^^^^^^^^Mmmmmi 
 
 A'/r:>^^^ 
 
 //y/y 
 
iviA?K iAnZ o^Av'n*.»''vo c.«T«AA.*'Vv\<^MyU 1 vUeuv.yit/> 
 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PR 6025.A853R3 
 
 The religion of humanity, and other poems 
 
 3 1924 013 652 031 
 
Ars-3 Rs 
 
THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY" 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 ANNIE MATHESON 
 
 ' They know thai never joy illwiied my brouu., 
 
 Unlinked with hope that thou ivouldstfree 
 This worldft'oni its dark slavery. 
 That tkozi O aivful Loveliness, 
 Wouldsi give ivhate'er these words cannot express." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 PERCIVAL & CO. 
 KING STREET, COVENT GARDEN 
 
 SLontion 
 1830 
 
 E. 
 
 d 
 
/\,\-) 
 
 V^l S" 
 
preface. 
 
 " The Eeligion of Humanity " will seem to many 
 but a declamatory tract. There are those whose 
 judgment I value, who will say that didactic 
 poetry, theological poetry, is not poetry at all. 
 But I will yet be brave to slip the "declama- 
 tory tract " (if so be) into the same cover with a 
 handful of very simple lyrics, that I may win for it 
 a wider and homelier audience than it could other- 
 wise have. Let those who do not like didactic 
 poetry read no further than the little songs at 
 the beginning of the volume and leave the con- 
 fession of faith to those who desire fellowship in 
 their search after the ancient answer to the 
 ancient problems. It is but the eternal afifirma- 
 tive which each of us in every generation has to 
 rediscover for himself through doubt and per- 
 sistent seeking. 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 No one who thinks to any purpose will imagine 
 that men can be saved by rhetoric : deeds are 
 more than words ; and the only poem which will 
 convert the world is that which is enacted daily 
 in the lives of God and men. Yet the lover is 
 permitted his sonnets, and he who is enamoiired 
 of some vision of Truth cannot always keep 
 silence. 
 
 " The Enthusiasm of Humanity," " the Religion 
 of Humanity," these be fine words : there is a 
 name finer still which must not be desecrated by 
 too cheap a use of it. Not always does conviction 
 touch its highest or deepest level, and it were 
 idle to suppose that the writer of the tract had 
 Jiad no late acquaintance with Doubting Castle. 
 Yet if the common experience of even the ob- 
 scurest be of value to his fellows, then is it more 
 important perhaps than any 'bygone emotion or 
 dream of beatific vision that this creed which re- 
 mains to me as a working hypothesis, finds daily 
 verification in that marvellous adjustment of the 
 general to the particular which we call human life 
 and human prayer. Divinely Human Sympathy, 
 responding to every appeal of sorrow, temptation, 
 effort, joy ; permitting pain, yet making it a means 
 of love and sacrifice ; this is the evidence which 
 underlies and justifies the faith of Christendonx 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 Having myself found a home in the Church, 
 though reverencing profoundly those who think 
 they cannot accept that Church's teaching because 
 of some scruple of conscience, I cannot but grasp 
 earnestly at whatever seems to make for that 
 ethical unity which is also catholicity, and which 
 is deeper than all intellectual differences : and 
 because among those who wished to see the 
 tract published are heretics of the heretics 
 as well as orthodox of the orthodox, I cannot 
 but hope that heresy and orthodoxy are not so 
 far apart as men suppose, and that schism is in 
 many instances not so much a fact as a misunder- 
 standing. 
 
 About the brief lyrics in the volume I have 
 felt less doubt or care. When there has come 
 the surprise and joy of discovering that some 
 httle song, the gift of happiness or of grief, 
 a message borne upon the wings of the wind, 
 has, unknown to the writer, carried comfort or 
 help to friend or stranger, then it is easy to 
 feel that no sense of artistic defect can out- 
 balance the delight of giving such unwitting 
 help. It is with regard to the more militant 
 aim of the longer poem that I have confessed 
 what led me to take upon myself the dangerous 
 responsibihty of publishing a book in which no 
 
vii PREFACE. 
 
 one perhaps feels the faultiness and incomplete- 
 ness more painfully than I do. 
 
 I wish to thank Messrs. Macmillan & Co. 
 and other publishers, and also various editors, 
 for their readiness to permit republication. 
 
fJXi^ jfatbec an5 /iDotber 
 
 3 Be&fcate tbfs asoofe 
 
T/lou art not dead, my father! Nay, 
 Still for each other -will we pray : 
 Shall prisoning creeds true love intmure, 
 Or love but in the body endure 
 And then corrupt like Mtortal clay ? — 
 
 Father^ how many a sujtshine day 
 Infields and woodlands far away 
 Cod spoke to us ! My heart is sure 
 Thou art not dead. 
 
 When long ago a child at play. 
 My rhymes to thee I used to say. 
 Thy pleasure was a joy so pure 
 That I "wrote on, of thee secure — 
 Aud thine is this last roundelay : 
 Thou art not dead. 
 
Contents. 
 
 fac et speka . 
 memory's song . 
 
 LOVE 
 
 yi A SONG FOli, WOMEN . 
 
 >^ "the last shall be first" 
 
 LIFE AND death 
 
 MRS. NASSAU SENIOR'S WORK 
 
 THE SNOW . 
 
 SLEEP .... 
 
 CHRIST'S INVITATION . 
 ^ A MEMORY .... 
 THE LONDON ALMOND-TREE 
 y. THE BEAD SOUL 
 
 THE poet's narcissus 
 AN EPILOGUE 
 SWALLOWS ... 
 
 DEAD 
 
 PRELUDE AND PARABLE 
 
 " THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY "... 
 "BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR AND KNOCK' 
 
 PAOE 
 I 
 
 3 
 
 • 5 
 
 7 
 
 9 
 
 II 
 
 15 
 17 
 '9 
 
 21 
 22 
 
 24 
 26 
 
 28 
 29 
 32 
 
 35 
 38 
 40 
 53 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TEKEL 
 
 TO A LITTLE CHILD ... . . 
 
 A CHEISTMAS CAEOL 
 
 ELISHA EAISrNG THE SHTJNAMMITE's OHILB 
 A FLOWER or THE FIELD .... 
 
 A child's VISION 
 
 QUESTION AND ANSWEE ..... 
 THE DISCIPLE IS NOT GREATER THAN HIS LORD 
 MY LITTLE ROSEBUD . .... 
 
 A FRAGMENT 
 A LITTLE SONG ... . . 
 
 A STUDY 
 
 ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST AND THE LAMB . 
 
 A PROTEST. . . 
 
 DKATH AND LIFE 
 
 WORDS . . . . 
 
 OCTOBER . 
 
 SUMMER DREAMS 
 
 PAGB 
 54 
 57 
 58 
 6o 
 
 63 
 66 
 67 
 
 72 
 
 74 
 76 
 
 79 
 80 
 
 83 
 84 
 88 
 91 
 93 
 95 
 
 SONGS FOR DIVERSE VOICES. 
 
 A LOVE-SONG . 
 
 AN ARAB LEGEND 
 
 LUCY TO EAVENSWOOD 
 
 WOEDS FOE MUSIC . 
 
 SONG 
 
 A VIOLIN-SONG. 
 
 A GREETING 
 
 101 
 102 
 
 103 
 104 
 106 
 107 
 108 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 FLOWER-FANCIES — " SWEET NANCIES ' 
 
 „ " LENT LILIES " . 
 
 SONG WRITTEN FOIl A PLAY . 
 COEYDON TO PHYLLIDA . 
 
 PAGE 
 IIO 
 
 III 
 
 114 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 NEW YEARS EVE Ilg 
 
 THREE SONNETS IN MEMORY OF ROBERT BROWNING . I20 
 
 THREE SONNETS TO MATTHEW ARNOLD . . . . 123 
 
 TWO SONNETS OF THE HARVEST 1 26 
 
 LONDON . . 128 
 
 TO WORDSWORTH 1 29 
 
 TWO SONNETS TO MY FATHER'S FRIENDS . . . 130 
 
 FAILURE . . 132 
 
 CHRISTMAS SONNET ... . -133 
 
 TWO SONNETS TO GEORGE ELIOT . . . -134 
 
 AN MEINE FREUNDIN ... . . 136 
 
 TWO SONNETS TO PICTURES I37 
 
 OMAR KHAYYAM I39 
 
 TWO SONNETS TO THOMAS CARLYLB . . . . I40 
 
 BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HAVE NOT SEEN . . . I42 
 
 TO A SNOWDROP I43 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 JESUS, THE CHILDREN ARE CALLING 
 DEAR MASTER, WHAT CAN CHILDREN DO 
 WHAT THOUGH THE SNOW BE ON THE HILL . 
 
 149 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 rAoK 
 
 FROM FRETFUL CARE AND WORLDLY STRIFE . . 153 
 
 THE LITTLE SNOWDROPS RISE . . -155 
 
 O WORD OF GOD ! WHEN EARTH IS GLAD 1 57 
 
 LORD, WHEN WE HAVE NOT ANY LIGHT . . -159 
 
 HOW SHALL WE WORSHIP THEE, O LORD ? . . 160 
 
 WHEN THROUGH LIFE'S DEWY FIELDS WE GO 162 
 
 OUR LORD BBCASIE A SERVANT . . . . 164 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 A POEM OP HALM 169 
 
 A POEM OF VICTOR HUGO (JEANNBTTE) . . 170 
 
 TWO SONNETS OP GOETHE— DIE LIEBENDE SCHREIBT 1 72 
 
 II. DIE LIEBENDE ABERMALS .... 1 73 
 
 AFTER HEINE . . . 174 
 
 A GERMAN VOLKSLIED . . -175 
 
 A BALLAD OF UHLAND .... 1 77 
 
 NAHE DES GEHEBTEN ... 1 79 
 
 LULLABY ... . . 180 
 
 AFTER HEINE .... . 182 
 
 AFTER GOETHE (A FRAGMENT OF FAUST) . 183 
 
""JTbe IReUgion of Ibumanits 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
FAC ET SPERA. 
 
 " It is not incumbent on thee to complete the -n-ork : but 
 thou must not therefore cease from it." — Talmud. 
 
 Time may have taken 
 
 The dreams that were dearest : 
 The work that lies nearest 
 
 Must not be forsaken. 
 
 Youth's joyous passion 
 
 Of faith may have left us : 
 Pain has not bereft us 
 
 Of hands that can fashion. 
 
 Obey then the Master ! 
 
 The furnace is steady, 
 
 The bruised metal ready ; 
 Strike, welding it faster ! 
 
 And when we have finished 
 Our span's breadth of action. 
 That seems but a fraction, 
 
 Dull, dwindled, diminished, 
 
FAC ET SPERA. 
 
 Then He, who is able 
 To mould it, wiU take it, 
 Oiir fragment, and make it 
 
 One link in the cable. 
 
 No hurry will speed it. 
 Yet cease not, nor tarry : 
 For this chain must carry 
 
 As long as men need it. 
 
MEMORY'S SONG. 
 " Causa fuit Pater his." — HOK. 
 
 The Earth cast off her snowy shrouds, 
 
 And overhead the skies 
 Looked down between the soft white clouds, 
 As blue as children's eyes :— 
 The breath of Spring was aU too sweet, she said, 
 Too like the Spring that came ere he was dead. 
 
 The grass began to grow that day. 
 
 The flowers awoke from steep, 
 And round her did the sunbeams play 
 Till she was fain to weep. 
 The light wiU surely blind my eyes, she said, 
 It shines so brightly still, yet he is dead. 
 
 The buds grew glossy in the sun 
 
 On many a leafless tree. 
 The little brooks did laugh and run 
 With most melodious glee, 
 O God ! they make a jocund noise, she said, 
 AU things forget him now that he is dead. 
 
MEMORY'S SONG. 
 
 The wind had from the ahnond flung 
 
 Red blossoms round her feet, 
 On hazel-boughs the catkins hung, 
 The willow blooms grew sweet — 
 Palm willows, fragrant with the Spring, she said. 
 He always found the first ; — ^but he is dead. 
 
 Right golden was the crocus flame. 
 And, touched with purest green, 
 The small white flower of stainless name 
 Above the ground was seen. 
 He used to love the white and gold, she said ; 
 The snowdrops come again, and he is dead. 
 
 I would not wish him back, she cried. 
 
 In this dark world of paiu. 
 For him the joys of life abide, 
 For me its griefs remain. 
 I would not wish him back again, she said. 
 But Spring is hard to bear now he is dead. 
 
LOVE. 
 
 A VOICE of pity strove to bless 
 In accents bountifully kind, 
 But still my grief knew no redress, 
 Grown mad and blind. 
 
 The presence made herself my slave. 
 
 Hither and thither came and went : 
 All that she had poor Kindness gave. 
 Till all was spent. 
 
 She tried to soothe and make me whole : 
 
 Her touch was torment in my pain ; 
 It froze jny heart, benumbed my soul. 
 And crazed my brain. 
 
 At last, her duty aU fulfilled, 
 
 She turned with cheerful ease away. 
 Yet would have lingered, had I wiUed 
 That she should stay. 
 
LOVE. 
 
 And lo ! there knelt, where she had stood, 
 
 One, ■wistfiil as a child might be, 
 Who hlushed at her own hardihood 
 In helping me. 
 
 She said no word, she only taimed 
 
 Her passionate sweet eyes on mine. 
 Until within my sorrow burned 
 A bliss divine. 
 
 And in that gaze I woke once more 
 
 To earth beneath and heaven above : — 
 This was not Kindness as before, 
 But only Love. 
 
A SONG FOR WOMEN. 
 
 Within a dreary narrow room 
 That looks upon a noisome street, 
 Half fainting with, the stifling heat 
 A starving girl works out her doom. 
 Yet not the less in God's sweet air 
 The little birds sing free of care. 
 And haiuthorns blossom everywhere. 
 
 Swift ceaseless toil scarce wins her bread : 
 From early dawn till twilight falls, 
 Shut in by four dull ugly walls. 
 The hours crawl round with murderous tread. 
 And all the while, in some still place, 
 Where intertwining boughs embrace, 
 The blackbirds build, time flies apace. 
 
 With envy of the folk who die. 
 Who may at last their leisure take, 
 Whose longed-for sleep none roughly wake. 
 Tired hands the restless needle ply. 
 
 But far and wide in meadows green 
 The golden buttercups are seen. 
 And reddening sorrel nods between. 
 
A SONG FOR WOMEN. 
 
 Too pure and proud to soil her soul, 
 Or stoop to basely gotten gain, 
 By days of changeless want and pain 
 The seamstress earns a prisoner's dole. 
 While in the peaceful fields the sheep 
 Feed, quiet ; and through heaven's hlue deep 
 The silent cloud^ings stainless sweep. 
 
 And if she be alive or dead 
 
 That weary woman scarcely knows, 
 
 But back and forth her needle goes 
 
 In tune with throbbing heart and head. 
 
 Lo, where the leaning alders part, 
 
 White-bosomed swallows, blithe of heart, 
 
 Above still waters sMm and dart. 
 
 O God in heaven ! shall I, who share 
 That dying woman's womanhood. 
 Taste aU the summer's bounteous good 
 Unburdened by her weight of care 1 
 
 The white moon-daisies star the grass, 
 The lengthening shadows o'er them pass : 
 The meadoio pool is smooth as glass. 
 
"THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST." 
 
 " The safest conclusion seems to me that the whole subject 
 is beyond the scope of man's intellect, but man can do his 
 duty." — The Life of Charles Darwin, vol. i. p. 307. 
 
 And if they saw no visions, heard no voice, 
 
 It may be Love hath blessed the deaf and blind 
 That they by finer touch of hand may find 
 
 Some good in vrhich the ages will rejoice. 
 
 For, had they chosen, they had chosen this ; 
 Not that their doubt should here be satisfied, 
 But that through all which was to them denied 
 
 God's universe might hold a deeper bHss. 
 
 They saw not God, though He was on their side ; 
 
 " Lord, Lord," they said not ; yet they served Him 
 well, 
 
 For He is Truth, and their whole lives will tell 
 How they have toiled for truth tiH eventide. 
 
 Is^ow that He calls them home at set of sun, 
 
 And they are sad because they dreamed they might 
 Have done more perfect work before the. night. 
 
 They hear with sweet amaze the words " Well done.'' 
 
lo " THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST." 
 
 And He who knows how hard it was to wait, 
 
 Nor hear Him call them through the long day's 
 
 strife, 
 Bliad to His presence, yet of blameless life. 
 
