6.

"Or puoi la quantitate Comprender de l'amor che a te mi scalda."—Dante. "Non vo' che da tal nodo amor mi scioglia."—Petrarca.

Trust me, I have not earned your dear rebuke, I love, as you would have me, God the most; Would lose not Him, but you, must one be lost, Nor with Lot's wife cast back a faithless look Unready to forego what I forsook; This say I, having counted up the cost, This, though I be the feeblest of God's host, The sorriest sheep Christ shepherds with His crook, Yet while I love my God the most, I deem That I can never love you overmuch; I love Him more, so let me love you too; Yea, as I apprehend it, love is such I cannot love you if I love not Him, I cannot love Him if I love not you.

7.

"Qui primavera sempre ed ogni frutto."—Dante. "Ragionando con meco ed io con lui."—Petrarca.

"Love me, for I love you"—and answer me, "Love me, for I love you"—so shall we stand As happy equals in the flowering land Of love, that knows not a dividing sea. Love builds the house on rock and not on sand, Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately; And who hath found love's citadel unmanned? And who hath held in bonds love's liberty? My heart's a coward though my words are brave— We meet so seldom, yet we surely part So often; there's a problem for your art! Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith, Though jealousy be cruel as the grave, And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.

8.

"Come dicesse a Dio: D'altro non calme."—Dante. "Spero trovar pieta non che perdono."—Petrarca.

"I, if I perish, perish"—Esther spake: And bride of life or death she made her fair In all the lustre of her perfumed hair And smiles that kindle longing but to slake. She put on pomp of loveliness, to take Her husband through his eyes at unaware; She spread abroad her beauty for a snare, Harmless as doves and subtle as a snake. She trapped him with one mesh of silken hair, She vanquished him by wisdom of her wit, And built her people's house that it should stand:— If I might take my life so in my hand, And for my love to Love put up my prayer, And for love's sake by Love be granted it!

9.

"O dignitosa coscienza e netta!"—Dante. "Spirto piu acceso di virtuti ardenti."—Petrarca.

Thinking of you, and all that was, and all That might have been and now can never be, I feel your honored excellence, and see Myself unworthy of the happier call: For woe is me who walk so apt to fall, So apt to shrink afraid, so apt to flee, Apt to lie down and die (ah, woe is me!) Faithless and hopeless turning to the wall. And yet not hopeless quite nor faithless quite, Because not loveless; love may toil all night, But take at morning; wrestle till the break Of day, but then wield power with God and man:— So take I heart of grace as best I can, Ready to spend and be spent for your sake.

10.

"Con miglior corso e con migliore stella."—Dante. "La vita fugge e non s'arresta un' ora."—Petrarca.

Time flies, hope flags, life plies a wearied wing; Death following hard on life gains ground apace; Faith runs with each and rears an eager face, Outruns the rest, makes light of everything, Spurns earth, and still finds breath to pray and sing; While love ahead of all uplifts his praise, Still asks for grace and still gives thanks for grace, Content with all day brings and night will bring. Life wanes; and when love folds his wings above Tired hope, and less we feel his conscious pulse, Let us go fall asleep, dear friend, in peace: A little while, and age and sorrow cease; A little while, and life reborn annuls Loss and decay and death, and all is love.

11.

"Vien dietro a me e lascia dir le genti."—Dante. "Contando i casi della vita nostra."—Petrarca.

Many in aftertimes will say of you "He loved her"—while of me what will they say? Not that I loved you more than just in play, For fashion's sake as idle women do. Even let them prate; who know not what we knew Of love and parting in exceeding pain, Of parting hopeless here to meet again, Hopeless on earth, and heaven is out of view. But by my heart of love laid bare to you, My love that you can make not void nor vain, Love that foregoes you but to claim anew Beyond this passage of the gate of death, I charge you at the Judgment make it plain My love of you was life and not a breath.

12.

"Amor, che ne la mente mi ragiona."—Dante. "Amor vien nel bel viso di costei."—Petrarca.

If there be any one can take my place And make you happy whom I grieve to grieve, Think not that I can grudge it, but believe I do commend you to that nobler grace, That readier wit than mine, that sweeter face; Yea, since your riches make me rich, conceive I too am crowned, while bridal crowns I weave, And thread the bridal dance with jocund pace. For if I did not love you, it might be That I should grudge you some one dear delight; But since the heart is yours that was mine own, Your pleasure is my pleasure, right my right, Your honorable freedom makes me free, And you companioned I am not alone.

13.

"E drizzeremo gli occhi al Primo Amore."—Dante. "Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia."—Petrarca.

If I could trust mine own self with your fate, Shall I not rather trust it in God's hand? Without Whose Will one lily doth not stand, Nor sparrow fall at his appointed date; Who numbereth the innumerable sand, Who weighs the wind and water with a weight, To Whom the world is neither small nor great, Whose knowledge foreknew every plan we planned. Searching my heart for all that touches you, I find there only love and love's goodwill Helpless to help and impotent to do, Of understanding dull, of sight most dim; And therefore I commend you back to Him Whose love your love's capacity can fill.

14.

"E la Sua Volontade e nostra pace."—Dante. "Sol con questi pensier, con altre chiome."—Petrarca.

Youth gone, and beauty gone if ever there Dwelt beauty in so poor a face as this; Youth gone and beauty, what remains of bliss? I will not bind fresh roses in my hair, To shame a cheek at best but little fair,— Leave youth his roses, who can bear a thorn,— I will not seek for blossoms anywhere, Except such common flowers as blow with corn. Youth gone and beauty gone, what doth remain? The longing of a heart pent up forlorn, A silent heart whose silence loves and longs; The silence of a heart which sang its songs While youth and beauty made a summer morn, Silence of love that cannot sing again.



"LUSCIOUS AND SORROWFUL."

Beautiful, tender, wasting away for sorrow; Thus to-day; and how shall it be with thee to-morrow? Beautiful, tender—what else? A hope tells.

Beautiful, tender, keeping the jubilee In the land of home together, past death and sea; No more change or death, no more Salt sea-shore.



DE PROFUNDIS.

Oh why is heaven built so far, Oh why is earth set so remote? I cannot reach the nearest star That hangs afloat.

I would not care to reach the moon, One round monotonous of change; Yet even she repeats her tune Beyond my range.

I never watch the scattered fire Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train, But all my heart is one desire, And all in vain:

For I am bound with fleshly bands, Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope; I strain my heart, I stretch my hands, And catch at hope.



TEMPUS FUGIT.

Lovely Spring, A brief sweet thing, Is swift on the wing; Gracious Summer, A slow sweet comer, Hastens past; Autumn while sweet Is all incomplete With a moaning blast,— Nothing can last, Can be cleaved unto, Can be dwelt upon; It is hurried through, It is come and gone, Undone it cannot be done, It is ever to do, Ever old, ever new, Ever waxing old And lapsing to Winter cold.



GOLDEN GLORIES.

The buttercup is like a golden cup, The marigold is like a golden frill, The daisy with a golden eye looks up, And golden spreads the flag beside the rill, And gay and golden nods the daffodil, The gorsey common swells a golden sea, The cowslip hangs a head of golden tips, And golden drips the honey which the bee Sucks from sweet hearts of flowers and stores and sips.



JOHNNY.

FOUNDED ON AN ANECDOTE OF THE FIRST FRENCH REVOLUTION.

Johnny had a golden head Like a golden mop in blow, Right and left his curls would spread In a glory and a glow, And they framed his honest face Like stray sunbeams out of place.

Long and thick, they half could hide How threadbare his patched jacket hung; They used to be his Mother's pride; She praised them with a tender tongue, And stroked them with a loving finger That smoothed and stroked and loved to linger.

On a doorstep Johnny sat, Up and down the street looked he; Johnny did not own a hat, Hot or cold tho' days might be; Johnny did not own a boot To cover up his muddy foot.

Johnny's face was pale and thin, Pale with hunger and with crying; For his Mother lay within, Talked and tossed and seemed a-dying, While Johnny racked his brains to think How to get her help and drink,

Get her physic, get her tea, Get her bread and something nice; Not a penny piece had he, And scarce a shilling might suffice; No wonder that his soul was sad, When not one penny piece he had.

As he sat there thinking, moping, Because his Mother's wants were many, Wishing much but scarcely hoping To earn a shilling or a penny, A friendly neighbor passed him by And questioned him: Why did he cry?

Alas! his trouble soon was told: He did not cry for cold or hunger, Though he was hungry both and cold; He only felt more weak and younger, Because he wished so to be old And apt at earning pence or gold.

Kindly that neighbor was, but poor, Scant coin had he to give or lend; And well he guessed there needed more Than pence or shillings to befriend The helpless woman in her strait, So much loved, yet so desolate.

