| On deeds of head or hand, |
| Which live within the living Book, |
| Or else are writ in sand; |
But let it be thy best of prayers, |
| That I may find the grace |
| To reach the holy house of toll, |
| The frontier penance-place,— |
To reach that golden palace bright, |
| Where souls elect abide, |
| Waiting their certain call to Heaven, |
| With Angels at their side; {304} |
Where hate, nor pride, nor fear torments |
| The transitory guest, |
| But in the willing agony |
| He plunges, and is blest. |
And as the fainting patriarch gain'd |
| His needful halt mid-way, |
| And then refresh'd pursued his path, |
| Where up the mount it lay, |
So pray, that, rescued from the storm |
| Of heaven's eternal ire, |
| I may lie down, then rise again, |
| Safe, and yet saved by fire. |
The Oratory.
1853. |