd their wounds and bruises in the tide.