 Himself unbars for them the vineyard gate. 
 
 At last the Master is to them revealed : 
 He knows they asked not any sordid hire, 
 And gives as guerdon what they most desire, 
 
 In the new life to toil in His new field. 
 
 Ah ! some there be who held them once accursed, 
 Cry, " Lord, we bore the burden of the day — 
 Shall we receive no higher wage than they ? " 
 
 But He makes answer, " Lo, the last are first." 
 
LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Afraid of Death ? — A quiet sleep 
 In Love's embrace, untroubled, deep, 
 "With, no dark dreams of earth perplexed. 
 No tangled moral problems vexed, — 
 
 Afraid of Death 1 — 
 Afraid of Death, that waking bright 
 To higher duties, clearer light, 
 Where, having bathed in perfect rest, 
 With perfect vigour he is blest 
 
 Who laboureth t — 
 Afraid of Death, the welcome touch 
 Of those dear souls we love so much, 
 Who, having been with us made one. 
 Wait patient till our task is done 1 — 
 
 Afraid of Death ?— 
 
LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Oh, Life it is, not Death, we fear. 
 Where through the mist we see not clear, 
 Where truth still bids us seem unkind, 
 And faith so often falters hlind 
 
 Through foolish dreams : 
 Where Time will suffer no delay 
 But drives us on from day to day ; 
 Where D.uty at the cross-road stands. 
 And, stretching right and left her hands. 
 
 Bewildered seems. 
 
 " Both paths are mine," she seems to say, 
 ' ' Yet each from either leads away : 
 Both paths are mine, nor harm shall lack 
 To him who, taking one, turns back 
 
 To look again." 
 Oh, it is Life that bids us choose 
 The ventures that may gain or lose, 
 Not our slight erring souls alone 
 But souls far dearer than our own, 
 
 For joy or pain. 
 
LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Life's sweetest harmonies are wed 
 "With solemn discords harsh and dread : 
 His awful beauty seems to burn 
 The upward, longing gaze we turn 
 
 To meet His glance. 
 He leads us through a puzzled maze 
 Where honest purpose often strays, 
 And love toils on till evening chime, 
 Still manacled by space and time 
 
 And circumstance ; 
 
 Where oft we wound the hearts we fain 
 Would shield from every touch of pain, 
 And, striving to bestow a good, 
 May learn too late our hardihood : 
 
 Where, day by day. 
 Our keenest joys are touched with fear 
 That we may lose what is most dear : 
 Where random words, that were not meant. 
 We may in agony repent 
 
 But not unsay. 
 
14 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 It is not Death we fear, but Life. 
 Yet he who turns him from the strife, 
 And, ere the day is won or lost, 
 In coward haste will leave his post 
 
 And deathward fly, 
 A thing for pity and for scorn, — 
 Far better he had not been born. 
 Or, having fought, ignobly failed, 
 Than thus before the onset quailed 
 
 And sought to die. 
 
 Oh, save us from that lowest shame, 
 Thou of the secret wondrous Name, 
 That we may learn and understand, 
 And out of Thine almighty hand 
 
 Life's secret wrest ! 
 If till the dawn with Thee we strive. 
 We shall at last have strength to live, 
 And, having wrestled through the night. 
 Shall see Thy face with morning light, 
 
 And shall be blest. 
 1883. 
 
MRS. NASSAU SENIOR. 
 
 [" Her unreserved self-devotion to the care of all to -whom 
 she could minister was inspired by an absolutely single- 
 minded longing for their good, and accompanied by gifts of 
 winning and confiding sweetness, broad, simple, human 
 sympathy, and remarkable uprightness and tenacity of 
 mind, which actually reduced the difficulties and annoyances 
 of her work to a minimum, and enabled her to pass through 
 those which remained with a certain unconscious victory." 
 — "C.E.S.," Spectator, April 7, 1877.] 
 
 Tkue woman, gentle and yet strong 
 To strive with misery and wrong, — 
 Thy life was like a rhythmic song 
 
 'Mid aimless voices. 
 The poet whose fine ear has caught 
 The music with which life is fraught, 
 Through all discordant deed and thought 
 
 The world rejoices : 
 
 He does hut listen and translate 
 For us who stand outside the gate 
 The spirit of harmonies we mate 
 
 "With dullest letter : 
 But thou, with patient, loving care. 
 Didst add a lost note here and there 
 To the world's symphony, and dare 
 
 To make it hetter. 
 
i6 MRS. NASSAU SENIOR. 
 
 His the ecstatic rapture, thine 
 The duU routine of toil divine, 
 Where sympathy and skill combine 
 
 In joy most lowly. 
 We, who still blunder, trying to play 
 The tune God sets us day by day. 
 For thy sweet secret, wondering, pray : 
 
 We learn so slowly. 
 
THE SNOW. 
 
 Falling, falling, softly falling, 
 
 Folding all the world in white, 
 With mesmeric, mute enthralling. 
 Floating downward, swift and light, 
 Airy light things, 
 Fairy white things. 
 Falling, falling, softly falling. 
 
 Silent snowflakes weird and white ! 
 Falling, falling 
 
 Through the night. 
 
 Stealing, stealing, slowly stealing 
 
 Into every tiny chink ; 
 Feeling, feeling, faintly feeling 
 Pitying tenderness, I think — 
 How they wink now ! 
 See, they sink, now, 
 Stealing, stealing, slowly stealing 
 Into every tiny chink. 
 See the fluttering 
 Snowflakes wink ! 
 
THE SNOW. 
 
 Weaving, weaving, ever weaving 
 Garments from a fleecy cloud, 
 Hurryiag, scurrying, and still leaving 
 Heaven behind them, how they crowd ! 
 Cold winds crowd them. 
 Mists enshroud them. 
 Still they're weaving, ever weaving 
 Warm white raiment like a cloud — 
 Weaving Summer's 
 Glistening shroud. 
 
 With an angel pity making 
 
 Comfort for the cold, bare world. 
 While the trees are shivering, shaking, 
 Naked branches quivering, breaking — 
 
 Miles of snowflakes are unfurled. 
 Winds are hurling 
 Snowflakes, whirling 
 
 Through the loom above the world, 
 Making with a mystic making 
 
 White robes for the wintry world. 
 
SLEEP. 
 
 " And all the air a solemn stillness holds." 
 
 Soft silence of the sununer night 
 AliVe with wistful muimurings, 
 Enfold me in thy quiet might : 
 
 Shake o'er my head thy slumb'rous wings, 
 
 So cool and light : 
 
 Let me forget all earthly things 
 
 In sleep to-night ! 
 
 Tired roses, passionately sweet, 
 
 Are leaning on their cool green leaves. 
 
 The mignonette about my feet 
 
 A maze of tangled fragrance weaves. 
 
 Where dewdrops meet : 
 
 Kind sleep the weary world bereaves 
 
 Of noise and heat. 
 19 
 
SLEEP. 
 
 White lilies pure as falling snow 
 
 And redolent of tenderness, 
 Are gently swaying to and fro, 
 
 Lulled by the breath of evening less 
 
 Than by the low 
 Music of sleepy winds, that bless 
 The buds that grow. 
 
 The air is like a mother's hand 
 
 Laid softly on a throbbing brow, 
 And o'er the darksome dewy land 
 The peace of heaven is stealing now, 
 
 WhUe, hand in hand. 
 Young angels tell the flowers how 
 Their lives are planned. 
 
 From yon deep sky the quiet stars 
 
 Look down with steadfast eloquence. 
 And God the prison-door unbars 
 
 That held the mute world's inmost sense 
 
 From aU the wars 
 Of day's loud hurry and turbulence : 
 And nothing now the silence mars 
 Of love intense. 
 
CHRIST'S INVITATION. 
 
 Come unto me, ye who are tired and sad ; 
 Come unto me, that I may give you rest ; 
 Come unto me, and I will make you glad ; 
 Come and be blest. 
 
 Come, ye who struggle in a gulf of shame ; 
 Come, ye whose sin God only will forgive ; 
 Come ! for I have for you a new, white name ; 
 Arise and live. 
 
 Come, ye who see not, through the misty night. 
 The stars that out of God's own windows shine ; 
 Come unto me, and I will give you light. 
 Human, divine. 
 
 My heart is yearning with a strong desire 
 To fold the world in tender, close embrace ; 
 Come to me through the sanctifying fire 
 That hides my face. 
 
A MEMORY. 
 
 (October 1882.) 
 
 Where is he ! Does he never touch 
 This old green earth he loved so much, 
 Or see the golden leaves and red 
 Whirled softly to their mossy bed 
 From flaming branches overhead 1 — 
 
 Where is he ? Does he never hear 
 The winds wail for the dying year, 
 Or, leaning on soine fern-grown wall. 
 Dream, while the quiet shadows fall 
 Until the darkness covers aU ? 
 
 Where is he now, whose fancies played, 
 Like laughing stream or leafy shade, 
 Eound those who in the glare of day, 
 With much their courage to dismay, 
 Trudged wearily life's dusty way 1 — 
 
A MEMORY. 
 
 Where is lie ? Many a time perplexed, 
 With paths foregone his eyes were vexed, 
 Ah, has death given him life's clue ? — 
 To us he still was kind and true ; 
 His friendship overbrimmed our due. 
 
 Where is he ? — And what is the goal ? — 
 God only knows : God rest his soul ! 
 Men count our sins, or, scornful, bless 
 What seems to them our slight success ; 
 God knows the heart's own bitterness. 
 
 And God is with him. God, who knew 
 His whole Ufe, will not misconstrue 
 Some blotted words men roughly scanned 
 In life's poor prose, but understand 
 What poetry his soul had planned. 
 
 23 
 
THE LONDON ALMOND-TREE. 
 
 In desolate streets of London town. 
 When all the wind is in the east, 
 And hope is faint and joy is least, 
 
 And life a chequered grey and brown ; 
 
 Then faring drearily along, 
 
 What sets the prisoned spirit free 
 
 To break its bars and hear the song 
 Sung by the blossoming Almond-tree ? 
 
 What but the vision strange and sweet 
 Of leafless branches touched by God 
 Until, like Aaron's blossoming rod, 
 
 Our unbelieving eyes they meet 
 
 With vision of the flowering peach — 
 Less lavish, yet more fair to see ; 
 
 And love, like music, seems to reach 
 Our hearts from out the Almond-tree ! 
 
THE LONDON ALMOND-TREE. 25 
 
 On leafless boughs rose petals bloom 
 And chant, though not to outward ear, 
 The runes a listening soul may hear 
 
 Till lightened of its weight of gloom ; 
 
 The world seems then less wintry cold, 
 Unkindness less unkind, and we 
 
 Hear whispers of a love untold 
 
 Under the blossoming Ahnond-tree. 
 
 The dead, the absent, are not far. 
 And in the stony London street 
 The unseen messengers may meet 
 
 Who come from where the angels are ; 
 
 For Jacob's ladder still is set 
 
 Where least men look its light to see : 
 
 Such embassies may still be met 
 Beneath a London Almond-tree. 
 
THE DEAD SOUL, 
 
 I DREAMED such a homble dream last night, 
 It smote me through with a cold affright, 
 And would not go with the dawning light 
 
 Like other lies ; 
 For in dreams men often meet a guess, 
 Or a wandering thought in bodily dress, 
 A visible " Ifo " or a tangible " Yes " 
 
 To some dim surmise. 
 
 What was that horrible thing I dreamed ? 
 
 I met a man — or a man he seemed, 
 
 As the noonday sunlight over him streamed, 
 
 Till, thrUled with dread, 
 I saw when my soiil looked his soul through. 
 As only in dreams a soul can do, 
 That, though brain and body lived and grew. 
 
 His sold was dead. 
 
THE DEAD SOUL. 27 
 
 Yes, there he stood, a creature indeed, 
 
 That could walk and talk and drink and feed, 
 
 And add up figures, and write and read, 
 
 And work and wed — 
 And all with automatic neatness, 
 Smiling even with studied sweetness. 
 And quite enjoying life's completeness, 
 
 The life he led. 
 
 Till at last as I saw him standing there 
 "With never a hope and never a care, 
 His dead soul set in a stony stare, 
 
 " Poor soul," I said, 
 " And wilt thou never feel again 
 Divinest joy, most God-like pain, 
 Love in which self is lost and slain 1 
 
 Art thou quite dead ? " 
 
 And then in my pity I cried aloud, 
 
 " Oh, give to this poor dead soul a shroud. 
 
 And hide him away from the living crowd 
 
 In some narrow bed. 
 
 Oh, merciful heaven, give him a grave. 
 
 Or send some fire that will cleanse and save 
 
 And quicken agaia the soul God gave, 
 
 The soul that's dead ! " 
 1878. 
 
THE POET'S NARCISSUS. 
 
 Long before the lilies hold 
 In their dewy deeps the gold, 
 Stainless petals, glistening bright. 
 Breathe of sweetness and of light. 
 
 Eound the fiery-coloured gem. 
 Borne upon thy lovely stem, 
 Snowy, sweet, unfolds a star, 
 Beautiful as angels are. 
 
 Poet must that Craftsman be 
 
 Who hath dreamed and fashioned thee. 
 
 Making from an earthly clod. 
 
 Thee, thou lovely thought of God. 
 
AN EPILOGUE.* 
 
 And so the play is over, and we doff 
 
 The actor's mask for one more subtle, worn 
 By those who hide therein from the world's scorn, 
 Smiling for all to see, when some forlorn 
 
 Hope dies, and afar off 
 They see their doom ; or frowning hard perchance 
 Above joy's secret fires. 
 When their fulfilled desires 
 On fluttering wings advance 
 
 And round them dance. 
 
 The play is over, and 'twas but a play 
 
 Within a play ; the wider stage still holds 
 Its tragedy and comedy, replete 
 
 With godlike pain and laughter, sweet 
 
 * Written to be recited after a performance of the Alcestis 
 in a country-house. 
 
 29 
 
30 AN EPILOGUE. 
 
 Singing, low moans, 
 And strife that moulds 
 Our clumsy clay to that complete 
 
 Manhood which inly groans 
 Toward Godhood, fain would meet 
 Once more the vital breath 
 That made men living souls, and is more than Death, 
 Life, Love. — 
 
 Often above 
 The murmur of the actors on this stage, 
 Prattle of youth, and prattle of old age. 
 Eager discussion of the moment's need 
 And foolish greed 
 Of coming morrows, will be heard, 
 Like music half articulate with passion. 
 The meaning of it all, that makes the play 
 
 Worth playing, and has stirred 
 Even the pastime of an Easter day 
 To sudden grandeur, though the passing fashion 
 Of the mere show has vanished soon away 
 And only left the meaning. Who shall say 
 What it does mean ? — 
 The power of Love ? — 
 Joy of self-sacrifice ? All that has been 
 The soul of the world to keep it front its grave ?— 
 
AN EPILOGUE. 31 
 
 Not always, like Alcestis, can Love save 
 The life of the belovfed. Some have poured 
 Their lives like water out upon the ground, 
 
 Yet scarce availed 
 To make the road less rough, or the hot dust 
 Less wearying ; these nor quailed 
 Nor doubted, but with one accord 
 Joyed in the sacrifice ; and some have stood 
 Keeping their trust 
 With noble hardihood 
 In the thick of the battle for an enemy's sake, 
 Or for the one they loved who stiU returned 
 Their love with hate : yet might not their heart break 
 Until the fight was over, and they learned 
 That other life was safe. And a few wait 
 With patient hands and feet tiU the God say, 
 "The sacrificial strife 
 Is over ; thou shalt die : " — Ah ! they. 
 Set .free at last from the life 
 That was a costlier offering than death, 
 Shall with their ebbing breath 
 Find then a strange release, 
 Shall know at last. 
 In that great joy, the meaning of the past, 
 And in the sudden peace 
 Feel what the storm has been. 
 
SWALLOWS. 
 
 "When tlie light softens just before it wanes 
 
 After the splendour of a summer noon, 
 And honeysuckle fragrance fills the lanes 
 
 Where biadweed blossoms ■wUl be closing soon 
 
 In the cool dew ; when the unclouded sky 
 Leans to the earth, and the wood-pigeons croon 
 
 In the stUl wood ; when the greenfinch's cry 
 
 Grows plaintive in its lingering drowsiness ;— 
 Thea do I watch white-bosomed swallows fly 
 
 Hither and thither. Silently I bless 
 
 The beautiful swift birds that seem to be 
 Gifted with life that knows no weariness. 
 
 Flashing across the heavenly blue, I see 
 
 The curved wings, black-pointed, quivering white, 
 Yet near the quiet fields and near to me. 
 
