Branded with infamy his name;

And, though unto his own he came,
His own received him not.

Yea, Paul denied him too!-he stood
Eager to dip his hands in blood,—
The blood of that poor friendless few,
Who, to their murdered Master true,

Were proud to share his fate:

But Heaven forbade :-a voice of fear,7

A light than mid-day sun more clear

Arrested in its fierce career

The persecutor's hate:

He saw! he heard!-the truth at once,

Borne inwards like the lightning's glance,

Upon his conscience beamed:

And from that hours he held at nought

Wealth, fame, and life, and bravely fought The Christian's martyr-fight, and taught

The faith he once blasphemed.

VII.

For this, in cold and nakedness,

In toil and poverty,

In perils in the wilderness,

In perils in the sea,

His faith and courage never failed;

But calm and undismayed

He stood where open foes assailed,

Or falser friends betrayed.

Soft Cyprus' sons 10 around him throng,

And stay the dance and hush the song,

To list the truths he taught:

E

From him the roving clans and rude

11

Of Yemen's mountain solitude 11

The lore of life have caught.

VIII.

And now from Asia's furthest verge

He frequent turns his eyes,

Where Lemnos' hills from out the surge

In shadowy masses rise:

He saw the sun salute that even

Those mountains of the west,

And leave his mantle bright from heaven Upon their swarthy breast:

E'en thus, he thought, the Gospel-star

Arose in Eastern climes afar ;

But all, as on it passed,

From Tyre to Troy its light confess,

Till haply it may stoop to bless

The western world at last.

IX.

Was it the murmur of the wave,

The whisper of the wind,

That thus in solemn language gave

The musings of his mind?

"Come o'er and help us!"-'twas a cry

Deep-breathed and low and faint,

A strange and mournful symphony

Of welcome and complaint!

He turned-a form arrests his sight,

The Macedonian kirtle white,1 12

The Grecian brow of gloom,

And, pointing to the further shore,

In tones more earnest than before,

X.

Pity! sweet seraph! whatsoe'er

The garb thy gentle form may wear,

So tenderly and deeply dear

To this dark world of ours,

Whether, of regal wealth possessed,
Thy name and sway be widely blest,
Or, simply clad in russet vest,

Thou lend'st thy humbler powers;

Comfort thyself hast proved to speak,Despair's dun tempest-cloud to break,

And dew the dry and rigid cheek

With soul-reviving showers;

But, dear and welcome as thou art

To the poor grief-o'erburthened heart,

Not half thy loveliness is seen,

Till, catching pure devotion's mien,

Thou liftest up thy brow serene

To thy great Sire above;

Bidding the guilty soul draw near,

And

pour her sorrows in His ear

Whose chosen name is Love.