COMMINATION. THE prayers are o'er: why slumberest thou so long, Thou voice of sacred song? Why swell'st thou not, like breeze from mountain cave, High o'er the echoing nave, The white-rob'd priest, as otherwhile, to guide, A mourner's tale of shame and sad decay Keeps back our glorious sacrifice to-day : The widow'd spouse of Christ: with ashes crown'd, She lingers in the porch for grief and fear, Keeping her penance drear.— O is it nought to you? that idly gay, Or coldly proud, ye turn away? But if her warning tears in vain be spent, Lo, to her alter'd eye the Law's stern fires are lent. Each awful curse, that on Mount Ebal rang, Peals with a direr clang Out of that silver trump, whose tones of old Forgiveness only told. And who can blame the mother's fond affright', Her infant sees, and springs with hurried hand But surer than all words the silent spell When to her bird, too early scap'd the nest, Smiling he turns and spreads his little wing, So yearns our mother o'er each truant son, Wayward and spoil'd she knows ye: the keen blast That brac'd her youth, is past: The rod of discipline, the robe of shame She bears them in your name: b Alluding to a beautiful anecdote in the Greek Anthology, tom. ii. 180. ed. Jacobs. See Pleasures of Memory, p. 133. Only return and love. But ye perchance Are deeper plung'd in sorrow's trance: Your God forgives, but ye no comfort take Till ye have scourg'd the sins that in your conscience ache. O heavy laden soul! kneel down and hear With thine own lips to sentence all thy sin; Absolv'd, in thankful sacrifice to part For ever with thy sullen heart, Nor on remorseful thoughts to brood, and stain The glory of the Cross, forgiven and cheer'd in vain |