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diff --git a/old/12759.txt b/old/12759.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75c517a --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12759.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16563 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The World's Best Poetry Volume IV., by Bliss Carman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The World's Best Poetry Volume IV. + +Author: Bliss Carman + +Release Date: June 28, 2004 [EBook #12759] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY VOLUME IV. *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + + + + +_THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY_ + + _I Home: Friendship + II Love + III Sorrow and Consolation + IV The Higher Life + V Nature + VI Fancy Sentiment + VII Descriptive: Narrative + VIII National Spirit + IX Tragedy: Humor + X Poetical Quotations_ + + + + +THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY + +IN TEN VOLUMES, ILLUSTRATED + + +Editor-in-Chief + +BLISS CARMAN + + +Associate Editors + +John Vance Cheney +Charles G.D. Roberts +Charles F. Richardson +Francis H. Stoddard + + +Managing Editor + +John R. Howard + + +1904 + + + + +The World's Best Poetry + +Vol. IV + + +THE HIGHER LIFE + +RELIGION AND POETRY +By +WASHINGTON GLADDEN + + + + +NOTICE OF COPYRIGHTS. + +I. + + +American poems in this volume within the legal protection of copyright +are used by the courteous permission of the owners,--either the +publishers named in the following list or the authors or their +representatives in the subsequent one,--who reserve all their rights. +So far as practicable, permission has been secured also for poems out +of copyright. + + +PUBLISHERS OF THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY. 1904. + +Messrs. D. APPLETON & CO., New York.--_W.G. Bryant_: "The Future +Life." + +The ROBERT CLARKE COMPANY, Cincinnati.--_W.D. Gallagher_: "The +Laborer." + +Messrs. T.Y. CROWELL & CO., New York.--_S.K. Bolton_: "Her Creed." + +Messrs. E.P. DUTTON & CO., New York.--_Ph. Brooks_: "O Little Town of +Bethlehem;" _E. Sears_: "The Angel's Song." + +Messrs. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., Boston.--_Alice Cary_: "My Creed;" +_Phoebe Cary_: "Nearer Home;" _J.F. Clarke_: "The Caliph and Satan," +"Cana;" _R.W. Emerson_: "Brahma," "Good-bye," "The Problem;" _Louise +I. Guiney_: "Tryste Noel;" _J. Hay_: "Religion and Doctrine;" _C.W. +Holmes_: "The Living Temple;" _H.W. Longfellow_: "King Robert of +Sicily," "Ladder of St. Augustine," "Psalm of Life," "Santa Filomena," +"Sifting of Peter," "Song of the Silent Land," "To-morrow;" _S. +Longfellow_: "Vesper Hymn;" _J.R. Lowell_: "Vision of Sir Launfal;" +_Frances P.L. Mace_: "Only Waiting;" _Caroline A.B. Mason_: "The +Voyage;" _T. Parker_: "The Higher Good," "The Way, the Truth, and +the Life;" _Eliza Scudder_: "The Love of God," "Vesper Hymn;" _E.C. +Stedman_: "The Undiscovered Country;" _Harriet B. Stowe_: "Knocking, +Ever Knocking," "The Other World;" _J. Very_: "Life," "The Spirit +Land;" _J.G. Whittier_: "The Eternal Goodness," "The Meeting," "The +Two Angels," "The Two Rabbis;" _Sarah C. Woolsey_: "When." + +The J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Philadelphia.--_Margaret J. Preston_: +"Myrrh-Bearers." + +Messrs. LITTLE, BROWN & CO., Boston.--_J.W. Chadwick_: "The Rise of +Man;" _Emily Dickinson_: "Found Wanting," "Heaven." + +The LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY, Boston.--_P.H. Hayne_: "Patience." + +Messrs. L.C. PAGE & CO., Boston.--_C.G.D. Roberts_: "The Aim," +"Ascription." + +Messrs. SCOTT, FORESMAN & CO., Chicago.--_C.P. Taylor_: "The Old +Village Choir." + +Messrs. HERBERT S. STONE & CO., Chicago.--_G. Santayana_: "Faith." + +The YOUNG CHURCHMAN COMPANY, Milwaukee.--_A.C. Coxe_: "The Chimes of +England." + + + + +II. + + +American poems in this volume by the authors whose names are given +below are the copyrighted property of the authors, or of their +representatives named in parenthesis, and may not be reprinted without +their permission, which for the present work has been courteously +granted. + +PUBLISHERS OF THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY. 1904. + +_A. Coles_ (A. Coles, Jr., M.D.); _J.A. Dix_ (Rev. Morgan Dix, D.D.); +_P.L. Dunbar; W.C. Gannett; W. Gladden; S.P. McL. Pratt; O. Huckel; +Ray Palmer_ (Dr. Charles R. Palmer); _A.D.F. Randolph_ (Arthur D.F. +Randolph). + + + + +RELIGION AND POETRY + +BY WASHINGTON GLADDEN. + + +The time is not long past when the copulative in that title might have +suggested to some minds an antithesis,--as acid and alkali, or heat +and cold. That religion could have affiliation with anything +so worldly as poetry would have seemed to some pious people a +questionable proposition. There were the Psalms, in the Old Testament, +to be sure; and the minister had been heard to allude to them as +poetry: might not that indicate some heretical taint in him, caught, +perchance, from the "German neologists" whose influence we were +beginning to dread? It did not seem quite orthodox to describe the +Psalms as poems; and when, a little later, some one ventured to speak +of the Book of Job as a _dramatic_ poem, there were many who were +simply horrified. Indeed, it was difficult for many good people +to consider the Biblical writings as in any sense literature; they +belonged in a category by themselves, and the application to them +of the terms by which we describe similar writings in other books +appeared to many good men and women a kind of profanation. This was +not, of course, the attitude of educated men and women, but something +akin to it affected large numbers of excellent people. + +We are well past that period, and the relations of religion and +poetry may now be discussed with no fear of misunderstandings. These +relations are close and vital. Poetry is indebted to religion for its +largest and loftiest inspirations, and religion is indebted to poetry +for its subtlest and most luminous interpretations. + +Religion is related to poetry as life is related to art. Religion is +life, the life of God in the soul of man--the response of man's spirit +to the attractions of the divine Spirit. Poetry is an interpretation +of life. Religious poetry endeavors to express, in beautiful +forms, the facts of the religious life. There is poetry that is not +religious; poetry which deals only with that which is purely sensuous, +poetry which does not hint at spiritual facts, or divine relations; +and there is religion which has but little to do with poetry: but the +highest religious thoughts and feelings are greatly served by putting +them into poetic forms; and the greatest poetry is always that which +sets forth the facts of the religious life. "Without love to man and +love to God," says Dr. Strong, "the greatest poetry is impossible. +Mere human love to God is not enough to stir the deepest chords either +in the poet or in his readers. It is the connection of human love with +the divine love that gives it permanence and security."[A] + +If, then, religion is the supreme experience of the human spirit, and +that experience finds its most perfect literary expression in poetry, +the present volume ought to contain a precious collection of the best +literature. And any one who wished to give to a friend a volume which +would convey to him the essential elements of religion would probably +be safe to choose this volume rather than any prose treatise upon +theology ever printed. He who reads this book through will get +a clearer and truer idea of what the religious life is than any +philosophical discussion could give him. For this poetry is an attempt +to express life, not to explain it. It offers pictures or reports +rather than analyses of religious experience. It gives utterance +to the real life of religion in the individual soul, and is not a +generalization of religious thoughts and feelings. + +The sources from which this collection has been drawn are abundant +and varied. The psalmody and hymnology of the church furnish a vast +preserve, the exploration of which would be a large undertaking. It +must be confessed that the pious people who had in their hands some +of the ancient hymn-books were justified in feeling that religion and +poetry were not closely related, for many of the hymns they were +wont to sing were guiltless of any poetic character. It was too often +evident that the hymn-writer had been more intent on giving metrical +form to proper theological concepts than on giving utterance to his +own religious life. But the feeling has been growing that in hymns, at +any rate, life is more than dogma; and we have now some collections of +hymns that come pretty near being books of poetry. The improvement in +this department of literature within the past twenty-five years has +been marked. There is still, indeed, in many hymnals, and especially +in hymnals for Sunday schools and social meetings, much doggerel; but +large recent contributions of hymns which are true poetry, many of the +best of them from American sources, have made it possible to furnish +our congregations with admirable manuals of praise. + +The indebtedness of religion to poetry which is thus expressed in +the hymnology of the church is very large. Probably many of us +are indebted for definite and permanent religious conceptions and +impressions quite as much to felicitous phrases of hymns as to +any words of sermon or catechism. Our most positive convictions of +religious truth are apt to come to us in some line or stanza that +tells the whole story. The rhythm and the rhyme have helped to fix it +and hold it in the memory. + +This is true not only of the hymns of the church but of many poems +that are not suitable for singing. English poetry is especially rich +in meditative and devotional elements, and of no period has this +been more true than of the nineteenth century. Cowper, Wordsworth, +Coleridge, the Brownings, Tennyson and Matthew Arnold, on the other +side of the sea, with Bryant, Longfellow, Emerson, Whittier, +Lowell, Holmes, Lanier, Sill and Gilder on this side--these and many +others--have made most precious additions to our store of religious +poetry. The century has been one of great perturbations in religious +thought; the advent of the evolutionary philosophy threatened all the +theological foundations, and there was need of a thorough revision +of the dogmas which were based on a mechanical theology, and of a +reinterpretation of the life of the Spirit. In all this the poets have +given us the strongest help. The great poet cannot be oblivious of +these deepest themes. He need not be a dogmatician, indeed he cannot +be, for his business is insight, not ratiocination; but the problems +which theology is trying to solve must always be before his mind, and +he must have something to say about them, if he hopes to command the +attention of thoughtful men. Yet while we need not depreciate +the service that has been rendered by preachers and professional +theologians who have sought to put the facts of the religious +life into the forms of the new philosophy, we must own our deeper +obligation to the poets, by whose vision the spiritual realities have +been most clearly discerned. + +It was Wordsworth, perhaps, who gave us the first great contribution +to the new religious thought by bringing home to us the fact that God +is in his world; revealing himself now as clearly as in any of the +past ages. The truth of the Divine immanence, which is the foundation +of all the more positive religious thinking of to-day, and which +is destined, when once its import has been fully grasped, to +revolutionize our religious life, is made familiar to our thought +in Wordsworth's poetry. To him it was simply an experience; in quite +another sense than that in which it was true of Spinoza, it might have +been said of him that he was a "God-intoxicated man"; and although his +clear English sense permitted no pantheistic merging of the human in +the divine, but kept the individual consciousness clear for choice +and duty, the realization of the presence of God made nature in his +thought supernatural, and life sublime. To him, as Dr. Strong has +said, it was plain that "imagination in man enables him to enter into +the thought of God--the creative element in us is the medium through +which we perceive the meaning of the Creator in his creation. The +world without answers to the world within, because God is the soul of +both." + + "Such minds are truly from the Deity, + For they are Powers; and hence the highest bliss + That flesh can know is theirs,--the consciousness + Of whom they are, habitually infused + Through every image and through every thought, + And all affections by communion raised + From earth to heaven, from human to divine." + +The mystical faith by which man is united to God can have no clearer +confession. And in the great poem of "Tintern Abbey" this truth +received an expression which has become classical;--it must be counted +one of the greatest words of that continuing revelation by which the +truths of religion are given permanent form: + + "For I have learned + To look on nature, not as in the hour + Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes + The still, sad music of humanity, + Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power + To chasten and subdue. And I have felt + A presence that disturbs me with the joy + Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime + Of something far more deeply interfused, + Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, + And the round ocean, and the living air, + And the blue sky, and in the mind of man: + A motion and a spirit, that impels + All thinking things, all objects of all thought, + And rolls through all things." + +We can hardly imagine that the religious experience of mankind will +ever suffer these words to drop into forgetfulness; and it would seem +that every passing generation must deepen their significance. + +The same great testimony to the divine Presence in our lives is borne +by many other witnesses in memorable words. Lowell's voice is clear: + + "No man can think, nor in himself perceive, + Sometimes at waking, in the street sometimes, + Or on the hillside, always unforwarned, + A grace of being finer than himself, + That beckons and is gone,--a larger life + Upon his own impinging, with swift glimpse + Of spacious circles, luminous with mind, + To which the ethereal substance of his own + Seems but gross cloud to make that visible, + Touched to a sudden glory round the edge." + +If to this central truth of religion,--the reality of the communion of +the human spirit with the divine--the poets have borne such impressive +testimony, not less positively have they asserted many other of the +great things of the spirit. Sometimes they have helped us to believe, +by identifying themselves with us in our struggles with the doubts +that loosen our hold on the great realities. No man of the last +century has done more for Christian belief than Alfred Tennyson, +albeit he has been a confessed doubter. But what he said of Arthur +Hallam is quite as true of himself: + + "He fought his doubts, and gathered strength, + He would not make his judgment blind, + He faced the spectres of the mind + And laid them; thus he came at length, + + To find a stronger faith his own, + And Power was with him in the night, + Which makes the darkness and the light, + And dwells not in the light alone." + +Those words of his, so often quoted, are often sadly misused: + + "There lives more faith in honest doubt, + Believe me, than in half the creeds." + +When men make these words an excuse for an attitude of habitual +negation and denial, assuming that it is better to doubt everything +than to believe anything, they grossly pervert the poet's meaning. It +is the _faith_ that lives in honest doubt that his heart applauds. He +is thinking of the fact that it is real faith in God which leads men +to doubt the dogmas which misrepresent God. But conscious as he is of +the shadow that lies upon our field of vision, he is always insisting +that it is in the light and not in the shadow that we must walk. +Therefore, although demonstration is impossible, faith is rational. So +do those great words of "The Ancient Sage" admonish us: + + "Thou canst not prove that thou art body alone, + Nor canst thou prove that thou art spirit alone, + Nor canst thou prove that thou art both in one. + Thou canst not prove thou art immortal, no, + Nor yet that thou art mortal--nay, my son. + Thou canst not prove that I who speak with thee, + Am not thyself in converse with thyself, + For nothing worthy proving can be proven + Nor yet disproven. Wherefore be thou wise, + Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, + And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith! + She reels not in the storm of warring words, + She brightens at the clash of 'Yes' and 'No,' + She sees the best that glimmers through the worst, + She feels the sun is hid but for a night, + She spies the summer through the winter bud, + She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls, + She hears the lark within the songless egg, + She finds the fountain where they wailed 'Mirage!'" + +This illustrates Tennyson's mental attitude. If all who plume +themselves upon their doubts would put themselves into this posture of +mind, they would find themselves in possession of a very substantial +faith. + +Tennyson has touched with light more than one problem of the soul. The +little stanza beginning + + "Flower in the crannied wall" + +has shown us how the mysteries of being are shared by the commonest +lives; the short lyric "Wages" condenses into a few lines the +strongest proof of the life to come; and "Crossing the Bar" has borne +many a spirit in peace out to the boundless sea. + +Robert Browning's robust faith helps us in a different way. His daring +and triumphant optimism makes us ashamed of doubt. In "Abt Vogler," in +"Rabbi Ben Ezra," in "Pompilia," in "Christmas Eve," we are caught up +and carried onward by an unflinching and overcoming faith. Perhaps the +most convincing arguments for religious reality in Browning's poems +are those of "An Epistle" and of "Cleon," where the cry of the human +soul for the assurance which the Christian faith supplies is given +such a penetrating voice. And there is no reasoning about the +Incarnation, in any theological book that I have ever read, which +seems to me so cogent as that great passage in "Saul," where David +cries: + + "Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow poor to enrich, + To fill up his life, starve my own out. I would--knowing which, + I know that my service is perfect. Oh, speak through me now! + Would I suffer for him that I love? So wouldst thou--so wilt thou!" + +But, after all, Browning's great hymns of faith are those in which he +faces the future, like "Prospice," and the prologue of "La Saisiaz," +and the epilogue of "Asolando,"--triumphant songs, in which one of the +healthiest-minded of human beings showed himself: + + "One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, + Never doubted clouds would break, + Never dreamed though right were worsted wrong would triumph, + Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake!" + +It would be a grateful task to make extended record of the service +rendered to religion by the great choir of singers whose names appear +upon the pages of this book. To Elizabeth Barrett Browning our debt is +large, though her note is oftenest plaintive and the faith which she +illustrates is that by which suffering is turned to strength. Our own +New England psalmist, also, has been to great multitudes a revealer +and a comforter; few in any age have seen the central truths of +Christianity more clearly, or felt them more deeply, or uttered them +more convincingly. In such poems as "My Soul and I," "My Psalm," "Our +Master," "The Eternal Goodness," "The Brewing of Soma," and "Andrew +Ryckman's Prayer," Whittier has made the whole religious world his +debtor. + +How many more there are--of those whom the world reckons as the +greater bards, and of those whom it assigns to lower places--to whom +we have found ourselves indebted for the clearing of our vision or the +quickening of our pulses, in our studies or our meditations upon the +deepest questions of life! How many there are, whose faces we +never saw, but who by some luminous word, some strain vibrant with +tenderness, some flash of insight, have endeared themselves to us +forever! They are the friends of our spirits, ministers to us of the +holiest things. They have clothed for us the highest truth in forms of +beauty; they have made it winsome and real and dear and memorable. Is +there anything better than this, that one man can do for another? + +Washington Gladden + +[Footnote A: "The Great Poets and their Theology."] + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + INTRODUCTORY ESSAY: + "RELIGION AND POETRY." + By _Washington Gladden_ + + POEMS OF THE HIGHER LIFE: + THE DIVINE ELEMENT--(God, Christ, the Holy Spirit) + PRAYER AND ASPIRATION + FAITH: HOPE: LOVE: SERVICE + SABBATH: WORSHIP: CREED + SELECTIONS FROM "PARADISE LOST" + HUMAN EXPERIENCE + DEATH: IMMORTALITY: HEAVEN + SELECTIONS FROM "THE DIVINE COMEDY" + + INDEX: AUTHORS AND TITLES + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. + + JOHN MILTON + _Photogravure from an engraving_. + + THE CHILD JESUS IN THE TEMPLE + _One of Heinrich Hoffmann's wonderful scenes in the life of + Christ: the earnest, wise-faced Boy, and the eager or doubtful + but thoughtful Scribes and Doctors of the Law, are graphically + depicted._ + + ISAAC WATTS + _From a contemporary engraving_. + + THE HOLY NIGHT + "It was the winter wild + While the heaven-born Child + All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies." + + _From photogravure after a painting by Martin Feuerstein._ + + CHARLES WESLEY + _From a contemporary engraving_. + + THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD + "Knocking, knocking, ever knocking? + Who is there? + 'Tis a pilgrim, strange and kingly, + Never such was seen before." + + _From photo-carbon print after the painting by Holman Hunt_. + + SIR GALAHAD + "My strength is as the strength of ten, + Because my heart is pure." + + _From photogravure after the painting by George Frederick Watts_. + + RALPH WALDO EMERSON + _From a photogravure after life-photograph._ + + DINA M. MULOCK CRAIK + _From a life-photograph by Elliott and Fry, London._ + + THE PHARISEE AND THE PUBLICAN + "Two went to pray? O, rather say, + One went to brag, the other to pray; + One nearer to God's altar trod, + The other to the altar's God." + + _From engraving by Brend'amour, after a design by Alexander Bida_. + + DANTE ALIGHIERI + _After a photograph from the fresco by His friend Giotto, discovered + under the whitewash on a watt of the Bargello palace; now in the Museo + Nazionale, Florence, Italy_. + + + + +POEMS OF THE HIGHER LIFE + + + + +POEMS OF THE HIGHER LIFE + +I. + +THE DIVINE ELEMENT. + + * * * * * + +SONG. + +FROM "PIPPA PASSES." + + + The year's at the spring, + And day's at the morn; + Morning's at seven; + The hill-side's dew-pearled; + The lark's on the wing; + The snail's on the thorn; + God's in His heaven-- + All's right with the world. + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF SAINT AUGUSTINE. + + + Long pored Saint Austin o'er the sacred page, + And doubt and darkness overspread his mind; + On God's mysterious being thought the Sage, + The Triple Person in one Godhead joined. + The more he thought, the harder did he find + To solve the various doubts which fast arose; + And as a ship, caught by imperious wind, + Tosses where chance its shattered body throws, + So tossed his troubled soul, and nowhere found repose. + + Heated and feverish, then he closed his tome, + And went to wander by the ocean-side, + Where the cool breeze at evening loved to come, + Murmuring responsive to the murmuring tide; + And as Augustine o'er its margent wide + Strayed, deeply pondering the puzzling theme, + A little child before him he espied: + In earnest labor did the urchin seem, + Working with heart intent close by the sounding stream. + + He looked, and saw the child a hole had scooped, + Shallow and narrow in the shining sand, + O'er which at work the laboring infant stooped, + Still pouring water in with busy hand. + The saint addressed the child in accents bland: + "Fair boy," quoth he, "I pray what toil is thine? + Let me its end and purpose understand." + The boy replied: "An easy task is mine, + To sweep into this hole all the wide ocean's brine." + + "O foolish boy!" the saint exclaimed, "to hope + That the broad ocean in that hole should lie!" + "O foolish saint!" exclaimed the boy; "thy scope + Is still more hopeless than the toil I ply, + Who think'st to comprehend God's nature high + In the small compass of thine human wit! + Sooner, Augustine, sooner far, shall I + Confine the ocean in this tiny pit, + Than finite minds conceive God's nature infinite!" + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +MEDITATIONS OF A HINDU PRINCE. + + + All the world over, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod, + Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God? + Westward across the ocean, and Northward across the snow, + Do they all stand gazing, as ever, and what do the wisest know? + + Here, in this mystical India, the deities hover and swarm + Like the wild bees heard in the tree-tops, or the gusts of a gathering storm; + In the air men hear their voices, their feet on the rocks are seen, + Yet we all say, "Whence is the message, and what may the wonders mean?" + + A million shrines stand open, and ever the censer swings, + As they bow to a mystic symbol, or the figures of ancient kings; + And the incense rises ever, and rises the endless cry + Of those who are heavy laden, and of cowards loth to die. + + For the Destiny drives us together, like deer in a pass of the hills; + Above is the sky and around us the sound of the shot that kills; + Pushed by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown, + We pray to the trees for shelter, and press our lips to a stone. + + The trees wave a shadowy answer, and the rock frowns hollow and grim, + And the form and the nod of the demon are caught in the twilight dim; + And we look to the sunlight falling afar on the mountain crest,-- + Is there never a path runs upward to a refuge there and a rest? + + The path, ah! who has shown it, and which is the faithful guide? + The haven, ah! who has known it? for steep is the mountain side, + Forever the shot strikes surely, and ever the wasted breath + Of the praying multitude rises, whose answer is only death. + + Here are the tombs of my kinsfolk, the fruit of an ancient name, + Chiefs who were slain on the war-field, and women who died in flame; + They are gods, these kings of the foretime, they are spirits who guard our race: + Ever I watch and worship; they sit with a marble face. + + And the myriad idols round me, and the legion of muttering priests, + The revels and rites unholy, the dark unspeakable feasts! + What have they rung from the Silence? Hath even a whisper come + Of the secret, Whence and Whither? Alas! for the gods are dumb. + + Shall I list to the word of the English, who come from the uttermost sea? + "The Secret, hath it been told you, and what is your message to me?" + It is naught but the wide-world story how the earth and the heavens began, + How the gods are glad and angry, and a Deity once was man. + + I had thought, "Perchance in the cities where the rulers of India dwell, + Whose orders flash from the far land, who girdle the earth with a spell, + They have fathomed the depths we float on, or measured the unknown main--" + Sadly they turn from the venture, and say that the quest is vain. + + Is life, then, a dream and delusion, and where shall the dreamer awake? + Is the world seen like shadows on water, and what if the mirror break? + Shall it pass as a camp that is struck, as a tent that is gathered and gone + From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone? + + Is there naught in the heaven above, whence the hail and the levin are hurled, + But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world? + The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep + With the dirge, and the sounds of lamenting, and voices of women who weep. + +SIR ALFRED COMYNS LYALL. + + + * * * * * + +BRAHMA. + + + If the red slayer think he slays, + Or if the slain think he is slain, + They know not well the subtle ways + I keep, and pass, and turn again. + + Far or forgot to me is near; + Shadow and sunlight are the same; + The vanished gods to me appear; + And one to me are shame and fame. + + They reckon ill who leave me out; + When me they fly, I am the wings; + I am the doubter and the doubt, + And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. + + The strong gods pine for my abode, + And pine in vain the sacred Seven; + But thou, meek lover of the good! + Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + + * * * * * + +HYMN TO ZEUS. + + + Most glorious of all the Undying, many-named, girt round with awe! + Jove, author of Nature, applying to all things the rudder of law-- + Hail! Hail! for it justly rejoices the races whose life is a span + To lift unto thee their voices--the Author and Framer of man. + For we are thy sons; thou didst give us the symbols of speech at our birth, + Alone of the things that live, and mortal move upon earth. + Wherefore thou shalt find me extolling and ever singing thy praise; + Since thee the great Universe, rolling on its path round the world, obeys:-- + Obeys thee, wherever thou guidest, and gladly is bound in thy bands, + So great is the power thou confidest, with strong, invincible hands, + To thy mighty ministering servant, the bolt of the thunder, that flies, + Two-edged like a sword, and fervent, that is living and never dies. + All nature, in fear and dismay, doth quake in the path of its stroke, + What time thou preparest the way for the one Word thy lips have spoke, + Which blends with lights smaller and greater, which pervadeth and thrilleth all things, + So great is thy power and thy nature--in the Universe Highest of Kings! + On earth, of all deeds that are done, O God! there is none without thee; + In the holy ether not one, nor one on the face of the sea, + Save the deeds that evil men, driven by their own blind folly, have planned; + But things that have grown uneven are made even again by thy hand; + And things unseemly grow seemly, the unfriendly are friendly to thee; + For no good and evil supremely thou hast blended in one by decree. + For all thy decree is one ever--a Word that endureth for aye, + Which mortals, rebellious, endeavor to flee from and shun to obey-- + Ill-fated, that, worn with proneness for the lord-ship of goodly things, + Neither hear nor behold, in its oneness, the law that divinity brings; + Which men with reason obeying, might attain unto glorious life, + No longer aimlessly straying in the paths of ignoble strife. + There are men with a zeal unblest, that are wearied with following of fame, + And men with a baser quest, that are turned to lucre and shame. + There are men too that pamper and pleasure the flesh with delicate stings: + All these desire beyond measure to be other than all these things. + Great Jove, all-giver, dark-clouded, great Lord of the thunderbolt's breath! + Deliver the men that are shrouded in ignorance dismal as death. + O Father! dispel from their souls the darkness, and grant them the light + Of reason, thy stay, when the whole wide world thou rulest with might, + That we, being honored, may honor thy name with the music of hymns, + Extolling the deeds of the Donor, unceasing, as rightly beseems + Mankind; for no worthier trust is awarded to God or to man + Than forever to glory with justice in the law that endures and is One. + +From the Greek of CLEANTHES. + + + * * * * * + +TE DEUM LAUDAMUS. + + + We praise thee, O God; we acknowledge thee to be the Lord. + All the earth doth worship thee, the Father everlasting. + To thee all Angels cry aloud; the Heavens, and all the powers therein. + To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, + Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth; + Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty of thy Glory. + The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee. + The goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee. + The noble army of Martyrs praise thee. + The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge thee; + The Father of an infinite Majesty; + Thine adorable, true, and only Son; + Also the Holy Ghost, the Comforter. + Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ. + Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father. + When thou tookest upon thee to deliver man, thou didst humble thyself to be born of a Virgin. + When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, thou didst open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers. + Thou sittest at the right hand of God, in the Glory of the Father. + We believe that thou shalt come to be our Judge. + We therefore pray thee, help thy servants, whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood. + Make them to be numbered with thy Saints, in glory everlasting. + O Lord, save thy people, and bless thine heritage. + Govern them, and lift them up for ever. + Day by day we magnify thee; + And we worship thy Name ever, world without end. + Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin. + O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us. + O Lord, let thy mercy be upon us, as our trust is in thee. + O Lord, in thee have I trusted; let me never be confounded.[A] + +Version of the + +AMERICAN EPISCOPAL CHURCH PRAYER-BOOK. + +[Footnote A: This venerable hymn, familiar as a part of the morning +service in the Roman Catholic and Protestant Episcopal Churches, and +on special occasions in many Protestant Churches, has usually been +ascribed to the great St. Ambrose of Milan and St. Augustine, his +greater convert, in the year 387 A.D. But, like other productions of +mighty influence, it was doubtless a growth. Portions of it appear +in the writings of St. Cyprian (252 A.D.) and others in still earlier +liturgical forms of the Greek Church in Alexandria during the century +previous. It is thus probably the earliest, as it is certainly the +most universal and famous, of Christian hymns. It was translated from +the Latin into English in 1549 for the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, +which assumed its present form in 1660--during that wonderful era +which gave us the English Bible, with its unapproached majesty and +music of language.] + + + * * * * * + +THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. + + + Father of all! in every age, + In every clime adored, + By saint, by savage, and by sage, + Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! + + Thou great First Cause, least understood, + Who all my sense confined + To know but this, that thou art good, + And that myself am blind; + + Yet gave me, in this dark estate, + To see the good from ill; + And, binding nature fast in fate, + Left free the human will: + + What conscience dictates to be done, + Or warns me not to do, + This, teach me more than hell to shun, + That, more than heaven pursue. + + What blessings thy free bounty gives + Let me not cast away; + For God is paid when man receives, + To enjoy is to obey. + + Yet not to earth's contracted span + Thy goodness let me bound, + Or think thee Lord alone of man, + When thousand worlds are round: + + Let not this weak, unknowing hand + Presume thy bolts to throw, + And deal damnation round the land + On each I judge thy foe. + + If I am right thy grace impart + Still in the right to stay; + If I am wrong, O, teach my heart + To find that better way! + + Save me alike from foolish pride + And impious discontent + At aught thy wisdom has dented, + Or aught thy goodness lent. + + Teach me to feel another's woe, + To hide the fault I see; + That mercy I to others show, + That mercy show to me. + + Mean though I am, not wholly so, + Since quickened by thy breath; + O, lead me wheresoe'er I go, + Through this day's life or death! + + This day be bread and peace my lot; + All else beneath the sun, + Thou knowest if best bestowed or not, + And let thy will be done. + + To thee, whose temple is all space, + Whose altar, earth, sea, skies, + One chorus let all Being raise, + All Nature incense rise! + +ALEXANDER POPE. + + + * * * * * + +ODE. + +FROM "THE SPECTATOR." + + + The spacious firmament on high, + With all the blue ethereal sky, + And spangled heavens, a shining frame, + Their great Original proclaim; + The unwearied sun, from day to day, + Does his Creator's power display, + And publishes to every land + The work of an Almighty hand. + + Soon as the evening shades prevail, + The moon takes up the wondrous tale, + And nightly to the listening earth + Repeats the story of her birth; + While all the stars that round her burn, + And all the planets in their turn, + Confirm the tidings as they roll, + And spread the truth from pole to pole. + + What though, in solemn silence, all + Move round the dark terrestrial ball? + What though no real voice or sound + Amid their radiant orbs be found? + In Reason's ear they all rejoice, + And utter forth a glorious voice, + Forever singing, as they shine, + "The hand that made us is divine!" + +JOSEPH ADDISON. + + + * * * * * + +LORD! WHEN THOSE GLORIOUS LIGHTS I SEE. + + HYMN AND PRAYER FOR THE USE OF BELIEVERS. + + + Lord! when those glorious lights I see + With which thou hast adorned the skies, + Observing how they moved be, + And how their splendor fills mine eyes, + Methinks it is too large a grace, + But that thy love ordained it so,-- + That creatures in so high a place + Should servants be to man below. + + The meanest lamp now shining there + In size and lustre doth exceed + The noblest of thy creatures here, + And of our friendship hath no need. + Yet these upon mankind attend + For secret aid or public light; + And from the world's extremest end + Repair unto us every night. + + O, had that stamp been undefaced + Which first on us thy hand had set, + How highly should we have been graced, + Since we are so much honored yet! + Good God, for what but for the sake + Of thy beloved and only Son, + Who did on him our nature take, + Were these exceeding favors done? + + As we by him have honored been, + Let us to him due honors give; + Let us uprightness hide our sin, + And let us worth from him receive. + Yea, so let us by grace improve + What thou by nature doth bestow, + That to thy dwelling-place above + We may be raised from below. + +GEORGE WITHER. + + + * * * * * + +HYMN + + BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. + + + Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star + In his steep course? So long he seems to pause + On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc! + The Arve and Arveiron at thy base + Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form, + Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines + How silently! Around thee and above, + Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black-- + An ebon mass. Methinks thou piercest it, + As with a wedge! But when I look again, + It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, + Thy habitation from eternity! + O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, + Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, + Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in prayer + I worshipped the Invisible alone. + + Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, + So sweet we know not we are listening to it, + Thou, the mean while, wast blending with my thought,-- + Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy,-- + Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, + Into the mighty vision passing, there, + As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven! + + Awake, my soul! not only passive praise + Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, + Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, + Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! + Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. + + Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! + O, struggling with the darkness all the night, + And visited all night by troops of stars, + Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, + Companion of the morning-star at dawn, + Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn + Co-herald,--wake, O, wake, and utter praise! + Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? + Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? + Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? + + And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! + Who called you forth from night and utter death, + From dark and icy caverns called you forth, + Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, + Forever shattered and the same forever? + Who gave you your invulnerable life, + Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, + Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? + And who commanded (and the silence came), + Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? + + Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow + Adown enormous ravines slope amain,-- + Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, + And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! + Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! + Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven + Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun + Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers + Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? + God!--let the torrents, like a shout of nations, + Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! + God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice! + Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! + And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, + And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! + + Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! + Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! + Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm! + Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! + Ye signs and wonders of the elements! + Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! + + Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, + Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, + Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, + Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast,-- + Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou + That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low + In adoration, upward from thy base + Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, + Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, + To rise before me,--Rise, O, ever rise! + Rise, like a cloud of incense from the Earth! + Thou kingly Spirit throned among the hills, + Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Heaven, + Great Hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, + And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, + Earth with her thousand voices, praises God. + +SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. + + + * * * * * + +THE HILLS OF THE LORD. + + + God ploughed one day with an earthquake, + And drove his furrows deep! + The huddling plains upstarted. + The hills were all a-leap! + + But that is the mountains' secret, + Age-hidden in their breast; + "God's peace is everlasting," + Are the dream-words of their rest. + + He hath made them the haunt of beauty, + The home elect of his grace; + He spreadeth his mornings on them, + His sunsets light their face. + + His thunders tread in music + Of footfalls echoing long, + And carry majestic greeting + Around the silent throng. + + His winds bring messages to them, + Wild storm-news from the main; + They sing it down to the valleys + In the love-song of the rain. + + Green tribes from far come trooping, + And over the uplands flock; + He weaveth the zones together + In robes for his risen rock. + + They are nurseries for young rivers; + Nests for his flying cloud; + Homesteads for new-born races, + Masterful, free, and proud. + + The people of tired cities + Come up to their shrines and pray; + God freshens again within them, + As he passes by all day. + + And lo, I have caught their secret, + The beauty deeper than all. + This faith--that life's hard moments, + When the jarring sorrows befall, + + Are but God ploughing his mountains; + And the mountains yet shall be + The source of his grace and freshness + And his peace everlasting to me. + +WILLIAM CHANNING GANNETT. + + + * * * * * + +SUNRISE. + + + As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed, + I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall, + The flaunting leaves and flitting birds withal-- + A sunny phantom interlaced with shade; + "Thanks be to Heaven," in happy mood I said, + "What sweeter aid my matins could befall + Than this fair glory from the east hath made? + What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all, + To bid us feel and see! We are not free + To say we see not, for the glory comes + Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea; + His lustre pierces through the midnight glooms, + And at prime hours, behold! he follows me + With golden shadows to my secret rooms." + +CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER. + + + * * * * * + +GOD AND MAN. + + FROM THE "ESSAY ON MAN," EPISTLES I AND IV. + + + Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind + Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind: + His soul, proud science never taught to stray + Far as the solar walk or Milky Way: + Yet simple Nature to his hope has given, + Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven; + Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, + Some happier island in the watery waste, + Where slaves once more their native land behold, + No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. + To Be, contents his natural desire; + He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; + But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, + His faithful dog shall bear him company. + Go, wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense, + Weigh thy opinion against Providence: + Call imperfection what thou fancy'st such,-- + Say, here he gives too little, there too much; + Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, + Yet cry, If man's unhappy, God's unjust,-- + If man alone engross not Heaven's high care, + Alone made perfect here, immortal there; + Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, + Re-judge his justice, be the god of God. + In pride, in reasoning pride, our error lies; + All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. + Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes: + Men would be angels, angels would be gods. + Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, + Aspiring to be angels, men rebel; + And who but wishes to invert the laws + Of Order, sins against the Eternal Cause. + + * * * * * + + All are but parts of one stupendous whole, + Whose body Nature is, and God the soul: + That, changed through all, and yet in all the same; + Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame; + Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, + Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, + Lives through all life, extends through all extent, + Spreads undivided, operates unspent: + Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, + As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; + As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, + As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: + To him no high, no low, no great, no small; + He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. + Cease then, nor order imperfection name: + Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. + Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree + Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee. + Submit.--In this or any other sphere, + Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear; + Safe in the hand of one disposing Power, + Or in the natal or the mortal hour. + All nature is but art unknown to thee; + All chance, direction which thou canst not see; + All discord, harmony not understood; + All partial evil, universal good: + And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, + One truth is clear--Whatever is, is right. + + * * * * * + + Order is Heaven's first law: and, this confest, + Some are and must be greater than the rest, + More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence + That such are happier, shocks all common-sense. + Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, + If all are equal in their happiness: + But mutual wants this happiness increase; + All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace. + Condition, circumstance, is not the thing: + Bliss is the same in subject or in king, + In who obtain defence or who defend, + In him who is or him who finds a friend; + Heaven breathes through every member of the whole + One common blessing, as one common soul. + +ALEXANDER POPE. + + + * * * * * + +LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. + + + God moves in a mysterious way + His wonders to perform; + He plants His footsteps in the sea, + And rides upon the storm. + + Deep in unfathomable mines + Of never-failing skill, + He treasures up His bright designs, + And works His sovereign will. + + Ye fearful, fresh courage take! + The clouds ye so much dread + Are big with mercy, and shall break + In blessings on your head. + + Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. + But trust Him for His grace: + Behind a frowning providence + He hides a smiling face. + + His purposes will ripen fast, + Unfolding every hour; + The bud may have a bitter taste. + But sweet will be the flower. + + Blind unbelief is sure to err, + And scan His work in vain: + God is His own interpreter, + And He will make it plain. + +WILLIAM COWPER. + + + * * * * * + +GOD. + + + O thou eternal One! whose presence bright + All space doth occupy, all motion guide. + Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight! + Thou only God--there is no God beside! + Being above all beings! Mighty One, + Whom none can comprehend and none explore! + Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone-- + Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er, + Being whom we call God, and know no more! + + In its sublime research, philosophy + May measure out the ocean-deep--may count + The sands or the sun's rays--but, God! for Thee + There is no weight nor measure; none can mount + Up to Thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark, + Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try + To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark; + And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, + Even like past moments in eternity. + + Thou from primeval nothingness didst call + First chaos, then existence--Lord! in Thee + Eternity had its foundation; all + Sprung forth from Thee--of light, joy, harmony, + Sole Origin--all life, all beauty Thine; + Thy word created all, and doth create; + Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine; + Thou art, and wert, and shall be! Glorious! Great! + Light-giving, life-sustaining potentate! + + Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround-- + Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath! + Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, + And beautifully mingled life and death! + As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze; + So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee; + And as the spangles in the sunny rays + Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry + Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise. + + A million torches lighted by Thy hand + Wander unwearied through the blue abyss-- + They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command, + All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. + What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light-- + A glorious company of golden streams-- + Lamps of celestial ether burning bright-- + Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? + But Thou to these art as the noon to night. + + Yes! as a drop of water in the sea, + All this magnificence in Thee is lost:-- + What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee? + And what am I then?--Heaven's unnumbered host, + Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed + In all the glory of sublimest thought, + Is but an atom in the balance, weighed + Against Thy greatness--is a cipher brought + Against infinity! What am I then? Naught! + + Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divine, + Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too; + Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine, + As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. + Naught! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly + Eager towards Thy presence--for in Thee + I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high, + Even to the throne of Thy divinity; + I am, O God! and surely Thou must be! + + Thou art!