O Lord, I follow, little as I know; At this eleventh hour I rise and take My life into my hand, and follow so, With tears and heart-misgivings and heart-ache; Thy feeblest follower, yet Thy follower Indomitable for Thine only sake. To-night I gird my will afresh, and stir My strength, and brace my heart to do and dare, Marvelling: Will to-morrow wake the whirr Of the great rending wheel, or from his lair Startle the jubilant lion in his rage, Or clench the headsman's hand within my hair, Or kindle fire to speed my pilgrimage, Chariot of fire and horses of sheer fire Whirling me home to heaven by one fierce stage? Thy Will I will, I Thy desire desire; Let not the waters close above my head, Uphold me that I sink not in this mire: For flesh and blood are frail and sore afraid; And young I am, unsatisfied and young, With memories, hopes, with cravings all unfed, My song half sung, its sweetest notes unsung, All plans cut short, all possibilities, Because my cord of life is soon unstrung. Was I a careless woman set at ease That this so bitter cup is brimmed for me?

Had mine own vintage settled on the lees? A word, a puff of smoke, would set me free; A word, a puff of smoke, over and gone:... Howbeit, whom have I, Lord, in heaven but Thee? Yea, only Thee my choice is fixed upon In heaven or earth, eternity or time:— Lord, hold me fast, Lord, leave me not alone, Thy silly heartless dove that sees the lime Yet almost flutters to the tempting bough: Cover me, hide me, pluck me from this crime. A word, a puff of smoke, would save me now:... But who, my God, would save me in the day Of Thy fierce anger? only Saviour Thou. Preoccupy my heart, and turn away And cover up mine eyes from frantic fear, And stop mine ears lest I be driven astray: For one stands ever dinning in mine ear How my gray Father withers in the blight Of love for me, who cruel am and dear; And how my Mother through this lingering night Until the day, sits tearless in her woe, Loathing for love of me the happy light Which brings to pass a concourse and a show To glut the hungry faces merciless, The thousand faces swaying to and fro, Feasting on me unveiled in helplessness

Alone,—yet not alone: Lord, stand by me As once by lonely Paul in his distress. As blossoms to the sun I turn to Thee; Thy dove turns to her window, think no scorn; As one dove to an ark on shoreless sea, To Thee I turn mine eyes, my heart forlorn; Put forth Thy scarred right Hand, kind Lord, take hold Of me Thine all-forsaken dove who mourn: For Thou hast loved me since the days of old, And I love Thee Whom loving I will love Through life's short fever-fits of heat and cold; Thy Name will I extol and sing thereof, Will flee for refuge to Thy Blessed Name. Lord, look upon me from thy bliss above: Look down on me, who shrink from all the shame And pangs and desolation of my death, Wrenched piecemeal or devoured or set on flame, While all the world around me holds its breath With eyes glued on me for a gazing-stock, Pitiless eyes, while no man pitieth. The floods are risen, I stagger in their shock, My heart reels and is faint, I fail, I faint: My God, set Thou me up upon the rock, Thou Who didst long ago Thyself acquaint With death, our death; Thou Who didst long ago

Pour forth Thy soul for sinner and for saint. Bear me in mind, whom no one else will know; Thou Whom Thy friends forsook, take Thou my part, Of all forsaken in mine overthrow; Carry me in Thy bosom, in Thy heart, Carry me out of darkness into light, To-morrow make me see Thee as Thou art. Lover and friend Thou hidest from my sight:— Alas, alas, mine earthly love, alas, For whom I thought to don the garments white And white wreath of a bride, this rugged pass Hath utterly divorced me from thy care; Yea, I am to thee as a shattered glass Worthless, with no more beauty lodging there, Abhorred, lest I involve thee in my doom: For sweet are sunshine and this upper air, And life and youth are sweet, and give us room For all most sweetest sweetnesses we taste: Dear, what hast thou in common with a tomb? I bow my head in silence, I make haste Alone, I make haste out into the dark, My life and youth and hope all run to waste. Is this my body cold and stiff and stark, Ashes made ashes, earth becoming earth, Is this a prize for man to make his mark?