 Spell-bound, I watch their noiseless airy flight. 
 
 The tranquil speed, the rapid, measured grace 
 That makes of daily action long delight. 
 
SWALLOWS. 33 
 
 On the far heaven wide-sweeping curves they trace, 
 
 Weaving the distant and the near in one, 
 As though untroubled by the bounds of space. 
 
 I, who am tired before the day is done, 
 
 Marvel at those bright wings that never tire, 
 Cleaving the still air till the summer sun 
 
 Goes down behind the hUls in golden fire. 
 
 Like a brave swimmer must they hourly breast 
 A baffling element ; no strong desire 
 
 Could bear them on, were they not ever pressed 
 
 By thwarting air, whereon are beating those 
 Wide-reaching wings, in labour loveliest. 
 
 Sometimes a little do their pinions close, 
 A little moment do they sink to earth ; 
 But in activity they find repose. 
 
 Such rest as we may hope for in that birth 
 
 The world calls death, or for a moment find, 
 In some transcendent hour of sacred mirth. 
 
 When love some holy secret has divined ; 
 
 Wlien pain and effort are a deep delight 
 And joy is in the heart of grief enshrined. 
 
34 SWALLOWS. 
 
 Ply, swallows, fly ! The lark far out of sight. 
 
 Like a true poet, brought the glory near, 
 The nightingale made music through the night, 
 
 At noon the thrush was singing loud and clear : 
 
 Thou hast no song ; no minstrel thou, sweet bird 
 Yet more than all the rest I hold thee dear ; 
 
 For thou in silence hast within me stirred 
 
 New strength to rise and seek the unseen goal. 
 New faith in harmonies by us unheard ; — 
 
 The perfect poise that comes of self-control. 
 The poetry of action, rhythmic, sweet, — 
 That unvexed music of the body and soul 
 
 That the Greeks dreamed of, made at last complete. — 
 Our stumbling lives attaia not such a bliss : 
 
 Too often, while the air we vainly beat. 
 Love's perfect law of liberty we miss. 
 
DEAD. 
 
 I LOVED her, — I, a working man, 
 And she, a factory hand, — 
 
 I loved her, — loved her more than life : 
 Now at her grave I stand. 
 
 She's gone ; the sweetest, fairest thing 
 
 In all this wicked town ; 
 Yet stiU out of the summer sky 
 
 The summer sun looks down. 
 
 Eight hard she worked for daily bread 
 
 In yonder factory place. 
 The master won her simple heart : 
 
 I cursed him to his face. 
 
 He won her love with plighted troth, 
 
 Betrayed her fearless trust, 
 Then cast her like a weed away 
 
 To wither in the dust. 
 
36 DEAD. 
 
 A weed — O God ! yet so they call 
 
 The httle flowers blue 
 That mock the lanes in summer time 
 
 With heaven's chosen hue. 
 
 Dear child, whose heart he tossed aside 
 
 To win a weU-born wife, 
 Earth's dearest flower thou wast to me, 
 
 The very light of life. 
 
 I would have killed him had that helped 
 To ease her burdened breath. 
 
 But well I knew that, killing him, 
 I should have been her death. 
 
 She loved me not — her love was spent. 
 
 And he, with dastard pride. 
 Spurned all the fury of my wrath 
 
 As dogs are kicked aside. 
 
 Tew knew her story — she and I, 
 
 And some few kindred folk. 
 Who saw we should but pierce her heart 
 
 If one true word we spoke.— 
 
DEAD. 37 
 
 O kindly Winter ! come and freeze 
 
 The summer's blossomed bowers, 
 For once she listened to the birds 
 
 And plucked the hedgerow flowers. 
 
 This is her grave : the speedwells bloom, 
 
 The lark sings overhead : 
 Her broken heart is in the dust, 
 
 Deserted, maddened, dead. 
 
PRELUDE AND PARABLE. 
 
 A Pkbldde to the Poem which immediately follows. 
 
 ( Dedicated to the writer of " Sesame and ZUies," and " Elements 
 of Drawing,") 
 
 "There is one dangerous science for women — one which 
 they must indeed beware how they profanely touch — that 
 of theology." — JOHN RUSKIN, Sesame and Lilies. 
 
 THOU to whom I owe so much, 
 Thy words are arrows in my heart ! 
 I know thee not, and yet thou art 
 
 To me a prophet, loved as such. 
 
 Stern prophet, bear with me awhile 
 In toil for people that I love, 
 Who have not seen the heavenly dove. 
 
 Though strong and good and pure of guile ! 
 38 
 
PRELUDE AND PARABLE. 39 
 
 I, sinful, ignorant, and blind. 
 
 Dreamed once that the celestial bird, 
 White-winged, the ark's dim shadow stirred 
 
 And left an olive-leaf behind. 
 
 For souls I love, I fain would draw. 
 Although with clumsy, doubting hand, 
 And eyes that may not understand. 
 
 An outline of the leaf I saw. 
 
"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 
 
 Dated St. John's Bay, between the festivals of Christmas and the 
 New Year. 
 
 What will the new year bring ? — 
 Discord within and without ? — 
 
 Joy, uncertainty, pain, 
 Love, and anguish, and doubt 1 — 
 God shadow us with His wing 
 And compass us round about, 
 That it may not be all in vain ! 
 
 But will God understand 1 — 
 
 We are human and He is God ; 
 WiU His hand ever touch our hand 
 In the midst of the lonely strife 
 That is ours in this mortal life 1. — 
 Dark is the way we have trod : 
 Before us lie terror and ruth : 
 The Church wrestles hard with herself, and the 
 age that is now in its youth 
 Cries out that there is no God, 
 Only a primal Force, only an abstract Truth, 
 And, craving an idol, is fain 
 To fall at Humanity's feet, — 
 
" THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 4 
 
 To worsliip the Good of the Eace, — 
 And, chanting a psean most sweet 
 To the Future's veiled mystical face, 
 
 To say " Man is God, or at least 
 Man wiU be when time is complete ; 
 And his children, brave through our pain, 
 And rich through our hunger, will feast. 
 In the ages that yet remain. 
 On the fruit of our sowing, the good 
 Made theirs through the ill we withstood ; 
 And our loss shall become their gain." 
 
 The God whom they reject 
 May to high tasks elect 
 Souls thus attuned ; their self-denying dream 
 To Him may seem 
 A nobler, worthier creed 
 Than the unholy greed 
 Of those ill-fathered Pharisees who take 
 His awful Human Name 
 On their smooth lips. 
 Their smooth, cold lips, and make 
 In the clear shining of the Morning Star 
 
 A little selfish gUtter ; quick to feed 
 Their vanity on others' sin and need 
 And bitter shame, 
 
42 " THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 
 
 While on the unthinking crowd, of hope forlorn, 
 Descends a load too heavy to be borne, 
 
 "Which they, who cast it on them from afar, 
 Spurn under foot, nor touch with finger-tips, 
 Clutching at heaven for themselves, and then 
 Damning the souls of half their fellow-men. 
 
 Christ save us from the hell of such a heaven ! 
 Surely the silent leaven 
 Of Him who is the Life and Light of men 
 Is working in the world's chaotic mass 
 And leavening even the age that half denies 
 His very being ; ay, and stranger still, 
 Leavening divinely those unreasoning souls, 
 
 Erring of mind, but strong and wise of will, 
 Who hold the Pharisee's doctrine, yet are saints, 
 (For such the great God maketh now and then). 
 Toiling for others with unceasing love, 
 Bearing a yoke in which their spirit faints, 
 
 But in the power of God rising above 
 Its narrow limits, tiU their faith controls 
 
 All selfish fear, and, like to Moses, cries 
 " Let us be blotted from the Book of Life 
 And cast into the fire that never dies, 
 If but our brethren, baffled in the strife, 
 Be saved and blessed ! " 
 
"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 43 
 
 Yet still the sad world sighs, 
 "With half deriding and half wistful eyes, 
 Half bright with mockery, half with weeping dim, 
 FuU of His Spirit' though so blind to Him, 
 " The Christ is dead ; the Christian faith will pass, — 
 Scarce can its failing breath on life's clear glass 
 
 'Sow leave a mist ; death steals through every limb ; 
 Its winding sheet is ready. Men wiU rise 
 Through mountain-vaUeys where the graveyard lies 
 To give it burial, on toward purer skies 
 In which the unit self for ever dies 
 Lost in a larger being : falsehood then 
 Will perish uncared for, with oppression and lust, 
 Because a selfless love,, being pure and just, 
 Hateth all tyranny, needeth no disguise. 
 And is too pure to look through covetous eyes." 
 
 O foolish Age, do ye so soon forget, 
 In glory of self-sacrifice, the God 
 Who sacrificed Himself 1 — He hath not yet 
 Forgotten you, nor quenched in earth's duU clod 
 The heavenly spark ? — He lives in every life 
 That's lost to save another, every strife 
 Of a brave spirit that has dared to spend 
 Strength in the sowing of what men will reap 
 Long afterwards when death has made an end 
 
44 "THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 
 
 Of such brief sowing. 
 
 Terrible and deep 
 Is the great love He bears you, ah, God is 
 A patient Judge, for even those who are His 
 Provoke wrath and compassion every day. 
 
 Fools, when your foUy ye say, 
 It is because too much with faiHng breath 
 Men change the message of Christ's life and death 
 
 As if it were a tale of what was done 
 Two thousand years ago, and now were just 
 
 A fair tradition of what once had been, 
 And must at Christmas-time be crowned with praise 
 And through the years believed in. — 
 
 Well may ye mistrust 
 Such faint, sad comfort. Halting now between 
 The feast of Christmas and the first of days 
 In the new year, finger no more the dust 
 
 Of the dead past ! The Lord our God is One, — 
 One and eternal, — what He once was, this 
 Through aU our changes, all our pain and bliss, 
 He is for ever, using time and space 
 Only in His compassion for the race 
 Lest men should die before His unveiled face. 
 Why tell our sorrowing hearts God once was man 
 Because on such a day His human life began, 
 And then our nature for awhile He bore 
 
"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 45 
 
 Till (so the legend runs) He died one darkened hour 
 In far off years ? — Nay, with what voice ye can, 
 
 Proclaim triumphantly that God is Man, — 
 
 Proclaim the glory of the Elohim, 
 Of Whom our men and women are but dim 
 Divided shadows ! 
 
 Oh, our God is more 
 Than that which we call man, as day and night. 
 
 All the great universe of stars is more 
 Than one poor pebble ; or the noonday Hght 
 More than one sparkle, caught on some dark stream 
 
 Or some black ripple on a windy shore : — 
 More than man is, beyond man's furthest dream ! 
 Shall not the Infinite One whom we adore 
 Be more than man, the finite ? — Ay, and more 
 In a mysterious and unuttered sense 
 That may not yet be said, or even wist. 
 Veiled, not with darkness but with light intense. 
 That blinds our eyes. The light's magnificence 
 .We dare not look on : broken rays may hint 
 Unbroken splendours, in the rainbow's tint 
 Divided gently by our earthly mist : 
 And, scarce discerned amid our mortal strife. 
 Faint broken types of the Eternal Life 
 Meet our dull eyes, as in an amethyst 
 Burns the great sun through purple shadows bright. 
 
46 " THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 
 
 Leave those three starry lilies on one stem, 
 Or threefold flames, one fiery diadem, — 
 Imperfect symbols, for the Hly-spike 
 Bears blossoms which, though separate, are alike, 
 
 No shadow of mystery is, found in them. 
 Nor in the triple flame's one wreathed scroll. — 
 But when one purpose and one love doth fiU 
 Three diverse lives, and, wedding soul to soul. 
 Make three, who are linlike, but one heart and will; — 
 Then bow the head, a part is not the whole. — 
 'Tis but a clumsy type, as when some hUl, 
 Caught in the radiance of a sunset flame, 
 Shows a rough guide-post, in whose carven name 
 We, in the valley, read a hidden goal 
 Beyond the hiU-tops, far away from sight. 
 Deep in the splendour of the vanishing Hght. 
 
 But, more than man, God yet is perfect Man, 
 
 And, making men, said, " Let us fashion them 
 In Our own image.'' 
 
 He, since time began, 
 Has been the Soul of man's soul, manhood's Sire, 
 Of all humanity the Light and Fire, 
 Passing imagination and desire, 
 KindUng each spark 
 Of vital will that's flashed upon the dark 
 
" THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 47 
 
 Of this world's night, and ever blazing stiU 
 "With a fierce purity of love that will 
 Consume aU evil, ofiering up love's pain 
 On the great altar where men's sins are slain. 
 
 This is the joy of Christmas, this the grace 
 
 That makes each new year's day a holy gift 
 
 To aU Man's children. Who would dare to lift 
 
 The curtain of the future, if his God 
 "Were but a great Archangel at his side 
 
 Who long ago once bore a human name 
 And now no longer is to man aUied ; 
 
 Or a vague Law of ■Sequence, men might trace 
 Erom seeming chaos 1 — 
 
 But the Christ who came. 
 Clothed in love's self-abasement, to refresh 
 A sick race with new life, Who was made flesh. 
 
 Made of a woman, and, rejected, trod 
 The dark streets of this world, was very Christ, 
 The Love eternally self- sacrificed : 
 And He, who cannot die, as a man passed 
 Through gates of Life and death, that He might set 
 Love's visible seal, for oujc sakes, on the vast 
 Invisible circle, and, returning then 
 To life that far transcends the wit of men, 
 Pledged His existence to us that at last. 
 
48 " THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 
 
 Through glory He renounced, love self-denied, 
 
 Our human nature should be deified. 
 He, the undying One, who lived and died, 
 Was huried and descended into heU 
 That even there no soul unloved might dwell : 
 And rose again, because almighty Love, 
 By the divine law of love's being, must 
 Be crucified, yet through aU ages prove 
 Too incorruptible to turn to dust 
 
 Or see corruption, and, in dying, live 
 "With a diviner beauty. From above. 
 To Love's own place ascended, He doth give 
 
 Love's sacrificial gifts to men to-day. 
 His Spirit pleads for those who cannot pray, 
 For He the Uncreate, Who was before 
 The days of Adam, is for evermore 
 The Archetypal and Eternal Man, 
 In whom our life's dark mystery is solved. 
 
 From shapeless-seeming germs held ia His hand 
 Worlds kindled at His touch ere time awoke. 
 
 Worlds kindle still from luminous dust, dissolved 
 For its re-shaping, as His wisdom planned 
 And still doth order : nor may we revoke 
 
 One turn of that slow-moulding wheel, revolved 
 
"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 49 
 
 Through myriad changes ; since by wisdom's thought 
 The laws and possibiHties were wrought, 
 Manifold life unfolding as He willed, 
 Through timeless seons ere the time was ripe, 
 Rising from lowest still to highest type, 
 Until the body thus prepared for man 
 "Was ready ; that its lovely prisoning dust 
 With that of lowlier lives for ever might 
 In bonds of closest kindred be involved, 
 
 Half alien Hves, that know not wrong nor right 
 
 Nor human speech, yet often do requite 
 His love with mute affection, loyal trust ; 
 For such a kinship had the Master-mind, 
 It may be, in creation's dawn resolved ; 
 That a fair body fitted for mankind 
 Might from the dust be fashioned, our brief span 
 
 Robed by the work of the ages that began 
 Ere our sun burned, and we, so clad, might find 
 
 Love's godnke humbleness, that is not bhnd 
 To meanest needs, and, as Love only can. 
 With weary patience expiate the pride 
 With which love's own command had been defied. 
 
 But our imprisoned souls on this fair earth 
 Found not in earthly dust their mystic birth :- 
 
so " THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY: 
 
 God's Spirit is their breath, 
 Coming we know not whence, 
 
 Going we know not whither, 
 
 Passing through this hfe's death 
 Into a world far hence, 
 
 And leading our hopes thither. 
 
 This is our Christmas joy, — no sorry tale outworn, 
 But the triumphant faith that we were born 
 In the fair image of the only God, 
 The God who still doth make 
 The souls of innocent children, and doth take 
 Them in His arms, and for His own Name's sake 
 Doth bless them ; He for evermore. 
 
 He the great God, before 
 Whose holy presence all the angels bow, — 
 Is still our Kinsman. 
 
