The herald star,
  Whose torch afar
  Shadows and boding night-birds fly.

  Methinks we need him once again,
That favoured seer—but where shall he be found?
  By Cherith's side we seek in vain,
In vain on Carmel's green and lonely mound:
  Angels no more
  From Sinai soar,
  On his celestial errands bound.

  But wafted to her glorious place
By harmless fire, among the ethereal thrones,
  His spirit with a dear embrace
Thee the loved harbinger of Jesus owns,
  Well-pleased to view
  Her likeness true,
  And trace, in thine, her own deep tones.

  Deathless himself, he joys with thee
To commune how a faithful martyr dies,
  And in the blest could envy be,
He would behold thy wounds with envious eyes,
  Star of our morn,
  Who yet unborn
  Didst guide our hope, where Christ should rise.

  Now resting from your jealous care
For sinners, such as Eden cannot know,
  Ye pour for us your mingled prayer,
No anxious fear to damp Affection's glow,
  Love draws a cloud
  From you to shroud
  Rebellion's mystery here below.

  And since we see, and not afar,
The twilight of the great and dreadful day,
  Why linger, till Elijah's car
Stoop from the clouds? Why sheep ye? Rise and pray,
  Ye heralds sealed
  In camp or field
  Your Saviour's banner to display.

  Where is the lore the Baptist taught,
The soul unswerving and the fearless tongue?