--directing, guiding all--Thou art! + Direct my understanding then to Thee; + Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart; + Though but an atom midst immensity, + Still I am something fashioned by Thy hand! + I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth-- + On the last verge of mortal being stand, + Close to the realms where angels have their birth, + Just on the boundaries of the spirit land! + + The chain of being is complete in me-- + In me is matter's last gradation lost, + And the next step is spirit--Deity! + I can command the lightning and am dust! + A monarch and a slave--a worm, a god! + Whence came I here, and how? so marvellously + Constructed and conceived? unknown! this clod + Lives surely through some higher energy; + For from itself alone it could not be! + + Creator, yes! Thy wisdom and Thy word + Created me! Thou source of life and good! + Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord! + Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude + Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring + Over the abyss of death; and bade it wear + The garments of eternal day, and wing + Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, + Even to its source, to Thee, its author there. + + Oh thoughts ineffable! oh visions blest! + Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee. + Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast, + And waft its homage to Thy deity. + God! thus alone my lowly thoughts can soar, + Thus seek Thy presence--Being wise and good! + Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore; + And when the tongue is eloquent no more, + The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude. + +From the Russian of GAVRIIL ROMANOVITCH DERSHAVIN. + +Translation of SIR JOHN BOWRING. + + + * * * * * + +GOD IS EVERYWHERE. + + + A trodden daisy, from the sward, + With tearful eye I took, + And on its ruined glories I, + With moving heart, did look; + For, crushed and broken though it was, + That little flower was fair; + And oh! I loved the dying bud, + For God was there! + + I stood upon the sea-beat shore, + The waves came rushing on; + The tempest raged in giant wrath, + The light of day was gone. + The sailor from his drowning bark + Sent up his dying prayer; + I looked amid the ruthless storm, + And God was there! + + I sought a lonely, woody dell, + Where all things soft and sweet, + Birds, flowers, and trees, and running streams, + Mid bright sunshine did meet: + I stood beneath an old oak's shade, + And summer round was fair; + I gazed upon the peaceful scene, + And God was there! + + I saw a home--a happy home-- + Upon a bridal day, + And youthful hearts were blithesome there, + And aged hearts were gay: + I sat amid the smiling band + Where all so blissful were-- + Among the bridal maidens sweet-- + And God was there! + + I stood beside an infant's couch, + When light had left its eye-- + I saw the mother's bitter tears, + I heard her woful cry-- + I saw her kiss its fair pale face, + And smooth its yellow hair; + And oh, I loved the mourner's home, + For God was there! + + I sought a cheerless wilderness-- + A desert, pathless wild-- + Where verdure grew not by the streams, + Where beauty never smiled; + Where desolation brooded o'er + A muirland lone and bare, + And awe upon my spirit crept, + For God was there! + + I looked upon the lowly flower, + And on each blade of grass; + Upon the forests, wide and deep, + I saw the tempests pass: + I gazed on all created things + In earth, in sea, and air; + Then bent the knee--for God, in love, + Was everywhere! + +ROBERT NICOLL. + + + * * * * * + +ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP. + + + Rocked in the cradle of the deep + I lay me down in peace to sleep; + Secure I rest upon the wave, + For thou, O Lord! hast power to save. + I know thou wilt not slight my call, + For thou dost mark the sparrow's fall; + And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, + Rocked in the cradle of the deep. + + When in the dead of night I lie + And gaze upon the trackless sky, + The star-bespangled heavenly scroll, + The boundless waters as they roll,-- + I feel thy wondrous power to save + From perils of the stormy wave: + Rocked in the cradle of the deep, + I calmly rest and soundly sleep. + + And such the trust that still were mine, + Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine, + Or though the tempest's fiery breath + Roused me from sleep to wreck and death. + In ocean cave, still safe with Thee + The germ of immortality! + And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, + Rocked in the cradle of the deep. + +EMMA HART WILLARD. + + + * * * * * + +GOOD-BYE. + + + Good-bye, proud world, I'm going home: + Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine. + Long through thy weary crowds I roam; + A river-ark on the ocean brine, + Long I've been tossed like the driven foam, + But now, proud world, I'm going home. + + Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face; + To Grandeur with his wise grimace; + To upstart Wealth's averted eye; + To supple Office, low and high; + To crowded halls, to court and street; + To frozen hearts and hasting feet; + To those who go, and those who come; + Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home. + + I'm going to my own hearth-stone, + Bosomed in yon green hills alone,-- + A secret nook in a pleasant land, + Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; + Where arches green, the livelong day, + Echo the blackbird's roundelay, + And vulgar feet have never trod + A spot that is sacred to thought and God. + + O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, + I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; + And when I am stretched beneath the pines, + Where the evening star so holy shines, + I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, + At the sophist schools, and the learned clan; + For what are they all in their high conceit, + When man in the bush with God may meet? + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + + * * * * * + +OUR GOD, OUR HELP IN AGES PAST. + + + Our God, our help in ages past, + Our hope for years to come, + Our shelter from the stormy blast, + And our eternal home,-- + + Under the shadow of thy throne + Thy saints have dwelt secure; + Sufficient is thine arm alone, + And our defence is sure. + + Before the hills in order stood, + Or earth received her frame, + From everlasting thou art God, + To endless years the same. + + A thousand ages in thy sight + Are like an evening gone; + Short as the watch that ends the night + Before the rising sun. + + Time like an ever-rolling stream + Bears all its sons away; + They fly, forgotten, as a dream + Dies at the opening day. + + Our God, our help in ages past, + Our hope for years to come, + Be thou our guard while troubles last, + And our eternal home. + +ISAAC WATTS. + + + * * * * * + +A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD. + + "EIN' FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT." + + + A mighty fortress is our God, + A bulwark never failing; + Our helper he amid the flood + Of mortal ills prevailing. + For still our ancient foe + Doth seek to work us woe; + His craft and power are great, + And, armed with equal hate, + On earth is not his equal. + + Did we in our own strength confide, + Our striving would be losing; + Were not the right man on our side, + The man of God's own choosing. + Dost ask who that may be? + Christ Jesus, it is he, + Lord Sabaoth his name, + From age to age the same, + And he must win the battle. + +From the German of MARTIN LUTHER. + +Translation of FREDERIC HENRY HEDGE. + + + * * * * * + +DELIGHT IN GOD. + + + I love, and have some cause to love, the earth,-- + She is my Maker's creature, therefore good; + She is my mother, for she gave me birth; + She is my tender nurse, she gives me food: + But what's a creature, Lord, compared with thee? + Or what's my mother or my nurse to me? + + I love the air,--her dainty sweets refresh + My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me; + Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh, + And with their polyphonian notes delight me: + But what's the air, or all the sweets that she + Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee? + + I love the sea,--she is my fellow-creature, + My careful purveyor; she provides me store; + She walls me round; she makes my diet greater; + She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore: + But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee, + What is the ocean or her wealth to me? + + To heaven's high city I direct my journey, + Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye; + Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney, + Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky: + But what is heaven, great God, compared to thee? + Without thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me. + + Without thy presence, earth gives no refection; + Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure; + Without thy presence, air's a rank infection; + Without thy presence, heaven's itself no pleasure: + If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee, + What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me? + + The highest honors that the world can boast + Are subjects far too low for my desire; + The brightest beams of glory are, at most, + But dying sparkles of thy living fire; + The loudest flames that earth can kindle be + But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee. + + Without thy presence, wealth is bags of cares; + Wisdom but folly; joy, disquiet--sadness; + Friendship is treason, and delights are snares; + Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness; + Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be, + Nor have their being, when compared with thee. + + In having all things, and not thee, what have I? + Not having thee, what have my labors got? + Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I? + And having thee alone, what have I not? + I wish nor sea nor land; nor would I be + Possessed of heaven, heaven unpossessed of thee! + +FRANCIS QUARLES. + + + * * * * * + +THE WILL OF GOD. + + + I worship thee, sweet will of God! + And all thy ways adore; + And every day I live, I seem + To love thee more and more. + + Thou wert the end, the blessed rule + Of our Saviour's toils and tears; + Thou wert the passion of his heart + Those three and thirty years. + + And he hath breathed into my soul + A special love of thee, + A love to lose my will in his, + And by that loss be free. + + I love to see thee bring to naught + The plans of wily men; + When simple hearts outwit the wise, + Oh, thou art loveliest then. + + The headstrong world it presses hard + Upon the church full oft, + And then how easily thou turn'st + The hard ways into soft. + + I love to kiss each print where thou + Hast set thine unseen feet; + I cannot fear thee, blessed will! + Thine empire is so sweet. + + When obstacles and trials seem + Like prison walls to be, + I do the little I can do, + And leave the rest to thee. + + I know not what it is to doubt, + My heart is ever gay; + I run no risk, for, come what will, + Thou always hast thy way. + + I have no cares, O blessed will! + For all my cares are thine: + I live in triumph, Lord! for thou + Hast made thy triumphs mine. + + And when it seems no chance or change + From grief can set me free, + Hope finds its strength in helplessness, + And gayly waits on thee. + + Man's weakness, waiting upon God, + Its end can never miss, + For men on earth no work can do + More angel-like than this. + + Ride on, ride on, triumphantly, + Thou glorious will, ride on! + Faith's pilgrim sons behind thee take + The road that thou hast gone. + + He always wins who sides with God, + To him no chance is lost; + God's will is sweetest to him, when + It triumphs at his cost. + + Ill that he blesses is our good, + And unblessed good is ill; + And all is right that seems most wrong. + If it be his sweet will. + +FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. + + + * * * * * + +THE VOYAGE. + + + Whichever way the wind doth blow, + Some heart is glad to have it so; + Then blow it east or blow it west, + The wind that blows, that wind is best. + + My little craft sails not alone: + A thousand fleets from every zone + Are out upon a thousand seas; + And what for me were favoring breeze + Might dash another, with the shock + Of doom, upon some hidden rock. + + And so I do not dare to pray + For winds to waft me on my way, + But leave it to a Higher Will + To stay or speed me; trusting still + That all is well, and sure that He + Who launched my bark will sail with me + Through storm and calm, and will not fail, + Whatever breezes may prevail, + To land me, every peril past, + Within his sheltering heaven at last. + + Then, whatsoever wind doth blow, + My heart is glad to have it so; + And blow it east or blow it west, + The wind that blows, that wind is best. + +CAROLINE ATHERTON MASON. + + + * * * * * + +THE LOVE OF GOD. + + + Thou Grace Divine, encircling all, + A soundless, shoreless sea! + Wherein at last our souls must fall, + O Love of God most free! + + When over dizzy heights we go, + One soft hand blinds our eyes, + The other leads us, safe and slow, + O Love of God most wise! + + And though we turn us from thy face, + And wander wide and long, + Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace, + O Love of God most strong! + + The saddened heart, the restless soul, + The toil-worn frame and mind, + Alike confess thy sweet control, + O Love of God most kind! + + But not alone thy care we claim, + Our wayward steps to win; + We know thee by a dearer name, + O Love of God within! + + And, filled and quickened by thy breath, + Our souls are strong and free + To rise o'er sin and fear and death, + O Love of God, to thee! + +ELIZA SCUDDER. + + + * * * * * + +PRAISE TO GOD. + + + Praise to God, immortal praise, + For the love that crowns our days-- + Bounteous source of every joy, + Let Thy praise our tongues employ! + + For the blessings of the field, + For the stores the gardens yield, + For the vine's exalted juice, + For the generous olive's use; + + Flocks that, whiten all the plain, + Yellow sheaves of ripened grain, + Clouds that drop their fattening dews, + Suns that temperate warmth diffuse-- + + All that Spring, with bounteous hand, + Scatters o'er the smiling land; + All that liberal Autumn pours + From her rich o'erflowing stores: + + These to Thee, my God, we owe-- + Source whence all our blessings flow! + And for these my soul shall raise + Grateful vows and solemn praise. + + Yet should rising whirlwinds tear + From its stem the ripening ear-- + Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot + Drop her green untimely fruit-- + + Should the vine put forth no more, + Nor the olive yield her store-- + Though the sickening flocks should fall, + And the herds desert the stall-- + + Should Thine altered hand restrain + The early and the latter rain, + Blast each opening bud of joy, + And the rising year destroy; + + Yet to Thee my soul should raise + Grateful vows and solemn praise, + And when every blessing's flown, + Love Thee--for Thyself alone. + +ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD. + + + * * * * * + +LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT. + + + Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, + Lead thou me on! + The night is dark, and I am far from home,-- + Lead thou me on! + Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see + The distant scene,--one step enough for me. + + I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou + Shouldst lead me on: + I loved to choose and see my path, but now + Lead thou me on! + I loved the garish days, and, spite of fears, + Pride ruled my will: remember not past years. + + So long thy power hath blessed me, sure it still + Will lead me on; + O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till + The night is gone; + And with the morn those angel faces smile + Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. + +JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. + + + * * * * * + +THE ETERNAL GOODNESS. + + + O friends! with whom my feet have trod + The quiet aisles of prayer, + Glad witness to your zeal for God + And love of man I bear. + + I trace your lines of argument; + Your logic linked and strong + I weigh as one who dreads dissent, + And fears a doubt as wrong. + + But still my human hands are weak + To hold your iron creeds: + Against the words ye bid me speak + My heart within me pleads. + + Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? + Who talks of scheme and plan? + The Lord is God! He needeth not + The poor device of man. + + I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground + Ye tread with boldness shod; + I dare not fix with mete and bound + The love and power of God. + + Ye praise His justice; even such + His pitying love I deem: + Ye seek a king; I fain would touch + The robe that hath no seam. + + Ye see the curse which overbroods + A world of pain and loss: + I hear our Lord's beatitudes + And prayer upon the cross. + + More than your schoolmen teach, within + Myself, alas! I know: + Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, + Too small the merit show. + + I bow my forehead to the dust, + I veil mine eyes for shame, + And urge, in trembling self-distrust, + A prayer without a claim. + + I see the wrong that round me lies, + I feel the guilt within; + I hear, with groan and travail-cries, + The world confess its sin. + + Yet, in the maddening maze of things, + And tossed by storm and flood, + To one fixed trust my spirit clings; + I know that God is good! + + Not mine to look where cherubim + And seraphs may not see, + But nothing can be good in Him + Which evil is in me. + + The wrong that pains my soul below + I dare not throne above, + I know not of His hate,--I know + His goodness and His love. + + I dimly guess from blessings known + Of greater out of sight, + And, with the chastened Psalmist, own + His judgments too are right. + + I long for household voices gone, + For vanished smiles I long, + But God hath led my dear ones on, + And He can do no wrong. + + I know not what the future hath + Of marvel or surprise. + Assured alone that life and death + His mercy underlies. + + And if my heart and flesh are weak + To bear an untried pain, + The bruised reed He will not break, + But strengthen and sustain. + + No offering of my own I have. + Nor works my faith to prove; + I can but give the gifts He gave, + And plead His love for love. + + And so beside the Silent Sea + I wait the muffled oar; + No harm from Him can come to me + On ocean or on shore. + + I know not where His islands lift + Their fronded palms in air; + I only know I cannot drift + Beyond His love and care. + + O brothers! if my faith is vain, + If hopes like these betray, + Pray for me that my feet may gain + The sure and safer way. + + And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen + Thy creatures as they be, + Forgive me if too close I lean + My human heart on Thee! + +JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. + + + * * * * * + +STRONG SON OF GOD, IMMORTAL LOVE. + + FROM "IN MEMORIAM," INTRODUCTION. + + + Strong Son of God, immortal Love, + Whom we, that have not seen thy face, + By faith, and faith alone, embrace, + Believing where we cannot prove; + + Thine are these orbs of light and shade; + Thou madest Life in man and brute; + Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot + Is on the skull which thou hast made. + + Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: + Thou madest man, he knows not why; + He thinks he was not made to die; + And thou hast made him: thou art just. + + Thou seemest human and divine, + The highest, holiest manhood, thou: + Our wills are ours, we know not how; + Our wills are ours, to make them thine. + + Our little systems have their day; + They have their day and cease to be: + They are but broken lights of thee, + And thou, O Lord, art more than they. + + We have but faith: we cannot know; + For knowledge is of things we see; + And yet we trust it comes from thee, + A beam in darkness: let it grow. + + Let knowledge grow from more to more, + But more of reverence in us dwell; + That mind and soul, according well, + May make one music as before, + + But vaster. We are fools and slight; + We mock thee when we do not fear: + But help thy foolish ones to bear; + Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. + + Forgive what seemed my sin in me; + What seemed my worth since I began; + For merit lives from man to man, + And not from man, O Lord, to thee. + + Forgive my grief for one removed, + Thy creature, whom I found so fair. + I trust he lives in thee, and there + I find him worthier to be loved. + + Forgive these wild and wandering cries, + Confusions of a wasted youth; + Forgive them where they fail in truth, + And in thy wisdom make me wise. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM. + + + O little town of Bethlehem, + How still we see thee lie! + Above thy deep and dreamless sleep + The silent stars go by; + Yet in thy dark streets shineth + The everlasting Light; + The hopes and fears of all the years + Are met in thee to-night. + + For Christ is born of Mary, + And, gathered all above. + While mortals sleep, the angels keep + Their watch of wondering love. + O morning stars, together + Proclaim the holy birth! + And praises sing to God the King, + And peace to men on earth. + + How silently, how silently, + The wondrous gift is given! + So God imparts to human hearts + The blessings of His heaven. + No ear may hear His coming, + But in this world of sin, + Where meek souls will receive Him still, + The dear Christ enters in. + + O holy Child of Bethlehem! + Descend to us, we pray; + Cast out our sin, and enter in, + Be born in us to-day. + We hear the Christmas angels + The great glad tidings tell; + Oh come to us, abide with us, + Our Lord Emmanuel! + +PHILLIPS BROOKS. + + + * * * * * + +THE ANGELS' SONG. + + + It came upon the midnight clear, + That glorious song of old, + From angels bending near the earth + To touch their harps of gold: + "Peace to the earth, good-will to men + From heaven's all-gracious King!" + The world in solemn stillness lay + To hear the angels sing. + + Still through the cloven skies they come, + With peaceful wings unfurled; + And still their heavenly music floats + O'er all the weary world: + Above its sad and lowly plains + They bend on heavenly wing, + And ever o'er its Babel sounds + The blessed angels sing. + + Yet with the woes of sin and strife + The world has suffered long; + Beneath the angel-strain have rolled + Two thousand years of wrong; + And man, at war with man, hears not + The love-song which they bring: + O, hush the noise, ye men of strife, + And hear the angels sing! + + And ye, beneath life's crushing load + Whose forms are bending low; + Who toil along the climbing way + With painful steps and slow,-- + Look now! for glad and golden hours + Come swiftly on the wing; + O, rest beside the weary road, + And hear the angels sing. + + For lo! the days are hastening on, + By prophet-bards foretold, + When with the ever-circling years + Comes round the age of gold; + When Peace shall over all the earth + Its ancient splendors fling, + And the whole world send back the song + Which now the angels sing. + +EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS. + + + * * * * * + +EPIPHANY. + + "We have seen his star in the east." + --MATTHEW ii. 2. + + + Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, + Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid; + Star of the East, the horizon adorning, + Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. + + Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining, + Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall; + Angels adore him in slumber reclining, + Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all. + + Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion, + Odors of Edom, and offerings divine? + Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean, + Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine? + + Vainly we offer each ample oblation, + Vainly with gifts would his favor secure; + Richer by far is the heart's adoration, + Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. + + Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, + Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid: + Star of the East, the horizon adorning, + Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid. + +REGINALD HEBER. + + + * * * * * + +ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. + + + This is the month, and this the happy morn, + Wherein the Son of heaven's eternal king, + Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, + Our great redemption from above did bring-- + For so the holy sages once did sing-- + That He our deadly forfeit should release, + And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. + + That glorious form, that light unsufferable, + And that far-beaming blaze of majesty + Wherewith He wont at heaven's high council-table + To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, + He laid aside; and here with us to be, + Forsook the courts of everlasting day, + And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. + + Say, heavenly muse, shall not thy sacred vein + Afford a present to the infant God? + Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, + To welcome Him to this His new abode-- + Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, + Hath took no print of the approaching light, + And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? + + See how from far upon the eastern road + The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet! + Oh! run, prevent them with thy humble ode, + And lay it lowly at His blessed feet; + Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, + And join thy voice unto the angel choir, + From out His secret altar touched with hallowed fire. + + + THE HYMN. + + It was the winter wild + While the heaven-born child + All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies-- + Nature, in awe to Him, + Had doffed her gaudy trim, + With her great Master so to sympathize; + It was no season then for her + To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. + + Only with speeches fair + She woos the gentle air + To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, + And on her naked shame. + Pollute with sinful blame, + The saintly veil of maiden white to throw-- + Confounded that her maker's eyes + Should look so near upon her foul deformities. + + But He, her fears to cease, + Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; + She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding + Down through the turning sphere, + His ready harbinger, + With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; + And waving wide her myrtle wand, + She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. + + Nor war, or battle's sound, + Was heard the world around-- + The idle spear and shield were high up hung; + The hooked chariot stood + Unstained with hostile blood; + The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; + And kings sat still with awful eye, + As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. + + But peaceful was the night + Wherein the prince of light + His reign of peace upon the earth began; + The winds, with wonder whist, + Smoothly the waters kissed, + Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, + Who now hath quite forgot to rave, + While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. + + The stars with deep amaze + Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, + Bending one way their precious influence; + And will not take their flight + For all the morning light, + Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; + But in their glimmering orbs did glow + Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. + + And though the shady gloom + Had given day her room, + The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, + And hid his head for shame, + As his inferior flame + The new-enlightened world no more should need; + He saw a greater sun appear + Than his bright throne or burning axle-tree could bear. + + The shepherds on the lawn, + Or e'er the point of dawn, + Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; + Full little thought they then + That the mighty Pan + Was kindly come to live with them below; + Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, + Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. + + When such music sweet + Their hearts and ears did greet + As never was by mortal finger strook-- + Divinely-warbled voice + Answering the stringed noise, + As all their souls in blissful rapture took; + The air, such pleasure loath to lose, + With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. + + Nature, that heard such sound + Beneath the hollow round + Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, + Now was almost won + To think her part was done. + And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; + She knew such harmony alone + Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. + + At last surrounds their sight + A globe of circular light, + That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed; + The helmed cherubim + And sworded seraphim + Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, + Harping in loud and solemn choir, + With unexpressive notes, to heaven's new-born heir-- + + Such music as ('tis said) + Before was never made, + But when of old the sons of morning sung, + While the Creator great + His constellations set, + And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, + And cast the dark foundations deep, + And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. + + Ring out, ye crystal spheres! + Once bless our human ears, + If ye have power to touch our senses so; + And let your silver chime + Move in melodious time, + And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; + And with your ninefold harmony + Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. + + For if such holy song + Inwrap our fancy long, + Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; + And speckled vanity + Will sicken soon and die, + And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; + And hell itself will pass away. + And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. + + Yea, truth and justice then + Will down return to men, + Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, + Mercy will sit between, + Throned in celestial sheen, + With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; + And heaven, as at some festival, + Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. + + But wisest fate says No-- + This must not yet be so; + The babe yet lies in smiling infancy + That on the bitter cross + Must redeem our loss. + So both Himself and us to glorify. + Yet first to those ye chained in sleep + The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep, + + With such a horrid clang + As on Mount Sinai rang, + While the red fire and smould'ring clouds out-brake; + The aged earth, aghast + With terror of that blast, + Shall from the surface to the centre shake-- + When, at the world's last session, + The dreadful judge in middle air shall spread his throne. + + And then at last our bliss + Full and perfect is-- + But now begins: for from this happy day + The old dragon, under ground + In straiter limits bound, + Not half so far casts his usurped sway, + And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, + Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. + + The oracles are dumb: + No voice or hideous hum + Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving; + Apollo from his shrine + Can no more divine, + With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving; + No nightly trance, or breathed spell, + Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. + + The lonely mountains o'er, + And the resounding shore, + A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; + From haunted spring, and dale + Edged with poplar pale, + The parting genius is with sighing sent; + With flower-inwoven tresses torn + The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. + + In consecrated earth, + And on the holy hearth, + The lares and lemures moan with midnight plaint; + In urns and altars round + A drear and dying sound + Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; + And the chill marble seems to sweat, + While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. + + Peor and Baaelim + Forsake their temples dim, + With that twice-battered god of Palestine; + And mooned Ashtaroth, + Heaven's queen and mother both. + Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; + The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn-- + In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. + + And sullen Moloch fled, + Hath left in shadows dread + His burning idol all of blackest hue; + In vain, with cymbal's ring, + They call the grisly king, + In dismal dance about the furnace blue; + The brutish gods of Nile as fast-- + Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis--haste. + + Nor is Osiris seen + In Memphian grove or green, + Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud, + Nor can he be at rest + Within his sacred chest-- + Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; + In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark. + The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. + + He feels from Juda's land + The dreaded infant's hand-- + The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne; + Nor all the gods beside + Longer dare abide-- + Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine; + Our babe, to show His God-head true, + Can in His swaddling-bands control the damned crew. + + So, when the sun in bed, + Curtained with cloudy red, + Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, + The flocking shadows pale + Troop to the infernal jail-- + Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave; + And the yellow-skirted fays + Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. + + But see the virgin blest + Hath laid her babe to rest-- + Time is our tedious song should here have ending; + Heaven's youngest teemed star + Hath fixed her polished car, + Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; + And all about the courtly stable + Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. + +MILTON. + + + * * * * * + +A CHRISTMAS HYMN. + + + It was the calm and silent night! + Seven hundred years and fifty-three + Had Rome been growing up to might, + And now was queen of land and sea. + No sound was heard of clashing wars; + Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain: + Apollo, Pallas, Jove, and Mars + Held undisturbed their ancient reign, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago. + + 'Twas in the calm and silent night! + The senator of haughty Rome, + Impatient, urged his chariot's flight, + From lordly revel rolling home; + Triumphal arches, gleaming, swell + His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; + What recked the Roman what befell + A paltry province far away, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago? + + Within that province far away + Went plodding home a weary boor; + A streak of light before him lay, + Fallen through a half-shut stable-door + Across his path. He passed--for naught + Told what was going on within; + How keen the stars, his only thought; + The air how calm and cold and thin, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + Oh, strange indifference! low and high + Drowsed over common joys and cares; + The earth was still--but knew not why; + The world was listening, unawares. + How calm a moment may precede + One that shall thrill the world forever! + To that still moment none would heed, + Man's doom was linked no more to sever-- + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + + It is the calm and solemn night! + A thousand bells ring out, and throw + Their joyous peals abroad, and smite + The darkness--charmed and holy now! + The night that erst no name had worn, + To it a happy name is given; + For in that stable lay new-born, + The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, + In the solemn midnight, + Centuries ago! + +ALFRED DOMETT. + + + * * * * * + +TRYSTE NOEL. + + + The Ox he openeth wide the Doore + And from the Snowe he calls her inne, + And he hath seen her smile therefore, + Our Ladye without Sinne. + Now soone from Sleepe + A Starre shall leap, + And soone arrive both King and Hinde; + _Amen, Amen_: + But oh, the place co'd I but finde! + + The Ox hath husht his voyce and bent + Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow, + And on his lovelie Neck, forspent, + The Blessed lays her Browe. + Around her feet + Full Warme and Sweete + His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell; + _Amen, Amen_: + But sore am I with Vaine Travel! + + The Ox is host in Juda's stall, + And Host of more than onelie one. + For close she gathereth withal + Our Lorde her littel Sonne. + Glad Hinde and King + Their Gyfte may bring, + But wo'd to-night my Teares were there, + _Amen, Amen_: + Between her Bosom and His hayre! + +LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY. + + + * * * * * + +THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. + + A BALLAD. + + + There's a legend that's told of a gypsy who dwelt + In the lands where the pyramids be; + And her robe was embroidered with stars, and her belt + With devices right wondrous to see; + And she lived in the days when our Lord was a child + On his mother's immaculate breast; + When he fled from his foes,--when to Egypt exiled, + He went down with Saint Joseph the blest. + + This Egyptian held converse with magic, methinks, + And the future was given to her gaze; + For an obelisk marked her abode, and a sphinx + On her threshold kept vigil always. + She was pensive and ever alone, nor was seen + In the haunts of the dissolute crowd; + But communed with the ghosts of the Pharaohs, I ween, + Or with visitors wrapped in a shroud. + + And there came an old man from the desert one day, + With a maid on a mule by that road; + And a child on her bosom reclined, and the way + Let them straight to the gypsy's abode; + And they seemed to have travelled a wearisome path, + From thence many, many a league,-- + From a tyrant's pursuit, from an enemy's wrath, + Spent with toil and o'ercome with fatigue. + + And the gypsy came forth from her dwelling, and prayed + That the pilgrims would rest them awhile; + And she offered her couch to that delicate maid, + Who had come many, many a mile. + And she fondled the babe with affection's caress, + And she begged the old man would repose; + "Here the stranger," she said, "ever finds free access, + And the wanderer balm for his woes." + + Then her guests from the glare of the noonday she led + To a seat in her grotto so cool; + Where she spread them a banquet of fruits, and a shed, + With a manger, was found for the mule; + With the wine of the palm-tree, with dates newly culled, + All the toil of the day she beguiled; + And with song in a language mysterious she lulled + On her bosom the wayfaring child. + + When the gypsy anon in her Ethiop hand + Took the infant's diminutive palm, + O, 'twas fearful to see how the features she scanned + Of the babe in his slumbers so calm! + Well she noted each mark and each furrow that crossed + O'er the tracings of destiny's line: + "WHENCE CAME YE?" she cried, in astonishment lost, + "FOR THIS CHILD IS OF LINEAGE DIVINE!" + + "From the village of Nazareth," Joseph replied, + "Where we dwelt in the land of the Jew, + We have fled from a tyrant whose garment is dyed + In the gore of the children he slew: + We were told to remain till an angel's command + Should appoint us the hour to return; + But till then we inhabit the foreigners' land, + And in Egypt we make our sojourn." + + "Then ye tarry with me," cried the gypsy in joy, + "And ye make of my dwelling your home; + Many years have I prayed that the Israelite boy + (Blessed hope of the Gentiles!) would come." + And she kissed both the feet of the infant and knelt, + And adored him at once; then a smile + Lit the face of his mother, who cheerfully dwelt + With her host on the bank of the Nile. + +FRANCIS MAHONY (_Father Prout_). + + + * * * * * + +CANA. + + + Dear Friend! whose presence in the house, + Whose gracious word benign, + Could once, at Cana's wedding feast, + Change water into wine; + + Come, visit us! and when dull work + Grows weary, line on line, + Revive our souls, and let us see + Life's water turned to wine. + + Gay mirth shall deepen into joy, + Earth's hopes grow half divine, + When Jesus visits us, to make + Life's water glow as wine. + + The social talk, the evening fire, + The homely household shrine, + Grow bright with angel visits, when + The Lord pours out the wine. + + For when self-seeking turns to love, + Not knowing mine nor thine, + The miracle again is wrought, + And water turned to wine. +JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. + + + * * * * * + +THE LOST SHEEP. + + ("THE NINETY AND NINE.") + + + There were ninety and nine that safely lay + In the shelter of the fold; + But one was out on the hills away, + Far off from the gates of gold, + Away on the mountain wild and bare, + Away from the tender Shepherd's care. + + "Lord, thou hast here thy ninety and nine: + Are they not enough for thee?" + But the Shepherd made answer: "'T is of mine + Has wandered away from me; + And although the road be rough and steep + I go to the desert to find my sheep." + + But none of the ransomed ever knew + How deep were the waters crossed, + Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through + Ere he found his sheep that was lost. + Out in the desert he heard its cry-- + Sick and helpless, and ready to die. + + "Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way, + That mark out the mountain track?" + "They were shed for one who had gone astray + Ere the Shepherd could bring him back." + "Lord, whence are thy hands so rent and torn?" + "They are pierced to-night by many a thorn." + + But all through the mountains, thunder-riven, + And up from the rocky steep, + There rose a cry to the gate of heaven, + "Rejoice! I have found my sheep!" + And the angels echoed around the throne, + "Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own!" + +ELIZABETH CECILIA CLEPHANE. + + + * * * * * + +DE SHEEPFOL'. + + + De massa ob de sheepfol', + Dat guards de sheepfol' bin, + Look out in de gloomerin' meadows, + Wha'r de long night rain begin-- + So he call to de hirelin' shepa'd, + "Is my sheep, is dey all come in?" + Oh den, says de hirelin' shepa'd: + "Dey's some, dey's black and thin, + And some, dey's po' ol' wedda's; + But de res', dey's all brung in. + But de res', dey's all brung in." + + Den de massa ob de sheepfol', + Dat guards de sheepfol' bin, + Goes down in the gloomerin' meadows, + Wha'r de long night rain begin-- + So he le' down de ba's ob de sheepfol', + Callin' sof', "Come in. Come in." + Callin' sof', "Come in. Come in." + + Den up t'ro' de gloomerin' meadows, + T'ro' de col' night rain and win', + And up t'ro' de gloomerin' rain-paf', + Wha'r de sleet fa' pie'cin' thin, + De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', + Dey all comes gadderin' in. + De po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', + Dey all comes gadderin' in. + +SARAH PRATT M'LEAN GREENE. + + + * * * * * + +THE GOOD SHEPHERD WITH THE KID. + + + _He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save._ + So rang Tertullian's sentence, on the side + Of that unpitying Phrygian Sect which cried: + "Him can no fount of fresh forgiveness lave, + + Who sins, once washed by the baptismal wave."-- + So spake the fierce Tertullian. But she sighed, + The infant Church! of love she felt the tide + Stream on her from her Lord's yet recent grave. + + And then she smiled; and in the Catacombs, + With eye suffused but heart inspired true, + On those walls subterranean, where she hid + + Her head in ignominy, death, and tombs, + She her good Shepherd's hasty image drew-- + And on his shoulders, not a lamb, a kid. + +MATTHEW ARNOLD. + + + * * * * * + +TWO SAYINGS. + + + Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures beat + Like pulses in the Church's brow and breast; + And by them we find rest in our unrest, + And heart-deep in salt tears, do yet entreat + God's fellowship, as if on heavenly seat. + The first is _Jesus wept_, whereon is prest + Full many a sobbing face that drops its best + And sweetest waters on the record sweet: + And one is, where the Christ denied and scorned + _Looked upon Peter_. Oh, to render plain, + By help of having loved a little and mourned, + That look of sovran love and sovran pain + Which he who could not sin yet suffered, turned + On him who could reject but not sustain! + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +A BALLAD OF TREES AND THE MASTER. + + + Into the woods my Master went, + Clean forspent, forspent. + Into the woods my Master came, + Forspent with love and shame. + But the olives they were not blind to Him; + The little gray leaves were kind to Him; + The thorn-tree had a mind to Him + When into the woods He came. + + Out of the woods my Master went, + And He was well content. + Out of the woods my Master came, + Content with death and shame. + When Death and Shame would woo Him last, + From under the trees they drew Him last: + 'Twas on a tree they slew Him--last, + When out of the woods He came. + +SIDNEY LANIER. + + + * * * * * + +STABAT MATER DOLOROSA. + + + Stood the afflicted mother weeping, + Near the cross her station keeping + Whereon hung her Son and Lord; + Through whose spirit sympathizing, + Sorrowing and agonizing, + Also passed the cruel sword. + + Oh! how mournful and distressed + Was that favored and most blessed + Mother of the only Son, + Trembling, grieving, bosom heaving, + While perceiving, scarce believing, + Pains of that Illustrious One! + + Who the man, who, called a brother. + Would not weep, saw he Christ's mother + In such deep distress and wild? + Who could not sad tribute render + Witnessing that mother tender + Agonizing with her child? + + For his people's sins atoning, + Him she saw in torments groaning, + Given to the scourger's rod; + Saw her darling offspring dying, + Desolate, forsaken, crying. + Yield his spirit up to God. + + Make me feel thy sorrow's power, + That with thee I tears may shower, + Tender mother, fount of love! + Make my heart with love unceasing + Burn toward Christ the Lord, that pleasing + I may be to him above. + + Holy mother, this be granted, + That the slain one's wounds be planted + Firmly in my heart to bide. + Of him wounded, all astounded-- + Depths unbounded for me sounded-- + All the pangs with me divide. + + Make me weep with thee in union; + With the Crucified, communion + In his grief and suffering give; + Near the cross, with tears unfailing, + I would join thee in thy wailing + Here as long as I shall live. + + Maid of maidens, all excelling! + Be not bitter, me repelling; + Make thou me a mourner too; + Make me bear about Christ's dying, + Share his passion, shame defying; + All his wounds in me renew. + + Wound for wound be there created; + With the cross intoxicated + For thy Son's dear sake, I pray-- + May I, fired with pure affection, + Virgin, have through thee protection + In the solemn Judgment Day. + + Let me by the cross be warded, + By the death of Christ be guarded, + Nourished by divine supplies. + When the body death hath riven, + Grant that to the soul be given + Glories bright of Paradise. + +From the Latin of FRA JACOPONE. + +Translation of ABRAHAM COLES. + + + * * * * * + +MYRRH-BEARERS.[A] + + + Three women crept at break of day + A-grope along the shadowy way + Where Joseph's tomb and garden lay. + + With blanch of woe each face was white, + As the gray Orient's waxing light + Brought back upon their awe-struck sight + + The sixth-day scene of anguish. Fast + The starkly standing cross they passed, + And, breathless, neared the gate at last. + + Each on her throbbing bosom bore + A burden of such fragrant store + As never there had lain before. + + Spices, the purest, richest, best, + That e'er the musky East possessed, + From Ind to Araby-the-Blest, + + Had they with sorrow-riven hearts + Searched all Jerusalem's costliest marts + In quest of,--nards whose pungent arts + + Should the dead sepulchre imbue + With vital odors through and through: + 'T was all their love had leave to do! + + Christ did not need their gifts; and yet + Did either Mary once regret + Her offering? Did Salome fret + + Over the unused aloes? Nay! + They counted not as waste, that day, + What they had brought their Lord. The way + + Home seemed the path to heaven. They bare, + Thenceforth, about the robes they ware + The clinging perfume everywhere. + + So, ministering as erst did these, + Go women forth by twos and threes + (Unmindful of their morning ease), + + Through tragic darkness, murk and dim, + Where'er they see the faintest rim, + Of promise,--all for sake of him + + Who rose from Joseph's tomb. They hold + It just such joy as those of old, + To tell the tale the Marys told. + + Myrrh-bearers still,--at home, abroad, + What paths have holy women trod, + Burdened with votive gifts for God,-- + + Rare gifts whose chiefest worth was priced + By this one thought, that all sufficed: + Their spices had been bruised for Christ! + +MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON. + +[Footnote A: _Myrophores_, a name given to the Marys, in Greek +Christian art.] + + + * * * * * + +LITANY. + + + Saviour, when in dust to Thee + Low we bend the adoring knee; + When, repentant, to the skies + Scarce we lift our weeping eyes,-- + O, by all Thy pains and woe + Suffered once for man below, + Bending from Thy throne on high, + Hear our solemn litany! + + By Thy helpless infant years; + By Thy life of want and tears; + By Thy days of sore distress + In the savage wilderness; + By the dread mysterious hour + Of the insulting tempter's power,-- + Turn, O, turn a favoring eye, + Hear our solemn litany! + + By the sacred griefs that wept + O'er the grave where Lazarus slept; + By the boding tears that flowed + Over Salem's loved abode; + By the anguished sigh that told + Treachery lurked within Thy fold,-- + From Thy seat above the sky + Hear our solemn litany! + + By Thine hour of dire despair; + By Thine agony of prayer; + By the cross, the nail, the thorn, + Piercing spear, and torturing scorn; + By the gloom that veiled the skies + O'er the dreadful sacrifice,-- + Listen to our humble cry, + Hear our solemn litany! + + By Thy deep expiring groan; + By the sad sepulchral stone; + By the vault whose dark abode + Held in vain the rising God; + O, from earth to heaven restored, + Mighty, reascended Lord,-- + Listen, listen to the cry + Of our solemn litany! + +SIR ROBERT GRANT. + + + * * * * * + +THE CHRIST. + + + He might have reared a palace at a word, + Who sometimes had not where to lay His head. + Time was when He who nourished crowds with bread, + Would not one meal unto Himself afford. + He healed another's scratch, His own side bled; + Side, hands and feet with cruel piercings gored. + Twelve legions girded with angelic sword + Stood at His beck, the scorned and buffeted. + Oh, wonderful the wonders left undone! + Yet not more wonderful than those He wrought! + Oh, self-restraint, surpassing human thought! + To have all power, yet be as having none! + Oh, self-denying love, that thought alone + For needs of others, never for its own! + +RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. + + + * * * * * + +ABIDE WITH ME. + + + Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide; + The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide! + When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, + Help of the helpless, O abide with me! + + Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day; + Earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away: + Change and decay in all around I see; + O thou, who changest not, abide with me! + + Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word. + But as thou dwelt with thy disciples, Lord, + Familiar, condescending, patient, free,-- + Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with me! + + Come not in terrors, as the King of kings; + But kind and good, with healing in thy wings: + Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea; + Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me! + + Thou on my head in early youth didst smile, + And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, + Thou hast not left me, oft as I left thee: + On to the close, O Lord, abide with me! + + I need thy presence every passing hour. + What but thy grace can foil the Tempter's power? + Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? + Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me! + + I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless: + Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. + Where is death's sting, where, grave, thy victory? + I triumph still, if thou abide with me. + + Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; + Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: + Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee: + In life and death, O Lord, abide with me! + +HENRY FRANCIS LYTE. + + + * * * * * + +THE DISCIPLES AFTER THE ASCENSION. + + + He is gone! beyond the skies, + A cloud receives him from our eyes: + Gone beyond the highest height + Of mortal gaze or angel's flight: + Through the veils of time and space, + Passed into the holiest place: + All the toil, the sorrow done, + All the battle fought and won. + + He is gone; and we return, + And our hearts within us burn; + Olivet no more shall greet + With welcome shout his coming feet: + Never shall we track him more + On Gennesareth's glistening shore: + Never in that look or voice + Shall Zion's walls again rejoice. + + He is gone; and we remain + In this world of sin and pain: + In the void which he has left, + On this earth of him bereft, + We have still his work to do, + We can still his path pursue: + Seek him both in friend and foe, + In ourselves his image show. + + He is gone; we heard him say, + "Good that I should go away"; + Gone is that dear form and face, + But not gone his present grace; + Though himself no more we see, + Comfortless we cannot be; + No! his Spirit still is ours, + Quickening, freshening all our powers. + + He is gone; towards their goal + World and church must onward roll; + Far behind we leave the past, + Forward are our glances cast; + Still his words before us range + Through the ages, as they change: + Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead, + He will give whate'er we need. + + He is gone; but we once more + Shall behold him as before, + In the heaven of heavens the same + As on earth he went and came. + In the many mansions there + Place for us he will prepare: + In that world, unseen, unknown, + He and we may yet be one. + + He is gone; but not in vain,-- + Wait until he comes again: + He is risen, he is not here; + Far above this earthly sphere: + Evermore in heart and mind, + Where our peace in him we find, + To our own eternal Friend, + Thitherward let us ascend. + +ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY. + + + * * * * * + +WRESTLING JACOB. + + + FIRST PART. + + Come, O thou Traveller unknown, + Whom still I hold, but cannot see; + My company before is gone, + And I am left alone with thee; + With thee all night I mean to stay, + And wrestle till the break of day. + + I need not tell thee who I am; + My sin and misery declare; + Thyself hast called me by my name; + Look on thy hands, and read it there; + But who, I ask thee, who art thou? + Tell me thy name, and tell me now. + + In vain thou strugglest to get free; + I never will unloose my hold: + Art thou the Man that died for me? + The secret of thy love unfold; + Wrestling, I will not let thee go + Till I thy name, thy nature know. + + Wilt thou not yet to me reveal + Thy new, unutterable name? + Tell me, I still beseech thee, tell; + To know it now resolved I am; + Wrestling, I will not let thee go + Till I thy name, thy nature know. + + What though my shrinking flesh complain + And murmur to contend so long? + I rise superior to my pain; + When I am weak, then am I strong! + And when my all of strength shall fail, + I shall with the God-man prevail. + + + SECOND PART. + + Yield to me now, for I am weak, + But confident in self-despair; + Speak to my heart, in blessings speak; + Be conquered by my instant prayer; + Speak, or thou never hence shalt move, + And tell me if thy name be Love. + + 'T is Love! 't is Love! Thou diedst for me; + I hear thy whisper in my heart; + The morning breaks, the shadows flee; + Pure, universal Love thou art; + To me, to all, thy bowels move; + Thy nature and thy name is Love. + + My prayer hath power with God; the grace + Unspeakable I now receive; + Through faith I see thee face to face; + I see thee face to face and live! + In vain I have not wept and strove; + Thy nature and thy name is Love. + + I know thee, Saviour, who thou art, + Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend; + Nor wilt thou with the night depart, + But stay and love me to the end; + Thy mercies never shall remove; + Thy nature and thy name is Love. + + The Sun of Righteousness on me + Hath risen, with healing in his wings; + Withered my nature's strength; from thee + My soul its life and succor brings; + My help is all laid up above; + Thy nature and thy name is Love. + + Contented now upon my thigh + I halt till life's short journey end; + All helplessness, all weakness, I + On thee alone for strength depend; + Nor have I power from thee to move; + Thy nature and thy name is Love. + + Lame as I am, I take the prey; + Hell, earth, and sin with ease o'ercome; + I leap for joy, pursue my way, + And, as a bounding hart, fly home; + Through all eternity to prove + Thy nature and thy name is Love. + +CHARLES WESLEY. + + + * * * * * + +THE CONVERSION OF SAINT PAUL. + + + The midday sun, with fiercest glare, + Broods over the hazy, twinkling air; + Along the level sand + The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies, + Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise + To greet yon wearied band. + + The leader of that martial crew + Seems bent some mighty deed to do, + So steadily he speeds, + With lips firm closed and fixed eye, + Like warrior when the fight is nigh, + Nor talk nor landscape heeds. + + What sudden blaze is round him poured, + As though all Heaven's refulgent hoard + In one rich glory shone? + One moment,--and to earth he falls: + What voice his inmost heart appalls?-- + Voice heard by him alone. + + For to the rest both words and form + Seem lost in lightning and in storm, + While Saul, in wakeful trance, + Sees deep within that dazzling field + His persecuted Lord revealed + With keen yet pitying glance: + + And hears the meek upbraiding call + As gently on his spirit fall, + As if the Almighty Son + Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, + Nor had proclaimed his royal birth, + Nor his great power begun. + + "Ah! wherefore persecut'st thou me?" + He heard and saw, and sought to free + His strained eye from the sight: + But Heaven's high magic bound it there, + Still gazing, though untaught to bear + The insufferable light. + + "Who art thou, Lord?" he falters forth:-- + So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth + At the last awful day + "When did we see thee suffering nigh, + And passed thee with unheeding eye? + Great God of judgment, say!" + + Ah! little dream our listless eyes + What glorious presence they despise + While, in our noon of life, + To power or fame we rudely press.-- + Christ is at hand, to scorn or bless, + Christ suffers in our strife. + + And though heaven's gates long since have closed, + And our dear Lord in bliss reposed, + High above mortal ken, + To every ear in every land + (Though meek ears only understand) + He speaks as he did then. + + "Ah! wherefore persecute ye me? + 'T is hard, ye so in love should be + With your own endless woe. + Know, though at God's right hand I live, + I feel each wound ye reckless give + To the least saint below. + + "I in your care my brethren left, + Not willing ye should be bereft + Of waiting on your Lord. + The meanest offering ye can make-- + A drop of water--for love's sake, + In heaven, be sure, is stored." + + Oh, by those gentle tones and dear, + When thou hast stayed our wild career, + Thou only hope of souls, + Ne'er let us cast one look behind, + But in the thought of Jesus find + What every thought controls. + + As to thy last Apostle's heart + Thy lightning glance did then impart + Zeal's never-dying fire, + So teach us on thy shrine to lay + Our hearts, and let them day by day + Intenser blaze and higher. + + And as each mild and winning note + (Like pulses that round harp-strings float + When the full strain is o'er) + Left lingering on his inward ear + Music, that taught, as death drew near, + Love's lesson more and more: + + So, as we walk our earthly round, + Still may the echo of that sound + Be in our memory stored: + "Christians, behold your happy state; + Christ is in these who round you wait; + Make much of your dear Lord!" + +JOHN KEBLE. + + + * * * * * + +"ROCK OF AGES." + + "Such hymns are never forgotten. They cling to us through our + whole life. We carry them with us upon our journey. We sing + them in the forest. The workman follows the plough with sacred + songs. Children catch them, and singing only for the joy it + gives them now, are yet laying up for all their life food of + the sweetest joy."--HENRY WARD BEECHER. + + + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me," + Thoughtlessly the maiden sung. + Fell the words unconsciously + From her girlish, gleeful tongue; + Sang as little children sing; + Sang as sing the birds in June; + Fell the words like light leaves down + On the current of the tune,-- + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, + Let me hide myself in Thee." + + "Let me hide myself in Thee:" + Felt her soul no need to hide,-- + Sweet the song as song could be, + And she had no thought beside; + All the words unheedingly + Fell from lips untouched by care, + Dreaming not that they might be + On some other lips a prayer,-- + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, + Let me hide myself in Thee." + + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me," + 'T was a woman sung them now, + Pleadingly and prayerfully; + Every word her heart did know. + Rose the song as storm-tossed bird + Beats with weary wing the air, + Every note with sorrow stirred, + Every syllable a prayer,-- + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, + Let me hide myself in Thee." + + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me,"-- + Lips grown aged sung the hymn + Trustingly and tenderly, + Voice grown weak and eyes grown dim,-- + "Let me hide myself in Thee." + Trembling though the voice and low, + Rose the sweet strain peacefully + Like a river in its flow; + Sung as only they can sing + Who life's thorny path have passed; + Sung as only they can sing + Who behold the promised rest,-- + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, + Let me hide myself in Thee." + + "Rock of Ages, cleft for me," + Sung above a coffin lid; + Underneath, all restfully, + All life's joys and sorrows hid. + Nevermore, O storm-tossed soul! + Nevermore from wind or tide, + Nevermore from billow's roll, + Wilt thou need thyself to hide. + Could the sightless, sunken eyes, + Closed beneath the soft gray hair, + Could the mute and stiffened lips + Move again in pleading prayer, + Still, aye still, the words would be,-- + "Let me hide myself in Thee." + +EDWARD H. RICH. + + + * * * * * + +ART THOU WEARY? + + + Art thou weary, art thou languid, + Art thou sore distressed? + "Come to Me," saith One, "and coming, + Be at rest." + + Hath He marks to lead me to Him, + If He be my Guide? + "In His feet and hands are wound-prints, + And His side." + + Is there diadem, as Monarch, + That His brow adorns? + "Yea, a crown, in very surety, + But of thorns." + + If I find Him, if I follow, + What His guerdon here? + "Many a sorrow, many a labor, + Many a tear." + + If I still hold closely to Him, + What hath He at last? + "Sorrow vanquished, labor ended, + Jordan passed." + + If I ask Him to receive me, + Will He say me nay? + "Not till earth, and not till heaven + Pass away." + + Finding, following, keeping, struggling, + Is He sure to bless? + "Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs, + Answer, Yes." + +From the Latin of SAINT STEPHEN THE SABAITE. + +Translation of JOHN MASON NEALE. + + + * * * * * + +WHEN GATHERING CLOUDS AROUND I VIEW. + + + When gathering clouds around I view, + And days are dark, and friends are few, + On Him I lean, who, not in vain, + Experienced every human pain; + He sees my wants, allays my fears. + And counts and treasures up my tears. + If aught should tempt my soul to stray + From heavenly wisdom's narrow way, + To fly the good I would pursue, + Or do the sin I would not do,-- + Still He who felt temptation's power + Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. + + If wounded love my bosom swell, + Deceived by those I prized too well, + He shall His pitying aid bestow + Who felt on earth severer woe, + At once betrayed, denied, or fled, + By those who shared His daily bread. + + If vexing thoughts within me rise, + And sore dismayed my spirit dies, + Still He who once vouchsafed to bear + The sickening anguish of despair + Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, + The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. + + When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, + Which covers what was once a friend, + And from his voice, his hand, his smile, + Divides me for a little while; + Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, + For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead. + + And oh, when I have safely past + Through every conflict but the last, + Still, still unchanging, watch beside + My painful bed, for Thou hast died; + Then point to realms of cloudless day, + And wipe the latest tear away. + +SIR ROBERT GRANT. + + + * * * * * + +THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. + + + When, marshalled on the nightly plain, + The glittering host bestud the sky, + One star alone, of all the train, + Can fix the sinner's wandering eye. + + Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks, + From every host, from every gem: + But one alone the Saviour speaks, + It is the Star of Bethlehem. + + Once on the raging seas I rode, + The storm was loud, the night was dark, + The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed + The wind that tossed my foundering bark. + + Deep horror then my vitals froze, + Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem; + When suddenly a star arose,-- + It was the Star of Bethlehem. + + It was my guide, my light, my all, + It bade my dark forebodings cease; + And through the storm and dangers' thrall + It led me to the port of peace. + + Now safely moored, my perils o'er, + I'll sing, first in night's diadem, + Forever and forevermore, + The Star!