The Signs of the Times

(From the Warder.)

The days of old were days of might, A blight hath pass'd upon the church,

In forms of greatness moulded [molded]; Her summer hath departed;

And flowers of heaven grew on the earth, The chill of age is on her sons,

Within the church unfolded. The cold and fearful-hearted.

For grace fell fast as summer's dew, And sad amid neglect and scorn,

And Saints to giant's stature grew. Our mother sits and weeps forlorn.

But one by one the gifts are gone, Narrow and narrower still, each year

That in the church resided; The holy circles groweth;

And gone the spirits living light, And what the end of all shall be,

That on her walls abided: Nor man nor angel knoweth.

When by our shrines he came to dwell And so we wait and watch in fear.

In power and presence visible. It may be that the Lord is near.