One way he saw, and only one: He would—he could not—give the advice, And yet he must: the widow's son Had curls of gold would fetch their price; Long curls which might be clipped, and sold For silver, or perhaps for gold.

Our Johnny, when he understood Which shop it was that purchased hair, Ran off as briskly as he could, And in a trice stood cropped and bare, Too short of hair to fill a locket, But jingling money in his pocket.

Precious money—tea and bread, Physic, ease, for Mother dear, Better than a golden head: Yet our hero dropped one tear When he spied himself close shorn, Barer much than lamb new born.

His Mother throve upon the money, Ate and revived and kissed her son: But oh! when she perceived her Johnny, And understood what he had done All and only for her sake, She sobbed as if her heart must break.



"HOLLOW-SOUNDING AND MYSTERIOUS."

There's no replying To the Wind's sighing, Telling, foretelling, Dying, undying, Dwindling and swelling, Complaining, droning, Whistling and moaning, Ever beginning, Ending, repeating, Hinting and dinning, Lagging and fleeting— We've no replying Living or dying To the Wind's sighing.

What are you telling, Variable Wind-tone? What would be teaching, O sinking, swelling, Desolate Wind-moan? Ever for ever Teaching and preaching, Never, ah never Making us wiser— The earliest riser Catches no meaning, The last who hearkens Garners no gleaning Of wisdom's treasure, While the world darkens:— Living or dying, In pain, in pleasure, We've no replying To wordless flying Wind's sighing.



MAIDEN MAY.

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Sweet of scent; Sat and dreamed away an hour, Half content, half uncontent.

"Why should rose blossoms be born, Tender blossoms, on a thorn Though so sweet? Never a thorn besets the corn Scentless in its strength complete.

"Why are roses all so frail, At the mercy of the gale, Of a breath? Yet so sweet and perfect pale, Still so sweet in life and death."

Maiden May sat in her bower, In her blush rose bower in flower, Where a linnet Made one bristling branch the tower For her nest and young ones in it.

"Gay and clear the linnet trills; Yet the skylark only, thrills Heaven and earth When he breasts the height, and fills Height and depth with song and mirth.

"Nightingales which yield to night Solitary strange delight, Reign alone: But the lark for all his height Fills no solitary throne;

"While he sings, a hundred sing; Wing their flight below his wing Yet in flight; Each a lovely joyful thing To the measure of its delight.

"Why then should a lark be reckoned One alone, without a second Near his throne? He in skyward flight unslackened, In his music, not alone."

Maiden May sat in her bower; Her own face was like a flower Of the prime, Half in sunshine, half in shower, In the year's most tender time.

Her own thoughts in silent song Musically flowed along, Wise, unwise, Wistful, wondering, weak or strong: As brook shallows sink or rise.

Other thoughts another day, Maiden May, will surge and sway Round your heart; Wake, and plead, and turn at bay, Wisdom part, and folly part.

Time not far remote will borrow Other joys, another sorrow, All for you; Not to-day, and yet to-morrow Reasoning false and reasoning true.

Wherefore greatest? Wherefore least? Hearts that starve and hearts that feast? You and I? Stammering Oracles have ceased, And the whole earth stands at "why?"

Underneath all things that be Lies an unsolved mystery; Over all Spreads a veil impenetrably, Spreads a dense unlifted pall.

Mystery of mysteries: This creation hears and sees High and low— Vanity of vanities: This we test and this we know.

Maiden May, the days of flowering Nurse you now in sweet embowering, Sunny days; Bright with rainbows all the showering, Bright with blossoms all the ways.

Close the inlet of your bower, Close it close with thorn and flower, Maiden May; Lengthen out the shortening hour,— Morrows are not as to-day.

Stay to-day which wanes too soon, Stay the sun and stay the moon, Stay your youth; Bask you in the actual noon, Rest you in the present truth.

Let to-day suffice to-day: For itself to-morrow may Fetch its loss; Aim and stumble, say its say, Watch and pray and bear its cross.



TILL TO-MORROW.

Long have I longed, till I am tired Of longing and desire; Farewell my points in vain desired, My dying fire; Farewell all things that die and fail and tire.

Springtide and youth and useless pleasure And all my useless scheming, My hopes of unattainable treasure, Dreams not worth dreaming, Glow-worms that gleam but yield no warmth in gleaming,

Farewell all shows that fade in showing: My wish and joy stand over Until to-morrow; Heaven is glowing Through cloudy cover, Beyond all clouds loves me my Heavenly Lover.



DEATH-WATCHES.

The Spring spreads one green lap of flowers Which Autumn buries at the fall, No chilling showers of Autumn hours Can stay them or recall; Winds sing a dirge, while earth lays out of sight Her garment of delight.

The cloven East brings forth the sun, The cloven West doth bury him What time his gorgeous race is run And all the world grows dim; A funeral moon is lit in heaven's hollow, And pale the star-lights follow.



TOUCHING "NEVER."

Because you never yet have loved me, dear, Think you you never can nor ever will? Surely while life remains hope lingers still, Hope the last blossom of life's dying year. Because the season and mine age grow sere, Shall never Spring bring forth her daffodil, Shall never sweeter Summer feast her fill Of roses with the nightingales they hear? If you had loved me, I not loving you, If you had urged me with the tender plea Of what our unknown years to come might do (Eternal years, if Time should count too few), I would have owned the point you pressed on me, Was possible, or probable, or true.



BRANDONS BOTH.

Oh fair Milly Brandon, a young maid, a fair maid! All her curls are yellow and her eyes are blue, And her cheeks were rosy red till a secret care made Hollow whiteness of their brightness as a care will do.

Still she tends her flowers, but not as in the old days, Still she sings her songs, but not the songs of old: If now it be high Summer her days seem brief and cold days, If now it be high Summer her nights are long and cold.

If you have a secret keep it, pure maid Milly; Life is filled with troubles and the world with scorn; And pity without love is at best times hard and chilly, Chilling sore and stinging sore a heart forlorn.

Walter Brandon, do you guess Milly Brandon's secret? Many things you know, but not everything, With your locks like raven's plumage, and eyes like an egret, And a laugh that is music, and such a voice to sing.

Nelly Knollys, she is fair, but she is not fairer Than fairest Milly Brandon was before she turned so pale: Oh, but Nelly's dearer if she be not rarer, She need not keep a secret or blush behind a veil.

Beyond the first green hills, beyond the nearest valleys, Nelly dwells at home beneath her mother's eyes: Her home is neat and homely, not a cot and not a palace, Just the home where love sets up his happiest memories.

Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another Is she whose blessed mother is vanished out of call: Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all.

Where peacocks nod and flaunt up and down the terrace, Furling and unfurling their scores of sightless eyes, To and fro among the leaves and buds and flowers and berries Maiden Milly strolls and pauses, smiles and sighs.

On the hedged-in terrace of her father's palace She may stroll and muse alone, may smile or sigh alone, Letting thoughts and eyes go wandering over hills and valleys To-day her father's, and one day to be all her own.

If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands, It is because the startled game are leaping from their lair; If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands, It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there.

At length a footfall on the steps: she turns, composed and steady, All the long-descended greatness of her father's house Lifting up her head; and there stands Walter keen and ready For hunting or for hawking, a flush upon his brows.

"Good-morrow, fair cousin." "Good-morrow, fairest cousin: The sun has started on his course, and I must start to-day. If you have done me one good turn you've done me many a dozen, And I shall often think of you, think of you away."

"Over hill and hollow what quarry will you follow, Or what fish will you angle for beside the river's edge? There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow, And fog among the rushes and the rustling sedge."

"I shall speed well enough be it hunting or hawking, Or casting a bait towards the shyest daintiest fin. But I kiss your hands, my cousin; I must not loiter talking, For nothing comes of nothing, and I'm fain to seek and win."

"Here's a thorny rose: will you wear it an hour, Till the petals drop apart still fresh and pink and sweet? Till the petals drop from the drooping perished flower, And only the graceless thorns are left of it."

"Nay, I have another rose sprung in another garden, Another rose which sweetens all the world for me. Be you a tenderer mistress and be you a warier warden Of your rose, as sweet as mine, and full as fair to see."

"Nay, a bud once plucked there is no reviving, Nor is it worth your wearing now, nor worth indeed my own; The dead to the dead, and the living to the living. It's time I go within, for it's time now you were gone."

"Good-bye, Milly Brandon, I shall not forget you, Though it be good-bye between us for ever from to-day; I could almost wish to-day that I had never met you, And I'm true to you in this one word that I say."

"Good-bye, Walter. I can guess which thornless rose you covet; Long may it bloom and prolong its sunny morn: Yet as for my one thorny rose, I do not cease to love it, And if it is no more a flower I love it as a thorn."



A LIFE'S PARALLELS.