--the Star of Bethlehem! + +HENRY KIRKE WHITE. + + + * * * * * + +LOVE TO CHRIST. + + FROM "AN HYMNE OF HEAVENLY LOVE." + + + With all thy hart, with all thy soule and mind, + Thou must him love, and his beheasts embrace; + All other loves, with which the world doth blind + Weake fancies, and stirre up affections base, + Thou must renounce and utterly displace, + And give thy selfe unto him full and free, + That full and freely gave himselfe to thee. + + Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest, + And ravisht with devouring great desire + Of his deare selfe, that shall thy feeble brest + Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire + With burning zeale, through every part entire, + That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight, + But in his sweet and amiable sight. + + Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye, + And all earthes glorie, on which men do gaze, + Seeme durt and drosse in thy pure-sighted eye, + Compared to that celestiall beauties blaze, + Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth daze + With admiration of their passing light, + Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright. + + Then shall thy ravisht soule inspired bee + With heavenly thoughts farre above humane skil, + And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see + The idee of his pure glorie present still + Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill + With sweet enragement of celestiall love, + Kindled through sight of those faire things above. + +EDMUND SPENSER. + + + * * * * * + +THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. + + + O thou great Friend to all the sons of men, + Who once appeared in humblest guise below, + Sin to rebuke, to break the captive's chain, + And call thy brethren forth from want and woe,-- + + We look to thee! thy truth is still the Light + Which guides the nations, groping on their way, + Stumbling and falling in disastrous night, + Yet hoping ever for the perfect day. + + Yes; thou art still the Life, thou art the Way + The holiest know; Light, Life, the Way of heaven! + + And they who dearest hope and deepest pray, + Toil by the Light, Life, Way, which thou hast given. + +THEODORE PARKER. + + + * * * * * + +KNOCKING, EVER KNOCKING. + + "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock." + --REVELATIONS iii. 20. + + + Knocking, knocking, ever knocking? + Who is there? + 'T is a pilgrim, strange and kingly, + Never such was seen before;-- + Ah, sweet soul, for such a wonder, + Undo the door. + No,--that door is hard to open; + Hinges rusty, latch is broken; + Bid Him go. + Wherefore with that knocking dreary + Scare the sleep from one so weary? + Say Him, no. + + Knocking, knocking, ever knocking? + What! Still there? + O sweet soul, but once behold Him, + With the glory-crowned hair; + And those eyes, so strange and tender, + Waiting there; + Open! Open! Once behold Him, + Him so fair. + + Ah, that door! Why wilt thou vex me, + Coming ever to perplex me? + For the key is stiffly rusty, + And the bolt is clogged and dusty; + Many-fingered ivy vine + Seals it fast with twist and twine; + Weeds of years and years before + Choke the passage of that door. + + Knocking! knocking! What? Still knocking? + He still there? + What's the hour? The night is waning-- + In my heart a drear complaining, + And a chilly, sad unrest. + Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me! + Scares my sleep with dreams unblest! + Give me rest, + Rest--ah, rest! + + Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee; + Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure, + Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure, + Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping, + Waked to weariness of weeping;-- + Open to thy soul's one Lover, + And thy night of dreams is over,-- + The true gifts He brings have seeming + More than all thy faded dreaming! + + Did she open? Doth she? Will she? + So, as wondering we behold, + Grows the picture to a sign. + Pressed upon your soul and mine; + For in every breast that liveth + Is that strange, mysterious door;-- + The forsaken and betangled, + Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled, + Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;-- + There the pierced hand still knocketh, + And with ever patient watching, + With the sad eyes true and tender, + With the glory-crowned hair,-- + Still a God is waiting there. + +HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. + + + * * * * * + +TO-MORROW. + + + Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care, + Thou didst seek after me,--that Thou didst wait, + Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, + And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? + O, strange delusion, that I did not greet + Thy blest approach! and, O, to heaven how lost, + If my ingratitude's unkindly frost + Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet! + How oft my guardian angel gently cried, + "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see + How He persists to knock and wait for thee!" + And, O, how often to that voice of sorrow, + "To-morrow we will open." I replied! + And when the morrow came, I answered still, "To-morrow." + +From the Spanish of LOPE DE VEGA. + +Translation of H.W. LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +I GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE. + + + I gave my life for thee, + My precious blood I shed + That thou mightst ransomed be, + And quickened from the dead. + I gave my life for thee; + What hast thou given for me? + + I spent long years for thee + In weariness and woe, + That an eternity + Of joy thou mightest know. + I spent long years for thee; + Hast thou spent one for me? + + My Father's home of light, + My rainbow-circled throne, + I left, for earthly night, + For wanderings sad and lone. + I left it all for thee; + Hast thou left aught for me? + + I suffered much for thee, + More than thy tongue may tell + Of bitterest agony, + To rescue thee from hell. + I suffered much for thee; + What canst thou bear for me? + + And I have brought to thee, + Down from my home above, + Salvation full and free, + My pardon and my love. + Great gifts I brought to thee; + What hast thou brought to me? + + Oh, let thy life be given, + Thy years for him be spent, + World-fetters all be riven, + And joy with suffering blent; + I gave myself for thee: + Give thou thyself to me! + +FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. + + + * * * * * + +JESUS SHALL REIGN. + + + Jesus shall reign where'er the sun + Does his successive journeys run,-- + His kingdom spread from shore to shore, + Till moons shall wax and wane no more. + + From north to south the princes meet + To pay their homage at His feet, + While western empires own their Lord, + And savage tribes attend His word. + + To Him shall endless prayer be made, + And endless praises crown His head; + His name like sweet perfume shall rise + With every morning sacrifice. + + People and realms of every tongue + Dwell on His love with sweetest song, + And infant voices shall proclaim + Their early blessings on His name. + +ISAAC WATTS. + + + * * * * * + +MESSIAH. + + A SACRED ECLOGUE, IN IMITATION OF VIRGIL'S POLLIO. + + + Ye nymphs of Solyma! begin the song: + To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. + The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, + The dreams of Pindus and th' Aonian maids, + Delight no more--O thou my voice inspire + Who touched Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire! + Rapt into future times, the bard begun: + A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son! + From Jesse's root behold a branch arise, + Whose sacred flower with fragrance fills the skies: + Th' ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move, + And on its top descends the mystic Dove. + Ye Heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour, + And in soft silence shed the kindly shower! + The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, + From storm a shelter, and from heat a shade. + All crimes shall cease, and ancient frauds shall fail; + Returning Justice lift aloft her scale; + Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend, + And white-robed Innocence from Heaven descend. + Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn! + Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe, be born! + See, Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring, + With all the incense of the breathing spring: + See lofty Lebanon his head advance, + See nodding forests on the mountains dance: + See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise, + And Carmel's flowery top perfumes the skies! + Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers: + Prepare the way! a God, a God appears! + A God, a God! the vocal hills reply, + The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. + Lo, Earth receives him from the bending skies! + Sink down, ye mountains! and ye valleys, rise! + With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay! + Be smooth, ye rocks! ye rapid floods, give way! + The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold: + Hear him, ye deaf! and all ye blind, behold! + He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, + And on the sightless eyeball pour the day: + 'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear + And bid new music charm th' unfolding ear: + The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, + And leap exulting like the bounding roe. + No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear. + From every face he wipes off every tear. + In adamantine chains shall Death be bound. + And Hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound. + As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, + Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air, + Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, + By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; + The tender lambs he raises in his arms, + Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms: + Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, + The promised Father of the future age. + No more shall nation against nation rise, + Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes, + Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o'er, + The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; + But useless lances into scythes shall bend, + And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end. + Then palaces shall rise; the joyful son + Shall finish what his short-lived sire begun; + Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield. + And the same hand that sowed, shall reap the field. + The swain in barren deserts with surprise + Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise; + And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds, to hear + New falls of water murmuring in his ear. + On rifted rocks, the dragon's late abodes, + The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods. + Waste sandy valleys, once perplexed with thorn, + The spiry fir and shapely box adorn: + To leafless shrubs the flowery palms succeed, + And odorous myrtle to the noisome weed. + The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant mead + And boys in flowery bands the tiger lead: + The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, + And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet. + The smiling infant in his hand shall take + The crested basilisk and speckled snake, + Pleased, the green lustre of the scales survey, + And with their forky tongue shall innocently play. + Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise! + Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes! + See a long race thy spacious courts adorn: + See future sons and daughters yet unborn, + In crowding ranks on every side arise, + Demanding life, impatient for the skies! + See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, + Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend! + See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings, + And heaped with products of Sabean springs! + For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, + And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. + See Heaven his sparkling portals wide display, + And break upon thee in a flood of day! + No more the rising Sun shall gild the morn, + Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn; + But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays, + One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze + O'erflow thy courts: the Light himself shall shine + Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine! + The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, + Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away! + But fixed his word, his saving power remains; + Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns! + +ALEXANDER POPE. + + + * * * * * + +DIES IRAE. + + "That day, a day of wrath, a day of trouble and distress, + a day of wasteness and desolation, a day of darkness and + gloominess, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of the + trumpet and alarm against the fenced cities, and against the + high towers!"--ZEPHANIAH i. 15, 16. + + + Day of vengeance, without morrow! + Earth shall end in flame and sorrow, + As from Saint and Seer we borrow. + + Ah! what terror is impending, + When the Judge is seen descending, + And each secret veil is rending! + + To the throne, the trumpet sounding, + Through the sepulchres resounding, + Summons all, with voice astounding. + + Death and Nature, mazed, are quaking, + When, the grave's long slumber breaking, + Man to judgment is awaking. + + On the written Volume's pages, + Life is shown in all its stages-- + Judgment-record of past ages. + + Sits the Judge, the raised arraigning, + Darkest mysteries explaining, + Nothing unavenged remaining. + + What shall I then say, unfriended, + By no advocate attended, + When the just are scarce defended? + + King of majesty tremendous, + By thy saving grace defend us, + Fount of pity, safety send us! + + Holy Jesus, meek, forbearing, + For my sins the death-crown wearing, + Save me, in that day, despairing! + + Worn and weary, thou hast sought me; + By thy cross and passion bought me-- + Spare the hope thy labors brought me! + + Righteous Judge of retribution, + Give, O give me absolution + Ere the day of dissolution! + + As a guilty culprit groaning, + Flushed my face, my errors owning, + Hear. O God, Thy suppliant moaning! + + Thou to Mary gav'st remission, + Heard'st the dying thief's petition, + Bad'st me hope in my contrition. + + In my prayers no worth discerning, + Yet on me Thy favor turning, + Save me from that endless burning! + + Give me, when Thy sheep confiding + Thou art from the goals dividing. + On Thy right a place abiding! + + When the wicked are rejected, + And by bitter flames subjected, + Call me forth with Thine elected! + + Low in supplication bending. + Heart as though with ashes blending; + Cure for me when all is ending. + + When on that dread day of weeping + Guilty man in ashes sleeping + Wakes to his adjudication, + Save him, God! from condemnation! + +From the Latin of THOMAS A CELANO. + +Translation of JOHN A. DIX. [A] + +[Footnote A: General Dix's first translation of the "Dies Irae" was +made in 1863; the revised version (given above) appeared in 1875. +Bayard Taylor wrote of the earlier one: "I have ... heretofore sought +in vain to find an adequate translation. Those which reproduced the +spirit neglected the form, and _vice versa_. There can be no higher +praise for yours than to say that it preserves both."] + + + * * * * * + +MY GOD, I LOVE THEE. + + + My God, I love thee! not because + I hope for heaven thereby; + Nor because those who love thee not + Must burn eternally. + + Thou, O my Jesus, thou didst me + Upon the cross embrace! + For me didst bear the nails and spear, + And manifold disgrace, + + And griefs and torments numberless, + And sweat of agony, + Yea, death itself,--and all for one + That was thine enemy. + + Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ, + Should I not love thee well? + Not for the hope of winning heaven, + Nor of escaping hell; + + Not with the hope of gaining aught, + Not seeking a reward; + But as thyself hast loved me, + O everlasting Lord! + + E'en so I love thee, and will love, + And in thy praise will sing,-- + Solely because thou art my God, + And my eternal King. + +From the Latin of ST. FRANCIS XAVIER. + +Translation of EDWARD CASWALL. + + + * * * * * + +VENT CREATOR SPIRITUS. + + [Sometimes attributed to the Emperor Charlemagne. The better + opinion, however, inclines to Pope Gregory I., called the + Great, as the author, and fixes its origin somewhere in the + sixth century.] + + + Creator Spirit, by whose aid + The world's foundations first were laid, + Come visit every pious mind. + Come pour thy joys on human kind; + From sin and sorrow set us free, + And make thy temples worthy thee. + + O source of uncreated light. + The Father's promised Paraclete! + Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. + Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; + Come, and thy sacred unction bring, + To sanctify us while we sing. + + Plenteous of grace, descend from high, + Rich in thy seven-fold energy! + Thou strength of his almighty hand. + Whose power does heaven and earth command! + Proceeding Spirit, our defence, + Who dost the gifts of tongues dispense, + And crown'st thy gift with eloquence! + + Refine and purge our earthly parts; + But, O, inflame and fire our hearts! + Our frailties help, our vice control, + Submit the senses to the soul; + And when rebellious they are grown, + Then lay thy hand and hold 'em down. + + Chase from our minds the infernal foe, + And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; + And, lest our feet should step astray, + Protect and guide us on the way. + + Make us eternal truths receive, + And practise all that we believe; + Give us thyself, that we may see + The Father and the Son by thee. + + Immortal honor, endless fame, + Attend the Almighty Father's name; + The Saviour Son be glorified, + Who for lost man's redemption died; + And equal adoration be, + Eternal Paraclete, to thee. + +From the Latin of ST. GREGORY. + +Translation of JOHN DRYDEN. + + + * * * * * + +VENI SANCTE SPIRITUS. + + [Written in the tenth century by Robert II., the gentle son + of Hugh Capet. It is often mentioned as second in rank to the + _Dies Irae_.] + + + Come, Holy Ghost! thou fire divine! + From highest heaven on us down shine! + Comforter, be thy comfort mine! + + Come, Father of the poor, to earth; + Come, with thy gifts of precious worth; + Come Light of all of mortal birth! + + Thou rich in comfort! Ever blest + The heart where thou art constant guest, + Who giv'st the heavy-laden rest. + + Come, thou in whom our toil is sweet, + Our shadow in the noonday heat, + Before whom mourning flieth fleet. + + Bright Sun of Grace! thy sunshine dart + On all who cry to thee apart, + And fill with gladness every heart. + + Whate'er without thy aid is wrought, + Or skilful deed, or wisest thought, + God counts it vain and merely naught. + + O cleanse us that we sin no more. + O'er parched souls thy waters pour; + Heal the sad heart that acheth sore. + + Thy will be ours in all our ways; + O melt the frozen with thy rays; + Call home the lost in error's maze. + + And grant us, Lord, who cry to thee, + And hold the Faith in unity, + Thy precious gifts of charity; + + That we may live in holiness, + And find in death our happiness, + And dwell with thee in lasting bliss! + +From the Latin of KING ROBERT II. OF FRANCE. + +Translation of CATHARINE WINKWORTH. + + + * * * * * + +O FIRE OF GOD, THE COMFORTER. + + "O IGNIS SPIRITUS PARACLITI." + + + O fire of God, the Comforter, O life of all that live, + Holy art thou to quicken us, and holy, strength to give: + To heal the broken-hearted ones, their sorest wounds to bind, + O Spirit of all holiness, O Lover of mankind! + O sweetest taste within the breast, O grace upon us poured, + That saintly hearts may give again their perfume to the Lord. + O purest fountain! we can see, clear mirrored in thy streams, + That God brings home the wanderers, that God the lost redeems. + O breastplate strong to guard our life, O bond of unity, + O dwelling-place of righteousness, save all who trust in thee: + Defend those who in dungeon dark are prisoned by the foe, + And, for thy will is aye to save, let thou the captives go. + O surest way, that through the height and through the lowest deep + And through the earth dost pass, and all in firmest union keep; + From thee the clouds and ether move, from thee the moisture flows, + From thee the waters draw their rills, and earth with verdure glows, + And thou dost ever teach the wise, and freely on them pour + The inspiration of thy gifts, the gladness of thy lore. + All praise to thee, O joy of life, O hope and strength, we raise, + Who givest us the prize of light, who art thyself all praise. + +From the Latin of ST. HILDEGARDE. + +Translation of R.F. LITTLEDALE. + + + * * * * * + +THE HOLY SPIRIT. + + + In the hour of my distress, + When temptations me oppress, + And when I my sins confess, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When I lie within my bed, + Sick at heart, and sick in head, + And with doubts discomforted, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the house doth sigh and weep, + And the world is drowned in sleep, + Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the artless doctor sees + No one hope but of his fees, + And his skill runs on the lees, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When his potion and his pill + Has or none or little skill, + Meet for nothing but to kill,-- + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the passing-bell doth toll, + And the Furies, in a shoal, + Come to fright a parting soul, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the tapers now burn blue, + And the comforters are few, + And that number more than true, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the priest his last hath prayed, + And I nod to what is said + 'Cause my speech is now decayed, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When, God knows, I'm tost about + Either with despair or doubt, + Yet before the glass be out, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the tempter me pursu'th + With the sins of all my youth, + And half damns me with untruth, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the dames and hellish cries + Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes, + And all terrors me surprise, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + + When the judgment is revealed, + And that opened which was sealed,-- + When to thee I have appealed, + Sweet Spirit, comfort me! + +ROBERT HERRICK. + + + * * * * * + +HOPE OF THE HUMAN HEART. + + FROM "ANIMA MUNDI." + + + God is good. + And flight is destined for the callow wing, + And the high appetite implies the food, + And souls most reach the level whence they spring; + O Life of very life! set free our powers, + Hasten the travail of the yearning hours. + + Thou, to whom old Philosophy bent low, + To the wise few mysteriously revealed; + Thou, whom each humble Christian worships now, + In the poor hamlet and the open field: + Once an idea, now Comforter and Friend, + Hope of the human heart, descend, descend! + +RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES. (LORD HOUGHTON.) + + + + +II. + +PRAYER AND ASPIRATION. + + * * * * * + +WHAT IS PRAYER? + + + Prayer is the soul's sincere desire, + Uttered or unexpressed-- + The motion of a hidden fire + That trembles in the breast. + + Prayer is the burthen of a sigh, + The falling of a tear-- + The upward glancing of an eye, + When none but God is near. + + Prayer is the simplest form of speech + That infant lips can try-- + Prayer the sublimest strains that reach + The majesty on high. + + Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice + Returning from his ways, + While angels in their songs rejoice, + And cry, "Behold he prays!" + + Prayer is the Christian's vital breath-- + The Christian's native air-- + His watchword at the gates of death-- + He enters heaven with prayer. + + The saints in prayer appear as one + In word, and deed, and mind, + While with the Father and the Son + Sweet fellowship they find. + + Nor prayer is made by man alone-- + The Holy Spirit pleads-- + And Jesus, on the eternal throne, + For shiners intercedes. + + O Thou by whom we come to God-- + The life, the truth, the way! + The path of prayer Thyself hast trod; + Lord, teach us how to pray! + +JAMES MONTGOMERY. + + + * * * * * + +THE TIME FOR PRAYER. + + + When is the time for prayer? + With the first beams that light the morning's sky, + Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare, + Lift up thy thoughts on high; + Commend the loved ones to his watchful care: + Morn is the time for prayer! + + And in the noontide hour, + If worn by toil, or by sad cares oppressed, + Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour, + And he will give thee rest:-- + Thy voice shall reach him through the fields of air: + Noon is the time for prayer! + + When the bright sun hath set,-- + Whilst yet eve's glowing colors deck the skies;-- + When the loved, at home, again thou 'st met, + Then let the prayer arise + For those who in thy joys and sorrow share: + Eve is the time for prayer! + + And when the stars come forth,-- + When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given, + And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth + To pure, bright dreams of heaven,-- + Kneel to thy God--ask strength, life's ills to bear: + Night is the time for prayer! + + When is the time for prayer? + In every hour, while life is spared to thee-- + In crowds or solitudes--in joy or care-- + Thy thoughts should heavenward flee. + At home--at morn and eve--with loved ones there, + Bend thou the knee in prayer! + +G. BENNETT. + + + * * * * * + +SEASONS OF PRAYER. + + + To prayer, to prayer;--for the morning breaks, + And earth in her Maker's smile awakes. + His light is on all below and above,-- + The light of gladness, and life, and love. + Oh, then, on the breath of this early air + Send upward the incense of grateful prayer. + + To prayer;--for the glorious sun is gone, + And the gathering darkness of night comes on; + Like a curtain from God's kind hand it flows, + To shade the couch where his children impose. + Then kneel, while the watching stars are bright, + And give your last thoughts to the Guardian of night. + + To prayer;--for the day that God has blest + Comes tranquilly on with its welcome rest. + It speaks of creation's early bloom; + It speaks of the Prince who burst the tomb. + Then summon the spirit's exalted powers, + And devote to Heaven the hallowed hours. + + There are smiles and tears in the mother's eyes, + For her new-born infant beside her lies. + Oh, hour of bliss! when the heart o'erflows + With rapture a mother only knows. + Let it gush forth in words of fervent prayer; + Let it swell up to Heaven for her precious care. + + There are smiles and tears in that gathering band, + Where the heart is pledged with the trembling hand: + What trying thoughts in her bosom swell, + As the bride bids parents and home farewell! + Kneel down by the side of the tearful pair, + And strengthen the perilous hour with prayer. + + Kneel down by the dying sinner's side, + And pray for his soul through Him who died. + Large drops of anguish are thick on his brow; + Oh, what are earth and its pleasures now! + And what shall assuage his dark despair, + But the penitent cry of humble prayer? + + Kneel down by the couch of departing faith, + And hear the last words the believer saith. + He has bidden adieu to his earthly friends; + There is peace in his eye that upward bends; + There is peace in his calm, confiding air; + For his last thoughts are God's, his last words prayer. + + The voice of prayer at the sable bier! + A voice to sustain, to soothe, and to cheer. + It commends the spirit to God who gave; + It lifts the thoughts from the cold, dark grave; + It points to the glory where he shall reign, + Who whispered, "Thy brother shall rise again." + + The voice of prayer in the world of bliss! + But gladder, purer, than rose from this. + The ransomed shout to their glorious King, + Where no sorrow shades the soul as they sing; + But a sinless and joyous song they raise, + And their voice of prayer is eternal praise. + + Awake, awake! and gird up thy strength, + To join that holy band at length! + To Him who unceasing love displays, + Whom the powers of nature unceasingly praise,-- + To Him thy heart and thy hours be given; + For a life of prayer is the life of Heaven. + +HENRY WARE, JR. + + + * * * * * + +EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. + + + Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless bed + Compose thy weary limbs to rest; + For they alone are blessed + With balmy sleep + Whom angels keep; + Nor, though by care oppressed, + Or anxious sorrow, + Or thought in many a coil perplexed + For coming morrow, + Lay not thy head + On prayerless bed. + + For who can tell, when sleep thine eyes shall close, + That earthly cares and woes + To thee may e'er return? + Arouse, my soul! + Slumber control, + And let thy lamp burn brightly; + So shall thine eyes discern + Things pure and sightly; + Taught by the Spirit, learn + Never on a prayerless bed + To lay thine unblest head. + + Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, + That calls for holy prayer? + Has thy day been so bright + That in its flight + There is no trace of sorrow? + And thou art sure to-morrow + Will be like this, and more + Abundant? Dost thou yet lay up thy store + And still make plans for more? + Thou fool! this very night + Thy soul may wing its flight. + + Hast thou no being than thyself more dear, + That ploughs the ocean deep, + And when storms sweep + The wintry, lowering sky, + For whom thou wak'st and weepest? + Oh, when thy pangs are deepest, + Seek then the covenant ark of prayer; + For He that slumbereth not is there-- + His ear is open to thy cry. + Oh, then, on prayerless bed + Lay not thy thoughtless head. + + Arouse thee, weary soul, nor yield to slumber, + Till in communion blest + With the elect ye rest-- + Those souls of countless numbers; + And with them raise + The note of praise, + Reaching from earth to heaven-- + Chosen, redeemed, forgiven; + So lay thy happy head, + Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. + +MARGARET MERCER. + + + * * * * * + +PRAYER AND REPENTANCE. + + FROM "HAMLET," ACT III. SC. 3. + + + _The King_. O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; + It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't, + A brother's murder. Pray can I not, + Though inclination be as sharp as will: + My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent; + And, like a man to double business bound, + I stand in pause where I shall first begin, + And both neglect. What if this cursed hand + Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, + Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens + To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy + But to confront the visage of offence? + And what's in prayer but this twofold force, + To be forestalled ere we come to fall, + Or pardoned being down? Then I'll look up; + My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer + Can serve my turn? "Forgive me my foul murder?" + That cannot be: since I am still possessed + Of those effects for which I did the murder, + My crown, mine own ambition and my queen. + May one be pardoned and retain the offence? + In the corrupted currents of this world + Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice. + And oft 't is seen the wicked prize itself + Buys out the law: but 't is not so above; + There is no shuffling, there the action lies + In his true nature; and we ourselves compelled, + Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, + To give in evidence. What then? what rests? + Try what repentance can: what can it not? + Yet what can it when one cannot repent? + O wretched state! O bosom black as death! + O limed soul, that, struggling to be free, + Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay! + Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, + Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe! + All may be well. [_Retires and kneels_.] + + * * * * * + + _King (rising)._ My words fly up, my thoughts remain below; + Words without thoughts never to heaven go. + +SHAKESPEARE. + + + * * * * * + +THE CALIPH AND SATAN. + + VERSIFIED FROM THOLUCK'S TRANSLATION OUT OF THE PERSIAN. + + + In heavy sleep the Caliph lay, + When some one called, "Arise, and pray!" + + The angry Caliph cried, "Who dare + Rebuke his king for slighting prayer?" + + Then, from the corner of the room, + A voice cut sharply through the gloom: + + "My name is Satan, Rise! obey + Mohammed's law; awake, and pray!" + + "Thy _words_ are good," the Caliph said, + "But their intent I somewhat dread. + + For matters cannot well be worse + Than when the thief says, 'Guard your purse!' + + I cannot trust your counsel, friend, + It surely hides some wicked end." + + Said Satan, "Near the throne of God, + In ages past, we devils trod; + + Angels of light, to us 't was given + To guide each wandering foot to heaven. + + Not wholly lost is that first love. + Nor those pure tastes we knew above. + + Roaming across a continent. + The Tartar moves his shifting tent, + + But never quite forgets the day + When in his father's arms he lay; + + So we, once bathed in love divine. + Recall the taste of that rich wine. + + God's finger rested on my brow,-- + That magic touch, I feel it now! + + I fell, 't is true--O, ask not why. + For still to God I turn my eye. + + It was a chance by which I fell, + Another takes me back from hell. + + 'T was but my envy of mankind, + The envy of a loving mind. + + Jealous of men, I could not bear + God's love with this new race to share. + + But yet God's tables open stand, + His guests flock in from every land; + + Some kind act towards the race of men + May toss us into heaven again. + + A game of chess is all we see,-- + And God the player, pieces we. + + White, black--queen, pawn,--'t is all the same, + For on both sides he plays the game. + + Moved to and fro, from good to ill, + We rise and fall as suits his will." + + The Caliph said, "If this be so, + I know not, but thy guile I know; + + For how can I thy words believe, + When even God thou didst deceive? + + A sea of lies art thou,--our sin + Only a drop that sea within." + + "Not so," said Satan, "I serve God, + His angel now, and now his rod. + + In tempting I both bless and curse, + Make good men better, bad men worse. + + Good coin is mixed with bad, my brother, + I but distinguish one from the other." + + "Granted," the Caliph said, "but still + You never tempt to good, but ill. + + Tell then the truth, for well I know + You come as my most deadly foe." + + Loud laughed the fiend. "You know me well, + Therefore my purpose I will tell. + + If you had missed your prayer, I knew + A swift repentance would ensue; + + And such repentance would have been + A good, outweighing far the sin. + + I chose this humbleness divine, + Borne out of fault, should not be thine, + + Preferring prayers elate with pride + To sin with penitence allied." + +JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE. + + + * * * * * + +DARKNESS IS THINNING. + + + Darkness is thinning; shadows are retreating; + Morning and light are coming in their beauty; + Suppliant seek we, with an earnest outcry. + God the Almighty! + + So that our Master, having mercy on us. + May repel languor, may bestow salvation. + Granting us, Father, of thy loving-kindness + Glory hereafter! + + This, of his mercy, ever blessed Godhead, + Father, and Son, and Holy Spirit, give us,-- + Whom through the wide world celebrate forever + Blessing and glory! + +From the Latin of ST. GREGORY THE GREAT. + +Translation of JOHN MASON NEALE. + + + * * * * * + +PRAISE. + + + To write a verse or two is all the praise + That I can raise; + Mend my estate in any wayes, + Thou shalt have more. + + I go to church; help me to wings, and I + Will thither flie; + Or, if I mount unto the skie, + I will do more. + + Man is all weaknesse: there is no such thing + As Prince or King: + His arm is short; yet with a sling + He may do more. + + A herb destilled, and drunk, may dwell next doore, + On the same floore, + To a brave soul: Exalt the poore, + They can do more. + + O, raise me then! poore bees, that work all day, + Sting my delay, + Who have a work, as well as they, + And much, much more. + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + + * * * * * + +PRAYER. + + + O God! though sorrow be my fate, + And the world's hate + For my heart's faith pursue me. + My peace they cannot take away; + Prom day to day + Thou dost anew imbue me; + Thou art not far; a little while + Thou hid'st thy face, with brighter smile + Thy father-love to show me. + + Lord, not my will, but thine, be done; + If I sink down + When men to terrors leave me, + Thy father-love still warms my breast; + All's for the best; + Shall men have power to grieve me, + When bliss eternal is my goal. + And thou the keeper of my soul, + Who never will deceive me? + + Thou art my shield, as saith the Word. + Christ Jesus, Lord, + Thou standest pitying by me, + And lookest on each grief of mine + And if 't were thine: + What, then, though foes may try me. + Though thorns be in my path concealed? + World, do thy worst! God is my shield! + And will be ever nigh me. + +Translated from MARY, QUEEN OF HUNGARY. + + + * * * * * + +DESIRE. + + + Thou, who dost dwell alone; + Thou, who dost know thine own; + Thou, to whom all are known, + From the cradle to the grave,-- + Save, O, save! + + From the world's temptations; + From tribulations; + From that fierce anguish + Wherein we languish; + From that torpor deep + Wherein we lie asleep, + Heavy as death, cold as the grave,-- + Save, O, save! + + When the soul, growing clearer, + Sees God no nearer; + When the soul, mounting higher, + To God comes no nigher; + But the arch-fiend Pride + Mounts at her side, + Foiling her high emprize, + Sealing her eagle eyes, + And, when she fain would soar, + Make idols to adore; + Changing the pure emotion + Of her high devotion, + To a skin-deep sense + Of her own eloquence; + Strong to deceive, strong to enslave,-- + Save, O, save! + + From the ingrained fashion + Of this earthly nature + That mars thy creature; + From grief, that is but passion; + From mirth, that is but feigning; + From tears, that bring no healing; + From wild and weak complaining;-- + Thine old strength revealing, + Save, O, save! + + From doubt, where all is doable, + Where wise men are not strong; + Where comfort turns to trouble; + Where just men suffer wrong; + Where sorrow treads on joy; + Where sweet things soonest cloy; + Where faiths are built on dust; + Where love is half mistrust, + Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea; + O, set us free! + + O, let the false dream fly + Where our sick souls do lie, + Tossing continually. + O, where thy voice doth come, + Let all doubts be dumb; + Let all words be mild; + All strife be reconciled; + All pains beguiled. + Light brings no blindness; + Love no unkindness; + Knowledge no ruin; + Fear no undoing, + From the cradle to the grave,-- + Save, O, save! + +MATTHEW ARNOLD. + + + * * * * * + +WHY THUS LONGING? + + + Why thus longing, thus forever sighing + For the far off, unattained, and dim, + While the beautiful, all round thee lying, + Offers up its low perpetual hymn? + + Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching, + All thy restless yearnings it would still; + Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching + Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. + + Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee + Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw,-- + If no silken cord of love hath bound thee + To some little world through weal and woe; + + If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten,-- + No fond voices answer to thine own; + If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten + By daily sympathy and gentle tone. + + Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses, + Not by works that gain thee world-renown, + Not by martyrdom or vaunted crosses, + Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown. + + Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, + Every day a rich reward will give; + Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only, + And truly loving, thou canst truly live. + + Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, + When all nature hails the Lord of light, + And his smile, the mountain-tops adorning, + Robes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright? + + Other hands may grasp the field and forest, + Proud proprietors in pomp may shine; + But with fervent love if thou adorest, + Thou art wealthier,--all the world is thine. + + Yet if through earth's wide domains thou rovest, + Sighing that they are not thine alone. + Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest, + And their beauty and thy wealth are gone. + + Nature wears the color of the spirit; + Sweetly to her worshipper she sings; + All the glow, the grace she doth inherit, + Round her trusting child she fondly flings. + +HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL. + + + * * * * * + +PRAYER AND ANSWER. + + + O God, I cannot walk the Way,-- + The thorns, the thirst, the darkness, + And bleeding feet and aching heart! + I hear the songs and revels of the throng,-- + They sneer upon my downcast face with scorn,-- + Yet, O my God, I _must_ and shall walk with Thee! + + O God, I cannot take the Truth! + Far easier honeyed hopes and falsehoods fair, + But Truth,--the Truth is stern and strong and awful. + It ploughs my soul with ploughshares flaming hot-- + Yet give me Truth. I must have Truth, O God! + + O God, I cannot live the Life,-- + The flinging all to death that life may come; + The surging of Thy Spirit in my heart + In fire and flame will all consume me,-- + Yet, O my God, I cannot live without Thee! + + And as I agonized in dust and shame + With tears and sighs in all the bitter prayer, + I felt, as 't were, an arm that stole around me, + And raised me to my feet. + And at the touch, hope blossomed in my heart, + And new-found strength in flood-tides thrilled and throbbed + + Through soul and limbs. I looked to see.... + O tender lordly Face! + It was Himself,--_the Way, the Truth, the Life_! + +OLIVER HUCKEL. + + + * * * * * + +THE AIM. + + + O thou who lovest not alone + The swift success, the instant goal, + But hast a lenient eye to mark + The failures of th' inconstant soul, + + Consider not my little worth,-- + The mean achievement, scamped in act, + The high resolve and low result, + The dream that durst not face the fact. + + But count the reach of my desire. + Let this be something in Thy sight:-- + I have not, in the slothful dark, + Forgot the Vision and the Height. + + Neither my body nor my soul + To earth's low ease will yield consent. + I praise Thee for my will to strive. + I bless Thy goad of discontent. + +CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS. + + + * * * * * + +THE LOVE OF GOD SUPREME. + + + Thou hidden love of God, whose height, + Whose depth unfathomed no man knows, + I see from far thy beauteous light, + Inly I sigh for thy repose. + My heart is pained, nor can it be + At rest till it finds rest in thee. + + Thy secret voice invites me still + The sweetness of thy yoke to prove, + And fain I would; but though my will + Be fixed, yet wide my passions rove. + Yet hindrances strew all the way; + I aim at thee, yet from thee stray. + + 'T is mercy all that thou hast brought + My mind to seek her peace in thee. + Yet while I seek but find thee not + No peace my wand'ring soul shall see. + Oh! when shall all my wand'rings end, + And all my steps to-thee-ward tend? + + Is there a thing beneath the sun + That strives with thee my heart to share? + Ah! tear it thence and reign alone, + The Lord of every motion there. + Then shall my heart from earth be free, + When it has found repose in thee. + + Oh! hide this self from me, that I + No more, but Christ in me, may live. + My vile affections crucify, + Nor let one darling lust survive. + In all things nothing may I see, + Nothing desire or seek but thee. + + O Love, thy sovereign aid impart, + To save me from low-thoughted care; + Chase this self-will through all my heart, + Through all its latent mazes there. + Make me thy duteous child, that I + Ceaseless may Abba, Father, cry. + + Ah! no; ne'er will I backward turn: + Thine wholly, thine alone I am. + Thrice happy he who views with scorn + Earth's toys, for thee his constant flame. + Oh! help, that I may never move + From the blest footsteps of thy love. + + Each moment draw from earth away + My heart, that lowly waits thy call. + Speak to my inmost soul, and say, + "I am thy Love, thy God, thy All." + To feel thy power, to hear thy voice, + To taste thy love is all my choice. + +From the German of GERHARD TERSTEEGEN. + +Translation of JOHN WESLEY. + + + * * * * * + +IN A LECTURE-ROOM. + + + Away, haunt thou not me, + Thou vain Philosophy! + Little hast thou bestead, + Save to perplex the head, + And leave the spirit dead. + Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go. + While from the secret treasure-depths below, + Fed by the skyey shower, + And clouds that sink and rest on hill-tops high, + Wisdom at once, and Power, + Are welling, bubbling forth, unseen, incessantly? + Why labor at the dull mechanic oar, + When the fresh breeze is blowing, + And the strong current flowing, + Right onward to the Eternal Shore? + +ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. + + + * * * * * + +FROM THE RECESSES OF A LOWLY SPIRIT. + + + From the recesses of a lowly spirit, + Our humble prayer ascends; O Father! hear it. + Upsoaring on the wings of awe and meekness, + Forgive its weakness! + + We see thy hand,--it leads us, it supports us; + We hear thy voice,--it counsels and it courts us; + And then we turn away; and still thy kindness + Forgives our blindness. + + O, how long-suffering, Lord! but thou delightest + To win with love the wandering: thou invited, + By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or terrors, + Man from his errors. + + Father and Saviour! plant within each bosom + The seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom + In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, + And spring eternal. + +SIR JOHN BOWRING. + + + * * * * * + +THE HIGHER GOOD. + + + Father, I will not ask for wealth or fame, + Though once they would have joyed my carnal sense: + I shudder not to bear a hated name, + Wanting all wealth, myself my sole defence. + But give me, Lord, eyes to behold the truth; + A seeing sense that knows the eternal right; + A heart with pity filled, and gentlest ruth; + A manly faith that makes all darkness light: + Give me the power to labor for mankind; + Make me the mouth of such as cannot speak; + Eyes let me be to groping men, and blind; + A conscience to the base; and to the weak + Let me be hands and feet; and to the foolish, mind; + And lead still further on such as thy kingdom seek. + +THEODORE PARKER. + + + * * * * * + +ASCRIPTION. + + + O thou who hast beneath Thy hand + The dark foundations of the land,-- + The motion of whose ordered thought + An instant universe hath wrought,-- + + Who hast within Thine equal heed + The rolling sun, the ripening seed, + The azure of the speedwell's eye. + The vast solemnities of sky,-- + + Who hear'st no less the feeble note + Of one small bird's awakening throat, + Than that unnamed, tremendous chord + Arcturus sounds before his Lord,-- + + More sweet to Thee than all acclaim + Of storm and ocean, stars and flame, + In favor more before Thy face + Than pageantry of time and space. + + The worship and the service be + Of him Thou madest most like Thee,-- + Who in his nostrils hath Thy breath, + Whose spirit is the lord of death! + +CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS. + + + * * * * * + +O MASTER, LET ME WALK WITH THEE. + + + O Master, let me walk with thee + In lowly paths of service free; + Tell me thy secret; help me bear + The strain of toil, the fret of care; + Help me the slow of heart to move + By some clear winning word of love; + Teach me the wayward feet to stay, + And guide them in the homeward way. + + O Master, let me walk with thee + Before the taunting Pharisee; + Help me to bear the sting of spite, + The hate of men who hide thy light, + The sore distrust of souls sincere + Who cannot read thy judgments clear, + The dulness of the multitude + Who dimly guess that thou art good. + + Teach me thy patience; still with thee + In closer, dearer company, + In work that keeps faith sweet and strong, + In trust that triumphs over wrong, + In hope that sends a shining ray + Far down the future's broadening way, + In peace that only thou canst give, + With thee, O Master, let me live! + +WASHINGTON GLADDEN. + + + + +III. + +FAITH: HOPE: LOVE: SERVICE. + + * * * * * + +FAITH. + + + O world, thou choosest not the better part! + It is not wisdom to be only wise, + And on the inward vision close the eyes, + But it is wisdom to believe the heart. + Columbus found a world, and had no chart, + Save one that faith deciphered in the skies; + To trust the soul's invincible surmise + Was all his science and his only art. + Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine + That lights the pathway but one step ahead + Across a void of mystery and dread. + Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine + By which alone the mortal heart is led + Unto the thinking of the thought divine. + +GEORGE SANTAYANA. + + + * * * * * + +THE FIGHT OF FAITH. + + [The author of this poem, one of the victims of the + persecuting Henry VIII., was burnt to death at Smithfield + in 1546. It was made and sung by her while a prisoner in + Newgate.] + + + Like as the armed Knighte, + Appointed to the fielde. + With this world wil I fight, + And faith shal be my shilde. + + Faith is that weapon stronge, + Which wil not faile at nede; + My foes therefore amonge, + Therewith wil I precede. + + As it is had in strengthe, + And forces of Christes waye, + It wil prevaile at lengthe, + Though all the devils saye _naye_. + + Faithe of the fathers olde + Obtained right witness, + Which makes me verye bolde + To fear no worldes distress. + + I now rejoice in harte, + And hope bides me do so; + For Christ wil take my part, + And ease me of my we. + + Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knocke, + To them wilt thou attende; + Undo, therefore, the locke, + And thy stronge power sende. + + More enemies now I have + Than heeres upon my head; + Let them not me deprave, + But fight thou in my steade. + + On thee my care I cast, + For all their cruell spight; + I set not by their hast, + For thou art my delight. + + I am not she that list + My anker to let fall + For every drislinge mist; + My shippe's substancial. + + Not oft I use to wright + In prose, nor yet in ryme; + Yet wil I shewe one sight, + That I sawe in my time: + + I sawe a royall throne, + Where Justice shulde have sitte; + But in her steade was One + Of moody cruell witte. + + Absorpt was rightwisness, + As by the raginge floude; + Sathan, in his excess, + Sucte up the guiltlesse bloude. + + Then thought I,--Jesus, Lorde, + When thou shalt judge us all, + Harde is it to recorde + On these men what will fall. + + Yet, Lorde, I thee desire, + For that they doe to me, + Let them not taste the hire + Of their iniquitie. + +ANNE ASKEWE. + + + * * * * * + +DOUBT AND FAITH. + + FROM "IN MEMORIAM," XCV. + + + You say, but with no touch of scorn, + Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes + Are tender over drowning flies, + You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. + + I know not: one indeed I knew + In many a subtle question versed, + Who touched a jarring lyre at first, + But ever strove to make it true: + + Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, + At last he beat his music out. + There lives more faith in honest doubt, + Believe me, than in half the creeds. + + He fought his doubts and gathered strength, + He would not make his judgment blind, + He faced the spectres of the mind + And laid them: thus he came at length + + To find a stronger faith his own; + And Power was with him in the night, + Which makes the darkness and the light, + And dwells not in the light alone, + + But in the darkness and the cloud, + As over Sinai's peaks of old, + While Israel made their gods of gold, + Although the trumpet blew so loud. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND. + + + My times are in thy hand! + I know not what a day + Or e'en an hour may bring to me, + But I am safe while trusting thee, + Though all things fade away. + All weakness, I + On him rely + Who fixed the earth and spread the starry sky. + + My times are in thy hand! + Pale poverty or wealth. + Corroding care or calm repose. + Spring's balmy breath or winter's snows. + Sickness or buoyant health,-- + Whate'er betide, + If God provide, + 'T is for the best; I wish no lot beside. + + My times are in thy hand! + Should friendship pure illume + And strew my path with fairest flowers, + Or should I spend life's dreary hours + In solitude's dark gloom, + Thou art a friend. + Till time shall end + Unchangeably the same; in thee all beauties blend. + + My times are in thy hand! + Many or few, my days + I leave with thee,--this only pray, + That by thy grace, I, every day + Devoting to thy praise, + May ready be + To welcome thee + Whene'er thou com'st to set my spirit free. + + My times are in thy hand! + Howe'er those times may end, + Sudden or slow my soul's release, + Midst anguish, frenzy, or in peace, + I'm safe with Christ my friend. + If he is nigh, + Howe'er I die, + 'T will be the dawn of heavenly ecstasy. + + My times are in thy hand! + To thee I can intrust + My slumbering clay, till thy command + Bids all the dead before thee stand, + Awaking from the dust. + Beholding thee, + What bliss 't will be + With all thy saints to spend eternity! + + To spend eternity + In heaven's unclouded light! + From sorrow, sin, and frailty free, + Beholding and resembling thee,-- + O too transporting sight! + Prospect too fair + For flesh to bear! + Haste! haste! my Lord, and soon transport me there! + +CHRISTOPHER NEWMAN HALL. + + + * * * * * + +A MYSTICAL ECSTASY. + + + E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks, + That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, + And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks, + Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, + Where in a greater current they conjoin: + So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. + + E'en so we met; and after long pursuit, + E'en so we joined; we both became entire; + No need for either to renew a suit, + For I was flax and he was flames of fire: + Our firm-united souls did more than twine: + So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. + + If all those glittering Monarchs that command + The servile quarters of this earthly ball, + Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, + I would not change my fortunes for them all: + Their wealth is but a counter to my coin: + The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine. + +FRANCIS QUARLES. + + + * * * * * + +THE MYSTIC'S VISION + + + Ah! I shall kill myself with dreams! + These dreams that softly lap me round + Through trance-like hours in which meseems + That I am swallowed up and drowned; + Drowned in your love, which flows o'er me + As o'er the seaweed flows the sea. + + In watches of the middle night, + 'Twixt vesper and 'twist matin bell, + With rigid arms and straining sight, + I wait within my narrow cell; + With muttered prayers, suspended will, + I wait your advent--statue-still. + + Across the convent garden walls + The wind blows from the silver seas; + Black shadow of the cypress falls + Between the moon-meshed olive-trees; + Sleep-walking from their golden bowers, + Flit disembodied orange flowers. + + And in God's consecrated house, + All motionless from head to feet, + My heart awaits her heavenly Spouse, + As white I lie on my white sheet; + With body lulled and soul awake, + I watch in anguish for your sake. + + And suddenly, across the gloom, + The naked moonlight sharply swings; + A Presence stirs within the room, + A breath of flowers and hovering wings:-- + Your presence without form and void, + Beyond all earthly joys enjoyed. + + My heart is hushed, my tongue is mute, + My life is centred in your will; + You play upon me like a lute + Which answers to its master's skill, + Till passionately vibrating, + Each nerve becomes a throbbing string. + + Oh, incommunicably sweet! + No longer aching and apart, + As rain upon the tender wheat, + You pour upon my thirsty heart; + As scent is bound up in the rose, + Your love within my bosom glows. + +MATHILDE BLIND. + + + * * * * * + +THE CALL. + + + Come, my way, my truth, my life-- + Such a way as gives us breath; + Such a truth as ends all strife; + Such a life as killeth death. + + Come my light, my feast, my strength-- + Such a light as shows a feast; + Such a feast as mends in length; + Such a strength as makes His guest. + + Come my joy, my love, my heart! + Such a joy as none can move; + Such a love as none can part; + Such a heart as joys in love. + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + + * * * * * + +HOPE. + + FROM "THE PLEASURES OF HOPE."[A] + + + Unfading Hope! when life's last embers burn, + When soul to soul, and dust to dust return! + Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour! + O, then thy kingdom comes! Immortal Power! + What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly + The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye! + Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey + The morning dream of life's eternal day,-- + Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, + And all the phoenix spirit burns within! + + * * * * * + + Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume + The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb; + Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll + Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul! + Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, + Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! + The strife is o'er,--the pangs of Nature close, + And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. + Hark! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, + The noon of Heaven undazzled by the blaze, + On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, + Float the sweet tones of star-born melody; + Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail + Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, + When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight still + Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill! + + * * * * * + + Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime + Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, + Thy joyous youth began,--but not to fade. + When all the sister planets have decayed; + When wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, + And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; + Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, + And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile. + +THOMAS CAMPBELL. + +[Footnote A: This poem was written when the author was but twenty-one +years of age.] + + + * * * * * + +A QUERY. + + + Oh the wonder of our life, + Pain and pleasure, rest and strife, + Mystery of mysteries, + Set twixt two eternities! + + Lo, the moments come and go, + E'en as sparks, and vanish so; + Flash from darkness into light, + Quick as thought are quenched in night. + + With an import grand and strange + Are they fraught in ceaseless change + As they post away; each one + Stands eternally alone. + + The scene more fair than words can say, + I gaze upon and go my way; + I turn, another glance to claim-- + Something is changed, 't is not the same. + + The purple flush on yonder fell, + The tinkle of that cattle-bell, + Came, and have never come before, + Go, and are gone forevermore. + + Our life is held as with a vice, + We cannot do the same thing twice; + Once we may, but not again; + Only memories remain. + + What if memories vanish too, + And the past be lost to view; + Is it all for nought that I + Heard and saw and hurried by? + + Where are childhood's merry hours, + Bright with sunshine, crossed with showers? + Are they dead, and can they never + Come again to life forever? + + No--'t is false, I surely trow; + Though awhile they vanish now; + Every passion, deed, and thought + Was not born to come to nought! + + Will the past then come again, + Rest and pleasure, strife and pain, + All the heaven and all the hell? + Ah, we know not: God can tell. + +_GOOD WORDS_. + + + * * * * * + +HUMILITY. + + + The bird that soars on highest wing + Builds on the ground her lowly nest; + And she that doth most sweetly sing + Sings in the shade, where all things rest; + In lark and nightingale we see + What honor hath humility. + + When Mary chose "the better part," + She meekly sat at Jesus' feet; + And Lydia's gently opened heart + Was made for God's own temple meet: + Fairest and best adorned is she + Whose clothing is humility. + + The saint that wears heaven's brightest crown, + In deepest adoration bends: + The weight of glory bows him down + Then most, when most his soul ascends: + Nearest the throne itself must be + The footstool of humility. + +JAMES MONTGOMERY. + + + * * * * * + +KING ROBERT OF SICILY. + + + Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane + And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Apparelled in magnificent attire, + With retinue of many a knight and squire, + On Saint John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat + And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. + And as he listened o'er and o'er again + Repeated, like a burden or refrain, + He caught the words, "_Deposuit potentes + De sede, et exaltavit humiles;"_ + And slowly lifting up his kingly head, + He to a learned clerk beside him said, + "What mean these words?" The clerk made answer meet, + "He has put down the mighty from their seat, + And has exalted them of low degree." + Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, + "'T is well that such seditious words are sung + Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; + For unto priests and people be it known, + There is no power can push me from my throne!" + And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep, + Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. + + When he awoke, it was already night; + The church was empty, and there was no light, + Save where the lamps that glimmered, few and faint, + Lighted a little space before some saint. + He started from his seat and gazed around, + But saw no living thing and heard no sound. + He groped towards the door, but it was locked; + He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, + And uttered awful threatenings and complaints, + And imprecations upon men and saints. + The sounds reechoed from the roof and walls + As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. + + At length the sexton, hearing from without + The tumult of the knocking and the shout, + And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, + Came with his lantern, asking, "Who is there?" + Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said, + "Open: 'tis I, the king! Art thou afraid?" + The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, + "This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!" + Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; + A man rushed by him at a single stride, + Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, + Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke. + But leaped into the blackness of the night, + And vanished like a spectre from his sight. + + Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane + And Valmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Despoiled of his magnificent attire, + Bare-headed, breathless, and besprent with mire, + With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, + Strode on and thundered at the palace gate: + Bushed through the court-yard, thrusting in his rage + To right and left each seneschal and page, + And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, + His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. + From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed: + Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, + Until at last he reached the banquet-room, + Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. + There on the dais sat another king, + Wearing his rotes, his crown, his signet-ring. + King Robert's self in features, form, and height, + But all transfigured with angelic light! + It was an angel; and his presence there + With a divine effulgence filled the air, + An exaltation, piercing the disguise, + Though none the hidden angel recognize. + + A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, + The throneless monarch on the angel gazed, + Who met his looks of anger and surprise + With the divine compassion of his eyes; + Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?" + To which King Robert answered with a sneer, + "I am the king, and come to claim my own + From an impostor, who usurps my throne!" + And suddenly, at these audacious words, + Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords; + The angel answered with unruffled brow, + "Nay, not the king, but the king's jester; thou + Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape, + And for thy counsellor shalt lead an ape: + Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, + And wait upon my henchmen in the hall!" + + Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, + They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; + A group of tittering pages ran before, + And as they opened wide the folding-door, + His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, + The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms, + And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring + With the mock plaudits of "Long live the king!" + Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, + He said within himself, "It was a dream!" + But the straw rustled as he turned his head, + There were the cap and bells beside his bed; + Around him rose the bare, discolored walls. + Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, + And in the corner, a revolting shape, + Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape. + It was no dream; the world he loved so much + Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch! + + Days came and went; and now returned again + To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; + Under the angel's governance benign + The happy island danced with corn and wine, + And deep within the mountain's burning breast + Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. + Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, + Sullen and silent and disconsolate. + Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear, + With looks bewildered and a vacant stare, + Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, + By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, + His only friend the ape, his only food + What others left,--he still was unsubdued. + And when the angel met him on his way, + And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, + Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel + The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, + "Art thou the king?" the passion of his woe + Burst from him in resistless overflow, + And lifting high his forehead, he would fling + The haughty answer back, "I am, I am the king!" + + Almost three years were ended; when there came + Ambassadors of great repute and name + From Valmond, emperor of Allemaine, + Unto King Robert, saying that Pope Urbane + By letter summoned them forthwith to come + On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. + The angel with great joy received his guests, + And gave them presents of embroidered vests, + And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined, + And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. + Then he departed with them o'er the sea + Into the lovely land of Italy, + Whose loveliness was more resplendent made + By the mere passing of that cavalcade, + With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir + Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. + + And lo! among the menials, in mock state, + Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, + His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, + The solemn ape demurely perched behind, + King Robert rode, making huge merriment + In all the country towns through which they went. + + The pope received them with great pomp, and blare + Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, + Giving his benediction and embrace, + Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. + While with congratulations and with prayers + He entertained the angel unawares, + Robert, the jester, bursting through the crowd, + Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud: + "I am the king! Look and behold in me + Robert, your brother, king of Sicily! + This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, + Is an impostor in a king's disguise. + Do you not know me? does no voice within + Answer my cry, and say we are akin?" + The pope in silence, but with troubled mien. + Gazed at the angel's countenance serene; + The emperor, laughing, said, "It is strange sport + To keep a madman for thy fool at court!" + And the poor, baffled jester in disgrace + Was hustled back among the populace. + + In solemn state the holy week went by, + And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; + The presence of an angel, with its light, + Before the sun rose, made the city bright, + And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, + Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. + Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, + With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw; + He felt within a power unfelt before, + And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, + He heard the rustling garments of the Lord + Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. + + And now the visit ending, and once more + Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, + Homeward the angel journeyed, and again + The land was made resplendent with his train, + Flashing along the towns of Italy + Unto Salerno, and from there by sea. + And when once more within Palermo's wall, + And, seated on his throne in his great hall, + He heard the Angelus from convent towers, + As if the better world conversed with ours, + He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher, + And with a gesture bade the rest retire; + And when they were alone, the angel said, + "Art thou the king?" Then bowing down his head, + King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast, + And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best! + My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, + And in some cloister's school of penitence, + Across those stones that pave the way to heaven + Walk barefoot till my guilty soul is shriven!" + The angel smiled, and from his radiant face + A holy light illumined all the place, + And through the open window, loud and clear, + They heard the monks chant in the chapel near, + Above the stir and tumult of the street: + "He has put down the mighty from their seat, + And has exalted them of low degree!" + And through the chant a second melody + Rose like the throbbing of a single string: + "I am an angel, and thou art the king!" + + King Robert, who was standing near the throne, + Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! + But all apparelled as in days of old, + With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; + And when his courtiers came they found him there + Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +SERVICE. + + FROM "PIPPA PASSES." + + + All service ranks the same with God: + If now, as formerly he trod + Paradise, his presence fills + Our earth, each only as God wills + Can work--God's puppets, best and worst, + Are we; there is no last nor first. + + Say not "a small event"! Why "small"? + Costs it more pain than this, ye call + A "great event," should come to pass, + Than that? Untwine me from the mass + Of deeds which make up life, one deed + Power shall fall short in or exceed! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +THE TWO ANGELS. + + + God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: + The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. + + "Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin + Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within. + + "My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, + The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. + + "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain, + Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!" + + Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; + Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. + + The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came + Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame. + + There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, + Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer. + + And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, + And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell! + + Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, + Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon! + + And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, + Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake: + + "Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; + Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" + +JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. + + + * * * * * + +THE SELF-EXILED. + + + There came a soul to the gate of Heaven + Gliding slow-- + A soul that was ransomed and forgiven, + And white as snow: + And the angels all were silent. + + A mystic light beamed from the face + Of the radiant maid, + But there also lay on its tender grace + A mystic shade: + And the angels all were silent. + + As sunlit clouds by a zephyr borne + Seem not to stir, + So to the golden gates of morn + They carried her: + And the angels all were silent. + + "Now open the gate, and let her in, + And fling It wide, + For she has been cleansed from stain of sin," + Saint Peter cried: + And the angels all were silent. + + "Though I am cleansed from stain of sin," + She answered low, + "I came not hither to enter in, + Nor may I go:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "I come," she said, "to the pearly door, + To see the Throne + Where sits the Lamb on the Sapphire Floor, + With God alone:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "I come to hear the new song they sing + To Him that died, + And note where the healing waters spring + From His pierced side:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "But I may not enter there," she said, + "For I must go + Across the gulf where the guilty dead + Lie in their woe:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "If I enter heaven I may not pass + To where they be, + Though the wail of their bitter pain, alas! + Tormenteth me:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "If I enter heaven I may not speak + My soul's desire + For them that are lying distraught and weak + In flaming fire:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "I had a brother, and also another + Whom I loved well; + What if, in anguish, they curse each other + In the depths of hell?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "How could I touch the golden harps, + When all my praise + Would be so wrought with grief-full warps + Of their sad days?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "How love the loved who are sorrowing, + And yet be glad? + How sing the songs ye are fain to sing, + While I am sad?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "Oh, clear as glass in the golden street + Of the city fair, + And the tree of life it maketh sweet + The lightsome air:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "And the white-robed saints with their crowns and palms + Are good to see, + And oh, so grand are the sounding psalms! + But not for me:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "I come where there is no night," she said, + "To go away, + And help, if I yet may help, the dead + That have no day." + And the angels all were silent. + + Saint Peter he turned the keys about, + And answered grim: + "Can you love the Lord and abide without, + Afar from Him?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "Can you love the Lord who died for you, + And leave the place + Where His glory is all disclosed to view, + And tender grace?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "They go not out who come in here; + It were not meet: + Nothing they lack, for He is here, + And bliss complete." + And the angels all were silent. + + "Should I be nearer Christ," she said, + "By pitying less + The sinful living or woful dead + In their helplessness?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "Should I be liker Christ were I + To love no more + The loved, who in their anguish lie + Outside the door?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "Did He not hang on the cursed tree, + And bear its shame, + And clasp to His heart, for love of me, + My guilt and blame?" + And the angels all were silent. + + "Should I be liker, nearer Him, + Forgetting this, + Singing all day with the Seraphim, + In selfish bliss?" + And the angels all were silent. + + The Lord Himself stood by the gate, + And heard her speak + Those tender words compassionate, + Gentle and meek: + And the angels all were silent. + + Now, pity is the touch of God + In human hearts, + And from that way He ever trod + He ne'er departs: + And the angels all were silent. + + And He said, "Now will I go with you, + Dear child of love, + I am weary of all this glory, too, + In heaven above:" + And the angels all were silent. + + "We will go seek and save the lost, + If they will hear, + They who are worst but need me most, + And all are dear:" + And the angels were not silent. + +WALTER C. SMITH. + + + * * * * * + +SYMPATHY. + + FROM "ION," ACT I. SC. 2. + + + 'T is a little thing + To give a cup of water; yet its draught + Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, + May give a shock of pleasure to the frame + More exquisite than when nectarean juice + Renews the life of joy in happier hours. + It is a little thing to speak a phrase + Of common comfort which by daily use + Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear + Of him who thought to die unmourned 't will fall + Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye + With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand + To know the bonds of fellowship again; + And shed on the departing soul a sense, + More precious than the benison of friends + About the honored death-bed of the rich, + To him who else were lonely, that another + Of the great family is near and feels. + +SIR THOMAS NOON TALFOURD. + + + * * * * * + +SIR GALAHAD. + + + My good blade carves the casques of men, + My tough lance thrusteth sure, + My strength is as the strength of ten, + Because my heart is pure. + The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, + The hard brands shiver on the steel, + The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly, + The horse and rider reel: + They reel, they roll in clanging lists, + And when the tide of combat stands, + Perfume and flowers fall in showers, + That lightly rain from ladies' hands. + + How sweet are looks that ladies bend + On whom their favors fall! + For them I battle till the end, + To save from shame and thrall: + But all my heart is drawn above, + My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine: + I never felt the kiss of love, + Nor maiden's hand in mine. + More bounteous aspects on me beam, + Me mightier transports move and thrill; + So keep I fair thro' faith and prayer + A virgin heart in work and will. + + When down the stormy crescent goes, + A light before me swims. + Between dark stems the forest glows, + I hear a noise of hymns: + Then by some secret shrine I ride; + I hear a voice, but none are there; + The stalls are void, the doors are wide, + The tapers burning fair. + Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth, + The silver vessels sparkle clean, + The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, + And solemn chaunts resound between. + + Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres + I find a magic bark; + I leap on board: no helmsman steers: + I float till all is dark. + A gentle sound, an awful light! + Three angels bear the holy Grail: + With folded feet, in stoles of white, + On sleeping wings they sail. + Ah, blessed vision! blood of God! + My spirit beats her mortal bars, + As down dark tides the glory slides, + And star-like mingles with the stars. + + When on my goodly charger borne + Thro' dreaming towns I go, + The cock crows ere the Christmas morn, + The streets are dumb with snow. + The tempest crackles on the leads, + And, ringing, springs from brand and mail; + But o'er the dark a glory spreads, + And gilds the driving hail. + I leave the plain, I climb the height; + No branchy thicket shelter yields; + But blessed forms in whistling storms + Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields. + + A maiden knight--to me is given + Such hope, I know not fear; + I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven + That often meet me here. + I muse on joy that will not cease, + Pure spaces clothed in living beams, + Pure lilies of eternal peace, + Whose odors haunt my dreams; + And, stricken by an angel's hand, + This mortal armor that I wear. + This weight and size, this heart and eyes, + Are touched, and turned to finest air. + + The clouds are broken in the sky, + And thro' the mountain-walls + A rolling organ-harmony + Swells up, and shakes and falls. + Then move the trees, the copses nod, + Wings flutter, voices hover clear: + "O just and faithful knight of God! + Ride on! the prize is near." + So pass I hostel, hall, and grange; + By bridge and ford, by park and pale, + All-armed I ride, whate'er betide, + Until I find the holy Grail. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT. + + + Prune thou thy words; the thoughts control + That o'er thee swell and throng;-- + They will condense within thy soul, + And change to purpose strong. + + But he who lets his feelings run + In soft luxurious flow, + Shrinks when hard service must be done, + And faints at every woe. + + Faith's meanest deed more favor bears, + Where hearts and wills are weighed, + Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, + Which bloom their hour, and fade. + +JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. + + + * * * * * + +SANTA FILOMENA. + + [FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.] + + + Whene'er a noble deed is wrought, + Whene'er is spoken a noble thought, + Our hearts, in glad surprise, + To higher levels rise. + + The tidal wave of deeper souls + Into our inmost being rolls, + And lifts us unawares + Out of all meaner cares. + + Honor to those whose words or deeds + Thus help us in our daily needs, + And by their overflow + Raise us from what is low! + + Thus thought I, as by night I read + Of the great army of the dead, + The trenches cold and damp, + The starved and frozen camp, + + The wounded from the battle-plain, + In dreary hospitals of pain, + The cheerless corridors, + The cold and stony floors. + + Lo! in that house of misery + A lady with a lamp I see + Pass through the glimmering gloom, + And flit from room to room. + + And slow, as in a dream of bliss, + The speechless sufferer turns to kiss + Her shadow, as it falls + Upon the darkening walls. + + As if a door in heaven should be + Opened and then closed suddenly, + The vision came and went, + The light shone and was spent. + + On England's annals, through the long + Hereafter of her speech and song, + That light its rays shall cast + From portals of the past. + + A Lady with a Lamp shall stand + In the great history of the land, + A noble type of good, + Heroic womanhood. + + Nor even shall be wanting here + The palm, the lily, and the spear, + The symbols that of yore + Saint Filomena bore. + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +A DEED AND A WORD. + + + A little stream had lost its way + Amid the grass and fern; + A passing stranger scooped a well, + Where weary men might turn; + He walled it in and hung with care + A ladle at the brink; + He thought not of the deed he did, + But judged that all might drink. + He passed again, and lo! the well, + By summer never dried, + Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, + And saved a life beside. + + A nameless man, amid a crowd + That thronged the daily mart, + Let fall a word of hope and love, + Unstudied, from the heart; + A whisper on the tumult thrown, + A transitory breath-- + It raised a brother from the dust, + It saved a soul from death. + O germ! O fount! O word of love! + O thought at random cast! + Ye were but little at the first, + But mighty at the last. + +CHARLES MACKAY. + + * * * * * + +SOGGARTH AROON. + + + Am I the slave they say, + Soggarth aroon?[A] + Since you did show the way, + Soggarth aroon, + Their slave no more to be, + While they would work with me + Old Ireland's slavery, + Soggarth aroon. + + Why not her poorest man, + Soggarth aroon, + Try and do all he can, + Soggarth aroon, + Her commands to fulfil + Of his own heart and will, + Side by side with you still, + Soggarth aroon? + + Loyal and brave to you, + Soggarth aroon, + Yet be not slave to you, + Soggarth aroon, + Nor, out of fear to you, + Stand up so near to you-- + Och! out of fear to _you_, + Soggarth aroon! + + Who, in the winter's night, + Soggarth aroon, + When the cold blasts did bite, + Soggarth aroon, + Came to my cabin-door, + And on my earthen-floor + Knelt by me, sick and poor, + Soggarth aroon? + + Who, on the marriage day, + Soggarth aroon, + Made the poor cabin gay, + Soggarth aroon, + And did both laugh and sing, + Making our hearts to ring + At the poor christening, + Soggarth aroon? + + Who, as friends only met, + Soggarth aroon, + Never did flout me yet, + Soggarth aroon; + And when my heart was dim, + Gave, while his eye did brim, + What I should give to him, + Soggarth aroon? + + Och! you, and only you, + Soggarth aroon! + And for this I was true to you, + Soggarth aroon! + Our love they'll never shake, + When for ould Ireland's sake + We a true part did take, + Soggarth aroon! + +JOHN BANIM. + +[Footnote A: Priest, dear.] + + + * * * * * + +THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. + + + PRELUDE TO PART FIRST. + + Over his keys the musing organist, + Beginning doubtfully and far away, + First lets his fingers wander as they list, + And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay; + Then, as the touch of his loved instrument + Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme, + First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent + Along the wavering vista of his dream. + + * * * * * + + Not only around our infancy + Doth heaven with all its splendors lie; + Daily, with souls that cringe and plot, + We Sinais climb and know it not. + + Over our manhood bend the skies; + Against our fallen and traitor lives + The great winds utter prophecies; + With our faint hearts the mountain strives; + Its arms outstretched, the druid wood + Waits with its Benedicite; + And to our age's drowsy blood + Still shouts the inspiring sea. + + Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us: + The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in. + The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, + We bargain for the graves we lie in; + At the devil's booth are all things sold, + Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold; + + For a cap and bells our lives we pay, + Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking: + 'Tis heaven alone that is given away, + 'Tis only God may be had for the asking; + No price is set on the lavish summer; + June may be had by the poorest comer. + + And what is so rare as a day in June? + Then, if ever, come perfect days; + Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune, + And over it softly her warm ear lays; + Whether we look, or whether we listen, + We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; + Every clod feels a stir of might, + An instinct within it that reaches and towers, + And groping blindly above it for light, + Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; + The flush of life may well be seen + Thrilling back over hills and valleys; + The cowslip startles in meadows green, + The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, + And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean + To be some happy creature's palace; + The little bird sits at his door in the sun, + Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, + And lets his illumined being o'errun + With the deluge of summer it receives; + His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, + And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; + He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-- + In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? + + Now is the high tide of the year, + And whatever of life hath ebbed away + Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, + Into every bare inlet and creek and bay; + Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it; + We are happy now because God wills it; + No matter how barren the past may have been, + 'T is enough for us now that the leaves are green; + We sit in the warm shade and feel right well + How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; + We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing + That skies are clear and grass is growing; + The breeze comes whispering in our ear + That dandelions are blossoming near, + That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing. + That the river is bluer than the sky, + That the robin is plastering his house hard by: + And if the breeze kept the good news back, + For other couriers we should not lack; + We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-- + And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, + Warmed with the new wine of the year, + Tells all in his lusty crowing! + + Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; + Everything is happy now, + Everything is upward striving; + 'T is as easy now for the heart to be true + As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,-- + 'Tis the natural way of living: + Who knows whither the clouds have fled? + In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; + And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, + The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; + The soul partakes the season's youth, + And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe + Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, + Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. + What wonder if Sir Launfal now + Remember the keeping of his vow? + + + PART FIRST. + + "My golden spurs now bring to me, + And bring to me my richest mail, + For to-morrow I go over land and sea + In search of the Holy Grail: + Shall never a bed for me be spread, + Nor shall a pillow be under my head, + Till I begin my vow to keep; + Here on the rushes will I sleep, + And perchance there may come a vision true + Ere day create the world anew." + Slowly Sir Launfal's eyes grew dim; + Slumber fell like a cloud on him, + And into his soul the vision flew. + + The crows flapped over by twos and threes, + In the pool drowsed the cattle up to their knees, + The little birds sang as if it were + The one day of summer in all the year, + And the very leaves seemed to sing on the trees: + The castle alone in the landscape lay + Like an outpost of winter, dull and gray; + 'T was the proudest hall in the North Countree, + And never its gates might opened be, + Save to lord or lady of high degree; + Summer besieged it on every side, + But the churlish stone her assaults defied; + She could not scale the chilly wall, + Though around it for leagues her pavilions tall + Stretched left and right. + Over the hills and out of sight; + Green and broad was every tent, + And out of each a murmur went + Till the breeze fell off at night. + + The drawbridge dropped with a surly clang, + And through the dark arch a charger sprang, + Bearing Sir Launfal, the maiden knight, + In his gilded mail, that flamed so bright + It seemed the dark castle had gathered all + Those shafts the fierce sun had shot over its wall + In his siege of three hundred summers long, + And binding them all in one blazing sheaf, + Had cast them forth; so, young and strong, + And lightsome as a locust leaf, + Sir Launfal flashed forth in his maiden mail, + To seek in all climes for the Holy Grail. + + It was morning on hill and stream and tree, + And morning in the young knight's heart; + Only the castle moodily + Rebuffed the gifts of the sunshine free, + And gloomed by itself apart; + The season brimmed all other things up + Full as the rain fills the pitcher-plant's cup. + + As Sir Launfal made morn through the darksome gate, + He was 'ware of a leper, crouched by the same, + Who begged with his hand and moaned as he sate; + And a loathing over Sir Launfal came; + The sunshine went out of his soul with a thrill, + The flesh 'neath his armor 'gan shrink and crawl, + And midway its leap his heart stood still + Like a frozen waterfall; + For this man, so foul and bent of stature, + Rasped harshly against his dainty nature, + And seemed the one blot on the summer morn,-- + So he tossed him a piece of gold in scorn. + + The leper raised not the gold from the dust:-- + "Better to me the poor man's crust, + Better the blessing of the poor, + Though I turn me empty from his door: + That is no true alms which the hand can hold; + He gives only the worthless gold + Who gives from a sense of duty: + But he who gives but a slender mite, + And gives to that which is out of sight,-- + That thread of the all-sustaining Beauty + Which runs through all and doth all unite,-- + The hand cannot clasp the whole of his alms, + The heart outstretches its eager palms; + For a god goes with it and makes it store + To the soul that was starving in darkness before." + + + PRELUDE TO PART SECOND. + + Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak, + From the snow five thousand summers old; + On open wold and hilltop bleak + It had gathered all the cold, + And whirled it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; + It carried a shiver everywhere + From the unleafed boughs and pastures bare; + The little brook heard it, and built a roof + 'Neath which he could house him winter-proof; + All night by the white stars' frosty gleams + He groined his arches and matched his beams; + Slender and clear were his crystal spars + As the lashes of light that trim the stars; + He sculptured every summer delight + In his halls and chambers out of sight; + Sometimes his tinkling waters slipt + Down through a frost-leaved forest crypt. + Long, sparkling aisles of steel stemmed trees + Mending to counterfeit a breeze; + Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew + But silvery mosses that downward grew; + Sometimes it was carved in sharp relief + With quaint arabesques of ice-fern leaf; + Sometimes it was simply smooth and clear + For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here + He had caught the nodding bulrush tops + And hung them thickly with diamond drops. + That crystalled the beams of moon and sun, + And made a star of every one: + No mortal builder's most rare device + Could match this winter palace of ice; + 'T was as if every image that mirrored lay + In his depths serene through the summer day, + Each fleeting shadow of earth and sky, + Lest the happy model should be lost. + Sad been mimicked in fairy masonry + By the elfin builders of the frost. + + Within the hall are song and laughter; + The cheeks of Christmas glow red and jolly, + And sprouting is every corbel and rafter + With lightsome green of ivy and holly; + Through the deep gulf of the chimney wide + Wallows the Yule-log's roaring tide; + The broad flame pennons droop and flap + And belly and tug as a flag in the wind; + Like a locust shrills the imprisoned sap, + Hunted to death in its galleries blind; + And swift little troops of silent sparks, + Now pausing, now scattering away as in fear, + Go threading the soot forest's tangled darks + Like herds of startled deer. + + But the wind without was eager and sharp; + Of Sir Launfal's gray hair it makes a harp, + And rattles and wrings + The icy strings, + Singing in dreary monotone + A Christmas carol of its own, + Whose burden still, as he might guess, + Was "Shelterless, shelterless, shelterless!" + + The voice of the seneschal flared like a torch + As he shouted the wanderer away from the porch, + And he sat in the gateway and saw all night + The great hall fire, so cheery and bold, + Through the window slits of the castle old, + Build out its piers of ruddy light + Against the drift of the cold. + + + PART SECOND. + + There was never a leaf on bush or tree, + The bare boughs rattled shudderingly; + The river was dumb and could not speak, + For the weaver Winter its shroud had spun; + A single crow on the tree-top bleak + From his shining feathers shed off the cold sun; + Again it was morning, but shrunk and cold, + As if her veins were sapless and old, + And she rose up decrepitly + For a last dim look at earth and sea. + + Sir Launfal turned from his own hard gale, + For another heir in his earldom sate: + An old, bent man, worn out and frail, + He came back from seeking the Holy Grail. + Little he recked of his earldom's loss, + No more on his surcoat was blazoned the cross; + But deep in his soul the sigh he wore, + The badge of the suffering and the poor. + + Sir Launfal's raiment thin and spare + Was idle mail 'gainst the barbed air, + For it was just at the Christmas-time; + So he mused, as he sat, of a sunnier clime, + And sought for a shelter from cold and snow + In the light and warmth of long ago. + He sees the snake-like caravan crawl + O'er the edge of the desert, black and small, + Then nearer and nearer, till, one by one, + He can count the camels in the sun, + As over the red-hot sands they pass + To where, in its slender necklace of grass, + The little spring laughed and leapt in the shade. + And with its own self like an infant played, + And waved its signal of palms. + + "For Christ's sweet sake, I beg an alms:"-- + The happy camels may reach the spring, + But Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, + The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone, + That cowers beside him, a thing as lone + And white as the ice-isles of Northern seas + In the desolate horror of his disease. + + And Sir Launfal said,--"I behold in thee + An image of Him who died on the tree; + Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns,-- + Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns,-- + + And to thy life were not denied + The wounds in the hands and feet and side: + Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; + Behold, through him, I give to thee!" + + Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes + And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he + Remembered in what a haughtier guise + He had flung an alms to leprosie, + When he girt his young life up in gilded mail + And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. + The heart within him was ashes and dust: + He parted in twain his single crust, + He broke the ice on the streamlet's brink, + And gave the leper to eat and drink; + 'T was a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread + 'T was water out of a wooden bowl,-- + Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, + And 't was red wine he drank with his thirsty soul + + As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, + A light shone round about the place; + The leper no longer crouched at his side, + But stood before him glorified, + Shining and tall and fair and straight + As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate,-- + Himself the Gate whereby men can + Enter the temple of God in Man. + + His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, + And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, + That mingle their softness and quiet in one + With the shaggy unrest they float down upon; + And the voice that was softer than silence said:-- + Lo, it is I, be not afraid! + In many climes, without avail, + Thou hast spent thy life for the Holy Grail: + Behold, it is here,--this cup which thou + Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; + This crust is my body broken for thee, + This water His blood that died on the tree; + The Holy Supper is kept indeed + In whatso we share with another's need. + Not, what we give, but what we share,-- + For the gift without the giver is bare: + Who gives himself with his alms feeds three.-- + Himself, his hungering neighbor, and me." + + Sir Launfal awoke as from a swound:-- + "The Grail in my castle here is found! + Hang my idle armor up on the wall, + Let it be the spider's banquet-hall; + He must be fenced with stronger mail + Who would seek and find the Holy Grail." + + The castle gate stands open now, + And the wanderer is welcome to the hall + As the hang-bird is to the elm-tree bough; + No longer scowl the turrets tall. + The summer's long siege at last is o'er: + When the first poor outcast went in at the door, + She entered with him in disguise, + And mastered the fortress by surprise; + There is no spot she loves so well on ground; + She lingers and smiles there the whole year round; + The meanest serf on Sir Launfal's land + Has hall and bower at his command; + And there's no poor man in the North Countree + But is lord of the earldom as much as he. + +JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + + * * * * * + +THE SISTER OF CHARITY. + + + She once was a lady of honor and wealth; + Bright glowed in her features the roses of health; + Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, + And her motion shook perfume from every fold: + Joy revelled around her, love shone at her side, + And gay was her smile as the glance of a bride; + And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hall, + When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de Paul. + + She felt in her spirit the summons of grace, + That called her to live for her suffering race; + And, heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home, + Rose quickly, like Mary, and answered, "I come." + She put from her person the trappings of pride, + And passed from her home with the joy of a bride, + Nor wept at the threshold as onward she moved,-- + For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved. + + Lost ever to fashion, to vanity lost, + That beauty that once was the song and the toast, + No more in the ball-room that figure we meet, + But gliding at dusk to the wretch's retreat. + Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name, + For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame: + Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth, + For she barters for heaven the glory of earth. + + Those feet, that to music could gracefully move, + Now bear her alone on the mission of love; + Those hands, that once dangled the perfume and gem, + Are tending the helpless, or lifted for them; + That voice, that once echoed the song of the vain. + Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain; + And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearl, + Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl. + + Her down-bed, a pallet--her trinkets, a bead; + Her lustre--one taper, that serves her to read; + Her sculpture--the crucifix nailed by her bed; + Her paintings--one print of the thorn-crowned head; + Her cushion--the pavement that wearies her knees; + Her music--the psalm, or the sigh of disease: + The delicate lady lives mortified there, + And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer. + + Yet not to the service of heart and of mind + Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined: + Like Him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief + She hastes with the tidings of joy and relief. + She strengthens the weary, she comforts the weak, + And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick; + Where want and affliction on mortals attend, + The Sister of Charity there is a friend. + + Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath, + Like an angel she moves, mid the vapors of death; + Where rings the loud musket, and flashes the sword, + Unfearing she walks, for she follows her Lord. + How sweetly she bends o'er each plague-tainted face, + With looks that are lighted with holiest grace; + How kindly she dresses each suffering limb, + For she sees in the wounded the image of Him. + + Behold her, ye worldly! behold her, ye vain! + Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain! + Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your days, + Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise. + Ye lazy philosophers, self-seeking men; + Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen; + How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed + With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid? + +GERALD JOSEPH GRIFFEN. + + + * * * * * + +WHAT I LIVE FOR. + + + I live for those who love me, + Whose hearts are kind and true, + For heaven that smiles above me, + And waits my spirit, too; + For all the ties that bind me, + For all the tasks assigned me. + And bright hopes left behind me, + And good that I can do. + + I live to learn their story + Who've suffered for my sake, + To emulate their glory, + And follow in their wake; + Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages, + The noble of all ages, + Whose deeds crown history's pages, + And Time's great volume make. + + I live to hold communion + With all that is divine, + To feel there is a union + 'Twixt Nature's heart and mine; + To profit by affliction, + Reap truths from fields of fiction, + And, wiser from conviction, + Fulfil each grand design. + + I live to hail that season, + By gifted minds foretold, + When men shall rule by reason, + And not alone by gold; + When man to man united, + And every wrong thing righted, + The whole world shall be lighted + As Eden was of old. + + I live for those who love me, + Whose hearts are kind and true, + For heaven that smiles above me, + And waits my spirit too; + For the cause that lacks assistance, + For the wrong that needs resistance, + For the future in the distance, + And the good that I can do. + +GEORGE LINNAEUS BANKS. + + + * * * * * + +IF WE HAD BUT A DAY. + + + We should fill the hours with the sweetest things, + If we had but a day; + We should drink alone at the purest springs + In our upward way; + We should love with a lifetime's love in an hour, + If the hours were few; + We should rest, not for dreams, but for fresher power + To be and to do. + + We should guide our wayward or wearied wills + By the clearest light; + We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills, + If they lay in sight; + We should trample the pride and the discontent + Beneath our feet; + We should take whatever a good God sent, + With a trust complete. + + We should waste no moments in weak regret, + If the day were but one; + If what we remember and what we forget + Went out with the sun; + We should be from our clamorous selves set free, + To work or to pray, + And to be what the Father would have us be. + If we had but a day. + +MARY LOWE DICKINSON. + + + * * * * * + +ABOU BEN ADHEM. + + + Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) + Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, + And saw within the moonlight in his room, + Making it rich and like a lily in bloom. + An angel writing in a book of gold: + Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, + And to the presence in the room he said, + "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, + And, with a look made of all sweet accord, + Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." + "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so." + Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, + But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, + Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." + The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night + It came again with a great wakening light, + And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,-- + And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! + +LEIGH HUNT. + + + * * * * * + +LOVE. + + + If suddenly upon the street + My gracious Saviour I should meet, + And he should say, "As I love thee, + What love hast thou to offer me?" + Then what could this poor heart of mine + Dare offer to that heart divine? + + His eye would pierce my outward show, + His thought my inmost thought would know; + And if I said, "I love thee, Lord," + He would not heed my spoken word, + Because my daily life would tell + If verily I loved him well. + + If on the day or in the place + Wherein he met me face to face, + My life could show some kindness done, + Some purpose formed, some work begun + For his dear sake, then it were meet + Love's gift to lay at Jesus' feet. + +CHARLES FRANCIS RICHARDSON. + + + + +IV. + +SABBATH: WORSHIP: CREED. + + * * * * * + +SUNDAY MORNING BELLS. + + + From the near city comes the clang of bells: + Their hundred jarring diverse tones combine + In one faint misty harmony, as fine + As the soft note yon winter robin swells. + What if to Thee in thine infinity + These multiform and many-colored creeds + Seem but the robe man wraps as masquers' weeds + Round the one living truth them givest him--Thee? + What if these varied forms that worship prove, + Being heart-worship, reach thy perfect ear + But as a monotone, complete and clear, + Of which the music is, through Christ's name, love? + Forever rising in sublime increase + To "Glory in the highest,--on earth peace"? + +DINAH M. MULOCK CRAIK. + + + * * * * * + +SABBATH HYMN ON THE MOUNTAINS. + + + Praise ye the Lord! + Not in the temple of shapeliest mould, + Polished with marble and gleaming with gold, + Piled upon pillars of slenderest grace, + But here in the blue sky's luminous face, + Praise ye the Lord! + + Praise ye the Lord! + Not where the organ's melodious wave + Dies 'neath the rafters that narrow the nave, + But here with the free wind's wandering sweep, + Here with the billow that booms from the deep, + Praise ye the Lord! + + Praise ye the Lord! + Not where the pale-faced multitude meet + In the sweltering lane and the dun-visaged street, + But here where bright ocean, thick sown with green isles, + Feeds the glad eye with a harvest of smiles, + Praise ye the Lord! + + Praise ye the Lord! + Here where the strength of the old granite Ben + Towers o'er the greenswarded grace of the glen, + Where the birch flings its fragrance abroad on the hill, + And the bee of the heather-bloom wanders at will, + Praise ye the Lord! + + Praise ye the Lord! + Here where the loch, the dark mountain's fair daughter, + Down the red scaur flings the white-streaming water, + Leaping and tossing and swirling forever, + Down to the bed of the smooth-rolling river, + Praise ye the Lord! + + Praise ye the Lord! + Not where the voice of a preacher instructs you, + Not where the hand of a mortal conducts you, + But where the bright welkin in scripture of glory + Blazons creation's miraculous story. + Praise ye the Lord! + + Praise ye the Lord! + The wind and the welkin, the sun and the river, + Weaving a tissue of wonders forever; + The mead and the mountain, the flower and the tree, + What is their pomp, but a vision of thee, + Wonderful Lord? + + Praise ye the Lord! + Not in the square-hewn, many-tiered pile, + Not in the long-drawn, dim-shadowed aisle, + But where the bright world, with age never hoary, + Flashes her brightness and thunders his glory, + Praise ye the Lord! + +JOHN STUART BLACKIE. + + + * * * * * + +THE SABBATH MORNING. + + + With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, + That slowly wakes while all the fields are still! + A soothing calm on every breeze is borne; + A graver murmur gurgles from the rill; + And echo answers softer from the hill; + And sweeter sings the linnet from the thorn: + The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. + Hail, light serene! hail, sacred Sabbath morn! + The rooks float silent by in airy drove; + The sun a placid yellow lustre throws; + The gales that lately sighed along the grove + Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose + The hovering rack of clouds forgets to move,-- + So smiled that day when the first morn arose! + +JOHN LEYDEN. + + + * * * * * + +THE POOR MAN'S DAY. + + FROM "THE SABBATH." + + + How still the morning of the hallowed day! + Mute is the voice of rural labor, hushed + The ploughboy's whistle and the milkmaid's song. + The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath + Of tedded grass, mingled with faded flowers, + That yestermorn bloomed waving in the breeze; + Sounds the most faint attract the ear,--the hum + Of early bee, the trickling of the dew, + The distant bleating, midway up the hill. + Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud. + To him who wanders o'er the upland leas + The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale; + And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark + Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook + Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen; + While from yon lowly roof, whose circling smoke + O'ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals + The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise. + With dovelike wings Peace o'er yon village broods; + The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din + Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness. + Less fearful on this day, the limping hare + Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, + Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, + Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large; + And as his stiff, unwieldy bulk he rolls, + His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray. + But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. + Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. + On other days the man of toil is doomed + To eat his joyless bread, lonely; the ground + Both seat and board; screened from the winter's cold + And summer's heat by neighboring hedge or tree; + But on this day, imbosomed in his home, + He shares the frugal meal with those he loves; + With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy + Of giving thanks to God--not thanks of form, + A word and a grimace, but reverently, + With covered face and upward earnest eye. + Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. + The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe + The morning air, pure from the city's smoke; + While, wandering slowly up the river-side, + He meditates on Him, whose power he marks + In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough + As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom + Around its roots; and while he thus surveys, + With elevated joy, each rural charm, + He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, + That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. + +JAMES GRAHAME. + + + * * * * * + +THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL. + + + Sleep, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, + Of earth and folly born; + Ye shall not dim the light that streams + From this celestial morn. + + To-morrow will be time enough + To feel your harsh control; + Ye shall not violate, this day, + The Sabbath of my soul. + + Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts; + Let fires of vengeance die; + And, purged from sin, may I behold + A God of purity! + +ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD. + + + * * * * * + +VESPER HYMN. + + + Now, on sea and land descending, + Brings the night its peace profound: + Let our vesper hymn be blending + With the holy calm around. + Soon as dies the sunset glory, + Stars of heaven shine out above, + Telling still the ancient story-- + Their Creator's changeless love. + + Now, our wants and burdens leaving + To his care who cares for all, + Cease we fearing, cease we grieving; + At his touch our burdens fall. + As the darkness deepens o'er us, + Lo! eternal stars arise; + Hope and Faith and Love rise glorious, + Shining in the Spirit's skies. + +SAMUEL LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +VESPER HYMN. + + + The day is done; the weary day of thought and toil is past, + Soft falls the twilight cool and gray on the tired earth at last: + By wisest teachers wearied, by gentlest friends oppressed, + In thee alone, the soul, outworn, refreshment finds, and rest. + + Bend, Gracious Spirit, from above, like these o'erarching skies, + And to thy firmament of love lift up these longing eyes; + And, folded by thy sheltering hand, in refuge still and deep, + Let blessed thoughts from thee descend, as drop the dews of sleep. + + And when refreshed the soul once more puts on new life and power; + Oh, let thine image. Lord, alone, gild the first waking hour! + Let that dear Presence dawn and glow, fairer than morn's first ray, + And thy pure radiance overflow the splendor of the day. + + So in the hastening even, so in the coming morn, + When deeper slumber shall be given, and fresher life be born. + Shine out, true Light! to guide my way amid that deepening gloom, + And rise, O Morning Star, the first that dayspring to illume! + + I cannot dread the darkness where thou wilt watch o'er me, + Nor smile to greet the sunrise unless thy smile I see; + Creator, Saviour, Comforter! on thee my soul is cast; + At morn, at night, in earth, in heaven, be thou my First and Last! + +ELIZA SCUDDER. + + + * * * * * + +AMAZING, BEAUTEOUS CHANGE! + + + Amazing, beauteous change! + A world created new! + My thoughts with transport range, + The lovely scene to view; + In all I trace, + Saviour divine, + The word is thine,-- + Be thine the praise! + + See crystal fountains play + Amidst the burning sands; + The river's winding way + Shines through the thirsty lands; + New grass is seen, + And o'er the meads + Its carpet spreads + Of living green. + + Where pointed brambles grew, + Intwined with horrid thorn, + Gay flowers, forever new, + The painted fields adorn,-- + The blushing rose + And lily there, + In union fair, + Their sweets disclose. + + Where the bleak mountain stood + All bare and disarrayed, + See the wide-branching wood + Diffuse its grateful shade; + Tall cedars nod, + And oaks and pines, + And elms and vines + Confess thee God. + + The tyrants of the plain + Their savage chase give o'er,-- + No more they rend the slain, + And thirst for blood no more; + But infant hands + Fierce tigers stroke, + And lions yoke + In flowery bands. + + O, when, Almighty Lord! + Shall these glad things arise, + To verify thy word, + And bless our wandering eyes? + That earth may raise, + With all its tongues, + United songs + Of ardent praise. + +PHILIP DODDRIDGE. + + + * * * * * + +THE WORD. + + + O Word of God incarnate, + O Wisdom from on high, + O Truth unchanged, unchanging, + O Light of our dark sky; + We praise thee for the radiance + That from the hallowed page, + A lantern to our footsteps, + Shines on from age to age. + + The Church from thee, her Master, + Received the gift divine; + And still that light she lifteth + O'er all the earth to shine. + It is the golden casket + Where gems of truth are stored; + It is the heaven-drawn picture + Of, thee, the living Word. + + It floateth like a banner + Before God's host unfurled; + It shineth like a beacon + Above the darkling world; + It is the chart and compass + That o'er life's surging sea, + Mid mists and rocks and quicksands, + Still guide, O Christ, to thee. + + Oh, make thy Church, dear Saviour, + A lamp of burnished gold, + To bear before the nations + Thy true light, as of old. + Oh, teach thy wandering pilgrims + By this their path to trace, + Till, clouds and darkness ended, + They see thee face to face. + +WILLIAM WALSHAM HOW. + + + * * * * * + +THE CHIMES OF ENGLAND. + + + The chimes, the chimes of Motherland, + Of England green and old. + That out from fane and ivied tower + A thousand years have tolled; + How glorious must their music be + As breaks the hallowed day, + And calleth with a seraph's voice + A nation up to pray! + + Those chimes that tell a thousand tales, + Sweet tales of olden time; + And ring a thousand memories + At vesper, and at prime! + At bridal and at burial, + For cottager and king, + Those chimes, those glorious Christian chimes, + How blessedly they ring! + + Those chimes, those chimes of Motherland, + Upon a Christmas morn. + Outbreaking as the angels did, + For a Redeemer born! + How merrily they call afar, + To cot and baron's hall, + With holly decked and mistletoe, + To keep the festival! + + The chimes of England, how they peal + From tower and Gothic pile, + Where hymn and swelling anthem fill + The dim cathedral aisle; + Where windows bathe the holy light + On priestly heads that falls, + And stains the florid tracery + Of banner-dighted walls! + + And then, those Easter bells, in spring, + Those glorious Easter chimes! + How loyally they hail thee round, + Old Queen of holy times! + From hill to hill like sentinels, + Responsively they cry, + And sing the rising of the Lord, + From vale to mountain high. + + I love ye, chimes of Motherland, + With all this soul of mine, + And bless the Lord that I am sprung + Of good old English line: + And like a son I sing the lay + That England's glory tells; + For she is lovely to the Lord, + For you, ye Christian bells! + + And heir of her historic fame, + Though far away my birth, + Thee, too, I love, my Forest-land, + The joy of all the earth; + For thine thy mother's voice shall be, + And here, where God is king, + With English chimes, from Christian spires, + The wilderness shall ring. + +ARTHUR CLEVELAND COXE. + + + * * * * * + +THE OLD VILLAGE CHOIR. + + + I have fancied, sometimes, the Bethel-bent beam, + That trembled to earth in the patriarch's dream, + Was a ladder of song in that wilderness rest, + From the pillar of stone to the blue of the blest. + And the angels descending to dwell with us here, + "Old Hundred," and "Corinth," and "China," and "Mear." + + "Let us sing to God's praise," the minister said. + All the psalm-books at once fluttered open at "York"; + Sunned their long dotted wings in the words that he read, + While the leader leaped into the tune just ahead, + And politely picked up the key-note with a fork; + And the vicious old viol went growling along + At the heels of the girls, in the rear of the song. + + All the hearts are not dead, not under the sod, + That those breaths can blow open to heaven and God! + Ah, "Silver Street" flows by a bright shining road,-- + Oh, not to the hymns that in harmony flowed,-- + But the sweet human psalms of the old-fashioned choir, + To the girl that sang alto--the girl that sang air! + + Oh, I need not a wing--bid no genii come + With a wonderful web from Arabian loom, + To bear me again up the river of Time, + When the world was in rhythm, and life was its rhyme-- + Where the streams of the years flowed so noiseless and narrow, + That across it there floated the song of the sparrow-- + + For a sprig of green caraway carries me there. + To the old village church, and the old village choir, + Where clear of the floor my feet slowly swung, + And timed the sweet pulse of the praise that they sung, + Till the glory aslant from the afternoon sun + Seemed the rafters of gold in God's temple begun! + + You may smile at the nasals of old Deacon Brown, + Who followed by scent, till he ran the tune down; + And dear Sister Green, with more goodness than grace, + Rose and fell on the tunes as she stood in her place, + And where "Coronation" exultingly flows, + Tried to reach the high notes on the tips of her toes! + + To the land of the leal they have gone with their song, + Where the choir and the chorus together belong, + Oh be lifted, ye gates! Let me hear them again-- + Blessed song, blessed singers! forever, Amen! + +BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR. + + + * * * * * + +A LANCASHIRE DOXOLOGY. + + "Some cotton has lately been imported into Farringdon, where + the mills have been closed for a considerable time. The + people, who were previously in the deepest distress, went out + to meet the cotton: the women wept over the bales and kissed + them, and finally sang the Doxology over them."