Am I, that very I who laughed in mirth A while ago, a little, little while, Yet all the while a-dying since my birth? Now am I tired, too tired to strive or smile; I sit alone, my mouth is in the dust: Look Thou upon me, Lord, for I am vile. In Thee is all my hope, is all my trust, On Thee I centre all my self that dies, And self that dies not with its mortal crust, But sleeps and wakes, and in the end will rise With hymns and hallelujahs on its lips, Thee loving with the love that satisfies. As once in Thine unutterable eclipse The sun and moon grew dark for sympathy, And earth cowered quaking underneath the drips Of Thy slow Blood priceless exceedingly, So now a little spare me, and show forth Some pity, O my God, some pity of me. If trouble comes not from the south or north, But meted to us by Thy tender hand, Let me not in Thine eyes be nothing worth: Behold me where in agony I stand, Behold me no man caring for my soul, And take me to Thee in the far-off land, Shorten the race and lift me to the goal.



WHY?

Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, Why need I any more these toilsome days; Why should I not run singing up Thy ways Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee? What need remains of death-pang yet to be, If all my soul is quickened in Thy praise; If all my heart loves Thee, what need the amaze, Struggle and dimness of an agony?— Bride whom I love, if thou too lovest Me, Thou needs must choose My Likeness for thy dower: So wilt thou toil in patience, and abide Hungering and thirsting for that blessed hour When I My Likeness shall behold in thee, And thou therein shalt waken satisfied.



"LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH."

"I have not sought Thee, I have not found Thee, I have not thirsted for Thee: And now cold billows of death surround me, Buffeting billows of death astound me,— Wilt Thou look upon, wilt Thou see Thy perishing me?"

"Yea, I have sought thee, yea, I have found thee, Yea, I have thirsted for thee, Yea, long ago with love's bands I bound thee: Now the Everlasting Arms surround thee,— Through death's darkness I look and see And clasp thee to Me."



BIRCHINGTON CHURCHYARD.

A lowly hill which overlooks a flat, Half sea, half country side; A flat-shored sea of low-voiced creeping tide Over a chalky, weedy mat.

A hill of hillocks, flowery and kept green Round Crosses raised for hope, With many-tinted sunsets where the slope Faces the lingering western sheen.

A lowly hope, a height that is but low, While Time sets solemnly, While the tide rises of Eternity, Silent and neither swift nor slow.



ONE SEA-SIDE GRAVE.

Unmindful of the roses, Unmindful of the thorn, A reaper tired reposes Among his gathered corn: So might I, till the morn!

Cold as the cold Decembers, Past as the days that set, While only one remembers And all the rest forget,— But one remembers yet.



BROTHER BRUIN.

A dancing Bear grotesque and funny Earned for his master heaps of money, Gruff yet good-natured, fond of honey, And cheerful if the day was sunny. Past hedge and ditch, past pond and wood He tramped, and on some common stood; There, cottage children circling gaily, He in their midmost footed daily. Pandean pipes and drum and muzzle Were quite enough his brain to puzzle: But like a philosophic bear He let alone extraneous care And danced contented anywhere.

Still, year on year, and wear and tear, Age even the gruffest, bluffest bear. A day came when he scarce could prance, And when his master looked askance On dancing Bear who would not dance.

To looks succeeded blows; hard blows Battered his ears and poor old nose. From bluff and gruff he waxed curmudgeon; He danced indeed, but danced in dudgeon, Capered in fury fast and faster. Ah, could he once but hug his master And perish in one joint disaster! But deafness, blindness, weakness growing, Not fury's self could keep him going. One dark day when the snow was snowing His cup was brimmed to overflowing: He tottered, toppled on one side, Growled once, and shook his head, and died. The master kicked and struck in vain, The weary drudge had distanced pain And never now would wince again. The master growled; he might have howled Or coaxed,—that slave's last growl was growled. So gnawed by rancor and chagrin One thing remained: he sold the skin.

What next the man did is not worth Your notice or my setting forth, But hearken what befell at last. His idle working days gone past, And not one friend and not one penny Stored up (if ever he had any Friends; but his coppers had been many), All doors stood shut against him but The workhouse door, which cannot shut. There he droned on,—a grim old sinner, Toothless, and grumbling for his dinner, Unpitied quite, uncared for much (The rate-payers not favoring such), Hungry and gaunt, with time to spare; Perhaps the hungry, gaunt old Bear Danced back, a haunting memory. Indeed, I hope so, for you see If once the hard old heart relented, The hard old man may have repented.



