REMINISCENCES OF ST. LUKE’S CHURCH.
Whene’er I view that beauteous tower,
Built with artistic taste and power
Upon yon sacred sod,
My heart awakes, with thankful strain,
For in old age I see again
That temple of my God.
Once in that Church I bent the knee,
And join’d the holy minstrelsy
That lifts the soul above:—
The powerful organ swell’d on high,
And many felt that God was nigh,
Inspir’d by faith and love.
I’ve seen there a bride, in rich attire,
Receive the ring from her loving sire,
And sign the marriage book:—
Then when they left the bells were rung,
And the porch fill’d with old and young,
To see their happy look.
I’ve stood beside the baptismal font,
Where children oft to Christ were brought,
And th’ cross mark’d o’er their brow:—
And it was a joyful after-sight
To see them, in emblematic white,
Confirm their sponsor’s vow.
The preacher, by his earnest way,
Fill’d the Church on the Sabbath day,
And touch’d their hearts within:—
He told them of the bleating sheep, [144]
Of Saul’s deceit, and crime so deep,
And warn’d them of his sin.
And there have aged pilgrims stood,
(Now safely pass’d o’er Jordan’s flood,
And gain’d blest Canaan’s shore,)
Each burthen there they seem’d to cast,
As if each danger they had pass’d,
And all their toil was o’er.
And last I’ve seen the funeral train,
Like mourners on a desert plain,
Come slowly with their load:—
I’ve stood beside the silent bier,
And watch’d the trickling kindred tear
Fall in death’s drear abode.
Oh! when I view that sacred tower,
At morning or at evening hour,
By pure devotion led,
I love to meditate awhile—
I think I see some angels smile
Above the peaceful dead!
Chelsea, 1867.
George Bryan.