--_Spectator_ + of May 14, 1803. + + + "Praise God from whom all blessings flow," + Praise him who sendeth joy and woe. + The Lord who takes, the Lord who gives, + O, praise him, all that dies, and lives. + + He opens and he shuts his hand, + But why we cannot understand: + Pours and dries up his mercies' flood, + And yet is still All-perfect Good. + + We fathom not the mighty plan, + The mystery of God and man; + We women, when afflictions come, + We only suffer and are dumb. + + And when, the tempest passing by, + He gleams out, sunlike through our sky, + We look up, and through black clouds riven + We recognize the smile of Heaven. + + Ours is no wisdom of the wise, + We have no deep philosophies; + Childlike we take both kiss and rod, + For he who loveth knoweth God. + +DINAH M. MULOCK CRAIK. + + + * * * * * + +REBECCA'S HYMN. + + FROM "IVANHOE." + + + When Israel, of the Lord beloved, + Out from the land of bondage came, + Her fathers' God before her moved, + An awful guide, in smoke and flame. + By day, along the astonished lands, + The cloudy pillar glided slow: + By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands + Returned the fiery column's glow. + + There rose the choral hymn of praise, + And trump and timbrel answered keen, + And Zion's daughters poured their lays, + With priest's and warrior's voice between. + No portents now our foes amaze, + Forsaken Israel wanders lone: + Our fathers would not know Thy ways, + And Thou hast left them to their own. + + But, present still, though now unseen! + When brightly shines the prosperous day, + Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen + To temper the deceitful ray. + And O, when stoops on Judah's path + In shade and storm the frequent night, + Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, + A burning and a shining light! + + Our harps we left by Babel's streams, + The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; + No censer round our altar beams, + And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. + But Thou hast said, "The blood of goat, + The flesh of rams, I will not prize; + A contrite heart, a humble thought, + Are mine accepted sacrifice." + +SIR WALTER SCOTT. + + + * * * * * + +THE BOOK OF GOD. + + + Thy thoughts are here, my God, + Expressed in words divine, + The utterance of heavenly lips + In every sacred line. + + Across the ages they + Have reached us from afar, + Than the bright gold more golden they, + Purer than purest star. + + More durable they stand + Than the eternal hills; + Far sweeter and more musical + Than music of earth's rills. + + Fairer in their fair hues + Than the fresh flowers of earth, + More fragrant than the fragrant climes + Where odors have their birth. + + Each word of thine a gem + From the celestial mines, + A sunbeam from that holy heaven + Where holy sunlight shines. + + Thine, thine, this book, though given + In man's poor human speech, + Telling of things unseen, unheard, + Beyond all human reach. + + No strength it craves or needs + From this world's wisdom vain; + No filling up from human wells, + Or sublunary rain. + + No light from sons of time, + Nor brilliance from its gold; + It sparkles with its own glad light, + As in the ages old. + + A thousand hammers keen, + With fiery force and strain, + Brought down on it in rage and hate, + Have struck this gem in vain. + + Against this sea-swept rock + Ten thousand storms their will + Of foam and rage have wildly spent; + It lifts its calm face still. + + It standeth and will stand, + Without or change or age, + The word of majesty and light, + The church's heritage. + +HORATIUS BONAR. + + + * * * * * + +THE MEETING. + + + The elder folk shook hands at last, + Down seat by seat the signal passed. + To simple ways like ours unused, + Half solemnized and half amused, + With long-drawn breath and shrug, my guest + His sense of glad relief expressed. + Outside, the hills lay warm in sun; + The cattle in the meadow-run + Stood half-leg deep; a single bird + The green repose above us stirred. + "What part or lot have you," he said, + "In these dull rites of drowsy-head? + Is silence worship? Seek it where + It soothes with dreams the summer air; + Not in this close and rude-benched hall, + But where soft lights and shadows fall, + And all the slow, sleep-walking hours + Glide soundless over grass and flowers! + From time and place and form apart, + Its holy ground the human heart, + Nor ritual-bound nor templeward + Walks the free spirit of the Lord! + Our common Master did not pen + His followers up from other men; + His service liberty indeed, + He built no church, he framed no creed; + But while the saintly Pharisee + Made broader his phylactery, + As from the synagogue was seen + The dusty-sandalled Nazarene + Through ripening cornfields lead the way + Upon the awful Sabbath day, + His sermons were the healthful talk + That shorter made the mountain-walk, + His wayside texts were flowers and birds, + Where mingled with his gracious words + The rustle of the tamarisk-tree + And ripple-wash of Galilee." + + "Thy words are well, O friend," I said; + "Unmeasured and unlimited, + With noiseless slide of stone to stone, + The mystic Church of God has grown. + Invisible and silent stands + The temple never made with hands, + Unheard the voices still and small + Of its unseen confessional. + He needs no special place of prayer + Whose hearing ear is everywhere; + He brings not back the childish days + That ringed the earth with stones of praise, + Roofed Karnak's hall of gods, and laid + The plinths of Philae's colonnade. + Still less he owns the selfish good + And sickly growth of solitude,-- + The worthless grace that, out of sight, + Flowers in the desert anchorite; + Dissevered from the suffering whole, + Love hath no power to save a soul. + Not out of Self, the origin + And native air and soil of sin, + The living waters spring and flow, + The trees with leaves of healing grow. + + "Dream not, O friend, because I seek + This quiet shelter twice a week, + I better deem its pine-laid floor + Than breezy hill or sea-sung shore; + But nature is not solitude; + She crowds us with her thronging wood; + Her many hands reach out to us, + Her many tongues are garrulous; + Perpetual riddles of surprise + She offers to our ears and eyes; + She will not leave our senses still, + But drags them captive at her will; + And, making earth too great for heaven, + She hides the Giver in the given. + + "And so I find it well to come + For deeper rest to this still room, + For here the habit of the soul + Feels less the outer world's control; + The strength of mutual purpose pleads + More earnestly our common needs; + And from the silence multiplied + By these still forms on either side, + The world that time and sense have known + Falls off and leaves us God alone. + + "Yet rarely through the charmed repose + Unmixed the stream of motive flows, + A flavor of its many springs, + The tints of earth and sky it brings; + In the still waters needs must be + Some shade of human sympathy; + And here, in its accustomed place, + I look on memory's dearest face; + The blind by-sitter guesseth not + What shadow haunts that vacant spot; + No eyes save mine alone can see + The love wherewith it welcomes me! + And still, with those alone my kin, + In doubt and weakness, want and sin, + I bow my head, my heart I bare + As when that face was living there, + And strive (too oft, alas! in vain) + The peace of simple trust to gain, + Fold fancy's restless wings, and lay + The idols of my heart away. + + "Welcome the silence all unbroken, + Nor less the words of fitness spoken,-- + Such golden words as hers for whom + Our autumn flowers have just made room; + Whose hopeful utterance through and through + The freshness of the morning blew; + Who loved not less the earth that light + Fell on it from the heavens in sight, + But saw in all fair forms more fair + The Eternal beauty mirrored there. + Whose eighty years but added grace + And saintlier meaning to her face,-- + The look of one who bore away + Glad tidings from the hills of day, + While all our hearts went forth to meet + The coming of her beautiful feet! + Or haply hers whose pilgrim tread + Is in the paths where Jesus led; + Who dreams her childhood's Sabbath dream + By Jordan's willow-shaded stream, + And, of the hymns of hope and faith, + Sang by the monks of Nazareth, + Hears pious echoes, in the call + To prayer, from Moslem minarets fall, + Repeating where His works were wrought + The lesson that her Master taught, + Of whom an elder Sibyl gave, + The prophecies of Cumae's cave! + + "I ask no organ's soulless breath + To drone the themes of life and death, + No altar candle-lit by day, + No ornate wordsman's rhetoric-play, + No cool philosophy to teach + Its bland audacities of speech + To double-tasked idolaters, + Themselves their gods and worshippers, + No pulpit hammered by the fist + Of loud-asserting dogmatist, + Who borrows for the hand of love + The smoking thunderbolts of Jove. + I know how well the fathers taught, + What work the later schoolmen wrought; + I reverence old-time faith and men, + But God is near us now as then; + His force of love is still unspent, + His hate of sin as imminent; + And still the measure of our needs + Outgrows the cramping bounds of creeds; + The manna gathered yesterday + Already savors of decay; + Doubts to the world's child-heart unknown + Question us now from star and stone; + Too little or too much we know, + And sight is swift and faith is slow; + The power is lost to self-deceive + With shallow forms of make-believe. + We walk at high noon, and the bells + Call to a thousand oracles, + But the sound deafens, and the light + Is stronger than our dazzled sight; + The letters of the sacred Book + Glimmer and swim beneath our look; + Still struggles in the Age's breast + With deepening agony of quest + The old entreaty: 'Art thou He, + Or look we for the Christ to be?' + + "God should be most where man is least; + So, where is neither church nor priest, + And never rag of form or creed + To clothe the nakedness of need,-- + Where farmer-folk in silence meet,-- + I turn my bell-unsummoned feet; + I lay the critic's glass aside, + I tread upon my lettered pride, + And, lowest-seated, testify + To the oneness of humanity; + Confess the universal want, + And share whatever Heaven may grant. + He findeth not who seeks his own, + The soul is lost that's saved alone. + Not on one favored forehead fell + Of old the fire-tongued miracle, + But flamed o'er all the thronging host + The baptism of the Holy Ghost; + Heart answers heart: in one desire + The blending lines of prayer aspire; + 'Where, in my name, meet two or three,' + Our Lord hath said, 'I there will be!' + + "So sometimes comes to soul and sense + The feeling which is evidence + That very near about us lies + The realm of spiritual mysteries. + The sphere of the supernal powers + Impinges on this world of ours. + The low and dark horizon lifts, + To light the scenic terror shifts; + The breath of a diviner air + Blows down the answer of a prayer:-- + That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt + A great compassion clasps about, + And law and goodness, love and force, + Are wedded fast beyond divorce. + Then duty leaves to love its task, + The beggar Self forgets to ask; + With smile of trust and folded hands, + The passive soul in waiting stands + To feel, as flowers the sun and dew, + The One true Life its own renew. + + "So, to the calmly gathered thought + The innermost of truth is taught, + The mystery dimly understood, + That love of God is love of good, + And, chiefly, its divinest trace + In Him of Nazareth's holy face; + That to be saved is only this,-- + Salvation from our selfishness, + From more than elemental fire, + The soul's unsanctified desire, + From sin itself, and not the pain + That warns us of its chafing chain; + That worship's deeper meaning lies + In mercy, and not sacrifice, + Not proud humilities of sense + And posturing of penitence, + But love's unforced obedience; + That Book and Church and Day are given + For man, not God,--for earth, not heaven,-- + The blessed means to holiest ends, + Not masters, but benignant friends; + That the dear Christ dwells not afar, + The king of some remoter star, + Listening, at times, with flattered ear, + To homage wrung from selfish fear, + But here, amidst the poor and blind, + The bound and suffering of our kind, + In works we do, in prayers we pray, + Life of our life, He lives to-day." + +JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER + + + * * * * * + +THE LIVING TEMPLE. + + + Nor in the world of light alone, + Where God has built his blazing throne, + Nor yet alone in earth below, + With belted seas that come and go, + And endless isles of sunlit green, + Is all thy Maker's glory seen: + Look in upon thy wondrous frame,-- + Eternal wisdom still the same! + + The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves + Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, + Whose streams of brightening purple rush, + Fired with a new and livelier blush, + While all their burden of decay + The ebbing current steals away, + And red with Nature's flame they start + From the warm fountains of the heart. + + No rest that throbbing slave may ask, + Forever quivering o'er his task, + While far and wide a crimson jet + Leaps forth to fill the woven net + Which in unnumbered crossing tides + The flood of burning life divides, + Then, kindling each decaying part, + Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. + + But warmed with that unchanging flame + Behold the outward moving frame, + Its living marbles jointed strong + With glistening band and silvery thong, + And linked to reason's guiding reins + By myriad rings in trembling chains, + Each graven with the threaded zone + Which claims it as the Master's own. + + See how yon beam of seeming white + Is braided out of seven-hued light, + Yet in those lucid globes no ray + By any chance shall break astray. + Hark, how the rolling surge of sound, + Arches and spirals circling round, + Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear + With music it is heaven to hear. + + Then mark the cloven sphere that holds + All thought in its mysterious folds, + That feels sensation's faintest thrill, + And flashes forth the sovereign will; + Think on the stormy world that dwells + Locked in its dim and clustering cells! + The lightning gleams of power it sheds + Along its hollow glassy threads! + + O Father! grant thy love divine + To make these mystic temples thine! + When wasting age and wearying strife + Have sapped the leaning walls of life, + When darkness gathers over all, + And the last tottering pillars-fall, + Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, + And mould it into heavenly forms! + +OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. + + + * * * * * + +OF HYM THAT TOGYDER WYLL SERVE TWO MAYSTERS. + + + A Fole he is and voyde of reason + Whiche with one hounde tendyth to take + Two harys in one instant and season; + Rightso is he that wolde undertake + Hym to two lordes a servaunt to make; + For whether that he be lefe or lothe, + The one he shall displease, or els bothe. + + A fole also he is withouten doute, + And in his porpose sothly blyndyd sore, + Which doth entende labour or go aboute + To serve god, and also his wretchyd store + Of worldly ryches: for as I sayde before, + He that togyder will two maysters serve + Shall one displease and nat his love deserve. + + For be that with one hounde wol take also + Two harys togyther in one instant + For the moste parte doth the both two forgo, + And if he one have: harde it is and skant + And that blynd fole mad and ignorant + That draweth thre boltis atons[A] in one bowe + At one marke shall shote to[o] high or to[o] lowe. + He that his mynde settyth god truly to serve + And his sayntes: this worlde settynge at nought + Shall for rewarde everlastynge joy deserve, + But in this worlde he that settyth his thought + All men to please, and in favour to be brought, + Must lout and lurke, flater, laude, and lye: + And cloke in knavys counseyll, though it fals be. + + Wherfore I may prove by these examples playne + That it is better more godly and plesant + To leve this mondayne casualte and payne + And to thy maker one god to be servaunt. + Which whyle thou lyvest shall nat let the want + That thou desyrest justly, for thy syrvyce, + And than after gyve the, the joyes of Paradyse. + +From the German of SEBASTIAN BRANDT. + +Translation of ALEXANDER BARCLAY. + +[Footnote A: At once.] + + + * * * * * + +RELIGION AND DOCTRINE. + + + He stood before the Sanhedrim; + The scowling rabbis gazed at him; + He recked not of their praise or blame; + There was no fear, there was no shame + For one upon whose dazzled eyes + The whole world poured its vast surprise. + The open heaven was far too near, + His first day's light too sweet and clear, + To let him waste his new-gained ken + On the hate-clouded face of men. + + But still they questioned, Who art thou? + What hast thou been? What art thou now? + Thou art not he who yesterday + Sat here and begged beside the way, + For he was blind. + _And I am he; + For I was blind, but now I see_. + + He told the story o'er and o'er; + It was his full heart's only lore; + A prophet on the Sabbath day + Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, + And made him see, who had been blind. + Their words passed by him like the wind + Which raves and howls, but cannot shock + The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. + + Their threats and fury all went wide; + They could not touch his Hebrew pride; + Their sneers at Jesus and his band, + Nameless and homeless in the land, + Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, + All could not change him by one word. + + _I know not that this man may be, + Sinner or saint; but as for me, + One thing I know, that I am he + Who once was blind, and now I see_. + + They were all doctors of renown, + The great men of a famous town, + With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, + Beneath their wide phylacteries; + The wisdom of the East was theirs, + And honor crowned their silver hairs; + The man they jeered and laughed to scorn + Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; + But he knew better far than they + What came to him that Sabbath day; + And what the Christ had done for him, + He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. + +JOHN HAY. + + + * * * * * + +RABBI BEN EZRA. + + + Grow old along with me! + The best is yet to be, + The last of life, for which the first I was made: + Our times are in his hand + Who saith "A whole I planned + Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!" + + Not that, amassing flowers, + Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, + Which lily leave and then as best recall?" + Not that, admiring stars, + It yearned, "Nor Jove, nor Mars; + Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all!" + + Not for such hopes and fears, + Annulling youth's brief years, + Do I remonstrate--folly wide the mark! + Rather I prize the doubt + Low kinds exist without, + Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. + + Poor vaunt of life indeed, + Were man but formed to feed + On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: + Such feasting ended, then + As sure an end to men; + Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? + + Rejoice we are allied + To That which doth provide + And not partake, effect and not receive! + A spark disturbs our clod; + Nearer we hold of God + Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must believe. + + Then, welcome each rebuff + That turns earth's smoothness rough, + Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go! + Be our joys three parts pain! + Strive, and hold cheap the strain; + Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! + + For thence--a paradox + Which comforts while it mocks-- + Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: + What I aspired to be, + And was not, comforts me: + A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. + + What is he but a brute + Whose flesh hath soul to suit, + Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? + To man, propose this test-- + Thy body at its best, + How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? + + Yet gifts should prove their use: + I own the Past profuse + Of power each side, perfection every turn: + Eyes, ears took in their dole, + Brain treasured up the whole; + Should not the heart beat once, "How good to live and learn?" + + Not once beat "Praise be Thine! + I see the whole design, + I, who saw Power, shall see Love perfect too: + Perfect I call Thy plan: + Thanks that I was a man! + Maker, remake, complete--I trust what Thou shalt do!" + + For pleasant is this flesh; + Our soul, in its rose-mesh + Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: + Would we some prize might hold + To match those manifold + Possessions of the brute--gain most, as we did best! + + Let us not always say, + "Spite of this flesh to-day. + I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!" + As the bird wings and sings, + Let us cry, "All good things + Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!" + + Therefore I summon age + To grant youth's heritage, + Life's struggle having so far reached its term: + Thence shall I pass, approved + A man, for aye removed + From the developed brute; a God though in the germ. + + And I shall thereupon + Take rest, ere I be gone + Once more on my adventure brave and new: + Fearless and unperplexed, + When I wage battle next, + What weapons to select, what armor to indue. + + Youth ended, I shall try + My gain or loss thereby; + Be the fire ashes, what survives is gold: + And I shall weigh the same. + Give life its praise or blame: + Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. + + For note, when evening shuts, + A certain moment cuts + The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: + A whisper from the west + Shoots--"Add this to the rest, + Take it and try its worth: here dies another day." + + So, still within this life, + Though lifted o'er its strife, + Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, + "This rage was right i' the main, + That acquiescence vain: + The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." + + For more is not reserved + To man, with soul just nerved + To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: + Here, work enough to watch + The Master work, and catch + Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. + As it was better, youth + Should strive, through acts uncouth, + Toward making, than repose on aught found made; + So, better, age, exempt + From strife, should know, than tempt + Further. Thou waitedst age; wait death nor be afraid! + + Enough now, if the Right + And Good and Infinite + Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, + With knowledge absolute, + Subject to no dispute + From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. + + Be there, for once and all, + Severed great minds from small, + Announced to each his station in the Past! + Was I, the world arraigned, + Were they, my soul disdained, + Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! + + Now, who shall arbitrate? + Ten men love what I hate, + Shun what I follow, slight what I receive: + Ten, who in ears and eyes + Match me: we all surmise, + They, this thing, and I, that: whom shall my soul believe? + + Not on the vulgar mass + Called "work," must sentence pass, + Things done, that took the eye and had the price; + O'er which, from level stand, + The low world laid its hand, + Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: + + But all, the world's coarse thumb + And finger failed to plumb, + So passed in making up the main account; + All instincts immature, + All purposes unsure, + That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: + + Thoughts hardly to be packed + Into a narrow act, + Fancies that broke through language and escaped; + All I could never be, + All, men ignored in me, + This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. + + Ay, note that Potter's wheel, + That metaphor! and feel + Why time spins fast; why passive lies our clay,-- + Thou, to whom fools propound, + When the wine makes its round, + "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" + + Fool! All that is, at all, + Lasts ever, past recall; + Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: + What entered into thee, + _That_ was, is, and shall be: + Time's wheel runs back or stops; Potter and clay endure. + + He fixed thee 'mid this dance + Of plastic circumstance, + This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: + Machinery just meant + To give thy soul its bent, + Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. + + What though the earlier grooves + Which ran the laughing loves + Around thy base, no longer pause and press? + What though, about thy rim, + Scull-things in order grim + Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? + + Look not thou down, but up! + To uses of a cup, + The festal board, lamp's flash, and trumpet's peal, + The new wine's foaming flow, + The Master's lips aglow! + Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel? + + But I need, now as then, + Thee, God, who mouldest men; + And since, not even while the whirl was worst, + Did I--to the wheel of life + With shapes and colors rife, + Bound dizzily--mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst: + + So, take and use Thy work! + Amend what flaws may lurk, + What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim! + My times be in _Thy_ hand! + Perfect the cup as planned! + Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same! + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +THE RELIGION OF HUDIBRAS. + + FROM "HUDIBRAS," PART I. + + + He was of that stubborn crew + Of errant saints, whom all men grant + To be the true church militant; + Such as do build their faith upon + The holy text of pike and gun; + Decide all controversies by + Infallible artillery, + And prove their doctrine orthodox + By apostolic blows and knocks; + Call fire, and sword, and desolation + A godly, thorough Reformation, + Which always must be carried on + And still be doing, never done; + As if religion were intended + For nothing else but to be mended. + A sect whose chief devotion lies + In odd perverse antipathies; + In falling out with that or this, + And finding somewhat still amiss; + More peevish, cross, and splenetic, + Than dog distract, or monkey sick; + That with more care keep holiday + The wrong than others the right way; + Compound for sins they are inclined to, + By damning those they have no mind to; + Still so perverse and opposite, + As if they worshipped God for spite; + The self-same thing they will abhor + One way, and long another for. + +SAMUEL BUTLER. + + + * * * * * + +THE PROBLEM. + + + I like a church; I like a cowl; + I love a prophet of the soul; + And on my heart monastic aisles + Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles; + Yet not for all his faith can see + Would I that cowled churchman be. + Why should the vest on him allure, + Which I could not on me endure? + + Not from a vain or shallow thought + His awful Jove young Phidias brought; + Never from lips of cunning fell + The thrilling Delphic oracle: + Out from the heart of nature rolled + The burdens of the Bible old; + The litanies of nations came, + Like the volcano's tongue of flame, + Up from the burning core below,-- + The canticles of love and woe. + The hand that rounded Peters dome, + And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, + Wrought in a sad sincerity; + Himself from God he could not free; + He builded better than he knew;-- + The conscious stone to beauty grew. + + Knowest thou what wove yon woodbird's nest + Of leaves, and feathers from her breast? + Or how the fish outbuilt her shell. + Painting with morn each annual cell? + Or how the sacred pine-tree adds + To her old leaves new myriads? + Such and so grew these holy piles, + Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. + Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, + As the best gem upon her zone; + And Morning opes with haste her lids, + To gaze upon the Pyramids; + O'er England's abbeys bends the sky, + As on its friends, with kindred eye; + For, out of Thought's interior sphere, + These wonders rose to upper air; + And Nature gladly gave them place, + Adopted them into her race, + And granted them an equal date + With Andes and with Ararat. + + These temples grew as grows the grass; + Art might obey, but not surpass. + The passive Master lent his hand + To the vast Soul that o'er him planned; + And the same power that reared the shrine + Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. + Ever the fiery Pentecost + Girds with one flame the countless host, + Trances the heart through chanting choirs, + And through the priest the mind inspires. + The word unto the prophet spoken + Was writ on tables yet unbroken; + The word by seers or sibyls told, + In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, + Still floats upon the morning wind, + Still whispers to the willing mind. + One accent of the Holy Ghost + The heedless world hath never lost. + I know what say the fathers wise,-- + The Book itself before me lies,-- + Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, + And he who blent both in his line, + The younger Golden Lips or mines, + Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines. + His words are music in my ear, + I see his cowled portrait dear; + And yet, for all his faith could see, + I would not the good bishop be. + +RALPH WALDO EMERSON. + + + * * * * * + +ON AN INFANT + + WHICH DIED BEFORE BAPTISM. + + + "Be, rather than be called, a child of God," + Death whispered!--with assenting nod, + Its head upon its mother's breast, + The baby bowed, without demur-- + Of the kingdom of the Blest + Possessor, not inheritor. + +SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. + + + * * * * * + +WHAT WAS HIS CREED? + + "Religion relates to life, and the life of religion is to do + good."--SWEDENBORG. + + + He left a load of anthracite + In front of a poor woman's door. + When the deep snow, frozen and white, + Wrapped street and square, mountain and moor. + That was his deed. + He did it well. + "What was his creed?" + I cannot tell. + + Blessed "in his basket and his store," + In sitting down and rising up; + When more he got, he gave the more, + Withholding not the crust and cup. + He took the lead + In each good task. + "What was his creed?" + I did not ask. + + His charity was like the snow, + Soft, white, and silent in its fall; + Not like the noisy winds that blow + From shivering trees the leaves,--a pall + For flowers and weed, + Drooping below. + "What was his creed?" + The poor may know. + + He had great faith in loaves of bread + For hungry people, young and old, + Hope he inspired; kind words he said + To those he sheltered from the cold. + For we should feed + As well as pray. + "What was his creed?" + I cannot say. + + In words he did not put his trust; + His faith in words he never writ; + He loved to share his cup and crust + With all mankind who needed it. + In time of need + A friend was he. + "What was his creed?" + He told not me. + + He put his trust in heaven, and he + Worked well with hand and head; + And what he gave in charity + Sweetened his sleep and daily bread. + Let us take heed, + For life is brief. + What was his creed--What + his belief? + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +THE PHILOSOPHER TOAD. + + + Down deep in the hollow, so damp and so cold, + Where oaks are by ivy o'ergrown, + The gray moss and lichen creep over the mould, + Lying loose on a ponderous stone. + Now within this huge stone, like a king on his throne, + A toad has been sitting more years than is known; + And, strange as it seems, yet he constantly deems + The world standing still while he's dreaming his dreams,-- + Does this wonderful toad in his cheerful abode + In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone, + By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. + + Down deep in the hollow, from morning till night, + Dun shadows glide over the ground, + Where a watercourse once, as it sparkled with light, + Turned a ruined old mill-wheel around: + Long years have passed by since its bed became dry, + And the trees grow so close, scarce a glimpse of the sky + Is seen in the hollow, so dark and so damp, + Where the glow-worm at noonday is trimming his lamp, + And hardly a sound from the thicket around, + Where the rabbit and squirrel leap over the ground, + Is heard by the toad in his spacious abode + In the innermost heart of that ponderous stone, + By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. + + Down deep in that hollow the bees never come, + The shade is too black for a flower; + And jewel-winged birds with their musical hum, + Never flash in the night of that bower; + But the cold-blooded snake, in the edge of the brake, + Lies amid the rank grass, half asleep, half awake; + And the ashen-white snail, with the slime in, its trail, + Moves wearily on like a life's tedious tale, + Yet disturbs not the toad in his spacious abode, + In the innermost heart of that flinty old stone, + By the gray-haired moss and the lichen o'ergrown. + + Down deep in a hollow some wiseacres sit, + Like a toad in his cell in the stone; + Around them in daylight the blind owlets flit, + And their creeds are with ivy o'ergrown;-- + Their stream may go dry, and the wheels cease to ply, + And their glimpses be few of the sun and the sky, + Still they hug to their breast every time-honored guest. + And slumber and doze in inglorious rest; + For no progress they find in the wide sphere of mind, + And the world's standing still with all of their kind; + Contented to dwell deep down in the well, + Or move like a snail in the crust of his shell, + Or live like the toad in his narrow abode, + With their souls closely wedged in a thick wall of stone, + By the gray weeds of prejudice rankly o'ergrown. + +REBECCA S. NICHOLS. + + + * * * * * + +HER CREED. + + + She stood before a chosen few, + With modest air and eyes of blue; + A gentle creature, in whose face + Were mingled tenderness and grace. + + "You wish to join our fold," they said: + "Do you believe in all that's read + From ritual and written creed, + Essential to our human need?" + + A troubled look was in her eyes; + She answered, as in vague surprise. + As though the sense to her were dim, + "I only strive to follow Him." + + They knew her life; how, oft she stood, + Sweet in her guileless maidenhood, + By dying bed, in hovel lone, + Whose sorrow she had made her own. + + Oft had her voice in prayer been heard, + Sweet as the voice of singing bird; + Her hand been open in distress; + Her joy to brighten and to bless. + + Yet still she answered, when they sought + To know her inmost earnest thought, + With look as of the seraphim, + "I only strive to follow Him." + + Creeds change as ages come and go; + We see by faith, but little know: + Perchance the sense was not so dim + To her who "strove to follow Him." + +SARAH KNOWLES BOLTON. + + + * * * * * + +MY CREED. + + + I hold that Christian grace abounds + Where charity is seen; that when + We climb to heaven, 't is on the rounds + Of love to men. + + I hold all else, named piety, + A selfish scheme, a vain pretence; + Where centre is not--can there be + Circumference? + + This I moreover hold, and dare + Affirm where'er my rhyme may go,-- + Whatever things be sweet or fair, + Love makes them so. + + Whether it be the lullabies + That charm to rest the nursling bird, + Or the sweet confidence of sighs + And blushes, made without a word. + + Whether the dazzling and the flush + Of softly sumptuous garden bowers, + Or by some cabin door, a bush + Of ragged flowers. + + 'Tis not the wide phylactery, + Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, + That make us saints: we judge the tree + By what it bears. + + And when a man can live apart + From works, on theologic trust, + I know the blood about his heart + Is dry as dust. + +ALICE CAREY. + + + * * * * * + +GIVE ME THY HEART. + + + With echoing steps the worshippers + Departed one by one; + The organ's pealing voice was stilled, + The vesper hymn was done; + The shadow fell from roof and arch, + Dim was the incensed air, + One lamp alone, with trembling ray, + Told of the Presence there! + + In the dark church she knelt alone; + Her tears were falling fast; + "Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death + Upon my soul are cast! + Have I not shunned the path of sin, + And chose the better part? "-- + What voice came through the sacred air?-- + _"My child, give me thy heart!"_ + + "Have not I laid before thy shrine + My wealth, O Lord?" she cried; + "Have I kept aught of gems or gold, + To minister to pride? + Have I not bade youth's joys retire, + And vain delights depart?"-- + But sad and tender was the voice,-- + _"My child, give me thy heart!"_ + + "Have I not, Lord, gone day by day + Where thy poor children dwell; + And carried help, and gold, and food? + O Lord, thou know'st it well! + From many a house, from many a soul, + My hand bids care depart":-- + More sad, more tender was the voice,-- + _"My child, give me thy heart!"_ + + "Have I not worn my strength away + With fast and penance sore? + Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; + "Did thy dear saints do more? + Have I not gained thy grace, O Lord, + And won in heaven my part?"-- + It echoed louder in her soul,-- + "_My child, give me thy heart_! + + "For I have loved thee with a love + No mortal heart can show; + A love so deep my saints in heaven + Its depths can never know: + When pierced and wounded on the cross, + Man's sin and doom were mine, + I loved thee with undying love, + Immortal and divine! + + "I loved thee ere the skies were spread; + My soul bears all thy pains; + To gain thy love my sacred heart + In earthly shrines remains: + Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs, + Without one gift divine; + Give it, my child, thy heart to me, + And it shall rest in mine!" + + In awe she listened, as the shade + Passed from her soul away; + In low and trembling voice she cried,-- + "Lord, help me to obey! + Break thou the chains of earth, O Lord, + That bind and hold my heart; + Let it be thine and thine alone, + Let none with thee have part. + + "Send down, O Lord, thy sacred fire! + Consume and cleanse the sin + That lingers still within its depths: + Let heavenly love begin. + That sacred flame thy saints have known, + Kindle, O Lord, in me, + Thou above all the rest forever, + And all the rest in thee." + + The blessing fell upon her soul; + Her angel by her side + Knew that the hour of peace was come; + Her soul was purified; + The shadows fell from roof and arch, + Dim was the incensed air,-- + But peace went with her as she left + The sacred Presence there! + +ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTOR. + + + * * * * * + +O, MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE! + + + O, may I join the choir invisible + Of those immortal dead who live again + In minds made better by their presence; live + In pulses stirred to generosity, + In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn + Of miserable aims that end with self, + In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, + And with their mild persistence urge men's minds + To vaster issues. + So to live is heaven: + To make undying music in the world, + Breathing a beauteous order that controls + With growing sway the growing life of man. + So we inherit that sweet purity + For which we struggled, failed, and agonized + With widening retrospect that bred despair. + Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, + A vicious parent shaming still its child, + Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; + Its discords quenched by meeting harmonies, + Die in the large and charitable air. + And all our rarer, better, truer self, + That sobbed religiously in yearning song, + That watched to ease the burden of the world, + Laboriously tracing what must be, + And what may yet be better,--saw within + A worthier image for the sanctuary, + And shaped it forth before the multitude, + Divinely human, raising worship so + To higher reverence more mixed with love, + That better self shall live till human Time + Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky + Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, + Unread forever. + This is life to come, + Which martyred men have made more glorious + For us, who strive to follow. + May I reach + That purest heaven,--be to other souls + The cup of strength in some great agony, + Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, + Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, + Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, + And in diffusion ever more intense! + So shall I join the choir invisible, + Whose music is the gladness of the world. + +MARIAN EVANS LEWES CROSS (_George Eliot_). + + + * * * * * + +O YET WE TRUST THAT SOMEHOW GOOD. + + FROM "IN MEMORIAM," LIII. + + + O yet we trust that somehow good + Will be the final goal of ill, + To pangs of nature, sins of will, + Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; + + That nothing walks with aimless feet; + That not one life shall be destroyed, + Or cast as rubbish to the void, + When God hath made the pile complete; + + That not a worm is cloven in vain; + That not a moth with vain desire + Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, + Or but subserves another's gain. + + Behold, we know not anything; + I can but trust that good shall fall + At last--far off--at last, to all, + And every winter change to spring. + + So runs my dream: but what am I? + An infant crying in the night: + An infant crying for the light: + And with no language but a cry. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +DAY BREAKS. + + + What dost thou see, lone watcher on the tower. + Is the day breaking? Comes the wished-for hour? + Tell us the signs, and stretch abroad thy hand, + If the bright morning dawns upon the land. + + "The stars are clear above me; scarcely one + Has dimmed its rays in reverence to the sun; + But I yet see on the horizon's verge + Some fair, faint streaks, as if the light would surge." + + Look forth again, O watcher on the tower,-- + The people wake and languish for the hour; + Long have they dwelt in darkness, and they pine + For the full daylight that they know must shine. + + "I see not well,--the moon is cloudy still,-- + There is a radiance on the distant hill; + Even as I watch the glory seems to grow; + But the stars blink, and the night breezes blow." + + And is that all, O watcher on the tower? + Look forth again; it must be near the hour; + Dost thou not see the snowy mountain copes, + And the green woods beneath them on the slopes? + + "A mist envelops them; I cannot trace + Their outline; but the day comes on apace: + The clouds roll up in gold and amber flakes, + And all the stars grow dim; the morning breaks." + + We thank thee, lonely watcher on the tower: + But look again, and tell us, hour by hour, + All thou beholdest: many of us die + Ere the day comes; oh, give them a reply! + + "I see the hill-tops now, and chanticleer + Crows his prophetic carol on mine ear; + I see the distant woods and fields of corn, + And ocean gleaming in the light of morn." + + Again, again, O watcher on the tower! + We thirst for daylight, and we bide the hour, + Patient, but longing. Tell us, shall it be + A bright, calm, glorious daylight for the free? + + "I hope, but cannot tell; I hear a song, + Vivid as day itself, and clear and strong, + As of a lark--young prophet of the noon-- + Pouring in sunlight his seraphic tune." + + What doth he say, O watcher on the tower? + Is he a prophet? does the dawning hour + Inspire his music? Is his chant sublime, + Filled with the glories of the future time? + + "He prophesies,--his heart is full; his lay + Tells of the brightness of a peaceful day; + A day not cloudless, nor devoid of storm, + But sunny for the most, and clear and warm." + + We thank thee, watcher on the lonely tower, + For all thou tellest. Sings he of an hour + When error shall decay, and truth grow strong, + And light shall rule supreme and conquer wrong? + + "He sings of brotherhood and joy and peace, + Of days when jealousies and hate shall cease; + When war shall cease, and man's progressive mind + Soar as unfettered as its God designed." + + Well done, thou watcher on the lonely tower! + Is the day breaking? Dawns the happy hour? + We pine to see it; tell us yet again + If the broad daylight breaks upon the plain? + + "It breaks! it comes! the misty shadows fly: + A rosy radiance gleams upon the sky; + The mountain-tops reflect it calm and clear, + The plain is yet in shade, but day is near." + +CHARLES MACKAY. + + + * * * * * + +MY HOME. + + A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR A HOUSE IN THE GREEN PARISH OF + DEVONSHIRE. + + + Lord, thou hast given me a cell + Wherein to dwell, + A little house, whose humble roof + Is weather proof; + Under the sparres of which I lie, + Both soft and drie; + Where thou, my chamber for to ward, + Hast set a guard + Of harmlesse thoughts, to watch and keep + Me while I sleep. + Low is my porch, as is my fate; + Both void of state; + And yet the threshold of my doore + Is worn by the poore, + Who hither come and freely get + Good words or meat. + Like as my parlour, so my hall + And kitchen's small; + A little butterie, and therein + A little byn, + Which keeps my little loafe of bread + Unchipt, unflead. + Some sticks of thorn or briar + Make me a fire, + Close by whose loving coals I sit, + And glow like it. + Lord, I confesse too, when I dine, + The pulse is thine, + And all those other bits that bee + There placed by thee; + The worts, the purslain, and the messe + Of water-cresse, + Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; + And my content + Makes those and my beloved beet + More sweet. + 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth + With guiltlesse mirth, + And giv'st me wassaile bowles to drink, + Spiced to the brink. + Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand + That soiles my land, + And gives me for my bushel sowne, + Twice ten for one. + Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay + Her egg each day, + Besides my healthful ewes to bear + Me twins each yeare; + The while the conduits of my kine + Run creame for wine. + All these and better thou dost send + Me to this end, + That I should render, for my part, + _A thankfulle heart,_ + Which, fired with incense, I resigne + As wholly thine; + But the acceptance, that must be, + MY CHRIST, by thee. + +ROBERT HERRICK. + + + * * * * * + +PEACE. + + + Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave. + Let me once know. + I sought thee in a secret cave; + And asked if Peace were there. + A hollow wind did seem to answer, "No! + Go, seek elsewhere." + + I did; and, going, did a rainbow note: + "Surely," thought I, + "This is the lace of Peace's coat. + I will search out the matter." + But, while I looked, the clouds immediately + Did break and scatter. + + Then went I to a garden, and did spy + A gallant flower,-- + The crown-imperial. "Sure," said I, + "Peace at the root must dwell." + But, when I digged, I saw a worm devour + What showed so well. + + At length I met a reverend, good old man; + Whom when for Peace + I did demand, he thus began: + "There was a prince of old + At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase + Of flock and fold. + + "He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save + His life from foes. + But, after death, out of his grave + There sprang twelve stalks of wheat; + Which many wondering at, got some of those + To plant and set. + + "It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse + Through all the earth. + For they that taste it do rehearse, + That virtue lies therein,-- + A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth, + By flight of sin. + + "Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, + And grows for you: + Make bread of it; and that repose + And peace which everywhere + With so much earnestness you do pursue, + Is only there." + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + + * * * * * + +PEACE. + + + Is this the peace of God, this strange sweet calm? + The weary day is at its zenith still, + Yet 't is as if beside some cool, clear rill, + Through shadowy stillness rose an evening psalm. + And all the noise of life were hushed away, + And tranquil gladness reigned with gently soothing sway. + + It was not so just now. I turned aside + With aching head, and heart most sorely bowed; + Around me cares and griefs in crushing crowd. + While inly rose the sense, in swelling tide, + Of weakness, insufficiency, and sin, + And fear, and gloom, and doubt in mighty flood rolled in. + + That rushing flood I had no power to meet, + Nor power to flee: my present, future, past, + Myself, my sorrow, and my sin I cast + In utter helplessness at Jesu's feet: + Then bent me to the storm, if such his will. + He saw the winds and waves, and whispered. + "Peace, be still!" + + And there was calm! O Saviour, I have proved + That thou to help and save art really near: + How else this quiet rest from grief and fear + And all distress? The cross is not removed, + I must go forth to bear it as before, + But, leaning on thine arm, I dread its weight no more. + + Is it indeed thy peace? I have not tried + To analyze my faith, dissect my trust, + Or measure if belief be full and just, + And therefore claim thy peace. But thou hast died, + I know that this is true for me, + And, knowing it, I come, and cast my all on thee. + + It is not that I feel less weak, but thou + Wilt be my strength; it is not that I see + Less sin, but more of pardoning love with thee, + And all-sufficient grace. Enough! and now + All fluttering thought is stilled, I only rest, + And feel that thou art near, and know that I am blest. + +FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. + + + * * * * * + +LIVING WATERS. + + + There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and deep + As ever Summer saw; + And cool their water is,--yea, cool and sweet;-- + But you must come to draw. + They hoard not, yet they rest in calm content, + And not unsought will give; + They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, + So self-contained they live. + + And there are some like springs, that bubbling burst + To follow dusty ways, + And run with offered cup to quench his thirst + Where the tired traveller strays; + That never ask the meadows if they want + What is their joy to give;-- + Unasked, their lives to other life they grant, + So self-bestowed they live! + + And One is like the ocean, deep and wide, + Wherein all waters fall; + That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide, + Feeding and bearing all; + That broods the mists, that sends the clouds abroad, + That takes, again to give;-- + Even the great and loving heart of God. + Whereby all love doth live. + +CAROLINE S. SPENCER. + + + * * * * * + +DEVOTION. + + + The immortal gods + Accept the meanest altars, that are raised + By pure devotion; and sometimes prefer + An ounce of frankincense, honey, or milk, + Before whole hecatombs, or Sabaean gems, + Offered in ostentation. + +PHILIP MASSINGER. + + + * * * * * + +THE SEASIDE WELL. + + "Waters flowed over mine head; then I said, I am cut + off."--LAMENTATIONS iii. 54. + + + One day I wandered where the salt sea-tide + Backward had drawn its wave, + And found a spring as sweet as e'er hillside + To wild-flowers gave. + Freshly it sparkled in the sun's bright look, + And mid its pebbles strayed, + As if it thought to join a happy brook + In some green glade. + + But soon the heavy sea's resistless swell + Came rolling in once more, + Spreading its bitter o'er the clear sweet well + And pebbled shore. + Like a fair star thick buried in a cloud, + Or life in the grave's gloom, + The well, enwrapped in a deep watery shroud, + Sunk to its tomb. + + As one who by the beach roams far and wide, + Remnant of wreck to save, + Again I wandered when the salt sea-tide + Withdrew its wave; + And there, unchanged, no taint in all its sweet, + No anger in its tone, + Still as it thought some happy brook to meet, + The spring flowed on. + + While waves of bitterness rolled o'er its head, + Its heart had folded deep + Within itself, and quiet fancies led, + As in a sleep; + Till, when the ocean loosed his heavy chain, + And gave it back to day, + Calmly it turned to its own life again + And gentle way. + + Happy, I thought, that which can draw its life + Deep from the nether springs, + Safe 'neath the pressure, tranquil mid the strife, + Of surface things. + Safe--for the sources of the nether springs + Up in the far hills lie; + Calm--for the life its power and freshness brings + Down from the sky. + + So, should temptations threaten, and should sin + Roll in its whelming flood, + Make strong the fountain of thy grace within + My soul, O God! + If bitter scorn, and looks, once kind, grown strange, + With crushing chillness fall, + From secret wells let sweetness rise, nor change + My heart to gall! + + When sore thy hand doth press, and waves of thine + Afflict me like a sea,-- + Deep calling deep,--infuse from source divine + Thy peace in me! + And when death's tide, as with a brimful cup, + Over my soul doth pour, + Let hope survive,--a well that springeth up + Forevermore! + + Above my head the waves may come and go, + Long brood the deluge dire, + But life lies hidden in the depths below + Till waves retire,-- + Till death, that reigns with overflowing flood, + At length withdraw its sway, + And life rise sparkling in the sight of God + An endless day. + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +ULTIMA VERITAS. + + + In the bitter waves of woe, + Beaten and tossed about + By the sullen winds that blow + From the desolate shores of doubt,-- + + When the anchors that faith had cast + Are dragging in the gale, + I am quietly holding fast + To the things that cannot fail: + + I know that right is right; + That it is not good to lie; + That love is better than spite, + And a neighbor than a spy; + + I know that passion needs + The leash of a sober mind; + I know that generous deeds + Some sure reward will find; + + That the rulers must obey; + That the givers shall increase; + That Duty lights the way + For the beautiful feet of Peace;-- + + In the darkest night of the year, + When the stars have all gone out, + That courage is better than fear, + That faith is truer than doubt; + + And fierce though the fiends may fight, + And long though the angels hide, + I know that Truth and Eight + Have the universe on their side; + + And that somewhere, beyond the stars, + Is a Love that is better than fate; + When the night unlocks her bars + I shall see Him, and I will wait. + +WASHINGTON GLADDEN. + + + * * * * * + +THE END OF THE PLAY. + + + The play is done,--the curtain drops, + Slow falling to the prompter's bell; + A moment yet the actor stops, + And looks around, to say farewell. + It is an irksome word and task; + And, when he's laughed and said his say, + He shows, as he removes the mask, + A face that's anything but gay. + + One word, ere yet the evening ends,-- + Let's close it with a parting rhyme; + And pledge a hand to all young friends, + As flits the merry Christmas time; + On life's wide scene you, too, have parts + That fate erelong shall bid you play; + Good night!--with honest, gentle hearts + A kindly greeting go alway! + + Good night!--I'd say the griefs, the joys, + Just hinted in this mimic page, + The triumphs and defeats of boys, + Are but repeated in our age; + I'd say your woes were not less-keen, + Your hopes more vain, than those of men,-- + Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen + At forty-five played o'er again. + + I'd say we suffer and we strive + Not less nor more as men than boys,-- + With grizzled beards at forty-five, + As erst at twelve in corduroys; + And if, in time of sacred youth, + We learned at home to love and pray, + Pray Heaven that early love and truth + May never wholly pass away. + + And in the world, as in the school, + I'd say how fate may change and shift,-- + The prize be sometimes with the fool, + The race not always to the swift: + The strong may yield, the good may fall, + The great man be a vulgar clown, + The knave be lifted over all, + The kind cast pitilessly down. + + Who knows the inscrutable design? + Blessed be Be who took and gave! + Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, + Be weeping at her darling's grave? + We bow to Heaven that willed it so, + That darkly rules the fate of all, + That sends the respite or the blow, + That's free to give or to recall. + + This crowns his feast with wine and wit,-- + Who brought him to that mirth and state? + His betters, see, below him sit, + Or hunger hopeless at the gate. + Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel + To spurn the rags of Lazarus? + Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, + Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus. + + So each shall mourn, in life's advance, + Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed; + Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance + And longing passion unfulfilled. + Amen!--whatever fate be sent, + Pray God the heart may kindly glow, + Although the head with cares be bent, + And whitened with the winter snow. + + Come wealth or want, come good or ill, + Let young and old accept their part, + And bow before the awful will, + And bear it with an honest heart. + Who misses, or who wins the prize,-- + Go, lose or conquer as you can; + But if you fail, or if you rise, + Be each, pray God, a gentleman. + + A gentleman, or old or young! + (Bear kindly with my humble lays;) + The sacred chorus first was sung + Upon the first of Christmas days; + The shepherds heard it overhead,-- + The joyful angels raised it then: + Glory to Heaven on high, it said, + And peace on earth to gentle men! + + My song, save this, is little worth; + I lay the weary pen aside, + And wish you health and love and mirth, + As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. + As fits the holy Christmas birth, + Be this, good friends, our carol still,-- + Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, + To men of gentle will. + +WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. + + + * * * * * + +THE NEW YEAR. + + FROM "IN MEMORIAM," CV. + + + Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, + The flying cloud, the frosty light: + The year is dying in the night-- + Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. + + Ring out the old, ring in the new--, + Ring happy bells, across the snow: + The year is going, let him go; + Ring out the false, ring in the true. + + Ring out the grief that saps the mind, + For those that here we see no more; + Ring out the feud of rich and poor, + Ring in redress to all mankind. + + Ring out a slowly dying cause, + And ancient forms of party strife; + Ring in the nobler modes of life, + With sweeter manners, purer laws. + + Ring out the want, the care, the sin, + The faithless coldness of the times; + Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, + But ring the fuller minstrel in. + + Ring out false pride in place and blood, + The civic slander and the spite; + Ring in the love of truth and right, + Ring in the common love of good. + + Ring out old shapes of foul disease, + Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; + Ring out the thousand wars of old, + Ring in the thousand years of peace. + + Ring in the valiant man and free, + The larger heart, the kindlier hand; + Ring out the darkness of the land-- + Ring in the Christ that is to be. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON + + + * * * * * + +LIFE. + + + It is not life upon thy gifts to live, + But to grow fixed with deeper roots in Thee; + And when the sun and showers their bounties give, + To send out thick-leaved limbs; a fruitful tree + Whose green head meets the eye for many a mile, + Whose spreading boughs a friendly shelter rear, + And full-faced fruits their blushing welcome smile + As to its goodly shade our feet draw near. + Who tastes its gifts shall never hunger more, + For 't is the Father spreads the pure repast, + Who, while we eat, renews the ready store, + Which at his bounteous board must ever last; + And, as the more we to his children lend, + The more to us doth of his bounty send. + +JONES VERY. + + + * * * * * + +SELECTIONS FROM PARADISE LOST. + + + BOOK I. + + THE POET'S THEME. + + Of man's first disobedience and the fruit + Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste + Brought death into the world and all our woe, + With loss of Eden, till one greater Man + Restore us and regain the blissful seat, + Sing, heavenly Muse, that on the secret top + Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire + That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed, + In the beginning how the heavens and earth + Rose out of Chaos; or if Sion hill + Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed + Fast by the oracle of God; I thence + Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song. + That with no middle flight intends to soar + Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues + Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. + + And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer + Before all temples the upright heart and pure, + Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first + Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread + Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss, + And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark + Illumine, what is low raise and support; + That to the height of this great argument + I may assert eternal Providence, + And justify the ways of God to men. + + + BOOK IX. + + THE TEMPTATION. + + The Sun was sunk, and after him the star + Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring + Twilight upon the Earth, short arbiter + 'Twixt day and night, and now from end to end + Night's hemisphere had veiled the horizon round: + When Satan, who late fled before the threats + Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improved + In meditated fraud and malice, bent + On Man's destruction, maugre what might hap + Of heavier on himself, fearless returned. + By night he fled, and at midnight returned + From compassing the Earth; + + * * * * * + + The orb he roamed + With narrow search; and with inspection deep + Considered every creature, which of all + Most opportune might serve his wiles; and found + The serpent subtlest beast of all the field. + Him, after long debate, irresolute + Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose + Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom + To enter, and his dark suggestions hide + From sharpest sight: for, in the wily snake + Whatever sleights, none would suspicious mark, + As from his wit and native subtlety + Proceeding; which, in other beasts observed. + Doubt might beget of diabolic power + Active within, beyond the sense of brute. + + * * * * * + + For now, and since first break of dawn, the fiend. + Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come; + And on his quest, where likeliest he might find + The only two of mankind, but in them + The whole included race, his purposed prey. + In bower and field he sought where any tuft + Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay, + Their tendance, or plantation for delight; + By fountain or by shady rivulet + He sought them both, but wished his hap might find + Eve separate; he wished, but not with hope + Of what so seldom chanced; when to his wish, + Beyond his hope, Eve separate he spies, + Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, + Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round + About her glowed. + + * * * * * + + "She fair, divinely fair, fit love for gods. + Not terrible, though terror be in love + And beauty, not approached by stronger hate. + Hate stronger, under show of love well feigned; + The way which to her ruin now I tend." + So spake the enemy of mankind, inclosed + In serpent, inmate bad! and toward Eve + Addressed his way: not with indented wave, + Prone on the ground, as since; but on his rear, + Circular base of rising folds, that towered + Fold above fold, a surging maze! his head + Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes; + With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect. + Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass + Floated redundant: pleasing was his shape + And lovely; never since of serpent-kind + Lovelier. + + * * * * * + + So varied he, and of his tortuous train + Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, + To lure her eye; she, busied, heard the sound + Of rustling leaves, but minded not, as used + To such disport before her through the field, + From every beast; more duteous at her call, + Than at Circean call the herd disguised. + He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood, + But as in gaze admiring: oft he bowed + His turret crest, and sleek enamelled neck, + Fawning; and licked the ground whereon she trod. + His gentle dumb expression turned at length + The eye of Eve, to mark his play; he, glad + Of her attention gained, with serpent-tongue + Organic, or impulse of vocal air, + His fraudulent temptation thus began. + "Wonder not, sovran mistress, if perhaps + Thou canst who art sole wonder! much less arm + Thy looks, the Heaven of mildness, with disdain, + Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze + Insatiate; I thus single; nor have feared + Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired. + Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, + Thee all things living gaze on all things thine + By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore + With ravishment beheld! there beat beheld, + Where universally admired; but here + In this inclosure wild, these beasts among, + Beholders rude, and shallow to discern + Half what in thee is fair, one man except, + Who sees thee? (and what is one?) who should be seen + A goddess among gods, adored and served + By angels numberless, thy daily train." + So glozed the tempter, and his proem tuned: + Into the heart of Eve his words made way. + + * * * * * + + [_After some discourse, the Tempter praises the Tree of Knowledge._] + + So standing, moving, or to height up grown, + The tempter, all impassioned, thus began. + "O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving plant, + Mother of science! now I feel thy power + Within me clear; not only to discern + Things in their causes, but to trace the ways + Of highest agents, deemed however wise. + Queen of this universe! do not believe + Those rigid threats of death: ye shall not die: + How should you? by the fruit? it gives you life + To knowledge; by the threatener? look on me. + Me, who have touched and tasted; yet both live, + And life more perfect have attained than Fate + Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot. + Shall that be shut to man, which to the beast + Is open? or will God incense his ire + For such a petty trespass? and not praise + Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain + Of death denounced, whatever thing death be, + Deterred not from achieving what might lead + To happier life, knowledge of good and evil; + Of good, how just? of evil, if what is evil + Be real, why not known, since easier shunned? + God therefore cannot hurt ye, and be just; + Not just, not God: not feared then, nor obeyed: + Your fear itself of death removes the fear. + Why then was this forbid? Why, but to awe; + Why, but to keep ye low and ignorant, + His worshippers? He knows that in the day + Ye eat thereof, your eyes, that seem so clear, + Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then + Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as gods, + Knowing both good and evil, as they know. + That ye shall be as gods, since I as Man, + Internal Man, is but proportion meet; + I, of brute, human; ye, of human, gods. + So ye shall die, perhaps, by putting off + Human, to put on gods; death to be wished, + Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring. + And what are gods, that man may not become + As they, participating godlike food? + The gods are first, and that advantage use + On our belief, that all from them proceeds: + I question it; for this fair Earth I see, + Warmed by the Sun, producing every kind; + Them, nothing: if they all things, who inclosed + Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, + That whoso eats thereof forthwith attains + Wisdom without their leave? and wherein lies + The offence, that man should thus attain to know? + What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree + Impart against his will, if all be his? + Or is it envy? and can envy dwell + In heavenly breasts?