ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER

675. Are they not all Ministering Spirits f

'E see them not we cannot hear The music of their wing Yet know we that they sojourn near, The Angels of the spring !

They glide along this lovely ground

When the first violet grows ; Their graceful hands have just unbound

The zone of yonder rose.

I gather it for thy dear breast,

From stain and shadow free : That which an AngePs touch hath blest

Is meet, my love, for thee !

THOMAS WADE

676. The Half-asleep

FOR the mighty wakening that aroused

The old-time Prophets to their missions high ;

And to blind Homer's inward sunlike eye Show'd the heart's universe where he caroused Radiantly; the Fishers poor unhoused,

And sent them forth to preach divinity;

And made our Milton his great dark defy, To the light of one immortal theme espoused ! But half asleep are those now most awake ;

And save calm-thoughted Wordsworth, we have none Who for eternity put time at stake,

And hold a constant course as doth the sun : We yield but drops that no deep thirstings slake;

And feebly cease ere we have well begun.

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