THE CAPUCHIN MONK.

BY THOMAS GRAY, JR.

He sat him down within his narrow cell,
Lonely, yet not alone,— around him stood
The bold, but shadowed types of life and death-
The King of Terrors, and the mightier king,
The King of Righteousness—and as he gazed
On the blest Virgin and her holy child,
Then on the grisly monarch, thus he spake :

"Over the hall and hearth,

Over the stormy main,

And the battle-field, and the bowers of mirth,
Monarch! 'tis thine to reign.

Over the bleeding heart,

Where crushed affections flow;

Over affliction's dart,

And sorrow's heaviest woe,

Saviour! 'tis thine to charm the pang away,
And from the King of Terrors rend his prey.

"The social hearth, the hall,
Earth, and the stormy main,

Hearts, kindred, friendships, all

Crushed 'neath thy iron reign,

All-all did'st thou beneath thy sceptre bring

Master! behold thy master-king! thy king.