--These, these, and many more + Causes import your need of this fair fruit. + Goddess humane, reach then, and freely taste." + + + THE FALL. + + He ended, and his words replete with guile + Into her heart too easy entrance won: + Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold + Might tempt alone, and in her ears the sound + Yet rung of persuasive words, impregned + With reason, to her seeming, and with truth: + Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and waked + An eager appetite, raised by the smell + So savory of that fruit, which with desire, + Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, + Solicited her longing eye; yet first + Pausing awhile, thus to herself she mused. + "Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits, + Though kept from man, and worthy to be admired, + Whose taste, too long forborne, at first assay + Gave elocution to the mute, and taught + The tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise: + Thy praise he also who forbids thy use + Conceals not from us, naming thee the Tree + Of Knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil; + Forbids us then to taste! but his forbidding + Commends thee more, while it infers the good + By thee communicated, and our want: + For good unknown sure is not had, or had + And yet unknown is as not had at all. + In plain then, what forbids he but to know, + Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise? + Such prohibitions bind not. But if death + Bind us with after-bands, what profits then + Our inward freedom? In the day we eat + Of this fair fruit, our doom is, we shall die. + How dies the serpent? he hath eaten and lives, + And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns, + Irrational till then. For us alone + Was death invented? or to us denied + This intellectual food, for beasts reserved? + For beasts it seems: yet that one beast which first + Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy + The good befallen him, author unsuspect, + Friendly to man, far from deceit or guile. + What fear I then? rather what know to fear + Under this ignorance of good and evil, + Of God or death, of law or penalty? + Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, + Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, + Of virtue to make wise: what hinders then + To reach, and feed at once both body and mind?" + So saying, her rash hand in evil hour + Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat: + Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat + Sighing through all her works gave signs of woe, + That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk + The guilty serpent, and well might, for Eve + Intent now wholly on her taste nought else + Regarded, such delight till then, as seemed, + In fruit she never tasted, whether true + Or fancied so, through expectation high + Of knowledge: nor was Godhead from her thought. + Greedily she ingorged without restraint, + And knew not eating death. + + + BOOK XI. + + INTERCESSION AND REDEMPTION. + + Thus they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood + Praying; for from the mercy-seat above + Prevenient grace descending had removed + The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh + Regenerate grow instead; that sighs now breathed + Unutterable; which the spirit of prayer + Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight + Than loudest oratory: yet their port + Not of mean suitors; nor important less + Seemed their petition, than when the ancient pair + In fables old, less ancient yet than these, + Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore + The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine + Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers + Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds + Blown vagabond or frustrate: in they passed + Dimensionless through heavenly doors; then clad + With incense, where the golden altar fumed, + By their great Intercessor, came in sight + Before the Father's throne: them the glad Son + Presenting, thus to intercede began. + "See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth are sprung + From thy implanted grace in Man; these sighs + And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed + With incense, I thy priest before thee bring; + Fruits of more pleasing savor, from thy seed + Sown with contrition in his heart, than those + Which, his own hand manuring, all the trees + Of Paradise could have produced ere fallen + From innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine ear + To supplication; hear his sighs, though mute; + Unskilful with what words to pray, let me + Interpret for him; me, his advocate + And propitiation; all his works on me, + Good, or not good, ingraft; my merit those + Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. + Accept me; and, in me, from these receive + The smell of peace toward mankind: let him live + Before thee reconciled, at least his days + Numbered though sad; till death his doom (which I + To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse,) + To better life shall yield him: where with me + All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss; + Made one with me, as I with thee am one." + To whom the Father, without cloud, serene. + "All thy request for Man, accepted Son, + Obtain; all thy request was my decree: + But, longer in that Paradise to dwell, + The law I gave to Nature him forbids: + Those pure immortal elements, that know + No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul, + Eject him, tainted now; and purge him off, + As a distemper, gross, to air as gross, + And mortal food; as may dispose him best + For dissolution wrought by sin, that first + Distempered all things, and of incorrupt + Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts + Created him endowed; with happiness, + And immortality: that fondly lost. + This other served but to eternize woe; + Till I provided death: so death becomes + His final remedy; and, after life, + Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined + By faith and faithful works, to second life, + Waked in the renovation of the just, + Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed." + + + EVE'S LAMENT. + + O unexpected stroke, worse than of death! + Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave + Thee, native soil! these happy walks and shades, + Fit haunt of gods; where I had hope to spend, + Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day + That must be mortal to us both? O flowers, + That never will in other climate grow, + My early visitation, and my last + At even, which I bred up with tender hand + From the first opening bud, and gave ye names! + Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank + Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount? + Thee, lastly, nuptial bower! by me adorned + With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee + How shall I part, and whither wander down + Into a lower world, to this obscure + And wild? how shall we breathe in other air + Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits? + + + EVE TO ADAM. + + With sorrow and heart's distress + Wearied, I fell asleep. But now lead on; + In me is no delay; with thee to go, + Is to stay here; without thee here to stay, + Is to go hence unwilling; thou to me + Art all things under heaven, all places thou, + Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. + This further consolation, yet secure, + I carry hence; though all by me is lost, + Such favor I unworthy am vouchsafed, + By me the promised Seed shall all restore. + + + BOOK XII. + + THE DEPARTURE FROM PARADISE. + + In either hand the hastening angel caught + Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate + Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast + To the subjected plain; then disappeared. + They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld + Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, + Waved over by that naming brand; the gate + With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. + Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon; + The world was all before them, where to choose + Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. + They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, + Through Eden took their solitary way. + +MILTON. + + + + +V. + +HUMAN EXPERIENCE. + + * * * * * + +A PSALM OF LIFE. + + + Tell me not, in mournful numbers, + Life is but an empty dream! + For the soul is dead that slumbers, + And things are not what they seem. + + Life is real! Life is earnest! + And the grave is not its goal; + Dust thou art, to dust returnest, + Was not spoken of the soul. + + Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, + Is our destined end or way; + But to act, that each to-morrow + Find us farther than to-day. + + Art is long, and Time is fleeting, + And our hearts, though stout and brave, + Still, like muffled drums, are beating + Funeral marches to the grave. + + In the world's broad field of battle, + In the bivouac of Life, + Be not like dumb, driven cattle! + Be a hero in the strife! + + Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! + Let the dead Past bury its dead! + Act,--act in the living Present! + Heart within, and God o'erhead! + + Lives of great men all remind us + We can make our lives sublime. + And, departing, leave behind us + Footprints on the sands of time;-- + + Footprints, that perhaps another, + Sailing o'er life's solemn main, + A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, + Seeing, shall take heart again. + + Let us, then, be up and doing, + With a heart for any fate; + Still achieving, still pursuing, + Learn to labor and to wait. + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +THE GIFTS OF GOD. + + + When God at first made man, + Having a glass of blessings standing by, + Let us (said he) pour on him all we can: + Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, + Contract into a span. + + So strength first made a way; + Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure: + When almost all was out, God made a stay, + Perceiving that, alone, of all his treasure, + Rest in the bottom lay. + + For if I should (said he) + Bestow this jewel also on my creature, + He would adore my gifts instead of me, + And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: + So both should losers be. + + Yet let him keep the rest, + But keep them with repining restlessness: + Let him be rich and weary, that, at least, + If goodness lead him not, yet weariness + May toss him to my breast. + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + + * * * * * + +DUTY. + + + I slept and dreamed that life was Beauty: + I woke and found that life was Duty: + Was then thy dream a shadowy lie? + Toil on, sad heart, courageously, + And thou shalt find thy dream to be + A noonday light and truth to thee. + +ELLEN STURGIS HOOPER. + + + * * * * * + +ODE TO DUTY. + + + Stern daughter of the voice of God! + O Duty! if that name thou love + Who art a light to guide, a rod + To check the erring, and reprove-- + Thou, who art victory and law + When empty terrors overawe; + From vain temptations dost set free, + And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! + + There are who ask not if thine eye + Be on them; who, in love and truth + Where no misgiving is, rely + Upon the genial sense of youth: + Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, + Who do thy work, and know it not; + Long may the kindly impulse last! + But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast! + + Serene will be our days and bright, + And happy will our nature be, + When love is an unerring light. + And joy its own security. + And they a blissful course may hold + Even now, who, not unwisely bold. + Live in the spirit of this creed; + Yet find that other strength, according to their need. + + I, loving freedom, and untried, + No sport of every random gust, + Yet being to myself a guide, + Too blindly have reposed my trust; + And oft, when in my heart was heard + Thy timely mandate, I deferred + The task, in smoother walks to stray; + But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. + + Through no disturbance of my soul, + Or strong compunction in me wrought, + I supplicate for thy control, + But in the quietness of thought; + Me this unchartered freedom tires; + I feel the weight of chance desires, + My hopes no more must change their name, + I long for a repose that ever is the same. + + Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear + The Godhead's most benignant grace; + Nor know we any thing so fair + As is the smile upon thy face; + Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, + And fragrance in thy footing treads; + Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; + And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. + + To humbler functions, awful power! + I call thee: I myself commend + Unto thy guidance from this hour; + Oh, let my weakness have an end! + Give unto me, made lowly wise, + The spirit of self-sacrifice; + The confidence of reason give; + And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live! + +WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + + + * * * * * + +SELF-INQUIRY. + + + Let not soft slumber close my eyes, + Before I've recollected thrice + The train of action through the day! + Where have my feet chose out their way? + What have I learnt, where'er I've been, + From all I have heard, from all I've seen? + What know I more that's worth the knowing? + What have I done that's worth the doing? + What have I sought that I should shun? + What duty have I left undone? + Or into what new follies run? + These self-inquiries are the road + That leads to virtue and to God. + +ISAAC WATTS. + + + * * * * * + +THE THREE ENEMIES. + + + THE FLESH. + + "Sweet, thou art pale." + "More pale to see, + Christ hung upon the cruel tree + And bore his Father's wrath for me." + + "Sweet, thou art sad." + "Beneath a rod + More heavy Christ for my sake trod + The wine-press of the wrath of God." + + "Sweet, thou art weary." + "Not so Christ: + Whose mighty love of me sufficed + For strength, salvation, eucharist." + + "Sweet, thou art footsore." + "If I bleed, + His feet have bled: yea, in my need + His heart once bled for mine indeed." + + + THE WORLD. + + "Sweet, thou art young." + "So he was young + Who for my sake in silence hung + Upon the cross with passion wrung." + + "Look, thou art fair." + "He was more fair + Than men, who deigned for me to wear + A visage marred beyond compare." + + "And thou hast riches." + "Daily bread: + All else is his; who living, dead, + For me lacked where to lay his head." + + "And life is sweet." + "It was not so + To him, whose cup did overflow + With mine unutterable woe." + + + THE DEVIL. + + "Thou drinkest deep." + "When Christ would sup + He drained the dregs from out my cup; + So how should I be lifted up?" + + "Thou shalt win glory." + "In the skies, + Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyes. + Lest they should look on vanities." + + "Thou shalt have knowledge." + "Helpless dust, + In thee, O Lord, I put my trust: + Answer thou for me, Wise and Just." + +CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI. + + + * * * * * + +SAID I NOT SO? + + + Said I not so,--that I would sin no more? + Witness, my God, I did; + Yet I am run again upon the score: + My faults cannot be hid. + + What shall I do?--make vows and break them still? + 'Twill be but labor lost; + My good cannot prevail against mine ill: + The business will be crost. + + O, say not so; thou canst not tell what strength + Thy God may give thee at the length. + Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last, + Thy God will pardon all that's past. + Vow while thou canst; while thou canst vow, thou may'st + Perhaps perform it when thou thinkest least. + + Thy God hath not denied thee all, + Whilst he permits thee but to call. + Call to thy God for grace to keep + Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep. + Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again: + Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain. + Then once again + I vow to mend my ways; + Lord, say Amen, + And thine be all the praise. + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + + * * * * * + +NOTHING BUT LEAVES. + + + Nothing but leaves; the spirit grieves + Over a wasted life; + Sin committed while conscience slept, + Promises made, but never kept, + Hatred, battle, and strife; + _Nothing but leaves_! + + Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves + Of life's fair, ripened grain; + Words, idle words, for earnest deeds; + We sow our seeds,--lo! tares and weeds: + We reap, with toil and pain, + _Nothing but leaves_! + + Nothing but leaves; memory weaves + No veil to screen the past: + As we retrace our weary way, + Counting each lost and misspent day, + We find, sadly, at last, + _Nothing but leaves_! + + And shall we meet the Master so, + Bearing our withered leaves? + The Saviour looks for perfect fruit, + We stand before him, humbled, mute; + Waiting the words he breathes,-- + "_Nothing but leaves_?" + +LUCY E. AKERMAN. + + * * * * * + +THE WORLD. + + "And when he is come, he will reprove the world of sin, and of + righteousness, and of judgment."--JOHN xvi. 8. + + + The world is wise, for the world is old; + Five thousand years their tale have told; + Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,-- + Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me! + + The world is kind if we ask not too much; + It is sweet to the taste, and smooth to the touch; + Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,-- + Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me! + + The world is strong, with an awful strength, + And full of life in its breadth and length; + Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,-- + Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me! + + The world is so beautiful one may fear + Its borrowed beauty might make it too dear, + Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be-- + Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me! + + The world is good in its own poor way, + There is rest by night and high spirits by day; + Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,-- + Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me! + + The cross shines fair, and the church-bell rings, + And the earth is peopled with holy things; + Yet the world is not happy, as the world might be,-- + Why is it? why is it? Oh, answer me! + + What lackest thou, world? for God made thee of old; + Why,--thy faith hath gone out, and thy love grown cold; + Thou art not happy, as thou mightest be, + For the want of Christ's simplicity. + + It is blood that thou lackest, thou poor old world! + Who shall make thy love hot for thee, frozen old world? + Thou art not happy, as thou mightest be, + For the love of dear Jesus is little in thee. + + Poor world! if thou cravest a better day, + Remember that Christ must have his own way; + I mourn thou art not as thou mightest be, + But the love of God would do all for thee. + +FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. + + + * * * * * + +THE CRY OF THE HUMAN. + + + "There is no God," the foolish saith, + But none, "There is no sorrow"; + And nature oft the cry of faith + In bitter need will borrow: + Eyes which the preacher could not school, + By wayside graves are raised; + And lips say, "God be pitiful," + Who ne'er said, "God be praised." + Be pitiful, O God! + + The tempest stretches from the steep + The shadow of its coming; + The beasts grow tame, and near us creep, + As help were in the human: + Yet while the cloud-wheels roll and grind + We spirits tremble under!-- + The hills have echoes; but we find + No answer for the thunder. + Be pitiful, O God! + + The battle hurtles on the plains-- + Earth feels new scythes upon her: + We reap our brothers for the wains, + And call the harvest, honor,-- + Draw face to face, front line to line, + One image all inherit,-- + Then kill, curse on, by that same sign, + Clay, clay,--and spirit, spirit. + Be pitiful, O God! + + The plague runs festering through the town, + And never a bell is tolling: + And corpses jostled 'neath the moon, + Nod to the dead-cart's rolling. + The young child calleth for the cup-- + The strong man brings it weeping; + The mother from her babe looks up, + And shrieks away its sleeping. + Be pitiful, O God! + + The plague of gold strides far and near, + And deep and strong it enters: + This purple chimar which we wear, + Makes madder than the centaur's. + Our thoughts grow blank, our words grow strange; + We cheer the pale gold-diggers-- + Each soul is worth so much on 'Change, + And marked, like sheep, with figures. + Be pitiful, O God! + + The curse of gold upon the land, + The lack of bread enforces-- + The rail-cars snort from strand to strand, + Like more of Death's White Horses: + The rich preach "rights" and future days, + And hear no angel scoffing: + The poor die mute--with starving gaze + On corn-ships in the offing. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We meet together at the feast-- + To private mirth betake us-- + We stare down in the winecup lest + Some vacant chair should shake us! + We name delight, and pledge it round-- + "It shall be ours to-morrow!" + God's seraphs, do your voices sound + As sad in naming sorrow? + Be pitiful, O God! + + We sit together, with the skies, + The steadfast skies, above us: + We look into each other's eyes, + "And how long will you love us?" + The eyes grow dim with prophecy, + The voice is low and breathless-- + "Till death us part!"--O words, to be + Our _best_ for love the deathless! + Be pitiful, dear God! + + We tremble by the harmless bed + Of one loved and departed-- + Our tears drop on the lids that said + Last night, "Be stronger hearted!" + O God,--to clasp those fingers close, + And yet to feel so lonely!-- + To see a light upon such brows, + Which is the daylight only! + Be pitiful, O God! + + The happy children come to us, + And look up in our faces: + They ask us--Was it thus, and thus, + When we were in their places? + We cannot speak:--we see anew + The hills we used to live in; + And feel our mother's smile press through + The kisses she is giving. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We pray together at the kirk, + For mercy, mercy, solely-- + Hands weary with the evil work, + We lift them to the Holy! + The corpse is calm below our knee-- + Its spirit bright before thee-- + Between them, worse than either, we-- + Without the rest of glory! + Be pitiful, O God! + + We leave the communing of men, + The murmur of the passions; + And live alone, to live again + With endless generations. + Are we so brave?--The sea and sky + In silence lift their mirrors; + And, glassed therein, our spirits high + Recoil from their own terrors. + Be pitiful, O God! + + We sit on hills our childhood wist, + Woods, hamlets, streams, beholding: + The sun strikes through the farthest mist, + The city's spire to golden. + The city's golden spire it was, + When hope and health were strong; + But now it is the churchyard grass, + We look upon the longest. + Be pitiful, O God! + + And soon all vision waxeth dull-- + Men whisper, "He is dying": + We cry no more, "Be pitiful!"-- + We have no strength for crying: + No strength, no need! Then, Soul of mine, + Look up and triumph rather-- + Lo! in the depth of God's Divine, + The Son adjures the Father-- + BE PITIFUL, O GOD. + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +THE SIFTING OF PETER. + + A FOLK-SONG. + + "Behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you + as wheat."--LUKE xxii. 31. + + + In Saint Luke's Gospel we are told + How Peter in the days of old + Was sifted; + And now, though ages intervene, + Sin is the same, while time and scene + Are shifted. + + Satan desires us, great and small, + As wheat, to sift us, and we all + Are tempted; + Not one, however rich or great, + Is by his station or estate + Exempted. + + No house so safely guarded is + But he, by some device of his, + Can enter; + No heart hath armor so complete + But he can pierce with arrows fleet + Its centre. + + For all at last the cock will crow + Who hear the warning voice, but go + Unheeding, + Till thrice and more they have denied + The Man of Sorrows, crucified + And bleeding. + + One look of that pale suffering face + Will make us feel the deep disgrace + Of weakness; + We shall be sifted till the strength + Of self-conceit be changed at length + To meekness. + + Wounds of the soul, though healed, will ache; + The reddening scars remain, and make + Confession; + Lost innocence returns no more; + We are not what we were before + Transgression. + + But noble souls, through dust and heat, + Rise from disaster and defeat + The stronger. + And conscious still of the divine + Within them, lie on earth supine + No longer. + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + + * * * * * + +VANITY. + + + The sun comes up and the sun goes down, + And day and night are the same as one; + The year grows green, and the year grows brown. + And what is it all, when all is done? + Grains of sombre or shining sand, + Gliding into and out of the hand. + + And men go down in ships to the seas, + And a hundred ships are the same as one; + And backward and forward blows the breeze, + And what is it all, when all is done? + A tide with never a shore in sight + Getting steadily on to the night. + + The fisher droppeth his net in the stream, + And a hundred streams are the same as one; + And the maiden dreameth her love-lit dream, + And what is it all, when all is done? + The net of the fisher the burden breaks, + And alway the dreaming the dreamer wakes. + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +DIFFERENT MINDS. + + + Some murmur when their sky is clear + And wholly bright to view, + If one small speck of dark appear + In their great heaven of blue; + And some with thankful love are filled + If but one streak of light, + One ray of God's good mercy, gild + The darkness of their night. + + In palaces are hearts that ask, + In discontent and pride, + Why life is such a dreary task, + And all good things denied; + And hearts in poorest huts admire + How Love has in their aid + (Love that not ever seems to tire) + Such rich provision made. + +RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. + + + * * * * * + +MY RECOVERY. + + + Recovery,--daughter of Creation too, + Though not for immortality designed,-- + The Lord of life and death + Sent thee from heaven to me! + Had I not heard thy gentle tread approach, + Not heard the whisper of thy welcome voice, + Death had with iron foot + My chilly forehead pressed. + 'Tis true, I then had wandered where the earths + Roll around suns; had strayed along the paths + Where the maned comet soars + Beyond the armed eye; + And with the rapturous, eager greet had hailed + The inmates of those earths and of those suns; + Had hailed the countless host + That throng the comet's disc; + Had asked the novice questions, and obtained + Such answers as a sage vouchsafes to youth; + Had learned in hours far more + Than ages here unfold! + But I had then not ended here below + What, in the enterprising bloom of life, + Fate with no light behest + Required me to begin. + Recovery,--daughter of Creation too, + Though not for immortality designed,-- + The Lord of life and death + Sent thee from heaven to me! + +From the German of FRIEDRICH GOTTLIEB KLOPSTOCK. + +Translation of W. TAYLOR. + + + * * * * * + +THE LADDER OF SAINT AUGUSTINE. + + + Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, + That of our vices we can frame + A ladder, if we will but tread + Beneath our feet each deed of shame! + + All common things, each day's events, + That with the hour begin and end, + Our pleasures and our discontents, + Are rounds by which we may ascend. + + The low desire, the base design, + That makes another's virtues less; + The revel of the ruddy wine, + And all occasions of excess; + + The longing for ignoble things; + The strife for triumph more than truth; + The hardening of the heart, that brings + Irreverence for the dreams of youth; + + All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, + That have their root in thoughts of ill; + Whatever hinders or impedes + The action of the nobler will:-- + + All these must first be trampled down + Beneath our feet, if we would gain + In the bright fields of fair renown + The right of eminent domain. + + We have not wings, we cannot soar; + But we have feet to scale and climb + By slow degrees, by more and more, + The cloudy summits of our time. + + The mighty pyramids of stone + That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, + When nearer seen, and better known, + Are but gigantic flights of stairs. + + The distant mountains, that uprear + Their solid bastions to the skies, + Are crossed by pathways, that appear + As we to higher levels rise. + + The heights by great men reached and kept + Were not attained by sudden flight, + But they, while their companions slept, + Were toiling upward in the night. + + Standing on what too long we bore + With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, + We may discern--unseen before-- + A path to higher destinies. + + Nor deem the irrevocable Past + As wholly wasted, wholly vain, + If, rising on its wrecks, at last + To something nobler we attain. + +HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +SAINT CHRISTOPHER. + + + "Carry me across!" + The Syrian heard, rose up, and braced + His huge limbs to the accustomed toil: + "My child, see how the waters boil? + The night-black heavens look angry-faced; + But life is little loss. + + "I'll carry thee with joy, + If needs be, safe as nestling dove: + For o'er this stream I pilgrims bring + In service to one Christ, a King + Whom I have never seen, yet love." + "I thank thee," said the boy. + + Cheerful, Arprobus took + The burden on his shoulders great, + And stepped into the waves once more; + When lo! they leaping rise and roar, + And 'neath the little child's light weight + The tottering giant shook. + + "Who art thou?" cried he wild, + Struggling in middle of the ford: + "Boy as thou look'st, it seems to me + The whole world's load I bear in thee, + Yet--" "For the sake of Christ, thy Lord, + Carry me," said the child. + + No more Arprobus swerved, + But gained the farther bank, and then + A voice cried, "Hence _Christopheros_ be! + For carrying thou hast carried Me, + The King of angels and of men, + The Master thou hast served." + + And in the moonlight blue + The saint saw,--not the wandering boy, + But him who walked upon the sea + And o'er the plains of Galilee, + Till, filled with mystic, awful joy, + His dear Lord Christ he knew. + + Oh, little is all loss, + And brief the space 'twixt shore and shore, + If thou, Lord Jesus, on us lay, + Through the deep waters of our way, + The burden that Christopheros bore,-- + To carry thee across. + +DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK. + + + * * * * * + +SCORN NOT THE LEAST. + + + When words are weak and foes encountering strong, + Where mightier do assault than do defend, + The feebler part puts up enforced wrong, + And silent sees that speech could not amend. + Yet higher powers most think though they repine,-- + When sun is set, the little stars will shine. + + While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly, + And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish; + Yet pikes are caught when little fish go by; + These fleet afloat while those do fill the dish. + There is a time even for the worms to creep. + And suck the dew while all their foes do sleep. + + The merlin cannot ever soar on high, + Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; + The tender lark will find a time to fly. + And fearful hare to run a quiet race. + He that high-growth on cedars did bestow, + Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow. + + In Haman's pomp poor Mardocheus wept, + Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe; + The Lazar pined while Dives' feast was kept, + Yet he to heaven, to hell did Dives go. + We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May, + Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away. + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + + * * * * * + +THE RIGHT MUST WIN. + + + O, it is hard to work for God, + To rise and take his part + Upon this battle-field of earth, + And not sometimes lose heart! + + He hides himself so wondrously, + As though there were no God; + He is least seen when all the powers + Of ill are most abroad. + + Or he deserts us at the hour + The fight is all but lost; + And seems to leave us to ourselves + Just when we need him most. + + Ill masters good, good seems to change + To ill with greater ease; + And, worst of all, the good with good + Is at cross-purposes. + + Ah! God is other than we think; + His ways are far above, + Far beyond reason's height, and reached + Only by childlike love. + + Workman of God! O, lose not heart, + But learn what God is like; + And in the darkest battle-field + Thou shalt know where to strike. + + Thrice blest is he to whom is given + The instinct that can tell + That God is on the field when he + Is most invisible. + + Blest, is he who can divine + Where the real right doth lie, + And dares to take the side that seems + Wrong to man's blindfold eye. + + For right is right, since God is God; + And right the day must win; + To doubt would be disloyalty, + To falter would be sin! + +FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. + + + * * * * * + +THE COST OF WORTH. + + FROM "BITTER SWEET." + + + Thus is it all over the earth! + That which we call the fairest. + And prize for its surpassing worth, + Is always rarest. + + Iron is heaped in mountain piles, + And gluts the laggard forges; + But gold-flakes gleam in dim defiles + And lonely gorges. + + The snowy marble flecks the land + With heaped and rounded ledges, + But diamonds hide within the sand + Their starry edges. + + The finny armies clog the twine + That sweeps the lazy river, + But pearls come singly from the brine + With the pale diver. + + God gives no value unto men + Unmatched by meed of labor; + And Cost of Worth has ever been + The closest neighbor. + + * * * * * + + All common good has common price; + Exceeding good, exceeding; + Christ bought the keys of Paradise + By cruel bleeding; + + And every soul that wins a place + Upon its hills of pleasure, + Must give it all, and beg for grace + To fill the measure. + + * * * * * + + Up the broad stairs that Value rears + Stand motives beck'ning earthward, + To summon men to nobler spheres, + And lead them worthward. + +JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND. + + + * * * * * + +THE LABORER. + + + Stand up--erect! Thou hast the form + And likeness of thy God!--Who more? + A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm + Of daily life, a heart as warm + And pure, as breast e'er wore. + + What then?--Thou art as true a man + As moves the human mass among; + As much a part of the great plan + That with creation's dawn began, + As any of the throng. + + Who is thine enemy? The high + In station, or in wealth the chief? + The great, who coldly pass thee by, + With proud step and averted eye? + Nay! nurse not such belief. + + If true unto thyself thou wast, + What were the proud one's scorn to thee? + A feather which thou mightest cast + Aside, as idly as the blast + The light leaf from the tree. + + No: uncurbed passions, low desires, + Absence of noble self-respect. + Death, in the breast's consuming fires, + To that high nature which aspires + Forever, till thus checked;-- + + These are thine enemies--thy worst: + They chain thee to thy lowly lot; + Thy labor and thy life accursed. + O, stand erect, and from them burst, + And longer suffer not. + + Thou art thyself thine enemy: + The great!--what better they than thou? + As theirs is not thy will as free? + Has God with equal favors thee + Neglected to endow? + + True, wealth thou hast not--'tis but dust; + Nor place--uncertain as the wind; + But that thou hast, which, with thy crust + And water, may despise the lust + Of both--a noble mind. + + With this, and passions under ban, + True faith, and holy trust in God, + Thou art the peer of any man. + Look up then; that thy little span + Of life may be well trod. + +WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. + + + * * * * * + +A TRUE LENT. + + + Is this a fast,--to keep + The larder lean, + And clean + From fat of veals and sheep? + + Is it to quit the dish + Of flesh, yet still + To fill + The platter high with fish? + + Is it to fast an hour. + Or ragg'd to go, + Or show + A downcast look, and sour? + + No! 't is a fast to dole + Thy sheaf of wheat, + And meat, + Unto the hungry soul. + + It is to fast from strife, + From old debate + And hate,-- + To circumcise thy life. + + To show a heart grief-rent; + To starve thy sin, + Not bin,-- + And that's to keep thy Lent. + +ROBERT HERRICK. + + + * * * * * + +FROM "THE CHURCH PORCH." + + + Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enhance + Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure. + Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance + Rhyme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure: + A verse may find him who a sermon flies + And turn delight into a sacrifice. + + When thou dost purpose aught (within thy power), + Be sure to doe it, though it be but small; + Constancie knits the bones, and make us stowre, + When wanton pleasures beckon us to thrall. + Who breaks his own bond, forfeiteth himself: + What nature made a ship, he makes a shelf. + + * * * * * + + By all means use sometimes to be alone. + Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear. + Dare to look in thy chest; for 't is thine own; + And tumble up and down what thou find'st there. + Who cannot rest till he good fellows finde, + He breaks up house, turns out of doores his minde. + + In clothes, cheap handsomenesse doth bear the bell. + Wisdome's a trimmer thing than shop e'er gave. + Say not then, This with that lace will do well; + But, This with my discretion will be brave. + Much curiousnesse is a perpetual wooing; + Nothing, with labor; folly, long a doing. + + * * * * * + + When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. + God is more there than thou; for thou art there + Only by his permission. Then beware, + And make thyself all reverence and fear. + Kneeling ne'er spoiled silk stockings; quit thy state; + All equal are within the church's gate. + + Resort to sermons, but to prayers most: + Praying's the end of preaching. O, be drest! + Stay not for th' other pin: why thou hast lost + A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest + Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee, + Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee. + + Judge not the preacher; for he is thy judge: + If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. + God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge + To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. + The worst speak something good: if _all_ want sense, + God takes a text, and preacheth Pa-ti-ence. + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + + * * * * * + +BRIEFS. + + + WATER TURNED INTO WINE. + + The conscious water saw its God and blushed. + + + THE WIDOW'S MITES. + + Two mites, two drops, yet all her house and land, + Fall from a steady heart, though trembling hand: + The other's wanton wealth foams high, and brave; + The other cast away, she only gave. + + + "TWO WENT UP TO THE TEMPLE TO PRAY." + + Two went to pray? O, rather say, + One went to brag, the other to pray; + + One stands up close and treads on high, + Where the other dares not lend his eye; + + One nearer to God's altar trod, + The other to the altar's God. + +RICHARD CRASHAW. + + + * * * * * + +JEWISH HYMN IN BABYLON. + + + God of the thunder! from whose cloudy seat + The fiery winds of Desolation flow; + Father of vengeance, that with purple feet + Like a full wine-press tread'st the world below; + The embattled armies wait thy sign to slay, + Nor springs the beast of havoc on his prey, + Nor withering Famine walks his blasted way, + Till thou hast marked the guilty land for woe. + + God of the rainbow! at whose gracious sign + The billows of the proud their rage suppress; + Father of mercies! at one word of thine + An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness, + And fountains sparkle in the arid sands, + And timbrels ring in maidens' glancing hands, + And marble cities crown the laughing lands, + And pillared temples rise thy name to bless. + + O'er Judah's land thy thunders broke, O Lord! + The chariots rattled o'er her sunken gate, + Her sons were wasted by the Assyrian's sword, + Even her foes wept to see her fallen state; + And heaps her ivory palaces became, + Her princes wore the captive's garb of shame, + Her temples sank amid the smouldering flame, + For thou didst ride the tempest cloud of fate. + + O'er Judah's land thy rainbow, Lord, shall beam, + And the sad City lift her crownless head, + And songs shall wake and dancing footsteps gleam + In streets where broods the silence of the dead. + The sun shall shine on Salem's gilded towers, + On Carmel's side our maidens cull the flowers + To deck at blushing eye their bridal bowers, + And angel feet the glittering Sion tread. + + Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger's hand, + And Abraham's children were led forth for slaves. + With fettered steps we left our pleasant land, + Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves. + The strangers' bread with bitter tears we steep, + And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep, + In the mute midnight we steal forth to weep. + Where the pale willows shade Euphrates' waves. + + The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy; + Thy mercy, Lord, shall lead thy children home; + He that went forth a tender prattling boy + Yet, ere he die, to Salem's streets shall come; + And Canaan's vines for us their fruit shall bear, + And Hermon's bees their honeyed stores prepare, + And we shall kneel again in thankful prayer, + Where o'er the cherub seated God full blazed the irradiate dome. + +HENRY HART MILMAN. + + + * * * * * + +EXAMPLE. + + + We scatter seeds with careless hand, + And dream we ne'er shall see them more; + But for a thousand years + Their fruit appears, + In weeds that mar the land, + Or healthful store. + + The deeds we do, the words we say,-- + Into still air they seem to fleet, + We count them ever past; + But they shall last,-- + In the dread judgment they + And we shall meet. + + I charge thee by the years gone by, + For the love's sake of brethren dear, + Keep thou the one true way, + In work and play, + Lest in that world their cry + Of woe thou hear. + +JOHN KEBLE. + + + * * * * * + +SMALL BEGINNINGS. + + + A traveller through a dusty road strewed acorns on the lea; + And one took root and sprouted up, and grew into a tree. + Love sought its shade, at evening time, to breath its early vows; + And age was pleased, in heats of noon, to bask beneath its boughs; + The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, the birds sweet music bore; + It stood a glory in its place, a blessing evermore. + + A little spring had lost its way amid the grass and fern, + A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might turn; + He walled it in, and hung with care a ladle at the brink; + He thought not of the deed he did, but judged that toil might drink. + He passed again, and lo! the well, by summers never dried, + Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, and saved a life besides. + + A dreamer dropped a random thought; 't was old, and yet 't was new; + A simple fancy of the brain, but strong in being true. + It shone upon a genial mind, and lo! its light became + A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monitory flame. + The thought was small; its issue great; a watch-fire on the hill, + It shed its radiance far adown, and cheers the valley still! + + A nameless man, amid the crowd that thronged the daily mart, + Let fall a word of Hope and Love, unstudied, from the heart; + A whisper on the tumult thrown,--a transitory breath,-- + It raised a brother from the dust; it saved a soul from death. + O germ! O fount! O word of love! O thought at random cast! + Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last. + +CHARLES MACKAY. + + + * * * * * + +THE RISE OF MAN. + + + Thou for whose birth the whole creation yearned + Through countless ages of the morning world, + Who, first in fiery vapors dimly hurled, + Next to the senseless crystal slowly turned, + Then to the plant which grew to something more,-- + Humblest of creatures that draw breath of life,-- + Wherefrom through infinites of patient pain + Came conscious man to reason and adore: + Shall we be shamed because such things have been, + Or bate one jot of our ancestral pride? + Nay, in thyself art thou not deified + That from such depths thou couldst such summits win? + While the long way behind is prophecy + Of those perfections which are yet to be. + +JOHN WHITE CHADWICK. + + + * * * * * + +I WOULD I WERE AN EXCELLENT DIVINE. + + + I would I were an excellent divine. + That had the Bible at my fingers' ends; + That men might hear out of this mouth of mine + How God doth make his enemies his friends; + Rather than with a thundering and long prayer + Be led into presumption, or despair. + + This would I be, and would none other be, + But a religious servant of my God; + And know there is none other God but he. + And willingly to suffer mercy's rod,-- + Joy in his grace, and live but in his love, + And seek my bliss but in the world above. + + And I would frame a kind of faithful prayer, + For all estates within the state of grace, + That careful love might never know despair. + Nor servile fear might faithful love deface; + And this would I both day and night devise + To make my humble spirit's exercise. + + And I would read the rules of sacred life; + Persuade the troubled soul to patience; + The husband care, and comfort to the wife, + To child and servant due obedience; + Faith to the friend, and to the neighbor peace, + That love might live, and quarrels all might cease. + + Prayer for the health of all that are diseased, + Confession unto all that are convicted, + And patience unto all that are displeased, + And comfort unto all that are afflicted, + And mercy unto all that have offended, + And grace to all, that all may be amended. + +NICHOLAS BRETON. + + + * * * * * + +THE PASTOR'S REVERIE. + + + The pastor sits in his easy-chair, + With the Bible upon his knee. + From gold to purple the clouds in the west + Are changing momently; + The shadows lie in the valleys below, + And hide in the curtain's fold; + And the page grows dim whereon he reads, + "I remember the days of old." + + "Not clear nor dark," as the Scripture saith, + The pastor's memories are; + No day that is gone was shadowless, + No night was without its star; + But mingled bitter and sweet hath been + The portion of his cup: + "The hand that in love hath smitten," he saith, + "In love hath bound us up." + + Fleet flies his thoughts over many a field + Of stubble and snow and bloom, + And now it trips through a festival, + And now it halts at a tomb; + Young faces smile in his reverie, + Of those that are young no more, + And voices are heard that only come + With the winds from a far-off shore. + + He thinks of the day when first, with fear + And faltering lips, he stood + To speak in the sacred place the Word + To the waiting multitude; + He walks again to the house of God + With the voice of joy and praise, + With many whose feet long time have pressed + Heaven's safe and blessed ways. + + He enters again the homes of toil, + And joins in the homely chat; + He stands in the shop of the artisan; + He sits, where the Master sat, + At the poor man's fire and the rich man's feast. + But who to-day are the poor, + And who are the rich? Ask him who keeps + The treasures that ever endure. + + Once more the green and the grove resound + With the merry children's din; + He hears their shout at the Christmas tide, + When Santa Claus stalks in. + Once more he lists while the camp-fire roars + On the distant mountain-side, + Or, proving apostleship, plies the brook + Where the fierce young troutlings hide. + + And now he beholds the wedding train + To the altar slowly move, + And the solemn words are said that seal + The sacrament of love. + Anon at the font he meets once more + The tremulous youthful pair, + With a white-robed cherub crowing response + To the consecrating prayer. + + By the couch of pain he kneels again; + Again, the thin hand lies + Cold in his palm, while the last far look + Steals into the steadfast eyes; + And now the burden of hearts that break + Lies heavy upon his own-- + The widow's woe and the orphan's cry + And the desolate mother's moan. + + So blithe and glad, so heavy and sad, + Are the days that are no more, + So mournfully sweet are the sounds that float + With the winds from a far-off shore. + For the pastor has learned what meaneth the word + That is given him to keep,-- + "Rejoice with them that do rejoice, + And weep with them that weep." + + It is not in vain that he has trod + This lonely and toilsome way. + It is not in vain that he has wrought + In the vineyard all the day; + For the soul that gives is the soul that lives, + And bearing another's load + Doth lighten your own and shorten the way, + And brighten the homeward road. + +WASHINGTON GLADDEN. + + + * * * * * + +TWO RABBIS. + + + The Rabbi Nathan, twoscore years and ten, + Walked blameless through the evil world, and then + Just as the almond blossomed in his hair, + Met a temptation all too strong to bear, + And miserably sinned. So, adding not + Falsehood to guilt, he left his seat, and taught + No more among the elders, but went out + From the great congregation girt about + With sackcloth, and with ashes on his head, + Making his gray locks grayer. Long he prayed, + Smiting his breast; then, as the Book he laid + Open before him for the Bath-Col's choice, + Pausing to hear that Daughter of a Voice, + Behold the royal preacher's words: "A friend + Loveth at all times, yea, unto the end; + And for the evil day thy brother lives." + Marvelling, he said: "It is the Lord who gives + Counsel in need. At Ecbatana dwells + Rabbi Ben Isaac, who all men excels + In righteousness and wisdom, as the trees + Of Lebanon the small weeds that the bees + Bow with their weight. I will arise and lay + My sins before him." + + And he went his way + Barefooted, fasting long, with many prayers; + But even as one who, followed unawares, + Suddenly in the darkness feels a hand + Thrill with its touch his own, and his cheek fanned + By odors subtly sweet, and whispers near + Of words he loathes, yet cannot choose but hear, + So, while the Rabbi journeyed, chanting low + The wail of David's penitential woe, + Before him still the old temptation came, + And mocked him with the motion and the shame + Of such desires that, shuddering, he abhorred + Himself; and, crying mightily to the Lord + To free his soul and cast the demon out, + Smote with his staff the blackness round about. + + At length, in the low light of a spent day, + The towers of Ecbatana far away + Rose on the desert's rim; and Nathan, faint + And footsore, pausing where for some dead saint + The faith of Islam reared a domed tomb, + Saw some one kneeling in the shadow, whom + He greeted kindly: "May the Holy One + Answer thy prayers, O stranger!" Whereupon + The shape stood up with a loud cry, and then, + Clasped in each other's arms, the two gray men + Wept, praising him whose gracious providence + Made their paths one. But straightway, as the sense + Of his transgression smote him, Nathan tore + Himself away: "O friend beloved, no more + Worthy am I to touch thee, for I came, + Foul from my sins to tell thee all my shame. + Haply thy prayers, since naught availeth mine, + May purge my soul, and make it white like thine. + Pity me, O Ben Isaac, I have sinned!" + Awestruck Ben Isaac stood. The desert wind + Blew his long mantle backward, laying bare + The mournful secret of his shirt of hair. + "I too, O friend, if not in act," he said, + "In thought have verily sinned. Hast thou not read, + 'Better the eye should see than that desire + Should wander'? Burning with a hidden fire + That tears and prayers quench not, I come to thee + For pity and for help, as thou to me. + Pray for me, O my friend!" But Nathan cried, + "Pray thou for me, Ben Isaac!" + + Side by side + In the low sunshine by the turban stone + They knelt; each made his brother's woe his own, + Forgetting, in the agony and stress + Of pitying love, his claim of selfishness; + Peace, for his friend besought, his own became; + His prayers were answered in another's name; + And, when at last they rose up to embrace, + Each saw God's pardon in his brother's face! + + Long after, when his headstone gathered moss, + Traced on the targum-marge of Onkelos + In Rabbi Nathan's hand these words were read: + "Hope not the cure of sin till Self is dead; + Forget it in love's service, and the debt + Thou canst not pay the angels shall forget; + Heaven's gate is shut to him who comes alone; + Save thou a soul, and it shall save thy own!" + +JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. + + + * * * * * + +JUDGE NOT. + + + Judge not; the workings of his brain + And of his heart thou canst not see; + What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, + In God's pure light may only be + A scar, brought from some well-won field, + Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. + + The look, the air, that frets thy sight + May be a token that below + The soul has closed in deadly fight + With some infernal fiery foe, + Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace + And cast thee shuddering on thy face! + + The fall thou darest to despise,-- + May be the angel's slackened hand + Has suffered it, that he may rise + And take a firmer, surer stand; + Or, trusting less to earthly things, + May henceforth learn to use his wings. + + And judge none lost; but wait and see, + With hopeful pity, not disdain; + The depth of the abyss may be + The measure of the height of pain + And love and glory that may raise + This soul to God in after days! + +ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. + + + * * * * * + +TO THE UNCO GUID. + + + "My son, these maxims make a rule + And lump them aye thegither: + The Rigid Righteous is a fool, + The Rigid Wise anither: + The cleanest corn that e'er was dight + May hae some pyles o' caff in; + Sae ne'er a fellow-creature slight + For random fits o' daffin." + + --SOLOMON, _Ecclesiastes_ vii. 16. + + + O ye wha are sae guid yoursel', + Sae pious and sae holy, + Ye've nought to do but mark and tell + Your neebor's fauts and folly:-- + Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, + Supplied wi' store o' water. + The heapet happer's ebbing still, + And still the clap plays clatter. + + Hear me, ye venerable core, + As counsel for poor mortals, + That frequent pass douce Wisdom's door, + For glaikit Folly's portals! + I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, + Would here propone defences, + Their donsie tricks, their black mistakes, + Their failings and mischances. + + Ye see your state wi' theirs compared, + And shudder at the niffer; + But cast a moment's fair regard, + What makes the mighty differ? + Discount what scant occasion gave + That purity ye pride in, + And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) + Your better art o' hidin'. + + Think, when your castigated pulse + Gies now and then a wallop, + What ragings must his veins convulse, + That still eternal gallop: + Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, + Right on ye scud your sea-way; + But in the teeth o' baith to sail, + It makes an unco leeway. + + See Social life and Glee sit down, + All joyous and unthinking, + Till, quite transmugrified, they're grown + Debauchery and Drinking: + O, would they stay to calculate + The eternal consequences; + Or your mortal dreaded hell to state, + Damnation of expenses! + + Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames, + Tied up in godly laces, + Before ye gie poor Frailty names, + Suppose a change o' cases; + A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, + A treacherous inclination,-- + But, let me whisper i' your lug, + Ye 're aiblins nae temptation. + + Then gently scan your brother man, + Still gentler sister woman; + Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, + To step aside is human. + One point must still be greatly dark, + The moving why they do it; + And just as lamely can ye mark + How far perhaps they rue it. + + Who made the heart, 't is He alone + Decidedly can try us; + He knows each chord,--its various tone, + Each spring,--its various bias: + Then at the balance let's be mute, + We never can adjust it; + What's done we partly may compute, + But know not what's resisted. + +ROBERT BURNS. + + + * * * * * + +STONE THE WOMAN, LET THE MAN GO FREE. + + + Yes, stone the woman, let the man go free! + Draw back your skirts, lest they perchance may touch + Her garment as she passes; but to him + Put forth a willing hand to clasp with his + That led her to destruction and disgrace. + Shut up from her the sacred ways of toil, + That she no more may win an honest meal; + But ope to him all honorable paths + Where he may win distinction; give to him + Fair, pressed-down measures of life's sweetest joys. + Pass her, O maiden, with a pure, proud face, + If she puts out a poor, polluted palm; + But lay thy hand in his on bridal day, + And swear to cling to him with wifely love + And tender reverence. Trust him who led + A sister woman to a fearful fate. + + Yes, stone the woman, let the man go free! + Let one soul suffer for the guilt of two-- + It is the doctrine of a hurried world, + Too out of breath for holding balances + Where nice distinctions and injustices + Are calmly weighed. But ah, how will it be + On that strange day of fire and flame, + When men shall wither with a mystic fear, + And all shall stand before the one true Judge? + Shall sex make _then_ a difference in sin? + Shall He, the Searcher of the hidden heart, + In His eternal and divine decree + Condemn the woman and forgive the man? + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +IN PRISON. + + + God pity the wretched prisoners, + In their lonely cells to-day! + Whatever the sins that tripped them, + God pity them! still I say. + + Only a strip of sunshine, + Cleft by rusty bars; + Only a patch of azure, + Only a cluster of stars; + + Only a barren future, + To starve their hope upon; + Only stinging memories + Of a past that's better gone; + + Only scorn from women. + Only hate from men, + Only remorse to whisper + Of a life that might have been. + + Once they were little children. + And perhaps their unstained feet + Were led by a gentle mother + Toward the golden street; + + Therefore, if in life's forest + They since have lost their way, + For the sake of her who loved them, + God pity them! still I say. + + O mothers gone to heaven! + With earnest heart I ask + That your eyes may not look earthward + On the failure of your task. + + For even in those mansions + The choking tears would rise, + Though the fairest hand in heaven + Would wipe them from your eyes! + + And you, who judge so harshly, + Are you sure the stumbling-stone + That tripped the feet of others + Might not have bruised your own? + + Are you sure the sad-faced angel + Who writes our errors down + Will ascribe to you more honor + Than him on whom you frown? + + Or, if a steadier purpose + Unto your life is given; + A stronger will to conquer, + A smoother path to heaven; + + If, when temptations meet you, + You crush them with a smile; + If you can chain pale passion + And keep your lips from guile; + + Then bless the hand that crowned you, + Remembering, as you go, + 'T was not your own endeavor + That shaped your nature so; + + And sneer not at the weakness + Which made a brother fall, + For the hand that lifts the fallen, + God loves the best of all! + + And pray for the wretched prisoners + All over the land to-day, + That a holy hand in pity + May wipe their guilt away. + +MAY RILEY SMITH. + + + * * * * * + +CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE. + + + "Good-bye," I said to my Conscience-- + "Good-bye for aye and aye;" + And I put her hands off harshly, + And turned my face away: + And Conscience, smitten sorely, + Returned not from that day. + + But a time came when my spirit + Grew weary of its pace: + And I cried, "Come back, my Conscience, + I long to see thy face;" + But Conscience cried, "I cannot,-- + Remorse sits in my place." + +PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR. + + + * * * * * + +FOUND WANTING. + + + Belshazzar had a letter,-- + He never had but one; + Belshazzar's correspondent + Concluded and begun + In that immortal copy + The conscience of us all + Can read without its glasses + On revelation's wall. + +EMILY DICKINSON. + + + * * * * * + +DALLYING WITH TEMPTATION. + + FROM THE FIRST PART OF "WALLENSTEIN," ACT III. SC. 4. + + + Wallenstein _(in soliloquy_). Is it possible? + Is't so? I _can_ no longer what I _would_! + No longer draw back at my liking! I + Must _do_ the deed, because I _thought_ of it, + And fed this heart here with a dream! Because + I did not scowl temptation from my presence, + Dallied with thought of possible fulfilment, + Commenced no movement, left all time uncertain, + And only kept the road, the access open! + By the great God of Heaven! It was not + My serious meaning, it was ne'er resolve. + I but amused myself with thinking of it. + The free-will tempted me, the power to do + Or not to do it.