THE AGED BISHOP.
A scene at the closing of a Convention in Virginia, by the venerable Bishop Moore.
They cluster'd round, that listening throng,
The parting hour drew nigh,
And heighten'd feeling, deep and strong,
Spoke forth from eye to eye;
For reverend in his hoary years,
A white-robed prelate bent,
And trembling pathos wing'd his words,
As to the heart they went.
With saintly love he urged the crowd
Salvation's hope to gain,
While, gathering o'er his furrow'd cheek,
The tears fell down like rain;
He waved his hand, and music woke
A warm and solemn strain,
His favourite hymn swell'd high, and fill'd
The consecrated fane.
Then from the hallow'd chancel forth,
With faltering step, he sped,
And fervent laid a father's hand
On every priestly head,
