Affliction flies, and Hope returns; To Thee my humble voice I raise; may I still Thy favour prove, be, JOHN LANGHorne. SEPTEMBER 29. PRAYER TO THE PENATES. HEARKEN your hymn of praise, Penates to your shrines I come for rest, There only to be found. Often at eve, As in my wanderings I have seen far off Some lonely light that spake of comfort there, It told my heart of many a joy of home, When I was homeless. Often as I gazed From some high eminence on goodly vales And cots and villages embower'd below, The thought would rise that all to me was strange, Amid the scene so fair, not one small spot Where my tired mind might rest, and call it Home. There is a magic in that little word: I think of those in this world's wilderness Household Deities! and love, Then only shall be Happiness on earth Alike; So He hath will'd, whose will is just. Meantime, all hoping and expecting all, In patient faith, to you, Domestic Gods! Studious of other lore than song, I come. ROBERT SOUTHEY, SEPTEMBER 30. THE LAST VICTORY. I HAVE Consider'd it, and finde There is no dealing with Thy mighty Passion; O, make me innocent, that I May give a disentangled state and free; And yet Thy wounds still my attempts defie, For by Thy death I die for Thee. Ah, was it not enough that Thou By Thy eternall glorie didst outgo me? Couldst Thou not Grief's sad conquests me allow, But in all vict❜ries overthrow me? Yet by confession will I come Into Thy conquest. Though I can do nought GEORGE HERBERT. S 274 OCTOBER 1. "A HARMONY IN AUTUMN." I VOWED that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine-have I not kept the vow? With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers Of studious zeal of love's delight Outwatched with me the envious nightThey know that never joy illumined my brow Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery, That thou, O awful Loveliness, Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express. The day becomes more solemn and serene Which through the summer is not heard or seen, PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. OCTOBER 2. A PRAYER IN BATTLE. FATHER, I cry to Thee! Cannon with thunder-clouds compass me round; O Father, lead Thou me ! Lead me to victory, lead me to death. God, I acknowledge Thee! There, where the West-wind is blown thro' the pines; O Father, bless Thou me! Into Thy hand do I render my day; O Father, I praise Thee! Not for the goods of the world do we fight; |