Never on this side of the grave again, On this side of the river, On this side of the garner of the grain, Never,—

Ever while time flows on and on and on, That narrow noiseless river, Ever while corn bows heavy-headed, wan, Ever,—

Never despairing, often fainting, ruing, But looking back, ah never! Faint yet pursuing, faint yet still pursuing Ever.



AT LAST.

Many have sung of love a root of bane: While to my mind a root of balm it is, For love at length breeds love; sufficient bliss For life and death and rising up again. Surely when light of Heaven makes all things plain, Love will grow plain with all its mysteries; Nor shall we need to fetch from over seas Wisdom or wealth or pleasure safe from pain. Love in our borders, love within our heart, Love all in all, we then shall bide at rest, Ended for ever life's unending quest, Ended for ever effort, change and fear: Love all in all;—no more that better part Purchased, but at the cost of all things here.



GOLDEN SILENCES.

There is silence that saith, "Ah me!" There is silence that nothing saith; One the silence of life forlorn, One the silence of death; One is, and the other shall be.

One we know and have known for long, One we know not, but we shall know, All we who have ever been born; Even so, be it so,— There is silence, despite a song.

Sowing day is a silent day, Resting night is a silent night; But whoso reaps the ripened corn Shall shout in his delight, While silences vanish away.



IN THE WILLOW SHADE.

I sat beneath a willow tree, Where water falls and calls; While fancies upon fancies solaced me, Some true, and some were false.

Who set their heart upon a hope That never comes to pass, Droop in the end like fading heliotrope, The sun's wan looking-glass.

Who set their will upon a whim Clung to through good and ill, Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, Or hit or miss their will.

All things are vain that wax and wane, For which we waste our breath; Love only doth not wane and is not vain, Love only outlives death.

A singing lark rose toward the sky, Circling he sang amain; He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high, And then he sank again.

A second like a sunlit spark Flashed singing up his track; But never overtook that foremost lark, And songless fluttered back.

A hovering melody of birds Haunted the air above; They clearly sang contentment without words, And youth and joy and love.

O silvery weeping willow tree With all leaves shivering, Have you no purpose but to shadow me Beside this rippled spring?

On this first fleeting day of Spring, For Winter is gone by, And every bird on every quivering wing Floats in a sunny sky;

On this first Summer-like soft day, While sunshine steeps the air, And every cloud has gat itself away, And birds sing everywhere.

Have you no purpose in the world But thus to shadow me With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled, O weeping willow tree?

With all your tremulous leaves outspread Betwixt me and the sun, While here I loiter on a mossy bed With half my work undone;

My work undone, that should be done At once with all my might; For after the long day and lingering sun Comes the unworking night.

This day is lapsing on its way, Is lapsing out of sight; And after all the chances of the day Comes the resourceless night.

The weeping-willow shook its head And stretched its shadow long; The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red, The birds forbore a song.

Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves, The ripple made a moan, The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves; And then I felt alone.

I rose to go, and felt the chill, And shivered as I went; Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still, What more that willow meant;

That silvery weeping-willow tree With all leaves shivering, Which spent one long day overshadowing me Beside a spring in Spring.



FLUTTERED WINGS.

The splendor of the kindling day, The splendor of the setting sun, These move my soul to wend its way, And have done With all we grasp and toil amongst and say.

The paling roses of a cloud, The fading bow that arches space, These woo my fancy toward my shroud; Toward the place Of faces veiled, and heads discrowned and bowed.

The nation of the awful stars, The wandering star whose blaze is brief, These make me beat against the bars Of my grief; My tedious grief, twin to the life it mars.

O fretted heart tossed to and fro, So fain to flee, so fain to rest! All glories that are high or low, East or west, Grow dim to thee who art so fain to go.



A FISHER-WIFE.

The soonest mended, nothing said; And help may rise from east or west; But my two hands are lumps of lead, My heart sits leaden in my breast.

O north wind swoop not from the north, O south wind linger in the south, Oh come not raving raging forth, To bring my heart into my mouth;

For I've a husband out at sea, Afloat on feeble planks of wood; He does not know what fear may be; I would have told him if I could.

I would have locked him in my arms, I would have hid him in my heart; For oh! the waves are fraught with harms, And he and I so far apart.



WHAT'S IN A NAME?

Why has Spring one syllable less Than any its fellow season? There may be some other reason, And I'm merely making a guess; But surely it hoards such wealth Of happiness, hope and health, Sunshine and musical sound, It may spare a foot from its name Yet all the same Superabound.

Soft-named Summer, Most welcome comer, Brings almost everything Over which we dream or sing Or sigh; But then Summer wends its way, To-morrow,—to-day,— Good-bye!

Autumn,—the slow name lingers, While we likewise flag; It silences many singers; Its slow days drag, Yet hasten at speed To leave us in chilly need For Winter to strip indeed.

In all-lack Winter, Dull of sense and of sound, We huddle and shiver Beside our splinter Of crackling pine, Snow in sky and snow on ground. Winter and cold Can't last for ever! To-day, to-morrow, the sun will shine; When we are old, But some still are young, Singing the song Which others have sung, Ringing the bells Which others have rung,— Even so! We ourselves, who else? We ourselves long Long ago.



MARIANA.

Not for me marring or making, Not for me giving or taking; I love my Love and he loves not me, I love my Love and my heart is breaking.

Sweet is Spring in its lovely showing, Sweet the violet veiled in blowing, Sweet it is to love and be loved; Ah, sweet knowledge beyond my knowing!

Who sighs for love sighs but for pleasure, Who wastes for love hoards up a treasure; Sweet to be loved and take no count, Sweet it is to love without measure.

Sweet my Love whom I loved to try for, Sweet my Love whom I love and sigh for, Will you once love me and sigh for me, You my Love whom I love and die for?



MEMENTO MORI.

Poor the pleasure Doled out by measure, Sweet though it be, while brief As falling of the leaf; Poor is pleasure By weight and measure.

Sweet the sorrow Which ends to-morrow; Sharp though it be and sore, It ends for evermore: Zest of sorrow, What ends to-morrow.



"ONE FOOT ON SEA, AND ONE ON SHORE."

"Oh tell me once and tell me twice And tell me thrice to make it plain, When we who part this weary day, When we who part shall meet again."

"When windflowers blossom on the sea And fishes skim along the plain, Then we who part this weary day, Then you and I shall meet again."

"Yet tell me once before we part, Why need we part who part in pain? If flowers must blossom on the sea, Why, we shall never meet again.

"My cheeks are paler than a rose, My tears are salter than the main, My heart is like a lump of ice If we must never meet again."

"Oh weep or laugh, but let me be, And live or die, for all's in vain; For life's in vain since we must part, And parting must not meet again

"Till windflowers blossom on the sea, And fishes skim along the plain; Pale rose of roses let me be, Your breaking heart breaks mine again."



BUDS AND BABIES.

A million buds are born that never blow, That sweet with promise lift a pretty head To blush and wither on a barren bed And leave no fruit to show.

Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood One joy, by their fragility made plain: Nothing was ever beautiful in vain, Or all in vain was good.



BOY JOHNNY.

"If you'll busk you as a bride And make ready, It's I will wed you with a ring, O fair lady."

"Shall I busk me as a bride, I so bonny, For you to wed me with a ring, O boy Johnny?"

"When you've busked you as a bride And made ready, Who else is there to marry you, O fair lady?"

"I will find my lover out, I so bonny, And you shall bear my wedding-train, O boy Johnny."



FREAKS OF FASHION.

Such a hubbub in the nests, Such a bustle and squeak! Nestlings, guiltless of a feather, Learning just to speak, Ask—"And how about the fashions?" From a cavernous beak.

Perched on bushes, perched on hedges, Perched on firm hahas, Perched on anything that holds them, Gay papas and grave mammas Teach the knowledge-thirsty nestlings: Hear the gay papas.

Robin says: "A scarlet waistcoat Will be all the wear, Snug, and also cheerful-looking For the frostiest air, Comfortable for the chest too When one comes to plume and pair."

"Neat gray hoods will be in vogue," Quoth a Jackdaw: "Glossy gray, Setting close, yet setting easy, Nothing fly-away; Suited to our misty mornings, A la negligee."

Flushing salmon, flushing sulphur, Haughty Cockatoos Answer—"Hoods may do for mornings, But for evenings choose High head-dresses, curved like crescents, Such as well-bred persons use."

"Top-knots, yes; yet more essential Still, a train or tail," Screamed the Peacock: "Gemmed and lustrous Not too stiff, and not too frail; Those are best which rearrange as Fans, and spread or trail."

Spoke the Swan, entrenched behind An inimitable neck: "After all, there's nothing sweeter For the lawn or lake Than simple white, if fine and flaky And absolutely free from speck."

