One more plant——
Which, consecrate to Salem’s peaceful King,
Though fair as any gracing beauty’s bower,
Is linked to sorrow like a holy thing,
And takes its name from suffering’s fiercest hour.
Be this my noblest theme—Imperial Passion Flower!
Whatever impulse first conferred that name,
Or Fancy’s dream, or Superstition’s art,
I freely own its spirit-touching claim,
With thoughts and feelings it may well impart.
Faith builds a bridge across the gulf of death,
To break the shock blind nature cannot shun,
And lands thought smoothly on the further shore.
Young.
True faith nor biddeth nor abideth form.
The bended knee, the eye uplift is all
Which man need render; all which God can bear.
What to the faith are forms? A passing speck,
A crow upon the sky.
Bailey.
Faith is the subtle chain
That binds us to the Infinite: the voice
Of a deep life within, that will remain
Until we crowd it thence.
Mrs. E. Oakes Smith.
Naught shall prevail against us, or disturb
Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
Is full of blessings.
Wordsworth.