He greets the band of holy men Not in the strength of man they come, No human arms they bear; To Faith's good fight in holy trust, Their fearless leader guides them on, They come, and soon the heathen gods O blessed day, whose light illumes 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, 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, grace! Fear not, the Lord is with thee; thou art The Virgin Mother of thy God to be; 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, 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, And round her is a merry troop Of schoolmates gay, returning home How soon that Saviour's name of love, For oft as through the busy street Sweet Agnes pass'd in maiden pride, Ah, reckless suitor, wouldst thou seize Ah, canst thou think the tribunes' hall, The prætor speaks, the doom is giv'n,- Yet, ruthless spoiler, come not nigh, 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, Then, sweetest Agnes, now in bliss, 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; To that bright world I long to go, 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, |