All are not priests, yet priestly duties may
  And should be all men’s:  as a common sight
  We view the brightness of a summer’s day,
  And think ’tis but its duty to be bright;
  But should a genial beam of warming light
  Suddenly break from out a wintry sky,
  With gratitude we own a new delight,
  Quick beats the heart and brighter beams the eye,
And as a boon we hail the splendour from on high.

  ’Tis so with men, with those of them at least
  Whose hearts by icy doubts are chill’d and torn;
  They think the virtues of a Christian Priest
  Something professional, put on and worn
  Even as the vestments of a Sabbath morn: 
  But should a friend or act or teach as he,
  Then is the mind of all its doubting shorn,
  The unexpected goodness that they see
Takes root, and bears its fruit, as uncoerced and free!

  One I have known, and haply yet I know,
  A youth by baser passions undefiled,
  Lit by the light of genius and the glow
  Which real feeling leaves where once it smiled;
  Firm as a man, yet tender as a child;
  Armed at all points by fantasy and thought,
  To face the true or soar amid the wild;
  By love and labour, as a good man ought,
Ready to pay the price by which dear truth is bought!

  ’Tis not with cold advice or stern rebuke,
  With formal precept, or wit face demure,
  But with the unconscious eloquence of look,
  Where shines the heart so loving and so pure: 
  ’Tis these, with constant goodness, that allure
  All hearts to love and imitate his worth. 
  Beside him weaker natures feel secure,
  Even as the flower beside the oak peeps forth,
Safe, though the rain descends, and blows the biting North!

  Such is my friend, and such I fain would be,
  Mild, thoughtful, modest, faithful, loving, gay,
  Correct, not cold, nor uncontroll’d though free,
  But proof to all the lures that round us play,
  Even as the sun, that on his azure way
  Moveth with steady pace and lofty mien,
  Though blushing clouds, like syrens, woo his stay,
  Higher and higher through the pure serene,
Till comes the calm of eve and wraps him from the scene.

THE SPIRIT OF THE IDEAL.

Sweet sister spirits, ye whose starlight tresses
  Stream on the night-winds as ye float along,
Missioned with hope to man—­and with caresses

To slumbering babes—­refreshment to the strong—­
  And grace the sensuous soul that it’s arrayed in: 
As the light burden of melodious song

Weighs down a poet’s words;—­as an o’erladen
  Lily doth bend beneath its own pure snow;
Or with its joy, the free heart of a maiden:—­

Thus, I behold your outstretched pinions grow
  Heavy with all the priceless gifts and graces
God through thy ministration doth bestow.

Do ye not plant the rose on youthful faces? 
  And rob the heavens of stars for Beauty’s eyes? 
Do ye not fold within love’s pure embraces