The blood of Vane,
His prison pain

Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod,
And hers whose faith

Drew strength from death,

And prayed her Russell up to God!

Our hearts grow cold,

We lightly hold

"For of Him, and through Him, and to Him are all things, to whom be glory forever!"-PAUL.

A right which brave men died to gain; ABOVE, below, in sky and sod,

The stake, the cord,

The axe, the sword,

Grim nurses at its birth of pain.

The shadow rend,

And o'er us bend,

O martyrs, with your crowns and

palms,
Breathe through these throngs
Your battle songs,

Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon

psalms!

In leaf and spar, in star and man,

Well might the wise Athenian scan

The geometric signs of God,

The measured order of his plan.

And India's mystics sang aright
Of the One Life pervading all,
One Being's tidal rise and fall
In soul and form, in sound and sight,
Eternal outflow and recall.

God is: and man in guilt and fear
The central fact of Nature owns;
Kneels, trembling, by his altar-
stones,

And darkly dreams the ghastly smeal
Of blood appeases and atones.

Guilt shapes the Terror: deep within
The human heart the secret lies

For the dead monster so abhorred A heart more loyal, warm, and true,

With a true sorrow God rebukes that And if there fell from out her grand

Silent for once the restless hive of It came from Holstein's birchen

But Age and Sickness framed their To seek the lost, to build the old And Truth's directness, meeting each Hard by, the city of his love is swing