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 Cornell University Library 
 
 PR 4728.G3C3 
 
 Carmina crucis. 
 
 3 1 924 013 459' 742 ' 
 

 u 
 
 ' 0"' 
 
 -^ 
 
 '// 
 
 i^' 
 
CARMINA CRUCIS. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013459742 
 
CARMINA CRUCIS. 
 
 BY 
 
 DORA OREBNWELL. 
 
 ^ 
 
 Et Teneo 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BELL AND DALDY, YORK STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1869. 
 
 i-vl 
 
Z3 
 
 IF 
 
 hflH(o^%\ 
 
DEDICATED TO L. A. C. 
 
 " T TOOK," said Luther, " for ihe symbol of 
 my theology a seal on wHch I had en- 
 graven a cross, with a heart in its centre. The 
 cross is black, to indicate the sorrows, even nnto 
 death, through which the Christian must pass; 
 Imt the hea/rt preserves its natural colowr, for the 
 cross does not extinguish nature, it does not kill, 
 but give life. Justus fide vimet, sed fide mucifixL 
 The heart is placed in the midst of a white rose, 
 which signifies the joy, peace, and consolation 
 which faith gives ; hut the rose is white omd not red, 
 because it is not the joy and peace of the world, 
 but of -spirits." 
 
 A 2 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FIRST PART. 
 
 Page 
 
 L'Envoi ......... xi 
 
 The Garden of Proserpine ... .1 
 
 The Aloe ........ 3 
 
 A Morning in Spring .... . 5 
 
 The Playfellows 8 
 
 One Friend 10 
 
 A Remembrance 12 
 
 A Li&-B«quiem 14 
 
 A Thought at Midnight 17 
 
 November . 18 
 
 Desdichado 21 
 
 Ccelo tegitur qui non habet Urnam .... 23 
 
 Ob, amiable, lovely Death ! 29 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 
 L'Bnvoi 44 
 
 A Pastoral 45 
 
 A Mystery . . 51 
 
 Quis separabit ........ 53 
 
 The Cross 57 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 A Song of Joy and Pain . 
 
 Summa Theologize . 
 
 Sponsalia Amoris et Dolorie 
 
 The Marriage Supper of the Lamb 
 
 Schola Crucis, Schola Lucis 
 
 Si descendero in Infemum, Ades 
 
 Quid dixit, Maria ? . 
 
 Page 
 62 
 
 66 
 
 71 
 
 75 
 
 79 
 
 81 
 
 85 
 
 THIRD PART. 
 
 L'Envoi 
 
 The Sun-flower 
 
 Sita 
 
 Expectans Expectavi 
 
 Election . 
 
 Buried, yet not dead 
 
 Receiving 
 
 Declension and Revival 
 
 The Meek shall increase their Joy in the Lord 
 
 Christ's Garland 
 
 Veni, Veni, Emmanuel .... 
 Kotes 
 
 91 
 
 93 
 
 96 
 
 99 
 
 102 
 
 106 
 
 111 
 
 115 
 
 117 
 
 119 
 
 125 
 
 129 
 
 137 
 
jritst ipart 
 
 " Qtnota tt not t|)at so mans oC ;ou a0 aie iiaptijen 
 unto <lL\;iist are i)apti;en unto iiie Xteatt)."— Romans vi. 3. 
 
L'ENVOI. 
 
 "D RING me no snowdrops cold, 
 
 -'-' No violets dim with dew. 
 
 But flowers of burning hue. 
 
 The rose, the marigold. 
 
 The steadfast sunflower bold, 
 
 Before His steps to strew. 
 
 Bring flowers of fragrant scent. 
 
 Grey lavender and musk. 
 
 With clinging woodbines dusk. 
 
 Bring jonquils, and the frail narcissus bent, 
 
 Bring odours, incense bring. 
 
 That I may rise and sing 
 
 A song which I have made unto my Lord the King. 
 
 And let the air be still ; 
 
 Summer and death are silent ! now I hear 
 
 No stir among the hedge-rows once so shrill 
 
 With song, no cuckoo near ; 
 
 But o'er the field the lark 
 
 Hangs like a quivering spark 
 
 Of joy, that breaks in fire 
 
 Of rapture and desire ; 
 
 And from the wood a dove 
 
 Moans between grief and love. 
 
 While none doth of her hidden wound enquire. 
 
L'ENVOI. 
 
 The heavens above are clear 
 
 In splendour of the sapphire, cold as steel, 
 
 Uo warm soft cloud floats over them, no tear 
 
 Will fall on earth to tell us if they feel ; 
 
 But ere the pitiless day 
 
 Dies into evening grey. 
 
 Along the western line 
 
 Kises a fiery sign 
 That doth the glowing skies incarnadine. 
 
THE GARDEN OF PROSBRPmE. 
 
 AMARANTH and asphodel, 
 Methinks I know ye well, 
 And thon, frail wind-swept flower that in the dim 
 Green woods, unseen by him 
 Thou lovest best,* must pass, beloved in vain ! 
 Here blooms each flower whose leaf 
 Or petal hints at grief 
 And bears a mystic sign, a crimson stain ; 
 The golden rod with fire 
 Stands tipp'd, the tuberose, 
 In its swift fading glows 
 And lights within its heart a funeral pyre. 
 No roses, white nor red, 
 Glow here, the poppy's head 
 
 * See note 1. 
 6 
 
2 THE GARDEN OF PROSERPINE. 
 
 Droops drown'd in spells that keep 
 The keys of death and sleep, 
 Of anguish, ecstasy, and wild desire ; 
 Here ever on the turf green twilight lies ; 
 Here ever warm and fragrant is the air, 
 And all this place is desolate and fair. 
 Made by a Kiug and meet for Love's delight ; 
 Yet here joy comes not, but the exquisite 
 Brief thriU of rapture in a pang that dies. 
 Here walks a Queen with steadfast eyes unwet, 
 With white Narcissus garlanded, that still 
 Dreams of fair Enna's sunlit mead, and yet 
 Mourns for the fresh, ungather'd daffodil. 
 
THE ALOE. 
 
 " The aloe, after a long life of rest, sends up a large flower- 
 spike, which shoots up in a few weeks on a stem from twenty 
 to thirty feet high, utterly destroying the parent plant hy its 
 rapid, exhausting growth." 
 
 T OVE'S daily, fond, contimial miracle 
 -■ — ' I cannot work for tkee, nor crown thy day 
 Bacli passing hour with bloom of bnd and bell ; 
 Not mine with subtle fancies light and gay 
 To clasp thy soul about with delicate rings 
 Like hers, the summer's wooer, bom with wings, 
 Sweet flower that fain would climb, yet only clings ! 
 
 Let flowers Kke hers be fair. 
 
 For they were bom to bless 
 - The warm, still brooding air, 
 
 And win the wind's caress ; 
 
 Such flowers were bom to woo, 
 
 To flatter, yet be true. 
 And spend their souls away in fond excess ; 
 
i THE ALOE. 
 
 So let the cystus' snows 
 Pall light upon, the sunny grass at noon ; 
 
 So let the gorgeous rose 
 Fold to her proud -warm heart the heart of June, 
 And let each pass in passing of the leaf, 
 In passing of the flower,* when earthward goes 
 All that earth knows of glory, sweet and brief ; 
 
 A flower that is not fair, 
 But wondrous, blooms my secret soul within ; 
 Sudden the life it springs to ! strange and rare 
 The aspect that it weareth, long shut in 
 From sunshine and sweet air as in a tomb ; 
 It cleaves the heart that beareth it to win 
 A moment's triumph ending in swift doom ; 
 — Then marvel not that it was slow to bloom. 
 
 * " De la tige d^tachee 
 Pauvre feuille dessech^e, 
 Oi vaa-tu ? 
 
 Je vais oil le Tent me mine 
 Sane me plaindre ou m'effrayer ; 
 Je vais 04 vais toute chose, 
 Oii va la feuille de rose, 
 La feuille de laurier. 
 
A MORNING IN SPEING. 
 
 T T OW sweetly, sweetly spoke 
 -^ -*■ Mowers, fields, and sunny skies that mom 
 in May ! 
 
 As if the Earth awoke 
 Some plain, old, long-accnstomed word to say. 
 But seeing Heaven come forth upon the way 
 To meet her, iu an unsought poem broke ! 
 
 Methought her very breast. 
 
 As with a sigh repress'd, 
 A long, deep sigh of bliss, did swell and heave ; 
 
 The skies above were clear, 
 
 The kiss without the tear 
 They gave that mom; they loved and did not 
 grieve. 
 
 Each tender presage curl'd 
 Within the bud unfurl'd : 
 
6 A MORNING IN SPRING. 
 
 All plumed and wing'd each leaf, while light and 
 
 shade 
 Did mix, and chase, and lovingly inyade 
 The others' realm ; each cottage seem'd a 
 
 nest 
 Among its trees ; the meads were golden 
 
 fair, 
 Odour, and light, and bloom upon the air 
 Strove which might tell its happy story best. 
 Oh, Earth, I feel thee press 
 My sonl in thy caress ; 
 What wonldst thou speak to me ? thou sayest, 
 " Guess ! " 
 Is now some ancient bond 
 
 Of discord harsh repeal'd ? 
 Is now some world beyond 
 
 To sight and sense reveal'd ? 
 Or is this but a veil 
 Thou drawest o'er thy pale 
 Worn face ? is this thy pride 
 Of spirit that woxdd hide 
 Thy wound beneath thy vesture's broider'd fold ? 
 Enough ! thou wilt not tell 
 Thy secret till a spell 
 
A MORNING IN SPRING. 7 
 
 More strong shall wrest and wring it from thy 
 hold. 
 
 Smile on, o'er good and ill 
 
 Brooding imconscious still, 
 Sphynx-like, impassive, terrible and cold ! 
 
THE PLAYFELLOWS. 
 
 I ^AB away and long ago, 
 -^ Long ago and far away, 
 Seems it now since in the low 
 Deep TaUey, shut from rougher weather, 
 Love, Hope, Joy, and I together 
 Play'd, ah ! many and many a day ; 
 Hid beneath the branching fern. 
 Hid beneath the blooming heather. 
 Hiding, seeking, each in turn ; 
 Oh ! what games we play'd together ! 
 Till one day, withia the dell, 
 Hope and Joy, together hiding, 
 Hid so long and hid so well. 
 We found them not, though keenly chiding ; 
 When we call'd came no replying, 
 Came a sound of hidden laughter 
 
THE PLAYFELLOWS. 
 
 Prom the wood's deep heart, and after 
 Came a sotiiid of secret sighing ; 
 Then a shadow from the hill 
 Crept, and all grew sndden still ; 
 Gray and green and golden there 
 Daffodils 'twixt light and shade 
 Laugh'd, blue periwinkles made 
 Nets onr childish feet to snare ; 
 On ns lightly from the bongh 
 Cherry blossoms dropp'd ; but now 
 Throngh the glen we slowly pass'd, 
 We knew that we had seen the last 
 Of Hope and Joy, no more together 
 Play we there in summer weather. 
 
ONE FRIEND. 
 
 SAID a sick and lonely child, 
 " Often have I tired of thee, 
 Tired of all thy answers mUd, 
 Heard so oft, so wearily ; 
 Wilt thou never tire of me, 
 Gentle Patience ? now look forth 
 From our window looking north. 
 And tell us where the others play, 
 All this long, warm summer day." 
 
 " Love is standing in the sun, 
 Joy and beauty at his side, 
 Now in one their shadows run, 
 Hope has sent an arrow wide ; 
 Shading from his brow the light, 
 Now I see him watch its flight." 
 
ONE FRIEND. U 
 
 " Oh ! that they would look this way, 
 
 Oh ! that to this quiet room 
 
 They would come awhile to play ! 
 
 See my rose-tree all ia bloom, 
 
 See the flowers I dried last Spring ; 
 
 Hear my little linnet sing 
 
 In his cage ! they need not stay 
 
 Longer than they please ! " the child 
 
 Patience soothed with answer mUd. 
 
A EBMEMBRANOB. 
 
 " Herb ist des Lebens 
 Innerster Kern." 
 
 O HE sang at evening in an ancient room, 
 *^ In the Spring twilight ; soft the sunset gloom, 
 And at the casement soft the pear-tree's bloom 
 Look'd in, and from the coppice warblings soft 
 And slender, met low bleatiags from the croft. 
 Peace was on all within, without ; yet pain 
 Made sweet the singer's voice, made sweet the 
 
 strain 
 She sang, and in the listener's heart was pain ; 
 What art thou. Life ? methinks thou leavest room 
 For the sweet bird to sing, the flower to bloom. 
 And canst not give the heart its little hour 
 To spread in sweeter song, in fairer flower ; 
 Oh ! thou art bitter, Life ! within thy strong 
 Rude grasp the birth-right crushing, let this 
 
 wrong 
 
A REMEMBRANCE. 13 
 
 Suffice thee ! now relenting, let thy cold 
 Reluctant hand one little boon unfold ; 
 Take not the blessing also ! give the breast 
 One little sunset hour of peace and rest ; 
 Ga/>ist thou not give one how ? The day is past, 
 The summer's golden noon was overcast ; 
 The day is past, the night draws on : oh ! night ! 
 Be thou more warm, more kind, than was the 
 light ! 
 
A LIFE-REQUIEM. 
 
 " A life that had no friends hut God and death." 
 
 NONE knowetk of thy grave ; 
 What wert thoti ? kind and young, 
 Tender, and true, and brave ; 
 Tea, all that hatli been sung 
 In poet's song, or told 
 In story, sweet and old, 
 Was thiae ; an aspect fair, 
 A heart to love and dare, 
 An arm to guard and save, 
 A soul for high emprise ; 
 And still thine ardent eyes 
 Woo'd life unto thy breast. 
 And found it fair, caress'd 
 For all it promised, blest 
 By thee for all it gave. 
 
