The North Porch: The Church in Hope

It was the saddest time e'er lower'd on earth,
As Sin and Sorrow woke in Paradise,
When Mercy's voice 'mid frighted Nature's cries
Broke forth, and pledg'd a Saviour's birth.

When Noah saw how sternly Ruin gaunt
Sat on the grave of what did once rejoice,
'Twas then he saw the Bow, thrice heard the voice,
" With thee shall stand My Covenant." :

Abram was going to the grave forlorn
And childless, whom the Lord took forth and shew'd
On night's dark vault a starry multitude, —
Such, Abram, shall of thee be born.

Exil'd, 'mid foes, and Egypt's withering shade,
Lean'd Israel on his staff beside his tomb,
Twas light that broke from that dark gathering gloom,
Which upon Judah's sceptre play'd.

When Jesse's chosen son heav'd the deep sigh,
Forbidden with stain'd hands to build the shrine,
His harp reveal'd a holier Palestine,

And spoke strange things of import high."'

The destin'd Assur came with armed stream,
And Judah heard the sound of Ephraim's chain,
And rent in thousand shivers on the plain
Saw her long-promis'd Diadem.
And Chebar heard, and Ulai heard her cry ;
'Twas that dark cloud which did on her alight,
Was loaded with glad Prophecy, and bright
With the Eternal Saviour nigh.

Faith, listening to the lyre that spoke Him near,
Saw Lebanon's cedars wave to Seraph's hymn,
And 'mid the vale of Desolation dim

A helm and moonlight-gleaming spear.

It was the guiltiest, darkest hour of man,
When the shock'd Earth shook in her agony,
And sun in shame had veil'd his sorrowing eye,
'Twas then our better Birth began.

Yea, when sun, moon, and stars upon the skies
Shall shake, like figs upon the wither'd tree,
Then your redemption cometh speedily,
And ye too may lift up your eyes.

Then, blessed Lord, when signs of coming ill
Shall speak Thy heavy vengeance at the door,
May we but cling unto Thy hand the more,
And in a holier hope be still.

When doth the soul her higher wisdom see ? —
When Sorrow's clouds obscure her firmament,
'Tis then the many-colour'd bow is bent,
To bid the birds of darkness flee.

Not when bright Summer winds her gladsome horn,
But when bluff Winter's blustering Charioteer
Chases the relics of the faded year,
The lowly Child of Peace is born.

And in the gleams which thro' the darkness pour
Of Calvary, Poverty is our best wealth,
Sorrow our Comforter, and Sickness health,
And Death of endless life the door.
Yea, Sin herself, as by a charmed touch,
Hath unlearn'd her black nature, and brought down
High thoughts, a better righteousness to own,
And, much forgiven, loveth much.

Thus have I seen at eve, when all the west
Marshall'd the shapes of darkness manifold,
A gleam hath turn'd to palaces of gold,
From the bright sun gone to his rest.