THE TRAIN OF RELIGION.

STAY awhile, thou blessed band, be entreated, daughters of heaven!

While the chance-met scholar of Wisdom learneth your

sacred names:

He is resting a little from his toil, yet a little on the borders of earth,

And fain would he have you his friends, to bid him glad welcome hereafter.

Who among the glorious art thou, that walkest a Goddess and a Queen,

Thy crown of living stars, and a golden cross thy sceptre ?

Who among flowers of loveliness is she, thy seeming

herald,

Yet she boasteth not thee nor herself, and her garments

are plain in their neatness?

Wherefore is there one among the train, whose eyes are red with weeping,

Yet is her open forehead beaming with the sun of

ecstasy ?

And who is that blood-stained warrior, with glory sitting on his crest ?

And who that solemn sage, calm in majestic dig

nity?

Also, in the lengthening troop, see I some clad in robes of triumph,

Whose fair and sunny faces I have known and loved on

earth:

Welcome, ye glorified Loves, Graces, and Sciences, and

Muses,

That, like sisters of charity, tended in this world's hos

pital;

Welcome, for verily I knew, ye could not but be children of the light,

Though earth hath soiled your robes, and robbed you of half your glory;

Welcome, chiefly welcome, for I find I have friends in heaven,

And some I might scarce have looked for, as thou, light

hearted Mirth;

Thou also, star-robed Urania; and thou, with the curious

glass,

That rejoicedst in tracking wisdom where the eye was too dull to note it:

And art thou too among the blessed, mild much-injured

Poetry?

Who quickenest with light and beauty the leaden face of

matter,

Who not unheard, though silent, fillest earth's gardens

with music,

And not unseen, though a spirit, dost look down upon us from the stars,—

That hast been to me for oil and for wine, to cheer and uphold my soul,

When wearied, battling with the surge, the stunning surge of life;

Of thee, for well have I loved thee, of thee may I ask in

hope,

Who among the glorious is she, that walketh a Goddess and a Queen?

And who that fair-haired herald, and who that weeping saint ?

And who that mighty warrior, and who that solemn sage?

Son, happy art thou that Wisdom hath led thee hither

ward:

For otherwise never hadst thou known the joy-giving

name of our Queen.

Behold her, the life of men, the anchor of their shipwrecked hopes;

Behold her, the shepherdess of souls, who bringeth back the wanderers to God.

And for that modest herald, she is named on earth,

Humility:

And hast thou not known, my son, the tearful face of Repentance?

Faith is yon time-scarred hero, walking in the shade of his laurels ;

And Reason, the serious sage, who followeth the footsteps of Faith:

And we, all we, are but handmaids, ministers of minor

bliss,

Who rejoice to be counted servants in the train of a Queen so glorious.

But for her name, son of man, it is strange to the language of heaven,

For those who have never fallen need not and may not

learn it:

Ligeance we sware to our God, and ligeance well have

we kept;

It is only the band of the redeemed who can tell thee the fulness of that name :(1)

Yet will I comfort thee, my son, for the love wherewith thou hast loved me,

And thou shalt touch for thyself the golden sceptre of Religion.

So that blessed train passed by me but the vision was sealed upon my soul;

And its memory is shrined in fragrance, for the promise

of the Spirit was true :

I learn from the silent poem of all creation round me,

How beautiful their feet, who follow in that train.