The Churchman to his Lamp

Light in the Closet.

Come , twinkle in my lonely room,
Companion true in hours of gloom;
Come, light me on a little space,
The heavenly vision to retrace,
By Saints and Angels loved so well, —
My Mother's glories ere she fell.

There was a time, my friendly Lamp,
When, far and wide, in Jesus' camp,
Oft as the foe dark inroads made,
They watch'd and fasted, wept and prayed;
But now, they feast and slumber on,
And say, " Why pine o'er evil done? "

Then hours of Prayer, in welcome round,
Far-sever'd hearts together bound:
Seven times a-day, on bended knee ,
They to their Saviour cried; and we —
One hour we find in seven long days,
Before our God to sit and gaze!

Then, lowly Lamp, a ray like thine
Waked half the world to hymns divine;
Now it is much if here and there
One dreamer, by the genial glare,
Trace the dim Past, and slowly climb
The steep of Faith's triumphant prime.

Yet by His grace, whose breathing gives
Life to the faintest spark that lives,
I trim thee, precious Lamp, once more,
Our fathers' armoury to explore,
And sort and number wistfully
A few bright weapons, bathed on high.

And may thy guidance ever tend
Where gentle thoughts with courage blend;
Thy pure and steady gleaming rest
On pages with the Cross imprest;
Till, touch'd with lightning of calm zeal,
Our fathers' very heart we feel.
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