How mean to thee this world of sin,
This atom earth!
Or all the ponderous globes that swing within
Its astral girth.
Arcturus and his offspring fair—
Where are they? Mazzaroth—Orion, where?
And Pleiades? All, all eclipsed—for thou art there.
’Tis well, when Keills and Newtons write
With pens of gold;
That ages numberless have winged their flight,
Myriads untold!
Since thou’st been there; since thou hast taught
How, in His plan, who man’s redemption wrought,
That mystery of love was not an afterthought.
Ten thousand worlds have learned of thee
(Messiah’s sign),
What happier eyes were privileged to see
In Palestine.
But thou, unknown to Eastern seer,
Or king, or priest—we hail with reverence here—
Great harbinger of joy; to this our Ocean-sphere!
So dread we not the wondrous day,
O holy Cross!
When structures formed of stubble, wood, and hay,
Shall suffer loss.
When Time’s probation shall have past,
And heaven’s high starry cope her orbs shall cast,
Even as a tree her fruit, before the felling blast.
For thou immortal ensign bright,
Art still secure;
When worlds and suns and systems sink in night
Thou shalt endure.
Endure—Redemption’s emblem sweet,
Nor from Creation’s altered map retreat,
Nor pass away with noise, nor melt with fervent heat.
Till then, may faith and hope increase,
Firm, fixed above;
And make us with ourselves at heavenly peace—
True type of love!
Mid elemental tumults rife
Point us to Him, the Way, the Truth, the Life,
Rock Rimmon of our peace, to heal Baal-tamar’s strife.
Stafford Cruikshanks.
HON. WILLIAM PORTER, C.M.G.
AN ELEGY.
The mighty falls: Time’s restless wing
Has sped the day,
For him!—beloved as Camelot’s blameless king—
To pass away.
And briny tears bedew the date
In which that life so marvellously great,
Our friend—grand Porter’s self—succumbs, at last, to Fate.