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That well-turned speech, those words that rose from earth Bound every list'ner by their gentle sway;
They roused the villager from thoughts of earth
And bade the man of science kneel and pray.
Thou art most like the calm autumnal day
Although on high the countless seraph choir
In happy expectation now await
In gathered throngs, with praise-tun'd voice and lyre, Thy angel-guarded flight, to Heaven's gate.
Our selfish love will speak its little word,
THE STORY OF ST. STEPHEN.1
The righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance.'
HROUGH hours and days of contempla
And earnest scrutiny, I oft have gazed
Upon the loveliest landscape that is traced,
And fertilised both intellect and heart,
Relifting the recumbent shield of Faith,
I sought to rear an edifice of song.
1 For Notes see end of book.
In humble tribute to the praise of Him
In this material philosophic age,
Must be a way of stumbles, halts, and falls,
That hating man could do, to blight and crush.
Why was St. Stephen full of dauntless might? Because weak Reason to his partner turned