The South Transept: The Epistle and Gospel XXIII

From that baptismal well are onward cast
The ancient paths, and fenc'd for evermore,
To the Eternal City ; on the past
We think, and sigh, and our lost time deplore ;
How have I fail'd to gain thy weekly lore,
Seed-time of heavenly harvests ! from a child
Deep might my heart have treasur'd thy rich store
So transient scenes had ne'er my love beguil'd,
And left with empty hands, the soul with sin defil'd.