 When the choice of ill 
 With growing blight had cursed 
 The beauty He created at the first 
 And through eternity beholdeth stUl, 
 The garment of this mortal flesh He wore. 
 And in such humble guise earth's pathways trod 
 That He might take the Manhood into God, 
 And so renew it. Nor has man quite lost 
 
"THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY." 51 
 
 All traces of His likeness ; for to-day 
 The race that doubteth to the uttermost 
 His very being, careless of the cost, 
 Cries, " Let us cast all present bliss away 
 To bless those who come after," — a brave race 
 That hath the God's own light upon its face, 
 And yearns to give 
 Its best life that a future world may live. 
 
 And He, the loving God, the sinless Man, 
 Who made aU substance sacred, and has wrought, 
 Through endless ages, symbols of His thought 
 
 In what men see and handle ; He who dwells 
 Between the cherubim ; Who keeps the spheres 
 
 In their vast circles, and Like golden dust 
 Holds stars within the hollow of His hand. 
 
 Whose wisdom tells 
 The unread riddle of the fleeting years ; 
 At Whose command 
 All heavens grow nobler and all deepest hells 
 Are stirred toward good ; this God is Love and Truth, 
 
 Truth wise in sympathy, Love always just. 
 Giving to childlike hearts eternal youth. 
 
 Making men strong 
 To slay oppression and to conquer wrong ; — 
 Divinest Man, 
 
52 "THE RELIGION OP HUMANITY." 
 
 And God in perfect Maahood, will withstand 
 
 All evil to the death, 
 And love with infinite passion and supreme 
 Self-sacrifice. Behold His fan 
 Is in His hand, 
 Its winnowing breath 
 WiU purge His threshing-floor ; 
 And His unerring righteousness is strong 
 To bring us home again as those that dream, 
 Glad in His tenderness for evermore. 
 Then shall He change our weeping into song, 
 
 Our tears to laughter. Death shaU then be dead. 
 And evil vanished, like to a brand burnt up 
 In love's own fire. — Joy then shall fill Love's cup 
 To overflowing, and at Love's great feast 
 All shall be there, the greatest and the least. 
 Yea, though He tarry long, 
 Yet when at last, at last. 
 Time's magic shows like a swift dream being past, 
 
 Redeemed Humanity, His glorious bride. 
 Through strivings of His Spirit with her own, 
 
 By Love's own awful fires is purified 
 From every mortal weakness that did groan 
 
 For death, Heaven's doors shall open wide, 
 And the great God shall no more dwell alone. 
 
"BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR AND 
 KNOCK." 
 
 Thekb stands a patient beggar at thy gate — 
 God-like and beautiful, wayworn and sad ; 
 
 Weary He knocks, content to watcb and wait 
 Till He may make thee glad 
 
 A little love He asks — nor more, nor less ; 
 
 Because His heart is hungry, and athirst 
 For one sweet draught of human tenderness. 
 
 Behold, He loved thee first ! 
 
 His bleeding feet stiU loiter at thy door, 
 His head against the iron bar is pressed. 
 
 Impassioned tears rise in His eyes once more ; 
 He yearns to give thee rest. 
 
 For thee, the thorny path of life He trod, 
 
 For thee He walked death's valley, cold and dim ; 
 
 And now He pleads with thee — thy Friend, thy God, 
 But thou deniest Him ! 
 
T E K E L. 
 
 " Thou ait weighed in the balances, and art foniid wanting.' 
 
 The bare black branches of the almond-tree 
 Have blossomed forth with love's own rosy flowers, 
 The brooks that late were frozen sing for glee, 
 New leaves are budding in forsaken bowers. 
 
 Things buried long 
 Rise softly as the sun awakes them aU. 
 
 Birds make sweet song : 
 Lent lilies newly risen round us throng : 
 But our dead past its dead will not give up ; 
 Where gleams the mystic writing on the wall, 
 That is flashed back from life's fair drinking cup. 
 
 lovely world, fresh from thy wintry sleep. 
 Thine Easter parable who runs may read : 
 Who scorn thy symbols of the feast we keep, 
 Blind guides are they and blind are those they lead : 
 
 But in the light 
 Of this fair morning many a soul grown hard, 
 
 Erom sound and sight 
 
TEKEL. SS 
 
 And all sweet influence locked, and dark as night, 
 Is melted suddenly with holy shame, 
 And round her dull blank walls — a tomb close barred — 
 Reads Mene Telcel writ in living flame. 
 
 How often, toiling on life's lonely road, 
 Service to love long owing she forgot : 
 "Will He not say when she lays down her load 
 " Depart from me, poor soul : I know you not ? " 
 When He was sick, and hungry, and in prison. 
 
 She went her way. 
 Unheeding, in some solemn crowd to pray. 
 
 Oh, let us rise and serve Him ere the night, 
 
 Nay, rise with Him Who with the dawn has risen, 
 
 Lest on the " whited walls " the Master write. 
 
 A thousand altars, on this glorious morn, 
 Proclaim that He is risen who was dead : 
 Doth no one hear to-day His sorrowful scorn 
 For those who give His people stones for bread — 
 
 For those who drain 
 Wealth's glittering bowl of pleasure to the lees, 
 
 While want and pain 
 Murder the poor, who at their gates have lain ? — 
 Are there no faithful servants that He hath 
 
56 TEKEL. 
 
 To write in palaces of selfish ease 
 
 The Mene TeJcel of His love and wrath ? — 
 
 Within the Church there stands a spectre grim, 
 And writes upon her stones as if in grief ; 
 " Tried by thy Lord thou art condemned by Him, 
 And He has given thee up to unbelief." 
 
 This Easter day. 
 Although that phantom join with foes without 
 
 To strike dismay, 
 There is one Door whence none are turned away : 
 Who do the Master's will shall learn His name ; 
 His riven hands shall rescue them from doubt. 
 And save His Church from those dark words of shame. 
 
 O Life of life ! Imperishable Love ! 
 Breathe through the stillness of our desolate souls. 
 Light of light ! through our great darkness move, 
 While from the sepulchre Thine angel rolls 
 
 The sealed stone. 
 Let us no more, each with himself apart, 
 
 Struggle alone. 
 Light, O Life, Love, make us Thine own ! 
 Give hope fruition, queU our servile fears. 
 Nor let the curse fall on our breaking heart 
 And TeJcel blaze across the wasted years. 
 
TO A LITTLE CHILD. 
 
 Clbae eyes of heaven's cliosen hue 
 When not a cloud is seen above 
 
 To fleck the warm untroubled blue, 
 A little laughing face of love ; 
 
 A boundless energy of life 
 
 In dimpled arms and rosy feet : 
 
 No breath of care, no touch of strife, • 
 
 Has duUed thy glad heart's rhythmic beat. 
 
 So girt about with golden light, 
 By shadows still so little vexed. 
 
 That many a weary anxious wight 
 Grows in thy presence less perplexed. 
 
 Our smiles come at thy fairy beck, 
 Frowns pass away at thy caress ; 
 
 When thy soft arms are round my neck 
 I feel God's wondrous tenderness. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 In days of old the happy shepherds heard 
 The angels herald the Eternal Word : 
 Our ears are dull — such songs avail not now ; 
 Only the wise beside the manger bow, 
 To fools in vain the whole creation's voice 
 May sing of God and bid the world rejoice. 
 
 The shepherds listened, and one lowly maid 
 
 Had seen the Archangel and was not afraid : 
 
 happy Mary ! secret bliss was hers — 
 
 Flowers breathed of God, birds were His choristers ;- 
 
 StiU to the pure in heart each earthly place 
 
 May shadow forth some vision of His grace. 
 
 Have we no carols ? — Are we deaf and dumb 
 Save to the great world's money-murmuring hum 1 — 
 Does God seem absent 1 — Are the angels gone ? — 
 The Unseen is here ; His choirs, unheard, sing on ; 
 And when we tremble in some lonely spot, 
 He longs to bless us though we know Him not. 
 
 58 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. S9 
 
 If but tlie voice of self be husiied awhile, 
 
 If love can banish vanity and guUe, 
 
 We too may see the visions Mary saw 
 
 And welcome Love with sweet untroubled awe, 
 
 We too may hear in every hedge and brake 
 
 The music that the heavenly singers make. 
 
ELISHA RAISING THE SON OF THE 
 SHUNAMMITE. 
 
 {Suggested by a Picture. ) 
 
 O God, my God ! He could do it, 
 
 Tlie prophet of long ago, 
 As he laid his face on the child's face 
 
 In passionate love and woe ! 
 Prayer, was it 'i — Or touch, or yearning 1 — 
 
 A will that could fear no foe, 
 Not even the king of terrors ? — 
 'Tis an awful thing to know. 
 Can it be that had we too wrestled in a prayer that 
 
 willed and yearned. 
 To the hands and feet we were clasping the soul we 
 loved had returned ^ — 
 
THE SON OF THE SHUNAMMITE. 6i 
 
 O child ! Had I dared to do it 
 
 When my face was close to thine, 
 When my lips -were warm upon thy Kps 
 
 And cold was thy hand in mine ; — 
 Had I called thee back without pity 
 
 And poured of my strength like wine 
 Into thy heart when it beat not, 
 And prayed for a force divine ; 
 Had I clasped thy soul tUl it felt me and held thy 
 
 hand till it thrilled, 
 The God who hears might have answered, I might 
 have had what I willed. 
 
 Could I have done it ? — Christ save us ! 
 
 The prophet indeed might break 
 That quiet sleep with his praying 
 
 For one sad woman's sake : 
 But had the child been his own child, 
 
 He might have feared to take 
 The hand of God in his own hand 
 And will that his son might wake ; — 
 He might have trembled at thinking "My joy may 
 
 become his doom : 
 I will not call him from heaven back to this narrow 
 room." 
 
62 THE SON OF THE SHUNAMMITE. 
 
 God keep the souls He lias taken, 
 
 And veil their eyes with His hand, 
 That they may not grieve in our grieving 
 
 Or weep in the deathless land, 
 Where the speech of love is as music 
 
 That none can misunderstand ! 
 But to us in the dust and discord 
 Grief comes with a new command ; 
 To us it is left to wrestle for souls on earth that are 
 
 lost; 
 Who knows 1 We may baulk the Devil if we will not 
 count the cost. 
 
A FLOWER OF THE FIELD. 
 
 •• As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth, for the wind 
 passeth over it, and it is gone." 
 
 Tbll me why should I love thee so 1 — 
 l^ot often did I hear 
 Thy voice that yet was dear 
 To me, not often did I share 
 Thy thoughts ; yet thou didst spare 
 A smile for me. 
 
 And on a wintry day life seemed to grow 
 For me more warm and bright 
 
 Because of that deHght. 
 So has a sudden sunbeam's soft 
 Caressing radiance oft 
 Startled my sight. 
 
64 A FLOWER OF THE FIELD. 
 
 But cruel Time doth ever mow, 
 
 "With that strange scythe of his, 
 
 Now that flower and now this ; 
 And where thy face I used to meet, 
 So guileless and so sweet, 
 A face I miss. 
 
 Wherefore so early didst thou go 
 Out of my reach, and fade 
 
 Like violets in the shade. 
 Or daffodil, or frail wild rose 
 That dies and never knows 
 The joy it made ; 
 
 Or wUd anemones that blow 
 
 With heads bent in the wind ; — 
 So childlike was thy mind. 
 Thy years, which like a dream have passed, 
 A memory that will last 
 Have left behind. 
 
 Ah, dearest chUd, at heart I know 
 What thou art fain to say ; 
 Thou hast not gone away 
 With any rose or violet : thou 
 Art only entering now 
 God's summer day. 
 
A FLOWER OF THE FIELD. 65 
 
 And while we weeping go 
 
 Through rooms where once there shone 
 Thy beauty, bright-haired one, 
 Beholding only empty space. 
 
 The absence of one face, 
 
 One presence gone ; 
 
 With angels passing to and fro. 
 
 Through heaven's gate open wide. 
 Thou, walking oft beside 
 Thy loved ones, freed from time and space. 
 Seeing God face to face. 
 Art satisfied. 
 
A CHILD'S VISION. 
 
 The sun was setting, the night grew late, 
 Birds twittered each to the other : 
 
 An angel came to the garden gate, 
 A strong, bright angel, mother ! 
 
 Katie and WiUie were with me there, 
 
 Among the roses and lilies ': 
 He lifted a curl of Katie's hair. 
 
 And laid his hand on "Willie's. 
 
 When shall I see an angel again ? — • 
 
 He was so beautiful, mother ! 
 I have watched and watched, but aU ia vain- 
 
 I have not met another. 
 
QUESTION AND ANSWER. 
 " Canst tHou by searching find out God ? " — Job xi. 7. 
 
 God ! ■what am I but a hungry cry, 
 Cast out upon the void of silent night ? 
 
 1 see the distant worlds, revolving by. 
 And find no answer in their chilly light. 
 
 The beauteous earth that lies about my feet, 
 Blooms ever into questions manifold ; 
 
 For there are thorns on flowers that are sweet. 
 And each year's cycle ends in wintry cold. 
 
 The hearts I love are torn with grief and pain. 
 The lives most dear hang ever on a breath ; 
 
 Thick grow the tares among the golden grain, 
 And Life walks ever hand in hand with Death. 
 
 From out the speck that is to me a world, 
 
 With aching eyes I question boundless space ; 
 
 I watch heaven's curtain over me unfurled. 
 
 To see the far, dim shadow of Thy face. 
 67 
 
68 QUESTION AND ANSWER. 
 
 I watch the sun, as through the heaven he rides, 
 Girt with fair clouds, or clad in perfect light. 
 
 I watch the moon, that rules the silver tides, 
 Move on in solemn splendour through the night. 
 
 But still I find Thee not. In vain I try 
 To touch the border of Thy seamless robe : 
 
 The glorious raiment from my grasp doth fly, 
 And bears like glowing dust each sunlit globe. 
 
 For aU the star-illumined sky we see 
 Is but one pattern on Thy mantle vast, 
 
 That sweeps the circles of eternity. 
 
 Where meet the future and th' unending past. 
 
 Time, as he flies, vouchsafeth no reply. 
 
 Nor drops one feather in his onward flight. 
 
 To mark his track, or teU. me whence and why 
 He bears men on with wing'd, relentless might. 
 
 How shall I find Thee 1 I, one finite soul, — 
 Thee, who art self-existent and divine ? 
 
 Yet, as a magnet seeks the distant pole, 
 My spirit resteth not, but seeketh Thine. 
 
QUESTION And answer. 69 
 
 I do not ask a painless paradise, 
 
 Or life fulfilled witliin its own small round, 
 But I would fain from world to world arise, 
 
 Until at last Thy presence I iiave found. 
 
 For thougli I wander lonely through the dark, 
 That spiritual darkness which is haunting pain, 
 
 Yet I believe each human life a spark 
 Lit in Thy love, and seeking Thee again. 
 
 Could I but live one moment in Thy smile, 
 My life its answer in such bliss would find ! 
 
 So I cried out for God, and, lo ! the while. 
 
 His fingers touched the eyes that were so blind. 
 
 He touched these eyes untU my vision dim 
 Saw One beside me, at whose feet I fell. 
 
 He raised me gently, bade me look on Him, 
 And all my love and longing, fearless, tell.] 
 
 For I had seen His face, and knew at last 
 The God I sought had waited long for me ; 
 
 But I liad barred my heart and made it fast, 
 And shut my eyes, lest haply I might see. 
 
70 QUESTION AND ANSWER. 
 
 " Nay," I had said, " the Infinite must dwell 
 Beyond th' extremest reach of mortal ken ; 
 
 Lo ! in His hand He holdeth heaven and heU : — 
 This Man of Nazareth is as other men." 
 
 But I forgot that though the sky is wide, 
 Its lessened image in our eyes may dwell ; 
 
 And love which wiU through endless years abide, 
 In words a child can utter, we may tell. 
 
 So He, the uncreate, th' eternal mind, 
 
 Who doth our thought for evermore transcend. 
 
 An image stiU in human form can find, 
 
 To shadow forth His love, as friend to friend. 
 
 He who has seen the Christ, has looked on Love, 
 Love that could die for dull mortality, 
 
 And make the vision that once dwelt above. 
 Earth's one divinest, best reality. 
 
 But, having seen tli' immortal Love of God, 
 Wherein all questions rest— nor fear to sleep. 
 
 As corn dropped deep into the fertile sod. 
 To rise again in answers that men reap ; 
 
QUESTION AND ANSWER. 71 
 
 Yet is the infinite about us still, 
 
 And endless ages wiU be still too brief, 
 
 To learn how perfect that mysterious wUl 
 Which He reveals to us, the Man of grief. 
 
