"Our life lies eastward: every day
Some little of that mystic way
By trembling feet is trod:
In thoughtful fast, and quiet feast,
Our thoughts go travelling to the East
To our incarnate God.
Fresh from the Font, our childhood's prime,
To life's most oriental time,—
"Still doth it eastward turn in prayer,
And rear its saving altar there:
Still doth it eastward turn in creed,
While faith in awe each gracious deed
Of her dear Saviour's love doth plead;
Still doth it turn at every line
To the fair East—in sweet mute sign
That through our weary strife and pain,
We crave our Eden back again."
Faber.
THE CHANCEL
"I hope you and my friend Mr. Beeland here are now working harmoniously together at Droneworth," said Mr. Ambrose to Sir John Adamley, as with Mr. Acres and the Vicar of Droneworth they were enjoying a pleasant afternoon stroll in the gardens of the Hall.
"Well, I think we must say yes and no to that, for though we have never had any difference of opinion respecting the restoration of our church since the evening when I first had the pleasure of meeting you—and, indeed, I am proud, and we are all proud, of our renovated and beautiful church—yet there is one point on which we cannot quite agree. You see I am Lay Rector, and though I have long ago given up my old selfish idea about pews, and only claim the space in the church which I really want to occupy, yet I do consider that, as the chancel belongs to me, I have a right to a place there for my family and servants, as well as for myself. But, unfortunately, Mr. Beeland thinks otherwise."
"The chancel is furnished with handsome oak stalls for the choristers, I believe; as every chancel ought to be. You propose, if I understand you, to remove the choristers, and to occupy the stalls for yourselves and servants?"