A LIFE-REQUIEM. iB 
 
 Tet on thy life, from day 
 To day, as on the child 
 Ontstretch'd the Prophet lay ; 
 Pain lay ontstretch'd, and prest 
 Upon thy brain, heart, breast, 
 Until thine angnish wild 
 And weary, changed and sank 
 To silent spaces blank ; 
 And love, hope, joy, repress'd, 
 Seem'd as hj harsh decree 
 The aspect weird to take 
 Of flowers their thirst that slake 
 At desert springs, and break 
 In hnes of mockery. 
 
 Life was to thee a shrond ; 
 Each day that o'er thee sped 
 Heap'd ashes on thy head, 
 And through the tumnlt load, 
 'Twixt sense and spirit. Pain 
 Wove its thick spells, and ronnd 
 Thy silent life-springs bonnd 
 And wrapt its fine-wronght chain ; 
 
16 A LIFE-REQUIEM. 
 
 So didst thou sit and hear, 
 Afar, the bird sing clear, 
 And see the flower unfold 
 In the warm noon- tide gold ; 
 Love sued and pleasure sang, 
 And like a clarion, pride 
 With full, clear summons rang 
 Upon the air — all died. 
 
 None knoweth of thy grave ; 
 Thy life and heart in twain 
 Were broken ; even so. 
 How should the passer know 
 Their record sad and vain ? 
 Ming in the dust, and there 
 Let fall with it Life's fair. 
 Fond presage unfulfiU'd ; 
 Ming eager hope unstiU'd, 
 And love, that burning low, 
 Burn'd unconsuming here ; 
 What need of flower or tear 
 To mark this heaving sod ? — 
 The spot is mark'd by God ! 
 
A THOUGHT AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 /""XH ! that some soul o'er-weigh'd 
 ^-^ With love and pity, as a flower with dew, 
 For me at this still m.omeiit wept and pray'd, 
 And pray'd for me alone ! that leaning through 
 My casement, now to mine a spirit drew 
 
 So close it scarce could hear 
 
 My secret, nor my tear 
 
 Could feel, nor mark my breast 
 
 That flutter'd in unrest, 
 Tni, like two drops that roll 
 Within each other on the shaken leaf, 
 Absorbed and sunk within the tender soul 
 Of pity, pass'd the shrinking soul of grief ! 
 
NOVEMBEE. 
 
 POOR heart of mine, dost moum 
 To see the rose-leaves shed 
 Fall on their earthy bed ? 
 To see the day outworn 
 Fade out into the dead 
 Chill eve so soon ? dost mourn 
 AboTe the wither'd leaf, the blighted com ? " 
 
 " I mourn not for the sped 
 
 Swift daylight in its close, 
 
 I mourn not for the fled 
 
 Fair spirit of the rose, 
 
 That pass'd not till it fed 
 
 With fragrance all the air 
 
 Of June ; a sweeter care 
 Was mine than buds in thickest green enclose, 
 A dearer hope than lives in aught that dies and 
 blows." 
 
NOVEMBER. 19 
 
 " I moxini not for a trust 
 
 Misplaced, a broken troth ; 
 
 Life healeth life that even from the dust 
 
 Will stir and bloom ; I mourn 
 
 A sweeter hope withdrawn, 
 
 I miss the sealing of a firmer oath." 
 
 " Who cam endwre this frost ? 
 
 Who cam, end/wre iMs cold ? 
 
 The ha/rvest's blighted gold ? 
 
 The iwied seed-corn lost ? 
 A time of sweeping rcdns, of bitter grief, 
 The dews are thick on ewrth and light the fallen leaf." 
 
 " And didst thou think through prayer 
 
 To pierce this heavy air ? 
 
 Through patience to unwiud 
 
 The cere-cloths of the mind ? 
 
 Through love to breathe away 
 
 The grave-damps of decay, 
 
 Through love, through faith, through prayer. 
 
 Didst hope upon some fair. 
 
 Fond, future day to find 
 
 Earth purer, Heaven more kind ? 
 
20 NOVEMBER. 
 
 Behold ! the heavens are strong, the earth is old, 
 And all that comes between is dim and cold. 
 
 " A fall of wither'd leaves. 
 
 The voice of one that grieves, 
 
 That grieves nor yet prevails — 
 
 For prayer that makes with Hope 
 
 A covenant, yet faUs 
 
 For ever of its scope ; 
 
 For Faith's lone lamp that pales, 
 
 StiU. raised above the dark 
 
 Lone wat'ry waste ; for Love that finds no ark. 
 
 But still with patient breast 
 
 Broods on until its nest 
 
 Is fiU'd with wint'ry flakes of cold despair ; 
 
 For Christ that still delayeth ; 
 
 For Life that still gainsayeth 
 
 The spirit's trust ; for dark despair that sayeth, 
 
 ' Where is the promise of His coming ? where 
 
 The answer to thy prayer ? ' 
 Behold, the heavens are strong, all things remain 
 As they have been at first, and hope is vain." 
 " A time of sweeping rains, of 'bitter grief, 
 The dews lie thick on earth, cmd red the blighted leaf.'' 
 
DESDICHADO. 
 
 "\ T fEEP not for them who weep 
 
 ' For friend or loyer taken hence, for child 
 That falls 'mid early flowers and grass asleep, 
 
 TJntempted, undefiled. 
 
 Mourn not for them that monfn 
 For sin's keen arrow with its rankling smart, 
 God's hand will bind again what He hath torn, 
 He heals the broken heart. 
 
 But weep for him whose eye 
 Sees in the midnight skies a starry dome 
 Thick sown with worlds that whirl and hurry by, 
 And give the heart no home ; 
 
 Who hears amid the dense 
 Loud trampling crash and outcry of this wild 
 Thick jungle world of drear magnificence, 
 No voice which says, my chdld; 
 
22 DESDICHADO. 
 
 Who marks tkrough earth and space 
 A strange dnmb pageant pass before a vacant shrine. 
 And feels within his inmost soul a place 
 TJnfill'd by the Divine ; 
 
 Weep, weep, for him, above 
 That looks for God, and sees nnpitying Fate, 
 That finds within his heart, ia place of love, 
 A dull, unsleeping hate. 
 
CCELO TEGITTJR QUI NON HABBT 
 URNAM. 
 
 ' La colombe demande ua p6tit nid bien clos ; le cadavre un 
 tombe, et I'&me le paradia." — From a Sreton sine. 
 
 I 
 
 ' N Spring the green leaves stoot, 
 In Spring the blossoms fall, 
 With Summer falls the fruit, 
 The leaves in Autumn faU, 
 Contented from the bough 
 They drop, leaves, blossoms now. 
 And ripen' d fruit ; the warm earth takes them all. 
 
 Thus all things ask for rest, 
 A home above, a home beneath the sod ; 
 The sun will seek the west, 
 The bird will seek its nest. 
 The heart another breast 
 Whereon to lean, the spirit seeks its God. 
 
2i C(ELO TEGITDR 
 
 Oh ! moum not that no tear 
 Should fall upon thy tomb, 
 That through the grasses sere 
 No loTing footstep here 
 Should wear a pathway 'mid the deepening gloom. 
 
 For, when thou liyedst, none 
 "Would watch thy step to greet. 
 And when thou wouldst be gone, 
 Thy parting look to meet, 
 No soft, beseeching eye, 
 No fond, half-smother'd sigh 
 With sweet arrest would bid thee linger on. 
 
 Of all thou lovedst well. 
 Who is there that will spare 
 An hour from joy, from care. 
 Beside thy grave to tell 
 Love's slow sweet beads that ceaseless fall one after 
 one — ^the knell 
 
QUI NON HABET URN AM. 25 
 
 Tkat toU'd for thee awoke 
 Kind, gentle words, they spoke 
 Of thee awhile, but from his pillow none 
 Awoke with sudden start 
 To feel through all the heart, 
 And all the world's dim. space and find thee gone. 
 
 All that for thee was meant 
 Was given, and all is spent ; 
 A little love was thine, a little grief ; 
 How quickly dries the brief 
 Sweet tear, the loosen'd leaf, 
 How light it falls to earth and well content ! 
 
 ^^^^ 
 
 Peace upon earth I found 
 
 And gave ; with all around 
 
 Sweet peace was mine, calm greetings met me still. 
 
 Peace, peace, and evermore this same good-will ; 
 
 Yet now methinks with sound 
 
 More sweet, a Voice is calling from the ground. 
 
26 CCELO TEGITVR 
 
 By clear and shallovr streams, 
 
 My steps were led, my spirit at no nm 
 
 Was fed, bnt still for fuller draughts would yearn, 
 
 From deeper founts, and evermore my dreams 
 
 Brought the wide ocean in its flashing gleams. 
 
 I sang in shelter'd bowers. 
 Shut in from danger and from sio, yet gloom 
 Hung o'er the heavy leaves, until a tomb 
 The garden seem'd, and oft I saw the Hours 
 Pass sadly, slowly by, though told by flowers ; 
 
 And sweet those flowers, but lo ! 
 
 Methinks they once did grow 
 
 On wild- wood banks remote ! this very soil 
 
 Whereon they spread, with toil 
 
 Was brought to raise their bright exotic glow. 
 
 What bloom is this that lends 
 
 To air no fragrance, unto earth no fruit ? 
 
 What life is this that spends 
 
 Its soul and strength in keeping up the mute 
 
 Faint show of life, death wither' d at the root ? 
 
QUI NON HABET URN AM. 27 
 
 ThoTi JesTi ! that of life 
 
 Art Lord and Giver ! thou the Lord of love ! 
 
 Now from this deadly strife, 
 
 This deadly calm above, 
 
 I pass to thee, far other joys to prove. 
 
 Oh ! open to me -wide 
 
 The gates of death, of life that I may be 
 
 Among the dead, among the laving free ; 
 
 Free, free to soar and sing. 
 
 To spread my soul's glad wing, 
 
 To shed my spirit's hoarded fragrancy ! 
 
 At noon-tide came a voice " Thou must away ; 
 Hast thou some look to give, some word to say, 
 Or hear, of fond farewell," I answered, " Nay, 
 
 My soul hath said its farewell long ago, 
 
 How light, when Summer comes, the loosened 
 
 snow, 
 Slides from the hiUs ! yet tell me, where I go, 
 
28 C(ELO TEGITVR. 
 
 Both amy wcdtfor me ? " Then like the clear 
 "FtiII drops of summer rain that seem to cheer 
 The skies they fall from, soft within mine ear, 
 
 And slow, as if to render through that sweet 
 Delay a blest assurance more complete, 
 " Tea," only " yea," was whisper'd me, and then 
 A silence that was unto it. Amen. 
 
 " Doth any love me there," I said, " or mark 
 Withia the dtdl, cold fliat the fiery spark 
 One moment flashing ont iato the dark ? 
 
 " My spirit glow'd, yet bum'd not to a clear. 
 Warm, steadfast flame, to lighten or to cheer ;" 
 The sweet voice said, " By things which do appear 
 
 We judge amiss. The flower which wears its way 
 Through stony chinks, lives on from day to day, 
 Approved for living, let the rest be gay 
 
 And sweet as Summer ! Heaven within the reed 
 Lists for the flute-note, in the folded seed 
 It sees the bud, and in the Will the Deed." 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 
 
 " ' I ""HE Spring was cold and tardy; with tte 
 
 ■*■ Summer came a lingering blight ; now it 
 is Autumn the flowers bloom. 
 
 "From the garden rises a hea^y odour, the scent 
 of flowers or of wine ; is it of the rose ? " " No 
 she is long ago faded." 
 
 "It is of the clove, that says, ' Love was given 
 me for a treasure ; I guarded it well, and lo, it has 
 broken my heart.' " 
 
 " Are these the trailing wreaths of the wood- 
 bine, the wood-biae warm and dusk as a night 
 of summer that crept through and through the 
 blossomed hedge-rows, wooing the sweet-brier to 
 her clasp ? " 
 
 " These are the tendrils of the passion-flower, 
 dim of hue and scentless, the passion-flower that 
 loves but does not woo ; she carries iu her heart 
 the tokens of an eternal torture." 
 
30 OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 
 
 "Wliat is tMs fair blossom that floats downward 
 so liglitly? did it fall from the almond-scented 
 hawthorn that the chUdren loitered in the lanes 
 to gather ? they brought it home in boughs and 
 garlands." 
 
 "It fell from the death-struck jessamine, 
 loosened from its dark foliage ; wouldst thou carry 
 its spray iu thy hand, or wear it awhile on thy 
 bosom ? the flowers drop to earth like falling stars. 
 
 " Yet thou art fair, my garden ; bloom, bloom 
 out thy little hour, soon the Wiuter comes. 
 
 " Let the sworded lUies, blood-red, death-pale, 
 flash in the broad light of noon, and let the sun- 
 flower droop upon its golden stalk." 
 
 I HEABD a sound as of a parting that was all but 
 eternal, of sobs and of farewell kisses, and through 
 them all went a sigh so deep that no other sigh 
 could follow it. 
 
 I saw a tear gather slowly beneath a darkening 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 31 
 
 eyelid ; but before it fell, it was wiped away by 
 tbe hand of God. 
 
 The spirit hnng for a moment aboTe the clay it 
 was deserting ; it was free, it was happy, yet love 
 and pity enchained it still. 
 
 How close, how kind were the kisses it left 
 npon that ashen cheek and lip and forehead. 
 They spoke of things that it is not possible for 
 life to utter. 
 
 They murmured. Oh, how much have we 
 endured together ! each suffering we have made 
 each other suffer ; our existence was but a mutual 
 wrong. 
 
 Close, close as was the bond that joined us 
 there was one that ever came between ; there was 
 one with us that was nearer than sleep, than love, 
 than prayer. 
 
 It was pain that watched beside us while we 
 slept unsleeping, that made haste to wake before 
 our waking, withering up delight and love. 
 
 Pain, that wove itself between us in fiery links 
 and meshes ; our ring, our chain, ouj troth-plight 
 of union ; often but for pain, we knew not that 
 we indeed lived. 
 
