When Margaret pale, and rare and gorgeous Helen,
Or sweet Ottilia, love, weep, smile, or feast,
For the still world of lovely forms I dwell in,
And for thy Poet, for our king and priest,

I praise thee, God.

When I have heard the imprisoned echoes breaking
From rolling clouds, like shouts of gods in fight,
Or armies calling armies, when awaking,

They rise all breathless from too large delight,
I praise thee, God.

When I have seen the scarlet lightnings falling
From cloudy battlements, like throneless kings;
Have seen great angels that, to angels calling,
Open and shut their gold and silver wings,

I praise thee, God.

When I have passed a nobler life in sorrow:
Have seen rude masses grow to fulgent spheres ;
Seen how To-day is father of To-morrow,

And how the Ages justify the Years,

I praise thee, God.

VI-PRAYER of aquinas.

ALL day Aquia is sat and spake no word,

As still as any man of stone,

In streets where never voice is heard;
With massive front and air antique,

He sat, did neither move nor speak,
For thought like his seem'd words too weak.

The shadows brown about him lay;

From sunrise till the sun went out,

Had sat alone that man of grey,

That marble man, hard crampt by doubt,

Some kingly problem had he found,
Some new belief not wholly sound,
Some hope that overleapt all bound.

All day Aquinas sat alone,

No answer to his question came,
And now he rose with hollow groan,
And eyes that seem'd half love, half flame.
On the bare floor he flung him down,
Pale marble face, half smile, half frown,
Brown shadow else mid shadows brown.

"O God," he said, "it cannot be,
Thy Morning-star, with endless moan,
Should lift his fading orbs to Thee,
And thou be happy on thy throne.
It were not kind, nay Father, nay,
It were not just, O God, I say;
Pray for the Devil, Jesus, pray!

"How can thy kingdom ever come,
While the fair angels howl below?
All holy voices would be dumb,
All loving eyes would fill with woe,
To think the lordliest Peer of Heaven,
The starry leader of the Seven,
Would never, never be forgiven.

66 Pray for the Devil, Jesus, pray,
O Word that made thine angel speak!
Lord! let thy pitying tears have way,
Dear God! not man alone is weak,
What is created still must fall,
And fairest still we frailest call,

Will not Christ's blood avail for all?

"Pray for the Devil, Jesus, pray,
O Father think upon thy child;

Turn from thy own bright world away,
And look upon that dungeon wild,

O God! O Jesus; see how dark

That den of woe, O Saviour mark

How angels weep, how groan, Hark, Hark!

"He will not, will not do it more,
Restore him to his throne again,
O! open wide that dismal door
Which presses on the souls in pain;
So men and angels all will say
Our God is good. O! day by day,
Pray for the Devil, Jesus, pray."

All night Aquinas knelt alone,
Alone with black and dreadful Night,
Until before his pleading moan,
The darkness ebb'd away in light,
Then rose the saint and "God," said he,
"If darkness change to light with thee
The devil may yet an angel be."

VII.-THE PEOPLE'S PETITION.

0

LORDS! O rulers of the nation

O softly clothed! O richly fed! O men of wealth and noble station! Give us our daily bread.

For you we are content to toil,
For you our blood like rain is shed
Then lords and rulers of the soil,
Give us our daily bread.

Your silken robes, with endless care,
Still weave we; still unclothed, unfed,
We make the raiment that ye wear.
Give us our daily bread.

In the red forge-light do we stand,
We early leave-late seek our bed,
Tempering the steel for your right hand.
Give us our daily bread.

We sow your fields, ye reap the fruit,
We live in misery and in dread.

Hear but our prayer, and we are mute,
Give us our daily bread.

Throughout old England's pleasant fields,
There is no spot where we may tread,
No house to us sweet shelter yields.
Give us our daily bread.

Fathers are we; we see our sons,
We see our fair young daughters, dead:
Then hear us, O ye mighty ones!
Give us our daily bread.

'Tis vain-with cold, unfeeling eye
Ye gaze on us, unclothed, unfed,
'Tis vain-ye will not hear our cry,
Nor give us daily bread.

We turn from you, our lords by birth,
To him who is our Lord above;
We all are made of the same earth,

Are children of one love.

Then Father of this world of wonders!
Judge of the living and the dead!
Lord of the lightnings and the thunders,
Give us our daily bread.

Ernest Charles Jones.

1819-1869.

ERNEST CHARLES JONES, the Chartist advocate, leader, and poet, was born at Berlin, January 25th, 1819. His father, Major Charles Jones, had served with distinction in the Peninsular War, receiving a severe scalp wound at Sahagun. He was with Sir John Moore when that ill-fated commander was killed, and served under the Duke of Wellington at Waterloo. At the close of the war the Major remained upon the Continent, and became equerry to King Ernest, who afterwards stood sponsor to his son. Ernest Jones spent his early years at Holstein, on the borders of the Black Forest, where his father had bought an estate; and in 1830, when only eleven years of age, "set out to help the Poles," then in insurrection, and was with difficulty traced in the Black Forest and brought back. He was educated at St. Michael's College, Lüneburg, where he was introduced by "letter patent" from the King. Here he worked with distinction, became Orator of the College, and on graduating delivered an address in German, which was published at the instance of the professors, who accorded him the highest academic honours.

In 1838 Major Jones removed with his family to England. In 1841 Ernest was presented at Court by the then Duke of Beaufort. He married a daughter