"Yellow," hinted a Canary, "Warmer, not less distingue." "Peach color," put in a Lory, "Cannot look outre." "All the colors are in fashion, And are right," the Parrots say.

"Very well. But do contrast Tints harmonious," Piped a Blackbird, justly proud Of bill aurigerous; "Half the world may learn a lesson As to that from us."

Then a Stork took up the word: "Aim at height and chic: Not high heels, they're common; somehow, Stilted legs, not thick, Nor yet thin:" he just glanced downward And snapped to his beak.

Here a rustling and a whirring, As of fans outspread, Hinted that mammas felt anxious Lest the next thing said Might prove less than quite judicious, Or even underbred.

So a mother Auk resumed The broken thread of speech: "Let colors sort themselves, my dears, Yellow, or red, or peach; The main points, as it seems to me, We mothers have to teach,

"Are form and texture, elegance, An air reserved, sublime; The mode of wearing what we wear With due regard to month and clime. But now, let's all compose ourselves, It's almost breakfast-time."

A hubbub, a squeak, a bustle! Who cares to chatter or sing With delightful breakfast coming? Yet they whisper under the wing: "So we may wear whatever we like, Anything, everything!"



AN OCTOBER GARDEN.

In my Autumn garden I was fain To mourn among my scattered roses; Alas for that last rosebud which uncloses To Autumn's languid sun and rain When all the world is on the wane! Which has not felt the sweet constraint of June, Nor heard the nightingale in tune.

Broad-faced asters by my garden walk, You are but coarse compared with roses: More choice, more dear that rosebud which uncloses Faint-scented, pinched, upon its stalk, That least and last which cold winds balk; A rose it is though least and last of all, A rose to me though at the fall.



"SUMMER IS ENDED."

To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose Scentless, colorless, this! Will it ever be thus (who knows?) Thus with our bliss, If we wait till the close?

Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end Sooner, later, at last, Which nothing can mar, nothing mend: An end locked fast, Bent we cannot re-bend.



PASSING AND GLASSING.

All things that pass Are woman's looking-glass; They show her how her bloom must fade, And she herself be laid With withered roses in the shade; With withered roses and the fallen peach, Unlovely, out of reach Of summer joy that was.

All things that pass Are woman's tiring-glass; The faded lavender is sweet, Sweet the dead violet Culled and laid by and cared for yet; The dried-up violets and dried lavender Still sweet, may comfort her, Nor need she cry Alas!

All things that pass Are wisdom's looking-glass; Being full of hope and fear, and still Brimful of good or ill, According to our work and will; For there is nothing new beneath the sun; Our doings have been done, And that which shall be was.



"I WILL ARISE."

Weary and weak,—accept my weariness; Weary and weak and downcast in my soul, With hope growing less and less, And with the goal Distant and dim,—accept my sore distress. I thought to reach the goal so long ago, At outset of the race I dreamed of rest, Not knowing what now I know Of breathless haste, Of long-drawn straining effort across the waste.

One only thing I knew, Thy love of me; One only thing I know, Thy sacred same Love of me full and free, A craving flame Of selfless love of me which burns in Thee. How can I think of thee, and yet grow chill; Of Thee, and yet grow cold and nigh to death? Re-energize my will, Rebuild my faith; I will arise and run, Thou giving me breath.

I will arise, repenting and in pain; I will arise, and smite upon my breast And turn to Thee again; Thou choosest best, Lead me along the road Thou makest plain. Lead me a little way, and carry me A little way, and listen to my sighs, And store my tears with Thee, And deign replies To feeble prayers;—O Lord, I will arise.



A PRODIGAL SON.

Does that lamp still burn in my Father's house, Which he kindled the night I went away? I turned once beneath the cedar boughs, And marked it gleam with a golden ray; Did he think to light me home some day?

Hungry here with the crunching swine, Hungry harvest have I to reap; In a dream I count my Father's kine, I hear the tinkling bells of his sheep, I watch his lambs that browse and leap.

There is plenty of bread at home, His servants have bread enough and to spare; The purple wine-fat froths with foam, Oil and spices make sweet the air, While I perish hungry and bare.

Rich and blessed those servants, rather Than I who see not my Father's face! I will arise and go to my Father:— "Fallen from sonship, beggared of grace, Grant me, Father, a servant's place."



SOEUR LOUISE DE LA MISERICORDE.

(1674.)

I have desired, and I have been desired; But now the days are over of desire, Now dust and dying embers mock my fire; Where is the hire for which my life was hired? Oh vanity of vanities, desire!

Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, Longing and love, a disenkindled fire, And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, And love a fount of tears outrunning measure; Oh vanity of vanities, desire!

Now from my heart, love's deathbed, trickles, trickles, Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, The dross of life, of love, of spent desire; Alas, my rose of life gone all to prickles,— Oh vanity of vanities, desire!

Oh vanity of vanities, desire; Stunting my hope which might have strained up higher, Turning my garden plot to barren mire; Oh death-struck love, oh disenkindled fire, Oh vanity of vanities, desire!



AN "IMMURATA" SISTER.

Life flows down to death; we cannot bind That current that it should not flee: Life flows down to death, as rivers find The inevitable sea.

Men work and think, but women feel; And so (for I'm a woman, I) And so I should be glad to die And cease from impotence of zeal, And cease from hope, and cease from dread, And cease from yearnings without gain, And cease from all this world of pain, And be at peace among the dead.

Hearts that die, by death renew their youth, Lightened of this life that doubts and dies; Silent and contented, while the Truth Unveiled makes them wise.

Why should I seek and never find That something which I have not had? Fair and unutterably sad The world hath sought time out of mind; The world hath sought and I have sought,— Ah, empty world and empty I! For we have spent our strength for nought, And soon it will be time to die.

Sparks fly upward toward their fount of fire, Kindling, flashing, hovering:— Kindle, flash, my soul; mount higher and higher, Thou whole burnt-offering!



"IF THOU SAYEST, BEHOLD, WE KNEW IT NOT." —Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12.

1.

I have done I know not what,—what have I done? My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry: And I find no defence, find no reply, No courage more to run this race I run Not knowing what I have done, have left undone; Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by Rank with death-savor underneath the sun. For what avails it that I did not know The deed I did? what profits me the plea That had I known I had not wronged him so? Lord Jesus Christ, my God, him pity Thou; Lord, if it may be, pity also me: In judgment pity, and in death, and now.

2.

Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load, Bear Thou our load whatever load it be; Our guilt, our shame, our helpless misery, Bear Thou Who only canst, O God my God. Seek us and find us, for we cannot Thee Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto: We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key Of all we are not though we might have been. Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved Thy mind, If so be love of us can move Thee yet, If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen, Remember us,—yea, how shouldst Thou forget? Remember us for good, and seek, and find.

3.

Each soul I might have succored, may have slain, All souls shall face me at the last Appeal, That great last moment poised for woe or weal, That final moment for man's bliss or bane. Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain Which then will not avail or help or heal: Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, Will more avail than strength or beauty then. Lord, by Thy Passion,—when Thy Face was marred In sight of earth and hell tumultuous, And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard,— Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us.



THE THREAD OF LIFE.

1.

The irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me:— Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof, so stand Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand?— And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek And all the world and I seemed much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong and life itself not weak.

2.

Thus am I mine own prison. Everything Around me free and sunny and at ease: Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing And where all winds make various murmuring; Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; Where sounds are music, and where silences Are music of an unlike fashioning. Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, And smile a moment and a moment sigh Thinking: Why can I not rejoice with you? But soon I put the foolish fancy by: I am not what I have nor what I do; But what I was I am, I am even I.

3.

Therefore myself is that one only thing I hold to use or waste, to keep or give; My sole possession every day I live, And still mine own despite Time's winnowing. Ever mine own, while moons and seasons bring From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative; Ever mine own, till Death shall ply his sieve; And still mine own, when saints break grave and sing. And this myself as king unto my King I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting? And sing: O grave, where is thy victory?



AN OLD-WORLD THICKET.

..."Una selva oscura."—Dante.

Awake or sleeping (for I know not which) I was or was not mazed within a wood Where every mother-bird brought up her brood Safe in some leafy niche Of oak or ash, of cypress or of beech,

Of silvery aspen trembling delicately, Of plane or warmer-tinted sycamore, Of elm that dies in secret from the core, Of ivy weak and free, Of pines, of all green lofty things that be.

Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire; Like spots of azure heaven upon the wing, Like downy emeralds that alight and sing, Like actual coals on fire, Like anything they seemed, and everything.

Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chat With tongue of music in a well-tuned beak, They seemed to speak more wisdom than we speak, To make our music flat And all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak.

Their meat was nought but flowers like butterflies, With berries coral-colored or like gold; Their drink was only dew, which blossoms hold Deep where the honey lies; Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes.

