POETRY.
ALL SAINTS AND ALL SOULS. "Many are called, but few are chosen." THERE are who find their life's delight,
0 Lord ! in Thee, on whom Thy grace Sets from the womb the halo-light They wear that see Thy nearer face.
And some, with sudden, strong surprise, That masters sin, and hate, and pride, Thou takest, as through parted skies When Saul beheld the Crucified.
Thou choosest, and they hear Thee call, For still Thou wilt not dwell alone ; These are Thy saints, 0 Lord! but all The souls Thou makest are Thine own.
Too well we know they pass Thee by, Nor hear Thy voice, so fierce the din The world without them makes, the cry Of passion calls so loud within.
But must they walk the downward way To those dark gates, whereon despair Is writ, nor see again the day?
Will no wild agonies of prayer Reach to the seats of peace, and break The calm of heaven's harmonious days ? No far-off sound of wailing make A discord in the eternal praise ?
Oh! yet we trust Thy love, and Him, The blessed Christ, who works Thy will, Who once through trackless regions dim Of Hades past, and rules them still ; Nor rests, nor weary grows, nor faints, Till all his royal work be done,— Till added to Thy first-fruit saints The harvest of Thy souls be won. A. J. C.
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