67. Isaac
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MANY the guileless years the Patriarch spent, |
| Bless'd in the wife a father's foresight
chose; |
| Many the prayers and gracious deeds, which
rose |
| Daily thank-offerings from his pilgrim tent. |
| Yet these, though written in the heavens, are rent |
| From out truth's lower roll, which sternly
shows |
| But one sad trespass at his history's
close, |
| Father's, son's, mother's, and its punishment. |
| Not in their brightness, but their earthly stains |
| Are the true seed vouchsafed to earthly eyes. |
| Sin can read sin, but dimly scans high grace, |
| So we move heavenward with averted face, |
| Scared into faith by warning of sin's pains; |
| And Saints are lower'd, that the world may rise. |
Valletta.
January 23, 1833. |