32 on, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 
 
 A mighty one hath broken its fetters ; the 
 king hath sent and delivered us ; the prince of the 
 people hath bid us be free ; 
 
 We are free, yet we are stiU. united, oh, my com- 
 pcMiion, thinkest thou that I do not love thee still ? 
 
 Once again shall I behold thee ; fair shalt thou 
 be and young, beloved and desired of all ; but 
 unto none wilt thou be so fair as unto me. 
 
 Then pure and swift shall I rush to greet thee, 
 I shall dwell within thee for ever, as the flame 
 shut withia the glancing opal, as the perfume 
 within, the bell of the hyacinth ; we shall be one 
 in beauty and in joy. 
 
 Slowly in the still air of eternity shall we 
 unfold together. Ages upon ages are too short 
 to sum up our perfect bliss. 
 
 But now I go to rest withia the smUe of Gk)d, 
 sunshine shall be given me for a garment. 
 
 Tea, in me there is now no darkness, gaze down 
 within me, I am pure, a well springiag up unto 
 everlasting life. 
 
 Give thou thyself meanwhile to the earth's 
 dark bosom, scatter thyself upon the winds of 
 heaven, melt in the beaded bubble and glitter in 
 the fiery spark. 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 33 
 
 Whirl and scream witli the white sea-fowl, and 
 moTUit with them npon the eddying wave ; speak 
 in the dark thunder of waters roaring to their 
 mighty fall. 
 
 Dance with the motes in the slanting snnheam, 
 star thyself in the glittering crystal, live awhile in 
 the seed, in the flower, in the fading leaf, in the 
 cotmtless blossoms of the apple-tree, in the mea- 
 dow-sweets' foam-white plume. 
 
 Hide thyself among the thick-springing blades 
 of grass, amid the hot driffcuig desert sands, so 
 shalt thou escape Pain that hath hunted and 
 tracked thee stUl. 
 
 But come to me sometimes in the evening ; sing 
 thy clear song of victory and undying love. 
 
 Sing to me when the shadows lengthen, a little 
 brown bird that bears upon its breast a ruddy stain. 
 
 And I wUl lean out of Heaven and hearken, I 
 wiU. hear thee from among the harps of gold. 
 
 The summer is over and the harvest ended, the 
 songs of the vintage cease ; 
 
34 OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY VEATH ! 
 
 Tet before I die will I ckant my solemn death- 
 stave ; let the woods be silent while I siag. 
 
 Royally they stand up round me, they gleam ia 
 gold and in scarlet, robed in the purple to which 
 they were not bom. 
 
 But the baptism of death is on them, they have 
 been signed with a fiery sign. 
 
 Tet another day and their boughs will be stark 
 and leafless; sing through them, thou wild re- 
 joicing wind. 
 
 I have asked little of earth, and that little has 
 been still denied me ; now that I must leave her 
 she gives me all. 
 
 A robe hast thou fashioned for me, oh, my 
 mother ! smooth and green and fine is it as satin, 
 it is woven without seam throughout. 
 
 Fair is it and richly broidered, from my head 
 even to my feet it shall enfold me closely as 
 the clasp of a loving hand. 
 
 So that pain shall not glide within it, though it 
 be lithe and searching as the cold fanged snake, 
 desire, nor weariness, nor vain regret ; this garment 
 is unfretted by the moth. 
 
 And when my mother puts this fair robe upon 
 me, she will press me to her bosom, oh, so closely ! 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY VEATH • 35 
 
 That there will be no space left between us any 
 more for anguish, no room for the dull unceasing 
 pang. 
 
 N"o chiding word will pass between us, she wiU 
 take me to the chambers where all her childreu 
 sleep ; quiet are they, deep and full of slumber. 
 
 None watch over those sleepers, yet is their rest 
 unbroken ; no wail is there, no echo of song or 
 of laughter, but a silence that is sweeter than all. 
 
 I shall not dream there, neither shall I lie 
 wakeful, listening for a footfall to break the 
 stillness, or for a voice that might repeat my 
 name. 
 
 If the bird sing above me I shall not hear it, 
 nor heed if the dews fall sweetly and the early 
 flowers spriug. 
 
 For the heavens shall be clear above me, clear 
 to their very depths, without cloud or stain ; 
 
 Terrible in their clearness even as the burning 
 sapphire, I shall look up through them to the 
 throne of God. 
 
 Light shall be spread round me like a garment, 
 but from the heavens a tear will fall, 
 
 A tear will fall upon my bosom, one tear from 
 His eye that wept over the grave of Lazarus. 
 
36 OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 
 
 Very excellent things are spoken of thee, thou 
 city of God ! far, far across the desert have I seen 
 thy fringe of lofty palms, and ahove them thy 
 glittering domes and spires. 
 
 And my sOnl hath desired thee exceedingly ; 
 yea, I have longed to enter within thy courts, but 
 not because of the scent of thine ivory palaces, 
 raftered with the fragrant cedar ; 
 
 Nor yet for the murmur of thy clear fountains, 
 nor the shadow of thy pleasant trees, yielding 
 fruits of healing and desire ; 
 
 Nor to listen to the songs of the angels, or 
 to the sweeter voice that I once loved so well 
 on earth ; 
 
 Not to look upon the face of lover or of friend 
 departed, nor upon Thine, Jesus, beloved of God 
 and of men ! 
 
 Tea, let me hear thy voice, for it is sweet, and 
 let me look upon thy countenance, for it is 
 comely :, yet is there One unfound, desired above 
 all! 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 37 
 
 Him, whom I have sought unceasingly, my 
 Father, whom I have sought and have not found. 
 
 Pleasure hath not held me back from Thee, oh 
 my Father; but pain, disquietude, and restless 
 doubt. 
 
 Like a child bewildered iu an untraoked forest, 
 heccuuse I hea/rd not Thy voice, I was afraid. 
 
 What though my feet sank deep in brown, 
 golden mosses, and from the boughs above me 
 hung ropes of gorgeous flowers ? 
 
 What availed the dusk splendours of the moth 
 that flitted across my solitary path, or the glory 
 of the crested bird that lighted up the wood's 
 dim heart with flame ? 
 
 When it was my Father's voice I needed, His 
 kind re-assuring eye I sought. My Father's hand 
 laid upon my head to bless me. His hand that 
 took my own within its guiding clasp. 
 
 These things that He hath fashioned are fair 
 and wondrous, but strength is a pitiless giant, 
 and skill is a dumb artificer, and beauty hath 
 but a cold, alluring smile. 
 
 There is one that is more great than these, the 
 Father, whose IS'ame is Love. 
 
38 OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 
 
 S trong is He, yet patient and pitiful, a Creator 
 to whom nothing liTes in vain. 
 
 In my heart hath He traced His image, in my 
 bosom is there a mirror hid. 
 
 To glass back His likeness in perfection, I held 
 it up to the earth and sky. 
 
 But it flashed and shivered into a thousand 
 fragments, how should it give back my Father's 
 smile ? 
 
 In the world which He had made was beauty ; 
 anguish also, and discord, irony, haste, and bitter 
 incompletion. 
 
 The dove moaned softly in the woodland, and 
 through the thicket gleamed the rustling snake ; 
 the leopard was as lovely as the fawn. 
 
 In the "Word which He had spoken was terror ; 
 the sword and the mountain that burned with fia-e, 
 clouds and haUstones and thick darkness, the 
 light of the arrow, and the shining of the glit- 
 tering spear. 
 
 The Lord is a man of war, the Lord of Battles 
 is His Name. 
 
 Tet hath He sent us His beloved Son, to show 
 us plainly of the Father. Jesus, Thy deeds were 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 39 
 
 gentle, yet who hath spoken words so anstere as 
 Thine ? 
 
 Thou hast told us of utter separation, Thou hast 
 shown us a place where the tear falls in Tain. 
 
 And yet Thou didst teach us to say, Our 
 Father, Our Father which art m Sewven. 
 
 Therefore have I sought a city; a city that 
 needeth not the sun to lighten it, for its light is 
 the Ught of God. 
 
 Tea, though that light were sevenfold, I shall 
 feel through it all a searching ray ; 
 
 And I shall know that my Father's smile has 
 reached me ; I shall hear a voice, that says to me, 
 " My chUd." 
 
 On my heart hath a thought fallen, making all 
 the waters of earth bitter. 
 
 I saw Youth stand up, strong and lovely, and 
 on its Hps was a word of promise, 
 
 A word that should overcome all things ; but to 
 what child of Adam hath the promise of that 
 word been kept ? 
 
 And if ia life there is decay and harsh illusion. 
 
40 OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 
 
 ■why should we look to death to be more just, 
 and kind ? 
 
 Why should God's faithfulness be made known 
 in the grave, or his loving-kindness shown in the 
 land where all things, are forgotten ? 
 
 On earth is hate and discord, and we say these 
 things are but for a day, hut if for a day why not 
 for ever ? 
 
 If light reigned would it endure the darkness 
 even for a moment ? and if love is vanquished 
 now, why should we deem that it shall triumph 
 hereafter ? 
 
 Humanity stands up in strength and anguish ; 
 a blind giant wrapt in an envenomed mantle. 
 
 It struggles, but it is not freed ; it strides on 
 hastily, age after age, yet it comes not nearer its 
 goal. 
 
 In the universe, there is care and love abroad, 
 the traces of a fashioning and guiding hand. 
 
 The pink sea-shell is flushed with beauty, waatn, 
 rose-tinted, myriad-hued, a chamber for exquisite 
 delight. 
 
 The flower of the field is happy, it needs 
 neither shelter nor love. 
 
OH, AMIABLE, LOVELY DEATH! 41 
 
 For it is at peace with all around it, ■witli the 
 dews, the snnshiae, with the earth's dark kiadly 
 breast. 
 
 Things nnbeloved are safe and cared for ; the 
 limpet fastens upon the storm-beaten rock, the 
 moss and the lichen seek out the grey desolate 
 wall. 
 
 But the life that was formed for love and joy is 
 blighted, and the heart of man wanders and hath 
 not found its home. 
 
^econD Part. 
 
 " (Soti fotfiiH t|)at 3[ e^auID elor;, 0abe in tl)t croee of 
 Qur ILotti "^eeue C^iiet, iip b)|)om tf)t tDoiin 10 crucifieD 
 unto me, anji 3 unto t|)€ tooiIB." — Galatians vi. 14. 
 
L'mrvoi. 
 
 My root of life is in Thy grave, 
 This flower that blooms above 
 I have no care to keep or save. 
 Its hues are dim, its stay is brief, 
 I know not if its name be grief. 
 Oh ! let it pass for Love. 
 
 Oh ! let it pass for Love, dear Lord, 
 And lift it from Thy tomb, 
 A little while upon Thy breast 
 To yield its scent and bloom ; 
 In life, in dying to be blest 
 It needs but little room ! 
 
A PASTORAL. 
 
 A SIMPLE shepherd I, 
 •'• ^ TJnskill'd to guard or tend 
 
 My flocks that wander slow, 
 But Kttle prized by friend, 
 
 But little feared by foe ; 
 
 Yet sweet and many are the songs I know. 
 
 In yonth no gentle art 
 Was mine to learn or teach ; 
 As shepherds wont, my speech 
 Was mde, nnapt to reach 
 
 The ear, or win the heart, 
 TUl, where moist willows grew, a slender reed 
 I found, and fashion'd fitly to my need. 
 
 Then from the sedgy brook, 
 Where yet its kindred shook, 
 A sigh so deep, so sweet, so piercing broke, 
 
46 A PASTORAL. 
 
 That ere I knew, a sigh 
 Went back in fond reply, 
 And on my lips a sudden song awoke. 
 
 With each warm tender thing 
 
 That thrust its head ia spring, 
 From earth's dark breast, my spirit communed free ; 
 
 A soul that loves and grieves 
 
 Would speak from out the leaves, 
 The clouds stole down the hUls to talk with me. 
 
 And oft with unconfess'd 
 
 Fond instinct, only guess'd, 
 Through some quick pressure, all the silent air. 
 
 The while I sang, would fill 
 
 With light, would throb and thrill 
 As if a mighty heart were beating there. 
 
 And while I sang, the swains 
 That listen' d, straight forgot 
 
 How fierce upon the plains 
 The sun, the shepherd's lot 
 
 How hard — their slender gaius. 
 Their ceaseless, thankless toils, remembering not. 
 
A PASTORAL. 47 
 
 And while I sang, the maid 
 
 On tiptoe unafraid 
 Would steal at shut of eve, and linger long, 
 
 With parted lips, and shy 
 
 Sweet, unaverted eye. 
 Forgetting still the singer in the song. 
 
 I sang of war, of love, 
 
 Of gods that reign above 
 In bliss, of men that suffer — still I sung 
 
 Of deeper pangs, of tears 
 
 More sweet, that fell in years 
 Of broader flight, while yet our earth was young. 
 
 So sang I until song 
 Forsook me ; I would tell 
 How this my strain so well 
 
 Beloved, beloved so long, 
 Fell from my lips, as falls the star. 
 
 As falls the leaf, to dwell 
 (If yet it lives) apart, afar 
 
 Like echo shut within a secret dell. 
 
 It was the summer prune 
 Of noon, the sleeping time 
 
48 A PASTORAL. 
 
 Of Pan, no leaflet stiir'd, yet from the gronnd 
 
 Whereon I lay, the clear 
 
 Low breathing met mine ear 
 Of woods, rocks, vales, and hills in slumber bonnd. 
 
 And on the air a slow 
 
 Sweet shining now would grow. 
 And o'er the sunny spaces flit and fail. 
 
 As if beloved and fair. 
 
 Earth softly, unaware. 
 Smiled 'neath the secret of her folded veil. 
 
 Beneath the beechen shade 
 
 The golden sunbeams stray'd 
 In sleep, my flock slept round me, all was still ; 
 
 When from afar I caught 
 
 A flute's clear note, methought 
 Some shepherd bids me to a contest of sweet skill. 
 
