THE CHURCH OF ST. AMBROSE.

WHOSE FAITH FOLLOW.-HEB. XIII. 7.

WE stood where spread the BORROMEAN shrine,
Rearing its back athwart the summer-sky,
Bristled with pinnacles and saints—while line
On line of marble fretwork gleamed on high,
Pure as tho' dews of earth ne'er ventured nigh,
And bright as beauteous-thus we gazed awhile,
With an enraptured, but unsated eye;

Then bent our footsteps to a lowlier pile,

Where flowers of holy thoughts might win the spirit's smile!

A range of low-browed vaults, a court of tombs,
A rude brick tower-all marked by touch of Man
Or Time-arches which the broad sun illumes,
Like moon-light shed o'er features sunk and wan-
How claims the pile Man's blessing or his ban!
Yet here the Lombard kings their empire sought,
And bade the iron crown their temples span:

And, more than all Earth's grandeur aye hath wrought, Here an AUGUSTINE sat, and here an AMBROSE taught!

O blest the suckling's voice, that stilled the strife, And changed the sceptre to the pastor's rod! That named the saint who should account his life But death, armed from the armoury of GodHis breast-plate Christ-with gospel-tidings shodHis helm Salvation-Faith his shield-and Prayer His staff of strength, to aid where'er he trodHis loins truth-girt-while high his frail hands bear The Spirit's sword. They needed such-and such a man was there! 2

Think not he fears the ascent, lest mortal frown Wake o'er his head the storm of mortal power! Alike to him who wears the imperial crown— Alike to him what clouds of vengeance lourIf but Christ's grace and presence bless the dower, He will not shrink, 'mid hate and scorn, to serve; He knows his strength proportioned to the hour, Nor e'er shall VALENTINIAN bend his nerve, Nor THEODOSIUS' tears cause his just judgment swerve!

Unequal seems the fight, where legions throng

In fleshly armour clad, with glittering spear,

And sword and shield, in wealth of kingdoms strong, 'Gainst one weak arm, and one sad heart of fear! Yet know they not-the Lord, the Lord is here!

1 Eph. vi. 14-18.

2 Milner's Church History. Cent. IV. Chap. XII.

Their passion's storm, as ocean's waves, to bound! Vain fools! who deem things are as they appear, Nor know the signs above, nor mark around Chariots and steeds of fire His feeble flock surround! 1

Faith is the mirror, by whose aid man's eye,
Cleared from its nature's films, all things discerns
Not as they seem, but are: the panoply

Of angel-host he sees, and peril spurns:

He marks them gather thick around-then turns
To the blind multitude, whose strength is spite,
And his Lord's glory in his bosom burns:

"Let potsherds of the earth with potsherds fight, "Nor bring their brittle strength to meet their Maker's might!" 2

Well might the saint the imperial minions dare,
When, filled with Arian hate, they wrought by charm
Or force to pluck him from the house of prayer!
Well might he soothe his flock, and hush alarm,
Watching Christ's look, and leaning on His arm !
Of heavenly hosts he marked the flashing blaze,
And who of man should of such aid disarm?
"Twas his to win the sheep from error's maze,

And cheer their drooping souls with his sweet chaunt of praise ! 3

1 2 Kings vi. 17.

2 Isaiah xlv. 9.

3 The Ambrosian Chaunt.

'Twas strength divine, that nerved his soul to bear, And taught his arm the Spirit's sword to wield; 'Twas strength divine, that raised him from the snare, And to the moan of false compassion steeled ! When came the Emperor from the gore-stained field, Nor vows nor prayers availed, nor words of scorn From haughty lips-To Christ the soul must yield! If great the crime, high must the cross be borneWho shared in David's sin, in David's tears must mourn !

Where burns the torch that lit the altar's gloom? Say, is it quenched amid yon mouldering bones? O would the God of Ambrose smite the tomb, And wake a voice from out these voiceless stones! Is there not one to face apostate thrones, And Israel from her blinded wanderings turn, Flinging to moles and bats the gods she owns ? -O rouse the flames that in these ashes burn, Nor bid us gaze on scenes, now never to return!

THE DUOMO.

ON A RELIque of s. CARLO BORROMEO, ON WHICH HIS MOTTO UMILITAS' WAS ENGRAVED.

MAY such a grace, so prized by God,

In sight of man so mean,

On jewelled crown, or sceptered rod,
Or spangled ring, be seen?

It may-for He hath might to awe
The brow of princely pride;
And bid o'er hearts of kings his law
Of holiness preside!

It may-for where the crest of power
Nods o'er an angel's crown,

It pours an ever-sparkling shower

Of richest glories down!