Leave, then, thy foolish ranges;
For none can thee secure,
But one who never changes—
Thy God, thy life, thy cure.
HENRY VAUGHAN.
*
STAR-MIST.
FROM "STARS."
More and more stars! behold yon hazy arch
Spanning the vault on high,
By planets traversed in majestic march,
Seeming to earth's dull eye
A breath of gleaming air: but take thou wing
Of Faith and upward spring:—
Into a thousand stars the misty light
Will part; each star a world with its own day and night.
Not otherwise of yonder Saintly host
Upon the glorious shore
Deem thou. He marks them all, not one is lost;
By name He counts them o'er.
Full many a soul, to man's dim praise unknown,
May on its glory throne
As brightly shine, and prove as strong in prayer
As theirs, whose separate beams shoot keenest thro' this air.
JOHN KEBLE.
*
THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS.
FROM "THE FAËRIE QUEENE," BOOK II. CANTO 8.
And is there care in heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?
There is:—else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts: but O the exceeding grace