 For when the Godhead now to us draws near, 
 Darkly, as in a dream, He is revealed ; 
 
 Then shall we see Him face to face, and hear 
 
 His glorious voice. Then shall all wounds be healed. 
 
 All lives fulfilled, all darkness die in light. 
 All words be needless, love itself be speech. 
 
 All souls be perfected with heavenly might. 
 All strong to labour for the good of each. 
 
 Oh if the face of Christ, as my dim eyes 
 
 Behold it now, give me new strength of heart. 
 
 Shall not eternal joy. Lord, make us wise. 
 When we behold Thee even as Thou art ! 
 
 1876. 
 
"THE DISCIPLE IS NOT ABOVE HIS 
 MASTER." 
 
 Oh, think not o'er a smooth green way 
 At once through paradise to stray, 
 With joy beside thee night and day, 
 
 If thou wouldst My disciple be : 
 But where doubt's dreary phantom looms, . 
 Where misery still his yictim dooms. 
 Where devils rage among the tombs, 
 
 Follow thou Me ! 
 
 If ot only in the quiet meads 
 
 Where wind still waters, and where feeds 
 
 The flock that God in pity leads, 
 
 Shalt thou My guiding presence see ; 
 But through the dusty toiling street. 
 Where famine and temptation meet. 
 And care strides on with hurried feet. 
 
 Follow thou Me ! 
 
'THE DISCIPLE NOT ABOVE HIS MASTER." 73 
 
 Leave to the weak ignoble ease ! 
 The blind may grope, but he who sees 
 Must choose the only yoke that frees 
 
 The slave of self, who yet may be 
 My eyes to comfort the distressed, 
 My hands uplifting the oppressed, 
 My voice to say, " Thou weariest. 
 
 Follow thou Me ! " 
 
 To raise the fallen, to love the lost. 
 To save the soul long tempest-tossed. 
 By sacrifice that fears no cost ; 
 
 Still day by day I beckon thee. 
 Through pain into divinest ruth, 
 Through death into eternal youth, 
 Through doubt to everlasting truth, 
 
 Follow thou Me ! 
 
MY LITTLE ROSEBUD. 
 
 {To a friend, after the loss of her little girl.) 
 
 Love gave me once a little white rosebud, 
 White, with a gleam of the rosy skies, 
 The light that steals through the clouds of heaven 
 When sunshine dies. 
 
 Sweet roses often their hearts have hidden 
 
 Under soft petals like folded wings : 
 Mine was the fairest of all the flowers 
 That summer brings. 
 
 I thought that until its life, just waking, 
 Its full sweet splendour should unclose, 
 Out of my hand no dear entreaties 
 Should win my rose. 
 
 I laid it lovingly in my bosom, 
 
 Sheltered from every hurtful thing. 
 What was that rustling that made me tremble? — 
 An angel's wing ? — 
 
MY LITTLE ROSEBUD. 75 
 
 I held my rosebud warmer and closer, — 
 
 It was so dear and so fair to see. 
 
 " Angel, you cannot take my flower ; 
 
 God gave it me." 
 
 Was it an angel who stood beside me t — 
 The angels followed at His command. 
 It was God Himself who took my rosebud 
 Out of my hand. 
 
 Surely, oh surely, I heard Him whisper, 
 
 In a new language I did not know, 
 " It was dearer to Him because I had loved it, 
 He loved me so.'' 
 
 God laid my little rose in His bosom. 
 
 It was so dear and so fair to see ; 
 He stooped to tell me that He would keep it 
 Quite safe for me. 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 
 {Dedicated to Anarchists.) 
 
 Oh, mates, a greater than this man 
 Was hungry and faint for food, 
 
 He ■wandered homeless and roofless, 
 He died on a felon's rood : 
 
 The Carpenter, born of Mary, 
 Whose body the soldiers brake ; 
 
 Who would not head a rebellion, 
 Yet died for the people's sake. 
 
 And do you answer that vainly 
 His life for the lost He gave 1 
 
 His Spirit is pleading for you, 
 
 And freedom sprang from His grave. 
 
 Patience is stronger than fury : 
 
 The seedling born at your feet 
 
 Will break the stones of the pavement 
 
 And overshadow the street. 
 76 
 
A FRAGMENT. 77 
 
 " Perhaps ! " you answer, " Long after 
 
 Our heads in the dust lie low ; 
 For us is no shade, no shelter. 
 
 As on through the glare we go." 
 
 Although its boughs cannot cover 
 Your lives from the burning blast, 
 
 Take heed that your children's children 
 May eat of its fruit at last. 
 
 Courage is crowned by endurance, 
 And men who are wise and brave, 
 
 Will care that the tree should blossom. 
 Though only over their grave. 
 
 I hear your terrible answer ; 
 
 " What, wait on the laggard, Time, 
 While babes are trained for the gallows. 
 
 By tyranny, want, and crime 1 " 
 
 Yet not the less do I tremble 
 Lest, striking to set them free, 
 
 You slay the faint hope they cherish, 
 And quench the dim light they see. 
 
78 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 But Love is the great Avenger, 
 The weapons of Love are strong : 
 
 We must obey Him, though groaning, 
 " How long, oh Love, how long 1 " 
 
A LITTLE SONG. 
 
 {A Tlumko^ering for "In Memoriam" amd especially for the 
 opening ffifmn.) 
 
 Leave us not ; oh, leave us not, but bring us 
 New wine and bread for tbe celestial feast ! 
 
 Love us still ; oh, love us still, and sing us 
 New songs of love for God and man and beast. 
 
 Days of unbelief are dying, dying ; 
 
 Por sham beliefs are daily sacrificed. 
 In thy hymns poor souls by night are crying 
 
 To the Immortal Love, the very Christ. 
 
 Thou, who didst lose a friend, by loss to give us 
 A poem that should make our hope more sure : 
 
 Long wiU the glory of thy name outlive us. 
 
 And tiU death dies that death-song will endure ! 
 
A STUDY. 
 
 Phrases and words, what are they, friendj 
 But clumsy symbols that we use, 
 Which some interpret, some confuse ? 
 
 From words and phrases God defend 
 All souls on true communion bent ! 
 
 Yet One there is, One living Word, 
 Our dumb life's blessed Sacrament. 
 
 What need of faltering human speech 
 
 For those who in that Word are one 1 
 
 No more divided and alone, 
 But gladdened, strengthened each by each, 
 
 Thrilled by the tide of love that rent 
 The Sacred Heart ; one in the Word, 
 
 The consecrating Sacrament. 
 
 Sick unto death a woman lay : 
 A stranger, watching at her side. 
 Was ever ready to divide 
 
 Her scanty loaf with her each day ; 
 
A STUDY. 
 
 For Christ's own sake she came and went, 
 
 Abiding in the Eternal Word, 
 Of Love and Life the Sacrament. 
 
 One Paschal night, with love divine. 
 And weary eyes that longed to close, 
 She toiled until the morn arose, 
 
 To earn her sick friend's cup of wine ; 
 And while upon her work intent. 
 
 She thought of Him whose dying word 
 Gave us the Blessed Sacrament. 
 
 Then while the birds made music sweet. 
 
 She said, " Now dawns the Easter-Day — 
 
 A little while I'll steal away 
 To that grey church in yonder street. 
 
 For now once more my heart is bent 
 On going, at the Master's word, 
 
 To take the Blessed Sacrament." 
 
 It might not be ; for, while she spake 
 Death touched her friend with icy pain : 
 She ran for wine that yet again 
 
 The swoon might pass, her comrade wake ; 
 Then o'er that passing soul she leant. 
 
 And whispered, " He will keep His word 
 And be Himself our Sacrament." 
 
82 A STUDY. 
 
 The dying woman sank to rest 
 
 She said, " The broken bread and wine 
 Shall be to me love's food divine, 
 
 Which God, the Priest, Himself has blessed. 
 Our souls and bodies we present 
 
 Through Him who is the Eternal Word, 
 The Ever-blessed Sacrament." 
 
ON A PICTURE OF ST. JOHN 
 THE BAPTIST. 
 
 When in some lonely field we see 
 A white lamb by a child caressed, 
 
 Our thoughts go wandering back to thee, 
 The prophet of the Holiest. 
 
 We know not of thy boyhood's days, 
 "What boyish loves and cares were thine. 
 
 Or how in lonely desert ways 
 
 Thou didst behold the truth divine. 
 
 But thou wast true ; thine eyes were clear 
 To see the Love that by thee stood. 
 
 And in familiar things and near 
 Behold sublime and heavenly good. 
 
 83 
 
A PROTEST. 
 
 Oh, hast thou never heard the Master come, 
 Or known Him near when in the silent night 
 Innumerable stars were looking down 
 The blue abyss ; when all the air was hushed 
 Nor stirred the branches of the listening trees 
 Heavy with blossom, and the dewy flowers 
 Moved not a petal in the fragrant dark, — 
 Earth trembled at His footstep drawing near 
 And over thee Space brooded with vast wings 
 Of wonder ? — 
 
 In the cool celestial light 
 That follows after sunset, when the far 
 Horizon of the infinite reflects 
 A distant radiance, and the ether, quick 
 With swift pulsations, quivers, passionate — 
 In such a moment hast not thou too known 
 A little of His meaning? — Even as 
 Two friends who look each other in the eyes 
 Before they part, in that one look learn more 
 Each of the other than in all the hours 
 
 Of spoken thought. 
 
 84 
 
A PROTEST. 8s 
 
 Amid the blaze of noon, 
 When heaven leans earthward, and the silent sea, — 
 The sea of gold, — lies waiting for His feet, 
 Or glimmers opalescent underneath 
 The shadowy clouds ; has not thy spirit leaped. 
 Like some poor skylark prisoned from the sun, 
 Who through his narrow wiudow feels a ray 
 Of summer greet him, and in ecstasy 
 Of longing beats agaiast the bars, that hold 
 Him still a captive, thinking so to soar 
 Into the light and warmth and splendour ? — Oh, 
 Hast thou not felt that could thy soul's clear eyes 
 But pierce the flesh, thou wouldst behold Him, live 
 Thy Ufe out in that moment, and then die 
 Of that great rapture ? — 
 
 Plucking a sweet rose, 
 Was it to thee mere colour, circKng lines, 
 And delicate aroma ? — Yet unless 
 It bodied forth some lovely thought of God, 
 One ripple in the endless tide of love 
 Creative, wherefore should it move in thee 
 So subtle a deUght ? — 
 
 Has music then 
 No message for thee from the invisible 1 — 
 Is melody mere mathematic sound 
 Made rhythmic 1 — Hast thou never felt therein 
 
86 A PROTEST. 
 
 A greatness other than thyself, that caught 
 
 Thy half-despairing thought into its sweet 
 
 Magnificence of conflict till it rose 
 
 On quivering wings into the wordless joy 
 
 Of a diviner possibility ? — 
 
 Or, if thine ear he deaf, and tirfed eyes 
 
 A little hiind, yet when some nohle deed 
 
 Made the world echo, didst thou hear no voice 
 
 Greater than man's ? — 
 
 What ! hast thou never loved, 
 Or sinned, or suffered ? — Oh, nnhappy man ! 
 In the uplifted gaze of struggling crowds 
 Who yearn for something higher than they reach, 
 And, dogged by sorrow, poverty, and death. 
 Still seek the unseen good, then, surely, then 
 Thou hast been stirred to kinship with thy race. 
 And known thy brethren in the sons of God 
 The eternal Father 1 — Hast thou never met 
 In moments of supreme and awful grief 
 The Man of Sorrows 1 — Knowing not His name, 
 Hast thou not leaned upon His circling arms 
 And felt His Godhead 1 — Hast thou never found 
 In Him sublime compassion that could stoop 
 To save thee from thyself l — 
 
 If thou hast not, 
 What is this wondrous universe to thee 
 
A PROTEST. 87 
 
 But a Ion? graveyard, soulless, animal, 
 A ghastly counterfeit of fair and grand 
 Imaginations. 
 
 Yet have courage : thou 
 Art seeking Him who wrestles with thee. Strive 
 With Him till He has told His name, and thou 
 Hast won a blessiag ! — Though the night endure 
 A dreary lifetime, when the morning breaks, 
 What will the night be in the dawning joy 
 Of light ineffable?— 
 
 Then wilt thou see 
 The gathered harvest of those toUiag years 
 When the Immortal overshadowed thee, 
 And thou, being mortal, couldst not yet see God. 
 At last, beholding Him, thou wilt behold 
 Life's inmost meaning, love's deep mystery, 
 And all eternity will be thine own ! 
 1880. 
 
DEATH AND LIFE. 
 
 Death ! wlien all my tasks are done, 
 
 And Life has yielded up 
 The hidden joys that, one by one. 
 
 Make sweet his bitter cup, . 
 Then only, at the set of sun. 
 
 Come thou with me to sup. 
 
 Thou art but Life in brief disguise, 
 
 And, ere we sup, wilt lay 
 Thy domino of sombre dyes 
 
 Within my tomb away. 
 Then ilash on my delighted eyes 
 
 As Life in Life's array. 
 
 That night put no new jewels on 
 But wear thy time-worn dress, 
 
 No kindlier garment canst thou don, 
 Nor shall I love thee less — 
 
 The hurried air will then be gone 
 That mars thy loveliness : 
 
 88 
 
DEATH AND LIFE. 89 
 
 Despite the mystery and pain 
 Tliat blend with, love and bliss, 
 
 For life hereafter we are fain, 
 Not -wholly unlike this, 
 
 But life more vital, to regain 
 
 "What we through weakness miss. 
 
 Death ! I called thee once a friend 
 Of whom I had no fear : 
 
 (Stern Life, on me his brows would bend, 
 Nor seemed his bidding clear), — 
 
 But when I saw thee hither wend, 
 I knew that Life was dear. 
 
 When nearer drew the shrouded face, 
 
 (Day's work unfinished still), 
 A terror shadowed all the place, 
 
 A prayer possessed my will ; 
 " A little longer grant me grace 
 
 While I my day fulfil ! " 
 
 1 heard a hand unlatch my door, 
 
 More solemn grew my dread ; 
 No death-like phantom crossed my floor, 
 
 But Life himself instead, 
 His mocking smile, unseen before, 
 
 With shamefast eyes I read. 
 
90 DEATH AND LIFE. 
 
 He smiled ; "I did but masqueiade 
 
 A moment in thy sight, 
 And wa-st thou then so sore afraid 
 
 Of thy friend, Death, to-night 1 — 
 Go, finish what thy labour made, 
 
 Nor waste the waning light." 
 
 And He at last in Whom I trust, 
 When death does frown on me, 
 
 Will throw the mask into the dust 
 That I true Life may see. 
 
 His garb of joy from moth and rust 
 Eternally set free. 
 
 Familiar Life, but fairer far 
 Than shone his earthly grace. 
 
 Which care and grief and hurry mar 
 And bonds of time and space ; 
 
 Life always where earth's loved ones are. 
 Before Love's unveiled face. 
 
WORDS. 
 
 Hold them fast, 
 
 Heed them well ! 
 They will last 
 When Time's past : 
 Heaven and hell, 
 Joy and sorrow, life's passion and pain, 
 Will come forth at a word and will vanish again 
 At a word. 
 Hate's evoked, 
 Faith revoked. 
 Terror stirred, 
 By the mystical meaning that breaks 
 From the faltering symbols our human thought makes. 
 For God's sake 
 Have a care ! 
 Hearts may break. 
 Sins awake, 
 Souls despair, 
 At the breath of an idle word, thrust 
 In the path of endeavour, or pity, or trust. 
 
92 WORDS. 
 
 They are fraught 
 
 With so much 
 Quick, enwrought, 
 Divine thought, 
 
 They will touch 
 Souls long dead, with new promise of bloom. 
 And arrest in their pathway the angels of doom. 
 Who shall say 
 
 Words are nought 
 And yet pray 
 Day by day ? — 
 
 Dearly bought, 
 Comes miraculous food ; 
 Taste and see if the banquet God gives thee be good. 
 With bent head 
 
 Take the Wine 
 And the Bread 
 Love has spread : — 
 Love Divine, 
 Love, Death-crowned, the Eternal, when man's path 
 
 He trod, 
 And fashioned His sceptre for our staflf and rod, 
 Came to earth as the Word of th' Omnipotent God. 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
 Glad month of reddening leaves and ripened fruit ! 
 Now glow the trees in crimson and in gold, 
 Tall grasses wave upon the unmown wold, 
 
 "With such soft joy as doth the season suit. 
 
 A breath of still delight steals through the wood ; 
 The silver birch is quivering in the breeze, 
 And the great beech, most beautiful of trees. 
 