The shade wherein they revelled was a shade That danced and twinkled to the unseen sun; Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one, And all their shadows swayed In breaths of air that rustled and that played.

A sound of waters neither rose nor sank, And spread a sense of freshness through the air; It seemed not here or there, but everywhere, As if the whole earth drank, Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank.

But I who saw such things as I have said, Was overdone with utter weariness; And walked in care, as one whom fears oppress Because above his head Death hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread.

Each sore defeat of my defeated life Faced and outfaced me in that bitter hour; And turned to yearning palsy all my power, And all my peace to strife, Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife.

Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair, Stung me to anger by its mere content, Made me all lonely on that way I went, Piled care upon my care, Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare:

For all that was but showed what all was not, But gave clear proof of what might never be; Making more destitute my poverty, And yet more blank my lot, And me much sadder by its jubilee.

Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk? And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear? Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear, And could not shun the talk Of all rejoicing creatures far or near.

Without my will I hearkened and I heard (Asleep or waking, for I know not which), Till note by note the music changed its pitch; Bird ceased to answer bird, And every wind sighed softly if it stirred.

The drip of widening waters seemed to weep, All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang, Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leap Sheer down a headlong steep; High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang.

Such universal sound of lamentation I heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear; Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near; Nought else but all creation Moaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear,

Shuddering in the misery of its doom: My heart then rose a rebel against light, Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height, Ingathering wrath and gloom, Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night.

Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt, All impotent, all hateful, and all hate, That kicks and breaks itself against the bolt Of an imprisoning fate, And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate.

Agony to agony, deep called to deep, Out of the deep I called of my desire; My strength was weakness and my heart was fire; Mine eyes that would not weep Or sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep;

The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul, For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark: A random thing I seemed without a mark, Racing without a goal, Adrift upon life's sea without an ark.

More leaden than the actual self of lead Outer and inner darkness weighed on me. The tide of anger ebbed. Then fierce and free Surged full above my head The moaning tide of helpless misery.

Why should I breathe, whose breath was but a sigh? Why should I live, who drew such painful breath? Oh weary work, the unanswerable why!— Yet I, why should I die, Who had no hope in life, no hope in death?

Grasses and mosses and the fallen leaf Make peaceful bed for an indefinite term; But underneath the grass there gnaws a worm— Haply, there gnaws a grief— Both, haply always; not, as now, so brief.

The pleasure I remember, it is past; The pain I feel is passing, passing by; Thus all the world is passing, and thus I: All things that cannot last Have grown familiar, and are born to die.

And being familiar, have so long been borne That habit trains us not to break but bend: Mourning grows natural to us who mourn In foresight of an end, But that which ends not who shall brave or mend?

Surely the ripe fruits tremble on their bough, They cling and linger trembling till they drop: I, trembling, cling to dying life; for how Face the perpetual Now? Birthless and deathless, void of start or stop,

Void of repentance, void of hope and fear, Of possibility, alternative, Of all that ever made us bear to live From night to morning here, Of promise even which has no gift to give.

The wood, and every creature of the wood, Seemed mourning with me in an undertone; Soft scattered chirpings and a windy moan, Trees rustling where they stood And shivered, showed compassion for my mood.

Rage to despair; and now despair had turned Back to self-pity and mere weariness, With yearnings like a smouldering fire that burned, And might grow more or less, And might die out or wax to white excess.

Without, within me, music seemed to be; Something not music, yet most musical, Silence and sound in heavenly harmony; At length a pattering fall Of feet, a bell, and bleatings, broke through all.

Then I looked up. The wood lay in a glow From golden sunset and from ruddy sky; The sun had stooped to earth though once so high; Had stooped to earth, in slow Warm dying loveliness brought near and low.

Each water-drop made answer to the light, Lit up a spark and showed the sun his face; Soft purple shadows paved the grassy space And crept from height to height, From height to loftier height crept up apace.

While opposite the sun a gazing moon Put on his glory for her coronet, Kindling her luminous coldness to its noon, As his great splendor set; One only star made up her train as yet.

Each twig was tipped with gold, each leaf was edged And veined with gold from the gold-flooded west; Each mother-bird, and mate-bird, and unfledged Nestling, and curious nest, Displayed a gilded moss or beak or breast.

And filing peacefully between the trees, Having the moon behind them, and the sun Full in their meek mild faces, walked at ease A homeward flock, at peace With one another and with every one.

A patriarchal ram with tinkling bell Led all his kin; sometimes one browsing sheep Hung back a moment, or one lamb would leap And frolic in a dell; Yet still they kept together, journeying well,

And bleating, one or other, many or few, Journeying together toward the sunlit west; Mild face by face, and woolly breast by breast, Patient, sun-brightened too, Still journeying toward the sunset and their rest.



"ALL THY WORKS PRAISE THEE, O LORD."

A PROCESSIONAL OF CREATION.

All.

I, All-Creation, sing my song of praise To God Who made me and vouchsafes my days, And sends me forth by multitudinous ways.

Seraph.

I, like my Brethren, burn eternally With love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me; The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity.

Cherub.

I, with my Brethren, gaze eternally On Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me; The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity.

All Angels.

We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure, Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure; Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure.

Heavens.

We float before the Presence Infinite, We cluster round the Throne in our delight, Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.

Firmament.

I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air, At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair; His glory by my glories I declare.

Powers.

We Powers are powers because He makes us strong; Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along, We move all moving things, and sing our song.

Sun.

I blaze to Him in mine engarlanding Of rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering, While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing.

Moon.

I follow, and am fair, and do His Will; Through all my changes I am faithful still, Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil.

Stars.

We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous, Throng space with energy untumultuous, And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us.

Galaxies and Nebulae.

No thing is far or near; and therefore we Float neither far nor near; but where we be Weave dances round the Throne perpetually.

Comets and Meteors.

Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro, We flash and vanish, we die down and glow; All doing His Will Who bids us do it so.

Showers.

We give ourselves; and be we great or small, Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all, Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall.

Dews.

We give ourselves in silent secret ways, Spending and spent in silence full of grace; And thus are made like God, and show His praise.

Winds.

We sift the air and winnow all the earth; And God Who poised our weights and weighs our worth Accepts the worship of our solemn mirth.

Fire.

My power and strength are His Who fashioned me, Ordained me image of His Jealousy, Forged me His weapon fierce exceedingly.

Heat.

I glow unto His glory, and do good: I glow, and bring to life both bud and brood; I glow, and ripen harvest-crops for food.

Winter and Summer.

Our wealth and joys and beauties celebrate His wealth of beauty Who sustains our state, Before Whose changelessness we alternate.

Spring and Autumn.

I hope,— And I remember,—

We give place Either to other with contented grace, Acceptable and lovely all our days.

Frost.

I make the unstable stable, binding fast The world of waters prone to ripple past: Thus praise I God, Whose mercies I forecast.

Cold.

I rouse and goad the slothful, apt to nod, I stir and urge the laggards with my rod: My praise is not of men, yet I praise God.

Snow.

My whiteness shadoweth Him Who is most fair, All spotless: yea, my whiteness which I wear Exalts His Purity beyond compare.

Vapors.

We darken sun and moon, and blot the day, The good Will of our Maker to obey: Till to the glory of God we pass away.

Night.

Moon and all stars I don for diadem To make me fair: I cast myself and them Before His feet, Who knows us gem from gem.

Day.

I shout before Him in my plenitude Of light and warmth, of hope and wealth and food; Ascribing all good to the Only Good.

Light and Darkness.

I am God's dwelling-place,— And also I Make His pavilion,— Lo, we bide and fly Exulting in the Will of God Most High.

Lightning and Thunder.

We indivisible flash forth His Fame, We thunder forth the glory of His Name, In harmony of resonance and flame.

Clouds.

Sweet is our store, exhaled from sea or river: We wear a rainbow, praising God the Giver Because His mercy is for ever and ever.

Earth.

I rest in Him rejoicing: resting so And so rejoicing, in that I am low; Yet known of Him, and following on to know.

Mountains.

Our heights which laud Him, sink abased before Him higher than the highest evermore: God higher than the highest we adore.

Hills.

We green-tops praise Him, and we fruitful heads, Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds: We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds.

Green Things.

We all green things, we blossoms bright or dim, Trees, bushes, brushwood, corn and grasses slim, We lift our many-favored lauds to Him.

Rose,—Lily,—Violet.

I praise Him on my thorn which I adorn,— And I, amid my world of thistle and thorn,— And I, within my veil where I am born.

Apple,—Citron,—Pomegranate.

We, Apple-blossom, Citron, Pomegranate, We, clothed of God without our toil and fret, We offer fatness where His Throne is set.

Vine,—Cedar,—Palm.