 It ceased, and at its close 
 
 A Voice in song arose. 
 So sword-like sweet, it seem'd to cleave the thin 
 
 Warm air, and still, with soft 
 
 Delay, to question oft. 
 And still to woo, and evermore to win. 
 
A PASTORAL. 49 
 
 This was no ancient tale 
 Of flying nymph, or bold 
 Free hnnter, this no old 
 
 Fond funereal waU 
 For Youth slow fading by a fountain's side 
 
 And yet a high lament 
 
 Through all its changes went, 
 It told of One that loved, it told of One that died. 
 
 It told of rude disgrace, 
 
 And of an anguish'd face 
 It told, methought ; and of a wounded Friend. 
 
 Of pain it told, and shame ; 
 
 Of love that overcame 
 Through simple skill of loving to the end. 
 
 A silence on the plain, 
 
 A silence on the hill, 
 To hear that song agaiu, 
 
 I listen, listen still , 
 Oh, sweet to me my vain 
 
 Old songs and stories free. 
 Thy story sad and plain 
 
 Is now more sweet to me. 
 
 E 
 
so A PASTORAL. 
 
 Take, Sheplierd, take thy prize, 
 
 For who like thee can sing ? 
 No fleece of mingled dyes, 
 
 No apples fair, I bring ; 
 No smooth two-handled bowl, 
 
 Wronght with the clasping Tine- 
 Take, take my heart and sonl. 
 
 My songs, for they are thine ! 
 
 Oh ! sing thy song again. 
 
 And these of mine may pass 
 As qnick as snmmer rain 
 
 Dries on the thirsty grass. 
 Thon wotddst not do me wrong. 
 
 Thou wilt not silent be ; 
 Thy one, thy only song. 
 
 Dear Shepherd, teach to me ! 
 
A MTSTBRT. 
 
 " Ego autem dico in Chriato et in Bcclesia." 
 
 A BIRD sings clear within the darkling wood ; 
 -^^^ Sing sweet, oh bird, thongh wounded be thy 
 
 breast ; 
 Although thy song of few be understood, 
 A song of love is thine — a song of rest. 
 
 A rose beneath it blooms — a rose unfed 
 By earthly mould, unnourish'd by the dew, 
 Yet rich the rose's fragrance, ruby red 
 In every leaf, as if its heart bum'd through. 
 
 And when the bird is silent, then the rose 
 Gives forth no odour, yields no light nor bloom — 
 Death-stricken pale, its petals shrink and close, 
 And all the air grows sUent as a tomb. 
 
52 
 
 A MYSTEUY. 
 
 And when the bird sings clearest most it grieves 
 O'er its deep wownd ; then from its heart o'erflows 
 A crimson drop, that on the rose's leaves 
 Falls with the song, tlien sweetest is the rose. 
 
QUIS SEPAEABIT? 
 
 T AM no WEtrrior. Lo, 
 
 -*- What skill have hands Hke mine the sword to 
 
 wield ? 
 A singer of old songs, I wander slow 
 By many a haunted stream, by many a field ; 
 Where, stooping down, I yet can hear the low 
 Hoarse battle murmur ring from lance and shield. 
 Amid thick woods I stray, where long ago 
 Fond lovers met ; and oft a darker thrill 
 Steals from some spot whereon no grasses grow, 
 No kind rains fall, no breezes lightly blow. 
 Enough of love, enough of grief, I know. 
 Enough of crime ! Earth's story chains me still. 
 What marvel, then, that me a cruel foe 
 Should track from grove to stream with stealthy 
 skUl? 
 
S4 QUIS SEPARABIT? 
 
 What marvel, then, that on the waters' flow 
 Strange sounds shonld rise to me instinct with ill ? 
 Strange aspects gleam from out the wood, and low 
 And mocking voices reach me from the hiU ? 
 I was not strong to fight, nor swift to fly. 
 Oh ! let me reach the monntaiu. or I die ! 
 But as I cross'd a level plain the air 
 Grew still as death ; the singing lark dropp'd 
 
 mute 
 Beside the daisy wither'd to its root. 
 Then came an ice-cold wind, and suddenly 
 The storm brake forth ; then saw I lifted high 
 The Cross stand bare between the darken'd sky 
 And pallid earth ; as close as can despair 
 I clasp'd my arms about it. 
 
 Here I die. 
 I know these slinging shafts, these darts of fire, 
 That mingle with the arrowy sleet and hail. 
 Here hast thou found me, oh, mine enemy ! 
 And yet rejoice not thou, by strength shall none 
 prevail. 
 
 By noon thine arrows fly ; 
 
QUIS SEPARABIT? 55 
 
 None feileth of its mark ; thou dost not tire ; 
 
 And yet rejoice not thou ! Each shaft of fire 
 
 That finds me here becomes a liviag naili 
 
 What strength of thine, what skill can now avail 
 
 To tear me from the Cross ? My sotd and heart 
 
 Are fasten'd here ! I feel the cloyen dart 
 
 Pierce keenly through. What hands have power 
 
 to wring 
 Me hence ? What voice can now so sweetly sing 
 To lure my spirit from its rest ? Oh ! now 
 
 Rejoice, my soul, for thou 
 Hast trodden down thy foeman's strength through 
 
 pain. 
 
 Who speaketh now of peace ? 
 
 Who seeketh for release ? 
 The Cross is strength, the solemn Cross is gain, 
 
 The Cross is Jesu's breast. 
 
 Here giveth He the rest 
 That to His best belov'd doth stUl remain. 
 
 How sweet an ended strife ! 
 How sweet a dawning life ! 
 
56 QUIS SEP AR ABIT? 
 
 Here will I lie as one that draws his breath 
 With ease, and hearken what my Saviour saith 
 Concerning me ; the solemn Cross is gain ; 
 
 Who willeth- now to choose ? 
 
 Who strives to bind or loose ? 
 Sweet life, sweet death, sweet triumph and sweet 
 pain. 
 
THE CEOSS. 
 
 A T J SAT came ye forth to see ? 
 
 ^ * The desert paths are drea/r ; 
 The desert adr is still. 
 
 What ccrnie ye forth to hem ? 
 A whisper 'mid the reeds, 
 Or voice of one that pleads, 
 Persuading soft, or prophet's voice amstere ?" 
 
 " I came not forth to look 
 
 For prophet or for seer, 
 For word from lip or book 
 
 I wait not, waiting here ; 
 Where neither speech nor voice 
 Is heard, my spirit's choice 
 Abides, for nnto me 
 The Lord hath show'd a Tree." 
 
58 THE CROSS. 
 
 " What wouldst thou with this tree, 
 
 Ba/re, leafless, gamnt ? On thee 
 
 It d/rops no tend/ril now. 
 
 It stretches forth no bough. 
 Behold the woods, the summer woods a/refa/w ; 
 
 On Lebamon the oak 
 
 Stcmds with its heart imbroTce 
 In giomt strength ; what green leaves tremble there ! 
 
 The very gourd that springs 
 And dies within a day, 
 
 Will spread its f cm-like wings 
 To shade thee wMle it may; 
 The rose is sweet ere yet it pass ojway, 
 The lily blooms a/nd fades in still decay. 
 
 " Thou lovesi well the slow 
 Sweet lapse of running waters o'er the stone, 
 
 The song of birds at eWrly morn, the low 
 Light, ruffling icinds ; what findst thou here? a moan; 
 
 What hea/rest thou? a sigh 
 
 Half utter' d, 'twixt the sky 
 And ea/rth, from age to age that seems to die. 
 
 " No bird upon this tree 
 Will sit amd sing to thee ; 
 
THE CROSS. 59 
 
 No flower will spring "beneath ; all hurry hy 
 That pass this place ; the vine 
 No cluster yields, for wine 
 
 None ash, and here the merry-hea/rted sigh." 
 
 " Tet hence I ■will not stir ; 
 What healing gums distil 
 From out this tree ! Of myrrh 
 The mount is this, of frankincense the hill, 
 And all around are fair 
 Broad meads, with shepherds there 
 That feed and guard their flocks contented stUl. 
 
 " By Sinai long I stay'd, 
 And heard a voice that spake to me, ' This do, 
 And thou shalt live ;' but when more close I 
 
 drew, 
 I saw with hidden fire the mountain shake ; 
 Upon the air I heard the trumpet break 
 
 Long, loud and louder yet ; what hope had I 
 When even Moses said, ' I fear and quake-^ 
 
 Let not God speak unto me, lest I die ! ' 
 
60 THE CROSS. 
 
 " To Tabor then I came. 
 How fair, methouglit, how pleasant is this place. 
 How green and still ! Then, Jesns, on Thy face 
 I look'd, and it was comely ; full of grace 
 And truth Thy lips as one whom God hath blest. 
 Here then, methought, for ever I will rest. 
 Here will I buUd my shrine, and pay my tows ; 
 
 But while in sweet content 
 
 To pluck fresh boughs I went, 
 
 Peter and James and John, 
 
 Tea, Jesus too, had gone, 
 And I was left amid the wither'd boughs. 
 
 " At length another place 
 I reach'd at noon ; the trodden ground was bare ; 
 Of a great midtitude I saw the trace. 
 But all was silent now ; no marvel there 
 My eyes beheld, no law 
 I heard, no vision saw. 
 Save Jesus only. Him, the Crucified. 
 I saw my Lord that look'd on me and died. 
 
 " Here will I see the day 
 
 Pass by, the shadows creep 
 
THE CROSS. 
 
 61 
 
 Around me ; here I pray, 
 And here I sing and weep ; 
 Here only mil I sleep 
 And wake again ; I keep 
 My watch beneath this tree 
 The Lord hath show'd to me." 
 
A SONG OF JOT AND PAIN. 
 
 " I, the Lord, have brought down the high tree, have exalted, 
 the low tree, have dried up the green tree, and have made the 
 dry tree to flourish." — Ezekiel xvii. 24. 
 
 "■ I ^HOTJ sign of all our loss, 
 -*- Thou sign of all our gaia, 
 
 strange, sweet, solemn cross, 
 
 1 tail thee ! and again 
 
 I hail thee ! here through paia 
 Joy breaks. Love conquereth, 
 And here through bitter death 
 •The Lord of life doth reign. 
 
 Speak not unto me, Life ! 
 ■ Thy voice that loves and grieves 
 I hear ; the gentle strife 
 
 Of birds among the leaves. 
 Fond tones that in their flow 
 
 Make sudden pause and grow 
 
A SONG OF JOY AND PAIN. 63 
 
 To sweeter silence ; eotmd of stiminer rain. 
 And children's voices down tlie homeward lane 
 
 That pass ; prayer's constant low 
 Sweet pleading voice I hear ; 
 
 The blow, the scoff, the jeer. 
 The curse, the maddening whip, the clanking chain, 
 
 The bitter laugh far sadder than the tear, 
 
 AH these alike are thine ! I know 
 Not what thy language means, confused and vain ; 
 Now let death talk with me, its speech is plain. 
 
 Now let death speak with me. Thy death, my God, 
 Thy words upon the cross were plain and few ; 
 It is my brother's blood that from the sod 
 Cries out of better things than Abel's knew. 
 Through dark decay it pleads, through sullen care ; 
 It wins a triumph over earth's despair; 
 It turns to truth Life's failing prophecy, 
 It teUs us that the Lord of Heaven was brave 
 And strong, and resolute in love to save 
 The world that He had made, yet could but die ! 
 
 Then let me also go 
 And die with Him ! why strive I for this crown 
 
64 A SONG OF JOY AND PAIN. 
 
 Of -fading leaves desired of all below, 
 Love, pleasure, sweet content and fair renown ; 
 Why weep for flowers that fell too soon to spread 
 And driQk the glory of the summer noon, 
 Sweet buds of promise quickly withered. 
 That died, unkiss'd of June ? 
 
 Behold, my God doth choose 
 
 The thorn, the rose refuse ; 
 
 Lord is He of delight 
 
 And gladness infinite, 
 Yet hath he pluck'd no flower from all that bloom, 
 But ia our earth's fair garden made His tomb. 
 
 Hail, blessed Cross ! how bold 
 Thou makest me ! how strong ! no more I weep 
 O'er giant cities now the dragon's fold, 
 O'er mighty empires breathed to dust away ; 
 No more a tearful chronicle I keep 
 Of all that passes ere our mortal day 
 Hath pass'd ; nor grieve that in earth's firuitfnl deep 
 Warm soil, my life hath struck but slender hold ; 
 All things must change, and into ruin, cold, 
 And darkness pass and perish, yet behold ! 
 All fades not with the fading leaf ! To me 
 
 The Lord hath shewed a tree ! 
 
A SONG OF JOY AND PAIN. 65 
 
 And many a leaf on me 
 Hath, fall'n from off this tree 
 Of healing power ! I know 
 Not yet how near the skies 
 Its lofty stem will rise ; 
 Nor guess how deep below 
 To what drear vaults of woe 
 Its roots wiU. pierce ; I see 
 Its bonghs spread wide and free, 
 And fowls* of every wing 
 Beneath them bnild and cling. 
 Han, blessed Cross ! I see 
 My life grow green in thee ! 
 My life that hidden, mute 
 Lives ever in thy root, 
 When life fails utterly ; 
 All hail, thou blessed Tree ! 
 
 dDuoD etultum e0t Dei, eaptentiu0 tst fjominibus : 
 (St quoH infitmum tst £)ei, foitiuo est |)oinintbu0. 
 
 ' Ezehiel xvii. 23. 
 F 
 
SUMMA THBOLOGI^. 
 
 " In the cross of Christ excess in man is met by excess in 
 God; excess of evil is mastered by excess of love." 
 
 BOUKDALOUB. 
 
 "XT OW let me turn aside, 
 
 -^ ^ And look on tMs great Sign, uplifted high. 
 