 Spreads golden wings of sheltering motherhood. 
 
 The poets chant of April and of May, 
 
 And all the gracious influence of Spring — 
 O bright Octoher ! I of thee will sing, 
 
 And love shall fashion my untutored lay. 
 
 What if thou art but as the broidered hem 
 
 Of Time's fair mantle, which awhile doth hide 
 The Eternal Presence, lest none might abide 
 
 His unveiled glories, nor be slain by them ; 
 
94 OCTOBER. 
 
 Yet, as a maid might kiss with joy and pride 
 The border of her Koyal Master's cloak, 
 Nor yet repent her, nor her deed revoke, 
 
 Though He the lovely vesture laid aside ; 
 
 So I the beauty of the fleeting year 
 
 Greet with a passion that no doubts estrange — 
 The changing robe of that which knows no change, 
 
 Things seen which bring the unseen world more near. 
 
SUMMER DREAMS. 
 
 SUMMER, summer, tarry here. 
 
 Nor spread tliy folded wings for flight ! 
 The sky is cloudless, and the mere 
 One chrysolite. 
 
 The air is fragrant with the flowers ; 
 
 "Wild roses, woodruff, meadow-sweet, — 
 And blue-eyed weeds through sunny hours 
 Bloom round our feet. 
 
 Time was, a future far away 
 
 The one enchanted world we deemed ; 
 Nor heard the skylark's roundelay. 
 So deep we dreamed. 
 
 We plucked the daisies in the sun, 
 
 And from the dandelion clocks 
 We blew the seeds, now one by one. 
 And now in flocks. 
 
 95 
 
SUMMER DREAMS. 
 
 We read the riddle of our fate, 
 
 Not quite believing it was true, 
 J3ut musing, early still and late, 
 On what we knew. 
 
 "We bade the blossomed grasses tell 
 
 The secret destiny they hid, 
 Nor cared to grasp the moments well 
 That past us slid. 
 
 But now with eager eyes we gaze 
 
 On fields where buttercups are gay : 
 We long to keep the gliding days 
 That will not stay. 
 
 For now at last we understand 
 
 The present, with its joy and pain. 
 In no far-off or fairy land 
 Will come again. 
 
 We watch the faces that are dear. 
 
 And know within our deepest heart 
 That death and change are standing near 
 To bid us part. 
 
SUMMER DREAMS. 97 
 
 We look with tope sincere and bold, 
 
 Beyond the future's death-given birth : 
 But shall we meet upon this old, 
 Familiar earth ? 
 
 And will the self -same roses bloom, 
 
 The self-same throstles sing as sweet, 
 When in a world untouched by gloom 
 At last we meet ? 
 
 It is our hope that up and on 
 
 Our wearied footsteps may be led, 
 Nor linger till the day is gone 
 And courage fled. 
 
 But, as we hurry on our way 
 
 And gird ourselves to run the race, 
 A moment still do we delay 
 For some loved face ; 
 
 A moment o'er the landscape yearn, 
 
 Or pierce some honeysuckled nook, 
 With memory sweet, by heart to learn 
 Its very look. 
 
98 SUMMER DREAMS. 
 
 We scan some milestone where we met 
 
 A guide, a friend, a little child, 
 
 Whose loving eyes, remembered yet, 
 
 "With blessing smiled. 
 
 No more for magic worlds we pray 
 
 Of unimaginable bliss. 
 But that the meaning of To-day 
 "We may not miss. 
 
SONGS FOR DIVERSE VOICES 
 
A LOVE-SONG. 
 
 Do I love her t Ask the planets, 
 As their circling race they run, 
 
 If they feel the power that draws them 
 In their orbits round the sun ! 
 
 Do I love her ? — Hav^ I ever 
 With such love loved any one 1 
 
 Do I love her ? Ask the ocean 
 
 Moaning, murm'ring, passion-tossed. 
 
 If no mystic force awakened 
 
 When the moon her zenith crossed ! 
 
 Do I love her ? — Have I ever 
 In such seas of love been lost ? — 
 
 Does she love me ? — Ah in pity 
 Do not bid me tell you yet. 
 
 She has never said she loved me, 
 But our eyes have sometimes met. 
 
 If she turn her back upon me, 
 Then for me the sun has set. 
 
AN ARAB LEGEND. 
 
 When the angel's sword was blazing 
 Eound the garden of delight, 
 
 Through her tears in terror gazing, 
 Eve stood weeping in his sight. 
 
 " Lo," he murmured, eastward turning, 
 " Here the tree of life still grows 1 " 
 
 Then he leaned across the burning 
 And he plucked her one red rose. 
 
 Kuch a rose may every mortal 
 One day hold with soft surprise, 
 
 As he lingers at the portal 
 Of a flame-girt paradise. 
 
 And to those this boon possessing 
 Seems it still of wondrous worth : 
 
 Yea, to them, for curse or blessing, 
 'Tis the only rose on earth. 
 
LUCY TO RAVENSWOOD. 
 
 Oh, shall sweet roses scent the air 
 
 Although they hidden be, 
 And yet my soul be unaware 
 
 When thy soul dreams of me 1 
 
 And shall a rough wind hurt my cheek 
 
 Because the sky is cold, 
 Yet I not hear thy sorrow speak 
 
 Or feel thy joys unfold ? — 
 
 Shall birds to find a land unknown 
 
 Fly o'er the wintry sea, 
 But thou not seek me, O, my own. 
 
 And I not trust in thee 1 
 
WORDS FOR MUSIC. 
 
 Ah, it was but the sighing of the wind 
 
 Through the blossoms of the dewy linden thrilled, 
 In the garden that my love had left behind, 
 
 Till my soul had caught the fragrance they distilled, 
 Ifectar-filled. 
 
 Nay, it was but the blooming of a rose 
 
 That had cast a sudden glamour on my sight, 
 
 Frpm the garden where my own beloved goes 
 In her own sweet sister-flowers to take delight, 
 Every night. 
 
WORDS FOR MUSIC. loS 
 
 Or it was but the setting of the sun 
 
 Opened wide a golden heaven on my gaze, 
 
 As I watched the clouds grow crimson one by one, 
 Till for me there were no common nights and days, 
 No dull ways. 
 
 Or was it that my love had prayed for me, 
 
 And the prayer that on the roses, sighing, fell, 
 
 Breathed a blessing still from blossom and from tree 
 And had opened heaven's windows wide as well 1 
 Who can tell ? 
 
SONG. 
 
 If I might choose for thee, my love, 
 If I might choose, 
 
 How little would be thine, my love. 
 How much thou'dst lose ; 
 
 Joy should be thine but never a grief 
 If I might choose ! 
 
 But God is greater than my heart 
 And fain would see 
 
 That triumph of divinest art 
 
 Which thou shalt be ; 
 
 Pain is His chisel : do not start ! 
 He loveth thee. 
 
A VIOLIN-SONG. 
 
 All the worlds were alight in the heavens ahove us, 
 Not a cloud dimmed the solemn unfathomed blue ; 
 
 All the good angels who lead and love us, 
 Caught the rapture that thrilled us through : 
 
 All the lilies bent their heads in the starlight, 
 All the nightingales hushed their songs to hear, 
 
 But it never will dawn again, that fading, far light 
 Then so near. 
 
 Now I stand in a meadow, flat, flowerless, grassy. 
 Little birds in the tree-tops twitter and start. 
 
 And deeper than death, cold, fathomless, glassy, 
 Eolls the river that bids us part. 
 
 She lingers on that side and I on this side — 
 The heavens are dark and the earth a dream ; 
 
 Nevermore can love's messages cross over this wide. 
 Silent stream. 
 
A GREETING. 
 
 Since once we crossed a daisied lawn 
 
 Beneath an April sky, 
 The blushing daisies never dawn 
 
 But you seem standing by. 
 
 And since we lingering stood to see 
 The evening star burn bright, 
 
 Your presence always comes to me 
 When comes a starry night. 
 
 Your every thought an answer gave 
 To some half-thought of mine, 
 
 And still the truths you love, right brave, 
 My books do interline. 
 
 Io8 
 
A GREETING. 109 
 
 Because you strove witli every ill 
 
 And wrestled for the right, 
 Your strength of heart is with me still 
 
 In many a lonely fight. 
 
 How much less bright was life before 
 
 Your shadow on me fell : — 
 God grant that I may love Him more 
 
 Through loving you so well ! 
 
FLOWER FANCIES 
 
 To A Lanoashibe Lass. 
 
 ( With a lunch of the white pheasant-eyed narcissus, Imovm in 
 Lancashire as the " Sweet Nancy.") 
 
 I SCARCELY dare to tell my love, 
 And yet I think tlie chance is 
 
 That I shall try at least to win 
 The secret of sweet Nancy's. 
 
 It is not soft brown eyes alone, 
 Though very sweet their glance is, 
 
 Nor yet her pure and starlike face 
 That made me my sweet Nancy's. 
 
 Ah, no ! It was a deeper speU 
 Of love's own necromancy's, 
 
 That made me vow to live and die 
 For evermore sweet Nancy's. 
 
FLOWER FANCIES. 
 
 She is a daughter of the soil, 
 
 Unspoiled by idle fancies, 
 The garden and the dairy both 
 
 Are queenships of sweet Nancy's, 
 
 If she be mine, then can I laugh 
 At adverse circumstances — 
 
 I know a strong, courageous heart 
 Will be my brave sweet Nancy's. 
 
 Sweet namesakes of her own I send 
 
 To quell her hesitancies : 
 " Sweet Nancies," ye must woo for me 
 
 The sweetest of sweet Nancies. 
 
FLOWER FANCIES. 
 
 II. 
 
 To A Devonshikb Maiden sojodbning in London. 
 
 ( With a hmch of the wild daffodils, called in Devon " Lent 
 Lilies.") 
 
 O HEIGHT Lent Lily with the golden hair, 
 "Why art thou only lent and wilt not stay 1 — 
 
 Thou art so wonderfully bright and fair, 
 My sunshine goes if thou hut turn away, 
 Lent Lily ! 
 
 Thy smile is welcome : though it comes in Lent, 
 The gayest festival it well might grace. 
 
 There's not a fast but as a feast is spent 
 Only in gazing on thy laughing face, 
 Lent Lily. 
 
FLOWER FANCIES. 113 
 
 Why must thou go 1 — "Why art thou only lent i 
 Oh, not a loan but a free gift I crave. 
 
 Only thyself, dear Lily, will content 
 
 This heart, possessed by ne'er a mortal save 
 Lent Lily. 
 
SONG. 
 
 ( Written for the last scene in a play adapted from " Ivanhoe. ") 
 
 Love is not love if love be marred 
 
 By selfish greed of love : 
 Love only asks in service true 
 
 Unbidden strength to prove. 
 Love, when the secret fight goes hard 
 
 And heaven frowns above, 
 His brightest armour will endue 
 
 And strive till hell remove. 
 
 Love triumphs even in defeat, 
 
 Aud in the eyes of Scorn 
 Will flash a glad celestial smile 
 
 As clear as dewy morn. 
 Diviner crowns than roses sweet 
 
 Love weaves of flowerless thorn, 
 Still faithful, tender, pure of guile. 
 
 Though by the fates foresworn. 
 
CORYDON TO PHYLLIDA WITH A BUNCH 
 OF AUTUMN VIOLETS. 
 
 Could all the measure of my love be set 
 "Within the compass of one tiny flower ; 
 The yearning thoughts that chase thee hour by hour, 
 
 The trembling hope, sweet fear, and fond regret ; — 
 
 Could I enfold within one violet 
 
 Love's deepest m.eaning and eternal power, 
 The dewy sunshine of love's inmost bower. 
 
 The charm which, having tasted, none forget ; — 
 
 Or could a violet, breathing toward thee, tell 
 What to no other soul I would betray. 
 
 Fragrance like music then should find a spell 
 To utter what no human words could say. 
 
 Stoop down, dear love, these autumn violets smell. 
 
 And make their message what thou wilt. Farewell. 
 
SONNETS 
 
NEW YEAR'S EVE. 
 
 Not that they bring us labour, pain, and care, 
 Do we turn pale when, ringing in our ears, 
 Is heard the gallop of the hurrying years, 
 
 And, foot in stirrup, we must onward fare ; 
 
 Through joy, and sorrow, death, and many a snare. 
 We seek our goal ; not these our courage fears, 
 Nor the hard fighting that great Love endears ; 
 
 But hourly choice that we must swiftly dare : 
 
 Yea, as we spring to horse, we tremble most 
 
 Knowing there must be, in the new year's flight. 
 
 Loved opportunities, seen, longed for, lost. 
 
 Which, choosing others, choosing at our cost. 
 We shall pass by, and leave fd,r out of sight; 
 
 Friendships, achievements, deeds, a beckoning host. 
 
IN MEMORIAM— ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 {Three Sormets, the first written while the poet was living in London, 
 ike others after he had died in Venice. ) 
 
 London, thou hast thy poet ; lift thy head ! 
 Florence may find sweet homage in his lays, 
 But thou, — thou art his home, with thee he stays ; 
 
 And in his poems loving eyes have read 
 
 Thy very self ; the multitudinous tread 
 
 Of that quick motley throng that crowds thy ways, 
 Where all the game is tangled, and who plays 
 
 For this world only, wins a stone for bread. 
 
 Standing on solid earth, with heaven above. 
 The squalor and splendour of life thy poet sees. 
 
 The sordid seeming, and the fact divine. 
 Grim byways, lacking not their almond trees, 
 And, in the midmost noise and whirl, a shrine, 
 
 A sacred altar to the Lord of Love. 
 
" Oh, woman-country wooed not wed," fair land, 
 Beloved by her to whom his troth held fast. 
 We will not grudge his presence at the last. 
 
 For he was ours : yea, even we who stand 
 
 Afar from those who may as friends command 
 Years full of blissful memories, death being past, 
 We claim him, though we mourn with eyes downcast, 
 
 The sadder that we never touched his hand. 
 
 Italy and England ! In one bond 
 
 He binds you both by the brave words he said. 
 
 With his new country. Well his part was conned 
 
 For this world's task : no visionary fond, 
 
 But a strong man, true to the quick and the dead. 
 
 He drew death's veil aside, and looked beyond. 
 
3- 
 
 Lover of God and man ! -To some thou art 
 A great philosopher, a stalwart inind, 
 A jester, and a poet skilled to find 
 
 Beneath life's motley coat the poor- fool's heart ; 
 
 A passionate singer, with quick eye to part 
 Evil from good when they are intertwined 
 As if one strand, and patiently unwind 
 
 The golden thread into the heavenly mart : 
 
 Yea, but a leader too, whose word inspired, 
 And doubt-destroying laughter, bade believe 
 Even in the desert ; striking, thou didst cleave 
 
 The rock for water ; and didst march, untired, 
 
 Before us toward the promised country, fired 
 With joys of which nor death nor hell bereave. 
 
IN MEMORIAM— MATTHEW ARNOLD. 
 
 (Three Sonnets to the Poet who wrote " Thyrsis," " Stagirius," 
 and " A Farewell.") 
 
 Oh, wherefore didst tliou go ? On yonder hill 
 Now buds the elm which in the vanished years 
 Thou didst invoke with music that endears 
 
 Thyrsis and thee, sweet notes that surely will 
 
 Be heard again, and with a message thrill 
 The radiant airs ; the Spring at last appears, 
 Waking the birds ; the dim horizon clears ; 
 
 The light long sought and loved is shining still. 
 
 Is Thyrsis with thee where that light doth shine 
 Calmer and deeper to the perfect day. 
 
 Illumining the furthest boundary line 
 
 Of eager questioning, once his and thine. 
 With joyous vision T^Shadows pass away 
 
 In the eternal dawn of Love Divine. 
 
 123 
 
Thtrsis was dear to thee, and thou didst tell 
 How all too soon he left thee, how his smile 
 Faded amid the rough world's care and guile. 
 
 How on his sensitive spirit soon there fell 
 
 The mystery of pain ! It was not well 
 
 With Thyrsis here ; yet, through earth's dark defile. 
 Singing, he climbed, and cheered our hearts the while 
 
 "With silver tones, like some far convent bell. 
 
 And thou, left lonelier for his going, thou 
 To noble melody didst tune thy grief. 
 
 And tranquillise our fever when thy brow 
 
 Burned, and thou wast athirst. We know not how. 
 But thy grave music deepened our belief 
 
 In all that gladdens thee and Thyrsis row. 
 