I proffer Him my sweetness, who am sweet,— I bow my strength in fragrance at His feet,— I wave myself before His Judgment Seat.

Medicinal Herbs.

I bring refreshment,— I bring ease and calm,— I lavish strength and healing,— I am balm,— We work His pitiful Will and chant our psalm.

A Spring.

Clear my pure fountain, clear and pure my rill, My fountain and mine outflow deep and still, I set His semblance forth and do His Will.

Sea.

To-day I praise God with a sparkling face, My thousand thousand waves all uttering praise: To-morrow I commit me to His Grace.

Floods.

We spring and swell meandering to and fro, From height to depth, from depth to depth we flow, We fertilize the world, and praise Him so.

Whales and Sea Mammals.

We Whales and Monsters gambol in His sight Rejoicing every day and every night, Safe in the tender keeping of His Might.

Fishes.

Our fashions and our colors and our speeds Set forth His praise Who framed us and Who feeds, Who knows our number and regards our needs.

Birds.

Winged Angels of this visible world, we fly To sing God's praises in the lofty sky; We scale the height to praise our Lord most High.

Eagle and Dove.

I the sun-gazing Eagle,— I the Dove, With plumes of softness and a note of love,— We praise by divers gifts One God above.

Beasts and Cattle.

We forest Beasts,— We Beasts of hill or cave,— We border-loving Creatures of the wave,— We praise our King with voices deep and grave.

Small Animals.

God forms us weak and small, but pours out all We need, and notes us while we stand or fall: Wherefore we praise Him, weak and safe and small.

Lamb.

I praise my loving Lord, Who maketh me His type by harmless sweet simplicity: Yet He the Lamb of lambs incomparably.

Lion.

I praise the Lion of the Royal Race, Strongest in fight and swiftest in the chase: With all my might I leap and lavish praise.

All Men.

All creatures sing around us, and we sing: We bring our own selves as our offering, Our very selves we render to our King.

Israel.

Flock of our Shepherd's pasture and His fold, Purchased and well-beloved from days of old, We tell His praise which still remains untold.

Priests.

We free-will Shepherds tend His sheep, and feed; We follow Him while caring for their need; We follow praising Him, and them we lead.

Servants of God.

We love God, for He loves us; we are free In serving Him, who serve Him willingly: As kings we reign, and praise His Majesty.

Holy and Humble Persons.

All humble souls he calls and sanctifies; All holy souls He calls to make them wise; Accepting all, His free-will sacrifice.

Babes.

He maketh me,— And me,— And me,— To be His blessed little ones around His knee, Who praise Him by mere love confidingly.

Women.

God makes our service love, and makes our wage Love: so we wend on patient pilgrimage, Extolling Him by love from age to age.

Men.

God gives us power to rule: He gives us power To rule ourselves, and prune the exuberant flower Of youth, and worship Him hour after hour.

Spirits and Souls—

Lo, in the hidden world we chant our chant To Him Who fills us that we nothing want, To Him Whose bounty leaves our craving scant.

of Babes—

With milky mouths we praise God, from the breast Called home betimes to rest the perfect rest, By love and joy fufilling His behest.

of Women—

We praise His Will which made us what He would, His Will which fashioned us and called us good, His Will our plenary beatitude.

of Men.

We praise His Will Who bore with us so long, Who out of weakness wrought us swift and strong, Champions of right and putters-down of wrong.

All.

Let everything that hath or hath not breath, Let days and endless days, let life and death, Praise God, praise God, praise God, His creature saith.



LATER LIFE: A DOUBLE SONNET OF SONNETS.

1.

Before the mountains were brought forth, before Earth and the world were made, then God was God: And God will still be God, when flames shall roar Round earth and heaven dissolving at His nod: And this God is our God, even while His rod Of righteous wrath falls on us smiting sore: And this God is our God for evermore Through life, through death, while clod returns to clod. For though He slay us we will trust in Him; We will flock home to Him by divers ways: Yea, though He slay us we will vaunt His praise, Serving and loving with the Cherubim, Watching and loving with the Seraphim, Our very selves His praise through endless days.

2.

Rend hearts and rend not garments for our sins; Gird sackcloth not on body but on soul; Grovel in dust with faces toward the goal Nor won, nor neared: he only laughs who wins. Not neared the goal, the race too late begins; Or left undone, we have yet to do the whole; The sun is hurrying west and toward the pole Where darkness waits for earth with all her kins. Let us to-day, while it is called to-day, Set out, if utmost speed may yet avail— The shadows lengthen and the light grows pale: For who through darkness and the shadow of death, Darkness that may be felt, shall find a way, Blind-eyed, deaf-eared, and choked with failing breath?

3.

Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made, Oh bear in mind our dust and nothingness, Our wordless tearless dumbness of distress: Bear Thou in mind the burden Thou hast laid Upon us, and our feebleness unstayed Except Thou stay us: for the long long race Which stretches far and far before our face Thou knowest,—remember Thou whereof we are made. If making makes us Thine, then Thine we are; And if redemption, we are twice Thine own: If once Thou didst come down from heaven afar To seek us and to find us, how not save? Comfort us, save us, leave us not alone, Thou Who didst die our death and fill our grave.

4.

So tired am I, so weary of to-day, So unrefreshed from foregone weariness, So overburdened by foreseen distress, So lagging and so stumbling on my way, I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray, To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,— Ah, always less and less, even while I press Forward and toil and aim as best I may. Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly, Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes (Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize: Me, Lord, Thou seest though I see not Thee; Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise, Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me.

5.

Lord, Thou Thyself art Love and only Thou; Yet I who am not love would fain love Thee; But Thou alone being Love canst furnish me With that same love my heart is craving now. Allow my plea! for if Thou disallow, No second fountain can I find but Thee; No second hope or help is left to me, No second anything, but only Thou. O Love accept, according my request; O Love exhaust, fulfilling my desire: Uphold me with the strength that cannot tire, Nerve me to labor till Thou bid me rest, Kindle my fire from Thine unkindled fire, And charm the willing heart from out my breast.

6.

We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack: Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly. We see the things we do not yearn to see Around us: and what see we glancing back? Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack, Hopes that were never ours yet seemed to be, For which we steered on life's salt stormy sea Braving the sunstroke and the frozen pack. If thus to look behind is all in vain, And all in vain to look to left or right, Why face we not our future once again, Launching with hardier hearts across the main, Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight, And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain?

7.

To love and to remember; that is good: To love and to forget; that is not well: To lapse from love to hatred; that is hell And death and torment, rightly understood. Soul dazed by love and sorrow, cheer thy mood; More blest art thou than mortal tongue can tell: Ring not thy funeral but thy marriage bell, And salt with hope thy life's insipid food. Love is the goal, love is the way we wend, Love is our parallel unending line Whose only perfect Parallel is Christ, Beginning not begun, End without end: For He Who hath the heart of God sufficed, Can satisfy all hearts,—yea, thine and mine.

8.

We feel and see with different hearts and eyes:— Ah Christ, if all our hearts could meet in Thee How well it were for them and well for me, Our hearts Thy dear accepted sacrifice. Thou, only Life of hearts and Light of eyes, Our life, our light, if once we turn to Thee, So be it, O Lord, to them and so to me; Be all alike Thine own dear sacrifice. Thou Who by death hast ransomed us from death, Thyself God's sole well-pleasing Sacrifice, Thine only sacred Self I plead with Thee: Make Thou it well for them and well for me That Thou hast given us souls and wills and breath; And hearts to love Thee; and to see Thee, eyes.

9.

Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afar Beyond the drawings each of other's strength: One blazes through the brief bright summer's length Lavishing life-heat from a flaming car; While one unchangeable upon a throne Broods o'er the frozen heart of earth alone, Content to reign the bright particular star Of some who wander or of some who groan. They own no drawings each of other's strength, Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy, Nor veer along their courses each toward each: Yet are their orbits pitched in harmony Of one dear heaven, across whose depth and length Mayhap they talk together without speech.

10.

Tread softly! all the earth is holy ground. It may be, could we look with seeing eyes, This spot we stand on is a Paradise Where dead have come to life and lost been found, Where Faith has triumphed, Martyrdom been crowned, Where fools have foiled the wisdom of the wise; From this same spot the dust of saints may rise, And the King's prisoners come to light unbound. O earth, earth, earth, hear thou thy Maker's Word: "Thy dead thou shalt give up, nor hide thy slain"— Some who went weeping forth shall come again Rejoicing from the east or from the west, As doves fly to their windows, love's own bird Contented and desirous to the nest.[1]

[Footnote 1:

"Quali colombe dal disio chiamate Con l'ali aperte e ferme al dolce nido Volan per l'aer dal voler portate."

Dante.]

11.