 Where a broad river runs down silently 
 
 TJntU it reach the white and misty shore, 
 
 Margin to unknown worlds, where evermore 
 
 The deep sea moans and is not satisfied, 
 
 And life meets death in marshes wild and wide. 
 
 Above the meads in May, 
 Above the summer gardens of delight. 
 Above the gloomy forests where by night 
 The fierce beasts roam, and ask of God their prey ; 
 Above the crowded city wild with sin. 
 Above the pleasant home by love shut in, 
 
SDMMA THEOLOGIM. 67 
 
 O'er all that blessed, blesses — all that curst 
 — AccuTses ! mute above our best and worst, 
 I see it rise, a strange, appealing sign. 
 
 Its shadow falls upon a region old 
 And wasted by the spoiler ; thick with graves. 
 And pierced with sunless caverns, where, for gold, 
 Slaves toil unceasiug, bound by stronger slaves. 
 A land of mighty hunters ; he who flies 
 The arrow, lights upon the deadly snare, — 
 The lash and lure are theirs, behind them lies 
 A desert that was once a garden fair. 
 And after them a fire breaks forth that feeds 
 On the broad cedars, on the quivering reeds, 
 Fann'd by swift winds that sway its flickering 
 
 spire ; 
 Yet would man snatch and win life's goodly prize, 
 Tet would he venture, conquer, and aspire, — 
 Now will I look upon my God that dies. 
 
 Enough of man's excess ! 
 His waste and wassail trampling out his wine, 
 With hasty heel, from youth, joy, tenderness. 
 Now will I turn, my God, and look on thine 
 
68 SVMMA THEOLOGIJE. 
 
 Profuse wert Thou Thy prodigal to bless, 
 Nor hast Thou spared from out the purple vine 
 A rich, full-mingled cup, to strain, and press, 
 And meet his loss with usury divine. 
 
 Now let me turn my gaze 
 On Love's best archer, sorely bitten, thrown 
 Aside by all his comrades, through amaze 
 And anguish of his wound, to die alone ; 
 Yet he, sore-smitten archer, may not die ! 
 Forsaken, shunned, abhorred and desolate, 
 Tet shall his arrows win back victory, 
 His bow arrest a doubtful combat's fate. 
 And lie shall conquer swreh), conquering late. 
 
 He saith to us, " Awhile, 
 A little while and ye shall see me." Lo ! 
 On this our earth quick bitter harvests grow. 
 So must Love's patience slowly reconcile, 
 Pain, pleasure, death, together banded, mow. 
 And reap, nor care to gather in their sheaves, — 
 It is my God alone who waits and grieves ; 
 Slow is his agony, hifi guerdon slow. 
 
SUMMA THEOLOGI^. 09 
 
 Tet for no other sign 
 I ask; I read within no other book, 
 When I within my God's deep heart would look 
 I turn not to his earth nor heavens that shine 
 And burn from age to age, yet speak no word : 
 Let my God speak to me ! for I have heard 
 Strange voices on the earth, strange marvels 
 
 seen; 
 While the blue, silent heavens look'd on serene, 
 And the white moon-beam brought its message 
 
 clear, 
 Man's goodly frame was in the market sold 
 By men, and woman's smUe made cheap for gold, 
 — Tet Thou, oh God ! didst buy the soul more 
 
 dear ! 
 
 So let the earth be old, 
 And, like a wicked Fate, from, off her reel 
 Spin evil changes, — ^let the skies ia cold 
 Clear splendour arch us in a vault of steel ; 
 The heavens are far away, yet God is near ; 
 
 I find a need divine 
 
 That meeteth need of mine ; 
 No rigid fate I meet, no law austere ; 
 
70 SUMMA THEOLOGIM. 
 
 I see my God who turns, 
 And o'er his creature yearns, — 
 Upon the ci'oss God gives, and claims the tear. 
 
 And from this soul His love. 
 The slighted human soul that naen despise. 
 Shall yet work out a wondrous work, above 
 All wonders of His earth and seas and skies ; 
 
 Love, love that once for all did agonize. 
 Shall conquer all things to itself ! if late 
 Or soon this fall, I ask not nor surmise, — 
 And when my God is waiting I can wait ! 
 
 Ci)rt0tus crucifijjua, 
 ©ei potentia ac Oei sapientia ! 
 
SPONSALIA AMORIS ET DOLORIS. 
 
 " T) EHOLD these lovers, that with looks elate 
 -'-^ Upon each other gaze ! who may they be 
 But Francis with his vow'd, his chosen mate, 
 His dearest Poverty ! " 
 
 So Dante spake ; " her kind 
 First husband' dead, she lived withdrawn from 
 
 sight, 
 Nor ever thonght a second sponse to find, 
 A second troth to plight." 
 
 " With bare and wonnded feet 
 She trod the cruel thorns tmwooed till now, 
 For none but holy Francis gness'd how sweet 
 The rose-bloom on her brow." 
 
 ' Christ. " She, bereaved 
 Of her first husband, slighted and obscure, 
 Thousand and hundred years and more remained 
 Without a single suitor, till he came." , 
 
 Paradiio. Canto xi. 
 
72 SPONSALIA AMORIS ET DOLORIS. 
 
 And now a lowly pair 
 They dweU content, possessing and possest, 
 And day by day grows Poverty more fair, 
 Grows Francis still more blest. 
 
 Tet to a sterner troth 
 Than Francis pledged, I bind yon, spirits high ! 
 Fear not to plight with mine your spousal oath, — 
 The bride is ever nigh. 
 
 But who her hand will fold 
 In his ? her form unto his bosom strain ? 
 What heart so tender found, what heart so bold 
 To be the mate of Pain ? 
 
 "What eyes can brook the gaze 
 Of her wild eyes ? what ears can bear the moan 
 She maketh through dark nights and silent days, 
 That she hath dwelt alone ? 
 
 Tet fear not thou to take 
 This woman for thy bride, oh soul elect ! 
 Fear not thy choice, thy pride, thy joy to make 
 Of her whom all reject ! 
 
SPONSALIA AMOJRIS ET DOLORIS. 73 
 
 Oh. ! fear not thon to grasp 
 Her skrinkiiig form, nor spare for fond caress, 
 Only within Love's strictest, closest clasp 
 Can Angnish learn to bless. 
 
 And quail not thongh she change 
 Within thine arms to some fonl fearful shape, 
 Still hold her through each aspect wild and strange, 
 And let her not escape ! 
 
 So shall she turn and meet 
 Thy gaze with ardours, transports all her own. 
 And give, for thine, look, smile and word more 
 sweet 
 Than joy hath ever known. 
 
 So shall the willing air 
 Be wooed with softest marriage peal, — ^the knell 
 ToU'd for the passing of a long despair, — 
 Tea, down to deepest hell 
 
 Its sound will pass, and say, 
 " Rejoice thou under- world ! a warfare long, 
 Confused, hath roU'd to victory away, — 
 The strong hath met the strong ; 
 
74 SPONSALIA AMOSIS ET DOLORIS. 
 
 " Love weds with Pain,- — let Sin 
 And Death, abide, and deem their empire snre, 
 WTiat fifiw cam, he too hwrdfor Love to wi/n. 
 For Angidsh to endnji/re ?" 
 
THE MARRIAGE SUPPER OF THE 
 LAMB. 
 
 " The Master sayeth, Where is the guest-chamber, that I 
 may eat the Passover with my disciples ?" 
 
 "V T OW Wisdom lifts on high 
 
 -^ ^ Her voice, — abroad a summons clear she 
 
 sends 
 " Come hither, friends, and eat abundantly, 
 Tea, drink, beloved friends ! " 
 
 My festal board is fair, 
 My banquet-chamber ready, on its chiei 
 Long waiting, little need the heart prepare 
 To keep the feast of grief ; 
 
 My wine is mingled strong 
 With myrrh ! full mingled is it, spiced, and sweet ; 
 This Passover with bitter herbs how long 
 Have I desired to eat. 
 
76 THE MAEBIAGE SUPPER 
 
 Come, eat my bread, — ^nor shrink 
 My soul's deep, secret baptism to share ; 
 Be strong, beloved friends, the cup to drink. 
 The Master's hand doth bear. 
 
 Be patient ! from the north 
 The wind blows keen, the garden little yields 
 Of pleasant fruits, yet hath our Lord gone forth 
 To walk among the fields. 
 
 His steps have left the flowers, 
 He feeds no more among the lilies sweet, 
 A husbandman he toils through long cold hours. 
 With wounded hands and feet. 
 
 Com.e, reap with Him, for white 
 These fields and ready, thrust the sickle in ; 
 The harvest stands but thicker for its blight 
 Of death, woe, want, and sin. 
 
 Come, glean the blasted ear 
 With Him, nor be the wither' d grass forgot 
 That waves upon the house-tops thin and sere, 
 By mower gather' d not. 
 
OF THE LAMB. 77 
 
 To many a marisli place, 
 Choked with the living wreck that on earth's fair, 
 Cold bosom drifts awhUe and leaves no trace, 
 I bid yonr steps repair. 
 
 Unto the darken' d mine 
 I call you now, nnto the burning plain. 
 To cells where fetter' d spirits moan and piae. 
 Where madness shakes its chain. 
 
 I bid yon to the drear, 
 Dark house, unloved of all, where want and age, 
 Sit day by day, — and turn without a tear 
 Life's saddest, weariest page. 
 
 In homes unblest where care. 
 Grown fierce and reckless, turns at last and rends 
 The hearts she broods on ; I would meet you there, 
 Oh, friends, beloved friends ! 
 
 I tryst with you ! I bid 
 Two long predestined lovers held apart. 
 By seas, storms, graves, — by flamiug swords, — 
 nnchid, 
 !N"ow seek each other's heart. 
 
78 THE MARRIAGE SUPPER. 
 
 Grief waits for love, — ste turns 
 To that kiad voice, nor will tlie strangers hear ; 
 Upon her worn and wasted cheek she yearns 
 To feel love's burning tear. 
 
 Love seeks out grief, — he knows 
 No lips save his in fondest ministering, 
 From out her rankling wound, ere yet it close. 
 Can draw the deadly sting. 
 
 He fain unto his breast 
 Would draw her aching brow ; uncomforted 
 He knoweth she hath dwelt in long unrest, — 
 She may not die unwed. 
 
 Hear, Earth and Heaven, their vow ! 
 Whom God hath join'd in one let none divide ; 
 Rejoice, Heaven ! be joyful, Earth, for now 
 The bridegroom meets the bride ! 
 
SCHOLA CRUCIS, SCHOLA LUCIS. 
 
 TDENBATH Thy cross I stand, 
 -*— ' Jesus, my Saviour, turn and look on me, 
 Oh. ! who are these, that one on either hand 
 Are crucified with Thee ? 
 
 The one that turns away 
 With sullen, scoffing lip, — and one whose eyes 
 Close o'er the words, — " Yet shalt thou be this day 
 
 With me in Paradise." 
 
 Here would I fain behold 
 This twofold mystery ! Love's battle won ; 
 Its warfare ended, and its ransom told. 
 
 Its conquest but begun ! 
 
 I say not to thee now, 
 " Come from the cross, and then wUl I believe ;" 
 Oh, lift me up to Thee, and teach me how 
 
 To love and how to grieve. 
 
80 SCHOLA CRUCIS, SCHOLA LUCIS. 
 
 Stay on the cross, imtil 
 Tkou art of all confess'd, of all adored ; 
 Be there each ling'ring heart, each wav'ring will. 
 
 Made fast unto its Lord. 
 
 I track'd thy footsteps long. 
 For where Thou wert, there would Thy serrant 
 
 be ; 
 But now methought the silence, now the throng, 
 
 Would part me still from thee. 
 
 I sought Thee 'mid the leaves, 
 I find Thee on the dry and blasted tree ; 
 I saw thee not, until I saw the thieves 
 
 There crucified with Thee ! 
 
SI DESCENDEEO IN INFERNUM, ADES. 
 
 " Who Cometh first, marching before the Divine hosts ? 
 Gabriel, accustomed to bring good tidings of great joy to men. 
 He says, 'Lift up yourselves, ye gates; be broken, chains; 
 open, everlasting doors, make a highway for the Lord;' then 
 a shudder passes through Hell, its deep foundations are 
 shaken, prison after prison is broken up, the conquering host 
 penetrates into deeper gulfs. Adam himself, who, as being 
 the first to die, is deepest sunk in death, hears the steps of the 
 Lord visiting the captives, and turning to those who are 
 chained with him, he says, ' I hear the step of some one who 
 draws near to us; if He deigns to descend here we are de- 
 livered, if we do but see Him we are saved!' As Adam 
 speaks thus, the Saviour enters bearing His cross. So soon as 
 Adam our father sees him, he smites upon his breast, and says, 
 ' God our Saviour bringing with Him all His angels.' Jesus 
 answered, • And bringing with him thy soul.' " — From a Homily 
 hy Epiphakius. 
 
 WHAT place is this forlorn, 
 A palace, or a prison, or a tomb ? 
 What waste, wide world is this, what realm out- 
 worn. 
 Compact of fire and gloom ? 
 
 
82 SI DESCENDERO 
 
 What aspects vast and drear 
 Are these that rise around, with eyes for hate 
 Too blank, that through the darkness search and 
 peer, 
 
 Pix'd in impassive Fate ? 
 
 What sea is this ? what shore ? 
 What snllen, tidal moan that still recedes ? 
 What waves are these that cast up evermore 
 
 Weeds, foul and clinging weeds ? 
 
 Weeds, weeds around my hands, 
 Weeds, weeds around my heart, that choke and 
 
 press, 
 And drag my spirits downwards unto lands 
 
 Of dire forgetfulness. 
 
 Weeds, weeds about my head 
 Are wrapp'd, I said, " The darkness covers me ;' 
 But even while I spake amwng the dead, 
 
 I knew my sold was free. 
 
IN INFEBNUM, ADES. 
 
 One cometh. on the wings 
 Of mom, to Him the darkness is as light, 
 He seeks my sotd, he saves it from the kings 
 
 Of Hades and of Mght. 
 