3- 
 
 Fools thouglit thy phrasing passionless, and heard, 
 When Thyrsis sang, a gay and mocking peal ; 
 But Thyrsis from his comrades oft would steal 
 
 And tune a song as sad as night's own bird. 
 
 Wistful for morning ; and thy singing stirred 
 Some hitter well-springs, and would oft unseal 
 Desires thy strong hand crushed, but could not heal 
 
 Until Death came and stilled them with a word. 
 
 On troubled passion brooding like a dove, 
 Does the eternal quiet that is strength 
 
 Calm thy quick, restless heart, his mind that strove 
 
 To reach the truths faith touched, but could not prove, 
 Your stern self-sway fulfilled with joy at length, 
 
 In liberty's one law of perfect love ? — 
 
TWO SONNETS OF THE HARVEST. 
 
 Now is the harvest gathered in at last 
 
 To make bread for the people ; full and sound 
 The ripened ears fell on the fruitful ground, 
 
 Before the sickle ; and the reapers passed ; 
 
 The maidens followed, stooping to make fast 
 In golden clusters all the corn they found — 
 Then, balancing aloft the sheaf new-bound, 
 
 They on the heaped-up stook their burden cast ; 
 TJntil at eventide the loaded wain 
 Bore homeward all the glory of the field, 
 
 And men and maids rejoiced o'er work well done. 
 Did they remember then the buried grain 
 That in the. darkness long lay hid to yield 
 
 Eood for the world beneath the summer sun ? 
 
 126 
 
Long had the seed been waiting in the earth, 
 Deep underground, far from the blessed light, 
 That heaven's flaming orb, though out of sight, 
 
 Might by his power awake to gradual birth 
 
 A manifold new life of fuller worth. 
 
 More vital being. Long had radiant might, 
 That scarce was felt, yet ceased not day nor night. 
 
 Drawn upward out of passiveness and dearth 
 Of joyous influence, what the steadfast root 
 Had won in patience. After blade and bloom 
 
 Had come the full ears' slowly reddening gold. 
 The time of darkness had not failed of fruit. 
 For now the ripe corn has fulfilled its doom, 
 
 And grown and multiplied a hundredfold. 
 
LONDON. 
 
 Let shepherds carol of the pearly mead 
 Where all is innocent and all is fair : 
 Sweet is the dewy breath of country air, — 
 
 May Love in holidays me thither lead ! 
 
 But the great city with its aching need, 
 Its human load of passion and of care. 
 Cries to my heart, bids me arise and dare, 
 
 And do her service with unhasting speed. 
 
 Too sad her tune for any shepherd's lips, 
 
 Pan may not pass her gateways with his flute : 
 I love her, less for her imperial state. 
 
 Her lovely dome, her river with its ships. 
 Than for the spark of God within the brute, 
 The human soul not yet regenerate. 
 
TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. ' 
 
 Had I such faith, in mine own gift of song 
 That I might herald it with prelude sweet, 
 Of how, a child, I skimmed with flying feet 
 
 Life's frozen lake, where circling fancies throng 
 
 Far from life's ocean-currents deep and strong, 
 Until the pain and mystery, that beat 
 Through the world's heart, did in the child's heart 
 meet 
 
 And make her woman ; I would ponder long 
 
 Thine elemental harmonies, that wed 
 
 Man's spirit to Nature's chords that erst were born 
 In the Soul of our souls. Thou art calm and great ; 
 
 When my voice quivers with swift love and dread, 
 Thou dost rebuke me with a, touch of scorn ; 
 " Sing thou no prelude ; — only work and wait." 
 
 1882. 
 
TWO SONNETS. 
 
 (To my Father' » Friends on the Anniveriary of their 
 
 ay-) 
 
 In this tumultous world of joy and fear, — 
 Hope still deferred, desire not liere fulfilled, — 
 How seldom is the blind wayfarer skilled 
 To win the flower of this brief mortal year, 
 Earth's mystic blossom that brings heaven near ! 
 Only a few, strong-hearted, steadfast-willed, 
 Have gathered it and found Time's murmur stilled 
 By secrets all too deep for human ear. 
 You, who have plucked this one supreme sweet gift 
 That baffles death and change, — amid the strife 
 Of our imperfect speech a symbol lent 
 Of some high mystery, — Love will uplift 
 Life's daily bread, true husband, faithful wife, 
 And minister to you God's sacrament. 
 
But, while for you this marriage feast is spread, 
 Perchance new gladness God to you will send. 
 And he who is my father and your friend 
 Will cross your threshold, for he is not dead. 
 Nor will forget the life that here he led. 
 Although no voice the yearning silence end. 
 Nor visible presence that dark shadow rend 
 Which hides him from us, let it not he said 
 My dream is idle : for I think the Lord 
 Will give some unsought joy to you to-day 
 By this dear messenger. Ere he depart, 
 Will he not bless the children round your board, 
 His hand on each bright head, caressing, lay, 
 And gaze upon you both with wistful heart ?- 
 
FAILURE. 
 
 The Angel of the Lord took of the flowers 
 Out of His garden. — Pure and passionate joys 
 That no sun blasts, and no base worm destroys, 
 
 He found like sweet red roses in the bowers ; 
 
 And patient loves that through the silent hours, 
 Fair as white lilies, grow afar from noise ; 
 Unsullied peace, whose blossoms, winglike, poise 
 
 Themselves on the still air, drinking the showers 
 
 And sunbeams ; hopes that caught the sunny hue 
 Of heaven's azure ; — but He gathered most 
 Of that which men caU Failure ; where He trod, 
 
 Its thorny strength sprang into life anew. 
 
 " Flowers," He said, " shall crown the heavenly host. 
 But only thorns are worthy of a God." 
 
A CHRISTMAS SONNET. 
 
 When innocent children come to bless our earth 
 "With soft caresses that are horn of love, 
 Fair souls long brooded over by the Dove 
 
 That cared for them before their mortal birth, 
 
 Then do some kindling gleams of heavenly worth 
 Break on us through the darkling clouds above ; 
 And in the world's dark places brightening move 
 
 The joyous flames of sacred Christ-born mirth ; 
 
 "We think of that first bygone Christmas when 
 The sages from a new-born Babe did learn, 
 And in our deepest hearts more clear doth burn 
 
 The Light divine that is the light of men, 
 That now no lowliest creature we may spurn 
 
 Since Christ Himself lay in a manger then. 
 
TO THE WRITER OF "SILAS MARKER" 
 AND "TALES FROM CLERICAL LIFE."* 
 
 {Suggested by the imveUing of a statue to George Sand.) 
 
 For thee we carve no statue : thou hast willed 
 
 Other memorial ; a chalice bright 
 
 Wrought of the courage doubt could not affright, 
 Nor death dishearten, with love's offering fiUed, 
 Not without anguish ; that thy work, once thrilled 
 
 "With aspiration, hope, and failure, might 
 
 Be made a means of strength in some hard fight, 
 New force from thine endurance be distilled. 
 And what was fashioned of thy pain will slake 
 
 In mortal suffering much immortal thirst. 
 Thine eyes beheld but man : — a hand divine 
 Of every cup so offered yet will make, 
 
 Though it be marred by many a flaw at first. 
 An altar-cup to hold the sacred wine. 
 
 * " May I reach 
 That purest heaven, he to other souls 
 The cup of strength in some great agony." 
 
 — Geokge Eliot. 
 
 '34 
 
]SroT in a dim cool temple out of sight 
 
 Is this fair cup from human gaze withheld — 
 Not for such purpose did the Master weld 
 
 Its ample curves, and make it brim with light, 
 
 And on its border curious letters write 
 
 That must with patient, reverent care be spelled : 
 But, where life's fierce sirocco is not quelled, 
 
 With living water gleams the chalice bright 
 
 Blind to the Rock that for their thirst was rent, 
 Under whose shadow in that weary land 
 
 The water turns to wine in sacrament, 
 The travellers, dazzled by the desert sand 
 
 And with the dreary journey well-nigh spent. 
 
 Still pass the " cup of strength " from hand to hand. 
 
AN MEINE FREUNDIN. 
 
 Sweet recognition, wlien the soul looks out 
 Just for an instant from the unveiled eyes, 
 And love in either heart grows rich and wise, 
 
 Too glad for fear, too absolute for douht ! 
 
 As a ship in mid-ocean tossed about, 
 Suddenly sighting with a glad surprise 
 Another toiler under the same skies 
 
 To the same port, puts all her signals out. 
 
 So, when thy life my life's horizon crossed, 
 A fellow-voyager to the far shore 
 
 Toward which I- sailed, but one more strong and 
 brave, 
 
 Whose courage had won much my faltering lost ; — ' 
 Our hearts joined company, through wind and wave 
 
 And stress of weather, kin for evermore. 
 
 136 
 
TWO PICTURES* 
 
 She sang until she stood, a pure white soul, 
 Within the open gates of Paradise ; 
 And he, the listener, saw through her clear eyes 
 Life's loveliness. The warm light downward stole 
 Through golden hair that made an aureole 
 For her uplifted face, which lily-wise 
 Kose o'er a leaf-hued gown. Her song did rise 
 Accordant with a certain ancient scroll, 
 Whence she had learned it once, with vague regret 
 For the musician dead ere she was born : 
 The harmony he dreamed had been so sweet 
 That, as he stood in heaven, he heard it yet, — 
 Like God, who in creation's primal morn 
 Had made earth's melody therewith complete. 
 
 * No. i^, Koj-al Academy, 1878. 
 
TWO PICTURES. 
 
 Bbing hither trowel, carving-tool and knife : 
 Finish the stonework, plane the seasoned wood ! 
 Let all the work be perfect ; sound and good ; 
 
 These two will buUd a house up, — man and wife, — 
 
 Its rooms made musical with joyous strife 
 Of children's voices, and sweet hardihood 
 Of quip and jest 'mid friends whose faith has stood 
 
 The brunt of time. While on their future life 
 
 Wistful, she gazes, he is fain to prove 
 
 Her dream's foundations, marking the commands 
 Of the great Architect, that when all's done, 
 
 Dug in the Eook and built of purest love. 
 
 They may possess a house not made with hands, 
 Eternal in the heavens, for ever one. 
 
 138 
 
OMAR KHAYYAM. 
 The Astkonomeb-Poet of Persia. 
 
 ("With a poet's love of beauty, Omar willed that his tomb 
 should be ' in a spot where the north wind may scatter 
 roses over it ; ' and his pupil, Khwajah Nizami, relates 
 that he visited the poet's grave, and found it just outside 
 a garden at Naishdpiir, and saw that trees stretched their 
 boughs over the garden wall, and dropped flowers upon 
 the tomb, ' so as the stone was hidden under them.' " — 
 Gontemporary Review, March 1876.) 
 
 Friend, is it well with thee ] Over thy grave, 
 Shapen like hearts the fallen rose-leaves lie. 
 That yester-night blushed pink against the sky, 
 
 And mocked the north wind with their splendour brave. 
 
 Thou, who hast struggled where the tempests rave, 
 Where still the petals from life's blossom fly, 
 Blown by Time's breath, — thou who in vain didst try 
 
 Joy's foaming wine-cup from Death's hand to save ; 
 
 Hast thou at last the secret 1 Is the bound 
 
 Of human knowledge passed ? Does He who gave 
 
 Those passionate yearnings once to see Him, round 
 Thy being with His own ? No more a slave. 
 
 Hast thou at last thy long-lost Father found, — 
 His love the fire that wiU consume and save ? 
 
THOMAS CARLYLE. 
 
 What went ye out to see 1 A shaken reed, 
 Stirred into music by the lyric wind ? 
 Or would ye bow before a regal mind, 
 
 Clothed in soft raiment of fair word and deed, 
 
 Sweetness and light, strong in the ancient creed 
 Of faith and hope and love, to bless mankind 
 With his consummate harmonies, and bind 
 
 The world to follow whither he might lead ? 
 
 Why seek the waste and howling desert then 1 
 Do kings and priests dwell in a wilderness 
 Of isolation 1 The Unseen has sent 
 
 A voice to trouble the dead lives of men. 
 This prophet came to curse and not to bless, 
 In echoing thunders moaning forth, " Eepent ! " 
 
On many a, man descends the fire divine ; 
 
 But foolish souls too oft its purpose foil 
 
 With false and idle tasks, that dirn and soil 
 The lamp through which their light was meant to shine; 
 Or, having squandered, mad with life's new wine, 
 
 The precious gift, and, scorning care or toil. 
 
 Burnt up too early all the sacred oil, 
 Their flame goes out : but the pure blaze in thine 
 Was tended reverently, lest it should waste 
 
 In careless splendour such as fools admire ; 
 
 For all thy work was done with all thy might, 
 Lessening the darkness, without rest or haste. 
 
 Thy spark was kindled in that central fire. 
 
 To which thine eyes were dim, the Light of Light. 
 
"BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HAVE NOT 
 SEEN AND YET HAVE BELIEVED." 
 
 Blessed are they who see not, yet believe — 
 Believe in love, in justice ; and delight 
 To serve their wounded comrades through the night 
 
 That closes round them ; eager to achieve 
 
 Their patient task, they will not stay to grieve 
 That in their clouded heaven no radiance bright 
 Of a God's presence dawns on their dull sight, 
 
 No hope of future joy their hearts receive. 
 
 Love is the source of life ; in Love they live : 
 "Without the Eucharistic loaf or cup, 
 
 They are sustained by the true Bread and Wine ; 
 
 Through Him their lives to save the world they give. 
 Daily their souls and bodies offering up 
 In the Eternal Sacrifice Divine. 
 
TO A SNOWDROP. 
 
 Whence art thou, lovely thing 1 — Pure as the snow 
 That falls from heaven, art thou heaven-born ] 
 Did some bright seraph in the early morn 
 Visit the town, and, ere he turned to go, 
 On the bare gardens this glad gift bestow. 
 
 Leaving the snowdrops here to cheer the worn 
 Watchers of earth ? — Well might thy grace adorn 
 The fields of Paradise. Nay, but I know 
 That is not God's way. Not from the blue sky 
 Have angels brought thee : thy white flower must 
 Have risen from a rough ungenial soil ; 
 Like to life's poetry, that comes not by 
 A poet's dreams, but blossoms in the dust 
 Of lowly cares and patient-handed toil. 
 
 143 
 
HYMNS FOR CHILDREN AND 
 OLDER PEOPLE 
 
Jesus, the children are calling, 
 
 0, draw near ! 
 Fold the young lambs in Thy bosom. 
 
 Shepherd dear ! 
 
 Slow are our footsteps and failing, 
 
 Oft we fall; 
 Jesus, the children are calling, 
 
 Hear their call ! 
 
 Cold is our love, Lord, and narrow ; 
 
 Large is Thine, 
 Faithful and strong and tender ; 
 
 So be mine ! 
 
 Gently, Lord, lead Thou our mothers,— 
 
 Weary they ; 
 Bless aU our sisters and brothers, 
 
 Mght and day. 
 
148 HYMNS. 
 
 Fathers themselves are God's children, 
 Teach them still ! 
 
 Let the Good Spirit show all men 
 God's wise will. 
 
 Now to the Father, Son, Spirit, 
 
 Three in One, 
 Bountiful God of our fathers, 
 
 Praise he done ! 
 
IL 
 
 Dear Master, what can children do 1 
 
 The angels came from heaven above 
 To comfort Thee : may children too 
 Give Thee their love ? 
 
 No more, as on that night of shame, 
 
 Art Thou in dark Gethsemane, 
 
 Where, vrorshipping, an angel came 
 
 To strengthen Thee. 
 
 But Thou hast taught us that Thou art 
 
 Still present in the crowded street, 
 In every lonely, suffering heart 
 That there we meet. 
 
 And not one simple, loving deed, 
 
 That lessens gloom, or lightens pain. 
 Or answers some unspoken need. 
 Is done in vain ; 
 
 '49 
 
ISO HYMNS. 
 
 Since every passing joy we make, 
 
 For men and women that we see, 
 If it is offered for Thy sake, 
 Is given to Thee. 
 
 O God, our Master, help us then 
 
 To hless the weary and the sad, 
 And, comforting our fellow-men, 
 To make Thee glad. 
 
III. 
 
 CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 What though, the snow be on the hill 
 
 And winter in the weather, 
 With love and hope and sweet goodwill 
 
 We keep the feast together : 
 Let heart with heart in joy accord 
 On this the birthday of the Lord. 
 
 The Christ, our Lord, was once a Child : 
 They laid Him in a manger. 
 
 The poor, the sick, the sin-defiled, 
 The prisoner, and the stranger. 
 
