He greets the band of holy men
Who march in pain and toil,
To plant the banner of the Cross
In Britain's sea-girt isle.

Not in the strength of man they come,

No human arms they bear;
Their armour is the shield of faith,
Their weapons fast and prayer.

To Faith's good fight in holy trust,
In courage calm and high,

Their fearless leader guides them on,
To conquer or to die.

They come, and soon the heathen gods
Before them prostrate fall,
As erst of old to trumpet's clang
Fell down a city's wall.

O blessed day, whose light illumes
The present and the past;
Thy fire of faith must still burn on,
As long as time shall last:-

Though faint and feeble now perchance, Yet still a deathless flame;

And ages yet uorn shall learn

To bless Augustine's name.

24.

The Annunciation.

THE day is o'er, the moon serenely beaming, In silver light hath field and forest drest;

A thousand twinkling stars are gently gleam

ing,

The world is hush'd, and all is laid to rest.

Save one, who wakeful in her lonely dwell

ing,

Of Juda born, a stem of Jesse's rod,
A virgin pure, all others far excelling,
Uplifts her heart in tranquil prayer to God.

The while she prays, behold the silence broken,

She starts, a look of fear o'erspreads her

face;

She hears, till then to mortal ears unspoken,
Those words of love," Hail, Lady, full of

grace!

Fear not, the Lord is with thee; thou art
chosen

The Virgin Mother of thy God to be;
And many a heart in sin and guilt now fro-

zen,

Shall melt beneath the sunbeam born of

thee."

O Spouse of God, O Queen of earth and

heaven,

O holy Mother of the Incarnate Word,
In meekest accents is thine answer given,
"Behold the willing handmaid of the
Lord."

WHEN Pagans warr'd against the Cross, And rudely braved the Saviour's power, Array'd in smiling innocence,

There bloom'd in Rome a lily flower.

With fair round cheek and laughing eye,
In artless sweet simplicity,
Along the crowded streets of Rome
See little Agnes passes by.

And round her is a merry troop

Of schoolmates gay, returning home
Ah, little know those guileless hearts
How soon an evil day may come !

How soon that Saviour's name of love,
So sweet to their young infancy,
May claim of them their heart's best blood,
In throes of mortal agony.

For oft as through the busy street

Sweet Agnes pass'd in maiden pride,
A noble youth observ'd the child,
And sought to gain her for his bride.

Ah, reckless suitor, wouldst thou seize
A gem that not to thee is giv'n;
So sweet a flower blooms not for earth,
It ripens for its home in heaven.

Ah, canst thou think the tribunes' hall,
The lictor's axe, the torturer's art,
The gloating crowd,-that these are things
To win a gentle maiden's heart?

The prætor speaks, the doom is giv'n,-
Of maiden honour what reck they?
The gentle Agnes forth is led
To the dread place of infamy.

Yet, ruthless spoiler, come not nigh,
An eye unseen is watching here;
Beware yon angel's outstretch'd arm,
With sword of vengeance glistening near.
Hush'd is the crowd, in still suspense
They gaze, they strain their eager eyes,
The hour is come-the axe has gleam'd,
The snow-white lily falls and dies.

Yet, ere the veil of sense is rent,

And ere life's blood has ceas'd to flow, A vision sweet of heavenly joy

Is sent to soothe the suff'rer's wo.

A bright and festive angel band

Has watch'd the dying maiden's love,
And gently bear her in their arms
To blissful seats of light above.

Then, sweetest Agnes, now in bliss,
Look down and hear thy children's prayer
From heaven above, oh, shew to us
A mother's love, a sister's care.

And ask, O gentle Patroness,

That all the youthful company Of those who love thee here below

May find their home in heaven with thee.

26. It is a joyful thing to die.

(A dialogue between two children.)

Brother.

It is a joyful thing to die;
For though this world is fair,
I dream I see a lovelier one,
And fancy I am there.
Methinks that I am borne away
As soon as I have died;
And wander round a pleasant place,
With an angel by my side.

To that bright world I long to go,
I would not linger here;
Except for gentle mother's sake,
And yours, my sister dear.
But when I read my book to her,
And when I play with you,
I quite forget that glorious land,
And blessed Angel too.

Yet oft, when I am wearied grown

Of reading and of play,

These pleasant dreams come back again

And steal my heart away.

And then again I seem to wish,

That mother, you, and I

Could shut our eyes upon the world,

And all together die.

Sister.

Ah, brother! if indeed it be

That heaven is so fair,