 He cometh, o'er my woes 
 A victor, purple in His garment's stain, 
 Red with the life-blood of his conqner'd foes 
 
 And mine — death, sin, and pain. 
 
 As one that on the vine 
 Treads in the bursting wine- vat, He hath trod 
 The press alone, and trampled out a wine 
 
 Ripe for the wrath of God. 
 
 He binds within His crown 
 The thorn that rankled with so sharp a pang. 
 Beneath His kingly heel He treadeth down 
 
 The adder's piercing fang. 
 
 Before His breath the bands 
 That held me fall and shrivel up in flame. 
 He bears my name upon His wounded hands. 
 
 Upon His heart my name. 
 
84 5/ DESCENDERO IN INFEBNUM. 
 
 I wait, my soul doth wait 
 For Him who on His shoulder bears the key ; 
 I sit fast botmd, and yet not desolate, 
 
 My mighty Lord is free, 
 
 Be thon up-lifted, Door 
 Of everlasting strength ! the Lord on high 
 Hath gone, and captive led for evermore 
 
 My long captivity. 
 
 What though these rocks be steep, 
 The valley dusk, with crowding shadows dim, 
 Ere Tophet was of old made large and deep, 
 
 I was beloved of Him ! 
 
"QUID DIXIT, MARIA?" 
 
 AT THAT said He, Mary, unto thee ? 
 
 * ■ For it was thiue His voice to hear, 
 When thou wert waiting in the gloom 
 Of twilight dawn, and by the tomb. 
 He talk'd with thee when none were near ; 
 Oh, happy thus thy Lord to see ! 
 What said He, Mary, unto thee ?" 
 
 " Few words He said to me, I hide 
 Each word He said within my heart ; 
 Fain had I won Him to abide. 
 Yet soon I knew that I must part 
 With Him, my Master, Lord, and Gruide. 
 I met His eye. His voice I heard, 
 I saw His wounded hands and feet, 
 He caU'd me by my name, no word 
 Was ever to my soul so sweet ; 
 And by His tomb He bade me stay 
 Until the breaking of the day ! " 
 
 " But see, the lulls are all a-glow. 
 The sunrise cleaves its path of gold 
 
86 QVID DIXIT, MARIA? 
 
 Througli many a darken'd valley low. 
 And fires tlie mountain stmimits cold. 
 What flowers nnclose ! what herbs of price ! 
 What costly gnms for sacrifice 
 Are dropping now ! " " The hUls are high, 
 I cannot reach them, lest I die ; 
 And by His cross He bid me dwell 
 Until the evening shadows fell." 
 
 " Tet rise, thy Lord hath risen ! Behold, 
 Prom Hades now He bears away 
 The gates, and snatches from the hold 
 Of death and sin a mighty prey ; 
 His sonl hath pass'd afar ! to Him 
 The darkness shines as. doth the day ! 
 Why linger 'mid the shadows dim ? 
 Why watch the place where Jesus lay ? " 
 
 " Beside His tomb, beside His cross 
 He bade me rest ! Te speak in vain 
 Who have not known my gain nor loss ; 
 The Master's words are kind and plain, 
 He calls the wonnded not to pain, 
 The weary unto conflict sore ; 
 He bids the wayworn not again 
 
QUID DIXIT, MARIA? 87 
 
 Retrace, their fruitless wanderings b'er ; 
 He led me to this place ! He knew 
 My sonl upon the burning plain 
 Where riseth from the earth no dew, 
 Where falleth from the heavens no rain ; 
 He track'd my steps 'mid forests old 
 And tangled, where the flowers awake 
 In torrid midnight gloom, and hold 
 Death's revel in- the jungle brake ; 
 Tea ! he hath known my soul in cold, 
 The deadly frost that none can bide. 
 The formless vapours, white and dim. 
 Became my shroud, and yet from. Him. 
 Oonceal'd me not ! whate'er betide 
 I clasp the cross ! the earth is wide, 
 And drear, and old ! the heavens are far ! 
 For guide to me He gave no star, 
 But neaf His cross He bid me stay 
 Until the shadows fled away ! 
 
 " To me He said not, ' Thou shalt rise 
 With Me, thy risen Lord this day, 
 And be with Me in Paradise,' 
 Beside the cross He bade me stay ; 
 He met me in the garden's gloom, 
 
88 QUID DIXIT, MARIA? 
 
 But to that garden, sweet and dim, 
 Or through its angel-guarded gate, 
 He sent me not ! I wait for Him 
 Beside His cross, beside His tomb ; 
 I wait for Him, my soul doth wait, 
 And by the cross I will abide, 
 And keep the word my Lord hath given. 
 Except the cross and Him who died 
 Upon it, now in earth or Heaven 
 What own I, claim I ? now below 
 I seek no further, here is woe 
 Assuaged for ever ; now above 
 I look no longer ; here is love ! 
 
CbJtD l^art. 
 
 " 3 am ctucifien toit|) ffiiiist, ttt\)tti^eU00 31 Kbe ; 
 eet not 3[, But €l)xist libet!) in me, anti ^e life bf^it^ 31 
 notn libe in tlje fleet; 31 Kbe be t|)e fait|) of tfte Son of 
 (Son, b)|)a loben me, ant cabe lE^imself fot me." 
 
 GaJatians ii, 20. 
 
L'ENYOI. 
 
 ' I '0 me how many tasks 
 
 Love gave in youth, and I was well content ; 
 Only to stand and wait a lover asks ; 
 
 And yet my spirit, bent 
 
 By pain and strife, forewent 
 
 Its steadfast service long 
 
 Ere the sweet evensong. 
 
 Yet oft will Love return 
 And sweetly talk with me, most like^ a friend 
 Austere and proved, whose words, perchance, are stem, 
 Yet in whose eyes (that while he speaketh bend 
 To meet my own) such gentleness I find, 
 That all his speech seems pitiful and kind. 
 
 Love saith to me, "Eepent;" 
 Love saith to me, " Believe;" 
 Love sayeth oft-times, " Grieve 
 That thou hast little lent. 
 That thou hast little given. 
 To Him, thy Lord in Heaven, 
 And when He cometh what wilt Thou receive ?" 
 
92 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 Love sayeth to me, " Pray 
 
 That thou mayst meet that day 
 Desired yet feared ; " and ofit-timea Love again 
 Bepeata these words, and oh ! my spirit then. 
 
 What sayest thou ? "I say 
 
 To all Love sayeth. Tea, 
 Yea evermore, and evermore Amen ! " 
 

 THE SUN-FLOWER. 
 
 TILL the slow daylight pale, 
 A ■willing slave, fast bound to one above, 
 I wait ; he seems to speed, and change, and fail ; 
 I know he will not move. 
 
 I lift my golden orb 
 To his, tmsmitten when the roses die. 
 And ia my broad and burning disk absorb 
 
 The splendonrs of his eye. 
 
 His eye is like a clear 
 Keen flame that searches through me ; I must 
 
 droop 
 Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere ; 
 
 To mine he cannot stoop. 
 
94 THE SUN-FLOWER. 
 
 I win not my desire, 
 And yet I fail not of my gnerdon ; lo ! 
 A thousand flickering darts and tongues of fire 
 
 Aronnd me spread and glow ; 
 
 All ray'd and crown' d, I miss 
 No queenly state until the summer wane, 
 The hours flit by ; none knoweth of my bliss, 
 
 And none has guess'd my pain ; 
 
 I follow one above, 
 I track the shadow of his steps, I grow 
 Most like to him. I love 
 
 Of all that shines below. 
 
SITA. 
 
 Sita, the divine spouse of Bama, is torn from him hy evil 
 genii, under whose power she long remains. When after a pro- 
 tracted separation, Sita is again restored to Bama, he turns from 
 her coldly, under the idea that during her cruel bondage and 
 long wanderings she may have met with contamination. She 
 appeals to the ordeal of fire and flings herself within it, adjuring 
 the flame, as searching all things, to bear witness to her purity. 
 The fire restores her "faultless, pure, immaculate, one who has 
 never offended against her lord in speech, in heart, in eyes." 
 
 DEATH-SMITTEN with a look 
 From him she loved, of doubt and question 
 cold, 
 She tum'd from, him she loved without rebuke, 
 And stood amazed ; then spake out keen and 
 
 bold, 
 As one whose grief already is too old 
 For fond reproach : 
 
 " All pain except this pain, 
 To live and meet his cold averted eye ; 
 All shame, except his lofty, still disdain ; 
 
96 SITA. 
 
 All otter outrage schemed 'twist earth and sky 
 I have endtired for ages, still upborne 
 By thought of Rama's love ; I meet his scorn ; 
 Come Fire, and end this iindream'd agony." 
 
 And even while she spake 
 She fell a flame within the flame, as light 
 As melts upon the stream a snowy flake 
 The fire sent forth — a thousand lambent bright 
 Swift flickering tongues, each one that did pro- 
 claim 
 Her pure and stainless, " Sita, free from hla/me." 
 The flame caress'd her scarlet vesture's pride, 
 No flower that garlanded her forehead shrank, 
 Her bosom glow'd ; as one that doth deride 
 Her fate she stood serene as though she drank 
 The flame's fierce breath. 
 
 Then sang she, " Oh, thou keen 
 Attesting flame ! Thou caUest me by name. 
 Thou sayest to me. Welcome, free from blame 
 In thought, word, deed, unstain'd ! and yet the 
 
SITA. 97 
 
 Were I, still Sita, still a blameless Queen, 
 Hadst ThoTi too join'd witli all to work me shame ! 
 
 Had all on Earth made cause 
 With all in Heaven to drag me unto ill, 
 I had been ever pure, and to the laws 
 That bound me ever true ! rememb'ring still, 
 Rama's deep eyes, and aU the heaven we shared 
 'Mid the high hUls, in many a balmy cleft, 
 And chasm the warm thunder scarce had left. 
 Tea ! let my spirit to its depths be bared. 
 Still were I pure ! though ages past away, 
 And found me still the demon's scoff and prey 
 Through, spells accurst, or left me drifted, driven 
 Through Hell's wide vaults ; still trampled on, 
 
 despised. 
 My soul was his, although our lives were riven. 
 Tea, scom'd and outraged, agonized, abhorr'd, 
 StUl I was Rama's love, and he was Sita's Lord ! 
 
 And Thou, oh, champion, late 
 And sure ! Thou Fire that, searching aU thiugs, 
 
 dost proclaim 
 Me pure and stainless ! Sita, free from blame ! 
 
 H 
 
98 SITA. 
 
 Hadst thou, too, leagued thyself with iron Fate, 
 
 Hadst join'd the cruel earth and bitter sky 
 
 To leave forsaken Sita desolate ; 
 
 Then from itself unto itself my soul 
 
 Would witness to the whole ; 
 
 Still to itself my heart would testify 
 
 And prove me Sita ! Sita still the pride 
 
 Of Heaven, the cherish' d Bride 
 
 Of Rama, fair and uncontaminate." 
 
 She ceased, nor to the sky 
 Nor sun appealing turned ; nor yet the eye 
 Of Rama sought ; but stood as one compelled 
 To speak the words she utter'd, not in pride, 
 Nor wrath, nor scorn, but even as impell'd 
 By stedfast truth. So stood she, self-upheld, 
 And before all the worlds, self-justified. 
 
EXPECTANS EXPEOTAVI. 
 
 ' I ""HOU gavest me no kiss, 
 
 -^ Jesus, my Master ! oft I sadly thouglit 
 Perchance Thou choosest to be found unsought ; 
 And I was ever seeking ! yet in this 
 I cannot change, and even should I miss 
 Thee on thy way, yet here I will abide, 
 And track thy foot-prints to the dark stream's 
 side. 
 
 Thou gavest unto me 
 No sign ! I knew no loving secret, told 
 As oft to men beloved, and I must hold 
 My peace when these would speak of converse 
 
 high; 
 Jesus, my Master, yet I would be nigh 
 When these would speak, and in the words 
 
 rejoice, 
 Of them who listen to the Bridegroom's voice. 
 
lOO EXPECT ANS EXPECT AVI. 
 
 ThoTi gavest imto me 
 
 No goodly gift, no pearl of price nntold, 
 
 No signet-ring, no ruby sliut in gold, 
 
 No chain around my neck to wear for pride, 
 
 For love no token in my breast to Mde ; 
 
 Tea ! these, perchance, from out my careless hold 
 
 Had slipped, perchance some robber shrewd and 
 
 bold 
 Had snatch'd them from me ! so Thou didst provide 
 For me, my Master kind, froTn day to day ; 
 And in this world, Thine Inn, Thou badst me 
 
 stay. 
 And saidst, — " What Thou spendest, I will pay." 
 
 I never heard Thee say 
 " Bring forth the robe for this My son, the best," 
 Thou gavest not to me, as unto guest 
 Approved, a festal mantle rich and gay ; 
 Still singiag, ever singing, in the cold 
 Thou leavest me, without Thy Door to stay ; 
 Now the Night draweth on, the Day is old, 
 And Thou hast never said, — " Come in, my 
 
 Friend,"— 
 Yet once, yea twice, methinks thy love did send 
 
EXPECT ANS EXPECT AVI. 
 
 101 
 
 A secret message, — " Bless'd tmto the end 
 Are they that love and they that still endure." 
 Jesus, my Saviour, take to Thee Thy poor, 
 Take home Thy humble Friend. 
 
ELECTIOK 
 
 WHO shall the secret learn 
 Of Thine exclusion stem ? 
 Thy word, thy world write bitter things and plain. 
 Tet doth the heart appeal, 
 From lore their books unseal, 
 And ask, " Can aught that lives love, suffer, yearn 
 
 Pain shall my witness be 
 That I am loved by Thee ; 
 Before Thy worlds were framed, within Thy 
 Book 
 Were all my members -writ; 
 Upon my substance, yet 
 Unfashion'd, Thou didst look : 
 Then from Thy breath was lit 
 A farnace, deep and vast ; 
 Yet didst thou weigh the blast 
 
ELECTION. 103 
 
 The while Thou feedest the keen flame, and see 
 The sum of things Thou didst prepare for me. 
 