 Plead with us for the love of Christ 
 
 To give what He has sacrificed. 
 
152 HYMNS. 
 
 For us an offering He made 
 Of earth's divinest blessing ; 
 
 Despised, misunderstood, betrayed, 
 No home, no child possessing. 
 
 He said of little ones we see, 
 
 " Love given to them is given to Me." 
 
 God ! At this Thy Christmas-tide 
 Lay Thy dear hand upon us, 
 
 And if we wander from Thy side, 
 Look Thou in pity on us ; 
 
 Even in the darkness of the night 
 
 Let us behold Thy guiding light. 
 
IV. 
 
 From fretful care and worldly strife. 
 
 From every low unworthy quest, 
 Amid the needful toil of life, 
 Lord, give us rest ! 
 
 When coward love and envious fear 
 
 Have left us burdened and distressed, 
 O then, in pity, Lord, draw near 
 To give us rest ! 
 
 When sore beset by hungry need, 
 
 And in the battle sorely pressed, 
 From base ambition, aimless greed. 
 Lord, give us rest ! 
 
 When, faint and tired, we cannot see 
 
 The glorious visions of the blest, 
 Hold Thou us fast, keep us near Thee, 
 To give us rest. 
 
154 HYMNS,.^ 
 
 When life seems cruel, death unkiiid, 
 And chill despair our only guest, ^ 
 Yet lead us, poor and sick and blind, 
 Into Thy rest. 
 
 When darkness covers earthly things, 
 And heaven is sunless in the west, 
 Then gather us beneath Thy wings 
 To give us rest. 
 
The little snowdrops rise 
 
 From out their earthly prison, 
 The sun is in the skies, 
 And all the world rejoices 
 With her ten thousand voices, 
 For Christ the Lord is risen. 
 
 Pink are the almond flowers 
 On leafless branches borne, 
 And in the budding bowers 
 Of quiet woodland places 
 Primroses hft their faces 
 
 On this bright Easter morn. 
 
 The lark sings overhead 
 His happy roundelay, 
 Bare trees that seemed quite dead 
 Are blossoming in gladness ; 
 Even men forget their sadness, 
 And rise with Christ to-day. 
 
156 HYMNS. 
 
 Then shall not children, Lord, 
 In Thy dear presence live ? 
 Art Thou by all adored, 
 And shall not we be singing, 
 To Thee our heart's love bringing, 
 The best that we can give ? 
 
 We are not good or wise, 
 
 But Thou art strong to save ; 
 May we in Thee arise 
 To every high endeavour, 
 Leaving dead self for ever 
 
 Within Thy silent grave ! 
 
VT. 
 
 "Word of God ! when earth is glad 
 And all the birds do sing, 
 
 And flowers in radiant splendour clad 
 Sweet incense round them fling, 
 
 We feel Thy presence in the joy 
 That breathes through everything. 
 
 O Word of God, Eternal Light ! 
 
 When stars are shining clear. 
 We feel Thee with us in the night, 
 
 We know that Thou art near : 
 then, like Samuel of old, 
 
 Thy message may we hear ! 
 
 Word of God, Eternal Love ! 
 
 When life is dark and sad. 
 And storms possess the space above 
 
 That once the sunshine had, 
 Through care and sorrow may we feel 
 
 The love that maketh glad. 
 
iS8 HYMNS. 
 
 Word of God, our Lord and Christ, 
 Thou dost the children bless : 
 
 Dear Shepherd, Thou wast saerificed 
 To give us holiness. 
 
 O Father, Shepherd, Comforter, 
 One God, Thy Name we bless. 
 
VII. 
 
 Lord, wlien we have not any light, 
 
 And mothers are asleep. 
 Then through the stillness of the night 
 
 Thy little children keep ! 
 
 When shadows haunt the quiet room, 
 
 Help us to understand 
 That Thou art with us through the gloom, 
 
 To hold us by the hand. 
 
 And though we do not always see 
 
 The holy angels near, 
 may we trust ourselves to Thee, 
 
 Nor have one foolish fear. 
 
 So in the morning may we wake. 
 
 When wakes the kindly sun. 
 More loving for our Father's sake 
 
 To each unloving one. 
 
VIII. 
 
 How shall we worship Thee, Lord 1 
 
 What shall we bring 
 
 To Thee, our King, 
 By children and by men adored t 
 More dear to Thee than prayer and praise 
 Are loyal deeds and patient days. 
 
 What can we give ? Thou dost desire 
 
 A steadfast will, 
 
 Obedient still, 
 And faithful work that does not tire : 
 More dear to Thee than prayer and praise 
 Are loyal deeds and patient days. 
 
 How easy in the golden light 
 
 Of summer hours, 
 
 Among the flowers, 
 To bless Thee for a world so bright ! 
 More dear to Thee than prayer and praise 
 Are loyal deeds and patient days. 
 
HYMNS. i6i 
 
 When sorrow darkens all our sky, 
 
 Life's blossoms lost 
 
 In sudden frost, 
 And all our courage like to die, 
 O ! help us still Thy Name to praise 
 By loyal deeds and patient days. 
 
 In life, in death, in joy, and pain. 
 
 May we adore 
 
 Thee more and more. 
 Till love turn all our loss to gain. 
 And tune the years to perfect praise 
 In loyal deeds and patient days. 
 
IX. 
 
 When through life's dewy fields we go, 
 
 "With flowers on every side, 
 Thou art our Father, and we know 
 Thou art our Guide. 
 
 When some rough thorny path we climb, 
 
 And hope has gone away. 
 Yet Thou art with us all the time 
 By night and day. 
 
 When friends are near, when love burns bright, 
 
 And no dark shadows fall. 
 Then art Thou present in the light 
 That gladdens all. 
 
HYMNS. 163 
 
 When sorrow bids us stand apart, 
 
 And death is at the door, 
 Then draw us yet more near Thy heart 
 For evermore. 
 
 And when we try to do Thy will 
 
 With self and sin at strife, 
 Lord, in that fight with deadly ill 
 Be Thou our life. 
 
Our Lord became a servant 
 Among the poor and sad : 
 
 He toiled in weary patience 
 With all the strength He had. 
 
 "With hate and with reviling 
 His service was repaid, 
 
 And all our heaviest burdens 
 Were on His shoulders laid. 
 
 He spent His life in service, 
 Eejected, scorned, defied ; 
 
 And then, to save the thankless, 
 In loving service died. 
 
 If we despise true service. 
 Or do not serve in turn, 
 
 We grieve His Holy Spirit, 
 It is Himself we spurn, 
 164 
 
HYMNS. 165 
 
 Eich harvests some are reaping, 
 Which He, the Servant, sowed, 
 
 And we may help the gleaners 
 To bear their homeward load. 
 
 Here in the world's wide corn-field, 
 
 If honest work we do, 
 Will come, in Love's own accents, 
 
 His " Peace be unto you." 
 
TRANSLATIONS 
 
A POEM OF HALM. 
 
 Mt heart, I will but ask thee, 
 What love is, how begun 'i — 
 
 " Two souls and one existence, 
 Two hearts that beat in one." 
 
 And tell me whence love comes, then ^- 
 "Love comes and straight is here.'' 
 
 And say, how does love vanish ? — 
 " Such was not love, 'tis clear." 
 
 And which love is the purest ? — 
 
 " Forgetting self 'tis best." 
 How mark the love that's deepest ? — 
 
 '"Tis stiller than the rest." 
 
 And when is love the richest ? — 
 " When love a spendthrift proves." 
 
 Tell me, what is love's language 1 — 
 " Love does not speak, but loves." 
 169 
 
JEANNETTE. 
 
 A Poem op Viotob Hugo. 
 
 You are a year old, darling, a year old yester-morn ; 
 You babble on, ligbt-hearted, as little birds, new-born, 
 Under the brancbes' shelter, deep in the warmest nest, 
 Open wide eyes and twitter in joyous sweet unrest, 
 When first their tiny feathers, just peeping forth, 
 
 begin. 
 My rosy-mouthed, wee Janet ! I find fine verses in 
 Those big books that I bring you, whose pictures are 
 
 your joy, 
 While, rumpling all the pages, your fingers you 
 
 employ ; 
 But yet not one avails you when seized with such 
 
 delight. 
 Your little body quivers as I come into sight ; 
 
ySANNETTE. 171 
 
 Nor liave most famous authors writ aught that could. 
 
 exceed 
 The thought, but half unfolded, that in your eyes I 
 
 read, 
 Your vague, half-mystic dreaming, more strange than 
 
 words can say. 
 When, ignorant as angels, you look on man to-day. 
 Since you are here, my Janet, God is not far away. 
 
TWO SONNETS OF GOETHE. 
 Sie SicBenbe fc^reiBt. 
 
 And if thine eyes gave mine a gaze too deep, 
 Thy mouth had left a kiss upon mine own, 
 Then who that such sweet certainty has known 
 
 Can hope from aught beside such joy to reap 1 
 
 Exiled from friends, and far from thee, I keep 
 Chasing my thoughts round, but one hour alone 
 They light on still, the hour to me now grown 
 
 The only one ; there I begin to weep. 
 
 I think, — and straight the tear is gone again, — 
 His love is toward thee here where all is still. 
 Canst thou not touch him, though afar, with thine 1- 
 
 Take then this murmur, broken by love's pain ; 
 All earth can give lies hidden in thy will, 
 I know it means me well ; give me a sign. 
 
II. 
 
 S)u SieBenbe aBennats. 
 
 Why once again over my paper bend 1 — 
 Question me not too closely, dearest : nay, 
 To thee I have in truth nothing to say, 
 
 Yet this for thy dear hands I do intend. 
 
 I may not go, — therefore herewith I send 
 My undivided heart to thee to-day ; 
 Loving, hopes, raptures, torments grave and gay, 
 
 To which there's no beginning and no end. 
 
 No words can messengers of this day be. 
 
 My heart, — desires, dreams, will, thought.s 
 
 manifold, — 
 Still turned to thee, to its allegiance fast : 
 
 So was it when I stood and looked on thee, 
 
 I did not speak, for what could words have told t 
 My whole existence was fulfilled at last. 
 
AFTER HEINE 
 
 I STOOD before thy portrait 
 In dreams all dark with pain, 
 
 Until the face I loved so 
 Began to glow again. 
 
 A smile of wondrous sweetness 
 Stole round those lips of thine, 
 
 And tears of passionate grieving 
 In those deep eyes did shine. 
 
 Tears down my cheeks were falling ; 
 
 For still I weep with thee, — 
 But 0, my heart refuses 
 
 To think thou'rt lost to me ! 
 
A GERMAN VOLKSLIED. 
 
 It is the will of One above 
 
 That men should see what most they love 
 
 Departing, 
 Though through the world's wide circle there 
 Is nothing half so hard to hear 
 
 As parting. 
 
 If thou a rosebud shouldst receive, 
 Set it in water, but believe 
 
 My warning : 
 It may with opening petals glow 
 To-morrow ; it will wither, though, 
 
 Next morning. 
 
 Hast thou one love who seems a part 
 Of thine own life ? — whose inmost heart 
 
 Thou keepest ? — 
 When but a little while has flown, 
 She will have left thee all alone. 
 
 Thou weepest ? 
 
176 A GERMAN VOLKSLIED. 
 
 Yet think not this a wayward cry ; 
 When men clasp hands and say good-bye, 
 Although the parting' thrill with pain, 
 They whisper, "Friend, auf wiederseh'n I 
 To meet again ! To meet again ! " 
 
A BALLAD OF UHLAND. 
 
 Three joyous companions rowed over the Ehine ; 
 They drew up at an inn, and called for wine. 
 
 " Mine hostess, come fill us a glass ! " cried they. 
 " You've a fair little daughter : where is she to-day ? " 
 
 " Here is wine that is fresh and clear,'' she said, 
 "But my little daughter is lying dead." 
 
 Then into her chamber she led the way ; 
 And there in her coffin the damsel lay. 
 
 Moving the shadowy pall from its place, 
 One gazed in sorrow on that still face ; 
 
 " Ah ! beautiful maiden, didst thou live. 
 To thee my heart I would henceforth give." 
 
 The second covered her as she slept. 
 And, slowly turning away, he wept : 
 
178 A BALLAD OF UHLAND. 
 
 " O, can it be thou lying silent here ? — 
 
 I have loved thee for many and many a year ! " 
 
 But the third uplifted the shrouding fold, 
 And kissed the lip's that were pale and cold : 
 
 " I have always loved thee — I love thee to-day, - 
 I shall love thee when time has passed away ! " 
 
"NAHE DES GELIEBTEN." 
 
 — After Goethe. 
 
 I THINK of thee when golden surihght shimmers 
 
 Over the sea ! 
 When in deep well-springs opal moonlight glimmers, 
 
 I think of thee. 
 
 When clouds of dust upon the road are playing, 
 
 Thy form I see : 
 At midnight when some step the bridge is swaying 
 
 I think 'tis thee. 
 
 I hear thee when the murm'rous fountain's making 
 Sweet purling sound : 
 
 I go to listen in the woods, nought breaking 
 The silence round. 
 
 I am with thee : though space from thee divide me, 
 
 Yet art thou near ! 
 The sun will set, the stars shine out beside me — 
 
 Would thou wert here ! 
 
LULLABY. 
 
 — After Jacobi. 
 
 Slumber on, my little love ! 
 Of the sun's fair light ahove, 
 Moonlight, woodlands, flowers that grow, 
 Thou art still too small to know. 
 Sleep, wee love ; grow big ; thou'lt see 
 All things then from mother's knee. 
 
 Thou shalt see the heavens bright, — 
 See the sun go, robed in light, 
 O'er green meadows, fresh with dew. 
 Where unfold the violets blue : 
 Violets plucked, thou shalt be pressed 
 Closely then to mother's breast. 
 
 Leaning on my heart, thou'lt play 
 With the morning breezes gay, 
 Over thee a joyful sound, 
 Praiseful melody around. 
 Gently rustle brook and tree. 
 And thy mother kisses thee. 
 
LULLABY. 
 
 While the sweet bird chants her lays, 
 Comes the clear, bright moon to gaze 
 Down on thee, love, and on me ; 
 Flowers bow their heads ; and see, 
 Baby's hands I fold, my dear — 
 Little angel, God is near. 
 
 In the stars God's wonders shine, 
 And where lowly violets twine. 
 Where you bird strikes through the air. 
 Where these arms my Baby bear : 
 Whisper to thyself, dear heart, 
 « Everywhere, O God, Thou art ! " 
 
AFTER HEINE. 
 
 Out of her grave a lime-tree is growing, 
 Birds pipe there, and winds of twilight are blowing ; 
 While the miller's lad and his sweetheart sit 
 On the smooth green mound just under it. 
 
 So soft and solemn the wind's low sighing, 
 So sorrowful sweet the birds' replying. 
 On the lips of lovers the whispers die. 
 And they weep in silence, they know not why. 
 
AFTER GOETHE. 
 
 Happy the man who yet may hope to rise 
 Above the sea of error which assails him : — 
 StUl for the moment's need no man is wise, 
 And, wisdom found, the chance to use it fails him. 
 But let not any mood of trouble seize 
 And mar this hour's fair gift for our possessing : 
 See how the homesteads, haloed by the trees. 
 Glimmer transfigured with the sun's last blessing. 
 Soft grows the light. Outlived now is the day ; 
 The sun speeds hence, elsewhere earth's life renewing. 
 Oh, will no wings uplift me that I may 
 Strive on and after, in his track pursuing. 
 See in the eternal sunset's gleam 
 On that still world below me sleeping, 
 The summits burn, the valleys dream. 
 The silver brook all golden onward sweeping ! 
 By dark ravines or rugged mountain-steep 
 That god-like flight should not for me be bounded 
 Till opened out, by glowing bays surrounded, 
 On my astonished gaze, the boundless deep. 
 183 
 
H AFTER GOETHE. 
 
 And though the sun at last seem fading, sinking, 
 'Tis a new race begins — the eternal light 
 My thirsty soul would evermore be drinking, 
 Day still before me, and behind me night, 
 Waves underneath me, heaven's blue dominion 
 Far overhead. Fair dream, swift vanishing ! 
 Ah ! not so easily the soul's light wing 
 Can mate itself with any earth-born pinion. 
 But still in every man is born that yearning 
 Onward and upward evermore to rise 
 "When overhead the lark his song is learning, 
 Lost in the azure spaces of the skies j 
 When, wide upon the air his wings extending, 
 The eagle sweeps above the pine-clad height, 
 And far across the lakes and levels wending, 
 The crane unresting fares in homeward flight.