"A HELPMEET FOR HIM."

Woman was made for man's delight,— Charm, O woman! Be not afraid! His shadow by day, his moon by night, Woman was made.

Her strength with weakness is overlaid; Meek compliances veil her might; Him she stays, by whom she is stayed.

World-wide champion of truth and right, Hope in gloom, and in danger aid, Tender and faithful, ruddy and white, Woman was made.



A SONG OF FLIGHT.

While we slumber and sleep, The sun leaps up from the deep,— Daylight born at the leap,— Rapid, dominant, free, Athirst to bathe in the uttermost sea.

While we linger at play— If the year would stand at May!— Winds are up and away, Over land, over sea, To their goal, wherever their goal may be.

It is time to arise, To race for the promised prize; The sun flies, the wind flies, We are strong, we are free, And home lies beyond the stars and the sea.



A WINTRY SONNET.

A robin said: The Spring will never come, And I shall never care to build again. A Rosebush said: These frosts are wearisome, My sap will never stir for sun or rain. The half Moon said: These nights are fogged and slow, I neither care to wax nor care to wane. The Ocean said: I thirst from long ago, Because earth's rivers cannot fill the main. When springtime came, red Robin built a nest, And trilled a lover's song in sheer delight. Gray hoarfrost vanished, and the Rose with might Clothed her in leaves and buds of crimson core. The dim Moon brightened. Ocean sunned his crest, Dimpled his blue,—yet thirsted evermore.



RESURGAM.

From depth to height, from height to loftier height, The climber sets his foot and sets his face, Tracks lingering sunbeams to their halting-place, And counts the last pulsations of the light. Strenuous thro' day and unsurprised by night He runs a race with Time, and wins the race, Emptied and stripped of all save only Grace, Will, Love,—a threefold panoply of might. Darkness descends for light he toiled to seek; He stumbles on the darkened mountain-head, Left breathless in the unbreathable thin air, Made freeman of the living and the dead,— He wots not he has topped the topmost peak, But the returning sun will find him there.



TO-DAY'S BURDEN.

"Arise, depart, for this is not your rest." Oh, burden of all burdens,—still to arise And still depart, nor rest in any wise! Rolling, still rolling thus to east from west, Earth journeys on her immemorial quest, Whom a moon chases in no different guise. Thus stars pursue their courses, and thus flies The sun, and thus all creatures manifest Unrest, the common heritage, the ban Flung broadcast on all humankind,—on all Who live; for living, all are bound to die. That which is old, we know that it is man. These have no rest who sit and dream and sigh, Nor have those rest who wrestle and who fall.



"THERE IS A BUDDING MORROW IN MIDNIGHT."

Wintry boughs against a wintry sky; Yet the sky is partly blue And the clouds are partly bright. Who can tell but sap is mounting high Out of sight, Ready to burst through?

Winter is the mother-nurse of Spring, Lovely for her daughter's sake. Not unlovely for her own; For a future buds in everything Grown or blown Or about to break.



EXULTATE DEO.

Many a flower hath perfume for its dower, And many a bird a song, And harmless lambs milkwhite beside their dams Frolic along,— Perfume and song and whiteness offering praise In humble, peaceful ways.

Man's high degree hath will and memory, Affection and desire; By loftier ways he mounts of prayer and praise, Fire unto fire, Deep unto deep responsive, height to height, Until he walk in white.



A HOPE CAROL.

A night was near, a day was near; Between a day and night I heard sweet voices calling clear, Calling me: I heard a whirr of wing on wing, But could not see the sight; I long to see my birds that sing,— I long to see.

Below the stars, beyond the moon, Between the night and day, I heard a rising falling tune Calling me: I long to see the pipes and strings Whereon such minstrels play; I long to see each face that sings,— I long to see.

To-day or may be not to-day, To-night or not to-night; All voices that command or pray, Calling me, Shall kindle in my soul such fire, And in my eyes such light, That I shall see that heart's desire I long to see.



CHRISTMAS CAROLS.

1.

Whoso hears a chiming for Christmas at the nighest, Hears a sound like Angels chanting in their glee, Hears a sound like palm-boughs waving in the highest, Hears a sound like ripple of a crystal sea.