 Need shall my witness be 
 
 That I am loved of Thee ; 
 No work of Thine, my God, is from Thee thrown 
 With cEireless hand ! sun, moon, and steadfast 
 
 star. 
 And wave that moans and strives against its bar 
 Is held to Thee ! the moss unto its stone. 
 Thou takest care for all ! the spider clings 
 And lays her hold in palaces of kings, 
 The fierce beasts roam by night, uncouth and 
 
 wild 
 And yet, beloved. Thou wilt not leave Thy child ; 
 
 Thou wilt not break the reed 
 
 Which Thou hast bruised ; the vine 
 
 Unclasp, that seeks to twine 
 Around the elm, nor bid its tendrils bleed ; 
 
 Nor win Thy soul reject 
 
 Him whom Thou dost elect 
 To be Thine own through weakness, search, and 
 need. 
 
104 ELECTION. 
 
 LoTe shall my ■witness be 
 
 That I am loved of Thee : 
 The red pomegranate bnrsts not till it shows 
 Within its breast the dark, well-ripen' d seed ; 
 The heart most nigh to breaking learns and 
 
 knows 
 The folness of its wealth through very need ; 
 When fire is kindled on the earth it glows 
 In highest Heaven ; none ran nncaU'd, none love 
 Unloved ; below, above, 
 Thy works are many, but Thy Name is One : 
 
 Who speaks of doom, of Fate 
 
 Thou dost predestinate. 
 Through Love the soul that loves to be Thine 
 
 Thou hast given me a heart to desire. 
 Thou hast given me a soul to aspire, 
 A spirit to question and plead ; 
 I ask not what Thou hast decreed ; 
 I think but of love and of need ; 
 
ELECTION. 105 
 
 ThoTi art rich, TLou art kind, Thou art free ; 
 
 What joy shall be failing to me 
 
 Whom Thou lovest ? Thy smile and Thy kifis 
 
 Can give me back all that I miss, 
 
 In Thy presence is falness of bliss : 
 
 I ask not its nature ! I know 
 
 It is life, it is youth, it is love. 
 
 It is all that is wanting below. 
 
 It is all that is waiting above. 
 
 Is it peace that I crave ? is it rest ? 
 Is it love that would bless and be blest ? 
 AU, all that Thou takest away. 
 Thou canst give me again, in a day, 
 In an hour, in a moment ! Thy hand 
 Is full, and I open my breast 
 For the flower of my soul to expand ! 
 
BURIED, BUT NOT DEAD. 
 
 " What now dost thou bury 
 
 " So softly and still f 
 
 " Oh ! this is tlie grave 
 
 " Of my own proud mil." 
 " I bid it sleep softly in Death's little room, 
 " And my hopes, too, I bury with it in the tornb." 
 
 De la Motte Fouque 
 
 T) BTWIXT the light of the rising sun, 
 -^"^ And the light of the waning moon. 
 Along the grassy forest path, 
 
 Fair Knight, thou speedest soon ! 
 A chUl faint Dawn is on the sky, 
 
 And through the wood a breath 
 Runs fresh, yet cold as is the sigh 
 
 That comes 'twixt life and death. 
 
 The forest paths are green and lone, 
 
 The forest shade is deep, 
 The secrets on its stillness thrown 
 
 It knoweth well to keep ; 
 
BURIED, BUT NOT DEAD. 107 
 
 And some will seek tlie forest glade, 
 
 A deadly strife to end ; 
 And some there are will seek its shade, 
 
 To meet a gentle friend. 
 
 Tet on this brow I read no frown 
 
 Of foeman's vengeful ire, 
 And in this qniet eye cast down 
 
 No light of soft desire ; 
 Not thus they look who meet by night 
 
 Beneath the blossom'd thorn, 
 And cry, when breaks the Eastern light, 
 
 " How quickly comes the morn ! " 
 
 A little bird upon the bough 
 
 Sang clear, a light breeze stirr'd 
 
 The thick, dark summer leaves, but now 
 I know not if he heard 
 
 The whisper of the summer leaves. 
 The carol of the bird. 
 
 A little brook beside his way 
 
 Ran chafing, chiding long ; 
 I know not if he marked its play, 
 
 Or heard its ceaseless song ; 
 
108 BURIED, BUT NOT DEAD. 
 
 At length, he near'd a green, smooth place 
 
 Within the thickest shade, 
 A still, fair, solitary place. 
 
 For quiet spirits made. 
 
 And ia that solitary place 
 
 He knelt and pray'd to God. 
 I saw no mound beneath his knees, 
 
 No heaving of the sod : 
 Unstirr'd I saw the grasses lie, 
 
 TJnstur'd the daisies wave ; 
 A pleasant spot, and yet I knew 
 
 He knelt upon a grave. 
 
 He lifted up his steel-clad hands, 
 
 " I bring to Thee the first, 
 I bring to Thee," he said, " the last 
 
 Fond hope that I have nursed ; 
 The wish that strengthen'd with my strength, 
 
 And with my being grew ; 
 And the last sweet, silent dream that crept 
 
 Close to my heart, and drew 
 So soft a breath that if it slept 
 
 Or woke, I scarcely knew. 
 
BURIED, BUT NOT DEAD. 109 
 
 On eartli, in Heaven, wliorQ have I now 
 
 But thee, — in death, in life ? 
 Oh, bind my spirit with the vow 
 
 That makes an end of strife ! 
 
 " The Dead above their dead may waU, 
 
 The living live to Thee, 
 Oh, First and Last ! Thou dost not fail 
 
 For Thou art strong ; and we, 
 Thy little ones, are weak and frail. 
 
 And Thou, our Lord, art free, 
 Ajid we with heavy bands are bound ; 
 
 But now of bond or free 
 I reck not, — bitter turns to sweet, — 
 
 I see Thy hands, I see Thy feet ; 
 My dearest Lord, I see 
 
 Thy wounded heart ! Oh, be Thou found 
 
 For First and Last to me ! " 
 
 He rose and went upon his way ; 
 
 A moving to and fro 
 Was in the woods, as of a calm. 
 
 Strong wind that gathers slow : 
 
no BURIED, BUT NOT DEAD. 
 
 No dew lay on the grassy dell, 
 The sky was cloudless-clear, 
 Yet from the clear, bright heavens there fell 
 A solitary tear. 
 
 And through the woven boughs — I saw 
 
 The glory of the sky 
 Look down, — I saw the forest flowers 
 
 In quiet bloom and die, — 
 I saw the lowly grasses bend, 
 
 I saw the daisies wave ; 
 Oh ! Jesus, loving to the end. 
 
 Thou knowest of that grave ! 
 
RECEIVING. 
 
 " Non vox sed votum, non ohordula musica sed cor, 
 N^on damans sed amans, cantat in aure Dei." 
 
 MY heart is fixed on One above, — 
 To win. His smile, to please His eyes 
 My heart is fain : becanse I love, 
 I serve, — nor yet with tears and sighs ; 
 By patient duty love nnist rise, — 
 And late and early, far and near 
 I sought Him gifts ; to Him are dear 
 The thiags that others still despise. 
 
 I sought for Him in Spring-time cold ; 
 
 The trembling palm that comes in haste, 
 
 The little crocns all ia gold. 
 
 The slender snow- drop, and the bold 
 
 Mezereon, on its leafless stem. 
 
 Pair things that do not fear to waste 
 
 Their gentle sonls ! and after them 
 
112 RECEIVING. 
 
 Another store I cliaiiced to find 
 Of things forgotten, left behind. 
 
 Some soft white fleece by briers torn 
 From off the flock, — some ear of corn 
 Dropt careless from the gleaner's breast. 
 The last red berry on the thorn, 
 Orjrize of some forsaken nest. 
 
 There came on earth a weary time ; 
 If this be Antumn, where is now 
 The fruit npon the laden bough, 
 The harvest redd'ning in the broad 
 Calm sunshine, where the squirrels hoard, 
 The winding clear of hunter's horn ? 
 Leaves only, wither'd leaves I found ; 
 A mournful silence, mournful sound 
 Of wind that rustled through the sere, 
 Stark boughs, and from the shrunken ear 
 Shook out the thin and blighted corn. 
 
 But while I moum'd thereat, more clear 
 Than song of bird at Autumn eve, 
 A voice was borne upon mine ear, 
 
RECEIVING. 113 
 
 A voice that said, " Why wilt thou grieve, 
 And must I still from thee receive ? 
 How hast thou learnt which pleaseth best 
 The gift thou bringest, or the free 
 Firm open palm held up to me ? 
 The less is of the greater blest. 
 
 " Bememher what on eavth I spake." 
 " Oh then," I said, " at this Thy word 
 I take Thee now, through zeal I erred, 
 Through love, that bids me now confess 
 My fault ; to give be Thine ! to bless 
 Is Thine ; dear Lord, to Thee I leave 
 The greater blessing ! with the less, 
 So well content I will not grieve 
 From Thee for ever to receive, 
 
 " And still receive ! and never cease 
 To gaze on all this wealth of Thine, 
 To joy in aU Thy flocks' iacrease. 
 Far more than if my cup with wine 
 And oil ran o'er, and store of wheat 
 In finest flour, and honey sweet 
 From out the stony rock were mine ! 
 I 
 
114 RECEIVING. 
 
 " ' To give than to receive more blest ! ' 
 Thou saidest. Oh, Thou Giver free ! 
 Good measure, shaken down and press'd 
 Together, now I ask from Thee ; 
 Oh ! give to me, dear Lord, and still 
 Increase Thy boons ! make broad the place 
 Where Thou dost dwell in me, and fill 
 My hands with gifts, my heart with grace ; 
 But let me look upon Thy face. 
 What need to mourn if Thou on mine 
 But little comeliness should trace 
 When love can give me all of Thine ? 
 The loved are fair, the loved are dress'd 
 In garments rich and fresh and rare. 
 Oh ! bless Thou me and I am blest. 
 Oh ! love Thou me and I am fair ! " 
 
DECLENSION AND REVIVAL. 
 
 " From Me isithv fruit found." — Hosea xiv. 8. 
 
 "TA IE to thy root, s-VNfeet flower ! 
 
 -■-^ If so God wills, die even to thy root ; 
 Live there awhile an uncomplaining, mute, 
 Blank life, with darkness Wrapp'd about thy head, 
 And fear not for the silence round thee spread, 
 This is no grave, though thou among the dead 
 Art counted, but the Hiding-place of Power ; 
 Die to thy root, sweet flower ! 
 
 Spring from thy root, sweet flower ! 
 
 When so God wills, spring even from ilvy root; 
 
 Send through the -earth's warm breast a quicken'd 
 
 shoot. 
 Spread to the sunshine, spread unto the shower. 
 And lift into the sunny air thy dower 
 Of bloom and odour ; life is on the plains 
 And in the woods a sound of buds and rains 
 
116 
 
 DECLENSION AND REVIVAL. 
 
 That sing together ; lo ! the winter's cold 
 Is past ! sweet scents reviye, thick buds tmfold ; 
 Be then, too, willing in the Day of Power, 
 Spring from thy root, sweet flower ! 
 
VESPERS. 
 
 "\ T 7 SEN I have said my quiet say, 
 
 • » WTien I have sung my little song, 
 How sweetly, sweetly dies the day 
 The TaUey and the hill along ; 
 How sweet the summons, " Come away" 
 That calls me from the busy throng ! 
 
 I thought beside the water's flow 
 Awhile to lie beneath the leaves, 
 I thought in Autumn's harvest glow 
 To rest my head upon the sheaves ; 
 But, lo ! methinks the day was brief 
 And cloudy ; flower, nor fruit, nor leaf 
 I bring, and yet accepted, free, 
 And blest, my Lord, I come to Thee. 
 
 What matter now for promise lost. 
 Through blast of Spring or Summer rains ! 
 What matter now for purpose crost, 
 For broken hopes and wasted pains ; 
 
118 VESPEBS. 
 
 What if the olive little yields, 
 What if the grape be blighted ? Thine 
 The com upon a thousand fields. 
 Upon a thousand hills the vine. 
 
 Thon lovest still the poor ; oh, blest 
 In poverty beloved to be ! 
 Less lowly is my choice confess'd, 
 I love the rich in loving Thee ! 
 My spirit bare before Thee stands, 
 I bring no gift, I ask no sign, 
 I come to Thee with empty hands 
 The surer to be fill'd from Thiae '. 
 
" THE MEEK SHALL INCREASE THEIR 
 JOT IN THE LORD." 
 
 SO spake the hoary thyme, 
 Half hidden in the grass : 
 I watch from morning prime 
 Until my Lord shall pass. 
 
 How bright beneath the sun, 
 How sweet within the glade, 
 
 The flow'rets ope, each one 
 Beloved by Him who made 
 
 His flowers that live in light, 
 His flowers that live in shade. 
 
 The primroses are pale, 
 
 Tet fair ; the violet grows 
 Beneath her leafy veil. 
 
 And be she pale none knows, 
 Or be she fair, so sweet her sonl that over- 
 flows. 
 
120 THE MEEK SHALL 
 
 But all my head is strew'd 
 
 With ashes grey ; and bent 
 Beneath the footfall rude, 
 Steals forth my timid scent, 
 Crush'd from a leaf that curls its wound to 
 hide content. 
 
 Why should my Lord delight 
 
 In me ? Behold how fair 
 His garden is ! How bright 
 His roses blowing there ; 
 His lilies aU like queens, tljat know not toil 
 
 In white calm peace on high 
 
 Each rears a blossom'd rod ; 
 The gentian low doth lie. 
 Yet lifts from up the sod 
 An eye of steadfast blue, that looks up 
 straight to God. 
 