--Was it criminal + To make the fancy minister to hope, + To fill the air with pretty toys of air, + And clutch fantastic sceptres moving t'ward me? + Was not the will kept free? Beheld I not + The road of duty clear beside me--but + One little step and once more I was in it! + Where am I? Whither have I been transported? + No road, no track behind one, but a wall, + Impenetrable, insurmountable, + Rises obedient to the spells I muttered + And meant not--my own doings tower behind me. + +SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. + + + * * * * * + +EASY TO DRIFT. + + + Easy to drift to the open sea, + The tides are eager and swift and strong, + And whistling and free are the rushing winds,-- + But O, to get back is hard and long. + + Easy as told in Arabian tale, + To free from his jar the evil sprite + Till he rises like smoke to stupendous size,-- + But O, nevermore can we prison him tight. + + Easy as told in an English tale, + To fashion a Frankenstein, body and soul, + And breathe in his bosom a breath of life,-- + But O, we create what we cannot control. + + Easy to drift to the sea of doubt, + Easy to hurt what we cannot heal, + Easy to rouse what we cannot soothe, + Easy to speak what we do not feel, + Easy to show what we ought to conceal, + Easy to think that fancy is fate,-- + And O, the wisdom that comes too late! + +OLIVER HUCKEL. + + + * * * * * + +FRANKFORD'S SOLILOQUY. + + FROM "A WOMAN KILLED WITH KINDNESS" + + + O God! O God! that it were possible + To undo things done; to call back yesterday! + That time could turn up his swift sandy glass, + To untell the days, and to redeem these hours! + Or that the sun + Could, rising from the West, draw his coach backward,-- + Take from the account of time so many minutes. + Till he had all these seasons called again, + These minutes and these actions done in them. + +THOMAS HEYWOOD. + + + * * * * * + +CONSCIENCE. + + FROM SATIRE XIII. + + + The Spartan rogue who, boldly bent on fraud, + Dared ask the god to sanction and applaud, + And sought for counsel at the Pythian shrine, + Received for answer from the lips divine,-- + "That he who doubted to restore his trust, + And reasoned much, reluctant to be just, + Should for those doubts and that reluctance prove + The deepest vengeance of the powers above." + The tale declares that not pronounced in vain + Came forth the warning from the sacred fane: + Ere long no branch of that devoted race + Could mortal man on soil of Sparta trace! + Thus but intended mischief, stayed in time, + Had all the mortal guilt of finished crime. + If such his fate who yet but darkly dares, + Whose guilty purpose yet no act declares, + What were it, done! Ah! now farewell to peace! + Ne'er on this earth his soul's alarms shall cease! + Held in the mouth that languid fever burns, + His tasteless food he indolently turns; + On Alba's oldest stock his soul shall pine! + Forth from his lips he spits the joyless wine! + Nor all the nectar of the hills shall now + Or glad the heart, or smooth the wrinkled brow! + While o'er the couch his aching limbs are cast, + If care permit the brief repose at last, + Lo! there the altar and the fane abused! + Or darkly shadowed forth in dream confused, + While the damp brow betrays the inward storm, + Before him flits thy aggravated form! + Then as new fears o'er all his senses press, + Unwilling words the guilty truth confess! + These, these be they whom secret terrors try. + When muttered thunders shake the lurid sky; + Whose deadly paleness now the gloom conceals + And now the vivid flash anew reveals. + No storm as Nature's casualty they hold. + They deem without an aim no thunders rolled; + Where'er the lightning strikes, the flash is thought + Judicial fire, with Heaven's high vengeance fraught. + Passes this by, with yet more anxious ear + And greater dread, each future storm they fear; + In burning vigil, deadliest foe to sleep, + In their distempered frame if fever keep, + Or the pained side their wonted rest prevent, + Behold some incensed god his bow has bent! + All pains, all aches, are stones and arrows hurled + At bold offenders in this nether world! + From them no crested cock acceptance meets! + Their lamb before the altar vainly bleats! + Can pardoning Heaven on guilty sickness smile? + Or is there victim than itself more vile? + Where steadfast virtue dwells not in the breast, + Man is a wavering creature at the best! + +From the Latin of JUVENAL. + + + * * * * * + +THE FOOLISH VIRGINS. + + + The Queen looked up, and said, + "O maiden, if indeed you list to sing, + Sing, and unbind my heart, that I may weep." + Whereat full willingly sang the little maid: + + "Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! + Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. + Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now. + + "No light had we: for that we do repent; + And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. + Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now. + + "No light; so late! and dark and chill the night! + O, let us in, that we may find the light! + Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now. + + "Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? + O, let us in, though late, to kiss his feet! + No, no, too late! Ye cannot enter now." + + So sang the novice, while full passionately, + Her head upon her hands, wept the sad Queen. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +UP HILL. + + + Does the road wind up hill all the way? + _Yes, to the very end._ + Will the day's journey take the whole long day? + _From morn to night, my friend_. + + But is there for the night a resting-place? + _A roof for when the slow dark hours begin._ + May not the darkness hide it from my face? + _You cannot miss that inn_. + + Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? + _Those who have gone before._ + Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? + _They will not keep you standing at that door_. + + Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? + _Of labor you shall find the sum._ + Will there be beds for me and all who seek? + _Yea, beds for all who come_. + +CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. + + + * * * * * + +PER PACEM AD LUCEM. + + + I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be + A pleasant road; + I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me + Aught of its load; + + I do not ask that flowers should always spring + Beneath my feet; + I know too well the poison and the sting + Of things too sweet. + + For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead, + Lead me aright-- + Though strength should falter, and though heart should bleed-- + Through Peace to Light. + + I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed + Full radiance here; + Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread + Without a fear. + + I do not ask my cross to understand, + My way to see; + Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand + And follow Thee. + + Joy is like restless day; but peace divine + Like quiet night: + Lead me, O Lord,--till perfect Day shall shine, + Through Peace to Light. + +ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER. + + + * * * * * + +ON HIS BLINDNESS. + + + When I consider how my light is spent + Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, + And that one talent, which is death to hide, + Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent + To serve therewith my Maker, and present + My true account, lest he returning chide; + "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" + I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent + That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need + Either man's work or his own gifts; who best + Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state + Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, + And post o'er land and ocean without rest; + They also serve who only stand and wait." + +MILTON. + + + * * * * * + +THE MARTYRS' HYMN. + + + Flung to the heedless winds, + Or on the waters cast, + The martyrs' ashes, watched, + Shall gathered be at last; + And from that scattered dust, + Around us and abroad, + Shall spring a plenteous seed + Of witnesses for God. + + The Father hath received + Their latest living breath; + And vain is Satan's boast + Of victory in their death; + Still, still, though dead, they speak, + And, trumpet-tongued, proclaim + To many a wakening land + The one availing name. + +From the German of MARTIN LUTHER. + +Translation of W.J. FOX. + + + * * * * * + +THE PILGRIMAGE. + + + Give me my scallop-shell of quiet, + My staff of faith to walk upon, + My scrip of joy, immortal diet, + My bottle of salvation, + My gown of glory, hope's true gauge; + And thus I'll take my pilgrimage! + + Blood must be my body's balmer, + No other balm will there be given; + Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, + Travelleth towards the land of Heaven, + Over the silver mountains + Where spring the nectar fountains: + There will I kiss + The bowl of bliss, + And drink mine everlasting fill + Upon every milken hill. + My soul will be a-dry before, + But after, it will thirst no more. + + Then by that happy, blissful day, + More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, + That have cast off their rags of clay, + And walk apparelled fresh like me. + I'll take them first + To quench their thirst, + And taste of nectar's suckets + At those clear wells + Where sweetness dwells + Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. + + And when our bottles and all we + Are filled with immortality, + Then the blest paths we'll travel, + Strewed with rubies thick as gravel,-- + Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors. + High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. + From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, + Where no corrupted voices brawl; + No conscience molten into gold, + No forged accuser, bought or sold, + No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, + For there Christ is the King's Attorney; + Who pleads for all without degrees, + And he hath angels, but no fees; + And when the grand twelve-million jury + Of our sins, with direful fury, + 'Gainst our souls black verdicts give, + Christ pleads his death, and then we live. + Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader, + Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder! + Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,-- + Not with a bribed lawyer's palms. + And this is mine eternal plea + To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea', + That, since my flesh must die so soon, + And want a head to dine next noon, + Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread. + Set on my soul an everlasting head: + Then am I, like a palmer, fit + To tread those blest paths which before I writ. + + Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, + Who oft doth think, must needs die well. + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + + * * * * * + +THE MASTER'S TOUCH. + + + In the still air the music lies unheard; + In the rough marble beauty hides unseen: + To make the music and the beauty, needs + The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. + + Great Master, touch us with thy skilful hand; + Let not the music that is in us die! + Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let, + Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie! + + Spare not the stroke! do with us as thou wilt! + Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred; + Complete thy purpose, that we may become + Thy perfect image, thou our God and Lord! + +HORATIUS BONAR. + + + * * * * * + +THE FAITHFUL ANGEL. + + FROM "PARADISE LOST," BOOK V. + + + The seraph Abdiel, faithful found + Among the faithless, faithful only he; + Among innumerable false, unmoved, + Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified, + His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal; + Nor number, nor example with him wrought + To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, + Though single. From amidst them forth he passed, + Long way through hostile scorn, which he sustained + Superior, nor of violence feared aught; + And with retorted scorn his back he turned + On those proud towers to swift destruction doomed. + +MILTON. + + + * * * * * + +LOW SPIRITS. + + + Fever and fret and aimless stir + And disappointed strife, + All chafing, unsuccessful things, + Make up the sum of life. + + Love adds anxiety to toil, + And sameness doubles cares. + While one unbroken chain of work + The flagging temper wears. + + The light and air are dulled with smoke: + The streets resound with noise; + And the soul sinks to see its peers + Chasing their joyless joys. + + Voices are round me; smiles are near; + Kind welcomes to be had; + And yet my spirit is alone, + Fretful, outworn, and sad. + + A weary actor, I would fain + Be quit of my long part; + The burden of unquiet life + Lies heavy on my heart. + + Sweet thought of God! now do thy work + As thou hast done before; + Wake up, and tears will wake with thee, + And the dull mood be o'er. + + The very thinking of the thought + Without or praise or prayer, + Gives light to know, and life to do, + And marvellous strength to bear. + + Oh, there is music in that thought, + Unto a heart unstrung, + Like sweet bells at the evening time, + Most musically rung. + + 'Tis not his justice or his power, + Beauty or blest abode, + But the mere unexpanded thought + Of the eternal God. + + It is not of his wondrous works, + Not even that he is; + Words fail it, but it is a thought + Which by itself is bliss. + + Sweet thought, lie closer to my heart! + That I may feel thee near, + As one who for his weapon feels + In some nocturnal fear. + + Mostly in hours of gloom thou com'st, + When sadness makes us lowly, + As though thou wert the echo sweet + Of humble melancholy. + + I bless thee. Lord, for this kind check + To spirits over free! + More helpless need of thee! + And for all things that make me feel + +FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. + + + * * * * * + +I SAW THEE. + + "When thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee." + + + I Saw thee when, as twilight fell, + And evening lit her fairest star, + Thy footsteps sought yon quiet dell, + The world's confusion left afar. + + I saw thee when thou stood'st alone, + Where drooping branches thick o'erhung, + Thy still retreat to all unknown, + Hid in deep shadows darkly flung. + + I saw thee when, as died each sound + Of bleating flock or woodland bird, + Kneeling, as if on holy ground, + Thy voice the listening silence heard. + + I saw thy calm, uplifted eyes, + And marked the heaving of thy breast, + When rose to heaven thy heartfelt sighs + For purer life, for perfect rest. + + I saw the light that o'er thy face + Stole with a soft, suffusing glow, + As if, within, celestial grace + Breathed the same bliss that angels know. + + I saw--what thou didst not--above + Thy lowly head an open heaven; + And tokens of thy Father's love + With smiles to thy rapt spirit given. + + I saw thee from that sacred spot + With firm and peaceful soul depart; + I, Jesus, saw thee,--doubt it not,-- + And read the secrets of thy heart! + +RAY PALMER. + + + * * * * * + +LOSSE IN DELAYES. + + + Shun delayes, they breed remorse, + Take thy time while time doth serve thee, + Creeping snayles have weakest force, + Flie their fault, lest thou repent thee. + Good is best when soonest wrought, + Lingering labours come to nought. + + Hoyse up sayle while gale doth last, + Tide and winde stay no man's pleasure; + Seek not time when time is past, + Sober speede is wisdome's leasure. + After-wits are dearely bought, + Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. + + Time weares all his locks before, + Take thou hold upon his forehead; + When he flies, he turnes no more, + And behind his scalpe is naked. + Workes adjourned have many stayes, + Long demurres breed new delayes. + + Seeke thy salve while sore is greene, + Festered wounds aske deeper launcing; + After-cures are seldome seene, + Often sought, scarce ever chancing. + Time and place gives best advice. + Out of season, out of price. + + Crush the serpent in the head, + Breake ill eggs ere they be hatched: + Kill bad chickens in the tread; + Fledged, they hardly can be catched: + In the rising stifle ill, + Lest it grow against thy will. + + Drops do pierce the stubborn flint, + Not by force, but often falling; + Custome kills with feeble dint. + More by use than strength prevailing: + Single sands have little weight, + Many make a drowning freight. + + Tender twigs are bent with ease, + Aged trees do breake with bending; + Young desires make little prease, + Growth doth make them past amending. + Happie man that soon doth knocke, + Babel's babes against the rocke. + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + + * * * * * + +THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY. + + + Dear, secret greenness! nurst below + Tempests and winds and winter nights! + Vex not, that but One sees thee grow; + That One made all these lesser lights. + + What needs a conscience calm and bright + Within itself, an outward test? + Who breaks his glass, to take more light, + Makes way for storms into his rest. + + Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch + At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; + Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch + Till the white-winged reapers come! + +HENRY VAUGHAN. + + + * * * * * + +PATIENCE. + + + She hath no beauty in her face + Unless the chastened sweetness there, + And meek long-suffering, yield a grace + To make her mournful features fair:-- + + Shunned by the gay, the proud, the young, + She roams through dim, unsheltered ways; + Nor lover's vow, nor flatterer's tongue + Brings music to her sombre days:-- + + At best her skies are clouded o'er, + And oft she fronts the stinging sleet, + Or feels on some tempestuous shore + The storm-waves lash her naked feet. + + Where'er she strays, or musing stands + By lonesome beach, by turbulent mart, + We see her pale, half-tremulous hands + Crossed humbly o'er her aching heart! + + Within, a secret pain she bears,-- + pain too deep to feel the balm + An April spirit finds in tears; + Alas! all cureless griefs are calm! + + Yet in her passionate strength supreme, + Despair beyond her pathway flies, + Awed by the softly steadfast beam + Of sad, but heaven-enamored eyes! + + Who pause to greet her, vaguely seem + Touched by fine wafts of holier air; + As those who in some mystic dream + Talk with the angels unaware! + +PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. + + + * * * * * + +SOMETIME. + + + Sometime, when all life's lessons have been learned, + And sun and stars forevermore have set, + The things o'er which our weak judgments here have spurned, + The things o'er which we grieved with lashes wet, + Will flash before us, out of life's dark night, + As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue; + And we shall see how all God's plans are right, + And how what seems reproof was love most true. + + And we shall see how, while we frown and sigh, + God's plans go on as best for you and me; + How, when we called, he heeded not our cry, + Because his wisdom to the end could see. + And e'en as prudent parents disallow + Too much of sweet to craving babyhood, + So God, perhaps, is keeping from us now + Life's sweetest things, because it seemeth good. + + And if sometimes, commingled with life's wine, + We find the wormwood, and rebel and shrink, + Be sure a wiser hand than yours or mine + Pours out this potion for our lips to drink. + And if some friend we love is lying low, + Where human kisses cannot reach his face, + Oh, do not blame the loving Father so, + But wear your sorrow with obedient grace! + + And you shall shortly know that lengthened breath + Is not the sweetest gift God sends his friend, + And that, sometimes, the sable pall of death + Conceals the fairest bloom his love can send. + If we could push ajar the gates of life, + And stand within, and all God's workings see, + We could interpret all this doubt and strife, + And for each mystery could find a key. + + But not to-day. Then be content, poor heart! + God's plans like lilies pure and white unfold. + We must not tear the close-shut leaves apart, + Time will reveal the calyxes of gold. + And if, through patient toil, we reach the land + Where tired feet, with sandals loosed, may rest, + When we shall clearly know and understand, + I think that we will say, "God knew the best!" + +MAY RILEY SMITH. + + + * * * * * + +FATHER, THY WILL BE DONE! + + + He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, + Alike they're needful for the flower; + And joys and tears alike are sent + To give the soul fit nourishment: + As comes to me or cloud or sun, + Father, thy will, not mine, be done! + + Can loving children e'er reprove + With murmurs whom they trust and love? + Creator, I would ever be + A trusting, loving child to thee: + As comes to me or cloud or sun, + Father, thy will, not mine, be done! + + Oh, ne'er will I at life repine; + Enough that thou hast made it mine; + When falls the shadow cold of death, + I yet will sing with parting breath: + As comes to me or shade or sun, + Father, thy will, not mine, be done! + +SARAH FLOWER ADAMS. + + + + +VI. + +DEATH: IMMORTALITY: HEAVEN. + + * * * * * + +THE PROSPECT. + + + Methinks we do as fretful children do, + Leaning their faces on the window-pane + To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, + And shut the sky and landscape from their view; + And, thus, alas! since God the maker drew + A mystic separation 'twixt those twain,-- + The life beyond us and our souls in pain,-- + We miss the prospect which we are called unto + By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong, + O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, + And keep thy soul's large windows pure from wrong; + That so, as life's appointment issueth, + Thy vision may be clear to watch along + The sunset consummation-lights of death. + +ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +THE LOST PLEIAD. + + + Not in the sky, + Where it was seen, + Nor on the white tops of the glistening wave, + Nor in the mansions of the hidden deep,-- + Though green, + And beautiful, its caves of mystery;-- + Shall the bright watcher have + A place, and as of old high station keep. + + Gone, gone! + Oh, never more to cheer + The mariner who holds his course alone + On the Atlantic, through the weary night, + When the stars turn to watchers, and do sleep, + Shall it appear, + With the sweet fixedness of certain light, + Down-shining on the shut eyes of the deep. + + Vain, vain! + Hopeless most idly then, shall he look forth, + That mariner from his bark. + Howe'er the north + Does raise his certain lamp, when tempests lower-- + He sees no more that perished light again! + And gloomier grows the hour + Which may not, through the thick and crowding dark, + Restore that lost and loved one to her tower. + + He looks,--the shepherd of Chaldea's hills + Tending his flocks,-- + And wonders the rich beacon does not blaze, + Gladdening his gaze;-- + And from his dreary watch along the rocks, + Guiding him safely home through perilous ways! + Still wondering as the drowsy silence fills + The sorrowful scene, and every hour distils + Its leaden dews.--How chafes he at the night, + Still slow to bring the expected and sweet light, + So natural to his sight! + + And lone, + Where its first splendors shone, + Shall be that pleasant company of stars: + How should they know that death + Such perfect beauty mars? + And like the earth, its crimson bloom and breath; + Fallen from on high, + Their lights grow blasted by its touch, and die!-- + All their concerted springs of harmony + Snapped rudely, and the generous music gone. + + A strain--a mellow strain-- + A wailing sweetness filled the sky; + The stars, lamenting in unborrowed pain, + That one of their selectest ones must die! + Must vanish, when most lovely, from the rest! + Alas! 'tis evermore our destiny, + The hope, heart-cherished, is the soonest lost; + The flower first budden, soonest feels the frost: + Are not the shortest-lived still loveliest? + And, like the pale star shooting down the sky, + Look they not ever brightest when they fly + The desolate home they blessed? + +WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. + + + * * * * * + +PASSING AWAY. + + + Was it the chime of a tiny bell + That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, + Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell + That he winds, on the beach, so mellow and clear, + When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, + And the Moon and the Fairy are watching the deep, + She dispensing her silvery light. + And he his notes as silvery quite. + While the boatman listens and ships his oar, + To catch the music that comes from the shore? + Hark! the notes on my ear that play + Are set to words; as they float, they say, + "Passing away! passing away!" + + But no; it was not a fairy's shell. + Blown on the beach, so mellow and clear; + Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell, + Striking the hour, that filled my ear, + As I lay in my dream; yet was it a chime + That told of the flow of the stream of time. + For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, + And a plump little girl, for a pendulum, swung + (As you've sometimes seen, in a little ring + That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing); + And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, + And, as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, + "Passing away! passing away!" + + Oh, how bright were the wheels, that told + Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow; + And the hands, as they swept o'er the dial of gold, + Seemed to point to the girl below. + And lo! she had changed: in a few short hours + Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers, + That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung + This way and that, as she, dancing, swung + In the fulness of grace and of womanly pride, + That told me she soon was to be a bride; + Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, + In the same sweet voice I heard her say, + "Passing away! passing away!" + + While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade + Of thought or care stole softly over, + Like that by a cloud in a summer's day made, + Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. + The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush + Had something lost of its brilliant blush; + And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels, + That marched so calmly round above her, + Was a little dimmed,--as when evening steals + Upon noon's hot face. Yet one couldn't but love her, + For she looked like a mother whose first babe lay + Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day; + And she seemed, in the same silver tone, to say, + "Passing away! passing away!" + + While yet I looked, what a change there came! + Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan; + Stooping and staffed was her withered frame, + Yet just as busily swung she on; + The garland beneath her had fallen to dust; + The wheels above her were eaten with rust: + The hands, that over the dial swept, + Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they kept + And still there came that silver tone + From the shrivelled lips of the toothless crone + (Let me never forget till my dying day + The tone or the burden of her lay), + "Passing away! passing away!" + +JOHN PIERPONT. + + + * * * * * + +LINES + + FOUND IN HIS BIBLE IN THE GATE-HOUSE AT WESTMINSTER. + + + E'en such is time; that takes in trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, + And pays us but with earth and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, + When we have wandered all our ways, + Shuts up the story of our days: + But from this earth, this grave, this dust, + My God shall raise me up, I trust. + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + + * * * * * + +MY AIN COUNTREE. + + "But now they desire a better country, that is, an + heavenly."--HEBREWS xi. 16. + + + I'm far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles, + For the langed-for hame-bringing, an' my Father's welcome smiles; + I'll never be fu' content, until mine een do see + The shining gates o' heaven an' my ain countree. + + The earth is flecked wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh, an' gay, + The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae; + But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me, + When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree. + + I've his gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King + To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring: + Wi' een an' wi' hearts runnin' owre, we shall see + The King in his beauty in our ain countree. + + My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair, + But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair; + His bluid has made me white, his hand shall dry mine e'e, + When he brings me hame at last, to my ain countree. + + Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest, + I wad fain be ganging noo, unto my Saviour's breast; + For he gathers in his bosom, witless, worthless lambs like me, + And carries them himse' to his ain countree. + + He's faithfu' that hath promised, he'll surely come again, + He'll keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken; + But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be, + To gang at ony moment to my ain countree. + + So I'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I wait, + For the soun'ing o' his footfa' this side the shining gate; + God gie his grace to ilk ane wha listens noo to me, + That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countree. + +MARY LEE DEMAREST. + + + * * * * * + +COMING. + + "At even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the + morning."--Mark xiii. 35. + + + "It may be in the evening, + When the work of the day is done, + And you have time to sit in the twilight + And watch the sinking sun, + While the long bright day dies slowly + Over the sea, + And the hour grows quiet and holy + With thoughts of me; + While you hear the village children + Passing along the street, + Among those thronging footsteps + May come the sound of _my_ feet. + Therefore I tell you: Watch. + By the light of the evening star, + When the room is growing dusky + As the clouds afar; + Let the door be on the latch + In your home, + For it may be through the gloaming + I will come. + + "It may be when the midnight + Is heavy upon the land, + And the black waves lying dumbly + Along the sand; + When the moonless night draws close, + And the lights are out in the house; + When the fires burn low and red, + And the watch is ticking loudly + Beside the bed: + Though you sleep, tired out, on your couch, + Still your heart must wake and watch + In the dark room, + For it may be that at midnight + I will come. + + "It may be at the cock-crow, + When the night is dying slowly + In the sky, + And the sea looks calm and holy, + Waiting for the dawn + Of the golden sun + Which draweth nigh; + When the mists are on the valleys, shading + The rivers chill, + And my morning-star is fading, fading + Over the hill: + Behold I say unto you: Watch; + Let the door be on the latch + In your home; + In the chill before the dawning, + Between the night and morning, + I may come. + + "It may be in the morning, + When the sun is bright and strong, + And the dew is glittering sharply + Over the little lawn; + When the waves are laughing loudly + Along the shore, + And the little birds are singing sweetly + About the door; + With the long day's work before you, + You rise up with the sun, + And the neighbors come in to talk a little + Of all that must be done. + But remember that _I_ may be the next + To come in at the door, + To call you from all your busy work + Forevermore: + As you work your heart must watch, + For the door is on the latch + In your room, + And it may be in the morning + I will come." + + So He passed down my cottage garden, + By the path that leads to the sea, + Till he came to the turn of the little road + Where the birch and laburnum tree + Lean over and arch the way; + There I saw him a moment stay, + And turn once more to me, + As I wept at the cottage door, + And lift up his hands in blessing-- + Then I saw his face no more. + + And I stood still in the doorway, + Leaning against the wall, + Not heeding the fair white roses, + Though I crushed them and let them fall. + Only looking down the pathway, + And looking toward the sea, + And wondering, and wondering + When he would come back for me; + Till I was aware of an angel + Who was going swiftly by, + With the gladness of one who goeth + In the light of God Most High. + + He passed the end of the cottage + Toward the garden gate; + (I suppose he was come down + At the setting of the sun + To comfort some one in the village + Whose dwelling was desolate) + And he paused before the door + Beside my place, + And the likeness of a smile + Was on his face. + "Weep not," he said, "for unto you is given + To watch for the coming of his feet + Who is the glory of our blessed heaven; + The work and watching will be very sweet, + Even in an earthly home; + And in such an hour as you think not + He will come." + + So I am watching quietly + Every day. + Whenever the sun shines brightly, + I rise and say: + "Surely it is the shining of his face!" + And look unto the gates of his high place + Beyond the sea; + For I know he is coming shortly + To summon me. + And when a shadow falls across the window + Of my room, + Where I am working my appointed task, + I lift my head to watch the door, and ask + If he is come; + And the angel answers sweetly + In my home: + "Only a few more shadows, + And he will come." + +BARBARA MILLER MACANDREW. + + + * * * * * + +EUTHANASIA. + + + Methinks, when on the languid eye + Life's autumn scenes grow dim; + When evening's shadows veil the sky; + And pleasure's siren hymn + Grows fainter on the tuneless ear, + Like echoes from another sphere, + Or dreams of seraphim-- + It were not sad to cast away + This dull and cumbrous load of clay. + + It were not sad to feel the heart + Grow passionless and cold; + To feel those longings to depart + That cheered the good of old; + To clasp the faith which looks on high, + Which fires the Christian's dying eye, + And makes the curtain-fold + That falls upon his wasting breast, + The door that leads to endless rest. + + It seems not lonely thus to lie + On that triumphant bed, + Till the pure spirit mounts on high + By white-winged seraphs led: + Where glories, earth may never know, + O'er "many mansions" lingering glow, + In peerless lustre shed. + It were not lonely thus to soar + Where sin and grief can sting no more. + + And though the way to such a goal + Lies through the clouded tomb, + If on the free, unfettered soul + There rest no stains of gloom, + How should its aspirations rise + Far through the blue unpillared skies, + Up to its final home, + Beyond the journeyings of the sun, + Where streams of living waters run! + +WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK. + + + * * * * * + +THE LAST MAN. + + + All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, + The Sun himself must die, + Before this mortal shall assume + Its immortality! + I saw a vision in my sleep, + That gave my spirit strength to sweep + Adown the gulf of time! + I saw the last of human mould + That shall creation's death behold, + As Adam saw her prime! + + The sun's eye had a sickly glare, + The skeletons of nations were + Around that lonely man! + Some had expired in fight,--the brands + Still rusted in their bony hands, + In plague and famine some! + Earth's cities had no sound nor tread; + And ships were drifting with the dead + To shores where all was dumb! + + Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, + With dauntless words and high, + That shook the sear leaves from the wood, + As if a storm passed by, + Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun! + Thy face is cold, thy race is run, + 'Tis Mercy bids thee go; + For thou ten thousand thousand years + Hast seen the tide of human tears, + That shall no longer flow. + + What though beneath thee man put forth + His pomp, his pride, his skill; + And arts that made fire, flood, and earth + The vassals of his will? + Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, + Thou dim, discrowned king of day; + For all those trophied arts + And triumphs that beneath thee sprang, + Healed not a passion or a pang + Entailed on human hearts. + + Go, let oblivion's curtain fall + Upon the stage of men. + Nor with thy rising beams recall + Life's tragedy again: + Its piteous pageants bring not back, + Nor waken flesh, upon the rack + Of pain anew to writhe; + Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred, + Or mown in battle by the sword, + Like grass beneath the scythe. + + Even I am weary in yon skies + To watch thy fading fire; + Test of all sumless agonies, + Behold not me expire. + My lips, that speak thy dirge of death,-- + Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath + To see thou shalt not boast. + The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, + The majesty of darkness shall + Receive my parting ghost! + + This spirit shall return to Him + Who gave its heavenly spark; + Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim + When thou thyself art dark! + No! it shall live again, and shine + In bliss unknown to beams of thine, + By Him recalled to breath, + Who captive led captivity, + Who robbed the grave of victory, + And took the sting from death! + + Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up + On Nature's awful waste + To drink this last and bitter cup + Of grief that man shall taste,-- + Go, tell the night that hides thy face, + Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race, + On earth's sepulchral clod, + The darkening universe defy + To quench his immortality, + Or shake his trust in God! + +THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + + * * * * * + +WHEN. + + + If I were told that I must die to-morrow, + That the next sun + Which sinks should bear me past all fear and sorrow + For any one, + All the fight fought, all the short journey through. + What should I do? + + I do not think that I should shrink or falter, + But just go on, + Doing my work, nor change nor seek to alter + Aught that is gone; + But rise and move and love and smile and pray + For one more day. + + And, lying down at night for a last sleeping, + Say in that ear + Which hearkens ever: "Lord, within thy keeping + How should I fear? + And when to-morrow brings thee nearer still, + Do thou thy will." + + I might not sleep for awe; but peaceful, tender, + My soul would lie + All the night long; and when the morning splendor + Flushed o'er the sky, + I think that I could smile--could calmly say, + "It is his day." + + But if a wondrous hand from the blue yonder + Held out a scroll, + On which my life was writ, and I with wonder + Beheld unroll + To a long century's end its mystic clew, + What should I do?' + + What _could_ I do, O blessed Guide and Master, + Other than this; + Still to go on as now, not slower, faster, + Nor fear to miss + The road, although so very long it be, + While led by thee? + + Step after step, feeling thee close beside me, + Although unseen, + Through thorns, through flowers, whether the tempest hide thee, + Or heavens serene, + Assured thy faithfulness cannot betray, + Thy love decay. + + I may not know; my God, no hand revealeth + Thy counsels wise; + Along the path a deepening shadow stealeth, + No voice replies + To all my questioning thought, the time to tell; + And it is well. + + Let me keep on, abiding and unfearing + Thy will always, + Through a long century's ripening fruition + Or a short day's; + Thou canst not come too soon; and I can wait + If thou come late. + +SARAH WOOLSEY (_Susan Coolidge_). + + + * * * * * + +BURIAL OF MOSES. + + "And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over + against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto + this day."--DEUTERONOMY xxxiv. 6. + + + By Nebo's lonely mountain, + On this side Jordan's wave, + In a vale in the land of Moab, + There lies a lonely grave; + But no man built that sepulchre, + And no man saw it e'er; + For the angels of God upturned the sod, + And laid the dead man there. + + That was the grandest funeral + That ever passed on earth; + Yet no man heard the trampling, + Or saw the train go forth: + Noiselessly as daylight + Comes back when night is done, + And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek + Grows into the great sun; + + Noiselessly as the spring-time + Her crown of verdure weaves, + And all the trees on all the hills + Unfold their thousand leaves: + So without sound of music + Or voice of them that wept, + Silently down from the mountain's crown + The great procession swept. + + Perchance the bald old eagle + On gray Beth-peor's height + Out of his rocky eyry + Looked on the wondrous sight; + Perchance the lion stalking + Still shuns that hallowed spot; + For beast and bird have seen and heard + That which man knoweth not. + + But, when the warrior dieth. + His comrades of the war. + With arms reversed and muffled drums, + Follow the funeral car: + They show the banners taken; + They tell his battles won; + And after him lead his masterless steed, + While peals the minute-gun. + + Amid the noblest of the land + Men lay the sage to rest, + And give the bard an honored place, + With costly marbles drest, + In the great minster transept + Where lights like glories fall, + And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings + Along the emblazoned hall. + + This was the bravest warrior + That ever buckled sword; + This the most gifted poet + That ever breathed a word; + And never earth's philosopher + Traced with his glorious pen + On the deathless page truths half so sage + As he wrote down for men. + + And had he not high honor?-- + The hillside for a pall! + To lie in state while angels wait, + With stars for tapers tall! + And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, + Over his bier to wave, + And God's own hand, in that lonely land, + To lay him in his grave!-- + + In that strange grave without a name, + Whence his uncoffined clay + Shall break again--O wondrous thought!-- + Before the judgment day, + And stand, with glory wrapped around + On the hills he never trod, + And speak of the strife that won our life + With the incarnate Son of God. + + O lonely tomb in Moab's land! + O dark Beth-peor's hill! + Speak to these curious hearts of ours, + And teach them to be still: + God hath his mysteries of grace, + Ways that we cannot tell, + He hides them deep, like the secret sleep + Of him he loved so well. + +CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER. + + + * * * * * + +THE RESIGNATION. + + + O God, whose thunder shakes the sky, + Whose eye this atom globe surveys, + To thee, my only rock, I fly, + Thy mercy in thy justice praise. + + The mystic mazes of thy will, + The shadows of celestial light, + Are past the power of human skill; + But what the Eternal acts is right. + + Oh, teach me in the trying hour, + When anguish swells the dewy tear, + To still my sorrows, own my power, + Thy goodness love, thy Justice fear. + + If in this bosom aught but thee + Encroaching sought a boundless sway, + Omniscience could the danger see, + And Mercy look the cause away. + + Then why, my soul, dost thou complain, + Why drooping seek the dark recess? + Shake off the melancholy chain, + For God created all to bless. + + But ah! my breast is human still; + The rising sigh, the falling tear, + My languid vitals' feeble rill, + The sickness of my soul declare. + + But yet, with fortitude resigned, + I'll thank the inflicter of the blow; + Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, + Nor let the gush of misery flow. + + The gloomy mantle of the night, + Which on my sinking spirit steals, + Will vanish at the morning light, + Which God, my east, my sun, reveals. + +THOMAS CHATTERTON. + + + * * * * * + +"ONLY WAITING." + + [A very aged man in an almshouse was asked what he was doing + now. He replied, "Only waiting."] + + + Only waiting till the shadows + Are a little longer grown, + Only waiting till the glimmer + Of the day's last beam is flown; + Till the night of earth is faded + From the heart, once full of day; + Till the stars of heaven are breaking + Through the twilight soft and gray. + + Only waiting till the reapers + Have the last sheaf gathered home, + For the summer time is faded, + And the autumn winds have come. + Quickly, reapers! gather quickly + The last ripe hours of my heart, + For the bloom of life is withered, + And I hasten to depart. + + Only waiting till the angels + Open wide the mystic gate, + At whose feet I long have lingered, + Weary, poor, and desolate. + Even now I hear the footsteps, + And their voices far away; + If they call me, I am waiting, + Only waiting to obey. + + Only waiting till the shadows + Are a little longer grown, + Only waiting till the glimmer + Of the day's last beam is flown. + Then from out the gathered darkness, + Holy, deathless stars shall rise, + By whose light my soul shall gladly + Tread its pathway to the skies. + +FRANCES LAUGHTON MACE. + + + * * * * * + +HOPEFULLY WAITING. + + "Blessed are they who are homesick, for they shall come at + last to their Father's house."--HEINRICH STILLING. + + + Not as you meant, O learned man, and good! + Do I accept thy words of truth and rest; + God, knowing all, knows what for me is best, + And gives me what I need, not what he could, + Nor always as I would! + I shall go to the Father's house, and see + Him and the Elder Brother face to face,-- + What day or hour I know not. Let me be + Steadfast in work, and earnest in the race, + Not as a homesick child who all day long + Whines at its play, and seldom speaks in song. + + If for a time some loved one goes away, + And leaves us our appointed work to do, + Can we to him or to ourselves be true + In mourning his departure day by day, + And so our work delay? + Nay, if we love and honor, we shall make + The absence brief by doing well our task,-- + Not for ourselves, but for the dear One's sake. + And at his coming only of him ask + Approval of the work, which most was done, + Not for ourselves, but our Beloved One. + + Our Father's house, I know, is broad and grand; + In it how many, many mansions are! + And, far beyond the light of sun or star, + Four little ones of mine through that fair land + Are walking hand in hand! + Think you I love not, or that I forget + These of my loins? Still this world is fair, + And I am singing while my eyes are wet + With weeping in this balmy summer air: + Yet I'm not homesick, and the children _here_ + Have need of me, and so my way is clear. + + I would be joyful as my days go by, + Counting God's mercies to rue. He who bore + Life's heaviest cross is mine forever-more, + And I who wait his coming, shall not I + On his sure word rely? + And if sometimes the way be rough and steep, + Be heavy for the grief he sends to me, + Or at my waking I would only weep, + Let me remember these are things to be, + To work his blessed will until he comes + To take my hand, and lead me safely home. + +ANSON D.F. RANDOLPH. + + + * * * * * + +SIT DOWN, SAD SOUL. + + + Sit down, sad soul, and count + The moments flying; + Come, tell the sweet amount + That's lost by sighing! + How many smiles?--a score? + Then laugh, and count no more; + For day is dying! + + Lie down, sad soul, and sleep, + And no more measure + The flight of time, nor weep + The loss of leisure; + But here, by this lone stream, + Lie down with us, and dream + Of starry treasure! + + We dream: do thou the same; + We love,--forever; + We laugh, yet few we shame,-- + The gentle never. + Stay, then, till sorrow dies; + Then--hope and happy skies + Are thine forever! + +BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. (_Barry Cornwall_.) + + + * * * * * + +IT KINDLES ALL MY SOUL. + + "Urit me Patriae decor." + + + It kindles all my soul, + My country's loveliness! Those starry choirs + That watch around the pole, + And the moon's tender light, and heavenly fires + Through golden halls that roll. + O chorus of the night! O planets, sworn + The music of the spheres + To follow! Lovely watchers, that think scorn + To rest till day appears! + Me, for celestial homes of glory born, + Why here, O, why so long, + Do ye behold an exile from on high? + Here, O ye shining throng, + With lilies spread the mound where I shall lie: + Here let me drop my chain, + And dust to dust returning, cast away + The trammels that remain; + The rest of me shall spring to endless day! + +From the Latin of CASIMIR OF POLAND. + + + * * * * * + +EPILOGUE. + + + At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time. + When you set your fancies free, + Will they pass to where--by death, fools think, imprisoned-- + Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so, + --Pity me? + + Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken! + What had I on earth to do + With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly? + Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless did I drivel + --Being--who? + + One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, + Never doubted clouds would break, + Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, + Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, + Sleep to wake. + + No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time + Greet the unseen with a cheer! + Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, + "Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed,--fight on, fare ever + There as here!" + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + + * * * * * + +CROSSING THE BAR. + + + Sunset and evening star, + And one clear call for me! + And may there be no moaning of the bar, + When I put out to sea, + + But such a tide as moving seems asleep, + Too full for sound and foam, + When that which drew from out the boundless deep + Turns again home. + + Twilight and evening bell, + And after that the dark! + And may there be no sadness of farewell, + When I embark; + + For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place + The flood may bear me far, + I hope to see my Pilot face to face + When I have crossed the bar. + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. + + + Vital spark of heavenly flame! + Quit, O quit this mortal frame! + Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying, + O, the pain, the bliss of dying! + Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, + And let me languish into life! + + Hark! they whisper; angels say, + Sister spirit, come away! + What is this absorbs me quite? + Steals my senses, shuts my sight, + Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? + Tell me, my soul, can this be death? + + The world recedes; it disappears! + Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears + With sounds seraphic ring: + Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! + O Grave! where is thy victory? + O Death! where is thy sting? + +ALEXANDER POPE. + + + * * * * * + +ODE. + + INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY + CHILDHOOD. + + I. + + There was a time when meadow, grove and stream, + The earth, and every common sight, + To me did seem + Apparelled in celestial light,-- + The glory and the freshness of the dream. + It is not now as it hath been of yore: + Turn wheresoe'er I may, + By night or day, + The things which I have seen I now can see no more. + + + II. + + The rainbow comes and goes, + And lovely is the rose; + The moon doth with delight + Look round her when the heavens are bare; + Waters on a starry night + Are beautiful and fair; + The sunshine is a glorious birth; + But yet I know, where'er I go, + That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. + + + III. + + Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, + And while the young lambs bound + As to the tabor's sound, + To me alone there came a thought of grief; + A timely utterance gave that thought relief, + And I again am strong. + The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep,-- + No more shall grief of mine the season wrong. + I hear the echoes through the mountains throng; + The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, + And all the earth is gay; + Land and sea + Give themselves up to jollity; + And with the heart of May + Doth every beast keep holiday;-- + Thou child of joy, + Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy shepherd boy! + + + IV. + + Ye blessed creatures! I have heard the call + Ye to each other make; I see + The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; + My heart is at your festival. + My head hath its coronal,-- + The fulness of your bliss, I feel, I feel it all. + O evil day! if I were sullen + While Earth herself is adorning, + This sweet May morning, + And the children are culling, + On every side, + In a thousand valleys far and wide, + Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, + And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm;-- + I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!-- + But there's a tree, of many, one, + A single field which I have looked upon,-- + Both of them speak of something that is gone; + The pansy at my feet + Doth the same tale repeat. + Whither is fled the visionary gleam? + Where is it now, the glory and the dream? + + + V. + + Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; + The soul that rises with us, our life's star, + Hath had elsewhere its setting, + And cometh from afar: + Not in entire forgetfulness, + And not in utter nakedness, + But trailing clouds of glory, do we come + From God, who is our home: + Heaven lies about us in our infancy! + Shades of the prison-house begin to close + Upon the growing Boy; + But he beholds the light, and whence it flows-- + He sees it in his joy; + The Youth, who daily farther from the east + Must travel, still is nature's priest + And by the vision splendid + Is on his way attended: + At length the Man perceives it die away, + And fade into the light of common day. + + + VI. + + Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; + Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, + And even with something of a mother's mind, + And no unworthy aim, + The homely nurse doth all she can + To make her foster-child, her inmate man, + Forget the glories he hath known, + And that imperial palace whence he came. + + + VII. + + Behold the child among his new-born blisses,-- + A six years' darling of a pygmy size! + See, where mid work of his own hand he lies, + Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, + With light upon him from his father's eyes! + See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, + Some fragment from his dream of human life, + Shaped by himself with newly learned art,-- + A wedding or a festival, + A mourning or a funeral;-- + And this hath now his heart, + And unto this he frames his song: + Then will he fit his tongue + To dialogues of business, love, or strife; + But it will not be long + Ere this be thrown aside, + And with new joy and pride + The little actor cons another part,-- + Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" + With all the persons, down to palsied age, + That Life brings with her in her equipage; + As if his whole vocation + Were endless imitation. + + + VIII. + + Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie + Thy soul's immensity! + Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep + Thy heritage! thou eye among the blind, + That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, + Haunted forever by the eternal mind!-- + Mighty prophet! Seer blest! + On whom those truths do rest + Which we are toiling all our lives to find, + In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; + Thou over whom thy immortality + Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, + A presence which is not to be put by; + Thou little child, yet glorious in the might + Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, + Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke + The years to bring the inevitable yoke, + Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? + Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, + And custom lie upon thee with a weight + Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! + + + IX. + + O joy! that in our embers + Is something that doth live; + That Nature yet remembers + What was so fugitive! + + The thought of our past years in me doth breed + Perpetual benediction: not, indeed, + For that which is most worthy to be blest,-- + Delight and liberty, the simple creed + Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, + With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:-- + Not for these I raise + The song of thanks and praise; + But for those obstinate questionings + Of sense and outward things, + Fallings from us, vanishings; + Blank misgivings of a creature + Moving about in worlds not realized, + High instincts, before which our mortal nature + Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: + But for those first affections, + Those shadowy recollections, + Which, be they what they may, + Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, + Are yet a master light of all our seeing; + Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make + Our noisy years seem moments in the being + Of the eternal silence: truths that wake, + To perish never; + Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, + Nor man nor boy, + Nor all that is at enmity with joy, + Can utterly abolish or destroy! + Hence, in a season of calm weather. + Though inland far we be, + Our souls have sight of that immortal sea + Which brought us hither,-- + Can in a moment travel thither, + And see the children sport upon the shore, + And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. + + + X. + + Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! + And let the young lambs bound + As to the tabor's sound! + We in thought will join your throng, + Ye that pipe and ye that play, + Ye that through your hearts to-day + Feel the gladness of the May! + What though the radiance which was once so + bright + Be now forever taken from my sight, + Though nothing can bring back the hour + Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; + We will grieve not, rather find + Strength in what remains behind; + In the primal sympathy + Which, having been, must ever be; + In the soothing thoughts that spring + Out of human suffering; + In the faith that looks through death, + In years that bring the philosophic mind. + + + XI + + And O ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, + Forebode not any severing of our loves! + Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; + I only have relinquished one delight + To live beneath your more habitual sway. + I love the brooks which down their channels fret, + Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; + The innocent brightness of a new-born day + Is lovely yet; + The clouds that gather round the setting sun + Do take a sober coloring from an eye + That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; + Another race hath been, and other palms are won. + Thanks to the human heart by which we live, + Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,-- + To me the meanest flower that blows can give + Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. + +WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + + + * * * * * + +SOLILOQUY: ON IMMORTALITY. + + FROM "CATO," ACT V. SC. I. + + SCENE.--CATO, _sitting in a thoughtful posture, with book on + the Immortality of the Soul in his hand, and a drawn sword on + the table by him_. + + + It must be so--Plato, thou reasonest well!-- + Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. + This longing after immortality? + Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, + Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul + Back on herself, and startles at destruction? + 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us; + 'Tis Heaven itself, that points out a hereafter, + And intimates eternity to man. + Eternity!--thou pleasing, dreadful thought! + Through what variety of untried being, + Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass! + The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; + But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. + Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us + (And that there is, all Nature cries aloud + Through all her works), he must delight in virtue; + And that which he delights in must be happy. + But when? or where? This world was made for Caesar. + I'm weary of conjectures,--this must end 'em. + + _(Laying his hand on his sword.)