SAN GABRIEL, ON THE PACIFIC COAST.

Grey-cowled monk, whose faith so earnest

Guides these Indians’ childlike hearts,

As their hands to toil thou turnest,

Teaching them the Builder's arts,

Speak thy thought! as now they gather

Round the white walls on the plain,

Rearing them for God the Father,

And the glory of New Spain.

“Thou, St. Gabriel, knowest only

Why thy holy bells I raise,

To no turret proud and lonely,

There to sound the hours of praise;—

Why I keep them close beside me,

Framed within the church's walls,

Here where heathen lands shall hide me

Until death to judgment calls.”

Then St Gabriel in high heaven

Told the saints this mortal's lot,

As the Angelus at even

Rose to day that dieth not;

And from out the nightly wonder

Of the darkened world would float,

Mingling with the near sea's thunder,

Yonder belfry's golden note.

“Two there were, whose loves were blighted

By the Spanish pride abhorred,

And their vows and wealth they plighted

To the Missions of the Lord.

For his church these bells she gave him,

When within their glowing mould,

She had cast what were her treasures,

— All her ornaments of gold.

“So do these, that to his seeming

Were but good as touched by her,

Ring to seek for love redeeming

All who sorrow, all who err.

Yes, though human love be ever

Heard upon the throbbing air,

This shall make his life's endeavour

Stronger through a woman's prayer.

“God is not a Lord requiring

Sacrifice of memories dear,

And their love in life untiring

To His life hath brought then near.

Thus his wish to have beside him

That which seems her voice, is good:

Lovingly the Lord hath tried him,

And his heart hath understood.”