 I wait my Lord to greet, 
 
 I can but love and sigh ; 
 I watch his eye to meet. 
 
INCREASE THEIR JOY. 121 
 
 He can but pass me by ; 
 And if his hasty feet 
 Should cmsh me, it were sweet 
 
 Beneath his feet to die. 
 
 My Love, my Lord, has gone 
 Down to his garden fair. 
 
 To tell o'er his roses, one by one, 
 And to gather lilies there ; 
 
 Now will I rise and sing 
 A song which I heme made. 
 
 Unto my Lord the King, 
 Nor will I he afrmd 
 
 To ask him of his flowers that spring 
 In sunshine a/nd in shade. 
 
 " Oh, what a/re these roses bright, 
 That in thy gan-lamd Mow ? 
 
 These roses red as Hood, 
 
 These roses white as snow ?" 
 
122 THE MEEK SHALL 
 
 " These blood-red roses grew 
 On a field witli battle dyed ; 
 
 These snow-white roses strew 
 A path that is not wide ; 
 
 None seek that path but they who seek 
 Him who was crucified ! " 
 
 " Oh, what a/re these lilies tipp'd 
 With fire, that sword-Uhe glea/m ? 
 
 Oh, what a/re these lilies dipp'd 
 As in the jpale moon-hea/m. 
 
 That qvmeir with wnsieadfast light. 
 And shine as through a dream. ? " 
 
 " These fiery spirits pass'd 
 
 From earth through sword and flame ; 
 These qtiiet sonls at last 
 
 Through patience overcame : 
 These shiue like stars on high, and these 
 
 Have left no trace nor name ; 
 I brad them ia one wreath, because 
 
 Their triumph was the same." 
 
INCREASE THEIR JOY. 123 
 
 " Oh, what wre these flowers that wake 
 
 So cheerful to the morn, 
 All wet with tears of ea/rly dew ; 
 
 And these that droop forlorn, 
 With heavy d/rops of wight d/rencVd through? " 
 " These little flowers of cheerful hue 
 Familiar hy the wayside grew, 
 
 And these among the com. 
 
 " And these, that o'er a ruin wave 
 
 Their crimson flag, in fight 
 Were wounded sore, yet still are braye 
 
 To greet the scent and sight ; 
 And these I found upon a grave, 
 
 All wet with drops of night. 
 
 " And some I have that will unfold 
 
 When night is dusk and stUl, 
 And some I have that keep their hold 
 
 Upon the wind-swept hUl ; 
 These shrink not from the summer heat. 
 
 They do not fear the cold. 
 And all of these I know for sweet, 
 
 For patient and for bold." 
 
124 THE MEEK, ETC. 
 
 " Thou hea/rest flowers withm thy homd. 
 
 Thou wearest on thy breast 
 A flower ; now tell me which of these 
 
 Thy flowers thou lovest best ; 
 Which wilt thou gather to thy hea/rt 
 
 Beloved above the rest?" 
 
 " Should I not love my flowers, 
 My flowers that bloom and pine, 
 
 Unseen, nnsought, tmwatch'd for lionrs 
 By any eyes but m.me ? 
 
 " Shonld I not love my flowers ? 
 
 I love my lilies tall, 
 My marigolds with constant eyes. 
 Bach flower that blows, each flower that dies 
 
 To me, I love them all. 
 
 " I gather to a heavenly bower 
 
 My roses fair and sweet, 
 I hide within my breast the flower 
 
 That grows beside m/y feet." 
 
CHRIST'S GARLAND. 
 
 ' I ""HE world with stately tread 
 ■*• Moves down tlie terrace walk, 
 
 To pluck, from garden bed, 
 
 Prom off its dainty stalk 
 
 The rose, the silken rose — the rose whose splen- 
 dour 
 
 Is but the luxury of light grown tender ; 
 
 The rose, that makes the very summer round her 
 
 More warm, more bUssfal only to have found her ; 
 
 The golden sunbeams ia their falling bless her, 
 
 The winds that steal her balmy breath caress her ; 
 
 She breathes, she blooms, she dies in joy; her 
 duty 
 
 Is to be fair and glad ; her life is beauty ; 
 
 Love wooes her, wins her, pleasure wUl not leave 
 her. 
 
 The sharp thorn guards her well, but does not 
 grieve her. 
 
 To all she giveth free, yet none bereave her. 
 
126 chuist's garland. 
 
 Ho for the rose ! but by the bitter sea, 
 
 Tom by the vexing gale, and by the spray 
 
 O'er-wash'd, the rosemary 
 
 Lives on from day to day 
 
 With deep strange scent, that yet 
 
 Cleaves, like a vain regret ; 
 
 TJnblessing she, unbless'd, 
 
 Unwoo'd and uncaress'd, 
 
 Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me. 
 
 The lover seeks some fair 
 
 Exotic bloom that breathes throngh leaf and stem 
 
 Its soul upon the heavy weighted air, 
 
 The myrtle dark, the rich geranium, 
 
 Are his ; all blossoms delicate and rare ; 
 
 His too are violets dim, 
 
 And sweet and hid ! for him 
 
 The sweetbrier, and the woodbine dusk that run 
 
 Their wild warm souls in one. 
 
 Till in their clasp and in their kiss unending, 
 
 None knows, so close, so kind, so sure their 
 
 blending, 
 Which is the sweeter, which of them the fairer, 
 And which of bliss is giver, which is sharer ; 
 
CHBIST'S GARLAND. 127 
 
 But by the common way 
 
 Grow flowers that are not gay 
 
 Nor sweet like these, and if ye chance to name 
 
 them 
 Weeds, only weeds, ye will not seem to blame 
 
 them ; 
 Weeds, only weeds, perchance, these flowers may 
 
 be, 
 Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me. 
 
 The child beneath his feet 
 Finds flowers, so many flowers, 
 He counts by them his fleet. 
 Bright days' unlingering hours ; 
 So many, that for best 
 He takes the nearest still. 
 And stUl hath flowers, his breast 
 And clasping hands to fill ; 
 He seeks the moor where bums 
 The furze ; the scented plume 
 Of meadow sweet, the bloom 
 Of May, the hedge-row ferns ; 
 And all his flowers are cool 
 And fresh ! above the pool 
 
128 CHRIST S GARLAND. 
 
 They lean, or in the pleasant pastnres blow, 
 
 Yet by the ruin's edge, 
 
 And on the crater's ledge, 
 
 And by the glacier, nndemeath the snow, 
 
 Upon the dreary hill. 
 
 On cottage window sUl, 
 
 Are other flowers unsought, nnsting that be, 
 
 Tet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me ! 
 
VEJSn, VBNI, EMMANUEL! 
 
 " Then went out the inhabitants of the town of Mansoul with 
 haste to the green trees and to the meadows, to gather boughs 
 and flowers, therewith to strew the streets against their Prince, 
 the son of Shaddai, should come ; they also made garlands and 
 other fine works, to betoken how joyful they were, and should 
 be, to receive their Emmanuelinto Mansoul; they also prepared 
 for his coming what music the town might afford, that they 
 might play before him to the palace, his habitation.'' 
 
 Buntam's Holy War. 
 
 WHO Cometh now from Edom's heiglit, 
 From Bozrah's rock-girt fortress hold ? 
 A conqueror, travelling in His might, 
 A kingly champion, long foretold. 
 
 Alone, npon Thy way, alone 
 Thou comest from the hills of pride ; 
 And with Thee of Thy people, none 
 The triumph share, the spoil divide. 
 
130 VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL: 
 
 Thou sawest there was none to aid, 
 No SaTionr for our race beheld ; 
 Thy vengeance then its pathway made. 
 And Thine own fury Thee upheld. 
 
 Ride on, ride on, elect of God, 
 Thy feet are on the necks of Kings ; 
 Thy glittering spear, Thiae iron rod, 
 Shall guide Thy hand to fearful things. 
 
 Why art Thou in Thy garments red ? 
 Thy feet have track'd the crimson stair 
 That leadeth from the hUls of dread. 
 Prom fierce red-handed Esau's lair. 
 
 A fiery flush around Th'ee Ues, 
 In fire behind Thee sinks the sun, 
 Tet is Thy vesture dipped in dyes 
 Prom ruddy sky and soil* unwon. 
 
 Thy robes are sprinkled as with wine. 
 And purpled with a costly stain ; 
 As one that treadeth out the vine 
 Thy feet have trampled on the slain. 
 
 * See Note 2. 
 
VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL: 131 
 
 As one who treadeth on the grape, 
 Thy feet on princes and on powers 
 Have trampled ! let not one escape, 
 But crush to earth Thy foes and ours. 
 
 Tea ! beat them small before the wind, 
 And smite and scatter them to dust ; 
 To Thy swifb chariot firmly bind 
 The cruel Lords of hate and lust. 
 
 Ride on, Thy mission to fulfil ; 
 And let the promptings of Thy hand 
 Be terror, wrath, and anguish still. 
 Till not a foe Thy might withstand. 
 
 The ancient Dragon in the sea 
 Thy sharp and biting sword shall feel ; 
 And on the serpent's head shall be 
 The vengeance of Thy bruised heel. 
 
 And forth Thy keen and cleaving darts 
 Shall fly with sure incessant aim ; 
 Till all Thine arrows reach the hearts 
 Of them that wrought Thy people shame. 
 
132 VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL I 
 
 Then come to heal Thy people's smart, 
 And with Thee bring Thy captive train; 
 Come Saviour of the world and heart, 
 Come, mighty Victor over pain ! 
 
 And let Thy champing war-steed browse 
 Upon the green and springing vine ; 
 And feed on the young olive boughs, — 
 Thou wUt not hurt the oil and wine. 
 
 And let our Earth's wild story cease 
 Its broken tale of wrong and tears ; 
 Come, Lord of Salem, Prince of Peace, 
 And bring again our vanish'd years ! 
 
 Thou bearest in Thy hand a book, 
 None other may its clasps unseal ; 
 No eyes but mine and Thine may look 
 On what its crowded lines reveal. 
 
VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL! 133 
 
 Yet fair, gold letter'd, now within 
 Each liae another liae I see, 
 The tale of all that might have been ; 
 And Thou wUt read it o'er with me ; 
 
 And with Thy guiding help, I pierce 
 Life's labyrinth now no longer vain ; 
 The love that frees the universe 
 Hath made its broken story plain. 
 
 Thou wearest on Thy kingly breast 
 A little flower that faded soon, 
 A flower unwooed and uncaress'd 
 By summer in its golden noon. 
 
 A flower beside a stream that grew 
 In mossy wood-walks, dank and wUd, — 
 The first of all the flowers I knew. 
 The treasure of a lonely child. 
 
 Within Thine eye divine I read 
 A love exact, a pity sure, 
 Minute and tender, taking heed 
 Of all that human hearts endure. 
 
134 VENI, VENT, EMMANUEL' 
 
 That blends within its mighty scope 
 Thy vast design, our feeble plan, 
 And brings again each faded hope, 
 In giving back his God to Man. 
 
 And art Thou come with us to dwell, 
 
 Our Prince, our Gruide, our Love, our Lord ? 
 
 And is thy name Emmanuel, 
 
 Grod present with His world restored ? 
 
 The world is glad for Thee ! the rude 
 WUd moor, the city's crowded pen; 
 Bach waste, each peopled solitude, 
 Becomes a home for happy men. 
 
 The heart is glad for Thee ! it knows 
 None now shall bid it err or mourn ; 
 And o'er its desert breaks the rose 
 In triumph o'er the grieving thorn. 
 
VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL: 135 
 
 Thou bringest all again ; witli Thee 
 Is light, is space, is breadth and room 
 For each thing fair, beloved, and free, 
 To have its hour of life and bloom. 
 
 Each heart's deep instinct unconfess'd ; 
 Each lowly wish, each daring claim ; 
 All, all that life hath long repress'd. 
 Unfolds, undreading blight or blame. 
 
 Thy reign eternal will not cease ; 
 Thy years are sure, and glad, and slow ; 
 Within Thy mighty world of peace 
 The humblest flower hath leave to blow, 
 
 And spread its leaves to meet the sun, 
 And drink within its soul the dew ; 
 The child's sweet laugh like light may run 
 Through life's long day, and still be true ; 
 
 The maid's fond sigh, the lover's kiss, 
 The firm warm clasp of constant friend ; 
 And nought shall fail, and nought shall miss 
 Its blissful aim, its blissful end. 
 
136 
 
 VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL: 
 
 The world is glad for Thee ! the heart 
 Is glad for Thee ! and all is well, 
 And fixed, and siire, because Thou aet. 
 Whose name is call'd Emmanuel. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 "Note 1. Page 1. 
 
 " And thou 
 Frail wind-swept flower that in the dim 
 Green woods must fade." 
 
 The wood anemone, or wind-flower, a nymph beloved by 
 Zephyr. This aroused the jealousy of Flora, who banished her 
 from her court, and changed her into a flower, which always 
 blooms before the return of Spring She is meanwhile unpro- 
 tected in her too early bloom, and wooed by the rough north 
 wind ; which fails to win her love, but disturbs her peace and 
 causes her to fade quickly, 
 
 IfoTE 2. Page 130. 
 
 From ruddy sky and soil unwon.'' 
 
 Who is He that cometh from Bozrah? This ancient city 
 of Edom, upon which, in connection with Edom and Teman, 
 destruction has been pronounced by Gfod (see Jeremiah 
 xlix. 7 to 22; and the whole prophecy of Obadiah,) whose 
 inhabitants dwelt " in the clefts of the rocks," and the 
 " heights of the hills, and made their house" like the nests of 
 the eagles, has been identified with the modern village of 
 Busareh, among the mountains north of Petra. All travellei-s 
 in this region have been struck with the peculiarly vivid red of 
 its rocks and soil (see Stanley's glowing description), which 
 seems to give an added meaning to the expression in the text ; 
 " the dyed garments from Edom" enhance the idea of vengeance 
 having been executed in a land already tinged with the hues of 
 doom. 
 
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