The Middle Aisle: Holy Scripture I

"A little further lend Thy guiding hand,"

A little onward, Heaven-descended Guide !

This scene will soon be o'er, where Hope and Fear

Busily twine the thread of hurrying life ;

And this strange house, where the o'er-arching blue

Bends o'er us, from whose dark aerial caves

The Day and Night, on Time's alternate watch,

In solemn interchanges come and go,

And Winter and swift Summer hasten by

So stilly • soon its portal will be past, —

E'en now my shadow on the mountain side

Is lengthening, — hues of Evening o'er me fall.

Thy guiding hand a little further on,
Whate'er Thou art that thro' unravelling time
Leadest me on ! for oft Thy hand I feel,
And tho' amid life's solitudes I droop
Unmindful, oft beside me in the gloom,
And oft'ner still behind, 'mid travell'd scenes
As back I bear my view, celestial tracks
I see, and " skirts of an unearthly friend."

Yet not so much, that, while I wondering tread
Th' unfoldings of Thy silent Providence,
Thou giv'st to feel Thy kind withholding chain,
And gentle leading ; — not so much for this,
I thank Thee, heavenly Father, Friend, and Lord,
As that each morn and eve, that hasten on
My days to number, to the homeless heart,
Which turns from fairest scenes unsatisfied,
Wearied with vain pursuits, and vainer end,
Thou in serener dwellings dost disclose
The Kingdom of Thy treasures, new and old.
— Oft some arm'd Saint, who saw th' Invisible,
And in that strength bore heathen gates away,
Or swordless slew the giant ; — oft deep thoughts
Revealing, in Thy Gospel's bosom laid.

Thus may Thy Church within her daily arms
Take me, and with her blessing let me go, —
But not with her depart her accents sweet.
Thus be my loins girded with holier hope,
And discipline, and penitential thought,
Led by the hand of self-rewarding care.
Nor know I aught beside to buoy the soul
Against the weight of her own solitude,
Aim-less and object-less ; or, what is worse,
Fever'd pursuit, and restless folio wings on
Of the impassion'd being, meteor lights
Which leave at last to deeper loneliness.

Thence is the soul attun'd to secret spells
Of that eternal music heard in Heaven,
Albeit hush'd by ruder sounds of earth,
Yet pure and deep as the celestial spheres,
Which calm the wayward spirit, and reveal
Other pursuits, and ends which end not here ;
A light that brighter burns unto the close ;
A feeling of immortal youth within,
That while these earthly weeds and flowery hopes
Drop from us, looks to an enduring home ;
A sense of reconcilement oft renewed,
And power to throw aside the darts of care,
Temptation-proof, ethereal panoply.