_ + + Thus am I doubly armed: my death and life, + My bane and antidote, are both before me: + This in a moment brings me to an end; + But this informs me I shall never die. + The soul, secured in her existence, smiles + At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. + The stars shall fade away, the sun himself + Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years; + But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, + Unhurt amid the war of elements, + The wrecks of matter, and the crush of worlds! + +JOSEPH ADDISON. + + + * * * * * + +EDWIN AND PAULINUS: + + THE CONVERSION OF NORTHUMBRIA. + + + The black-haired gaunt Paulinus + By ruddy Edwin stood:-- + "Bow down, O king of Deira, + Before the blessed Rood! + Cast out thy heathen idols. + And worship Christ our Lord." + --But Edwin looked and pondered, + And answered not a word. + + Again the gaunt Paulinus + To ruddy Edwin spake: + "God offers life immortal + For his dear Son's own sake! + Wilt thou not hear his message, + Who bears the keys and sword?" + --But Edwin looked and pondered, + And answered not a word. + + Rose then a sage old warrior + Was fivescore winters old; + Whose beard from chin to girdle + Like one long snow-wreath rolled: + "At Yule-time in our chamber + We sit in warmth and light, + While cold and howling round us + Lies the black land of Night. + + "Athwart the room a sparrow + Darts from the open door: + Within the happy hearth-light + One red flash,--and no more! + We see it come from darkness, + And into darkness go:-- + So is our life. King Edwin! + Alas, that it is so! + + "But if this pale Paulinus + Have somewhat more to tell; + Some news of Whence and Whither, + And where the soul will dwell;-- + If on that outer darkness + The sun of hope may shine;-- + He makes life worth the living! + I take his God for mine!" + + So spake the wise old warrior; + And all about him cried, + "Paulinus' God hath conquered! + And he shall be our guide:-- + For he makes life worth living + Who brings this message plain, + When our brief days are over, + That we shall live again." + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY. + + + Could we but know + The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel, + Where lie those happier hills and meadows low; + Ah! if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil + Aught of that country could we surely know, + Who would not go? + + Might we but hear + The hovering angels' high imagined chorus, + Or catch, betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear + One radiant vista of the realm before us,-- + With one rapt moment given to see and hear, + Ah, who would fear? + + Were we quite sure + To find the peerless friend who left us lonely, + Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, + To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only,-- + This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, + Who would endure? + +EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. + + + * * * * * + +SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. + + "Das stille Land." + + + Into the Silent Land! + Ah, who shall lead us thither? + Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, + And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. + Who leads us with a gentle hand + Thither, oh, thither, + Into the Silent Land? + + Into the Silent Land! + To you, ye boundless regions + Of all perfection! Tender morning-visions + Of beauteous souls! The future's pledge and band! + Who in life's battle firm doth stand + Shall bear hope's tender blossoms + Into the Silent Land! + + O Land! O Land! + For all the broken-hearted + The mildest herald by our fate allotted + Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand + To lead us with a gentle hand + Into the land of the great departed, + Into the Silent Land! + +JOHANN GAUDENZ VON SALIS. + +Translation of H.W. LONGFELLOW. + + + * * * * * + +THE OTHER WORLD. + + + It lies around us like a cloud,-- + A world we do not see; + Yet the sweet closing of an eye + May bring us there to be. + + Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; + Amid our worldly cares + Its gentle voices whisper love, + And mingle with our prayers. + + Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, + Sweet helping hands are stirred, + And palpitates the veil between + With breathings almost heard. + + The silence--awful, sweet, and calm-- + They have no power to break; + For mortal words are not for them + To utter or partake. + + So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, + So near to press they seem,-- + They seem to lull us to our rest, + And melt into our dream. + + And in the bush of rest they bring + 'Tis easy now to see + How lovely and how sweet a pass + The hour of death may be. + + To close the eye, and close the ear, + Rapt in a trance of bliss, + And gently dream in loving arms + To swoon to that--from this. + + Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, + Scarce asking where we are, + To feel all evil sink away, + All sorrow and all care. + + Sweet souls around us! watch us still, + Press nearer to our side, + Into our thoughts, into our prayers, + With gentle helpings glide. + + Let death between us be as naught, + A dried and vanished stream; + Your joy be the reality. + Our suffering life the dream. + +HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. + + + * * * * * + +HEAVEN. + + + I never saw a moor, + I never saw the sea; + Yet know I how the heather looks, + And what a wave must be. + + I never spake with God, + Nor visited in heaven; + Yet certain am I of the spot + As if the chart were given. + +EMILY DICKINSON. + + + * * * * * + +THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN. + + + High thoughts! + They come and go, + Like the soft breathings of a listening maiden, + While round me flow + The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden: + When the corn's rustle on the ear doth come-- + When the eve's beetle sounds its drowsy hum-- + When the stars, dew-drops of the summer sky, + Watch over all with soft and loving eye-- + While the leaves quiver + By the lone river, + And the quiet heart + From depths doth call + And garners all-- + Earth grows a shadow + Forgotten whole, + And heaven lives + In the blessed soul! + + High thoughts + They are with me + When, deep within the bosom of the forest, + Thy mourning melody + Abroad into the sky, thou, throstle! pourest. + When the young sunbeams glance among the trees-- + When on the ear comes the soft song of bees-- + When every branch has its own favorite bird + And songs of summer from each thicket heard!-- + Where the owl flitteth, + Where the roe sitteth, + And holiness + Seems sleeping there; + While nature's prayer + Goes up to heaven + In purity, + Till all is glory + And joy to me! + + High thoughts! + They are my own + When I am resting on a mountain's bosom, + And see below me strown + The huts and homes where humble virtues blossom; + When I can trace each streamlet through the meadow, + When I can follow every fitful shadow-- + When I can watch the winds among the corn, + And see the waves along the forest borne; + Where blue-bell and heather + Are blooming together, + And far doth come + The Sabbath bell, + O'er wood and fell; + I hear the beating + Of nature's heart: + Heaven is before me-- + God! thou art. + + High thoughts! + They visit us + In moments when the soul is dim and darkened; + They come to bless, + After the vanities to which we hearkened: + When weariness hath come upon the spirit-- + (Those hours of darkness which we all inherit)-- + Bursts there not through a glint of warm sunshine, + A winged thought which bids us not repine? + In joy and gladness, + In mirth and sadness, + Come signs and tokens; + Life's angel brings, + Upon its wings, + Those bright communings + The soul doth keep-- + Those thoughts of heaven + So pure and deep! + +ROBERT NICOLL. + + + * * * * * + +NEARER HOME. + + + One sweetly solemn thought + Comes to me o'er and o'er; + I am nearer home to-day + That I ever have been before; + + Nearer my Father's house, + Where the many mansions be; + Nearer the great white throne, + Nearer the crystal sea; + + Nearer the bound of life, + Where we lay our burdens down; + Nearer leaving the cross, + Nearer gaining the crown! + + But lying darkly between, + Winding down through the night, + Is the silent, unknown stream. + That leads at last to the light. + + Closer and closer my steps + Come to the dread abysm: + Closer Death to my lips + Presses the awful chrism. + + Oh, if my mortal feet + Have almost gained the brink; + If it be I am nearer home + Even to-day than I think; + + Father, perfect my trust; + Let my spirit feel in death, + That her feet are firmly set + On the rock of a living faith! + +PHOEBE CARY. + + + * * * * * + +MEETING ABOVE. + + + If yon bright stars which gem the night + Be each a blissful dwelling-sphere + Where kindred spirits reunite + Whom death hath torn asunder here,-- + How sweet it were at once to die, + To leave this blighted orb afar! + Mixt soul and soul to cleave the sky, + And soar away from star to star. + + But oh, how dark, how drear, how lone, + Would seem the brightest world of bliss, + If, wandering through each radiant one, + We failed to meet the loved of this! + If there no more the ties shall twine + Which death's cold hand alone could sever, + Ah, would those stars in mockery shine, + More joyless, as they shine forever! + + It cannot be,--each hope, each fear + That lights the eye or clouds the brow, + Proclaims there is a happier sphere + Than this bleak world that holds us now. + There, Lord, thy wayworn saints shall find + The bliss for which they longed before; + And holiest sympathies shall bind + Thine own to thee forevermore. + + O Jesus, bring us to that rest, + Where all the ransomed shall be found, + In thine eternal fulness blest, + While ages roll their cycles round. + +WILLIAM LEGGETT. + + + * * * * * + +MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD. + + + My days among the dead are passed; + Around me I behold, + Where'er these casual eyes are cast, + The mighty minds of old; + My never-failing friends are they, + With whom I converse day by day. + + With them I take delight in weal, + And seek relief in woe; + And while I understand and feel + How much to them I owe, + My cheeks have often been bedewed + With tears of thoughtful gratitude. + + My thoughts are with the dead; with them + I live in long-past years; + Their virtues love, their faults condemn, + Partake their hopes and fears, + And from their lessons seek and find + Instruction with an humble mind. + + My hopes are with the dead; anon + My place with them will be. + And I with them shall travel on + Through all futurity: + Yet leaving here a name, I trust, + That will not perish in the dust. + +ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + + * * * * * + +THE FUTURE LIFE. + + + How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps + The disembodied spirits of the dead, + When all of thee that time could wither sleeps + And perishes among the dust we tread? + + For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain + If there I meet thy gentle presence not; + Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again + In thy serenest eyes the tender thought. + + Will not thy own meek heart demand me there? + That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given; + My name on earth was ever in thy prayer, + And wilt thou never utter it in heaven? + + In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind, + In the resplendence of that glorious sphere, + And larger movements of the unfettered mind, + Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here? + + The love that lived through all the stormy past, + And meekly with my harsher nature bore, + And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last. + Shall it expire with life, and be no more? + + A happier lot than mine, and larger light, + Await thee there; for thou hast bowed thy will + In cheerful homage to the rule of right, + And lovest all, and renderest good for ill. + + For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell, + Shrink and consume my heart, as heat the scroll; + And wrath has left its scar--that fire of hell + Has left its frightful scar upon my soul. + + Yet though thou wear'st the glory of the sky, + Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name, + The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye, + Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same? + + Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home, + The wisdom that I learned so ill in this-- + The wisdom which is love--till I become + Thy fit companion in that land of bliss? + +WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT + + + * * * * * + +HEAVEN. + + + That clime is not like this dull clime of ours; + All, all is brightness there; + A sweeter influence breathes around its flowers, + And a benigner air. + No calm below is like that calm above, + No region here is like that realm of love; + Earth's softest spring ne'er shed so soft a light, + Earth's brightest summer never shone so bright. + + That sky is not like this sad sky of ours, + Tinged with earth's change and care; + No shadow dims it, and no rain-cloud lowers; + No broken sunshine there: + One everlasting stretch of azure pours + Its stainless splendor o'er those sinless shores; + For there Jehovah shines with heavenly ray, + And Jesus reigns, dispensing endless day. + + The dwellers there are not like those of earth,-- + No mortal stain they bear,-- + And yet they seem of kindred blood and birth; + Whence and how came they there? + Earth was their native soil; from sin and shame, + Through tribulation, they to glory came; + Bond-slaves delivered from sin's crushing load, + Brands plucked from burning by the hand of God. + + Yon robes of theirs are not like those below; + No angel's half so bright; + Whence came that beauty, whence that living glow, + And whence that radiant white? + Washed in the blood of the atoning Lamb, + Fair as the light these robes of theirs became; + And now, all tears wiped off from every eye, + They wander where the freshest pastures lie, + Through all the nightless day of that unfading sky! + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +THE TWO WORLDS. + + + Two worlds there are. To one our eyes we strain, + Whose magic joys we shall not see again; + Bright haze of morning veils its glimmering shore. + Ah, truly breathed we there + Intoxicating air-- + Glad were our hearts in that sweet realm of + Nevermore. + + The lover there drank her delicious breath + Whose love has yielded since to change or death; + The mother kissed her child, whose days are o'er. + Alas! too soon have fled + The irreclaimable dead: + We see them--visions strange--amid the + Nevermore. + + The merrysome maiden used to sing-- + The brown, brown hair that once was wont to cling + To temples long clay-cold: to the very core + They strike our weary hearts, + As some vexed memory starts + From that long faded land--the realm of + Nevermore. + + It is perpetual summer there. But here + Sadly may we remember rivers clear, + And harebells quivering on the meadow-floor. + For brighter bells and bluer, + For tenderer hearts and truer + People that happy land--the realm of + Nevermore. + + Upon the frontier of this shadowy land + We pilgrims of eternal sorrow stand: + What realm lies forward, with its happier store + Of forests green and deep, + Of valleys hushed in sleep, + And lakes most peaceful? 'Tis the land of + Evermore. + + Very far off its marble cities seem-- + Very far off--beyond our sensual dream-- + Its woods, unruffled by the wild wind's roar; + Yet does the turbulent surge + Howl on its very verge. + One moment--and we breathe within the + Evermore. + + They whom we loved and lost so long ago + Dwell in those cities, far from mortal woe-- + Haunt those fresh woodlands, whence sweet carollings soar. + Eternal peace have they; + God wipes their tears away: + They drink that river of life which flows from + Evermore. + + Thither we hasten through these regions dim, + But, lo, the wide wings of the Seraphim + Shine in the sunset! On that joyous shore + Our lightened hearts shall know + The life of long ago: + The sorrow-burdened past shall fade for + Evermore. + +MORTIMER COLLINS. + + + * * * * * + +THE ANSWER. + + + "Who would not go" + With buoyant steps, to gain that blessed portal, + Which opens to the land we long to know? + Where shall be satisfied the soul's immortal, + Where we shall drop the wearying and the woe + In resting so? + + "Ah, who would fear?" + Since, sometimes through the distant pearly portal, + Unclosing to some happy soul a-near, + We catch a gleam of glorious light immortal, + And strains of heavenly music faintly hear, + Breathing good cheer! + + "Who would endure" + To walk in doubt and darkness with misgiving, + When he whose tender promises are sure-- + The Crucified, the Lord, the Ever-living-- + Keeps us those "mansions" evermore secure + By waters pure? + + Oh, wondrous land! + Fairer than all our spirit's fairest dreaming: + "Eye hath not seen," no heart can understand + The things prepared, the cloudless radiance streaming. + How longingly we wait our Lord's command-- + His opening hand! + + O dear ones there! + Whose voices, hushed, have left our pathway lonely, + We come, erelong, your blessed home to share; + We take the guiding hand, we trust it only-- + Seeing, by faith, beyond this clouded air, + That land so fair! + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +FOREVER WITH THE LORD. + + + Forever with the Lord! + Amen! so let it be! + Life from the dead is in that word, + And immortality. + + Here in the body pent, + Absent from him I roam, + Yet nightly pitch my moving tent + A day's march nearer home. + + My Father's house on high, + Home of my soul! how near, + At times, to faith's foreseeing eye + Thy golden gates appear! + + Ah! then my spirit faints + To reach the land I love, + The bright inheritance of saints, + Jerusalem above! + + Yet clouds will intervene, + And all my prospect flies; + Like Noah's dove, I flit between + Rough seas and stormy skies. + + Anon the clouds depart, + The winds and waters cease; + While sweetly o'er my gladdened heart + Expands the bow of peace! + + Beneath its glowing arch, + Along the hallowed ground, + I see cherubic armies march, + A camp of fire around. + + I hear at morn and even, + At noon and midnight hour, + The choral harmonies of heaven + Earth's Babel tongues o'erpower. + + Then, then I feel that he, + Remembered or forgot, + The Lord, is never far from me, + Though I perceive him not. + + In darkness as in light, + Hidden alike from view, + I sleep, I wake, as in his sight + Who looks all nature through. + + All that I am, have been, + All that I yet may be, + He sees at once, as he hath seen, + And shall forever see. + + "Forever with the Lord;" + Father, if 'tis thy will, + The promise of that faithful word + Unto thy child fulfil! + + So, when my latest breath + Shall rend the veil in twain, + By death I shall escape from death, + And life eternal gain. + +JAMES MONTGOMERY. + + + * * * * * + +TO HEAVEN APPROACHED A SUFI SAINT. + + + To heaven approached a Sufi Saint, + From groping in the darkness late, + And, tapping timidly and faint, + Besought admission at God's gate. + + Said God, "Who seeks to enter here?" + "'Tis I, dear Friend," the Saint replied, + And trembling much with hope and fear. + "If it be _thou_, without abide." + + Sadly to earth the poor Saint turned, + To bear the scourging of life's rods; + But aye his heart within him yearned + To mix and lose its love in God's. + + He roamed alone through weary years, + By cruel men still scorned and mocked, + Until from faith's pure fires and tears + Again he rose, and modest knocked. + + Asked God, "Who now is at the door?" + "It is thyself, beloved Lord," + Answered the Saint, in doubt no more, + But clasped and rapt in his reward. + +From the Persian of JALLAL-AD-DIN RUMI. + +Translation of WILLIAM R. ALGER. + + + * * * * * + +MATTER AND MAN IMMORTAL. + + FROM "NIGHT THOUGHTS," NIGHT VI. + + + As in a wheel, all sinks, to reascend: + Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. + With this minute distinction, emblems just, + Nature revolves, but man advances; both + Eternal, that a circle, this a line. + That gravitates, this soars. Th' aspiring soul, + Ardent, and tremulous, like flame, ascends, + Zeal and humility her wings, to Heaven. + The world of matter, with its various forms, + All dies into new life. Life born from death + Rolls the vast mass, and shall for ever roll. + No single atom, once in being, lost, + With change of counsel charges the Most High. + What hence infers Lorenzo? Can it be? + Matter immortal? And shall spirit die? + Above the nobler, shall less noble rise? + Shall man alone, for whom all else revives, + No resurrection know? Shall man alone, + Imperial man! be sown in barren ground, + Less privileged than grain, on which he feeds? + + * * * * * + + Look Nature through, 'tis neat gradation all. + By what minute degrees her scale ascends! + Each middle nature joined at each extreme, + To that above is joined, to that beneath; + Parts, into parts reciprocally shot, + Abhor divorce: what love of union reigns! + Here, dormant matter waits a call to life; + Half-life, half-death, joined there; here life and sense; + There, sense from reason steals a glimmering ray; + Reason shines out in man. But how preserved + The chain unbroken upward, to the realms + Of incorporeal life? those realms of bliss + Where death hath no dominion? Grant a make + Half-mortal, half-immortal; earthy, part, + And part ethereal; grant the soul of man + Eternal; or in man the series ends. + Wide yawns the gap; connection is no more; + Checked Reason halts; her next step wants support; + Striving to climb, she tumbles from her scheme. + +DR. EDWARD YOUNG. + + + * * * * * + +LIFE. + + FROM "FESTUS," SCENE "A COUNTRY TOWN." + + + FESTUS.-- Oh! there is + A life to come, or all's a dream. + + LUCIFER.-- And all + May be a dream. Thou seest in thine, men, deeds, + Clear, moving, full of speech and order; then + Why may not all this world be but a dream + Of God's? Fear not! Some morning God may waken. + + FESTUS.--I would it were. This life's a mystery. + The value of a thought cannot be told; + But it is clearly worth a thousand lives + Like many men's. And yet men love to live + As if mere life were worth their living for. + What but perdition will it be to most? + Life's more than breath and the quick round of blood; + It is a great spirit and a busy heart. + The coward and the small in soul scarce do live. + One generous feeling--one great thought--one deed + Of good, ere night, would make life longer seem + Than if each year might number a thousand days, + Spent as is this by nations of mankind. + We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths; + In feelings, not in figures on a dial. + We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives + Who thinks most--feels the noblest--acts the best. + Life's but a means unto an end--that end + Beginning, mean, and end to all things--God. + +PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. + + + * * * * * + +HEAVEN. + + + O beauteous God! uncircumscribed treasure + Of an eternal pleasure! + Thy throne is seated far + Above the highest star, + Where thou preparest a glorious place, + Within the brightness of thy face, + For every spirit + To inherit + That builds his hopes upon thy merit, + And loves thee with a holy charity. + What ravished heart, seraphic tongue, or eyes + Clear as the morning rise, + Can speak, or think, or see + That bright eternity, + Where the great King's transparent throne + Is of an entire jasper stone? + There the eye + O' the chrysolite, + And a sky + Of diamonds, rubies, chrysoprase,-- + And above all thy holy face,-- + Makes an eternal charity. + When thou thy jewels up dost bind, that day + Remember us, we pray,-- + That where the beryl lies, + And the crystal 'bove the skies, + There thou mayest appoint us place + Within the brightness of thy face,-- + And our soul + In the scroll + Of life and blissfulness enroll, + That we may praise thee to eternity. Allelujah! + +JEREMY TAYLOR. + + + * * * * * + +THE SPIRIT-LAND. + + + Father! thy wonders do not singly stand, + Nor far removed where feet have seldom strayed; + Around us ever lies the enchanted land, + In marvels rich to thine own sons displayed. + In finding thee are all things round us found; + In losing thee are all things lost beside; + Ears have we, but in vain strange voices sound; + And to our eyes the vision is denied. + We wander in the country far remote, + Mid tombs and ruined piles in death to dwell; + Or on the records of past greatness dote, + And for a buried soul the living sell; + While on our path bewildered falls the night + That ne'er returns us to the fields of light. + +JONES VERY. + + + * * * * * + +HEAVEN. + + + Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies, + Beyond death's cloudy portal, + There is a land where beauty never dies, + Where love becomes immortal; + + A land whose life is never dimmed by shade, + Whose fields are ever vernal; + Where nothing beautiful can ever fade, + But blooms for aye eternal. + + We may know how sweet its balmy air, + How bright and fair its flowers; + We may not hear the songs that echo there, + Through those enchanted bowers. + + The city's shining towers we may not see + With our dim earthly vision, + For Death, the silent warder, keeps the key + That opes the gates elysian. + + But sometimes, when adown the western sky + A fiery sunset lingers, + Its golden gates swing inward noiselessly, + Unlocked by unseen fingers. + + And while they stand a moment half ajar, + Gleams from the inner glory + Stream brightly through the azure vault afar, + And half reveal the story. + + O land unknown! O land of love divine! + Father, all-wise, eternal! + O, guide these wandering, wayworn feet of mine + Into those pastures vernal! + +NANCY AMELIA WOODBURY PRIEST. + + + * * * * * + +TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS. + + + Tell me, ye winged winds, + That round my pathway roar, + Do ye not know some spot + Where mortals weep no more? + Some lone and pleasant dell, + Some valley in the west, + Where, free from toil and pain, + The weary soul may rest? + The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low, + And sighed for pity as it answered,--"No." + + Tell me, thou mighty deep. + Whose billows round me play, + Know'st thou some favored spot, + Some island far away, + Where weary man may find + The bliss for which he sighs,-- + Where sorrow never lives, + And friendship never dies? + The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow, + Stopped for awhile, and sighed to answer,--"No." + + And thou, serenest moon, + That, with such lovely face, + Dost look upon the earth, + Asleep in night's embrace; + Tell me, in all thy round + Hast thou not seen some spot + Where miserable man + May find a happier lot? + Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, + And a voice, sweet but sad, responded,--"No." + + Tell me, my secret soul, + O, tell me, Hope and Faith, + Is there no resting-place + From sorrow, sin, and death? + Is there no happy spot + Where mortals may be blest, + Where grief may find a balm, + And weariness a rest? + Faith, Hope, and Love, best boons to mortals given, + Waved their bright wings, and whispered,--"Yes, in heaven!" + +CHARLES MACKAY. + + + * * * * * + +HEAVEN. + + + There is a land of pure delight, + Where saints immortal reign; + Infinite day excludes the night, + And pleasures banish pain. + + There everlasting spring abides, + And never-withering flowers; + Death, like a narrow sea, divides + This heavenly land from ours. + + Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood + Stand dressed in living green; + So to the Jews old Canaan stood, + While Jordan rolled between. + + But timorous mortals start and shrink + To cross this narrow sea, + And linger shivering on the brink, + And fear to launch away. + + Oh! could we make our doubts remove, + Those gloomy doubts that rise, + And see the Canaan that we love + With unbeclouded eyes-- + + Could we but climb where Moses stood, + And view the landscape o'er, + Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood + Should fright us from the shore. + +ISAAC WATTS. + + + * * * * * + +PEACE. + + + My soul, there is a country + Afar beyond the stars, + Where stands a winged sentry, + All skilful in the wars. + + There, above noise and danger, + Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles, + And One born in a manger + Commands the beauteous files. + + He is thy gracious friend, + And (O my soul awake!) + Did in pure love descend, + To die here for thy sake. + + If thou canst get but thither, + There grows the flower of peace-- + The rose that cannot wither-- + Thy fortress, and thy ease. + + Leave, then, thy foolish ranges; + For none can thee secure, + But one who never changes-- + Thy God, thy life, thy cure. + +HENRY VAUGHAN. + + + * * * * * + +STAR-MIST. + + FROM "STARS." + + + More and more stars! behold yon hazy arch + Spanning the vault on high, + By planets traversed in majestic march, + Seeming to earth's dull eye + A breath of gleaming air: but take thou wing + Of Faith and upward spring:-- + Into a thousand stars the misty light + Will part; each star a world with its own day and night. + + Not otherwise of yonder Saintly host + Upon the glorious shore + Deem thou. He marks them all, not one is lost; + By name He counts them o'er. + Full many a soul, to man's dim praise unknown, + May on its glory throne + As brightly shine, and prove as strong in prayer + As theirs, whose separate beams shoot keenest thro' this air. + +JOHN KEBLE. + + + * * * * * + +THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS. + + FROM "THE FAERIE QUEENE," BOOK II. CANTO 8. + + + And is there care in heaven? And is there love + In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, + That may compassion of their evils move? + There is:--else much more wretched were the case + Of men than beasts: but O the exceeding grace + Of Highest God! that loves his creatures so, + And all his workes with mercy doth embrace, + That blessed angels he sends to and fro, + To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! + + How oft do they their silver bowers leave, + To come to succour us that succour want! + How oft do they with golden pinions cleave + The flitting skyes, like flying pursuivant, + Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant! + They for us fight, they watch, and dewly ward, + And their bright squadrons round about us plant; + And all for love, and nothing for reward; + O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard! + +EDMUND SPENSER. + + + * * * * * + +SAINT AGNES. + + + Deep on the convent-roof the snows + Are sparkling to the moon: + My breath to heaven like vapor goes: + May my soul follow soon! + The shadows of the convent-towers + Slant down the snowy sward, + Still creeping with the creeping hours + That lead me to my Lord: + Make Thou my spirit pure and clear + As are the frosty skies, + Or this first snow-drop of the year + That in my bosom lies. + + As these white robes are soiled and dark, + To yonder shining ground; + As this pale taper's earthly spark, + To yonder argent round; + So shows my soul before the Lamb, + My spirit before Thee; + So in mine earthly house I am, + To that I hope to be. + Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, + Through all yon starlight keen, + Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, + In raiment white and clean. + + He lifts me to the golden doors; + The flashes come and go; + All heaven bursts her starry floors, + And strows her lights below, + And deepens on and up! the gates + Roll backhand far within + For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, + To make me pure of sin. + The sabbath of Eternity, + One sabbath deep and wide-- + A light upon the shining sea-- + The Bridegroom with his bride! + +ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON. + + + * * * * * + +PRAISE OF THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY. + + [The poem _De Contemptu Mundi_ was written by Bernard de + Morlaix, Monk of Cluni. The translation following is of a + portion of the poem distinguished by the sub-title "Laus + Patriae Coelestis."] + + + The world is very evil, + The times are waxing late; + Be sober and keep vigil, + The Judge is at the gate,-- + The Judge that comes in mercy, + The Judge that comes with might, + To terminate the evil, + To diadem the right. + When the just and gentle Monarch + Shall summon from the tomb, + Let man, the guilty, tremble, + For Man, the God, shall doom! + + Arise, arise, good Christian, + Let right to wrong succeed; + Let penitential sorrow + To heavenly gladness lead,-- + To the light that hath no evening, + That knows nor moon nor sun, + The light so new and golden, + The light that is but one. + + And when the Sole-Begotten + Shall render up once more + The kingdom to the Father, + Whose own it was before, + Then glory yet unheard of + Shall shed abroad its ray, + Resolving all enigmas, + An endless Sabbath-day. + + For thee, O dear, dear Country! + Mine eyes their vigils keep; + For very love, beholding + Thy happy name, they weep. + The mention of thy glory + Is unction to the breast, + And medicine in sickness, + And love, and life, and rest. + + O one, O only Mansion! + O Paradise of Joy, + Where tears are ever banished, + And smiles have no alloy! + Beside thy living waters + All plants are, great and small, + The cedar of the forest, + The hyssop of the wall; + With jaspers glow thy bulwarks, + Thy streets with emeralds blaze, + The sardius and the topaz + Unite in thee their rays; + Thine ageless walls are bonded + With amethyst unpriced; + Thy Saints build up its fabric, + And the corner-stone is Christ. + + The Cross is all thy splendor, + The Crucified thy praise; + His laud and benediction + Thy ransomed people raise: + "Jesus, the gem of Beauty, + True God and Man," they sing, + "The never-failing Garden, + The ever-golden Ring; + The Door, the Pledge, the Husband, + The Guardian of his Court; + The Day-star of Salvation, + The Porter and the Port!" + + Thou hast no shore, fair ocean! + Thou hast no time, bright day! + Dear fountain of refreshment + To pilgrims far away! + Upon the Rock of Ages + They raise thy holy tower; + Thine is the victor's laurel, + And thine the golden dower! + + Thou feel'st in mystic rapture, + O Bride that know'st no guile, + The Prince's sweetest kisses, + The Prince's loveliest smile; + Unfading lilies, bracelets + Of living pearl thine own; + The Lamb is ever near thee, + The Bridegroom thine alone. + The Crown is he to guerdon, + The Buckler to protect, + And he himself the Mansion, + And he the Architect. + + The only art thou needest-- + Thanksgiving for thy lot; + The only joy thou seekest-- + The Life where Death is not. + And all thine endless leisure, + In sweetest accents, sings + The ill that was thy merit, + The wealth that is thy King's! + + Jerusalem the golden, + With milk and honey blest, + Beneath thy contemplation + Sink heart and voice oppressed. + I know not, O I know not, + What social joys are there! + What radiancy of glory, + What light beyond compare! + + And when I fain would sing them, + My spirit fails and faints; + And vainly would it image + The assembly of the Saints. + + They stand, those halls of Zion, + Conjubilant with song, + And bright with many an angel, + And all the martyr throng; + The Prince is ever in them, + The daylight is serene; + The pastures of the Blessed + Are decked in glorious sheen. + + There is the Throne of David, + And there, from care released, + The song of them that triumph, + The shout of them that feast; + And they who, with their Leader, + Have conquered in the fight, + Forever and forever + Are clad in robes of white! + + O holy, placid harp-notes + Of that eternal hymn! + O sacred, sweet reflection, + And peace of Seraphim! + O thirst, forever ardent, + Yet evermore content! + O true peculiar vision + Of God cunctipotent! + Ye know the many mansions + For many a glorious name, + And divers retributions + That divers merits claim; + For midst the constellations + That deck our earthly sky, + This star than that is brighter-- + And so it is on high. + + Jerusalem the glorious! + The glory of the Elect! + O dear and future vision + That eager hearts expect! + Even now by faith I see thee, + Even here thy walls discern; + To thee my thoughts are kindled, + And strive, and pant, and yearn. + + Jerusalem the only, + That look'st from heaven below, + In thee is all my glory, + In me is all my woe; + And though my body may not, + My spirit seeks thee fain, + Till flesh and earth return me + To earth and flesh again. + + O none can tell thy bulwarks, + How gloriously they rise! + O none can tell thy capitals + Of beautiful device! + Thy loveliness oppresses + All human thought and heart; + And none, O peace, O Zion, + Can sing thee as thou art! + + New mansion of new people, + Whom God's own love and light + Promote, increase, make holy, + Identify, unite! + Thou City of the Angels! + Thou City of the Lord! + Whose everlasting music + Is the glorious decachord! + + And there the band of Prophets + United praise ascribes, + And there the twelvefold chorus + Of Israel's ransomed tribes. + The lily-beds of virgins, + The roses' martyr-glow, + The cohort of the Fathers + Who kept the faith below. + + And there the Sole-Begotten + Is Lord in regal state,-- + He, Judah's mystic Lion, + He, Lamb Immaculate. + O fields that know no sorrow! + O state that fears no strife! + O princely bowers! O land of flowers! + O realm and home of Life! + + Jerusalem, exulting + On that securest shore, + I hope thee, wish thee, sing thee, + And love thee evermore! + I ask not for my merit, + I seek not to deny + My merit is destruction, + A child of wrath am I; + But yet with faith I venture + And hope upon my way; + For those perennial guerdons + I labor night and day. + + The best and dearest Father, + Who made me and who saved, + Bore with me in defilement, + And from defilement laved, + When in his strength I struggle, + For very joy I leap, + When in my sin I totter, + I weep, or try to weep: + Then grace, sweet grace celestial, + Shall all its love display, + And David's Royal Fountain + Purge every sin away. + + O mine, my golden Zion! + O lovelier far than gold, + With laurel-girt battalions, + And safe victorious fold! + O sweet and blessed Country, + Shall I ever see thy face? + O sweet and blessed Country, + Shall I ever win thy grace? + I have the hope within me + To comfort and to bless! + Shall I ever win the prize itself? + O tell me, tell me, Yes! + + Exult! O dust and ashes! + The Lord shall be thy part; + His only, his forever, + Thou shalt be, and thou art! + Exult, O dust and ashes! + The Lord shall be thy part; + His only, his forever, + Thou shalt be, and thou art! + +From the Latin of BERNARD DE MORLAIX. + +Translation of JOHN MASON NEALE. + + + * * * * * + +THE NEW JERUSALEM; + + OR, THE SOUL'S BREATHING AFTER THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY. + + "Since Christ's fair truth needs no man's art, + Take this rude song in better part." + + + O mother dear, Jerusalem, + When shall I come to thee? + When shall my sorrows have an end-- + Thy joys when shall I see? + O happy harbor of God's saints! + O sweet and pleasant soil! + In thee no sorrows can be found-- + No grief, no care, no toil. + + In thee no sickness is at all, + No hurt, nor any sore; + There is no death nor ugly night, + But life for evermore. + No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee, + No cloud nor darksome night, + But every soul shines as the sun-- + For God himself gives light. + + There lust and lucre cannot dwell, + There envy bears no sway; + There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat. + But pleasures every way. + Jerusalem! Jerusalem! + Would God I were in thee! + Oh! that my sorrows had an end, + Thy joys that I might see! + + No pains, no pangs, no grieving griefs, + No woful night is there; + No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard-- + No well-away, no fear. + Jerusalem the city is + Of God our king alone; + The Lamb of God, the light thereof, + Sits there upon His throne. + + O God! that I Jerusalem + With speed may go behold! + For why? the pleasures there abound + Which here cannot be told. + Thy turrets and thy pinnacles + With carbuncles do shine-- + With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite, + Surpassing pure and fine. + + Thy houses are of ivory, + Thy windows crystal clear, + Thy streets are laid with beaten gold-- + There angels do appear. + Thy walls are made of precious stone, + Thy bulwarks diamond square, + Thy gates are made of orient pearl-- + O God! if I were there! + + Within thy gates no thing can come + That is not passing clean; + No spider's web, no dirt, nor dust, + No filth may there be seen. + Jehovah, Lord, now come away, + And end my griefs and plaints-- + Take me to Thy Jerusalem, + And place me with Thy saints! + + Who there are crowned with glory great, + And see God face to face, + They triumph still, and aye rejoice-- + Most happy is their case. + But we that are in banishment, + Continually do moan; + We sigh, we mourn, we sob, we weep-- + Perpetually we groan. + + Our sweetness mixed is with gall, + Our pleasures are but pain, + Our joys not worth the looking on-- + Our sorrows aye remain. + But there they live in such delight, + Such pleasure and such play, + That unto them a thousand years + Seems but as yesterday. + + O my sweet home, Jerusalem! + Thy joys when shall I see-- + The King sitting upon His throne, + And thy felicity? + Thy vineyards, and thy orchards, + So wonderfully rare, + Are furnished with all kinds of fruit, + Most beautifully fair. + + Thy gardens and thy goodly walks + Continually are green; + There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers + As nowhere else are seen. + There cinnamon and sugar grow, + There nard and balm abound; + No tongue can tell, no heart can think, + The pleasures there are found. + + There nectar and ambrosia spring-- + There music's ever sweet; + There many a fair and dainty thing + Are trod down under feet. + Quite through the streets, with pleasant sound, + The flood of life doth flow; + Upon the banks, on every side, + The trees of life do grow. + + These trees each month yield ripened fruit-- + For evermore they spring; + And all the nations of the world + To thee their honors bring. + Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place, + Full sore I long to see; + Oh! that my sorrows had an end, + That I might dwell in thee! + + There David stands, with harp in hand, + As master of the choir; + A thousand times that man were blest + That might his music hear. + There Mary sings "Magnificat," + With tunes surpassing sweet; + And all the virgins bear their part, + Singing around her feet. + + "Te Deum," doth Saint Ambrose sing, + Saint Austin doth the like; + Old Simeon and Zacharie + Have not their songs to seek. + There Magdalene hath left her moan, + And cheerfully doth sing, + With all blest saints whose harmony + Through every street doth ring. + + Jerusalem! Jerusalem! + Thy joys fain would I see; + Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief, + And take me home to Thee; + Oh! paint Thy name on my forehead, + And take me hence away, + That I may dwell with Thee in bliss, + And sing Thy praises aye. + + Jerusalem, the happy home-- + Jehovah's throne on high! + O sacred city, queen, and wife + Of Christ eternally! + O comely queen with glory clad, + With honor and degree, + All fair thou art, exceeding bright-- + No spot there is in thee! + + I long to see Jerusalem, + The comfort of us all; + For thou art fair and beautiful-- + None ill can thee befall. + In thee, Jerusalem, I say, + No darkness dare appear-- + No night, no shade, no winter foul-- + No time doth alter there. + + No candle needs, no moon to shine, + No glittering star to light; + For Christ, the king of righteousness, + For ever shineth bright. + A lamb unspotted, white and pure, + To thee doth stand in lieu + Of light--so great the glory is + Thine heavenly king to view. + + He is the King of kings beset + In midst His servants' sight: + And they, His happy household all, + Do serve Him day and night. + There, there the choir of angels sing-- + There the supernal sort + Of citizens, which hence are rid + From dangers deep, do sport. + + There be the prudent prophets all, + The apostles six and six, + The glorious martyrs in a row, + And confessors betwixt. + There doth the crew of righteous men + And matrons all consist-- + Young men and maids that here on earth + Their pleasures did resist. + + The sheep and lambs, that hardly 'scaped + The snare of death and hell, + Triumph in joy eternally, + Whereof no tongue can tell; + And though the glory of each one + Doth differ in degree, + Yet is the joy of all alike + And common, as we see. + + There love and charity do reign, + And Christ is all in all, + Whom they most perfectly behold + In joy celestial. + They love, they praise--they praise, they love; + They "Holy, holy," cry; + They neither toil, nor faint, nor end, + But laud continually. + + Oh! happy thousand times were I, + If, after wretched days, + I might with listening ears conceive + Those heavenly songs of praise, + Which to the eternal king are sung + By happy wights above-- + By saved souls and angels sweet, + Who love the God of love. + + Oh! passing happy were my state, + Might I be worthy found + To wait upon my God and king, + His praises there to sound; + And to enjoy my Christ above, + His favor and His grace, + According to His promise made, + Which here I interlace: + + "O Father dear," quoth He, "let them + Which Thou hast put of old + To me, be there where lo! I am-- + Thy glory to behold; + Which I with Thee, before the world + Was made in perfect wise, + Have had--from whence the fountain great + Of glory doth arise." + + Again: "If any man will serve + Thee, let him follow me; + For where I am, he there, right sure, + Then shall my servant be." + And still: "If any man loves me, + Him loves my Father dear, + Whom I do love--to him myself + In glory will appear." + + Lord, take away my misery, + That then I may be bold + With Thee, in Thy Jerusalem, + Thy glory to behold; + And so in Zion see my king, + My love, my Lord, my all-- + Where now as in a glass I see, + There face to face I shall. + + Oh! blessed are the pure in heart-- + Their sovereign they shall see; + O ye most happy, heavenly wights, + Which of God's household be! + O Lord, with speed dissolve my bands, + These gins and fetters strong; + For I have dwelt within the tents + Of Kedar over long. + + Yet search me, Lord, and find me out! + Fetch me Thy fold unto, + That all Thy angels may rejoice, + While all Thy will I do. + O mother dear! Jerusalem! + When shall I come to thee? + When shall my sorrows have an end, + Thy joys when shall I see? + + Yet once again I pray Thee, Lord, + To quit me from all strife, + That to Thy hill I may attain, + And dwell there all my life-- + With cherubim and seraphim + And holy souls of men, + To sing Thy praise, O God of hosts! + Forever and amen! + +ANONYMOUS. + + + * * * * * + +PARADISE. + + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + Who doth not crave for rest, + Who would not seek the happy land + Where they that loved are blest? + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + The world is growing old; + Who would not be at rest and free + Where love is never cold? + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + Wherefore doth death delay?-- + Bright death, that is the welcome dawn + Of our eternal day; + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + 'Tis weary waiting here; + I long to be where Jesus is, + To feel, to see him near; + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + I want to sin no more, + I want to be as pure on earth + As on thy spotless shore; + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + I greatly long to see + The special place my dearest Lord + Is destining for me; + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + + O Paradise, O Paradise, + I feel 'twill not be long; + Patience! I almost think I hear + Faint fragments of thy song; + Where loyal hearts and true + Stand ever in the light, + All rapture through and through, + In God's most holy sight. + +FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. + + + + +FROM "THE DIVINE COMEDY." + + * * * * * + +HELL. + + INSCRIPTION OVER THE GATE. + + CANTO III. + + + "Through me you pass into the city of woe: + Through me you pass into eternal pain: + Through me among the people lost for aye. + Justice the founder of my fabric moved: + To rear me was the task of power divine, + Supremest wisdom, and primeval love. + Before me things create were none, save things + Eternal, and eternal I endure. + All hope abandon, ye who enter here." + + + * * * * * + +PURGATORY. + + PRAYER. + + CANTO VI. + + + When I was freed + From all those spirits, who prayed for others' prayers + To hasten on their state of blessedness; + Straight I began: "O thou, my luminary! + It seems expressly in thy text denied, + That Heaven's supreme decree can ever bend + To supplication; yet with this design + Do these entreat. Can then their hope be vain? + Or is thy saying not to be revealed?" + He thus to me: "Both what I write is plain, + And these deceived not in their hope; if well + Thy mind consider, that the sacred height + Of judgment doth not stoop, because love's flame + In a short moment all fulfils, which he, + Who sojourns here, in right should satisfy. + Besides, when I this point concluded thus, + By praying no defect could be supplied: + Because the prayer had none access to God. + Yet in this deep suspicion rest thou not + Contented, unless she assure thee so, + Who betwixt truth and mind infuses light: + I know not if thou take me right; I mean + Beatrice. Her thou shalt behold above, + Upon this mountain's crown, fair seat of joy." + + * * * * * + + PRAYER OF PENITENTS. + + CANTO XI. + + "O thou Almighty Father! who dost make + The heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confined, + But that, with love intenser, there thou view'st + Thy primal effluence; hallowed be thy name: + Join, each created being, to extol + Thy might; for worthy humblest thanks and praise + Is thy blest Spirit. May thy kingdom's peace + Come unto us; for we, unless it come, + With all our striving, thither tend in vain. + As, of their will, the angels unto thee + Tender meet sacrifice, circling thy throne + With loud hosannas; so of theirs be done + By saintly men on earth. Grant us, this day, + Our daily manna, without which he roams + Through this rough desert retrograde, who most + Toils to advance his steps. As we to each + Pardon the evil done us, pardon thou + Benign, and of our merit take no count. + 'Gainst the old adversary, prove thou not + Our virtue, easily subdued; but free + From his incitements, and defeat his wiles. + This last petition, dearest Lord! is made + Not for ourselves; since that were needless now; + But for their sakes who after us remain." + + * * * * * + + MAN'S FREE-WILL. + + CANTO XVI. + + "Ye, who live, + Do so each cause refer to heaven above, + E'en as its motion, of necessity, + Drew with it all that moves. If this were so, + Free choice in you were none; nor justice would + There should be joy for virtue, woe for ill. + Your movements have their primal bent from heaven; + Not all: yet said I all; what then ensues? + Light have ye still to follow evil or good, + And of the will free power, which, if it stand + Firm and unwearied in Heaven's first assay, + Conquers at last, so it be cherished well, + Triumphant over all. To mightier force, + To better nature subject, ye abide + Free, not constrained by that which forms in you + The reasoning mind uninfluenced of the stars. + If then the present race of mankind err, + Seek in yourselves the cause, and find it there." + + * * * * * + + FIRE OF PURIFICATION. + + CANTO XXVII. + + Now was the sun so stationed, as when first + His early radiance quivers on the heights, + Where streamed his Maker's blood; while Libra hangs + Above Hesperian Ebro; and new fires, + Meridian, flash on Ganges' yellow tide. + So day was sinking, when the angel of God + Appeared before us. Joy was in his mien. + Forth of the flame he stood upon the brink; + And with a voice, whose lively clearness far + Surpassed our human, "Blessed are the pure + In heart," he sang: then near him as we came, + "Go ye not further, holy spirits!" he cried, + "Ere the fire pierce you: enter in; and list + Attentive to the song ye hear from thence." + I, when I heard his saying, was as one + Laid in the grave. My hands together clasped, + And upward stretching, on the fire I looked; + And busy fancy conjured up the forms + Erewhile beheld alive consumed in flames. + The escorting spirits turned with gentle looks + Toward me; and the Mantuan spake: "My son, + Here torment thou may'st feel, but canst not death. + Remember thee, remember thee, if I + Safe e'en on Geryon brought thee; now I come + More near to God, wilt thou not trust me now? + Of this be sure; though in its womb that flame + A thousand years contained thee, from thy head + No hair should perish. If thou doubt my truth, + Approach; and with thy hands thy vesture's hem + Stretch forth, and for thyself confirm belief. + Lay now all fear, oh! lay all fear aside. + Turn hither, and come onward undismayed." + I still, though conscience urged, no step advanced. + + * * * * * + + Into the fire before me then he walked: + And Statius, who erewhile no little space + Had parted us, he prayed to come behind. + I would have cast me into molten glass + To cool me, when I entered; so intense + Raged the conflagrant mass. The sire beloved, + To comfort me, as he proceeded, still + Of Beatrice talked. "Her eyes," saith he, + "E'en now I seem to view." From the other side + A voice, that sang, did guide us; and the voice + Following, with heedful ear, we issued forth, + There where the path led upward. "Come," we heard, + "Come, blessed of my Father." Such the sounds, + That hailed us from within a light, which shone + So radiant, I could not endure the view. + "The sun," it added, "hastes: and evening comes. + Delay not: ere the western sky is hung + With blackness, strive ye for the pass." Our way + Upright within the rock arose, and faced + Such part of heaven, that from before my steps + The beams were shrouded of the sinking sun. + + + * * * * * + +PARADISE. + + SIN AND REDEMPTION. + + CANTO VII. + + What I have heard, + Is plain, thou say'st: but wherefore God this way + For our redemption chose, eludes my search. + "Brother! no eye of man not perfected, + Nor fully ripened in the flame of love, + May fathom this decree. It is a mark, + In sooth, much aimed at, and but little kenned: + And I will therefore show thee why such way + Was worthiest. The celestial love, that spurns + All envying in its bounty, in itself + With such effulgence blazeth, as sends forth + All beauteous things eternal. What distils + Immediate thence, no end of being knows; + Bearing its seal immutably imprest. + Whatever thence immediate falls, is free, + Free wholly, uncontrollable by power + Of each thing new: by such conformity + More grateful to its author, whose bright beams, + Though all partake their shining, yet in those + Are liveliest, which resemble him the most. + These tokens of pre-eminence on man + Largely bestowed, if any of them fail, + He needs must forfeit his nobility, + No longer stainless. Sin alone is that, + Which doth disfranchise him, and make unlike + To the chief good; for that its light in him + Is darkened. And to dignity thus lost + Is no return; unless, where guilt makes void, + He for ill pleasure pay with equal pain. + Your nature, which entirely in its seed + Transgressed, from these distinctions fell, no less + Than from its state in Paradise; nor means + Found on recovery (search all methods out + As strictly as thou may) save one of these, + The only fords were left through which to wade: + Either, that God had of his courtesy + Released him merely; or else, man himself + For his own folly by himself atoned. + "Fix now thine eye, intently as thou canst, + On the everlasting counsel; and explore, + Instructed by my words, the dread abyss. + "Man in himself had ever lacked the means + Of satisfaction, for he could not stoop + Obeying, in humility so low, + As high, he, disobeying, thought to soar: + And, for this reason, he had vainly tried, + Out of his own sufficiency, to pay + The rigid satisfaction. Then behoved + That God should by his own ways lead him back + Unto the life, from whence he fell, restored: + By both his ways, I mean, or one alone. + But since the deed is ever prized the more. + The more the doer's good intent appears; + Goodness celestial, whose broad signature + Is on the universe, of all its ways + To raise ye up, was fain to leave out none. + Nor aught so vast or so magnificent, + Either for him who gave or who received, + Between the last night and the primal day, + Was or can be. For God more bounty showed, + Giving himself to make man capable + Of his return to life, than had the terms + Been mere and unconditional release. + And for his justice, every method else + Were all too scant, had not the Son of God + Humbled himself to put on mortal flesh." + + * * * * * + + THE TRIUMPH OF CHRIST. + + CANTO XIV. + + And lo! forthwith there rose up round about + A lustre, over that already there; + Of equal clearness, like the brightening up + Of the horizon. As at evening hour + Of twilight, new appearances through heaven + Peer with faint glimmer, doubtfully descried; + So, there, new substances methought, began + To rise in view beyond the other twain, + And wheeling, sweep their ampler circuit wide. + O genuine glitter of eternal Beam! + With what a sudden whiteness did it flow, + O'erpowering vision in me. But so fair, + So passing lovely, Beatrice showed, + Mind cannot follow it, nor words express + Her infinite sweetness. Thence mine eyes regained + Power to look up; and I beheld myself, + Sole with my lady, to more lofty bliss + Translated: for the star, with warmer smile + Impurpled, well denoted our ascent. + With all the heart, and with that tongue which speaks + The same in all, an holocaust I made + To God befitting the new grace vouchsafed. + And from my bosom had not yet upsteamed + The fuming of that incense, when I knew + The rite accepted. With such mighty sheen + And mantling crimson, in two listed rays + The splendors shot before me, that I cried, + "God of Sabaoth! that dost prank them thus!" + As leads the galaxy from pole to pole, + Distinguished into greater lights and less, + Its pathway, which the wisest fail to spell; + So thickly studded, in the depth of Mars, + Those rays described the venerable sign, + That quadrants in the round conjoining frame. + Here memory mocks the toil of genius. Christ + Beamed on that cross; and pattern fails me now. + But whoso takes his cross, and follows Christ, + Will pardon me for that I leave untold, + When in the fleckered dawning he shall spy + The glitterance of Christ. From horn to horn, + And 'tween the summit and the base, did move + Lights, scintillating, as they met and passed. + Thus oft are seen with ever-changeful glance, + Straight or athwart, now rapid and now slow, + The atomies of bodies, long or short, + To move along the sunbeam, whose slant line + Checkers the shadow interposed by art + Against the noontide heat. And as the chime + Of minstrel music, dulcimer, and harp + With many strings, a pleasant dinning makes + To him, who heareth not distinct the note; + So from the lights, which there appeared to me, + Gathered along the cross a melody, + That, indistinctly heard, with ravishment + Possessed me. Yet I marked it was a hymn + Of lofty praises; for there came to me + "Arise," and "Conquer," as to one who hears + And comprehends not. Me such ecstasy + O'ercame, that never, till that hour, was thing + That held me in so sweet imprisonment. + + * * * * * + + THE SAINTS IN GLORY. + + CANTO XXXI. + + In fashion, as a snow-white rose, lay then + Before my view the saintly multitude, + Which is his own blood Christ espoused. Meanwhile, + That other host, that soar aloft to gaze + And celebrate his glory, whom they love, + Hovered around; and, like a troop of bees, + Amid the vernal sweets alighting now, + Now, clustering, where their fragrant labor glows, + Flew downward to the mighty flower, or rose + From the redundant petals, streaming back + Unto the steadfast dwelling of their joy. + Faces had they of flame, and wings of gold: + The rest was whiter than the driven snow; + And, as they flitted down into the flower, + From range to range, fanning their plumy loins, + Whispered the peace and ardor, which they won + From that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vast + Interposition of such numerous flight + Cast, from above, upon the flower, or view + Obstructed aught. For, through the universe, + Wherever merited, celestial light + Glides freely, and no obstacle prevents. + All there, who reign in safety and in bliss, + Ages long past or new, on one sole mark + Their love and vision fixed. O trinal beam + Of individual star, that charm'st them thus! + Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below. + If the grim brood, from Arctic shores that roamed + (Where Helice forever, as she wheels, + Sparkles a mother's fondness on her son), + Stood in mute wonder mid the works of Rome, + When to their view the Lateran arose + In greatness more than earthly; I, who then + From human to divine had passed, from time + Unto eternity, and out of Florence + To justice and to truth, how might I chuse + But marvel too? 'Twixt gladness and amaze, + In sooth, no will had I to utter aught, + Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he rests + Within the temple of his vow, looks round + In breathless awe, and hopes some time to tell + Of all its goodly state; e'en so mine eyes + Coursed up and down along the living light, + Now low, and now aloft, and now around, + Visiting every step. Looks I beheld, + Where charity in soft persuasion sat; + Smiles from within, and radiance from above; + And, in each gesture, grace and honor high. + So roved my ken, and in its general form + All Paradise surveyed. + +DANTE. + +Translation of HENRY FRANCIS CARY. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The World's Best Poetry Volume IV., by Bliss Carman + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD'S BEST POETRY VOLUME IV. *** + +***** This file should be named 12759.txt or 12759.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/7/5/12759/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Leah Moser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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