in this dark prison lie;
My soul must watch to have intelligence;
Where at the grates and avenues of sense
Where but faint gleams of thee salute my sight,
Like doubtful moonshine in a cloudy night?
When shall I leave this magic sphere,
And be all mind, all eye, all ear?

How cold this clime! And yet my sense
Perceives even here thy influence.
Even here thy strong magnetic charms I feel,
And pant and tremble like the amorous steel.
To lower good, and beauties less divine,
Sometimes my erroneous needle does decline,
But yet, so strong the sympathy,
It turns, and points again to thee.

I long to see this excellence
Which at such distance strikes my sense.
My impatient soul struggles to disengage
Her wings from the confinement of her cage.
Wouldst thou, great Love, this prisoner once set free,
How would she hasten to be linked to thee!
She'd for no angels' conduct stay,
But fly, and love on all the way.

THE RETURN.

Dear Contemplation! my divinest joy!
When I thy sacred mount ascend,
What heavenly sweets my soul employ!
Why can't I there my days for ever spend?
When I have conquered thy steep heights with pain,
What pity 'tis that I must down again!

And yet I must: my passions would rebel
Should I too long continue here:
No, here I must not think to dwell,
But mind the duties of my proper sphere.
So angels, though they heaven's glories know,
Forget not to attend their charge below.

The old hermits thought to overcome their impulses by retiring from the
world: our Platonist has discovered for himself that the world of duty is
the only sphere in which they can be combated. Never perhaps is a saint
more in danger of giving way to impulse, let it be anger or what it may,
than in the moment when he has just descended from this mount of
contemplation.

We find ourselves now in the zone of _hymn_-writing. From this period,
that is, from towards the close of the seventeenth century, a large
amount of the fervour of the country finds vent in hymns: they are
innumerable. With them the scope of my book would not permit me to deal,
even had I inclination thitherward, and knowledge enough to undertake
their history. But I am not therefore precluded from presenting any hymn
whose literary excellence makes it worthy.

It is with especial pleasure that I refer to a little book which was onc