THE RECOLLECT CHURCH. *

Quickly are crumbling the old gray walls,

Soon the last stone will be gone,

The olden church of the Recollects,

We shall look no more upon;

And though, perchance, some stately pile

May rise its place to fill,

With carven piers and lofty towers,

Old Church, we shall miss thee still!

Though not like Europe's ancient fanes,

Moss-grown and ivied o'er

Bearing long centuries’ darkened stains

On belfry and turrets hoar —

A hundred years and more hast thou

Thy shadow o'er us cast;

And we claim thee in our country's youth

As a land-mark of the past.

Thou'st seen the glittering Fleur-de-lys

Fling out its folds on high

From old Dalhousie's fortress hill,

Against the morning sky;

And, later, the gleam of an English flag

From its cannon-crowned brow,—

That flag which, despite the changing years,

Floateth proudly o'er us now.

Thou'st seen the dark-browed Indians, too,

Thronging each narrow street,

In their garb so strangely picturesque,

Their gaily moccassined feet;

And beside them gentle helpmates stood,

Dark-hued, with soft black eyes,

In blanket robes, with necklets bright —

Large beads of brilliant dyes.

Thou'st seen our city far outgrow

The bounds of its ancient walls,

In beauty growing and in wealth,

And free from early thralls,

Till round Mount Royal's queenly heights,

That stretch toward the sky,

In pomp and splendor, beauteous homes

Of luxury closely lie.

Within this time-worn portal prayed

The sons of differing creeds,

And unto God, in various ways,

Made known their various needs.

Better dwell thus in brotherly love,

All seeking one common weal,

Than stir the stormy waters of strife

Through hasty and misjudged zeal.

And for many years the exiles lone,

Who landed upon our shore

From Erin's green and sunny isle,

Did here their God adore;

And laid their aching sad hearts bare

To His kind, pitying gaze,

And prayed to Him in this new strange land

For better and brighter days.

And humble Recollect Friars here

Their matins recited o'er,

And glided with noiseless, sandalled feet

O'er the chapel's sacred floor;

Again, at the close of day they met,

Amid clouds of incense dim

And the softened, rays of tapers’ blaze,

To sing their evening hymn.

They and their order have passed away

From among their fellow-men.

Little recked they for earth's joys or gains,

On heaven bent their ken.

The lowly church that has borne their name

So faithfully to the last,

Linked with our city's young days, like them,

Will henceforth be of the past.