Faithe of the fathers olde
  Obtained right witness,
  Which makes me verye bolde
  To fear no worldes distress.

  I now rejoice in harte,
  And hope bides me do so;
  For Christ wil take my part,
  And ease me of my we.

  Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke,
  To them wilt thou attende;
  Undo, therefore, the locke,
  And thy stronge power sende.

  More enemies now I have
  Than heeres upon my head;
  Let them not me deprave,
  But fight thou in my steade.

  On thee my care I cast,
  For all their cruell spight;
  I set not by their hast,
  For thou art my delight.

  I am not she that list
  My anker to let fall
  For every drislinge mist;
  My shippe’s substancial.

  Not oft I use to wright
  In prose, nor yet in ryme;
  Yet wil I shewe one sight,
  That I sawe in my time: 

  I sawe a royall throne,
  Where Justice shulde have sitte;
  But in her steade was One
  Of moody cruell witte.

  Absorpt was rightwisness,
  As by the raginge floude;
  Sathan, in his excess,
  Sucte up the guiltlesse bloude.

  Then thought I,—­Jesus, Lorde,
  When thou shalt judge us all,
  Harde is it to recorde
  On these men what will fall.

  Yet, Lorde, I thee desire,
  For that they doe to me,
  Let them not taste the hire
  Of their iniquitie.

ANNE ASKEWE.

* * * * *

DOUBT AND FAITH.

    FROM “IN MEMORIAM,” XCV.

  You say, but with no touch of scorn,
    Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
    Are tender over drowning flies,
  You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.

  I know not:  one indeed I knew
    In many a subtle question versed,
    Who touched a jarring lyre at first,
  But ever strove to make it true: 

  Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
    At last he beat his music out. 
    There lives more faith in honest doubt,
  Believe me, than in half the creeds.

  He fought his doubts and gathered strength,
    He would not make his judgment blind,
    He faced the spectres of the mind
  And laid them:  thus he came at length

  To find a stronger faith his own;
    And Power was with him in the night,
    Which makes the darkness and the light,
  And dwells not in the light alone,

  But in the darkness and the cloud,
    As over Sinai’s peaks of old,
    While Israel made their gods of gold,
  Although the trumpet blew so loud.

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

* * * * *

MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND.

    My times are in thy hand! 
      I know not what a day
    Or e’en an hour may bring to me,
    But I am safe while trusting thee,
      Though all things fade away. 
        All weakness, I
        On him rely
  Who fixed the earth and spread the starry sky.