God's great eye is open;

God's eye looketh through, Seeing, comprehending

What all tendeth to.

Nought that Eye withstandeth; Its keen shafts of sight,

Like electric arrows

Cleave the depths of night,

Thou canst not enshroud thee

In a pall so dense,

But God's eye hath tracked thee, And will draw thee thence.

God is with thee, round thee,
God's great eye is set,

On thee like the meshes

Of a wondrous net.

There is no escaping!

Death but brings thee nigher;

Lays thee still more open

To His glance of fire!

Yet fear not but rather

Let thy soul rejoice That God's Omnipresence, Is beyond thy choice.

That from the All-Seeing
Nought can thee remove;

For that ceaseless vision,
That great Eye, is Love!

MARY HOWITT.

AD SEPULCRUM.

A FRAGMENT.

His plumy helm he laid aside,

Agnes! Agnes !

Here he doff'd his knightly pride,
Sister! Agnes !

His knees on the sod he leant,

Where thou art sleeping:

His brows to the cross he bent,

Bitterly weeping.

The gusts, that made the branches moan

Betroth'd Agnes!

Pierc'd his bosom always lone

Betray'd Agnes!

Billow-like swell'd the grief

Over his heart anew:

Prone to the ground he fell,

Like a cold corse in hue.

Word of grief none he spoke :
Deep was his groaning.

There should his heart have broke
Tow'rd an atoning.

Up! he'll fight in Palestina,

Bare of his dishonour'd helm,

He that left thine head uncover'd Unto scorns that overwhelm.

There on grappled flag the dying

Templars set

Strained eyeballs,-and their flying

Souls forget.

There the horsehoofs, rearing wildly, Burst the pikemen's kneeling line

Ere the scimitar-waving rider

Sinks by cross-bow shaft supine.

Under the fallen steed,

Cloven in twain his arm,

Over the slain his head,

Feet on the groaning warm.

Pass'd by the flying rout,
In the still night alone,
By the chill dews awak'd,

Stiff as the quarry-stone.

In the solitude of the many dead,

From the bonds of numbness and of pain, From oblivion craved and coveted,

Let to conscience wake his heart again.

Saying, How shall he enter where

Christ in all time is view'd?

Faith is unbroken there,

Love is not lewd.

Ah, Christ! that I could breathe her tale

Yet once more in his ears!

To the proud man's eyes before he dies
Should come again thick tears.

She twin'd herself a chaplet

Of the white may and the red; She twin'd herself her chaplet,

Then tore it from her head.