Sweeter than a prayer-bell for a saint in dying, Sweeter than a death-bell for a saint at rest, Music struck in Heaven with earth's faint replying, "Life is good, and death is good, for Christ is Best."

2.

A holy, heavenly chime Rings fulness in of time, And on His Mother's breast Our Lord God ever-Blest Is laid a Babe at rest.

Stoop, Spirits unused to stoop, Swoop, Angels, flying swoop, Adoring as you gaze, Uplifting hymns of praise,— "Grace to the Full of Grace!"

The cave is cold and strait To hold the angelic state. More strait it is, more cold, To foster and infold Its Maker one hour old.

Thrilled through with awestruck love, Meek Angels poised above, To see their God look down. "What, is there never a Crown For Him in swaddled gown?

"How comes He soft and weak With such a tender cheek, With such a soft, small hand?— The very Hand which spann'd Heaven when its girth was plann'd.

"How comes He with a voice Which is but baby-noise?— That Voice which spake with might: 'Let there be light!' and light Sprang out before our sight.

"What need hath He of flesh Made flawless now afresh? What need of human heart?— Heart that must bleed and smart, Choosing the better part.

"But see: His gracious smile Dismisses us a while To serve Him in His kin. Haste we, make haste, begin To fetch His brethren in."

Like stars they flash and shoot, The Shepherds they salute. "Glory to God" they sing; "Good news of peace we bring, For Christ is born a King."

3.

Lo! newborn Jesus, Soft and weak and small, Wrapped in baby's bands By His Mother's hands, Lord God of all.

Lord God of Mary, Whom His Lips caress While He rocks to rest On her milky breast In helplessness.

Lord God of shepherds Flocking through the cold, Flocking through the dark To the only Ark, The only Fold.

Lord God of all things, Be they near or far, Be they high or low; Lord of storm and snow, Angel and star.

Lord God of all men,— My Lord and my God! Thou who lovest me, Keep me close to Thee By staff and rod.

Lo! newborn Jesus, Loving great and small, Love's free Sacrifice, Opening Arms and Eyes To one and all.



A CANDLEMAS DIALOGUE.

"Love brought Me down; and cannot love make thee Carol for joy to Me? Hear cheerful robin carol from his tree, Who owes not half to Me I won for thee."

"Yea, Lord, I hear his carol's wordless voice; And well may he rejoice Who hath not heard of death's discordant noise. So might I too rejoice With such a voice."

"True, thou hast compassed death; but hast not thou The tree of life's own bough? Am I not Life and Resurrection now? My Cross balm-bearing bough For such as thou?"

"Ah me, Thy Cross!—but that seems far away; Thy Cradle-song to-day I too would raise, and worship Thee and pray: Not empty, Lord, to-day Send me away."

"If thou wilt not go empty, spend thy store; And I will give thee more, Yea, make thee ten times richer than before. Give more and give yet more Out of thy store."

"Because Thou givest me Thyself, I will Thy blessed word fulfil, Give with both hands, and hoard by giving still; Thy pleasure to fulfil, And work Thy Will."



MARY MAGDALENE AND THE OTHER MARY.

A SONG FOR ALL MARIES.

Our Master lies asleep and is at rest; His Heart has ceased to bleed, His Eye to weep. The sun ashamed has dropt down in the west; Our Master lies asleep.

Now we are they who weep, and trembling keep Vigil, with wrung heart in a sighing breast, While slow time creeps, and slow the shadows creep.

Renew Thy youth, as eagle from the nest; O Master, who hast sown, arise to reap: No cock-crow yet, no flush on eastern crest; Our Master lies asleep.



PATIENCE OF HOPE.

The flowers that bloom in sun and shade And glitter in the dew, The flowers must fade. The birds that build their nest and sing When lovely spring is new, Must soon take wing.

The sun that rises in his strength To wake and warm the world, Must set at length. The sea that overflows the shore With billows frothed and curled, Must ebb once more.

All come and go, all wax and wane, O Lord, save only Thou Who dost remain The Same to all eternity. All things which fail us now We trust to Thee.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Note:

Some apparent printers' errors in the original have been retained here, including "fufilling" and "aguish." There are also many inconsistently hyphenated words that sometimes occur without a hyphen.

THE END