" They are all living monuments of a dead church," said 

 Frances Willard once in speaking to Dr. Josiah Strong, of the 

 Red Cross and similar movements. " Nay," was the reply, 

 " She is not dead, but sleepeth." 



Wild, wild wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing? 



Dark, dark night, wilt thou never wear away? 

 Cold, cold Church, in thy death-sleep lying, 



Thy Lent is past, thy Passion here, but not thine Easter-day! 



Peace, faint heart, though the night be spent with sighing; 



Rest, fair corse, where thy Lord Himself hath lain; 

 Weep, dear Lord, where Thy bride is lying, 



Thy tears shall wake her frozen limbs to life and health 

 again. 



Charles Kingsley. 



I pray you look over the walls of your creed, 

 Heaven-centred and staunch as they seem, 



At the manifold forms of human need 

 With which the ages teem. 



Arthur Wentworth Eaton. 