Lifelong our stumbles, lifelong our regret, Lifelong our efforts failing and renewed, While lifelong is our witness, "God is good:" Who bore with us till now, bears with us yet, Who still remembers and will not forget, Who gives us light and warmth and daily food; And gracious promises half understood, And glories half unveiled, whereon to set Our heart of hearts and eyes of our desire; Uplifting us to longing and to love, Luring us upward from this world of mire, Urging us to press on and mount above Ourselves and all we have had experience of, Mounting to Him in love's perpetual fire.

12.

A dream there is wherein we are fain to scream, While struggling with ourselves we cannot speak: And much of all our waking life, as weak And misconceived, eludes us like the dream. For half life's seemings are not what they seem, And vain the laughs we laugh, the shrieks we shriek; Yea, all is vain that mars the settled meek Contented quiet of our daily theme. When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet: But now I deem some searching bitters are Sweeter than sweets, and more refreshing far, And to be relished more, and more desired, And more to be pursued on eager feet, On feet untired, and still on feet though tired.

13.

Shame is a shadow cast by sin: yet shame Itself may be a glory and a grace, Refashioning the sin-disfashioned face; A nobler bruit than hollow-sounded fame, A new-lit lustre on a tarnished name, One virtue pent within an evil place, Strength for the fight, and swiftness for the race, A stinging salve, a life-requickening flame. A salve so searching we may scarcely live, A flame so fierce it seems that we must die, An actual cautery thrust into the heart: Nevertheless, men die not of such smart; And shame gives back what nothing else can give, Man to himself,—then sets him up on high.

14.

When Adam and when Eve left Paradise Did they love on and cling together still, Forgiving one another all that ill The twain had wrought on such a different wise? She propped upon his strength, and he in guise Of lover though of lord, girt to fulfil Their term of life and die when God should will; Lie down and sleep, and having slept arise. Boast not against us, O our enemy! To-day we fall, but we shall rise again; We grope to-day, to-morrow we shall see: What is to-day that we should fear to-day? A morrow cometh which shall sweep away Thee and thy realm of change and death and pain.

15.

Let woman fear to teach and bear to learn, Remembering the first woman's first mistake. Eve had for pupil the inquiring snake, Whose doubts she answered on a great concern; But he the tables so contrived to turn, It next was his to give and hers to take; Till man deemed poison sweet for her sweet sake, And fired a train by which the world must burn. Did Adam love his Eve from first to last? I think so; as we love who works us ill, And wounds us to the quick, yet loves us still. Love pardons the unpardonable past: Love in a dominant embrace holds fast His frailer self, and saves without her will.

16.

Our teachers teach that one and one make two: Later, Love rules that one and one make one: Abstruse the problems! neither need we shun, But skilfully to each should yield its due. The narrower total seems to suit the few, The wider total suits the common run; Each obvious in its sphere like moon or sun; Both provable by me, and both by you. Befogged and witless, in a wordy maze A groping stroll perhaps may do us good; If cloyed we are with much we have understood, If tired of half our dusty world and ways, If sick of fasting, and if sick of food;— And how about these long still-lengthening days?

17.

Something this foggy day, a something which Is neither of this fog nor of to-day, Has set me dreaming of the winds that play Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach, And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray: Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away, So out of reach while quite within my reach, As out of reach as India or Cathay! I am sick of where I am and where I am not, I am sick of foresight and of memory, I am sick of all I have and all I see, I am sick of self, and there is nothing new; Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!— Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you?

18.

So late in Autumn half the world's asleep, And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale; For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale; And cold and colorless comes ashore the deep With tides that bluster or with tides that creep; Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veil Of fog, not sultry haze; and blight and bale Have done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap. So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring, Forgets the Summer with its opulence, The callow birds that long have found a wing, The swallows that more lately gat them hence: Will anything like Spring, will anything Like Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense?

19.

Here now is Winter. Winter, after all, Is not so drear as was my boding dream While Autumn gleamed its latest watery gleam On sapless leafage too inert to fall. Still leaves and berries clothe my garden wall Where ivy thrives on scantiest sunny beam; Still here a bud and there a blossom seem Hopeful, and robin still is musical. Leaves, flowers and fruit and one delightful song Remain; these days are short, but now the nights Intense and long, hang out their utmost lights; Such starry nights are long, yet not too long; Frost nips the weak, while strengthening still the strong Against that day when Spring sets all to rights.

20.

A hundred thousand birds salute the day:— One solitary bird salutes the night: Its mellow grieving wiles our grief away, And tunes our weary watches to delight; It seems to sing the thoughts we cannot say, To know and sing them, and to set them right; Until we feel once more that May is May, And hope some buds may bloom without a blight. This solitary bird outweighs, outvies, The hundred thousand merry-making birds Whose innocent warblings yet might make us wise Would we but follow when they bid us rise, Would we but set their notes of praise to words And launch our hearts up with them to the skies.

21.

A host of things I take on trust: I take The nightingales on trust, for few and far Between those actual summer moments are When I have heard what melody they make. So chanced it once at Como on the Lake: But all things, then, waxed musical; each star Sang on its course, each breeze sang on its car, All harmonies sang to senses wide-awake. All things in tune, myself not out of tune, Those nightingales were nightingales indeed: Yet truly an owl had satisfied my need, And wrought a rapture underneath that moon, Or simple sparrow chirping from a reed; For June that night glowed like a doubled June.

22.

The mountains in their overwhelming might Moved me to sadness when I saw them first, And afterwards they moved me to delight; Struck harmonies from silent chords which burst Out into song, a song by memory nursed; Forever unrenewed by touch or sight Sleeps the keen magic of each day or night, In pleasure and in wonder then immersed. All Switzerland behind us on the ascent, All Italy before us we plunged down St. Gothard, garden of forget-me-not: Yet why should such a flower choose such a spot? Could we forget that way which once we went Though not one flower had bloomed to weave its crown?

23.

Beyond the seas we know stretch seas unknown, Blue and bright-colored for our dim and green; Beyond the lands we see, stretch lands unseen With many-tinted tangle overgrown; And icebound seas there are like seas of stone, Serenely stormless as death lies serene; And lifeless tracks of sand, which intervene Betwixt the lands where living flowers are blown. This dead and living world befits our case Who live and die: we live in wearied hope, We die in hope not dead; we run a race To-day, and find no present halting-place; All things we see lie far within our scope, And still we peer beyond with craving face.

24.

The wise do send their hearts before them to Dear blessed Heaven, despite the veil between; The foolish nurse their hearts within the screen Of this familiar world, where all we do Or have is old, for there is nothing new: Yet elder far that world we have not seen; God's Presence antedates what else hath been: Many the foolish seem, the wise seem few. Oh foolishest fond folly of a heart Divided, neither here nor there at rest! That hankers after Heaven, but clings to earth; That neither here nor there knows thorough mirth, Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:— Oh fool among the foolish, in thy quest.

25.

When we consider what this life we lead Is not, and is; how full of toil and pain, How blank of rest and of substantial gain, Beset by hunger earth can never feed, And propping half our hearts upon a reed; We cease to mourn lost treasures mourned in vain, Lost treasures we are fain and yet not fain To fetch back for a solace of our need. For who that feel this burden and this strain, This wide vacuity of hope and heart, Would bring their cherished well-beloved again: To bleed with them and wince beneath the smart, To have with stinted bliss such lavish bane, To hold in lieu of all so poor a part?

26.

This Life is full of numbness and of balk, Of haltingness and baffled short-coming, Of promise unfulfilled, of everything That is puffed vanity and empty talk: Its very bud hangs cankered on the stalk, Its very song-bird trails a broken wing, Its very Spring is not indeed like Spring, But sighs like Autumn round an aimless walk. This Life we live is dead for all its breath; Death's self it is, set off on pilgrimage, Travelling with tottering steps the first short stage: The second stage is one mere desert dust Where Death sits veiled amid creation's rust:— Unveil thy face, O Death who art not Death.

27.

I have dreamed of Death:—what will it be to die Not in a dream, but in the literal truth With all Death's adjuncts ghastly and uncouth, The pang that is the last and the last sigh? Too dulled, it may be, for a last good-bye, Too comfortless for any one to soothe, A helpless charmless spectacle of ruth Through long last hours, so long while yet they fly. So long to those who hopeless in their fear Watch the slow breath and look for what they dread: While I supine, with ears that cease to hear, With eyes that glaze, with heart-pulse running down, (Alas! no saint rejoicing on her bed), May miss the goal at last, may miss a crown.

28.

In life our absent friend is far away: But death may bring our friend exceeding near, Show him familiar faces long so dear And lead him back in reach of words we say. He only cannot utter yea or nay In any voice accustomed to our ear; He only cannot make his face appear And turn the sun back on our shadowed day. The dead may be around us, dear and dead; The unforgotten dearest dead may be Watching us, with unslumbering eyes and heart, Brimful of words which cannot yet be said, Brimful of knowledge they may not impart, Brimful of love for you and love for me.



"FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD."

Wearied of sinning, wearied of repentance, Wearied of self, I turn, my God, to Thee; To Thee, my Judge, on Whose all-righteous sentence Hangs mine eternity: I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,— Be pitiful to me.

Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning, My stains, my festering sores, my misery: Thou the Beginning, Thou ere my beginning Didst see and didst foresee Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me,— I plead Thyself with Thee.

I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my Maker, Regard Thy handiwork that cries to Thee; I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker Of mine infirmity, Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,— I plead Thyself with Thee.



UNTIL THE DAY BREAK.

When will the day bring its pleasure? When will the night bring its rest? Reaper and gleaner and thresher Peer toward the east and the west:— The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.

Meteors flash forth and expire, Northern lights kindle and pale; These are the days of desire, Of eyes looking upward that fail; Vanishing days as a finishing tale.

Bows down the crop in its glory Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; The millet is ripened and hoary, The wheat ears are ripened to gold:— Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?

The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth Who knoweth the first and the last: The Sower Who patiently soweth, He scanneth the present and past: He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."

Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: On threshers and gleaners and reapers, O Lord of the harvest, look down; Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!

"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, The Lord of the first and the last: "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."



"OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH."

Lord, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee: My youth and hope lie by me buried and dead, My wandering love hath not where to lay its head Except Thou say "Come to Me."

My noon is ended, abolished from life and light, My noon is ended, ended and done away, My sun went down in the hours that still were day, And my lingering day is night.

How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee? Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? How long shall I long in vain?

O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire, Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire And a heart that craves a friend,

Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest," Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me," Who calledst a little child to come to Thee And pillowedst John on Thy breast;

Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own; Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone, And plight Thy word as a King,—

By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be, By Thy love of these and of all the born and unborn, Turn Thy gracious eyes on me and think no scorn Of me, not even of me.

Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame, My wounds, weakness, extremity cry to Thee: Bid me also to Paradise, also me For the glory of Thy Name.



"BEHOLD THE MAN!"

Shall Christ hang on the Cross, and we not look? Heaven, earth, and hell stood gazing at the first, While Christ for long-cursed man was counted cursed; Christ, God and Man, Whom God the Father strook And shamed and sifted and one while forsook:— Cry shame upon our bodies we have nursed In sweets, our souls in pride, our spirits immersed In wilfulness, our steps run all acrook. Cry shame upon us! for He bore our shame In agony, and we look on at ease With neither hearts on flame nor cheeks on flame: What hast thou, what have I, to do with peace? Not to send peace but send a sword He came, And fire and fasts and tearful night-watches.



THE DESCENT FROM THE CROSS.

Is this the Face that thrills with awe Seraphs who veil their face above? Is this the Face without a flaw, The Face that is the Face of Love? Yea, this defaced, a lifeless clod, Hath all creation's love sufficed, Hath satisfied the love of God, This Face the Face of Jesus Christ.



"IT IS FINISHED."

Dear Lord, let me recount to Thee Some of the great things thou hast done For me, even me Thy little one.

It was not I that cared for Thee,— But Thou didst set Thy heart upon Me, even me Thy little one.

And therefore was it sweet to Thee To leave Thy Majesty and Throne, And grow like me A Little One,

A swaddled Baby on the knee Of a dear Mother of Thine own, Quite weak like me Thy little one.

Thou didst assume my misery, And reap the harvest I had sown, Comforting me Thy little one.

Jerusalem and Galilee,— Thy love embraced not those alone, But also me Thy little one.

Thy unblemished Body on the Tree Was bared and broken to atone For me, for me Thy little one.

Thou lovedst me upon the Tree,— Still me, hid by the ponderous stone,— Me always,—me Thy little one.

And love of me arose with Thee When death and hell lay overthrown: Thou lovedst me Thy little one.

And love of me went up with Thee To sit upon Thy Father's Throne: Thou lovest me Thy little one.

Lord, as Thou me, so would I Thee Love in pure love's communion, For Thou lov'st me Thy little one:

Which love of me brings back with Thee To Judgment when the Trump is blown, Still loving me Thy little one.



AN EASTER CAROL.

Spring bursts to-day, For Christ is risen and all the earth's at play.

Flash forth, thou Sun, The rain is over and gone, its work is done.

Winter is past, Sweet Spring is come at last, is come at last.

Bud, Fig and Vine, Bud, Olive, fat with fruit and oil and wine.

Break forth this morn In roses, thou but yesterday a Thorn.

Uplift thy head, O pure white Lily through the Winter dead.

Beside your dams Leap and rejoice, you merry-making Lambs.

All Herds and Flocks Rejoice, all Beasts of thickets and of rocks.

Sing, Creatures, sing, Angels and Men and Birds and everything.

All notes of Doves Fill all our world: this is the time of loves.



"BEHOLD A SHAKING."

1.

Man rising to the doom that shall not err,— Which hath most dread: the arouse of all or each; All kindreds of all nations of all speech, Or one by one of him and him and her? While dust reanimate begins to stir Here, there, beyond, beyond, reach beyond reach; While every wave refashions on the beach Alive or dead-in-life some seafarer. Now meeting doth not join or parting part; True meeting and true parting wait till then, When whoso meet are joined for evermore, Face answering face and heart at rest in heart:— God bring us all rejoicing to the shore Of happy Heaven, His sheep home to the pen.

2.

Blessed that flock safe penned in Paradise; Blessed this flock which tramps in weary ways; All form one flock, God's flock; all yield Him praise By joy or pain, still tending toward the prize. Joy speaks in praises there, and sings and flies Where no night is, exulting all its days; Here, pain finds solace, for, behold, it prays; In both love lives the life that never dies. Here life is the beginning of our death, And death the starting-point whence life ensues; Surely our life is death, our death is life: Nor need we lay to heart our peace or strife, But calm in faith and patience breathe the breath God gave, to take again when He shall choose.



ALL SAINTS.

They are flocking from the East And the West, They are flocking from the North And the South, Every moment setting forth From realm of snake or lion, Swamp or sand, Ice or burning; Greatest and least, Palm in hand And praise in mouth, They are flocking up the path To their rest, Up the path that hath No returning.

Up the steeps of Zion They are mounting, Coming, coming, Throngs beyond man's counting; With a sound Like innumerable bees Swarming, humming Where flowering trees Many-tinted, Many-scented, All alike abound With honey,— With a swell Like a blast upswaying unrestrainable From a shadowed dell To the hill-tops sunny,— With a thunder Like the ocean when in strength Breadth and length It sets to shore; More and more Waves on waves redoubled pour Leaping flashing to the shore (Unlike the under Drain of ebb that loseth ground For all its roar.)

They are thronging From the East and West, From the North and South, Saints are thronging, loving, longing, To their land Of rest, Palm in hand And praise in mouth.



"TAKE CARE OF HIM."

"Thou whom I love, for whom I died, Lovest thou Me, My bride?"— Low on my knees I love Thee, Lord, Believed in and adored.

"That I love thee the proof is plain: How dost thou love again?"— In prayer, in toil, in earthly loss, In a long-carried cross.

"Yea, thou dost love: yet one adept Brings more for Me to accept."— I mould my will to match with Thine, My wishes I resign.

"Thou givest much: then give the whole For solace of My soul."— More would I give, if I could get: But, Lord, what lack I yet?

"In Me thou lovest Me: I call Thee to love Me in all."— Brim full my heart, dear Lord, that so My love may overflow.

"Love Me in sinners and in saints, In each who needs or faints."— Lord, I will love Thee as I can In every brother man.

"All sore, all crippled, all who ache, Tend all for My dear sake."— All for Thy sake, Lord: I will see In every sufferer, Thee.

"So I at last, upon My Throne Of glory, Judge alone, So I at last will say to thee: Thou diddest it to Me."



A MARTYR.

THE VIGIL OF THE FEAST.

Inner not outer, without gnash of teeth Or weeping, save quiet sobs of some who pray And feel the Everlasting Arms beneath,— Blackness of darkness this, but not for aye; Darkness that even in gathering fleeteth fast, Blackness of blackest darkness close to day. Lord Jesus, through Thy darkened pillar cast, Thy gracious eyes all-seeing cast on me Until this tyranny be overpast. Me, Lord, remember who remember Thee, And cleave to Thee, and see Thee without sight, And choose Thee still in dire extremity, And in this darkness worship Thee my Light, And Thee my Life adore in shadow of death, Thee loved by day, and still beloved by night. It is the Voice of my Beloved that saith: "I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, I go Whither that soul knows well that followeth"—